"Cas?"
"Yes, Dean?"
"Did your, ah, did your pocket just move?"
Castiel carefully tightened his left hand.
"No."
The two stared at each other a moment before Dean looked back to the former angel's left coat pocket.
The room was completely silent when a moment later, the pocket in question moved again, this time with a distressed squeak. Dean slowly raised his eyes to meet the stoic angel's, eyebrow receding to his hairline in question.
"…Maybe."
"Cas?"
"Yes, Dean?"
Dean sighed at the repetition, along with the former angel's attempts to stall.
"What is in your pocket?"
Damn, he felt like a father talking to his six year old.
"I believe you humans call it Glaucomys volans."
…A very smart six year old.
"What does that mean in English?"
As a way of answering, Cas pulled his hand, and the Glaucomys volans, out of his pocket to show 'dad'.
Before Dean could get a good look at it, the little creature bite the former angel's thumb. Still unaccustomed to human pain, Cas dropped the creature with a yelp.
Free at last, it made a beeline to the highest place it could climb: the mirrored dresser. It clung oddly at the peak, staring in sheer terror at the two men below it.
Dean was just as startled, but recovered quickly.
He gave Cas a look.
"A squirrel?" he asked, grabbing a shirt and walking towards the frightened animal.
"Not just a squirrel," Cas said, and Dean could swear he heard a hint of pride in that voice.
"It's a Southern Fl-"
At that moment, Dean inches away from catching it, the 'not just a squirrel' leaped from the mirror, gliding effortlessly to land on one of the beds before scampering off and hiding beneath it.
Startled for a second time in under a minute, Dean swung his confused gaze from the bed to Castiel for an explanation.
"…-ying Squirrel." Cas finished lamely, pride and smile gone.
Dean scowled. A scared flying squirrel. Figures. With his luck, it was probably possessed too.
Dean pointed to the right side of the bed.
"Help me catch it," he ordered, moving to the left.
Cas obeyed, copying the hunter's movements by kneeling beside the sleeping device and looking under it.
The little critter was curled in a ball in the middle, near the head. As both men went to grab it, it bolted down the length of the bed, exiting from the end and dashing under the mirrored dresser.
Both men shot upwards, turning to see where it had run to now.
Dean sat there on the floor, his heated glare shifting like a tennis match between the Demonic Furry's new hiding place to the sheepish grin his angelic companion wore.
Fifteen minutes later left the hunter and former angel in a slightly disheved motel room, still chasing the small tree dweller.
It now sat near the middle of the room, staring its livid and indifferent foes down.
Cas made a lunge at it, slamming into the ground where it once rested, grabbing at empty air as he and Dean watched it scamper out the door Cas had forgotten to close when he first arrived.
Cas sat up as Dean slowly walked to stand next to his fallen comrade, still glaring after the tiny ball of evil.
There was an awkward silence.
"So, uh, where's Sam?" Cas asked nervously, fully aware of Dean's mood.
"Talking to the M.E." Dean ground out.
"Oh."
The silence resumed.
"Um, Dean?"
"What?"
An awkward pause.
"My thumb's still bleeding."
More awkward silence.
Then, still glaring at the door, Dean turned towards the bathroom to retrieve the first aid kit, refusing to look at the fallen angel.