This is another weird plot bunny rattling around my overworked brain. I probably should have left it there.

Title: How Do You Talk to an Angel?

Author: Syntyche

Rating: T, for strong language that Ghostfacers would have to censor.

Synopsis: Immediately post The End. Dean wants to be alone. That doesn't happen.

Spoiler-filled refresher for The End: The Winchesters have been on the run from angels wanting to use Dean as Michael's vessel and the pressure is too much for Sam, who backs out of the hunting life for something a little more sedate until he learns that he's intended to be Lucifer's vessel. Now worried, Sam decides to rejoin his brother but is turned down by Dean, who thinks they need to stay away from each other. In another attempt to get Dean's consent, Dean is transported five years into an apocalyptic future where Sam has said yes to Lucifer, and future!Dean is murdered there by Lucifer!Sam. Dean is returned to his present and now has to make a decision about Sam.

How Do You Talk to an Angel?

By: Syntyche

That's it. He was just done. Just so done with Sam and his goddamn bullshit about wanting out, now not wanting out because it was his gigantor ass on the line - that was just awesome, just fucking fantastic really because angels wanting to use Dean as a meat puppet was too much for Sammy's tender heart, but finding out his own butt was on the line now meant Sam needed to get back in, that he'd been so wrong to abandon his big brother and he really, really needed Dean's help now and please could he come back and Dean could even call all the shots, promise!

It was too much right now and Dean couldn't even think about it, knew that if he did he would just be bitter and angry - even more so - and also there was that slight chance he would stick to his earlier resolve and just tell Sam no, no Sam wasn't getting back into hunting because he'd changed his mind all of the sudden, no, Dean couldn't afford the exhausting distraction of watching Sam's every single move to make sure he didn't go dark side, no, it just wasn't working for them to work together. No, no, no.

But he'd never really been able to say no to Sammy, not his whole life, except for two years into Sam's Stanford stint when his little brother had asked him to go away, told him never to call him again, said that he didn't need a babysitter or his brother's money any more. That he didn't need Dean any longer, suddenly didn't want the cash Dean had been scrounging to send him, didn't care for the occasional phone calls Dean managed to bring himself to make even though every one of his big brother instincts said call every day, check on Sammy, see if Sammy needs anything. Didn't need it, didn't want it, could Dean just find his own life now please?, and thank you very much.

Dean's shaking fingertips grazed the cool metal of the Impala's door handle and he heaved a worldweary sigh of gratitude. Baby was his respite. His home, his comfort, his salvation. Call it what you wanted, obsession Sam said was putting it too lightly, but she had never abandoned him, left him behind, reminded him how worthless he was in every single way imaginable every chance available. Never gave him ultimatums or impossible choices. All he had to do was take care of her, make sure she was protected, keep her warding strong, and she always welcomed him.

The Impala's gleaming black door opened with her usual creak, a sound Dean loved to no end, and he slid across the smooth leather seat to his perfect place, his home, and although he wished Sammy was beside him because he could never stand down unless he could visually verify Sammy's safety, Dean exhaled and tried to relax and not to thump his forehead on the steering wheel a few times as he laid his weary head on the cool surface.

Could he do this? Was it even a question of him possibly being able to say no to Sam? They should stay away from each other. Fire and oil of the apocalypse and all that. Sam in a white suit in a rose garden, Dean's lifeless body lolling beneath his stupid white shoe heel.

But, damn it. Fucking fucking damn it all, Sam, and his fucking selfishness.

And fuck me for raising him this way, Dean sighed, because of course a kid not knowing how to be a parent was no excuse for him not raising Sam properly; he'd coddled when he should have been firm, gotten exasperated when he should have been patient, had to first learn what Sam had needed him to already know.

Dean laughed aloud, a little surprised when he did so, and shook his head where it rested lightly against the steering wheel.

"I was terrible parents," he muttered ruefully.

"Your sentence is grammatically confusing," sounded way too close to his ear and Dean started, head snapping up as he swiveled to see Castiel in the passenger seat, trenchcoat bunched across his broad shoulders as he leaned way too close to Dean.

"Personal space, Cas," Dean chided tiredly, willing his heart rate to slow its racing. He was just too fucking tired to even deal with the angel right now, despite Cas' earlier and very timely intervention.

Cas obligingly scooted about a centimeter over; still way too close and damn if it wasn't weird seeing Cas this normalish way after spending time with his orgy-hosting hippie future counterpart. Shit, Dean's life was weird. Future Cas had been a trip, though.

Dean threw the Impala into gear, pulled out into the two-lane because he needed to drive, needed to think, really wanted to be alone even though he kind of didn't want to be alone because if his mind wandered it was white suits and rose gardens and the dead eyes of his brother which were even more terrifying than his own lifeless eyes staring back at him as his neck snapped.

Dean glanced out the passenger side window in preparation to slide his baby into the traffic stream and just caught the expression on Cas' face.

"You okay, Cas?" he couldn't help but ask, even though he really didn't want to get dragged into any more angel drama than he was already ass-deep in as it was; remembering this, Dean forced a scowl across his face. "You kinda look like someone kicked your favorite puppy."

