Chapter 15: The Answer
There was something off about the building in front of Sam.
He half-recognized it as one of the buildings students flocked to for cheap housing off-campus. It was dreary, with little going for it in the way of aesthetics. The taller buildings around cast it into shadow, pushing it even further back from the street. What was probably supposed to look unassuming and forgettable ended up looking foreboding, as if whatever within it that was ringing warning bells in his head was crouched in waiting, its presence suffusing the whole building.
Sam didn't want to go in. The sky was blood red above him, and the susurrus of the dry grass reminded him of the hushed, chittering noises locusts made. It was an alien environment that didn't belong in Lawrence, but here it was anyway.
But he couldn't turn around. His mind was heavy with a thick, syrupy feeling that extended down to his limbs, rendering them unwilling to bend to his will. An imaginary rope tied around his middle was tugging him forward, and he followed it, right down the cracked walkway and into the foreboding lobby.
Someone, or something, wanted him to go inside.
Come in.
The words whispered around his ears like acrid smoke, only a trace of something human in the tone.
Come in.
Shadows writhed in the darkest corners of the lobby, watching him with eyes that he couldn't see and gnashing teeth he could only hear. The smell of blood strengthened, coming from somewhere above his head. The water-stained ceiling seemed to groan with the weight of it.
Sam couldn't forget about the rope. It cinched tighter, dragging at the very pit of his stomach as he tried to dig his heels in and resist. Cold sweat broke out over his skin as he leaned back, swaying against the invisible force manipulating him.
For a second, he thought it might work. In these strange dreams, he had learned how to make things work for him because ultimately, this was all in his head. Sam could feel the imaginary rope creak with stress.
The person holding the other end was persistent though. Sam abruptly snapped up to attention as the syrupy feeling thickened in his mind, pressing him down into submission and muting the various alarm bells wailing in his head for him to turn away and run as fast as you can until they were nothing but faint jingles, like wind chimes in the breeze.
I win.
In the lobby, the shadows chuckled, the sounds wet like gore and dry like bone al at once, overlapping until the sound blended into one monstrous orchestra.
There was nothing wrong. All he had to do was go in and see what had been left for the city as a gift.
Good. Come in.
Sam obliged, a hand that he barely recognized as belonging to him pressing buttons he didn't know he needed to press as he entered the elevator and left the formless shadows behind.
It didn't escape his limited notice that he wasn't younger here in this dream-vision. The observation registered in a dreamy, dazed way, the thought flitting across his mind before falling away like it never happened.
I want you to see it. Come see what I've done.
The doors dinged open precisely after the last overlapping, terrible voice in his head spoke, as if everything in the building bowed to his command.
Blood decorated the hallway he stepped out into. An arc here, drops there. It was dim and muted gray-green, but the blood stood out candy red as if someone had skewed the saturation in the building. Sam drifted past the macabre paintings across the walls, his feet carrying him to a half ajar door.
Come in here.
Beneath his feet, the floor shuddered, as if trying to pitch him forward faster. He could hear more shadows inside, just as sinister as their companions downstairs.
The voice was growing more anticipatory now, rising in pitch as it mentally breathed down his neck.
Come in…
He tried to stop his hand because he did not want to see what was inside, but it didn't listen to him.
A faint exhale escaped him, the only sign of the intense struggle he was now putting up in his mind.
Comeincomeincomeincomein-
Sam continued to reach out despite not wanting to, further and further as the walls rose above him, as if ready to swallow him whole when he stepped in-
"Ow!"
The sizzle of the doorknob was completely unexpected, searing right through the heavy feeling clouding his head. Sam stumbled back, instinctively clutching his hand as the door rattled in its frame before stilling.
In his head, the voice hissed with dissatisfaction before fading.
"Don't go in."
Sam whipped his head around, squinting down the hall. There was someone there, but not anyone unfamiliar. The voice was hard to place with the way the walls absorbed and reflected sound, but he knew for sure it wasn't that warbling voice that had been in his head.
"Who's there?" he asked, relieved that he could use his voice now, but aghast to hear that it was crackly and higher pitched. He was eleven again.
"Honestly, you don't even recognize your own brother?"
Young Dean stepped out of the shadows, leather jacket almost black in the bad light and hanging off of his frame as if he was little more than a scarecrow. His aura had shrunk, wound tightly around him like a serpent. Sam was horrified to find that the closer he got, the more the comparison fit.
He looked worse for wear; nothing like the fresh-faced and idyllic version of him that walked with fragile flowers and fell in love with the ocean. His skin was taut over his bones, lips faded and chapped as they tried to smile reassuringly at him. This Dean looked sick, or as if he was undergoing an immense struggle.
"Not Dean," Sam said automatically, and not-Dean pulled a face.
"I'm more Dean than I was last time," he said cryptically, shoving his hands into his pockets, "But not quite. This whole thing is tricky."
"You're not making any sense," Sam said, unable to think of anything else to say, and not-Dean (mostly Dean? What did he even call him?) sighed.
"Doesn't matter. What matters is getting you out of here," he said sharply, green eyes cutting to the door.
"Why? Isn't it just…another crime scene?" he asked, trailing off as he tried to put a name to it. It reminded him of the well in a way, but unlike the creepy well vision where he'd seen Olsen, this felt more solid.
Something skimmed across the floor by Dean's (hell, he might as well just call him Dean) feet, and Sam looked down to see a few paltry vines curling around his boots, the flowers at the ends just buds.
"No. this is different," Dean corrected, a muscle in his jaw jumping as his eyes watched the door warily, "Something is trying to drag you here. Something bad. Your body is trying to catch up to your mind."
Sam processed what Dean was trying to say for one long second before the realization slammed into him.
"Oh-oh shit. Am I sleepwalking? Walking over here?"
"There's currently an attempt," he replied dryly before flashing a smile Sam was familiar with.
It was the kind of smile where Dean bared his teeth at whatever wolves were bothering Sam, the loyal older brother until the end.
"We're stronger than that," he said as the door began to move backward away from him, the distance increasing to defy physics like the halls of a funhouse, "He won't get you when I'm around."
He reached out a hand, and Sam took it before he could even properly think about it. He wasn't sure whose hand he was taking; a fractured bit of his subconscious or some odd memory-like version of Dean, but in a way, it was his brother. And he trusted Dean.
Their surroundings melted around them, swirling around and around until Sam was sure his brains would fly out of his skull. He thought he could hear something scream in fury but couldn't be sure; he didn't want to be sure.
Sam's feet touched solid ground first, and then the rest of his body followed in a dizzying rush that left him collapsing against a chain-link fence.
Dean didn't fare any better. He crumpled to the ground in a heap, arms flung out in an arc as vines shriveled around his ankles.
"Ugh…Dean?" Sam asked, alarmed at the way his brother's usually vibrant aura flickered like a dying candle.
