AN:
i really like this chapter. Like a lot. It was a ton of fun to write
Ferris Bueller, You're my Hero.
monoxidegirl
Chapter 07.
Slowly, the landscape gives back in to open desert as the daylight burns away into night.
Gabriel's got a hand shoved out the window and the stereo is playing through some mix tape of mostly new wave British bands they found shoved under the passenger seat. Next on the docket is a tape messily titled 'my songs' in Alistair's chicken scratch and Crowley dreads plugging it in, if only because his friend's taste in music is questionable at best and awful at worst.
"I never wanted to stop being your friend. You know that, right?"
Gabriel's gazing off into the open stretch of dark sky swelling before them as the sunshine fades off in their rear-view mirror. His expression is almost empty but Crowley knows he's become an expert in that look. It got him through most arguments with his brothers.
"Is that meant to make me feel better?"
"Well, no," Gabriel glances at him for the first time and he frowns, "No. But it's…I don't know. It's complicated, okay?"
"It's somehow more complicated than all this?"
"Yes."
"Bollocks," Crowley snorts and looks back to the road, "Nothing is ever as complicated as it seems."
"You don't know my brothers."
"I know them well enough to know that you let them boss you around. What are you so afraid of, Gabriel?" When he doesn't say anything, he decides to push forward, "Michael? Luke? You're better than them. Always have been. But you still let them force you to do things you don't want to do. Church?"
Gabriel laughs, "Yeah, I don't go anymore. I lit the Sunday School nativity scene on fire two years ago."
"Or any of those ridiculous family outings? Like the food bank one where they made you pick up dirty needles on bloody Christmas morning?"
"Don't do that anymore either," Gabriel says with a bit of a shrug, "I got into an altercation with one of the homeless guys. They won't even let me in the building anymore."
There's a long span of silence, "That's your plot then, hm?"
"What?"
"Get banned from every single thing you don't want to do so you don't have to do it? Very clever."
"No, it's not-" Gabriel stops and laughs, really laughs, throws his head back and laughs, "Okay, okay, it totally is!"
Crowley grins, "How's it working out so far?"
"They haven't figured me out as of yet so, good. I guess."
It feels good to laugh Crowley decides, to have this sort of moment with him like this – it's long overdue and he drums his fingers against the steering wheel with a bit of a hum. He knows this song; Lilith had been obsessed with it last summer and it occurs to him then that this is probably that tape she had been looking for two months ago. Shame she wouldn't be getting it back.
"So, Chicago?" Gabriel offers and Crowley looks at him. He sighs; "Chicago. We can go to Chicago. Like Bueller."
"You're comparing us to Ferris Bueller? We're halfway across the country and going…God knows where. Ferris Bueller doesn't have anything on us, Gabriel, please."
"So if I'm Bueller, does that mean you're Cameron?"
"Why are you Bueller?"
"Please. You're not Bueller," Gabriel looks thoughtful for a moment, "You're definitely like Cameron. Or maybe you're Sloane…"
"Seriously?"
"Yeah…Sloane would work."
"You're serious? You're comparing me to Sloane? As if. And, excuse you, if anyone is Cameron, it's you," Crowley points out with a bit of a huff, "I am most definitely the Ferris type. I'm the one who dragged you out, remember?"
"For once," Gabriel argues back with a roll of his eyes. He does his best petulant child imitation, slouching down in his seat to prop his feet up on the dashboard again, "Usually I drag you out. And your ass is definitely so tight you could turn coal into diamonds."
"…You take that back."
Gabriel snorts, "You'd rather have a loose ass?"
"Gabriel!"
"What! That's the opposite of tight you know!"
"You're a twisted human being," Crowley shoots back, shaking his head as the tape switches over and resumes playing, "You are. You're twisted."
"Hey, you're friends with me."
Silence settles then, and Gabriel turns to look at him and Crowley glances back as long as he can, tries to juggle meeting Gabriel's gaze with watching the road so they don't die in some fiery crash because wouldn't that just be so poetic and beautiful?
"…We are still friends, right?"
"Yeah," Crowley replies automatically, and he finds that he means it, "Of course we are. Why wouldn't we be?"
"Just…things have been so messed up between us and I…I don't know. I thought we might not be any more."
"Just because things were messed up then, doesn't mean they have to be now," Crowley points out, a lot more gently than he means to. It sounds almost tender, something really intimate, far more intimate than he means but it doesn't seem to bother Gabriel so he just sighs; "We'll figure it out. Together. The past is the past."
