Dean sighed deeply as he inspected the enormous sandwich in front of him. In his full year of living in TV Land, he'd quickly learned to be extra careful with food that he didn't prepare himself, or even that randomly appeared for no reason. There's only so many times a person can put up with being horribly poisoned, after all, and Dean was sure he'd far exceeded that limit. When he was satisfied that this was, in fact, a genuine sandwich, he stood back from the table and surveyed it- in all its three-foot-high, cheese-filled glory- with the signature hungry expression that he knew the fake audience loved.

"Wow." He recited, as he did every time any food of these proportions was served to him. "I'm going to need a bigger mouth!"

On cue, the hysterical laughter erupted from the sickeningly green walls as he flashed an enthusiastic smile and placed his hands on his hips. Dean had long since stopped caring about the repetition of the sitcom, and the few lines had become routine to him. When the laughter had subsided, he walked forwards to retrieve a set of crappy plastic cutlery, barely noticing the front door opening as Sam strode in (Stage Left).

Sam stopped in the doorway of the small kitchen and eyed the sandwich, which Dean was inches away from tucking into. He rolled his eyes.

"Wow, Dean." His voice took on a monotonous tone as he delivered the appropriate counter to Dean's catchphrase. "You're going to need a bigger mouth." He closed his eyes, as if saying those few words physically pained him. He definitely hadn't adjusted to sitcom life as well as his older brother had.

As Dean sat down to eat, Sam pulled up his own chair at the table opposite him and rested his chin in his hands.

"Not hungry?" Dean asked through a mouthful of bread. Sam shook his head.

"I ate at the hospital."

The older Winchester raised his eyebrows with interest as he chewed. "Any interesting plotlines I need to be filled in with from over there?"

"Well, Cindy's gone back in for a fourth operation on her nose, I guess. It's high-risk this time, though; I think she might be secretly pregnant with Dr Sexy's illegitimate child after their affair a few weeks ago, but I'm not sure yet."

Dean shook his head. "Cindy, the bitch…"

"Yeah..."

A sudden, loud knock at the door interrupted their exchange. Before either of the brothers had the chance to invite him, Gabriel sauntered straight into the middle of the kitchen. A series of cheers and scattered applause accompanied him.

"You sure that one's safe?" The angel asked Dean casually, pointing at his now half-eaten meal with a teasing grin. "That lettuce looks a little dodgy to me. You can never be too careful around here."

"What do you want, Gabriel?" Sam snapped. Gabriel held his hands up in mock offense and pouted.

"Relax; I've just come to congratulate you on the new Herpexia ad. You did a very good job with that, you know. You should seriously consider acting professionally. I mean, you had me convinced." He clamped a hand dramatically over his heart, showing just how moved he was by Sam's tragic battle with genital herpes. Then, upon realising that Sam's scowl wasn't about to disappear with small talk, Gabriel exhaled in exasperation and sunk into the remaining empty chair at the table. He looked between the two hunters thoughtfully for a few seconds before leaning forwards and addressing them with uncharacteristic seriousness.

"Look boys, I'm gonna get straight to the point. I'm getting bored of all this now." He gave a vague wave of his hand to draw attention to what exactly he was getting bored of and cleared his throat. "And you don't exactly seem like you're going to be willing to play my little role-play game any time soon. So… How would you like to get out of TV Land?"

In an instant, Sam and Dean became more alert. They exchanged silent, wary glances, but Gabriel could tell they were undeniably excited by the prospect of escape. After a year of living bad sitcoms and trashy game shows, a change was exactly what they needed. The two took a few moments of consideration before Dean spoke.

"You want to get us out of here? After a whole year, just like that?"

Gabriel nodded in confirmation and pushed himself up from the table. He knew that their next question would be 'why?', so he shrugged nonchalantly before they could ask it. "I'm feeling generous. It's not like this is the first time you've been pulled out of a bad place with no apparent explanation, is it?"

The less chance he gave the Winchesters to speak, the better. It would only give them more chance to protest and make things vaguely awkward. And Gabriel didn't want them to resist him. What he wanted was just some fresh entertainment.

"Okay, I can't promise that your lives will be the same as how you left them, but you will be out of this dump of a place. What more could you want, right? Surely you're just as bored of this awful programme as I am."

"But-" Sam began, an expression of obvious doubt etched onto his face.

Gabriel cut him off before he could continue, beaming. "Great! Ready then, boys? Okay, let's shake things up a bit!" He winked mischievously as both hunters flew up from their chairs and lunged at him with a united 'Stop!'. But before either of them reached him, the Trickster clicked his fingers, and he and TV Land disappeared, leaving Sam and Dean tumbling on their own through white space.

xXx

"Your Majesty? Sir? Sir, can you hear me?"

