A/N: Remember how I am trying to be better about updating this more often? Well, here is proof. Especially since I desperately need to finish this fic before summer ends and classes start back or else I probably won't get to work on it again for at least four months. Anyway, I know there is a time jump, but I am getting a little tired of all this Dean/Gabriel foreplay and want to get to the actual meat (pun sort of intended) of their relationship so it needed to be done and I hope you don't hate me for it. As always I hope you enjoy and please remember that none of these chapters are beta'd and in all honesty they aren't really even edited as much as vaguely looked over, so any and all mistakes (and I know there are always a plethora) are mine. Now onto what you actually care about: the story!

Essential information: for the purpose of this story Dean was born in 1984 and Sam in 1988. Keep this in mind when flashbacks happen so you aren't confused. I did it this way instead of keeping with the timeline of the show because Dean needed to be twenty-eight for the purposes of this story. Got it? Awesome sauce.

Memories Sharp as Daggers

It had been two weeks since he had woken up. Two weeks of the most ridiculous coddling and insistent, never-ending attention and if someone didn't leave him alone for two fucking minutes in the very near future he was about to actually figure out a way to injure himself jumping out of a first floor window.

Frankly he'd be a little bit happier and a lot less ill at ease if someone would just yell or throw something. All the silent, questioning glances and patient remarks were getting a little unnerving because it made him feel like the only one getting frustrated that practically an entire lifetime of memories could disappear in the blink of an eye. But no, everyone was understanding and damn near perfect and that…well it made him feel even worse because, barring a few memories, he still could scarcely tell you some of their names half the time let alone what the fuck they were doing in his house. Oh yeah, did he mention he had a house? Because he did. It was sort of awesome, but he didn't feel like admitting that out loud quite yet.

In the past two weeks he had managed to remember five things with startling, sometimes shocking clarity. Although he discovered remembering wasn't exactly the right word for it. Re-living was a much better way of putting it into words because when it was happening it didn't feel like something that happened a while ago, something that he could remove himself from, it felt like it was happening right then, at that moment and whether what he was remembering made him want to laugh or cry, or sometimes a strange combination of the two, it hit him square in the jaw every time. At least he thinks he is using that saying correctly. Cas had told him about it, though, and if Gabriel was to be believed Castiel was the last person you should listen to in regards to anything that might in any way relate to…well humanity. It sort of made Dean want to laugh even though he wasn't sure he got the punch line.

Not knowing his family, his friends, hell himself was…scary. In all honesty it was terrifying and really bizarre not to know the details of a life that is supposed to belong to you. The doctors and nurses and supposed experts he had seen so far all seemed to focus on those aspects. That they knew he was scared and vulnerable and unsure and a number of other things that sounded far too medical for his tastes so he tuned them out, but what nobody said to Dean, what nobody seemed to be able to grasp was how fucking weird all of this was.

Everyone drones on and on about trusting the people around you and some medical terminology that even those people on that episode of that show, Bones, he'd seen can't pronounce, but what nobody tells you is that having amnesia is really, insanely weird. It's like being a stranger in your own mind, a prisoner in your own body, and a character in your own story. People told him a few basic things deemed need to know and he had a few heart stopping moments where he truly and fully remembered, not just a feeling of peace or comfort from a smell or a touch, but a legitimate memory etched back into his brain, finally slotting back into place. But still most of the time he felt like he was watching a movie or reading a book about this character named Dean Winchester and he didn't always know what this guy was thinking or how he was feeling, and he sure as hell didn't always feel like he was this guy, but he was trying to figure him out nonetheless.

Dean had gotten into quotes since the third day he was awake and he had seen Castiel reading some sort of book of them and one in particular kept replaying itself in his mind, "One day your life is going to flash before your eyes, make sure it's worth watching." And while Dean couldn't remember most of his life, he decided that he was going to try to make the most of the second one he'd been given and if all he ever remembered were bits and pieces, then he'd stitch them together and form a new life.

