A/Ns: HAPPY 100th CHAPTER EVERYBODY! I am so sorry you had to wait three weeks for it. I tried to get it up last week, but between the first stage of packing and some personal stuff popping up, I simply didn't have the time. I will hopefully keep all delays down to just two weeks going forward, but it isn't something I can currently offer with any guarantee. Thank you all so, so much for your patience and understanding!

Previously on TRSF... Dean and Cas 'rescued' Sam from Gordon Walker though not before he took a nasty bullet to the chest. Cas was injured from a battle against Uriel and Angela Garrett had to take over for him, including one hell of an awkward conversation with Dean about 'feelings,' particularly those he might have towards Cas (which he *doesn't*. Definitely not. Nope, no way, screw that). The boys left Gordon to rot in police custody, only to realize that Ava Wilson was in trouble. Knowing Azazel likely took her to Cold Oak, the boys called Ellen Harvelle for back up. She passed the call on to Jo, who was hunting with Asa Fox not far from South Dakota. The boys planned to meet the pair at Cold Oak, but had to stop at Bobby's to drop Cas off so she could heal. After having been awake and running on adrenaline the entire night, the boys could honestly use a break of their own…

Chapter Reference – Andy's an immature brat (but we love him): Quick reminder that Andy decided to test his growing mental powers by sending images of gay porn to Dean. Since then, Dean seems to keep running into the topic (sometimes quite literally). See Chapter 85: Season 2, Chapter 52 for a refresher!

Chapter Reference – Dean and Cas had a spoonfest in a motel room while (not) watching Jaws: Quick reminder that Cas asked to confer with the grace in Dean's chest, and ended up doing so in a motel room, on a bed with Dean, hand buried under his shirt (skin-on-skin contact is so much better for transference, apparently) while Sam was out on a jog and Dean definitely wasn't paying any attention to the movie on in the background. See Chapter 57: Season 2, Chapter 24 for a refresher!

Chapter Reference – Faith (this time around): Quick reminder that this story's version of Season 1 episode 12: Faith, happened with Sam as the one dying (from a brain aneurism when he pushed his powers too hard) and Dean taking him to see Reverend Roy Le Grange with his leashed reaper performing 'miracles'. See Chapter 17: Season 1, Chapter 16 for a refresher!

Chapter Warnings: Sam needs some stitching, Angela needs some machinery, Cas needs another healing trance, and Dean needs to get his head out of the gutter – or wherever the hell it's gotten off to lately (which is all Andy's fault, he's definitely decided).

-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 67

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

Lucky for the Winchesters, another couple hours of sleep for Bobby meant that before they arrived, the gruff old hunter had time to cool off from being totally forgotten by his boys. He was significantly less grumpy by the time they pulled up outside the house. Not that they didn't get the deadpan glare that promised pain if they ever left him hanging without knowing what happened to them for that long again.

It probably also helped that Dean was carrying Angela – bridal style, with Cas nowhere in sight – up the steps when Bobby opened the front door for them. Then there was Sam, with a bandaged shoulder he was definitely favoring and bags about a mile deep beneath his eyes. That sure didn't hurt their chances of sympathy over a lecture (which Bobby had surely prepared, extra sleep or not). The gruff hunter just stepped to the side, door held open, giving his boys a side-long look that was as worried as it was scolding.

"I'm going to take her upstairs," Dean said without much more explanation than that. Angela was starting to stir in his arms. They hadn't bothered waking her up when they'd parked the Impala in the dusty yard. The last three times they'd tried at various gas stations and food stops had been unsuccessful, to the point where the Winchesters stopped trying.

As Dean headed for the stairs, he tossed over his shoulder, "Sam's been shot, one to the chest, left side. Needs proper patching up."

"Gee, thanks, Dean," his brother muttered under his breath as he stood next to Bobby, knowing he'd just been made the sacrificial goat, thrown under the bus so Dean could get out of an in-person lecture. He'd be too busy 'helping Angela-slash-Cas'. How altruistic of him.

"I'll get the med kit," Bobby grumbled out the side of his mouth as the older Winchester started up the stairs. That was definitely concern in his voice and a bit more of a sympathetic eye for Sam. Dean's back, meanwhile, got a narrowed-eyed promise of a lecture at a later date. It helped mollify Sam at least a little and he followed his surrogate father figure into the kitchen without protest.

"Andy!" Bobby hollered as they passed through the den.

Oh, good, Sam thought. Andy's alive. They hadn't killed each other yet. That was good. It had definitely been up for question until that moment, considering the mute psychic was nowhere to be seen.

The yell was somewhat needless, it turned out. The kid popped up behind Sam like a ghost coming out of nowhere. Sam jumped, then hissed and made a ginger grab at his injured shoulder. Andy had the decency to look regretful about it.

'Sorry,' he mouthed. Bobby gave him a pointed look from behind Sam. The kid glared back, then rolled his eyes and raised his hands, repeating the apology in ASL: a circle rubbed over his sternum with a straight-thumbed fist.

Sam raised his good arm, fingers spread wide and straight, and tapped the point of his thumb against his chest a couple of times. Pretty much the ASL equivalent of 'It's fine", at least according to the internet. Andy blinked at the unexpected non-verbal reply, then beamed at the younger Winchester. Sam, for the sake of manly men being manly (which he rarely cared about, but childhood lessons were awfully hard to shake), beamed back, then had to ignore the slight blush to his cheeks when he turned to Bobby, who was staring at the pair of them with nothing short of affection (and perhaps a touch of pride).

