Here's my all-encompassing disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or any characters affiliated with the show. Now, on to the story!
Chapter One: Sapere Aude
"It was the heat of the moment…"
The ringtone was what woke him. He associated it with impending adventure and had heard it enough times that it woke him better than any alarm he'd ever set.
"Telling me what your heart meant…"
Bright sunlight greeted Sam as he cracked open his eyes. It was too bright to be the early morning light he was used to seeing when waking, which meant he'd slept in. He wasn't sure whether to be mad at himself or not about it, but upon finding that many of his muscles felt as if they'd been put through the wringer and back, he decided that he'd probably deserved every second of it.
"The heat of the moment shone in your eyes…"
Sam sat up with a groan, ignoring the creaking of the pull-out bed beneath him as he tried to locate where Gabe's phone was. That ringtone meant someone from the LPD was calling, which was important because…
The events from the night before came flooding back, providing an explanation for his soreness and the faint smell of smoke coming from the strewn clothes at the foot of the bed.
Right. The Roadhouse burned down last night, and the Dead Eyes did it.
In what he could pinpoint now as Gabe's room, the phone fell silent as the call went unanswered. Sam had a fleeting thought that he should probably grab the P. I's phone for him but shoved it aside. He didn't want to disturb Gabe, and besides, he'd probably wake on the second call. If it was important, they'd call back.
Just as he thought, the ringtone started up again, but this time it didn't play for long. There was a rustle of sheets from behind the ajar sliding door that led to Gabe's room, a muffled thud as what sounded like the phone itself fell to the ground, and then a mumbled curse.
Sam smiled automatically (that was definitely Gabe) before falling back with a wince against the pillow.
He wasn't sure how he'd gotten here of all places last now, but in all honesty, he didn't mind. Despite only having been here a couple of times, Sam found Gabe's apartment to be a comforting place that was quickly becoming familiar to him. He'd woken at peace as if he had been in his own apartment, and he didn't feel he had to scurry around and leave as quickly as possible. Gabe's aura lulled him even further into a relaxed state, easing the mild stress that had already begun upon remembering what had happened last night.
The aura turned to white gold where the sun touched it, illuminating the apartment even more than it already was. Sam had half a mind to reach out and touch it (Gabe's aura was just like that), and did so, ignoring the protesting tug of his muscles as he acted upon a whim.
His fingers swished through the colors, swirling through a warmth that didn't come from the morning sun. Sam wasn't one to physically reach out and try to touch auras; beyond base physical sensations he sometimes received from them, like an electric shock, warmth, or cold, they weren't really things to touch. It was all in the vision, and the feelings they gave him through the weird sixth sense that allowed him to even see them at all. On the few occasions he'd reached out towards one (and he didn't for obvious reasons), he didn't really get anything understandable, and certainly nothing more than what his eyes instinctively told him. Touching an aura was like talking to a child while seeing one was talking to an adult.
Sam let his arm fall awkwardly off the edge of the bed, brow furrowing as he contemplated the golden shades lingering in the air.
He may have been an emotionally constipated idiot (or just a Winchester, depending on who you asked), but he was no fool. Something had changed between him and Gabe last night, or maybe it had simply been exposed by the high-tension situation of the Roadhouse burning down. Whatever it was, it was different from the strange partnership they'd originally struck up on that Tuesday night that felt so long ago.
Romantic? Sam thought maybe so; he couldn't deny that it was something along those lines now. Gabe was charismatic, and his aura captivating in all of its untamable golden glory. Flashy auras had pulled Sam in before (Jess' had been a bright, summery sky blue in the beginning after all), but auras were just a part of it. He could say that he while he'd initially been interested in Gabe himself for his aura, it hadn't remained that way for long.
Lisa was right; he'd been inexplicably happy ever since he'd started his tumultuous adventure with Gabe. Chasing after a serial killer was about as stressful and crazy as it sounded, but all those little moments in between the crime-solving had been the best Sam had had in a while. Some had been full of trouble and as equally exhausting as the crime-solving, but they were still the best.
