"and the best thing you've ever done for me is to help me take my life less seriously; it's only life after all." closer to fine by indigo girls

If there's one thing Gabriel remembers about the beginning, it's this: one single blue planet, a tiny little dot, and his Father pointing at the sphere, saying, "That. That's going to be the most important one."

They circle each other like lions in a cage, each analyzing the other as methodically as Michael always taught them.

(No, not like that. More precise. Faster. Better. You call yourselves soldiers?)

Gabriel drags the tips of his shoes along the ground, scuffing the hardwood floor as he listens to his brother speaking through the mouth of an already rotting corpse. He almost wishes they could meet like this in heaven, just so he could see Lucifer's true face when he dies, when his older brother murders him.

(Because he knows how this ends, of course he does. That doesn't stop him from wishing that Lucifer would stop it all.)

When he feels the blade plunge in his gut, the blood rising in his mouth, he's almost relieved. At least he didn't explode. That was always one of his favorites. He makes sure to contort his face so that he looks shocked and hurt; if he's going to die, he might as well make sure his big brother has every opportunity to see himself for exactly what he is. He feels a vicious pleasure when he sees the regret in his eyes. This is what he can give them.

He feels a twist in his gut, a flash of light, and then nothing.

And then, once more, something.

He opens his eyes slowly, carefully, unsure of what exactly happened. He's still in the fucking hotel. He can see the imprint of his wings stretched out along the floor, a feathery stain of his death. So why is he alive?

He sits up too quickly and immediately leans to the side to throw up. That's new.

"Motherfucker."

Human.

Shit.

He stumbles out of the building, dodging the bodies of the so-called gods as he walks through the halls. Why they insist on calling themselves all-powerful when he or any of his siblings could kill them with a snap of their fingers Gabriel doesn't know, but Kali always had a bit of a narcissistic personality. He wonders if she would take him human. He knows she wouldn't.

He wanders out into the parking lot, unsure of how exactly he's going to get home without wings. Then he's struck with the thought that he doesn't really have a home anyway.

"Hey," he whispers to his vessel, an old, racist, Civil War vet he took back when he still gave a damn. "Are you still in there?"

"He left decades ago," someone else confirms, strolling into Gabriel's field of vision as he points to the sky. "You're one hundred percent you. Just without the fancy tech."

Gabriel sizes up the man, who looks to be a scrawny, artsy sort of guy. "And who are you exactly?"

A look of grief crosses the man's face, and he takes a step forward. "Don't you remember me, Gabriel?"

"No, who are-" And it clicks. "Dad?"

He smiles, taking another step forward, spreading his arms as if to hug him. "Yes, Gabriel, I'm-"

Gabriel punches him in the face.

"Ow, jeez, that hurt. Michael did good with you."

"What the fuck, Dad? Where were you? What did you do?"

He shrugs, raising his shoulders to his ears. "I'm not technically supposed to be here, actually. I'm pretending to be the prophet Chuck."

"Oh, wow, real original, old man. Pretending to be the messenger of your own word, I'm sure that's never been done before."

"Hey, I created them, I should get at least some credit for their ideas."

Gabriel gazes at the face of his Father. "Why did you leave?"

"C'mon, Gabe," he mutters. "You know I couldn't stay. I was never supposed to stay. I had to let you do things on your own. I had to let them do things on their own."

"So why do something now?"

He laughs ruefully, shaking his head as he replies softly, "I don't really know. I owed you that much. I owed all of you that much. You all gave everything you had, and I know those two idiots will never remember to remember you."

"All of us? All of who-"

A flash, and then nothing.

And then, once more, something.

He wakes again on the ground, but this time without an imprint of his own demise scattered around him. He rolls onto his stomach, pushing himself off of the floor by his knuckles as he assesses his surroundings.

The hardwood floors are a dark brown, lacquered over to look expensive and to manage spills. A long, flat counter is directly in front of him, the tall chairs a clear sign of what this entire place is.

"Why did you send me to a fucking bar?" he says aloud, tapping his hand on the pool table as he walks by. There's a dart board on the wall with a picture someone got of Lucifer's vessel (although he doubts they would really make the distinction between the body and the angel). He laughs.

