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Five Times Gabriel Cock-blocked Dean (and the one time he didn't have to)

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“High school’s no joke, Sammy. You gotta study hard if you want to get into a good college. Teachers aren’t just gonna go easy on ya ‘cause you’re my little brother, ya know?”

Dean watched Sam narrow his eyes. He could just about hear the lecture he was drafting. ‘Like you’re one to talk! Whine whine whine! Nyah nyah nyah!’ Or something like that.

A half smile snuck onto Dean’s lips. Sam could be a little shit, but he was the best part of Dean’s shitty life. Dean was already more or less running his dad’s garage in addition to trying to survive his senior year of high school. He fantasized about running away. Hell, he’d even settle for another 2-4 years of school if it offered a reprieve, but he wouldn’t leave his brother behind.

But right now he had to adult for Sam. Tell him to stay out of trouble and the like. Except Sam was gone. Dean’s big brother instinct went into overdrive. He scanned the school grounds until he caught sight of his Sammy slipping past a crowd of students by the building’s big double doors as the morning’s warning bell rang out.

Dean crept to the edge of the mass and listened as everyone whispered their opinion of some new student in town. From what he could gather, new kid was hot. But based on his intel, there was a good chance that she was a total nerd because as far as Dean could tell, despite being a year younger, they were in many of the same classes. Nobody’s perfect, Dean thought. He pressed forward. He heard plenty of gossip and a few things that could have been a name: Cassie or Cathy L.

Dean pressed through the mob of students. He found someone wearing a tan trench coat a few sizes too big, staring at their schedule as if it were the most important thing in the world -- the new kid.

Dean cleared his throat.

Nothing.

He waved a hand in front of the new kid’s face.

Still nothing.

“Yo, new kid!” Dean shouted, obnoxiously snapping his fingers inches from new guy’s face.

It was several long moments before the new kid seemed to register the attempts to get his attention. He looked at Dean. Suddenly, Dean knew what the other kids were talking about. He (so probably not Cathy) had a pleasant face with movie-star blue eyes. Under the coat, he donned a pair of honest to goodness dress slacks and a button down shirt with a blue tie slightly askew. Dean debated whether it was a fashion choice or genuine obliviousness. He leaned toward the latter.

“Hello . . . ” the new kid greeted, seeming unsure if he should know who this person was.

“Dean,” he supplied, “Dean Winchester.”

“Hello, Dean,” hot new kid repeated.

Dean tried not to let the way his name sounded go straight to his groin. “You must be the new guy,” Dean stated matter-of-factly.

Not-Cathy squinted, but said nothing.

“Anyway, on behalf of the Lawrence High School Welcome Committee, we uh . . .well, we welcome you.”

The new kid looked Dean up and down. He suddenly felt very self-conscious about his attire. He was wearing a pair of oil-stained jeans, steel-toed boots, and a Zeppelin t-shirt under an unbuttoned flannel.

“I said, ‘Welcome to Lawrence High School,’ uhh . . .” Dean still didn’t know the guy’s name. If he were really on a welcome committee, he’d probably know something. He knew it was weird and started with a “C”. Cathy? That didn’t seem right. Christian? Carmine? Dean smiled. “Constantine.

“My name isn’t Const--”

“Look here, kiddo. Just because you somehow managed to make 90s grunge apparel look sexy, doesn’t mean you get to dole out nicknames like you own the place,” asserted a person Dean didn’t recognize.

“Who’s talking to you, shortstack?” Dean retorted.

“I may be short, but I compensate in other areas,” he answered with a smug grin plastered on his face. “I’d be more than happy to show you.”

“Yeah,” Dean answered lamely. His interest was piqued, but he quickly remembered he was in a battle for his honor. “I’m sure you have a really big, fat . . . ego.”

The newcomer chuckled. “Damn straight, I--”

“Excuse me, but no one insults my ass of a brother,” not-Constantine chimed in.

Dean furrowed his brow at the blatant contradiction.

“No one, except for me,” he amended.

“Oh how sweet! Sticking up for your little brother!” Dean snarked at blue-eyes.

“Well, actually Gabe’s my--” not-Constantine began.

“Older brother,” Gabe finished. “I’m the older brother.”

Dean rolled his eyes at this last comment, then looked at the pair of them. New guy was several inches taller and more conventionally handsome than his supposedly older brother.

“Well, I’m an older brother. And unlike you, I’m actually taller than Sammy,” Dean retorted. He went to punctuate the end of the sentence with some form of assertion of physical dominance, but blue-eyes was walking into the building and and his brother was nowhere to be seen.