-Reviews: Thank you very much to everyone who came out of the woodwork to review (and, of course, to my special peeps who review quite often [insert heart here since ff dot net won't let me do it. Damn you ff dot net!]). I really appreciate you guys taking the time to say something. And I hope you know that I really do get it: reviewing ain't easy. I've got twenty open internet tabs on my phone right now and at least eighteen of those are stories I've read where I went "wow, this is really good, I should review! ...I'll just leave this tab open and come back to that in a minute." (two. Months. Later). "Why do I have twenty friggin' internet tabs open?! Oh, yeah, this was that story I liked...crap, let me just do a quick little read through here... wow, this is really good! I should review! Okay, I'll just leave this tab open and come back to that in a minute..." -_-

Trust me, guys, I really do get it. It's one of many reasons I do not expect a review every chapter. Other reasons being that not every chapter is a great one and some aren't your cup of 'holy-amazeballs-tea-that-is-review-worthy'. Some are pure action, other's pure chatter, some are filler, some are more fluff or Destiel, who not every reader here is into! I don't expect every chapter to rock your socks, so just let me know when one does and we'll be good :)

And that can be as simple as a quick, 'I liked the part where Dean takes Cas bra shopping.'

...wait, what now?

-Quality Warning: This is the last author's note, I swear. Turns out, my eyes are not done being strained yet, so this chapter did not get all the editing it should have, and definitely had some last minute fixes that might be a mess. Mainly lots of Dean-Internally-Panicking which is always fun to write but a bit of a hazard to police for clarity/flow without several read-throughs (you know, make sure it's not confusing to follow given the ninety-two tangents that boy's brain can go through when it's busy panicking.) Hopefully it's not a complete mess (and if it is, hopefully it's an enjoyable mess).

-Chapter Warnings: Cas is a klepto, Dean's learning things about the angel's vessel he didn't need to know (and yet, also, really did...), Angela's the devil, and Sam's innocently shopping for groceries all the meanwhile. And all that is definitely not where we left off last chapter, so...whuuut?

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

The Road So Far (This Time Around)

Season 2: Chapter 22

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Dean barely glanced at the caller ID, only enough to see the first letter and a general length of name before he flung his arm over his head in an effort to block out the light and the whole 'being awake' thing. The concept didn't get along with him all that well before about ten am. Especially not before a good, hot cup of coffee in his favorite dead-guy-robe.

"What's up, Bobby?" He heard Sam sit up in the bed over, his breathing a little heavy. Bad dream, then? Kid had had plenty of 'em once they left Jess behind, and plenty more that came standard with the job. But he was climbing off the mattress and making his way to the bathroom before Dean could check on him, and considering it wasn't a flat out sprint to pay homage to the porcelain god (and there weren't any telling sounds once the door was closed), the older Winchester decided it probably wasn't worth worrying over.

"Hello, Dean."

Any lingering concern that might have existed for Sam (despite Dean's attempt to play it cool and wave it off) was shelved the instant he realized who was on the other end of the line. It took a minute, but the grin on his face was pretty instantaneous once he figured it out.

"I am not Bobby," the voice continued after a moment's pause. Following another half a second of silence, the angel needlessly added, "This is Castiel."

The hunter resisted the urge to say 'no shit' back, and instead sat up on the bed. "I kinda figured that, given Bobby's voice is, you know, a dude's."

There was a third pause, and by that point Dean was trying not to laugh at Cas's unfortunate phone skills. Some things never changed.

"Of course," Cas finally answered. "Where are you and Sam currently?"

The grin only grew and Dean reached over to the nightstand, fiddling around with the pad of paper every motel left on top or in the drawer, with the name and address of the place usually somewhere on it. When he found it, he climbed off the bed, reading it aloud to the angel.

"Just give Bobby back his-" An undertone of flapping wings interrupted his sentence and he looked up, standing in the small space between the beds, to find Cas directly in front of him, Bobby's cell still pressed to her ear. "-phone."

Dean stared at the angel, less than a foot from him – way too close for comfort and personal space – and sighed. He lowered the phone, Cas mirroring his movements, and ended the call with his thumb.

"Go give Bobby his phone back. Then come here." He managed not to add 'dumbass', fond as it would have been. It was good to have the angel back, where he could see her, safe and not rotting in one of Heaven's prisons without them even knowing it.

