A quick little thing I whipped up for a friend on Tumblr. Bonus points to those of you who can figure out the title. I feel like I'm missing something...oh, right...I own absolutely nothing. Enjoy!


"It's the best place for him right now, Sam." Dean's eyes remained fixed on the road, his fingers curling deftly around the wheel, determinedly ignoring the bitchface Sam threw his way. This was at least the third time his newly de-Lucified brother had brought up Cas's new residence, and, frankly, Dean was growing tired of the circular conversation.

Sam opened his mouth to say more, but Dean cut him off.

"Look. He's in no state to be with us right now. He'll be fine. Cas always is. Besides, it's not like we'll leave him there forever. We'll find a way to fix him." Dean fought the break in his voice as he continued. "We've gotta find a way to fix him."

The look Sam gave him bordered on pity, but he grudgingly admitted his brother was right, biting out a quick 'fine' as he shuffled the papers on his lap, adjusting the flashlight caught between his cheek and his shoulder.

"You don't have to be such a bitch about it, Samantha," threw out Dean, a small smirk stretching across his lips but not quite meeting his eyes. Sam rolled his eyes, but snorted in restrained amusement, muttering back 'jerk'.

"Find anything yet?"

Sam had been sifting through some of the documents they had recovered from Frank's trailer in hope of catching some clue that would lead to the Leviathan's downfall.

"Not much, but…" he trailed off, quickly flicking through the pages once more to confirm something.

"But what? C'mon, Sammy, you can't leave me with a cliffie."

"It's just weird. This one name keeps coming up. Reynard. One name, a bunch of different phone numbers. Seems to be an informant or something."

"Same area code on those numbers?"

"Uh, yeah. All for Reno. Think it's something?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. Looks like we're going to Reno."

Finding Reynard was no big problem. A quick stop at a coffeehouse with free highspeed wifi revealed that one of those numbers was a landline, and, subsequently, that number revealed an address, all with a few expert keystrokes.

"What exactly are we going to say?"

"I dunno," shrugged Dean. "I'm making this up as I go. Can't get any worse though."

Dean knocked on the door, an unassuming thing situated on the third floor of a rundown complex. The door swung open with an ominous and clichéd creak.

Inside was not what either of the Winchester Brothers was expecting at all.

Instead of a rundown flat, decorated with crumbling plaster and mold, an opulent room with rich red walls greeted them. The smell of musty books and the hum and glare of computers expected from a contact of Frank's were also strangely absent. There was nothing at all to suggest that this was the great information source that Frank hinted at in his notes. The boys crossed the threshold cautiously, Sam's fingers tightening around the hilt of the demon blade as Dean kept his gun close to his side, ready to fire if need be.

At one end of the room, in front of a crackling fire that, logically, couldn't exist, there was a large desk, one seen in CEO's offices or in James Bond films. Behind it, the back of a large leather chair faced the Winchesters, its high back obscuring the occupant from their view.

"If there's a moat with piranhas, I'm pushin' you in first, Sammy," Dean muttered with a lopsided grin that only grew wider when he saw yet another variation of his brother's infamous bitchface appear.

"Piranhas? You really think I'd be as clichéd as all that?"

Sam and Dean looked at each other stunned. They knew that voice.

The chair swiveled around and their mouths dropped open.

"Piranhas are done to death. I'd pick something more interesting. Maybe leeches or grindylows."

Gabriel, puckish and grinning as always, propped his feet up on the desk, twirling a lollipop around in his fingers.

"I…you…"

"Heya, Sammy." He winked playfully at the taller brother before turning back to the sputtering Dean, a mockingly patient look on his smug Trickster face. "Use your words, Dean-o."

"Dude! What the Hell? You're supposed to be dead!"

Gabriel simply smirked, pointing to himself as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Hello. Archangel. Duh."

"So, it turns out you're still just a big coward," growled Dean.

The Archangel's gaze narrowed.

"Coward? That's what you still think of me? Tell you what, bucko, faking your own death is no walk in the Celestial Gardens. Besides, it's not like I left you boys high and dry. I've been helping out behind the scenes as it were."

Sam chose that moment to speak.

"It's been you. Leaving those signs. The Greek and the business card."

"Ding! Ding! Ding! Give the Sasquatch a prize!"

"We thought…" Dean fumbled for words.

"That it was your dear ol' Bobby? Nah, he's up there," Gabriel gestured with his candy, "kickin' it in the great beyond."

"It's just…you're not usually this subtle…"

"What? Did you want me to drop a piano on your heads?" At Dean's glare, he continued sarcastically, "It's not like I'm trying to keep a low profile or anything."

Gabriel sat up, sticking the sucker in his mouth, and slapping the desktop with his hands, clearly ready to get down to brass tacks.

"Now, Dynamic Duo, if we're done with all the small talk, just what can the Trickster do for you?"