Gabe was more than just a flashy aura and pretty eyes; he was intelligent, hilarious, and compassionate. He stuck to his guns, respected the boundaries he'd set, and listened with a reservoir of patience that somehow only existed in the moments he acted as a listening ear. Gabe's aura was captivating, but Gabe himself was just as alluring with his smirks and raked back hair and moments of crime-related genius.
He's also a guy.
Sam felt his face warm a little as his mind reminded him of that glaring fact.
It wasn't that he was against the idea; he could admit certain men were handsome, and while Lisa had also been right (how she did it he'd never know) when she'd said he'd have to think on his sexuality a bit, he thought that he could accept he was into guys. He'd just never liked any of them before.
The sliding door rolled open, sparing Sam from torturing himself with any more (dare he say it?) romantic thoughts of Gabe as the man himself emerged.
He looked exactly as if he'd woken ten minutes before from a very deep sleep. His hair was a mess, and his face was pinched with grogginess, eyes squinted as he shuffled out into the light-bathed living room. The Ouroboros tattoo shifted as he raised his arms to stretch them over his head, revealing a strip of skin above the low riding hem of his flannel pajama pants.
"Mornin' Sam-a-lam," he mumbled, yawning loudly. His aura was still half asleep, but the gold was coming alive with every minute. "Have you been awake long?"
Sam tore his eyes away from what was supposed to be a perfectly average strip of skin and cleared his throat.
"Not much longer than you," he responded, sitting up and scratching his neck to hide his traitorous thoughts of skin, "Guess we were both pretty tired last night."
Gabe smiled softly before approaching the edge of the bed and sitting on it, patting his soot-stained clothes.
"Yeah, last night was pretty wild, and that's coming from me," he said with a trademark wink that drew an eye roll from the Winchester.
"Who were you talking to?" Sam asked, deciding to just go for it. He had a pretty good idea that it had either been Jody or Donna, but what had been actually discussed was more important.
Gabe's smile slipped a bit, and he pulled his phone out of his pants pocket before fiddling with it.
"Jody," he said with a sigh, "It's…well, it's not the best news, but it's not the absolute worst either."
Sam scooted closer to Gabe, who smiled at him appreciatively before beginning to recount his phone conversation.
"The LPD's largest priority right now is still finding The Crucifier," Gabe began, wrinkling his nose with distaste at the title, "There's been nothing new since they found Mitchell though, and apparently everyone's concerned about the lack of a new victim. His timetable was extremely fast-paced, and the sudden stop has come out of nowhere."
"That can't be good," Sam murmured, and the P.I hummed in agreement.
"Everyone's antsy over there. Besides guarding over Hoffman and Olsen, they're twiddling their thumbs."
His expression mustn't have been very nice, because Gabe sighed understandingly and patted his shoulder.
"I know kiddo. That's why we're going to handle things from our end."
Golden colors caressed his skin, a now familiar feeling that Sam relished and leaned into a bit as he tried to control his anger towards the LPD.
They were the ones that fucked up Mom's case, he thought, but that doesn't mean another killer will get away. Not if I can help it.
"I don't go back on my promises, Sam," Gabe said quietly, his fingers tightening a bit as his aura grew stronger.
The heat made the Winchester look up to see the determination that had been in his voice reflected in his eyes and aura in the form of reddish gold. Sam hadn't begun to doubt the promise they'd made each other last night at the Roadhouse, and he wasn't going to start now. He may have had his doubts before when their partnership had still been new, but things were different now.
How much different is yet to be determined, but that'll have to wait.
"You're right," he responded, exhaling sharply through his nose as pushed the fallible LPD out of his mind for the moment, "What else did Jody say? Did she mention anything about the Roadhouse?"
"Unfortunately," Gabe said, his mood slipping to something like frustration as the edges of his aura shifted to a light vermilion, "It's the lack of a sound investigation that's the problem."
Sam looked at him questioningly, and the P.I sighed before raking a hand through his hair. To his amusement, it only made Gabe's bedhead worse, and he stifled a snort at the sight. Gabe looked at him suspiciously before continuing.
"The LPD has so much manpower directly, and indirectly, focused on catching the Crucifier that just about everything is coming secondary to it," he explained, "They don't want the Feds coming in."
