"To die will be an awfully big adventure."

-Peter Pan from J. M. Barrie's Peter Pan and Wendy

The motel was a small family-run affair. The vacancy sign flashed bravely against the rain and the darkness of night, hoping to tempt cars off the highway. Out of the dismal weather and into relative comfort. Yet no cars accepted the offer and the only car already residing outside in the parking lot was a black 1967 Chevy Impala.

Across the parking lot from this car, a figure appeared out of thin air, displacing the rain. To be accurate, it was two figures; one—the larger, older, and stronger figure—carried the second—it's opposite—making the two appear as one.

Brothers can be like that.

Gabriel carried his younger brother's vessel across the parking lot. Asleep, Castiel turned his face to Gabriel's neck. It made the archangel pause. He didn't have to do this. No one knew what he had done. No one had to.

He could take his brother and disappear into the human masses once more. He would have to give up tormenting the Winchesters, but he could do it for Castiel's sake. They'd be the next great duo, inflicting poetic irony on over-commercialized Americans—the Gabriel and Castiel Show.

Sure, Castiel would be furious with him, but it's not like his brother could do anything about it in this state. And if it'd keep Castiel happy, Gabriel could even search for their father. Anything to keep his brother wholly and selfishly to himself.

That was the important thing. Gabriel missed his family just as much as Castiel did. He just didn't have Castiel's faith that it could be repaired. Some things just couldn't be fixed, but Castiel had always had the faith of ten angels.

Gabriel tightened his hold on the burden he bore. He would do what he could for Castiel. It wasn't The Gabriel and Castiel Show, but it was what his brother would want. Slowly, Gabriel rested one hand over the small dark head of his brother's vessel. "Castiel," Gabriel called. "Castiel, it is time to wake up." The vessel stirred, but then nestled further into the archangel's jacket. Gabriel should have found something to replace the trenchcoat. The archangel might be holding off the rain, but it was still cold, and Castiel's vessel was overly susceptible to that. "Castiel?" he tried again, borrowing some of his heavenly authority.

"Ga'riel?" Castiel mumbled, with barely a question in his tone. He shifted, supporting some of his own weight. One arm stayed around Gabriel's neck for balance, and the other was raised unconsciously to swipe at tired eyes . . . only to stop mid-movement. "Gabriel," Castiel started, completely awake now. "What's wrong with me?"

Utterly still, Castiel marveled at his own small hand before his face. His voice was young, but still calm, collected, and coolly questioning.

"I've got everything under control," Gabriel lied to his younger brother, already regretting the necessity of waking Castiel.

Awake, Castiel was stiff and awkward to hold—like a child-sized mannequin instead of a living, breathing, human child of indeterminate age or even the constantly vibrating energy of Castiel's angelic form. The only support for the reality of the child-form was the rhythmic heartbeat pressed against Gabriel's own chest. Pretending that was enough, Gabriel adjusted his hold to accommodate Castiel's stiff posture, and stepped up to the door of Room #1, before vanishing into thin air.

He reappeared inside at the foot of the bed where Dean was lounging and across from the table where Sam was working on his computer. Both brothers surged to their feet, only to stumble belatedly to a halt with weapons half-drawn.

"Put it back," Dean ordered as if he had any sort of control over what the archangel did or did not do. Gabriel would have remedied the misconception if not completely stymied by the odd greeting. Had Dean Winchester finally cracked while Gabriel was too busy to bear witness?

"The kid," Sam clarified.

"I don't care where or why you got it, but put it back," Dean repeated.

Gabriel rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to defend himself, but Castiel beat him to the punch line. "Dean," Castiel remonstrated gently, turning to face the brothers.

Gabriel did get a sadistic sort of amusement as he watched realization flicker across the Winchesters' stunned faces, and he didn't see anything wrong with it.

"Cas?" Dean choked out disbelievingly, staring at the child who was and wasn't what he seemed.

"Castiel—no!" Gabriel leapt on the weakness. "Whatever gave it away?"

Privately, he wondered: what didn't? Castiel's voice was higher and younger, but collected—almost serene—in the way that only an angel's could be. Also, he was unnaturally still. A real child would be squirming, asking questions, or even crying. Gabriel shuddered. What a real child would not be doing is to hang stiffly in a guardian's grip, waiting patiently for an explanation of some of the weirdest stuff to go down for angel or humans.

Or maybe the unearthly blue eyes were the real give-away.

Dean finally pulled himself together, commanding (again) crisply, "Fix it."

At the same time, Sam's curiosity finally spilled over, "What did you do?"

