Sad Stories

At what point God super glued Dean and Gabriel together as friends, Dean doesn't know. All he knows is that he's sitting in the bathtub looking at a lot of blood and someone is banging on the door and there's screaming and sirens and all he wants is Gabriel. And then he passes out, because not everyone can get everything they want.

It takes Dean a while to wake up again. According to Sam, a whole month. But Dean doesn't remember a month and he doesn't remember the stitches leading from the hole in the side of his head to his hair line. All he remembers is Gabriel. When he asks, Sam only cries more. Dean decides not to mention Gabriel again. After all, Gabriel would find him. He always did. After all, that's what friends are for.

It's been two weeks. Dean isn't out of the hospital permanently, because he still has to go to physical therapy and mental therapy and emotional therapy (aka, the medicine cabinet), but he's getting there. Sam makes Dean move in with him and his girlfriend in their too small, too clean, two person apartment. Actually, it's not all that different than his old one, just cleaner. It's perfect and he adjusts instantly. It really feels like home. All it's missing is Gabriel.

At breakfast, Sam finally decides to mention it. "Have you started thinking about school yet?"

Dean shrugs. "Not really." And that's all he has to say.

Sam nods, having accepted Deans quietness in the past three months.

"And what about work?" Jess asks as she *floats into the kitchen.

Dean shrugs again, then remembers something. "What's my Bobby's number again?"

Jess and Sam smile like two parts of a whole. Dean misses that. "It's on the fridge."

Dean thanks Sam, then races upstairs, grabbing the slip of paper on the way. Sorry Sam, but this is something he has to do on his own. He lands on his bed with a thud and picks up the sleek black house phone Sam got him when he moved in. It's not the Impala, but its close enough to make him smile sometimes.

Entering the numbers is slow, just like the past six months have been. Two-four-three...three-four-eight-zero...enter.

I wait, listening to the ringing drone on and on and on and on...

"Dean?"

He sucked in sharply and looked to the ceiling (why's only my ceiling painted? Why won't Sammy come up here and paint the rest?) as he answered breathlessly, "Gabriel?"

"Excuse me?" A gruff, strict, not-Gabriel voice wheezed from the other end. "Look son, I think ya got the wrong-"

"Bobby? That you?" Dean asked, trying not to sound too disappointed. After all, it was only a matter of time. They were friends. Friends never left each other...right?

Bobby laughed. "Thought it was you, boy. Why didn't cha call, huh? We've been expectin' ya all week!"

Dean laughed back, but it was hazy, weak. "Hold your horses, Bobby, I'll be over in a minute." Less than that, if he had any say.

"Now yer not still drivin' that ol' fixer-upper yer Daddy gotcha, now, are ya? Ya'll know how dangerous that is-"

"Calm down, ya old geezer, Sam hid the keys." Dean rolled his eyes. Honestly, he'd forgotten how...Bobby Bobby was. He'd missed it.

"Bobby?" Dean called when Bobby went quiet. "You still there?"

"Yeah, uh, yeah. Just...don't rush, boy."

Dean frowned, but pulled on his shoes and said his goodbyes. He didn't bother telling Sam where he'd be or asking him for a drive. Sam was a smart boy and, if he remembered right, Bobby's wasn't too far...

There!

Dean hurried up the steps to the front porch and must have knocked half a million times before anyone answered. Dean wondered why, at first, before he saw the inside.

Everything was destroyed, rusted, or rotted. Nothing to fix, nothing to take away, nothing to save. Everything was gone. Everything was dead. And Bobby? Bobby was gone, long gone.

Dean gritted his teeth and forced himself to walk inside, look around, call out for who he'd once thought of as a second father. By the time he'd worked up the courage to shut the door behind him and leave this mess behind, all he'd found were a few banged up old cars, a used knife, and a lot of memories-good and bad.

*He hadn't found Bobby or El or Jo or Ash or-...or Gabriel. He was still alone.

When he got home, he didn't wait for Sam to yell at him for leaving without talking to him, just ran upstairs and searched for the little business card, all folded up and sweaty from being in Deans hand too long.

Except, when Dean found it, that's not what it was. It wasn't a phone number at all. It was a grocery list. Milk, eggs, beans, disappointment. Well, at least Dean had remembered to pick up one of those things.

Dean wasn't scared of people, per se. Mostly, he was scared of himself. Of what he'd do if he didn't see him there, following him to classes he isn't in and laughing at jokes that he's telling and just being...himself. He's the only person Dean knows who can do that and not get thrown in jail for it. It'd been a great quality when he was around to show it off but now...