"The Feds never came in on Mom's case," Sam stated, "Because…Yellow Eyes stopped?"
Gabe nodded, "From what I've gathered, they were very close to coming in when your mother was killed. However, Yellow Eyes stopped, and they never did."
Sam mulled over the information. John had been obsessed with Yellow Eyes (still was to a certain extent), and as a result, he'd dug up all sorts of information on the case, which had led to the Winchesters' low opinion of the LPD. Sam thought it was the main reason why they'd been trained in the first place; John didn't trust the LPD to keep the city and his sons safe, so he took it upon himself to do it.
To his surprise, the bitter resentment that always came with thinking of John and his fucked-up childhood wasn't as strong as it usually was. It was still there; Sam thought it'd always be there, but it wasn't blinding in its immensity. He could actually think about his past without shying away from it or hiding behind his resentment.
Those few times John and my childhood were brought up when I was talking with Gabe, it was sort of like this too.
Maybe it was the circumstances of the case and the past that lay interconnected in it. Maybe it was Gabe's aura making him feel like this, but he doubted it.
Or maybe he was just somehow coming to terms with it in his own way.
"How close are the Feds to coming in on this case?" he asked, shoving all of his thoughts aside to focus on the present. The past would just have to wait.
"Close," Gabe said grimly, "If a fifth victim shows up before the LPD figures something out, it's just about guaranteed."
"And it'd be a lot harder to work around the Feds and the LPD."
"Smart as always," Gabe remarked with a pleased smile, drawing a faint blush from Sam, "I think everyone's hoping there won't be a fifth victim, but that'd be too much to hope for. If he's waiting this long, he must be biding his time and gearing up for something. Serial killers don't stop without good reason."
"We'll have to use that to our advantage," Sam mused, already thinking of things they could do before his mind reminded him of the original part of the conversation.
"Wait, what does this have to do with the Roadhouse?"
Gabe tapped his phone in a staccato beat against his thigh, "There's only a bare minimum investigation going on right now into the destruction of the Roadhouse. Everyone and their grandma knew that it was a gang hit by the Dead Eyes since there were countless eyewitnesses, but there's very little effort going into actually finding any of the Dead Eyes. The fire department is taking their sweet time investigating the arson, and there's only a pair of shabby detectives on the case. Their solve rate is shitty, and everyone knows it."
His voice had been relatively even throughout his explanation, but there was a loaded look in Gabe's eyes that told him to read between the lines.
Corruption.
Sam's hands clenched into fists, the hot feeling of anger filling his chest. He wasn't usually quick to anger, but when it came to certain things (like the LPD), he lit up quicker than a match and burned twice as fast.
"They can't do that," he hissed, clenching his jaw, "People could've died last night, and they're just going to give a half-assed effort into catching the Dead Eyes?"
He stood abruptly, pacing in the small space between the bed and the coffee table that had been shoved to the side to make room for the pull-out mattress. Sam didn't want to be angry in front of Gabe, not when they were trying to have a discussion, and decided to channel it into pacing back and forth.
"Bastards," he muttered, remembering all the times John had said to never trust the LPD.
It had been like a mantra in his youth, one that had stuck despite his career choice as a lawyer (and how ironic was that?). He'd almost-almost let it subside while in college, but ever since he'd started working with Gabe, it was back.
Never trust the LPD to do anything right.
Sam paced faster, tugging fiercely on his fringe.
"The Roadhouse is-was important," he said, correcting himself with a faint sadness the anger didn't let him feel completely, "They can't do that. It's not fair."
Fair.
Sam knew life wasn't fair. Knew it more intimately than many people and had managed over the years to resign himself to the fact that Winchesters simply didn't get anything fair out of life. They got the short stick and made it long through blood, sweat, and tears. Sam had done that when he'd blazed a path through all the obstacles in his way to becoming a lawyer, even going through John to do so.
The Roadhouse burning down was different though. It didn't just affect Sam; many others like Ellen and Jo had been connected to the beloved restaurant, and the least they deserved was a proper investigation, and for the Dead Eyes to pay for what they'd done. The weak effort by the LPD wasn't fair to them, but Sam wouldn't let it lie.
