AN- This is set somewhere in Season 5 after 'Sam, Interrupted'. No real spoilers, just a bit of crack.

Somewhere in Illinois...


Sam turned his head toward the sound. The 'Aaarrgh!' in question was less of a yell as it was a groan. The kind of groan one can only make after a very long and very weird (even by Winchester standards) day.

Of course, the sound had come from his brother, Dean, as he threw himself on to one of the mangy hotel beds.

"Can we have just one day that doesn't end with one of us getting strangled?"

The question came out muffled, seeing as Dean had his face buried deep in a stack of pillows at the time, but Sam had many years of experience deciphering Dean's often incomprehensible rants. Dean paused to draw breath, and then continued in a similar vein.

Sam grunted in response. He was a little preoccupied with the burn marks in his new favorite shirt. His old favorite shirt had survived at least a week longer than this one. Not that it was relevant. All his favorite shirts were destined to be destroyed eventually. This ticked Sam off.

"Dude, are you even listening to me?"

This ticked Sam off more.

"Just shut up already!"

"Anger issues much?" Dean asked, ducking Sam's ginormous shoe.

Sam was holding his other shoe (practically a boat, when you think about it) when Dean's phone went off.

"Hold that angry thought. Yeah?" The second part was directed to Castiel, who was on the other end of the line.

"Uh huh. Mhhhmm. Uh huh." Dean's eyes glittered and he contemplated Sam's furious figure in a new, somewhat malicious, light. "No, that's a great idea. We're in the Blue Boy Motel off the highway, room 17. See you soon."

Dean snapped his phone shut.

"You can continue with the shoe throwing if you really feel like it."

Sam chose to ignore this somewhat moronic comment.

"What did Cas want?"

Dean's malicious grin widened.

"You'll see."

Dean was spared having to duck Sam's other shoe (boat) due to the impeccable timing of Castiel's knock on the door.

"Cas! Come on in, I think Sam's really going to like this."

Sam studied the plastic bags hanging off of Castiel's arms.

"What'd you get?" He asked, foul mood momentarily forgotten.

Castiel regarded him solemnly.

"Dean has confided in me about your persistent feelings of rage."

Sam threw Dean an angry look, but held onto the shoe. They had company, after all. Some semblance of manners had to be represented.

Castiel continued.

"Since I consider you a friend, I searched for a way to help."

Dean was practically bouncing up and down.

"I discovered several human methods for managing stress and other negative emotions, which I believe you will find most therapeutic."

Having finished his little speech, Castiel reached into one of his shopping bags and pulled out an instructional DVD.

"Yoga? No way, that's not my thing. I mean, besides -"

Castiel cut off Sam's babbling.

"I brought appropriate attire."

Appropriate attire meant a teeny-tiny-obviously-skin-tight black unitard. With sparkles.

By this point, Dean couldn't contain his laughter.

Sam threw the other shoe.