Chapter 4- Backward/Forward

It said a lot that Gabe barely took the time to determine what clothes he threw on to replace his PJs as he tried to rush out as quickly as he could. One minute he was lounging about on the couch, glaring at the case board and half-heartedly listening to what the news had to say about the killer (nothing very useful besides how deranged he was), and the next he was out the door.

Sure, Sam had reassured him that it wasn't life-threatening and serious, but dammit did he attract trouble! Blood couldn't draw sharks in better by comparison. After meeting Dean, Gabe was convinced it was a family trait, and one he was beginning to dislike more and more. It was going to become even more difficult to keep Sam safe and in one relative piece if the case took extreme twists and turns like this. He knew the Winchester could take care of himself; hell, Gabe had seen it for himself (All those Roadhouse bar fights? Gold.), but he worried regardless.

Gabe wasn't sure where all this concern was coming from, but he had a suspicion it was a byproduct of his affections for Sam. It made a certain amount of sense that when one really liked someone, one would also worry about them if they were in trouble or, God forbid, hurt, but Gabe didn't think one worried this much. To him it seemed extreme, but he didn't have any real sort of basis to go off of; he'd never felt like this for anyone else before, so how could he tell?

Beyond the worry for Sam however was a burning sense of curiosity. Gabe hadn't wanted to say anything to him for fear of disappointing him, but the truth was that he was having trouble trying to work the case out. It was one of the most difficult and convoluted puzzles he'd encountered yet, and it was irritating him the longer he went without making some sort of notable headway. There were simply too many moving parts and aspects to it now, and while having Sam as an extra set of eyes helped tremendously, Gabe wasn't sure if it would be enough.

He didn't want to admit it, because Gabriel Milton certainly wasn't a quitter when it came to the job (he'd solved every case he'd had after all!), but the likelihood of putting a face to the serial killer seemed to be waning with each passing day.

The killer was just too good. No forensic evidence, no usable camera footage; it was like he was a ghost! All they had to identify him were the eyewitness accounts from the WM incident and the time Sam had chased him, which culminated to a description so vague that it could fit a good portion of the male population of LU. Sure, they had a motive, but it was so steeped in insanity that it made Gabe's head hurt just thinking about it.

Or it's just the Enochian doing that.

Gabe had tried to stay objective when it came to the Enochian, and for a time, he had. It had been remarkably easy to when he had to feign ignorance in front of Sam and the others. It had been even easier when things had picked up in the last week or so and there had barely been time to eat and sleep, let alone try to get the long-forgotten symbols out of his head.

He couldn't be objective anymore though. Gabe had known when he had told Sam a bit of his past that he was opening a dangerous door, but at the time he couldn't resist. It was freeing to be able to talk to Sam about things he'd never talked to anyone about before. All it took was one of the Winchester's compassionate, understanding gazes and he was a goner. If Gabe wasn't so into Sam, he'd have bemoaned how pathetic it was to have his walls reduced to rubble by a single look.

Not all of them.

No, not all of them. When Gabe had told Sam his tragic story of abandonment, those soft puppy eyes of kindness hadn't cut away all of his distrusting nature. There were two details he'd kept from Sam, and while he wasn't exactly proud of it (the amount of guilt he felt was more notable than he'd anticipated), it was necessary for the time being.

The first was that he'd actually been 12 and a devious little sneak when he'd originally swiped his case file when his social worker hadn't been looking. The second was that there hadn't been one note, but two that had been left with him that fateful night in the church. Gabe had always been told that there'd been only one because no one could make heads or tails of the second, and with good reason.

The second had been written in Enochian, and Gabriel Milton continued to be haunted by the language of angels ever since.

"Stop it," he said to himself, glaring at the headlights of the car ahead of him. Today, traffic seemed to be working against him. "It's behind you. A stupid language can't do anything to you."

Except it wasn't behind him, and it could do far more things than simply form words.

Gabe huffed and reached for the stereo system, fumbling for the nearest CD and shoving it in blindly. He was not going to think about Enochian anymore, even if it took blasting music loud enough to make his ears bleed to do so.

He wasn't sure whether to scream or laugh when Fall Out Boy began to play. Gabe let out a strangled combination of both before hitting his head once on the steering wheel and turning it up anyway.

