Chapter One

"So, maybe after you're shift is over, we could go and—"

Just…a…little…nudge.

The beer bottle in his hand slipped free and smacked the bar top, dumping the rest of its contents of the still cold beer right onto his crouch.

Dean, hardened supernatural hunter he was, let out a sound like cat being dropped into a bucket of ice water. He leapt backwards to avoid the cold torrent but the damage had already been done. He ended up catching the attention of a few patrons around the bar.

The impressively curvaceous bartender Dean had been hitting on sighed in a put out way. She grabbed several paper towels and cleaned up the counter before handing the roll to Dean. "Sorry, buddy. My one-night stands have to be at least a little coordinated to be worth my time." With a laugh she walked off, leaving Dean scowling.

"Shut the fuck up, Sam," he growled as he patted himself down.

"I d-didn't say…any-pffft," Sam said, trying not to laugh.

Dean simply muttered dark curses under his breath. His quick reflexes had meant he'd dodged most of the beer, but there was still a dark patch on his crouch that the paper towels couldn't get out. "Fuckin' hell. I'm going to the bathroom."

Dean walked off (he tried to act nonchalant but he had an unconscious swagger that caught people's eyes—and their snickers) and Sam let out the pleased laugh he'd been holding in. It was hard not to feel triumphant. With a smile tugging at his lips, he felt the power settle back into his bones. He was quite proud of himself. The bottle hadn't exploded—he was getting this whole 'reign it in,' thing after all.

He'd managed little accidents for two weeks without Dean being any wiser. His brother didn't even seem to suspect Gabriel's involvement in his run of bad luck. Like when he tried to bring a girl back to their hotel room a few days ago and locked his key, wallet, and car keys in the room. Or last week when the little piece of paper with a number on it blew away in a stiff breeze. Or when he tried hitting on a girl while, unbeknownst to him, he was wearing a shirt that proclaimed "I HEART DICKS."

Okay, so they weren't terribly inventive, but for a beginner Sam was pleased with his progress nevertheless.

A little dry spell won't kill him, Sam thought. He could just imagine Dean standing under the hot air dryer in the bathroom, trying to angle his crotch under the blast of hot air to dry his pants. He snickered at the image.

Sam was having way too much fun with Gabriel's suggestion of playing pranks on Dean.

The gleeful smile faded a little at the thought of the Archangel, whom he hadn't seen in over a week, almost two even. For the most part, he'd been able to ignore the pull of their profound bond on his heart and on the Grace that filled him. It was getting harder as the days passed; he had to put on a carefree face around Dean so his brother wouldn't worry. Sam wasn't sure how much longer he could stay away. The last time Gabriel had left him, he'd almost went crazy and died. He was nowhere near that level of pain or weariness, but he did allow himself a self-pitying sigh since Dean wasn't around.

Sam at least knew Gabriel was alive. He could feel the satisfied glee that came with a job well done, so the Trickster was up to his old…well, tricks. Just the idea that Gabriel was out there made the separation bearable. And if it was a real emergency, the two-way radio the bond created meant Sam could get Gabriel's attention. But he left the radio alone, let the silence linger.

They were playing it cool, flying under the radar, and so far no angels or demons had bothered any of them. It seemed to be working for the moment.

That didn't make Sam miss his bondmate any less. He didn't really want to be wandering around aimlessly like they had been for the past month or so. Jo and Ellen had headed off to the East Coast while he and Dean had decided to take a lazy road trip towards California. Bobby threw them a case once in a while but for the most part, they were simply being. No big bad guys were chasing them, no Apocalypses to avert. For once, the driving force behind everything they did was gone. It was like pulling the engine out of a car and still expecting it to move.

The Winchesters were starting to suffer from a bit of an identity crisis.

Sam slowly sipped more of his own beer. He wondered if Gabriel missed him just as much—probably not. Time went by differently to a being who'd been around since, well, ever. The Trickster probably had barely noticed Sam's absence. He sighed again.

"If you're face got any longer it'd fall right in your beer," a smooth Southern accent said playfully behind him. Sam blinked and turned around to find an Amazon of a redheaded woman standing behind him with a dazzling smile aimed at him.

