This takes place in Season 5, right after episode 5.02, when Dean and Sam split up for awhile. Dean is dealing with the heartbreak from his brother's betrayal and Castiel is trying to find God.
Dean flipped his cell phone open and snapped it shut immediately. It was early morning, dew still on the grass, birds were chirping, and the picnic table seat was cold to his ass. He remembered the other picnic table where he had last seen Sam.
The desire to call his brother and check on him had only lasted a short moment, thank goodness for that. It was more of a reflex; something deeply ingrained in his brain after all those years of always looking out for Sammy. In actuality he didn't want to talk to his brother at all. The heartache he felt from Sam's betrayal locked around Dean like a tight cage, squeezing him, showing no mercy. It was kind of like Alastair, that bastard. Dean felt some relief with Sam gone. The cage bars seemed farther away, gave him room to breathe.
Yet, he felt alone as well. He thought of Castiel, and what he had done for Dean, which was everything. He'd disobeyed for Dean, and even killed some of his fellow angels to protect Dean. Now there's someone who is devoted to me, Dean thought. Dean understood devotion. He'd always been devoted to his father, and to Sam. Dean rolled his eyes. He tried to keep them from tearing up. Fuck, he thought. Gotta move forward, there is an apocalypse to stop. But he thought of Castiel briefly with warmth. That angel was so naïve and innocent about some things, but you had to give him credit for knowing how to be devoted to someone.
His phone rang, and he half expected it was Sam. He groaned inwardly. He saw Castiel's name on the Caller ID and wondered what kind of phone he had gotten for himself.
"Hello?" Dean said.
"Dean."
"Yeah, this is Dean, hi Cas. So, did you find your God yet? Was he in a tortilla after all? Did my amulet light up when you passed through the grocery store?"
"I didn't call you to waste time with ridiculous banter."
"Well hell, if you're worried about your precious cell phone minutes, we can get off the phone now." Dean regretted saying it after it came out of his mouth. He was going to have to remember not to be so sharp tongued with Castiel. Dean himself was getting tired of his own knee-jerk aloofness when it came to Castiel.
"Do you want my help or not?"
"Yeah. Yeah I do, Cas," Dean said.
"Tell me where you are."
"I don't know, some rest area in Colorado? I haven't exactly left the state yet."
Within moments, Castiel was standing next to him. "How did you find me so fast? I was pretty damn vague," Dean said.
"There are a finite number of rest areas in the state of Colorado. I went to each one to look for you. Well, until I got to this one. This was the fourth."
"So how are you going to help me?" Dean asked. "And why don't you sit down? I can see you better that way. I'm straining my stiff neck."
"Why is your neck stiff?" Castiel asked.
"I don't know, stress?"
Castiel walked behind Dean and pressed several fingers into his neck. "I can't heal you as I used to be able to, but I know some ancient techniques. This should relieve the tension immediately." He stood there and massaged Dean's neck, kneading out some kinks. True to his word, Dean felt some relief right away.
"Since when do you have the magic fingers?" Dean asked.
"I used to have to babysit a masseuse in China eons ago. I got bored and observed his technique."
"You – you were a babysitter? To a man? What was that all about?"
"It's a long, boring story, Dean. Well, I suppose it had its points of amusement. But I didn't come here to talk to you about that."
Castiel stopped the massage and sat down next to Dean. He missed the warmth of Castiel's fingers and the sensation of tension sliding away.
"Hey, Cas," Dean said, slowly, and cleared his throat.
"Yes?"
"I wanted to – thank you, for you know, what you did. For me." Dean met Castiel's eyes sincerely.
"I hope I don't live to regret it," Castiel said sternly.
Dean rolled his eyes. "Well that's the last time I get all touchy-feely with you, Cas. You just ruined it."
Castiel leaned in closer. Their noses were almost touching. Dean could smell his breath. It smelled…nice. Not like mouthwash or sour breath. More like the good smells of a newborn baby.
"What do you want from me, Dean?" Castiel asked.
