Author's Note: Based on that song. Takes place sometime during S6. Dean and Cas are at odds over something and Cas thinks their relationship is over. He's very upset and trying to drown his sorrows with alcohol. Poor Cas. Cas/Dean slash of course.

Beer Is Good

God is great, beer is good and people are crazy...

Castiel, angel of Heaven, currently in a civil war with Raphael, sat at a bar in his dirty trenchcoat, nearly crying. Dean had told him to go away and that they were over. Just because...he honestly couldn't remember now. Something about Crowley. Either way, he'd finally managed to imbibe enough alcohol to get the human equivalent of drunk.

The bartender was giving him odd looks, but he was tipping her well so she just kept a shot glass ready for him.

An old man sat down next to him, gave him a friendly glance and ordered himself a beer. The bartender shoved a mug in front of him and walked away. The old man turned to Cas.

"What brings a young man like yourself out here, middle of nowhere type of place?"

Cas shrugged and kept his eyes on the bottom of his empty shot glass. "Relationship troubles." He kept it short and sweet. Not wanting to bother the old man with his problems.

The old man snorted. "I know all about them! I've been married! I've been divorced! Twice! I even fought in two wars!" He slapped Cas on the back. The angel coughed, a bit of whiskey coming up. The old man sure had a strong slap!

"I haven't. Been either. Married or divorced. I...wanted to get married. To the person I was seeing. But...I'm not sure that will happen now. I just want to forget a little while. Like someone once told me. Alcohol is for when you just want to forget something for awhile."

The old man nodded. "I can see that. Look at everything happening around us! Politics! People bitchin' about Democrats! Republicans! No one can get it right, in my opinion. Hmmph." The old man took a drink of his beer and lit a cigarette.

Cas gave him a look. "Those will kill you, you know. Lung cancer."

The old man laughed. "I know. They haven't killed me yet! I'm still kickin'! Say, young un', what do you think about God? I was sittin' here thinkin' the other day...bout God's Grace. Wonder if I'll go to Heaven when I die, even after all the shit I done."

Cas once again eyed his shot glass. This question had hit home. He certainly couldn't tell the old man that God was his Father and that God didn't give two shits about anyone!

"Well, young un'? You got an opinion about God?"

Cas hesitated a bit before answering. "I...don't think He cares. I just think, to Him, we're all playthings, or just an experiment. His puppets. Thats just what I think about Him."

The old man grinned. "You're shittin' me. You don't think that. I know you don't." The old man took a puff on his cigarette. "Say, kid, whats your name?"

Cas protested at being called kid, what with being a billion plus years old, but didn't say anything. "Uhm...Castiel. Its Castiel. Just Castiel. Thats all my Father named me before He left. He just left. I never even met him."

"Huh. Odd name if I ever heard one! Well, still, at least your father was creative! That'll certainly get some interest! Say, I caught some of the chicks in the back looking at you. You must be a cutie. You could go ask one of them on a date. Might help you forget about your relationship issues for awhile, eh?" The old man grinned at him again and took a long drag of his cigarette.

Castiel almost laughed. He did NOT want to hit on the women he'd seen here. Or ANY woman for that matter. He just wanted his Dean back...

Apparently, he looked really sad, because the old man just slapped him on the back again. "Say, kid, want a beer? Hey bartender, get me another and one for this fellow! He's surely well in his cups, but another beer ain't gonna hurt!"

The attractive female bartender grinned and leaned over the bar with her beers, letting both men get a nice sampling of her ample breasts. Castiel was not interested, but the old man didn't hesitate to get a good long look, drawing a glare from Cas.

The old man shrugged and puffed another cigarette into existence. Castiel had no idea what had happened to the old one. "She's hot. Old man's gotta live! I had to get a look at them knockers! She had some good ones, did ya see? They looked real too. They didn't have that squashed look implants get..."

The old man trailed off when he realized Cas was just sighing and drinking his beer, not at all interested in hearing about breasts of any type.

The old man smirked at him a little. "Ah. I see now. So its that way, is it? I don't care, you know. To each his own. You're not having WOMAN trouble, you're having MAN trouble. So, what'd the guy do to make you show up here tonight?"

Castiel was so NOT having this conversation with some random old man. He stood up to leave.

"Forgive me, kind sir. Its been a pleasure, drinking with you, hearing your opinions on things...but I have to get going. I have someone waiting on me. Someone else. A friend."

The old man just nodded at him, smiled, and waved him good bye, going back to his beer and cigarettes.

Several months later, after being humanized and stripped of all his powers, Castiel saw the old man's face. Front page obituary. That rarely happened unless someone was important...

The former angel read the obituary, increasingly astonished. The old man had been a millionaire! He'd left his fortune to...some guy he met in a bar named Castiel. His kids were mad as Hell, but couldn't do anything, because it was in the will. Castiel himself was just amazed. What...why! They'd just talked! But then, perhaps, thats all the old man wanted. Was someone to talk to. Cas sighed.

