From the Desk of Castiel, Archangel.

24th Kislev, 5771. (1st December, 2010 by mortal "civil" reckoning).

Brothers and Sisters,

You've all adjusted well to the new management and to the measures that I've introduced, and for the good work you've all done, I thank you from the bottom of my Grace. However, the purpose of this missive is not one of thanks, or congratulations; you have received this so that I may stem a few rumours that have circulated amongst the Heavenly Host of late. Let us proceed in this with it established that, while you are welcome and encouraged to question my decisions as our acting leader, I do not abide by malicious gossip.

Firstly: yes, it is true. My next move in revolutionising how we do things up here is to institute a so-called 'buddy system,' wherein everyone will be assigned to a partner and expected to routinely meet and spend time with him or her. The purpose of this is not to have you policing each other, as some have suggested, but so that you get to know more of your siblings outside of your assigned garrisons. I personally encourage you to find ways to make this fun for yourselves. Venture down to Earth and see a film together. Have an adventure to a star you've never seen up close. Finger paint. These are just ideas, and you may feel free to come up with your own.

Secondly: there is only one rule I ask that you respect without question, and there will only ever be that one. Do not mention Dean Winchester in my presence. Anyone who does so will be subject to severe consequences. I have already listened to your input and compromised on the initial decree of, 'do not mention Dean Winchester ever'; do nottest me on this.

Please find enclosed your assignments for the new buddy system initiative. It will go into effect immediately, and anyone who has not been in contact and scheduled a first meeting with his or her buddy by the end of the week will also be subject to serious consequences.

Thank you for your time and attention. May this missive find you in peace and the service of the Lord.

Your brother and leader,

Castiel (as dictated to his chief secretary, Zachariah).

Gabriel had nothing against the Cherubim, not really. True, he hadn't particularly enjoyed babysitting them before he'd skipped out of Heaven, but they'd all done a lot of growing up since then and having one assigned to be his 'buddy' under Castiel's new system didn't rub him quite as badly as the past five months had, in general. Barachiel wasn't even one of the worst of the Cupids; he harboured to great a fondness for hugs, perhaps, but then, so did all of the others. Gabriel also didn't harbour any lasting enmity toward romantic comedies. They didn't have the same sort of intelligent writing as the Casa Erotica series, and the relationships lacked the same sort of realistic development, but they had the same purpose as candy did to other beings: mindless fluff with no nutritional value whatsoever, meant to entertain and do nothing else.

This, however, marked his and Barachiel's third meeting under the new 'buddy system' and the quality of their viewings had devolved from When Harry Met Sally and Sixteen Candles to How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days. An attempt to make the Cherub sit through Never Been Dicked ended with him in tears all over Gabriel's sofa — the one he'd actually invested time and effort into designing before he made it appear out of thin air. And, since watching anything that didn't have a happy ending was just out of the question, Gabriel was stuck watching two vapid blondes trying to play each other at a game neither could really understand.

At least Barachiel had agreed to just let Gabriel call him 'Cupid' or 'Rocky,' depending on how he felt at any given moment. As he'd explained, he didn't care what Gabriel called him, as long as he called him.

"But don't you think it's just so sweet?" Cupid prodded, as though Gabriel's opinion not only meant the world to him, but also needed to be in-depth and presented in the form of a dissertation and a PowerPoint presentation. "I mean… of course, it's an intriguing spin on the reliable 'battle of the sexes' trope, with her trying to best him at love for work, and him trying to win her over for work, and love triumphing over all as it's wont to do… but they really do love each other. Can't you just see it in how he asks her to go to couple's therapy?"

"Yeah, totally," Gabriel sighed in dull apathy. "Because when I really love someone, my first instinct is to run down a fire escape and tell them that they're mentally imbalanced and our relationship has the stability of water and baking soda. Works like a charm. That's how I bagged a night with Catherine the Great."

