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Castiel had never truly understood his new assignment. Why was a warrior angel like him, who usually commanded an entire garrison, being sent to Earth just to look after a small human child? He knew better than to question orders, of course. This child had to be someone crucial for the future of humanity, yet he still despised dealing with children. To make matters worse, the human vessel upper management had provided for this task was frustratingly young.
Had Billy even understood what he was agreeing to when he said "yes"? Castiel was deeply uncomfortable with the idea of being trapped in the body of an eighteen-year-old kid working the night shift alone at a desolate gas station, all just to keep an eye on another child. For an angel, this mission felt incredibly mundane, tedious, and meaningless.
Lost in his thoughts, Castiel was jolted back by the sharp chime of the bell above the door. A young boy burst inside, drenched in sweat and gasping for air. With his short hair and freckled face, he might have looked quite endearing under normal circumstances but right now, his expression made him look as fierce as a minor demon. Strands of sweat-soaked hair clung to his forehead, which bore distinct traces of anger, hatred, anxiety, and sheer terror. Castiel found it deeply unsettling for such a young child to harbor so much horror in his soul, and he stared at the boy with an unconcealed look of dissatisfaction.
The boy stumbled forward, rushing toward the counter where Castiel stood. Gripping the edge of the desk, he gasped out, "You! Help me! I can't carry him anymore. And find me a ride right now, I need to get to a hospital!" Infuriated by Castiel’s uncomprehending stare, the boy slammed his hand hard against the counter and added fiercely, "NOW!"
Castiel evaluated the boy with a cold, detached gaze. He looked remarkably out of place in a flannel shirt at least three sizes too big, a faded t-shirt that still showed stains despite being black, and old jeans that fit his waist but were worn so short at the hem they looked like capris. Castiel realized he couldn’t quite categorize this tiny human. Yet, despite the absurd clothes, the rage that seemed far too vast for his small stature, and a dangerously high fever that the angel was only now sensing, the boy's soul blazed with a brilliance that was almost angelic. "So, this is why he matters," Castiel thought to himself.
"Of whom do you speak, child?" the angel asked, keeping his voice flat.
"Sammy... my brother. I left him on the bench down the road." The boy's lower lip trembled, but his voice didn't crack for a second. "He's freezing... I think he's dying."
Before the child could utter another syllable, Castiel stepped out from behind the register and approached him. "Take me to him."
"YOU STAY RIGHT HERE AND FIND ME A RIDE, NOW!" the boy screamed in frustration. Clearly gripping the edge of illness himself, the child swayed on his feet the more he spoke. He was running on the absolute last drop of his physical energy. When Castiel reached out a hand to heal him, the boy slapped it away with a sharp, defensive motion.
"Don't touch me! Find a ride, NOW... If anything happens to him, I'll kill you!" As he spat the words, Castiel noticed the boy's hand instinctively darting toward the gun tucked into his waistband. For the first time, the angel felt a jolt of genuine shock. What was a child this young, and this sick, doing with a real firearm at this hour of the night?
"Where are your parents, child?" Castiel asked, unable to entirely mask the bewilderment in his tone.
The boy froze instantly. The fiery rage vanished from his face, leaving behind nothing but pure, unadulterated terror. "They're... they're at home..." he stammered, his eyes widening. "They're... sleeping very deeply... I should be the one to tell them first, right? Y-yeah... Don't call anyone. Don't call... anybody... There's no need..."
As he began to back away slowly, the gas station door creaked open again. A smaller, tear-eyed boy stepped inside.
"Dean... why didn't you come back? It's really scary out there..."
Every ounce of that fierce, predatory look on Dean’s face evaporated in a heartbeat. Now, he gazed at his little brother with an ocean of endless tenderness. Castiel understood then that this newcomer was "Sammy."
"Is this your brother?" Castiel asked. Without waiting for Dean to answer, he walked gently over to Sammy. To avoid frightening either of them, he softly brushed his hand against the younger boy's hair. Scanning him with his celestial senses, the angel realized the child had no health issues at all. He didn't even have a common cold.
"Are you certain it is your brother who is afflicted?" Castiel asked, his voice cracking slightly in Billy’s unfamiliar, adolescent vocal cords.
