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Dean's clothes rolled haphazardly through the dryer's heat. It was the only one running in the long row of identical machines as Sam's clothes still soaked nearby. Half-empty had gone to barren as he whittled his hours away in the laundromat. It was when he was dragging the long sleeves of Sam's jacket up from the depths of the washing machine that he heard a noise, a soft thunk from the machine beside him, and Dean was straightened up and ready for a fight before he'd had a chance to drop the clothes in his arms. Anna stared at him, at his bundle, and then at his flushing face again.
"Bad timing?" she asked.
"Better than usual," Dean disagreed. With the imagined threat never existing, he heaved Sam's clothes over to the dryer beside his. It was two dollars to wash, three to dry, a fair bargain against the other laundromat he'd checked that morning. It was uncommon for their spare time to coincide—given Heaven hunting Anna and ordering him around—and it left each moment they did steal savored.
"So, this is what you do between saving people and hunting things?" She balanced on one of the unused machines, one leg crossed over the other and toes tapping the floor. Dean set Sam's clothes to dry.
"It's not that glamorous, I know. Our job doesn't exactly pay the big bills." Or the small ones. But they survived. They always had.
"No," she said, "but... I miss this. I feel untethered." Dean turned to her. He was cupping her shoulder before he could think better of it, and when she smiled and leaned forward, his hand rose to her cheek. "Thanks." Anna's eyes glowed sometimes when the light hit her right, but Dean had loved her human first and he wouldn't ever forget that. It made him appreciate her more. "I miss doing laundry, and weekly shots, and making the bed, and-" She breathed, and the grief of a lifetime lost exhaled from her lungs. Dean pulled a smile to the corner of his lips for her.
"You don't miss your shots," he teased. Hell, he'd been doing his T for a decade, give or take, and injections still put him on edge. She shook her head, but his smile had coaxed her own out of hiding.
"I miss the routine." He'd take a picture of her smile if he thought it would last longer than she would. "I keep the changes, though. It turns out that one of the only benefits of wearing a body rather than living in it is that your hormones are just as much a part of the costume." There, Dean wanted to argue. He'd known plenty of angels who only bothered with their vessels as decoration, a necessity for flying down to Earth without getting dirty from the mud. Anna breathed and blinked and laughed with her whole chest. She was not apart from her body; it was her.
"Most angels don't change at all," he pointed out.
"I've got more practice." At that, he huffed a laugh. Damn right she did. He remembered his eyes wandering over the mantel at the crime scene left of her childhood home, spying the awkward family photos of her as a child and a young teenager. He had a few of his own he could show her one day. They were probably tucked away in a box at Bobby's, memories of a little Dean Winchester with his hair too long for comfort and a grin that never changed no matter how the face around it shifted.
"You ever make adjustments? Now that you've got your mojo back and all." Anna considered that.
"I think about it. I could, in a snap." She frowned. "It doesn't feel right. I fought for this. Now, it'd be too easy. And then there's the fact that I don't want Heaven touching what I worked so hard for." They'd stolen enough, she didn't have to say. Dean understood that feeling better than most people ever could.
"I didn't have any scars when they brought me back," Dean said, and Anna opened her mouth to respond to that but he had a point he needed to make. "None on my arm from the time I broke it and the bone went through. None of the many, many places I've been stabbed or shot in my life. So, you can imagine what I went to check the minute I got ahold of a mirror." His interruption had earned him an annoyed pout, but as she listened, that fell away as she grasped the purpose of the anecdote.
"Those remain," Anna said. She lifted a hand and swept her fingers over Dean's chest, nails knocking against the amulet in her path. Through the fabric of his shirt, he could feel her touch. Sensation had come back to his whole chest over the years, with only a little section between his right nipple and the scar beneath it that remained numb. It was the best work he'd (or whatever the name on his fake card was at the time) ever paid for, never regretted.
"Yeah. Heaven didn't touch them. I'm still a self-made man." Her hand drifted back across like she knew exactly where the scars were to trace them. By that point, she might have. She'd seen them often enough. "My point is, screw Heaven. We always knew what was best for us, anyway. If you want to do it, do it. If you don't, no one's going to make you. Definitely not me. I think you're beautiful." His voice caught in his throat because he didn't have nearly enough words to tell her how much, but Anna caught his amulet between her fingers and pulled until the cord drew him forward. She kissed him sweetly. He always needed it. Around them, fluorescent lights buzzed and the dryers bumped against each other as they turned over their loads. Dean's hands found the sides of Anna's face, and he brushed his thumb over her cheek as he pulled an inch back to catch his breath and kissed her again.
He was able to hear one of the machines slow and stop. He ignored it for another minute, pressing more kisses to her lips and down her jaw. Anna hummed at the scrape of his stubble against her skin, and it brought to mind a moment of domesticity that made him yearn for the kind of world where they weren't constantly being forced apart: Anna and him sharing a razor the morning before they'd gotten together, trading it off for her to use as he checked the bandages over the wound on her arm she'd made to defend them.
Reluctantly, he had to pull back. Anna let go of the amulet. It slipped from between her fingers as Dean moved over to the dryer, bending down to pop the door open. He could feel the warmth of the clothes inside. He pat his hand over the lump to make sure they were completely dry, and for once, he found he'd gotten lucky enough for a dryer that did the job on the first cycle. He hauled clothes out and heard Anna drop off of her perch behind him. Soon, the various assorted shirts and jeans he was taking out were being folded up by her. He paused a moment, looking up at her as she rolled a pair of socks together, and felt so overcome with affection that he had to kiss her again.
One day, all of this had to end, and if he didn't believe he'd have peace then, he'd still do everything in his power to give her a chance to live the life she'd chosen and that the world kept trying to take away from her. Maybe she'd even let him come to her doorstep once in a while and stay a night. As he broke the kiss, he looked at her clothes, the same ones she'd worn since she had become an angel again. Angels didn't take the time to change outfits.
"You want me to wash your jacket?" he offered. Anna tilted her head, confused. "I'll give you one to wear while you're waiting for it."
"Right now? You'd waste five bucks to wash just my jacket?" She was shrugging it off anyway. Dean took it from her, and he rooted around in his own clothes for one to give back. His was too big on her, but he hoped it kept her warm.
"I'll throw it in next time I'm doing laundry. You'll just have to come back for it." Anna wraps his jacket around herself. Dean knows he'll see her again. She was too shrewd for Heaven and too strong for any demon to pin her down. He'd just like a little reminder she'd show, that was all.
"I'll make sure to drop by," Anna promised.
They folded clothes in comfortable silence until they had to say goodbye.