Tall, full-figured, with curly red hair and freckles splashed across her cheeks. A blue plaid shirt matched her blue eyes, and she had legs that stretched forever, revealed in a pair of shorts. Sam almost let his jaw drop from surprise that such a beautiful woman was in such a dump, talking to him. "Uh, excuse me?"

She laughed. "You that smooth with every lady you come 'cross?"

"You came up to me," Sam pointed out. She had a no nonsense attitude that Sam wasn't sure how to counter. Almost like she was daring him to hit on her.

"I guess I did. This seat taken?" She asked, and sat at the empty barstool next to him before he could even answer. She sat with her back against the counter and crossed her legs, cowboy boots casually kicking in the air.

"Hey, Sammy—whoa, who's your friend?" Dean asked, walking back up and looking drier in the neither regions. He shot Sam a betrayed look (he was barely gone a minute and his baby brother already had a hot date? What the hell?!), but had already put his 'suave, mystery man' hat back on, it seemed.

"Um…"

"Cheyenne," she said sweetly. "And you are…?"

"Sam. And this is my brother, Dean."

"His older and better-looking brother," Dean clarified with a winning smile.

Sam grinned. "Couldn't have said it better myself." He could make a good wingman when he wanted.

Cheyenne cast her eyes up and down Dean in an appraising way. "Suppose that's true for some. Nice try, short stack, but I prefer the mile-high flapjacks myself." She winked at Sam, who was torn between watching this girl put Dean in his place and making sure he got out of her crosshairs.

"I'm not short!" Dean said hotly. "I'm 6'2"!"

She laughed. "Guess he makes everyone look short, huh darlin'?"

"It's a gift," Sam said. "Much as I appreciate the compliment, I'm kinda off the table."

Dean scowled. "And hey, look at that, I happen to have no plans for this evening. Trust me, this one was born in a wet blanket; I can show you a good time."

"You two could share," she said with a smirk as she looked between them.

Dean, who was taking a swig of a new beer, promptly choked on it. "Good God, lady! I'm not doing anything with him—he's my brother!"

"Some people are into that sorta thing," she said, looking at her fingernails with a bored expression. She looked around at the other customers in the bar and leaned forward, whispering conspiratorially. "'Course, if you wanna talk about that in private, I can do that."

"Listen Cheyenne, since you can't seem to understand what I'm saying. No. Thank. You." Sam said harshly. The idea that this woman actually thought he would cheat on Gabriel, an Archangel, with a bitch like her made his stomach roll indignantly. "I'm sorry, but I'm taken."

"Damn right you are," Cheyenne said, her voice getting lower. She leaned over towards Sam, grabbed a fistful of his shirt, and dragged him to her with strength he wasn't expecting. She smashed her lips to Sam's and kissed him, hard and fast. It was hard to say who was more surprised, Sam or Dean.

Sam didn't even get a chance to jerk back: her lips felt familiar enough to make him freeze in surprise.

"What the fuck lady? Get off him!" Dean reached forward with the intent of ripping her off Sam and tossing her across the room. He knew in his gut they were dealing with a supernatural something, and he had to get it away from Sam.

"Or what?" Cheyenne asked, cutting her eyes at Dean, making him pause when her eyes changed from blue to that familiar whiskey gold.

"G-Gabriel?" Sam stuttered once she let him come up for air. His lips were swollen and his hair had fallen in his face. He felt like he'd just run a marathon, his heart was pounding so hard!

"Howdy chuckleheads!" She said, looking straight at Dean with a smile.

"Oh….oh, god, why?!" Dean gagged when he saw those golden orbs. "I hit on Gabriel!" he hissed, taking a step backwards in shock and revulsion. He put a hand to his mouth. "I think I just threw up a little."

"You were fightin' over me. How sweet!" Gabriel cackled in Cheyenne's sweet southern twang. "Suppose that'll teach you to think first with your dick, huh?"

"God, just kill me now," Dean moaned. Sam let out a relieved laugh at that.

"I can arrange that," Gabriel said cheerfully but with just a hint of danger, holding up his fingers to snap. A few other patrons of the hole-in-the-wall bar turned to look at them curiously. The bouncer near the back wall now had his attention on them, in case Dean made a move against the lady. Trickster. Lady? Whatever he was.

