Chapter 9: I'm Only as Real as You Let Me Be

It was the wrong season.

That much Sam knew, even before he opened his eyes. The wind wasn't supposed to smell of dying leaves or be so fresh and crisp. In Lawrence, the spring winds still carried the frigid touch of winter.

The part of his brain that insisting this didn't feel right wasn't being very helpful though, so Sam told it to be shut up as he opened his eyes to try and figure out where he was.

He was leaning against a tree in what looked like the edge of some sort of woods; something about the substantial spacing in between the trees told him so. Orange and brown leaves carpeted the soil, covering the gnarled roots and sparse grass in a slowly decaying blanket. Despite the thin tree canopy, Sam couldn't see the sun; just a perfect autumn blue sky that was so blue it hurt.

Considering all of the dreams he'd been having lately, the scenery around him was astonishingly pleasant. Sure, Sam knew that being lucid probably didn't forebode anything good, and there was something uncomfortably familiar about the trees around him, but he wasn't going to stress about that now. The wind felt good against his skin, there was no one in sight that he had to worry about, and best of all, he wasn't 11.

Sam sighed happily, savoring the peace for as long as he could. He didn't get nearly enough of it in his real life, and if he had to get in his from this dream, then so be it.

He managed to savor it for about 30 seconds before his paranoid brain butted in.

It's not supposed to be autumn. It's supposed to be…

"Spring. You were my spring baby."

Sam jerked his head upward, startled by the woman standing across from him. He recognized her from pictures, but he thought he would've somehow known who she was from her voice, even if he didn't consciously remember it.

Because didn't everyone remember their mothers in some way, shape or form?

"Hi, Mom," he said, equal parts pleased and confused to see her. He hadn't dreamed of her since he was a child, and never with this sort of clarity.

I've never seen her aura properly, he thought, eyes entranced by the colors before him, Only the ghost of it in pictures.

Pictures never did auras much justice. It twisted and warped them into a desaturated, flat version of themselves, and the same held true for Mary Winchester. The pale, cool tones he thought might've been blues or greens were a far cry from the vivid, dancing green aura that surrounded her. It immediately reminded him of Dean's, but hers was just a touch more on the blue side and radiated such a strong sense of motherhood that there was no doubt she'd loved them dearly.

"Hello Sam," she said, green eyes creasing from the force of her smile. They weren't the same green as Dean's; like her aura, they were bluer.

Sam had never noticed that in the pictures, but maybe it was just his brain conjuring up these tiny little details to make him feel better. He couldn't bring himself to care though, because it was working.

"Are you real?" he blurted out.

An instant later, he regretted asking the question. It was so stupid it didn't even warrant a response, because of course she wasn't real, but she only tilted her head and started walking towards him.

"I'm only as real as you let me be."

A confusing answer, but then, Sam wasn't sure what he'd expected from her. This was just a dream after all.

"I…well, you're dead, so you can only be real to a certain degree," he said if only to continue the conversation with her. Sam was reluctant to wake from this strange autumnal dream world.

"I am dead," she confirmed, and with such conviction that Sam knew on some instinctive level that she was right.

There'd been theories or rather whimsical hopes they'd never properly expressed, that maybe Yellow Eyes hadn't gotten to her. John had never said them, but Dean had said it aloud a few times when he was really hurting from the idea of their mom being dead. Mary abandoning them was an awful idea, but at least then she would be alive, and wasn't that better than dead?

Maybe, maybe not. It doesn't matter now though.

Those slim hopes he'd secretly harbored died in his chest with her words. They'd been slowly disintegrating for years, so their death was more of a final laying to rest than anything jarring or painful, but it still hurt.

Sam dug his fingers through the dead leaves beneath him and tried to find some satisfaction in the crunch they made so he wouldn't have to focus on the ache he felt. It was like she'd died all over again, and the person standing before him was just some elaborate phantom come to haunt him.

Mary stopped a few feet away, her smile turning sad at the edges. Her dress was more suited to summer than the fall, but it burned as blue as the sky above as it swished around her knees.

"Just because I'm dead doesn't mean I'm all the way gone," she said softly, head bowed a bit to look at him, "My love still lives, through you and Dean and John. My memory lives on too in this place, through violence."

Violence.

The word made Sam's stomach sink. Suddenly, the trees surrounding him didn't seem so ordinary. This was no picturesque autumn day or a refuge from the dark visions he was subjected to. He'd been a fool to let his guard down here.

This is it. This is where it all happened.

Mary reached an arm out to brush against a spot of bark right over his head. She smelled of the perfume John still kept a bottle of that he thought his sons didn't know of and something else, something cold and dead that he didn't want to put a name too.

"I wanted to take you out to the park. Just a walk around the block, because it was so warm and I thought the air would do you some good," she said dreamily, almost in a trance-like state as she stepped away a bit, "Just a walk through the park."

Sam shivered, goosebumps prickling his skin. He didn't dare look up to see what he knew would be Yellow Eye's mark carved in the bark above him.

"Mom?"

Mary blinked hard before gripping the skirt of her dress, brow creasing as her aura curled in on itself like a dying flower.

"He caught up to me," she murmured, the wind blowing her hair over her face and obscuring her features, "I almost thought I'd gotten away from him."

The perfect October sky suddenly turned flat and gray, dimming their surroundings and sucking all the color out of the leaves. Sam scrambled to his feet, wary at the sudden change and cursing himself for getting caught up by his mother's unexpected presence.

"Mom, what am I doing here?" he asked, trying to sound as calm as possible.

Mary looked up at him, eyes wide and dark. She looked scared, and Sam quickly realized why as the trees contorted and stretched over them, shrinking in on them.

Something's coming.

"I'm only as real as you let me be, Sam," she repeated, voice brittle as she tried, and failed, to smile. Gone was any sense of vitality; Mary was hollow and pale now, a mere wisp of a person.