Something John had said a long time ago, back when their training had still been something new and incomprehensible, came back to Sam. He hadn't said it as much as his opinions of the LPD, but he'd said it often enough for him to remember it.
"There's a lot of unfairness in the world, boys. Now, you can either live with it or do something about it. Live with the unfairness or make things fair."
He'd make it fair.
A warm hand on Sam's back made him turn to see Gabe standing behind him, aura spreading from down his arm to his palm, sinking into his skin and taking the edge off his anger. Only then did Sam realize that the only thing he was wearing was his boxers and that Gabe had a full view of what Sam had gone through.
He didn't have many scars; Sam had always healed fast, and John had never beaten them. The few he had were from training, or from taking part in dumb dares with Dean. The only thing of interest on his back was a long, thin scar from where he'd been thrown through a window (a very long story), and a tattoo above his right shoulder blade.
"Lots of things in life aren't fair Sammo," Gabe said, tugging him by the elbow.
Sam resisted the pull for a moment. His anger was rapidly diminishing though, and he let it go with a sharp sigh before letting himself be turned around.
He ducked his head before he could look Gabe in the eyes. In close proximity like this, he was keenly aware of his lack of clothes, and the way Gabe's white shirt made his tan skin glow.
"That doesn't mean they have to stay unfair though," the P.I continued, "We can do something about it, and we will. You just have to trust in our ability to do so."
Sam glanced up at Gabe through his fringe, a little shocked that he'd sounded much like his thoughts. It was as if he'd read his mind.
Or maybe he understands.
"You've had a pretty unfair life, haven't you," he stated, taking in Gabe's aura.
There were the ever-present gold and pastel hues that shimmered pearlescent, but there was more to it. The unyielding shade of reddish gold stuck to his body; the determination that had been there since last night when they'd made their promise. But there was also a strange pinker hue that led Sam to believe in his words.
Empathy.
Gabe said nothing, but the pink grew just a bit stronger, and Sam decided that it would have to be enough for now. He'd suspected that Gabe hadn't had an easy life, but this was (at least to him) undeniable confirmation.
"What does your tattoo mean?" Gabe asked instead, smoothly enough that if he hadn't been able to see auras, Sam would've doubted his statement.
He let it go though. They had a lot on their plate right now, and Gabe wanted to focus on present matters (the reddish gold clearly indicated that). Besides, he had his own secrets, and Gabe had respected them. Sam could do the same.
Maybe once all this serial killer business gets settled, we can exchange secrets. A secret for a secret.
Sam didn't have much hope of that ever happening; they both just had too many secrets, but it was still nice to think of.
"'Sapere Aude'," he said, the shoulder that held the two words rolling a bit, "It means 'dare to know'."
He could see the words now, simple lettering like a stamp against his skin. It was relatively small and nondescript, even stark in its simplicity. The few people that knew of it tended to express confusion about it, and Jess had said it could do with a bit of jazzing up.
Gabe, however, was not like other people.
"Of course," he said with a bright smile, the kind that crinkled the edges of his eyes and lightened his aura to match, "It makes a lot of sense, now that I know you're such a nerd."
He reached out to punch his arm playfully, jolting Sam out of the mild nervousness he hadn't known he'd been feeling until then.
The only person that had accepted his tattoo was Kevin, and that was only after admonishing him for getting it so impulsively. Not even Jess had managed to wrap her mind around it, but Gabe just took it in stride.
Maybe that was one of the differences between her and Gabe. There were lots of differences and similarities between them (they both shared an ungodly amount of stubbornness, that was for sure), but for some reason, this difference stuck out more than Sam thought it would.
"You just wish you had a cool Latin phrase for a tattoo," he retorted, and Gabe crossed his arms and turned up his nose.
"I certainly do not. You can keep your dead language."
"Hey!"
They devolved into a brief argument about the validity of Latin before Sam realized that he was still standing in his underwear, and now that Gabe was more alert, a very familiar shade of cherry red was making itself apparent in his aura.
"Uh, I should take a shower," he said, feeling his ears warm with embarrassment as Gabe's eyes began to drift downwards.
