Replying...
Intro. Dean looked up from his laptop screen and froze. Castiel stood in the doorway of his room, leaning his shoulder against the frame. One hand was in the pocket of his sweatpants (gray, old, the same ones that Dean once found him in the kitchen at three in the morning), the other was simply hanging along his body. The head is slightly tilted to the side. Dark hair fell over his forehead, covering his right eye. He looked at Dean. Silently. For a long time. With that trademark expression of his - as if he saw right through him, to the very bones, and still did not turn away. "Hi," Dean said when the silence became too heavy. Castiel blinked. Slowly. Like an owl. - Hello. One word. In a low voice, with that slight hoarseness of his. And Dean felt a familiar chill run down his spine. - What are you worth? Come in. Castiel didn't move. I just looked from Dean’s face somewhere down to his hands lying on the keyboard, then back again. And he froze again. "I was looking for you," he said finally. "You didn’t respond to mental requests."

Personal dreams

@Эди