Dean Winchester turned over, knocking his head against the glass window pane of his 1967 chevy Impala.
"Son of a bitch," he cursed, rolling back towards the car's other occupants and holding his head.
Sam Winchester laughed at his brother, leaning back in the passenger seat with superiority, taking a sip of coffee from their shared thermos. However, even before Sam swallowed the first mouthful, his face crumpled into itself, his body recoiling as he sputtered.
"It's gone cold." Screwing the cap firmly back on the thermos, Sam placed it down, narrowing his eyes at the offending cup not seated on the dash. "Tastes like motor oil." This time it was Dean's turn to laugh.
From the backseat, an arm reached out. It's arm was covered by a tan jacket, the man's fingers spread and gently where they reached for Dean's forehead. On instinct, the hunter leaned further back, away from the outstretched hand, flinching at the unexpected proximity. Castiel gave him a wounded look from the darkened backseat, which Dean felt immediately guilty about. Slowly, the Angel withdrew his hand until it was behind the bench seat.
"Sorry, Cas," Dean said, moving back into his former position, "give a guy a warning."
"You're hurt," the Angel replied, brushing off the advice and reverting back to his stoic expression. It seemed that that was all the warning the Angel deemed necessary, as he reached towards the hunter once more to heal the small bump on Dean's head.
Dean shook his head - a bad idea in hindsight, as it made his head foggy and the Impala spin around him - and gently batted Cas' hand away. "Only a lump."
Cas rolled his eyes but sat back in his seat; he'd been around the Winchesters long enough to learn which battles to fight. This was not one of them.
The three sat in Impala for a while longer, staring up at the pristine suburban house. Painted white, it was the only thing one could make out in the dead of night. Rose bushes lined the walk, the grass cut to the perfect height, all complete with the white picket fence. It was the kind of house Sam would have bought with Jess. The perfect house to raise a family and grow old in. But, as fate would have it, Sam did not escape the horrors of his past, which led him here, sitting outside of the perfect family house with his brother and and Angel, as they waited for any signs of attack from a vengeful spirit. Where he held a .45 rather than a son, and filled his car with holy water and sawed-offs filled with salt rounds instead of a briefcase and soccer equipment.
The sun had long since fallen when the three rumbled up the street, and now as darkness secured itself around them and stars twinkled above, the stress of the day began to wear on the hunters. Sam blinked rapidly and shook his head, reaching for the coffee every so often before remembering just exactly was awaiting him inside and recoiling back into the passenger seat.
However, the younger Winchester brother seemed to control himself much better than his elder, who slept soundly in the driver's seat. His head was lolled back against the headrest, his arms crossed over his chest, and snoring fit to wake the dead. Castiel didn't seem to mind, and with the patience of an angel, he probably didn't, but Sam sure did.
With every intake of breath louder than the rest Sam narrowed his eyes, trying to force himself not to notice, but to no avail. When his patience finally snapped, his arm came out on its own accord to slap at his brother's arm.
Dean jerked awake, his knees slapping against the bottom of the steering wheel, though his head was safe from any further damage. It took two comical seconds of confused flailing before he remembered where he was and why. When realization hit, it was obvious: Dean's head turned violently back out of the Impala's window towards the house, his ears burning, alert and searching for anything unnatural. On finding nothing out of the ordinary, he turned his green eyes to his brother. "Anything?" he asked, almost afraid of the answer.
"Not a peep," Sam answered. "But really, Dean, you should go home."
Dean waved him off, fixing his leather jacket and looking back out at the house. "Nah, Sammy, we got a case to finish."
Sam barely suppressed the urge to roll his eyes, "Dean, you've fallen asleep like four times. It's nearly three, the sun's going to be up in no time. If there hasn't been an attack yet, chances are there won't be tonight."
"And what if there is?" Dean asked. "I'm not gonna let you go in there alone."
"I won't be alone. I'll have Cas."
The two brothers looked to the backseat, where Castiel sat, giving no indication of hearing them. Slowly, he nodded though his eyes still watched the house. "I will make sure no harm comes to him."
Sam looked far too smug for Dean's taste.
"Fine," he huffed, popping open the door as Sam did the same. Across the hood the keys jingled through the air, Sam catching them easily. The two brothers nodded, Sammy walking around the front of the car as Dean prepared for the short walk back to the motel. He dug his hands into the pockets of his jacket, the soft leather instantly molding around his fist. Dean jumped when he all but collided with a figure not much shorter than his own.