"Get the whiskey," Bobby ordered, breaking the moment once he had Andy's attention. The kid nodded an affirmative, one hand raised in a thumbs up, before he headed for the liquor cabinet in the den. Sam followed Bobby into the kitchen, not looking forward to yet another hunter's rendition of home health care. Dean's had been plenty for one day.

Just once, he'd like to show up at a hospital and get real painkillers.

(Only, no, not really. The last time he'd gotten that wish, he'd been dying from pushing too hard and Dean had gone and thought about trading his life for another's via a pastor's wife and a hooked reaper. So, yeah, no, he'd take Patched Up By a Hunter 101 any day.)

Sam settled into the kitchen table, Bobby grabbing a med kit from one of the cabinets (lesson one in that book would be 'always keep a med kit in every room', and had he mentioned Bobby would probably be the author of it?), when Andy all but skipped back into the room. He held up a bottle for inspection.

"Not the good stuff, kid," Bobby grumped immediately, apparently still somewhat crabby despite his nap and cool down time.

"You have good stuff?" Sam parroted with a raised eyebrow. From the way Andy turned the label back towards himself with a very similar raised brow, he was obviously thinking the same thing.

Bobby glared at both of them and told Andy to try again, this time in very pointed Sign.

-o-o-o-

Dean made it halfway up the stairs with Angela before the woman woke up enough to wrap languid, teasing arms around his neck. She opened that devil mouth of hers to say something Dean knew he'd immediately regret hearing, so the hunter put a stop to that right then and there.

"Shaddup."

She just batted those eyelashes all ladylike, blue eyes playing way too innocent. "I didn't say anything, Dean."

"Uh-huh. Let's keep it that way."

The woman in his arms chuckled as they reached the top of the stairs. Dean headed for the room full of her medical equipment, trying not to wonder how Angela felt about being hooked back up to it without a say. Essentially forced into a coma. They hadn't even asked her – hadn't had the chance to, really – and now that Dean was thinking about it, he was kinda too scared to.

"Sorry if what we talked about in the car messed things up," Angela said out of nowhere, voice soft. She was smiling up at him and for once it wasn't a smirk. Dean definitely didn't trust it.

"Thought I told you to stop talking." Which wasn't technically true. He'd told her to shut up before she could start. She just hadn't listened, clearly. Dean nudged the door open with his toe then stopped at the threshold with a loud, frustrated sigh. "Sorry. I'm not trying to be a dick."

Angela laughed in his arms, tightening her hold around his neck un-sarcastically (for once). "I'm not taking it personally. It's been a rough couple days, huh?"

"Yeah, you can say that again," Dean muttered, mostly under his breath as he crossed the room towards the bed.

The machines were set up and ready to go, ventilation tube clean and resting on the bedside table. Bobby's doing, no doubt. Dean avoided looking at it, not caring to think about the woman in his arms pulling it up and out of her throat all on her own after waking up in the driver's seat. Instead he focused on setting her down onto the mattress with as little jostling as possible. Not that Angela Garrett was fragile, or anything. He sure seemed to be learning that the hard way. Not that he usually thought of women as fragile. Hell, none of the women who were fixtures in his life could ever be described as fragile. Just…ugh, he didn't know. He was being stupid and he knew it. He blamed Rachel for getting in his head. Or maybe Andy. Or hell, Cas at this point, for picking a stupidly gorgeous vessel who also seemed to have a decent sense of humor and a ridiculously down-to-earth grip on her current situation, all of which was confusing the fuck out of Dean. Yeah, that. All of that. Definitely Cas's fault.

Angela unhooked her arms from around his neck to settle her full weight on the bed. Dean cleared his throat, avoiding looking at those blue eyes, too. "Uh, look…thanks for being so, uh…cool about this, you know?"

It wasn't every day you found someone who'd lost everything and yet agreed to serve as an angel's vessel. And kept serving, to the point where she'd shown up on Cas's behalf to what turned out to be nothing short of a damn shootout. With grenades.

"You're welcome," Angela answered, that smile still suspiciously un-smirk-like, all open and warm. She scooted herself up the bed so that she was mostly sitting upright against the pillows. "It's been an… adventure, of sorts." She paused to laugh weakly, like it was her own little joke. "Don't get me wrong; it absolutely sucks sometimes and there are days I wish I hadn't said yes. But…it seems worth it, somehow."

Dean didn't know what to say to that, so he didn't say anything. He'd never served as a vessel and, frankly, never wanted to. Ever. He couldn't relate, and he definitely couldn't understand the kind of faith that allowed Angela Garrett to be a passenger in her own body, unto the end of the world (or worse).

The silence stretched, awkward and unfitting in the small room, until a warm, soft-skinned touch to his arm startled the hunter into meeting Angela's eyes.

"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. But what you and Cas have, whatever that may be – and I'm not pressuring you, Dean –" she chuckled once again at his expression and, despite Dean wanting to scoff (and change the subject, and run from the room screaming, and maybe never have to talk with this woman ever again), he also mostly believed her. He couldn't really look away from those stupidly honest blue pools, much as he wanted to. In the end, Dean just rolled his eyes to avoid doing either fully. "– it feels special. And important. I don't think I could just stand by if it meant Cas not being a part of all…this."

Dean let out something between a grumble and a sigh, grabbing the chair beside the hospital bed and pulling it underneath him. Because apparently they were doing this. He didn't really want to have this chat – or any other with Dragon Lady after their last one – but Angela was giving a lot up to be with them. Peace and literal Paradise; a never ending eternity with her loved ones. He supposed, while she was passing all that up to help them, he could at least keep the woman company while she was in the driver's seat, since she seemed to want to talk.

