It was already late summer – or early autumn? - with endless yellow fields of crop, bees buzzing lazily in the warm sun and the impala's shiny black skin still too hot to touch. They had just left the highway and were driving through one of those small towns of the Midwest that tend to look so much alike you feel you've seen all after only visiting one. Perhaps it was the sun, reflecting something. Perhaps it was his brain, imagining something. Perhaps it was nothing. But somehow Dean could have sworn blindly he had just seen a tan trench coat hanging on one of the weathered picket fences they had just passed.
The next time it happened was only a few days later. They were again cruising through a nondescript town, pleasantly sated and lazy after a copious lunch as a fleck of tan caught Dean's eye the moment they left the small conglomerate of buildings. He didn't want to reverse so he just asked Sam what he had seen but the younger Winchester had been busy reading the map. Only Dean hat witnessed a dark jacket on one of the fences next to a tan coat. Was he seeing things?
The third time Dean noticed the familiar piece of clothing he could no longer deny it. He had seen something he needed to investigate further. The older Winchester hit the brake – hard – and while Sam was bitching about his forehead nearly connecting with the dashboard – which by the way was anatomically not even possible, Dean was relatively sure – he made a U-turn and drove back to where he had seen the coat and jacket.
Both garments were neatly folded and hung over an old wooden fence that had seen better days. The yard behind was tidy with mown lawn, green bushes, apple trees and a huge clothesline. Somewhere behind bright white sheets lazily flapping in the soft wind the hunter spotted a dark haired figure.
"Dean? What the...?" Sam started to ask but his brother paid him no attention instead he hollered at the man hanging the laundry. It only took a loud "Hey!" for the figure to turn to them and after a moment approach the car. Even Sam was momentarily rendered speechless as Castiel, only in his shirt, sleeves rolled up, still with a bucket of fresh laundry in his arms, stopped in front of the fence.
"Dean. Sam," The Angel greeted them as if helping mortals with their washing was a normal thing for a member of the Heavenly Host to do.
"Dude, are you... How many people's laundry have you hung up in the last few days? Or am I going crazy?"
"It depends on how many days are 'the last few'," Castiel answered gravely.
Dean sighed, "Never mind. Just... why are you doing it in the first place? You know... with an Apocalypse to fight and all..."
"It helps me to gather my thoughts. Doing laundry is a very relaxing and centering task."
"Ok..." The older hunter exchanged a disbelieving look with his brother before he addressed the Angel again: "You know, we have laundry, too. You could have asked us instead of a bunch of people you don't even know..."
With a frown Castiel gestured at the old building in the middle of the yard. "Dorothy is a very nice woman. She is 67 years old, married to Fred for 49 years and two months now. They have two sons, Robert and..."
"Cas..." with a gesture Dean stopped the Angel's explanation of the family's history.
"Very well, I shall do your laundry next when the need to regroup myself arises. But now I have to return to my work. Dorothy is already looking for me. She promised home made cookies after I am finished." Without any further explanation or even a proper good bye the Angel turned and marched back to the laundry line.
Sam needed the better part of five minutes to digest the recent events. The he stated: "Dean, I'm not sure getting Castiel to wash our stuff was a good idea..."
"Hm...?"
"I'm not really comfortable with the idea of Cas touching my underwear – much less my dirty underwear."
"Oh, crap."
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