Chapter 16: Pineapple and Watermelon
Gabe had never been much for cuddling. That wasn't what he wanted from one-night stands, and while he never begrudged anyone for cozying up while they were asleep, but he always made a point of waking up first to extricate himself gently, and never gave it much thought beyond that.
Of course, Sam was the exception to all of his preconceptions, and when Gabe woke, he wasn't surprised to find that he didn't feel like moving away from his side.
"Why the hell are you awake?" he mumbled, enjoying the feel of Sam's skin beneath his lips. He was truly lucky that Sam didn't sleep with a shirt.
"Catching up on some readings," Sam replied softly, the hand carding through his hair never skipping a beat as the other remained on his laptop. "School sucks."
"No dropping out."
"I know. I worked too hard to get here," Sam sighed.
"Which I'm proud of. Get that degree," Gabe yawned, trailing his fingers left and right across what he could of Sam's chest. Now that he had free-range, Gabe didn't let himself hold back from being touchy. It wasn't that he was touch-starved but more…intimacy-starved. It was true dramatic irony that everyone knew him as the tactile P.I, but in reality, he'd hardly ever touched someone like this, or been held like this.
Gabe knew it'd probably be considered depressing that he'd gone this long like this, but something about Sam being his first real relationship had a special ring to it. Sam wasn't someone he would leave behind in the dust or run from. He was different in so many ways, but the biggest was that he'd somehow made Gabe a little different too in the process.
The hand in his hair shifted direction, moving a bit more swiftly.
"Are you feeling ok?" Sam asked hesitantly, for whatever odd reason.
"Why don't you look at me and find out," Gabe mumbled, rolling his head so it was pressed back against Sam's collarbone. He was cozy enough that if he tried, he could probably go back to sleep, and some far-off section of his brain told him to get sleep while he could.
"You say it so casually."
No sleep for me, Gabe thought, resigning himself to the fact as he propped himself up on an elbow to give the very intelligent response of, "Huh?"
"Just…I don't know, I only told you like, six hours ago that I can see auras, and you've barely batted an eyelash," Sam said, running his thumbnail along the edge of his laptop and chewing on his lip in that way that made Gabe want to kiss him to soothe it.
"What do you mean…oh, that," Gabe said, cutting himself off as his mind finally began to wake up and actually focus on what Sam was saying instead of sleep. Not that he hadn't been listening, but really, who could blame him for being a little more focused on all that glorious skin just waiting to be used as a pillow?
"It's just part of who you are," Gabe explained, running his fingers up and down Sam's bicep to draw out some of the nervous energy that currently marred his brow. "Besides, it's not like you dropped that big of a bomb on me. "It was like a medium-sized bomb. And I'm good at taking things in stride."
Gabe knew that the latest secret Sam had let him in on wouldn't settle so easily. It'd take longer than one (admittedly extremely eventful) night before Sam would fully accept that Gabe wasn't going to bolt out of terror, and he understood. It was why he was so good at simply going with the flow; if he didn't, the world would drag him down by way of his job or his past, or even worse, snag him with his own secrets.
Sam gazed at him for a long moment (and Gabe was sure it was really at him and not around him) before he leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his temple.
"What was that for?" Gabe asked, trying his best not to blush at how cute and soft the chaste kiss had been, only to fail when Sam smiled.
"Just appreciating you. I've never been able to relax like this with anyone before," he confessed, shutting his laptop and setting it aside before his smile widened, "C'mere."
"Hey-wait!" Gabriel gasped before huffing out a surprised laugh as Sam rolled onto his side and drew him in close, pulling up the covers until warm darkness descended around them.
"Your aura makes me feel really warm. It's like it radiates heat, but a heat only I can feel," Sam murmured, hands smoothing up and down his back.
Gabriel tucked his face into the crook of Sam's neck and threw a cautious arm over Sam's waist. He wasn't quite sure what he was doing, as he'd only tolerated and never initiated cuddling, but judging by his pleased sound, Gabe was doing alright.
"What color is it?" he asked, enjoying the way Sam hummed as he ended his question with a soft kiss to his collarbone.
"Gold. That's the main color," Sam replied, hand drifting to run through the hair at the base of his neck. "There are some pastel shades in there, but it's primarily gold and very large. You know, for such a tiny person, you have an impressive aura."
"I'm going to ignore the insult so I can enjoy the compliment," Gabe grumbled, only to find all of his irritation bleeding away when Sam began to run his fingers through his hair with more focused effort.