The brothers paused, and turned to stare at each other in silent communication for a long moment. Castiel sighed. The childish body was growing heavier in Gabriel's arms, and Castiel's eyes fluttered tiredly. Whether it was Winchester-induced exhaustion, the late hour on a young body, or a symptom of something worse to come, Gabriel was curious as to how long his little brother could hold out. Catching on, Castiel raised his chin defiantly and met Gabriel's amused look steadily.

The mortal brothers—resolved and of one mind again—turned back to the angels. Maybe now they would actually get somewhere.

Sam was their spokesperson as usual. "First of all, would you put Castiel down? You're making Dean nervous."

Gabriel sighed, and held out his brother. Dean stepped forward to take him automatically, hefting Castiel to rest against his side to the angel's mortification.

"I can stand," Castiel pointed out.

"No, you can't," Dean and Gabriel chorused, and then proceeded to glare at each other.

Sam chose to pretend the last two minutes hadn't happened. "Now, Cas, why are you . . . er . . . smaller?" he finished weakly.

"I do not know," Castiel pronounced, resisting Dean's attempts to hold him like a child. This resulted in Castiel hanging from Dean's arm which was locked around his torso. "I fought demons. I lost . . . both the battle and some time. There was pain, and then I woke outside. With Gabriel." Quieter, "I do not know what became of my vessel . . . of Jimmy Novak."

Gabriel snorted. "That is the vessel of—what'd you call him? Jimmy?"

Castiel frowned. "The last vestiges of Jimmy are not present," he murmured, pressing one hand to the side of his head lightly. "Are you sure this is—" Castiel cut himself off. He understood now. The mortals were still confused, but they were more empathic than Gabriel might have guessed. Unconsciously, Dean smoothed the tousled hair, and shifted Castiel up to actually support the angel's weight. Awkwardly, Castiel acquiesced.

"Okay, then just un-miniaturize Cas already," Dean decided.

Gabriel gritted his teeth. "I can't. This wasn't my intent."

"You mean the demons did it?" Sam interrupted. Worry creased the face of the youngest Winchester. "That could be difficult to reverse. You never know what they're dabbling in, especially with Lucifer mucking up the works with new forms of evil."

"I didn't say it was the demons," Gabriel pointed out, stung. "I said that I wasn't trying to shrink Castiel."

"He means," Castiel broke in, his voice clear and nonjudgmental, "that he made a mistake."

Everything was silent for a long moment. Dean looked from Castiel to Gabriel and back again. "Sorry, say that again?"

"He means-" Castiel began. He always took things too literally, but Dean silenced him by covering his mouth with the man's free hand.

"Explain," Dean commanded, and to his disgust, Gabriel did.

"The demons have killed an angel," Gabriel started at the beginning.

"I thought that wasn't supposed to happen—magical swords and whatnot," Dean scoffed.

"They turned her sword back upon her, and now they wield the weapon. It's not instantaneous, but it'll get the job done . . . if there is no one to intervene."

Castiel looked sick, and actually less stiff with his excess show of emotions.

"But you were there. You intervened," Sam spoke cautiously.

"I tried to heal both Castiel and his vessel," Gabriel looked away. "I used too much power."

"Gabriel is an archangel," Castiel pointed out before the Winchesters could ask. "And stopping demon-warped angelic execution is somewhat of a new sporting event."

There's a moment of awkward silence, as the Winchesters stared at the child in Dean's arms. Sam found his voice first. "Was that a pop culture reference? Have you been watching the Olympics, Cas?"

Castiel stared levelly back at the youngest Winchester. "I like hockey."

Gabriel was considering Castiel with considerably more suspicion than the foolish humans. Castiel had never been stupid, but the youngest angel seemed to have the Winchesters fooled into regarding Castiel as completely clueless about and therefore helpless in the mortal world surrounding him. As a matter of principle, he'd call Castiel on it in order to torment his younger brother and embarrass the Winchesters. But allowing Dean Winchester the unceasing opportunity to make a fool out of himself was also a matter of principle.

Gabriel decided to let it go. The diversion that Castiel had created was for Gabriel's benefit after all. He could point out the Winchester's thoughtless trust of a millennia-old being's supposed naiveté next time. After all, Gabriel's hoping that Sam and Dean will do him a favor—which means they have to want Castiel around.

"Healing is really only a matter of undoing the damage that's been done. It's really just a localized reversal of injury. It doesn't even take a lot of power," Castiel was lecturing by the time that Gabriel made his decision, the Winter Games forgotten. "When Dean was remade, the ruined state of his body . . . the wounds, the decay . . . it was all reversed to the point before Lillith's hounds got a hold of him."

