Who? Dean, Castiel, and Surprise!Sam What? Banishing angels does not work on Sam. Also, beatdown and angst. Where? Another motel in Wyoming. When? Tonight. Rating? B for BEATDOWN. Which means violence.
Dean tried to focus on the pain, instead of on the fraying edges of his calm, instead of on the stale scent of alcohol and unwashed clothes he was giving off, the feeling of hopelessness trying to crawl back up and drag him under. His back was sore from hours in unfamiliar cars, knees all stiff and his shoulders aching. His hand was throbbing, split open and sore from being cut repeatedly to get blood for the sigils he needed to keep Castiel away, bloody smudges on three different motel walls behind him, three different sets of housekeeping that were going to be confused and alarmed, three different towns that were going to send his DNA to the feds, eventually... three different room payments that were mostly wasted, a couple hours in each at best, like Castiel was waiting and watching until he was at ease before he popped in, although thankfully it wasn’t like he’d been sleeping...
...which he had a feeling was coming, now. He was feeling sluggish, worn thin and worn down from all this running, from a couple of hours in a truck with some old guy who didn’t look like he was even capable of driving anymore, let alone a semi truck at three in the morning, and when he got into his motel room the first thing he did was smear the bloody sigil across the wall near the bed, and then drop onto it, head heavy and eyelids even heavier. He didn’t bother kicking off his shoes or shrugging off his jacket, didn’t bother bandaging his hand because he needed to be ready for when Castiel showed up. He needed to stay awake...
...too long without sleep - too long in the fuzzy not-silence that an empty motel room held - was catching up to him, though. He tried to think of a plan - a permanent solution to keep Castiel away that wouldn’t make it impossible for him to call on Michael - but pretty soon he wasn’t thinking anything at all, white noise in his head and the familiar, not entirely unpleasant smoke-lemon-bleach scent of the bed he was stretched out on dragging him to sleep.