In the quiet of Bobby's house after the long return drive, Dean walked in to find Jo waiting up for him. She sat at the kitchen table, alone, and holding a cup of steaming coffee. The muscle in his jaw clenched, for she wore a pair of sweatpants, fluffy socks, and an oversized flannel shirt that must have belonged to her dad. He'd be damned if she didn't look like coming home. She greeted Sam with a hug, holding her arms out to make certain he was okay, asking him questions with such familiarity that Dean had to marvel at the ease that had grown between them in these long weeks. Without him noticing, those two had become family.

Perceptive as always, Sam then slipped away to go lay down after a very long day.

"Hey Jo," Dean felt tired in every inch of every bone in his body. The whole drive he had heard neither the music nor Sam's conversation over the wheels in his head. Lucifer had not seen through him, but he had been where Dean had least expected him. Dean had no control over this situation, and the illusion that had told him otherwise had evaporated in Lucifer's presence.

Even locating Gabriel had been a bust; he was found but no more a part of their team than before.

"I made you a cup of coffee." Jo handed him one of the mugs. "We need to talk."

"The dreaded words." He tried a joke, but it barely scraped its way out of his mouth. She frowned at him. None of her usual indulgence appeared on her face. She had him cornered, and she obviously intended to say her piece. First she lifted her coffee mug to her mouth, took a sip, and then licked the rim where a drop must have been left behind. In spite of the hellacious day he had just had, he did not miss that use of tongue. Then she erased any good directions it was going to tempt his thoughts by using it for serious matters.

"Listen, Dean, you can't keep treating me like a kid when things get scary out there. You've got to treat me just like any other hunter."

He shook his head.

"I can't do that."

She looked at him, took another long sip of her coffee, but did not offer him help by continuing the conversation. Instead, she was waiting him out. He watched the pulse in her throat spasm an extra time, saw that her breath was bated as she held out for an answer. For all her ferocity and tenacity, she liked him in that same breath-catching way she had when he first walked into the Roadhouse. She wanted him to treat her like another flannel-wearing hunter, but on a level she would never dare to mention and probably did not even acknowledge to herself, she wanted him to see her differently too.

He needed to explain to her the friendship between them, the camaraderie, and how it made him want to protect her. He opened his mouth to offer an honest-adjacent answer and instead heard himself say something entirely true.

"I have nightmares about you dying."

A slew of the worst profanity he knew floated through his head, but she did not look startled. Instead she nodded.

"I know."

"Excuse me?" He liked the agitation that showed in his voice now, a layer of gruff to wrap back over the vulnerability.

"You say my name in your sleep sometimes." She took another sip of her coffee as if the liquid could fortify her through the moment. He watched pink creep across her cheeks as she pressed on. "It's not just mine. Sometimes Sam's or even Cas's. Mostly mine though."

He remembered Lisa shaking him awake, saying the same thing. His whole life he had been hunting and sharing motel rooms with his dad and brother and knew for a fact he had not been one to call out in his sleep. John Winchester would have gotten him out of that habit at its first sign. But with everything he had lost the first time they fought Lucifer for the world, he had changed irrevocably. He had no idea why he had thought coming back to 2009 would have changed that. The embarrassment chafed his insides and made him feel nauseated.

"I never said anything because I knew you wouldn't want me to know."

"I'm sorry I wake you up," he replied woodenly. "If I'd known, I'd have slept in another room."

That was a lie. He couldn't sleep well without the stupid snorts and rustles of his brother in the bed next to him, not knowing that Lucifer walked the Earth and snuck into Sam's dreams. Right now, being a Winchester meant being haunted by nightmares.

"I don't mind. Sometimes you settle back into what seems like a good sleep if I hold your hand for a minute or something like that."

The image of her slipping down from the couch, sleep still in her eyes, hair disheveled, pajama bottoms twisted on her hips, and taking his hand so gently that it soothed without waking him… he felt the image form in his mind and then creep from an image to a feeling. The feeling started in his chest, warm and bubbling, and began to spread. While he had been protecting her, close enough that nothing from the outside could get to her without going through him, she had been sleeping softly to wake up and protect him from what was inside.

He processed this information. He took the coffee mug to the sink, dumped out the remnants, and rinsed.

"Don't take it the wrong way or anything. I'm just looking out for you. Same way you'd do for Sam or me or my mom. I'm not trying to be…" She trailed off, thinking, but he ignored what she was saying. Instead he let the warmth in his chest lead him to close the gap between them. He lifted the coffee mug from her, put it on the table, and met her gaze.

"I don't hold Sam's hand in the middle of the night. Even if he has a bad dream, and let me tell you, he can have some doozies himself."

She swallowed hard, and he felt himself do the same.

