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It had been a slow month. There were no new hunts aside from the vague shifter or poltergeist a few states over. Angel radio had gone nearly silent since Hannah had taken charge of heaven, and Crowley was keeping his demons quiet and busy with their crossroad deals and nothing more.
All this to say, Dean was bored out of his skull. Sam, on the other hand, was thankful for the silence, and spent most of his hours holed up in the library pouring over old texts and childhood stories. More than once Dean had found Sam bent over the Wizard of Oz.
“You know we met Dorothy, right?” Dean groaned one afternoon after finding Sam sprawled out on the sofa, all six feet and four inches falling over the arm rests and cushions.
“Yeah,” Sam rolled his eyes. “It’s still a good story, Dean.”
Dean huffed but kept the rest of his thoughts to himself.
It’d been two weeks since then, and there was still nothing. Castiel had dropped in on the third week to check on them. Something about leads on the darkness going cold, Dean guessed. Castiel hadn’t said much on the matter. Either way, the results were few or null, and there were no hunts to curb Dean’s boredom and restlessness.
Which brought him to now. There was nothing else for it.
It was time to clean up the bunker.
It was about time, really. The place had grown dusty in several areas, and Dean may not have been the best about picking up his trash, but he hated clutter. There were bags of trash that had long since ripened, and Dean knew for a fact that they were overdue for a haul out.
So out it went. After that, dusting.
He took out the cupboards and shelves first. The dust was thick and heavy, clearly the evidence of lack of care and procrastination. Dean sneezed for the up-teenth time as he made his way to the library. Maybe instead of taking out the guest rooms nobody used, Dean could probably get more useful work done in their often inhabited study area.
Dean started in the back near the old lore and legends section. He and Sam had dug through those shelves many times in the past, and Dean could see the benefits of not having to worry about sneezing or allergies if more hunts popped up in the future.
He was getting ready to move to the magic and witchcraft section when he heard the sound of a body dropping into a seat by the table.
Dean glanced over, smile slipping into place when he realized who it was.
Castiel looked tired and irritable. His hair was in disarray, more than usual, and his clothes were rumpled and dirty.
The sight of his best friend in frustration should have spiked some pity in Dean’s heart, but Dean was just as bored and itchy to get something done as anybody else. The sight of the brooding angel may not have caused a flicker of empathy, but it did inspire something else.
Dean twirled the spray bottle in his hands, chewed the inside of his cheek in thought. He was standing on a step stool to reach the top of the bookshelves, and he had the perfect angle from where he stood.
He bit his lip and grinned slowly. He aimed the bottle and sprayed.
The result was instantaneous.
Castiel jumped in shock and stared up at Dean in confusion, water droplets spread out across the angels cheeks, evidence of Dean’s mischief.
“What was that?” Castiel asked, and Dean was pleased not to hear too much frustration in his tone.
Dean grinned in reply and pulled the trigger again, watching as the spots of water landed in the angel’s hair and on his shoulders.
Castiel spluttered and shook his head, hands coming up to wipe his face. When he looked up again, his eyes flashed in annoyance.
Dean took it as a win.
“Dean,” Castiel growled, tone warning. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing,” Dean replied casually, holding back a laugh. “Just cleaning up around here.”
“Then why are you spraying water on me,” Castiel grumbled. “My grace allows me the ability to stay very--”
He was interrupted by three more sprays from Dean’s water bottle, and Dean beamed at the growl he earned.
“Dean!” Castiel snapped, now standing. “You’re being ridiculous!”
“That’s kinda’ the point Cas,” Dean said, spraying again.
Castiel shook his head hard, water droplets flying from the ends of his hair. His gaze was nearly murderous, but Dean could’ve sworn he saw the angel smirk.
“Stop that,” Castiel said darkly.
Dean bit his lip, holding back a grin, and slowly lowered the bottle, feigning submission.
But then, “Make me.”
He snapped up the bottle and sprayed one last time, and Castiel reeled back in surprise. Dean took that as his chance and jumped off the stool, making a mad dash away from the library.
“Dean!” Castiel roared, but Dean only laughed.
Finally, something exciting for a change.