If he weren't so busy fighting for his life he might lunge over there and punch that smile right off Gabriel's face -- allow him his fantasies in the moment, okay? Especially when he's facing down one hellish looking Clifford, and Dean's skin is crawling. He thought he had this hellhound thing down, but he hadn't been able to fight that one for the trials, and he's not sure it was all bad luck. Maybe he's scared. Maybe this isn't something he can do.

This is not the mentality that leads to winning a fight, and Dean tries to squish it all down as he grips his knife tighter and wills himself, with everything he has, to keep his defenses up, his attention sharp, not to let the sick taste of fear overwhelm him.

"Alright, you had your laugh!" He can't help the panic sneaking into his voice, and the sweat running into his cuts is stinging.

"Call your dog off, Gabriel!"