Another fun little response to my prompt challenge. Loving the dialogue between Cel (1st person voice for this one, like in Hot Chocolate) and Dean.

Above me, a heavy door slammed shut. Dean's boots pounded down the stone steps, his green eyes glinted. His scowl lengthened as he caught my nonchalant gaze. In his hand he carried a plastic bag – this was promptly dumped on the table where I was sitting.

'Guess what's in the bag?'

I shrugged and smirked. 'Your sense of humour?' Usually, a comment such as this would thaw any rift that had been created between me and Dean, but today, he offered nothing.

'Nope. It's the pie that you were meant to get!'

'Chill, Dean. It's just a pie. I think research is much more of a priority.' My attention returned to the lore book entitled: Rituals and Cults.

Dean ripped the book from my hold and closed it. 'Hey!' I growled.

'No, you hey. This has nothing to do with a pie, Celeste. It's about your poor attitude lately.'

Flipping my hair out of my face, I regarded Dean with a blank stare. 'Remind me how my attitude has been poor lately?'

He folded his arms – a sign that a lecture was about to unfold. 'Well, let's see. Yesterday, you told Sammy to go screw himself, all because you kept disturbing him when he was trying to search the papers for a case.'

'I was offering to help.'

'A few days ago, you snuck into Hell without telling any-'

'Well duh, Dean. That's the whole point of sneaking off somewhere, do you th-'

'Don't cut me off! You worried Cas sick. He spent hours trying to find you. And then when finally decided to grace us with your presence, you acted like everything was completely fine.'

I pretended to search myself for scratch marks. 'Well I came back in one piece.'

Dean huffed. 'That's not the point. You refused to tell us what you had been up to and you could have placed yourself or us in danger.'

'I doubt my dad would care about me visiting Hell. It is my home you know.'

He gestured around the hall. 'And this isn't.' I waved my hand at him; gesturing for him to continue. 'Celeste, this is serious. If you don't buck up your ideas, someone's going to get themselves killed.'

This remark made me sit taller. 'Now hold on a second, that's being overly-dramatic, Dean. No one is going to die when I'm on a case.'

'Wanna bet? 'Cos I've seen first-hand what happens when someone takes their eyes off the ball. You spend all your time thinking about how to answer back, rather than just listening and getting on with what you've been told to do.'

My hands felt as if they were itching; begging to be turned into fists. I resisted. 'It won't happen.'

'But it could,' Dean's tone pressed further.

'Oh, don't be such a lemon, Dean!'

His eyebrows transformed into the morning sun. 'Why in the hell would you call me that?'

'Because you're so sour.' Chair legs scraped as I stood up and left the room, leaving behind a mumbling Dean.