Dean placed a hand on his shoulder. "Whats up, darliing? You look like you've seen a ghost!"

Cas gently shrugged Dean off. "Its...nothing. Just something I have to do. May I borrow the Impala or Rachel's truck for a bit?"

Dean just shrugged. "Can you DRIVE? Do you have a license even? Oh, whatever. If you can drive, take one. Do your...whatever you need to do. I respect your privacy."

His precious Dean. He'd got his love. His life. His...reward after all this. He and Rachel had made up, had a long conversation, when they'd been able to be pried free of their current lovers. She gladly loaned him the keys to her truck, only as long as he promised he knew how to drive and that he wouldn't damage it.

He drove to a nearby law office, not having any real idea about how to go about claiming money you were left in a will. Somehow, he had ID. Castiel...Winchester. He'd taken Dean's last name when they'd gotten married.

After some talking with the lawyer, he was given a check for this old man's fortune. He didn't have a bank, so he drove to a nearby one, cashed it in for all cash, receiving strange looks from the bank teller, and astonished looks from fellow bank patrons. He'd been prepared and brought along a duffle bag. It HAD held Rachel's weapons, but he'd had to take them out. He was careful. Now that he was mortal, he didn't want to get accidentally shot.

After putting the money in the duffel bag and getting back in the truck (making sure it was locked!), he just sat there. What the Hell was he going to DO with all that money? He certainly wasn't going to KEEP it. That would be wrong. It would solve all their money problems, but that was how they got along and always had. Stolen credit cards, hussling pool (not that he was any good, mostly Dean's job), etc.

He drove through the town in Rachel's truck for a bit, before he noticed a bulletin board on a nearby church. They were collecting donations for a woman to have surgery for cancer. According to the bulletin board, she'd lost everything in a house fire.

The former angel in him really had no choice. He had to help this woman. It wasn't Sunday, but when he entered the church, a man was already there. An older man, the preacher, likely. He nodded at Castiel, thinking he'd just come by to pray or something.

"I..want to donate. To the woman who has cancer and lost her house in a fire."

The preacher smiled and nodded, stepping down from the little ledge he'd been hanging a banner for Bible School on. "The Lord thanks you for your generosity. Any amount the Lord will be grateful for." The preacher went over to a nearby collection jar, nearly full to the brim. This woman was loved...he would make sure she got her surgery and her house!

"I...sir...I don't think my donation will fit." Castiel opened the duffel bag he'd carried in with him. The preacher just gaped.

"Son, how much are you wanting to donate? The Lord appreciates any and all donations..."

Castiel shoved the duffel bag at the preacher. "All of it. I don't need it. It was...left to me. In a will. And I don't need it. I have everything I need with me. She could use it...if she can't use it all...use some of it to fix up your church a bit. Maybe add some more stained glass Jesus pictures. Every church could use those." Castiel was not being sarcastic. It wasn't in his nature. And the church was very small and COULD use some more religious art.

The preacher simply gaped at him, counted a few of the hundred dollar bills in the duffel bag. "Son...you aren't serious. No one just GIVES this much money to some small church charity!" The preacher tried to shove the duffel bag back to Castiel.

Cas just shook his head. "If you don't take, I'll toss it in that fireplace over there." He nodded in the direction of the church fireplace.

"Son...I can't...this...it was LEFT to YOU! It was meant for YOU! If...if you got this money, God meant you to have it!"

"No. I just...when I...nevermind. God would rather you have it. He would understand. He is an amazing man. An amazing Father." Castiel cast his gaze heavenward, almost imaging that he could see the golden gates, the glimmering figures of his brothers, the shining beacon of light that was his Father.

The preacher hesitated, then bent down and gently took the duffel bag, tears in his eyes. "God thanks you for this. He...He would love you even if you only donated a penny, son, understand?"

Cas nodded. "I understand. I know. God loves all His children. We are all His children and loved. You give that woman the money she needs for her sugery and for a new house. And...tell God I love Him and I am sorry. My name is Castiel." He gave the preacher a small bow and hurried from the church before the preacher could change his mind about the money.

He drove Rachel's truck to the graveyard where the old man had been buried. Not much family had come. They were all too angry with him. Either over the money thing or something else. Either way, the poor old man hadn't had too many people wanting to wish him well on his journey into the next world. Into Heaven.

Castiel sighed and did something he hadn't done in a long time. He dropped to his knees and prayed. Thanked God for having met the old man, for having met Dean, for everything. For his life. He almost could have sworn he felt the Divine presence, as if telling him the old man was in good hands, and would always be, for what he had done, or may have done, it didn't matter. God didn't care. He loved him no matter what. When he was finished praying, he ran a soft hand over the old man's head stone.

"Thank you. For everything." He grinned slightly. "God is great. Beer is good. And people are crazy."