Dean stared at Castiel, his eyes growing cloudier by the second as he teetered on the edge of losing consciousness. "I... I touched his forehead... It was so cold. Just like that dead werewolf I found in the woods the other day. I told Dad I didn't want to touch it. But he said I needed to understand death." Dean was practically delirious now, rambling aimlessly. Seeing his brother safe and sound had finally allowed his body to drop the crushing weight it had been carrying, and the suppressed illness rushed in to claim him. For the first time since he had stormed into the station, he looked like an actual child, stripped of his heavy armor.
"We're leaving..." Dean mumbled, reaching a hand out toward his brother. But his tiny frame could no longer endure the strain. Just as his knees buckled, Castiel lunged forward and caught him in his arms before he hit the floor. The younger brother stared at his older sibling in absolute horror.
"Is he dead?" Sam asked, his voice trembling.
"No. He has merely fainted."
"Is he gonna be okay?"
"No. He is sick... very sick."
The moment Castiel’s skin made contact with the boy's body, the true severity of the situation became terrifyingly clear. Yet, he couldn't predict how a boy who carried a gun and spoke of dead werewolves would react to a gas station clerk who healed him with a sudden miracle. To protect his secret identity and keep Billy out of danger, Castiel chose to delay a full healing.
"Your name is Sammy, correct?" the angel questioned.
"SAM," the boy corrected, a tiny spark of stubborn pride in his voice.
"Very well, Sam. Wait here for me." Castiel carefully carried Dean behind the counter, setting him down gently. He grabbed the keys, locked up the register, and flipped the sign on the front door to "CLOSED." Turning back to Sam, he said, "Now, take me to where you are staying so I may tend to your brother."
Sam scrutinized Castiel with heavy hesitation, taking a small step back. Castiel tried a softer approach. "Very well. If you do not wish to guide me to your shelter, do you know your home telephone number?" The anxiety in Sam's eyes only intensified. "Sam, where is your mother, or your father?"
The young boy remained stubbornly silent. Internally, Castiel felt a wave of foreign unease washing over him. He could palpably feel the dense waves of fear and panic radiating from the child. Communicating with human children had always been the most difficult task for angels. Meanwhile, propped against the counter, Dean's fever was skyrocketing.
Realizing he wouldn't get an answer from Sam, Castiel unzipped Billy’s heavy jacket and spread it across the floor, laying Dean down onto it. Refraining from fully curing the illness, he gently pressed his fingertips against the boy's forehead just enough to soothe his agony and break the fever. As a faint, invisible trace of grace seeped from Castiel's fingers, the expression of torment on Dean's face dissolved, replaced by a calm, peaceful breath.
While tending to Dean, Castiel realized he needed to soothe the boy waiting fearfully in the corner as well.
"Sam, how old are you?" he inquired, consciously trying to soften his tone.
"Seven."
"And how old is your brother?"
"Ten... No... Seven plus four... Eleven."
"Are the two of you always out at such an hour?" Castiel asked. As he spoke to Sam, he kept making small, grounding touches to Dean’s shoulder, keeping him anchored. With every touch, Dean’s breathing grew steadier. Seeing his older brother calm down brought a visible wave of relief over Sam.
Attempting to diffuse the lingering tension in the room entirely, Castiel asked, "Would you care to get some milk for yourself and your brother from the cooler in the back?"
"Can I really? But... I don't have any money." Sam looked up, scanning Castiel's eyes with careful precision, seeking reassurance.
"You may. It is my treat. Offering refreshments to guests is considered good manners, is it not?"
A small, genuine smile broke across Sam’s face as he turned and trotted toward the back coolers. Seizing the brief window of privacy, Castiel placed his hand firmly over Dean’s chest to diagnose the full extent of the infection. The boy was battling a severe case of influenza; fluid had already begun to pool in his lungs. Before Sam could return to the counter, Castiel secretly channeled his grace, completely clearing the child's lungs.
Yet, a far more troubling question continued to echo in the angel's mind: What on Earth were two small children doing entirely alone at a roadside gas station in the dead of night?
Sam returned, holding two cartons of milk, and sat flat on the floor right next to his brother. He studied Dean's face intently before lifting his head to look at Castiel. "Is Dean gonna be okay?"
"He has caught a severe chill, it seems. Because his fever was quite high, his own body felt intensely hot to him. Unable to recognize his own fever, he believed your skin to be freezing, which caused him great distress."
