Raoul! Where the hell have you been? I was getting worried. "Just fixing some flagons! [Hic!]" Wait a minute... are you-- you're drunk already! "Hee-[Hic!]" And what the... where in hell is your ankle monitor? "[Hic!] Hee! I'm sure I have no [Hic!] idea what you're talking about, you [Hic!] charming little man!" Oh, for Christ's sake. I have absolutely no time to deal with you right now, so just, ugh, stop sloshing your flagon all over the carpet and sit down in your chair! "Okay! [Hic!]"
Fucking hell. See what happens? No goddamned gore for the entire fucking hour, and now I'm stuck with a drunk dragon. Thanks for NOTHING, Supernatural!
Now, where the hell was I? Oh, yeah: Raphael's just threatened Dashing El Deano's well-being, but for whatever reason, Dean seems entirely unconcerned, despite having seen what life as an archangel condom will do to your brain. He saunters over to a nearby cooler and casually cracks open a beer while shrugging, "Sounds terrifying, but I hate to tell ya: I'm not going anywhere with you." Raphael, perhaps sensing something's gone amiss with his cunning plan (whatever the hell that cunning plan might be at the moment), pulls his eyes from Castiel's for the first time since his entrance, and slowly pivots his head around in Dean's direction. "Surely you remember Zachariah giving you stomach cancer?" Dean, his back to the archangel, allows his false bravado to drop for an instant as he takes a swig from the bottle before pulling himself back together and smirking, "Yeah, that was hilarious." "And don't call me 'Shirley,'" Dean fails to add. "I love that movie!" Shut up, Raoul. "Hee! [Hic!]" Raphael, unimpressed with Dean's swagger, smiles, "Yes, well, Zachariah doesn't have anything close to my imagination." With that, Raphael takes several very important steps closer to Our Intrepid Hero, and that's a very bad move on the archangel's part, for once he's reached the middle of the hovel's living room, Dean perks, "I bet you didn't imagine one thing!" At this point, Dean whips his trusty Zippo out of his pants and lights it. "We knew you were coming, you stupid son of a bitch!" The Zippo hits the floor, and the Jerusalem oil Castiel had earlier traced in a circle on the faded linoleum bursts into flame, and Raphael is pissed. "Ooooooooh! CATFIGHT! Meow!" Raoul! QUIET. "[Hic!]"
"Where is He?" Castiel demands, getting right down to business. "God?" Raphael mocks. "Didn't you hear? He's dead, Castiel!" and terrific. Just what this already boring episode needs: A motherfucking theological debate. Rrrgh.