Chapter Text
Jimmy rolled over, head thrown back into the pillow, sighing contentedly. “That was really lovely, honey.”
Dean shifted under the duvet, sweaty and uncomfortable, hovering on the edge of feelings that could have gotten to an orgasm, eventually. “Yeah, it was great.” Then, thrown on awkwardly, like he sometimes felt compelled to. “Thanks, babe.”
Jimmy shifted, getting onto his side, a forearm tucked under his cheek. Then leaned in, brushed a chaste, dry kiss onto Dean’s morning stubble. “You didn’t… I can keep going, if you need?” He chewed his lip, eyes darting to the bedside clock, the glowing red LED numbers. “I am gonna be late for work if we don’t finish up soon, though…”
Dean surreptitiously wiped the sticky cum from his hand onto the mattress sheet. He had to do laundry later anyway, so fuck it. “Nah, s’okay. You know me, takes me a while. You gotta go bring home that bacon, huh?” He smiled weakly.
It was fine, he’d just jerk off in the shower later.
Again.
It was sweet of Jimmy to offer, at least. He usually did, even when he had so much else to be doing. It was a small sacrifice in the grand scheme to say no. And it really did take him a while to get there, if he did at all, even with Jimmy being so sweet and careful, hand or hips working at a steady, perfunctory rhythm.
Dean sat up, tucking the blanket under his elbows, watching as Jimmy slid out of bed and moved to the dresser to rummage through it. His husband wore the same things every day. Even his boxers and socks were identical, bought in sensible multipacks of plain white cotton. He’d heard somewhere about some CEO who did the same thing, he’d told Dean on their second date. Less decisions to make, more brain space for going out and taking on the corporate world.
It’s not like Dean could really complain, his own wardrobe wasn’t exactly swimming in variety. Endless blue jeans, all crisp and whole, thanks to Jimmy throwing out any that looked like they might even be thinking about tearing. A handful of band shirts and plaid flannels. Jimmy liked to joke about getting rid of those too, replacing them with button downs, something a bit more fitting. But he always finished with a kiss and an indulgent comment about how he wouldn’t, that he knew how important Dean’s little bands were to him.
So that was okay. Really. He knew his husband respected that their tastes were different, even if he liked to kid about it.
Freshly dressed, Jimmy came back around to drop another kiss on Dean’s forehead. “You getting out of bed any time today, lazybones?” he teased.
Tease or not, Dean could take a hint. He swung himself out of bed, following Jimmy to the bathroom so they could shave and brush their teeth together before breakfast. Jimmy liked all that domestic shit, togetherness and all. Privately, Dean was kind of already looking forward to him leaving for work, even if that thought did bring a sickly guilt. Several glorious hours where he could play his music, didn’t have to worry about meeting any expectations.
Not that Jimmy ever forced him to do anything, or would expect anything of him, not really. But he had this way of pursing up his face, or talking loudly over Dean’s tapes, and Dean would feel like he was doing something wrong anyway.
The kitchen was gleaming, morning light shining in through the tall windows and reflecting off all the high tech cooking gadgetry Jimmy liked them to have. Every surface was spotless, thanks to Dean, everything small enough neatly filed away in drawers or cabinets. As Jimmy settled at the table, unfolding the newspaper he still insisted on having delivered, Dean headed to the fridge to make a start on breakfast.
“Bacon today?” he asked, half hopeful, half joking.
As he sort of expected, Jimmy raised an eyebrow, his tone serious and just riding the edge of disapproving. “You know that plays heck with your cholesterol levels. I thought you picked that up for the carbonara, you remember, we-”
“Okay, okay,” Dean said, hands raised in surrender, grinning. “Of course, I know, I was just kiddin’.”
He fished out the milk for the oatmeal, some blueberries to put in, for the ‘anti-oxidants’ Jimmy was so fond of. Dean wasn’t sure what an oxidant even was, but it was nice that Jimmy looked out for both their health. Nice to be taken care of.
Even if some bacon now and again probably wouldn’t hurt.
Jimmy smiled approvingly, nodding at the items in Dean’s hands before going back to his paper. It warmed Dean all through, as always. He’d nailed the whole domestic bliss thing.
“How about some toast too, honey?” Jimmy called without looking up.
Dean threw some bread in the toaster without comment, then went back to stirring the pot of gloop on the cooker.
