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He was falling. That was the first thing that Sam registered, but before he could do more than contemplate how much he despised the sensation, his back impacted a hard floor, and then his head snapped back and hit it with a thump as well. "Ow." At this rate, he really was going to end up with a concussion.

"I hate him," Dean muttered. There was some rustling and then Dean leaned over to look down at him. "Are you okay?"

Sam stared back for a moment and then looked past him at a stained, cracked ceiling. And the lack of a giant television on the wall. Apparently they weren't at Gabriel's anymore. He probably shouldn't be surprised. "Dude?"

"Yeah?" Dean offered a hand, pulling him to his feet.

"Stop pissing off the archangel."

Dean looked like he wanted to object, but then his eyes widened suddenly and he spun. "Cas? Cas, are you here?"

No response, and Sam frowned and twisted to scan the room as well. "Castiel?" They were in a motel…not one he recognized, but that didn't mean much. It didn't take a genius to figure out what must have happened: Dean and Gabriel had gotten into a fight, Gabriel had decided that the best way to end it was to get rid of Dean—although apparently not permanently, which Sam supposed he should be grateful about—and he had transported them here. Wherever here was. But Cas not being with them…that couldn't be good. "Cas!"

"You don't think he'd hurt Cas, right?"

Dean sounded almost panicked, and Sam shook at head and twisted to frown at him. "What? No, I don't think so. Didn't we talk about this earlier?" He paused. "Wait, what did you do?"

Dean looked uncomfortable, opening the closet and then the door to the bathroom and sticking his head in. "Cas?"

"Dean, what did you do?" Sam repeated.

"I sort of suggested that Gabriel kill Cas."

"You what? Why?"

"Well, it's not like I thought that he'd do it! He was going on about wanting us to 'play our roles' again, and then he said that he wanted to save all the angels who'd died, and…." He shook his head. "Does he really think that forcing us to let Michael and Lucifer in is going to save any angels? I mean, they're trying to start a war! And if it does come to that, both of them going to be gunning for Cas anyway after all he's done for us."

"So, what, you told him that he should just kill Cas now?" Granted that his brother could be an idiot sometimes, but that seemed unusually dense.

"Well…technically, I guess." Dean kicked a desk chair viciously. "But it's not like I thought he'd take me seriously! He was just irritating the hell out of me."

"Great." Sam pulled out his cell—which was fortunately still in his pocket and undamaged, a minor miracle considering the number of things that he'd been slammed into today—and started to punch in Cas' number, only to break off with a curse as he remembered that Cas' phone was shut off. They really needed to get that replaced. "Any idea where we are?"

"Uh…." Dean grabbed a pad of paper off the desk. "Sandy Shores Motel."

"Not in South Dakota any more then, I assume." Or possibly it was just an incredibly poorly named motel. It wasn't like they'd never stayed in one of those, before. He pulled open the nightstand beside the bed, tossed aside the obligatory Bible, and pulled out a phone book. A several year old phone book—unless Gabriel had sent them back in time, which, Sam supposed, he really shouldn't rule out offhand—but good enough for his purposes. "We are in Wyoming. Michigan."

"Wyoming, Michigan? Seriously?" Dean pulled open the curtains and then yanked them back down again. "Damn it. I don't like this."

"Join the crowd." Cas was God-knows-where, Gabriel—who occasionally made instability an art form—had, for all intents and purposes, just been dared to kill him, all their weapons and supplies were in South Dakota—

"My car!" Dean pulled open the shades on the window again and swore.

Their car was in South Dakota….

Sam pulled out his phone again and dialed Bobby's number, relaxing a little when Bobby picked up immediately. Maybe—

"Why the hell is your car hanging off my porch?" Bobby demanded before he could manage even a greeting. "How the much did you idjits have to drink last night?"


"Well? Where are you?"

"Michigan. Look, this is going to sound stupid, but what's today's date?"

"What's today's—what day do you think it is? And what do you mean, Michigan? You better start making some sense, boy; the last I heard you two were up in South Dakota! And now I've got a damn car on my porch! Is your brother with you? Cas? Or is this some scheme of his?"

"Yeah, Dean's here. And no, Cas didn't do it. We're, uh, not real sure where he is at the moment. Long story short, it's Gabriel's fault." He turned back to Dean. "Dude, stop pacing, the Impala is at Bobby's."

"And Cas?"



Sam put the phone back to his ear. "Hey, Bobby, is our stuff in the car?"

"How the hell would I know? Do you know how long it's been since I've reinforced the supports on that thing? I ain't going out there when there's a car jammed up on it."

"Right." Sam shook his head. "Look, we're going to grab a car and head for your place, I guess. Pick up the Impala, try and find out what happened to Cas, and go from there."

He heard Bobby sigh. "All right, you do that."

"Can you keep an eye on Cold Oak and the surrounding area for me? In case Cas turns up there again, or our skinwalker takes another victim?"

"Will do. You two just hurry; I don't like the creaking I'm hearing from my porch."