A frank gust of wind startled Dean from his slumber. He pulled one arm from the itchy motel sheets and laid it to rest upon his brow, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
Sighing he cracked open one eye to glance at the alarm clock sitting on the nightstand dividing himself and his brother. It read 3:14, the acid green LCD numbers basking the room in an ethereal glow, casting shadows in the corners where they didn't belong.
Sensing natures urge overcome him Dean shuffled out of bed and hastily pulled on a dark grey t-shirt. He nimbly meandered his way to the bathroom. Cold tile met feverish flesh and in an instant Dean was alert and all business.
After relieving himself Dean set about taking a hot shower. He disrobed and entered the cramped stall, the bulk of him awkwardly aimed under the spray of water. Steam quickly fogged up the mirror, entering Dean's pores and letting him sweat out some of his frustrations.
He let the water beat down of his face, numbing it in the process, he leaned a shoulder against the wall ,content. Slowly he brought his focus back to the task at hand and lathered up his rippling muscles; stopping only once to admire his well-defined biceps "I AM freakin Batman" he thought to himself and chuckled aloud under his breath.
Dean then proceeded to rinse off the suds, which had pooled around his feet in a brown ring, the drain cover sucking away his manly essence. Once satisfied that he was indeed clean Dean turned off the shower and stepped onto the bathmat, a cheap excuse for one if you asked him.
With the hand of a professional he made himself a towel genie in a loin cloth and proceeded to brush his teeth. As the steam started to dissipate Dean quickly redressed into his worn jeans and tight shirt and took a swig of mouthwash.
He stared at himself in the mirror his shirt hugging his abs ever so slightly, water beads hanging off the ends of his hair, which was all over the place, a consequence of the towel genie. Dean bent over and spat the mouthful into the sink and abruptly looked up upon hearing the soft flap of wings behind him.
Castiel was reflected back at him, eerily gazing at him as though judging his reaction. "Hello Dean." He stated flatly. Dean's brow furrowed as he tried to push the increasingly overwhelming urge to throttle the angel.
"What the hell Cass, don't you knock?" he replied icily. Castiel cocked his head to the side as if pondering whether or not he had indeed ever knocked, "I've never had occasion." he retorted. Dean grasped the edge of the sink as though it held his last ounce of patience and sighed hanging his head in defeat "What's so important then? Why are you here at 3 in the damn morning?" said Dean with increasing frustration.
Castiel straightened up to his ramrod pose and looked at Dean still through the mirror and replied "We need your help." Dean spun around like a shot and accused "MY help? You need my help?" but he was left staring at the blank wall as Castiel had sensed his anger and quickly retreated.
"Son of a bitch!" growled Dean as he took his fist to the wall. With that Dean sat straight up in bed looking around and gasping, a light sheen of perspiration coating his forehead. His eyes darted around the motel desperately searching for a sign that that angel bastard did not just interrupt his dream no matter how narcissistic it was becoming.
"Dammit" he cursed lying back down as he settled for staring at the ceiling until sleep overtook him again. Only this time he'd have a few choice words for Cass, whenever he decided to make an appearance that is.
But even if you should suffer for what is right, you are blessed. "Do not fear what they fear ; do not be frightened."
Take Courage
1 Peter 3:14