Unfortunately, in the same moment, he hears the unmistakeable click of a hammer, the sound of high heel boots pacing the floor a few feet away. He turns, only to see a young, blonde woman pointing a loaded shotgun at him, the weapon cocked toward his head.

"Who are you? Why are you here?" she snarls.

"I don't know," he says hurriedly, backing up a step. "I just found myself here all of a sudden."

She heaves a sigh in response, dropping the gun. "Mom!" she calls toward the back. "We've got another one!"

"Really?" another female voice shouts in reply. "How many people have died in this goddamn apocalypse?"

The woman takes the gun and rests in on the bar, steps forward and quickly shakes his hand. "Hey. I'm Jo Harvelle. This is Harvelle's Roadhouse. You died. We're currently in Nebraska. You can stay or leave, whatever you want. It's up to you."

"i know I died, girly," Gabriel snorts, "I got the whole spiel. The name is Gabriel."

"Wait," the second woman, Jo's mother apparently, says, stepping into the room. "How do you know what happened? Normally he just drops them off, no information, and we've gotta fill in the blanks."

He smirks. "Well, maybe I'm just special."

"No," Jo says slowly, "Gabriel. Like the angel Gabriel. You're an archangel, aren't you?"

"Was," he bites out tersely. "Not anymore."

"You're human now?" the second woman asks.

"It seems that way."

"Well, I guess this is as good a place to start as any. I'm Ellen Harvelle. I own this place. You can have a job here if you want. Us dead people need to watch out for each other."

"You spoke to God?" Jo asks, shock evident in her voice. "We were just put here with everything already in our heads."

"He's my Father. He said he owed me that much. And he did. Now what do you want me to do?"

Ellen runs her eyes over him, scanning him as if he were a fruit at a supermarket. It makes him feel vaguely violated. "You can start as a busboy and we'll go from there. There's an extra room upstairs. We'll drive you to town tonight to get some basics." She turns on her heel and walks away, back to the kitchen. Jo grabs her gun, inadvertantly pointing it at Gabriel, and snorts when he cowers.

"Not immortal anymore, huh?" She smirks. "Get used to it."

He buys jeans and combat boots and a black leather jacket, using money from a wallet he didn't actually know he had. When Ellen makes him a quick microwave dinner he devours the plate like a starving man, because apparently he hasn't eaten since the 1870s.

He pretends not to notice the way both of them look at him like he'll break any second. He pretends he's okay when he sees a little figurine of an angel hanging on the wall, something Ellen explains came with the building. The next day, he pretends that he slept well, without nightmares of his older brothers dying in a blazing fire. If either of them heard him screaming awake in the early hours of the morning, they don't mention it.

Working there is more difficult than he expected. Sure, he was there when the angels were first discovering the wonder that is domesticated humans, but he always ended up getting bored and leaving before seeing them do actual physical labor. Which is indeed boring. And hard.

The place doesn't get a lot of business, but he quickly realizes that they don't really need much when they cater to a very specific niche. Jo always looks at the lot of them like she wishes she too could go out and hunt things, but Ellen always shakes her head whenever she asks. He avoids the younger Harvelle on those days.

Apparently he's the first in a while to get resurrected. No pagan gods have passed through, for which he is thankful. They all hated him, and they were weak egomaniacs anyway. He keeps to himself, which he finds much easier than expected. Sometimes Jo tells him about a book she's reading or a movie she saw or a story someone told her, and he sees why Dean was halfway in love with her from when he looked at his memories.

Everything happens and keeps happening and Gabriel is helpless to do anything about it. He finds it almost comforting.

One day they're cleaning up after closing, and it's the early hours of the morning, and Ellen went into town to get more stock, and Gabriel is struck suddenly with the thought that he knows virtually nothing about the woman next to him. He became so used to seeing everything about everyone he's ever met, but he has never met her so he doesn't know.

(C'mon, little brother, Lucifer used to say. If you don't know, ask. That's the trick to getting them.)

"Do you miss it?" he asks quietly, breaking the silence with his words.

She turns toward him slightly, running a mop over a particularly difficult stain. "Miss what?"

"You know. Saving people, hunting things." He leaves out "the family business" that Dean was so fond of telling to Sam. He thinks it's too personal, anyway.

