When they got to their motel, they immediately set about God-proofing it.
Or, they would have, if they had the slightest idea of just how to do that.
But they did know how to angel proof it, thanks to Bobby. Which came in very handy, because their feathered friends started showing up by the dozen.
First there was a blonde woman sitting across the street, staring in their window.
Then a teenage boy in black clothes sat on a stoop.
Then there were three men, of varying age, standing in front of a pawnshop near the motel.
The street was crowded with angels, Dean could feel all their energy in the air, crackling through his shoulder blades.
The two he was expecting never turned up though. Not once did Dean, or Sam for that matter, see a trenchcoat or a shiny bald head sticking out of the crowd.
"Why are they even here?" Dean growled.
"I think it's because they can sense Him. God. They must want to be near Him," Sam guessed, looking over the multitude of heavenly warriors.
Now that Dean looked, they all had kind of a hungry expression on their faces. A pinched, needy want. Very similar to the face Sam made when their Dad was gone for too long.
They wanted their father.
Dean, for one crystallized second, understood completely what the angels were feeling. The abandonment, the need.
Then he realized what he was doing, having an inner chick flick moment, and promptly squished that thought and put it in the pile with all the other brain bits he didn't feel like dealing with.
"So, how do we get them to leave?" Dean asked.
"I think we have to get God to leave," Sam replied. Dean looked at him.
"Sam, I'm not much of a Jesus freak myself, but I don't think there's an exorcism for God." Sam glared at his brother.
"Or," Sam started, "you could just do what He wants and He'll go away." There was that too.
"I don't know what He wants."
"Then ask Him." Dean just then noticed the light stress he and Sam had been putting on God's pronoun, and it pissed him off.
"And how do you suggest I do that, Sam?" Dean asked, crossing his arms over his chest. He threw his head back and announced into thin air; "hey! God! Stop stalking me!"
Dean, half expecting to be hit by lightning, was almost relieved when nothing happened.
"Dean…" Sam said, rolling his eyes, "maybe you should go to sleep."
That could work too.
Having his little brother tuck him into bed, or at least try to, because Dean was not going to have that, was awkward.
"Dude, I think I know how to sleep," Dean said, trying to push Sam away from his bed.
"Dean," Sam whined, forehead wrinkled. "Will you at least try to let me help?"
Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah, sure. You can start by going away." Sam clenched his jaw and walked away. Huh, that had actually worked.
Or not. Dean smelled peppermint as Sam walked back with a steaming mug of something.
Dean raised an eyebrow.
"It's tea," Sam said, half defensive over his girly drink. "It helped me fall asleep a few times." Dean could tell that by 'a few times," Sam meant 'when you were in Hell.'
That pretty much sealed the deal, and Dean took the mug with a long suffering sigh. He took a swig of it. The tea was just shy of boiling and sweet mint, with just a hint of bitterness that clung to the back of his throat. Not bad, though Sam didn't have to know that.
"So?" Sam asked.
"I drank it," Dean said dryly.
"I can't sleep with you staring at me." Sam snorted and walked to the window, peering out at the angels. Dean figured that Sam would probably keep watch until he thought Dean was sleeping. Not that Dean would be sleeping, but it wouldn't exactly hurt him to curl up and shut his eyes for a while. They could figure out a new plan when he 'woke up.'
Dean settled on his side under the covers. The bed was a bit softer than he remembered. He shut his eyes and yawned, playing it up for Sam. His head sunk into the pillow.
Dean didn't actually realize that he was falling asleep until the last possible second.
That tea stuff must've worked after all.
It wasn't a beach this time. Dean woke up stretched out on the back seat of the Impala, one foot hanging out the open door. He sat up sluggishly, the whole world a little blurrier than the last time he dreamed, and hit his head on the roof of the car.
"Ow." At least it woke him up a bit more. He climbed out, rubbing his forehead.
The car was parked by the side of a country road. Not the same one he had been driving down earlier, but pretty damn similar.
"I see you're finally awake."
Leaning against the hood of the car, with a smirk and a beer, was God.
"No thanks to you," Dean said, trying to ward off an impending headache. The world was still oddly slow, like the air was thicker there, or something. God handed him a beer. Dean was pretty sure that hadn't been there a second ago, but he wouldn't be surprised if one of the perks of being the Almighty was the ability to make alcohol from thin air.
Dean accepted it and took a grateful swig.
"What do you want?" Dean asked, relaxing against the car next to God. It was strange to be talking to John this casually, but something about that place made it seem okay, somehow. Like, for one moment, they could talk as equals.