"Jesus, Cas!" he said, jumping back.
"It is not safe to be walking back," the Angel responded, looking directly into the hunter's eyes.
Dean scoffed, "I'm a big boy, Cas. I can take care of myself."
Cas nodded, "Against many things, I am sure that's true. However, there are things lurking around this neighborhood - the spirit has attracted them."
For the second time that night, Cas reached a hand out towards Dean's forehead and this time, Dean did not flinch. In fact, he may have even leaned in to the gentle touch as the odd sensation of flying with an angel of the Lord rushed over him.
His boot clad feet touched down on the soft welcome rug of the motel room in no time, and after swiftly unlocking the door, Dean made a beeline for the bed. Cas shadowed him, though where Dean's boots creaked against the floorboards he made no noise.
On the walk, Dean's hands went to the hem of his shirt, ready to strip it off to sleep, but thought better of it, leaving it to drop back down.
Dean dropped gracelessly on top of the covers of his bed, his boots dangling off the end. Almost as an afterthought he pulled his cell from his jeans pocket, placing it on the bedside table as he turned over to the Angel still watching him.
"Even if the rest of the night is quiet, call first thing in the morning, alright? Either you or Sammy."
Castiel's brow furrowed, "It's already past the first of the morning."
Dean rolled his eyes as he batted his face into the squishy pillow. "Sunlight, Cas," came his muffled voice, "Morning means sunlight."
The Angel looked outside the window, pulling the heavy drapes aside in the process. The sky was a deep navy, the star shining valiantly through the thick blanket of clouds. He nodded to himself before disappearing, flying back to his other Winchester charge.
XxX
Somewhere to his left, a guitar riff played, deep and insistent. Dean wanted to ignore it, he really did, instead staying wrapped up in his warm cocoon of sheets, but the possibility of it being Sammy along with years of conditioning to watch for John's or Bobby's call made him answer. Slowly a hand reached out from under the mountain of blankets toward the nightstand. It took a bit of trial and error - as well as knocking over a bottle of water - bur Dean soon found it. The phone vibrated in his hand as he fumbled to flip it open blind, placing it to his ear.
"Yeah?" Dean's voice was rough from sleep, that one syllable coming out in a baritone that could have rivaled his father's.
"Dean?" the phone crackled.
Dean sat up, the covers sliding off his body. "Cas?" he asked, rubbing a hand over his sleepy eyes.
"Good morning."
"Everything okay?"
"Yes," the Angel answered. "The family was not harmed during the night."
Dean nodded even though no one could see him. He reached over and pulled the small digital alarm clock to face him. He groaned low in the phone, "Sunshine, Cas. I said sunshine."
Castiel's voice sounded confused, and Dean could just picture the Angel's brow furrowed, "The sun has risen, Dean."
The pillow flattened under Dean's head as he laid back down. "Barely," he muttered.
"What?"
"Nothing," he said, "Is Sammy with you?"
"Yes, Sam is here. Would you like to speak with him?"
"Nah, it's all good." Dean could feel his eyelids drooping. It was too early for this. "Any new developments?"
There was silence from the line for a moment before Cas spoke again, keeping Dean from falling back asleep. But only barely. "Everything's much the same. There were no attacks on the home or the family. It seems that the spirit kills its victims solely at night, so -"
"So we got a few hours," Dean finished for him. "Look, Cas - " he yawned, his eyes sliding shut, " - as much as I love you, I need to sleep, alright?"
There was a pause from Castiel, longer than before. "Yes. Sleep well, Dean."
Dean flipped the phone closed, his hand falling limply by his side; his eyes closed as he fell back into dreamland.
The cell phone slipped easily from his open palm, sliding off the bed and falling with a clatter to the floor. Just before the plastic device touched ground, Dean jackknifed up as if he had forgotten something.
He ran a hand through his short hair, realization of what he had just said dawning on him.
"Shit," he breathed, falling heavily on the mattress.
XxX
From the floor, his cell phone chirped. Dean groaned, pulling a pillow over his face. It wasn't important - anything life - or - death would warrant a call - so he let it go, instead squeezing his eyes shut and wallowing in the inevitable embarrassment and awkwardness his call would no doubt incite.
However, had Dean checked the phone his fears would have been negated. There was a text message from a very familiar number with a single line of text. It read:
and as much as I love the sound of your voice so early in the morning, I'll wait for you to wake up before letting Sam get breakfast.
XxX