"M'fine Sammy," Dean muttered, rolling onto his side and squinting up at him.
Sam flinched back. Dean was ghostly pale, fading away at the edges like it'd taken everything he had to get him out the building.
"Go inside…it's safe. Before he comes," Dean whispered, pushing himself up on an elbow and pointing past Sam, "Go…now!"
Sam turned and shoved down the multitude of emotions that arose at the sight of his old childhood home.
Do I have to?
A rustling down the street said that yes, he really had to. Sam glanced down to see a heaving mass of shadow pouring down the block like a dark fog, bringing with it dread and pain and anger.
"Dean, I-Dean?"
Dean was just about gone. He mouthed something at him; Sam couldn't make out what, but he saw a regretful face before he completely faded out. He hadn't wanted to do it like this, but he had, and now Sam had to continue on.
Sam stared at the spot he'd been, then looked once more at the fog creeping towards him, before running down the walkway that lead up to the place he'd swore he'd never return too.
…
"-yes, but what am I supposed to do besides make sure he doesn't hurt himself?"
Sam blinked hard once, clearing his mind and returning to the present in an unpleasant rush as he realized where he was.
The living room of his old home was much cleaner than the last time he remembered. Before there had been beer bottles scattered about profusely, one or two littering every flat surface available no matter how often he cleaned up. Now though, the coffee table and mantle and even the windowsills were clear. The only alcohol he could spot was a single beer can on the small side table by John's old armchair.
John himself was standing in the doorway that connected the living room to the kitchen, his back turned to him as he talked with someone on the ancient landline. His fingers tugged and twisted the cord, an old nervous habit he'd had as long as Sam could remember.
Sam held still, not wanting to attract his father's attention. He hadn't seen him properly for almost 2 years at this point. The Christmas visit this past year that Lisa had forced him on didn't count, not when he'd only come for 5 minutes for Ben's sake and never uttered a word to John.
"I know I'm not supposed to wake him, but he's shivering up a storm in my living room and you can't tell me-"
He turned, ready to continue his tirade at whoever was on the other end (it couldn't be 911; John would rather die than call them) before abruptly trailing off.
Sam shivered, not daring to move. Now that he was completely out of the vision, he could feel the rainwater dripping off of the best coat he owned, puddling on the long-worn hardwood floor beneath his boots.
"You're awake," John said simply, momentarily abandoning the call to speak to him.
There was a hole in one of the socks he'd put on. Sam could feel how cold the toe was and looked down to see that he hadn't laced up his boots properly.
I dressed in a rush, then made my way out here, in the rain.
He wondered how he'd done it. Had he walked? Taken the subway?
"Sam?"
"Don't talk to me," he said immediately, still looking down at his boots before fumbling through his pockets.
No phone. His student ID was jammed in the inner pocket, where he knew he'd left it the last time he'd worn this coat. His wallet was in his back pocket, with nothing missing.
"Yeah, he snapped out of it on his own. Sam, look at me."
"I said don't talk to me," Sam hissed, scrabbling for some kind of recognition, something to latch onto even though he knew whatever method he'd taken to get here was a smooth, blank space in his mind. Spiraling dream transport courtesy of not-Dean didn't count.
Why did he take me here anyway?
"Sam, just calm down…"
John took a step forward, and Sam took three steps back with his fists raised before his back even hit the wall.
Something fell behind him, a picture maybe. Sam didn't think John had left many up, but the sound of glass breaking said that maybe he had. He didn't know; he was too busy shaking from cold and keeping a wary eye on his father, who'd halted in his tracks.
It was hard to read his aura; the only light on was the kitchen's (a direct contradiction to the dream version of the house) and John's aura blended in with the earthy tones of the living room. In the light, Sam knew that it was a burnt sienna sort of color, intercepted with lightning strikes of oranges and reds a bit like a tiger stone.
Here though, it looked faded and gray, like the winter-bark of trees. There was no trace of the swatches of red and blooms of wavery purples that showed he was drunk, or the faded blue-purple that he was hungover. It was just a pathetic shadow of his aura.
"I don't want any trouble," Sam said, lowering his fists slightly as he realized that John wasn't going to come any closer, "I'm going."
"You don't have to go."
Sam snorted, one hand fumbling for the doorknob behind him.
"What a change in sentiment. I don't need your help," he spat before finally getting the door open.
John's face changed, and he dropped the phone to reach out to him.
"Wait! Sam, don't, it's pouring out there!"
His words fell on deaf ears; Sam was already halfway down the walkway, not even bothering to attempt to open the gate as he leaped over it and bolted into the night.
Wind pelted rain into his face, soaking him down to the bone, but he didn't care. Sam just wanted to get away and go home, where he could process what had happened on his own without having to deal with facing his father and putting up with whatever meddling attempts, he could potentially take.
He didn't want to think about the fact that John had been sober, or that it seemed as if he was trying to help. He didn't want to think about how every shadow looked as if it was out to get him now, or how terrified he was that something might jump out at him and drag him back to the mystery building in his head.
Sam just ran. He ran until his feet told him to quit before they fell off and his lungs gasped for breath, and then he ran past that point.
He quit halfway down a street, stumbling beneath an awning and doubling over, hands on his knees and legs burning. Water sluiced down his face, dripping from his hair and down into his collar and sparking new rounds of shivers down his spine.
It was a bad idea, running in freezing rain like this. Sam knew it, but logic had evaded him, and now he was stuck out in the open, with no phone and no idea of where he was.
"Fuck," he gasped, running his hands down his face and pressing his palms hard into his cheeks before straightening.
It took him a while to orient himself, and a while longer of darting from rooftop to covered bus stop to business awning to make his way to a subway station, only to find that he was currently trudging through the scant wee hours of late night/early morning where the trains were on limited runs. None of those runs went to East Center, and none even came close to this specific station. They'd open properly for business at 5, which wasn't for a while yet.
"Dammit," he muttered, shaking the turnstile before stalking back the way he came.
He did have his wallet, and there was a functional payphone, however odd it looked, that he could use. The question was, who could he call?
Sam stood in front of it for several minutes, running through the options in his head in the dim, half-lit station. A homeless man curled up in an alcove twitched in his sleep, the sole boot of his he could see scuffing on the floor.
"I don't want to bother anyone," he muttered, shaking imperceptibly as his wet clothes began to make their presence know.
In the end, he dialed Dean's home number. He had a home phone he kept for his "normal life"; the life where he was Ben's dad and worked at Bobby's. Sam hadn't been keeping up with his burner numbers, and his usual cell was most likely dead.
"Hello?"
The voice was gravelly and most certainly not Dean's. Sam's heart skipped a beat as he realized that he now had to potentially explain the whole situation to Cas of all people.
He needed a ride though, and really, the more he thought about it, the more this worked out. Cas wouldn't ask too many questions, and the ones he did Sam could easily fend off.