Now it only made Dean miss him more. The days were getting harder, the nights were getting colder, and talking was happening less and less. So, when Sam asked again, Dean was fully prepared to just not do anything. It was one of the few things Gabriel showed him that actually came in handy.

Except Sam didn't ask. He called the professor, the dean, and had it all sorted out before Dean was even out of bed. Ignoring Sam was easy. Ignoring three Sams? ...A little more challenging. They all said he was going to school, no two ways about it, and who was Dean to argue? He had nothing else to do.

In the end, Dean was given the car keys and his phone and a wad of bills for a taxi and instructions to "look for the library, if you still know what that is". Apparently, that's where the in-school tutors worked. Huh.

Dean went, if only so he could drive his baby again. Sam rarely ever let him drive anymore, and if he did, it was always with him in the passenger seat, glaring at anyone who gave them two looks. It was a little embarrassing, so being alone on the road again...wasn't really much better, but it made Dean feel good, so he took the keys and the money and the phone and the puppy eyes and didn't look back as he drove off.

Dean made it to the campus relatively easy. He was a junior and its hard to forget somewhere you feel like you've spent your whole life, even if you forget everything else. Getting to the library, though, was a bit harder. On the campus and in the town, everything was just what it was-a burger joint, a parking lot, an apartment complex-but inside, everything was...more.

That locker was their meeting spot freshman year-his, actually. That office was their most frequent haunt sophomore year. Under those trees was their picnic spot. And when he passed down the hallway next to the boiling room, the only hall that would lead to the library he needed to get to, he finally stopped.

This wasn't where he was supposed to be. This wasn't where he needed to be. He needed so badly to be far, far away from here, in another life, where Gabriel had held his hand and the door for him as they walked in together. Dean was pretty sure that was the only time in Gabriel's life he had been a gentleman, but he was glad it'd been for him.

Dean shouldn't have been there, but he was. And he wasn't ever leaving again, not if memory had anything to say about it. Because that's all it was. Memory.

Gabriel opened the door in his mind, but Dean dropped his books (he'd picked them up from the eastern office) and did it himself. Gabriel made the awkward jokes about the smell, but Dean was the only one laughing. Gabriel was the one to push him up against the shelves, then push things off to make room to praise Dean on, but Dean... Dean collapsed. He knocked things over and laughed and cried and then, when he was done, he fell just like the rest of it, in a heap in the floor.

He wanted to imagine Gabriel in the janitors closet with him again, rubbing his back and telling him things would get better, than he was on his way, that he would be there. But he couldn't, not anymore. Because, honestly, had Gabriel ever really been?

After two hours of sobbing and kicking things and killing himself all over again, Dean stood up, grabbed his books, and went right back out to the car. The only thing that kept him from not stopping at the red light, from not taking that turn no one else was stupid enough to, was one thought on repeat: "Nine months, two weeks, five days."

It was finally happening. A year and a half and Dean was finally, finally moving on-out. Dean was moving out. Dean had moved on a year ago, in a nasty old closet in a school Dean doesn't even remember anymore.

But that isn't something Dean wants to think about. Dean, for once in his life, is happy. So happy, he could almost scream. He does, a little. On the inside. Sam, for all his worried smiles and jittery tics, screams right along with him.

"Are you sure you'll be okay without me? You can come home whenever you want, you know. I don't mind. Your room will always be ready for you, when you need it."

That wasn't my room and it wasn't my home, Dean wanted to say, but instead bit his lip, looked over and grinned back at Sam. Shaky as it was, it was real and that's more than Dean could say for most of his life. "Thanks Sam. For everything."

Sam looks like he could say something, was going to actually, but their was no time. All there was time for was a quick look to the right, a slight little breath. And then impact.

Dean was thrown against the wheel. He'd been off his nausea medication for only a month by now, and was proud of it, but he was really beginning to regret tossing all the remaining bottles out. He sure as hell needed them then. One eye was a little fuzzy, but when he put a hand to it, it came away bloody. Head cut, then. Concussion. His arm was a little funny too-oh, ouch, wow. That wasn't funny at all.

So a concussion, a broken or out-of-socket arm, and nausea. Time to check on Sam.

Sam didn't appear to be any better. He was out cold for one, and still leaning forward where he'd connected with the windshield, which was a spiderweb of cracks. On closer inspection, Dean was sure he'd find glass in the gash ripping through Sams noggin. Nothing else looked hurt. Maybe some bruised knees, ribs, a heart attack? Who knows.

