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Dean and Sam are absolutely soaked when they get back to the motel, but they're trailing two bone dry angels.

It had taken Dean a long second to work out that Castiel and Gabriel weren't actually getting wet, Castiel had looked a little sadder and Gabriel had looked a little more bored. But they'd pretty much stood next to them in the incredible downpour and hadn't looked bothered by a single drop of rain.

Freakin' angels and their rain avoiding telekinesis.

So Dean isn't in the best of moods, and Sam looks like he spent the last three hours being drowned in a lake.

"You two couldn't have made the effort to be bothered less by the weather could you?" he says testily.

"We don't get wet unless we want to," Gabriel points out, in that particularly smug and irritating way that he has.

Sam glares at Gabriel through his hair, and drips pointedly on the crappy motel carpet. He's never been a fan of being soaking wet and Dean knows exactly how to push until that frustration becomes something bright and sharp, until it's enough to make him do something. Apparently Gabriel knows how to push too, even if he hasn't realised it yet. Dean thinks maybe his little brother is about to make a point.

He watches as Sam takes two steps and plasters himself against the Archangel.

Dean thinks, yeah, this is so not going to end well.

Even Cas looks surprised.

Gabriel makes a noise of protest and affront which gets lost somewhere in Sam's jacket.

When Sam unwraps himself Gabriel is about half as wet as him, and clearly not happy about it.

He drips quietly, but doesn't do anything immediate and gruesome to him, so Sam makes a noise that's satisfied and then disappears into the bathroom.