Cupid pouted and slouched his shoulders. "I'm not talking about lust, Gabe. I'm talking about love — real love. Like, foot-popping, lung-tightening, sick-to-your-stomach, self-doubt-inducing, all-conquering, makes you weak and wobbly in the knees real love. …Come on. Haven't you ever been in love?"

Gabriel shrugged. "I thought I might be with Kali, once, but then she tried to set me on fire after she caught me in bed with Zeus."

Apparently, this displeased Cupid: his pout turned into an outright frown and with a huff, he crossed his arms over his bare chest. "Well, I think it's perfectly lovely," he announced in a tone of voice that said, So there, ha, I win. "And you can't make me stop believing in true love just because you're a great, big Cynical Cecil."

"Alliterative insulting names are my trick, little brother," Gabriel informed him, rolling his eyes back to the television just in time to watch Kate Hudson and Matthew McNeedsABath start making out on a bridge. He groaned and thumped the back of his head against the sofa. "Jeez, Rocky, seriously. How the Hell can you stand to watch this crap?" Cupid tried to protest that it wasn't crap, but Gabriel raised a hand and continued: "Don't even try that, kiddo. …If some happy couple started really making out on a bridge going out of Manhattan, do you know what would happen? Some pissed off driver would run them into the damn river. It wouldn't be cute, it wouldn't be precious, and it definitely wouldn't be adorable. It would be a gigantic mess of a clusterfuck."

Tears ghosted over Cupid's eyes — though, thankfully, not anywhere else — and an affronted look crossed his chubby face. "You sound just like…" His accusation started, pausing with Cupid's indignation turning into terror. He looked around — right, left, up, down, and finally over the back of the sofa — before whispering, "you know who." At Gabriel's profession that, no, he really didn't know who, Cupid whined. "Oh, brother, please don't make me say it. You know how much Castiel hates it, and… I mean, I just hatethinking about sowing hatred…"

"So describe him to me." Gabriel knew who Cupid meant, but intentionally misdirecting him made the whole process that much more entertaining.

"You know," Cupid hissed, his tone anxious, conspiring. "I. …The one who punched me in the face for talking about his parents?"

"Okay, bro, seriously?" Gabriel stared at him; although he kept his tone light and dry as always, the gravity in his expression couldn't be mistaken. "Castiel is not here. It's just me and you, and I don't give two shits if you want to say Dumbass Winchester's name. It's just a name, and it's not one that hurts anybody or summons destruction if you say it three times, so… Here, watch."

Fervently, Cupid shook his head, pleading, "Oh, no, Gabriel. …Gabe? Gabey? No, don't, please…"

"Shut up, Rocky!" Gabriel snapped. "I'm doing it. …Dean Winchester—"

The head-shaking came faster, and harder. If he'd had a brain, Gabriel had no doubt that Cupid would have somehow damaged it. "No, Gabriel, please, don't—"

A sadistic smirk coiled up the corners of Gabriel's lips. "Dean Winchester."

As he clapped his hands over his ears, Cupid made a whining noise. He fixed his enormous, sopping wet brown eyes on Gabriel, begging him: "Please, brother, stop. …Castiel is going to be so upset with us, Gabey, please—"

Gabriel paused, let his face soften into a pensive visage, and appeared to consider this proposal for a moment. Cupid leaned back towards him, hope dancing into the glints of his eyes and the spark behind his smile — and then, Gabriel smirked. With relish, he concluded: "Dean. Winchester."

Howling like a gibbon during mating season, Cupid flung himself at the floor and curled up with his head between his knees and his arms wrapped around the back of his neck. He screamed, repeating the words enough that they turned into a holy monotony, rather than staying individual syllables — no, no, no, Gabriel, no, his wrath will be great and powerful and no, no, no, I don't want to diiiiie. Gabriel sighed and flopped down to the sofa, putting his hands behind his head and his feet up on an arm rest. Idly, he informed Cupid that, as far as his experiences went, dying hadn't been the worst thing that could happen to a guy, but the Cherub was having none of it.

