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Dean’s hair was matted to his forehead, cheap slacks damn-near glued to his skin. The rain was sharp, his phone was dead, and the crap rental wouldn’t start. “Dean,” Cas rested a hand on his shoulder- the tips of his fingers hot where they touched his skin. Dean stopped, fist still above the car, entranced. Even wet the angel looked beautiful, blue eyes like stars in the gloom. Dean watched Cas’ lips move, forming “We’ll fig-” He was stopped with a kiss, Dean pulling his angel close. He reached back and popped a door open, smirking. “Car works for s’mething.”