Then there were the memories. Every time he remembered something else he felt like he was getting closer and further away from the truth of who he was because he couldn't help but trying to reconcile the guy other people kept telling him he was and the guy that he saw and felt in those moments. And he wasn't sure they always fit.

How did the dorky kid who spent an entire night marathoning some show called Doctor Who about an alien (a Timelord, he thought sounded right) grow up to be the same guy cradling a five pound, nine ounce baby girl in his arms like she was the most precious thing in the entire world. He knew how he felt, but he didn't know what he felt about that and it scared him. This constant state of flux. He had a daughter somewhere, a gorgeous tiny little girl who depended on him and was somewhere missing him and he knew that he loved her with everything that he had in him because he could feel that love in every fiber of his being, with every breath that he took, but how was he supposed to be a father to this little girl, to take care of her, when he could barely take care of himself half the time.

The first memory had come out of nowhere. He was reclining on the couch with the radio on while Gabriel did something or other in the kitchen that he was probably meant to pay attention to, but didn't when Hungry Like the Wolf started blaring out of the speakers and suddenly he wasn't on the couch anymore.

-December 17, 1990-

Dean was running around the kitchen with the model airplane Uncle Bobby had given him last week as an early Christmas present. Uncle Bobby was Dean's favorite because he didn't yell as much as Dad or get as angry at everything. He didn't smell funny either and sometimes he brought over Aunt Karen's apple pie and that stuff was like the most amazing thing in the entire world. Dean was pretty sure that it could like stop wars from being fought and whatnot. It was just that good. Even Sammy liked it and he was two and pretty much didn't like anything. Well, he kept running around yelling no and playing with some stuffed purple elephant that he didn't let anyone touch, like ever, anyway. Uncle Bobby said toddlers were like that though. Dean wasn't one hundred percent sure what exactly a toddler was, but apparently Sammy was one. Still, Sammy is pretty cool. He hugs me all the time, which is sort of awesome and he laughs at all my jokes, even the ones Dad says don't make any sense.

Dean was torn out of his thoughts by the sound of a door slamming shut. He dropped his airplane and ran to Sammy's room to check on him to find he was sound asleep. Breathing a sigh of relief, he started walking back to the living room when he heard his Dad yell for him.

"Coming, Dad!" he said as he ran as fast as his little legs would take him toward the sound of his Dad's voice. When he got to the kitchen his Dad was bending down to pick up the airplane from where he had dropped it on the floor in his haste to get to Sam. One of the wings had a small crack in it and Dean took an unconscious step backward in preparation of his father's anger.

"What is your new toy doing on the floor, Dean? Don't you respect your Uncle Bobby enough not to destroy the things he spends his hard earned time and money on?"

Dean sighed and hung his head to the ground in the way he knew he was supposed to when his dad was yelling at him. It was a sign of respect or something, "Sorry, Dad. I didn't mean to, I promise. I was just checking on Sammy."

He looked up from under his lashes in time to see his father raise an eyebrow, "Checking on Sammy? Why would you have to scratch your plane to do that? Were you playing a game instead of watching your little brother, Dean?"

Dean just stood there for a minute trying to figure out what to say. His dad wasn't raising his voice which was always a bad sign. He was the most angry when he was quiet. He also smelled really funny, like the guy who stood outside the library and drank brown stuff out of a bottle. Dad was always mad when he smelled funny. Dean didn't like it.

"No. Dad, Sammy was asleep so I was just playing with my airplane while he was sleeping. I mean, he doesn't really need watching when he's asleep and it's boring to just sit there."

His dad took another step closer to him, towering over him and Dean wondered how other kids always seemed happy when their parents got close to them, like they felt safe or something, when he felt the exact opposite. It wasn't safe or fun it was terrifying. Parents being close meant you were in trouble. Big trouble. And sometimes you didn't even know what for.