Cas glanced to the device in her hand, understanding and maybe even a touch of embarrassment hidden well in that blank face. She nodded at the directive and promptly disappeared. Dean always hated how the angel did that, somehow distracting Dean for only that split second with something – anything: a noise off to the side, a brush of air to his cheek that always made him turn or at least look away – so that he never saw the exact moment Cas left. Always just missed it. It drove the hunter crazy, and he had spent years trying not to look away, almost all the way up to Cas losing his wings.

Dean tossed his phone on the bed, unplugging the cord from the wall to throw it on the bed as well so he wouldn't forget it when they checked out. They'd lost their fair share of odds and ends to motels over the years. He could hear water running in the bathroom and eyed the door a little worriedly, surprised Sam hadn't come out to see Cas.

"You alright, Sammy?" he called out. He heard his little brother splash water on his face.

"Yeah, fine," the kid answered through the door, words muffled by even the thin layer of wood. "Bad dream."

Dean scrunched his face up at the door. It wasn't that he thought Sam was lying – he probably wasn't, after all – but he was definitely questioning if his brother was omitting some stuff with that would-be confession. Still, the brothers had a sort of unspoken rule about nightmares, and that was to shut up about them. If someone wanted to talk, they'd talk. And if not, then it was a common courtesy to leave it be.

"Clowns or midgets?" Didn't mean he couldn't be his usual big brother self, though. That was his job.

The rustle of wings announced Cas's return before he got more of an answer than an annoyed grunt through the door. Dean purposefully took a step back so that when Cas returned she wasn't damn near nose to nose with him. They were gonna have to have that personal bubble talk again. Especially this early in the morning. Especially this early in the morning when Dean was wearing nothing but a t-shirt and a pair of boxers. But the talk was definitely for a time when he was fully clothed.

"Dude, personal space, buddy," is as much as he would tackle before clothes (or coffee). He lightly tapped Cas on the bicep, friendly enough (just two friends, in a hotel room, no biggie), to get her to move enough so he could push past her smaller frame. The angel really didn't move all that much (another thing they'd work on: hints), but Dean was able to slide past and gain access to the rest of the room and, more importantly, his clothes (just two friends, of the opposite sex, one of them not really clothed, squeezing past one another in a small space between two beds, alone (mostly) in a tiny little hotel room. Like he said: no biggie.)

"Why would Sam be dreaming of clowns or midgets?"

Dean choked on a laugh as he made it to his bag with minor incident (nothing he couldn't hide and definitely wasn't thinking about) and quickly threw on yesterday's jeans. Better. Good start.

"Cuz little Sammy's terrified of both those things," he answered with a snicker, only to hear a thump and a muffled 'I am not!' coming from the bathroom. Dean just sniggered harder, rummaging around in his bag for a clean shirt, well aware of Cas's eyes locked on his back.

"Why would either of those things be terrifying?" the angel asked, head tilted to the side and a curious pull to her eyebrows.

"After we watch Star Trek, we'll move on to Stephen King. Then you'll see."

Cas didn't answer, and Dean busied himself with pulling off the t-shirt he slept in and throwing on the fresh shirt as quickly as possible. It was more awkward than he cared to admit (and since when was he friggin' body shy?! This was ridiculous. So Cas was in a hot chick's body. It was damn well time his body – and his brain – got over it.)

He cleared his throat, turning back towards Cas now that he had a couple centimeters of cotton armor between them, only to find the angel's eyes centered on his chest. Dean blinked and, out of habit, glanced down at himself. There didn't seem to be anything worth staring at…

The hunter cleared his throat, and Castiel's gaze snapped up to his. Dean almost made a joke about his eyes being up there, but ended up awkwardly shelving it. Cas in a girl's body was just too weird, man.

"So everything okay?" Dean asked instead, pulling at the hem of his shirt to adjust it almost nervously while Cas's eyes stayed firmly locked on his. So weird. "You're not here with some urgent, world-ending news?"

The angel looked downright fidgety, and her gaze briefly dipped back towards his chest. "No. Nothing urgent. I am just… checking in?"

Dean paused, narrowing his eyes on his friend. Not that he wasn't thrilled to see the angel (weird behavior aside (but then again, when was Cas not weird?)), and happy nothing upstairs had gone to shit, but Castiel sounded like she was asking that as much for her own sake as for getting the idiom right.

"You sure?" he asked, setting his socks back down and rounding his full attention on the angel. "You look pretty frazzled." Dean paused, frowning as his nose wrinkled with a familiar smell that hadn't been there when he first woke up. "And why do you smell like gunpowder?"