Dean reaches a hand out and checks for a pulse on Sams wrist; it's a little fast, probably from the adrenaline, but there and strong. Dean decided to check on whoever they hit. It hadn't really sunk in yet-he'd hit a person for christ sake, how was he supposed to deal with that?-but in the meantime, he opened the door and collapsed to the pavement.

He landed on his wonky arm first and the jolt of pain was enough to send his nausea into full, vomit-inducing effect. Great. He'd be smelling that for two weeks. Probably in the slammer, where this guy would send him if he'd survived. Looking at the road, way over there, he didn't think he'd last five minutes in court, lawyer brother or not.

After Dean was done mourning the loss of his apartment and his "new start" and just his life in general, he pushed himself back onto his hands and knees, shut the car door with a kick, and crawled over to the man he had just hit.

Then, he threw up again. No way. It couldn't be. No way, no way, no way-

"Sir? Sir, are you alright?"

Dean looked up at the woman parked on the curb in front of them, quickly coming their way, brandishing her cellphone like a dangerous weapon. For a second, Dean feared it was and crawled a little closer to his accidental victim.

"N-" Dean coughed as exhaust and tears and bad memories crawled up his throat and choked out his pleas. *No, not this time. Not again. "N-noo-oo."

Deans eyesight was getting sort of fuzzy and dark now, but he could still hear the woman, clomp clomp clomping her way over. The clomping echoed in his head and drowned out whatever else she or he or anyone had to say. He couldn't feel himself collapse or see Gabriel staring at him pitifully. All he could hear was that clomp clomp clomping getting louder, faster, closer...

Dean remembers the hospital. Not fond memories, mind you, but he remembers it, all two and half months of treatments and therapy and pills and tears. No one was happy then. No one was happy now, either, but at least they were together. Finally, they were together.

Too bad Gabriel didn't remember him.

At first, Dean thought the crash might've been what made him forget. That he'd been on his way to Deans new apartment too, to celebrate with him and unpack with him and be with him. But the flowers he was holding when he was hit weren't for Dean. They were for Anna Milton, his girlfriend. A girl Gabriel remembers very, very well.

Gabriel wasn't Deans Gabriel, that much Dean had excepted-even expected. But what he didn't expect was for Deans Gabriel and this Gabriel to be exactly the same anyway. For starters, he still didn't know when to shut up, even if they guy he was talking to hit him with his car.

"You know, for a guy with a broken collar bone and a cast around his arm and leg, you are really chatty."

Gabriel shrugged. "For a guy with a nice car, you're pretty poor."

"That doesn't mean what I did wasn't wrong." Dean argued.

"Two wrongs don't make a right." Gabriel sing-songed back, and Dean laughed and that was the end of that.

Dean thought that if he ever got Gabriel back, what he'd miss most would be his hands. His cooking. His laugh. But in the end, the thing he'd really missed was his bluntness. His willingness to be that guy all the time, anytime, because Dean needed it.

Such as, "What happened to your ear?"

Dean covered it with one hand unconsciously. Normally he wore a beanie or ear mufflers to cover it up, but they'd taken everything off of him when they got him to the ER. He'd sort of forgotten about it until then.

"Nothing."

Gabriel scrunched up his nose; he hated being lied to. "Bull****."

It's none of your business, Dean wanted to say, but the truth is that it was. Gabriel had every right to know. Just not this Gabriel. Though the line between the two was getting thinner each day, Dean knew this was where to draw it.

"It's a sad story." He said instead. Gabriel nodded and didn't ask. Dean couldn't stop himself from thinking, my Gabriel would've.

Dean tried not to ask many questions. Who's Anna? Where do you work? Where do you live?, Dean didn't ask. He had a feeling he wouldn't want to know the answer.

So, like always (there never was an always, idjit), Gabriel asked for him. "You wanna talk? I'm bored."

Dean shrugged. Gabriel grinned; he'd planned this, the *******. "Why don't you talk a lot? You seem like you've got a lot on your mind."

Dean pouts a bit, thinking. Gabriel is always making him think. "I...I'm-Sam and I-I've been-"

"You don't have to answer, ya know? You."

Dean grinned. "Oh, was this truth or dare? I didn't know."

Gabriel's lips quirked, but he stayed serious and Dean deflated. "I don't want you know think bad about me."

"Why?" He asked, completely honest. This baffled Dean. "Why?" Why the hell not?

"You-...You mean a lot to me." Dean mumbled, face red hot. If Gabriel didn't hear, he could go to hell. There was no way Dean was repeating that.

But Gabriel must have heard it because he was silent for a while and when Dean looked over, he saw that he was making Gabriel think, too. Dean smiled.