"Who am I to question the ways of the universe?" he asked, voice lost in the music filling his car.

Gabe had always been keen on the concept of karma and higher powers that weren't necessarily religious, and so decided to accept the sign for what it was. Other people would've applied logic to the scenario, but the job required so much logic that Gabe had none left for the other aspects of his life.

Besides, thinking of Sam was far more enjoyable than thinking of Enochian. Gabe spent the rest of the drive thinking of him, and by the time he'd reached Starbucks, had lost the funk Enochian had given him.

Since it was Monday, Starbucks was practically packed with people trying to get their quick caffeine lunch fix. That hadn't deterred Sam from making camp at a table, and he easily stood out for his height despite the fact that he was seated. It was clear he was putting all his skills of multitasking to use, as his laptop and schoolwork shared the space with two drinks. Despite his clear busyness, he still somehow managed to sense he was there because he looked up just as Gabe was beginning to elbow his way over.

The P.I really wanted to know how he did that, but the urge to ask died when Sam's tired face brightened. He'd been lighting up like that recently, which made Gabe wonder if maybe, just maybe, Sam was becoming receptive to his advances.

God do I want him to be, but with Sam, I need to take it easy. One wrong move could ruin what we have.

"You look as if you just woke up," the Winchester remarked as he sat down, but he seemed to like whatever he looked like at the moment if his indulgent smile was anything to go by.

Gabe ran a hand self consciously through his hair anyway (he was sometimes the victim of truly catastrophic bedhead), making Sam smile wider.

"You don't look much better Sammo," he retorted, though beneath his joking pout he examined Sam carefully. The circles beneath his eyes were too dark for his liking, and the Winchester seemed jittery. His knee was jiggling beneath the table; Gabe could feel it, and he wondered if it had anything to do with what Sam wanted to tell him.

If it's anything serious, I'll have to try and convince him to let me handle it.

He probably wouldn't have much luck considering how stupidly stubborn and selfless Sam could be, but that didn't mean Gabe wouldn't try his best. Sam wasn't the only one that could be headstrong.

"Lots of things are going on right now," Sam replied nonchalantly before nudging the drink closer to him, "I hope you like your coffee. I figured appeasing your sweet tooth was the safest option."

"Smart as always," Gabe commented, but frowned as he reached for the drink, "I should've specified I'd be paying."

"I'm the one that called you out here," Sam said with a dismissive wave of his hand, "You remember Kevin and Adam, right?"

Gabe listened carefully as he was recounted the tale of Sam's morning before being passed the letter surreptitiously. Judging by the way he spoke, Sam seemed convinced that this was the kind of break in the case.

He had to admit he hadn't been expecting anything like this when he'd answered the phone (Nothing good could possibly come from a drug nicknamed 'demon blood'), but the gut instinct for the job was telling him that this was by no means unimportant.

"What do you make of this?" the P.I asked, folding the letter up and sipping his drink thoughtfully. While his brain was already spinning with possible theories, he wanted to hear what Sam thought. Gabe was positive the Winchester wouldn't disappoint and was proven right when Sam explained how he thought the killer was possibly taking demon's blood to allow him an edge when killing and setting up his scenes.

"Think about it; the guy we chased was pretty lean, probably even scrawny. There's no way he'd be able to set these bodies up on his own!" Sam said, eyes bright with that spark that Gabe had seen in some particularly bright detectives he'd worked with before. It was truly a loss that he had chosen to study law.

What a waste, Gabe thought, propping his chin in his hand, Someone like him would be a breath of much needed fresh air for the LPD.

"And since there's basically no chance he has an accomplice, his assistance comes in the form of drugs," he said, smiling as Sam nodded enthusiastically.

"Exactly. Extra strength and speed would allow him to set up his scenes, and if he keeps taking it, he's probably going to become even more unstable."

"He's still wickedly clever though," Gabe pointed out, "So the drug can't be affecting him too much mentally, or else he would've slipped up by now."

"It's affecting him more physically then," Sam concluded, "And since this drug hasn't even hit the streets yet, there's a strong likelihood that we can trace him through this."

Gabe said nothing, only slurping thoughtfully on his (actually really good) drink.

