Dean yawned deeply, kicking off his shoes and laying back on the old mattress of the dinky motel room. He was staring blankly at the television, but none of what he was watching seemed to be sinking in. Not that it was important, just another sitcom that overplayed the laugh track. The hunter was just teetering on unconsciousness, but was trying to hang in there, purely because Sam was bringing home dinner.
He was exhausted his entire day was filled with being thrown all over the room by a seriously pissed off poltergeist. The Winchester brothers had been working on this case for a week. Turns out it was just a teenage girl, angry at the world, so she killed herself. She was taking her revenge on her friends and families. They ganked her though, after taking a serious ass whooping.
Dean was just beginning to doze off when there was the familiar sound of fluttering wings. Still, he jumped though as the sudden appearance of the pale, trench coated man standing in front of the TV. "Hello, Dean."
"Dammit, Cass." The hunter growled, beginning to pull himself up as he rubbed his eyes. "Ya think you could give me some sort of warning?"
"My apologies." The fallen angel replied, although he didn't sound it. His voice was just as monotone as ever. Dean rolled his eyes.
"What do you want, man? It's almost twelve. I told you not to come after ten." Dean said, obviously irritated. Why would this guy refuse to listen to anything he said?
"I called Sam." Castiel answered, taking this chance to step after into the room, scanning it as he spoke. "He told me in you were in this town."
"Yeah, so?" Dean barked, flashing him a glare. "Cass just because you know where we are doesn't mean you can just pop in whenever you want. Why the hell did you call Sam anyway? What do you want?" He didn't mean to sound so harsh, but hey, he had told the angel he needed space and he was exhausted. Ever since he found out God wouldn't help, Castiel had turned into a lost puppy, clinging onto Dean much more than usual. This had gone on for a week now. It was a bit too much.
Castiel, however, did not answer immediately. His bright blue - usually innocent - eyes were boring down on him. They had darkened, almost into a scowl, and his mouth was pinched. "Dean," He began his voice low. "I have always came when you've called me. No questions. No complainants. I would like to expect the same thing from you."
This was new for Castiel and Dean didn't like it. He should have known to keep his mouth shut, but in this groggy state, he couldn't help it. "Yeah? Well, you don't need sleep, do you? Well guess what, Cass! I do! So give me some damn space!"
The fallen angel advanced on him to quickly for him to react. Dean first felt one of Castiel's knuckles meeting his jaw before the other slammed into his stomach immediately after. The air was forced out of the hunter's lungs and he desperately inhaled to attempt to catch some.
Dean was reduced to heavy coughs and deep gasps of air by the time Castiel withdrew. He looked just as shocked as Dean did. "Dean," He uttered, his bright blue eyes wide with astonishment. "I'm sorry." He moved towards the hunter again, seeming to want to examine the wound he had just created on his cheek.
"Get the hell outta here!" Dean yelled when he finally found his tongue. Castiel's hand jerked back and he met his friend's eye, brow creased with worry.
"I'm sorry, Dean." Castiel replied, a moment later, he was gone.
You know what? To hell was consciousness. At that, Dean flicked off the TV and the lamp and went to sleep.