Sam snorts, and it's oddly refreshing to get that snapping return to his typical sardonic baseline. Yeah, so Gabriel not being actually dead isn't really the biggest bone he has to pick at the moment. How many times has the guy - or, more appropriately archangel - faked his own death at this point?

"Does it matter?" he asks, still managing a pair of bitchily raised eyebrows despite his general lack of precise facial control. "It didn't work. Hotel California zapped me here, or whatever the fuck, before we could fix any of it."