Ramble On
Summary: In which a car crash, a death, and a new job open up a whole different future for Sam Winchester, and Dean can't quite believe his own luck. Destiel, Sabriel.
A/N: This is my first multi chaptered SPN story, and I hope you enjoy. I realize this chapter is focused more on Sabriel and less on Destiel, but it's coming. I'm thinking 5~ chapters! Review :)
Chapter 1: Zeppelin
He was in a wild rush. One of those rushes that sent people flying out the door with pants on backwards and two different pairs of shoes on. Not that Sam Winchester would know, because he was the epitome of composed and organized and graceful, and nothing his brother claimed would make that less true. Still, Sam was hustling, and he managed to make it into the coffee shop with five minutes to spare.
What is the big rush, it could be asked, for a coffee? Is there a limited supply of whipped topping and butterscotch flavoring? Could there be a shortage of arabica beans, or even skim milk?
No. Not today. Today was Sam Winchester's interview at Bump N' Grind, a coffee shop only a block from his new apartment in Bandon, Oregon. It was only a small establishment that admittedly had wonderful service and great live music on Saturdays, but still, a small business that didn't pay much more than minimum wage.
Which brings about the question of why. Why would Sam Winchester, a young, good looking man, who happened to possess a law degree from an extremely prominent school, be looking for an interview and a job at this particular coffee shop?
It could be said it was because Sam was tired of the stresses of school, and just wanted something mindless for the summer. It could also be said that Sam had loved school, and had gotten his law degree from Stanford, and then promptly decided he hated everything about lawyers: their egos, slicked back hair, briefcases, damned perfunctory gazes of condescension, and the way that they practically oozed obsequious, sycophantic, smarmy, ass-kissing natures everywhere, and thought the use of big, capacious, ginormous phraseology made them God's gift to mankind.
So, perhaps it could be said that while Sam Winchester hated lawyers, he did have the previous knowledge to keep up with them in the language department.
Still, this was not the reason that Sam would say he wanted a job at the simple coffee shop with the ridiculous name. The reason was a combination of long blonde hair, blue eyes, and a cross over a fresh mound of dirt; the squeal of tires, and a scream drawn out in agony, then silence as the car finally stops rolling. The reason that really didn't need to be a reason anymore, nearly a year, a degree, and a move to a brand new town later; it still was a reason though, time didn't change pain, no matter what anyone else said.
So yes. Sam wanted the job at Bump N' Grind because he liked the place, and he liked the town, and he really liked his small apartment where his brand new kitten was probably tearing up his single couch. He especially loved the fact that no one here looked at him with pity, or even knew a single thing about him. The only person who had any information was his (hopefully) new boss, Gabriel Novak, who had read his resume. His resume may have had his Stanford degree, and his qualifications on it, but it definitely had no mention of a car crash, or a finite hand tremor, or PTSD, or the fact that Sam couldn't get inside a car without a wild panic attack; his resume most certainly did not have the name Jessica Sanders written on it either.
"Sam, you made it!" Mr. Novak was not a large man, especially to Sam's huge physique, but he had a personality that made up for any lack of height.
Sam nodded, "Yes, sorry I was a little bit late, Mr. Novak."
"Gabriel, please," he reached out and shook Sam's hand, "I'm so happy you could make it in for this interview. Follow me, if you don't mind."
Sam followed Gabriel back into his office, which was quite spacious for the size of the coffee shop. Books lined the office, and the desk was of a caliber that could have had Sam waxing poetic about it for days; huge oak surface, full of drawers and hidden niches, and a marvelous pull out drawer for a laptop.
Sam sat down on a chair on the other side of the intimidating desk and steepled his hands on his lap. Gabriel flung himself onto his chair, letting it spin once before he came face to face with Sam.
"So, are you wanted for murder?" Gabriel opened.
Sam felt blood drain from his face, and his hand started to shake, "I'm sorry?"
"Well, the only possible reason I can imagine a lawyer -from Stanford- with such an incredibly decorated resume, wanting to work in my tiny coffee shop is that he is either wanted for murder, or completely and totally insane. So which is it?"
Sam couldn't possible tell him the real reason -both: a murderer and totally off his rocker- so he just shrugged, still a little shaken. "I like the neighborhood, the beach is nice. I got a cat."
Gabriel smiled, "I like cats. That's a good start. Well, Sam, I honestly can't say I'm not going to hire you, because the one thing I am not is an idiot. What kind of work do you want, what hours, and when do you want to start?"
"I don't really care when I work, Mr. Novak-"
"Gabriel."
"Gabriel... I'd prefer to work enough hours to make rent. In between... twenty to forty hours a week. I'll happily do full time if you have it. Even overtime if you need me. I just have to make sure to feed my cat. And I'd like to start as soon as possible."
It probably should have been a concern to Sam that his only complication in life was his cat. He obviously needed a social life (beyond a therapist), some friends, maybe even a hobby.
"Alright, Sam, how's this: you start training today, I'll train you myself. This week you can work the next three days, have the weekend off, and then on Monday we'll start giving you shifts where you are no longer the trainee, but a real employee. We'll start with twenty hours a week for this month, then move you up."
Sam nodded. "Sounds great to me, Gabriel. I do have one question, if you don't mind."
Gabriel smiled, "That's to be expected. Shoot."
"Where's the town library?"
Gabriel's mouth fell open, and Sam could tell that the man in front of him was very rarely speechless, and he was almost proud he could manage the feat the first day.