He snatched up his clothes and held them in front of his chest like a shield. It wasn't that he minded Gabe looking at him (not with those stupidly pretty eyes of his), but he wasn't sure how to go about doing anything about the cherry red when Sam hadn't managed to figure out what he was feeling on his own end.
Not to mention the million and one other things we have on our plates right now.
"Right, right," Gabe said absentmindedly before his eyes snapped up to his face, "I know it's a longshot, but you're welcome to any of the clothes in my closet. Maybe you can make a T-shirt work."
In the morning light, Gabe's eyes looked like gold. Or the whiskey the Roadhouse served. Sam couldn't decide which, but the decision was taken out of his hands when Gabe blinked at him and he realized he had been staring.
"Right," Sam said, his ears on fire now (it was a small miracle he'd let his hair grow out), "Shower. I'm going."
He promptly fled, which, while not his best moment, was an acceptable course of action for a Winchester. However gung-ho John had been in training, not to mention their family dynamic was in general, he'd also been taught that there was no shame in beating a hasty retreat when the situation called for it.
Look at me taking a page out of the Winchester handbook as an excuse. The fire must've addled my brain.
In the safety of the bathroom, Sam relaxed, and after cursing his own ineptness, decided to take the time to regroup. When he left the bathroom, he'd be calm and collected, and ignore the relationship change for now. Not forever; he wasn't an idiot. Just… temporarily. There were more pressing matters at hand, and Sam knew he'd need time to really think things through anyway. For all he knew, he was just making a big deal out of nothing, and not much had changed between him and Gabe at all.
It wasn't until halfway through his extremely needed shower that Sam realized with a jolt what had bothered him so much when he'd compared Jess and Gabe. Usually, when he thought of Jess, even if it was just once, he always felt bummed out and caught in past regrets for a while after, but that hadn't happened. In fact, he'd thought of Jess multiple times that morning, but he'd barely noticed.
Because, for the first time since he'd broken up with her, Sam hadn't felt any pain at the loss of her.
…
Taking a shower to get clean only to be greeted by dirty clothes was a major letdown. Fortunately, Sam's jeans were still relatively intact. Besides the soot stains that littered it, it was wearable. His shirt, on the other hand, looked exactly as if it'd been put through a fire and back, and there was no way in hell he was going to put it back on.
"That bad?" Gabe asked as he stepped out, and Sam nodded before tossing him the offending piece of clothing. He felt a bit awkward striding out in just his jeans, but there was nothing to be done about it.
"It's a lost cause," he said, drying his hair with a towel as he walked towards the living room, "I guess I'll just have to settle for one of your tiny shirts."
Gabe harrumphed and acted put out but walked into his room and came out with a new shirt. His old one was nowhere in sight.
"Try this," he said, tossing the plain black T-shirt at him.
It smells like him, was Sam's first thought before he noticed the faint tendrils of the man's aura, like gossamer against the dark fabric, And his aura clings even to this.
It smelled like detergent, and beneath that the fainter scent of Gabe's cologne. A perfectly acceptable and average scent for a shirt, but Sam supposed it was the flimsy threads of aura that had him surreptitiously sniffing the shirt as he tugged it over his head.
He almost ripped a seam trying to get his arms in it, but he eventually managed to get the shirt on. It stuck to his skin and ended about an inch above his jeans, but the important thing was that Sam now had a shirt.
Gabe stared at him for a moment before bursting out into laughter. Sam crossed his arms and frowned, but instantly regretted the action when the shirt rode up even further and stretched uncomfortably across his shoulders. Gabe just laughed harder, his aura lightening to match his humor.
"I can't believe you actually managed to get in on," he said between fits of laughter, and Sam's mouth twitched before he gave in and laughed as well. It was hard to resist when Gabe laughed like that.
"I can't either," he admitted, tugging down the shirt in vain. He wasn't sure if he was imagining it or not, but he thought the shirt was a bit warmer than it would've been without Gabe's aura, "I really have to go back home looking like this too."
That set off a new round of laughter for Gabe, and Sam rolled his eyes good-naturedly before entering the kitchen.
"Come on, don't you want some coffee?"