Sam wavered, unsure what she was trying to say if he was even supposed to get any sort of meaning from her words at all. The atmosphere had turned ominous around them, but he wasn't sure what it was leading up to, and it made him nervous.

Footsteps crunched through leaves in the distance, and they both whipped their heads around to face the approaching sound. They were heavy footfalls, haphazardly placed as they sloshed through the leaves.

She shoved him forward with more strength than he thought she possessed, urging him onward away from the footsteps.

"Be careful," she said, words pouring out of her in a rush now as she kept urging him back, "Be mindful, and be smart. Don't lose track of your head or your heart, because you'll need both soon. I hid you from him, but I can't hide you forever."

The footsteps were getting closer, now crunching deliberately as a rough, raspy voice floated through the trees. It said nothing intelligible, but it triggered such a horrible rush of ice water fear down Sam's spine that he couldn't help but cling to his mother.

Yellow Eyes.

"Don't leave me," he begged. He wasn't 11 in this awful dream, but he might as well have been in that moment, "Mom, please don't go."

Mary's hands were like bone when they gripped his face, searing a coldness into her face that didn't match the fire in her eyes.

"I have to, but you're not alone," she whispered fiercely before letting go, "You're never alone."

She let go of his face, and between one blink and the next, she was gone. Not even a single trace of her aura marked where she'd stood.

Sam pressed his hands to his cheeks to preserve the cold touch she'd left behind, breath ragged and eyes wild as he looked around for any sight of Yellow Eyes. The fear threatened to swamp him, and it took all his self-control to not cry out for his mother.

She's gone. She can't help me now.

His training seemed to have abandoned him here as Mary had; his mind was devoid of anything useful. All he had was the fear and the horrible knowledge that the footsteps belonged to the madman that had ruined his life.

A small flock of birds broke through tops of the trees, cawing raucously. They'd been disturbed by someone, and that someone was close.

Sam ran.

Logic seemed to have flown from his head the instant he'd heard those footsteps, and Sam didn't have time to get it back. Yellow Eyes was approaching, and he had no intention of coming face to face with the monster.

"Saaaaaaaam. Where are you?"

The voice seeped between the tree trunks and echoed into the darkening sky, making it hard to pinpoint where it was coming from. The crashing footsteps were behind him though and quickly gaining.

But where could he go? Sam had no idea how to get out of the suddenly vast woods (dammit, hadn't these woods been part of a suburban park?), and his limbs suddenly felt as heavy as stone.

"No, no, no," he mumbled frantically as his legs seemed to slow of their own accord. It was like trying to stride through molasses or wet cement.

"I'll catch up to you, Saaaaaaam. You can't hide from me anymore!"

It took a Herculean effort to wrench himself free from the slow, syrupy feeling that had washed over his body, but Sam still had enough willpower to do it. Fear may have been clouding his mind, but it also acted as a strong motivator, and he wanted to get away.

Trees passed in dark blurs on either side of him as he picked up speed, oblivious to the chase taking place. His breath burned in his lungs and came out in sharp bursts, but Sam didn't contemplate pausing to rest. The footsteps were keeping up with him, and Yellow Eyes was now close enough that he could hear him breathing, panting like a dog on a hunt.

And I'm the prey.

The color appeared in his peripheral vision, pale and lively, and if it hadn't stuck out so much against the murky grays and browns the woods had become, Sam would've missed it.

It was gold though, and all his terrified mind could think of was Gabe.

Sam veered towards it so abruptly that he sent up a stream of leaves in his wake and stumbled. A heart-stopping stab of fear almost paralyzed him as half his body met the ground (this was it; Yellow Eyes would pounce on him now), but he got back up in a flash and chased after the gold.

An enraged howl that barely sounded human echoed behind him, raising the hairs on his skin. Yellow Eyes obviously didn't want him following the path the gold patches of light marked out for him, and the only reason Sam's one-track mind could manage to come up with was that this must be the way out.

The gold flickered and chimed softly as Sam passed them by, the patches growing in frequency the farther he followed them. Yellow Eyes was still hounding him, but with an exhilarated rush, Sam realized he was falling behind.

You're never alone.

Sam thought he understood his mother's parting words as he ran through a warm, rejuvenating patch of gold. A second later, he heard a cry of pain behind him as the gold burned Yellow Eyes.

"You can't get away from me! I'll catch you!"

He hadn't called out his name in that horrible drawl, and Sam never wanted to hear him say it again. If he ran hard enough, he could make sure of it.

The trees began to grow sparser; the path clearer as the soil grew more compact. A different voice spoke somewhere in the distance, lost to the white fog alight with inner shades of gold ahead. Sam couldn't make out distinct words, or how far away he was from the end (distance and time were vague concepts here), but it didn't matter. He could tell it was Gabe's voice, even if it was still distant and weak, and it was a godsend in this hellish landscape.

"Gabe!" he cried, nearly forgetting about Yellow Eyes as he ran towards his voice. He was so close to him; all he had to do was run a little further and tumble into all that dancing gold.

Yellow Eyes hadn't forgotten about him though.

Fingers tangled in the back of his collar. Sam gasped as it dragged him backward away from Gabe's voice and down into an endless, gaping maw of sulfur-scented darkness.

"Gotcha."

He screamed, and the fingers that had a grip on him loosened up just long enough for him to get a choked breath in and fall away-

…

Sam gasped, flailing wildly as he jerked awake. An October wind followed him into waking, blowing across his skin like a kiss of death, following his still tumbling mind. He wasn't out of the woods quite yet.

"Sam!"

Someone grabbed his hands, and for a second, they felt like his mother's cold, bony hands. Sam flinched, eyes squeezed shut as he lashed out with his arms and bucked, trying to ground himself in something, anything.

Where's Gabe?

"Hey, hey, I'm right here," a frantic voice said, responding as if he'd spoken aloud. Maybe he had. Sam wasn't sure of anything right now.

