Title: Infinity Restaurant
Author: HigherMagic
Pairings: Sort of Sam/Gabriel and Dean/Castiel pre-slash.
Rating: R for violence, swearing and some graphic disturbing images.
Word Count: 10,373
Spoilers: Spirit of S6, up to and including 6.10, and then I change it. But I'll say how Sam got his soul is largely the AU part here.
Notes: Was intended as the second part of Waitin' On An Eagle's Feather, but can be read as a stand-alone. It's just you'll get more of the references if you read that first. Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.
Summary: In a last ditch attempt to find and retrieve Sam's soul, Dean leads the brothers off on his most desperate attempt yet; a plan fraught with danger and, apparently, a baddie with a penchant for video games.
"Sam's soul has been locked in the cage with Michael and Lucifer for more than a year. And they have nothing to do but take their frustrations out on him. Do you understand? If we try to force that mutilated thing down Sam's gullet, we have no idea what will happen. It could be catastrophic."
"You mean he dies."
"I mean he doesn't." Castiel's voice was low and desperate, trying to make Dean understand just exactly what he's asking for, here. "Paralysis. Insanity. Psychic pain so profound that he's locked inside himself for the rest of his life."
Dean stared at Castiel incredulously, mouth parted and expression set in one of disbelief. His fists clenched, as did his jaw. "You're wrong," he said, eyes hard. Castiel watched Dean with a forlorn expression, pitying the poor fool who had such a strong ability to deny himself the truth.
"For someone that spends his life finding answers, Dean, you're very bad at receiving them," the Angel said sadly, cocking his head to one side, blue eyes dark and sorrowful.
"Don't you fucking pity me, Castiel, or I swear to God…" Dean stood back, straightening, and shook his head. "No. There has to be another way. Someone that can get Sam's soul and wash him clean. I mean…I mean, my soul was fucked up beyond belief but you managed to get me back without much damage."
"That wasn't in the cage, Dean, with two Archangels." Castiel made a soft sound of frustration, averting his gaze. "The things you're imagining…there is only one person I can think of that could even attempt it."
"Who?" Dean demanded, stepping forward. When Castiel remained silent Dean's hand shot out, grabbing onto Castiel's trench coat and jerking the Angel harshly. "Who, Castiel?"
Castiel looked back to Dean, their faces inches apart and slowly reached up to grab onto Dean's wrist. Immediately the Hunter hissed, body dipping in an effort to avoid the pain in his wrist as Castiel pressed down on the pressure point, pulling his wrist back painfully. The darkness in the Angel's eyes said it all. Dean subsided, pulling away and Castiel let him, the Hunter looking at Castiel as though he was a stranger, rubbing his wrist. "Who, Cas? Tell me," he whispered softly, desperately.
The Angel sighed, rolling his eyes, and moved away from Dean, beginning to pace around the room. His lips were pressed into a thin line and when he rounded on the Hunter, it was obvious that he really didn't want to say the answer.
"Gabriel."
The name hung in the room as Dean stared at Castiel incredulously, lips parted and eyes wide in surprise, before he snorted, pinching the bridge of his nose and clenching his eyes tightly shut. "Of course," he said softly.
"I'm sorry, Dean," Castiel replied with a soft voice. "Gabriel is – was – the Archangel of Incarnation and he was also the Destroyer. He is the only one I would know as being able to know where all the planes of existence are. Besides…" Castiel's eyes flashed to the Hunter's. "He is not in Heaven. He is not in Hell. He is not on Earth. Even if he could not get Sam's soul, he would be able to provide the answer that would."
"Great, well that's just great," Dean said, exasperation and resignation in his voice as he looked down, pacing towards the other side of the room, and resting his hand on the top of Bobby's liquor cabinet. "And I guess we don't know how to resurrect an Archangel?"
Castiel sighed and shook his head. "I'm afraid we've never had to. I couldn't tell you where to begin. Grace is not like a soul, Dean – no one knows where we go when we die. Only God."
Dean sighed, lifting his head, and then turned around to look at Castiel, because we all know how that particular train of thought ends. He swallowed, clenching his jaw tightly for a moment before he nodded, straightening, his decision made.
"That's not true. One other person does."
Castiel's eyes widened. "Dean. No."
"Why not?" the Winchester demanded, rounding on the Angel and pointing a finger accusingly at him. "Why the Hell shouldn't I?"
"Because you are tampering with things that should not be tampered with!" Castiel replied stiffly, anger flaring in his eyes. "Haven't you had enough defying the laws of destiny and order?" He advanced on the Hunter, pinning him in the corner with his gaze, speaking through clenched teeth. Dean could swear he saw the outlines of Castiel's wings shimmering out behind him, arching high and aggressive over his back. "Surely you've grown tired of throwing a spanner in the works? Eventually you will play with fire and be burned, Dean Winchester, and I will not be the one to clean up your mess! Not this time!"
"Cas -."
"No. Be quiet." Castiel made a dismissive gesture with his hand and Dean's lips were sealed shut. "It is not your place to bother him, Dean, and even if you did he will not help you. His job isn't to bring people back. Now I don't want to hear another word of it, especially not when Sam's listening in."
Dean's eyes widened when Castiel looked over his shoulder, following his gaze to where Sam's shadow was cast onto the opposite wall in the hallway by the hall light. Dean rolled his eyes when Sam loomed into the doorway, and he would be sheepish if he had a soul to be sheepish with. As it was, his face was impassive.
Castiel fixed Sam with a long look, and then gazed back at Dean. "I will continue looking into the subject of retrieving Sam's soul. Do not attempt any covert methods, because I assure you I will know about it." And then, he was gone, and Dean could speak again.
He wiped the back of his hand across his face, scowling in the place Castiel had once been. "Dick Angels," he muttered, looking up and meeting Sam's eyes.
The younger Winchester looked thoughtful. "So…you were gonna go to Death? Why?" he asked, cocking his head to one side in the gesture that Dean had come to associate with things that didn't have souls. Seriously – Angels, Werewolves, Vampires, Sam – they all do it. It's like a 'Study the strange creature' face, and it really gets on Dean's nerves.
"I thought…Death would be able to help us find Gabriel."
"Gabriel," Sam repeated in a deadpan voice.
"Yeah. Maybe bring him back so he could get in the cage. He has the mojo and the ability to get your soul back and heal you if necessary."
