There is vampire in your hair. And you are extremely unhappy about it.
You told them time and time again that you weren't available to hunt this week. It's Me Time Week. It's that rare and fleeting time of year where you pamper yourself and drive multiple states over to the one hairdresser you trust for a press and trim. And you stay in a fancy hotel and eat at fancy restaurants and get a mani-pedi and a facial. And wear dresses! AND NOT GET VAMPIRE ICHOR IN YOUR HAIR.
Those dummies head into a nest with poor intel and somehow it becomes your damn responsibility to bail them out. Castiel is running low on angel juice nowadays and he had a choice: try to zap the vamps but maybe not get them all or pop into your hotel room and pop you back to...wherever the fuck this is? HE DIDN'T EVEN TELL YOU WHERE YOU ARE.
All these angry thoughts are racing through your head, mingling with the blood pumping wildly through your body and drowning out the sound around you. You can't tell where the andraline is coming from anymore. There were 29 vamps in this nest - 16 more than they thought. Going up against a baker's dozen with only three fighters wasn't smart but no one ever said the Winchesters were burdened with an overabundance of common sense.
You'd already made it back to the car, cursing and muttering to yourself and throwing your machete into the ground hard enough that it stuck straight in like the Sword in the Stone. You were about to open the trunk when you felt a hand on your shoulder. You instinctively whirled around and punched the hand's owner - it was Dean. And it was a great right hook.
"Ow! What the hell," he exclaimed as he staggered back a few steps.
"You're lucky I'm not still carrying a machete, you dick bag," you yelled back. "Castiel, get your feathery ass over here and take me back!"
Cas wasn't that far away but jogged over when he heard you yell. "I'm sorry," he began, unable to look you in the eye, "but I need more time before I can-"
Your growl of frustration cut him off. He looked very, very uncomfortable.
"What the hell is your damage," Dean asked, rubbing his jaw. You clenched your teeth as your hands flexed into tight fists at your sides.
"Dean," you gritted out, "Do you have any idea how long it takes to do my hair? And how much it costs? And how much vampire goo is now in it after I literally just got it done?" He stopped moving all together, a spark of recognition in his eyes.
After a beat, all he could manage was, "Oh."
"'Oh,' he says. Mother fucking 'oh.' This is it. This is your very last favor, Winchester. I'm out. Finito. Dunzo. In fact, you owe me and there is no way I can calculate just how much. NO WAY!"
You stalk towards the treeline and start picking up and breaking fallen branches out of frustration. Dean and Cas just kinda stand there staring as Sam walks up, taking in the scene. "Uh, what the hell did you guys do," he asks quietly so as not to get your attention.
Dean sighs, rubbing his still aching jaw. "We fucked up."