Gabe did indeed want coffee, along with some proper breakfast food. Apparently, pancakes were the way to go, which Sam agreed with (a big breakfast was always good after using so much adrenaline). He let the P.I cook while he handled their coffee. Despite having his own acceptable cooking skills, his range of motion was limited in Gabe's shirt.
Eating breakfast with Gabe consisted of a lot of multitasking. Gabe was intent on getting to work as soon as possible, and somehow managed to eat, make Sam laugh at semi-dirty jokes, and write in the red journal Sam had seen the first time he'd been to his apartment. He wasn't sure what the difference was between the red one and the black one Gabe always carried around with him, but he wouldn't ask. The red one seemed more private.
"Is this the part where we bounce ideas off of your whiteboard and hope we have epiphanies that'll save the day?" Sam asked once they'd finished eating.
"Not hope; we will!" Gabe exclaimed as he slid off his stool and ran into his room.
Sam shook his head indulgently as he gathered up their dishes. Gabe always seemed to get a bit more hyper whenever he'd had a cup of coffee, and he was sure their syrupy pancakes hadn't helped matters.
"You don't have to do that, Sammo," Gabe said as he wheeled the whiteboard out.
"Too late," Sam retorted mildly, "Anything new on the board?"
"Just some info on Mitchell," he replied, shoving the coffee table to make room for the board, "Donna snuck me a few pictures from his crime scene."
Sam walked over to the board, tilting his head as he took in all the new information.
Some of the old stuff from before was still there, but as the case evolved, so did the board. 'Mitchell' was written at the top right corner, and beneath it were a few pictures and some scrawled bullet points. Sam took one of the pictures down and examined it carefully.
Mitchell had been a relatively trim man in his 50s, with thinning blond hair and broad shoulders. He'd played football when he himself had gone to Southview, and while he'd never gone on to bigger leagues (a knee injury had taken him down for the count), he'd made it his mission to send others to follow the path he had wanted for himself. Everyone knew that athletes got preferential treatment, to the point where the people that really needed his help fell through the cracks. Combined with his strict and domineering hold over the school, and it was no surprise he'd fallen victim to Death.
He was positioned similarly to Wilkes, with outstretched arms like a crucifixion. He had been tied to one of the football training dummies, and his tilted head was pointed towards a trophy he held in his right hand. He was shirtless, exposing the deeply carved Enochian on his chest. More Enochian was lettered on the trophy cases behind him, dripping down the glass and to the floor.
Death was really mad at him, Sam thought uneasily as he took in Mitchell's bruised and nearly unrecognizable face, Madder than he was at any of the rest.
"Any idea how long he'd been on ice?" he asked, putting the photo back where it belonged. Beyond the distracting pulp that was left of Mitchell's face, it was clear to see the blue-gray tinge that indicated he'd been frozen.
"No idea, but the LPD has confirmed he was alive on Monday," Gabe responded, "Didn't show up Tuesday, but didn't call in sick either."
"He was dead by then," Sam stated, chewing his lip in thought, "Death wasn't very happy with him. Sure, it would've taken a bit more effort to take him down since he was such a big guy, but this…this is overkill."
"Maybe he's losing control," Gabe mused, golden eyes skimming the board, "Or maybe this was more personal."
"They're all personal to him though," Sam pointed out, and Gabe tilted his head.
"But in varying degrees," he said, picking up a marker and circling Reynold and Cork's names.
"These guys weren't that important to him," he said, "Yes, they definitely did something to him; Cork may have even tried to blackmail our killer since he was tagged with that label. However, I think it was more what they did to other people that got them killed."
"Same with Wilkes," Gabe continued, hunting for her name for a moment before finding and circling it, "In his message, he focused more on how her actions affected other people. Mitchell, on the other hand, must've done something that personally affected him for the killer to beat him up like that. Didn't you say he focused more on the athletes?"
"Yeah," Sam said slowly, beginning to grasp what Gabe was saying, "Mitchell didn't really care about anyone that didn't do some kind of sport…"
He trailed off as a few scrawled words on the board caught his eye.
'Killer has a vendetta against gangs/Hell.'
Gangs. Jo said the gangs were gaining a foothold in Southview, didn't she?