Sam paused, and Dean let him think because Sam thought with logic nowadays – cold, hard logic – and while it was annoying and wrong, weird to associate this Sam with the hotheaded, emotional brother that Dean had always known, it did come in handy when thinking up foolhardy plans and ways to make sure they were slightly more possible.
"Gabriel was the Archangel of Resurrection," Sam said after a moment, eyes going back to Dean's. "He could do it. But why would he want to?"
"What?" Dean snapped.
"Why would he want to, Dean? Think about it…" Sam came forward, pushing a stack of books from Bobby's desk aside and sitting on the table instead, hands folded between his knees, looking at his big brother. "He wanted the Apocalypse. Well, crisis averted, why would he care anymore? Even if he did stand with us at the last minute, what care would he have now? It's over – it's done. Hell doesn't want them back and they can't get them back now, and the Angels have their own problems. There's no real threat, so there's no reason to respond."
"How about Crowley setting up shop in Purgatory?"
Sam frowned for a moment at Dean's snappy reply. "How does me having a soul affect that?"
Dean sighed, shaking his head and rubbing his temples. "You know what, Sam? Just humor me. I don't like Gabriel any more than the next guy, but he's the best shot I can think of. We have to bring him back."
"…Okay."
"Okay?"
Sam looked at Dean, slightly exasperated – he rolled his eyes. "Yeah, Dean. Okay. If this is what you need to do to get closure, then I'm in." A pause. "Cas won't be happy about it."
"Yeah, well." Dean shrugged. "I still remember the sigils to get rid of him. And he has his own stuff. We can handle being without him for a little while." Sam's expression didn't change and Dean rolled his eyes, forcing a smile. "Come on, Sammy, it'll be a cake walk! Just…having lunch with Death. He knows the best places."
The joke was obviously lost on Sam, but then again it could have been the most hilarious one ever – Sam didn't laugh since he got back with no soul, unless he was making fun of Dean's theoretical romps with faerie lords. There were a lot of things that Sam didn't do. Dean sighed and went upstairs to pack up their stuff.
Death and Gabriel were old, if not good, friends. Well, more like business associates – Gabriel sent a lot of clients his way, after all, some of them big. The Destroyer indeed, Gabriel had long been in the business of killing things at God's command, and whenever he'd see that pale rider he'd give him a passing nod in greeting, and the hood would nod back. Death was a lot more stereotypical back then – since then he's evolved and grown a personality and gotten himself a whole new look. Tessa is proof of that.
Dean figured that Death's Ring might be able to get them the bargaining chip to either get Sam or Gabriel. Or maybe even just find God because Death's aware of everything, right? And he'll reap God, and it doesn't do good to lose sight of a chicken before it's due to become food. Tapping out a soft rhythm on the Impala's steering wheel, Dean bit his lip, trying to think through all possible outcomes of a confrontation with Death. All the Omens pointed to D.C. at that time and that's where the brothers were headed, Dean mulling over every option and possible outcome, wanting to plan and make allowances for everything because screwing this up could be the end of them. The real end.
Sam was staring out of the window, doing some thinking of his own. He frowned, grimacing uneasily, rubbing his gut almost absent-mindedly as he continued to stare out of the window. He was hungry. This, of course, wasn't new because even without a soul people still needed to eat, but he'd just had lunch an hour ago and therefore shouldn't be hungry now, and he felt so ravenous he was sick with it, actually. It wasn't a build-up – one moment Sam was sitting in the passenger seat and trying to block out the annoying and repetitive lyrics of Dean's cassette tapes and the next he was achingly, blindingly, sickeningly hungry.
Dean caught Sam's motion out of the corner of his eye. "You alright there, Sam?"
Sam, Sam thought with a tone that would have been bitter if he could still feel things like bitterness. Never Sammy anymore. Does Sammy need a soul to be a Sammy? He ceased his inner ramblings and turned his head to look at his brother, and blinked as the action caused him to become lightheaded. He pressed a clammy palm to his forehead.
"Nothin', Dean," he ground out. "Just…Jesus." He felt another pang low in his gut, and not the good kind. He felt like his stomach was trying to curl in on itself, overwhelmed with the amount of empty. "Just really, really suddenly hungry. Really fuckin' hungry, man."
Dean raised an eyebrow, and felt a little amusement because, for some strange and stupid reason, his mind immediately jumped to the rugaru. He pushed back that thought before it could take hold because Sam wasn't a freaking rugaru – he'd like to think he'd notice something like that by now. "Alright," he said slowly, unsure if this was some weird kind of ploy Sam was playing at him to…what? Delay them maybe? Granted, Sam wasn't exactly jumping over himself to get his soul back, but that's because he couldn't. So, maybe he wasn't that eager to go see the guy to do it but that didn't mean he would delay…surely… "There's a stop a few miles ahead. Can you wait that long?" he asked, because Sam was actually kind of starting to worry him. His little brother was bent double over himself, clutching his stomach, teeth bared and forehead resting against his knees. Dean reached out, unable to help himself because he always helps and protects Sammy, and flattened his palm over Sam's shoulder. "Answer me, Sam," he demanded, worried now, stepping on the gas to make the Impala fly for him, "can you wait a few minutes?"
Sam made a sound that was kind of like a groan and nodded, and Dean relaxed a little, putting his hand back on the wheel.
As they got closer Sam's condition worsened, and by the time Dean found a place to park next to a diner Sam was beside himself with pain, hunger unlike anything he'd ever known, even with the demon blood, streaking through his body. The younger Winchester sounded like a wounded animal when Dean got out of the car, tempted to just drag his sorry ass in there because it didn't seem like Sam could walk, but it would be better if Dean managed to go in and pick up something and then run back for Sam with it.
He bent down, leaning against the open passenger door. "I'm gonna go get some food, alright Sam?" he asked, consciously not reverting back to 'Sammy' because that didn't sit right with him. Sammy was the kid who always demanded the last bowl of cereal and who would sleep in Dean's bed when they were kids and he was afraid, who he was meant to protect and who he dragged out to light illegal fireworks with and who he loved so much, who he knew would go to Hell for him. This wasn't Sammy. This was Sam, the asshole with no filter on his mouth, who hooked up with girls while Dean 'services the King of the Faeries' and who's currently doubled over in pain from hunger while they're trying to retrieve his soul.
"Dean," Sam grit out, not able to feel fear, but his body sure seemed able to and was reminding him very forcefully of the kinds of things it did when Sam was afraid. His heart pounded in his head, his breathing was labored, his gut hurt, like he'd been shot, and he reached out, clutching desperately at the sleeve of Dean's jacket. "Don't leave me here."
