"Mm," he says absently, locating a small shovel hidden amongst the various pokers and pans, and poking at the glowing logs.

Eventually satisfied (or at least anxious enough to move on that he decides he is), he puts the shovel down and follows Crowley into the bedroom.


He hasn't been in here in a long while, he realises, staring around. But you'd never know it. The room smells as fresh as though it had been aired out that very morning.