6.
Gabe sat up in bed, panting, ears straining for the sound of...what? Nothing but the usual racket of Rob snoring in the room next door. As a senior, he had gotten first crack at the coveted "apartment-style dorm housing", but it turned out all that meant was that the university stopped having to pay for their food.
He pushed some hair out of his eyes and looked at the clock. 3:45. Plenty of time to go back to sleep. He technically did have to pass today's final in order to graduate, though he didn't need anything over a fifty-two percent.
He threw off the sheets and got out of bed, wondering what he'd been listening for. Voices? Yeah, voices, from his dream. It'd been a weird dream, like the ones he used to get as a kid. Sometimes they felt really real, and he was listening to people talking, seeing the people and knowing with crazy dream logic that the bodies were just representations of who he knew was talking, that it was really just the voices. Different dreams were like a memory replaying––a memory of his that he'd never had. He'd talk with the voices or other people, people he knew he knew, knew he'd known for ages in dreamland, but had never met in real life.
Moving quietly in the dark room, Gabe switched out his pajama bottoms for jeans and slipped outside, first into the hallway, then out of the building altogether. The night air was cool, bordering on cold, and goosebumps rose on his bare arms. But he kept going, wandering down the deserted campus lane. Some lights were on––it was cramming season, after all––but no one was outside.
There was a hobo sleeping in the quad, as usual, because for all the air of secluded academia, this was still the middle of New York City. He supposed he'd miss it in another three weeks, when he flew off to San Francisco a freshly graduated and accredited translator. That would be different, at least.
(Sometimes, like late at night after having a weird dream, Gabe couldn't shake the feeling that his life was unspeakably dull, that there must be something more to do, something important and exciting.)
The hobo rolled over, snoring almost as loud as Rob. The old coat he was using for a blanket slipped down his chest. It was a trench coat, just like the one the guy in Gabe's dream had worn.
This night's had been another one of the "voices with physical representations" ones, and Gabe's subconscious had pulled up the image of the weird guy in a trench coat he'd seen watching bees in Central Park when he was...too little to remember when, actually, but it was the only figure he remembered ever seeing in real life. Trench Coat had been matched to a serious, gravelly voice that, again with the crazy dream logic, Gabe totally recognized. It, he, whatever, had said... Gabe didn't really remember what he'd said, because the bit that stuck in his waking memory was how the voice suddenly cut off with a sort of frantic gasp and yelled "Dean!" Then Gabe had woken up, the alarm and concern of that shout still ringing in his ears.
Gabe rubbed his eyes. The "walk to clear his head" thing wasn't working, but he wasn't tired either. He supposed he could go study. Or find someone to chat with online.
He was on the verge of turning back for the dorm when a voice caught his attention. It wasn't any he'd ever heard in a dream, but it seemed oddly agitated for four o'clock in the morning, even during Finals Week.
Creeping towards the source of the noise, Gabe recognized the voice and shape of Simon Garfield, his class's designated know-it-all. Simon was pacing and wringing his hands in the neurotic and irritating way that had driven Gabe, once or twice, to shred the dweeb's papers just before he turned them in. Another figure, standing silently while Simon paced around her in the open space of the small crossroads, was decidedly female, and dressed for May in Hawaii, not New York. Her arms were crossed, but she didn't look cold. More like a cat about to leap on an unsuspecting mouse.
Edging closer, Gabe began to hear what Simon was whining about now. "...I just never get any respect! I'm smarter and she knows it, and so does he, and I deserve that fellowship!"
Even from the back, Gabe could tell the woman was rolling her eyes. He certainly was. "Yes," she said impatiently, "You deserve it. So we have a deal?"
Simon slowed to a halt, breathing heavily through his nostrils. He looked the woman up and down. "Ye-es," he said slowly. "Yeah. I ace the test, get the research fellowship, and make the anthropological discovery of the year. Cover of National Geographic. Fame and fortune."
"Just as you say." The woman shrugged prettily. She had a nice back, and long, thick, dark hair. "And when you die in ten years, I get your soul."