"Alright, Sammy, alright," Dean replied, principles be damned, and hauled his little brother out of the car. Sam blew a big breath out of his nose, gritting his teeth and trying to get his feet to stand underneath him, and managed to right himself somewhat. Dean grit his teeth also, because Sam's a fucking giant, and made his way towards the Diner. The air around them smelled of burgers and chili fries and Dean knew his own stomach would be rumbling were it not knotted in fear over Sam's state. Unconsciously he sent up a little prayer (or more a random thought to whoever might be listening) that Sam would be alright, that this was just some weird fluke or effect of a monster they could easily kill. That this wasn't a soul thing. Or lack thereof.
As soon as they entered the restaurant, Dean knew something was wrong. Mostly because it was much more crowded than any backwater diner had a right to be in the afternoon, and secondly because Sam suddenly straightened, his hunger passing. He looked just as confused as Dean did, and the Hunter didn't even need to turn around to know that the door would either have disappeared, or be unopenable.
There are only so many times you can be locked into a room and come to expect it.
He looked around, getting his bearings, and paused. The room was full of demons – he knew this because they all had their eyes very much out, black and soulless and evil, and he cursed his own luck because the Colt was in the car and the demon-killing knife – though useful and actually on them – wouldn't do much in a full-on fight. There were almost twenty demons in here.
They were all chatting to each other and laughing, as though unaware that they were trapped in a room with the Winchesters, and eating what looked like…Dean wrinkled his nose, eyeing the food – it was certainly unappealing, looked like road-kill that an unfortunate animal had already tried to eat before it gave it serious indigestion, and then had been flattened with a muddy tire. But the demons were happily cutting into it, eating it, the black-green sludge spewing out around their mouths as they talked and ate. It made Dean want to throw up. A little.
His eyes widened when a familiar face finally seemed to take notice of them, and he stepped back as Azazel stood up, grinning amiably like the Winchesters were long lost friends. Sam, too, looked disconcerted, but he obviously wasn't feeling the bone-deep terror Dean was experiencing. "You!" the older Winchester snapped. "No, I killed you!"
"Well, of course you did," Azazel replied, grinning and snorting like suggesting anything otherwise was just foolishness of the highest order. He smiled and there was green stuck around the edges of his teeth from whatever he was eating. "You also killed him, and her, and him, and him…" He went around the room, pointing out demons that Dean and Sam had run into at one point or another in their lives and dealt with – Alistair, Ruby, Lilith, stunt demons one to seventy. It wasn't helping Dean's mental state any, but they were all still smiling at him and he hated that – he hated when a demon was smiling. "You've killed everyone in this place."
"What…exactly is this place?" Sam asked, looking around, nose wrinkled in disgust.
Azazel shrugged. It seemed like he was done being helpful, as he sat back down to his meal and the demons continued to talk. Dean backed away from them, towards the only other door he could see which looked like it led into the kitchen. They could try getting out that way.
When he pushed open the door, though, he had to duck as a knife suddenly came at his head. He cursed, jumping to the side inside of the room and grabbed his gun, cocking it and readying to fire, just in case. There was a high-pitched giggle and then the pattering of feet.
"I once met a man with a dagger in his back. He had the moon in one eye and in the other only black," a young girl's voice sing-songed, the voice getting layers and discordant and Dean shifted uneasily, looking around the stack of baking powder and spices he'd thrown himself behind. He looked around for Sam, saw him just past the grills, his back to one wall and holding his own weapon, and then Dean jerked his head back the way they'd come. Sam nodded, face grim.
Dean didn't make it two steps before another weapon was aimed at his head, this one he barely missed. "Can't go back the way you came! Why would you go back that way? That way is Hell! Bad! Evil! Hell!" The girl's voice was shrieking, echoing off the chrome and tile walls and Dean winced, covering one ear, the other holding his weapon gingerly out as he dove from behind the shelves and aimed, firing blindly into the darkness beyond but no more missiles were sent his way. He got up gingerly, the girl's voice dying to echoes, and Sam joined him.
"This place is weird," he whispered to his brother, who shrugged and his lips thinned out into a grim line.
"Someone doesn't want us to leave here," he replied, heading deeper into the darkness of the kitchen until he could barely see his own hand in front of his face. "Someone doesn't want us going back so we'll keep going forward."
"A sound theory," Sam replied with only an edge of sarcasm, and Dean rolled his eyes and resisted the urge to flip him off.
Sam wouldn't be able to see it anyway.
Suddenly a bright light shone down on the brothers and Dean flinched at the sudden change, and he shielded his eyes, looking up as wind began to blow around the pair, chill and foreboding. The light was coming from a TV screen, and it was showing…
Was that…
"Have you any idea why a raven is like a writing desk?"
"Alice in Wonderland?" Sam asked, wrinkling his nose as he figured it out. Dean snorted and shook his head, trying to peer into the darkness around them, to no avail. "So…what…are we in the rabbit hole or something?"
The sound of applause sounded around them. Dean snorted.
"Great," he muttered, running a hand through his hair and they kept walking. "Just freakin' great."
The next room was a ballroom. It was full of red velour-lined chairs, set in concentric circles to each other and in the middle of them; the chairs were piled high in all sorts of weird, wonderful, gravity-defying designs. One of the stacks looked like a sword, the other a dragon, and there was a line connecting them.
"Michael and Lucifer," Dean whispered, because when you spend a year being Heaven's bitch-boy, you tend to notice when things have religious rings to them. Sam nodded behind him and Dean looked around. The walls were white and arched high above the brothers' heads, vaulting up to create a domed ceiling in the shape of a thirteen-pointed star. There was probably some significance in that too. Along the walls were pictures of people that had died. People that Dean and Sam knew. Their mother. Their father. Jo, Ellen, Pam. People that they had gotten killed.
"This is some sick son of a bitch," Dean growled, looking at all the faces, for now he saw why the room was so tall – the walls were covered in pictures. Just faces, but there were thousands. Millions. People that they could have saved, people that they didn't save, people that never were because of them. Children of the victims and the grandchildren of those. Generations and generations that had ceased to exist because of the decision of the two men in that room.
"You boys have a lot to account for."