"Not really. At first I did, but I think now I'd rather be alive." She smirks ruefully. "I read a quote, after I, you know. Died. Some J.D. Salinger thing. I memorized it, in case I ever thought about leaving my mom and trying to start up again."

"What was it?" He looks at her, genuinely interested in what she's going to say.

"It's something like, 'the mark of the immature man is that he wants to die nobly for a cause, while the mark of the mature man is that he wants to live humbly for one.'" She shrugs. "I just figured I had some actual, non-hunting growing up to do before I thought about deciding to pick it up again."

In the dim lighting, the golden-red glow hitting her pale hair until it looks like static on her head, she looks like something otherworldly, like something he's never seen. He finds it both impressive and disconcerting. Beautiful and tragic.

"I get that." He laughs softly, shaking his head. "Continuing the family business is something I realized wasn't in my best interest. Not that I've done anything since leaving that was in anyone's best interest."

She laughs in return, pulling out her ponytail and running her long fingers through her hair. "You know, that entire messed up angel thing reminds me of this song I like. C'mon, I'll show you."

She pulls him by the arm up the stairs to her room, which is right next to his. She opens the door, walking over to the computer while he looks around the room. It's simple and neat, which is what he expected. It suits her. "I used to listen to the Dresden Dolls, back when I decided to completely reinvent my tastes. I realized everything I ever did was what my mom did. And she never listened to them. So here, this is by one of the members, Amanda Palmer." She clicks on a lyrics video, and turns up the speakers, letting the music blast through the room.

He looks idly at the words as it plays, noting that it's not the type of music he was expecting. It also suits her, though.

All day I've been wondering what is inside of me, who can I blame for it? I say it runs in the family.

"This reminds you of us?" he asks, pointing at the screen.

She nods her head, and he laughs.

"It's good."

With me, well, I'm well, well, I mean, I'm in hell, well, I still have my health, at least that's what they tell me.

"Oh, this is perfect for Luci. And all of us, actually. Mostly Castiel. You met him, right?"

"Yeah. Nice guy. A little weird. But nice."

"I suppose it's true," he says thoughtfully. "Hunting. Angeling. It does run in the family."

"What a horrible, dysfunctional, fucked-up family."

They don't say anything for a moment, but then start laughing until they can't remember why they began in the first place. Gabriel thinks maybe this is what it's like to have a real friend. He thinks that's nice, too.

Run from their pity, from responsibility.

I cannot, I cannot, I cannot run from my family.

A few more angels drop in after that, but before Jo can say anything they simply run out of the bar into the street. Gabriel thinks maybe it's best that they leave, either way.

It's a month after he died, and the night sky is an abnormal shade of indigo, a deep, bright blue color that makes everything outside look like something out of a Van Gogh (because Gabriel does in fact have a cursory knowledge of human history, thank you very much). He's standing on the front sidewalk, smoking because he might as well take any and every advantage he can for a break from work when he hears Jo shout from the front room.

"Gabriel!" she yells to him because Ellen went into town for the night, her voice sing-songing through the syllables. "Another one!"

He stamps out the cigarette underneath his boots and turns to head inside, only to be greeted with a sight he hoped he would never see again.

"Zach. What a horrible surprise." He remembers the little cockroach from when he had just a little two much fun with the firstborn number in Egypt. Even Gabriel had a little trouble with that one.

Jo has him at bay with her gun, but when she turns her head at his voice, Zachariah knocks it away and spins her around, wrapping his arm around her neck.

"Gabriel. Haven't seen you since the Great Depression. How's it hanging?"

"Just fine. I died. So did you. I'm betting Dad didn't roll out the welcome mat for you though, huh? How's that feel?"

"Stings," he grits out, pushing his forearm hard against the column of her throat. Jo makes a little noise somewhere between a moan and a yelp, and Gabriel starts toward her. "He made us human. Do you know how much that hurts? Hurts me deep, Gabe."

"Let her go," he says lowly, taking another step forward. "Come on, Zach. It's over. You're human, and humans actually have to face consequences when they kill. Let her go."

"No, I don't think I will. This one will make a statement. 'Dead again' has such a nice ring to it, don't you think? Maybe this will get Dad's attention." He moves his hand to her neck, tightening around her throat, the look in his eyes as wild and vicious as a wounded animal.