"We need him," Dean said bluntly, going for direct over the emotional declaration his words otherwise could have been. Unfortunately for him, they still stupidly tried to be the latter, given the way his throat closed up before he was even done talking. "He is important. To us, to this. Sam and I can't do it without him."

"Then it's worth it." The words were without hesitation, but Angela's smile weakened despite them. Her gaze dropped to her hands pooled in her lap. "It's not like I said yes out of pure selfless grace, you know." She laughed lowly, pure self-deprecation in every huff, and Dean felt something dangerously close to pity for this woman sitting in there, talking to a man she barely knew, in a house she was a stranger to, in a state she'd probably never seen. All because they'd needed her. The woman tried valiantly to rally her smile, but it was sadder the second time around. "I was scared. I didn't want to die."

Dean dropped his eyes, too. It's not like he'd forgotten that Angela was slated to that fate, but it hadn't been on the forefront of his mind lately. Not with all the other people he knew with deaths that seemed a lot more…well, certain, he supposed. It was kinda hard to remember her destiny had been set too when she was alive, awake and chatting him up like they were old friends.

He didn't ask about her use of past tense, though he hadn't missed it. He thought about asking, about whether she was ready now or if she even realized it, but decided not to. They weren't old friends and Dean had to remind himself that he barely knew this woman. The person he knew was only borrowing her face.

"It's not all bad," was what came out of his mouth. He offered that blue, blue gaze a grim smile. "Death's a pretty sweet deal, actually."

At least if you were headed upward, which he was pretty damn sure a lady like Angela would be.

She laughed, thinking he was talking from (very recent) personal experience. "Yeah? What's it like? Castiel was pretty sparse on the details."

"Angels and reapers tend to be like that." Dean leaned back into the chair, telling himself he could do this. Just a normal (okay, fine, abnormal) conversation with a (sort of, maybe?) friend who just needed some reassurance about her impending mortality. He could do that. Sure. "Heaven's all good memories. On a loop, only you don't know they're memories. You get to relive all your greatest hits with your favorite people."

He was smiling by the end of it, even if there was a bitter twitch deep in the muscles around his mouth. Heaven wasn't real and never would be, in Dean's option. Not the memories, not the Holier-Than-Thou bullshit, not freakin' God. But Angela didn't need to know any of that. Probably wouldn't pick up on it, either. She was smiling, likely thinking of what some of those memories would be. Dean wondered who her favorite people were. He'd never thought to ask, since Cas had assured him they were all dead. That had been his requirement for her to serve as a vessel.

It was unsettling how much that thought now felt like the deathblow, rather than an attempt to save someone from Jimmy Novak's fate.

"Yeah, that doesn't sound too bad," Angela answered, voice oddly soft and calling Dean away from his increasingly dark thoughts. The hunter couldn't tell if he'd helped or made it worse. Which seemed all too par for the course, now didn't it. Then Angela was straightening up ever so slightly, like she'd heard something Dean hadn't caught. The woman suddenly laughed, a totally different sound, with a lot more genuine joy and mischief than their conversation called for. Dean raised an eyebrow and Angela smiled widely. "Cas is awake and a little behind on the conversation. He wants to know what damsels in distress and very tall towers have to do with female dragons."

At Dean's confused expression, Angela winked and said, "Because you're my hero, Dean. My Knight in shining armor. My valiant-"

"Okay, we get it," he barked, though he was pretty sure it came out as much of a plea as it did a demand. The glare he gave her almost immediately made the Dragon Lady laugh all over again. The hunter just snorted in response. There was no winning with this woman. Ever. "I'll be sure to give him the cliff notes on Rapunzel so he's all caught up."

He'd meant it as one hundred percent, acrid sarcasm, but given the way Angela's lips spread wider with pure, shameless devilry, Dean knew he'd stepped in it right away. "Aw, isn't that a sweet thought. You reading Cas a bedtime story."

The hunter internally cursed every bone in this woman's body while externally he blushed bright red and tried to hide it by ducking his head, mind on a completely different conversation held almost entirely via a rearview mirror.

Yeah. Totally didn't work. Damnit.

"Of course, Rapunzel didn't have a dragon, you know."

Had he said bones? He meant fiber. Every fiber of this woman's sarcastic, thinks-she's-so-damn-funny, evil, evil being.

"Sleeping Beauty, then, and it doesn't matter, cuz I'm pretty sure I told you to shut the hell up," Dean growled, well aware the angel behind those gorgeous blue eyes was listening now. Which only reminded him moreover of their last conversation and how he was apparently broadcasting some misleading signals all over the friggin' place. Time to backpedal like only Dean Winchester could. "You know I didn't mean it like that."

"Like what, Dean?" Those goddamn eyelashes were back to batting pure innocence.

"Jesus, you really are a Dragon Lady," he muttered, not really meaning to say it aloud.

Angela laughed again, a joyous enough sound (and so odd coming from someone who wore Cas's face (even if the reality was the other way around)) that even Dean could admit her stupid amusement was probably worth his misery and humiliation. Well, some of it. A little. Very little. And afterward she could go back to shutting the hell up.

She leaned towards him, winking. "I work hard at it."

For lack of anything better to do and feeling incredibly awkward for no damn reason, Dean stood from the chair, turning towards the various machines surrounding her bed. He made a grab for the heart monitor clip and clumsily attaching it to her finger. That led to him grabbing the wires for monitoring brain activity next, one of the five things he knew how to do out of the dozens necessary to hook a human body up to life support.