A few of the puzzle pieces fell into place for Sam. Seeing Jo at Southview, where'd she'd told him of Kevin's attempts to keep friends from falling in with the gangs. Those friends went to Southview, and if Kevin felt the situation was desperate enough that it was up to him to do something, then that meant recruitment was serious at Southview.
And maybe there were more people like Kevin with good intentions, but one of them went too far and turned into a killer.
"What if the killer knew someone that was falling prey to a gang?" he asked slowly, picking up his own marker to underline the statement. The idea was new, but it felt solid to Sam.
Gabe picked up on his line of thought quickly. His eyes gleamed, and his aura swirled quickly as he took his marker and drew an arrow from 'Mitchell' to the statement Sam had underlined.
"A friend of his," the P.I said, tapping the marker against the board, "Or a family member. Maybe they went to Mitchell, or he went to Mitchell himself on behalf of this person. Mitchell did nothing, and the person got sucked into the gang."
"Hell, it could even be Death himself," Sam said, thinking of the person he'd chased. He had a feeling Death was young enough that it was a possibility, "It'd explain how he knew about Reynold and Cork working together, and about Cork's affiliation with the Dead Eyes or whatever gang he worked for because he was either in the gang or close enough to know."
They both paused before turning to face each other, simultaneously reaching the conclusion that they had stumbled across the first signs of something important.
Maybe even something that can lead to a break in the case.
"Our guy seems too intelligent to join a gang, even when pressured," Gabe said, but Sam could see the gears in his head turning as he processed Sam's theory, "He's too much of a lone wolf."
"Maybe, but if he was in high school at the time and even younger than he is now?" Sam argued. People changed a lot in high school, and peer pressure was real, especially when gangs were involved.
Gabe said nothing, but the Winchester could tell by his aura that he was giving it serious contemplation. He had the same look on his face that he got when he was thinking at crime scenes.
"Either way, I think we're getting somewhere with this," Sam continued, "His hatred for gangs is an important facet to his mindset like the Enochian is. It's why he started this killing spree to begin with."
"You're right," Gabe conceded, though he did so with a frown, "We should focus on the gang aspect more. Forensics won't lead us to him since he doesn't leave anything useful, and our physical profile of him is vague at best. We should take a look at the graffiti he created."
"That'd require a lot of trekking through gang territory," Sam pointed out, and Gabe smirked deviously. The smug look in his eyes indicated that he knew something that Sam didn't, and the Winchester pinned him with a 'hurry-up-and-spill-the-beans' look.
"Yesterday morning I went to the station and ran into Garth, who was kind enough to give us a list of locations where he could recall seeing graffitied Enochian," he said proudly.
Sam blinked with surprise before smiling as Gabe rifled through the files on the coffee table (which was a mess as always) and procured a piece of paper that he handed over with a flourish. It was at times like this that he was reminded that Gabe really did do this for a living and was damn good at it to boot.
"I'm thinking we regroup and recuperate a little more before heading out in the afternoon and checking out the first location," Gabe suggested, his eyes already sparkling with anticipation, "After all, you need some proper clothes."
Sam snorted (that was an understatement) but couldn't help but feel excited as well. They were doing something; chasing down a potential lead and actually being proactive against all the shit that was happening. And this way, he would also be helping get even in the name of the Roadhouse, since he had no doubt that at least one of those locations would be in the Dead Eyes territory.
The feeling of his old training returning to him didn't catch him off guard as it had first done in the past couple of weeks. He'd need every bit of what John had taught him if they were going to do this, and despite his dislike for it, Sam could acknowledge the usefulness of everything he knew.
'Anthem of the Angels' began to play from Gabe's phone, interrupting the crescendo of their excitement.
"Why's Cas calling?" Sam asked, and Gabe shrugged, just as confused as he was as he answered.
"Cassie, what's up? Make any progress with the Ken doll?" he asked, ignoring Sam's snort.
There was a pause before Gabe rolled his eyes and thrust out his phone.
"It's for you, again," he said with a faux pout that Sam shot a bitch face at. He took the phone anyway, as his curiosity was now piqued. He didn't think Dean could somehow get hurt in the short span of time since he'd last seen him, so why could Cas be calling?