Warm hands encircled his wrists, gripping firmly enough to cut through the awful falling sensation he couldn't quite shake.

"I'm right here, kiddo. Can you hear me? It was just a bad dream, I promise."

A hand curled through his hair, smoothing damp strands out of the way as the other moved to untangle the knots of sheets (because those were sheets, not gnarled tree roots) that had his legs trapped.

Sam wanted assurance of that promise because that dream had felt more real than this. He was more used to the bad life had to offer, not gentle, caring hands pulling him from a nightmare.

Warmth soothed his clammy skin, and he couldn't push himself away from the person even if he wanted to. Sam burrowed towards it, pressing his face against a solid body that didn't smell of sulfur or dead leaves. A part of him told him that he was being weak right now, but that didn't stop him from throwing his arms around the welcome comfort of a familiar person and trying to hide from the last of the nightmare.

"Gabe?"

There really was no question it was him, as Sam knew of no one else that felt like this, but he had to ask just to make sure.

"It's me, Sam," Gabe breathed, pulling him closer. The way he said his name was so much better than the drawn-out sing-song call of Yellow Eyes, and even the sad/happy way his mother had said it.

Sam made a content sound, shivering as he tucked his face just beneath Gabe's collarbone and felt the man's heartbeat beneath his skin, alive and well. He didn't dare open his eyes in case this was all just another illusion made by his brain.

Or maybe it's not.

"Is this real?"

He mumbled the question into bare skin and felt Gabe shift from the touch. Sam pulled away slightly in apology, but Gabe nudged him back and clinched his arms tighter around him.

"This is real," he confirmed, "Yellow Eyes can't get you here."

The hand stroking his hair felt convincing enough. Sam sighed and slumped in surrender, lulled halfway back to sleep by Gabe's presence.

"That's good…" he murmured, his breathing slowly syncing with the rise and fall of Gabe's chest, "He killed Mom, and he almost got me…"

Gabe might've said something, but he was too far gone to hear. He was too exhausted to stay awake, and he felt safe falling asleep now that Gabe was near.

Sleep was peaceful this time, and Sam dreamt of nothing except for soft velvet blackness interspersed by gold flashes of light.

…

Sometime later, Sam woke to the sound of a thunderstorm outside and the warmth of someone familiar snoring softly by his side.

He looked down curiously at Gabe, stroking his hand down his back. At some point, their positions had been reversed, so Gabe's face was pressed against his chest. A lazy arm was draped over his waist, fingers grazing the small of his back with a slack grip of sleep. They were squished together so close that Sam thought he'd become part of Gabe's aura. It draped over him like sunshine and tasted sweeter than honey, making him feel warm and satisfied in a way he hadn't felt in a long time.

Gabe shifted, mumbling something indecipherable. His messy hair drifted across Sam's face, and the sight of it was so cute that Sam couldn't help but grin and tuck his chin carefully over the top of his head. He wasn't sure how long he had left before Gabe woke up, so he'd enjoy the time he had.

He'd nearly forgotten how it felt to sleep next to someone he was attracted to.

This is real.

The thought brought back a half-formed memory, one from the night before. Gabe had said it to him, hadn't he? Along with something else…

Sulfur. Lamp-like yellow eyes, and a sky too blue to be real outside of a dream or nightmare.

Sam shivered, pressing just a bit closer to Gabe as he recalled fragments of the nightmare he'd had. He couldn't remember all of it, but he could clearly remember what his mother had looked like and the terror of the chase. The fear had been overwhelming, to the point of being almost unnatural in its intensity. Sam couldn't recall ever feeling so scared in his life, and he'd had many instances where he'd felt fear.

He'd dreamed of Yellow Eyes before, and his mother, but those had been fragmented nightmares from when he was much younger and didn't really understand what had happened. Never had he had Yellow Eyes chase him or his mother speak to him either, which made the whole thing even odder. Why would he have such an intense dream now?

It can't be a vision; visions show the future, not a warped retelling of the past.

"But dead is dead," Sam whispered, a tiny piece clicking as he recalled one of the many odd phrases John used to say. He'd said it once when they had visited Mary's grave, which was really just a headstone marking an empty plot since they'd never found her body.

Maybe that's why he'd had the dream. It wasn't straightforward, but the more he thought about it, the more Sam couldn't deny that it made at least some sense.

Soon, one way or another, Mary Winchester's case would finally be closed. Maybe it'd be a month from now or a year, but for the first time, Sam had the sense of surety that it would be.

"Dead is dead, son," John said as they swept leaves off of his mother's headstone, "There's no coming back from it. That's why we have to live on for your mother."

The idea of closure felt strange and hollow after all these years, and Sam didn't want to think of his dead mother anymore on his own. He buried his face in Gabe's hair and lost himself in his essence.

Time passed, and a subtle shift in color marked the end of Gabe's sleep. Slow, deep gold began to swirl faster and morph into pastel shades that brushed against his skin like feathers. He'd nearly fallen back asleep, but now that Gabe was stirring, he started to panic.

What do I do? Sam thought frantically as Gabe began to move more noticeably. What will he say?

Sam wasn't stupid; he knew that Gabe had ended up in the sofa bed with him because he'd be woken by his thrashing about or whatever he'd done in the throes of his nightmare. While he knew Gabe wouldn't exactly mind waking up in this position, Sam knew it could lead to awkwardness and conversations he wasn't quite ready to have, and certainly not when he was only wearing boxers. He'd promised himself that he'd wait and do this right.

So, Sam did the only thing he could think of in his mini fit of panic. He feigned sleep.

He knew he was pretty convincing at faking sleep; he'd fooled Dean a handful of times before, and John when he was young and his father hadn't gotten wise to the deception. In this situation, it was a bit cowardly, but Sam could justify it by thinking of it as handing the choice over to Gabe and letting him decide how he wanted to go about things.

