Sam's fingers flashed across his keyboard before several windows popped up on his laptop. "Shouldn't Cas be on his way?" he asked without turning around, his brow slightly creased as he skimmed the articles.

Dean shuffled his duffel bag aside on his bed and checked the inventory. "Yeah, that was the last message he'd left—" he turned around to face his brother, "over a week ago."

Sam paused and glanced over his shoulder. "Have you tried calling him? That doesn't seem so… Cas-like. You know, usually when he says he's on his way, he'll just… show up."

"You don't think I've tried?" Dean's voice was sharp and gruff with annoyance. "Besides, Cas said he had some stuff to do first. Didn't say how long it'd take, just that he'd be here when it was over." Dean sank back onto the bed and began to dig around for a clean shirt.

"Dean, even though Castiel's an angel, do you think he'd take that long? What if something happened?"

"C'mon, this is Cas we're talkin' 'bout."

"Still, I'm starting to get worried," Sam said, looking to his brother with sweeping brows.

Dean sighed and picked up his cell phone. "All right, I'll try again," he held the dialing phone next to his ear, "and I'll let him know how much you've missed him spooning you." He winked.

Sam simply sighed.

After a few rings, the call went to Castiel's voicemail.

"Hello." A long pause followed. "Dean, is this the part where I say my name?" Beep.

"Hey, Cas, it's Dean. Again. How are things holding up on your end? I know you said you needed some personal time to yourself, but mother hen here wants you back home."

"Hey!"

Dean smiled at his brother. "Anyway, if you're done with whatever you're doing—maybe a blonde or brunette with four inch stilettos—we're at Motel 9, room 420." Dean cleared his throat as he turned away from Sam. "And Sam misses the curve of your spine and your breath on his neck," he rambled off quickly before ending the call.

"Dude! Not cool!" Sam yelled at an amused Dean.

"C'mon, Sammy, we all know you were thinking it," he said through laughter with a wink, only to sputter when a magazine was tossed at him. His stint of self amusement ended abruptly when a knock came at the door.

Sam and Dean exchanged looks.

"You call for delivery?" Dean asked, his expression suddenly serious.

"No. You?" Sam looked like he was ready to leap out of his chair.

"No," Dean replied, cocking the gun he had slipped out from the duffel bag. He lowered his arm, concealing the weapon with his thigh as Sam went to answer the door. Dean gave Sam a nod as he looked at him over his shoulder.

Sam let out a soft breath before pulling the door open. Though he was used to seeing decapitated heads, dismembered limbs, guts and bloodshed, he hadn't expected to see something that was so unusually… normal.

A woman with a mess of long, dark waves of hair stood at their door, clothes dishevelled and dirty.

"Can I… help you…?" Sam asked with hesitation, his hand still gripping the door.

The woman's eyes wandered up to meet his gaze and her startling blue eyes shone with recognition. "Hello, Sam."

Sam's grip tightened, just as his eyebrows scrunched together. "How do you know my—"

She didn't bother to hear him finish his sentence as her gaze wandered past him into the open doorway, craning to see the familiar figure that sat hunched on the bed. When their eyes met, the edges of her lips turned up in the slightest, not that that was even noticeable.

"Hello, Dean."

In that moment, Dean's eyes widened, and as soon as his name left her lips, he knew, without a doubt, who she was. "Cas…?" He slowly rose to his feet.

Sam snapped around to look at his brother before turning back to the mysterious woman who stood just outside their door. "Cas… Castiel…?"

"Yes, Sam," Castiel finally broke her gaze from the older Winchester and peered up at the towering man before her. "May I come inside?"