"Hi Cas," he said quietly, clearing his throat and hunching over the phone, "I, uh, need a ride."
There was a brief pause, no more than a few seconds, before, "Where are you?"
Sam gave the station he was at, and Cas hummed, the scritch of pencil on paper audible over the tinny audio of the phone.
"I'll be there soon."
That was it. Sam looked at the phone blaring out a dial tone blankly for a second before putting it back up on its hook and sitting against the wall to wait.
He didn't have to wait too long. The station he'd run to was in the southeast section of Lawrence, and Dean's place wasn't too far. If it hadn't been 3 in the morning and raining, he would've made his way over there.
Quick footsteps echoed down the main stairwell. Sam raised his head to see Cas hurrying down, trench coat flaring behind him like a cape, eyes roving around the dim station. His aura was a brilliant blue, the brightest spot in the station, and Sam felt himself relax minutely as the calming waves of cerulean flowed out towards him.
"Sam. There you are," Cas mumbled, striding towards him with an outstretched hand that Sam gladly took. After sitting for so long, the wave of exhaustion had hit him like a train, and all he wanted to do was sleep.
"Thanks for coming," he said, to which Cas waved him off.
"It's no problem. I was up anyway doing work. We should hurry though; Ben's in the car," he said, taking the stairs two at a time.
Sam blinked, unsure if he'd heard him right before deciding that he had, leading to him picking up the pace as well.
"Ben? What's he doing with you?"
"He woke up from a nightmare and insisted he come," Cas said, brow creased with concern as they emerged topside, "I don't know how, but he somehow knew you were in trouble. Dean's passed out asleep, and I didn't feel comfortable leaving him when he was so upset, so…"
He trailed off, looking supremely uncomfortable. At some point, the rain had stopped, leaving them in a crisp and clear city street. The Impala was parked up against the curb (illegally, Sam noted), and in the passenger seat he could make out a child-sized cocoon of blankets curled up in the fire engine red car seat.
"Don't worry Cas. I'll take care of Ben. You just drive," Sam said, clapping him on the shoulder before striding towards the car.
All the achy tiredness and confusion of sleepwalking was set to the side as he opened the passenger door and crouched down, trying his best to look ok for the sniffling child inside.
"Hey, Ben. I heard you were really worried about-oof!"
Sam did his best not to land ass first on the pavement as Ben launched himself at him, small arms cinching tight around his shoulders. He said something, but his face was pressed so tight into the crook of his neck that Sam couldn't make it out.
"What was that?"
Ben pulled back, face red and blotchy from crying. His aura was upset, curling in on the edges in a riotous mix of red violets.
"You shouldn't have tried to go to the bad place."
Sam froze before tugging Ben out and up the car so he could resettle him in the car seat properly. He was getting just a bit too big for the full seat and had long ago figured out how to undo the clasp, but he let himself be manhandled dutifully into the harness.
No wonder Lisa always talks about how he's getting so big so fast.
"We'll talk about that later, ok? But I can say I didn't go too far into the bad place," Sam soothed, tucking the blankets around him firmly after Ben rubbed away the last of his tears.
"I know. But it was still scary," he admitted, reaching out a hand to clutch Cas' coat sleeve. It was a habit Ben did with whoever he sat by when riding in a car, and Sam wasn't surprised that he did the same with Cas, "You're cold and wet Unca Sam."
"I know," he said as he clambered into the back, shaking his head at Cas when he shot him a concerned look. He'd be alright for the ride, even if he was still shaking minutely, "I took a bath in the rain."
The silliness worked to lift Ben's mood a bit, his aura lightening to something that resembled a pink, pearly dawn sky.
"That was very silly of you," Ben said reproachfully, channeling classic Lisa disapproval with scary accuracy. If he could see his face right now, Sam was sure he'd be frowning to boot.
"Quite. What were you doing Sam?" Cas asked, keeping the question light for Ben's sake. The blue eyes that surveyed him through the rearview mirror were much more serious, matching the swirling current coursing through his aura.
"Taking a walk…of the unconscious variety," Sam hedged, for some reason unwilling to say sleepwalking out loud in front of Ben. He got the sense that his nephew had some vague grasp of what had happened to him but wasn't sure how much Lisa had delved into talking about sleepwalking or explaining it to him. Hell, he didn't even know if Ben had had another incident after the one Lisa had spoken about to him at the Roadhouse.
Cas, being one of the sharper knives that Sam knew in the kitchen drawer, caught on quickly, aura swinging to run through a more concise thought process away from the confusion and concern that had been permeating his aura ever since he'd arrived.
"I see. Do you take-silly walks like that often?" he asked, moderating his word usage after a quick side glance at Ben.
"Only recently."
"Unca Sam's too smart to go on silly walks in the rain all the time. Right, Unca Sam?" Ben asked, the admiring tone so clear it made his heart hurt just hearing it. How long did he have until that tone faded away and Ben inevitably grew up?
"That's right, buddy," he said weakly, suddenly understanding, out of the blue, how Lisa and Dean must've felt every time they remarked on how quickly Ben was growing out of his shoes and jackets and toys and mannerisms.
It made him want to protect Ben all the more from what no doubt was some odd extra sensory gift (curse, burden) he'd been handed down, but Sam couldn't do that. He knew it was impossible, and besides, he could barely take care of himself now.
"You better not get sick Unca Sam. That'd suck ass-"
"Language!" both he and Cas exclaimed instantly, to which Ben pouted and pointedly looked up at the Impala's ceiling.
"But daddy says it," he grumbled.
"Your father says a lot of things you shouldn't mimic," Cas said, his tone so stern and parental that Sam couldn't help but snort with laughter at the absurdity of the whole situation.
"He's right," he said, clearing his throat as Cas pinned a glare at him and Ben craned his neck to look back at him questioningly, "Cas is very right. Some words are for adults only."
Ben looked as if he was about to protest but Sam pulled out the ultimate trump card he had up his sleeve.
"Besides, your mom wouldn't be very happy if she heard you saying bad words," he continued casually, making a big show of inspecting his nails.
The gasp that escaped Ben was as dramatic and horror-filled as he'd hoped. Ben was about the biggest mama's boy in existence no matter how much he took after Dean in personality, and on more than one occasion Sam had been able to utilize Lisa as an effective reminder of what was right and wrong. Ben, like just about every child on the planet, didn't want to let down the person they looked up to.
Did I ever look up to John like that?
"I'll never say a bad word again," Ben swore solemnly, to which Cas harrumphed and made the slowest left turn in the history of mankind.
"We'll see how long that dedication lasts when you hit grade school. Now sit back before you crack your head open on the dashboard. Why Dean put your car seat in the front this week, I will never know…"
Sam settled back, letting Cas drive like an elderly person through the wet, slick streets. He enjoyed the inane if odd conversation dynamic the two were keeping up, and he let it drift through him as he dozed in the back.
