Word Count: 100
Summary: Dean is a man of modest requirements
Disclaimer: I don’t own him
Its walls were battleship grey; its vinyl floor was an equally uninspiring shade of brown.
The little room contained a crisply-made bed, its beige comforter carefully selected to match the room's dour décor.
It didn't have any of the beauty of the Taj Mahal, the opulence of Versaille or the mystique of Stonehenge, but this neat little cubby-hole right here was better than them all put together.
Sitting on his clever mattress which would remember the imprint of his butt forever, Dean gazed around the modest little space and smiled.
It wasn’t much, but it was his.
It was home.