Sam pouted, leaning his back against the base of the counter. Staring down at the milk carton in his lap, he spoke with a heavy, childlike melancholy. "He's been coughing for days. I told him to take some of my medicine, but he never listens to me. And he didn't even need to practice in the rain, Dad isn't even back yet. He came home absolutely soaked today. He wouldn't even dry himself off until he finished reloading the shells. He thinks he's as strong as Dad, but he's not..." Sam wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.
"Your father has traveled away for business, I presume," Castiel noted, carefully avoiding the word hunter.
"Yeah. He'll be back by Monday. He doesn't usually stay away longer than two weeks. Because if it's gonna be longer, he leaves us at Uncle Bobby's house."
"Would you like me to take you back to where you are staying?" Castiel asked as they prepared to leave the station.
"No way," Sam replied, shaking his head rapidly. "If Dad finds out we told someone where we're staying, he’ll be really mad at us."
"He won't know if you do not tell him."
"Dean will definitely tell him. Even if he’s the one who ends up getting whipped for it, he can never lie to Dad."
Castiel paused. "Does your brother get beaten often?"
Sam fell silent for a moment, turning his head away thoughtfully as he pouted his lips. "More than me. Whenever Dad is mad at me, Dean steps right between us. Then he gets beaten for it, too. But I don't think it’s that much... Dad says every boy needs to take a beating, otherwise we'll never grow up to be men." He nodded, as if trying to force himself to believe it. "Besides, it’s really dangerous out there. Getting beaten is better than dying."
As Sam said this, he tightly gripped the hand of Dean, who was still resting on the floor. It was obvious that to believe his own heavy words, the child needed physical comfort—he needed to feel that his brother was truly there.
At Sam's touch, Dean slowly fluttered his eyes open and looked around. Sitting up, he rubbed his eyes with his fists. Sam scrutinized his older brother with pure anxiety. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice laced with concern.
Dean didn’t answer he simply nodded to reassure his brother. With a spark of joy, Sam handed him the milk carton he had taken from the cooler. "He treated us," he said with a pleased tone.
Dean turned his head slightly toward Castiel but couldn't bring himself to look the angel in the eye. Clearly, fainting so suddenly had wounded his pride and made him feel ashamed. Still, he bowed his head slightly in a silent thank-you.
Castiel placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder to check his condition one last time. This time, Dean didn’t protest; he remained still and compliant. The angel had healed the boy almost completely, but because he couldn't explain a sudden, miraculous recovery, he pulled a bottle of vitamins from his pocket and pressed it into the boy's hand.
"Take this until it is empty. You are battling a severe flu. If you rest a little, you will be fine. Your brother is also in perfect health there is no need to worry. Now, would you like me to accompany you back to your lodgings?"
Dean took the vitamins from Castiel’s hand and shoved them into his pocket. "We can walk. It's not far anyway."
"The night is very dark your brother might be frightened. I will only walk with you. From behind, at a distance... I simply wish to ensure you reach your destination safely."
Dean studied Castiel with deep hesitation. It was pitch black outside, and he knew all too well that terrible things prowled in the heart of the night. Having an adult nearby, especially given his current exhaustion, didn't seem like a terrible idea. He shrugged indifferently.
***
Hand in hand, Dean and Sam began to walk about three or four meters ahead of Castiel. Neither brother said a single word throughout the trek, but Castiel could sense the dense, suffocating tension radiating from Dean's body with his celestial awareness.
He followed them to a dilapidated, sketchy motel near the gas station. It was easy to tell that most of the motel's clientele were shady, troubled characters, judging by the flickering, crooked neon sign and the pungent smell of weed drifting through the air. What kind of father would leave two small children completely unattended in such a wretched dive?
As the children approached their door, they froze instantly at the sight of a shadow waiting for them in the darkness. They stood rooted to the spot. The man spat his cigarette butt onto the ground, crushing it with his boot, and marched toward them with heavy, angry strides. He roughly shoved Sam aside with one hand, grabbed Dean by his arm, and lifted him off his feet.
"I come back to the room at midnight, and the little princes are nowhere to be found! Where the hell were you?"
Dean stood frozen, desperately trying to construct a logical excuse in his mind, while Sam was paralyzed with fear. Right at that moment, Castiel felt a bizarre, burning sensation consume him—an emotion he had never known before. Without even realizing what he was doing, acting purely on instinct, he lunged forward and firmly clamped his hand around the man's wrist, breaking his grip on Dean.
"I presume you are their father," the angel said, his voice as cold as steel.