For a moment Gabriel is stunned, but then he is moving into action, sprinting across the room. By the time he gets there, though, Jo has already incapacitated him, and stands with her boot at his neck.

"About time," she says breathlessly. "It was getting a bit scary there. So, I'm guessing he's an angel, too?"

"Yeah, he was in my garrison, for a time. Little bastard's all kinds of crazy."

"They're ruining it all as we speak," he hisses from the ground. "They're going to try to stop Lucifer by themselves."

"Maybe it's for the best," Gabriel says quietly in reply. "I mean, god knows we need to end this, once and for all. By any means necessary."

"God knows nothing," he spits out.

Jo laughs, but it's an empty, angry sound. "You two have some serious daddy issues."

"You're one to talk," Zachariah snickers. "I've seen the Winchester's entire family history, remember? I know all about you." The last word he punctuates with a twist of his body, pulling Jo by her leg until she lands on her back next to him. He scrambles up, grabbing the handgun from the bar top. For a moment, Gabriel feels that moment of dread once more, knowing that he's going to die at the hands of his family. He closes his eyes, and-

Zachariah puts the barrel in his mouth, pulls the trigger. His body falls to the floor with a sickening thud as a earsplitting shot rings out, and Jo screams.

Gabriel rushes over, not quite sure of what just happened. Blood is quickly spreading across the floor, some of it already soaked onto her hair and neck even as she stands.

"Oh, no. Oh my god." She frantically runs her fingers along the tips of her ponytail, pulling her hand back to see the sticky, red blood soaking her fingertips.

"Shit," he mutters, kneeling to look at the sizable hole Zachariah put into his head. "Damn it."

Jo sinks to the floor, her hands shaking, as Gabriel sets about cleaning up the mess, wiping the blood off the floor as if it were only just alcohol.

When he comes back from burying the body, he can hear Jo still showering, her quiet sobs coming loud and clear through the paper thin walls. He knocks on the bathroom door when he hears the water turn off, cautiously entering when he realizes it's not locked.

"Jo?" he calls carefully, walking in more fully to see her curled up on the floor, still completely clothed, her hair sending tracks of water down her thin shoulders.

"Is it out?" she asks quietly. "I can't tell."

He crouches beside her and tugs at the end of her hair. "Yeah. It's out."

He doesn't protest when she wordlessly pushes him to sit against the wall, crawls into his lap, swinging one of her legs around to straddle him. He stops her from connecting her mouth with his, simply cradles the back of her neck as he whispers in her hair, "That's not a great idea."

"No, but it's a good one." She tries again, pulling him by the ear to face her fully, but he stops her again.

"I was an angel, remember? I don't work like that. I don't think I can," he lies easily, grinning at her softly. "Just wait for the first drunk hunter you see. It'll be a whole lot simpler if you don't have to see him again in the morning."

She laughs shakily, wiping away some tears from under her eyes, and he knows they'll be okay. "Yeah, alright. You're right."

They spend the night on the bathroom floor, her wrapped around his torso, and he wonders when he started acting like he has a soul.

Adam happens, so there's that.

Jo uses a shotgun with him, just for safety's sake, and the little teenager cowers as he shouts, "Where am I?"

She sighs, and Gabriel chuckles from the other side of the room. "Mom! Another one!"

She sticks out her hand to shake, which the boy tentatively takes, and recites her whole spiel. "So. Who are you?"

"Adam. Milligan."

Gabriel starts, looks toward Jo who has made no indication the name means anything to her. "Aren't you the third Winchester?"

Adam shivers. "Yeah. Last thing I remember Sam. Lucifer. Whoever- we were falling into this massive hole in the ground. And then I woke up here."

"You mean- you mean Michael and Lucifer are in the cage? Together?"

"Yeah I guess."

Gabriel and Jo look to each other, and Jo suddenly lets out a yell. "It's over!"

He laughs and runs over, pulling her off the ground in a bone-crushing hug. "C'mere, Adam! Welcome to the family!" He pulls the younger man by the arm until they're in a weird three-person hug. For a second, he thinks he sees him smile. Either way, it's a good moment.

Adam takes up his duties as busboy, because any friend of his father's is a friend of his, and Gabriel is finally promoted to bartender number two. As a result, he and Jo are shoved together more often in the tiny space behind the bar, which, he decides, isn't half bad.