Sam let his breathing slow and his arms loosen just a bit, eyes shut and senses carefully attuned to pay attention to what Gabe did. He had to admit, he was curious.

Gabe wiggled around a bit and sighed, hand tightening on his hipbone. Sam swallowed, trying to ignore how nice that felt.

"The hell?" he mumbled, fingers tapping once before trailing up. Sam could feel Gabe pull his head back a bit, hand coasting up farther beneath the sheet until it reached the arm he still had draped around the P.I.

Sam made sure not to tense as Gabe sucked in a sharp breath. With his eyes closed and his focus narrowed, the brief flits of emotion coursing through his aura came easily.

Confused, then embarrassed, close to mortified. But pleased, content, warm, happy-

A hand smoothed his hair back (and wasn't that another echo from last night?) as Gabe shifted, the springs creaking loudly as he withdrew himself carefully from Sam's hold. Sam let him leave after a brief, convincing tightening of his arms that he knew would be chalked up to an unconscious reaction.

"Shit. What am I gonna do with you, Sam?" he asked, but not in an aggrieved way. More pleasantly frustrated, and Sam thought if he opened his eyes, he would've seen a faint smile on Gabe's face.

The hand in his hair kept on moving, combing through strands in a manner so casual that he didn't think Gabe was 100% aware he was doing it.

"You gave me quite the scare earlier, and now you have the nerve to look all peaceful and innocent," he chided, his hand slowing as it moved to trail his jaw, "Glad I could be of some use at least."

Sam didn't like how that sounded. Did Gabe think that he just saw him as a warm body for comfort? Or was he just reading too much into it? It had been a while since Jess or anything romantically coded.

"I'll find Yellow Eyes for you, Sam, don't worry," he whispered, voice raspy from sleep, "That bastard hurt you so much, but not anymore."

It didn't matter that he was fresh out of sleep, or already bogged down by their current case and all its repercussions. Gabe's determination was believable all the same, and Sam's heart did a funny leap in his chest at the sound of it.

He must've shifted or something because the hand on his face stilled. A second later, Gabe was scrambling out of the bed, and the disappointment would've been crushing if Sam hadn't sensed him lean in and press an off-center kiss to his forehead.

The unexpected, fleeting touch somehow managed to feel like a star, burning away all the lingering nightmares in his head. Sam didn't know something so chaste as a forehead kiss could feel like that.

Don't you dare touch the spot, Winchester, he firmly told himself, even as his fingers itched to reach up to his forehead.

Gabe walked off into what sounded like the kitchen, his aura slowly seeping away from him with his absence. It felt like stepping out from a warm, cozy house and into a raging blizzard, and Sam immediately decided that he hated the sensation.

He tugged the sheets up, abandoning the façade of deep sleep as he tried to cling to what warmth remained. Auras had their perks, but they brought extra feelings and sensations that he couldn't just ignore.

"Sam?"

Sometimes I really hate auras.

Sam responded with a wordless grunt, ignoring the chilly aura-induced feeling as he propped himself up on an elbow to look over at Gabe blearily.

"Good morning…" he started, intending to greet the man with a name and a properly sleepy smile for someone who was supposed to have just woken up when his mouth went dry.

The softly curved muscle usually covered by shirts and jackets was now on display, gold skin highlighted by his swirling aura. Every time Gabe moved, a different color shifted across his skin; pearlescent shimmers rippling across his chest and down his arms and gold rising up from his heart. If he turned, Sam was sure he'd see the base of the wing-shaped aura, white strands glowing and radiating outward to blend with the abstract, but beautiful shape that surrounded Gabe.

Sam swallowed heavily, eyes drinking in the sight. While he'd caught brief glimpses of Gabe's bare skin before, he'd never had a complete view like this. His aura complimented him perfectly, which only made it that much harder to look away.

Ok, maybe auras aren't so bad.

"Technically, it's about 3 in the afternoon," Gabe corrected, running a hand through his hair in an attempt to tame it. To Sam's growing delight (this whole scene was going to be ingrained in his mind, he just knew it), it didn't seem to want to go back down anytime soon. "We slept through the whole morning."

"So it's…Tuesday afternoon," he said slowly, trying to puzzle through it. He didn't think they'd slept through all of Tuesday, but Sam could barely remember how he'd gotten on the sofa bed in the first place. He had a vague recollection of tiredly trudging through the front door with an equally exhausted Gabe, but nothing concrete beyond that.

"Yup. Want some coffee?"

Sam studied Gabe for a moment. The man sounded distant, but a quick study of his aura told Sam that it wasn't because of anything he'd done, but rather out of nervousness, as if…

He wants to know if I remember the fact that we shared a bed for a bit, and what my possible reaction would be if he told me.

Sam's cheeks pinked a bit at the mere thought of properly sharing a bed with Gabe, and they'd technically already done it. Considering the way their relationship was evolving, that step skipped over two or three other milestones they had yet to hit, like the glaring fact that neither of them had told each other how they felt yet. No wonder Gabe was so nervous.

"Still awake, Sammo?"

"Uh, yeah," Sam said, clearing his throat and throwing the sheets off, "Yeah, coffee would be great."

He began the search for his clothes, tidying up the bed as he tried in vain to at the very least locate his jeans. It'd take his mind off of his sudden doubt over faking the fact he'd been asleep, and the stupidly juvenile, butterflies in his stomach feeling that plagued Sam more and more nowadays around Gabe.

The clatter of something dropping to the floor made Sam look over at Gabe, who swore and quickly ducked behind the counter. He managed to catch a glimpse of his red face before went down though, and the cherry red in his aura.

Oops, Sam thought with a bit of chagrin, but far more satisfaction. I should really find my clothes.

"You alright there?" he asked as he finally found his jeans wedged between the couch and the mattress (how had that happened?).

"I'm good," Gabe replied in a strained voice muffled by the counter.