"I want my children to be happy," God replied.
"You're gonna have to be more specific." God chuckled.
"Y'know, the last time you talked to your brother-" God started, the grin disappearing from his face.
"The one that isn't Sam?" Dean asked skeptically. The corner of God's mouth turned up in a tiny smile.
"The one that isn't Sam," He agreed. "The last time you two talked, you were both confused. Lost." He paused for a drink. "But your brother, the old one, knew that you needed to lean on him, so he let you."
Dean didn't have the slightest clue as to what God was talking about.
"He thinks you're fragile, Dean," God continued. "He won't approach you if you won't let him."
"Who?" Dean asked, really tired of the pronoun game. God grinned, what Dean was starting to think of as his mysterious ways smile.
"You'll need that," God said, pointing at Dean's beer bottle. He checked it, and yeah, it was just a plain brown glass bottle, but when he looked up, God was gone.
Dean clenched his jaw, and tightened his grip on the bottle so tight he thought he was going to break it. He opened his mouth to speak, but decided against it.
Telling God to go fuck himself was probably a Hell-able offense.
Dean came to slower than last time, pulling himself out of a murky sleep. His eyes just didn't seem to want to open.
"Dean?" Sam asked, sounding shocked.
"Who else looks this good?" Dean quipped. Man, his head hurt. And his tongue felt fuzzy.
"What happened?" Sam asked, abandoning his position by the window to sit on Dean's bed.
"I have to find whoever I'm mistreating and get him to talk about his feelings or some shit," Dean said, rubbing his forehead.
"Did he say who it was?"
"No," Dean said, tilting his head upwards. "Very helpful, by the way!" He announced to the ceiling. Sam glared at him. Dean stuck one foot out of bed and tried to stand, noticing two things.
One, his legs didn't seem to support his weight, and he crashed to the floor.
Two, there was a brown glass beer bottle in his bed, under the covers, at about the level where his hand was when he was sleeping.
"Dean!" Sam said, running to his side. He tried to help his brother up, but Dean shook him off. "You shouldn't be trying to walk!"
"I'm fine, Sammy," Dean said, using the side of the bed to haul himself to his feet. Wait.
"What do you mean, I shouldn't be trying to walk?" Sam gulped, and dropped his eyes to stare at the floor. Dean remembered the bitter aftertaste in his tea.
"Sam," Dean barked, climbing onto the bed, "did you drug me?"
The bottle rolled off the bed and onto the floor with a clunk.
Sam looked away.
"Sam." Dean stood, still shaky but too pissed off to fall over. He opened his mouth to say more, but was distracted by a low whir around the level of his ankles. Like a fan blade spinning on the floor.
Dean and Sam both looked down, to see God's beer bottle spinning lazily in a circle, slowly gaining speed. Dean took a cautious step back.
The brown glass bottle spun, faster faster faster, until it was more of a blur than a bottle, making a scraping noise against the floor. Then, as suddenly as it started, it stopped, the neck of the bottle pointing out the window.
"Uh…" Sam said. Dean felt inclined to agree. He knelt down, reaching for the bottle slowly. He really hoped he wasn't about to get shocked or something.
He was, sort of. The second his fingers closed around the brown glass, a fizzy sort of energy traveled it's way up his arm, dispelling all the after effects of whatever Sam had slipped him. Dean lurched forward with the sudden rush.
"Dean," Sam said, unconsciously stepping forward to catch him. Dean caught himself with one hand and practically jumped the rest of the way up. His arm felt tingly, like it was asleep.
"Awesome," Dean said, grinning at God's magic bottle.
"Dude…" Sam said, confused. Dean moved the grin over to his little brother. "You okay?"
"I'm great, Sammy," Sam put on his, seldom used, confused and somewhat disturbed face.
"Because… of beer?" Sam asked, eyebrows nearly hidden under his bangs.
"Magic beer!" Dean said, pointing at Sam with his left hand. The hand not holding his magic bottle.
If Sam wasn't careful, his face would freeze like that.
"So," Sam said, obviously uncomfortable with the recent events, "what do we do?"
Dean held his hand flat and loosened his grip on the bottle until it laid flat on his palm. Slowly the neck turned to point out the window. A compass returning to true north.
"We go that way," Dean said.
"What about the angels?" Sam asked, seeming to gain a bit of confidence in the new direction things were going.
"Have a little faith, Sammy."
