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Dean and Sam are seated around the Tran’s kitchen table, discussing the unorthodox invitation Kevin had just been given to a magical artefacts auction, of all things. Naturally, they want the demon tablet back as soon as possible, regardless of their current truce with Hell. Dean had no idea events such as these even existed, or what kind of currency they dealt in, but that doesn’t mean that no one in Heaven does.
“Alright, gimme a sec to tune into Angel Radio.” He says, and closes his eyes, stretching out his consciousness. It’s like flexing a muscle, and on the decompress something snaps into place. At once, a rush of warm smooth voices blanket him. It’s too distracting to be tuned in at all times; all those voices inside his head make him feel just one step too close to the mad house. He’s still available by direct line of course; prayers specified by name, or whenever Cas beckons with His terrifically demanding voice.
Now though, Dean opens a channel to his thoughts, and the essentials: tablet urgent Kevin prophet auction experience currency now get sucked out of his brain and insta-translated. He’s immediately inundated with eager angels trying help, but one wavelength stands out with its utterly confident assurance. Enochian is a extremely verbose, but the rough translation of the confident angel’s sentiments would be something along the lines of ‘I got this’. Dean reaches out, drawing that particular thread free and is greeted by a rush of affection. Samandriel.
A direct connection like this allows Dean to run his mental fingers through the fabric of another angel’s existence, teaching him all there is to know about a lesser angel. And there are no angels stronger than Dean, so it has the added benefit of being a one-sided process that can’t be used on him. Samandriel is utterly devoted to Cas, New Heaven and all his siblings, Dean included. He’s in awe of being singled out for a conversation, and despite his inexperience, determined that he knows how to represent their cause at the auction; if Dean’s brute force isn’t enough.
You don’t have a vessel, Dean counters the enthusiasm of the young malakhim, who hasn’t been down to Earth since Lucifer was cast into the Pit.
There is one suitable, the young angel assures him, so Dean says out loud; “If you’re sure.”
A few seconds later, he feels the flutter of wings, and Samandriel arrives, wearing a vessel who apparently worked at Weiner Hut. The name-tag reads ‘Alfie’.
The other occupants of the table all flinch in surprise, but Dean just stands and says; “Samandriel.”
“General.” The angel ducks his head in a bow of respect, conduct no less solemn because of his bright red outfit.
“Samandriel assures me he knows all about these things, and what we can trade with.” Dean says, as much for confirmation from the angel and to let the others know the plan.
“It is an honour to be of assistance.”
Dean clucks his tongue. It’s infinitely better when the angels he encounters are like this; Cas Loyalists, fervent in the cause of New Heaven, rather than the angels who just know which side their bread is buttered on. Those angels are like demons, always scheming and waiting for an opening, and though they show no outward disrespect to Dean, their exchanges are always civil rather than genuinely polite. Still, subservience always rubs Dean up the wrong way, and it makes him more informal than he generally would be with strange new angels, in an effort to coax them out of their shells. It leads to a lot of general confusion about him, with the Loyalists often gushing about how approachable he is in comparison to the archangels of Old Heaven, and the reluctant angels finding this as a sign of scornful weakness- right up until they encounter the impenetrable wall of power which is Dean Winchester when pissed off. Then they’re pretty obvious in their prayers that he won’t notice how fucking scared they are. It’s a revolving door of viciousness, which Dean sits back and enjoys the fruits of at any available opportunity.
“Well, first things first. No one’s going to take Heaven seriously if our Sales Reps turn up dressed like that.” Dean says, “Kevin, you got anything better suited for Alfie here?”
Dean is rewarded with Samandriel’s adoring blue-eyed gaze, not sure if its the offer of new clothes - provided by the Lord’s Prophet himself - but if he’s honest, its probably the nickname. According to Cas, it’s a great honour to be named by the Righteous Man, since Cas himself took the name Dean gave him, and you know, endorsement from God is pretty much as high as it goes. He even went as far to grumble that Bart was preening over his nickname ‘pridefully’. Which made Dean nervous about the length of Bartholomew’s tenure under Cas’ dictatorship.