John leaned down then until he was face to face with Dean and pulled him close by his shirt, a little roughly, "You are to watch Sam at all times. I don't care if he's eating or watching cartoons or fucking sleeping, you do not, and I mean it, Dean, do not let him out of your sight, you got that?"

Dean tried to nod and look confident, which was sort of hard to do through tears and a lump in your throat, but he guessed he managed at least a little bit alright because his dad let him go with a tiny shove that made his hip clip a little roughly against the chair leg and then he really was falling to the ground and crying. He was scared and hurt and he just wanted Uncle Bobby or Aunt Karen to hug him and make things better.

Almost as soon as Dean had curled in on himself he was being lifted back up by a strong, too rough hand and hoisted into the air with a painful grip on his little arms.

"Dean, what have I told you about crying about things that are your fault to begin with?"

Dean sniffled and tried to wipe the snot off his nose, but couldn't with his Dad holding his arms so tight, "I'm not allowed to. Not supposed to cry at all. Crying is only for girls."

John scoffed, "Damn right. Makes you look like a fucking sissy and I won't have a sissy for a son you got that?" He shook Dean a little harder as if to emphasize his point.

Dean nodded, not really understanding what a sissy was or why he shouldn't be one but not caring if it meant his dad was going to put him down and leave him alone. He winced a little when his dads hands tightened around his arms before dropping him to the ground without warning. Dean twisted his foot a little, but managed not to cry out or anything knowing it would upset his dad all over again. Everything upset him when he was in this sort of mood.

John looked down at Dean and smiled, but more than anything he looked sad and mean, "Go watch your brother. I'll call you when the pizza is ready. Don't you dare leave that room until then, though, or else there will be hell to got me, son?"

Dean just nodded, jumping to his feet and ignoring the twinge of pain the movement caused, practically running down the hall toward Sammy's room. As he shut the door he heard his dad turn on the radio and his favorite song coming on. Dean didn't know the name of it, but it had something to do with wolves.

-Present Day-

The first thing that Dean felt when he came back to himself was terror. He could remember so vividly the feeling of sheer terror that he had felt staring up into the cold eyes of the man he was supposed to be able to count on for support and love and comfort. The panic, the pain, the hurt, the resigned acceptance, the sadness all came a few moments later with a sort of intensity that didn't just render him speechless it rendered him overwhelmed.

Nobody had mentioned his father. They hadn't said anything one way or another, but from the ridiculously cheesy aspects of the rest of his life he had sort of just assumed he'd be something ridiculously parental like a stay at home dad or a kindergarten teacher. What he definitely didn't expect was some sort of terrifying…mechanic? At least Dean assumed he was a mechanic since he was wearing some sort of greasy body suit with his name on the front in big red letters.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath to compose himself. He didn't realize he was shaking until he went to scrub a hand over his face and physically couldn't. He leaned back on the couch, eyes squeezed shut as if that could somehow block out the short span of time that was now etched back into his brain.

He didn't know if it was from the adrenaline of remembering or if it was left over shakes from the mortified six year old he apparently used to be, but either way it broke him. He just couldn't do this. Couldn't remember these things, didn't want to remember his life if it was going to be like this. God, if his dad was that horrible to a six year old what happened when he turned seven, eight, or older. Did things get worse? Did he ever get over that scared feeling. That moment of sheer panic when his dad's voice rang out down the hall. Was he still alive? Was he going to come here? Was he going to be mad at Dean for not remembering? That seemed like something the man in his memory would consider weak and unmanly, forgetting who you were. He didn't think he could deal with that right now.

What if finding out the truth about who you are is actually worse than not remembering? What if this great life people keep telling him he has is some sort of huge lie. The tiny, sad kid in that memory, the harsh look in his dad's eyes, that sure as hell wasn't like any Disney fairy tale Cas had shown him over the past few weeks.

