A/N: Thanks for sticking through until the end of this one.

-oOoOoOo-

Dean didn't recall the moving ending. He just suddenly became aware that his room was exceedingly still, like during a power outage. The silence pressed in on his ears and prompted his closed lids to fly open.

He expected to find pitch blackness and aloneness, but instead a soft glow filled the room. The TV continued to flicker as an infomercial for Miss Cleo's fortune telling skills aired; however, her words were muted as was Sam's expected snoring. In front of Dean's bed, at the center of the shimmering light, sat a man he knew as James Smith—the family's former landlord and an obnoxious blowhard Dean thought was either a world-class dick or chemically castrated pervert.

"Dino, we gotta rap, buddy," James Smith/the archangel Gabriel grinned.

"What the hell are you doing in here?" Dean barked.

He whipped his legs to the floor as he sat up blinking rapidly. He cast his eyes to his brother he remained snoozing on the floor in chair beside the bed. He did not stir prompting Dean's heart to begin thumping with the early stages of panic.

"Oh, pish-posh with the whispering," Gabriel scoffed. "He's fine. Look, no one else can hear us because I'm not here in this room. Not really. I'm in your melon. Squirming around in your custard, if you will, and I gotta say I'm a little disappointed. There's a lot less porn in here than I expected. I mean, it's not void of the art, but what's here is pretty pedestrian and predictable."

"How?" Dean demanded with his voice as cold and hard as ice.

"It's a tricky little spell, but I'm a tricky kind of guy," Gabriel winked.

"You're a monster," Dean said suddenly as he moved to put himself between the man and the sleeping form of his little brother. "Stay away from him."

"Whoa, you got me all wrong, Chief," he shook his head. "First off, teenage boys: not my thing. I'm no danger to your beloved Sammy. In fact, I'm the best friend he's ever had. I was kind of his fairy godmother there at the start. I arranged things so he didn't go to the masquerade ball and get his ass turned into a pumpkin."

Dean stared back in confusion as a scowl deepened on his face and an angry furrow appeared on his brow. In one swift movement, he thrust his hand under his pillow and whipped out the .45 that perpetually rested beneath his head each night since he took on the calling of hunting. He was not as versed in all monsters and their weaknesses as other hunters, but one thing he knew for certain was that creatures moved slower when they didn't have knee caps and a lot of things died when you pumped silver bullets into them. He released the safety as he leveled the weapon on the newcomer.

"Oh please," his visitor scoffed then waved his hand. "Go ahead. I just told you I'm not here. That gun's not real and even if it was, those bullets wouldn't even mess up my hair. Look, I'm not here to hurt you. So, calm down. Have a seat, and let's chat."

Another flick of a finger and Dean found himself shoved backward roughly onto the bed and pressed against the headboard. Despite the jolt it gave to the bed, Sam remained snoozing with his head lolled loosely to the side. His bangs flopped casually into his eyes. His feet remained comfortably propped up on the mattress as though nothing happened. Neither the movement nor the voices roused him.

"What did you do to him you freak?" Dean snarled as he felt invisible arms pressed him backward, restraining him.

"Nothing," came the reply followed by a snap of the fingers which produced a large leather recliner that was mathematically too big to fit into the small room but did so all the same as Dean's visitor hopped into it and released a sigh of relief as it began to vibrate. "There. This one's got the magic fingers. Oh yeah. That's better. Now, let's clear up a couple things. First off, you and I are not talking in what you know as the physical world, Einstein. I'm in you—just not in that way, you cheeky monkey. I'm just in your head."

He grinned but received only a stony stare in reply.

"Next, if by calling me monster you mean I'm devastatingly handsome superior being, then you got me," he continued. "My friends call me Loki, but my family calls me Gabriel."

Dean continued to struggle against his invisible bindings.

"How do you get Gabriel out of Loki?" he grunted.

"How do you solve a problem like Maria?" Gabriel smirked. "What came first, the chicken or the egg? Actually, that one's not a good example. I've got that answer. Oh wait. I've got all the answers—at least, all the ones you want. So are we clear on who, what, and where we all are."

"Sure, you're the dick who ruined my life, and as soon as I pull a Houdini, I'm gonna shiv your ass in the real world or here in fantasy land," Dean replied.

