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Dean
is going to die like this.

In
retrospect, he probably should have seen it coming.  He was always destined to die in the
worst way possible.  And considering he’s been shot, stabbed,
and ripped apart by hellhounds, any sort of traditionally painful just doesn’t
cut it anymore.

No,
he’s going to die by aloe.  More specifically, an ex-angel wielding
aloe cream.

“I’m
good, Cas.  Thanks.”

Cas huffs.
“Your back is one shade darker than last night’s bartender’s
lipstick.”

As
per usual, Dean tries and fails to suppress a totally irrational swell of
jealousy at a comment like that.  Cas is free to notice whatever lipstick
he wants.  Which
is precisely why he can’t be the one to rub aloe on to Dean’s back.  That dumb little part of Dean’s brain
that bristles whenever Cas so much as glances at another person will never shut
up.

“It
is not that burnt!” he says
indignantly, even as he twists to try to see the damage for himself. “Is
it?”

Cas
confirms. “It is.”

Damn
it all to hell.

“Sam
can get it when he gets back.  Not like he hasn’t done it before.”

Of
course, those were burn marks from a particularly wayward dragon case, not
sunburn from falling asleep on the beach, but Dean is pretty sure the
principles still apply.  Though this
might be slightly more painful to both his back and his pride.

“Just
let me.”

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