"I still think this is a bad idea," Sam grumbled, as Dean climbed into the car. It would be safer to leave him behind, away from the attention of angels. Dean didn't reply, starting the car. The bottle was deep in his jacket pocket, giving off a low hum that he could feel through the leather.
Dean took off in the direction the bottle had showed him, out of the rearview mirror, he saw most, if not all, of the angels disappear. They were following him.
Dean took every turn on instinct. The bottle was giving him directions. It drove him out of town, and onto an old country road.
Oh. That's where the dream came from.
He stopped in the middle of the road and got out of the car. For the thousandth time that day, he acted on complete faith, a feeling so strange to him that he couldn't quite name it, and placed the bottle on it's side in the middle of the road.
"Winchester," said a flat voice from behind him. Dean turned, and there was one of the angels that had been sitting outside of his motel room. The gothic teenager. "What are you doing with that?" he growled.
Dean licked his lips. He had no idea, but something told him that angel-boy wouldn't quite understand that. More angels appeared, swirling in from thin air with the hiss of wings. They formed a rough circle around him. Around the bottle.
Hysterical laughter hit the back of his throat. Heaven's army was ambushing him to steal an empty beer bottle.
As Dean laughed, the bottle started to spin. He stopped. All eyes were on the brown glass, as it spun faster and faster, this time making a whistling noise that hurt Dean's ears and drilled into his brain. He slammed his hands over his ears and gritted his teeth.
The bottle was spinning so fast that it was starting to pull itself off the ground, standing almost straight. A dull white glow came from inside of it.
Just as it stood by itself, something told Dean not to look. He dropped to his knees and closed his eyes, bowing his head to protect it.
The bottle exploded.
There was a flash of light that he felt just as much as saw through his eyelids. After it was gone, he opened his eyes and looked around, the whole world purplish, like the spot he saw after a camera flash.
The angels were gone.
"Dean?" Castiel asked, and where the hell did he come from?
"Cas? What're you doing here?"
"I thought…" Castiel said, looking around. "I thought I felt… Uriel." His voice was still impassive, but his tone was softer, scared and hopeful. Lost.
His brother was Cas.
"Where is tall dark and ugly?" Dean asked, lately he never saw Castiel without his partner.
Fuck. Dean was officially asshole of the year.
"Dude, what happened?" Dean asked, getting to his feet.
"He fell…" Castiel's voice wavered slightly, Dean almost didn't catch it, "in battle."
"Look, man. I'm sorry." Dean said, and was surprised to find that he meant it. He hadn't exactly liked the guy, but he was Cas' friend.
Cas, who had been fixing his gaze somewhere around Dean's left earlobe, looked directly into his eyes. Holy crap, the angel must've been staring directly into Dean's soul or something, because he kind of couldn't move. Or talk. Or breathe right.
"You are," Cas said, like it surprised him too. Hey, Dean wasn't a complete jerk.
Cas took another step forward, directly into Dean's personal bubble, never breaking eye contact.
Dean had to be imagining that weird electricity in the air.
Castiel looked down, to Dean's boots, letting him breathe. That was his sudden and possibly devastating announcement face.
"Dean," Cas said, looking back up to his eyes. "The last time we spoke…"
"What?" Dean asked.
"I should have told you something." Castiel bit the inside of his lip, apparently steeling himself for something. Dean's heart skipped a beat.
"God chose the right man for this."
Dean gulped. Castiel reached forward and placed a hand on his shoulder. A hand that, if Dean didn't know that Cas wasn't human, would've seemed to shake.
"Is that what you were told?" And Dean should really just shut up.
"That is what I believe."
He stood there for a second, staring into the angel's eyes and feeling mildly uncomfortable, and then blurted.
"I really am sorry about Uriel." Cas closed his eyes.
"As am I." He said.
Castiel leaned his head forward slightly, and rested it on Dean's shoulder.
He didn't even notice how close they were until that very second.
God had said that Cas needed to lean on him, but Dean hadn't really expected it literally. But, seeing as his arms were still at his sides, it wasn't technically a hug, so not girly in the slightest. That was his story and he planned on sticking to it.
That's when Dean saw God for the fifth time.
He was standing by the side of the road, shoulders relaxed and hands in his pockets.
"Meatheads," He said affectionately. Cas didn't appear to hear him.
How was he a meathead? Unless there was something that he was still missing, that they were both missing.
Castiel turned his head, facing him.
"Dean," the angel said softly.
Dean was a gigantic meathead.
And then Cas kissed him.