Dean and Sam whirled around, and there, standing on the top of the dragon's gaping maw, was Gabriel. The Archangel looked tired and when he smiled, it was blinding. He seemed to glow and Dean suddenly realized that there was no light in the room. He was the light.
"Gabriel?" he asked, just because.
The Archangel-Trickster smiled and gestured to himself. "The very same."
"You're dead too."
Gabriel smiled and tapped the side of his nose. "Death's such a tricky thing," he said with a slight shrug, stepping down from the dragon's tongue and daintily treading along the line of the sword that was slaying it, arms either side of him like he was walking a tight-rope. "Well, I say tricky. More like fickle. He just cares about the coming, but not about the going. Really, though…you'd think they'd have better security, or at least an escort. I guess not even Death knows what happens to an Archangel beyond the grave."
The boys frowned, because Gabriel was just talking without making sense. The Archangel reached the handle of the sword, climbing to the top of it. "So…are you dead or aren't you?"
"Did you trap us inside of this place?"
"What is this place?"
"Questions, questions!" Gabriel sing-songed, spinning around on top of the chair. For an instant he looked in danger of falling but he caught himself and righted himself with little effort, balancing better than any acrobat had a hope of accomplishing as the stack of chairs began to wobble and weave. The painted faces on the walls began to age. "You know, time and death are such tricky things. So fluid, you know?" He turned around and greeted the boys with a vacant, slightly menacing smile. "I mean…how long have I been dead for? Do you even remember? And so much has changed." He sighed, smiling again, and blood started to leak from the corners of his mouth. Dean and Sam stepped back, eyes widening in horror – even Sam – when Gabriel's eyes turned black.
"Sam," Dean whispered urgently, looking over his shoulder at his little brother. "We should go."
"Yes, yes, go!" Gabriel jumped down, landing on the dragon's tail, blood gushing down around his chin as he smiled. "Always running away, aren't you boys? That's what you do!" The paintings around the room grew black eyes, blood running from their eyes and mouths as well, pooling on the floor in thick rivulets. "Run and find other people to fix your problems! You are tampering with things that should not be tampered with! Haven't you had enough defying the laws of destiny and order? Surely you've grown tired of throwing a spanner in the works? Eventually you will play with fire and be burned, Dean Winchester, and I will not be the one to clean up your mess! Not this time!"
It was Castiel's voice overlaying that of his demonized brother, and wings exploded in the air along with a bright white light. Dean and Sam flinched away from it, shielding their eyes as the light only grew brighter and brighter, blinding them, and then with it came a high-pitched whine like an Angel screaming. Dean grabbed blindly for Sam's arm and pulled him, running along the walls until he found a door – any door, any escape.
The air began to burn, randomly lighting on fire and Dean cursed and jumped to one side as he brushed past a floating ball of flame and it grazed his skin, burning his neck. He put his other hand to his burned neck and shoved against a door once he found it, pulling Sam with him before they were burned alive.
Both brothers were breathing heavily – Dean from panic, Sam from exertion. Wide, green eyes found the flat calm of his brother's. "What the ever-loving…?" Dean asked, trailing off after a moment and looking back the way they'd come. There was a bright glow slanting along the floor where the door was cracked open and the room beyond burned. "What kind of mind fuck is this?" he growled, getting frustrated now, unable to scrub the image from his mind of all those people, bleeding and burning.
"I don't know," Sam replied stoically, looking around them again. His brow was furrowed, lips turned down in a thin line. "It's kind of like…"
"What, Sammy?"
"Did you ever play those old video games? Like on the Nintendo and stuff?" Dean raised an eyebrow, as he'd never even heard of MySpace until a few years ago. "Well, when I was younger my friends had them and they had games that were kind of like this – like, you went into a dungeon or temple or something and in every room there was something to fight, or to kill, or to avoid. And you had to get through the dungeon and then fight the big boss at the end."
There was a slight pause. "…Why would anyone want to play something like that?" Dean asked, exasperated and wondering why Sam was even bringing this up. His neck hurt every time he talked and he winced, flattening his palm over the burn again and looking around, hoping to find a source of cold water. The brothers seemed to have ended up back in that dark kitchen with the nameless missile launcher, but it was better lit so Dean could see everything and it looked scarily like the diner that he'd cornered Famine in. Luckily there were no burning and boiling bodies. He went over to a sink and turned on the cold water, splashing some on his neck while Sam answered him;
"I don't know, Dean – it was fun." His voice was snappy and petulant, as though annoyed that Dean wasn't getting the point, here. "What I'm trying to say is maybe this is like that – the most we can do is make it through one room at a time and then we'll find the main boss guy."
"I don't think I want to meet the thing that creates shit like this," Dean growled, knowing he had no choice in the matter anyway – there wasn't a 'go back' option, that was for sure. He straightened, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth and wincing again at the stretch of his sore, burned skin, but there was nothing they could do about it – the fastest solution was to beat the boss, like Sam said. "Alright. Come on, Sam." He led the way towards the back of the room, pushing through the door with gun loaded and cocked, ready to use immediately. He wanted to get this over with as fast as possible because they had a meeting with Death to go to and Dean didn't want to be late for his own damned sit-in.
He paused for a moment on the threshold to the new room, peering inside. Death could have done this, he thought absently as he looked around the room. There was nothing inside of it and no creepy paintings on the wall. It was boring and very bland-looking, white-walled and white-ceilinged and about as big as Bobby's house. Death certainly had a creepy-ass sense of humor – Dean could see him pulling this kind of stunt. To delay them, maybe.
"Time is fluid." The words came from nowhere and Dean spun around, putting his back to Sam's because, soul or not, there were some habits that never died. The words painted themselves in blood along the walls, and Dean could smell the rust – it was fresh blood. "Well, more like silly putty. Or blu-tac. If one knows how, one can take as much one wants and place it wherever they want. One room could age ten years in one day."
The blood words dripped down onto the floor, pooling in a thick red puddle, and Dean blanched, stepping away from it. There was the sound of a dripping faucet, loud and echoing in the room, but nothing else. It was the kind of silence that made it seem like something very, very big was being very, very quiet.
There was no other door except the one that they'd come through, and Dean looked around carefully, seeing nothing, before he cautiously edged his way back towards the door, Sam following closely behind. Then, it slammed shut, and Dean shied back again, because behind the door was a Hell Hound.
The thing growled at him, baring her ragged, rotting teeth that was caked with flesh and blood and sulfur, her eyes burning, and her body made of smoke that shifted and roiled and occasionally showed the flare of light underneath that made up her essence. Dean cleared his throat, tugging on Sam's sleeve to get his attention, and the younger Winchester turned around, but didn't see the Hell Hound – only Dean could.