Castiel did not know what frazzled looked like, but she imagined with the haste she had left Heaven and the urgency she'd felt in locating her charges, that frazzled was likely apt. She did not quite understand what had sent her to earth with such drive, and was quickly feeling more and more foolish for the rash decision. Sam and Dean were fine. They were clearly not in any danger. And the sliver of her own grace – that she had so desperately needed to connect with a scant hour ago – was secure as ever in Dean's chest, no change or urgency to note.

Cas hesitated, the foolishness swelling, as she considered lying in response to Dean's question. The immediate response – no, I am not sure, but I am not sure for no reason – was not one she felt comfortable admitting. She was now fairly certain there had been no threat in Heaven, nor any reason to flee so irrationally. However, she was also quite terrible at lying.

"I surprised Bobby Singer with my return." Enough so that he had discharged a firearm, though Castiel hardly thought that needed to be said. "But I am…better now."

That was apparently the right response, or at least one Dean found acceptable, because the human lit up and clapped her hard on the shoulder with a wide smile. "Glad to hear it."

"How's everything in Heaven?"

Both angel and human turned at the third voice as Sam came out of the bathroom, a washcloth in hand that he was wiping his face with. Dean frowned at him. The droplets on his skin might have passed for the kid washing his face as he often did in the morning, but Dean knew the signs of fear in his brother too well to ignore that Sam had likely woken up sweating bullets and washing his face had nothing to do with a morning routine.

That must have been one hell of a nightmare.

Sam shifted the washcloth to his ear, rubbing at the wet strands of hair that framed his face. He staunchly ignored his brother, instead focusing all his attention on the angel with what he hoped passed for a friendly smile. "You get back okay?"

Whether his smile was passable or not, Castiel did not seem to notice anything wrong with the younger Winchester. At least not enough to answer his questions. "Yes. My brothers did not take my absence as anything worth noting, and my superiors have not inquired as to my whereabouts. All is well."

"Good, I'm glad you didn't run into any trouble." Sam smiled at the angel as he crossed the room over to his own bag and started rifling through for clean clothes. He stepped into his jeans and wrangled a clean shirt over his head. "How'd that other thing go? Your covert mission?"

"Ah," Cas paused, thinking briefly over how to word it. She was pretty sure it went well. Uriel had believed her. More so than she had expected, actually; he'd had proof of it. The reminder immediately made that feeling of danger – not so much danger as just not being safe – swell in her stomach. Castiel forcefully pushed it away, worried about how common it was becoming for her body and grace to behave without her consent. "Well, I believe. I have sought out one of my brother's whom I trust. He is thinking on the matter and we will proceed from there."

"Awesome," Dean announced loudly. Maybe a little too loudly. He was just happy to have Cas back around; he didn't want the details. Didn't want to rock that boat, start that argument again, already flaring in his chest like panic. "Well, we were about to head out for a hunt. You got some time?"

Cas blinked at him, seemingly surprised, but she relaxed from Defcon-stiffness-level-three back down to level one. Dean hadn't realized how stiffly she had been holding herself – mostly because this Cas was so much stiffer to begin with than his Cas. He frowned and made a note to keep an eye on the angel. Something was definitely bothering him.

Her. Whatever.

"I believe I have at least a day before my absence will be noticed." Castiel was also fairly confident Uriel would cover for her now. She was glad she'd approached her brother; having a companion in this effort would be immensely helpful.

"Great!" Dean clapped a hand on her shoulder again, right above her left collarbone, and squeezed lightly. "You can join us."

Castiel glanced at the hand, curious but not negatively so, at the physical contact. Cas didn't understand why, but Dean seemed happy, and so she did not worry about it, either. Her own hand twitched at her side and blue eyes drifted back down to the hunter's chest, where that portion of her grace lay. She could almost feel it. If she could just-

But Dean pulled away before the angel could lift her hand and make that connection once more.

Across the room, Sam had straightened up in surprise at his brother's exclamation, staring at the older Winchester.

"Seriously?" he asked, before seemingly catching himself as Dean sent a pair of raised eyebrows his way and Castiel merely shifted focus. Sam corrected, sending a look his brother's way that the angel couldn't properly read without Angela's assistance, "We, uh…were going to go interview a witness."

