Notes: written for my friend Holly's birthday! She wanted de-aged human Gabriel with wing tattoos and no angst (for real this time). Title comes from the fun. song The Gambler. Set about twelve years after the end of season seven, disregards everything after that. May contain swearing, Gabriel, minor background Destiel, and plot holes. Serving size: three short chapters. Servings per story: one. Not to be taken seriously.

Dean was bored.

This was partly because the cable was out, partly because Cas was at the store, and partly because Sam was being a bitch. Well, okay, Sam was translating an old manuscript for some Hunter, and it was probably important and possibly life-or-death. And Dean could have gone to the store with Cas if he hadn't been sleeping off a hangover until noon.

The cable thing sucked, though.

"Hey, Sam."

Sam gave a sigh which Dean felt was unwarrantedly long-suffering.

"What, Dean?"

Dean had been intending to suggest that they watch a movie or something, but Sam looked like he expected him to say something stupid and annoying, and Dean wasn't one to disappoint.

"Bet you I can finish this sandwich in one bite."

Sam rolled his eyes and turned back to the translation. Dean smirked in triumph and set to work eating his sandwich as loudly and messily as possible, watching the top of his brother's head for any sign of a reaction. Sam's hair was currently tied back, a concession he had begun making a couple years ago. Dean thought it looked stupid – it was a ponytail – but Sam had been weirdly protective of his hair ever since the Nair incident and any comments about it were met with hostile glares and sarcastic jibes about Dean's fashion sense, taste in women, and current love life. All of which were fantastic, thank you very much.

Speaking of his current love life . . .

"Cas! Jesus!" Dean nearly fell out of his chair when Cas suddenly appeared in front of him, his hand clasped firmly on the shoulder of – "Is that a kid?"

"He is physically a child, yes," Cas said, while said child – a scrawny teenage boy, maybe about fourteen and weirdly familiar – tried to twist out of his grasp.

"Let go of me, you freak!"

"Cas, what the hell?" Dean demanded. "We talked about this. You can't just bring home people you like. They're not like that damn cat." Which had been a bad idea, also, but that was a whole different issue.

"Dean." Sam's voice, low and urgent, cut through every other thought.

"What?" Dean asked sharply, turning to his brother, who was staring at the kid with wide eyes.

"Look at him."

Dean frowned, but complied, examining the kid more closely. The kid glared back, his anger nearly masking his wariness. He seemed really familiar, but Dean couldn't quite place it . . .

"Picture him like, twenty years older," Sam prompted, "with a really annoying smirk on his face."

"Dude, would you just –" Dean began, and then cut himself off as it hit him. "Son of a bitch."

"Your assessment is not inaccurate," Cas agreed.

"What the hell?"

The kid took advantage of their distraction to make a break for it, but Sam caught him in a practiced arm lock, easily avoiding the elbows and feet which were aimed at him with moderate precision – most of them, anyway.

"Dammit," Dean growled as a lucky kick landed on Sam's bad knee and he hissed in pain. "Alright, that's enough, c'mere you little bastard." He yanked the kid from his brother's unresisting hands and shoved him unceremoniously through the nearest doorway, slamming it shut and turning the lock. "Stand there," Dean ordered Cas, grabbing his shoulders and positioning him in front of the door.

"Dean," said Sam, in a half-hearted attempt at his usual disapproving tone.

"What? You got any better ideas?" Dean challenged.

"Than locking the archangel Gabriel in our basement?" Sam maintained his incredulous for a grand total of three seconds, and then sighed in defeat. "No, not really."

"Wonderful," Dean complained. "Cas, what the hell were you thinking?"

"He attempted to steal from me and I noticed his true identity," said Cas with a shrug. "It seemed the logical course of action at the time."

"He tried to pick your pocket?" Sam asked.

Cas shrugged again.

"I suspect the theft was out of boredom more than necessity. He is, essentially, Gabriel, though it appears he has no memory of his original nature."

"Makes sense," Sam agreed. "I mean, from what happened with Anna."

"Yeah, but Anna fell. Gabriel died," Dean argued.

"He's been dead before," Sam pointed out. "We didn't even see it this time."

Dean considered this.

"I swear to god, if he made us watch that stupid porno for no reason . . ."

"Gabriel was dead," Castiel cut in. "There is no doubt of that."

"Alright, fine," said Dean. "He was dead. So what the hell is he doing here? As a kid?"

Cas cleared his throat, looking slightly uncomfortable.

"It is possible . . . our Father may have believed it . . . beneficial for Gabriel to spend some time . . . away."

There was a brief silence, and then Sam gave a sharp, incredulous laugh.

"What, really? He's in time-out? 'I've told you before to stop breaking your toys; now you have to sit in the naughty chair'?"

Now Cas looked really uncomfortable, which any other time Dean would have been all over, but right now –

"Is it just me, or is he being way too quiet down there?"

He met Sam's eyes for half a second, and then they simultaneously lunged for the door. Dean seized Gabriel around the waist and hauled him backwards just in time to stop him from striking a match. Sam set to work gingerly disassembling the pile of makeshift explosives the kid had managed to improvise from the (admittedly not-quite-legal) contents of their basement – and his shirt. He had a detailed pair of feathered wings tattooed across his back and shoulders, because this whole thing wasn't ridiculous enough already.

"Are you crazy?" Dean demanded, giving the kid a shake as he took in exactly what he had almost set alight. "That shit would have blown your damn hands off!"

"It had a fuse; I'm not stupid," Gabriel retorted sourly.

"It doesn't matter that it had a fuse," Sam responded evenly. "The fumes from this stuff would have gone up the moment you lit the match."

"Thanks for the advice, pedo-tail," Gabriel shot back. "I'll be sure to remember that the next time I'm trying to escape from a troop of batshit kidnappers."

"Okay, that's it," Dean declared, while Sam got that miffed look which meant he was about to go into a dissertation on the merits of his stupid hair. "Cas, give him his memories back," he ordered, shoving the former angel towards the current one. "Angel-zap him, hit him on the head 'till he remembers, I don't really care."

"Are you certain –"

"Yes."

Cas shot a questioning glance at Sam.

"Oh, come one," Dean groaned. "Gabriel's a pain in everyone's ass but this little shit isn't any better."

"It's Gabe," the kid grumbled, crossing his arms across his skinny chest. "You guys are the worst stalker serial killers I've ever seen."

Sam sighed.

"Yeah, fine. Just do it, Cas."

Cas reached toward Gabriel – oh, sorry, Gabe – and, thwarting his attempts to duck away, pressed two fingers to his forehead.

There was a flash of blinding white light. Dean was still blinking furiously when a voice cut through the after images.

"What the hell did you dumbasses do this time?"