(no subject)

Castiel goes as far as the room next door. Still familiar--with its blue striped wallpaper and odd collection of objects and baseball cap on the closet door--in spite of, what feels to Castiel, like a long absence.

He feels something warm and wet slide down onto his lip and wipes at it, eying the smear of blood on his hand with a degree of consternation. Due to proximity, more of Dean's blows had landed than hadn't.

But no matter.

Castiel collects himself and closes his eyes.

"Michael. I am in need of your help."