Sam tugged on his jeans, zipping them up as he walked over to the breakfast bar. Gabe still hadn't emerged, and he was beginning to grow mildly concerned. It was one thing to tease the P.I, but maybe he'd crossed some sort of unknown line?

"Are you sure?"

Gabe popped back up, an easy smile gracing his face to cover up his embarrassment. Nervousness continued to frazzle his aura though, sending fissions through the soft colors.

"100%," he said breathlessly, placing the spoon on the counter and leaning against it, "What do you want to eat? Pancakes? Eggs?"

His voice was too high; gold eyes unusually bright. Sam could've written it off if it weren't for the fact that Gabe's hands were shaking imperceptibly.

"Hey, what's wrong?" he asked flat out, reaching for Gabe's hand. The P.I. was working himself up so quickly that Sam didn't want to beat around the bush.

Gabe pulled his hand away to cover his face, making a strangled noise.

"Nothing! Absolutely nothing."

"Gabe."

Sam hadn't meant to say his name in such an intense manner, but he couldn't help it. Gabe's aura was wearing off on him a little, and the fluttery feeling in his stomach was quickly turning sour.

Gabe peeked through the fingers that covered his eyes before he turned away and let his hand drop, speaking in a rush.

"You had a nightmare last night and I just wanted to make sure you were alright, and I accidentally fell asleep with you and I'm really, really sorry!"

Sam stared for a moment, taken aback by what felt very much like a confession on Gabe's part. The P.I.'s aura certainly looked guilty, but once he fully processed what he felt so guilty about, Sam couldn't help but laugh.

Gabe stared incredulously as he chuckled, his aura questioning.

"You're…not mad?" the P.I. asked tentatively, and Sam shook his head.

"No, of course not," he said, quick to reassure Gabe. He knew that their inadvertent cuddling together might cause some awkwardness (it was why he'd faked being asleep in the first place), and he knew Gabe had been nervous, but this? "If anything, I'm grateful that you helped me through it, and it's not your fault that you fell asleep with me."

Gold and pastel shades trembled with lingering uncertainty. Something still bothered Gabe, but Sam couldn't tell what until he began to mumble it.

"It's just…I know you have a strong sense of personal space and boundaries, and I can be pushy with those, but this is sort of a big breach of them…"

He trailed off; cheeks renewed with a new round of embarrassed color as Sam realized what was plaguing Gabe.

He thinks he's violated my personal space, and that I'd be mad about that. Except he doesn't know that I like him back and that I don't have as many boundaries around him.

Sam still wanted to hold out on telling Gabe until the case reached some sort of conclusion. He wanted to be able to tell him properly and spend time with him that wouldn't be tainted by the looming threat of a serial killer. Gabe needed some sort of sign now though, something more than the harmless flirting they'd engaged in.

It was a conundrum that made him want to bang his head on the counter before throwing himself onto the sofa bed to brood. Brooding had been a favorite pastime of his, before meeting Jess and college and the real world.

Maybe I should just tell him. It'd solve a lot of problems.

But it wouldn't be right. Telling him was logical, and was backed by sound reasoning, but dammit, he was clinging to pure ethos here, and he didn't care. Besides, at heart, Sam could admit he had a romantic streak, and while it had taken a beating with Jess, it still ran strong. Confessing in Gabe's kitchen while they were both fresh from sleep and half-dressed wasn't exactly romantic.

"I really don't mind," Sam said, trying to stress that he didn't without giving away the fact that he was more than a little into Gabe, "I think we're pretty close, don't you?"

"Yeah," Gabe replied slowly, like someone who suspected a trap, "We're close."

"We are," Sam affirmed, and found no lie in the words, or within himself at the thought, "Which means that I rely on you. And I can tell you things, because I know I can trust you."

A particularly dark cloud must've passed overhead because, with a rumble of thunder, the apartment dimmed dramatically. Gabe's eyes glinted in the half-dark, nearly glowing as they reflected the ghost light of his aura.

"Of course you can tell me things kiddo…things like your nightmare?"

The query was a direct test of Sam's boundaries, and they both knew it. Gabe was wary but ultimately firm, like a lone knight waiting patiently for the drawbridge to fall after circling the castle and finding no other way in.

I could tell you so much more, he thought, feeling something close to relief as he decided that he could lower the drawbridge for this one person that had quickly grown to mean something to him.

"Yeah…those sorts of things," he said, making sure to keep his eyes fixed on Gabe so the man could maybe make out his sincerity in the dark.

He knew it'd worked when Gabe's smile flashed brilliantly at him. The rain continued to pour outside, but the cloud passed, and they could make out each other's faces again through the gloom.

Now or never Winchester. You can do this.

"The coffee's ready," Sam said casually, taking a deep breath, "Let me fix up some cups for us, and then we can talk. There are some things about me that you deserve to know, like my past."

Gabe's reaction would've been comical if the situation wasn't so serious. His aura practically exploded in shock, gold radiating outward as his jaw dropped

"Wait, kiddo-are you sure about this?" he asked, eyes wide as Sam walked around the counter, "I don't want you to think that you have to tell me."

"I know. I want to," Sam replied, voice surprisingly steady given the secret he was about to spill. It helped that he'd recently told Lisa, but he wasn't sure if he was emotionally recharged enough to tell Gabe about how John had raised him.

You'll just have to be, he thought determinedly as he began to prepare the coffee, It's the only secret I can start with right now that I know won't send him running for the hills.

"Sam…"

He half-turned to glance back at Gabe, and whatever the P.I saw must've eased the tension, because he cut him himself off and shook his head.

"You're set on this, aren't you?" he asked, and Sam nodded.

"If you haven't noticed, I'm pretty stubborn when I want to be," he said with an easy smile that drew a huff of laughter from Gabe.

