The first thing he noticed after waking up was the smell of rubber, dust, oily denim and cheap floor detergent. The mix was painfully familiar. Dean stretched, then gingerly felt his own body. Everything was in the right place. Was it possible that he was in the right place too?

Upon opening his eyes he saw the well-known threadbare maroon carpet, a triple window and a coach. His sigh of relief must have been audible in the whole house. He was at Bobby's.

The hunter stretched once again, welcoming the proper shape of his own body, relishing in how every muscle and tendon reacted exactly right. Rubbing his eyes didn't help him get rid of this drowsy, warm haze, so he hopped out of his sack to plod towards the kitchen in hope of getting some coffee.

"Here you are!" Singer welcomed him joyfully, "slept well?"

"Uhm... Yes..." the Winchester had expected rather something along the lines of finally you dragged your lazy ass here, "Bobby, you won't believe what happened to me."

The older hunter turned to him; a frying pan in one hand, a pancake spatula in the other, wearing a red-and-white polka dot apron.

"I know, son. I know it's been hard for you," he sighed with heartfelt compassion, "But first you need to eat. Wanna pancakes with butter and maple syrup, peanut butter and banana with chocolate sauce or lemon curd and blueberries?"

Dean scratched the back of his head. Something was off. Deep down he knew that Bobby would do anything for his foster sons; hell, he'd die for any of them, but not make pancakes with lemon curd and blueberries.

Bobby shrugged, but the look of ruth on his face didn't fade.

"Well, I'll make you one with each," he stopped halfway turned to the stove before he looked at Dean again, "I know you had a bad dream, but I didn't wanna wake you up. Well, at least you finally slept through a night."

Since when did Bobby care if Dean was having nightmares? Since when did he assume it was possible for a hunter to sleep through a night without nightmares?

The older hunter busied himself with frying the pancakes, though there was still this aura of tension and pity around him. He finally snapped, resting his hands on the counter and swearing under his breath:

"Balls, I really hoped everything would be fine this time. Dean, you deserve it. You deserve some happiness. I don't know why you keep resisting."

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh, spare me, you know what I'm talkin' about," Bobby spun around, nearly stabbing Dean with the greased spatula, "I'm talkin' about you and Cas. About how you keep playin' dumb. You love him, he loves you, why can't you two idjits just stop bollockin' about?"

Winchester gaped at nim, inarticulate and puzzled until his brother's arrival disembarrassed him. Having placed some grocery bags on the table he took Dean's face in his big, clunky hands to make him look him in the eyes.

"Phew, you don't have a fever anymore. You gave us a good scare yesterday!" he twittered, tousling his big brother's hair, "but you still need to get stronger. I'll make a pie and some cupcakes for the afternoon if you want!"

"How the hell are cupcakes supposed to make me stronger? By the way all I need is coffee. I'm okay."

Sam sighed from the depth of his huge lungs; the look he gave his brother was a mixture of alarm, affection and veneration.

"Dean, why are you always trying to be so brave?" he asked, "You don't have to conceal your pain from us. We're here for you. We'll help you work it out."

"Yeah. By making me puke sprinkles. What happened to your organic sugarfree lettuce regime? What the hell is wrong with you both?"

The younger Winchester inhaled sharply. His face was inscrutable, but his eyes went teary in no time. He proceeded to unpack the groceries, whacking each box and little bag on the table with a loud thump. Dean blinked in disbelief.

"Now, look what you've done," Bobby's tone expressed concern as he shook his head slowly, "Boy, listen. I know you are devastated, but you shouldn't have taken it out on your brother. He's doin' his best. Sam, you know he didn't mean it."

It was getting stranger every second.

"Wait. Gimme a sec..." The older Winchester zoomed off the kitchen and the house before the atmosphere got too thick, "Gabe?" he hollered into the sky. It wasn't long until he heard that whoosh of angel wings and a squawk:

"Yup?"

Dean was in Gabriel's personal space in no time, looming over him, cowing , asking in that particular mixture of whisper and yell:

"What is that? What's wrong with them?"

"Nothing," the archangel answered with a shrug.

The situation was slowly starting to make sense to the hunter; he took a step back, squinting at his friend.