"You're not a kid, and you're not just another hunter." He did not try to say any more because he had no idea what words he would use, no idea what he was feeling or thinking or risking. He just knew he could not lie to her with the vision of her holding his hand in his sleep still lingering in his mind.

"I know I'm overbearing. If I had my way, you'd be a thousand miles from anywhere near all this until it was over. It's not because I don't see that you're smart and resourceful as hell though. I just want you to be safe."

She shook her head. They were close enough he could feel the air from her movement. "I want you to be safe too. Doesn't mean I try to stop you from doing what you need to do."

He wished he could tell her about the first 2009. He would describe how he let her dress up in a cocktail dress and face down demons to sneak into Crowley's house and how he had let her go on a suicide mission to shoot Lucifer in the head with the Colt. If he could only tell her, she would understand he was not a chauvinist or an asshole. He was just a man who could not watch her die again.

"We'll have this argument another day."

"That's what you said last time we had this conversation. Let's just have it now."

He shook his head. "Jo, I'm tired. I drove 20 of the last 24 hours and faced down the devil for the other couple. I got scared out of my mind at almost losing you and just found out that you've been holding my hand at night to keep me from losing it. I'm not up for any argument."

Compassion won out over her stubbornness. Instead of continuing the conversation, she made the small space between them smaller by taking one of his hands. She traced her fingers along the outside edge, trailing along his skin, seeming to take in its familiarity, before folding her fingers inside his palm. Rather than holding his hand, she let him hold hers.

"Alright. We can have the argument another day." Now her mouth quirked at the corner, the seriousness melting into a smile. "And if you have a bad dream, I'm so nice I won't even rag you about holding your hand."

Dean would have kissed her even if she hadn't tempted him with that smile. He had wanted to let himself want to kiss her for weeks, remembering that hot scene in the movie theater, and the combination of everything today had worn his defenses down to nothing. He cupped her cheek with his free hand, holding tight to her hand with the other, and leaned down to brush his lips across hers.

"Thanks, Saint Jo. See you in bed?"

For a moment, her surprise lit her face before softening back to a smile. He recognized her unwillingness to acknowledge the kiss because then they would have to unpack it and think about it. They were too tired for that.

"I'll probably be asleep before you even get to your patch of floor."

"See you in the morning then."

He kissed her forehead this time and asked himself no questions. He could have that conversation tomorrow too.

Dean did not realize he was only dreaming about cooking eggs for breakfast until the angel Gabriel showed up beside him and added some sharp Vermont cheddar to the pan.

"You're a tricky man to find, Dean, but I sure am interested in finding you outside of your dreams."

"You're not the Trickster. You've got to be the archangel, Gabriel. We've been looking for you…" Dean was mid-sentence when Gabriel lifted a hand and literally cut him off. Though his mouth kept moving, Dean could no longer make sound. Dean thought "Angels are dicks" at the archangel as loudly as he could while his lungs creaked in protest at being silenced.

"Spare me the act. You've got a friend of mine's perfume all over you." Gabriel gave a sniff, ever theatrical, and then snapped his fingers once more. Dean felt his lungs expand again. "So how about you tell me why a regular mortal man like you is cloaked in very old, very powerful Egyptian magic?"

Dean stared at him. This question was exactly what he had expected from Lucifer, though then he had expected to be discovered in a horrible, lethal moment.

"Oh, you're wondering how I can tell you've been up to something naughty when my big brother and your pet angel couldn't?" Gabriel half-grinned, picking up an egg from the counter and tossing it up and down in his hand absently. "Castiel is just a baby angel, and even pagan god trumps Heavenly foot soldier. And Lucifer never had much respect for, well, anyone besides himself, so he didn't have time for pagan gods. He never liked to rub elbows with the plebes, so to speak. Me? I love me some pagan gods. I think they're a heck of a good time."

Dean remembered Gabriel's masquerade as Loki. "I know."

"Now see, you've piqued my interest again. How exactly do you know? Before I join your little Save the World team, I have to know just what is making you tick and how you got Ma'at involved in Daddy's Big Prize Fight."

So Dean explained. Being able to finally reveal the truth to someone - even someone with whom he had as little connection as Gabriel - was a relief. He explained Osiris' trial and Ma'at's approach, taking his time and spinning out each piece of relevant information. When he finished, the joking expression had completely left Gabriel's face, and now the archangel had questions. He listened intently as Dean described the unfurling of the Apocalypse the first time, right down to explaining Gabriel's death and Sam jumping into the cage with Lucifer in tow.

"I once killed you repeatedly every day to teach your brother the lesson that he couldn't save you. You're telling me that he then went on to not only save you but the whole world?" Gabriel asked in complete seriousness.

"Yeah."

"I'm usually not wrong like that."