And if Ellen gives him a few pointed glares when he starts trying to make Jo laugh at every opportunity, well. He doesn't see the problem, really.

"You're Gabriel, right? The archangel?" Adam asks him out of the blue. They're standing outside the front, on their smoke break, and Adam hasn't really tried to speak to him anytime before this, but Gabriel figures he was just working up the courage.

"Ex," he replies shortly, breathing out a puff of polluted air. "Why do you ask?"

"What would it have been like? If I had to go in there. With. Them." He looks at Gabriel expectantly, concern marring his brow. "You know them, what would it have been like?"

He takes a final drag, turning to Adam as he stamps it out. "Whatever you're thinking, multiply it times ten. I love Luci, despite his more homicidal psychopathic tendencies, hell, I love Michael, even if he is a pretentious douchebag. But they're messed up in ways I can't even imagine. And most of it isn't even Dad's fault. They're just horrible, horrible people. So it would've been bad. Really bad. And you never would've gotten out."

"So," he swallows, obviously trying to figure out how to phrase what he wants to say, "you're saying Sam and Dean. My brothers, they would've just. Forgotten me? Just like that?"

He nods. "Yeah. They would've let you bleed in there. Just like that. You'd be surprised what you can rationalize when that much shit happens to you. To them, you're not a brother. You're just some kid who was the son of their father."

Adam nods, tightening his jaw. "Yeah. That's what I thought."

Gabriel sighs, slinging his arm around his shoulder. "C'mon, Adam the Madam. Buck up. You're here, with me and Ellen and Jo. That oughta count for something." He shakes him roughly until Adam chuckles too, shoving him away halfheartedly.

"Yeah, okay. Whatever." He smiles, walking back into the bar to start work.

Gabriel rolls his shoulders and looks up at the sky, raising his fist in the air like he's Bender at the end of The Breakfast Club. "You finally did good, Dad."

He walks back inside, smiling at Jo as he climbs over the bar. He barely notices when Ellen tells him to stop making googly-eyes and get back to work, damn it.

She makes sure he does notice the second time, though.

The summer quickly turns to fall, and, despite his protests, they have a twentieth birthday party for Adam after closing. Ellen buys a cake since none of them can bake, and Gabriel sings a version of "happy birthday" that some hooker once taught him. It makes Adam and Jo laugh, but Ellen smacks him in the back of his head.

He decides it was worth it as he watches Jo continue to giggle every time she catches his eye.

Halfway through the cake she realizes that he doesn't have a birthday, so Adam decides to share his.

"We'll be like twins," he says happily, handing him another slice.

They sing a second time, though there are no candles to blow out. Instead, Gabriel shotguns the cake, to a loud "gross!" from Jo and "why?" from Ellen.

All in all, it's a good night.

He notices the picture of Lucifer's vessel still on the dartboard one day and he takes it down. "Does anyone know what happened to him?" he asks, raising the picture so that Adam can see it.

He shrugs. "I don't know, actually. Lucifer had already switched to Sam by the time they fell in the cage." He pauses. "Did Sam ever get out?"

"Probably. He got you out, he got Sam out too. I'm betting he just sent him and Luci's vessel to other places. They were probably special cases."

He asks his Father for a sign of what happened later that night, and wakes in the morning to a simple note; Nick's fine. Sam's less fine. I don't know what's going to happen with him just yet. I'll keep you posted.

Gabriel pins it up to the bulletin board in the back room for everyone else and decides there's nothing else to be done. They're not his responsibility, anyway.

He wakes up one morning and goes downstairs to eat breakfast, and when he sees Adam and Jo smiling at each other over their Cheerio's he feels a sour taste in the back of his throat that he doesn't understand.

He continues eating his Lucky Charms and hopes it will go away on its own.

To make a long story short: it doesn't.

Every time he sees Adam make Jo laugh or smile or talk to him without including the word "asshole" he feels it all over again until it's a constant presence, curled up in the pit of his stomach waiting to be called into action at the slightest provocation.

He heads into his room after a particularly long day only to be greeted with another note; It's called jealousy, Gabe.

He doesn't like it, and he crumples the paper up and throws it away.

It's the whole soul thing, he knows. When he was an angel he could sleep with whoever he wanted, could delude himself into believing he was in love with Kali, but without a soul he couldn't feel the basic emotions tied with love.

