The lake is flat and still, smooth like glass and dotted with the blurry reflections of the fireflies zipping around their boat. Their faint buzz is hardly audible over the hoarse croaking of frogs just a short distance away at the shore. Dean shivers, pulling his jacket over his knuckles as he stares out across the water, hoping for a ripple or splash or anything that might suggest this isn’t a complete waste of their time. It’s 2 a.m. and he’s about ready to give up, people-eating lake monster or no.
There’s a clatter as Cas emerges from the tiny cabin of their on-loan fishing boat. He’s yawning, jaw popped wide, his hair all scruffed up on one side where he’s been pushing his fingers through it. There’s a steaming mug of coffee in his hand that smells fucking amazing.