He probably should learn at some point, considering it was his best friend sitting on that bed in a woman who needed those machines due to demands laid out by Dean. He'd never been good with the tech sorta stuff, though. Give him a needle and thread and he'd stich you a friggin' Van Gogh across any battle wound, but a bunch of machines, wires, and tubes? He was helpless all over again.

"I'll, uh…" Dean definitely fumbled the words as hard as he fumbled the first monitor, placing it at her temple. He was blushing again and he didn't know why and her stupid, knowing smirk definitely wasn't helping. "Most of this will have to wait for Sam. Bobby's patching him up, then he'll be up to do the, uh, the rest."

Angela chuckled so softly it was mostly just air through her nose. She took the second electrode pad from him, peeling the cover off the back and sticking it to the other side of her scalp like she'd done it a thousand times before. Suddenly Dean wondered what her profession had been. He was wondering a lot of things about this woman he'd never really thought twice about. Something about that felt…bad. Pathetic, if not wrong all together.

"That's okay. Cas can do the rest," Angela answered as she passed him back the thin plastic covering that kept the sticky coating on the back fresh when it wasn't busy sticking to skin. "He wants to talk to you anyway."

"Uh…" Dean's hand froze, halfway to tossing the piece of plastic beside the heart monitor and now failing miserably. He had to catch the thing twice as it slid off the side of the machine. Goddamnit. Why the hell was he blushing worse now? That…that definitely wasn't right. He was blushing because of friggin' Angela Dragon Lady Garrett. Because she was the devil, but a hot one, and Cas- well, Cas had nothing to do with it!

Damnit, what was it with women – human or angelic – messing with his head lately? He had enough issues keeping shit straight up there on his own.

"It was nice talking with you, Dean," Angela said sweetly before her eyes flashed a brighter, lighter blue, and then it was Cas sitting stiffly, back ramrod straight, in the hospital bed, staring at him, and Dean had to figure out rapidly how to act completely and utterly normal. Because that's what he was. That's what this was.

Mother friggin' normal.

"Uh…"

Oh, yeah, this was going great. Why hadn't he volunteered Sam for Cas-slash-Angela duty and taking the Bobby lecture when he had the chance? Why hadn't he also just slit his throat when he'd had the chance, sitting in the car on the side of that stupid highway in Lafayette, while Angela Devil Lady Garrett went and blabbed her opinions all over him like chick flick word vomit?

"Hi, Cas."

Good, great, two words strung together. Progress. Way to go, Dean.

"Hello, Dean."

The hunter found himself caught in that wide, endless, unblinking blue stare, desperately thinking that he could not be the most interesting thing in the room. But Cas just kept on staring and Dean fidgeted, fumbling the next sensor between confused and jittery fingers. What the hell. No, really. What the hell? Interacting with Cas had always been at least a little awkward. Even once it had stopped being awkward at all, the fact that it was no longer awkward had seemed, well, awkward. But this…this was flippin' ridiculous. This was his friend, his angel, who he'd survived Heaven and Hell and friggin' Purogatory with, and Dean was standing there braindead and blushing like a schoolgirl in pigtails, damnit!

He needed to get his head back on straight. This was just a result of dying. And Andy messing with him. And Dragon Lady messing with him, and Rachel messing with him, and Heaven being, well, Heaven, and so on. Dean would get his head back on straight and all…this (whatever this was) would go the fuck away.

Then everything would be normal and good and right in the world.

Yup. That.

Realizing he was still holding the last EEG sensor, Dean suddenly thrust it out to the angel. Right. Medical equipment was interesting, Cas could go and stare at that.

"Here." The angel dropped her gaze to the electrode as Dean flopped it back and forth by the connection point. "Angela said you could…?"

Cas retrieved the small device from his hand and placed it low on her skull, just beneath her left ear. They then proceeded to play a near-silent, awkward-as-hell (at least for one of them) game of Pass-the-Medical-Device-So-Cas-Could-Hook-It-Up. Which Dean was not – he repeated: not – referring to as 'Playing Doctor' in his own head. No way, no how. This game (which was totally not playing doctor, damnit) included moments when Dean had to turn around as fast as he possibly could (almost tripping over the chair he'd been sitting in only a few minutes ago, catching himself on the armrests and then very deliberately picking it up and moving it several feet away like that had been his plan all along and he'd only added almost-tripping-and-killing-himself for the extra flair) when Cas starting doing things like pulling back the blankets and unbuttoning her slacks with no friggin' warning. Unfortunately for Dean, it wasn't until after he'd chosen (deliberately, mind you) to move that chair that he realized what he'd handed Cas was, in fact, a catheter.

Look, it wasn't his fault he hadn't been paying any attention, alright? There was a reason he didn't help out with this stuff, leaving it all to Sam. He was doing everything he could just to get his brain going again. God, he missed the days when Cas was a boy and also an angel with a vessel that didn't need things shoved places that Dean was absolutely not thinking about. He almost couldn't believe he was saying this, but Dean missed when things were normal.

"You…uh…you good?" Dean asked, back still to the bed and the potentially undressed-and-doing-things-Dean-wasn't-thinking-about angel.

"Yes," Cas answered and Dean (who wasn't entirely ready to trust that the angel understood and would, in fact, have pants back on when he looked) risked a glance over his shoulder. But Cas was back to ramrod-straight attention, blankets tucked into place around her, pants and unmentionables safely hidden beneath (on or otherwise), and was once more watching Dean with that unwavering gaze. "We should discuss the healing trance."