False or secondary leads were common in cases; especially in complicated ones. While this had all the appearance of a secondary lead, Gabe's gut was still twinging. Assuming The Crucifier was taking this drug, then tracing him through it would be very clever indeed. That was assuming he was doing demon blood though, and while it was a logical assumption, he could also be doing something else like steroids.

Demon blood made sense in a strange way though. It sounded like a potent drug, and if the Crucifier had some sort of gang connection like they'd hypothesized, then he could've somehow gotten his hands on it. It even had a supernatural nickname, though considering how much the Crucifier seemed to hate 'demons' and gangs, that bit of information might actually work against them.

Unless he's so insane that he doesn't care about being a hypocrite.

"Gabe?"

Pursuing this lead would certainly be dangerous; of that Gabe had no doubt. The few instances he'd had with drugs in his youth had been enough to keep him from falling into them completely like some people he knew, and in the cases he'd worked, he'd always hated the drug-related ones. There was a wild, crazy edge to them because people on drugs always did wild, crazy things.

A lead was a lead though, and it was all Gabe had to go on.

He knew Sam wouldn't take it well if he tried to keep him from checking it out. Gabe didn't want to alienate him, not when it seemed as if Sam was warming up to him in a completely new and very much wanted way, but at the same time, he didn't want to risk any sort of harm coming Sam's way from this.

His dilemma only served as a reminder of why he wasn't in the habit of caring for people, yet here he was.

Before Gabe could tie his thoughts up into any more knots, a thumb pressed out the furrow in his brow.

Gabe's eyes flicked up to Sam, whose face was a strange mix of exasperation and fondness.

"What have I told you about worrying? I can take care of myself, you know," he said, offering a lopsided smile as he somehow managed to guess what the P.I was thinking.

Gabe opened his mouth to retort but stopped as Sam's hand slipped down to cup the side of his face. He was very warm, and his cheek seemed to tingle at the unexpected touch.

"I know this lead can be dangerous," he said quietly. His eyes were much greener today, and they searched his face intently, "Handling it by yourself is probably what you want to do right now, but I'd feel better if I went with you so I can keep you safe. We're partners, aren't we?"

They weren't close enough for Sam's words to be felt against his skin, but a minute shiver ran down Gabe's spine anyway. All the protests in his head seemed to fall away, leaving only one thought.

If I could just close the distance…

Something passed through Sam's eyes. Gabe wasn't sure what it was, because it vanished as quickly as it appeared, but it made the green darken just a bit in a familiar way that Gabe was sure could be-

"Gabe, we're partners," he stated, without a single hint of doubt in his voice, "And we made a promise."

Gabe didn't make promises lightly. Maybe because he'd had so many of them broken in his childhood; he'd certainly heard people throw around that word lightly to get what they want. He had always taken promises seriously when he'd truly meant them, and he'd meant it when he'd made one with Sam.

It was hard to forget that night the Roadhouse had burnt down, when the fire had been blazing and they'd smelled of smoke and adrenaline. Gabe didn't think he'd ever made a more serious promise in his life.

"I did, didn't I?" he muttered, eyes narrowing as his head cleared in an uncomfortable rush. Sam's hand was still on his face, and it felt good, but his senses had returned.

The brief moment of temptation was gone. Sam's eyes had lightened again, back to an ever-changing hazel, and he seemed so normal that Gabe was almost convinced he'd just imagined it all.

"You did," he said, flashing a boyish grin at him before leaning back. The absence of his hand felt cold against Gabe's cheek, and the P.I sighed.

"You win, kiddo," he grumbled, all while internally reeling at how close he'd been to Sam, "We'll check out this lead together."

Sam beamed at him, and if Gabe hadn't still felt concern over what they could possibly be getting into, he would've reveled completely in that smile.

"Great! Let's go now," he said enthusiastically, shutting his laptop with a crisp snap.

"Woah, woah, woah! What's the rush, Sammo?" Gabe asked hastily, and the Winchester blinked before tilting his head.

"We should do this as soon as possible since there's a serial killer out there?"

Gabe wrinkled his nose at Sam's I-can't-believe-you're-being-this-dense-right-now tone of voice.

"What about, er…classes?" he asked, finishing lamely with a wave to the bustling street outside.

Sam snorted before tossing his head, throwing his fringe back in a messy array that had Gabe holding onto his drink with both hands lest he lose self-control and do something stupid like try and fix it.

