You tiredly watched Dean and Sam talk from the backseat as Dean insisted on getting two hotel rooms — he refused to share a bed with Cas again. Cas, who sat next to you in the backseat, rested his hands in his lap, silently watching the flickering glow of the passing streetlights.

All four of you were in desperate need of showers, blood still clinging to your clothes from the hunt — a hunt that, apparently, had left the dense angel more exhausted than he let on. He was quiet. No rambling about butterflies or blobfish. Nothing seemed too out of the ordinary.

At least, not until the angel slumped into your lap.

Your eyes fell down and stared in silence, he was awfully peaceful looking. Sam glanced back at the two of you, and a smile crossed his face — it was a rather endearing sight. He kept his mouth shut at first, simply elbowing Dean before gesturing back toward the sleeping angel.

Cas was as peaceful as a napping kitten, his upper body curled in your lap, hands lightly gripping your waist, face buried against your stomach.

Dean was the only one who spoke.

"Didn’t know angels were chronic cuddlers."