"Uh…right. Yeah." The hunter turned fully around, rubbing his hands across his thighs almost nervously, fidgeting for the pure lack of anything else to do in the quiet room. Then Cas's words registered, and he had entirely new things to be worrying about. "Wait, 'trance'? You said you just needed rest. A trance sounds kinda ominous, Cas."

"It is how angels recover from severe damage." Whether or not the human in the room found the phrasing any more or less reassuring, Cas didn't seem worried. Well, much. It was hard to tell with the stoic expression and rigid posture, but Dean was pretty sure Cas was too tired to be worried. Which, honestly, might be worse. "It is called a trance because we shut down any systems unnecessary to the healing, including what you perceive as consciousness."

"And angel radio, I'm guessing." Dean could figure out that much on his own. Last time Cas had ditched them for healing, she'd said she wouldn't have her ears on. If she'd been doing this 'trance' business up in heaven, then that was probably what a 'system shut down' meant. Angels were weird, man. "That's what Uriel was helping you with."

Supposed to be helping with, the dickwad. Fat lot a good it had done them.

"Yes. Another angel is usually present to assist in entering the trance and keeping the damaged grace from…" The angel trailed off, blinking once at Dean, as if unsure how to proceed. Dean knew that look. Which, shit, meant this version of Cas was starting to pick up on what did and didn't piss Dean off. And that meant whatever she had to say was gonna piss him off.

Goddamnit.

"Just spit it out," Dean sighed, bringing that chair back over to the bed and sinking into it damn near bonelessly. He was too tired for this himself.

Cas fidgeted with her hands, both of them twitching like she planned to move but purposefully didn't. "If an angel's core is damaged enough, it goes-"

"Supernova," Dean suddenly finished for her, blinking even as he said it. As he realized it. He'd seen that. He'd seen that happen a hundred times, the most recently only last frickin' night. "Wait, are you saying you could-"

"It is very unlikely," Cas hurriedly explained. If she thought there was more than even the slightest chance, she would have expended the extra energy to move Angela's medical equipment down to Bobby Singer's panic room, in order to contain the blast and Holy light that marked an angel's end. "Healing trances are often a last resort, to keep an angel from…'going up.'"

This time those hands did move, raising off the bed to curl into bunny ears. Dean ignored it with every fiber of his being. He'd wasted every damn word he'd had with Angela Garrett over the last twenty-four hours, not once addressing those damn air quotes. God damnit.

"But you're not close to that, right?" Focus on the problem at hand, curse out the Dragon Lady another day. Because they were talking about Cas's life here, even if the angel didn't seem worried about it (go figure that). For probably only the third time in their entwined existence, Dean was sitting stiffer than the angel in front of him as he repeated, "Right?"

"Right. I don't think it's a concern here." Her answer, not ask quick this time, carried enough steadfast confidence to put Dean back at ease. Well, mostly back at ease. Some ease. Not deaf-con level five readiness, at least. Maybe just a three for now. "In cases of severe damage, grace can…'overload' when balance isn't maintained throughout our entire being. Like…."

"The coolant system on a nuclear plant blowing out." Or a damaged bullet blocking the barrel. Yeah, Dean got the image. However grace seemed to work, it was required for all the 'systems' to function. Same as any machine, organic or not. The more systems bowing out, unable to get a supply of what was needed, the faster the bigger picture shut down. Cue meltdown or explosion or death, etcetera, etcetera.

"Yes…" This time, Cas's answers was far more unsure. She gave Dean the kind of look that said 'stop comparing me to your human things.' Dean ignored it. Cas was the one always using analogies and shit. Dean was just taking her lead. "A second angel lends their grace to maintain an even spread, or to supplement when the damaged angel does not have enough grace left. In this case, another angel may not be necessary."

"I don't know, Cas." Dean didn't look so confident. Cas hadn't even been able to walk on his- er, her own back at that gas station. Somehow, he doubted the guy- girl- woman- damnit, angel had enough grace to cover all those systems on her own. "You aren't doing so hot on your own, you know? Maybe we should call Rachel."

He was pretty confident the stoic angel would help. Her concern for Cas's wellbeing had seemed genuine, and she'd cared enough to help Dean find him in Heaven. Her. Goddamnit, this was annoying.

Cas shook her head. "Heaven will be locked down, now. There is nothing she can do to help."

The holes Castiel had previously made use of (and which he suspected Rachel found once Dean called her) would be more closely monitored now. Heaven's Guard would be closing up as many as they could find. Zachariah had been lazy after Castiel's first disobedience, only bothering with the two she had mentioned in her report. But now…now she was certain Rachel would have no way to come, even if Castiel did call her, which she would not. The less involved Rachel was in this, the safer she would be. The safer his entire Flight would be.

It pained Cas greatly to admit it. The future Dean came from was one where Heaven despised her. All her brothers, hunting her, hating her. She worried now that between Zachariah's influence and cunning cruelly – with no one to counter his machinations on Castiel's behalf – she was doomed to the very same future.

At least she was sticking to the timeline, Cas supposed bitterly. How difficult it could be, to swallow your own advice.

"It is possible to enter a trance unaided," the angel continued, moving away from her cynical thoughts and focusing on the current issue. She had several to pick from, as it was. "But I have never attempted it before. I will leave my…'ears' on so that I will hear your prayers."

That was one mistake she would never make again. It wouldn't matter if she was dying; her connection to the Ether – and therefore her charges – would remain. No matter what.