"Good luck with that," Gabriel scoffed as he crossed his ankles laced his fingers behind his head. "Dean, Dean, Dean. You have stepped in some seriously celestial doo-doo, my squirrelly little friend. I gotta give you credit though. You managed to be a total asshat outside of my radar—that's almost a little impressive. Of course, I blame myself for that to a point. I was too slick with all that tagging I gave you on your ribs. Nice scribbling, but I was too talented for my own good. So, I guess technically I outwitted by myself—not that I expect any less. What can I say, I'm good—in certain cultures, I'm a god."

"You're God?" Dean curled his lip in doubt and distrust.

Gabriel chuckled and shook his head.

"Not the big G-man," he said. "That is dear old Daddy-kins. No, I'm a god. A minor deity. Or, that's what play when I'm on vacay with the ladies or when I'm out playing with the boys. I'm actually an angel—an Archangel in fact, one of 4. The best of the lot, in my humble opinion."

Dean nodded. He always felt a pit in his stomach anytime he was around the man. He wasn't sure precisely when he recalled who took him from his bed as a child in 1983. He'd been exposed to several forms of magic and any number of the scrambled his head a little bit, churning up buried stuff and showing him flashes of things that had not yet occurred or perhaps never would. One of the few things that was repeated for him each time was the brilliant glow of the man who snatched him and the sensation Dean felt at the man's presence. He felt it again as he sat trapped in his bedroom.

"So, here's the thing, I planned to just walk away and let you be you all along," Gabriel began. "That was my plan. I protected your little brother from a fate he didn't deserve, and we all got to have ice cream on Sunday. I hate to confess this but I gotta: I had a soft spot for him. It's a little brother to little brother thing, I guess. Also, he was small and helpless when I came to save him. I just couldn't leave him alone to fend for himself. You were the natural choice for nanny and grunt. After all, it's kind of why you existed in the first place."

Dean tore his eyes away and looked to the peaceful, sleeping form of his brother. It was hard to believe Sam had ever been so tiny he could be clutched fully in Dean's arms, yet the elder Winchester remembered clearly the first time he held his baby brother when their parents brought the infant home from the hospital. He also recalled the sense of urgency when he blinked and found himself alone with his brother in his arms on the steps of a firehouse so very far from his home. He barely remembered his first name. He couldn't recall his parents' names, their address, or anything about where he was from, but he knew his brother—knew his first name, his birthday, and what he liked to eat. Protect Sammy was the only thought in his head that made any sense that morning. It struck him profoundly how again that evening how in the Simpson house that call to arms yet again rang true.

"I know about your dust up tonight playing ghostbuster," Gabriel continued. "I've also recently been clued in on the rest of your extracurricular activities. You've done okay by human standards of keeping your real identity secret while playing supernatural road warrior, but that won't work with the opposition for much longer, Jack Hawkins."

"Who?"

"Your non de guerre, is surprising from you," Gabriel said, "I wasn't aware you liked the classics—but reclaiming your unofficial Dickensian moniker from Chicago, The Artful Dodger aka Jack Hawkins, is an obvious and desperate cry for Bobby Singer to bust you. Is that what you want?"

Dean shrugged. It wasn't an admission. It wasn't a denial. Pleading no contest, he learned long ago, worked best for him and offered the most wiggle room.

"So, you we're agreed you didn't learn Latin for your health," the angel said. "Oh wait. I guess you kind of did. But that's kind of my point for talking to you. Tick, tock, right? The way I hear it, you've got six years left."

Dean's jaw grew hard, and he looked down feeling the shame of his deal (the stupidity of it rather than the motivation for it). Someone smarter would have found a different way to swing that crossroads contract. In fact, the more often Dean thought of it, the more it seemed the 10 years of waiting were as much of a punishment as anything. Knowing his end was coming at him, marching relentlessly toward him, was a torture of its own.

"So what?" he grumbled. "I can do whatever I want with whatever time I've got. I know Father Reardon has plans for me."

"Yeah, and you're looking for an exit ramp off Frank Reardon's road trip for you," Gabriel ventured.

"Well, free will's an open road," Dean said gruffly. "That's how I roll."

"You doing the lone wolf thing—shocker," the angel scoffed. "A little advice for you: Don't walk away from the good father. Frankie always was a good egg. I taught him well how on to deal with Hell's Most Wanted on my Roman holiday back in the 70s. He's smart for a human just not very playful, and don't get me started on his sanctimonious streak. I mean, you wouldn't believe the judgmental attitude the guy dishes when he shows up unannounced and ruins a perfectly lovely weekend orgy with multiple sets of Norwegian twins."