He didn't think he'd ever looked up to John. All he could recall was looking up to Dean so intensely that it was a wonder he hadn't grown up to be a carbon copy of him, tussling over who wore leather and bruises the best.
"Mr. Cas, why are you driving so slow?"
"I'm driving like this because you are in the car. Better to be safe than sorry."
"Momma says that all the time. I know you're scared of her, and I don't get why, but I think you two would be good friends."
Sam's lips quirked up as Cas' aura churned in intense thought. He didn't have to open his heavy eyelids to see the colors that would reflect his indecisiveness of how to respond to Ben; he could feel it well enough.
Those two get along just fine.
Every turn brought him closer home. Lulled by the sound of the engine and the rattle of the tiny green army men he and Dean had shoved into the air vent years ago, Sam was just about passed out by the time they came to a stop.
"Unca Sam. Wake up Unca Sam."
Someone poked his cheek. Sam grunted, hunching his shoulders up and frowning. Sleep was so close, just about weighing him down into a pleasant, if vaguely cold emptiness. He'd take an empty head after the disorienting experience he'd had earlier.
"I'll get him, Ben. Can you walk?"
"Yeah. Are you gonna pick him up like Daddy does?"
There was a soft chuckle. "I'm not quite that strong. Stay close to my side. We're going to help walk your uncle back up."
"I don't need it," Sam mumbled, reluctantly letting go of the tantalizing lure of sleep as he heard doors open.
"Yeah, you do. We'll walk you up and make sure you get warm, Unca Sam. So you don't get sick."
Sam cracked his eyes open to see Ben peering at him solemnly, chin tucked on top of the front seat. He was out of his car seat, and Cas was waiting at the open passenger door, blue eyes holding no sign of reproach or irritation at the task ahead.
"You're a good man Cas," he said as they began the trek to get inside and in the elevator before he fell asleep dead on his feet.
"You needed help, so here I am," Cas said, grunting as they swayed on a step and Sam leaned on him, "Ben, please hold open the door."
Ben treated his duty very seriously. At least, that's what Sam got from his aura; his vision was spotty at best with the way his eyes kept sliding shut. He did catch a glimpse of his nephew standing ramrod straight, one hand clutching the blanket draped around him like a cape as the other held the door open.
We must make for a funny looking trio, he thought as warmth began to seep into his bones. Only now that he was out of the elements properly did he feel how numb his hands and feet were, and the uncomfortable, stiff sogginess of his half-dried clothes.
Cas kept directing Ben with his raspy voice, ever formal. Ben was receptive, his aura always flaring in rapt attention whenever Sam stumbled, or Cas spoke to him. At this point, Sam's eyes preferred staying shut more than they wanted to be open, and he was navigating purely by memory as he forced his feet forward.
"Someone's in your apartment."
The words took a moment for Sam to register, but when they hit him it was like a whole new rush of ice rain down his back.
He opened his eyes to see that his door was half-open, and all the lights were on. It could've just been a result of his sleepwalking self, but he could hear footsteps, and they were too heavy to be Kevin's.
"Ben, get back here," Sam hissed, hooking a finger in the blanket that draped him and dragging him back into Cas, raising a finger to shush them as they both let out a huff of surprise.
"Sam…"
"Just a minute," he said to Cas, shaking his head like a dog in a vain attempt to get himself to wake up before moving forward in a half-crouch.
It took him too long to realize who was in his apartment. If he had been more alert, he would've noticed the lingering sweeps of gold in his doorway, but Sam only noticed the aura when he was pushing the door open.
Gabe was pacing in the middle of his wrecked living room, back and forth in one of the few clear spaces. Sam stared at the overturned coffee table, the books ripped out from the bookshelf and the half torn down curtains before his eyes slid to what he could see of the kitchen. It looked as if a similar storm had torn through it; pots and pans were strewn about, and it looked as if half the liquid contents of the fridge had ended up on the floor.
"Gabe?"
The P.I whipped around, hand stopping halfway through where he'd been endlessly tugging at his hair. His eyes were bloodshot from a night that had been just as long as his, and his button-down shirt was wrinkled and half untucked. Sam had never seen his aura so frenzied with worry and fear and concern, the emotions swirling up and around him like a corkscrew before flaring out in agitated bursts of white.
"Oh, Christ Sam," he sighed, face crumpling with relief as he surged forward, his aura winding away from him in golden relief.
Sam just managed to open his arms before he stumbled back from the force of the hug-tackle Gabe subjected him to.
"What happened?" he asked, unsure where to begin. There was simply too much going to on to process all at once, he was still just about ready to pass out.
"I came up and found the whole place wrecked," Gabe mumbled into his chest before reluctantly pulling back a bit to speak properly, "Sam…why are you soaked? What happened?"
Sam had no idea but had the sinking suspicion that whatever had occurred, he was to blame.
"I'll explain later, but whatever you do, don't call the cops," Sam pleaded quietly. He could only hope that Gabe hadn't already.
Despite the suggestiveness of the situation, Gabe relented grudgingly with a slight darkening of his aura. He knew Sam and the LPD didn't get along, and perhaps he'd caught him off guard enough with his bedraggled appearance that he'd hold off.
"Wow, this is a really big mess, Unca Sam!"
The duo turned to see Cas gingerly stepping in and shutting the door behind him, Ben goggling at the chaotic and foreign environment the apartment had become from his precarious perch on Cas' hip. Sam watched as Ben tried to lean out to crane his neck into the kitchen and Cas pulled him back, a panicked look on his face.
"It is. I think a really strong wind came through here while I was out. It was raining pretty hard," Sam lied.
Usually, lies had a hit or miss effect on Ben. He was extraordinarily perceptive (even more so now that Sam understood what might be behind all that perception), but he was still four, and a tired four-year-old at that beneath the excitement the night had provided.
So, Ben ate the lie up, even if Sam thought his dark eyes drifted off into thought for a second before snapping back into focus.
"You two should get back," Sam said firmly, dredging up the last of his stamina to keep himself on his feet (just ten more minutes), "It's late, and Dean will have a conniption once he finds out you took the Impala even if it was to save my ass."
"You said a bad word, Unca Sam," Ben pointed out accusingly, and Sam winced, scratching the back of his neck.
"Yeah, my bad, buddy. Slipped out when it shouldn't have. Pinky swear we won't tell your mom?" he asked, stepping forward to stick his pinky out.
Ben pouted but shifted to a more thoughtful expression that reminded Sam of the way Lisa looked when she was mildly concerned.
"Alright. But just this once," he warned, hooking his fragile pinky around his.
"Are you sure? I can stay for a bit and help clean up," Cas offered, mouth pressed in a thin line as he surveyed the mess around them.