"I should be able to wake myself up if needed-"

"How long are we talking here, Cas?" Dean was staring at her with growing worry, which on his face looked like anger. Castiel was getting better at reading that.

"I do not know," she admitted regretfully. "The purpose of the trance in this case is to speed up the healing process. I will shut down any unnecessary systems, including supplying grace to Angela's body. But I have never done this without another angel supplementing grace. I…I would guess a week. Maybe more."

Dean stared. And stared. And it was definitely anger on his face, but it wasn't because of Cas. Damnit. The hunter closed his eyes, running close-to-shaking hands over his aching, tired eyeballs, digging his heals in until he saw spots. Damnit! He was sick of getting Cas back only to lose her again. Again and again. Like fate was purposefully keeping the damn angel from him.

He snorted, dropping his hands from his face. Right. Like the Universe gave that much of a shit about him – any of them – to begin with. The man from the future rallied himself, shaking off the bitter, asshole version of Dean friggin' Winchester that liked to surface now and then and dig a cynical hole straight back to Hell. The hunter reminded himself that Cas was here. Mostly safe, mostly okay, and would get better. That counted for something.

It had to.

"Alright," he muttered, opening his eyes to find worried blue regarding him solemnly. Dean cleared his throat, straightening up in the chair and also reminding himself this wasn't just about him. "Yeah, alright. Whatever you need. Just, focus on healing up."

And he would focus on patience and the positives. Right. A real good skill of his.

Dean ran a hand down his face, scrubbing at the five o'clock shadow that had taken root while he was busy being dead and running around heaven and also kicking Gordon Walker's ass. He needed a shave. A shower and a shave, and he wasn't gonna get either of 'em, because he had a million other places to be, friends to help, new baddies to get to first. "Is there, uh, is there anything I can do to help?"

He wasn't an angel and he definitely couldn't 'supplement' anything for the guy, but he wasn't useless. (He friggin' wasn't, damnit.)

That blue gaze dropped to his chest almost immediately, despite the flutter of hesitation beneath dark lashes. Dean almost sighed, realizing where this was going well before Cas opened her mouth. "Entering the trance is the most difficult part. It maybe help to…to have contact with another source of grace."

Right. He wasn't an angel, but he was kinda, sorta housing one.

Dean managed not to roll his eyes as he reached out and grabbed the angel's hand, pulling it flat to his chest. It was still embarrassing, but a lot less than that first damn time. And the second. Even if Sam had just as much likelihood of walking in on them here, too. Or god, Andy. Ugh. Dean almost didn't manage to hold back the groan at the mere thought.

Hell, he had to hold back a groan at the realization that he was getting used to this. These little grace-seeking confabs. Good grief, he might as well start braiding Cas's hair right here and now (not that he actually knew how to braid hair…).

Cas closed her eyes, lids sliding shut over pools of blue in a way that made Dean very, very uncomfortable. Like touching his chest was the most satisfying, wondrous thing in the damn world. Which Dean wasn't thinking about, because he'd done enough blushing today, thank you very much. Blushing wasn't even a thing he did. Which meant it would be just great if he stopped doing it any damn time now.

Like last time, only without the excuse of Jaws playing in the background to give him at least some excuse not to watch the angel, Dean found his eyes locked on Cas's face. He was tired and honestly needed about a week's worth of sleep himself, but he knew he wouldn't get it until Cas went under (or whatever). (And even then, who was he kidding? He and Sam were getting an hour, tops, before they'd be back on the road, heading towards Jo and their next, never-ending crisis.)

(Christ, he was tired.)

Cas's features were relaxed. Peaceful, even, and Dean found himself envious. Or maybe it was guilt. Either way, his thoughts were back on that dream, sitting on a picnic table at a kid's birthday party – a friend of Ben's – drinking a beer next to Cas. His Cas. Not that this Cas sitting in front of him wasn't also sort of his. Er. Well. No, nope, he definitely didn't feel comfortable addressing the very female looking angel as his.

Was that a double standard?

…Yeah, probably. Shit. But also to hell with it, because it didn't change how Dean felt, and how he felt was awkward. So moving on, back to the point.

He hadn't gotten one of those dreams since. Months, now, since he'd seen his Cas and Dean could admit, whether with bitterness, jealously, or just plain regret, that he missed his friend. It was damn frustrating to have the guy tangled up in his soul – to literally be housing him – and yet have him entirely unreachable.

Dean realized he was being watched and snapped back to the present. He found now-open eyes regarding him with one of the more intense stares Cas possessed.

"Uh…Everything…everything okay?" Damnit, he was blushing again. At least this time it was because he'd been caught staring while also frowning like a friggin' kid whose ice cream had tumbled off the cone to melt, spoiled, on the ground below.

(He needed to stop using analogies that painted him as a child. They were not helping.)

"Your thoughts are very loud."

Dean blinked. What the hell was he supposed to do with that? Then he realized what he'd been thinking and winced. With a rough swallow and more god damn blushing, he cleared his throat. "Uh, right. Sorry?"

Cas just stared at him before she dropped her hand from his chest. Dean moved to protest, hand following after Cas's before it seemed to realize what it was doing and fell awkwardly to the edge of the bed. Still. His protest wasn't because he could feel anything from the depleted sliver of grace inside him (the loss of that warm, fuzzy, happy flip-flopping would actually be worthy of protest, embarrassing as it was), but because Dean knew Cas needed this. Before he could figure out how to put that into words that weren't straight from a chick flick (and therefore unacceptable to say aloud), the angel levered herself up by the arms and scooted a foot over. Cas resettled on the far edge of the narrow hospital bed before resuming her intense stare, now with a hint of expectancy. Dean stared right back, utterly confused as to what it was she was expecting, until Cas patted the narrow, now-empty space next to her thigh. Not unlike what he'd done back in that motel room while Jaws played in the background.