"She can come with," Dean answered whatever unspoken question as he sat on the end of one of the mattresses and started pulling his socks on. "And we're not interviewing the lady, Sam. It's a waste of time. Going to the Sherriff as feds will be faster."

"And more dangerous." Sam sounded frustrated, and possibly exasperated. Castiel figured they had had this conversation already, if he understood the younger Winchester's tone correctly. "Posing as FBI isn't necessary. We have a witness, we should start there."

"Whatever, man. We're just gonna end up in the monkey suits when the old lady doesn't pan out." Dean shrugged, pulling on his boots, and nodding towards the angel. "Either way, Cas's gonna need a change of clothes."

Castiel glanced down at her clothed vessel. The jeans, several sizes too large, pinched tight with one of Dean's belts that Sam had driven an extra hole into with a hunting knife, and the worn, black shirt with the logo across the front that meant nothing to the angel. She supposed she could use shoes, though her grace would keep the soles of Angela's feet from damage. Aside from that, she did not see the need for new garments when the ones she currently wore were adequate. Castiel was no expert in human fashion, but looking at Sam and Dean's clothing choices – jeans, boots, t-shirts and an over-shirt (or a green jacket in Dean's case), Castiel did not see much of a difference.

"Yeah, alright," Sam agreed after a moment of appraising the angel, eyes particularly lingering on her bare feet. He didn't sound entirely pleased about it, but Castiel was fairly certain that it had less to do with her and more with his brother. "We can stop for supplies and clothes on the way to Marian Alder's house."

-o-o-o-

Something was up with Sam. Dean could tell. He knew that kid better than he knew himself, and something was definitely bothering him. He looked tired, and he was irritable and jumpy. Especially jumpy. The motel manager knocking on the door had the younger Winchester drawing his gun (and what the hell? Why was he armed while they were still in the room and barely even dressed?) which had gotten a hell of a look out of Dean. But Sam had ignored it, keeping the gun drawn, moving behind the door as Dean hollered through it and the matter was resolved without ever opening the thing.

Yeah. Something was definitely up with Sam; it was more than just a lingering nightmare at this point – even a bad one – and Dean was gonna find out what it was just as soon as they got Cas settled into the hunt.

-o-o-o-

Sam was freaking out. Correction, Sam's primal instinct of fight or flight was freaking out while his brain attempted its best to reason with the reaction and failed miserably each time. Pulling a gun on the motel manager had not been great – luckily the guy had been chased off fairly successfully by his brother – but the cat was out of the bag on Sam being not-so-okay.

Because Sam was really not okay. Azazel's final words still rung in his ear, promising an appearance of the yellow-eyed demon that guaranteed to end in a way Sam absolutely could not let happen. And as a demon, the bastard could be anyone. The manager. The maid. The sheriff Dean insisted they go commit a felony in front of. Hell, even the elderly woman Sam was insisting they go interview.

Azazel could be anyone. Anywhere. And Sam had no way to stop him.

So he ignored Dean's look and even more so the loudly cleared throat in his direction (not even attempting to be subtle. Nice, Dean) and instead focused on the perfectly good distraction they had with them in the room.

Castiel.

-o-o-o-

Sam and Dean stood in front of the angel, a pair of shoes in Sam's hands, both pairs of eyes locked on Cas's feet.

"Which do you think will draw more attention?" Sam asked, glancing between his size thirteen shoes and the vessel's (probably size seven – in women's - if they were lucky?) bare feet. Cas looked down at her feet as well, a curious pinch in her brow like she'd never noticed them before. She wiggled her toes against the cheap motel carpet.

"Probably the clown shoes," Dean answered, mostly serious despite the dig. Honestly, his wouldn't be any better, even if they were two sizes smaller. Cas would still be walking around in shoes twice the length of her foot and flopping with every step. Dean didn't imagine the angel had much coordination when it came to things she'd never experienced or even had to think about, ever.

"Barefoot it is." Sam tossed the shoes back onto his bag with a shrug.

Cas was still staring at her feet.

-o-o-o-

As they exited the motel room, Castiel paused at the sight of cars lining the parking lot. Sam and Dean were both loading their bags – one go-bag and one supply bag each – into the trunk of the Impala. The car was faintly familiar to the angel, through no memory of her own. The same source that deciphered Dean Winchester's moods and actions for her, at least to some extent, was now informing her that the vehicle was of some importance to her charge.

She was also a female car and was named Baby.

The angel turned to the brothers, Sam on the far side of the vehicle, already opening his door and sliding into the seat, and Dean with the driver's side door open, staring expectantly at her.

