"Hello, Dean."
Castiel sat sprawled out on the floor, a large pile of empty bottles sharing the space with him. As Dean watched, Cas picked one of them up and attempted to drink.
"Why is my rum gone?"
A strange look passed over Cas's face and his shoulders hitched, like he had hiccuped. Dean knew what was coming.
"Here, if you have to yak, yak in this." He said, snagging an ice bucket from the the motel dresser.
Castiel threw up. A lot.
"Why?" He moaned. "Please ask the floor to stop spinning. I have no des-hurk!-desire to fall off."
With a groan, Cas closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall.
Dean considered for a moment, then went into a bathroom and filled a dixe cup with tapwater.
"Here. Rinse your mouth out or it'll taste like ass in the morning."
Castiel cracked one eye open and accepted the paper cup.
"Rum?" He asked feebly.
"No more rum for you, ever. Binge drinking sounds fun in theory, but the reality-"
"Don't tell me what to do." Cas snapped, tossing the still half-full cup of water in Dean's direction. He missed by about four feet, which was pretty terrible considering that his target was standing no less than two feet in front of him.
"You're not my Father." Cas spat. "My Father doesn't tell me what to do and you're not my Father so you can't tell me what to do even less." He squinted, trying to figure out if that statement made sense.
And then he promptly passed out.
Dean sighed and propped him up close to the puke bucket. The angel snored lightly.
Dean sighed again, and then made the call.
"Why is it that every time you fellas screw up, you call me in to fix it?"
"I just want some information." Dean countered. "Is this normal? Is this part of falling or something?"
"Look at you, all concerned about the consequences of you actions all of the sudden." The Trickster (Gabriel, Dean reminded himself, Gabriel) walked in a slow semicircle around Dean.
"My actions? He chose to rebel."
"He chose to follow you, numbnuts." Gabriel stopped pacing. "For your information, this one isn't your fault."
Dean tried not to look relieved.
"No, you can chalk this one up to the Creator."
"You lost me."
"Do you know how old your angel buddy is? No? He's young. By angel standards, he's pretty darn young."
"How young?" Dean asked.
"Pimples and awkward growth spurts young. Congratulations, you've got a teenager on your hands!" Gabriel announced with mock glee.
Dean processed this.
"And he was sent into battle anyway? To Hell?! What kind of 'loving' father uses child soldiers?"
Gabriel arched an eyebrow at him.
"Your daddy for one." He replied.
Dean glared. After a moment, he let the jibe go. Punching the Trickster in the jaw might have made him feel better, but Dean recognized that it would be a really stupid move.
"How do I make him stop being all...you know, weird?"
"You can't. You'll just have to wait this one out."
Dean glared again. Gabriel caved.
"Look, I'll give you my number. If you need some support, give me a call."
"I thought you were done with your family."
It was Gabriel's turn to glare.
"You know nothing about me, got it? Don't even begin to pretend you do."
With a snap of his fingers, he was gone.
"Well that was helpful."
"We're very sorry for your loss." Sam said, handing the woman another tissue. "Are there any more details you can tell us, anything that springs to mind?"
The woman didn't answer. She seemed to be fixated on Castiel's face, which was twitching like mad.
"Agent Marley, are you okay?" Sam asked, using the alias the Cas had chosen. They shared a look.
"I have to get outside. Now."
Sam quickly apologized to the woman and led Cas out of the crappy apartment.
"That way." Cas said, pointing to an empty alleyway. He was sweating.
"What's wrong? Are you okay? What's going on?"
Cas was busy trying to untangle himself from his coat. Sam moved forward to help.
"No! Go away!" Castiel shouted at him.
"What are you doing?"
"Leave me alone."
Cas whooshed away before Sam could ask him anything else.
Left alone, Sam called his brother.
"Woah." Sam was in awe. He had never seen Castiel's wings before. They looked like shadow made solid, and were taking up most of the motel room. Cas stretching and scratching at them.
"I am sorry I fled so abruptly." He said to Sam. "As you can see, I was...compromised. I don't know how to hide them again." With the conclusion of this speech, he returned to clawing at where his wings met his back.
"Itchy." He explained.
Dean snapped his phone shut.
"According to the Tri- Gabriel, it's the angelic incarnation of acne. He says not to scratch."
"And why should we trust anything he says?" Castiel asked, grabbing a sawed off shotgun and using it as a backscratcher.
"We'll pick up some calamine lotion for you or something on out way back from the hunt."
"Why can't I come?" Castiel sounded petulant.
Dean planted his face in his hand.
"I'm not dealing with this."
"You don't understand my suffering!"
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A/N: Can it get worse? You bet MWAHAHAHA!
I would like to thank my reviewers for taking the time to comment and for giving me a kick in the pants when it comes to writing.