John Winchester turned to Castiel, his face twisted with anger and disgust. "Kid... who the hell are you?"
Kid... Ah, of course. Billy’s adolescent vessel made him look like one.
"I am Billy. I work at the gas station," Castiel said, flattening his tone to sound like an ordinary human. "Dean had a very high fever. Not knowing what to do, he brought his brother to the station. It was nothing too severe I managed to bring his fever down, and he is better now. I insisted on walking them back so nothing would happen to them in the dark. I did not realize it was this close." As Castiel spoke, he secretly channeled a fraction of his grace to slightly raise Dean’s temperature again, making the illness look believable.
The savage fury on John's face vanished for a brief second, replaced by a father's protective instinct. Letting go of Dean’s arm, he cupped the boy’s face in his hands. "Are you okay?" he asked.
Dean lowered his eyes and spoke in a hushed, trembling whisper. "I... I thought Sam was sick at first. His forehead was freezing... Just like that man we found the other day. I'm sorry, Dad. I was careless." An ordinary human ear like Billy's couldn't have caught that whisper, but Castiel heard it perfectly.
John patted Dean lightly on the back. "Go on. Take your brother and get inside."
Dean didn’t hesitate for a second. He grabbed Sam’s hand and bolted into the room. But just before slamming the door shut, he paused, gave Castiel a long, meaningful look, and offered a grateful nod.
While Castiel watched the door close, John narrowed his eyes and scrutinized him. He pulled out another cigarette and lit it. Extending his free hand in a threatening manner, he stepped closer to Castiel. "Nice to meet you, Billy. I'm John. Thanks for watching out for my boys..." John paused, a lethal glint appearing in his eyes. "...but if I ever see you around my kids again, I will gut you."
He took a deep drag from his cigarette and blew the smoke directly into Castiel's face. "I can tell from your eyes that you aren't human. I don't know what kind of creature you are, but stay away from me."
Castiel stared at John with undisguised disgust. "Go and attend to your children, John. I am not the kind of entity you can handle or hunt."
John lunged forward to attack Castiel in a fit of rage, but the angel vanished into thin air before he could strike. Leaving Billy’s consciousness safely back at the gas station, Castiel returned to the motel room as a disembodied spirit to watch over John and the boys.
***
When Castiel reached the room—a trip that took less than five seconds for an angel—the scene inside shook him. Dean was on the floor doing push-ups, while John paced the room with a beer bottle in hand, yelling at the top of his lungs:
"How many times do I have to tell you not to talk to anyone and never to bring strangers to where we're staying? Do you have any idea what kind of trouble you could have brought down on us? I can't believe I have such a selfish, useless kid! Sick... what a joke. There's nothing wrong with you! What happened, did you just want junk food again?"
The strange, agonizing sensation flared up inside Castiel once more. His mission was to protect these children; yes, but obliterating their father—their only provider—right then and there didn't feel like the right way to protect them. He forced his grace to hold back.
This unsettling discipline continued for another five minutes. Dean, utterly exhausted by the artificial fever Castiel had induced for credibility, couldn't endure the strain any longer. Drenched in sweat and trembling violently, he collapsed onto the floor. Only then did John walk over, touch his son’s forehead, and realize he was truly sick. He lifted the boy from the floor, laid him on one of the beds, and placed a wet cloth on his forehead. Without another word, he picked Sam up and tucked him into the other bed. Until the children fell fast asleep, John periodically changed the cloth on Dean’s forehead.
Once he was sure the boys were completely asleep, John quietly stepped out of the room. Hovering in the air, Castiel felt the grip of that awful, helpless emotion. If a severe illness wasn't enough to keep the children safe, what would be?
As these thoughts swirled within him, a sudden, ringing prayer pierced his mind. Billy was in absolute terror back at the gas station and desperately needed help. Castiel flew back instantly. The sight that greeted him made his wrath boil over: John had Billy pinned by the throat against the counter.
Castiel reassumed control of Billy's body in a heartbeat. Before John could comprehend what was happening, an invisible shockwave of grace blasted from the angel, throwing the hunter backward into the shelves.
"I told you to take care of your children," Castiel said. Billy’s eyes flashed with a brief, blinding celestial light. "If you cannot do that, hand your body over to me. I will gladly look after them in your stead."
As Castiel marched toward John with deadly, angelic majesty, John scrambled to his feet and began firing his hunting weapons at the angel. But none of his attacks had any effect.
