Chapter Text
The evening was nothing out of the ordinary.
Gabriel sat at the bar counter, downing his third shot of brandy – and not the fancy one. This was the cheapest kind. Because, if he was completely honest with himself, he didn't care what exactly he was drinking, as long as it helped him forget.
He had been doing it for years on end now, trying to figure out what exactly he was about to forget this time.
All because too much had happened. And too little was done.
At what point do you lose it? Trying to fight off the monsters creeping in your mind... When do you become one?
Am I already one?
His inner turmoil was interrupted by a voice, trying to strike up a conversation. Gabriel straightened up, attempting to focus on the person sitting close. It was a black guy, mid-30s, wearing a flannel underneath a black denim jacket, just a tad too big for his arms.
"...and this bar is just what I've been looking for. I'm Gordon, by the way. And your name?" The guy talking was waiting for his response.
Gabriel raised an eyebrow, getting slightly suspicious. No matter what his brothers used to say, he was smarter than that. Why'd he tell his real name to this total stranger?
"I'm Rob," he replied. "You've never seen me around, because I prefer to stay at home. Used to be an outdoorsy type of person, but now... Well, being a struggling artist can do that to a guy. Though today I decided it's time to relax a little."
"So, you're here alone?" Gordon raised an eyebrow.
"Yeah," Gabriel replied, eyes plastered to the brandy in his glass, wishing he had the powers to snap him away from there.
"Good to know," The man replied. "I'm not here to have fun today, but I'm glad you are."
"Oh... Problems of the heart? D'your lady leave you or something?"
"Oh, no. I'm not built for relationships. It's not that. It's, well... My brother."
"Something happened to him?" Gabriel turned to face the stranger. At the very least, he knew a thing or two about having brothers.
"He passed away. Tragically. It happened a year ago, and I still haven't fully recovered. My brother was everything to me, you know."
"Oh... I'm sorry, man. I have brothers too. One of them is, also... Well, whatever. It was a long time ago. We are no contact right now – me and my two brothers, but I miss them, a lot. And I know you miss yours, too... My condolences."
"Thanks. And, yeah, that's true. I just think, if only I could do something. Make it hurt less..."
"Hey, Gordon," Gabriel put his hand on the guy's shoulder. "Don't go there. It's going to get better one day. Just know he's in a better place now," he did not believe a word of what he was saying, having lost faith in God a long time ago. But he needed to reassure the guy. Make it easier for him, somehow.
"Oh, guess you would know that better than anybody else," Gordon's defeated expression changed into an evil grin. "Wouldn't you, D'Angelo?"
Gabriel jerked back, his eyes sparking with surprise and a hint of recognition. Is that his brother?...
Gordon, as if reading his mind, hissed through his teeth. "Let's jog your memory, huh? Desmond Walker – rings a bell?"
Gordon was whispering into his ear, and Gabriel felt something shift behind the counter, now pressed to his stomach. Didn't take a genius to figure this one out: Gordon had a gun. And Gabriel realised he was in deep shit.
Oh, raspberries. Should've stayed at home.
"Aw, are you scared now, motherfucker? When there's a gun pointed at you, you're suddenly acting like a pussy. Who would've thought?" Gordon gave Gabriel an evil smirk.
"P-p-please, d-don't," Gabriel whimpered, his eyes helpless. "I d-don't k-know what th-this is about. " Walker seemed to be put off by such development, expecting pretty much everything, but not that.
And while he was trying to play off his vengeance fantasy (which had already gone sideways), Gabriel reached for the knife in his back pocket and slid down his chair.
Gordon noticed it just a second too late. Gabriel managed to twist Gordon's arm as he was about to shoot, and the bullet hit the ceiling with a sound which made everyone startle.
Then there was panic, people leaving the joint as fast as they could. A redhead in a leather jacket yelled "He has a gun!", a couple of guys shouted "Let's get out of here!" while the bartender was anxiously dialing 911 from under the counter.
Gabriel hit Gordon's leg with his knife, and the guy used both his hands to cover a bleeding wound. All so Gabriel would manage to yank the gun and press it to Gordon's face.
"Interesting, huh? And my pops used to say drama school was a waste of money. Turns out it just saved my life," Gabriel grinned from ear to ear. "Cops are coming here in..." D'Angelo demonstratively looked at his watch, "3-4 minutes. Have fun escaping with a bleeding leg! Toodles!"
Gabriel was just about to run through the back exit, when he heard a loud voice stopping him. "Mocking my height, how insulting!" he thought to himself.
"Hey, short guy! Turn back and drop the weapons! Hands up so we can see them! We're arresting you for causing unrest and gun violence. And you must be Gordon. How nice to see you again," detective Winchester pulled handcuffs out of his pocket, cuffing the guy in a black denim jacket. "Benny, get the other one, he's trying to escape!"
"Oh, I'm there, Dean, don't ya' worry," detective Lafitte reassured his partner and stormed off to the exit, stopping Gabriel in his tracks.
He grabbed the criminal by his shoulder, putting one of the cuffs on the man's wrist, facing him to take a closer look. The short guy winced and looked up at the detective, his eyes glistening with rage. But Lafitte smiled – no, he beamed.