"And I channeled more of my grace into him than would have been needed to cure cancer worldwide," Gabriel huffed, not looking at any of them. "Less of a local reversal, more like a reverse of the a-bomb." He dug his hands deep into his pockets. "It's not like I've ever had to undo that kind of damage before. I was making it up as I went."

The Winchesters are nodding like those bobble-headed things that belong on a car's dash, and Gabriel briefly entertains the notion of turning them into ugly bobble-head dolls. He doesn't need their understanding or empathy. He is an archangel. Archangels do not make mistakes.

Except Lucifer who fell—biggest mistake ever. And Michael who sent some of the most obnoxious angels in the garrison to persuade the most stubborn man on the planet to take what had to be the world's worst offer—no wonder big bro was still without an outfit. Except Gabriel who had made their youngest brother even more freaking vulnerable than the renegade angel already freaking was.

Gabriel was not censoring himself in the presence of the child-sized angel who was his baby brother. He was not.

"So, um, if this is the product of a reversal already," Sam hemmed and hawed. He'd already put it together then; score one for the college boy. "Then it can't actually be reversed at all?" Sam made it sound like a question, but it wasn't.

"Yep," Gabriel grimaced. "Body will have to grow all over again. And whoever used to be in there is gone, because the guy's mind won't fit in that body. If Castiel leaves, it'll be the equivalent of brain-dead."

"Jimmy's gone?" Sam asked with obvious guilt in his tone and face.

"He might be locked away in an unused portion of the brain," Castiel offered, hopefully. "I cannot reach his consciousness, but that doesn't mean he is not there . . . if I allow his body to grow, perhaps he will find his way back."

Yeah, and perhaps Castiel's got an empty suit waiting for when he finishes falling, Gabriel scoffs. People's minds break everyday under less stress than an angelic vessel suffers.

"Dean," the small angel caught the eldest Winchester's face with one small hand. A touch is all Castiel needs to make his point. The bruises from whatever latest-hunt-to-go-south disappeared from the right side of Dean's face. "Sam," and Castiel reached out to touch the other brother's shoulder. Gabriel hadn't even realized how Sam had been favoring it up until now.

"You've got your mojo back!" Dean didn't just sound cheerfully excited, but desperately relieved. Well, Gabriel had always believed guilt to be good for the soul. Castiel didn't pick up on that though, and promptly ruined the hunter's good mood.

"It's Gabriel's grace . . . what was left over when he healed me. It will fade?" Castiel looked to Gabriel for that.

"Yep. You're still slowly falling, stupid," Gabriel nodded. "Probably only take a week or so to burn the extra juice off."

"Then I should make the most of it while I can," Castiel decided, trying to free himself from Dean's grip. "Bobby. Signs in Columbia. And there's the matter of Pestilence . . . maybe Death, and I should do something about the ward-" Castiel cracked an impressive yawn, startling even himself before he shook it off. "Put me down, Dean. I must go."

"You're not going anywhere," Gabriel cut the smaller angel off, slamming down a barrier of grace to confine Castiel's goodwill. "You are staying here—with the Winchesters—where it's safe." And wasn't that an ironic kick in the teeth. "Because you are nine kinds of vulnerable right now, bro, and I didn't paint myself flashing red on the map for you to go off and get into more trouble."

Castiel's eyes flashed with cold fire. "Contrary to my appearance, I am not a child, Gabriel!"

Gabriel was in and under Dean's guard faster than even his little brother could perceive. "However, you are becoming human," Gabriel intoned quietly, "and I'm sorry, but now that means you'll be a child too." The game was over. It was in Castiel's best interests now to be put to sleep, but the betrayal in his brother's eyes still burned as Gabriel sent the human vessel into dreamless sleep with two fingers brushing Castiel's forehead.

Dean huffed, settling Castiel comfortably for the first time all night as the child slumped unconscious in his arms. "Well, that's going to go over well in the morning."

Gabriel had no response to that. This wasn't what he wanted.

The Gabriel and Castiel Show

Gabriel snapped his fingers, laying out a buffet of food across the coffee table. Reality shifted as the easy chair became a plush couch and Gabriel carefully settled his brother there, shaking the boy's shoulder.

"Hey, bro, welcome back."

Castiel blinked up at him slowly. Gabriel can see the metaphorical wheels turning behind those blue eyes. A sigh of long-suffering patience, and then . . .

"Hello, Gabriel."

Satisfied, Gabriel settled back in his crouch. Castiel shifted to sit up and nearly fell off the sofa when his feet didn't reach the ground as expected. Gabriel halted the movement with one hand, steadying the younger angel who was only now surveying his considerably smaller feet. After some serious contemplation of his toes, Castiel switched his gaze to his hand. "What happened to me, Gabriel?"

