I had to write this in order to get my creative juices flowing. Plus I'm still having from 8x7. Listen to Angel With Shotgun by The Cab is not helping my much. So ya, just a cracky crack-shot to get through the day.

Warning: This contains slash.

Disclaimer: If only I could. But no, I don't own Supernatural

Enjoy :D

Balthazar and Gabriel stood near the Impala, drinking tea and hot chocolate out of bottomless, white mugs. Bobby stood beside them, grunting 'idjits' every few minutes and shaking his head at the scene in front of them.

At some point during hunt, a witch had managed to turn Castiel's trench coat sentient. The tan piece of clothe seemed to be arguing with Castiel's half-eaten cheeseburger. Said cheeseburger continued to sit quietly through the 'conversation' with the flailing fabric.

Meanwhile, Sam was desperately chasing his psychiatrist up a hill (the damn moose had issues that no psychiatrist could cure or even have to listen to), shouting at the poor man to return. Dean, Benny, and Castiel were all having a moment by a near-by pond.

"You think they'll just make out and have hot sex?" Gabriel questioned.

"Not if that trench coat has anything to say about it", Bobby grunted, pointing at the overcoat that was violently slapping the abandoned cheeseburger.

Back the pond, the three survivors of Purgatory were man-hugging. The vampire/human/werewolf threesome from Twilight (they had a threesome relationship and nothing could change Dean's mind) had nothing on the angel/human/vampire thing they had going on. The angel trumped them all.

"Damn, I love you assholes."

"Feel my wings. Feel and devour my Heavenly buffalo wings." Dean munched on the bucket of KFC buffalo wings that had appeared in Cas' hand. Benny pulled a bag of blood from thin air and Castiel mojo-ed himself another cheeseburger.

"Come back, Jake! Help me out; I need someone sane to talk to! Plus, you're a psychiatrist, it's your job!" Sam was helplessly pleading with his psychiatrist to come down from the tree he was hiding in and help him with is issues.

Suddenly The Cab's Angel With a Shotgun began to play and the author of this pointless story died of Destiel feels.

Gabriel poofed into her chair to finish the so-called story while Castiel's trench coat and forgotten cheeseburger cried over the fact that they never had a chance with their master. Sam's psychiatrist made the tree his home until Sam went to look for his laptop.

Balthazar went on his Wingspace and Tumblr accounts to blog about how his brother and Dean should just admit their love for each other and Bobby went back to being a cranky old drunk.

FIN

And I'm still listening to Angel With a Shotgun. Oh Chuck... all those FEELS... I don't know what I'm doing with my life anymore