Based on concepts by electrospectrum and mishacastiel (which are their tumblr URLs :))

Also beware: Destiel hinted at if boyxboy ain't your thing.

Dean scratched the back of his neck, yawning slightly as his other hand hefted one of the duffel bags he carried his only belongings in onto his shoulder. He smiled at the other mass on the adjacent bed in the room, Sam looking serene as he slept. Creeping over to Sam's side, he picked up the bag lying on the floor, collecting its contents strewn on the less than pleasant-coloured carpet (if the well trodden, greying material counted as carpet,) and then slinging the second bag on top of the first. As he made his way out of the room and through the motel grounds, he contemplated the finer things in his life; mainly that he hadn't died today. That was a major plus.

He'd noticed the shining beacon of hope and life as he'd parked up earlier and was glad he wouldn't have to drive through town in order to find it: The laundromat. Or, as its sign actually read, 'T e La ndrom t'. Its windows probably hadn't been washed in at least a decade, the floor outside was littered with cigarette ends, chewed gum, empty bottles and other less than sanitary objects and the neon sign itself flickered both with its age and the shadows caused by the swarm of insects eagerly gathered around it. The chime above the door tinkered as he entered and he took a moment to breathe in the heavy scent of soap and the lingering underlying tones of someone's B.O before choosing a nearby machine to set up next to.

Shoving both bag's worth of dirty laundry into a machine, cramming it all in in order to save as many of the coins as he could, he then poured the relevant chemicals into the relevant holes and finished off by inserting some money. He then sunk onto the bench behind him. The room was perfectly quite apart from the single machine; 3 a.m. not being prime clothes-washing time for most and he smiled comfortably, staring out through the fingerprint-riddled, dirt-caked window into the starless, light-polluted sky, thinking about how blissful the moment of peace was.

He started only slightly as a gravelly voice appeared besides him. "I see you can't sleep."

"Nah." He turned his head to share a small nodded greeting with the newcomer before both turned to stare out of the window again. After a moment, or perhaps an hour, he couldn't be too sure due to the nature of the strange gathering, had passed, his attention was once again focused on the angel.

Castiel held out two beers in his hand, making Dean smile as he took one graciously and popped open its top.

"What are you doing?" Cas asked after taking a sip of his own.

"What does it look like I'm doing?"

Cas tilted his head, looking up at Dean with a mix of childish curiosity and a glowing sense of 'I want to figure this out by myself,' which only made Dean laugh.

"Here," he said, taking off one of his shirts. "Put this in one of those machines. Any one'll do."

Cas raised an eyebrow slightly, his mouth pulling slightly to one side in confusion as he took the shirt and placed it carefully into one of the circular metal barrels which, to be frank, frightened him slightly.

"Now grab that box of soap on the top and pour until you reach that mark," Dean said, pointing at a line in the machine from his seat. Cas did so, tentatively at first until he realised the joy of pouring powdered soap from a box into a washing machine at some time in the early morning in a strangely abandoned-looking mess of a shop. "Good, now, you close that door and put these coins into that hole." Cas took the coins and nodded, putting them in one by one, slightly dreading what would happen if he managed to put them in wrong. When nothing went wrong and the machine started to hum like Dean's was, he turned around almost triumphantly.

"Good job," Dean said, succeeding in not sounding too patronising. "You'd make a wonderful househusband. Clean clothes and cold beer, the perfect recipe for a good household." Cas sat back down so that he could watch the material spin around and around in the yellowing tungsten light of the shop.

Noticing he'd finished his beer, Cas offered Dean another. "This may be sudden, but will you tell me about your childhood?" he asked, his eyes still focused on the circling cloth.

"Look it up in your Angel books," Dean said almost bitterly, downing the last dregs of the beer, the empty bottle almost instantly replaced with a full one. "Or just use your magic mojo to go back and see it for yourself."

"I want you to tell me."

"Well who's a precious princess."

Cas turned his head from the machine, looking ever-so-slightly horrified. "I'm not a female monarch, Dean."

"Uh yeah... yeah, I know, it's... never mind. What would you like to know?"

Cas hmm-ed, reminding Dean of a cat purring. "Tell me about the laundry."

"Well that's something I'd never thought I'd ever hear." He smiled slightly, leaning back a little so that he could take in the whole room. "I think I like this place because it reminds me of somewhere we went to when we were kids." He took another sip of his beer before settling into the bench.

"Dad was out on a job, some shapeshifter or something and Sammy was being a whiney little prick as usual. I don't know, I'd tried to make him some beans or something but I'd left them on too long and they'd burnt and he threw the whole plate in the bin and I knew Dad was going to get angry with me for not feeding his precious Sammy so I just left. I don't know why, but I had some laundry. Maybe I was cleaning the room when it happened. So I came to a place like this, a cruddy little dump filled with flies and alcohol. But it was empty and it was the emptiness I needed. Twelve year-old mentality, y'know?"