It sunk in, exactly half a second later, that that was exactly what had twisted Cas' mouth down into a regretful frown. Cas opened his mouth to say something - and Dean immediately reached out to turn on the radio, because he was so not having this conversation ever. The classic rock station he'd managed to find when he first rolled into town spattered out in a wash of static and was replaced by mellow soft rock tunes that had Dean cringing and reaching for the dial before he'd even fully retracted his hand.

How do you talk to an angel? How do you hold them close to where you are? How do you talk to an angel? It's like trying to catch a falling star…

Cas frowned, distracted from his ruminations. "I don't think they realize the accuracy yet inaccuracy of these lyrics," he proffered thoughtfully, "It's a fascinating juxtaposition," before turning his full attention back to Dean, raising his monotone voice to be heard over Dean's channel surfing. "Dean, the irony of the timing of this song not withstanding, I wanted to speak with you about - "

The radio picked up another station and Dean stopped, hoping this offering would drown out whatever Cas was about to say. He was definitely not in the mood for Secrets of a Call Angel right now.

Earth angel, earth angel, will you be mine? My darling dear, love you all the time -

What the fu - ? Dean reached for the knob again, smiling a little nervously at Cas and immediately attempting to override it with a sneer. "I really don't want to get involved in your personal problems, Cas. Y'know, pretty busy right now with the freaking apocalypse and all, if you haven't noticed."

"Dean." The way Cas said his name always sounded so final and urgent, like every ounce of Dean needed to focus on what Castiel was about to say Right. Now. or terrible things were imminent. As usual. "I'm aware that you're busy, obviously, as the fate of the entire world has been placed in great peril thanks to your foolish brother, I just … I feel that I must tell you that I myself may be personally compromised; that is, I believe I am experiencing feelings - "

What? Hell, no.

More static from the useless and in fact spectacularly unhelpful radio, then:

Lookin' for love, callin' heaven above: send me an angel, send me an angel right now…

"Look, Cas, you saved my life back there - you keep saving my pathetic life," Dean finally interrupted. He was inexplicably breaking out in a cold sweat but he was certain it wasn't his voice that cracked a little, just more static or something. "We're all going through a lot … together… and, uh, it's only, uh, natural that you would start to feel more, um, attached in a completely brotherly way - "

Spin the knob. Stop.

My blood runs cold, my memory has just been sold! My angel is the centerfold, angel is the centerfold -

A semi was barreling down the other lane. Dean briefly contemplated swerving in front of it. Spin. Stop.

In the arms of the angel, fly away from here …

A lone gas station came into sight. Dean jerked the wheel hard right, tires protesting as the large car slid to a stop outside the small building near the fuel pumps.

"Just - just stay here, Cas," Dean ordered, unusually frazzled - spin, stop! - and trying desperately not to see Cas' expression as the plaintive tones of Juice Newton demanded that he just call me angel of the morning, angel, just touch my cheek before you leave me, baby…

Dean shoved his way out of the Impala and inside the convenience store, exhausted, frustrated, and, somehow, slightly amused despite himself because what the actual hell? Dean marched up to the counter, his brow falling into a bemused furrow as his tired eyes told him the clerk looked vaguely familiar somehow behind his thin, greasy mustache; he was munching cheerfully on a candy bar when Dean entered and made no attempt to put the chocolatey snack away even when Dean approached, a pile of empty candy wrappers already accumulating near the register.

"Help you, pal?" the clerk inquired cheerfully. "You look like you've had a rough night."

Still not in the mood for conversation, Dean slapped his hands down on the counter and tried to hide the pleading look he knew was written all over his face. "Pie," he said, and it was a plea, a question, a demand all rolled into one.

"Sorry, pal," the clerk shook his head ruefully, tilting eyes and sticky hands upwards in an innocently angelic shrug. "I'm out."

Dean slumped and sighed and the guy must have felt bad for him because he called him back when the hunter would have schlepped miserably out the door, head hanging low and defeated, back to face Cas and his … his emotions.

"I don't have any pie," the clerk said apologetically, though he produced a plastic wedge-shaped container that he waved enticingly at Dean, "but I do have angel food cake."

Epilogue

Dean Winchester made a strangled sort of sound, a laugh tinged with hysteria, and backed out of the gas station store. The gas station clerk smiled as the clearly vanquished vessel of Michael exited, his shoulders sagging, his face crestfallen. His smile widened as he picked up a fork, the angel food wedge in his hand turning into a solid slice of gooey apple pie.

"Poor little Dean," the clerk said smugly, shaking his head. "I'll see you again soon, though, buddy," Gabriel promised the now-absent hunter, digging into his pie as he hummed. "Just call me angel of the morning, angel, just touch my cheek before you leave me, baby … "

OoOoOoOoOoOo

Yes. I don't know what this was, either. Please review, though!

Songs quoted include "Send Me an Angel" by Real Life; "How Do You Talk to an Angel" by Jamie Walters; "Earth Angel" by the Penguins; "Angel" by Sarah McLachlan; "Centerfold" by the J. Geils Band; "Angel of the Morning" by Juice Newton