Dean cocked his head to the side not sure he wanted the images of Reardon, Gabriel, and naked Norwegian girls frolicking in his mind (but he hoped he could eventually erase the impression of the two men and just enjoy the blond, matching pairs by himself someday—after all, with just six years left, he figured it was time to start writing and then checking things off a to-do list).

"Don't be snaking my girls," Gabriel warned as he spied the grin in Dean's eyes. "You've got bigger and darker fish to fry. I'd ask what the hell you were thinking when you used your soul as a credit card, but I get it. You wanted to save your mom. I never had one of those, and I think that's what messed up my family. I'm not sure what I would have done in your place. I do know what it's like to want to hang on to a parent who's leaving before you're ready to let them go. I feel for you, Dean. Honestly, I do, but there's not much I can do to help you."

"I didn't ask for help," he replied.

The angel gave him a scorching look that melted into one of pity as he sighed.

"No, you didn't," Gabriel agreed. "You've never prayed—ever. It's the most common and predictable (if useless) human response to adversity, but it never occurred to you to Heaven or any of its holy hosts for anything. Even when you found out from Frank Reardon that the heavenly-halo'ed Socs and the bottom-feeding hellish Greasers do exist, you never asked our harp strumming boy band of brothers to save your ass. Of course, you didn't need to. Frank asked for you."

Dean blinked. Reardon rode his ass with lectures and orders and extra homework that would have cut into Dean's actual study time (if he had done much of that in the first place). He figured the only reason the guy gave him the time of day was because Dean could exorcise the black-eyed murderers who had the good father on their hit list which kept the padre on the bench and trapped on the consecrated ground of the campus. Learning Reardon tried to pull heavenly strings for him struck Dean profoundly.

"He did?" he croaked. "Father Reardon asked you to break my deal and save me?"

"Not me specifically," Gabriel replied. "He sent out a celestial summons, and it was doozy. A real all-hands ABP—and from Frankie the Demon Slayer Reardon, that usually gets some attention among my brethren. It's like Commissioner Gordon flashing the bat signal. I heard him first start so I flipped his mute switch. I'm the only one who hears his prayers now—lucky for you."

"How does that make me lucky?" Dean asked. "And who the hell are you to decide who gets to hear prayers and who doesn't?"

Gabriel's smile turned to a smirk but little sparks of annoyance flared in his eyes.

"I usually play coy on a first date but seeing as we're such old friends, I'll come clean," the angel said. "I started this—the whole course of your life was altered by me for selfish reasons. I'd seen what would happen if I didn't. So to save the world—you and snoozing Stretch Armstrong over here included—I pulled you and your brother from harm's way when you were just little McNuggets in this big, old, crappy Happy Meal. Before you ask, I'm telling you now because I'm apologizing. I'm feeling a wee bit guilty. I should never have taken you specifically. He," he pointed at Sam, "had to go. My brother was going to like him far too much. I saved Sam's life from angst, pain, and tragedy. That much I know I got right because he never got roofied with some serious Hell smack. So, feel free to thank me at any time for that. As for you… I just didn't think when I grabbed you that I was ending your life. I'm sorry about that, by the way. I thought I was doing the right thing, but it just came back to bit me in the ass. Relate much?"

Dean nodded. He wasn't following the diatribe completely, but it was filling in a few spots in his mind that niggled at him in quiet moments of painful solitude. He always knew his life would be difficult and that it would be painful while amounting to very little. Hearing that his brother was spared a terrible fate, however, was comforting.

"Why tell me this now?" Dean asked. "Sam's going to be okay regardless of what happens to me, right?"

Gabriel huffed. His own brothers, who had a few millennia on this kid, never showed that level of interest or concern in each other. They were all-powerful beings with the ability to literally mold and unravel the universe; they could see futures and pasts and understand the intricate and complicated destinies of entire worlds, yet they somehow never managed to find the capacity for caring about each other deeply or for very long. These boys, alive less than two decades, made Gabriel envious and feel shameful.

"Sam will be fine," Gabriel said. "You won't be. I should have watched you more closely. I shouldn't have let my guard down. I just thought that all the trouble, the kind I averted when I took you and your brother out of your house, was no longer possible. As it turns out, I do know what will happen next, and it scares the grace right out of me. I know where you're going at the end of your deal and what's likely to happen to you. So, I'm here tonight to offer you an alternative."

Dean raised an eyebrow. He was wary of the word offer. Offers were deals and the last one he took put a definite expiration date on his existence. Everyone, including his current companion, said there was no way out of it.

"You just said you can't help me," Dean asserted.