"Hello Sam," Cas said, his gravelly voice even rougher than usual.
"Hey, Cas. What's up?" Sam asked, brow creasing with mild concern as he sat on the pullout bed. It sounded as if he'd been awake since the fire.
"I have to be brief, because Dean is not aware I'm calling," Cas said bluntly, "He thinks I shouldn't discuss this with you in some misguided attempt to protect you, but I think you two should know."
Sam stood a little straighter, tensions squaring his shoulders as he gestured for Gabe to come closer. Gabe plopped down hard enough to make the springs creak, which earned him another classic Sam Winchester bitch look that he smiled sheepishly at.
"I'm putting you on speaker Cas."
"Very well," Cas said, "Dean and I left the Roadhouse to go back to my apartment, where we found it broken into. We believe it was the Dead Eyes."
Gabe and Sam looked at each other over the phone. It was odd how quickly they did it, but Sam knew they simultaneously agreed that investigating the graffiti would have to wait. Gabe fell into P.I mode quickly, his tone of voice changing as he began to question Cas.
"Did they take anything? How do you know it was the Dead Eyes?"
"They took a few Enochian texts I had laying out, but nothing pertaining to the case save for one of the photocopies your LPD partners had given me of the Enochian left on the most recent victim," Cas explained. For someone who had just had their apartment ransacked, he sounded pretty calm, "However, none of the texts will be very helpful in translating, as they all focus on rituals that use Enochian rather than the language itself."
Sam blew out a short, relieved sigh at that. Nothing good could come from the Dead Eyes learning Enochian; not if they were being this relentless about it.
"Are you sure?" Gabe asked, all business now.
"Fairly. Dean and I left shortly after that, and we're now at his place. He's not sure if the Dead Eyes know he's been the one protecting me, but there's nowhere else for me, or him, to go for the moment."
"Us coming over will piss Dean off," Sam said, thinking of how mad Dean had been at the Roadhouse. Not as mad as he could've been, but it was clear he neither liked Gabe nor how involved Sam had become in everything. It came as no surprise to him that Dean had wanted to keep this from him.
"He will have to live with it."
Cas sounded very self-assured; a quality that not many people had when it came to his brother. Dean threw people for a loop, leaving the palpable absence of his presence wherever he went. People couldn't help but notice him, and most were cowed by him. Good looks, radiant charms, and an intense personality? It was no surprise that many didn't stand a chance.
Sam found that standing against his brother was something that took fortitude. Going against all that stubbornness and soldier-like attitude took guts, and while he wasn't surprised that Cas possessed such willpower (not much seemed to faze Cas in general), it didn't mean that he would automatically win against Dean. Lisa was a prime example of that.
But it will certainly be interesting to see how it plays out.
"All right. We'll be there," Sam said after glancing at Gabe, who simply smirked and nodded. It was clear he wanted a round two with Dean by the arching swoops of orange in his aura.
It was a disaster in the making but talking with Dean had to be done. Like it or not, he and Dean had gotten themselves entangled in this convoluted case, and Sam knew that they were both too stubborn to try and walk away now. Dean because he surely felt a sense of duty in protecting Cas, and Sam because…
A multitude of reasons, he thought as he ended the call and Gabe hurried to get ready after realizing he was still in his PJs, But maybe none as bigger as this.
Sam swept his hand through the watercolor sweeps of gold in the air, and upon feeling a faint warmth, smiled.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
I can't wait for the reviews on this story. It's gonna be a wild ride my friends.
Hello! I am back, and I posted in March like I promised! I'm aiming for biweekly updates rn, but we'll see how that goes(you all know how inconsistent I can be with updating lmaoooo). Writing this chapter was weird since I'd taken such a long break from the little universe I made, but once I got back into the flow it was actually really nice.
The rating on this story is different from Chromaticity, as it is now Mature. This will be different from Chromaticity in regards to violence and how much of it I portray, though I don't think it'll be much worse than Chromaticity was? I've also marked it so for any romantic instances that'll occur later. Just playing it safe here, and take this into consideration if this could be an issue for you!
That's all I think, as I'm just trying to get back into the game rn. As always, reviews are welcomed!