There was so much information laden in those few vague descriptions that Gabriel actually just sat there, stunned, for a moment or two. Those meatheads and his little brother had actually won? They'd beaten the apocalypse? They'd stopped Michael and Lucifer from screwing the planet over completely?

Even with those final minutes of wild, rueful hope, Gabriel had never quite imagined that it would be possible. He had stood up because it was right, because he wanted to, and because in the end Dean Winchester was the damned hypocrite Gabriel was, deep down, tired of being. Even when he made the tape about how to lock Lucifer back in the box, he'd never actually stopped to think about the hows and the coulds.

But they'd done it anyway. And apparently somehow taken Michael down with Lucifer too. Well, damn.

Then the rest of what Balthazar had not said started to sink in and Gabriel's amber gaze snapped back together, penetrating and hardly amused at all. "What did Raphael do?"

A moment later he realised what he'd said and grimaced, directing his words up at the ceiling as he said, "Or, you know, the dick angel with the thing for mocha in the dream--oh, screw this."

He flipped the bird with his fork in the general direction of where the cameras might be, put the container aside and resettled his gaze on Balthazar, no longer with any patience for ridiculous dissembling. "What happened?"