"You coming, or what?"

Castiel's eyes widened as she realized and pondered the question. She eyed the vehicle warily. She had not been intending to go with them, having no interest in traveling at the rate of humans. However, there was still a niggling worry in her human vessel's gut at the thought of leaving her charges, however temporarily.

Still, the vehicle looked….small. She turned her gaze back to Dean. "I will meet you there."

"Dude, we don't even know where we're stopping." Dean climbed into the car as he spoke. "Don't be a baby. Get in."

Sam opened the back door for her, attempting a helpful (if not, 'yeah, I get treated like a child too, welcome to the club') smile on his face. Castiel tried for an audible sigh, something she understood to be an expression of displeasure, and the angel awkwardly slid into the car. The sound only seemed to amuse her human companions and Castiel frowned in the backseat at yet another failed attempt to mimic human habit. Probably, she thought, because humans made no sense.

-o-o-o-

"This mode of transportation is very slow."

Sam snorted. Dean sent a glare with very little heat (considering the insult someone had just lobbed at his car) towards the rearview mirror which, in turn, passed it along to the angel sitting passenger side in the back seat.

"Shut your pie hole. You'll hurt Baby's feelings."

The angel's brow pinched in confusion. The car did speed up with a rev of the engine, though the incremental increase was dishearteningly minor in regard to Castiel's perception of speed. However, she thought it best not to point that out and instead attempted to shut her 'pie hole' (once Angela, who'd begun to stir through the drive, explained what a pie hole was. Castiel decided against following her suggestion of sticking their tongue out in return.)

(Humans still made no sense, but at least she once more had a guide to deciphering them.)

-o-o-o-

Walmart was the first store they came across fitting their needs, which both brother's agreed would work. Sam was the first one out, blinking in surprise when Castiel was in the backseat one second and standing beside him the next. He glanced surreptitiously around the parking lot to make sure no one had noticed the angel's disappearing act, only a little surprised that no one had.

"You're gonna get flabby, Cas." Dean closed the driver's side door and rounded the Impala to join them as he started towards the impressively large store. Cas followed wordlessly, even as Sam sent his brother an annoyed look for his next words. "Alright, I'll get supplies, you get Cas some new clothes."

"You help Cas get clothes," the younger Winchester corrected pointedly, stopping to snag an errant cart left beside an empty parking spot. "I'll get the supplies."

"Why do I have to take him- her clothes shopping?" Dean complained as Sam wheeled the cart back over to the group. Cas eyed it and its noisy, rattling wheel with some trepidation, obviously regretting her decision to accompany them on this endeavor. "You're better with the girly stuff."

"Grow up, Dean." Sam rolled his eyes, bitchface # 3 (coincidentally known as, 'Grow up, Dean.') rip-roaring right across his face as the three headed into the store. The growing June warmth and bright sun was replaced by blasting air conditioning and halogens. Castiel was looking less certain of this decision with every step. "She's your angel."

With that, Sam pushed the cart off towards the refrigerated and foods section, effectively ending the debate. Dean made a face after him, unable to voice the rebuke without calling unwanted attention to them. So instead, he grabbed Cas, who was staring at the passing shoppers just a little too intensely, by the elbow and, grumbling, headed for the clothing aisles in the center of the store.

"Thanks for the backup back there." He let go of the angel's arm once they were on a clear path towards the woman's department, and Cas fell in step beside him without protest. Despite the large store and multitude of things and people to look at, the angel kept her eyes straight forward. Woman on a mission, apparently. "You know, you're not my angel."

"On the contrary, given that a chunk of my grace is integrated with your soul, assigning ownership is not that misplaced." Dean almost tripped (okay, so he totally tripped, but he caught himself like a pro and no one saw it, so it didn't count), sputtering at the angel's words. Because no it most certainly was misplaced. Very misplaced! "However, if it makes you feel better, it could be more accurately said that you are my human."

His shoe made the most god awful, outright obnoxious squeak against Walmart's stupidly shiny floor as Dean stumbled a second time. Cas paused to give him an odd look, like she wasn't confident he was capable of walking on his own. He was fine, damnit.

"No," he choked out adamantly. "No, that's definitely not any better."

Not only because, no, that was absolutely worse, for so many reasons, but also because it turned a couple heads towards them too. He might have been able to write one of them off from his feet trying to make music out of linoleum, but he was pretty sure it was the 'woman' beside him addressing Dean as her human. Like she was his friggin' pet.