So Gabriel took a nap. For all angels didn't really need to sleep, and for all he didn't really dream (though he very much wished to do so), the process of actively tuning the entire world out for as long as you wanted had always appealed to Gabriel on a deep, personally resonant level.

When he woke up again, Cupid was still whimpering in a ball on the floor. Sighing, Gabriel crouched by his little brother and rubbed a warm hand up and down his back, whispered sweet nothings about how it was fine and how everything would all turn out okay. As some kind of twisted reward, he found himself tackled to the floor, wrapped up in the tightest hug that Cupid had ever given him. Even though he'd experienced worse pain in his life — and even though it didn't disconcert nearly as much as the damage Castiel had done to his wings and shoulder — Gabriel still couldn't fight off the sensation of being crushed.

"Oh, I'm so glad he didn't punish us for disobedience, brother," Cupid blubbered into Gabriel's neck and shoulder. "Especially not you. …I love love so much, and I just. I couldn'tlive with myself if I made things any worse for you and Castiel. He already has enough reason to be upset with me—"

"It's okay, Rocky!" Gabriel managed to bite out, awkwardly patting his brother on the shoulder. "I swear, it's — it's really fine between us. Peachy keen, even. Promise." Cupid blubbered unintelligibly, but from the sound of it, he either thought it was a good thing that Cas and Gabriel had investigated working out their differences, or he wanted to go down to earth to check out some buy-one-get-one sale on cheesy greeting cards. Gabriel couldn't be certain, so he forced a smile and a tight nod. "Of course, bro. Yeah. Right. …Now can you please get off of me?" Cupid shook his head. "…There's Glee in it for you, if you do," Gabriel sighed.

Cupid flapped his wings and returned to the sofa before Gabriel had time enough to consider the ramifications of the promise he'd just made.

It wasn't that Gabriel had any particular problems with the show itself. For a ridiculous human-crafted mess of a television show, it was okay enough and the songs didn't annoy him enough to deprive Cupid of it when it made him so happy — but watching it with his 'buddy' made an otherwise vaguely tolerable show that much worse. Not five minutes into the episode, Cupid had started sighing over how brave Quinn was ("Handling her pregnancy as well as she is — oh, what a trooper…"), and how sweet Finn was ("He triesso HARD"), and how much in love with Finn Kurt and Rachel were ("It's just so hard — I mean, can't you just feel their pain? …Oh, Gabey, hold me.") — and it only got worse from there.

By twenty minutes, Cupid had single-handedly ruined all of the songs by singing along with them, had put his head onto Gabriel's shoulder, and needed to cuddle the archangel to keep from crying. (This did not, unfortunately, keep him from whimpering every time something emotional happened or braying like a hyena every time someone said something "witty," but one thing Gabriel had accepted since Castiel had brought him back was that, sometimes, you just had to take what life handed you and find some way to pretend it was a pie.) So, Gabriel sighed. And patted Cupid on the back. And tried to keep the eye-rolling to a minimum while Cupid had his gigantic extended Moment about how amazing his show was and how much he loved it.

By thirty minutes, Gabriel had had quite enough of his little brother's bullshit and decided that, by hook or by crook, he would get Cupid to shut up about the stupid singing teenagers and their problems. "Hey, bro?" he inquired. Cupid nodded against his neck, making a little whining noise. "…What'd you do that's so bad you think Mister High And Mighty's going to be pissed off at you for it? I mean… sure, you got Thing One to punch you out, but lots of people have done that and Cas isn't razing all of them to the ground in holy fire."

Cupid looked up at Gabriel in abject horror, fervently shaking his head again. "Oh, no, Gabe, I can't talk about it, it's too… I can't."