"Uh…thanks, but…I'm good here, buddy." Dean tapped one of the arms of the chair like it was friggin' live preserver and he was happy hanging out in shark-infested waters so long as he had it.

Cas leveled a look his way that said she well knew he was a drowning man. "If you wish to speak with him as well, you will need to be asleep. It would be better if you did not fall to the floor or spend too long in a position you might regret when you wake."

That…that was a lot of words, but the gist of it, if Dean's ears were working any better than his brain, was that Cas wanted him in bed with her. Oh, and that he'd get to talk to Chest Cas.

Wait, what?

"Wait, what?" Dean shook his head to clear it, quite literally trying to knock the cobwebs loose. The angel in front of him rolled her eyes without either eyeball ever rotating, Dean was sure of it.

"When I commune with the grace in your chest, it is not a conversation as you would think of it, as I said before."

Despite Dean's adamancy that he was good in the chair, Cas did not move back over to the center of the bed, hand still resting in that empty spot beside her. There was a depression in the mattress where she'd been sitting. Dean wondered if it would still be warm from her body heat. Angels were always so weirdly cold, but Angela Garrett hadn't been. Dean wanted to reach out to that spot. Find out.

The hunter shook his head. Physically shook his head to dispel that messed up train of thought. What the hell? Something was seriously wrong with him.

"But it might be possible to induce a dream state in which you could speak with him, as I believe he has done before."

Stress. It had to be stress. Maybe he needed to take some time to himself; a cold shower or a little hand-action should knock this shit right out of him-

Cas's words registered – unexpectedly and suddenly – in his damn-near broken brain (and it was. It was so, so broken lately. He blamed Andy. Didn't matter that this wasn't gay porn right here. This was still somehow that damn kid's fault.) Despite his head being screwed on sideways, Dean was reaching out for Cas's wrist before the words were even done leaving those stupidly perfect lips. Before they even registered, really.

Maybe it was an aborted move to seeking out that body heat. Maybe it really was stress. Or maybe it was that he missed his friend. His friend who he'd spent a horrible, miserable, terrible, stressful week (one of the worst of his life, and that was saying something) thinking he'd lost forever. A friend he'd barely started to mourn, a friend Dean still couldn't see, couldn't be sure, because he was nothing more than a shadow and some mumbled words of reassurance from another who thought of that sliver as a power source and something that shouldn't be buried in Deans' chest.

Cas stared down at the hand wrapped around her arm, then to the hunter it belonged to, and Dean tried not to be self-conscious about this. He wanted to see the other Cas and this Cas was offering. Dean wasn't passing that up, no matter what this might look like or how he battled the red still plaguing his cheeks. Instead, he uncurled his grip from Cas's arm and held out his hand instead. When the angel still only stared, he wiggled his fingers as obnoxiously and obviously as possible, looking pointedly down at his open, offered palm.

"I'm good in the chair, so come on. Bring on the dream state, or whatever."

The angel still eyed him like she worried a bit for his sanity (which, fair), but placed her hand in his, palm up as well. Dean wasted no time pulling that baby straight to his chest. He was still annoying disappointed at the lack of flip-flopping reaction from behind his sternum, but he tried to ignore it. Reminded himself Cas was in there and, in a second, he'd have proof for himself.

Cas closed her eyes, peace once more stealing across her face, and Dean did the same. Well, he closed his eyes, at least, and waited. And waited.

Nothing happened.

He tried to give it a minute. He was usually pretty quick to fall asleep when he put some effort into it and, boy, Dean was putting the effort in. After a ten count when still nothing had changed, Dean cracked one eye back open, hoping maybe Cas had noticed it wasn't working, too, and would know what to try instead.

The sight of the bunker library around him was shocking enough for a double take. Both of Dean's eyes shot open, and he stood partially out of the chair beneath him, heart pounding. The lights were bright, the table gleamed, the walls were lined with shelves of books that smelled like home. The lamp centered on the stretch of table in front of him – the old 50's style desk type had had him grinning and shaking his head in disbelief for the first solid month after he and Sam had moved in – was half-blinding in contrast to Bobby Singer's dark guest bedroom. Dean hadn't bothered to turn on the lights, his arms full of Dragon Lady at the time. The chair beneath him was different, too. Old and sturdy, made of wood instead of cheap plastic. He slowly sank back into it, marveling at the achingly familiar texture of the wood beneath his fingers.

"Hello, Dean."

The hunter's head snapped to the side, where Cas – his Cas, in a Jimmy Novak lookalike body, with trench coat and a still-missing tie – stood beside his chair. Angela Garrett stood just behind Cas and to his right. Probably not Angela, given their current location and the fact that this was supposed to be an angel confab.

"Cas?"

"Yes," they both answered in unison, voices equally deep and raspy. Dean almost laughed. Then he thought about it and decided to hell with it. He laughed away, loud and full and happy. Not like either angel would understand why he was laughing or judge him for it. Probably, anyway.

