Characters: Sam, Dean and Castiel (Gen, Humor bordering on Crack)
Summary: Five unwelcome times Castiel interrupted Dean. Of the many we all know exist. ;)
Author's Note: After writing the Next Time, Knock drabble, I went off on a comment tangent with someone at fanfiction.net, which led to this follow-on story.
"Aaah!" Dean jolted in surprise, nearly slipping in the process. "Get out of here—you don't just barge in on someone while they're in the bathroom."
"But you are showering."
"Still private!" Dean ducked under the showerhead to rinse the shampoo out of his hair, trying to hurry things along before Castiel got any more impatient. Or before his creepy-ass human-hating buddy showed up. Uriel was probably itching to smite Dean out of irritation and sheer boredom.
"We need to save the world," Castiel continued.
"Go ahead and start without me—I have to get dressed. I do all my world-saving with my clothes on."
"As you wish."
"Hand me that towel. And for God's sake, turn around."
"I do not see—" Castiel began.
"Just do it."
"Who is this young woman, Dean?"
The redhead gasped and reached for the sheets, but she didn't scream.
"Kind of busy right now, Castiel," Dean warned.
"What's this, the jealous boyfriend?" the woman snapped. "You guys are all the same—you'll say anything to get a girl in bed." She pulled the sheets with her as she gathered up her clothes and headed to the bathroom. "Well count me out. I'm not taking part in your petty arguments or sick fantasies."
The door slammed behind her.
Dean ground his teeth in vexation. "This had better be good…"
The bed creaked, and Sam turned to look over his shoulder. He elbowed Dean. "It's for you."
"Castiel," Dean groaned. "You're sitting on my foot."
"I am sorry." The angel moved over slightly but continued to stare at him, waiting.
Bad enough that Castiel just showed up day and night, but Dean was not doing this conversation lying down. He sat up, glowering. "What is it now?"
Castiel paused. "Why do you do this, with your brother?"
"What, sleep? Regular humans—you know, the kind who drive their bodies themselves—need lots of sleep. Hours of it, every single day. Preferably uninterrupted."
"I meant sleeping in one bed. Usually you are in different beds."
Dean snorted. "Take a look around. This is the best we could do tonight, and it isn't all that great."
"Yes," Castiel agreed. "The walls are ugly."
"You should see them in daylight."
"Trying to sleep here…" Sam grumbled from the other side of the bed.
"Please tell me you didn't wake me up just to ask annoying questions about motel rooms and sleeping arrangements," Dean whispered loudly.
"Of course not. This is urgent business."
"Right," Dean sighed, "it always is. What poor defenseless little town is bothering you now?"
"That does not look healthy."
Dean choked on his hot dog, almost inhaling the relish. For a moment he wondered if Castiel knew the Heimlich maneuver, but a touch on his forehead cleared the obstruction from his throat. "Why," he finally gasped, "do you do that? And aren't you kind of forgetting to be subtle about the comings and goings?"
Castiel looked around him. "They do not notice. They are absorbed in their own lives."
"Uh-huh." Dean decided he was done eating, at least while he had company. He swallowed the last of his Coke. "So…" he prodded.
"We have work to do," Castiel said earnestly.
"What else is new? And don't you have anyone else in your arsenal besides me?"
Dean was putting on his shirt when the motel room windows exploded.
Sam dropped his book. "What—"
Dean just rolled his eyes. "I thought you had that whole arrival thing licked by now," he called out, not even looking behind him.
"I am still adjusting to using a human body."
"Yeah?" Dean said. "You do that to my car and you're dead meat. Just so we're clear."
"But this is important. The future depends on it."
"The whole future?" Dean said dryly, leaning down to pull on his boots.
"The future of this battle, and all that it represents."
"Uh huh. Not like that time you dragged me off into the past to keep something from happening that I couldn't do the slightest thing about, right?"
"Dean," Sam hissed. He knew Dean didn't like surprises—unless they involved liquor or naked women—but still, Messenger of the Lord and Wrath of God. Sam really didn't want Dean getting sent back to Hell just because he couldn't keep his big mouth shut.
"I've got this, Sammy." Dean waved him off.
"No you don't!" Sam got to his feet and stood up straight. "We would be honored to help you. What do you need?"
Castiel gazed at Sam beatifically, stepping over the broken glass and into the light. "There is a child in Arizona drawing pictures of the End of Days. We must stop her."
Dean raised a pointed eyebrow. "Would this be, I don't know, a bunch of red and black scribbles that only someone like you would even recognize as looking like anything?" he asked.
"Perhaps," Castiel admitted.
"Oh," Sam said. Then he edged closer to Dean, and whispered, "How did you know?"
"Not my first trip to Angel Island, if you catch my drift."
Sam frowned. "So now what?" he muttered.
Dean turned to face the angel and raised his voice. "I'm afraid Sam and I need to eat and then go to bed. To renew our energy for another day. So we'll have to pass on this one."
"You are not coming?" Castiel looked perturbed. He took a deep breath. "Very well. But there is much important work to be done. I shall return to summon you again."
"Of course you will."
Dean found himself talking to empty air—the angel was already gone. "Whatever," he muttered, looking at the mess that remained behind. "Why should tomorrow be any different?"
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