Steaming bowls finally on the table, Dean slid into his own seat, watching fondly as Jimmy blew on his spoon exactly three times before tasting it. It felt pretty good to be a provider, knowing he’d set his partner up for a full day of- Well, something to do with numbers, he was pretty sure.
Not for the first time, he slid into one of the daydreams that always seemed to hover over him, like hummingbirds he didn’t have the heart to shoo away. That they’d both be leaving soon, kiss goodbye at the car doors, Jimmy leaving for his big important office job, Dean to do something a bit more hands on. Cars, maybe. Hell, bartending even. Firefighting?
Okay, that was childish. He didn’t have to scrape by in jobs like that to survive any more, and he should be grateful to have a partner that wants him to spend his days playing homemaker, nothing more strenuous in his day than running the washer.
They ate peacefully and silently, and in Dean’s head, he rushed into burning buildings.
The doorbell cut through the quiet of the morning, making Dean’s hand jolt where he was rinsing out Jimmy’s travel mug. A stack of toast sat ready on the countertop - buttered right up to the edges, crusts trimmed because “it’s the little things, babe.”
Jimmy was still smoothing the front of his button-down in front of the mirror in the hall, straightening his tie, just so, inspecting the inside of his nose.
“I’ll get it,” Dean mumbled, wiping his hands on his robe, expecting some delivery guy or neighbour who wanted to talk about the HOA or bins or whatever the fuck else Dean couldn’t care less about.
He padded barefoot down the hallway, hair still stuck up from sleep, the tie of his robe dangling at his hip. The door swung open, and for a heartbeat, all Dean could do was blink. There was Jimmy, except.. not Jimmy. Not exactly. Ok - not even close, once Dean’s brain caught up to his eyes.
The man on the porch was the spitting image of his husband, but that was where the resemblance ended. Where Jimmy was all soft and carefully curated lines, this guy was hard edges and sharp, colourful contrasts. Tattoos curled up his neck and under the arms of a battered band tee, his sleeves were shoved up to reveal muscled forearms dusted with dark hair and ink. A bar glinted in one eyebrow, and dark hair fell in messy spikes.
He looked Dean up and down with slow, amused appraisal, his gaze lingering a little too long on Dean’s bare knees and the faded blue of his Dean Guy robe. Dean felt himself flush, suddenly aware of every inch of bare skin, every flaw and crease, and how yesterday’s sleep still clung to him.
The man’s mouth curled, a slow hungry smile building, and when his tongue slid out to lick along his lower lip - son of a bitch - was that a stud? Dean’s pulse stuttered in his throat. Piercing blue eyes skated over Dean with something just this side of lewd.
“Didn’t realise Jimmy’d upgraded to a boy toy,” he drawled.
Dean stared at him, mouth halfway open, brain desperately buffering. He’d expected a package, maybe the gas man, not a carbon copy of his husband reassembled into something that definitely set off alarm bells in Dean’s head - and other places.
“I-uh..” Dean stammered as his fingers tightened on the doorframe. “I think.. Uh.. Whu-uh-”
There were footsteps behind him. “Who is it, babe?” Jimmy called, stepping into the hallway, freezing as his gaze landed on the man at the door. Dean looked back, almost in a daze, his jaw slack.
For a moment, nobody said anything. Dean looked from one man to the other, confusion ratcheting up with every passing second, the incredibly obvious family resemblance too glaring to ignore now, though the stranger wore it so much better..
“Castiel?” Jimmy’s voice was small, a tremor of shock running under the words.
Dean snapped his head back towards the man - Castiel. The name rattled through his memory - a brother mentioned in an offhand conversation Dean wasn’t really a part of. In jail, Jimmy had said, the only detail he had offered. Never said he was a god damn twin.
Castiel’s gaze flicked from Jimmy to Dean and lingered. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?” he asked, but he wasn’t looking at his brother.
Jimmy cleared his throat. “Of course, come on in, Castiel.”
With a shrug, Castiel shifted the weight of his duffel higher on his shoulder and stepped over the threshold like he already owned the damn place. Dean only managed to sidestep in time, flattening himself against the wall, still just uselessly blinking. As Castiel passed him, he threw Dean a sly little wink, quick, equal parts flirty and filthy. Heat rose helplessly, burning Dean’s cheeks, and all he could do was watch as chaos sauntered into his and Jimmy’s too-perfect house, boots tracking mud through the entryway.