"No, take him home. I know he looks keyed up now, but he'll crash soon," Sam sighed, running a hand through Ben's still baby-soft hair and smiling when instead of smacking his hand away, Ben simply accepted it. He was too tired to protest.
"Alright," Cas said doubtfully, but his aura relented as Ben yawned wide enough to crack his tiny jaw, "Alright. Even if I highly doubt you two are capable of cleaning all this up on your own."
"I'll manage."
Both he and Cas turned to look at Gabe, who was standing straighter now. He didn't look as tired; if anything, he looked strangely revitalized as he stepped forward.
"I'll handle it. Get the kid home," he said, smiling faintly at Ben, who smiled back sleepily.
"Been chasing monsters, Mr. Gabe?"
"All night," he said solemnly, "But it hasn't eaten me yet."
"That's good," Ben said just as solemnly before his eyes sharpened, "It almost got Unca Sam. He's getting hungrier. He's so hungry."
Sam didn't like how Ben said hungry, or the way he seemed to look off into the far-off distance, like how he did when he was studying people's auras.
"Unca Sam, do I have to go?" he suddenly pleaded, looking more alert as he gazed up at him with wide eyes.
"It's best if you go home," Sam replied, disquieted by his nephew's uncanny words and the muted fear rippling through his aura like the strokes of a dull knife.
"You could come with us," he implored, ready to work himself up into a frenzy, "What if you take a walk in the rain? What if the monster tries to eat you again? What if-"
Sam's insides had been scraped clean by the night, but he somehow summoned up enough energy from the hollow to take a now crying and nonsensical Ben and stride towards the door.
"Nothing's going to happen to me," he mumbled as Ben sobbed into his neck about monsters and hunger he couldn't understand but somehow saw anyway, "Hey, listen to me. It hasn't gotten me."
He was vaguely aware of Cas and Gabe trailing behind, but he put them out of his mind to focus on Ben, who was calming a bit and sniffing more than he was crying.
"It looked as if he would though," he croaked, leaning back to look at him with wet eyes, "It was a big building, like yours, and it smelled bad. Like when I cut my finger and Daddy tells me to suck on it to make it better. And there was a room-"
He suddenly broke off, frowning intently. Sam was glad he did because he had to process the fact that Ben had somehow been in the same experience as him.
"I don't know after that. It went by so fast, but it was slow too," he said, wrinkling his nose as he tried to explain, "You know how dreams feel funny, and you can't tell time?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I know," he managed to say as they entered the elevator.
Cas and Gabe didn't follow them in. At some point, they'd come to some agreement he hadn't heard to give them some space, and he and Ben were alone with the burden of dreams hanging between them for the first time since the Roadhouse.
"I didn't tell Mr. Cas that I saw him in my dream from a long time ago," Ben said, the tears gone as suddenly as they'd come. All that was left were the tracks on his face and the blotchy color on his cheeks, obscuring the freckles he'd inherited from his father, "It didn't seem right, but it's ok because we're friends anyway. Did you know Momma told me that she knew I was a superhero?"
"Did she?" he asked, watching as a floor dinged by. He wasn't surprised that Lisa would have a talk with Ben after he'd spilled the beans so thoroughly in her kitchen.
"She said that every superhero's momma knew they were special, and has to know they're a superhero, which makes sense," Ben explained before his mood shifted, "Unca Sam?"
"Yes?"
Another floor dinged by. His apartment's elevator left a lot to be desired.
Slower than the other one.
On some level, Sam knew that focusing on this inane fact wasn't a good sign of his mental fortitude at the moment, but he shoved that warning voice down and straightened the Winchester spine of steel he'd been imbued with. Later, he could sleep and cry and do whatever the hell he wanted, but right now Ben needed him.
"Does being a superhero get any easier?"
The dual tone of innocence and resignation, echoed in the twilight and dusk of his aura as if Ben knew the answer before he'd ever asked, nearly got Sam right then and there.
But only nearly.
He inhaled a shaky breath before exhaling, struggling to find the right words to explain what he didn't want to explain. How do you break it to a four-year-old that his Daddy is like Batman more for the tragedy of the character than anything else, and that superheroes are just caricatures for the world to cling to?
"It hasn't gotten any easier for me," he said as the elevator began to settle on the ground floor, "But I think it'll get easier for you, because you have me, and I'll always be here for you."
Sam wasn't sure if it was the right answer. He wasn't sure if anything was right anymore, but it satisfied Ben.
"I'm here for you too," he said as the doors dinged open, "We're the only ones that can do what we do, so we have to be."
What we do.
"You're right," he said, reluctantly accepting that it really was him and Ben, "Dammit, I just want to sleep."
He wished desperately he could just lone wolf it out and keep Ben away from all this, but it would come for Ben and hound him anyway. When Sam was younger, he'd tried ignoring auras, but it was like not using a sense when you had it; nigh on impossible, and eventually, he always caved and reopened his gaze to the hidden layer of the world around him.
"That's a bad word, Unca Sam," Ben intoned dutifully, and Sam huffed out a semblance of a laugh as he made his way through the darkened lobby.
"Can you keep another secret?" he asked, waiting for the solemn nod before continuing, leaning in close to whisper in Ben's ear. "I said it on purpose."
"You didn't!"
"I did," he said with a smile, grunting as he sat down one of the long, cushioned benches pushed up against the wall, just by the door, "But it's superhero time, Ben. Can you tell me what else you saw?"
Ben slipped out of his hold and curled up into his side, looking up at him with a searching gaze before nodding slowly.
And so they sat, the sole occupants of the warm, dusty smelling lobby, duty-bound to their dreams in a way only they could understand as they waited for the elevator to return.
…
Sam wasn't sure how Gabe got him back up to the apartment; like many things about tonight, the exact details eluded him. All he knew was that one minute he was kissing a now asleep Ben goodbye, and the next he was somehow in his bathroom, swaying against the counter as deft hands peeled off the layers that stuck to him one by one.
"I'll clean up. You're cold as ice," Gabe murmured.
He wanted to respond that he wasn't nearly as cold anymore due to the golden shades that had enveloped him at some point along the way, but Sam couldn't make the words come out. His tongue was heavy with drowsiness, and all he could do was grunt as he shucked off the last of his clothes and stepped into the waiting shower.
An indeterminable amount of time passed with Sam sitting beneath the stream of water, too tired to stand. He moved only to turn the knob incrementally to make it just a little hotter. Each time the effort took less, but Sam still couldn't bring himself to stand as he reached the limit of the heat.
So, he stayed there and thought between the long blinks of sleep his eyes snatched of everything that had happened. John. Ben. The Crucifier, now not only just some serial killer with a vague supernatural element about him, but a cunning monster that knew of him and tried to toy with him.
