"Is there anyway to keep them both here?" Dean asked Pamela. Suddenly, there was a small chime as the red-headed woman disappeared in an instant. "Too late," Pam answered. "They're both gone."
"Great," Dean muttered, putting his angel blade back in his coat. "You know, if we had time, we could have sealed the room. Now we're back at square one." Sigils never looked that complicated, but it was an all day thing if you were /really/ going to make the room angel-proof. And they only had a few hours to interrogate the first angel, and they hadn't counted on one of her partners responding so quickly.

"Let's just generate some working theories," Sam suggested.

"All right," Dean agreed. "So...Roma Downey has really been an angel this entire time, which is why she was the perfect choice to play one on TV."

Sam sighed. "Can you be serious for 5 seconds?" he asked, unamused.

Dean shrugged. "It's the only thing I have to go on right now."

"I don't think she was even was an angel."

"She /was/," Pamela insisted. "I told you. I felt it. And it's something you can't fake."

"Yeah, I know," Sam replied. "And I think she /was/ an angel. Just not...our kind of angel, you know?"

"No. I don't," Dean answered bluntly.

"Look. Didn't you hear that when she disappeared? It was like a...ding."

"So? May be it was just something from the hallway."

"No. It was almost as if it was a...sound effect."

Dean sat on the bed and rubbed his eyes, trying to think back to when his life made sense. Sadly, he was drawing a blank. "Fine. Even if it was, what would it mean?" he asked.

"It means it's a lead," Sam answered. "Come on. We have work to do."

Monica opened her eyes and found herself in a quaint, little café. She looked at the menu on the wall and saw they had coffees from every part of the world. The angel in the trench coat appeared next to her. She turned to him and asked, "Where am I? I was thinking of Heaven when I disappeared from the hospital."

"That's exactly where you are," the man answered.

Monica laughed at the thought. She'd /seen/ Heaven, sang in its choir for hundreds of years, and this was far from anything she knew. "That doesn't make any sense," she replied. "If this was Heaven, we'd be basking in God's warmth and light as we listen to the hosts of Heaven sing glory to Him and pay Him homage at the foot of His throne."

The man's brow furrowed. "Yes. Based on what I know of you, that's something I would have expected your Heaven to look like."

"/My/ heaven?" she asked with a look of shock on her face. "You speak as if there's more than one."

"Heaven manifests itself differently to each person," he responded. "Perhaps the reason you've appeared in this coffee shop is because your vessel has a partiality toward the beverage."

"My...vessel?" she asked, beginning to grow more confused the more he tried to explain.

He nodded. "Yes. It's the only way for an angel to assume physical form."

She shook her head. "We assume human form by the grace of God. In order to have a more intimate connection with the people we help."

"Interesting notion," he said, extending his hand. "By the way, I'm Castiel."

Monica thought that was an odd name for an angel. But she supposed that was fitting because everything else about this angel was odd. "Monica," she said, taking his hand.

"Well, Monica, I suppose it's time to brief you and let you know what's happening here," Castiel said as their hands unclasped.

"You know, Sammy, when you said /work/...this ain't exactly what I had in mind," Dean said, pointing to the Touched by an Angel DVDs on the bed.

"Look, whoever's doing this is obviously obsessed with this show," Sam answered as he put one of the DVDs into the laptop. "So the smartest thing for us to do is get just as obsessed."

"You know, Dad would probably roll over in his grave...you know, if he had one...after he saw his two sons having a marathon of Touched by an Angel, " Dean complained.

"Dad would be doing the same thing," Sam answered.

"Funny. I don't remember him tearing up while Roma Downey told people how much God loved them."

"You know what I mean. If he was working this case."

"Yeah, well. I don't think this DVD comes with accommodations for the seeing impaired," Pamela quipped. "So I think I'll just grab a nap,"

"Like hell you will," Dean snapped. "If we have sit through this torture, so do you. You might be used to playing the blind card, sweetheart. But not when you're playing our game."

"Do I have to remind you that it was your fault?"

"Do I have to threaten to recite everything that's going on in the show?" Dean asked.

As soon as the theme song came on with Della Reese belting out "Walk with You," Dean let out an exaggerated sigh. "You have /got/ to be kidding me. How much of this do you expect me to take?"

"We're getting through the /whole/ show, " Sam said sternly. "I told you. This guy's obsessed. We don't know what information will come in handy."

"Fine," Dean conceded, pulling a bottle of whiskey from his dufflebag.

"Seriously?" Sam said, pausing the show.

Dean shrugged. "Hey, if you want me to watch this show, you can't expect me to do it sober," he said, sitting back down until an idea struck him. "Hey. Why don't we make a drinking game out of it. We'll take a swig anytime someone cries or says the words 'God' or 'love,' " he suggested with a smirk.

"Again. Can you focus for /five/ seconds?" Sam asked, taking the bottle from him like a parent would take a toy away from a child who was doing his homework. But ten minutes into the opening scene, he reluctantly took a swig and handed the bottle back to Dean.