Currently not beta'd

My update schedule is this: I've no fracking clue.

Note #1: I recommend reading 'Of Candy Bars and Golden Retrievers' first. Just to get a feel for the basis of the AU.

Note #2: If you read 'Gabriel' please be advised this is a complete re-imagining of the same premise. You might see similar elements to the previous story, but the plot line will be very different as well.

Pretty sure I didn't explain that very well, but hopefully you'll understand after the first few chapters.

Please leave me your comments, criticisms, and reviews!

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any other pop culture items that Dean references.

The rifle went off again, the shot landing a lot closer to his head than he'd like. Of course he'd like not to be dodging bullets and hiding behind gutted and rusty cars.

"C'mon Bobby! I don't- I mean, I didn't know where else to send it!" Dean called out from his crouched position.

"My house is full a shit!" Bobby shouted back. "And now yer here ta tell me you wanna hang about an bring in more shit!"

Dean peaked his head out. The older man was quick to reply with another shot. Dean quickly slipped back behind the car.

"Shit! Calm down, Bobby!" The was no response. "Bobby?" He called again cautiously.

Peering around the front of the car gave him a nice view of the now empty porch, the screen swinging closed.

Either Bobby was inside for more ammo or he was waiting for Dean to come inside.

He really hoped it was the latter.

He stood and dusted off his knees, shouldering his bag once more. The dog, Rumsfeld, growled at him as he approached but didn't lunge or bark. Dean felt that was a good indicator.

"Bobby?" The screen wasn't locked when he pushed and there wasn't any sound coming from any of the rooms the he could discern.

With a deep breath, Dean stepped into the living room... to find it full to the ceiling with unopened cardboard boxes. He to a look at one of the shipping labels.

Dean Winchester

2194 Wallace Lane

Sioux Falls, South Dakota 57101

Well, no wonder Bobby came out shooting. He counted twenty-one boxes floor to ceiling, and those were only the ones he could see in the living room. Who knows how many other rooms were this 'cluttered?'

"Look, Bobby. I just need to go through some of this stuff." He turned back into the hallway, and carefully stepped past the closed bathroom door. "Then I can throw it away. It's important."

"How important?" Bobby's weathered face was suddenly next to him as the man glared at him, bourbon in hand. Dean was relieved to note the absence of a rifle.

"Very." Bobby continued glaring at him for several painfully long minutes. Finally, he nodded and walked to the kitchen.

Dean stood in the hall a moment longer, a bit befuddled. In the end, he followed along.

He found Bobby at the stove, stirring a pot filled with what was probably chili while a pot of coffee brewed off to the side. He longed for the caffeine, the drive having been long and exhausting. He may love his music but even he could only listen Led Zepplin a few times in a row before wanting to fall asleep.

Dean waited not so patiently, fidgeting in his seat, whilst Bobby ladled his soup into a bowl and sat down across from him.

"So what's so important about the boxes?" Bobby's tone demanded a straightforward answer and Dean was happy to give him one.

"They're Sam's."

Bobby's head jerked up.

"Why d'ya got yer brother's things?" He asked carefully.

"Sam went missing two months ago."

"Ya couldn't have led with that?!"

"You were shooting at me!"

"Don't be a baby, it's a pellet gun. Fer the squirrels 'n raccoons in the yard."

"Well I didn't know that!"

"Idjit." Bobby muttered in response. He sighed. "Tell me exactly what happened."

And so, Dean did exactly that. Bobby was rather reserved in his reactions, when he mentioned the butchered friend Bobby furrowed his brows, but when he brought up the occult shop he outright frowned.

"Ya look at the package, yet?"

"No," Dean shook his head, "I wanted to make sure it wasn't cursed, first."

"Ya think it was sent by whatever's huntin Sam?"

"Your sure something's hunting him already?" Bobby grimaced.