Sam ran his hands through his hair and kept them there, fingers tightening around wet locks. There was no other way he could frame what had happened. Somehow, the Crucifier had gotten into his dreams (maybe even his head) and manipulated him like a marionette, steering him towards what had to be his latest crime scene.
The apartment building must be where Hoffman lives. It's the only explanation.
Is that why Gabe had come? Had he heard something about Hoffman and come when he hadn't answered his phone? Sam was sure his phone was somewhere in the mess of the apartment because it surely hadn't been on him.
Footsteps from the hall (socked feet with slight trepidation) came in and stopped just outside of the shower curtain.
"Sam?"
"M' still alive," he mumbled as Gabe drew the curtain back a bit. If he was more awake, he would be a lot shyer about having so much of himself be so exposed tonight, but Sam could care less right now.
"You're going to fall asleep in there if you stay in here any longer."
Sam rolled his head upward and hummed noncommittally. Now that he'd sorted through what he could of the night's events, he knew what he had to do.
"Well, can't have that," he said before reaching for the shower knob and yanking it to the other side.
Gabe leaped back from where he'd been about to help Sam out with a shocked hiss as cold water rained down.
It hurt at first, switching so suddenly, but it was a trick he'd learned long ago when he'd pulled all-nighters either for school or the family business. Sam forced himself to stay beneath it, rolling with the reactionary shivers and gritting his teeth.
"Sam, you fucking idiot-"
Gabe reached back to turn it off, but Sam grabbed his wrist before he could make it, glaring up at him through his hair.
The moment was rife with tension, but Sam was stronger, and they both knew it.
"You always push yourself too much," Gabe said, half-tired sounding and half-angry as he yanked his wrist back, "Why can't you just rest?"
"I don't know."
They looked at each other for a moment, and then the tension that was making Sam sick to his stomach broke with the slump of Gabe's shoulders.
"This is all my fault," he muttered, head in his hands and aura falling fast, "I should've never dragged you into all this."
"That's not true," Sam said firmly, alarmed by the change in Gabe's aura. What had been fairly normal was now limp and dull, the pastel wisps gone and the gold lackluster, "You didn't drag me into anything. I got curious, and I wanted to help out, so here I am."
"Still," Gabe protested, only to be shushed by Sam.
"I'm letting the water get all over the place. Whatever you have to say to me will have to be said through the curtain."
He knew Gabe well enough at this point that he understood that the P.I needed some space to get his head together. Sam didn't like the look of his aura at all, but he also knew the man wouldn't leave him right now, so the thin curtain would have to do.
Sam drew it shut, and Gabe made a strangled noise of disbelief before huffing out a laugh. He didn't try to draw the curtain back though, and after a few minutes of silence, his aura seemed to ease with the makeshift barrier between them.
"Why do you still insist on working the case with me when you're getting dragged through so much shit along the way?"
Judging by the hefty weight behind the words, this was a question that had plagued Gabe for a while, and Sam didn't blame him for asking. At times he'd wondered himself because even he could admit that things were starting to take a toll on him, pride and stubbornness be damned.
"Because I commit to following through on things. That's just how I've always been," Sam said, finding that he too benefited from the privacy the shower curtain provided, "I have trouble letting things go. But also, because I can't let you do this alone. You're…really important to me, and while I know you would and probably could do this on your own, I won't let you."
"Would you rest if I told you to right now?"
A tricky question, and one that, no matter how much he wanted to give the answer Gabe wanted to hear, Sam couldn't. He'd already omitted so much from Gabe that he hated lying to him when he could avoid it.
"No. But only because I know that something bad has happened. It's the only reason you'd be here so late with that look on your face. You only get that look when someone's died."
On the other side, he could hear Gabe stand and begin to mess with the stuff on the counter, no doubt trying to find something to do with his hands as he relayed his version of the night he'd lived through.
"I got the call just shy of midnight. Some of the cops stationed at Hoffman's place weren't responding to their radios, and since it was close to a shift change, some people got suspicious. They sent a unit out, and…"
Gabe trailed off, and Sam got the horrible, certain feeling that Hoffman hadn't been the only victim tonight.
There had been too much blood in that building for just him, he thought with a shudder as the shadow laughter echoed in his ears.
Something clattered on the counter, and Gabe cleared his throat before continuing. Sam could just make out his silhouette through the curtain, arms braced against the counter and head bowed.
"There are 2 known dead from what I know so far," he said, "Both LPD beat cops. But no one has an exact number yet. There's too many-pieces-to go through."
Cop killers, Sam knew, were just about the worst thing in the eyes of a police department. He winced as he tried to grasp the ramifications of such killings on the LPD, and how they would no doubt clamor for blood. At the very least, the dynamic would worsen between them and the FBI, who might just wrestle the case from them if the LPD got too zealous in their efforts to bring The Crucifier to justice.
It didn't bode well that The Crucifier (Death) had moved to such thoughtless killings. He was methodical, detail-oriented, and cautious enough that it tempered his bold acts. If the scene was a gory as Gabe was insinuating, then it meant that maybe the killer was beginning to devolve and lose sight of his mission.
Come see what I've done.
"And Hoffman?"
"Missing. Dead or alive, no one knows, but by now? Probably dead," Gabe replied grimly.
In Sam's opinion, it was just about certain, but his stomach lurched as he realized what that meant. If Hoffman hadn't been killed and displayed in his apartment, then The Crucifier had wanted him to see the dead cops. He'd been just as proud of killing them as he had all the ones that had hurt him in some way and were on his list.
He'd gotten a taste of cop-killing, and more than liked it. He wouldn't stop at just this one incident.
The hunters become the hunted.
"You can't blame yourself," he said, sensing the guilt and self-deprecating emotions rolling off of Gabe in waves, "If anything, blame the system and the idiots that didn't handle the situation better. I'm assuming there were no FBI agents there?"
"No," Gabe said grudgingly, and Sam nodded to himself.
"Maybe if they'd been there, the situation would be different. That's for the higher-ups to knock heads over, not you," he said, content to see that his words were lightening the weight in the room. The bathroom was far too small to contain Gabe's aura comfortably, "You do what you can, which is a lot for one P.I against the world."
"But it's not enough," Gabe stressed, "I thought we might finally be catching up to this guy, but then he goes and butchers a bunch of cops, and none of us saw it coming! How do you catch someone so unpredictable and vile and-"?
He cut himself out with a groan of frustration, and then suddenly stalked back to sit on the toilet.
"Someone broke into your apartment, Sam! You're in danger, probably from the Dead Eyes, and I don't understand why you won't let me call the LPD, bad history with them aside," Gabe exclaimed, words bursting out with a heated white flash from his aura that burned right through the curtain.
"Because wasn't the Dead Eyes that trashed my place," he replied softly, reaching a hand up to peel the curtain back just enough to poke his face through.