Gabriel dozes off somewhere between the boarder of New Mexico and Texas and Crowley keeps driving through the night. The Texas desert is surprisingly calming – just open, dark skies and the whoosh of night air as it goes past the cracked open window. Gabriel's snoring quietly next to him, head cradled in his seatbelt strap and his fingers keep twitching against his thigh and something fond tugs at Crowley's chest.
They reach Amarillo without incident.
But money is running out, and quickly, so Crowley finds the nearest Walmart parking lot, pulls in, and turns the car off. Gabriel doesn't stir, even as he drops his seat into a reclining position, scrubbing a hand over his face before he drops an arm across his eyes. It's far from comfortable, or glamourous, but Gabriel's already out cold beside him so he supposes he should take what he can get. It doesn't take him long to doze off, lulled by the buzz of the crickets and Gabriel's soft, steady breathing.
When he wakes up, it's cooking in the car – it's already past dawn and the sun has just risen over the giant outline of Walmart but its already sticky uncomfortable and Crowley groans a bit before he starts struggling with the door. He manages to get it open, but it doesn't help the heat much. Beside him, Gabriel grumbles something that might be 'shut up' but Crowley isn't too sure. He briefly entertains the idea of waking him up, but ultimately decides against it. He's never been too much of a morning person and if the empty parking lot is any indication, it's still early. So instead he sits out on the hood of the car and he watches as the store opens (just after eight, if his guess is accurate) and people start to arrive to do some early morning grocery shopping.
Why people need to go to Walmart at eight am is beyond him.
A little after that Gabriel emerges from the car looking hot and a little disgruntled. There's sweat on his forehead and his hair is a mess from where he probably tried to comb it with his fingers and the minute he's outside, he stretches like a cat, slow and lazy, and Crowley tries not to stare at the exposed strip of skin above his jeans that peeks out when his shirt rides up.
"Did we sleep in a car?"
"Obviously," Crowley replies, turning back to stare at the store, hiding his wandering eyes. If Gabriel notices, or minds, the attention, he doesn't comment on it; "Hotels are expensive and we're going to be broke soon. We still have to buy gas and eat."
"Food would be nice."
Crowley rolls his eyes, "Yes, yes. I'll feed you soon enough. Let's go and get a few things from the store, yeah?"
"I thought you said we were broke."
Crowley just gives him a bit of a look over the top of the car and Gabriel shrugs in response. Their money situation isn't quite that dire, though if they continue to spend the way they had been since they left LA, it would be. At the very least, they had to keep the car fuelled - running out of gas in the middle of nowhere Texas isn't high on Crowley's to-do list.
Walmart is far busier inside than the parking lot suggests. It's immense, filled with busy people trying to get their morning grocery shop in and Gabriel inhales deeply when they walk in.
"Ah, I love the smell of redneck in the morning."
Crowley makes a choked noise in his throat when a couple (with a rather enormous biker-esque man) look at them with a frown and he wastes no time in shoving Gabriel into the store.
"Would you shut up?"
Gabriel just gives him a grin over one shoulder, "Don't worry. I won't let the big bad cowboys hogtie you and do unspeakable things. I'll protect your virtue, Crowley. You have my word."
As luck would have it, one such cowboy (or Crowley assumes he's a cowboy - he has a ten gallon hat and boots so it's not entirely unreasonable to assume) strolls by with a buggy and gives them both an odd stare. Crowley just throws him the most disarming smile he can manage and herds Gabriel deeper into the store, weaving them down the kids clothing section to electronics.
"Bloody hell. I can't take you anywhere, can I?"
"Probably not."
Gabriel's got that shit eating grin on his face again, the one that Crowley has long since come to dread, and after a moment, he turns and starts sauntering off down the aisle, like they have all the time in the world. He follows him, because he has to, trails behind him as he looks at all the interesting items that a Texas Walmart can offer them. Mostly, he people watches – he makes friends with a little girl in the bakery by hiding behind the shelves of bread and popping up and making faces at her. She's squealing with delight by the time her mother wheels her buggy off and Gabriel waves at her until she vanishes around the corner. Then he's off again, wandering through the aisles until the live lobster that have apparently been carted up that very same morning from the Gulf Coast catch his attention.
"Man, forget Chicago," Gabriel comments, leaning forward to tap one finger against the glass where a very unperturbed lobster sits, "Let's go down to New Orleans. Mardi Gras!"
"No way," Crowley shakes his head and tries to ignore the beady-eyed little crab staring at him, "I am not bringing you within a hundred miles of Mardi Gras Gabriel. Forget it."
