"Dean, you should have consulted me before you went after the poltergeist. If you had done so, you would not come so close to losing," Castiel scolded as the three recovered in the motel room. Well, Sam and Dean recovered. Castiel stood as the side of the large bed, where Sam laid out on one side, exhausted, and Dean sat on the edge, facing the angel.
Dean leaned over on his knees, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes and looked up at Castiel, frowning. "Yeah, give me a slap on the wrist, Cass. I will next time," he said, gesturing vaguely and presenting his wrist.
Castiel looked at Dean, eyebrows pinching together, then glanced down at Dean's hand. He grabbed Dean's hand and flipped it over, revealing the sensitive underside. He glanced back at Dean's face, which was confused, before slapping it lightly with two fingers.
Dean made a strangled noise in his throat and looked at Castiel with the most curious of expressions and then let out his breath in a whoosh and hung his head. On the bed beside him, Sam began to laugh uncontrollably.
"What?"