It made his stomach twist and his hands tremble with nerves, but Sam knew that ultimately, he could do this. Out of everyone he'd ever known in his life, he had faith that Gabe could handle this secret and keep it close to his chest. Not only did he have his own secrets, but he was one of the few people that had somehow managed to both respect and nudge his boundaries in a way that didn't leave him feeling violated.

Interestingly enough, he was like Lisa in that regard. She had always been a little pushier with Dean when it came to family secrets and clearly knew some aspects of their lives, but ultimately, she let it be and waited for them to tell her on their own time.

Well, now is the time.

Sam handed a cup to Gabe, who'd opted to sit on top of the breakfast bar and swing his legs while he waited. He was pleased to see that his aura had calmed somewhat and was now more alight with curiosity than anything else.

"You know, if they'd caught Yellow Eyes back then, I wouldn't be who I am today," he started, leaning against the counter opposite to Gabe, "He killed my mother, but it's what happened afterward that really stuck in my head."

Gabe's eyes softened, his expression shifting to one of Sam's favorites; quietly attentive and focused on him. It was probably selfish of him, but when Gabe looked at him like that, Sam could pretend that for just a moment, he didn't have to try to fix anything and that the world consisted of just them.

"John was always-paranoid that Yellow Eyes would get us. More so me than Dean because I'd been left in that tree, but he worried for the both of us. At first, he took us out of Lawrence in what was an attempt to keep us safe, but being nomads wasn't exactly the best either. We lived in a lot of motels and passed through a lot of states and we pretty much grew up looking over our shoulders for the bogeyman."

Sam huffed, a wry smile twisting his lips.

"You know, that's actually how I first learned of him. Dean tried to explain it to me because that's what older brothers do, but he barely understood more than me at the time. So the way he told it, Yellow Eyes was this unimaginable, inhuman monster that stole our mother away. A demon really. John was hunting him down for what he did to Mom, and that's why we were on the road so much and could never properly go to school like other kids. We had to go along with him because we didn't have a mom and a house to stay in.

"Never mind the fact that we had Uncle Bobby and Ellen, and a bunch more other concerned family friends that would've, and have temporarily at times, taken us in. We were kids, so logical reasoning eluded us," he said with a huffed laugh, "We thought John was being the hero, trying to hunt down Yellow Eyes, but in reality, it was the reverse. He was just running from the ghost of him and dragging us along because he was scared and harbored a sense of responsibility towards us.

"One day, he decided to stop running. Maybe the pressure from friends got him to cave in and bring us back to Lawrence, or maybe he'd made his mind up then about how he wanted to raise us. I don't know for sure, and the reasoning is nonimportant in the grand scheme of things."

To his horror, his vision started getting blurry with tears. One fell into his coffee, and he rubbed at his eyes inconspicuously, hoping Gabe wouldn't notice.

Dammit, hold it together Winchester.

Except he couldn't. There was suddenly a gaping, festering pit in his chest, and the words were struggling to make it out from the pit and through his clogged throat.

"I think you can work out what I'm leading up to," he managed to choke out, "You're so clever, and I-I don't know if I ever wanted to keep this from you."

Gabe's feet pattered softly on the ground as he approached (because of course he would notice). Sam kept his head bowed, turning away so he wouldn't have to look the man in the eye. He suddenly felt sick to his stomach, and a bit ashamed too. Why was this so much harder than telling Lisa?

"John was a Marine," he whispered as Gabe gently took the coffee from his hand, "He was a good one too. That's how he knew what to teach us...it's all I ever knew…"

Then Gabe wrapped his arms and aura around him, letting him cry into his shoulder, and Sam started to understand the uncharacteristic silence. Gabe didn't need to say anything when he could just show it like this.

…

"Want to just walk?"

Gabe had driven Sam back to his apartment under the pretense that he'd just drop him off and head back to his own place until something developed in the case. There'd been very little to say after he'd let Gabe in on the nitty-gritty details on what the Winchester family business entailed. He'd told him everything, even the specifics behind the "boxing career" Dean had. Gabe's aura had run through a plethora of emotion and color, but he'd never once seemed disgusted by Sam or horrified by the dangerous man he could be if given the opportunity. In fact, he'd remained fairly quiet, mostly listening and providing coffee refills.

There'd only been one problem with their plan though. Neither of them particularly felt like leaving the other.

Sam invited Gabe up to his apartment when he should've just said good-bye in the Beetle, and Gabe went more than willingly, not wanting to leave Sam when he looked 'rough'. The behavior might've been a bit clingy on both their parts, but neither of them minded. Gabe's aura reflected his worried, and while he'd never admit it, Sam didn't want to be left alone with his thoughts. The bitter pit inside of him had been scraped clean by the retelling of his past, and he wasn't sure what to do with all the space the secret he'd been carrying had left in its wake.

So, they both decided that pizza was a solid way to wrap up the strange day, and Pete's Pizza was only a few blocks down.

"What if it starts raining again?" Sam asked, peering out from the small canopy that covered his apartment's stoop. The storm had miraculously let up when they had pulled up, exposing sections of an indigo sky and the bottom orange haze of light pollution, but the clouds still lingered.

"It probably won't," Gabe said confidently, jutting his chin up at the sky, "Look, those clouds aren't even that bad."

Sam eyed the sky doubtfully but didn't argue his point further. He was tired, and the memories of the past felt far too fresh for his liking. After years of repressing his childhood, talking about it twice in as many days to two different but incredibly important people made his head hurt.

If it feels like this every time I talk about it, it's no wonder Dean constantly wormed out of telling Lisa.

Gabe seemed to sense his mood was quickly sinking because before Sam could mope any further outside the door, he'd grabbed his hand and tugged him out onto the sidewalk.

"C'mon, it's just a short walk," Gabe said cheerfully, eyes bright as he looked back over his shoulder at him, "And if it does rain, then what's the big deal?"