That, among other things, would be a bad idea with Sam.

It was hard to restrain himself, especially since he had come to terms with how much he liked Sam. Everything in him was telling him to do things the good old-fashioned way, Gabriel Milton style. Heavy flirting, cliché moves, innuendos tossed about like confetti, the works. It was a tried and true method that had gotten him into people's pants just as it was intended to, except he wasn't just trying to get into Sam's pants here.

Right. I'm also trying to do all the other emotional stuff that Sam just happened to get burned badly by.

For what was probably the fifth time that week alone (and it was only Monday), Gabe wanted to hunt down Jess and have a little chat about what she'd done.

"They're largely self-study classes, and besides, the campus is a wreck right now," Sam remarked, batting his eyes lashes in a faux-innocent manner that had Gabe struggling not to laugh, "Everyone's scared out of their minds! If I don't feel safe going, then I shouldn't go, right?"

"I thought you could take care of yourself, Mr. Winchester," the P.I retorted with an arched eyebrow.

Sam blinked once, then twice, and Gabe burst out into raucous laughter.

"Gotcha! Can't think of a comeback for that one, huh?" he asked between chuckles, and Sam scowled viciously at him before his lips twitched.

"Okay, I can admit defeat there," he conceded, "But that makes us even now!"

"In your dreams," Gabe said, but he stood anyway in a signal that it was time to go, "Come on, Sam-a-lam. The day grows old before us!"

"That's an odd way to put it," Sam mused as they left the Starbucks. It had grown a fraction of a degree warmer outside (which wasn't very much warmer at all), and the bright sun gave off the illusion that it would get even warmer, "People usually say the day is still young."

"I'm a backward sort of guy, Sammy, haven't you noticed?"

They both approached the haphazardly parked Beetle, but before they got in, Sam looked over the roof of the car at Gabe with a strange look on his face. The P.I quickly recognized it as one of Sam's 'knowing' looks, but it quickly faded into a grin that pinned Gabe to the spot.

"I know," he replied simply, eyes crinkled from the force of his smile, "That's why we get on so well."

Sam ducked into the car, and Gabe hesitated for a moment, trying to make sense of his words. Was Sam implying that he too was backward, or that he just liked his…backwardness?

Gabe shook his head before getting into the driver's seat. It was times like these that he was reminded that however well he thought he knew Sam, there was always something he'd had yet to reveal. Sometimes it was frustrating, but Gabe always felt a sense of excitement when he got a glimpse beneath the surface to the true depths beneath. He didn't think he could ever get tired of what Sam had to reveal.

The real problem was how Sam would feel if he realized just how much Gabe had to reveal, and how dark and troubled the depths were beneath the surface.

…

"What are we doing here?"

Sam's confusion was evident as they got out of the car, and Gabe didn't blame him. He'd purposefully been evasive about where they were going on the drive, and he'd never taken Sam here.

"This is where we found Reynold," he said, nodding at the small establishment in front of them. Even though it was midday, all the neon signs were on a buzzing up a storm, advertising prices and Jumpstart Café's very open status, "You never saw it, and it's near Kingsford, so I figured it'd be relevant if we worked backward for a moment."

A considering look came over Sam's face, driving Gabe to remain silent as they stepped in. He had to admit; he was curious as to what Sam would make of the place. The P.I himself hadn't had many impressions of the place at the time of the original scene due to how early in the case it'd been, but maybe Sam would come up with something new.

"I was always curious about why Death had set him up here despite leaving that message in his classroom," the Winchester remarked, looking around at the cramped, dim interior.

Jumpstart Café wasn't a very impressive place, with the main focus being the few rows of available computers and a counter at the back which was filled with all sorts of knick-knacks for sale. Off to the left was a small drink and snack station, and to the immediate right of the door was a small, but open section of floor above which Reynold had been hung.

The worker behind the counter was the same raccoon-eyed, college-aged part-timer Gabe had encountered the first time around, except this time he wasn't pale and shaking from having discovered a body. All it took to send him packing was a quick flash of his badge and a jerk of his head, and then the duo was alone.

"My original working theory was that since it was the beginning of his 'journey', The Crucifier started his killing spree with a bang," the P.I said, "But since Reynold technically wasn't killed first, I'm not so sure anymore."

