Evening was fast approaching, and the second of Dean's must-see westerns was finally drawing to a close. As the credits started to roll, the hunter tried to gauge the audience's reactions. Sam was at a nearby table doing who knows what on his computer, but Dean knew his indifference was a bit of a front. He could have chosen to research anywhere, but he stayed settled in the newly rebuilt "man cave" and snuck glances at the films whenever he thought Dean wasn't looking.

Cas on the other hand was hard to read. Dean watched as the angel expressionlessly watched the credits roll, his face entirely unchanged from when the movie itself was playing. When Dean finally flipped back to the menu, Cas leaned back, facing Dean, but his expression remained the same.

"So?" The hunter encouraged. As seconds passed and Cas remained silent, he pressed on. "What did you think?"

Cas appeared to choose his words carefully. "Did San Francisco have a prosperous dry goods market at the time?"

"Did-" Dean stuttered slightly, his expression cooling off to one of muted disbelief. "The whole movie and thats-"

Sam didn't manage to swallow his laugh. Dean glared at him.

Cas just looked innocent at this point, still half lost in thought.

Dean stood, rubbing a hand over his face. "Fine okay, whatever." He walked to a shelf and dug through it, picking out 5 more movie titles. He returned to the couch. "Here. You pick our next feature. I'm going to go put on a pot of coffee."

"Dude, it's like 7pm." Sam protested. "You're going to make coffee?"

"Caffeine is calling my name." Sam just stared at him. "I have a headache." He finally said. "Bit of caffeine is just what I need."

"If you have a headache take a tylenol." Sam pulled a face. "Or drink some water like an adult. You're probably just dehydrated."

Dean rolled his eyes. "I know what I need, thank you." He walked out of the room before Sam could continue his argument.

To be truthful, Dean's headache had been building throughout the entire last film. It felt like when he woke after missing out on his full four hours of sleep, and coffee seemed like the obvious solution.

Dean was just finally pouring himself a cup when a very uncomfortable Castiel walked into the room. The hunter leaned back against the counter, taking a sip and raising an eyebrow, amused as the angel struggled to casually begin a conversation. Cas seemed to just give up, instead extending his arm, a bottle of tylenol in his hand. "Sam sent me with these, I think to use me as a shield against your displeasure."

The older hunter chuckled. "Yeah, I'll bet." He hesitated, but decided for once not to be a complete ass, especially since Cas was an innocent in all this. He opened the bottle and shook two out, washing them down with a swig of still-slightly-too-hot coffee. He closed the bottle and tossed them onto the counter. He closed his eyes, hands on the warm mug, willing the pills or the caffeine or both to work their magic. When he opened his eyes, Cas was studying him with a frown.

"Are you alright Dean?"

"I'm fine." Dean dismissed, a little defensively as Cas stepped forward, lifting a hand as if to touch him.

"You don't look well." Castiel stopped short of actually inspecting him, letting his hand drop, but remaining just slightly closer than would normally be socially normal.

Dean pulled a face. "You're just trying to get out of another movie." He split into a wide grin. "Yeah, I don't think so buddy." He clapped Cas on the shoulder for the second time that day, and guided him back out of the kitchen, heading back towards the waiting television.

Neither the coffee nor the painkillers seemed to offer any assistance however, and part way through the next feature, the hunter found his mind entirely unable to focus on the plot. He wouldn't know how to describe it other than everything just felt off. His head had moved on from a dull ache to a full on splitting pain. He felt as though his heart was racing in his chest. When he started to sweat he finally spoke up. "Jesus, it's hot in here."

The room seemed to tunnel around him, pulling back from his echoing inner thoughts to the spotlight he threw on himself speaking in an otherwise mostly quiet room. All eyes were on him. He flustered a bit, offering a half smile and then a frown as Cas picked up the remote and paused the movie.

Sam paused his typing and looked Dean over closely. "I actually think it's a little chilly. You feeling alright?"

"Yeah." Dean shrugged. "Just a little warm."

"Sam is correct, the temperature is no warmer than usual, and has not increased since our arrival here hours ago."

"You look a little pale." Sam added.

Dean scowled. "Enough with the third degree. I'm fine. Just warm. Didn't realize that was a crime." He snapped. He felt instantly bad, unsure why he had been so short over something that was clearly not an attack. Still, never one to back down, he furrowed his brow to cement his position on this.

A moment passed where no one said anything, and the two men just continued to look over Dean's still form before he finally snapped. "You know what, I think I'm just restless." Dean hopped to his feet. "I think that's enough sitting around watching TV for one day. I will see you boys in the morning." He left as quickly as possible, suddenly uncomfortable with the amount of attention he was getting.

Cas looked to Sam, confusion written across his face, but Sam just looked at the door his brother had left through. "He doesn't love being trapped." the younger hunter said hesitantly. "I think he may just be feeling a little cornered. Little whiskey, little sleep, he'll be good as new." He didn't sound entirely convinced, but Cas nodded anyway, hoping he was right.

Entering his room, Dean shut the door behind him, coming to lean against the sink and look at his face in the mirror. He wasn't sure what everyone else was on about, but it was warm. The sweat on his forehead confirmed it. He splashed some water on his face, feeling settled by the coolness it promoted. Taking a deep breath, he kicked off his boots and outer button down shirt, getting ready to settle in for the night. He flopped down on his bed, dragged over his headphones, and allowed himself to drown out intrusive thoughts with good old rock.

There, with his arm thrown over his face in an attempt to limit the light reaching his eyes, he let himself drift away, trying to ignore his present discomfort. Whatever this was, it had to ease up.