All the protests that Sam could've voiced died in his throat in the face of Gabe's easy-going attitude. Logically, he knew that part of the man's sudden vigor was born from an attempt to cheer him up, but the brilliant gold aura coming to life around him reminded him of that first week they'd been getting to know each other. The case had been in its early days then, and Gabe had been less stressed and more carefree. More him.

The sight stole Sam's breath away. This was the Gabe that he'd heard so many rumors about at the Roadhouse before ultimately meeting him on that fateful Tuesday night when he was just the extroverted guy that put too much sugar in his coffee and told anecdotes to whoever would listen.

A warm feeling bloomed in Sam's chest, matching the warmth of Gabe's aura against his skin and threatening to crack his ribs from its force. At that moment, the rawness of the day was nonexistent.

"Yeah, you're right," he replied, a stupidly happy grin spreading across his face (But who could blame him when the reason for it was Gabe?), "Race you there!"

Sam tore down the sidewalk, leaving a spluttering Gabe in his dust. The P.I. quickly caught up though, and their race down the block quickly devolved into a competitive dogfight as they each tried to one-up each other with dirty tricks to get ahead. Puddles were destroyed, curbs nearly tripped over, and towards the end, a tree branch lost its life when Sam tried to use it as a handhold after Gabe hip-checked him into a winter-brittle tree.

"You caused a casualty, Gabe!" Sam exclaimed, shaking the branch at the P.I, who just laughed at the sight, "This was an innocent bystander! What do you have to say for yourself?"

"All is fair in love and war, baby!" Gabe quipped, winking salaciously and blowing a kiss at him before darting off again.

Sam growled, ignoring his hot cheeks (had he really said that?) as he took off after him.

In the end, Sam won, but only because Gabe somehow managed to get disoriented and wound up on the wrong side of the street. He applauded loudly as the P.I conducted the losers jaywalk of shame over, to which Gabe just shrugged and grinned.

"In my defense, I've only been here once!" he argued, gesturing to the restaurant, and Sam shook his head incredulously.

"But how did you miss all of this?"

Pete's Pizza shone in all its neon glory through the drizzle, burning a hole in the street's typically soft, blue atmosphere. Sam was the only one who could see the hole it burned with its artificial light, but the glowing red letters of the sign and the bright retro interior were very hard to look over.

Gabe sniffed haughtily before shouldering past him to enter, trying to hang onto his wounded pride. Sam snickered and made jokes about terrible P.I.'s who couldn't even find a pizza place until they were seated, where the waitress made an interesting comment.

"I didn't think we'd get anyone tonight," she said as she took their drink requests (one water, one fruit punch), "We've been making more deliveries than anything this past week."

"Because of the bad weather?" Gabe asked, ever the social creature.

The waitress, a lady in her 30s and one Sam didn't recall seeing much in the restaurant, shook her head. Her maroon aura lightened to a worried gray-pink shade at the edges.

"No one wants to go out at night now that there's another serial killer on the loose," she explained, "Hell, not even the delivery boys want to drive out at night. Reminds me of the last one we had, and they never caught him."

Well, that explains the lack of people, Sam thought as he took in all the empty red vinyl booths. He'd noticed the odd lack of a dinner crowd, but like Gabe, had chalked it up to the crappy weather.

"Hope they catch this one," the waitress said, leaving them on that final ominous note.

There was a brief moment of silence between them before Gabe spread his hands and lightly slapped them down onto the table.

"Well, that was enlightening," he proclaimed, earning a small snort from Sam.

"Lawrence was a paranoid mess when Yellow Eyes was on the loose," he explained, messing around with the condiments on the side, "Our local news leaves much to be desired when it comes to factual information. Combine that with the general incompetency of certain aspects of the LPD, and you get a city on fire."

"How bad do you think it'll get?" Gabe asked softly as if the subject might be taboo.

In a way, it was. However hard they'd tried to avoid mentions of the case today, it had crept up on them anyway. Sam had half a mind to just say they drop it and focus on pizza, but Gabe really needed to know. Living in Lawrence for a year wasn't enough time to get to know the intricacies of the city, even if he'd seen the bad it could offer through his job.

"Bad," Sam said bluntly, twirling the pepper shaker through his fingers and watching the flakes dance inside, "Lawrence is a keg filled with incendiary groups of all sorts. Gangs, psychos, broken systems, long-term citizens that have grown jaded to it all. Everyone ultimately takes care of their own here, and the anomaly of a serial killer is probably the strongest spark that exists to blow the keg up. The only reason it hasn't happened yet is because everything has happened so fast."

"Weeks instead of months compared to Yellow Eyes," Gabe murmured, and Sam nodded.

"It's caught everyone off, but soon enough the keg will blow. The FBI coming in, the gangs readying themselves with their own agenda…Lawrence won't stand a chance."

He sighed, setting the pepper shaker down. His feelings towards the city he'd been born in and more or less grown up in were complicated, but in the end, he loved the place. It was unfortunately in Lawrence's nature to crumble easily in the face of adversity like a sandcastle built too close to the waves, but Sam still hated seeing it fall into chaos.

Gabe processed this for a moment, aura swirling with deep shades of thought before he sat up ramrod straight and looked him in the eye.

"Samuel Winchester, you're not responsible for Lawrence."

Sam nearly dropped the pepper shaker in shock. He didn't think anyone had called him Samuel in months besides Lisa, let alone use his full name.

And since when is he a mind reader?

"I know your father drilled some crazy ideas into your head when you were a kid, and I know that they're hard to get rid of," Gabe continued in a low, intense voice, "I had my suspicions before you spoke to me today, and the reason why I haven't expressed much of my thoughts on what you've told me in detail is because I know the moment I do, I'll want to have a little chat with your father about what he did."

Sam reeled, completely taken aback by the intensity the P.I was radiating, his aura blazing white with a sudden, fierce protectiveness. Had he been holding this in all day?

He opened his mouth to try to talk Gabe down because it really wasn't necessary to confront John, but Gabe held up a hand.