"Happens to the best of us. So I've laid all my cards on the table. You're the only one who knows everything. I didn't want to risk time paradox by telling anyone else. I don't really know how Ma'at's magic works. You know everything I know. Will you help us?"

Gabriel breathed in deeply, still flipping the egg in his right hand. He tilted his head sideways.

"According to you, last time I joined your team, my brother smoked my ass within the hour. Sounds like you're not the only one who needs to do better the second time." He put the egg down on the counter. "I'm in. Tell Castiel to meet me at Kipsy Diner in Seattle tomorrow. I'm working a day shift there with three of the funniest sprites you could ever meet. Castiel and I will find the Horsemen we need to pop the lock on Luci's cage."

"What about Cats?" Dean asked the question even though it was irrelevant. It was hard to shake the image of an archangel in cat makeup and a sparkly leotard.

"I'm the Trickster. I have time for more than one thing at once. Tell Castiel to meet me there." Gabriel lifted his fingers as if to snap himself out but paused first. "Oh, and one more thing, in the spirit of full disclosure. You were dreaming about your blonde when I got here. She was actually making pancakes. Hoo boy, have you got it bad for her. Not even a sex dream. Just cozy domestic bliss."

He disappeared at the same moment that Dean snapped awake. Dean didn't even get a chance to tell Gabriel he was a winged asshole.

Dean looked at his watch. The digital face glowed 2:30, too early to get up. Instead, he glanced over at Sam, snoring quietly, and then up at Jo, drooling ever so slightly on her pillow. Buoyed by the sight of their peace and the relief at having Gabriel officially on the team, he rolled over to catch some more shut-eye.

The idea scratched at Dean's head the next day. He had sent Cas to Seattle, helped Rufus pack his truck to go take on some demons with Ellen down South, and then settled in with Bobby and Sam to do some research. Jo had drawn the short straw and headed into town on a supply run. 6 adults ran out of toilet paper at a supernatural rate. Through the whole process, the idea had been itching in him as if the pessimism and fear of yesterday had combined with the optimism of hearing from Gabriel to create some sort of crappy "carpe diem" reaction inside of him.

He wanted to take Jo out.

It was one of the stupidest ideas he had ever had. The timing was wrong in every way imaginable, the complications it could create had the potential to blow up their friendship, and the other people of the house would undoubtedly think he had lost his damn mind. He knew all of that, and yet the idea fed on other things he knew, like the fact that he wanted to touch her again more than he wanted to resist temptation and the reality that she pulled at him like a magnet with her smile.

If he was going to burn with fear over losing her, he might as well burn with some happiness of having her too.

Dean looked up from the page's swimming letters. Concentrating was impossible; they didn't need to do research. With Gabriel and Cas looking for the Horsemen, today was just a waiting game. Bobby and Sam felt soothed by turning to their books, always hopeful for an answer in the pages but content simply knowing a little more than when they began. Though he referred to himself as a grunt, Dean appreciated information too. He just preferred to learn by doing.

"So get this. This scholar thinks Death may not actually be a Horseman. More an embodiment of natural balance," Sam said, leaning towards Bobby and pointing to a page.

Bobby had tremendous restraint, and he did not answer until he himself had scanned the page. "His source?"

"The Jewish pseudepigraphical book of Baruch."

"Well there's a place we haven't looked before. I don't have a copy, so I'm going to need to make a few phone calls, get some pages faxed over." Bobby rolled back from his desk and headed for the kitchen. Sam never looked up from his book, so he missed the pride etched in the set of Bobby's mouth. Dean knew the old grump liked it when one of them was quick enough to beat him to the punch.

Dean realized he had picked up a pen from the table beside him and started chewing on it. Rather than taking a mature approach to getting his brother's attention, he twirled it around and made a whistling sound through the top of the pen. Sam glanced up and then back down. Dean whistled it again, fading out the sound slowly this time into a quiet, high-pitched whine. Sam ignored him so hard that it was palpable.

Dean shifted in his chair, putting all his weight on his right butt cheek and cracked off a fart.

"Really?" Sam popped his head up this time. "I am in the middle of a possible breakthrough, and you're acting like a five-year-old."

"I've got a question for you."

"You could have just asked. You know that, right?"

"Gotta have a little fun in your life sometimes, Sammy. So anyway, speaking of that very thing, here's the question." Dean moved the pen from his mouth to the table, drumming it on the table. "What would you think if I wanted to pull a Swayze and get Baby out of the corner?"

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Is Baby your car in this scenario?"

"No. In this scenario, Baby is Jo. She hasn't been able to have much fun since we've been here. Hell, none of us have. And I was thinking she might like to go out on the town."

"Yeah. She'd probably like to go out, have some fun. How does that warrant a Dirty Dancing reference?" Sam suddenly switched from confusion to heightened interest. "Oh wait a second. You're Swayze because you're an older romantic interest and she's the inexperienced girl you want to show the ropes?"

