Smoke poured out of the still smoldering remains of the oven, blackening the walls and ceiling. Dean had thought he had seen enough smoke blackened walls to last him a life time, but apparently not.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to forestall the headache he could feel building. The bitter, pungent smell of burning was already making his head throb.
"Well, there goes our deposit," he finally said with a sigh. Castiel, perpetrator of the destruction, shuffled his feet, eyes fixed on the floor. The angel's eyes were watering a little from the smoke too, but he didn't seem to have noticed.
His tie was charred and his shirt, jacket and trench coat were covered in black marks. Even his hair was more disheveled than his usual "just crawled out of bed" style. All in all, he was the very picture of slightly exploded contrition. He blushed at Dean's words.
Dean knew Cas would have preferred that he yelled, gotten angry, anything but resignation, but it had been a very stressful day a