"Man," he said, rising from the chair once more as he stared at his Cas. He couldn't help it; he was smiling like a kid on Christmas morning. Not that Dean actually knew what that was like. He assumed it felt something like this, though. The human took a step forward, intent to hug the missed angel. "Am I glad to see you-"

-o-o-o-

Bobby, halfway through stitching up Sam's damn-close gunshot wound, managed not to stab the kid right through with the curved needle as a heavy thud from above shook the walls around them. All three hunters angled their heads back immediately, eyes locked on the ceiling in the silence that followed. Well, Sam was pretty liquored up by that point, having downed more than a couple shots of pure rotgut to dull the pain as Bobby cleaned the bullet hole with nothing but the same liquid, so his reaction was about a half second slower than the other two.

"Wha?" As was his speech.

"What the hell are they doing up there?" Bobby groused, mostly to himself, as he turned his attention back to Sam's still aerated chest. Had he mentioned it had been damn close? He was gonna kill Walker himself, if he ever got his hands on the son of a bitch.

Andy, meanwhile, snorted. It wasn't much more than the chuffing of air, but Bobby had gotten damn familiar with it in the last week. It meant the kid was miming something behind the gruff hunter's back that he paid no attention to. It got Sam chuckling drunkenly, though.

Definitely something inappropriate, then. He'd gotten damn familiar with the kid's sense of humor, too.

Bobby just shook his head, pushing Sam's injured arm back down when he tried to sign something equally ridiculous back. He resumed stitching the younger Winchester up, grumbling about house guests and strays all the while.

-o-o-o-

Dean climbed off the floor where he'd ended up sprawled after startling awake mid-fall. He glared at Cas as he got back to his feet, kicking the useless, traitorous chair a few feet to the side. The angel was giving him the most blatant, 'I told you so' look that had ever existed on anyone's face ever.

"Shaddup," he growled as he approached the bed, then added, "Scoot over," unnecessarily, since Cas was still on the far side of the mattress.

Still, the obedient angel nudged herself over another half inch as Dean climbed onto the bed and settled beside her. The twin-sized bed really wasn't built for two people and they ended up far too close for Dean's taste, pressed together from shoulder to thigh, with Cas slanted towards him in something way, way too close to spooning (even if it really wasn't).

"Not a word," he muttered lowly as he tried to find a comfortable position that was also the least awkward as physically possible given their current arrangement. The short answer? There friggin' wasn't one.

Cas agreed (silently), though she killed any notion of not-awkward the minute she rolled even further onto her side, now absolutely spooning Dean, in order to reach across him and settle her hand on his chest. To add insult to injury, she slid that hand underneath his t-shirt to get free access to nothing but skin.

Damn that motel room. And Sam's irritating penchant for healthy things like exercise. And Jaws, and Cas's stupidly peaceful face every time she went for Dean's chest, and every other stupid thing that night that had led Dean to setting this precedence of skin-on-skin pectoral fondling as fucking fine.

What the hell had he been thinking?

The human fought off yet another ridiculous, absurd, not-friggin'-okay blush. He told himself his cheeks were red with furious, furious rage, before he closed his eyes and slipped back under.

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

A/Ns: I couldn't help it. Not the world's most awkward cuddle session, cuz that was a given, but Dean refusing Cas's advice and falling off the bed because of his stubbornness XD

Quality: It has been weeks since I wrote this and I was definitely worried launching into the edit that it would be such a boring, unsatisfying 100th chapter after a three week wait, but I changed my mind by the end of it. It may not be the action-packed mess of the last several months, but I forgot about a lot of the comedy I put into it. It feels nice to get back to some laughs and awkwardness and just bantering interaction between our fav characters. I hope you guys feel the same!

Destiel: I am also hoping Dean's continued freak out and thoughts are still very much in character. It feels like it is to me, but we are getting to a challenging part in this story where I have to push Dean past what he ever was on the show, and I want to make sure I do that while keeping him every bit as believable as I've managed so far. Not unlike trying to get him and Sam to stop lying to each other (which canon has definitely defined as part of their relationship while I'm determined to move past it). So please keep me honest, guys! If you think I'm pushing a character too far I want to know so I can either adjust or, at the very least, be aware.

Pronouns: The Heaven Arc ruined me. I'm back to using 'he/his' for all of Cas's stuff again *head thud* Apologies if there were any missed errors related to it.

(Muse: *whispers* you know what a solution for that would be?

Don't say it.

Muse: *whispers* Bringing Jimmy back.

Alright, look here, bitch. Vessel swapping was YOUR idea and now you just-!)

*Ahem*. Anyway. Moving on!

Up Next: So the dream was supposed to be in this chapter, but I'm verbose as f*k and we all know this. So *next chapter* Dean gets his dream angel(s) on. Cas and Cas have a chat about the future, Dean muses on the two of them, and Cas and Dean share another quiet moment.

Delay? I will be perfectly honest (as always) with you guys. I do not know when the next chapter will be up. I honestly feel like crossing the one hundred chapter milestone would be deserving of two chapters but, the thing is...I don't have the next chapter for you :( It isn't fully written yet (eek!). Unfortunately, I haven't written anything in *weeks*. Part of that is the depression, part of it is how crazy RL is right now. But! While Real Life is only getting crazier, the depression is easing up (yaaay!) I still have to pack my entire life and deal with a lot of arrangements/paperwork/so on and so forth that comes with moving countries, but I have been feeling so much better this week as I start to transition. So I don't know when I'll finish up the next chapter and post it, but I do have high hopes.

My guess is another two week wait (for which I am truly sorry for, but it is what it is, and so many of you have been so, so damn supportive of me taking care of myself :)) I will keep you guys updated (don't forget to check my profile page for status updates on this story) and I will hopefully see you all again sooner rather than later!

Cheers (and thank you so much for your patience and support),

Silence