"I've got everything under control," Gabriel lied, with the biggest shit-eating grin he can muster.

Castiel's eyes closed, and when they opened again, the little angel just shrunk in on himself. "I assume the demons are no more?"

Gabriel coughed. "Most of 'em."

"And our sister's sword?"

Gabriel rubbed the back of his neck. "I'll get it back tomorrow. I wanted to make sure you were going to survive the night first."

Castiel looked at Gabriel searchingly. "This is permanent."

"Afraid so."

Castiel sighed heavily, and slid off the couch. His bare feet slapped against the floor. "I must return to Dean and Sam. They will become-"

"No."

Castiel stared up at Gabriel in vague confusion. He didn't understand yet, and when he did—it wouldn't be pretty. Gabriel raised his Grace in the familiar steady patterns that the renegade half-fallen angel would be unable to match. It was stronger than Holy Oil. Castiel's borrowed breath caught.

"No," Gabriel repeated. "The Winchesters are on their own now. You're staying on the sidelines with me."

"No, Gabriel," his little brother breathed. "No, do not do this. You must let me go to the Winchesters. They need me."

"I don't care."

"I must . . . I . . ." the diminutive angel brought himself up to his full and unimpressive height. "Release me, Gabriel."

"So you can sacrifice yourself at Ground Zero when the Winchesters finally give-in? I don't think so."

"The Winchesters will not give in," Castiel insisted.

"They will," Gabriel returned. "It's their destiny, and if you're at their side when this all goes down, you will die."

"There are some things worth dying for," Castiel was quoting someone, and it's cliché, and Gabriel just can't take it anymore.

"You would know, wouldn't you?" Gabriel growled. "What is this—twice now? Get it through your head, Castiel! There is nothinghere worth dying for!"

Castiel gazes up at him with cold, cold fire in those unnatural blue eyes. "I choose to believe differently," he informed Gabriel quietly.

He flinched when Gabriel grabs him by the arms, but not even the archangel realized what he was going to do before he did it. "I'm not giving you a choice," he promised darkly.

Before Castiel can argue, Gabriel has spun him around, picked him up, and reclaimed the sofa with Castiel in his lap.

"You are my brother. You are vulnerable which is my fault, and I am going to fix it. Until then, you sit down and shut up."

The boy shifted awkwardly, but Gabriel's arm around him is a vice as the archangel picks up the remote and settles on some Mystery Science Theater. The sound of the TV brings Pete running, and finding his spot taken, the dog takes up residence in Castiel's lap instead. Gabriel doesn't know if it's the innocent animal's presence or Castiel actually accepting the futility of escape right now that makes his brother stay where he's been put.

For now, it didn't matter.

We now return you to your regular broadcasting.

"Um . . . er . . . Gabriel?"

Dean's obviously reluctant interruption reminded the archangel of the here and now. It was also quite possibly the first time that the eldest Winchester had been forced to use his name. That had its own satisfaction, and Gabriel nodded to indicate that he was listening.

"Did you really have to knock him out? He'll be pissed in the morning . . ."

"He'll be terrified in the morning," Gabriel corrected.

Dean looked down at Castiel's tousled head. "The lights-out trick isn't supposed to work on angels," he realized.

"My case in point: it obviously just did. He's falling faster than even he realized, and he had better come to terms with it sooner rather than later." Gabriel flicked a glance upward, and Dean deflated.

"This really isn't a prank, is it?"

"Would I have come out of hiding just to mess with you?" Gabriel glared. "It's not that much fun. I get nothing out of reminding Michael and Lucifer that I'm still around."

"Then why are you here?"

"For Castiel," the angel threw his arms out. "Look, this wasn't planned. All I wanted to do today was smite the filthy demons responsible for my sister's death, and recover her weapon from the hands of those who figured out how to use it against her. I'm an archangel and a trickster; it's in the job description."

Gabriel forced down the Grace that was flaring up on its own now, because the humans were starting to look edgy, and studied the sleeping child in Dean's arms. "Castiel wasn't supposed to beat me there."

Dean grimaced. That was probably ringing some bells for the older brother. Bloody ones. After a moment of discomfort, Dean turned and handed off Castiel to Sam. "I need a beer. Or ten. Sam?" The younger brother shook his head. "You?"

So much for given names among not-friends.

Gabriel snapped his fingers, acquiring the Winchesters' beer from the cooler. Dean jumped half a foot when the bottle appeared in his hand. Unable to complain about the fast service, Dean swallowed down whatever he was going to say, and chose a new topic.

"How old do you think his vessel is now?"