When he lost his grace and got a soul, he lost his last defense against becoming totally human.

This realization irritates him to no end.

He decides there is only one course of action to take (besides killing Adam which he is averse to, both morally and physically, because his vessel isn't exactly at an advantage, there), and that is to just say something.

"Hey Jo did you-" He stops, and doesn't say anything until Jo finally raises her eyebrows in confusion. "Did you get this side of the bar?"

She nods and turns away, confused, and Gabriel wishes God would strike him down where he stands.

Saying something is going to be more difficult than he thought.

New Year's Eve is a human tradition that Gabriel decides he will never understand. Birthdays he gets, because it's an entire other year in which he didn't die, but New Year's is like a weird, middle thing that doesn't actually celebrate anything.

It celebrates how many times the Earth has gone around the sun since Jesus was born (or since when humans thought Jesus was born).

How lame is that?

But there he is, with a "festive" party hat that Ellen forced on him and a bottle of beer that he got for himself, while Adam and Jo attempt to get him to dance to the weird, amalgamation song that the radio station apparently does every year of the most popular songs of 2010. Eventually Jo pulls him to his feet, and he halfheartedly does a spin as she laughs. Ellen smirks, and he flips her off before cowering at her glare.

Two minutes from midnight he excuses himself to have a smoke (but mostly to avoid watching the way Adam actually dances when Jo asks him to), and blows rings into the cold, night air.

He hears the door open, the sounds of shouting from all the bar patrons coming through loud and clear, and he turns just as Jo steps outside.

"What are you doing out here, it's almost midnight," she says breathlessly. "We still have to do the countdown!" She walks over, leaning on him with all her weight and pulling at his hand. "C'mon, Gabriel! It's almost a new year!" She says the words as if they mean much more than they do and waggles her eyebrows dramatically as she smiles.

He smirks in reply, shaking his head no. "It's too loud in there. I'll celebrate the planet's accomplishment out here, with my handy, dandy cigarette."

"Well," she says, grasping at straws, "who are you going to kiss at midnight then?"

He laughs at that. "That's really a tradition?"

"Of course. It's mostly just an excuse for people to start the year with them getting some, but it's a tradition."

Inside he can hear them beginning to shout the numbers to the countdown, and Jo looks at him with something like a challenge in her eyes.

10! 9! 8!

"So? You gonna come inside?"

5! 4! 3!

"Happy New Year's, Joanna Beth Harvelle."

2! 1! Happy New Year!

"Happy New Year's, Gabriel No-Last-Name, former archangel, created by our Father who art in heaven." She smiles at him, arching one perfect eyebrow, and is it just him or did she lean a little closer?

His gaze darts to her mouth and back to her eyes, and before he knows it he's leaning in, too, and wrapping his arms around her and kissing her and he thinks, yeah, maybe New Year's isn't so bad after all.

Jo in the morning is a sight to see.

"Is that a rat's nest or is that your hair?"

She smiles softly, winningly, and then shoves him off the bed. "You're one to talk, Gabriel, you look like a really bad party threw up all over you."

He springs up from the floor, pulling up his boxers and reaching out to shove her over to the other side of his bed. "You're the one who planned it, so who is really the loser here?"

"Still you," she mutters, wrapping her arms around him once more. "I look fabulous in the morning."

He looks at her long eyelashes skirting her cheeks as she yawns, the light casting a golden glow on her white collarbone, her smooth legs moving to intertwine with his.

"Yeah," he agrees softly, pushing her hair out of her eyes. "You do."

Her hand on his chest keeps him still, and they fall asleep again until Adam bursts into the room and shoves both of them off of the bed.

"Don't even think about dawdling, you assholes have work to do," he calls as he exits the room, banging down the stairs as they grumble on the floor.

Gabriel supposes he deserved that as he stands and grins at Jo across the room. He finds he doesn't really mind, either way.

He's good where he is.

A/N: I figured I should clarify in case anyone was like, oh, none of the people you mentioned died in order. True. I kind of based Chuck off the idea that sometimes he messes up, like the Doctor or something, and sends people to the wrong times. So even though the deaths went Zachariah-Gabriel with the angels dying at some other time, he really sent them in the order of Gabriel-angels-Zachariah.