Gabriel came to a decision not a moment later and grabbed Deans hands in his between their hospital beds. "Thank you, Dean." He smiled that hesitant smile he always did before he said something he didn't quite understand, but meant. "I'm not gonna let you down."

Dean smiled sadly and bit back the sob. *Oh, Gabriel. You already have.

Dean never met Anna. A week into their hospital visit, Gabriel reveals that the flowers were a making-up gift. She'd broken it up with him the night before over a long-existing argument and while Gabriel most definitely didn't want to get back together, he didn't feel right leaving her like that either.

"Anna always said I was too scared of confrontation, that I'd rather run away. I was determined to prove her wrong." Gabriel laughed, big and boisterous and real. "Actually, you really saved my hide there. I don't know if I would've lasted a whole afternoon, talking like that, with her..."

Dean put a hand on his. "You would've. I'm sure of it."

Gabriel smiles over at him, but its sad. He doesn't believe him. No matter, Dean would make him.

Dean never met Anna, but Gabriel did get to bask in Sammy for a little while. Granted, he was unconscious at the time, but Gabriel seemed to think it counted.

Dean was released before Gabriel was, but he came often to visit Sam (the walk to the hospital from Sams place wasn't a long one) and while he was there, he liked to "pop in" on Gabriel some too. A lot, actually. Maybe more than Sam. Gabriel didn't seem to mind. In fact, when he was finally released, he came back too.

"I wanna meet the guy whose stealing all your attention." Gabriel says, like it was his to have in the first place. Which, really, it was.

Dean shrugged and gave him the address to Sams apartment that he was living in until Sam woke up and kicked him out (inevitable), like it was no big deal. But it was. When Dean went outside the next day to wait for Gabriel, he found he'd been beat and Gabriel was simply standing there, leaning on his car. Waiting.

"We're not taking that." Dean said, pointing to the sleek red, not-automatic thing Gabriel was riding around in with slight envy. Even though I want to.

Gabriel pouted. "Why not?"

Dean couldn't help the look he gave Gabriel. "Are you serious? I hit you with my car."

"...and? I'm still breathing, right?" Gabriel shrugged. "No big deal." But it was.

Dean managed to convince Gabriel to leave the car in the apartment hold-em in the basement and take the walk with him instead, but just barely. Gabriel didn't stop pouting until they got there.

"He's...different-than I thought he would be, I ." Gabriel gave him a look. "Are you sure he's your baby brother and not just a baby giant that got lost?"

Dean shrugged, trying to hide the grin. "We never really figured it out. Mom died before we could ask."

Gabriel's grin disappeared, just like that. "Oh. Um, I'm...sorry-"

"You don't need to be. I'm plenty sorry enough for both of us."

Gabriel gave him a look, but nodded. After maybe fifteen minutes of just sitting there quietly, watching his brother sleep and breath and live for just one more day, Gabriel leaned his head on Deans. Dean went red but didn't move an inch. Just waited.

"Anything else I should know about?", Gabriel whispered.

Dean grinned and made a point to talk a little louder than normal. "My dads dead too. We moved around a lot as kids and ran away when we were high schoolers. Lived with a family friend, Bobby Singer, until college." Dean should shut up now, everything else he was to say isn't for this Gabriel. He doesn't need to hear this, probably doesn't even want to- "I'm pretty sure Dad knew we were there but he never came to look for us. I wonder if it was because he thought we didn't want him to, or if it was just 'cause he was tired of having us around."

Gabriel stayed quiet and when Dean looked over, he saw that Gabriel had moved leaning on Dean to leaning away. Dean still didn't stop.

"Either way, he died in Lawrence, Kansas, where we grew up before Mom died. In a house fire. The firemen never came and my mom was too busy trying to save us to think of herself. In the end, Mom and Dad both burned to death, just on different days, years. Same month, though."

Dean took a shaky breath. This was the first time he'd gotten it all out in one setting. It hurt, but it also felt a little good. Dean wiped away the tears to no avail and tried not to look at Gabriel while he gave the apologies. "I'm sorry-"

"No, you're not." Gabriel said, grabbing his hands again. "And you shouldn't be. What happened to you and your family sucks but you survived it as a family for as long as you could." Gabriel's hands moved from his hands to his shoulders, clinging like his life depended on it. "Dean, listen to me. Don't ever, ever feel sorry for giving up. You might hurt people, but you make it up by being happy for them. Running away is okay as long as you're still standing for round two."

Dean was sobbing hard and making small 'hic' sounds as he ran out of breath. Tears were streaming down his face and snot too probably and god, when had he last cried like this? Had he ever?