Dean was brought back into consciousness by a deep, velvety voice, which he noticed at once had a pronounced English accent. It reminded him vaguely of some sort of elegant, predatory animal. Like a jaguar, or something similar…

"Give him room, you idjits. He needs to breath." This new voice was much more gravelly than the first, probably caused by years of heavy drinking and frequent yelling. It was enough to make Dean brave opening his eyes, which drew a communal sigh of relief from the small crowd around him. He blinked heavily as his eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight.

"There, see?" Dean could now see that the gruff voice belonged to an old man, probably in his late fifties, with a wiry grey beard and thick moustache that covered a good proportion of his lower face. He seemed vaguely familiar to Dean, although he struggled to remember where from. "I told ya' he just needed to breathe."

A young man in plain clothes ran to help Dean stand, although a splitting headache forced him back down to the ground as he was pulled up too quickly. After about a minute of gently easing himself vertical, however, he felt almost completely better and was able to properly survey his surroundings.

He seemed to have been lying in the middle of a small courtyard, surrounded by dainty blossom trees and perfectly-trimmed rose bushes. The grass beneath him was almost hyper-green, and it seemed to glitter when the sun caught it as if permanently coated in dew, and when he looked up at the sky he noticed that it was a brighter blue than he was sure he'd ever seen in his life.

Spinning around, Dean noticed that the small team of people that had been there when he'd woken were still standing around, watching him curiously. He had no idea who they were, but at least he was now able to put a face to the beautiful British voice- A tall, dark-haired man with amazingly sharp cheekbones and a crisp, bright purple suit was frowning at him from a few feet away with a mixture of fascination and concern. Standing next to him was the alcoholic old man, and a little way to the left, nearest Dean, was the younger, plainly dressed guy who'd helped him up. The hunter cleared his throat, and three pairs of expectant eyes darted to his face.

"Hey, um… Is anyone going to tell me where the hell I am?"

"You really did hit your head hard." The youngest man murmured.

Dean scowled at him. "Look, no offence but I don't know who you are. Heck, I don't think I even know who I am right now, so unless you're going to give me some explanation, I suggest you shut your mouth."

The three strangers stared at him in shocked silence, mouths falling open on hearing Dean's outburst. The British guy was the first to break the silence.

"With all due respect, your Majesty, I think it would be best for you if you visited the castle medic-"

"Your Majesty?" Dean repeated.

"Oh boy. Cas, take him up to Dr Gabriel. Now." Cas, who was apparently the youngest of the three men, nodded to show he understood the old man's orders, but didn't take his incredulous gaze away from Dean's face. He cautiously scurried over and took hold of Dean's arm.

"Come with me, Sir." His face was now barely an inch from Dean's, still retaining its look of naïve fascination as he stared at the apparent king through ridiculously blue eyes (at such a close proximity, Dean couldn't help noticing that the colour was almost identical to the fairytale blue of the sky) and tugged lightly at his sleeve. Dean swallowed thickly, caught off-guard at this man's obvious lack of personal space.

"Um, yeah, okay. Lead the way… Er… Cas."

Cas seemed pleased that Dean had addressed him by his name, and drew back slightly in satisfaction, allowing Dean a fraction more breathing space than before. He continued to grin contentedly as he lifted his hand between the two of them and held his fingers as if he was about to snap them in the air. However, he paused before he did so and cocked his head to the side.

"Bend your knees." He said in a low voice that suggested his partner should have immediately known to do so. Dean frowned at the strange instruction.

"Wait, why should I-" He began, but was violently cut off as Cas clicked his fingers, and he felt his body lurch upwards, away from the earth. He barely had time to register this sensation before he was seemingly slammed back down again, the shock vibrating up through his rigid legs and causing him to lose his balance and topple onto- carpet?

From above him, Cas tutted. "I told you to bend your legs, Sir." He mumbled accusingly, offering a sturdy hand to help pull Dean to his feet. Once vertical again, he cast his gaze around frantically, wide-eyed, trying to make sense of the fact that they had apparently just moved instantaneously through space.

"What was that?" He fought the urge to completely freak out. "And where the hell are we now?"

Cas sighed. "That was a teleportation spell." He said matter-of-factly, smoothing the patch of carpet where Dean had fallen with the toe of his shoe. "And we're in the left wing of the castle, outside Dr Gabriel's office." He gestured with his thumb to a spot behind him, where an ornate, bright green-painted door was inlaid into the wall. It didn't look much like a doctor's room, the only indication that it was anything special being the small plaque to the side which read 'Gabriel, Royal Witch Doctor' in a strange cursive writing.

Dean was sure he didn't need to see a doctor, but what he did want was somebody who would give him a straight answer about who and where he was, and he sure wasn't getting it from anyone he'd met so far in that godforsaken place. So, reluctantly, he skulked towards the door and prepared to knock. But while his hand was still hanging in the air, poised to ask permission to enter, said door was flung open from the inside. Dr Gabriel rolled his eyes once over Dean's body before bringing them to rest on his face, and then, without warning, he slumped heavily onto the doorframe and began to laugh.