((Supernatural AU)) One More Miracle (Chapter One)

[winnywriter]

Title: One More Miracle 
Word Count: WIP
Rating: R
Spoilers: None
Pairing: Sam/Gabriel
Notes: Dedicated to Meg and the Speight Cult on tumblr, and to the members who chatted with me on Skype and encouraged me to keep writing; to edgebug, andlatitude, and dreadelion on tumblr, whose art was a constant inspiration; to my beta, spacemoonpancakes. Song credit: Unthought Known by Pearl Jam. 
Summary: Sam Winchester is the son of two dead parents, living with his brother as he approaches graduation from the University of Kansas. His life is nothing special, and meeting Gabe, the curious owner of a local bookstore, is certainly not about to change that...until it does. AU.

Sam had a crick in his neck and a pronounced hunch in his posture as he made his way down the deserted sidewalk, his tennis shoes scraping over the thick layer of autumn leaves on the concrete and Pearl Jam drifting smooth and mellow from his ear buds. He bobbed his head to the music, clearing a strand of long hair from his face before shoving his hands back into the pockets of his jeans to shield them from the chill in the air.

It was getting dark, and the sky was stained a dimming red as the sun sank past the trees and rooftops hiding the horizon. He frowned up at it, adjusting his backpack on his shoulders, the 18 credit hours' worth of textbooks inside weighing him down and bending his spine. If he could survive this semester without needing a chiropractor, it would be a miracle.

“All the thoughts, you never see, you're always thinkin',” crooned the voice in his ear buds. “Brain is wide, brain is deep, oh are you sinkin'?”

A breeze blew by him and he drew himself further into his hoodie, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets. Soon it would be time to dig out the thick gloves and scarves, and he'd have to find his heavy winter coat buried in the back of his closet. His mind wandered from the weather to C.S. Lewis and he found himself craving hot cocoa.

The scuff of boots that were not his own on the sidewalk drew his attention away from thoughts of witches and lions and he glanced up only to frown deeply. Lucas cocked his head to one side as he approached, his swagger brash and lazy; he picked up his pace when he caught sight of Sam, approaching him with what seemed like excitement that was normally reserved for greeting a fond friend. Sam knew it was anything but.

“Keeping warm there, Winchester?” he asked, stopping square in front of Sam and pushing his shoulders forward. Sam bit the inside of his cheek and fought the urge to roll his eyes.

“I'm in a hurry, Lucas,” he said. Lucas blocked his attempt to push past.

“Whatcha listening to there anyway?”

“I said I'm in a hurry. Will you-” Lucas still didn't let him pass, and Sam got an uneasy, twisting feeling in the pit of his stomach. Lucas' hair was ruffled and his jaw was rough with stubble, and there were dark shadows under his eyes. White puffed from between his parted lips with every breath as he stared up at Sam, swaying back and forth, thumbs hooked in his pockets.

Another pair of feet stepped up lazily behind him, and he stiffened.

“Little too late, guys,” said Lucas, addressing the figure behind Sam that he hadn't yet turned to look at. “Sam needs to get home.”

“Aww,” crooned a voice behind him: Al. “Need to get back to the missus?” Both voices burst into raucous laughter and Sam ground his teeth together, his heart suddenly pounding; whether it was from anger or anxiety, he couldn't say. All he knew was that it was dark, he was, for all intents and purposes, surrounded, and at some point his ear buds had fallen out of his ears, hanging down by his jaw and still humming though he could no longer make out the lyrics.

“Don't let us keep you,” growled Al from behind.

Sam wasn't sure if his relief was misplaced as the man from behind meandered around to join Lucas before him. Al was tall and skinny, scruffier even than Lucas, looking like he'd just crawled out of a crack den as he sneered at Sam.

“Night, Sam,” said Lucas, and Sam didn't so much as nod, staying perfectly still as the two of them walked past, meandering down the path in the opposite direction. He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding in, rubbing his brow and pulling his ear buds from where they were hooked around his ears and turning his iPod off. He wrapped the cord around it and shoved it back in his pocket.

Just as he did, a voice piped up from behind him: “Hey Sam!” He knew - oh, he knew - that he shouldn't turn around, but he did out of habit, and a jagged piece of gravel whizzed toward his head, bouncing off his temple. Al's disgustingly raspy laughter cut through the night air as Sam pressed a hand to his head. His palm came away bloody, and he cursed.

His forehead throbbed as he pushed open the first illuminated door he came to. A bell tinkled above him as he stepped inside, and the warmth that enveloped him was welcoming beyond belief. He looked up; it was a bookstore that he'd found himself in. Shelves lined the walls, stretching all the way to the ceiling and holding all kinds of different titles. The counter by the door was plastered with posters and papers, proclaiming quotes from different notable people:

“I do not want people to be agreeable, as it saves me the trouble of liking them.”