"Why the hell do you look like a bad Daisy Duke cosplay?" Dean huffed in a low voice.

"It's called being undercover dingbat," Gabriel hissed. "Just finished up a job in town and couldn't resist pulling the wool over ya'lls eyes while in this get-up." He looked at Sam. "You like?"

"Killing people again?" Dean snapped, cutting off Sam's response.

Gabriel/Cheyenne held up his arms in surrender. "Not dead, not dead. Your brother made me swear to lay off the actually fun ones. You should definitely read about it tomorrow though. Fat bastard got what he deserved, God bless his heart."

Dean looked at Gabriel and Sam. He'd thought Sam had been mighty quiet in the past few minutes, and one look told him why. Now that it was established those were Gabriel's boobs (what kinda life was Dean living when he'd ever have to think that sentence?), Sam was fully mesmerized by the DDs just a few inches from his face.

Dean gagged. "Jesus, Sam, why don't you just whip it out right here and now?" He spat.

Sam blinked in surprise. "Do what?"

His brother pulled on his leather jacket and threw some money on the bar for the drinks.

"You seem crankier than usual, Deanie," Gabriel said with an eyebrow raised.

Dean shot him a glare. "No thanks to you, asshat!" he said. "Don't go near my damn car, got it?"

Without another word Dean strode out of the bar angrily, hands shoved in his pockets in order to not hit anything on his way out. Gabriel and Sam looked at each other.

"What's his problem?" Gabriel asked, puzzled.

"Dry spells make him bitchy," Sam said with a shrug and mischievous glint in his hazel eyes.

Gabriel laughed. He leaned down and nibbled on a bit of exposed neck, feeling the goosebumps rise under his lips, felt Sam pause at the sensation. "Poor bastard, on the radar of two Tricksters."

"I'm not a Trickster," Sam said firmly.

"Fine, one and a-half. Now, you really want to argue semantics or you want to head back to our place?"

Sam grinned. "Our place." To know there was a place waiting for him out there made the sentence, and what was to follow, that much better.

Dean strode into the gas station with such a sour frown that the clerk behind the counter unconsciously reached for the silent alarm. He made his way to the cooler and grabbed a 6-pack, then meandered around the store, grabbing candy bars, chips a burger. He paid with cash they'd hustled earlier and hurried across the street to their hotel. For once, the room didn't smell like mold or bleach, or have mystery stains on the mattresses. That was a bona fide miracle.

Dean looked at the empty room and sighed in irritation and frustration. He knew he wasn't going to see Sam for the rest of the night at least; when he caught sight of Sam's laptop an idea popped into his head. With an impish grin Dean opened it up and opened an internet tab. Time to get back at his irritating little brother.

"There's always a silver lining," he said, trying to cheer himself up. "Without bitchface around I can indulge in a little self-love."

There was no way they were going to get charged for the stupid skin channels when there was plenty of free porn online. And if the computer froze or broke it wasn't like he was the one who'd have to pay to get it fixed. The idea of Sam taking it to a tech center, ears and cheeks on fire, made him laugh aloud.

His mood was beginning to lighten when his eyes got caught by a headline on the homepage. Most of the headlines were gossip related, but one made him tilt his head. He clicked on it, porn forgotten momentarily, as he read:

50 CURED IN COMMUNAL GATHERING: FAITH OR FAKE?

He took a swig of beer, skimming through the article, the hairs on his neck standing up. 50 people at one of those hack faith healers got exactly what they bargained for when, after lightning struck the tent, they left completely 100% healthy. A blind guy could suddenly see, a guy with a crippled leg apparently told the reporter he was planning on running a marathon. Everything from colds to cancer had been supposedly healed.

Dean swallowed and frowned at the screen. He knew something was up, and the deja vu was making his stomach roll.

Sam had dragged him to a faith healer once, a long time ago, back when Reapers were the scariest things Dean could imagine. His dying heart had been healed, but at the expense of another guy falling dead across town. Roy the healer thought he was doing God's work; so did his wife, who had a Reaper on a leash and was siccing it on anyone she thought deserved it.

Had something like that happened again? Or was it something else? Dean wasn't one for miracles, and he had a feeling it wasn't God suddenly being benevolent, so what the hell was going on?