"Yer brother's never been into this stuff the way you an yer daddy are. Girl ya talked to mentioned salt on the floor. Pro'bly a broken salt line." He shook his head. "Somethin scary enough to get yer brother ta make a salt line, don't think it's somethin as simple as a ghost or poltergeist."

"You got a theory?"

"Not yet," another long sigh, "but if ya think going through his stuff'll help, go for it." He switched to glaring at him once more. "But I want ya to throw that shit out when yer dun, got it?"

"Yessir." Bobby nodded and stood.

"Get yerself some coffee, boy. Look like yer gonna fall over."

Fifty-three boxes and a couch. Fifty-three.

Once it was dug out, Bobby was quick to claim it as his own and Dean honestly didn't blame him. The thing was comfy as hell and actually decent looking.

It took Dean three days and thirty of those fifty-three boxes to find anything interesting. And what he found was very interesting indeed.

It started with five boxes full of books. On the surface, it looked like it was just full of medical and law textbooks. But Dean risked a glance through one of the medical text and was surprised by what he found.

A journal, or rather, multiple journals for what appeared to be five separate hunters. Only one name was ever listed, Gabriel, on the inside of the covers. The other medical books were actually online articles on monster, crimes, spells, rituals etc. Carefully cut and glued into the hollowed spines.

The law texts were less interesting, seemingly filled with the correct pages, but sticky notes lined the edging with notes like, 'Useful for Stephan ghost case. Send to lawyer.' followed by a phone number. Dean found a binder full of articles and letters in the same box that corresponded to sticky notes.

"Hey Bobby?" The older man was only a room away, splitting his time between phone calls, computer searches, and rifling through his books.

"Yeah?" He was currently elbow deep in a pile of newer looking tomes, occasionally shoving one off to the side.

"You know a couple of hunters named Stephan Redices, Andrew Lordkin, and Marcus Josiah?" Bobby looked up.

"Yeah. They all got charged with murder, B 'n E, er gravediggin' this year."

"They all got off, though?"

"Yeah? What's this about?" He directed his distracted frustration at Dean.

"Seems Sam was acting as free legal help for them. Helped get them off." He waved the binder. Bobby's frustration transformed into interest. He accepted it and began browsing.

"You go, kid." The older man muttered to himself.

"You happen to know a hunter named Gabriel Coelum, too?"

"Not a Gabriel, but I think I heard of a Charlus Coelum a few times, not very social, always draggin along a few boys with'im."

"Hm..." Dean gazed consideringly down at the photo on the inside of one of the books. He slipped it out and pulled the folded up photo from his wallet.

Same face.

"I think Sam's roomie was a hunter."

Bobby looked up.

"Think he's one a Charlus' boys?"

"Probably. I don't think I've ever seen a hunter's journal so cleverly hidden, though." Bobby peered at them for a moment.

"Pro'bly cause you never seen a complete journal."

"Dad's journal was plenty full." He protested. "He just kept adding pages to it."

"That ain't complete. Ya daddy ain't done. I think this boy was."

"A former hunter."

"Mhm."

"Maybe an old hunt caught up with him and Sam spooked for nothing." Dean theorized hopefully.

Bobby, in turn, ruthelessly shot it down.

"Yer brother ain't no fool. An remember he only ran after the police came by."

Dean sighed, but place the books in his extremely small 'save' pile.

"We need the police report." Bobby spoke up, startling Dean.

"You have a way to do that? Cause I got nothing."

Bobby got a peculiar look on in face. "I... know a guy."

Dean's eyebrows scrunched in bemusement. "You don't sound so sure about that."

The older man huffed slightly and shook his head. "Just leave it at that. I'll see what he can dig up for me."

Dean nodded and turned back to the boxes. "What to do in the meantime, though."

Bobby snorted. "You not enjoying yer crap pile?" He gestured to his half excavated living room.

Dean rolled his eyes. They were both saved from what was sure to be a well delivered bit of sarcasm, by the ring of Bobby's phone.