-Jane Austen

“With affection beaming out of one eye, and calculation shining out of the other.”

-Charles Dickens

“Eternal nothingness is fine if you happen to be dressed for it.”

-Woody Allen

“What is the point of being alive if you don't at least try to do something remarkable?”

-John Green

“You're bleeding all over my floor!”

Sam realized all too quickly that he'd been zoning out and his head spun as he whipped his gaze around toward the back of the store. A man emerged from around the corner of a bookshelf, his hair slicked back and his brow furrowed in irritation and worry. Sam glanced down at two red droplets of blood that had splattered against the floorboards beneath his feet and fumbled for words.

“Yeah, I uh, s-sorry, I'll-” His syllables came out garbled and incoherent, and he heard the shorter man curse under his breath as he scurried over to him, placing a surprisingly firm hand on his arm.

“Geez, what the hell happened to you?” he asked.

“It's nothing,” Sam said. “I just need...look I'm sorry. Do you have a bathroom or something? I just want to clean up.” That couldn't possibly have been his voice, could it? It was far too rough and exhausted to belong to him.

“Oh for the love of-” The man cut himself off. He grabbed a chair from behind the counter and dragged it around to the front, guiding Sam over to it. “Sit down here. I have a first aid kit.”

“You don't have to-”

“Just sit!” He pushed Sam back down when Sam tried to stand, and Sam sighed deeply as the man rummaged through his things behind the counter, finally letting out an exuberant, “Ah-hah! Bingo bango!” as he brought the slightly dusty box out and set it down beside Sam. He grabbed another chair and sat across from him.

His touch was surprisingly tender as he took Sam's wrist and pulled his hand away from the wound. “Let me see that,” he said. Sam grimaced as he did. He could feel the man's breath on his cheek, and it made him restless. Luckily for him, at least the guy didn't have bad breath; he smelled spicy and slightly sweet, like he'd just eaten gingerbread.

“Damn, did you get mugged or something? Do I need to call the cops?” His tone was only half-joking, but Sam found himself chuckling anyway.

“No, nothing like that,” he said. “It's just...a couple of guys being dicks, that's all.”

“Was it those assholes from earlier? The ones that looked like they were two seconds away from dragging you into a dark alley?” Sam's stomach dropped at that.

“You saw that?”

“I was this close to getting my shotgun.”

“You have a shotgun?”

The man just smiled cryptically. He reached down and took a cloth from the first aid kit, wiping off some of the blood. “Damn head wounds bleed like a bitch,” he commented. Sam blinked in agreement.

“One of them threw something at me,” Sam admitted after a moment as the man pulled the cloth away. The bleeding already seemed to be stopping. “I don't think he even meant to hit me.”

“Oh, well that makes it okay then.” He dabbed some iodine on the clean end of the cloth and brought it to Sam's forehead. “This is gonna sting-” He was only halfway through the warning when he pressed it against Sam's skin, and Sam winced as it burned, hissing through his teeth. “Ah, suck it up you big baby,” the man said, fighting back a grin as he spoke.

“Thank you,” Sam said awkwardly after a moment of trying to look anywhere but the man's uncomfortably close amber eyes. He reached for a name that wasn't within grasp. “Ah...”

“Gabe,” the man finished, still dabbing at Sam's temple. “Call me Gabe.”

“Gabe...” Sam repeated. He resolved to devote it to memory. “Thanks...”

“Don't mention it,” Gabe said, pulling away and resting his hands in his lap as he balanced his chair on two legs. He rummaged through the kit again, and Sam wondered what he was looking for now. He hoped it wasn't anything else that was going to sting.

“So what do I call you?” Gabe asked as he searched.

“Sam.”

“You a student, Sam?”

Sam glanced down at his heavy backpack lying on its side by the counter. “Yeah,” he said. “K.U.”

“Go Jayhawks,” Gabe commented with a grin, and Sam couldn't help but smile back. He stared down at his hands.

“Yeah...I'm graduating in spring.”

Gabe's eyebrows arched impressively. “Congratulations. You know, a few months early, but still.”

“Just a few,” Sam said with a half-hearted chuckle. Gabe pulled out a box of bandaids and took out one of the largest ones, pulling it out of the packaging and leaning forward again. Sam wanted to flinch away, to take it himself and remind the guy that he was perfectly capable of putting on his own bandaids, thank you very much, but Gabe's hands were steady and his touch was comforting and Sam found himself actually kind of liking his sweet and spicy scent. It reminded him of the seasonal pumpkin spice drinks at Starbucks that he so wished would stick around all year. The moment the thought crossed his mind, his face heated up.