The bitch Hound laughed – she had the same voice as the invisible missile launcher in the kitchen, and then suddenly she split in two, becoming two Hell Hounds. The second was a male, larger and more ferocious looking. Their eyes glowed red and they just stood there, watching Dean watch them.
"Sam," Dean whispered, clearing his throat, dread coiling in the pit of his stomach. He hated Hell Hounds – he looked at them and saw his suffering, saw his future. He saw the Pit again and he didn't want to go back – no, anything but that. "Give me the knife." Obediently Sam held it out to Dean, frowning in confusion because Dean looked terrified, and Sam didn't know why or what was causing it. The sound of dripping blood was getting louder, and more like a rushing sound. Like a river of it.
"Jordan River, wash me clean," the she-Hound snarled, baring her teeth further to reveal blackened gums, and Dean's hand tightened around the demon killing knife. He wished he had the Colt, or a shot gun, or something. The Hounds began to advance and Dean backed away, taking Sam with him.
"Find a way out!" he ordered, shoving at his little brother as the Hounds eventually snarled and attacked, running for him. He gripped the knife and slashed wildly as the female leapt at him, catching her underbelly and splitting the smoke apart to bear the light of her essence, and she yelped, backing away with another vicious snarl. Her blood fell to make black grass grow, and the plant weaved around Dean's legs, trapping him in. He couldn't move, and he couldn't run. The Hound's brother launched himself at Dean too, knocking the Hunter onto the ground, and Dean yelled in pain and surprise when the grass twisted around his ankles, dislocating one of them in his fall. Still, he kicked wildly, slashing with the knife and managed to land a punch to the Hound before it could get its teeth in him, sending it flying. No sooner had he done that, though, than the female was back. "Sam! Hurry up!" he yelled.
"There's no way out, Dean!" came Sam's reply, and it was instantly followed by a gunshot. The body on top of Dean went limp and very dark – the Hound killed. A second gunshot rang out and the second Hound fell to the ground also, whimpering in pain.
Dean stilled for a moment, trying to figure out what the fuck just happened, and then he sat up, gingerly shoving the Hound's body off of him. He looked around and saw Sam, who was staring at some point over Dean's shoulder, so Dean turned around…and his gaze locked with that of a man, and that of Gabriel.
The Archangel wasn't the same as the one they had met in the room full of chairs – this Gabriel actually looked like Gabriel. He was holding a sawed-off, the gun hanging casually at his side, and wearing what he'd died in, smirking at Dean and Sam with his regular 'What have you boys done now?' kind of expression. Dean's eyes then tracked to the second man. It was his father.
"Dad?" he whispered, not quite believing, and the illusion of John smiled, coming forward and helping Dean to his feet. The Hunter hissed, leaving weight off his hurt ankle, but Gabriel clapped him on the shoulder, and both the burn and the ankle were fixed. "Gabriel? What?"
"What are you doing here?"
"Saving your asses, of course!" Gabriel said jovially in reply, grinning from ear to ear. "A little Seraph told me that you guys have been getting your asses handed to you left, right and centre, and well, what friend would I be if I let you guys be trapped forever in an illusion? That's just cruel."
The irony of it wasn't lost on any of them.
"And Dad?" Dean asked, sure that this mirage wasn't really his father. John smiled sadly.
"I'm not real, Dean," he said, clapping his hand on Dean's shoulder as well, squeezing lightly. His eyes were kind and gentle, his smile warm like he was really glad to see Dean – like he had when they had been reunited before…before everything. "But they don't know that."
Dean laughed – it was a short, broken-sounding laugh, but it was a laugh nonetheless. He mirrored his father's hold, squeezing John's shoulder because any contact with his father was good, and then turned back to look at Gabriel.
Gabriel was watching Sam. "I can see why you guys needed my help," he said quietly, eyes looking Sam up and down like something was off and he was trying to figure out what it was. "He's…empty. Where's his soul?"
"In the Pit with Lucifer and Michael."
Gabriel raised an eyebrow. "Oh. I see." The Archangel rolled his eyes, twirling the gun so it rested over his shoulder like a redneck out of a zombie movie. "Eesh, I'm gone for a few months and you guys manage to turn the world upside down."
"Gabriel…" Dean hesitated when the Archangel's fathomless eyes landed on him. "Not to sound insensitive or anything…but you almost tried to burn us alive not ten minutes ago." Sam joined the main group, standing at Dean's side, and below the brothers the Hounds and grasses turned into smoke and wafted away. "What gives?"
Gabriel sighed, and then rolled his eyes. "At the risk of sounding like Shaggy, it wasn't me." Dean frowned. "Listen, you know when I pulled this kind of stunt on you guys? The TV land thing?" They nodded. "Well, as I had a love for bad TV shows, this chica has a penchant for video games."
"Chica?" Sam repeated. "As in, a girl's doing this to us? Who?" Admittedly, the Winchesters had significantly less female enemies than male.
Gabriel cocked his head to one side. "What were you doing when you came here?" he asked.
"On our way to try and get Death to get Sam's soul back," Dean said.
"Ah." Gabriel held up a finger, grinning again. "See, Death doesn't really like being 'gotten' to do anything. In fact, he's kind of the big Boss Man, even more so than God 'cause let's face it, even without God, Death would still exist. And if he doesn't want to see you, then he has no problem trying to kill you in a tasteless video game rip off. Or getting a minion to do it."
"Tessa," Dean whispered, eyes widening as he made the connection.
"Bingo, Dean-o," Gabriel replied, making a gun out of his fingers and shooting Dean with it, winking again.
"Wait, so…are you real?" Sam asked, frowning as he looked around, as though expecting something else to jump out at them if they stayed in one spot too long. "Like…are you actually you? Or just another illusion?"
"I'm as real as you are," Gabriel replied in utter seriousness. "Johnny here's just a program of the Game, but I managed to swap him over to my side with a little recoding."
"Can't you just zap us out?" Dean demanded, frustrated.
Gabriel sighed. "'Fraid not. See, I'm kind of Death's bitch-boy in here, too. I got brought back and he likes me enough not to just kill me again, but I gotta earn the second freedom. I walked into a freaking Dairy Queen and I've been in here ever since. The only way to beat a Dungeon is the beat the Boss, so we gotta find the Boss and kill it. In this case, her."
