the meanest thing you ever did

A photograph of a palm tree catches his eye, along with the words Greetings from Hollywood, Florida.Sitting in the front seat, Dean looks between the spilled postcards on the floor and the others littering the bench, and wrings his hands together. It’s not a big deal, he tells himself, repeatedly. He sweats, and not just from the early morning heat. Because no one sends postcards anymore, unless they’re in hiding. A person wandering the country with no home, with apparent unlimited access to stamps.Castiel left one month ago, almost to the day—If only it didn't make sense.