"Nothing on this Earth can kill me, John."
"What are you?" John roared, trying to mask the absolute terror bleeding into his voice.
"That is not information you require. All I expect from you is to actually act like a father to your children. And you will stay away from young Billy." Castiel finished his sentence and pressed two fingers against the forehead of the now-terrified hunter, putting him to sleep instantly. Fortunately, John hadn't managed to cause any permanent damage to Billy.
Castiel scooped up the unconscious hunter and flew him back to the motel room. As he laid him down on the floor, he suddenly found himself staring into two wide, attentive eyes: Sam was awake. It appeared he had gotten up to refresh the dried cloth on his brother's forehead.
Unable to resist his newfound human impulses, Castiel lightly kicked John where he lay. "Are you alright, child?" he asked, looking at Sam.
"I'm okay..." Sam shifted his gaze to the man on the floor. "Is Dad okay?"
"He is merely sleeping. I do not believe he is worth lifting onto the bed, but I can put him there if you wish."
Sam looked at his father on the floor, then at his older brother tossing and turning with fever on the bed. "No need, he can stay there," he said with a cold calmness and maturity unexpected of a seven-year-old.
A faint, barely perceptible smile touched Castiel’s lips before vanishing.
"If you will permit me," the angel said, stepping toward the bed. "I can completely break your brother's fever."
Without saying a word, Sam quietly stepped back to make room for Castiel. The angel gently pressed his fingers against Dean’s forehead to banish the fever for good. Watching the soft, blue celestial light seep from Castiel's hand, Sam began to stare, utterly spellbound.
"What are you?" Sam asked, fixing his wide eyes on the angel's face.
Cas stared at the curious little boy for a moment. "What do you think I am?"
"Did my mom send you?"
"Perhaps..." Castiel softened his voice. "Is that what you would wish?"
Sam shrugged indifferently. "I don't really know her. But Dean thinks she was perfect. If he says so, then she was. I just thought maybe she sent you to heal him."
"Regrettably," the angel replied with a faint sigh, "your mother did not send me."
"What’s your name?" Sam asked, rubbing his sleepy eyes once more.
The entity hesitated for a moment. A small, genuine smile spread across Billy's teenage face. "Castiel."
"I don't know what you are, but thanks for tonight, Castiel. I hate it when Dean is sick."
Castiel opened the drawer next to the bed, pulled out the old motel Bible, and placed it gently between Sam’s small hands. "You can find me here. I am among the good," he said with a soft smile. "There are two more books like this one; read them in the future. They contain much information that will serve you and make you strong. Never stop reading, child. Read and learn... that way, you can find ways to protect both yourself and your brother. The angels will be watching you. Do not fear..."
But Castiel could not finish his sentence. A sudden, merciless force tore him from the room, pulling him away in a heartbeat.
***
When he opened his eyes, he was inside a pristine, endless white room. He had been pulled back to Heaven. He sat strapped to a metal chair that resembled a clinical seat, right in the center of the empty space. Two angels stood before him. A strange metal apparatus was clamped around his head, rendering him unable to move even a millimeter.
"What happened? Why have I been brought here?" Castiel asked, his eyes scanning them blankly.
The angel whose authority was clearly superior to the others marched toward Castiel with an expression of pure fury. "Always you... Every single time! You had one job, Castiel; to ensure the child survives. Why do you constantly insist on forming bonds with humans? Why are you fighting their father? Why can you never complete an assignment exactly as it is given to you?"
"My mission was to protect the child," Castiel stated, his voice steady and resolute. "Protecting them from that monster they call a father should be part of it, shouldn't it?"
"It was not!" the female angel roared. "You were meant to heal him and stay out of the rest! Why is this so difficult for your stubborn mind to comprehend?"
Though Castiel couldn't turn his head to look, the other angel standing in the background shifted uncomfortably. "Naomi... is this truly necessary? No real damage was done this time. At least he didn't try to kidnap them like the last time, did he? Besides, this process takes a heavy toll on the vessel he occupies."
"Hannah? Is that you?" Castiel asked hopefully. But his question was met with absolute silence.
Naomi picked up a long, sharp silver rod from the metal tray beside the chair. "If Michael deems it necessary, it is not for you or me to question, Hannah."
Naomi pressed the cold rod into a hidden, sensitive spot at the back of Castiel's skull, piercing the core of his memories. Before the sheer agony forced him into unconsciousness and dragged him into the dark, Castiel could hear the desperate, echoing screams of young Billy's soul trapped inside...