Fucksake - he’d have to clean that later.
Castiel’s duffel hit the hardwood with a soft thud as he cast a slow look around the living room. He let out a low whistle, the sound curling up through the bright, expensive house.
“Nice digs, bro. You’ve done well for yourself.” His eyes flicked to the framed wedding photo on the mantelpiece of Jimmy and Dean outside the church, the immaculate sofa, the vases Dean was scared to even touch sometimes. Then, they eventually flicked back to Jimmy, a smirk pulling at his mouth.
“Looks like you still get a hard-on for numbers. Guess they’re treating you pretty nice.”
Jimmy’s smile faltered for a second. He cleared his throat, voice dipping into that careful, patient register he used when he was ‘strongly suggesting’ Dean change something, or do something a certain way.
“Dean, this is Castiel - my brother.” He paused a moment, placing a grounding hand on Castiel’s shoulder before stretching a hand out, as if showing Dean off for appraisal. “Castiel, this is my husband, Dean.”
Castiel tilted his head, eyes lingering on Dean with that same hungry look that Dean tried not to think seemed like an invitation - or a dare. He stuck out his hand, and when Dean took it, large, rough fingers curled tight around his own. The grip was warm and so much stronger than it needed to be. Heat crawled up the back of Dean’s neck.
Fuck, how could someone look so much like Jimmy and yet be so utterly, stupidly different? There was a little voice in the back of his mind whispering that this version was unquestionably and unfairly, hotter.
Dean tried to ignore it, squeezing back just enough not to give himself away, but something in the glint of Castiel’s eyes told him he might not have been as convincing as he’d hoped. Jimmy, ever the gracious host, smiled half a notch wider.
“It’s so very wonderful to see you, Castiel. What brings you by? I thought you were-”
Castiel let go of Dean’s hand but didn’t step back, thumb dragging down the inside of Dean’s wrist before dropping away.
“Out on parole,” he said in a breezy tone, like he wasn’t talking about being a convicted felon so offhandedly. “I’ve been a good boy, apparently. Thought I’d pay my loving brother a visit.” He arched a brow, shooting a look at Jimmy. “You did say you’d always be there for me. Whatever I needed.”
Jimmy’s face softened, seeming more sincere and a little strained. “Of course. Whatever you need, Castiel. I’m just happy the Lord saw fit to help you along your path.” His eyes darted to Dean with a silent plea for support, but Dean just felt caught in the crossfire.
Castiel’s lips curled again, scepticism playing on his sharp features. He glanced at Dean who instantly blushed, his own gaze sliding away, wishing he could sink into the floor, or that he had at least bothered to shower before coming downstairs this morning. The house suddenly felt too small for all three of them, despite it being three stories.
Castiel wandered deeper into the living space, hands loosely at his sides, and paused to lift a crystal ornament off the mantel. He turned it over before setting it back down again with an air of bored disapproval.
“So, how long were you thinking of staying?” Jimmy asked, cheer bleeding into his words.
Castiel didn’t even look back at him. “Dunno. Maybe a while.”
Jimmy clapped his hands decisively. “Of course. Dean will get a room ready for you.”
Dean’s head snapped, irritation flaring beneath the flush. Oh, he would, would he? But Jimmy was already sliding on his suit jacket and collecting his keys from the side table in the hall, preparing to leave Dean to his new fate. Dean opened his mouth to argue, searching for some way to politely suggest that maybe he should have a say, but nothing came out except a thin, frustrated sound.
Jimmy reached for his briefcase and slipped his laptop inside. “Whatever you want, get it from Dean,” he said over his shoulder, barely glancing back at them. “We’ll have a proper catch up tonight, Castiel. I’ve got to run.”
Dean clenched his jaw, the familiar irritation threatening to rise if he didn’t clamp it down. Jimmy’s job was important. He really didn’t have a right to be mad, even if he was getting lumped with a stranger.
Even a really hot one..
Castiel’s gaze cut back to Dean, head tilting as if he could see straight through him. “So, what do you do?”
Dean’s mouth opened to reply, but Jimmy was swinging around, hefting up his briefcase, already answering. “Oh, we decided that since I make so much, it’d be silly for both of us to work. Dean just takes care of things here, right, honey?”
That was mostly rhetorical, Dean knew, so he didn’t bother to add anything, just nodded, hoping he didn’t look as much like some stupid bobbing head doll as he felt.