Gabe, peering at them from behind the nearest tree, gave himself a quick mental check. It wasn't beyond Simon, he thought, to make a cagey deal for some fellowship nobody else probably wanted anyway, but did she just say "soul"?
Simon nodded and held out his hand. At least he wasn't wringing it anymore. "We have a deal."
"Oh, honey." The wicked smile was clear in her voice as she stepped forward, pushing Simon's hand out of the way. "Not like that." She turned as she went for the kiss, and Gabe saw her face for the first time. He gasped and gagged simultaneously (producing a sort of strangled noise), stepped back abruptly from the tree and, tripping over a root, fell on his ass.
Simon stood there with his eyes closed and lips puckered, ready for what was probably the first lip-locking he'd ever had, but Gabe didn't have time to enjoy the sight. He was too busy scooting backwards as the––oh God, surely not a woman!––turned with a hiss of disgust and irritation and started advancing on him.
It––she––it had a face like Gabe could almost but not quite remember seeing in memory-dreams over the years, and knew he'd seen one time he'd always assumed had been a dream but now was definitely considering had actually happened. Itwas like two faces layered on top of each other, one button-cute and female and one that reminded him of an orc from the old Lord of the Rings movies. With red eyes.
The...thing stalked toward him, hips swishing in a predatory manner. "What have we here?" it asked, and its voice was still that of a young, attractive woman. This could not be happening. That time with Krissy and not-her-dad, when he was...five? Six? Okay, his age definitely didn't matter right now. What mattered was that he'd known that salt would beat the demon––yes, it was definitely a demon; let's go with that. Just like that computer game.
Maybe it was a joke. She sounded like a chick because she was a chick, in a really good mask. Maybe his class had decided that before they graduated, they wanted to team up and pull one over on him. Someone had called Jeremy, who gave them the idea of basing it on Supernatural. He didn't know why that game in particular––he'd never told anyone it gave him weird dreams––but hey, why not that game.
But the air of malevolence, of hatred for hatred's sake coming off the approaching figure was too real to be faked.
So...salt. He looked around, still scooting backwards. He should stand up. The closest salt would be in the cafeteria, back up towards the dorms. But he couldn't risk the demon near all those people. What else? Iron! How did he know that? Who cared? There was a literally God-damned demon after him!
Was his key made of iron?
Backing up against another tree, Gabe scrambled to his feet and drew the room key from around his neck. It was very small. "Back, demon!" he shouted. Just like in a video game. It sounded a lot less witty now.
The demon slowed, though Gabe seriously doubted it was because of the fearsome threat of his little ounce of really-hoping-it-was-iron. More like it had him trapped against a tree.
It stared at him curiously. "What are you?" it pressed. "You look human. You smell human. Yet there's something..."
It came closer, completely ignoring the key in Gabe's hand, searching his face for something that he couldn't imagine was there. He glanced around frantically. There was a branch a few feet above his head. Making a snap decision, he threw the key at the demon's face––even it wasn't iron, it could still be a distraction––and jumped. He caught the branch and swung, momentum carrying him around the tree. Then he started running.
Gabe had been doing track and cross-country for over ten years now, spring and fall and practicing during the off-season just because he could. Sometimes he dreamt that he had wings.
The demon caught up after just a few strides, jogging easily along side him. Gabe wondered whether Simon was still standing at the crossroads. He didn't look back to check.
"You're faster than a usual human," it said, considering. "And you can see my face, can't you?" It gave what Gabe thought maybe passed for a smile. He sped up, but the demon kept the pace. "I could kill you, I suppose, just to prevent any trouble later on."
"I'd rather you didn't," said Gabe, then decided it was better to spend breath on running than wisecracking and put on another burst of speed. He was really sprinting now, but he could keep it up for at least another minute.
"I think you're right," agreed the demon, still at his side. It showed no signs of tiring. "Crowley would want me to bring you in, anyway. He likes to know about peculiar things."