Gabe stared at him with eyes that begged for understanding, and Sam sighed before reaching to turn the water back to something more human to bear. He was wide awake now, but still unwilling to leave the strange safety the tub provided.
I shouldn't feel this comfortable in a place I nearly drowned in.
"It was me. Sleepwalking," he confessed, holding up a hand to stop Gabe's instinctive response, "Just listen for now. There's more to it than what I've been telling you."
Explaining the true nature behind his sleepwalking was easier than he'd anticipated, probably because Gabe knew half of the story anyway. All he had to do was tell him what he'd omitted, which went over about as well as Sam thought it would. There was much gesticulating and raving about his stupidity, but Gabe accepted it as truth, which was what mattered to Sam most, even if he went pale as a ghost when he described what he'd gotten up to tonight.
"So that's how you've known stuff ahead of time. You see it, and then you played it off as best you could."
"Basically," Sam sighed, watching as Gabe's aura began to calm down, "I didn't want you to think I was crazy, but I also didn't want to just sit on all the information. I did the best I could."
He hadn't meant to sound defensive, but it came out that way and Gabe immediately registered it.
"I know you did, and I get what you did it the way you did, even if I wish you'd told me sooner," he said hurriedly, "It's just…this is a whole extra load of crap you shouldn't be dealing with right now."
"Story of my life," Sam joked, sighing when Gabe only looked at him with a stony expression.
"Sam, you sleepwalked all the way to your father's today, and that was only after an attempt to get to the latest crime scene," Gabe stressed, eyes flashing with unbridled concern, "Forgive me for being frightened on your behalf."
"I'm alright," Sam said automatically, hating to worry Gabe so much when the P.I already had an overflowing plate to deal with, "It's nothing I can't handle."
"Because you already see stuff?"
Gabe's face was perfectly normal as he said it, tinged with only a bit of inquisitiveness as if it wasn't the most dangerous question he'd asked all night.
Sam swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat, wondering how all the blood had drained from his face so quickly. If he hadn't already been crouched in the tub, he probably would've stumbled in shock.
Maybe I can play it off.
"What?"
"Oh honestly," Gabe muttered before reaching for the knob and shutting the water off, probably putting an end to what would no doubt be an extremely high water bill for the month.
"I noticed something was off a while ago," he started, hands slapping lightly on top of his thighs. Composed, if a little nervous, but clearly in control of the conversation as he spoke. "You always look off into the distance or just past people right before you say something that's a little too on the nose. There's empathetic, and then there's you Sam. I'm not quite sure what you see, but I know it helps you read people, and maybe even rooms. I was waiting for you to say something, but I don't think this one can wait."
Gabe crossed his arms and waited expectantly for him to say something. There was a bit of apprehension in his aura; worry that he might've pushed too hard, but overall, Gabe looked confident that he was right.
Meanwhile, Sam had been rendered effectively speechless. His mind went blank in alarm when Gabe started talking, and now he was left reeling at the fact that Gabe had not only somehow guessed accurately he could see stuff other people couldn't but wasn't scared by it at all.
A laugh edging the line of hysteria burst out from him, but Sam tamped a lid down on it quickly. Out of all the possible scenarios he'd thought of where this final secret of his had been revealed, he'd never expected it to go quite like this.
"I..how the hell…no, I already know. You're brilliant at what you do," Sam said, tossing aside that line of questioning in an instant.
"Fairly decent," Gabe corrected teasingly, and Sam rolled his eyes before growing serious.
"You have to understand I never told anyone. Dean knew because he was Dean, and I only just told Lisa because it fit in context with Ben," he explained, fixing Gabe with an intent look.
"Because of his sleepwalking."
Sam nodded, and Gabe frowned in sudden consternation.
"Wait, you didn't even tell Jess?"
Sam shook his head, and Gabe reared back, visibly startled by the confirmation before another thought occurred to him.
"Your father?"
"Nope."
Gabe lapsed into silence, and Sam watched as the gravity of the secret hit him like a ton of bricks. His aura rose around him like in a vague cyclone shape before evolving into that wing shape that fascinated him. They spread out in an arc of gold that smacked the walls of the bathroom before returning to a smoky, shimmery abstract form that coalesced around his shoulders.
"Holy shit."
"Yeah," Sam said, for lack of anything better to say. In his defense, he was completely distracted by the show Gabe's aura was putting on.
"Do you get it now?"
"Yeah, I think so," Gabe said softly, looking at him with a renewed gaze, "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone."
"I know you won't," Sam said with a smile that came easily now that he was sure Gabe wasn't going to freak out, or worse, leave. It was all in his aura, and even better, written across his face. "Help me out?"
Gabe's cheeks turned very rosy, and he stuttered as he grabbed the towel and practically threw it at him.
Sam frowned at his odd behavior before chuckling as he realized what the issue was. Gabe, silly as always, was embarrassed. It had somehow escaped the P.I to check him out when he helped him into the tub, but now that he was getting out, the opportunity registered clear as day.
"We've been talking like this for what seems like half the night, and now you get all worked up?" Sam asked, standing with a huff (he was too big to sit in the shower for that long), and Gabe turned his head away so quickly he feared the P.I might've cracked a vertebra.
"Just trying to give you some modesty! Privacy! Space!" he exclaimed, a hand up to shield his vision even further.
"You're a moron, you know that right?"
"Hey!" Gabe squawked, ready to defend his honor as he turned around, only to whip back around when he saw Sam was only just getting the towel around his waist.
"That was a trick! A cruel and petty trick!"
"You're the one that turned to look," Sam said with a smirk before stepping up and grabbing his shoulders, "Hey."
Gabe looked up at him with equal mixtures of curiosity and suspicion through his interlocked fingers, and Sam smiled before steering him in front of the mirror.
Sam looked just as bad as he'd felt before getting into the shower. Too pale, too washed out at the edges, and the drowned waif look didn't help. However, he had some more things to say; things too important to leave off for tomorrow. He wouldn't let himself stop here now that Gabe knew, and judging by the intense curiosity swirling through Gabe's aura, the P.I wouldn't let him off the hook without something to sate him.
"I call them auras. It's the best name I have for them, and the one that'll bring the clearest image of what I see in your head," he started, standing behind Gabe, "The first distinction to make is that I can't see my own. Never have, and don't expect to anytime soon."
"Really? Why's that?" Gabe asked, blinking at their reflection. His aura swirled around him with the trademark gold and pastel hues, highlighting the absence of anything around Sam's figure. All that he had were the wisps of Gabe's that liked to stick to him, a testament to the time they spent together.
"Not sure. The best explanation I have is that maybe since I know me best, there's no need for me to see an extension of my being."
"But you see everyone else's."
"Correct, which leads to the second thing you should know. I can misinterpret them. I'm only human, and it's not a foolproof art. Auras are an extension of people, but people are very complex on their own. Auras can either be enlightening or just add more confusion if I don't read them right."