Soon enough, Samandriel is decked out in a crisp dress shirt and dark jeans, and he no longer looks so out of place. His wings are small, and golden, sparkling in the sunlight, complimenting the blonde of his vessel’s hair. He’s a baby and there’s no denying it, not when he’s side by side with the awesome power of Dean’s grace. It’s akin to comparing candlelight to the sunshine, and how weird is it that Dean is the sun in that analogy? The moment Dean’s life is dull, he’ll know he’s dreaming- because even his afterlives are ludicrous.
--
They are met at the auction by Crowley, who spins them a good yarn about coming along to protect their interests. Which Sam doesn’t believe a word of, because a) he didn’t tell them a thing about it and b) it’s Crowley. There’s no denying the whole pact between the new God and the King of Hell is working out, and probably the best solution for all involved, but trusting demons is a mistake Sam is keen never to repeat, in life or death. Still, they pool their resources, and eventually purchase the tablet for three billion of Crowley’s dollars and Vatican City. Things get hairy at one point, when Plutus’ guppy attempts to kidnap Kevin and sell them as ‘a matched pair’, but Dean quickly put the brakes on that. The sigils on the walls prevented him and Samandriel from accessing some of their mojo, but Dean still had enough to zap Kevin back into his chair and growl at their host. They sealed the deal pretty quickly after that, and Crowley left looking like he’d swallowed a shot of ol’ rotgut instead of Craig by accident.
Samandriel’s knowledge was invaluable, and Dean says as much. Sam gets second-hand embarrassment watching the angel moon over Dean. He understands that Dean’s a hot shot in Heaven now, but its still pretty weird watching angels trail around after him with hearts in their eyes. Still, Samandriel is far more preferable to that arrogant dick Bartholomew, so Sam counts the day as a win all-round.
Dean reassigns Samandriel to keep watch over Kevin, Linda, and the tablet, and then they get to take out some of their frustrations on the creep who bought Mjolnir with five eighths of a virgin. It’s damn awesome, wielding the hammer and lightning, though Sam does wonder about the myth that only Thor should be able to lift it in the first place. There’s every possibility that the hammer’s power was directly tied to Thor’s strength, and Dean assures him that Thor faded out of existence aeons ago, so they don’t have to worry about an angry Norse god on their tail.
It’s another weapon added to the arsenal, though Dean makes noises about putting it in Heaven’s weapon vault instead, since they don’t know what exactly its capable of. Sam tells him to shut up and drive. There’s perks to having an archangel for a brother; he can fix things now with even more tenacity than before. They deserve a few moments of fun every now and then, and Sam wants to see what will happen if he hits a mountain with it.
Their next case begins in Minneapolis, with missing hearts. The incidents are too far apart for werewolves, and Dean can’t smell them on the victim's bodies either. Its turns out the perp was actually a team of people sacrificing to an ancient Mayan god for super strength. Their power was inherited by an ancient warrior, and Dean gets very excited at the implication. He cuts out the woman’s transplanted heart, and performs a ritual which Sam is pretty convinced is entirely made up on the spot what the actual hell- but which works anyway. Then Dean poofs out in order to follow the spell and catch himself a pagan.
Sam doesn’t point out that bringing Cas ancient gods to snack on is pretty much the angel/god equivalent of human sacrifice to a deity, and dangerously close to Dean behaving like a pet cat bringing home furry dead creatures as gifts to their owner. But irony of it smacks him in the face regardless, as he packs up the Impala and heads for pastures new.
Dean comes back two days later, smug and satisfied, in time to join Sam on an actual werewolf hunt this time. Dean sniffs them out, but not in time. Instead their case ends up being a drawn out game of kiss-chase, and they finally get their answers in the form of a home movie. Dean decides to let the last werewolf go, and Sam is in agreement. They do this to save people like Kate, preferably before it reaches this stage. She doesn’t deserve to be punished for their slack.
Dean’s back to being a grim, unmovable stone, and Sam resolves to find them a simple smiting next.