Sam took a seat on the edge of the closest bed, but didn't put Castiel down. So it wasn't just Gabriel then. That was comforting. "Maybe ten or eleven?" Sam suggested.

Gabriel shrugged. "Older I would think. Twelve or so at least. Ask your hunter-friend; he'd probably have a good idea."

"Twelve . . . what are we supposed to do with a twelve year old . . . twelve year old . . ." if Sam's arms weren't full, he'd be waving them helplessly. "Is he still an angel? You said earlier . . . is Cas human now?"

"He's falling," Gabriel shrugged. It wasn't a particularly helpful answer, but it would have to do. "And as for what to do with him . . ." the archangel trailed off with a shrug. "Well, I thought you might start by taking care of him."

"Wait a minute," Dean protested, slamming the bottle down on the table. "I thought you were all about us saying yes to your brothers. Now you want us to babysit the only angel wanted dead by both sides while possessed by the two opposing generals?"

"You're stubborn asses," Gabriel pointed out, "and I'm seeing at least another half a year of hard-headedness before you get a clue. If you're going to be a perennial thorn in my side, then you may as well make yourselves useful while you do it. It isn't even that hard. All I want you to do is keep a child safe for the next six months. You've got the sigils and Bobby Singer's fantastic warding . . ." If Gabriel was not above such actions as an archangel, he would have drooled over the impressive wards the hunter had erected over his home. Singer Salvage could drop off the supernatural map at a moment's notice.

Back to business.

"You're practically invisible. Neither side will recognize Castiel unless we give them reason to look harder, and by now the word has spread and the demons think that they've succeeded in killing him," Gabriel snorted. "I'm going to allow them to think that by going out and smiting every last one with a hand in this debacle."

The only debacle was his completely ineffective demonstration of power and stupidity, but the Winchesters are sufficiently stunned that they miss that opening. Gabriel plowed onward, aiming for the astronomical guilt complexes. "Castiel's your guardian angel, so it's time you repaid the favor, don't you think?"

He had Sam . . . and Dean too although the older hunter didn't want to admit it. "What do you get out of this?" Dean growled. "Saving Cas . . . bringing him here . . .?"

"It saves me the trouble of doing it myself now that I've pretty much painted a target on my back with tonight's light show. My hands are going to be full."

"You hid from them once," Sam pointed out.

"They weren't looking for me." Gabriel glared at them both as a matter of principle, because he's an archangel, which gives him the right to pin the blame solely on these two. "I'm not fighting any of my brothers. I refuse. And Castiel isn't going to fight them either. This is officially now my side of the war, and I am in charge, and you two will listen to me, and no one is going to die, especially Castiel."

Sam was trying not to laugh. Dean had given up the battle when beer spurted from his nose, and Gabriel decided that his next motivational speech will be delivered with all the authority of an archangel's voice complete with ear-bleeding tones.

Dean held out his hand, still shaking with laughter. "Welcome to Team Freewill, Private Gabe. Dean Winchester, your broke but fearless leader."

The archangel had been behaving himself all night—rather admirably, in his personal opinion. But patience can only go so far, and he banished Dean temporarily to the first place that comes to mind. When he returned Dean sixty seconds later, the eldest Winchester was quieter and wiping green goo out of his hair.

"My name is Gabriel," the archangel informed the humans coldly. "I am not playing games anymore. I have a plan," Gabriel lied. "And if it works, everyone benefits and no one dies." That was his role—Gabriel the peacemaker. "Six months, boys, and it's not like you have anything better."

The Winchesters regarded each other silently and solemnly. Gabriel waited impatiently, arms crossed and foot tapping. Finally, Dean looked away and nodded. "Any funny business—any at all," Dean warned.

"You worry about your end, and let me worry about mine. Like I said, you've got the easy part."

"What are you going to do?" Sam asked.

"Pick up where Castiel left off," Gabriel returned. "I will search for our Father, and investigate ways to halt or slow the apocalypse. The two of you feel free to continue your stubborn and completely unhelpful pissing contest with my brothers, but keep Castiel safe."

"We can do that," Sam nodded. "We will do that."

Gabriel looked back once more at Castiel fast asleep in Sam's arms. Then he returned his gaze to Dean. "I will be back. If you mess this up . . ." he trailed off, leaving it to the hunter's imagination.

"Nothing's getting to Cas without finding a way to permanently do Sam and me in," Dean promised grimly.

"I will always be able to bring you back and kill you again if it should," Gabriel warned.

"We'd let you," Sam murmured. His eyes were fixed on Castiel as if the answers were hidden in the child-angel. If only it could be that easy.

With that taken care of, Gabriel raised his hand, snapped his fingers, and disappeared.