"I can't help you undo your deal," Gabriel shook his head. "No one can. I, however, can offer you an alternative for how all this ends." Dean narrowed his eyes and scoffed. "You're skeptical? Good that you've got that trait working for you again. This is a crap sandwich no matter how we slice it. I can't get you your life back, but I can protect your soul. I've got some pull with reapers. Your crossroads deal is still very hush-hush throughout the winged and smoky realm. My brother's don't know about it—well, most of them. The jailbird knows—Lucifer's probably taking nice, long, slow showers in anticipation of what it means."

Dean shirked and grimaced at the prediction. Gabriel also shivered dramatically as he continued.

"Trust me," he said. "It's an even worse image if you know him. And I do. What I also know is that he trusts no one. That is absolute. I'll bet my own life that he's only mentioned bits of his plan to at most two of his loyalist minions, and even they won't know how you fit into them. Lucifer isn't into spoiler alerts. His mooks won't have told the whole story. That gives us an advantage and leaves us a few paths."

"Paths to what?"

The angel offered a brief explanation about Biblical predictions and a family feud of epic proportions. Dean merely nodded throughout. He found it nearly impossible to believe any of it, yet something deep within him readily accepted the information as though they were little secrets locked in his DNA just waiting to be identified and called out.

"I'm recommending we end this prize fight before a single punch is thrown," Gabriel said.

"How?"

"Take a play from my book," the angel answered. "When the going gets tough, the smart and cute ones get going. Look, when you're playing poker and you've got no money to cover your bet and your opponent is holding all the cards you need, there's only one option. You kick over the table."

Dean nodded, having been in circumstances similar to that. He'd never run to save his neck before, but he did believe in evasive action when it was possible.

"You want me to run away and hide from your family like you did?" Dean surmised. "Do I get celestial witness protection like you? 'Cause, I gotta say, the cut and run thing doesn't seem like my style, but Norwegian twin orgies could turn me around on the idea."

Gabriel chuckled and wagged his finger at the human. In no reality he ever viewed had he ever done the hedonistic thing with Dean Winchester as his sidekick. The more the angel considered it, the more he felt the loss of such a possibility. In fact, taking Dean as his vessel was also an option he never considered. Of course, there was a reason for that. The real Loki was giving Gabriel the full-on stealth protection that only he could and part of the deal was he needed to pose as Loki. There was also the possibility of the vessel exploding if the match wasn't perfect.

"Kid, I like how you dream but that kind of wonderful ain't an option on this table," Gabriel shook his head. "You need to be gone—as in sent to a place where you can't be found. I can't let Lucifer fight Michael. Preventing that epic shit sandwich from being served is why Dad left me alone to hide here all these years. He let me run away because he banked on me to stand between my brothers like an eternal DMZ when the critical moments came. So the way I see it, you've got two choices. You come with me now and I stash you someplace for the rest of eternity where no one can ever find you. That would put this story to bed. Door number two is less certain and requires some serious work on your part. Oh, and in that option, I own your ass until this thing is done. Basically, I say jump, you say how high, thank you sir, and may I have another. I won't lie to you, neither task is easy for me, but one is way easier on you."

Dean exhaled slowly and looked around his room for anything to jump out at him for inspiration, but all he found was an arrogant dick in a recliner giving him the same face his principal gave him when he told him that he was certain Notre Dame made a mistake when accepting him. Dean happened to agree he was the wrong fit but doing what would piss the guy off was a stronger sensation.

"If I die, don't the demons just get my soul by default?" Dean asked. "Reapers ferry souls to hell as well as heaven. They'll see on my ticket where I'm supposed to go, won't they? I mean, it's a crossroads contract. They can't be broken—you said so yourself."

"Well," Gabriel shrugged, "that's true… mostly, but the law is tricky everywhere, and I am the Trickster."

"You're a dick," Dean groused. "This is all a game to you."

The archangel was out of the recliner in half a blink. His eyes flared and a brilliant glow surrounded him and silhouetted two enormous black wings against the wall as a ringing noise filled Dean's ears.

"I'm an angel, dumbass," he snapped. "Heaven or Hell can't get your soul if I don't let them near it. Reapers are angels, but they follow orders of anyone with a bigger halo than they've got. That means they'll listen to whoever's got the biggest badge in the room. I'm the ranking sheriff down on this planet, capisce?"