"You can't kill a Reaper."
"You let me take care of that," Gabriel said again, smiling. "I don't fear the Reaper."
The next enemy they came across wasn't an enemy at all. It was Castiel.
Well, Castiel twice. And they were both illusions, Dean knew that on a basic level, but still, it was hard to look at that rumpled tan trench coat, those dark blue eyes and that unruly hair without thinking of his trusted friend and Angel on his shoulder.
Gabriel had mojo'd them up some weapons, and Dean hefted his gun carefully while both the Castiels watched the four men with unblinking neutral expressions.
"Why two of them?" he stage whispered to Gabriel.
"Castiel died twice for you," Gabriel replied, his face lacking any of its usual mirth – Castiel was a favored, beloved little brother, and even killing a fake version of him would not be pleasant. Gabriel's mouth twisted in dissatisfaction and anger. "Brace yourself, Hunter – emotional encounters mean we are getting closer to the end."
Dean nodded, and one of the Castiels finally looked directly at him.
"Hello, Dean," he said, in that same way that Castiel had greeted him in the early days – stick up his ass and all. Hell, even the way he blinked was righteous and pretentious. Dean gripped his gun a little tighter – it wouldn't do jack shit against Castiel but that was what Gabriel was for.
"Hey, Cas," he whispered back, hoping that maybe he would be able to distract them long enough for Gabriel, Sam or John to get in a strike. It felt strange working with his father again – it was like John was actually real, and here with him, despite the illusion's own declarations of the opposite. This was the most surreal situation Dean had ever been in and that was saying something.
"It's good to see you," the second Castiel said. This one seemed a lot more human – more relaxed in his posture and emotive in his words. He actually sounded like he meant what he said, and when he looked at Dean, his eyes held affection and faith. Faith in Dean.
Jesus.
Dean swallowed, forcing his voice to remain steady. "And you."
"Have you come to kill us, Dean? Again?" the first Castiel demanded, anger flashing in his dark eyes. Around them, the lights in the room flickered and died and out of Castiel's back unfolded two huge, dark wings, flared up high in domination and aggression. Dean fought the urge to shy away from them instinctively, the Angel's power clear to him in that one gesture.
"Don't pull rank with me, boy," Gabriel snarled, seemingly snapping at the display, and his own wings exploded out of his vessel, and he rushed the first Castiel, who bared his teeth in a snarl, drawing his weapon, and met Gabriel half way.
Watching two Angels fighting is utterly terrifying – it's like watching two wild animals go for the kill. Dean looked on as Gabriel and Castiel fell prey to the blood lust and righteous fury that always burned in their Graces – Angels feel three things at all times. Love, Faith, and utter, all-consuming Rage. It helps them fight, and kill and destroy in the name of God. It makes them soldiers. Gabriel's wings clashed with Castiel's like the sound of sword fighting, metal striking metal. They tore bloody holes in each other's wings while their vessels circled, Gabriel striking with his weapon, Castiel with his own.
"You're not a soldier, Archangel," Castiel snarled, smirking in vicious triumph when he landed a blow to Gabriel's arm, making the Archangel hiss in pain and back away slightly. "You don't fight. You fly. You run away. You can't defeat me."
Gabriel snarled again, not answering as he lunged for Castiel, who parried his blow and retaliated swiftly, and the two were lost to each other's attacks again. Behind Castiel, John crept forward, and Dean's eyes widened as he realized what he was going to do.
"No!" he cried out, stepping forward, but was held back by Sam's hand on his arm as John fired directly into the back of Castiel's head. It didn't kill him, of course, but it provided enough distraction that, as Castiel turned around to face the new enemy, his wings flaring out and slicing clean through John's body, Gabriel was able to step between his defenses and slide his Angel-killing blade directly in the space between two of Castiel's ribs, right into his heart.
Dean and Sam covered their ears and closed their eyes at the sound of the Angel dying, only opening them when the light had gone. John had been cleaved in half, laying in a pool of blood behind Castiel's own body, his wings scorched into the floor. Dean looked around but the second Castiel seemed to have disappeared.
He wiped over his mouth with his hand, watching as Gabriel gathered himself, wiping blood from his blade onto the leg of his jeans, and looked down at Castiel and John's bodies. "Rest well," he murmured, eyeing them solemnly, before he turned his attention back to Dean and Sam. As he spoke, the two corpses began to fade away; "Shall we?"
"Shouldn't we wait for Castiel 2.0 to come back?" Dean asked, deliberately not looking at the body of his dead father – even though he knew it wasn't real, he still couldn't do it. He just couldn't look into his father's sightless eyes. Not again.
Gabriel cocked his head to one side. "If you kill the past, surely the future dies too?" he merely said in reply, and Dean frowned, wondering what that might mean. But Gabriel didn't give them time to ponder – "Come on, I want to get the Hell out of here."
"How long have you been in here?" Sam asked as they followed behind, but not before Dean also grabbed the Angel-killing blade from Castiel's loose hand, hurriedly catching up.
"Too long," Gabriel replied after a moment. He approached two grand double-doors. "This certainly looks like the lair of a Boss, doesn't it?" he asked, shoving the doors open with one solid push, and he stepped into the black corridor beyond. Dean and Sam followed closely behind. "If it is a Reaper, the only chance we have is to trap her with Enochian sigils, and then convince her to let us go. We can't kill her without Death's scythe."
"Do you think she'll tell us where Death is?" Dean asked.
Gabriel paused for a second, carefully watching the older Winchester. "Why do you want to talk to Death?" he asked.
"For the redundant tack of resurrecting you," Sam snapped quickly, before Dean could reply. "So that you might get my soul back from the Pit. You in?"
Gabriel blinked, considering it for a moment. "Soulless Sam is a bit of a downer."
"There. We don't need Death. We just need to get out," Sam finished, aggravated and impatient.
Gabriel snorted. "Someone doesn't like being trapped in a video game," he muttered, earning a small smirk from Dean, who was eyeing his little brother cautiously. Gabriel said nothing about the way Dean was watching Sam like he was expecting the countdown timer on a bomb to hit zero. Gabriel shook his head, wondering how the world could have gone to Hell so quickly, wondering what he'd missed, just how much he'd missed, and sighed, continuing onward.
