“Look, just—,” Dean said, holding his hand up to Michael, bloody and broken but still so victorious. Castiel glanced at his angel blade on the floor feet away and wondered if was worth a shot, just to take that look of Michael’s face.
“Just give us a sec, okay? Don’t go anywhere.”
Michael was smiling again as he looked at his prize. “I’ll be here.”
Dean hummed before spinning around and grabbing Castiel by the coat sleeve. He dragged him into the hallway outside of the war room, and Castiel let him.
“Have you lost your mind?” Castiel said as soon as they rounded the corner, his sorrow at hearing how easily Dean would throw his life away transforming into aggression. “Dean, nothing good will come of this. You know that.”
“No I don’t know that,” Dean said, rounding on him when he figured Michael was out of earshot. “We made a deal.”
Castiel’s brows shot up, and he scoffed. “You really think that makes a difference to him? You’re not stupid, Dean.”
“We gotta try.”
“No. We don’t. We will find another way.”
Dean let out a frustrated sound from low in his throat, like a growl. “I don’t have time for this, Cas!” he erupted. “Sam could be dead by now!”
“And you want to join him?“
He expected that to get a rise out of Dean. He expected Dean to shout. He wanted that, to get Dean riled up, to use that energy to fight Lucifer on their own terms, terms that didn’t involve Michael.
But Dean deflated, and dragged his hands down his face. When they again fell to his sides, his expression was forlorn, tired.