"I think it still holds up, but for different reasons. He chose to reveal Reynold first," Sam countered, "Death clearly puts thought into what he does, which means he probably did want to start with something big enough to grab everyone's attention."

He calls him Death, Gabe noted curiously as they stood facing each other in the bare floor space, While The Crucifier is a pretty gauche moniker, it's the go-to name for him now, so why Death? Because that's how the killer refers to himself?

Whatever the reasoning, it was a much creepier name than The Crucifier, which, now that Gabe thought about it, was probably the killer's whole point behind it.

"He was hung up here," Sam stated, voice soft with that far off quality it took when his eyes slipped off to gaze at everything-beyond, for lack of a better term, "Right here so people would see him, or some of him at least."

He nodded at the small windowfront half obscured by all the neon signs before whirling on his heel to face the back of the store.

"And back there was where he wrote his message, right?"

Gabe hummed affirmation, too focused on letting the Winchester's odd, but strangely accurate thought process unfold to disrupt it by speaking. Sam turned back around to tilt his head back to look at the ceiling, exposing a long stretch of throat that had Gabe averting his eyes before he lingered too long on it.

Not the right time, Milton!

"Strange, how he wrote two messages tied to Reynold," Sam murmured, "I'm assuming the plastered hole in the ceiling was where a…cross once was?"

"Full shebang," Gabe said, looking up with him. The plaster job had been sloppily done, stark white against the dirty gray of the ceiling, "Built just sturdily enough to display him. The long bit was poked through the ceiling, and he was tied to the shorter bit; not nailed. When the took him down, they got quite the fright when the short beam came with him."

"Crucifixion isn't the important aspect to him," Sam concluded.

He looked down at the floor, his eyes narrowing suddenly as if he'd spotted something particularly disgusting. Gabe followed his gaze instinctively but saw nothing beyond the regular tile.

Unless he's seeing something I can't.

Gabe was an open-minded person; had to be considering all the shit he'd gone through and seen in his life. It was much easier to take the punches life threw at him if he accepted that they would come instead of resisting the notion, and as such, was a very hard person to shock.

The idea that Sam Winchester had some sort of special, superpowered sight that allowed him to come to conclusions regular people never could was certainly up there on the crazy level, but Gabe prided himself on being a good investigator. He'd observed Sam enough over the time he'd known him to determine that the idea had merit, if not solid credibility. There were the strange, unfocused looks, the on the nose information he'd pull from nowhere right after such looks, and the way he'd adjust the conversation or his own actions in just the right manner.

He'd seen the process when Sam had 'magically' procured the flash drive from that duffel bag. Gabe hadn't known it then (he'd just thought it'd been a particularly great piece of detective work), but the 2+2 pattern just kept repeating and repeating. Sam didn't do drugs, and his mental health seemed normal, so after exhausting all the other possibilities, Gabe had accepted that the answer was indeed 4, however unbelievable it seemed.

The actual mechanics behind Sam's sight was the real mystery now that Gabe had more or less accepted its existence. Whatever it was, it seemed to exist all around the Winchester as an overlay to reality, and it gave him insight to things people usually didn't have any sort of clue for. Visually it could appear as anything, though if he had to take a gander, he'd say it probably appeared as some sort of pattern or color. After all, it was a sight-based sense.

One thing he knew for sure was that it wasn't mind reading, however uncanny Sam's conclusions were. If it was, Gabe had a feeling their relationship would be completely different considering how much he thought of Sam in more than friendly terms.

I won't know until he tells me for himself, and the likelihood of that is slim to none. He probably thinks I'd write him off as a lunatic.

Gabe actually wasn't sure what he'd say to Sam if the subject was ever broached. It was clear hardly anyone knew about it, and they really had only known each other for a few weeks despite how much longer it felt. He probably ranked very low on the 'possibly might need to know' basis.

He knew he wouldn't judge Sam for it, and he certainly wouldn't throw him into the loony bin. In the grand scheme of things, the Winchester's supervision didn't stand out much to Gabe. Catching The Crucifier while circumventing the LPD and keeping their asses in one piece was a much bigger concern.

Besides, it's Sam. Doesn't matter what he may or may not possibly see; I've got his back either way.

"What's the most important aspect then?" he asked in an attempt to draw Sam's attention from the floor and-whatever it was he was looking at.

