Castiel doesn't answer, instead drifting off into a soft doze. Even after months he still hasn't gotten the hang of sleeping, and it's not even two hours before he wakes up, unable to reach true unconsciousness. He glances over at Dean's bed before sitting up as quietly as possible, pulling on his boots and heading outside.

There's a drainpipe bolted to the wall that looks promising.

Castiel grips the pipe and scrambles up it with no small amount of noise, wincing and hoping he didn't wake any of the other patrons of the motel, but especially Dean. Gripping the gutter and hefting himself up with a wheeze -while Jimmy had always been on the thin side he wasn't exactly the most muscled of men- before rolling onto the shingles.

There. Castiel crawls further onto the roof, draws up his knees, loops his arms around them loosely and watches the clouds drift lazily across the stars.