Gabe placed the bandage expertly and Sam reached up to feel it, the material rough against his fingertips.

“This isn't Hello Kitty or Dora the Explorer or anything like that, is it?” Sam asked dubiously. Gabe leaned back and laughed.

“Nah! I don't have any in that size.”

“Damn,” Sam breathed sarcastically, and Gabe laughed again. They sat in silence for a few minutes as Gabe put away the bandaids and the iodine.

“You live around here?” Gabe asked.

“Not too far. Live with my brother a few blocks away.”

“Brother, huh? Just you guys?”

Sam coughed.

“Yeah,” he said. “Just us.” He didn't say anything further, and Gabe didn't ask; he nodded slowly, taking the information in. “What about you?” Sam hazarded, eager to change the subject. “You from around here?”

“Lived here a while,” Gabe said, leaning back in his chair. “Wasn't born here though.”

“So where are you from?”

“A long ways away.”

Sam chuckled a bit, and when Gabe arched an inquisitive eyebrow at him, he said, “Come on, this isn't a passage from one of these books, you know. You don't have to be cryptic for the sake of character development.”

“I'm not being cryptic.”

“Then where are you from? Honestly.”

Gabe shrugged. “Up north.”

Sam hunched his shoulders, smiling sheepishly. “Alright...I get it if you don't want to tell me. I probably shouldn't pry into your private life-”

“It's not that I don't want to talk about it. You just wouldn't believe me if I did.”

Sam blinked and fought the urge to roll his eyes. Jesus, this guy was weird...

“You don't know that. What, are you gonna say you're from the North Pole or something? You a runaway Christmas elf?”

“Hey! I'm not that short, okay? I can't help it if you're some kind of overgrown, mutant...”

“Moose?”

Gabe looked thoughtful. “I was going to say sasquatch, but I think that might suit you better.”

“Sasquatch, huh?” He allowed himself a small, quiet laugh. “That's a new one.” Sam stared down at his hands, taking the cloth when Gabe offered it to him and wiping off the blood from his palm.

“Still sting?” Gabe asked softly a moment later, gesturing at his head.

“Nothing I can't handle.”

“Big guy like you...” Gabe leaned forward, clasping his hands on top of his knees. “I'm surprised you didn't send those morons to an early grave.”

“Like I said, I don't even think Al meant to hit me at all. I know them. They're assholes, but they're harmless, mostly. Besides, they're not exactly worth it...”

Gabe let out a soft laugh and smiled warmly. “Gentle moose, huh?”

“I guess.”

The comfort with which they'd sunk into this conversation surprised Sam, striking him all at once. He barely knew this guy, and yet there was something about him that just made him want to sit here and talk to him. It was strange, and it caught him off guard. He focused on scrubbing the blood off of his fingers and grimaced when it didn't come off easy.

Sam nearly dropped it when Gabe spoke again: “So who outed you?”

“Wh-what?” Sam sputtered. Gabe shrugged again.

“Was it a personal choice or did someone make the decision for you?”

“You...” Sam trailed off, staring at Gabe. The guy looked as if he'd just asked about the weather and nothing more: patiently expectant without a hint of anxiety or judgment. “I...” Sam looked away and cleared his throat. “I've never exactly kept it a secret. Not since high school.”

Gabe nodded in understanding.

“How did you...”

“How did I know?” Gabe finished. His face was completely expressionless as he said, “I've been spying on you from your yard for the past six months.”

The laugh that burst from Sam's throat surprised him and made Gabe grin hugely.

“Well damn,” Sam said through his smile. “I must be really out of it, then.”

Gabe chuckled fondly, comfortably, and rested his cheek against his palm. “Way I see it, guys like that find very specific reasons to harass people. You're a big guy, Sam. Tall, handsome. Not really the kind of guy that looks like he'd get shoved into lockers. Course, appearances can be deceiving and all that, but considering how much bullying is thanks to homophobic idiots and considering we live in a state that voted Romney in the last election, I took a wild guess.”

Sam ran his fingertips back and forth across the surface of the bandage on his temple as he listened before blinking a few times. “Huh...” he breathed.

They didn't say anything more about it.

A few minutes of easy conversation later, Sam gathered his things and headed for the door as Gabe leaned against the counter and watched him go. “Thanks again,” Sam said, looking back at him with one hand on the doorknob.

“Don't mention it,” Gabe assured him. Sam glanced around the store, something holding him back from stepping into the cold again.

“How long has this place been here anyway?” he asked.

Gabe shrugged. “I've been here a while. Never exactly been a hotspot, but I've done alright. Why?”

