Pushing the Right Buttons || Deimus and Phobus
The bed was still warm from where Dean had left only half an hour ago. His imprint on the pillow. Sam knew he was on the road already, and while he missed him, it was only a couple days to be without his brother. Casework was casework, after all.
Curling up to the pillows a little more, only half dressed, scars a plenty covering his chest and arms, a couple telling red marks on the neck, a red mark on his shoulder, he was sated, calm, for once in a decent mood. Resting his head on the pillow itself, hair falling in his face, he was slowly coming around from the sleep he had been in, groaning a little as he stared at the wall. He'd have to get up and do some work, he'd have to call and check on Dean's progress in a couple hours.
And yet, he was warm in the bed, and there was cold outside it, unless Dean turned on the heater on his way out. Cold was always bad. Sighing a little, he started to push his hair out of his eyes as he rolled on his back, staring at the ceiling.