"Wait a minute. We're not back yet. It's another fucked up world."

"Bingo."

"But... Why... Them... Why are they so sappy? And why is Sam suddenly a PMSing scout girl? I mean he's always been a sissy, but come on."

"They are OOC," the archangel straightened up, embellishing his speech with sassy gesticulation, "Out of character. Wait, I should be OOC too," he stepped forward with his chest proudly out, "Look at me, hurr durr, I am a great righteous archangel of the Lord, my wings are made of fire and my balls are made of marshmallows," the archangel coughed, stooped again and somehow shrunk to his regular unimpressive visage, "Oh, and by the way, they are shippers."

"Shippers?"

"Yeah. They ship you and Cas," Gabriel gestured between Dean and somewhere up in the sky.

"To where?"

Winchester was a master of eyerolling among mortals, but he was no match for Gabriel.

"For Dad's sake, why do you have to be so dense? I thought Castiel was the one to ask stupid questions. They relation-ship you" there was a commotion which made the archanel cast a glance over Dean's shoulder; he greeted someone with a nod, "Hey, Bobby, Sam, I was just telling this kinked slinky that you want him and mr Baby Blue to be together."

"But why would they?" Dean was sure that he whispered so quietly that only Gabriel would hear; apparently he underestimated a hunter's excellent hearing. Both men behind his back sighed.

"Ugh. Maybe because we care, you idjit?"

"But... Why?"

"You are asking why?" Sam's tone was enough for his brother to know how sour and hurt his expression must have been. He gritted his teeth. The clash between how familiar and how whacky this universe was was giving him a headache. Still, he had to learn something in order to hop to the next place. He twisted around, opening his arms in a calming gesture, though he was the only person that needed to calm down.

"Wait. Wait. What the hell happened here? What do you remember? What did Cas do?"

Bobby crossed his arms.

"He ain't done nothin'. You did. You told him to buzz off."

"So you mean I was a massive douche again?"

"Yup."

It was something he couldn't understand. Why wasn't anyone tearing a strip off him?

"So why are you suddenly so soft and gooey? Shouldn't you be going all Jerry Springer on me?

"Dean, look, we know it's eating away at you anyway. You're so hard on yourself. You've given yourself enough hell. You don't need it any more."

"Boy's right. Ya ain't alone in this."

Sammy came closer to his brother to put a hand on his shoulder; though Bobby didn't move, there was the same concerned, sad, ruthful look on his face. Dean felt dizzy. The voices, the faces, the gestures: it was all so well-known, so dear to him, but what they were saying was absurd. On the other hand - he thought, feeling his heartbeat speed up and his face go hot - what if it was really like this? What if he really could just go back, ask for help, tell them how he felt, tell them that he was confused, terrified by the thought that he could want something so bad, terrified by how vulnerable and weak it was making him. What if they could just sit, grab a bear, suss it out or he'd just hear them say they'd be there for him no matter how bad he'd fuck up...

No, it was unacceptable. Impossible.

He lurched forward to grab Gabriel's lapels and hissed;

"Get me outta here now!"

"And where's the symbolic floating lightbulb?"

"Dammit, Gabe!"Dean bellowed, "You zapped me out from that girly world for no reason. Now it's my turn. Get me outta here. I... Fuck! I won't talk to these Care Bears. I fuckin' won't."

The archangel cocked his head. The mask of impish airiness was slowly giving way to a more compassionate look.

"You sure?"

"Yep. Get me anywhere, just not here."

"All righty!"

The next second Dean was standing in a well kept park in a place that felt like a city - he'd learned to recognize these places by the noises, traffic, smells, the color of the sky. Something huge vibrated and chimed in his jeans. He labored to pluck an iPhone from his pocket, unlock the screen and find the application for texting - not to mention the time he spent cringing at a brown-and-teal houndstooth casing and a picture of a gloomy lake with a caption in helvetica that said 'love me when I least deserve it because that's when I really need it' as the screen background.

Finally he managed to open the text. It was from Charlie and read:

FANCY SOME PECAN DONUTS OR A FLAT WHITE? MEET US AT THAT NEW VEGAN COFFEE SHOP IN 30, I'LL BRING THAT LOMO CAMERA I PROMISED TO LEND YOU