"Around the corner, down two blocks." Gabriel forced himself to say.
"Walking distance?"
"Yep." Gabriel frowned slightly, "Sam, you know that we're paying you $9.75 an hour, right?"
Sam smiled easily, the first one the whole interview, "Plus tips. I know, Mr. Novak. I like this shop."
Gabriel sighed, "Hell, you'd have to be in love with it to concede to this deal. I feel like I'm being tricked. That's rare for me, you should know. Normally, I tend to pull the pranks around here."
"No trick, I swear." Sam stood, Gabriel following the motion, "So, what can I do to help?"
Gabriel sighed, "Guess we'll start by stocking. You'll hate that part the most."
Sam returned home six hours later with bruises and flour covering his body. He was sore, and frustrated, and absolutely ready to kill Gabriel Novak. Still, he walked into his apartment and sat down on his couch, his kitten crying out for his attention, and told her about his day. She purred softly and stretched out on his lap, and Sam thought that perhaps they could be happy here. It was a consolation that even though his boss had dumped a bag of flour on his head on purpose, Gabriel seemed to really approve of Sam's work ethic.
"Cat, get off. I'm going to bed." It wasn't that late, not even nine yet, but Sam was exhausted from pulling heavy boxes around all day. Stock, as Gabriel had promised, was not very enjoyable, although it had been mindless. Sam's cat gave him a dirty look, one that promised retribution if he didn't stop calling her Cat. Sam despised naming animals, as much as he loved them.
"Well, what do you even want me to name you!? I'm terrible at names. I wanted to name my first kid Homer, because the Odyssey was an incredible literature conquest, but I was shot down by Jess-" Sam stopped suddenly, her name catching in his throat.
The cat meowed, it's golden eyes questioning, as if asking for more information about this new person, this new name that it had never heard before.
"Stupid, talking to a cat." Sam muttered, "I'll just name you. Umm... what about Spot."
The cat hissed, and Sam wondered very briefly if he had managed to pick up the most confrontational and intelligent kitten in the whole rescue shelter.
"Lady? Bones? Whiskers? Lucky? Bobby?" Sam glowered at that name, mostly because he rarely brought up the man who had practically raised him and his brother. He had loved Bobby, yet it was still less painful to speak of his death of cancer that had come around five years past than it was to talk about Jess. Probably because Bobby's passing had been expected. Jess' had blindsided him, and destroyed every plan for the future Sam had made.
Sam pushed the kitten to the floor and headed to his bathroom, intent on a hot shower before bed. The shower was perfection, and Sam managed to make it to his bedroom with only two jaw splitting yawns. Cat was sitting on his pillow, and Sam rolled his eyes. He flopped onto his bed and grabbed at his cell phone on the nightstand. With a single button push, Sam was speed dialing.
"Hey man, what's up?" Dean's voice was a comfort over the phone, even as it annoyed Sam with it's practiced patience and sympathy. Dean tried not to cater to emotions or feelings often, but he'd been a mess of pity and sympathy since Jess died. Sam hated it, especially since, as much as he loved his brother, he would absolutely never understand how Sam felt. Dean had never been with anyone the way Sam had been with Jess; there was no one that he looked at like they were everything, the whole fucking world revolved around them.
"Not much. Got that job I was talking about." Sam answered slowly. Dean disapproved completely of Sam's actions, probably because Dean had spent the last five years working as an EMT to put Sam through school. The good thing about Dean, though? He rarely admits he's annoyed, because that would lead to a 'chick flick moment', and Dean despised those.
"Knew you would, they're lucky to have you, man." Dean's smile was obvious even through the phone line. Sam can't help but grinning at open air; it's just so easy to please Dean, he's always proud, whether it's a law degree or a coffee shop barista job.
"Anyway, I have another reason for calling," Sam grumbled, "I need you to help me with a name for a cat."
"Aw, dude, you got a cat? Seriously, come on, I hate those!"
Sam scoffed, "It's not your cat, it's mine, and she's lovely. Now help me with a name, you were always better with crap like that."
Dean laughed, making the line a little fuzzy, "Aw, Sammy, is that just cause I named you?"
"You merely suggested using Grandpa's name, I believe it was mom who okay'd the whole thing." Sam informed him.
"Yeah, thank god you were a boy. I told them to use Sam no matter what, but they wanted to name you Mildred if you were a girl!"
Sam laughed, "Last time you told me they wanted to name me Gertrude!"
He can almost feel Dean's shrug through the phone line and Sam realizes he misses his brother so much he could scream. Still, the move was meant to take him away from all that crap, and he's not about to negate all his hard work. "Whatever, Sammy, it was a shit name, no matter what it was."
"Dean. Cat. Name. Please." Sam reminded him.
"How about Zeppelin." Dean nodded instantly; the name was perfect for his cat, especially since his kitten was all black, with a single white paw, and seriously badass eyes.
"Zeppelin." Cat looked up at the name, golden eyes trained on him. "Perfect, Dean. Seriously. You got talent, I've been calling her Cat for two days."
"You are so useless."
Sam sighed, "Says the one who finally stopped peeing the bed at nine years old!"
"You cried till you were twelve about the monsters in your closet!"
"Shut up, bitch!"
"Whatever, Jerk."
Sam grinned, "Night, Dean."
"Night, Sam."
Sam plugged his phone in and set his alarm for work the next morning, letting Zeppelin curl up onto his body and purr him to sleep.