Sam's glassy eyes flicked back up to him before they snapped back into focus.

"The mission," he said, clearing his throat and looking away, as if he'd been caught doing something wrong (did he feel as if he was doing something wrong?), "He considers himself the only person up to the task, and feels as if he's doing his duty."

"He's a lone wolf with a sense of purpose."

"Which is what makes him so dangerous," Sam said, looking him in the eye properly for the first time since they'd walked in, "He won't stop."

They gazed at each other for a moment in silence that was only punctuated by the intermittent buzzing of the neon signs. Sam's statement would've almost been ominous if Gabe hadn't already acknowledged deep down that The Crucifier was the type of killer that would just keep on killing.

Sam suddenly scoffed and shoved his hands into his pockets with an irritated look on his face.

"What's the point of working backward? We already know all of this," he muttered, scuffing the floor with his toe, "There's nothing new to learn here! We know he kills by himself and won't stop anytime soon, and that it's all about the mission, so what are we doing here?"

"Perspective," Gabe remarked calmly, but internally he was caught off guard by Sam's sudden mood shift, "Sometimes revisiting a crime scene after the initial visit reveals something new."

"Well, there's nothing," Sam snapped, hunching his shoulders.

Gabe's eyes narrowed for a moment on what was clearly defensive body language. Sam had also half turned away from him and was looking all over the café, especially at the darker corners the fluorescent lights didn't quite reach. The more he looked, the more Sam sidled closer to him and the window, which was letting in the only natural light that the place got.

The realization hit the P.I like a slap to the face.

He's wary. But of what?

"Are you sure about that?" he asked slowly, taking a careful step towards the Winchester. Suddenly Gabe was suspicious of the shadowy corners, and it took all he had (not to mention the rational bit of his mind reminding him there wasn't anything physical lurking) not to push his jacket back and reach for his holster.

"Yes," Sam said firmly, but his eyes told another story as they lingered on a back corner of the café.

The abrupt thought of Enochian came to Gabe's mind, but he wasn't sure why until he looked at the back wall.

When he'd first reached the crime scene, he had almost convinced himself he wouldn't find any Enochian. The classroom filled with it had just somehow been a fluke, and there was no way it could be here in some dingy internet café, could it? Gabe had tried and tried to convince himself, and it was only until he'd seen the bloody writing for himself that he knew it wasn't going away anytime soon. It was like he was 12 all over again, wishing fervently that he'd never taken the note from his case file and tried to decipher what it said.

Even now, he could see the faint imprints of it on the back wall. They'd cleaned all the blood off, but that didn't mean that the ghost of it wasn't there. Enochian was a language that lingered.

Just because it isn't physical doesn't mean it doesn't exist. Didn't I learn that the hard way?

"What do you see?"

Gabe instantly regretted ever mentioning anything as soon as he'd asked. Sam's face closed off so quickly and thoroughly that it was as if he was almost a different person. His eyes were now completely focused, but his face was pale, lips pressed tight as his hands clenched in fists by his side.

"What do you mean?" he asked, so calmly that if he didn't look as if he was considering bolting all the back to LU, Gabe could've believed he hadn't touched a nerve.

But he had. It was clear as day to him, and it was just one more piece of proof for the P.I that Sam saw something.

Gabe wanted to tell Sam that it was ok. The urge to do so and to reassure him that he wouldn't judge him for it was so strong that Gabe actually took a physical step forward, ready to do so. Sam hadn't judged him for his preferences (he'd noticed Sam's subtle words at Dean's apartment; he wasn't stupid), so how could he judge him for this?

"I mean your detective intuition, Watson," he said instead, the deflection slipping so smoothly from his tongue that it took Gabe a moment to realize that his thoughts hadn't lined up at all with what he'd intended, "C'mon, I know something's rattling around in that big brain of yours Sammo!"

Intentions and actions continued to war briefly in Gabe's head (that's not what was supposed to be said!), but after Sam visibly relaxed, he knew he'd done the right thing.

Now wasn't the right time to ask Sam about it, if he ever did. Sam might just need to be the one to tell him on his own terms, and at the very least they could do it in a better setting. Tiny hole-in-the-wall internet cafes weren't the place for such important conversations.

The jingle of bells alerted them both to the entrance of newcomers. In a silent agreement that they were quickly mastering, the duo decided that it was time to go, and moved to do so.