"I'm serious. Not many people have gold auras, or auras as expansive as yours. You caught me off guard at the Roadhouse."
Gabriel thought back to that fateful Tuesday night, and how surprised Sam had looked when he'd sat down in front of him. He'd chalked it up to a long night shift and exhaustion making him so jumpy, but now Gabriel had important context that explained Sam's keen eyes-uncannily sharp even at that late hour-and the way they'd lingered on him.
He could read me like an open book, even then.
"You're thinking about it," Sam remarked. Cautious, as if he didn't want to spook Gabe with his pinpoint accuracy.
"I am," Gabe said easily, thumb stroking up and down Sam's hipbone in a gesture he hoped the other interpreted correctly as comforting. "It's okay to say so."
"People tend to not want to have their feelings called out to them."
Gabriel snorted and drew back a bit so he could look Sam in the eyes; as much as he could in this comfortable dark. He was tense, and more than a bit wary, but he didn't hesitate to look at him when Gabriel reached a hand up to clasp the back of his neck.
"I'm not very typical. I think we can both agree with that," he said with a cheeky smile that successfully drew a companion smile from Sam he sensed more than saw.
"Honestly, I don't think about my feelings too much. I just feel them or stay in motion so I can avoid the ones I don't want to. So maybe this way, you can call me out on my bullshit, and I can't make any excuses because we both know you'll be right. Besides, it's not like you can turn off your sixth sense, so you might as well look."
There was a moment of quiet between them, heightened by the way the comforter distorted sound and hushed the world outside. Not tense, but just quiet in a way Gabe hadn't had in a while.
Maybe he saw it in his eyes, or his aura; whichever way, Gabe knew Sam had gotten more or less what he'd been trying to convey as he surged forward to press a smiling mouth against his.
"You're so odd, but I love it," Sam murmured as he drew back to kiss right beneath his jaw, a weak spot that made him curl his fingers through Sam's hair. "You do know that sounds completely illogical and more than a little weird, right?"
"I like making exceptions for you," Gabe said, trying very hard to get the words out without gasping.
He could feel Sam's smirk against his skin, but before they could go any further, his phone rang with the last ringtone he wanted to hear.
I'm going to throw that thing into the nearest body of water if it interrupts me again.
"Son of a-"
"They're already stealing you away from me," Sam mumbled, peppering frantic kisses against his neck, "Dating a hotshot P.I has its downsides."
"Not too many to outweigh the benefits, I hope," Gabe teased back, hoping the insecurities rearing their ugly head at the double whammy mention of "dating" and "downsides" was hidden by his lilting tone.
However, Sam was not that easy to trick. Gabe knew it was a longshot since he had the whole vision thing (which needed a proper name besides "seeing auras" in his opinion), but hiding his worries, and everything in general, with humor was just how he operated.
"Of course not," he said soothingly, nipping at his neck in a way that immediately had Gabe forgetting insecurities and ringing phones and common sense, "You're so warm."
The situation was quickly spiraling. On the one hand, Sam was starting to become bold, pressing impossibly closer and gripping him with greedy hands that Gabe would rather die than try to extricate himself from. Hell, he might just die if Sam kept this up; Gabe wasn't ashamed to admit he had more than a little of a weak spot on his neck.
On the other hand, duty was literally calling, and Gabe saw things through to the end. Even if it meant leaving the bed of Lawrence's hottest lawyer in the making.
"You're going to be the death of me," Gabe groaned before pushing at Sam's chest. Not hard; Gabe knew he didn't need to in order to get Sam to stop, and he was right, as Sam backed down almost instantly.
"I've got to get that call, and we both know it," he said apologetically, pecking Sam's cheek on his way up and over him to clamber out of bed.
He'd left his phone to charge in the living room, which was still mostly wrecked. Gabe had been more fixated on cleaning the kitchen, but it made his habit of pacing while on the phone hard to do when there wasn't much clear space to pace on.
"Milton," he answered, hoping he sounded appropriately awake and aware and not as if he'd just been getting borderline filthy with his new boyfriend (boyfriend? That was a word he'd have to get used to using). He hadn't been able to check the contact name in his haste to reply, so he could be talking to anyone in law enforcement right now.
"Gabe, thank goodness," Donna sighed, sounding as if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders, "Where have you been? The unit we sent out said you weren't at your apartment, and-"
"Wait, slow down," Gabe said, instantly on alert, "Unit? What's going on?"
"Headcount," Donna explained, "To make sure everyone that was out last night is accounted for. We…well, the scene is a mess, and it's just to make sure everyone's safe."