Dean squirmed, uncomfortable with the shudder that rippled through him. There was too much in there to unpack and he wanted nothing to do with any of it. The first of which was 'not my kink!' and the last of which was an endless string of things he'd heard people – foe and friend – call Cas in relation to him. His loyal St. Bernard (his bitch), his pet angel ('the one that's, you know, in love with you?'), his guard dog (and again, his bitch). God, those had all been when Cas was definitely more identifiable as a man. Dean did not want to see what came next if someone called Cas any of those things now (though, mostly that last one.)Yes, he might be old-fashioned in this one thing. Yeah, maybe it was a little sexist. But Dean couldn't help it. Men protected women. Real men respected women. And Cas, for all intents and purposes, looked like a woman. Dean's brain, trained by a hardass, Midwestern marine and a whole lot of black and white Hollywood (actually, yeah, Dean could see where the definitely sexist thread was coming from now…) wasn't going to handle Cas getting called anything but an angel in his- her current state. There'd be broken noses and blood involved. Dean's, probably, if the punch he'd throw was against anything but another human.

So, yeah. Let the universe and everyone in it call Castiel his angel. He had a new perspective on how not-that-bad it was.

"Let's just find you something to wear," Dean muttered, turning away from her and pushing into the aisles upon aisles of clothing. He put his entire focus into that task, beating back the redness in his face and the troubling thoughts in his head. The two made their way towards the clothing designed for business wear and Dean selected the jacket portion of the first pantsuit he saw that said 'fed'. "You know what size Angela is by chance?"

Cas tilted her head to the side, that thick hair falling off her shoulder as her eyes went just a little unfocused. Dean raised his eyebrows, wondering if Cas was like…measuring herself somehow. Could she do that? She could tell him her temperature, heart rate, blood alcohol level, and a million other things about that body he did not need to know (oh, god, he wasn't going down that train of thought. Abort, abort, abort!). Measurements seemed like a stretch though.

So when the angel rattled off numbers that meant nothing to Dean, but didn't match what was currently in his hand, he set the hanger back on the rack and started searching for a jacket that did. "You get that from her subconscious or you got a mental ruler in there with you?"

There was that head tilt again. Cas didn't know what he was asking. Dean opened his mouth to clarify something he probably shouldn't be asking to start with (but damnit, he was curious) when the angel responded, "Angela told me her size."

The hunter blinked at that. "Wait, what?"

"I asked her preferred clothing size, and she indicated pants size eight, shirts-"

Dean shook his head. "No, I got that. You mean she's awake in there?"

He remembered Jimmy telling them what it had been like serving as a vessel. How Cas had kept him asleep for most of it, but even then, bits had leaked through. And being awake had been… Well, it certainly hadn't sounded pleasant.

"She requested it." Cas dipped her head slightly, as though she had her own opinions on the matter but Dean knew she wouldn't be voicing them. "Her comatose state was unsatisfactory."

Dean just stared, suit jacket completely forgotten about. "She's been awake the whole time?"

Cas returned his gaze for a moment, before those blue eyes dropped down his body and up it again (lingering for just a moment too long on his chest, hand twitching by her side), not unlike the first night back at Bobby's. Suddenly, Dean was blushing bright friggin' red, and damnit, he so did not need this – this being an angel and his best friend checking him out! – right now.

"Did she just do that or did you?" he asked, and yeah, okay, that might have sounded a little paranoid, but his own reaction to the woman hadn't exactly been subtle when Cas first showed up. This was so not cool!

That head tilted again and there was something in those blue eyes – a hint of the amusement he knew Cas would one day learn to show in earnest – that had Dean's eyes narrowing and gave him the distinct urge to hit the guy. Er, girl. Okay, so maybe not hit…

"I am in full control of this body. However, she has been helping me respond to social situations more aptly."

Dean swore under his breath. Full body scans were not aptly. They were wrongly, is what they were. "That's why you've been like that. Using idioms and stuff."

Stuff like checking people the hell out! Dean shoved the flare of jealousy (not jealousy, damnit. Concern) so far down he was pretty sure his feet were ringing with it.

Not people, just Dean.

'It had better be 'just Dean' or I'm gonna-'

For good measure, he shoved a little harder and a little more downward.