Sam paused, struggling to find an apt comparison. The one he'd used with Lisa hadn't been great, and he wanted to do better by Gabe, but he'd hardly ever talked about it out loud,
"Try to think of it like chapters in a book. People are the books, and auras are extra chapters being continuously rewritten in real time. On top of that, the chapters are written in different languages that vary between people. As the reader, I try to be as literate as I can, but I have to piece together a lot on my own due to the constant flux in auras, and I make mistakes. Sometimes I think I see something that's not there or miss something obvious. Auras don't reveal everything about people. Just emotions and those are about as messy and tangled as you'd expect."
"Any emotion?"
"Any," Sam confirmed, watching as Gabe's face changed in the mirror, "But I make mistakes, and sometimes I'm not sure of what I see. That's where I have to be a regular person and fumble my way to the right answer."
"What's the answer you see in me?"
Sam locked eyes with Gabe in the mirror. They made an odd pair in all sorts of ways. One dressed, one not; one short, one tall; one resplendent with an aura, the other not.
But both on the same page.
It had been a complex dance around each other, but at this moment, exposed in the mirror, they aligned. The surety rose in Sam's chest, turning into a roar of confidence that led him to nudge up closer to Gabe and keep his gaze in the mirror.
Now or never. The choice was before him, and Sam seized the opportunity with both hands and eyes mentally shut at the leap he was about to make.
"I was an idiot at first," he confessed, hoping his voice remained steady, "I didn't read the colors right, and then when I did, I immediately figured I was wrong. I was so sure I was misinterpreting things because there was no way you could be into me. A successful P.I, clever and confident, chasing after a waiter with enough emotional baggage to sink a ship made no sense to me."
Gabe leaned back into him, patient and steady. His aura held a frenzied edge, but none of that showed through his body except for in his eyes, and Sam could handle meeting those.
"But there's a third thing you should know about auras. What they do reveal is never a lie," Sam said, blood singing when Gabe's aura shone brighter in response, "It's hard to fake emotions in front of me when auras always reveal the truth, and people can't attempt to disguise something they aren't aware of. So, once I got over myself and realized that I couldn't be making up all the things I was seeing, I got my answer."
"I knew it," Gabe breathed, already turning, and Sam fell into his warm embrace, chest searing with warm delight as he finally, finally, let himself close the distance between them.
Gabe was sunlight, warm and growing hotter with every second they stayed pressed together. He tasted like fruit candy, no doubt the snack of preference when he'd been on the road tonight, and the thought drove Sam to cup his face and grab the back of his neck, right where his hair ended, and his collar started. Sam was immediately drunk on him, courtesy of his all-encompassing aura. All the tantalizingly close touches and embraces paled in comparison to this.
"I thought I'd die before I got an answer," Gabe mumbled against his mouth as they pulled apart for air, and Sam hummed, following him for a moment with shut eyes and snatching a brief kiss before pulling back.
"Was it worth the wait?" Sam asked, a trace of nervousness still lingering. Maybe he'd waited too long or hurt Gabe irredeemably in the process. He'd been a fool to deny himself all of this when it'd been just a confession away this whole time.
"Don't ask stupid questions," Gabe grumbled before looking up at him with an earnest expression, "I know you can see the answer."
"I still like some verbal confirmation," Sam said, even as his eyes openly danced over the conflagration of pinks and purples and shots of red that lit his aura up and his heart did some stupid lurch in his chest. Gabe's easy acceptance of such a fundamental aspect of himself meant more than he could say.
"Verbal? Well, since you really want me to use my mouth…"
"Gabe, oh my God you're awful," Sam laughed, shoving a smirking Gabe away from him, "Seriously?"
"Not if it puts me over here," Gabe mock-pouted, "Let me back in!"
Sam obliged, and their noses bumped as they lined themselves up for another kiss that left Sam once again chasing after Gabe when he pulled away. He couldn't help it; his aura was just as irresistible as he was.
"One last question," Gabe said, arms looping around his neck, "Or rather, a repeat of one I asked earlier."
"Yeah?"
"How hard would it be to convince you to get some rest with me?"
"Not very hard at all," Sam whispered, grinning when Gabe promptly began to lead them out of the bathroom, "Eager?"
"For some much-needed sleep, yes," he replied before yawning hard enough to crack his jaw.
Sam took in the fatigue traced around his mouth and eyes and acquiesced fully. They could discuss things in the morning, once they were both refreshed and a bit more separated from the horrors of the night.
"You cleaned it," Sam stated, taking in the straightened-out furniture. He had a vague recollection of walking by a giant mess on the way to the shower, but now it was much tidier. If it weren't for a few things here and there, he'd have said nothing had happened to his room at all.
"Somehow, I knew the LPD was never going to get called, so I took it upon myself to get a head start. A lot of loose stuff ended up in the closet, so be careful when you open that in the morning," Gabe admitted, already halfway through unbuttoning his shirt, "Oh, and your drawers are a mess inside."
"I can see that," Sam said dryly, having already pulled one open in the search for boxers, only to find a tangle of mixed clothing looking back.
There was no sassy response; just a dip in Gabe's aura that signaled he was almost half asleep. Sam glanced back to see the man sleepily shucking off his pants, eyes already shut. Autopilot mode.
He let Gabe get himself settled in as he went to hang up his towel and do one last sweep of the apartment for himself. Luckily, Kevin's room had been spared of his sleepwalking rampage, and Gabe had kindly cleaned up most of the mess in the kitchen. No sticky spills on the floor anymore, even if the living room was still ravaged.
I'll have to fix it in the morning, Sam thought, idly righting the coffee table back on its feet before Gabe's aura flared from inside his room.
"Sam?"
"On my way," was his immediate response, practically running back to his room. Why spend the rest of the night cleaning up when he could put it to better use?
Sam did make a point to bring his trusty baseball bat with him, and as he leaned it up against his nightstand (where Gabe's gun had also been laid to rest), he wondered if he was being too paranoid.
But then Gabe drew the covers back, and as Sam curled up around him, he decided that there was no such thing as being too careful these days. He had someone to keep safe after all, and even if Gabe could take care of himself, that didn't mean that he wouldn't be idle.
The next time Death tried to come knocking, Sam would be ready.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
I'm not sure whether to cackle evilly or cheer with you guys, because the ship has finally set properly! I think I'll go down in fandom history for one of the slowest burns ever.
But now it is hiatus time. I have to regroup and plot things out to death, but it shouldn't be more than a few months. The situation with COVID-19 has led my college to doing online classes, so if you still want to read stuff from me, I'll have one-shots up in these coming months. I'll try to actually like, update my Tumblr when hiatus time is over, but my tentative schedule suggests May will be when I make the return to this series.
Until then, my readers! Stay safe out there, and please take good care of yourselves.