***
The moment Sam opened his eyes the next morning, his first instinct was to check on his brother. But Dean wasn’t in bed. He was already up, packing their duffel bags alongside John. His face was still quite pale, but looks like his fever had vanished completely.
Sam didn’t need to hear a single Word. He didn't need anyone to tell him what was happening. He knew this routine by heart: it was time to move. He got out of bed, changed his clothes quickly, and began packing his backpack. Space was tight. As he zipped up his things, he caught the eyes of the ugly plush rabbit his dad had bought him for his last birthday. He despised that toy but whenever he forgot to pack it, Dean would get furious. How could he leave behind a gift his father had thought to buy him? Besides, according to his dad, that rabbit could protect him from any monster.
What a joke, Sam thought to himself. Just because I'm seven doesn't mean I have to believe in stupid things, right? That ugly rabbit can't even protect itself.
Sam tried to cram the ugly, almost creepy plush toy into the last remaining corner of his bag when his eyes fell upon the motel Bible. The memory of the previous night flashed through his mind—that strange, blue-eyed guy who had miraculously cured his brother in an instant. It was probably just a silly, childish dream. But it had felt so real.
Sometimes it happened like that. Whenever he had nightmares about weird monsters, a lingering dread would haunt him the next day. As if a werewolf could actually beat up his brother, or as if his dad could really encounter a vampire and survive long enough to chop its head off... Who knew where these dark, ridiculous ideas came from? He watched too many scary movies, and Dean was always filling his head with stories—it was all his brother's fault. Yet, those nightmares terrified him because they felt so lifelike.
But last night’s dream was different. True, like the others, it was about something that didn't exist but this time, he hadn't been afraid. On the contrary, he felt a profound sense of peace. There was none of the bloody chaos of his usual nightmares. The creature who healed his brother was actually kind of funny, and he looked exactly like Billy, the clerk from the gas station. He had told him to read the Bible, saying, "You can find me here. I am among the good."
Sam pulled the ugly plush rabbit out of his bag and tossed it under the bed when neither Dean nor his father was looking. Then, he grabbed the Bible from the nightstand and stuffed it deep into his backpack. Believing in a silly dream was childish, maybe; but that was fine. Because Sam was a child, and this child preferred to believe in the protective, blue-eyed man from his dream rather than that stupid plush rabbit.
He finished his preparations. Without a word, he followed his brother and father out of the room. As they walked down the motel stairs, a loud song blasting from a neighboring room caught his attention.
I believe in angels
Something good in everything I see
Dean tugged at his arm from behind, pulling the heavy backpack away from him. "You're too slow, Sammy. Hurry up or Dad's gonna get ticked."
Sam hated it every time Dean took his bag, knowing his brother's own load was already too heavy. But Dean always did it. Self-sacrifice was just his nature. Sam yanked his bag back over his own shoulder. "I'm fast enough, we're not rushing anywhere anyway," he said, with a defiance that defied his seven years.
Dean sighed in frustration, quickened his pace, and muttered over his shoulder, "Just move it."
I believe in angels
When I know the time is right for me
I'll cross the stream, I Have a Dream
As they threw their bags into the trunk, the lyrics seemed to pierce right through the gloomy, grey sky above. Sam thought about his dream again. His brother truly did look completely fine today, healthy and strong. Could what he saw last night have been real? Could it actually be true?
I Have a Dream, a song to sing
To help me cope, with anything
Before climbing into the car, Sam cast one final look back at the old motel where the music was coming from. Maybe it really had been an angel. What was his name again? Casette? Carter? Castiel?
Dean slid into the passenger seat, but right before he did, he reached over, yanked the hood of Sam's jacket over his head, and chuckled. "Stop daydreaming, Sammy. Get in the car already."
If you see the wonder, of a fairy tale
You can take the future, even if you fail
In the quiet corners of his mind, Sam wanted to thank the man from his dream one last time. "Thanks for last night, Castiel. Even if you were just a dream..."
Hearing his father grumble from the driver's seat, Sam didn't linger any longer and climbed into the back of the Impala. As the Chevy Impala’s mighty V8 engine roared to life, the final notes of the song faded into the rumble of the car:
I believe in angels
Something good in everything I see
I believe in angels
When I know the time is right for me
I'll cross the stream, I Have a Dream...