“It's just...I've lived in Lawrence all my life, and I've never even noticed this place.”

“You and ninety-nine percent of the population, kiddo,” Gabe said with a sigh. There was real concern in his voice as he added, “You gonna get home okay?”

“Yeah, I'll be fine. Unless...”

“Unless?”

Sam quirked an eyebrow at him. “Unless you'd let me borrow your shotgun?”

Gabe laughed again, crossing his arms and throwing his head back, and Sam smiled at the sound.

“I don't send college kids home with firearms,” he said. “Company policy. That, and no returns without the receipt.”

Sam smiled as he pushed the door open, the bell tinkling merrily above his head. “Thanks, Gabe.”

“Stay safe out there, Sam.”

Dean was asleep on the couch by the time Sam got back to the apartment, and for that, Sam was grateful. He slunk through the door, reaching over to the coffee table and picking up the remote to turn off the TV before retreating to his own room, but just as he shut off a muted commercial for Viagra, Dean abruptly stopped snoring.

“I was watching that,” Dean grumbled as he sat up and rubbed his eyes.

Sam scoffed. “Watching an infomercial about erectile dysfunction? Something you want to talk about, Dean?” Dean hit him on the shoulder and stood up, heading to the kitchen, grabbing a glass from the sink and filling it with water from the tap. Sam shifted his backpack from one shoulder to the other as he tried to head for his room, but Dean was far too observant, even when exhausted.

“Hold up,” he called, and Sam fought back a sigh. “What happened to your head?”

“Oh, it's not anything major,” Sam said, reaching up to touch the bandaid as if he'd forgotten about it. “Just tripped is all.”

“Tripped? That's really what you're going with?” Dean deadpanned, chugging back the glassful of water and wiping the back of his hand across his lips.

“Uh...yes?”

“You're a shitty liar.”

“It's really nothing, Dean.”

“Dude-” Dean put the cup down on the coffee table and gestured at himself. “Older brother. Supposed to be the protective one, remember?”

Sam hoisted his backpack up on his shoulder and opened the door to his room, tossing it onto the floor by his bed. “Yeah, I know Dean,” he said. He stood with his back to his brother for a good long time before letting out a magnificent sigh.

“Look, it was just...” He leaned against the doorframe, suddenly feeling tired beyond belief. “It was just Lucas and Al being dicks, okay? Nothing major.”

“What, those assholes again?” Dean spat. “Jesus, Sam. When are you gonna give those guys what they deserve? I know you could take them.”

Sam shrugged. “If they give me a reason to, I will.”

“Yeah, well I'd call that-” He pointed at the covered wound on Sam's temple. “Enough of a reason for me.”

“Dean...”

Dean threw his hands up. “Like I said. Older brother. Protective instinct.”

“Look, it's fine, okay? It's really fine.” He walked over to the couch and collapsed on it, sinking into the worn cushions and letting out a breath. “I'd tell you if it weren't.”

“Yeah, fine. Okay.” Dean seemed anything but willing to let it drop, and he fumed all the way to the kitchen, where he put the used glass back in the sink. He sank down on the couch again and turned the TV back on, flipping through the channels until he finally settled on Animal Planet's The Most Extreme.

“Hey, you ever been in this little bookstore down the road?” Sam asked when the show cut to commercial a few minutes later. Dean raised an eyebrow at him. “It's like this little independent place a few blocks down.”

“No. Why?”

Sam rubbed his hands against his jeans. “I just...I stopped in there after all this...stuff happened. Guy there patched me up.”

As infuriating as it was, as his mind wandered back to Gabe, he felt himself start to blush, and he looked pointedly out the window. Dean leaned forward, eyebrow arching even higher.

“Guy?” he repeated. God, Sam could hear him smirk.

“Yeah,” Sam affirmed. “Guy.”

Dean said nothing, but when Sam glanced at him he found he'd been right about the smirk.

“It's not...It's nothing important or anything. I don't even know why I brought it up.”

“You're blushing.”

“I'm not blushing!”

“Look at me.”

Sam did. Dean's expression shattered into an unbelievably exuberant smile.

“Awww, Sammy's got a crush!” he teased. Sam stood up from the couch and stalked away, toward his room, as Dean called after him, “Hey, come back! I'm being supportive!”

“Shut up!” Sam said, fighting down a smile despite himself, and as he shut the door behind him, he heard Dean laughing.

Dean knocked on his door a few minutes later, announcing that he was ordering pizza for dinner. “What do you want, Sammy?” he asked as he opened the door and peeked inside. “You know, besides sausage.”

Sam threw a book at him.

“Bitch!” Dean cried as he dodged it.

Sam was quick to shout back, “Jerk!”

Next Chapter