Dean begins to wonder why it's taking Castiel so long to make the 400-mile trip from Longmont, Colorado to the Lair o' Letters. The Winchesters rack up that kind of mileage just picking up toilet paper. Ezekiel takes over Sam's body just long enough to tell Dean that there's a faction of angels out hunting for Castiel, which he sort of already knew, since the angels basically told him that two weeks ago. But this whets his sense of urgency anew, and off he and Sam set off in search of their missing friend.
Castiel seems to have forgotten how to use the phone, so instead of calling the brothers for a ride he just meanders from homeless shelters to highway underpasses in a vaguely eastward direction. Besides struggling with the difficulties of a human digestive system, he finds himself fighting off the angels who are hunting him. Hungry, homeless and despairing, he spends his meager money to get himself an Enochian tattoo that shields him from the angels. This means that the angels – led by a fellow named Bartholomew – must hire freelance Reapers to find him.
Just when it looks like Castiel will be forced to eat pickles out of trash cans for the rest of his life, a kindly woman offers him a place to stay. Sure, he's dirty and bloody from his many fights, and he confesses to stabbing someone, but he's super attractive, all right? Who wouldn't want some of that hot, homicidal hobo action? In no time, Castiel is getting a crash course in sex ed and appears to be a pretty fast learner. Of course, since he's an honorary Winchester, the woman he sleeps with turns out to be a rogue Reaper. Sam and Dean find the Reaper just in time to see her fatally stab Castiel with his own angel blade. Ezekiel brings him back to life, leaving both Castiel and Sam wondering why Clark Kent disappears every time Superman shows up.
The important thing is that Castiel is alive and he's finally safe in the LOL, where he gets to enjoy hot showers and burritos and shelter. He's so bright and happy and so, so thankful to be there. That's when Dean tells him he can't stay. Why? Because Ezekiel said so. Why? Because Ezekiel likes it when episodes end on Castiel's devastated face, that's why. Stay tuned for the full recap.
THEN! Castiel thought he was helping Metatron in the lofty goal of fixing Heaven, but it turned out that the Scribe of the Lord was actually just booting out all the angels. This required a major spell, the final ingredient of which was Castiel's grace. Metatron then sent Castiel back to Earth as a (mostly) human regular schmo. Upon learning of this, Dean was positively frantic that Castiel hide himself to the Lair O' Letters forthwith. A lot of angry angels wanted Castiel's head and possibly other parts on a platter. Before all this, a demon named Meg liked to call Castiel "Clarence." The show wants us to remember this, even though the characters will later exposit exactly this information. Sigh.
Oh, hey, remember when Reapers were cool? Remember when only the dead or near-dead could see them, and they were sort of like the metaphysical equivalent of vultures in morticians' clothes? The show wants us to remember this, too, even though it will just make us frustrated and annoyed later. In other frustrating developments, something is once again wrong with Sam Winchester, this time because nearly completing the Hell Gate trials deep-fried his internal organs like some kind of delicious treat at the state fair. Dean prayed to the angels for help, and got it from the recently fallen Ezekiel, who promised to heal Sam from within. Sam woke from his coma not only angelic, but robotic, too! Zeke, while piloting the Sam-bot, warned Dean not to tell his brother of their little deception, lest Sam eject the angel like a garlic omelet after a bad hangover.
NOW! Two priests walk through a church garden at night, chatting about business minutiae. It's like on any iteration of Law & Order, where you know something bad is about to happen as soon as you see two people having a pleasant walk at night. A woman in a gray suit and short hair steps out in front of them. She is flanked by men in similar suits. "Gentleman, we're looking for a man you may know," she says. "His name is Castiel." They look like IRS auditors. The priests are understandably confused.
Morning dawns on St. Anne's Shelter for Men, the exterior of which looks like an old pawn shop in a bad part of whatever town this is. Inside, mostly older, scraggly-haired men go about their morning rituals. Castiel, still wearing his stolen clothes from the laundromat, drinks from a faucet in the men's restroom, which seems like a great way to test his newly human body's immune system. He squirts toothpaste directly into his mouth like this is a totally normal thing to do. "Hey, Clarence," a fellow shelter resident greets him. "How much longer are you going to be with us?" Castiel chews his toothpaste and answers, "I'll be moving on tonight after work." He then swallows the toothpaste, which it says right on the tube not to do. Poor, dumb Castiel. All those times he popped in on Dean in the bathroom, did he not once observe the proper use of dentifrices? "Do you ever tire of urinating?" he asks his friend. "I'll never get used to it." Without waiting for an answer, disappears into a stall with toothbrush in hand. Lord only knows what he plans to do with it.