Dean eventually woke up, the dim light from the window hurting his eyes even when they were closed. He complained incoherently, but no-one replied.
He squinted, seeing a glass of water placed on the nightstand in easy reaching distance. He knew he probably hadn't had nearly enough forethought to put it there himself, so he guessed it must have been Sam, taking pity on him. He can't have behaved too badly last night, then, despite the monster of all hangovers. If this hangover had a name it would be called Zachariah.
He propped himself up on his elbows and tried to assess the situation. General mood-wise, he was a cocktail of emotion. A shot of anger, a splash of hurt, a dash of weird happiness, and a quart of son of a BITCH, that really hurts!
Helpfully placed beside the water were some painkillers. He consumed.
He tried to remember what happened last night. He remembered a park, dimly; he remembered a car... he remembered a pretty barmaid in a bar called...
"Oh, God..." Dean moaned, the events of the previous day coming back to him, having been lost momentarily in the hangover. His head hurt even worse as he remembered what happened, remembered Cas turning up...
He dashed to the toilet and heaved up the copious amounts of alcohol that was still in his stomach. Usually a sign of a good night, but it didn't feel like it.
Eventually he got out of the room, dressed, preened, and a hand shielding his eyes from the sun. Directly outside he saw Sam looking in the boot of the rusty car, which was somehow parked across three parking spaces. He felt a sense of pride that he, at least, had managed to get it home okay.
"Thanks for the water." Dean croaked, and Sam looked up at him.
"Wasn't me." Sam shrugged. "How's the head?"
"Oh, it's a party and the whole world's invited to tap dance in it." He rambled.
"You ever think of not starting the day with a hangover?"
"Sounds stupid."
"Of course it does." Sam coddled. He looked at the contents of the open boot again. "You found the car?"
"She handily left it for us outside a bar." Dean smiled.
"Just left it?"
"She was gone by the time I got there; she left the car behind."
"You ask about her inside?"
"Yeah." Dean told him. "Didn't get anything useful."
"I'll go there later." Sam decided. "They might be more forthcoming to the FBI."
"You can try, but they don't know anything." Sam said. "Ask for... what's his name... Timmy? Tommy?"
"Thanks." Sam looked back down in the boot.
"She left everything." Dean stated, remembering his brief perusal the night before.
"No, she didn't." Sam corrected. "She took what she needed."
"What's that?"
"Holy oil and the angel blade." Sam told him. "Everything she needs."
"No guns?"
"I don't think so." Sam said. "She doesn't seem to want to fight us."
"Maybe she's counting on us not caring one way or another if she kills the son of a bitch."
"Then she's wrong." Sam said firmly.
"Speak for yourself."
"Can you drop the attitude, Dean?" Sam sighed.
"What attitude?"
"Your whole I couldn't give a damn thing you've got going on. The attitude that's making you drink every night and treat Cas like he means nothing to you!"
"Because that is what he means to me!"
"I know you're angry, and you have every right to be!" Sam yelled. "But you need to deal with it, and you need to stop acting like you don't care! You're not just angry, Dean; you're really, really hurt!"
"Oh, you think so?" Dean scoffed.
"I know so. And if you heard yourself last night, you'd know too." Sam told him. "You're so cut up about Cas leaving that you're not letting yourself be happy that he's back!"
Dean shook his head, his face turning sour. "You keep talking like that and I'm gonna hit you."
"Funny. Every time you say that to me, I'm always right."
"No, every time I say it you're being a pain in the ass." Dean yelled. "Don't think you can see inside my head, Sam. You stay out of it."
Sam sighed. "Fine, Dean; whatever gets you through the day." He reached into the boot and fished out some clothes before he shut it, and walked past Dean to get back into the motel. "What's the bar called?"
"Why?"
"I need to ask them about Olivia." Sam reminded him. "What's it called?"
"If you just follow the road up, you'll get to it. It's on the high street." Dean evaded.
Sam shot him a look. "Fine." He walked into the motel.
"Am I on research duty?" Dean sighed.
"That... and you're babysitting." Dean could hear the smile in his voice through the open door.
"I'm not going to spend the afternoon with him!"
"You're going to have to. You can't go to the bar, they've already seen you, and someone needs to keep him alive while I'm out."
"Can't you take him with you?"
"You remember how he is." Sam reminded him, standing in the door way, having changed his top. "He can barely work out which way up a badge goes."
"God..." Dean groaned, dreading the thought of spending time alone with the angel. "Where even is he?"
"That way." Sam pointed up the road, and they saw the angel sitting alone on a bench backing onto a line of trees, his black suit-jacket contrasting heavily with the white of his skin. "He looks so weird without the trench coat." Sam mused.
"I hadn't noticed." Dean looked away, wondering why Sam hadn't given Cas fresh clothes to change into, then realised it was probably because they hadn't had the car. "Be back soon, okay?"
Sam sighed again, but conceded. "Fine. Just keep him alive."
"Whatever."
"Be nice." Sam chided as he walked past him and into the car.