He pulled out his phone for a moment, thinking, turning it in his hand as he did so. He wanted to call Sam, see what bookworm thought it could be. Bonus points if he could break up whatever tea party he and the Asshat of the Lord were up too. At the same time, he already had a decent idea what was up, but he couldn't figure on why.

This is gonna be a waste of time, Dean told himself. It's not like they get cell service in Heaven.

Dean hit speed-dial on number 4, feeling a little nervous as the phone on the other end rang. His fingers tapped on his beer impatiently. 1 had always been reserved for Sam, even during his stay at Stanford. 2 for John when he was alive. 3 was for Bobby. And 4…

"I don't understand. Why do I have to say my name? Beep, beep, BEEP, beep, BEEEEEP."

Dean sighed. "Hey, Cas, it's, uh, Dean." No shit, Sherlock. "I was just wondering if you know something about a case in Wyoming. Just, uh, drop by the Rocket Motel in Utah if you get a moment. So…yeah….bye."

He looked at the phone and let out a breath. Why the hell had that been so hard to say?

"Leaving a friggin' voicemail for an angel…Arch, Archangel," he muttered, correcting himself. "What a life."

He waited almost a whole minute, but nothing happened. No rustling of feathers, no thunder overhead or a miniquake. Just the rattling of the central heat as it kicked on, and he swore it was blowing out cold air.

One minute turned to five, which stretched into ten. Once fifteen minutes came and went, Dean gave up waiting and decided Cas wasn't going to show. Then again, Cas had disappeared after the 'We saved the world!' party at Bobby's and hadn't been seen or heard from since. Dean was used to Cas's abrupt comings and goings, yet there was this sense of unfinished business that left a bitter taste in his mouth.

If he were to be honest with himself (which was something he generally tried to avoid because there were some pretty dark places in there) he'd almost admit to missing the stupid angel.

God, when did I grow a friggin' vagina? Dean reprimanded himself. Cas's got better things to do. He's not one to perch on shoulders, remember? He's a warrior of God, a Heavenly Terminator.

He got up, kicked off his boots and stripped off his flannel with an irritated huff before heading towards the bathroom. A nice, long hot shower (since he didn't have to leave any hot water for Sam-not saying he would have anyway) and a little personal time was what he need right then.

Dean came out of the bathroom with nothing but a towel wrapped around his hips, whistling a little tune to himself. The whistle died in his throat when he almost walked into someone standing on the other side of the door. He let out his second unmanliest noise of the evening as he darted to the side, hand on his towel, ready to strangle the intruder with it.

"Hello Dean," Cas said cordially. He was standing there, unblinking, waiting.

"What the hell, Cas?!" Dean growled, trying to slow his breathing. "Almost gave me a damn heart attack!"

"My apologies," Cas said automatically.

"Dude, why are you hovering outside the bathroom? It's not like you gotta use it!"

"I was waiting for you to come out."

Well, that is an improvement, Dean decided. At least Cas waited until he was coming out of the bathroom to sneak up and give him a heart attack, inside of just popping in.

The idea of Cas randomly showing up inside the bathroom while Dean was doing inappropriate things to himself made the hunter shake his head, trying to shake the creeping blush away.

"Why are you here?" His voice came out harsher than he meant—his heart was pounding a little more than it should have been from a little startle. He kept blinking, but Cas stayed in his vision. The angel looked—the exact same. So, guess that's a good thing. Like a dog having a wet nose.

At that, Cas scowled in annoyance. "You left me a message," the angel said, pulling out the little flip phone from his trench coat pocket.

Dean blinked. "Oh, shit, right. Yeah, I just figured…you didn't pop up right away, so I figured you weren't going to show."

Now he could see Cas's eyes get a hard edge to them. Oh shit. "I'm not a simple dog you can summon and dismiss when the urge strikes, Dean. I have other business to attend to." The challenge in Cas's voice made Dean take a step back, both figuratively and literally. He backed up to the middle of the room, but it was a useless gesture. Cas could kill him before he could blink.

"Look, I didn't mean it like that, Cas." Intense blue eyes scrutinized Dean's face, and it made the hunter shift uncomfortably, but he didn't break eye contact. Finally, Cas let out a little sigh.