Gabriel grabbed his face and pulled him in for a rough, forceful, quick kiss and then he pulled him in further for a tight hug that Dean was more than willing to except. He squeezed Gabriel hard, knowing that at any moment, he could disappear too, just like their Dad. Just like him.

"I love you." Dean sobbed out in Gabriel's shirt, wrinkling and stretching it in his nervous, treacherous hands. He heard Gabriel sigh and felt him pat his back. "I know."

Gabriel went home with Dean that night. They slept in different rooms, Gabriel on the couch and Dean in his room upstairs, and watched awful nighttime TV without noticing and ate cereal in silence and left just the same. There was no reason, really, and neither mentioned it. They just moved and acted and hoped that the other would understand.

When they got to the hospital, they understood why it felt so tense before. The hospital was a blur of motion. Every nurse was going from room to room frantically, orders were being announced over the intercom, but every one seemed to ignore them, only focused on their current task and their current patient. Everyone seemed lost. Dean knew the feeling.

Dean and Gabriel looked at each other, not saying a thing but coming to the same decision; Sam would have to wait. With that they were thrown into the fray, each on their own path, their own ways, together.

By the time they were done, they had almost no energy to spare crying over Sam. But that was exactly how Dean found Gabriel when he came back to Sams room. Hands clenched on the rails of his bed, hair covering his face, wet spots forming on Sam's sheets. When Dean opened the door, Gabriel didn't move, didn't look up, didn't take his eyes off of Sam.

Dean saw why when he noticed the lack of "beep...beep...beep" he had become desensitized to over the past few months. They'd taken the heart monitor away. And the IV. Dean grinned a bit; Sam was free. No machines, no needles, no more coma. Sam was ready to go! But then he looked past Gabriel, further down, to Sams feet. And the tag hanging from his big toe.

Gabriel came to the funeral. He came to the will reading (and really, when had Sam written that?). He came to the moving party, though it was sort of short-listed.

"Exclusive", Gabriel had called it. It almost made Dean laugh again.

Gabriel was there for the whole shebang. The crying, the screaming, the blaming Gabriel, the blaming himself, the getting over it. The last stage took longer to reach than the others, but Gabriel was an optimist. Dean was learning to be one too.

*At least you got over it this time, Dean thought. Gabriel agreed.

After five months of grieving and semi-dating (could you call watching Blockbusters on the couch and eating microwave tacos out of the fridge a "date"?), Gabriel packed his things and moved in. It felt familiar, but Dean couldn't remember why. All he knew was that he had Gabriel and that was all he needed.

Gabriel wasn't around as much anymore. He'd never told him where he worked or what he did and Dean still couldn't build up the courage to ask, so he didn't know if it was because of work or...other things.

Dean tried not to think about it a lot, but it was like the tumor in Sams brain; it kept growing and growing until Dean felt like he'd erupt too. Finally, in bed one night, he asked, "Where do you keep disappearing to."

Gabriel frowned in a confused, sleepy way. "What are you talking about?" He mumbled, rubbing his eyes. "We never leave the house."

Gabriel keeps saying things, things that don't make sense.

"Who are you?" He'll ask at lunch. Dean will laugh, but Gabriel won't laugh too.

"Bobby's gonna throw a fit if you don't call him soon." He'll mention while flicking through reruns.

"Who's Bobby, babe?", he'll ask, and only get confused silence in return. Then Gabriel will stand, grab his coat and leave for an unpredictable amount of time. Maybe an hour, maybe a month, maybe a year. Dean doesn't worry, though. Gabriel will come back. He always does. After all, that's what friends are for.

One night, just like before, Gabriel's lying with his back against Deans chest, neither sleeping. Then Gabriel turns and asks a question.

"Dean...I've been hearing lot of rumors...-"

Dean snorts. "With friends like yours, I wouldn't expect any more." He couldn't for the life of him, though, name even one of said "friends".

Gabriel huffs and continues where he left off. "I was just wondering...if I hadn't stopped you...would've cut the other ear off too?"

Dean wakes up the next morning, question still ringing in his ears, to cold and empty and silence. Gabriel is gone. This time, he doesn't come back.

At what point God super glued Dean and Gabriel together as friends, Dean doesn't know. All he knows is that he's sitting in the bathtub looking at a lot of blood and someone is banging on the door and there's screaming and sirens and all he wants is Gabriel. And then he passes out, because not everyone can get everything they want.

A/N: This story occasionally strangled me. I think it succeeded once or twice.

Anyway, for those of you confused, the key to reading this story is to take it literally. *All of it. Hope that helps.

Read and Review

-Cath