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Summary
Dean can’t help it. Castiel’s laugh is infectious, washing over him and sweeping him up in its tide. His throat and stomach ache with the feel of it, unfamiliar muscles worked past their endurance. He hasn’t laughed like this in weeks, maybe years.
Cas doesn’t stop laughing, and Dean relishes it. It’s such a good sound, deep and throaty. It rumbles over him the same way that Baby’s engine purrs, to where he can almost feel it in his gut. Dean’s giddy, the kind of happy that hunters don’t get to feel, and if it weren’t for the ceiling, he thinks he might float away. Cas’ eyes crinkle when he laughs, and his smile goes wide and gummy. He’s so brilliant, so alive—
But you’re dead, Dean thinks helplessly. But you’re dead.
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Castiel Novak is one of the best hunters Dean Winchester has ever worked with. He's witty, whip-smart, and has enough knowledge about the supernatural to rival an encyclopedia. He's got humor dry enough to put the Sahara to shame and he's pretty easy on the eyes as well. All in all, he's the best partner Dean could have hoped for.
Too bad he's dead.