At dawn, the parts of Sam that fit are sleeping on the couch. Dean is sleeping on the floor, which is still way better than being in Hell. But I'm sorry, you mean to tell me that in that great big house with a library and stained glass windows, that's big enough to contain an iron-clad, rather spacious panic room in its cellar, there isn't a spare room where Sam and Dean could crash? Sheesh. Bobby is awesome, but his hospitality sucks. Dean might have been better off sleeping in Metallicar, and I bet Baby would have slept better that way, too. Dean's eyes open as if to agree with me, or maybe it's because the sound of the wind blowing disturbs his slumber. He blinks and looks over his pillow to see the shadowy figure of Castiel (yay!) standing in the unlit kitchen. After Dean glances at Sam and sees he's still asleep, he silently makes his way to his heavenly visitor.

Castiel congratulates him for doing an excellent job with the witnesses. Dean is incensed. "You were hip to all this?" When Castiel says he was made aware, Dean sneers, "Well thanks a lot for the angelic assistance. You know I almost got my heart ripped out of my chest." Castiel blinks slowly as if he's gathering his strength to deal with a difficult child. "But you didn't." Dean's not backing down. "I thought angels were supposed to be guardians. Fluffy wings. Halos. You know, Michael Landon. Not dicks. Yeah he did. Castiel says, "Read the Bible. Angels are warriors of God. I'm a soldier." Dean gives it right back to him. "Yeah, then why didn't you fight?" Oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. Dean, play nice with the pretty angel. You don't want to end up back in perdition, do you? Castiel is getting pissed. "I'm not here to perch on your shoulder. We had larger concerns." Dean scoffs at that, because there were people getting torn to shreds, and adds the kicker. "And by the way, when all this is going on, where the Hell is your boss -- huh -- if there is a God?" I check to make sure I'm wearing my cross.