Castiel had assured Dean the effects of his curse would wear off with time since the witch that cast the spell had been killed, but to the hunter, it couldn't wear off fast enough.
It seemed like every time he opened his mouth, far more information than what was called for came tumbling out. All of it embarrassingly true. Raw. Sincere. It made his gut twist.
The moment Bucky walked in the motel room after meeting him back there, Dean felt his whole face heating up, but he hoped he could try to blame the whiskey he was drinking.
"H-Hey…man, witch is taken care of. We can get the hell out of dodge in the morning."
"Good, I didn't pull up jack shit as far as research." There was a thread of irritation in his voice, quickly shaken off, but it wasn't directed at Dean. Bucky took it as a personal offense when he couldn't find the intel he was looking for, even if that intel happened to be about things nobody believed existed. Hell, he had been one of those things for decades.
He paused by the door to unlace his boots and step out of them, raising a bag of takeout when he straightened. If he knew anything about Dean, it was that he was always down for food after a hunt. Or, you know, any time. "I grabbed burgers from that place up the street. It looked better on the inside than it did on the outside."
