Dean awoke groggily after what seemed to be seconds from laying down to the sound of coffee beans grinding in the corner. "Really? You need coffee now Sam?"

"Wrong again Dean-o!"

Son of a bitch. Dean was on his feet in no time. "Gabriel! You- you followed us here?" The former archangel stood across from Dean's bed dawning a fashionable black suit and his best Cheshire Cat smirk. Instinctively looking to Sam, Dean only found an empty bed next to his.

"Wrong again! My three times in a row! Not you're best night eh?"

"Where's Sam? And what do you mean three times?"

"Take a chill pill you rug rat. I will get to the third thing in a minute. Right now—" Gabriel stepped forward, ignoring the coffee now freshly made; he took a seat on the edge of Sam's bed. "Sit."

Reluctantly, Dean obeyed. Maybe he knows how to help Cas.

"I am going to begin by telling you a few facts about your current situation Dean-o. Firstly-"he pointed dramatically to the air, "This is a dream. Secondly, I am not an angel, thirdly I am indeed supernatural again thank god I don't know how you people get around in those plain little meat suits, I really don't. Also this is a dream, you are dreaming and you will accompany me and not question where this is so obviously going. Good?" His little speech flowed so quickly it seemed rehearsed, and he quickly finished off with another unbearably shallow grin.

"Or, you tell me what you know, or I kill you." Dean was pushed around by angels far too long to be listening to one now, regardless of what kind of state he was in.

"It's a dream, Deeny. You can't kill an illusion." If Dean hadn't known better he would take Gabriel's expression for sympathy. "But no, I don't know how to help Cas, though this is about him."

Curiosity peaked, Dean leaned closer. "What about him?"

Gabriel snapped his fingers with a flourish and a giggle, and the room went gray.

It was a warm day, despite the fog, and Dean's jacket felt absolutely suffocating. Birds flew over the tops of fir trees and the ocean breeze blew in from the west. Dean began to feel dread, suddenly aware and searching for Gabriel. If that son of a bitch left me stranded out here I swear-

Laughter filled the clearing. A young boy, about eight, nine maybe? Laughed nervously at his father behind him. If not for their matching red plaid Dean may not have noticed he was watching himself and his father enter the clearing. We watched in awe as his younger self loaded the shotgun and glanced back in admiration at his father, as he mumbled his instructions before striding off in the opposite direction.

"No." Dean knew all too well what was coming next. His younger self was so eager to do the job right, aligning the gun in his too-tiny hands and waiting for the—what was it again? A werewolf, a demon? It didn't matter, he had to stop it. "Hey! Hey come on get out of there! Dean!"

"He can't hear you." Gabriel responded quietly but definitely, at Dean's side now."It's your memory Dean, he can't hear you."

Dean was sweating now, panicking. "Get out of my head."

And then came the horrifying growl. Guess it wasn't a demon. Little Dean's hands began to shake but he kept focused on the target, aiming for it. Quickly, almost imperceptibly, the gun was taken. The creature's swift movement out from the underbrush captured the weapon, leaving a young Dean crying out for his father, thrashing in front of him with one arm as he felt his pocket for the knife.

Dean looked away, sure of what was next. He covered his eyes until he saw blackness but heard his own screams while the creature stalked the boy. Gabriel placed his hand on Dean's shoulder and he shook it off; he would take no pity from a fallen douche of an angel. Dean waited out the attack, wanting Gabriel to end it but not wanting to grant him the satisfaction of hearing him ask; besides he was of no use to the boy, and memory grants him the ending.

The encounter seemed to go on for hours, not moments. Dean shook his head in shame as he heard himself cry out his father's name in fear; how pathetic. Then silence. He removed his hands slowly and carefully, seeing the clearing anew as the cold, dark hollow from his memories. The boy is seated, safe save a scratch to the arm, his tear-streaked face looking up at his father. My dad sure knew how to save the day, he thought.

"Dean what the hell were you thinking boy? You let him overpower you that easily? Is this how I raised you?"

Red faced and yelling, John Winchester watched his son lift his filthy head to respond, "I called you, Dad. I called you so many times. Why did you wait so long?"

"Because one day," John began, crouching, "you'll be doing this alone. I'm not always going to be there to help you. And because you're a disgrace— you know a Winchester always fights back! Didn't I make that clear?"

"Yes, sir."

They were once again in the motel room. Not previously aware of himself, Dean began to slow his breathing, glaring at Gabriel as he now offered a pitying smile from across the room.

