A/N: I'm not particularly chatty, so I'll make this quick–This is a totally random story. Just some good ol' Sam and Dean arguments, Castiel's social ineptitude, Gabriel being...well, awesome, and some OC fun. I hope you like it! -chaoswalking

It was raining. It always seemed to be raining nowadays, and Dean idly wished he could just sit down on the floor and watch the drops float lazily to the ground.

But no. There had to be a ghost involved.

"This graveyard smells like a Chuck-E-Cheeses birthday party, Sammy," Dean wrinkled his nose, leaning forward on his shovel. The rain was slowly filling their nice hole, and the beaten wood of the casket was turning an ugly shade of mud. "And not the awesome kind."

"There's no such thing as an awesome Chuck-E-Cheeses party, Dean." Sam yawned sleepily. He hadn't slept all last night.

"Shut up and keep digging, bitch," Dean snapped, gripping his shovel glumly.

"Jerk." But he wasn't that into it.

Ten minutes passed, each wetter and smellier than the next. In fact, the deeper Dean dug the mushy hole, the stronger the sickly sweet stench became. It was almost...chocolatey. The rain fell in diamond shards.

The case had gone as planned. Bobby called in a problem with a vengeful innkeeper in San Francisco, and Dean and Sam had hopped in the Impala, shoved in a Kansas cassette, and set off towards NorCal for some good old-fashioned huntin'.

Two days, one bruise, and seven beers later, they were getting ready to salt and burn.

It would have been perfect.

If only the casket hadn't been stuffed full of Hershey's chocolate kisses.

Sam frowned, rain slicking down his face in muddy gray rivers. He dropped his shovel with a dull clatter, and knelt down carefully to stare into the depths of a hundred thousand neatly foil-wrapped kisses.

"This isn't a dead innkeeper..." he managed bluntly after a few seconds. Dean rolled his eyes, wiping his muddy hands on the pockets of his jeans.

"No duh, Captain Obvious."

"C'mon, Dean, concentrate." Sam tried on his very best scholarly frown (Stanford trained). "This doesn't make any sense. We saw that old innkeeper. We saw what he did to those tourists."

"Yeah. Friggin' nasty if you ask me," Dean snorted.

"So why the hell is the casket full of candy?"

Silence.

Dean opened his mouth. Then closed it. Then opened it again. He pursed his lips, shrugging.

"Friendly prank?"

Just then the sound of feathers broke through the static rain.

Castiel, his trench coat artfully rumpled, gave Dean a look of utter confusion.

"Why are you standing over a grave filled with chocolate confections, Dean?" he asked, head tilted in confusion.

Standing with all the grace of a dying hippo, Sam slipped to his feet, looking perplexed.

"Cas? What're you doing here?" He knotted his arms over his chest. Dean glared at the angel.

"Was this you, Cas? Did you do this? Man, I hate you stupid feathery douchebags!"

But Cas shook his head, frowning. He took a few steps forward, glancing at something over Dean's shoulder, something deep in the redwoods surrounding the small graveyard.

"No, this wasn't me," He squinted into the dark rain. It didn't seem to bother him that he was getting completely soaked, the rain now a pounding barrage of dense droplets. "But I think we should leave. Now."

He turned, hand already raised to touch the stunned Winchester's foreheads. He never reached them, however, because something shoved him sideways into a thick tree trunk.

"CAS!" Dean shouted, his hand already outstretched to yank the angel to his feet. He had crumpled at the base of the tree, a thin line of blood snaking down his face.

"Don't you worry, Deano," a horrifyingly familiar drawl drifted lazily from the destroyed grave. "My bro ain't nearly as breakable as you humans."

Sam and Dean turned slowly to stare into the grinning face of Gabriel.

"So," he clapped his hands together with a giggle. "Ready for our joyful reunion?"