"I know you'll try to dissuade me from it, so don't even try. Once I've gotten my-feelings under control, you can rant and rave about how unnecessary and pointless talking to your father could be. Right now, I just want you to know that you are not responsible for whatever happens in this case. You aren't responsible for what The Crucifier does, or the failings of the LPD, or even how the shitty news outlets decide to spin the headlines. This over-arching sense of duty you have ends with me."

Gabe's hands curled into loose fists, and in the fluorescent light, his eyes looked like beacons in the night.

"This is me putting my foot down, now that I understand this aspect about you better. If you want to feel responsible for me or your family, then so be it. I know unlearning principles that are practically conditioned in is difficult. But you don't have to be some crazy, Batman-style vigilante warrior of the night."

He let out a long breath, eyes softening and a wan smile appearing on his face.

"You can just be Sam, the guy that wants to be a lawyer and loves his family to bits," he finished, the expression on his face one of the softest Sam had seen from him yet, "You can just be my partner."

Sam would've been lying if he said Gabe's words hadn't affected. He'd somehow hit him right in the raw, tender spot that had opened up in his chest ever since he'd exposed part of his life of Gabe, and then smoothed it all over tenderly after delivering his tough love.

You said you wanted to stay out of this crap for the longest, but now you want to get your hands dirty?

Dean had said that to him back in his apartment, but Sam had never considered that his brother might've been referring to the overwhelming sense of duty that had been instilled in them when he'd said 'crap'.

But he had been, hadn't he? Dean's a man of duty, and he's always been the one to shoulder all of the responsibility, he thought, some things finally starting to make sense now that Gabe had loosened the blinders limiting his point of view, That's the real reason why he didn't want me getting caught up in all this. Managing to get away from that life just to get back onto the horse must seem insane in his eyes.

Then Sam's whirling mind focused on one particular word he'd originally missed in Gabe's heated tirade that he latched onto.

"Feelings?"

Gabe cocked his head in confusion before he realized what he was referring to.

"Out of my whole speech, that's what you latched on to," he chuckled, shaking his head in exasperation, "Of course I have feelings on the subject. I've got all sorts of feelings! Right now, I've got a lot of hate for the things in life that have hurt you."

There was no green flash of falsehood in his aura or any sign of exaggeration. There wasn't even a smidge of cherry red attraction that Sam had grown used to seeing. In fact, Gabe's aura looked perfectly normal save for the rippling effect that made the gold look like liquid sunshine.

He really cares.

The concept wasn't new to Sam; he'd seen flashes of colors that showed that brand of affection in the P.I's aura before, but it still made him blush to think that Gabe cared.

Luckily, the ominous waitress from earlier arrived with their drinks, saving him from having to come up with some sort of response. Gabe didn't seem to need one, but that might've been because the P.I was too busy being embarrassed by what he'd said.

Sam smiled at the man's pink face, his grin widening as he fumbled with his drink. Who knew Gabe could be so awkwardly endearing?

The conversation veered away from serious subject matter after that, entering the land of jokes and silly stories as they enjoyed the nearly empty restaurant and the pizza. They lingered long after the food was gone, reluctant to leave and call an end to the night. In the end, the decision was made for them when one of the workers turned the TV on to the news, which was predictably playing a late segment on The Crucifier.

"Don't need any of that negativity right now," Gabe muttered as they stepped out into the cool night. The rain hadn't started back up, but it was now too late to tell where the clouds ended and the sky started, if there was any delineation at all, "Lead the way Sam-a-lam since I apparently got lost on the way here."

Sam laughed at Gabe's put-out expression before gently taking his hand and leading him down the street.

"It's alright Gabe. As long as you don't get lost on the way home," he remarked idly, setting a pace that let them take their time. Gabe hadn't let go of his hand, and he was going to savor the walk.

The streets were emptier than usual as they made their way back, the city's atmosphere muted slightly by the lack of pedestrians. This area of the city typically wasn't one that bustled as much as downtown did at night, but Sam was still unnerved to see barely anyone out and about.

And it's only going to get worse from here.

"Be careful driving back," he said as they stopped beside Gabe's car, which was parked just a little way's down from his apartment building, "The rain might start back up again."

It was a lame substitute for what he really wanted to say (be careful of what might be roaming out of the streets tonight), but Gabe, clever as always, got what he was trying to convey.

"I'm always careful kiddo," he said, nudging his jacket back casually to reveal the holster by his hip, "Call me if you need anything."

Sam hadn't even realized the P.I had his gun on him. He'd also never seen him wear it so close to his hand either, but they were living in a different Lawrence now. Keeping it at his back would no longer cut it.

"I will," he promised, no longer hesitant to reach out to Gabe if he needed something. He didn't think he'd still felt so cautious with him (Gabe was easily his best friend now), but then something like tonight would happen, and he'd realize that he'd assumed wrong. "And… thank you. For everything."

Sam couldn't think of anything eloquent or passionate to say like the fiery words Gabe had spoken in Pete's Pizza. All he could manage were those four measly words.

So much for being the most well-spoken member of the family.

Gabe's responding smile was softer than Sam expected, the care he'd seen earlier shining through it. It gave him a different, warmer feeling in his stomach, but it was no less intense than the swooping sensation he got when Gabe smiled roguishly.

"Of course. Those are big words coming from you, Sammo," he said solemnly, taking the edge of the moment by cuffing his arm playfully.

Were they?

As he watched the Beetle's headlights disappear around the corner, Sam decided that if they had gotten Gabe to smile like that, then they were the best words he could've come up with.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

This is coming to you guys hot off the press while I'm in the midst of finals season. I figured it might be a nugget of goodness for those of you who are also going through the educational drudgery. I'll go into detail when I post the next chapter of what I've been up to because I have a few chapters lined up for editing, but for right now I bring this! Hopefully there won't be too much yelling in the comments...