It's worse than his dogs. At least he can vacuum up their hair, but feathers ain't exactly suction friendly, especially when they are a couple feet long.
Bobby's been following the trail of feathers for weeks now within his house, they always appear during the night. He never sees the Goddamn angel, but he knows its Castiel, unless it's fucking Gabriel pulling a long prank on him. But that don't make a lick of sense as he's never even met the damn trickster-who-turned-out-to-be-a-Goddamn-fucking-Arch-Fucking-Angel.
Bobby's been cleaning up the feathers for too long; he sets himself up really nice one evening in the corner of his living room. Turns off all the lights and waits.
He waits all night without blinking sleep from his eyes, tapping his thighs with dancing fingers, trying hard not to react at every noise his house makes. It's old, older than his bones, and he knows he makes just about as much noise moving as it does.
A stillness comes upon the room, like wind fearing to move and then he hears a sigh as he sees the raincoat clothed man sink into the sofa a ways from Bobby.
"Hello, Robert Singer."
"I've been picking up after you for weeks now, boy, and I ain't see ya once." He doesn't move to turn the lights on.
"I have left everything within your house undisturbed. There is no cleaning necessary."
"You're shedding worse than my dogs, or molting rather." Bobby can't see Castiel's face, but he can make out the angel's head tilt from the darkness.
"I was unaware," he says simply. "Forgive me, I will take care to leave nothing behind."
"I can't even see your wings, how can they even be here?"
"They should not."
"Are you alright, Castiel?"
"I am well." Bobby finally turns on the light,
"Look, I need to know if anything is wrong-"
"I did not mean to cause-", he says while standing.
"-listen, damn it-", Castiel stares as Bobby wheels closer to him, "don't be flighty. Are you hurt?" Castiel shakes his head but there are no accompanying words. "Then what?"
"Things are…difficult." Bobby sighs.
"What things?" He asks and Castiel takes a step back,
"I will take leave, I am sorry for this disturbance." He's gone and Bobby swears.
Wheeling out of the living room, he turns the light off, Bobby isn't quite sure when it happened, but he became the port in the storm. Even if the damn angel left,
"You're stressin'. Like a goddamn bird, you molt when your stressed," he sighs out to the empty room, but he doesn't feel crazy doing it, "you welcome, just pick up your damn feathers. Ain't no vacuum cleaner I own work anymore because of them."
Days to weeks pass and he doesn't see a single feather after that night, but he finds a new, more powerful vacuum in his closet one evening and he accepts it.