"They are confusing and rarely make sense," Cas continued, apparently oblivious to the panic attack (midlife crisis? Anxiety attack? Complete and utter mental breakdown?) Dean was suffering. And yup, there was the angel Dean knew. "But Angela has been explaining them to me."

"And she's-" Dean hesitated, managing a pretty decent exterior (if not for the heavy blush and clear panic) considering his internal implosion. Weighing his words with a cautious look at his friend, he fumbled with a weak, "She's alright in there?"

There was another pause – what Dean realized was the two of them likely talking – before Cas nodded. The corner of her lip twitched like she was going for a smile, but it didn't fully form. "She is. It is not entirely pleasant, but she is coping."

"Alright then," the hunter breathed out, turning back to the jacket, eyes clearly saying just how weird their lives were even if his lips remained tightly pressed together.

"She says to thank you for the concern."

Dean cleared his throat. God, this was awkward. "Uh, no problem. Sorry for the…uh…you know…"

The boner? The multiple boners? The staring? The complete and utter lack of control over a single inch of his bodily reactions when it came to this woman?

Yeah. Any of the above, really.

God, he was blushing like a teenage girl. So not cool. None of this was cool! This was the damn right opposite of cool! It was like being caught as a voyeur, and considering Dean had never had to sneak peeks at women to get what he wanted, now he just felt gross.

"She says it's okay. You have a cute butt."

Dean missed the rack with the hanger, fumbled the miss, and then managed to grab onto the metal with a damn near desperate grip that kept him from crashing into it.

Those words, in Cas's monotone (but still hot-as-hell) deep, raspy voice had him clearing his throat because, again, awkward. That was his best friend. His male best friend, deadpan telling him his ass was hot. God damnit, Dean couldn't even. Couldn't even like a friggin' teenage girl.

Angela Anne Garrett was the devil. That's what she was.

He set the jacket back on the rack of clothes gently, now well and truly beet red (turnabout is fair play, he supposed) and pulled out – finally – the size she had indicated. The hunter all but shoved it into the angel's arms and followed it with the matching pants.

"Here," he muttered, still fighting back that stupid redness in his face. "Let's just get you a shirt so we can leave and never mention any of this again."

"Now she is laughing."

Dean groaned, grabbed Cas by the elbow once more, and hauled her two racks over to some blouses that he supposed looked like what you might wear under a suit jacket.

"Angela would also like me to remind you that boxers will not go with these pants, and those shirts will definitely show our current state of…" Cas's brows pinched together and that head tilt was back. She pushed the clothes under one arm so she could raise both hands to chest-level and curl her fingers into bunny ears. "…'bra-less-ness.'"

Dean choking on his own spit was entirely the fault of the store (somehow). As was the floor that managed to trip him for a third time that day, and the half dozen shirts he knocked down in his moment of grace.

"She is laughing again."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

A/Ns: I will try to get you all another chapter next week, but this stupid eye strain is kiiilling me and I have been struggling to write this batch of chapters. I've been feeling increasingly distressed over the fact that we're 20+ chapters into Season 2 and I haven't actually gotten us to season 2 yet -_- It's definitely stressing me out and making me feel like I should be writing *those* episodes instead of this incredible tangent I've gotten us all on. My own patience with this lengthy story apparently wore out/turned around to bite me in the butt.

Although, even with all that completely needless stress, I can't deny this chapter was incredibly entertaining to write :D Hopefully Dean's mental crisis wasn't so tangent-y that you all got lost. It *was* pretty all over the place.

-Uriel: I wanted to add a quick little note here about something that came up a lot in the feedback for last chapter that I was not expecting, and that was how many of you were angry at me for making you like Uriel (not the anger, that's totally fair ;) Truth is, I wasn't trying to make you all like him, but I'm glad that's what came across! See, I do this silly little thing where I read a fanfic with a cool idea and think, 'Wow, I like that! I'm going to make that my new headcannon!' And I am (apparently) intelligent enough to know it's *head*cannon and not show-cannon, but I am apparently not smart enough to realize that it is not now magically *everyone's* headcannon. So I started reading reviews being like, 'Whut? But...but...Uriel was kinda likeable in that one story. He had more depth in that story. Didn't everyone read that story and adopt that as their new headcannon? I'm sure there was a memo about it somewhere around here...'

:P So in conclusion, I'm a dork, but I'm glad that head-cannon was coming across and, oh yeah, I owe some author-brilliance accreditation! The story that influenced my Uriel head-canon is called "The Road From Sodom" by the talented Misato.