Something told Gabe that, no matter how nice living was, he did not want to meet Crowley. Maybe it was some other half-forgotten dream, or maybe it was just the way the demon sounded...respectful when it said the name. Anyone a Crossroads Demon (and that was definitely what this was; he was sure of it) was afraid of was someone he was perfectly happy to never be introduced to.
Spotting a bike rack, he veered sharply to the left and leapt over the iron bumps.
That might slow the demon down slightly. Gabe kept going, darting between the Schools of Natural Biology and Engineering, towards the rear wall of the student cafe. It was closed at this time of night, so no one would be there to get hurt, but the back window was usually left open as summer approached.
It was shut. The back door was also locked. Gabe glanced around for something to break the glass with and lunged for a loose stone on the ground, but just as he reached it, it flew from his grasp and crashed against the opposite wall of the alley, crumbling to pieces.
Gabe looked up to see the demon standing in the mouth of the trap he'd blocked himself into. It showed its teeth, and this time, he didn't think it was trying to smile.
"Well, well, well," it said, moving slowly forward. It pushed its hand towards him, and this time it was Gabe who went flying into the wall, back first. That hurt.
He slid down, panting and probably concussed. Something was nagging at the back of his brain, though he thought it might be shards of his skull. "That all you got?" No more running now, so he might as well make witty remarks.
"You do like to play, don't you?" asked the demon good-naturedly. "Quite the prankster, I bet."
"I do my best," conceded Gabe. He wondered if he could stand without falling. His head felt like it was going to explode.
"Oh, Crowley will get a kick out of you." The demon's grin was unmistakeable, cruel and twisted. "And some blood, and whatever else you've got behind those pretty eyes of yours."
It reached for him, to take him to Hell or worse. Gabe closed his eyes. With one hand, he pushed away the wall, and the other he shoved up at the demon with all his might and momentum, and, just possibly, a bit of the pressure in his head.
Gabe sprang to his feet and the demon flew into the air and crashed back to the ground some ten feet away.
"Wha––" managed Gabe, leaning back against the wall and clutching at his head, He hadn't done anything like that since...
Memories started rushing in, sort of in reverse order but really no order at all. There was the time he pulled all the screws out of the principal's chair, just like he'd just thrown a demon in the air. He hadn't thought about that in years––Jeremy had never asked, and he hadn't done anything like it again until tonight. He remembered more times, when he was little: moving toys, levitating the candy down from the top shelf, playing with water in the bath. There was a hazy time, even, watching the tv and knowing it was wrong...
...And that sent him back further, before he was born, to the idiot Winchesters in Kali's cheap motel and his brother. Had he really...? Well, obviously, because here he was.
There were so many more memories of before he was born. Kali––damn that girl!––and other gods, most of them far less fun. Well, Artemis was a looker, but she never took to him. He remembered showing up in Jotenheim claiming to be Loki, waving a bit of celestial mojo around to make it so. Like the Norse weren't too stupid to buy it anyway, sword, shield and dragonboat.
They hadn't been that bad, really. No worse than the humans. Soooooo many humans. If humans said a thing reproduced like rabbits, then gods said it reproduced like humans. There had been good times with some of them, though. Mostly only good times on his part, but who cared? They were good times.
And sometimes the humans surprised him with times of their own. The Berlin Wall was one of his favorite memories, and not just because he'd gotten America's jerk of a President to suggest he was a jelly doughnut on international television. First they put it up just like stupid little warring ants, then in a matter of decades, they were pulling it down again and proclaiming peace and unity.
And that just led back to the motel with his brother––so many times with his brothers! So much... Father, they're dumber than humans! Never stopped arguing, except for the little ones who were just so many mindless drones. Well, a few might be okay. They'd evidently gotten better while he was gone, but by the time he re-entered the game, there wasn't exactly time to catch up.
Why the hell had Castiel been watching bees?
They were dumber than humans, he realized. Past tense. Gabe had fewer dreams of listening to voices as he grew up not because he was growing out of them, but because there were fewer voices to hear.
Meanwhile, the demon had gotten to her feet again. It started toward him angrily, then stopped, unsure. If he didn't stop acting like a headachy weakling, she was going to attack again in a matter of seconds.