"Well, well, well..." Benny drawled. "If it isn't ma' lucky day. I thought we'd never catch you!" The detective put his hand under the criminal's shoulder blades and pressed his body against the wall, putting another cuff on the guy's wrist.
"Benny, who'd you get there?" Dean shouted across the bar, after leaving the other guy for uniforms to handle. Winchester was coming over, pushing the chairs out of his way.
"We've got Gabriel D'Angelo himself on our hands. Can you believe that? Oh, I sure hope Captain'll feel good about us catchin' him."
"D'Angelo, huh? Alright, turn him around. Wanna look this ugly bastard in the eye."
Benny nodded and turned Gabriel around. He, for the lack of better word, wasn't pleased by the situation. Scoffing, Gabriel looked detective Winchester straight in the eye, piercing him with his wild, intense gaze.
"They got a special pot for guys like you in Hell, D'Angelo. I hope you rot in prison til the rest of your life. Twelve victims so far, and that's only those we managed to identify. Or find." Dean stepped forward, towering over the criminal. "Are there more, you scummy bastard? Are there?" Winchester's eyes were full of pure disgust and disdain.
Four years spent trying to catch him – and he never stopped killing. Awful. The worst part – Gabriel, apparently, displayed no signs of remorse.
D'Angelo finally spoke, his eyes full of fire behind them. "Respectively, fuck you, detective. Fuck all this. Cuff me, put me in prison – I've been caught, fine! Doesn't change the fact you're all pathetic sacks of piss, incapable of doing your job!"
After saying that, D'Angelo spit right into Winchester's face. Detective stumbled back, and started shouting "You sick, sociopathic freak, I'm–" until his partner stopped them both.
"Dean, chill out, will ya? I got this," he said, pulling Gabriel by his metal handcuffs. "You are under arrest on 7 counts of first and 5 counts of second degree murder. You have the right to remain silent. Anythin' you say can and will be used against ya in a court of law–"
"Will you put in a statement that I'm fucking your mom on weekends? She's got that freaky Southern accent too, gets me all turned on," Gabriel snarked back. "On the other hand, if you're a pig, then your mother is too– Ouch! Hurts!" Benny wrapped his right hand around D'Angelo's arm with a force of a bear.
Refusing to react any other way, detective Lafitte continued: "You have a right to an attorney. If you can not afford one, there will be one assigned to ya."
"Cool! Though you better find me a damn good one. I killed a few lawyers, well, allegedly, what's one more?" Gabriel smirked. Dean, struggling to keep his composure, grabbed the criminal's arm and shoved him into a backseat.
"You're not killing anyone else, scumbag. You're dying on an electric chair. Even if they don't use that anymore – I don't care. I'll just make damn sure they make an exception for you." As Dean said it, Gabriel looked up with something resembling fear.
Good, Dean thought. That's what he deserves.
Stuck in the interrogation room with detectives Winchester and Lafitte, Gabriel felt extremely uneasy.
"Come on, detectives... How much longer are you gonna keep me in here?" D'Angelo asked with condescention in his voice, rolling his eyes.
"As long as we want to. You're not the one asking questions in here, short guy," Dean snarked, reading through Gabriel's case file. "So, the same M.O., guys in ther mid-30 and 40-s, no racial preference... and yet, all of them are successful men..." Dean mumbled under his nose, but then spoke up, now louder.
"D'Angelo, could you be even more pathetic? Going after guys with status for no reason? Is this some kind of sick fetish? Were you overcompensating because of your height? Did your mom not love you enough?" Dean leaned in, put his hands on the interrogation table, his face on the same level with the criminal.
"Go fuck yourself, detective," – Gabriel growled. "If you're too stupid to see the whole picture, maybe you shouldn't be a cop. Ever thought about other career options? Empty noggin', smooth face, plump lips – should've gone into male escort," D'Angelo smirked. "Bet your partner here would eagerly pay to see your naked butt."
Benny's eyes widened and his gaze unconciously slipped onto Dean's back. Dean, realizing what the comment entailed, decided to ignore it. Almost. Winchester picked up his folder and straightened up. Obviously, not because his partner was just behind him. Plus, it wasn't the first time for criminals to be this bratty and pathetic.
Refusing to give any semblance of annoyance, Lafitte cleared his throat and started reading Gabriel's case file aloud. "Mhm. So, Gabriel D'Angelo. Age 29, born in Seattle, Washington. Has three brothers, two of them now residin' outside of the US. The third one, Lucifer, died from overdose back in 2013."
Gabriel winced and shut his eyes for a moment at the mention of Lucifer, which didn't go unnoticed by Dean. "Ouch. I bet they were closest to each other," the detective observed, while Benny continued reading the file.
"Mother, Alicia D'Angelo, passed a little over 18 years ago. And father, Charles D'Angelo, a renowned author and businessman, is pronounced deceased as of 2018. That information's correct?" Benny asked, looking down at Gabriel. The criminal, fixing his composure, was grinning again.
