- no aliens, darling -

It was two o'clock in the morning when Dean got back to the hotel. Sam was missing, his laptop still open and the bed tidy; a normal occurrence these days. Dean didn't think much of it. Besides, he was drunk and horny and angry and not in the mood for thinking anyway.

He slammed the laptop shut before collapsing heavily on the couch and flipping on the television. The room was cold, so he tucked his chin closer to his collar to savor the heat his body gave off as his clothes settled comfortably around him. He wondered why Sam never turned up the heat anymore. It was something Dean used to complain about, in fact. Now he would be grateful for that extra heat.

Slowly, he forced himself out of his mind and thumbed the remote, flipping aimlessly through the different channels. He gave up after he came across the third re-run of the X-Files and left the TV on 'Bad Blood'. The episode had already been playing for fifteen minutes, but it was still one of the best on the show, and remembering that almost made Dean want to pay attention to it. Still, the TV was too far away for him to really focus on, so he didn't bother trying. A pixelated Mulder and Scully traipsed around on the screen, their lives filled with disguised conspiracies and drama. He blocked out their words, listening only to their voices. He had enough of that shit to deal with in the real world anyway.

Instead, he let his attention wander to Scully. Her red hair was smooth and vivid, outlining the shape of her neck and chest, and even if her image was low quality, she was still gorgeous. The mute button slid out of his fingers and thumped against the ground.

The fall must have hit the power button, because suddenly the screen blinked into darkness. Dean was unpleasantly surprised to find his face, slack and vaguely aroused, staring back at him.

Only his wasn't the only face there.

He nearly fell off of the couch. "Ca- Jesus, stop doing that!" he growled, jack-knifing up and then disguising it as an attempt to uncomfortably readjust his jacket. Behind him, Cas shifted his weight from foot to foot. "It's two in the morning," Dean griped uncomfortably. "Don't you have clocks up in heaven?"

A familiar frown settled across the angel's features. "Angels do not require clocks, Dean. We-" but Dean, who didn't really want to listen anyway, interrupted him by standing and stomping over to the kitchenette.

"Yeah, yeah. What do you want, Cas?" he demanded roughly, leaning on the counter that faced the rest of the room. He wanted to add that he was tired, and that he needed to sleep, but he held his tongue. Just as Dean didn't want to hear about how angels told time, he was sure Cas didn't want to hear about what was bothering Dean.

Cas' eyebrows knitted and his eyes narrowed, but the expression was minute and brief. Dean wondered if he had caught what Dean wanted to say, or if he understood it. But then old Cas was gone, new Cas' stoicism in his place. "I will be brief," he stated with an admissive nod. "I bring a warning. You must not pursue your current course of action."

Dean raised an eyebrow and glanced back at the television, remembering Scully. Surely Cas wasn't here to police his sex life- or lack thereof. "You're gonna have to be a little more specific than that," he smirked.

Unperturbed by Dean's sarcasm, Cas answered him shortly: "Crowley's problem."

So, he wasn't here about Scully's breasts. "How did you-"

Cas interrupted him. "I'm an angel, Dean. I thought you would have been used to this by now." His tone was clipped, as if he didn't have time for Dean's questions.

The insinuation made the hunter bristle. "Well, thanks for the friendly advice, but I think I can manage on my own," he finally said with a tight smile, mustering up as much sarcasm as he could.

Cas pursed his lips and took an impatient step toward Dean. "No, you do not understand." He paused, and Dean imagined that he was searching for the right lie, one that Dean might believe this time. "There are things you do not know."

That was the understatement of the century. Dean's face hardened. "Oh, yeah? I'm sure there are plenty of things that you're not telling me," he griped bitterly.

Cas' expression mirrored his, and he was silent. Dean waited for any sign that he was going to fight back, to deny what Dean was saying, but it was soon apparent that there were none. So he shook his head and abandoned the countertop, stomping back across the room with his beer and again taking a seat on the couch.

"... why would a real vampire need fake fangs?"

"Fangs are very rarely mentioned in the literature..."

Moments passed before Cas made a sound. He approached Dean carefully. "I am... sorry." Though the words were forced, they were genuine. Dean frowned harder at Scully's neckline. "I wish I was able to give you the answers you want, but I cannot. I can only tell you that you must leave here." His voice was filled with a deep-seated urgency, enough to make Dean abandon his frown and listen. "You must beware of the Rak-"

But before he could finish, there came a knock on the door. Cas stopped speaking very abruptly, and before Dean could even twist around in his seat, he was gone.

Dean stared at the empty space for a good five seconds before another knock jarred him out of his reverie. "Beware of the rock?" he muttered to himself. "Thanks, Cas. Real enlightening."

I don't know why my S6 Dean & Cas are so dramatic. It just sort of happens. Probably unrealistically. But oh well. Anyway, 'ima stop talking now, so thanks for following and reviewing!