"Nothing," Dean said. "Well, you could get that damn stick out of your ass. Bobby too. What is with everyone having a stick in their ass lately? Even I have one. I can't seem to stand my brother at the moment." Dean rubbed his face with both hands.
Castiel seemed to soften then. He leaned back. "Maybe things can be amended with everyone somehow. Even for Bobby, and for you and Sam. I'm not fond of what happened, the start of the apocalypse, but I do want to help you."
"Thanks." Dean paused for a moment. Castiel's gaze on Dean was tighter than the grip of death, as usual. He shook his head, as if that action could shake Castiel's gaze off of him. It didn't work. Castiel just tilted his head with a curious look.
"So, what have you learned with my amulet?" Dean asked, before Castiel could ask any questions.
"I haven't found God yet, if that's what you're wondering."
"Have you found – anything?"
"No." Castiel looked down, showing his disappointment. "I even have fears that what you said to me could be true. That God – is dead."
"Hey, I was mostly joking about that. I realize I was pretty cold hearted. He is your dad, and all. I hope you find him." He looked straight out at the mountains. "For all of our sakes."
"Me too," Castiel whispered. Then he stood straighter, looked Dean right in the eyes again, and spoke with inner strength. "I will not give up. I believe only perseverance on our parts will help us win this battle."
"I came to tell you I may have a lead," Castiel continued. He looked away and gazed at the bristly mountainside. "Some of the angels are showing curiosity in me. I do not know if I can trust them yet. Since I've recently killed some of my brothers, they may just want me dead. But they say they want to find God, and think that perhaps he is the one that resurrected me."
"So, what are you going to do?"
"Confront a garrison of angels that might be hiding something. It will be very dangerous."
Dean raised an eyebrow. "Then why are you doing it?"
"Dean, if you do end up becoming Michael's vessel, you will die. I'm trying to find an alternative for you. And, I want to find God."
"So you're doing this for me?" Dean said.
"Partially, yes. I care about the bulk of humanity as well."
"The bulk, huh." Dean let out a short, dry laugh. "There's a handful you don't care for then. Who are they?"
"Dean." Castiel's version of a glare, which was his usual piercing stare turned up a few notches, cut Dean short.
"Okay, okay, you're not in the mood for jokes or good times. Boy, do you need to loosen up." The glaring continued. "Cas, dammit, would you stop looking at me that way? Or I'll give you a reason to glare!"
Castiel looked down. Dean stood up and stomped around, trying to warm up his legs and give his ass a break from that freezing bench. "You think you're going to get killed?" Dean asked. "On this mission of yours?"
"It's likely. I want you to know I may be calling you for advice, if I need it, at any hour of the day or night."
"Okay, you got my number," Dean said jokingly, but he was saying it to himself, because Castiel was suddenly gone.
"Do you ever say goodbye?" He shouted at Castiel, even though he knew he wouldn't hear it.
The motel room was quiet. It felt unnatural to have no other sounds in the room. Sam wasn't tapping away on his laptop in the next bed. Hell, there wasn't even a next bed. Dean still had to stop himself every time he was ordering a room to keep from asking for two doubles.
Dean thought about turning on the TV for noise, but he didn't really feel like watching anything. So he took off his watch and started to pull off his shoes when his cell rang.
The ID said Castiel. Dean wondered again which cell phone service an angel of the Lord would choose. "Cas?" he said.
"Hello, Dean. How are you this evening?" Castiel said.
"Um, great. So…how are you, Cas?"
"I think I have a problem, Dean,"
Dean started wondering if this was the kind of problem that would keep his head from hitting the pillow tonight, but it wouldn't be the first time in the life of a Winchester, that was for sure.
"What is it, Cas?"
"I need somewhere to hide."
"What's going on?" Dean asked.
"Can I come see you in person? These cell phone minutes…"
"Yeah. Sure." Dean told him the location of the motel and Dean was looking at Castiel's face before he had a chance to flip the phone shut. He looked like he'd been sweating. His bangs were wet and his face gleamed with moisture.
