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Castiel stood outside of her apartment door.
Goddammit, it was just a door.
Just a fucking door.
But it was also THE door.
Her door.
She really needed to stop using the word door so much.
“Okay...I can do this.”
Pushing it open, she stepped inside.
It smelled like cinnamon and...pepper? Was that normal? Yes it was normal. It was normal for her.
Dean had offered to buy her new clothes, since the ones she had been wearing were Sam’s old handmedowns...And incredibly big on her.
But the point had been made, new clothes were nice but she had clothes.
Her host’s clothes.
In her host’s house.
It was a bit much to take in.
Breathe.
Breathe.
Breathe.
“Hey. You okay?”
Dean’s voice was rough and familiar behind her, his hand on her back as he guided her inside.
The apartment was pretty cramped. Books crowded every shelf, incense holders filled with ashes and leaves.
The curtains were black and dusty, letting in little light.
The table was covered in notebooks, all old and full except for the few on the chair.
A cup of tea left on the counter, the available space filled with boxes and jars.
A sofa bed that was pulled out and filled with at least 3 comforters in varying blacks and greys with pillows strewn around the floor as though she had just jumped out of bed and left.
A black sweater hung on the back of the chair with a black beanie beside it.
These little touches of home hit her so hard that she could not breathe.
This was her home.
Her place.
Where she had run to get away from her family as horrible as they may have been, family is still family.
And family don’t end with blood.
Dean’s heavy boots echoed down the hallway, looking through the other two rooms.
“Damn… This chick had a lot of freaky shit.”
He closed the door to the room he was looking in and shuddered.
She stared at him.
“Don’t judge me. There were a lot of dolls.”
She continued to stare at him, making him uncomfortable.
“What?”
“Dean, you realize I’m her now...right? So the creepy shit is my creepy shit.”
He nodded and kept quiet, figuring he wouldn’t press his luck.
Shaking her head in amusement at him, Dean Winchester was scared of dolls.
She continued her walk through the kitchen, quiet as a mouse.
More details of home popping out at her.
Coffee cups lined up on a drying rack.
Clean sweaters folded on the counter.
A bottle of wine collecting dust with a cheap charm shaped like a peacock hanging around the neck.
Comforts of home.
Comforts of a life lived and no longer.
Well...Not quite.
She was alive.
She was breathing.
“Dean. Can we just keep this place?”
Her voice was quiet and calm.
Dean furrowed his eyebrows at her and crossed the room to stand with her.
It made that stupid lump in her throat grow again, like she wanted to cry.
Eyes on the floor, Cas. Eyes on the floor.
He reached out and wrapped his arms around her.
“This is so weird.” She mumbled, pushing her face into his shirt and inhaling deeply.
“I know.”
“Why are you hugging me?”
“Do you want me to stop.”
A few moments of silence.
“Not really.”
“Okay then…”
She wrapped her arms around his waist, it felt...normal? Okay? She didn’t fucking know.
“If you want to keep this place, we can. I understand if you need to hold on.”
And that was all she needed. That was it.
That was it.
And it was just home.