The final room (he had to assume it was the final one because it looked pretty freaking spectacular) was a vault. Literally, it was made of chrome and looked like the kind of place people store millions and millions of dollars. Every surface shone with a polished gleam and it was utterly bare aside from two torches in sconces on the opposite wall. The wall between the two lights was tinged slightly as though there used to be something there and then it was removed and no one ever bothered to clean the place behind it where it used to be, but otherwise everything was very monochrome, and very boring.
Gabriel tightened his grip on his blade and gun, and braced himself. Carefully his wings folded back into his vessel with a soft, dull rustling sound like tons of feathers falling at once.
"Brace yourselves, boys," he murmured, eyes darting around.
"Sam. Dean. Gabriel. How wonderful for you to join us."
The three turned around just in time for the giant doors to slam shut. Dean cursed, and they all turned again to see Tessa standing in between the two sconces, smiling genteelly at them. She spread her hands in greeting, cocking her head to one side. "Welcome."
"Hey, Tessa," Dean said, raising his hands as she began to advance on them. "I think this has been a huge misunderstanding."
"Oh?" the pretty Reaper replied, eyes wide and beguiling, brow furrowed in a small, confused frown. Dean had to admit, she was good – just as good as when they'd first met. However, there was no denying her true nature now – there was just something menacing about her step and the tip of her smile. "Misunderstanding? You see, Dean, Death doesn't really like being at anyone's beck and call."
"Yeah, yeah, no we get it," Dean said, backing away even more as Tessa advanced on him. "We get that. We don't need to speak to him. So if you could just let us go -."
"You expect me to believe that?" she replied, raising a brow and snorting, smirking a little. "Dean, you can't lie to Death."
"Well, I've done it before," Dean replied with a slight smirk.
Tessa's eyes grew stormy. "Yes. There is that."
The sound of Hell Hounds barking started up behind the Reaper, getting louder and closer. There were more than two this time. "You've been responsible for a lot of our work, Winchesters," she said, stepping away. "Gabriel, too," she added, almost as an afterthought. "There were times when you guys, in fact, kind of flooded our workload. It was a huge hassle on our part and there were a lot of souls left behind because we couldn't get to them all. They all had to go somewhere else and now you're trying to crack open the giant vault in Purgatory and flood us all over again." She turned around, folding her arms over her chest. "That won't go over well with the Boss."
"We're not trying to!"
"Don't lie to me, Sam," Tessa hissed, eyes flashing. "You may have no soul, you may be able to lie to a Goddess, but even Goddesses die and you cannot lie to me. Not again." The sound of Hell Hounds was almost deafening now, along with the kinds of screams that Dean had gotten very intimate with – the screams of the tortured in Hell. He swallowed, looking around, expecting at any moment for the dam to break and for the three of them to be overrun with souls of the damned. Slowly, the flames started to die down, making the room fade to blackness. "If you aren't out in the real world, you cannot trouble us anymore."
"Damn it!" Sam cursed as the room was plunged into blackness. However, a snap of Gabriel's fingers later and the room was lit up. In the split second of blackness, thousands upon thousands of people had appeared – specters and ghosts and other monsters…all the monsters that the Winchesters had been responsible for. Dean recognized Boris and his nest of vampires, the family of ghouls that had mimicked Adam and his mother, stunt Angels and demons as far as the eye could see – Hounds, Djinni, Wendigoes, the Rugaru, Madison and her neighbor…all of them, staring at Sam and Dean with barely restrained anger and hatred burning in their eyes.
At the forefront of them all was the second Castiel.
He was staring at them with a forlorn expression; biting his lower lip like standing where he was now was his biggest regret. Dean swallowed, tightening his grip on his weapon. He knew, in the back of his mind, that this wasn't the real Castiel, but it was impossible to think that when Castiel was staring at him like that with those fathomless blue eyes, looking like he would rather be anywhere else but here.
Then, the fake Cas straightened, his lips thinning out, and from his sleeve an Angel blade slid into his hand. "Cas," Dean grit out, shaking his head slightly. "Don't."
"I'm sorry, Dean," Castiel whispered in reply, swallowing, and straightened up. As one, the horde followed suit. But it wasn't Castiel's voice, but Tessa's speaking to them all. "I don't have any choice." In a moment he vanished and the lights were doused. Dean, Sam and Gabriel immediately threw their backs against each other, listening attentively to try and pick out the sounds of enemies approaching. Dean hurriedly fished out for his lighter, snapping the flame to life in time to see a vampire lunging for him. He quickly aimed and shot, getting the beast in the head, and it snarled and fled away into the darkness again.
He heard a soft whistle and Sam grunted softly off to one side, parrying Castiel's blade as it descended towards his head. Sam parried the blow, clashing his gun against Castiel's sword and sending it skittering away from the Angel's grip, back into the darkness. Dean didn't see Castiel's form in the small circle of light.
"Can't you do anything about this?" he stage whispered to Gabriel.
"Workin' on it, Winchester, don't rush me," Gabriel replied tightly, tersely. He held up his hand, his eyes flashing white, and his palm glowed, sending out a huge ray of brilliant Grace. All the Hell Hounds and demons screamed and disintegrated in the force of the brilliance. Dean's mouth twisted in grim satisfaction, and then he stilled, hearing that deadly whistle again.
"Sam, keep focused," he warned, knowing that Castiel had gone for his brother last time, and caught movement out of the corner of his eye. A silver blade flashed in the small light of his flame and Dean yanked his weapon up defensively as it came down –
-And was interrupted by its twin. Castiel appeared at Dean's other side, and the room became brilliantly alight with white light. Around the trio and the twin Castiels were piles of dead bodies of the various creatures – barely any of them were alive anymore. Dean had a sneaking suspicion that the new Castiel – what he had to assume was the real Castiel – had been taking care of them in the darkness.
If they ever made it out of this alive, he owed Cas a beer. Hell, he owed the guy a fucking blowjob for this.
"You have no power, here," the fake Castiel snarled, eyes flashing, and the real Castiel's lips thinned out, he gripped his blade tightly and arched them away from the Winchesters and Gabriel, pushing the fake away so Castiel was shielding Dean with his body.
"How did you find us?" Dean whispered as the clones stared each other down.
"I called him," Gabriel said.
Okay, so maybe he owed Gabriel a beer too.
"You need to find Tessa and get out of here," Castiel muttered, twirling his blade loosely, eyeing his twin and waiting for any slight movement that would mean an attack. "I'll hold him off."
"Come on, Dean," Gabriel muttered, tugging on Dean's arm.