"Okay, tell me what's been happening, Cas," Dean said.
"It's going to sound…odd," Castiel said.
Dean rolled his eyes. "Who are you talking to, Cas? You think I've never heard an odd thing in my life?"
Castiel continued to stand, and Dean motioned him to sit down. "My neck, remember Cas?"
"Do you need me to rub it again?" Castiel asked.
"No, I mean, maybe," Dean said, once he remembered the relief he'd felt last time. "I meant, please sit, Cas. So I don't have to look up."
Castiel sat down on the bed. "I believe God is in hiding," Castiel said.
Dean nodded. "I think we may have determined that already," Dean said.
"No, Dean, you don't understand," Castiel said. "In order for God to hide, he would need to take a vessel."
"So we need to find God's meat suit?"
"God is too powerful to have one vessel," Castiel said. "I believe he is hiding in several vessels at once. Quite possibly in different locations around the world."
Dean nodded, and then laughed. "Well, then you have your work cut out for you. Have fun finding all of God's vessels."
"I will be doing this without your assistance?" Castiel said.
Dean stood up. He was suddenly feeling antsy. "How did you come to this conclusion, Cas? About God? And why do you need to go into hiding?"
Castiel rubbed the sweat off of his forehead. "I'm tired of killing, Dean. I don't want to kill angels anymore. Not tonight."
"Things…got…messy tonight?" Dean asked.
"Yes, they did. Please, Dean, I need you to help me hide tonight. I'm tired and I want to rest. I can't hide anywhere in heaven."
Castiel looked so broken and vulnerable. Dean sat back down on his bed. "Can you hide in another vessel?" Dean asked.
Castiel shook his head. "This body would be vacant if I left it alone too long, and would decay. Also, taking another human vessel isn't easy. For tonight, it's certainly not an option."
"I don't know, Cas," Dean said. "I don't know where an angel can hide."
"I want to hide with you, Dean. Your Enochian sigil keeps you hidden from angels. I want you to draw the Enochian symbols on my back with this marker," Castiel took a Sharpie out of his trenchcoat pocket. "Then tomorrow I'll need you to help scrub it off in the morning."
"Oh, no you don't, Cas," Dean said. "I'm not helping you in the shower. Let's write it on your chest, and then you can scrub yourself off in the morning. Do you have a hairy chest?" Dean hoped the answer was no.
Castiel shook his head. He removed his trenchcoat and white dress shirt silently, and the t-shirt underneath it. He handed Dean the Sharpie and took out a piece of paper from his pant pocket.
"Try not to make a mistake, Dean. If you do, we'll have to write it on my back."
Dean looked at the paper and observed that Castiel's handwriting was very neat. He hoped he didn't expect Dean to live up to the same standard.
"Are you sure you want to use this Sharpie?" Dean asked. "If we use it, you're going to have a heck of a time scrubbing it off in the morning."
"What do you suggest?" Castiel said weakly, barely taking a moment to look up at Dean, which was so not Cas. He was looking mostly at the floor with a blank expression.
Dean felt a sudden rush of compassion for the angel. He really didn't look or sound good tonight.
"How about a ball-point pen? They wash off a little bit too easily, I found to my dismay after I'd written the beautiful Amanda Kerstock's phone number on my hand."
Castiel nodded and Dean carefully began to copy what he saw on the paper onto Castiel's chest. Both of them were silent the whole time, and it took Dean about fifteen minutes to complete the task.
After capping the pen, Dean asked, "Do you blame me, Cas? For having to kill angels today." Dean's voice wasn't confrontational, it was laden with guilt.
"I don't want to talk about it tonight, Dean," Castiel said.
Castiel put his shirts and trenchcoat back on, and told Dean he would just sit quietly in the chair next to the wall, because he didn't need to sleep.
Dean lied down and closed his eyes. He was glad he could hear someone else breathing in the room besides himself. The motel room just hadn't felt right without it.