"Hello," he said, grinning brightly. "Sorry about that. Guess I don't know my own strength." He certainly wasn't up to his usual witty banter. Though his head and back did hurt. That was new. He would need to watch out for this body.
"What are you?" the demon asked, edging sideways towards him. He decided to take pity on the girl and moved into the center of the alley so she could circle properly.
"What do I look like?" he asked, genuinely a bit curious.
She squinted at him warily. "You were human as dirt. Now you glow. Dim and impure, but glowing."
He nodded. 'Impure' fit just about right.
"Well then." He snapped his fingers and the demon flew against a wall and stuck to it, pinned flat like a butterfly in the entomology labs. Which, if he remembered correctly, were in that very building. What a funny world.
He sidled towards her, glorying in the regained power. His back still hurt. "You want to know who I am?" He remembered the last time he'd done this, in slightly different circumstances. Damn Winchesters.
"My name," he said slowly, milking the tension for all it was worth, "is Gabriel."
Her eyes widened. So he was known. That was satisfying.
"And sweetheart––" he put a hand on her ugly chin and tilted it to look straight into her burning red eyes–– "I am back."
The demon ruined his moment by talking. "And now you'll send me running back to carry this message to Crowley?"
He remembered Crowley now, too, though they'd never met. Sneaky little bastard. One of the better demons, though, in a nasty, conniving fashion.
"Oh, no, sorry." Gabriel dropped her chin and shrugged carelessly. "That has nice dramatic appeal, but it's a bit stupid, don't you think? Like letting your opponent know you have an ace up your sleeve ahead of time." He rested a palm on her forehead and concentrated, willing his Grace up to burn through her little demonic soul like an anti-aircraft missile through a WWI bomber.
Wow, he really had let the human analogies into his head. Weird what twenty-two years could do.
Also, the missile pods were empty.
"Damn," he muttered. He knew this plan was a bad idea. Stupid Lucifer.
"What's the matter, can't get it up?" The demon had a wicked gleam in her eye.
"Oh shut up," said Gabriel, and recited the most painful exorcism he could think of, sending her to the deepest pits of Hell. She might still work her way up to talk to Crowley, but it'd take a while.
When the body stopped thrashing and spewing smoke, he let it drop to the ground. There was no sign of life in the girl, not that he'd really expected it. Crossroads Demons wore their bodies hard.
Gabriel stood in the alleyway, wondering what to do next. He'd leave the body here, of course––who knew even where it'd been from, much less how long the demon had been wearing it. And the last thing he wanted was to get stuck in some dull human police investigation.
Not, he had to admit, that he had as much choice in the matter as he once might have. Putting a hand up to the back of his head, Gabriel found it sticky with blood, and his back felt like one big bruise. Bruising. That was a human feeling if there ever was one, right between sexual orgasms and being so bloody stupid you sacrificed yourself so two idiot brothers could save your ex-girlfriend (who'd just tried to kill you) and maybe, just maybe, stop the Apocalypse.
Of course, he hadn't quite sacrificed himself. Obviously. Luci had to kill an angel for those boys to get out of that room, but he didn't need to know that removing a Grace from the world when it was in his brother was an almost identical sensation to removing a Grace from the world when his brother had just ripped it out to save his own skin.
Gabriel rather suspected it was a different sensation for himself, though. His way hurt more. Even in memory, the pain absolutely dwarfed the growing bruise that was his back and skull.
So here he was. Several millennia worth of knowledge (most of it dull as catshit), telekinesis not much stronger than a ghost, and a human body no more breakable than most but that he couldn't heal for love or money.
Somewhere out there, one of the few brothers he knew he had left––or knew he had left as of thirty minutes ago––was fighting for one of the humans who had, against all odds, stopped the End of Days.
He remembered now what Castiel had been saying before he broke off in a shout. "They're coming back..."
But first, he was hungry. So the (former) archangel Gabriel knelt down and pulled an earring off the dead girl's body, then picked the lock on the Student Cafe. He took all the candy bars except the Butterfingers, because Butterfingers were just gross.
It was good to be back.