"Things have been…difficult recently," the angel admitted. Dean could've sworn the angel looked…tired? No, he still stood there like there was a stick shoved up his ass, and his head was still held high, but there was definitely a haggard air around Heaven' Newest Sheriff. "What's the case you wanted to seek my advice on?"

Work—perfect neutral territory they could stand on. Dean went over to his duffel and pulled out a clean shirt and a pair of boxers. He was about to drop the towel and pull the boxers on when he felt Cas's eyes zeroing in on him. "Dude, turn around."

"Why?" Cas asked.

"Because guys don't stare at each other when they get dressed," Dean said. "It's awkward."

"Dean, I rebuilt your entire mortal form after I pulled your soul from perdition." Dean could've sworn he saw Cas's lips twitch upwards in a ghost of a smirk.

"Dammit, Cas, you're making this a bigger deal than it needs to be." He was not blushing at that. What the hell was with all the embarrassed blushing all of a sudden?

Castiel let out a worn sigh but turned around. He could hear Dean getting dressed, and he let his eyes wander around the motel room. He shifted uncomfortably.

"So apparently in Wyoming a bunch of people were apparently healed mysteriously when they went to a faith healer," Dean said when the awkward silence in the room got too much for him. His boxers were on, as was his shirt, but he still felt a little too exposed. Cas was still turned away from him, so he decided to slip on another pair of clean jeans.

Cas was quiet for a moment. "What exactly is the problem?"

"Last time I ran into a faith healer it wasn't exactly kosher," Dean started.

"Roy LaGrange," Cas interrupted. "I know what happened."

"So, was it one of yours? Or some other nasty trying to get under people's radar?"

"It wasn't one of Heaven's," Cas said simply.

Dean ran a hand through his wet hair, making it stand up in spikes. "Then I guess when Sam gets back, we'll start—"

"It was me."

Dean arched an eyebrow, but realized Cas still hadn't turned back around. "I'm dressed. And what are you saying?"

Cas turned around, an unreadable look on his face. "I healed those people, Dean. They were believers; it was the least they deserved."

"Doesn't that screw up the order of the universe or something?"

"I'm not trading lives. Just fixing what was broken."

"Well, guess it's better late than never," Dean muttered darkly. "Giving a rat's ass about the planet, I mean."

Cas didn't say anything for a long moment, but he stood a little straighter and his eyes locked onto Dean's. "Would you rather I didn't help them?" he challenged.

"Why start now? We were plugging along just fine until your bosses had the bright idea to jumpstart Judgment Day. Now that the End of Days got cancelled, why bother with the community service?"

"Nothing satisfies you, does it Dean? You criticize Heaven's lack of involvement, yet you seem just as dissatisfied when I actually do try to help in some fashion," Cas shot back, clearly frustrated.

Dean's mouth open and shut for a moment. "I—shit, that's not what I—"

"I may not understand everything you say, Dean, but your meaning was perfectly clear," Cas snapped.

"Cas! What's wrong with you, man?" Dean asked loudly. "I wasn't bitching, I was asking why the change in heart." Okay, maybe he'd been bitching a little, but he was almost forced to become an angel condom and kill his little brother—Heaven wasn't exactly known for being nice.

Cas gritted his teeth. "Mistakes have to be atoned for," he simply said.

"What the hell does that even—Cas! Dammit Cas, we aren't done!" Too late, the angel was gone, and Dean was left yelling at the ceiling like an idiot. He was frustrated and now horribly confused. He yanked open the fridge and pulled out another beer. He flung the cap towards the trash so hard it bounced off the rim and went shooting across the room like a bullet.

What the hell is wrong with you? Dean wondered. Cas was up to something, hiding something. He was doing that cryptic Heavenly riddle-talk again. Dean had no idea what the fuck was going on, and no way to figure it out. It made his chest burn, and he was pretty sure that had nothing to do with the jalapeno burger he'd for dinner.

A/N: Hello readers! It's the beginning of the final installment of Trickster's Apprentice. I'm very excited for the end of this series, and I've loved writing it. This is still a WIP but I wanted to get this first chapter up to get some feedback and let you guys know I didn't forget this series!