"Yeeeah, it's all true. But you know that already, don't ya? You don't need my confirmation, you're just trying to check what my reaction is. I bet you've profiled me already– Oh, wait. That's what only TV cops are good at. I know Aaron Hotchner would have already cracked this case open. Or my buttcheeks. Damn, that man was a snack! Mhm!"
Lafitte still looked at Gabriel, uncertain, trying to put his finger on it. The criminal was right, there was something more to it. "You're deflectin', D'Angelo. And we have a solid idea of what yo' motives were. All we need is to prove it."
"Aw, how cute. Do you want a cookie for effort?" Gabriel smirked again. "Then tell me, detectives, what do you think is going on here?"
Detective Winchester spoke up, walking circles around the interrogation table, eyes still set on D'Angelo. "Most of your victims resemble your father. And it's not uncommon for guys like you to hold a grudge. Our guess – you were in some sort of feud with your old man. Too bad, he died of a heart attack, right? So now, you're trying to work through your rage by killing innocent guys. For the thrill of it. Which makes you a total psycho."
Benny looked between his partner and D'angelo, both staring at each other. Something in criminal's expression shifted. Maybe we're really onto something here, Lafitte made a mental note, making sure to voice that to Dean later.
"Stick your theories up your ass, Winchester," Gabriel snapped. "You don't know shit, and I'm not about to go and explain anything."
"Doesn't matter. You're going straight to jail. No parole, no way out. We will get to the truth, you got it?"
Benny, seeing Dean get agitated, continued talking. "We still have one question, fo' you, D'Angelo: are there more? We've tied you to 12 victims so far. The families need answers. And we needa' understand why you did it."
"Well, hold on to your seats then, gentlemen!" Gabriel said dramatically, trying to make a grand gesture with his hands – and failing miserably, with metal rattling and keeping his wrists in place. Gabriel's face darkened. "Yes, in fact, there were more. But why would I dig my own grave here? You cannot possibly think I'm that stupid, right? I'm not saying a thing."
"Have a jolly good time in a county jail, then," Lafitte smiled, his blue eyes piercing through Gabriel. "Dean, I'm thinkin' we're done here."
Detective Winchester shot one more disgusted look at Gabriel, and walked through the door after Benny, closing it with a key. Both detectives went over to look at the captured criminal through the glass, exchanging glances while doing so.
"Shall we involve yo' brother in this, Dean? You're sure?" Benny drawled, his voice quiet.
Dean shook his head, and looked at Gabriel, whistling a tune at the table behind the glass. "Benny, I'm not sure about anything at this point. But I think we don't have a choice here. Though I'm not even sure he'd agree. We gotta talk to Sam about this first."
"Are you serious? You want me to do WHAT?" Sam jerked back after Dean dropped that bombshell of a request. Everything about the situation was totally insane. And yet, Benny and his older brother looked at him with pleading eyes.
Sam looked around his apartment, searching for anything to escape his brother's intent gaze. After failing to do that, his voice got quiet. "Dean... Do you really think I can pull this off?"
"Of course, I do. Sam, you've got the whole package! You're a nerd for serial killers, and have an Audible account pretty much proving that. And you have years of drama school experience, so I know how good you are at this."
"Dean, I've played the roles of Hamlet, of Odysseus! I've played Julien Sorel! Those things are not even closely comparable to what you want me to do here."
"Sammy, just– let me finish. Look, I know you don't want this. You ran from this. And when dad forcefully sent you to police academy, you couldn't care less. But still, you did it, and graduated with honors. See what I'm saying here? You're good at everything you try and put your mind to. And I know you can nail this too – you're skilled and have proper training."
"Okay... Benny? What do you think about all this?" Sam wanted to get an opinion from someone reasonable. Because, so far, Dean sounded borderline crazy.
Surprisingly, Benny just shrugged his shoulders. "I think you're the best person for the job. Most guys in our department are way past 30, which puts them in a danger zone. And you know this guy's M.O. as well as we do."
"Dean's 29!" Sam retorted. "And I get that it's too late to pick him, because D'Angelo has already met him, but do you really have no one else for this?"
Dean scrunched his face. "Well, Garth is 27, but have you seen that guy? He would either fold like an umbrella or get squished like a bug. In a day. We also have a couple of interns, but they're not ready for undercover job."
"And what makes you think I am?"
Benny, seeing the tension, decided to chime in. "D'you not see yourself recently, man? You're 6'5", you're jacked and intimidatin'. No one's gonna mess with ya' in there. And, what's most important, you can act. You can pull it off."
Dean nodded his head. "Dude, we wouldn't suggest it, if we doubted you even for a second. We promise your security in there, the guards will be watching over you and D'Angelo at all times. You're gonna do good."
"Okay. But let me get this straight. All I need is to pretend I'm a criminal, become bunk buddies with a serial killer, and try to befriend him? And retrieve some personal info with proof of more killings?"
"That's it, yeah. And the second we get everything we need, we're pulling you out. All you have to do is say yes. Or no, and we keep looking for someone else."
Dean shot his brother a worried look. Sam closed his eyes, thinking about the families of those victims who never received closure. There really was no one else to do this. Sam had to do it for them. After a minute of silence, he huffed a defeated sigh.
"Then I say yes," Sam replied.