Gabriel shrugged. "Hey, it's just us here, you know? And I'm not going to tell anybody, so…"

Once more, Cupid looked around through their entire corner of the sky, as though someone was listening and would get both of them in serious, life-threatening trouble with Castiel for this. When he didn't find anyone eavesdropping, he got a look of relief. Sighing, he slumped into the sofa. "Well, I mean… I failed. Pretty badly. You know that?" Gabriel arched an eyebrow and stared at his brother. "Oh, yeah. It wasn't a big huge deal or anything, not like John and Mary were… It wasn't even on the books anywhere. But I just thought… You know how, in the movies, the hero or the heroine is always so preoccupied with work and it blinds them to true love until the very, very end — the last minute, so late that they might not be able to save it and you can't tell until they do if it's a tragedy or a comedy?" Gabriel supposed that he knew what Cupid meant; really, he'd tuned most of it out and thought about the ladies of the Spearmint Rhino instead. "Well… Castiel reminded me of those people, brother, and… he always seemed sounhappy up here, and I thought that, you know, he might be happier if he had a little love in his life."

"Bro, nothing personal, but Castiel could have all the love in the world slamming into his prostate and he'd still be a grouchy bastard." In response to this (comparatively) innocent character jab at their boss and brother, Cupid knotted his brow and let his lower lip wobble dangerously. Gabriel sighed a half-assed apology. "I'll shut up and let you finish then, okay?"

Cupid nodded, and continued: "So I wanted Castiel to be happy. …And everybody knows that Dean's pretty much miserable — he punched me in the face because he's so miserable! I can't even be mad at him for that!" Not for the first time, it occurred to Gabriel that his little brother might have been as much of a moron as Sam and Dean were. "And I was working on it before they found me… I actually thought that he'd seen it when he read my mind, and that's why he got all upset about it… But he didn't. And then he and Dean split up after saving the world, and after Cas gave up so much for him — and just, who does that, Gabriel? Who. does. that?" Gabriel supposed that he had no idea who did that. Cupid wailed, "I DON'T EITHER."

Sobbing his eyes out again, Cupid flung his arms around Gabriel's shoulders and cried into the archangel's shoulder. As the dulcet tones of the Glee kids singing "Lean On Me" raged on in the background, Gabriel patted Cupid's back and took to whispering the same crap he'd done before about how everything would work out right eventually. Instead of calming down like he was supposed to, Cupid hiccuped, and since he couldn't fall asleep while his brother was clinging to him, Gabriel just let his mind wander off onto other notions — which was how he happened upon The Idea.

The Idea did not come to him suddenly, like the flicker of a Zippo lighter in a wet cave, and it didn't bring itself into existence nicely or patiently, like the warm glow of inspiration. Instead, it whanged him with the force of a bullet in his skull and without any regard for his brain. For several moments, he just stared blankly at the wall before him, hardly aware of Cupid's quiet sobbing and the feeling of his shoulders being crushed into powder. It was just… It seemed too simple to be real, and yet, Gabriel couldn't think of why it hadn't occurred to him sooner. He patted Cupid's back in a slow, repetitive rhythm, thinking over what he'd have to do — Castiel could get out of any Trickster business now, and Dean would see it coming from a mile away but would need the message explained to him.

Frowning, Gabriel's eyes darted back to his brother and he realised: he had a walking encyclopedia of romance tropes burying its face in his neck. The smile that graced his lips was easily among the most devious smiles of all time.

"Hey, Bro," Gabriel whispered. Cupid nodded, with a small, whining noise. "I've just had a brilliant idea."

Cupid moaned. "Whaaaat? It can't be brilliant enough to fix everything."

"Let's get them back together."

"Whooooo?"

"Brad and Jennifer. My life just hasn't been the same since he got with Angelina Jolie."

"Oh, Gabe, I know the feeling, but I can't undo—"

"Dean and Castiel, you idiot!" Gabriel snapped.

"Ohhhh," Cupid agreed as the realisation hit him. "…I don't know, brother. We can't even talk about Dean — do you really think we—"

"Details, details," Gabriel scoffed, finally nudging Cupid out of the embrace. With both hands on his brother's shoulders, he declared, "Trust me, Rocky. Getting those two to fuck again is going to be a cake-walk."