He explained that he could spirit Dean away that night and install him in a place where no one could touch him. He refused to say where it was or what would become of Dean. His answer that the place was literally "nothing" was as infuriating as it was unhelpful. The Door Number Two option was also not appetizing. It was a quest of sorts, one that was a longer risk and did not promise the lucrative pay off of oblivion in the place of eternal torture and damnation at the end even if they succeeded. That choice would require Dean to find and kill a yellow-eyed demon named Azazel (and any black-eyed bitch who got in the way) while keeping himself alive all the while neutralizing anyone Azazel tapped to be his helper in springing Lucifer from his cage. And he had to do all of that before his six years were up.

"In theory, we can try and derail my brother's plans," Gabriel said. "It's a longshot and kind of a never ending battle because even if I tried to hide you when your deal comes due, they'll keep looking for you forever. Those hellhounds are a bitch. The more I protect you, the more I'm gonna be on the radar as well. Heaven's gonna notice eventually. Then you'll have the God Squad on your ass too because they may be bureaucrats, but they're not all idiots. My big bro Michael will figure it out and come a-calling for you. Now, I'm good, but even at my best, he could always beat my ass."

"Can he beat Lucifer?" Dean asked feeling small and insignificant despite the pivotal role he would play in whatever course he chose.

"I don't know," Gabriel shook his head. "It took everything he had to put Lucifer in the cage eons ago. That's what worries me. And even if he did win again, who's to say that what Michael would do to this world would be a good thing? You think I'm an ego maniac? I've got nothing on Michael. And, ask yourself this, if you had just killed your brother, would you be fit to make any big decisions for the welfare of a few billion lives?"

Dean cast his eyes at Sam again and felt a knot in his chest. Just seeing Sam hurt that evening sent Dean into a rage. If anyone ever killed him, he would be violently inconsolable; if his was the hand that struck down his brother, what remained of him would not be worth saving and surely would have no business influencing the lives of anyone else.

"So, Plan A?" Gabriel suggested with an encouraging nod. "It's quick, easy, painless, and foolproof. I snap of these fingers, and you never ended up in hell. Lucifer never walks free. Best New Year's resolution ever, and it's one I can help you keep, friend."

Dean chewed his lip and felt his heart thumping. Whether it was in his real body or just his mind adding that detail, he did not know. He swallowed hard.

"You're talking about stopping Armageddon," he breathed heavily, feeling the weight of the fanatical story pressing down on his shoulders. "You're saying that if I don't choose one of your paths, then the Apocalypse is going to start for certain? A whole lot of people will get killed, and it'll be my fault?"

"In a nutshell, yeah," Gabriel nodded.

"And if I take one of your choices, I've a 100 percent chance to avoid all that with one, and may just a 50 percent chance with other?" he ventured.

"More like five percent chance of success on second one and maybe 80 percent on the other," Gabriel predicted. "Vegas money tells you to take studio showcase number one with an all-expenses paid trip to your own private Idaho."

Dean looked again at his brother. Sam was nearly grown up. He was smart and capable. He had done well in many ways without his older brother watching out for him that year. He had two parents who loved him and looked out for him. He geeky but caring friends. He had plans and a future. On paper, he didn't need his brother around anymore.

Yet, that night, Sam had insisted the opposite was true. The sincerity in his eyes and the passion in his words for Dean spoke of a different reality entirely. He begged Dean in the burning house not to leave him.

"And there are no other options?" Dean persisted.

"Just the three: your current status quo or my two," Gabriel said, banging up a finger to count each option. "A: Wait six years for the destiny train so you can start the end of the world. B: Remove yourself from the game board altogether. Or, C: Undertake a plan basically destined to fail on the crazy-assed hope that you might for once in your miserable life get lucky and come out on top of a lopsided battle. The choice is pretty obvious from where I sit, Cochise."

Dean chewed his lip and rubbed his chin pensively.

"No option D?" he wondered. "Tests usually have four options."

Gabriel chuckled and shook his head.

"Dad would have liked you," he muttered. "Yes, I suppose there is a fourth option, also unlikely to success. Think of it as the Squeegee Option. I Windex your brain—again, mind you—and I send you far, far away again to a place you've never known. I put as much celestial and supernatural protection around you as I can and hope for the best. Think dreary monastery with dudes in robes and a lot of self-flagellation."

"Farting monks?" Dean blinked.