Castiel’s eyes hadn’t left him, and now they slid down his body again, slower than they had at the door, head still cocked, before rising to lock onto Dean’s own. “Is that so?” His mouth quirked a little, twisting like he’s holding back a laugh. “Honey?”
Dean got called ‘honey’ by a voice very much like that at least fifty times a day, and if it wasn’t that, it was ‘babe’, or ‘sweetheart’, some other pet name. Sometimes he wondered if Jimmy forgot his actual name. But it’d never sounded like that, wry and scraping and like it wanted to dig under his skin and see what’s underneath. All he could do in return was stare, and swallow.
Again, Jimmy’s voice cut in, falling between their intense staring contest like a cheerful anvil. “Dean loves it, and he’s so great around the house. Honestly, Castiel, I’m blessed to have him.” With that, he slung an arm around Dean’s shoulders, planting a kiss on his cheek.
It took Dean longer than it should have to remember that he was meant to respond to stuff like that. He quickly wrapped an arm around Jimmy’s waist, flashing him a smile that aimed for ‘pleased and touched’ and not ‘vibrating with annoyance.’
Jimmy always did that. Spoke for both of them, especially around his colleagues, and now apparently, his family. Normally, Dean was fine with it. Sternly reminded himself that Jimmy took care of them, and it was important that Dean didn’t embarrass him around people like that anyway. But somehow it just felt different that he was doing it around this Castiel.
Castiel hummed. “Wow. Sounds boring as fuck.” He was looking at Jimmy’s arm around Dean as he said it though.
Jimmy winced, and Dean knew it was because of the language. He wondered if Jimmy would try and make Castiel put money in the swear jar.
“Oh, no, he’s very content, aren’t you, sweetheart?” Jimmy’s arm squeezed, and he continued before Dean could reply. “But I suppose if he ever does get bored, he’ll have you here to entertain him for a while, that’ll be nice, won’t it?”
Castiel’s only answer was a slowly spreading smile.
“Uh, you should really head off, babe,” Dean said, before the silence could get any weirder. “You’re gonna be late.”
Jimmy’s eyes darted over to the antique grandfather clock, the one he’d had imported and that Dean had lied about liking. “Oh, shoot. I really should. See what I mean?” he directed at Castiel. “I’d be lost without him. You guys have fun while I’m gone.” He pecked Dean on the cheek one last time, then started for the hallway.
“Don’t worry,” Castiel called, still looking at Dean and smiling. “I’ll take good care of him.”
Jimmy didn’t answer, didn’t even bother to look back as he abandoned them, just lifted his hand in a sort of backwards wave as he pulled the door shut behind himself.
Jimmy’s happy, so I should be happy, Dean chanted to himself, his mantra when things felt… like this. Of course Jimmy wanted his brother to stay, if he’d been in jail and out of his life for most of it. And like every other thing that made Dean unhappy, or frustrated, he should just be content that he was doing the best thing for his husband.
Dean had never had it this good, as Jimmy liked to playfully remind him sometimes. Something safe, and secure, full of everything he could have ever dreamed of. What were a few discomforts or small moments of unhappiness when compared to a wholeass apple pie life? They had a literal white picket fence, for fuck’s sake.
So Dean sucked it up, plastered a welcoming smile to his face, and jerked a thumb towards the bedrooms. “I, uh, we got plenty of spare rooms. You wanna see if any take your fancy?”
Castiel’s own smile was starting to make him think of this nature documentary about panthers that Jimmy had made him watch.
He tried to ignore the stirrings it caused, the tingles shooting through his gut like pop rocks in coke. He spun on his heel, looking wildly for somewhere to start the tour before giving up and lurching forwards blindly.
Castiel shrugged his heavy-looking duffel over one shoulder and followed with a lazy, confident gait that somehow made Dean feel smaller next to him, despite him being at least an inch taller. He led Castiel through the ground floor, pointing out the newly refinished kitchen. Jimmy wanted granite, so, yeah, we got granite. The den filled with carefully chosen furniture that Dean still hoped would grow on him. He rambled about the paint colour and the abstract art in the hallway that he didn’t really understand. He tripped over explanations, trying not to sound too defensive of a home curated by someone else.
