Chapter Text
THREE AND A HALF YEARS EARLIER
GABRIEL
Gabriel narrows his eyes at the woman. She just looks back at him. Determined. Patient. What was her name again? He can't remember. He wasn't exactly listening all that closely. She’s maybe average height, middle aged. Late 40s? Maybe just edging into her fifties. Long dark hair. Strong. Attractive. Gabriel thinks of maybe flirting with her. Maybe that’ll get her to go away. But she reminds him a little too much of his dead mother for comfort. Especially with that look. He rolls his eyes instead, gingerly climbing out of bed and gathering his belongings. It’s time he blew this joint. He’s been here far too long as it is.
“I don’t need a shrink. I just need a goddamn vicodin and a bottle of bourbon. To drown my sorrows and forget about this merry shit storm.”
“That’s good, because I’m no therapist. I’m an artist.”
Gabriel pauses and lets out a loud chuckle.
Art therapy? Hells, that’s a new one. He whistles long and low, rocking back on his heels. “Are you gonna get me to draw my pain? Get my Mick Jagger on? Paint it all black?”
She lets out a little laugh of her own, crossing her arms across her chest and leaning back against the empty bed across from him.
“If it helps. Some people want me to share their story. Make something out of it. But I’m not here in that capacity. I’m just a volunteer. Sometimes it helps to talk to a stranger. Starts the healing off the right way. Better than losing yourself at the bottom of one too many bottles.”
Gabriel rolls his eyes again. He’s not a goddamn alcoholic and he’s not... He’s really not...
“I’m not a victim,” he hisses, jaw clenching as he glares at her.
She eyes him carefully, expression... that’s not pity, he thought he’d see pity... No it’s something else. He looks away. Regardless, he can’t take that shit.
“No I’d wager you’re not,” she says after a beat, tone measured. “I’d wager you’re a survivor.”
He snorts out another little laugh. It sounds bitter, even to his own ears. “So you know my story. Congratulations. It’s not like the whole damn town knows my crap or anything. Knows all about my tragic past, all my little screw ups, all the sordid deets. My reputation proceeds me, good to know.”
He flings off the hospital gown, not caring one bit that he’s exposing himself completely to this stranger. If she won’t leave? Then she can have a damn eyeful.
He expects coughing, spluttering, exclamations. Maybe a few fruity swear words. But nada. He looks across at her. She merely raises one sardonic eyebrow in his direction.
“Ain't got nothing I haven’t seen a million times over.”
It’s Gabriel’s turn to raise his eyebrows. Ooh kinky. Maybe he’s misjudged her.
She unfolds her arms and sits her ass down on the bed across from him. Looks like she’s settling in, not leaving like he hoped.
“I’m an artist Gabriel. And a tutor besides. Teach a bunch of students how to draw the human body most days of the damn week. You ain't gonna phase me by pulling that shit.”
She just looks up at him, arms crossing again, waiting patiently for him to start dressing himself. Gabriel looks away, pursing his lips, then hissing in a breath as he pulls his undershirt over his head. It’s got blood on it. Great, just great.
“You’ve dealt with a lot of crap in your life Gabriel.”
She’s been quiet for so long, that Gabriel almost forgot she was there. He startles, hands freezing in the process of pulling his jeans carefully up over his bruised ass.
“You don’t have to do it alone. There’s nothing wrong with accepting a little help from time to time.”
He makes a face and turns around. “I don’t need any help. I’ve got my pain in the ass bros for that. I’ve got me. I’ve made it this far on my own.” He chuckles again. “I may have shit all to my name, no job and rent past due, but...” He shrugs his shoulders. “What’s new?”
She draws her eyebrows together in a concerned frown. Gabriel rolls his eyes again. Yeesh, enough with the mother hen look. She doesn’t know him from Adam. What’s with all the concern?
He points to the cut on his cheek, circling his index finger around the wound. It still stings like all Hells. He just hopes the doc’s not just placating him, hopes to hell it doesn’t scar. Because the last thing he needs is a great big scar right smack bang in the centre of his face. “The asshole who did this? Oh, just so happens to have been my boss.”
The look she’s giving him. What is that? Still not pity. Not disbelief. He can’t figure it out.
“That means my sorry, bruised and battered ass is down one job. Yeesh, I know, sleeping with the boss... Reap what you sow and all that jazz. I was never exactly down with taking the easy, cautious route. My lil bro... Hells, he saw this coming, but I was a little too busy getting my brains banged out to care.”
