Deerington Inbox.

[endoftheverse]

 

[A general automated voicemail plays.]
 

Comments

[endoftheverse]

[He rolls his eyes. Predictably.]

Yeah, yeah. Just get a move on.

[He supposes they're, uh. On their way home. Their home, plural?

Some part of him is nervous to live with Dean again, because the last time he'd moved in... they were gone. Cas and Dean both. If he ever had to wake up to a lifeless house again... he's not sure what he'd do.

But for now... they have this.

It's good.]

[venatoris]

[ Their home. The Winchester cabin. Other Sam too, if he wants. Dean would like that. Keep all his Sam's safe, in one place. The other Dean also, if that's his jam. A real home, a place they can call theirs. ]

Look, Grandpa, I'm the one with the idiot end, here, use your legs--

[ Because this desk is pretty solid and Dean's the one going backwards so cmon Sam put your back into it, dammit! ]

[endoftheverse]

... I'm moving, I'm moving.

[He's just too busy being amused, watching Dean shuffle down some stairs backwards, sorry.]

Who are you calling Grandpa, anyway? You're the one who still listens to mullet rock ritually.

[venatoris]

Are you sure you're even lifting, dude? [ Because this thing is heavy and you' don't seem WINDED Sammy ]

Grandpa's listen to crap from the 40s. Cool people listen to mullet rock.

[endoftheverse]

[He's injured, remember? Totally weaker. That's 100% the reason. Not giving Dean a hard time at aaaall.]

Does the 50's get a pass? The beginning of the Elvis era.

[Everybody likes a little Elvis from time to time, c'mon.]

[venatoris]

Elvis gets a pass.

[ But like. That's about it. ]