The problem with having an angel for a friend was their tendency to pull stunts once in a while that would have regular human beings murdering each other.
For example, when they appeared in your motel during the early hours of the morning, scooped you up out of bed, and dropped you off in the middle of nowhere without a word. At least Sam materialised at Dean's side before he had a chance to panic, but Castiel disappeared before any sort of explanation could be asked for and five minutes of demanding one very loudly saw no results.
Other than the cave they were hidden in having some really pretty rock formations and the area outside it being vast expanses of sand dunes, there wasn't much to go on in terms of guessing where they were. Dean hoped it was still on Earth in the twenty-first century, but he wasn't about to hold his breath.
Despite Sam's accusations, Dean couldn't recall having said anything recently to piss Castiel off, and he figured that Castiel would have a decent reason for making them disappear from their motel. Whether they would ever find that reason out was another matter.
If it had anything to do with Balthazar making another helpful suggestion regarding their use as a distraction though, the make-up fight with Castiel was going to get really ugly.
"So," Dean said as he sat down and leaned back against the cave wall, shutting his eyes and trying to ignore his annoyance at Sam claiming and stretching out on the longest flat stretch of rock. "We getting out of here or what?"
He didn't need to look to know the bitchface was on. He could smell that thing from a mile away. "We're Americans in an unknown country, in an unknown time, and we don't have our passports. I don't know about you, but I'm not feeling suicidal."
"Castiel wouldn't -" Dean interrupted himself, considered Castiel's idea of a 'safe place', and realised that his seat was far more comfortable than he'd previously given it credit for. "Well. He'll probably be back before we die of thirst."
"Probably," Sam agreed, the silence quickly turning awkward. That 'probably' felt far too close to 'but maybe he won't'. "I'm drinking your blood if you die first," Sam announced.
"You've had practice."
"Yeah," Sam replied, all too casually, and Dean shoved him in the side with his foot. "Hey!"
"That's for not saying jerk, bitch," Dean said, opening his eyes quickly when he felt Sam grab his foot but not quickly enough to avoid getting bitten on the ankle. "Son of a -"
Getting up without assessing the height of the cave first was a bad idea, although at least Sam had the good graces to look apologetic as he rubbed at his head. No stickiness, good, only a little dizziness, good, but fuck, that still really hurt.
"You alright?" Sam asked, sitting up carefully and stretching out a hand, and Dean considered shoving it down before figuring he might as well let Sam double-check. Besides, it wasn't as if Sam had been entirely comfortable feeling for wounds since he remembered his soulless bad-touching, and getting him back into the habit was a good idea.
"Yeah," Dean said, tilting his head so Sam could reach it easier and letting his own hands drop to his sides. "Hey. Just so you know, you have my permission to drink my blood if it means you not dying."
"Appreciate it," Sam said, grinning awkwardly as he pulled his hand back and checked his fingertips. "No blood, I think you're good. Idiot."
"Your fault for taking the good rock," Dean bitched back, yelping as Sam dropped both hands to his waist and yanked him across the cave into his arms. "Dude! No. I am not the little spoon."
"Do you want to sleep?"
"No!" Dean snapped, attempting to free himself from Sam's arms and completely failing. He really needed to get back into practice; the year with Lisa hadn't softened him up much, but soulless Sam had put in enough hours of exercise to make it embarrassing. "Okay, yes. You girl."
"I'm not the little spoon," Sam replied, ceasing his manhandling long enough to let Dean get comfortable.
Well, it wasn't like he had a blanket to sleep on.
Dean woke up what felt like hours later a little dazed and confused and somewhat annoyed to still be in a cave, but Sam was still clamped to his side and drooling in his hair, and that wasn't so bad.
Gross, yes, but not so bad.
Dean sighed, closed a hand over the one Sam had at his waist, and started composing a prayer in his head.
Dear Castiel, who art wherever, I pray that you have a damn good reason for leaving us in a cave.
P.S. If this has something to do with Balthazar we are no longer friends.
He considered it for a moment, then grinned and added, XOXO, Dean.
Dean highly doubted Castiel would get or call him out on the reference, but he hoped the angel would at least ask about it, if only so he could see the look on Sam's face when he did.
P.P.S. Beer and snacks would be appreciated.
It was bright outside when Sam joined Dean in waking up, but that could have meant anything. Dean didn't know how long they had slept or what time it was; he couldn't really be sure what day it was, for that matter. "Hey, Sam."
"I spy with my little eye -"
"Rock. Or sand."
"Sky. You lose."
Sam snorted, shoving Dean off him roughly before getting to his feet carefully, heading outside for a stretch and a yawn that could probably be heard a few hundred miles away. "Any word from Cas?"
"Nah," Dean said, following Sam out for a stretch of his own and a competitive yawn. "He'll be fine. We'd get stared out first if he was in trouble."
Sam didn't look too convinced, but the uncertainty in his expression was quickly replaced by utter confusion. "Dean," Sam began, pushing him by the shoulder until he turned around and looked at the white box that had apparently caught Sam's attention, abandoned outside the cave. "Is that a cooler?"
Dean wondered if it was safe to open, figured the paper on top of it might have a clue to give them, brushed the sand off it lightly.
Balthazar suggested you two needed a holiday. If this means an end to our friendship, I'm sorry.
Dean read the note twice, shoved it in his pocket, and opened the box before swearing out loud at the fact that yes, it was indeed a cooler, and it was a cooler that happened to contain beer bottles, M&Ms, chips, and some godawful looking things labelled "scotch eggs".
Reading the note once more, Dean realised that either the angel was a lucky idiot, or he knew the two of them better than they knew themselves.
A holiday in the middle of nowhere with no money, no ability to walk anywhere, and no access to communications other than the angelic sort.
It was the only way to guarantee they couldn't end up on a hunt by accident.
Bring a copy of Busty Asian Beauties and Sam's iPod. Then we can be friends.
If angels have balls, I'm kicking Balthazar in his.
It wasn't exactly the high life, but he was pretty sure he could stand another day or two of it.