"We can't just leave Cas behind!" Dean protested, yanking his arm out of Gabriel's grip. "We have to -."
"You will just be in the way," the Archangel snapped, his eyes dark and unreadable. Already Sam was through the door, scoping out the next room and making sure it was monster-free. Gabriel watched the Hunter for a moment, and his little brother, and all he could see was the wolf and stallion that had given up their lives for him. "Come on, Dean – if we beat Tessa then we save Castiel too."
"I'll be fine, Dean," came Castiel's softly encouraging voice, and Dean looked back at the Seraph, his expression clearly torn, before he nodded and straightened.
"Just don't get skewered, okay?" he muttered, shaking his head, and then followed Gabriel out into the next, final, room.
"The big Boss," Sam muttered, cocking his head to one side. They were in…Dean's eyes widened – he recognized this place. They were in the diner in Chicago. Suddenly a chill crept over the older Winchester, some sort of dreadful undeniable certainty that lodged itself deep in the base of his skull.
He looked around carefully. "He's here," he whispered. "Death."
Gabriel's mouth twisted as well. "Naturally." He rolled his eyes. "Dude's got more flare for junk food than I do. I suppose it's my fault – I introduced him to Twinkies."
Dean would have laughed if this was a laughing situation. Instead, he sheathed the demon killing knife into the waistband of his jeans and set his gun down, because neither would help against Death. Then, he reached into his pocket, and pulled out Death's ring.
"It's right here!" he called out, knowing that time was of the essence now that Castiel was trapped fighting for their lives. "Come on!" he yelled, more loudly, searching around, and couldn't hide the nerves in his voice. Gabriel, too, seemed similarly wary. Sam looked impassive as ever.
"Dean, Dean, Dean, to what do I owe the pleasure?" The trio whirled around to find a déjà-vu inducing scene; Death, eating a deep dish pizza. Dean swallowed and tossed the ring onto the table. Death looked at it for a long moment. "Well, that's awfully kind of you," he said, slipping it onto his finger.
"Will you let us go now?" Dean asked, ignoring Sam's confused and irritated look that Dean had just given up their only bargaining chip without even trying to negotiate.
"And why on Earth would I do that?" Death asked, looking up from his meal. "You two have been a royal nuisance to me. You lied to me, Dean." He pointed at Dean with the end of his knife. "And I don't enjoy being lied to. You all have escaped my natural order too many times and now you're trying to flood my work load and get me to do forced overtime." He took a bite of pizza, staring unblinkingly at Dean. "I don't like doing forced overtime, Dean."
"Amen," Gabriel muttered, snapping his fingers.
"We don't…we don't want to open Purgatory." Dean swallowed, looking over at Sam, who shrugged. "We needed it to get Sam's soul, but now Gabriel's here. We don't…we don't want anything from you anymore."
"Woah." Gabriel held up his hands. "Who said I'm getting Sam's soul back?"
"Consider it a favor owed if we get you out of here."
Gabriel pursed his lips, and then nodded. "Fair enough."
Death scrutinized them all carefully, taking another bit of pizza. "I'll tell you what," he said, removing the ring from his finger again and setting it down. "I will let you go, on one condition." Dean practically deflated in relief, and he would like to think that Sam, also, would have deflated if he felt such soul-like things as relief. Death leaned forward. "Be me for a day."
Dean frowned. "What?"
"Twenty-four hours of doing my job. I find myself aggravated that you think my time so dispensable as to be wasted on you lot. I don't think you appreciate what exactly it is I have to do. So, be me for a day. I will let you go and you shall begin immediately upon the return of Sam's soul to his body." Death reclined back in his chair, folding his hands over each other on the edge of the table.
"And if I fail?" Dean asked softly, eyes wide and disbelieving, focused on Death.
Death smiled. "Don't."
For a long time, Dean eyed his little brother. He was looking for something – anything – that would mean Sam wanted him to do this, or didn't. Sam, of course, felt nothing, and there was nothing in his eyes, encouragement or otherwise. Dean swallowed, knowing that the task wouldn't be easy and failing Death wasn't really something he wanted to risk trying.
But between his life and Sam's, it was a no-brainer. "Okay," he whispered, nodding. "I'll do it."
A huge sense of vertigo overcame Dean and Sam then, sending them to their knees, and then they disappeared from the diner. Gabriel cocked his head to one side, eyeing Death for a long time, and then he sighed. "You know, I actually did have a plan," he said defensively. "I hadn't intended for it to get this out of hand."
Death shrugged, seemingly without a care, and returned to eating his pizza. "Just tell God next time you see him that his shop could do with a seriously good clean." Then, he waved his hand, and Gabriel and Death's ring joined Dean and Sam back in the Impala, seemingly no worse for wear. Dean looked around, dizzy and disoriented, and frowned.
"What about Cas?" he demanded.
"I'm here, Dean."
The Hunter jumped, looking out of the driver's side window to see the Angel watching him with a slight smile on his face and the soulless head tilt. He, too, seemed unharmed, much to Dean's relief, and again the Hunter deflated against the seat, grinning to himself and shaking his head as Castiel opened the door to the backseat and slid inside.
"Don't you ever do something stupid like that again, Cas," he muttered. The Seraph frowned, but let the comment pass. He nodded to his big brother.
"Gabriel."
"Hey, Cas," the Archangel replied, grinning.
"What are you doing here?"
"Oh, I'm gonna get Sammy's soul here," he ruffled Sam's hair, much to the man's annoyance, "and then Dean's gonna be Death, and then we're all gonna go skipping into the sunset singing show tunes. You in?"
Castiel's brow furrowed again, obviously not understanding much of what Gabriel had just said, but then the Angels had one of those epic-Grace-deep-staring moments, and Castiel's expression smoothed out in understanding. Then, he huffed, sitting back. "I hardly think Dean can comment on my stupidity and then do something like this," he muttered, shaking his head also, but then he fell silent.
Dean smirked, glancing over at Sam, looking forward to the moment when Sam didn't look back at him with a blank face. He felt good about this. Sure, there were so many shades of grey to the situation and so many things that could go wrong, but that's what Dean liked about big plans – there's always a Plan B and he was confident that, with Heaven's new Sherriff and a newly resurrected Archangel who didn't seem like he was going anywhere any time soon, they were well on their way to being alright. He had a good feeling about this.
He drew the line at Gabriel singing 'The Wizard of Oz' as they drove away, though.