"No, whipping yourself daily to keep the mind clear and the back oozing with blood," Gabriel scoffed. "No women. No booze. No games. No talking. No outside contact at all, Dean. You'd be alone—entirely. No other human beings. You get to live, but you don't know who you are or how long you'll be that way. When you do die, I'll come for you and stash you where I plan to put you in Plan A anyway. The only difference between Plan A—for awesome—and Plan D—for dumbass—is that in D you live 80 blameless years of tortuous solitude rather than going out on a high note as a 19-year-old who's been banging both of the hotties who live across the street from him and ends his existence without even a hint of pain right here, right now. Oh, and congrats by the way on the lovely ladies. Rhonda Hurley is miraculously bendy, and that Gretchen is a wild ride, too. I may want to visit and console them when you're gone."

Dean shirked at the pronouncement and thrust thoughts of being spied upon by an angel out of his mind along with memories of his last sheet romps with either of the senior class women who lived across from Dean's apartment in South Bend.

"But in the end, you don't know that any of this will work," Dean challenged. "You said you don't know what happens next anymore. So it's possible none of your ideas could work, right?"

Gabriel sighed and flopped his arms then eventually shrugged and nodded.

"What I know is that whether I take you now to the Nothing or if I erase your casaba and send you to Himalayan solitude, both choices protect your family," Gabriel argued. "I'm talking solid protection from any wrath you might draw by being a magnet from hellhounds, demons, and my dickhead brothers once the proverbial shit begins hitting the fan."

"But I'd have to leave my family without saying goodbye," Dean said with a troubled look at his brother. "No matter where or how you take me, they'd remember me and realize I was gone?"

"I can't go wiping minds as frequently as I break hearts, Dino," Gabriel shook his head. "If I did, I'd have to scrub half of Sioux Falls and an impressive number of very willing young ladies in Indiana—again, seriously, bravo with that. You did me proud."

He winked at Dean, which made him shudder and feel like he needed a shower. As he shook off the feeling, he looked at his snoozing brother. Dean felt a clench in his chest. They had just buried the hatchet—and not in each other. Leaving would cause Sam some grief, but in the end there was no way the kid's life didn't get better in the grand scheme if Dean was flat out removed from it.

"If I chose D, they'll think I just left them," Dean said. "I promised Sam tonight that I wouldn't disappear on him again. I swore to him that I'd finish school. The kid never asks me for anything, but tonight he did. I don't want to let him down."

Gabriel sighed and snapped his fingers. His recliner disappeared, and he loomed over Dean with a hard face and cold eyes.

"I don't have a magic wand and not all stories get a happy ending, kid," the angel said. "Dying tonight and letting me spirit your ass away to Neverland is your best bet. I'll make it an aneurism so you'll be a handsome corpse. As far as your family knows, you went to sleep and whamo, you died without feeling a thing. No struggle. No pain. Easy for a coroner to find so no lingering questions for your family. Just a fluke of nature that no one could predict or prevent. Only the good die young, Dean. Going this route will cement your sainthood in Sam's eyes. Your family might even set up a scholarship in your honor at the high school: whoever gets the most detentions and suspensions but still bangs a cheerleader and graduates wins the prize. Sounds exciting when you think about it."

Dean nodded as he considered the option. Simply slipping away quietly and without fuss to a place where he would, for the first time ever, he would be completely safe and at apparently peace. His family would know he was gone and have a believable reason for why. They would mourn him, but they would have answers they could accept (whether they liked them was another story). He wouldn't be responsible for anyone and nothing bad coming down the pike would be his fault. He wouldn't have any expectations to life up to, and there would be no one around he could disappoint. He'd only leave them with memories.

Of course, that posed a problem. There weren't many of those that were all that good. He'd been difficult and a pain in the ass. Sainthood was hardly an option despite the angel's assurance. He looked to Sam snoozing on the floor. The kid was so earnest early when proclaiming his big brother could do anything; it was his sincere look as much as his heartfelt words that nearly leveled Dean while making him feel intoxicatingly proud and eternally indebted to his little brother—and that made the choice for Dean easy.

"Okay," he exhaled slowly after a protracted pause. "I've made up my mind."

Gabriel stood and held out his arms, encouraging Dean reveal his choice. Dean took a deep breath and settled his mind on the greatest decision he'd ever make—even greater than the choice to sell his soul—as he looked around his room. He exhaled with conviction and knew he'd made the right one there in the dark.

-oOoOoOo-

A/N: The plan is to continue this series if there is sufficient interest. However, I'm an actual novelist who needs to get paid so that means I have professional publishing obligations with deadlines that I need to meet first. When those are done, I'll be back again. In the meantime, please check out my original works via the links on my profile page. All characters (even those not created by Eric Kripke) deserve a chance. All writers need a little love, too. Some of us even like to eat and pay bills.