"Dude, no. I'm Swayze because I'm awesome and look great in a leather jacket." Dean bristled at being called older, probably because he really was nearly a decade older than Jo if he counted the years he had lived after this one. He decided not to count those because it made him feel better. "She's Baby because she's been in the metaphorical corner not having fun."

"Metaphorical? You're digging deep now. So you want to take Jo out and show her a good time? That sounds like something to create a heap of awkward for the three of us sharing a room each night. Especially once you hit-it-and-quit-it." Sam hesitated.

Anger flared up hot and fast. "Hey now. Watch your mouth, Sam. It's not like that."

Now Sam grinned. "Man, I knew there was something up between you two."

His soft understanding voice kicked back in, the same voice Dean had heard deliver rational, compassionate insight a million times before. "I think it's a good idea. It's been just out of reach for long enough, but you don't sing R.E.O Speedwagon over a girl for nothing."

Sam had the proud shit-eating grin of a little brother, and Dean actually had to grin back.

"I just heard it somewhere," he replied around the smile on his mouth. Even with all this time spent with Jo, he had nearly forgotten about that night leaving the Roadhouse. The memory warmed him, a good memory tucked in amongst a life whose memories were a mixed bag.

"Whatever. You asked my opinion, and I say you deserve some bright spots in the dark."

"Thanks, Sammy." Dean slapped his hands on the tops of his thighs and stood up. "That's one vote saying I'm not crazy. Let me see if I can go get another."

"Wait, who said you weren't crazy?" Sam grinned again.

"Shut up."

Dean walked into the kitchen. Bobby had one of the corded landline phones pulled down to his level and was going a mile a minute talking to the person on the other end, promising good rum and Japanese translation any time it was needed. The other person apparently liked those terms, and Bobby hung up after saying, "Great. I'll expect it on my fax machine in half an hour. Don't get drunk and pass out until you've sent it."

Then he turned to Dean. "I got a copy of the damn book coming. Hopefully it tells us that Death is not actually coming to wreak Hell on Earth."

Dean thought about Death, his lithe fingers scooping up french fries as he calmly deliberated the fate of the world. Sam was indeed onto something with his find that Death was no ordinary Horseman.

"Hopefully. Got a question for you, Bobby."

"Doesn't sound good. I'd ask if I should sit down, but that's the only way I come these days." Bobby rolled over to the table and motioned across from him. Dean followed and took the proffered seat. Momentarily, Bobby's oldness - the deepening of the lines in his face and the additional graying of his beard - struck him. Something about seeing him in the wheelchair again remained hard, even though he should have readjusted by now.

"Well go ahead." Bobby had a way of reading minds. "I'm not getting any younger."

Dean skipped the pop culture references this time and went with the blunt approach.

"I want to ask Jo out tonight."

"Okay." Bobby looked at him expectantly.

"This is the part where you tell me I'm an idjit for even thinking about something like that in the middle of the damn Apocalypse."

The corner of Bobby's mouth flipped up, and he nodded. "That wasn't too bad of an impression, but I don't need to tell you any of that. You already know that."

Dean didn't want to be the kind of man who needed affirmation and reassurance to make simple decisions, but he wanted Bobby's opinion. He hesitated and then turned his original statement into a question.

"What would you think if I took Jo out?"

Bobby adjusted his baseball cap and thought about it.

"You've been watching Jo whenever you think she's not looking. She's been doing it too. I don't think it is going to make either of you a bigger fool to look at each other at the same time instead." Bobby shrugged. "It's a bad time, but there's no good time for a hunter. I already talked to Ellen about that."

Dean felt a rush of gratitude to hear something akin to a blessing. His voice surprised him with its deepened burr as he replied, a throaty bit of emotion in there.

"You already talked to Ellen about me and Jo?"

"Yeah." Bobby's voice deepened too, and he rolled back from the table, muttering as he did so, "Someone has to make the case that you're not a moron since you don't do a very good job of it yourself."

Bobby left the room, a cloud of unarticulated parental affection lingering behind him.

Dean walked to the fridge, pulled it open, and got out a beer. He used the ring on his hand to knock off the cap and took a long swig. The scoreboard in his head showed 2 for and 0 against, with both of the 2 coming from the people he trusted the most. So he went ahead and added his own vote to the tally. 3 to 0.

He wondered if his palms would get sweaty when he asked her out. That had happened the last time he asked a girl out on a real date. Of course, he had been in high school then, and the girl in question had not been able to hold a candle to Jo.

"Are you coming in here to do some work, Romeo, or do you expect us to do it for you?" Bobby's voice broke through Dean's wondering, so he headed back into the living room to pretend to look for answers on printed vellum.