Gabriel draws in a long breath through his nose. He doesn’t want to think about that dick. Wants to forget the whole sorry mess happened at all. Cassie was right, knew right from the start that Amadeus was no good. Even Luke... used to call him Asmodeus, Prince of demons. Even he fucking knew. What the fuck sort of name is that anyways? Named after a goddamn composer. He certainly had delusions of grandeur. And Gabriel never quite measured up. Sure he was good for a fuck, but he was always “too much”... an embarrassment. He bought Gabriel new clothes. Designer threads. And Gabriel was too stupid to see. Thought the lavish gifts showed he cared, but now it’s so obvious. He was shaping Gabriel, trying to make him measure up. When he insisted Gabriel cut his hair, short back and sides, getting rid of all signs of those messy curls... It should have been a giant red flag. But he was too fucking stupid to see it. Maybe, admittedly, a little too taken in by the luxurious lifestyle. The fancy pants restaurants, the upper class cocktail bars and swanky hotel rooms.
He takes in another deep breath. No. It’s over. He doesn’t have to deal with that dickbag again. Jimmy told him as soon as they found him. Stuck by his side after he collected all the evidence, took all the pictures. Donna even reassured him herself, her anger clear even over the static of the radio. He’s going to pay for what he did. The sheriff’s going to stay right there until he’s discharged, drag him back in cuffs. Gabriel shakes his head. Enough. It’s done.
He buttons up his jeans, runs his hands through his short hair and looks up at the woman. She’s still here, waiting patiently, a reassuring presence. Woa woa woa. When did that happen? When did he decide it was ok to trust her? It doesn’t matter. She may be ok, may be on his side, but she sure as shit can’t change his situation. Sure has shit can’t help him in any way that’ll make a difference right now.
“Look uh... thanks for the concern and all, but unless you can wave that magic paintbrush of yours and conjure up... hmm I don’t know, something useful... like a job, I’m gonna bounce.”
She purses her lips, a thoughtful expression playing over her features. For one absurd moment Gabriel wonders if she’s going to reach into her pocket and brandish that very paint brush, wave away his worries with one sweep of the handle. He shakes his head and turns around to pick up his suit jacket. He grimaces. This isn’t him, isn’t him at all. First chance he gets, he’s ditching this crap. Maybe build a pyre in his back yard. Except he doesn’t have a back yard. Likely he won’t have a damn apartment soon enough.
“Maybe I can help you with that.”
He spins on his heel, arms halfway into his jacket, eyebrows raising almost to his hairline.
“Seems we’re losing one of our best models. Got a place with some big agency in New York. We could do with another regular contract to pick up the slack.”
Gabriel just gapes at her. A model? Is she really suggesting that he...?
“Close your mouth boy, you look like a guppy.” She gets to her feet, lips pursed. “Of course you’d need a fair bit of training. Maybe start up some yoga or somethin. Helps with the strength, endurance, flexibility...”
“I’m plenty flexible,” Gabriel interrupts, eyebrows dancing about his forehead.
The corners of her mouth twitch upwards before she continues. “No doubt. And you don’t seem to have much problem with getting naked in front of strangers.” She raises one eyebrow at him. Gabriel just rolls his eyes again. “And here’s the kicker. You strike me as someone who maybe likes to piss off those who’ve done you wrong. Ain't much we can do about the asshole who screwed you over this time, but I gather Donna’s got that one covered.”
Gabriel’s brow furrows. As astute as that statement might be... what’s she getting at?
“The arrogant bastard who messed up your future though... well at least one of them...”
Zachy? Is she talking about Zachy? The name fits. Arrogant. Check. Bastard. Check. But what the Hells has that got to do with him potentially being paid to take his clothes off...? Again.
“Guess who just enrolled in my class?”
Gabriel’s eyebrows raise almost to his hairline. Holy cats.
The woman nods her head a fraction. “What say you come train with me? What say you turn up to that first class, drop that robe and strut out there with your head held high? I don’t know about you, but I’d rather like to see the expression on that smarmy asshole’s face.”
Maybe, just maybe, things are starting to look up. And maybe... just this once... maybe he can accept a helping hand. Gabriel rocks back on his heels a wide smile spreading across his features.
“Hells yeah.”
~~~
PRESENT DAY
SAM
Sam takes in a deep breath as he steps into the room on shaking legs. His eyes alight on the figure lying in the hospital bed. Wires and tubes stretch out from his still form, connected to machines and IV stands by his bedside. It’s less than he expected, but somehow worse. He looks small. So damn small. Despite the somewhat awkward difference in their heights, despite the constant jibes his brother makes, Sam’s never really thought of Gabriel as small. He was always... larger than life, his presence filling up any room he walked into, his smile lighting up... God he looks so small.