Being in the front, Gabe was the first to notice something off about the men.

He wasn't sure what it was exactly that alerted him that they were in trouble. Maybe it was the various swaggers and slouches the trio sported. It was a familiar walk to him, as he'd seen many gangers and wannabe gangers move that way. Or maybe it was the suspicious bulges in their waistbands that hinted at weapons.

All Gabe knew was that there was only one gang in town whose symbol was a red eye, and it boded bad news that the back of one of the guys' jackets was emblazoned with it.

Shit.

A hand grasped his bicep and pulled him back towards the window front, and Gabe knew Sam had noticed the danger when he began to shuffle them sideways towards the door as inconspicuously as possible.

"Just follow my lead," the Winchester whispered in his ear, "They haven't noticed us yet."

It certainly seemed like they hadn't. All three men seemed completely focused on the counter, which was still empty.

"Where the hell is that little shit?" the tallest asked, slamming his hand down on the counter. "Rosco! I know you're back there!"

"This is so dumb. I could be warm back home right now," the shortest grumbled as he shifted from side to side. Judging from his voice and height, he was the youngest out of the three, "Why did we have to come today?"

"Because Dead Eyes take their money when they want it, and Rosco owes us," the last one said, punching the youngest one in the arm to emphasize just how much Roscoe apparently owed them. The red eye on the back of his jacket seemed to glow like a brand in the dim light.

Gabe glanced back at Sam, who shook his head and reached up to grab the bell with one hand so it wouldn't ring on their way out.

"Rosco!"

"Alright, I'm coming, I'm coming. Jeez, can't a guy take a piss in peace?" Rosco grumbled as he emerged from the back, pausing comically at the sight of the Dead Eyes waiting at the counter.

"Ah, shit-"

"We want our money, Rosco," the tall one said, leaning on the counter, "You wouldn't make us come all this way in the cold just to try and stiff us, would you?"

Rosco went even paler than he naturally was, eyes flicking this way and that as he cringed away from the trio crowding in closer and closer towards the counter. He was obviously looking for a way out, so when his eyes landed on them, Gabe wasn't surprised, even as his stomach twisted.

"C'mon man, you gotta help me!"

The trio turned to see who Rosco was pleading to, and Sam cursed under his breath as the one with the eye on the back of his jacket frowned at them.

"Who the hell are you guys?"

"Hey, hold on…he's got a badge!" the youngest one said, pointing at Gabe's pocket, where the top of it was poking out.

Crap-

"Time to go," Sam muttered, hauling him backward through the door before the other two could react to what their friend had said.

"He's got a what? "

"Sam-"

"Get them!"

That was not what Gabe wanted to hear (focus on the money, not us!), but the trio wasted no time in hustling after them. He could hear the bell jangling wildly after them.

"Dammit, why are they chasing us?" Sam asked, grabbing him by the hand and leading them down the sidewalk away from where he'd parked the Beetle.

Gabe tried to tug him back, confused and more than a little worried that the Winchester had lost it, and at such a crucial time too.

"Sam, wrong direction!"

"No time to get in it," he said shortly, already gaining speed (damn him and those long legs!), "Follow me, and don't stop!"

Gabe had no intentions of stopping or letting the Dead Eyes catch up. He could already hear them gaining ground, harsh breaths loud in the cold air.

"Hell no," he muttered before he put on a burst of speed to catch up to Sam, "I'm not going to be the slow one today."

He'd puzzle out why the Dead Eyes were chasing them later. Right now, he'd just keep up with Sam and hope the Winchester knew where he was going.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

So in the time since I posted Chapter 4, I submitted my second art portfolio for scoring, sat on the sidelines for a lot of school drama, and am now eagerly awaiting my graduation. Am I the only one ready to put high school behind me?

Also, my writing schedule has been pretty much shredded this month, which sucks. I have at least brought you a Gabe POV chapter because we all love those, and the next chapter has some interesting Sabriel moments. Definitely more than what this chapter has.

And yes, there's a lot of running in this story. Do I realize that Chapter 5 in Chromaticity contained a chase as well? Yup. Not my original intention, but the parallel is there now.

I'll see you guys whenever life lets me post the next chapter. Fingers crossed it won't be too long!