Dean lightly nods his head in time with the familiar chords of the song that just started playing on the old radio they found at a yard sale. He moves the pile roller back and forth on the front wall of their new bedroom, coating the surface with the dover white paint they chose together last week.
"Almost Heaven..." He sings along, making sure the sigils they painted on the walls for protection are well-hidden, he had never seen the majority of them and some of them are a combination of a couple of sigils designed by Castiel, like the one he is covering now, the same one Castiel drew for him and that he now has tattooed on his back, right between his shoulder blades, "...West Virginia, blue ridge mounta-"
"I have been to West Virginia." That actually makes Dean come to a halt, both in his singing and in his painting.
"I've been there too?" It kinda comes out as a question, born from his confusion at Cas' random comment.
"It's nothing like Heaven, not even an 'almost'." Dean looks at him, he is frowning at the part of the wall he is painting, they started painting from opposite sides of the wall so he is all the way across the room. Dean stares, making sure he is not being a victim of Castiel's weird sense of humor, but he looks serious like a heart attack.
"No, I don't suppose it is." Dean goes back to painting too, because he would love for this to be done before dinner time rolls around, he huffs, he refuses to have another argument on the lines of "Dean there isn't a stairway to Heaven, souls just appear there" or "is that house really in New Orleans?". He shakes his head, "it's just a song, Cas, he is just comparing a place he considers home to this idea of Heaven as a beautiful and peaceful place, one that isn't full of feathery assholes."
Castiel hums thoughtfully at that, then "is there somewhere that you would describe in such terms?"
That makes Dean stop again, now in thought. Home, he thinks, a place he can call home. He thinks of the Impala, or the bunker, he thinks of this apartment. No, maybe he wouldn't write songs about them. Home, he thinks, and all he sees is blue eyes deep like an ocean he is ready to drown in, they look at him, lovingly but also like they are done with him because he just told one of his unfunny jokes. He feels gentle lips on his and warm hands cradling his face, strong arms wrapped around him. He hears laughter and long talks, he sees his brother and Cas lost in one of their nerdy conversations and he sees Eileen rolling her eyes amused. He sees the myriad of faces he has lost over the years, still alive in his memories and heart.
"No, I don't think there is, it has never been about the where for me, " he shrugs. It's always been about the with whom. Castiel only nods in understanding and they get back to work.
"I like that part," he says out of a sudden, "it makes sense because roads do take you where you want to go." Dean feels the need to hit his head against the wall. But he can because he will get paint on himself, more than he already has anyway. He looks at Cas once more and now, with the glint in his eyes and the light upwards curve of the corner of his lips, Dean knows he is joking.
Dean doesn't say anything he simply uses his paint roller to attack Cas, leaving a stroke of paint all over his back, it's too hot, they weren't going to bother with more clothes than necessary, "get back to work, sweetheart." Castiel does go back to work, not without attacking Dean back with his own roller first though.