Through it all, Castiel barely glanced at the rooms. His gaze slid over the fixtures and finishings with disinterest, but every time Dean turned, he caught Castiel staring, like he was sizing up a meal. It should have bothered Dean, but instead it made his skin hot. On the second floor, Dean stopped at the landing as the heat started crawling up his neck, and he tried desperately to shift his focus, to fill the silence with more than his racing heartbeat.
“So, uh.. What-uh, what were you in jail for?”
For a second, Castiel didn’t answer. He kept looking around, gaze sliding across a photo of Dean and Jimmy in Cabo, and his lips quirked in amusement.
“I murdered a whole family on Christmas day,” he said without even taking his eyes off the picture. “Messy stuff.”
Dean’s blood went cold. He froze, heart thudding painfully in his chest, throat growing tight as his ears started ringing. He could almost see it - the blood, the ruined Christmas lights, Castiel’s big strong hands stained red. Every muscle in his body locked up as panic sparked at the edges of his vision.
Jimmy left him alone with a killer.
Castiel snorted and burst out laughing, the sound ringing sharp in the empty hallway. “Kidding,” he said, grinning wide. “I got into a few bar fights. Was holding when they arrested me. Did happen on Christmas though.”
Dean let out a shaky breath as the embarrassment flooded in, mixing with relief and a pinch of shame at how much the lie had really got him.
“Right,” he managed, forcing a laugh. “Good one.”
Dean gestured towards doors as they moved further down the hallway. “That one’s Jimmy’s office. He’s in there most nights he’s actually here, so probably don’t go in there. And, uh.. This one’s our bedroom, so-”
Before Dean could finish, Castiel pushed past him, his boots thumping across the hardwood as he tossed his duffel right at the threshold of the master bedroom. He didn’t even pause before wandering through the room, poking at the things on the nightstand and tugging open drawers. Dean hovered awkwardly in the doorway, his pulse a little uneven still from the last scare.
“That’s.. This is our room,” he tried again, his voice a little higher than he would have liked.
Castiel hummed in acknowledgement but kept right on rifling through a dresser drawer - Dean’s drawer - and with absolutely no shame, plucked out a pair of boxers and held them up.
“These yours?” he asked, eyes glinting with mischief.
Dean’s face went hot. “Yeah, and I’d prefer uh.. If you didn’t.. Look, if you need underwear, Jimmy can give you some money.”
Castiel grinned, crumpling the boxers back into the drawer, not even bothering to close it as he strolled across the room. He flopped down on the perfectly made bed, boots and all, sprawling out leisurely, making the comforter bunch beneath him as mud now streaked the edge. Dean clenched his fists at his sides, trying not to snap about the mess. Castiel tipped his head, appraising the room, then let his gaze settle on Dean.
“So, this is where you get fucked?” he asked, low and casual, as if it wasn’t the most invasive question in the world.
Dean spluttered as the words caught in his throat. “I-w - w-whuh-?”
Castiel’s grin widened. “If I take the room next door, am I gonna hear you two at night when you have your bland-ass vanilla sex?” He propped himself up on his elbows, all lazy provocation.
Dean’s cheeks flared. “No - I mean.. We’re not.. That’s really none of your business.”
Castiel raised a brow, and fuck, Dean wasn’t thinking about how hot that was while Castiel was being such an asshole.
“You loud when you jerk off, Dean?”
Dean’s jaw dropped. “No!” he whined.
Castiel hummed, rolling off the bed and sauntering toward the door. “Pity. Would’ve liked to hear that.”
With a last look that lingered just a little too long on Dean’s flushed face, Castiel hauled up his duffel and strode out, leaving Dean bristling in the wreckage of his own bedroom, feeling exposed in ways he hadn’t even known were possible.
He trailed Castiel down the hallway, keeping a step or two behind. Castiel eventually pushed into the one at the end of the hall, tossing his duffel to the floor as he strode to the window. He yanked it open wide enough to let in a rush of cold air.
Dean lingered in the doorway with his arms folded as he watched Castiel pull a battered pack of cigarettes from his pocket, shaking one loose and tugging it with his teeth before flipping open a worn silver lighter. He flicked the flame, cupping it in his hand as he inhaled deeply, the end glowing orange as he drew in a long drag. The smoke curled around him, catching the morning light, and for a second Dean just stared, entranced by the line of Cas’ throat, the sharp cut of his jaw, the way his confidence just casually owned the space around him.