"Do you want to tell me," Dean began in a shaky voice, "what the hell that was all about?"

Gabriel took a step forward, and Dean a step back. "How did you feel? When your father didn't save you?"

"He did."

Gabriel cocked his head to the side, questioningly. "Eventually."

No. This was Dean's memory and it didn't matter that this jackass was in his head; the memory was still just his.

Gabriel's smile faded to a blank expression, revealing nothing. "Humour me."

"Yeah well what do you expect? It hurt and for a minute-" his voice broke. "For a minute I thought he wouldn't come. His speech after didn't help much either." He sat down on the bed, feeling sick. "Can I wake up now?"

"Soon, Dean-o." Gabriel stood and went to Dean's side, smiling apologetically. "Why did his speech bother you?"

Dean felt on the verge of tears before retaking his cocky smile; he cried once in that forest and he wouldn't do it again and certainly not for some trickster. "Lonely."

Gabriel leapt up from his perch and spun around before shouting, "right on Dean! Finally getting something right eh buddy? So! My question to you is: why would you leave a friend in the same position?"

"Who? What, Cas? He's—"

"Abandoned by his father but without the heroic save at the end; worse than your little situation and he looked to you. Why didn't you stay?"

Gabriel looked as though it took effort to contain his excitement, and Dean to contain his rage. "I may be mistaken here, but I think that that's none of your damn business."

"Maybe, maybe not. Just looking out for my Baby Bro. So what do you say Dean-o? Spend your night helping your little angel, or dream about helping him? You've already thought about it, I'm just playing with it. You want this. So stop wasting time."

Dean was stunned to silence; clearly the guy had a point, he should help Cas, but at the same time it was Gabriel. The Trickster.

"Now, if you excuse me, I have a hot date in Las Vegas that needs attending to. Hence the suit you see." The Trickster spun round, fingering his collar. "In the mean time, go get 'em tiger."

And with that, Dean was awake.

Immediately looking to a sleeping Sam across from him, he examined the room. Finding the familiar garish wallpaper designs, curling carpet and a cup of freshly poured coffee next to a clock reading 12:32pm, Dean rose with plans to spend the rest of the day sleeping—only not here.

At Castiel's door Dean stood for several moments, debating. Was he really going to trust advice awarded him by Gabriel of all people? His whole job description is messing with people. But, then again he claimed to be inspired by Dean's own thoughts, and Dean could not deny their authenticity. He really had thought about staying, and about all the ways Cas might need his assistance; being needed and depended on like that appealed to Dean, and he sincerely wanted to help Castiel.

Maybe he wanted to help a friend, or maybe he wanted to help Cas; the two ideas always did seem different to Dean. Castiel was more than a friend; he was...just Cas. They had an understanding. But what if Cas wanted to change that? Dean wouldn't ever reject Cas, only change itself. Change had always been difficult for Dean. Whether it involves people coming or going it didn't matter; what he hated most was when they gained importance and left afterwards. Only Cas wouldn't leave, at least not purposely.

Stop being so selfish, Dean scolded himself before knocking three times at the door.

The door creaked open slowly, and Dean knew instantly he had made the right decision. Cas was a wreck with messy hair and wrinkled clothing; his face brightened a bit to see Dean though. "Hello Dean."

"Hello Cas." No time had passed at all; it was still just Dean and Cas. "Can I come in?"

Castiel stepped wordlessly back, letting Dean walk in and turn to face him. "You want to talk about it Cas?"

Cas' eyes reverted back to the dull lustre they had held earlier that day, and he shook his head no. Walking past Dean, Cas walked round to the other side of the bed and took a seat at the top of it. Dean sat obediently beside him, waiting.

Castiel looked up suddenly. "Are you tired?" That bastard, thought Dean. Always putting me first.

"Are you?" Cas nodded. "Then you can sleep. I'll be here." Dean sat leaned against the headboard, stretching his legs in front of him while Cas reluctantly lay beside him, blankets haphazardly strewn around his small form.

Dean gripped the sheet and tugged it gently up to Castiel's shoulders, remembering his coldness from earlier. Castiel's hand gripped Dean's then, tapping twice before retracting to meet his shivering form.

Yeah I know Cas, you're welcome. Neither of them need say anymore as Cas drifted off to the warmth of companionship, and Dean to the rhythmic breathing of a damaged angel.