With a fair bit of effort, Bobby stood and wandered into the kitchen, leaving Dean alone with the boxes. Deciding to give up for the day, he stuffed the books back into the boxes and shoved those boxes into the corner opposite the rest of them.

Dean sighed and stood, pouring himself some of Bobby's bourbon.

The office was far more organized than the living room, but that wasn't saying much. Both Dean and Bobby had done a fair bit of reorganization in relation to Sam's stuff, the older man having also claimed several of the shelves that had come with his brother's stuff. Damages, he claimed.

But now, centered on Bobby's desk and floating about half a foot off the surface and glowing like a star, was a silver ring with a sapphire-like gem set into it. It also had the unpleasant effect of making you feel like you were being judged.

This was what Sam was supposed to pick up before he disappeared. Not cursed like he'd feared, but clearly magical in origin.

Dean wondered if this was why his little brother was being hunted.

Someone cleared their throat, startling him out of his thoughts and bourbon out of his glass.

"Shit, Bobby!" He placed his glass down and began wiping the traitorous liquid out of his shirt. Bobby, snorted unsympathetically.

"Serves you right, stealing my bourbon." The older man snatched Dean glass from where it rested and downed it in one go.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Who was that on the phone?"

"Jackson and Craig O'Toole." He replied. "Coupla Irish transplant hunters. Thought they had work down in Indiana, turns some other hunter beat 'em to it. Said it matched Sam's description."

Dean's face scrunched in confusion.

"I sent out word to a coupla places that we're lookin' fer someone." Bobby explained. "Places lots a hunters go. Bars, safe-houses, stuff like that."

"How come I don't know about these places?" Dean asked leaning forward. Bobby snorted.

"That a serious question? Yer daddy ain't the friendliest of the bunch, an' fer hunters that's sayin' a lot."

"Would Dad, or hell, even Sam, know anything about them?"

"John, maybe. Doubt yer brother knows anymore'n you do." Dean nodded and filed away the info for later, before turning to the other pressing news.

"So what'd they say about him."

"Said, he acted kinda... odd." Bobby gained a few worry lines on his forehead. "Said he wasn't a shifter er nothin. Did all the tests, but didn't stay long after that."

"Did he tell them where he was goin?"

"Nah, but there still down there fer a few days if you wanna go investigate fer yerself."

"And leave you to this fun?" Dean gestured to the other room sarcastically.

"Go, I'll deal fine a few days. Sides, guy I'm callin don't like strangers." He got that same odd look on his face.

"Sure you wanna subject yourself to that?" Dean guessed.

"No, but we need those files. An' neither of us are exactly amazin with tech." He slapped the top of his beige box of a computer.

"If you're sure?"

"Go, get." He shooed. "If only fer my sanity. I like you Winchesters but you can be tryin' in large doses."

"Does that make me X or dope?"

Bobby let out a frustrated sigh and fled the room. Dean smirked after him. He did eventually grab his bag, some of Bobby's extra supplies, and one of the older man's caps.

"Headin out, Bobby. You got the address for me?" He asked when the house's owner finally came back with a relatively small leather book.

"First page, as well as some stuff I know about the hunt." Dean raised a brow. "Don't gimme that. Hunt was on my radar, plus yer shit with details. Write whatever you find out, take picture, clip articles, shit like that."

"You want me to start a journal?"

"Should've done it before. Now's a good a time's ever."

Dean flipped open the journal to thick unlined paper, an address scrawled in small handwriting.

"Burkitsville, huh." He shrugged on his jacket and stuck Bobby's hat on, quietly reveling in the annoyed look on Bobby's face. "Alright. I'll call you if I find anything."

"You better, you id-" The door swung closed on Bobby's words.

Dean stuffed his bag in the trunk and started up his baby. With a final glance at Bobby's house, he drove out onto the road.

I hope you're all happy with the story so far. 3rd shift is murder on the body, sleep patterns, and muses, so I'm sorry for the wait. I'm not abandoning this story.