Dean didn't want to be a coward. Didn't think he was one, but he was scared as hell of whatever else was in his mind that might bear remembering. Scared of what it might make him realize about himself and his past. What if he wasn't ready to face who he was head on? What if he was still that scared little kid cowering on the floor. What if he always would be?

"Dean, lunch is ready! It's roast beef, your favor-. Dean? Dean, what's wrong?"

Dean felt the couch next to him slump down a bit, a sign that Gabriel was sitting next to him, but he didn't want to open his eyes. He wasn't sure he wouldn't start crying if he did and he really didn't want to break down in front of anyone, but especially not Gabriel, he had been so strong these past few weeks and Dean had begun to feel more and more drawn to that strength and simplicity. Had found himself staring at Gabriel and trying to puzzle him out and sometimes simply admiring him, the curve of his neck, the bend of his nose, the softness of his hair, the gentle beauty of his eyes. And every time he discovered something new to admire about Gabriel, like the way he would laugh right after he told a joke regardless if anyone else seemed to get it or not, he got a little bit more terrified that he was falling for a guy that he barely knew and who most definitely, given all indications, was his best friend on the planet for the past few years. And while Dean may not remember a lot of stuff, falling in love with your best friend is sort of one of those things that doesn't seem like a good idea no matter who you are.

He took a deep breath before whispering, "I just…can you turn the radio off please?"

He felt the couch shift and heard a slight rustling around before the house was filled with an almost eerie silence broken only by the soft click of Gabriel's wingtips on the wooden floor.

He heard a soft puff of air escape Gabriel's lips before the next words were whispered, "Dean, do you want to talk about it at all? Maybe I can help."

He laughed then, bitter and still shaky, and he felt utterly ridiculous because he wasn't sure whether he wanted to laugh, cry, or throw something so he settled for sitting there on the couch eyes closed, body shaking and laughter dying out, "I just. It's all a fucking fairy-tale right? My life I mean. I guess I should have expected a villain." He felt the tears stinging his eyes as he gulped around a lungful of air that suddenly didn't want to cooperate with him, "I didn't expect to be so scared. I didn't know someone's eyes could be that cold. I…is he dead?"

Gabriel had stiffened as he talked and he gathered that he must know who he was talking about without him actually having to say the words out loud and for that Dean was more grateful than he could even find the words to express, because he thought saying the name aloud might shatter the last piece of calm he was holding onto and he desperately needed that calm not to shatter here and now on his leather couch in his family sitting room.

"Yes. He died a few years ago."

Dean took a few moments to breathe and collect his thoughts about that. He felt somewhat sad, but mostly safe and relieved.

"Dean, I don't know what you remembered. Obviously it was something bad, but…I…you should know that you did love him and he did love you, even if a lot of bad stuff happened. Your dad was really messed up and he hurt you a lot, I just want you to remember that no matter what else you remember you did love him, alright."

Dean just squeezed his eyes shut tighter, finally gaining some semblance of control over his breathing and his shaking limbs. He didn't want to think about his father or the terror that surrounded that memory. Didn't want to remember his love for a man who seemed to hold nothing but disdain for him. In fact, he didn't want to do anything but eat a roast beef sandwich and talk about mundane things like the weather and maybe the Giants game. He sighed, pulling the strength that he knew was inside him somewhere and opened his eyes and sat up.

"Can we have lunch now?" he said and he was proud how close to normal his voice sounded. Gabriel looked a little bit like he wanted to argue, but simply nodded his head slowly, stood up, and headed toward the kitchen.

Maybe tomorrow he would be brave enough to think about the implications of his latest memory. Maybe not. But for now he was going to sit in his kitchen with his best friend and eat a roast beef sandwich like everything was normal and maybe one day soon it would be again. He remembered Sam saying something along the lines of "fake it until you make it" and he thought that sounded like a pretty damn good idea right about now.

Alright. That's it for now, folks. Now it's time for your thoughts. Time jump, good or bad?