Dean scratched his cheek, looking around the place; what would usually be considered a dump had it had been filled with filthy, sweating people now seemed someplace with an almost fondness or sense of nostalgia about it. "It was raining outside and pitch black, but the warmth and solitude of this place, with its fake golden glow just made me feel happy. No Dad to shout at me, no Sammy to throw a tantrum, no monster trying to rip my face off, just me and the laundry, so I did it," Dean shrugged, playing with the bottle in his hands. "The money I'd got for Cola or snacks or something I used to wash my dad and brother's dirty underwear and it made me relaxed to just hear the hum of the machines mix in with the sound of the rain on the window and on the concrete outside."

Dean laughed, slightly self-consciously as he drew himself out the memory. "Care-y and share-y enough for you?" He returned to his window-staring and almost grinned when a drop of water slid down it, followed by another and another and another. It was so distracting to watch, he told himself that that was why he wasn't looking to see Cas' reactions to his story.

The grin didn't last long when the machines stopped their humming and he realised he would have to carry the washing through the rain in order to get back to his room. "It's raining."

"Yes," Cas replied. "It is."

Dean gathered all of the clothes in the bags again and made for the door. He opened it slightly and was bombarded with heavy raindrops. Not feeling like a mad dash and then second shower in 2 hours, he closed the door with a sigh, but kept staring out of the doorpane's glass. In its reflection he saw Cas raise a hand towards his head and ducked, spinning on the spot so that he could hold the other off at arm's length. "Woah woah woah woah, you're not teleporting me."

"Why not."

"Because I said so, that's why not."

"Okay." Cas turned and sat back down on the bench.

"That wasn't an order y'know, you're allowed to leave, even if I don't."

Cas said nothing. He did nothing. He just sat silently still.

"Well then." Dean cleared his throat, parking himself back onto the bench. "This is awkward."

"More beer?"

"Oh Cas, you do know your way into a man's heart."

"Is that a-"

"That was most definitely a yes, please, thank you."

"You're welcome."

"So how do you Angels have fun then, eh?"

"We watch humans."

"That sounds mildly sadistic."

"We also play pick-up-sticks."

"Great. I'd rather not. Do that. As fun as it sounds."

"I never liked the game anyway."

Dean's foot touched the bottle by his foot as he laughed, knocking it spinning. It spun in a lazy circle before coming to a rest with its neck pointing towards Cas. Dean grinned a sly smile. "Hey Cas, ever heard of 'Spin the bottle'."

"Yes." Cas nodded earnestly.

"You haven't, have you."

He shook his head.

"Right. You spin the bottle and whoever it points to has to answer a question. Truthfully. No lies, no hesitation. No buts or ifs. Got it?"

"I think so."

"You start. Pirates or ninjas?"

"I don't understand."

"C'mon, it's an easy one. Who would win in a fight, a pirate or a ninja?"

"It would depend on the class and status of both- and from what weapons they both held-"

"Okay, shut up. Which do you find cooler?"

"That's a second question, I won't answer."

"...dammit Cas, you catch on too quick." Dean picked up the bottle and spun it again. It pointed at the Angel again. "Right. Second question. Which do you find cooler?"

"Pirates have cooler attire."

"...what? Cas, you're an abomination to the human race. Ninjas are far cooler."

"I will spin this time." Cas took the bottle and focused on it for a moment before spinning it. It landed on Dean. "Any question?"

"Any question. But let me remind you that there are no rules about me punching you in the face if your question's stupid."

Cas took a moment for heavy consideration before looking up. "Are you at peace right now?"

"Right now?"

"Yes. At this moment in time."

Dean's brow furrowed momentarily. He looked around the place slowly, at the rain outside and at the half dozen or so bottles at their feet. Then he looked at Cas. "Yes." He cleared his throat. "Moving on."

They spun the bottle for another hour or so, the time spent almost equally between laughing so hard they became breathless with soul-exploringly deep thinking. Dean had so far restrained himself from dropping the L-bomb, but with sobriety so far out the window, his inner teenage-girl took over.

"So you've spilt the beans on the..." He yawned, blinked then shook his head before continuing. "The anti-cloud-nine, but what about love. You ever-" another yawn, "been in love, Cas?"

Cas's laughter had still been trailing off, but now he'd become quiet. "You should sleep now."

"Answer... the darned..." Dean blinked again, his eyelids heavy. "...question..." He put down his current bottle before it slipped, slapping himself lightly on the cheek, but he eventually drifted off, his head landing snugly on Cas's shoulder.

Cas didn't move. After a while, after he was certain, he shifted slightly. "Yes."

Dean opened an eye and grinned. "Gotcha you little bastard."

"...That was... not fair."

"Neither was you waiting for me to go to sleep." Dean snorted before his eyes closed again. "Will you tell me who?"

"No."

"Fair enough." His breaths got deeper as, this time for sure, he fell asleep.

Cas closed his eyes, leaning back into Dean with a comfortable smile. "I will wait," he said, half to himself. "I will wait for Dean Winchester."