"Party pooper."
"One of us has to be," he sighs and looks about the store, "I'm going to grab a few things. Can you stay here for fifteen minutes and not wander off? I don't want to get separated."
Gabriel waves him off, dismissive, as he continues staring at the lobster intently. Crowley just watches him and then huffs again.
"Don't even think of buying that thing, Gabriel."
"I'm broke!" Gabriel shoots back, but there's a devilish upturn to his lips that Crowley really doesn't trust. Fool me once, shame on you, Crowley thinks, fool me twice, shame on me. So he grabs Gabriel by his arm and drags him off, depositing him safely in the book and magazine aisle. He grabs one that has Cyndi Lauper on the cover and thrusts it into his hands.
"Read this. And don't move."
"Yes, Dad."
Crowley leaves him there and wanders off – he grabs a jar of peanut butter and some bread, a bag of plastic knives, some napkins. He's contemplating the merit of buying Gabriel juice boxes when a low whistle interrupts him and when he turns, he's face to face with Abaddon.
"Oh, hell."
"Hi Crowley."
He sets the peanut butter and bread down, but keeps the bag of knives clenched tightly in one fist. A smile, amused and as smug as ever, twists those pretty lips of hers up and she bats her eyelashes at him.
"You're a hard man to find. Did you know that? Where's your friend?"
"Not happening."
Abaddon moves closer – each steps she takes is deliberate and he's reminded of a big cat, stalking its prey. She looks decidedly fierce and Crowley takes a step back without meaning to. He distantly remembers something Gabriel told him about not showing fear, but Abaddon is a woman, not a bloody python so he's fairly sure that she couldn't smell fear. She closes the gap between them relatively easy and then she's in his space, pressed in close; he can smell her perfume, something sweet and disarming, and she smiles at him.
"You're loyal," Something flashes in her eyes, "I hate that."
"Pity."
"We have a little problem here, Crowley," She purrs, grabbing the bag of plastic knives to yank hard out of his hands, "See, I don't like being dragged out of my family home at three am by police officers. And a little birdy told me you did that."
"What birdy?"
She bares her teeth in a smile, "So not important."
"Why aren't you in jail then?"
"Oh, Crowley…my father's a lawyer, you insignificant little bag of pus. I didn't even see the inside of a cell. But you," She grabs onto his face by the jaw and her nails dig into the skin of his cheek, "You embarrassed me, Crowley, and I don't like that. So, you and I are going to take a little walk and have a chat about that. Okay? And then I'm going to take your little friend back home to his brothers."
"…That's right. You and Luke are friends."
She tips her head, "Oh, you heard about that, did you? Looks like we each have our very own Novak. Too bad mine's smarter."
That's when an egg comes sailing through the air to cleanly hit Abaddon in the back of the neck. It startles her enough that she lets go of his jaw so she can whirl around and face her assailant. Another egg whizzes through the air to hit her square in the centre of her chest. Gabriel is standing at the end of the aisle, a two litre bottle of coca cola tucked under one arm and a carton of eggs on the shelf next to him and Crowley feels an unfamiliar wave of panic.
"Two steps back," He advises and Abaddon snarls a little, reaching up to wipe at her neck. Gabriel grabs another egg and cocks his arm back; "You heard me. Step back."
"You think I'm afraid of a fucking egg, you idiot?"
"No. I don't," He answers, and Crowley uses the distraction to ease backwards, "But I get enough forward momentum with this," He nods to the bottle in his arm, "And you're definitely going to feel it. Now, two steps back. Hurry up."
She doesn't move.
So Gabriel charges down the aisle at her as promised. He swings out wildly at her with the bottle, but she ducks and Gabriel uses the opportunity to go rushing right past her, grabbing Crowley's arm to drag him off.
"Let's go!"
By the time Abaddon straightens and turns, they're rounding the corner and Crowley hears her distantly snarl and then her heels are clacking wildly after them. Gabriel only has to look back once – then he's letting go of Crowley's arm to unscrew the cap of the coke to pour it out across the floor. There's a shriek, then a thud, and then they're bursting out into the muggy morning air, sprinting full tilt for the car.
"Run, run, quick!" Gabriel cries and Crowley fumbles with the keys before he gets the driver's door open. He leans over, jerks Gabriel's door open and starts the car. He barely gives him time to shut the door before he's backing out and peeling out of the parking lot. He catches a glimpse of Abaddon coming out of the store, covered in egg and coke, before he pulls out on to the road and keeps going.
