"So what do you think of this whole 'Mother' deal?" Dean thumps two bottles of beer down on the table. Sam picks one up, making a face at the spilled foam now running down the side. The bar isn't the best place to have this conversation, but it beats sitting at Bobby's until he's finished translating the dragon text. There's more beer for a start, not brewed in a bucket in the panic room, plus music and normal people to provide a distraction.
"No idea, I mean, I looked at some of Bobby's stuff and neither of us can figure it out. Only lead we've got is that book, which...well, too creepy and too hard to read for starters." He takes a long drink from the sticky bottle. "Cas got anything to say on it?"
"Haven't called him." Dean studies the label on his beer with deep focus.
"I never meant to be so bad to you." Sam winces as the karaoke starts up, it would have to be that kind of place wouldn't it?
"Don't you think you should...could be big you know, mother of all monsters, plus, purgatory's got to be near heaven too right?"
"One thing I said that I would never do."
"He's got enough to worry about." Dean starts to peel his bottle, something Sam hasn't seen him do since the last time he tried to talk to him about his feelings, just after their Dad died.
"You sure he can't..."
"War in Heaven, Sam." Dean glares at him. "That sound like fun to you? Think he can just take a time out every time we need something? God knows he did it enough when I was trying to..."
"Get my soul back, I know."
Dean continues to torture his beer.
"Just...it's you, and you have that 'profound' thing going on..." Sam hedges, certain he's going to get punched or smote for bringing it up.
"A look from you and I would fall from grace."
"...figured he'd answer if you called."
"Well, I'm not going to, so he can do whatever he has to up there...and we'll figure it out here. We always do." Dean flicks scraps of paper off of the table with finality.
"And that would wipe the smile right from my face."
Sam considers leaving it there.
"He gave you a lecture, didn't he?" He says instead. Dean glares.
"He did not."
"Dean" Sam drops his voice from it's already floor level tones, impersonating Castiel's 'I have issues with your human irreverence' expression. "I feel you don't take my job seriously..."
"Sam." Dean warns.
"Just because I stay home to look after the angels...that doesn't mean my work is less valid than yours."
"Cut. It. Samantha."
"And when your looks are gone and you're alone."
"Also..." Sam deepens his already epic frown. "Why are they only 'my' angel's when they do something wrong? Like buy souls or smite things."
Dean cracks a smile despite himself.
"They totally get that smiting thing from you." Sam continues, then thinks for a second. "Also, you forgot our anniversary...for three years." He points a finger at Dean accusingly. "I pull you from Hell and you can't buy me some flowers?"
"How many nights you sit beside the phone?"
"Yeah, you're hilarious." Dean kicks Sam's legs underneath the table. "and I'm the one who gets the lecture? Outstanding."
"Aha!" Sam points again. "So there was a lecture?"
"What were the things you wanted for yourself?"
"No lecture just...I don't know, ease up on him – it's got to be pretty shitty up there if he wants to spend time with us." Dean looks down at the table, frowning to himself.
"Teenage ambitions you remember well."
"Dean...I didn't mean to..."
"Silence at the back there!" The singer breaks off sharply. Sam and Dean turn as one to glare at the stage. The short brown haired man stares back, then grins hugely. "Hey boys!"
"Why the hell am I looking at Gabriel?" Dean mutters darkly. "Shouldn't he be..."
"I shouldn't be anywhere, too pretty to bite the big one, as evidenced..." Gabriel appears at his side, swipes the rest of his beer, "by my fresh and unsullied physique." he then flits back to the stage. "I'll explain just, stop whining about Cassy's problems and let me finish."
"Figures." Is all Sam can say, quietly, because the music's started up again and he really doesn't want to end up as a car or a loofa or something even worse.
"It was the heat of the moment Heat of the moment
The heat of the moment
The heat of the moment showed in your eyes
Heat of the moment
Heat of the moment
Heat of the moment..."
Heat of the moment
Dean takes out his cell phone, typing – "Gabriel bk frm the DEAD. Ur in srs trbl." His thumb hovering over 'send' he relents and deletes it, replacing it with. "Hope you're ok up there. Call if we can help."
They'll just have to deal with this on their own.