Sam closes his eyes tightly, muscles tensing. A reassuring hand squeezes his shoulder as a sob escapes from between his lips.
“It’s ok Sammy. See, he’s in good hands. They’re takin good care of him. He’s gonna be ok.”
Sam’s not sure if Dean even believes what he says. It’s almost like he’s functioning on autopilot, repeating the same words over and over again. Somehow it doesn’t matter. Somehow it still helps. Some of the tension uncoils from his body at that touch, at the soothing tone of his brother’s voice. He nods his head a fraction. He’s not ready for words, but he hopes his brother gets it anyway.
Opening his eyes, he steps forward. One foot in front of the other, lowering himself into the solitary chair by the bedside. He steels himself before looking back at Dean. Another nod, another look. An exchange, not of words, but Dean understands him anyway. Pursing his lips and giving Sam one small tight smile, Dean leaves the room. He’ll wait outside, be there in an instant if Sam needs him. Cas too. Maybe even Luke. Something has changed between them. An odd sort of respect. Sam knows that Luke still doesn’t hold onto much hope, but he doesn’t share his nihilistic outlook. Not anymore. He just stares into space. Just waits. Quiet. Broken. Just like the rest of them.
Biting his lip, Sam draws his eyes back to Gabriel’s prone form. He had thought that Gabriel would look like he was sleeping, even with the ventilator, the tubes and wires and the insistent beeping of the machines around him. But... but he doesn’t. Because Gabriel doesn’t sleep like this, body held in a stiff line, arms laid out by his side, head in the center of his pillow, with hair swept neatly back from his face. There’s nothing neat or ordered about the way Gabriel sleeps. He’s a sprawl of limbs. He’s warm breath and maybe... on occasion... a little bit of drool, pooling on Sam’s bare skin. His hair’s ever tangled, his bedhead spactacular and so goddamn beautiful it makes Sam’s chest ache. He’s sleepy golden eyes blinking up at him. He’s a hard aching length pressed into his thigh and then rubbing right there until Sam smiles and draws him closer, maybe wraps a hand around him, maybe dips his head under the covers...
This isn’t sleep. It’s too peaceful. Too quiet. Too still.
His eyes are stinging, vision blurring. He rubs a shaking hand over his face. But he doesn’t drop that hand to his side. Instead he reaches forward, tentatively taking hold of the hand lying still in front of him. It’s warm. There are no wires here, the IV and heart monitor are on the other side. It’s just Gabriel. Those perfect hands. So much smaller than his own. He threads their fingers together, squeezes gently. The hand stays limp in his grasp. No movement, no indication that Gabriel felt anything at all.
Are you still in there?
Sam swallows around the lump in his throat, takes another shaking breath. He lets the tears fall.
“I...” His voice comes out as a harsh croaky rasp. He swallows again. It hurts to talk, the painkillers he took doing little to ease the ache in his throat, or the dull throbbing of his head. But... but he needs... He needs to let this out. To share with his lover... his best friend. “I... I did something really stupid today. Almost got my idiot ass killed. Almost... I guess ah... I guess I’m not going to be joining Mensa anytime soon.” He lets out a little laugh; it sounds more like a sob. “I really need you to wake up... Need you to tell me what a goddamn fool I’ve been. Luke too... God your brother. He’s been a... a giant bag of dicks... almost got himself arrested and... I’m not sure Cassie can handle it.” He smiles as he realises he just used Gabriel’s pet name. “Dean doesn’t know what to do... He keeps on buying cups of crappy coffee that no one wants to drink... Keeps on hovering and... Gabe I think... I think maybe I saw a tear. Just the one but uh... I think you really need to wake up now and...” He smiles and dips his head. “You need to never let him forget it... Oh sure he’ll deny it, call you names and roll his eyes but we’ll all know the truth. He cares about you. You’re family and he’s just as worried as we all are...”
Sam falls silent, lets the tears fall, listens to the steady beep of the heart monitor, watches the gentle rise and fall of Gabriel’s chest.
“We... we need you to come back to us... Your family needs you.”
He draws in another shaking breath, eyes drifting up to Gabriel’s face. He looks so pale. So still. So damn fragile. But he’s still there. Sam has to believe that. Has to believe that he’s still in there somewhere.
“Gabriel, I need you.”