Then reality snapped back in and Dean’s heart stuttered in annoyance. “Uh, Jimmy doesn’t really like smoking,” he managed. “Especially not inside.”
Castiel’s mouth twisted in a smirk as he exhaled towards the window. “I won’t tell if you don’t,” he said, winking shamelessly.
Dean snorted. “Yeah, well I’m pretty sure he’ll smell it anyway.”
Cas shrugged, flicking ash into the breeze. “Guess I’ll switch to weed then.”
Dean rolled his eyes. Great idea. Not like weed doesn’t smell even stronger.
Castiel took another slow drag, looking so at ease, so perfectly out of place among the matching linens and furniture. Dean had no idea what to do with himself as the heavy and awkward silence started to stretch. He cleared his throat and backed up a step.
“I’ll, uh.. Let you get settled,” he said, his voice barely steady. “Let me know if you need anything.”
Castiel’s lazy and predatory gaze followed him out, and Dean felt the heat of it long after he’d retreated down the hall. His skin tingled where Cas’ eyes had lingered. He ducked back into his own room, pulse still thumping in his ears. He stared at the bed now streaked with dirt from Cas’ boots, and let out a shaky breath as he grabbed for the corners to start stripping it. His hands moved on autopilot but his mind was still in the other room, replaying every glint of metal, every way Castiel moved.
Jesus, Winchester, pull yourself together. He’s an asshole. And he’s Jimmy’s brother - your brother in law. That’s-
He scrubbed a hand through his hair as heat prickled behind his ears. He knew trouble when he saw it. Castiel had that look, like he knew exactly what kind of chaos he’d dragged in with him, and maybe even wanted Dean to squirm about it.
But fuck - maybe Dean wanted to squirm, too.
Dean slapped his face, telling himself to pull it together. It was just nerves. Anyone would be thrown off by a stranger stomping through their house, poking through their things, throwing out lines like what do you sound like when you jerk off. Castiel probably sounded deep and rumbly and-
Ok, it wasn’t just nerves, and Dean knew it. It was a hot, reckless feeling thrumming low in his stomach - the same feeling that had vanished somewhere in the years with Jimmy, quietly suffocated beneath routines and expectations.
But Jimmy was good to him and Dean owed him.
He balled up the sheets and threw them to the floor. He was just going to have to keep busy, keep his head down, avoid Castiel as much as possible..
Dean took his time smoothing the fresh sheets onto the bed, tucking each corner tight, just the way Jimmy liked. He plumped the pillows and ran a hand over the comforter, fighting the pointless urge to make everything even more perfect than usual. Anything to keep his mind busy and ignore the afterimage of Cas with that cigarette between his lips that still burned behind his eyes.
He gathered up the dirty, mud streaked linens and headed out towards the laundry room, only to stop dead halfway down the hall.
There, in the middle of the hallway stood Castiel, completely naked save for a small white towel he was using, utterly unbothered, to rub his crotch dry. Water still beaded and ran down his chest, sliding over intricate tattoos that snaked across his broad chest and shoulders. There was a silver ring glinting through one nipple, and Dean caught a dizzying flash of hipbone and the hard line of muscle before his jerked his gaze away, his cheeks burning.
“Son of a- We.. do you need-” His voice cracked embarrassingly and he could barely get a word out.
“You got anything to drink around here?” Castiel’s voice was thick with lazy amusement and Dean could feel Castiel giving him a once over.
Dean swallowed, gripping the sheets tighter, desperately trying to focus on the wallpaper that Jimmy’d had replaced three months ago. “Uh-yeah. In the kitchen. There’s, um.. juice, coffee, milk..”
Castiel made as if to head towards the stairs, towel barely hanging on, and panic spiked through Dean’s chest.
“Wait! You- maybe just.. Just let me get it for you? What do you want?”
Castiel leaned against the wall as water continued to drop onto the hardwood. “Beer,” he said, a strong sense of smugness in his voice. “If you’ve got it.”
Dean nodded furiously, inching past, trying not to look, fuck, please don’t look, as Castiel finally disappeared back into his room. Dean practically ran down the stairs, heart hammering as he clutched the dirty sheets to his chest like a damn shield. Now that image would most certainly be burned into his retinas for the rest of his days.
He shoved the sheets in the washer and turned his back to the machine, sliding down to the cool floor.
How the fuck was he supposed to survive this?
*