Gabe silently rapped his knuckled on his forehead in self admonishment as he thought of all the fuss they must've started to raise trying to locate him. It didn't help that he'd left the station so quickly upon hearing of what had occurred, his only thought to reach Sam and make sure he was okay. Gabe's shoulder blades had been itching fiercely for a few hours leading up to that point, and it'd worried him enough to make him act irrationally when the news broke.
"Well, I'm fine," he said gruffly, hoping Donna would leave it at that. There was no way he was explaining he'd been a bit busy helping his boyfriend (the term was growing on him) recover from a traumatic session of sleepwalking, only to promptly have said boyfriend confess a multitude of things that ended up with them getting together.
I'd rather throw myself off a cliff, or that bypass down the road.
"Fine doesn't cut it, Milton," Jody growled after a scuffling sound that must've been her wrestling the phone from Donna's poor grasp, "Your whereabouts are necessary information if you're going to be reinstated onto the case, and I have half a mind to send a unit out to said location if you don't answer within the next 3 seconds."
Reinstated?
"Christ, Jody, okay," Gabe replied, reeling from the bombshell she'd just dropped, "Did you just say I was reinstated-?"
"Milton."
Jody's tone left no room for argument. Gabe swallowed once, face flaming with heat, and sent a thankful prayer up to whatever deities existed that Sam was still in his room and not witnessing his humiliation. It appeared that if he was to have all his one desire of being properly back on the task force, he would have to walk this trial by fire.
"I was at Sam's place. He was sick, and I…took care of him."
Sick wasn't the most accurate word for it, but other than that, all of it was true which Jody seemed to sense if the long pause on the other end was any indication. Gabe crossed his fingers that she wouldn't demand any more details.
"I see," she said finally, her tone much different. Less aggressive, and slightly accommodating beneath the now regular sternness, "It's…good to see you caring about someone other than yourself."
Gabe gaped, but before he could get a word in edgewise, Jody continued.
"I've been told that your reinstatement is effective immediately and that you'll be working on the taskforce with us."
"With Bela?" he couldn't help but ask, lip curling at the thought. He'd try to set aside their differences for the sake of the case; he was a professional after all, but he wasn't sure Bela would do the same for him.
Plus, he still remembered how she'd tried to get the drop on Sam. Gabe hadn't been fond of sitting that out in the closet, and her actions had only lowered his view of her.
"I'm not sure," Jody admitted, "Everything's in flux right now. All I know is that your presence is required at Hoffman's apartment immediately. Post haste, stick the siren on your car and hoof it sort of immediately. Understood?"
This was no time to joke around. Just hearing the vague details that had come through the station had made Gabe queasy, and what Sam had told him of his premonition (or weird out of body experience? What would it even be classified as?) told of a crime scene even grislier than the ones they'd had so far.
"Understood."
Gabe held his phone in his hand after the call ended, staring at nothing in particular as he tried to work out what had just happened.
He was back, but his presence had come at a price. Someone high up out there was desperate enough to override the taskforce's authority and refresh the whole damn thing, which meant he'd be walking into a less than ideal situation. A gift and curse all at once.
"Beginning of the end, huh?"
Gabe turned to see Sam leaning against the entrance of the hallway, wearing a shirt (unfortunately), and flannel pajama pants. It was a remarkably adorable appearance with his sleep mussed hair, but his ominous words and pinched face contrasted it.
"It's a turning point for sure," Gabe sighed, running a hand through his hair and wincing as it caught on a knot. When was the last time he'd brushed his hair?
Sam frowned before approaching, gently running his fingers through his hair as he pulled him close.
"I've been reinstated," Gabe said, voice muffled in his chest. It was a position he was growing more and more fond of, "I'm officially back on the case, and I don't know how it's going to go."
Sam's fingers paused only for a moment before they resumed their task.
"We'll figure it out," he said, voice steady, "It's probably for the best. Sneaking around dressed as janitors was pushing it a little on the legality front."
"Shut up. That's a highlight of my P.I career!" Gabe protested.
"Of course," Sam laughed, pressing a kiss to his temple before sobering.
"Things are going to get worse before they get better. Promise me you'll see it through to the end."
"You know I will," Gabe said, confused by what Sam was asking. Did Sam have sudden doubts?
Sam averted his gaze, suddenly shy as he tugged on his hair.
"I mean with me. Whatever happens, I want us both to come out on the other side. Together," he clarified; cheeks dusted pink. "I know we won't have time to do things properly between us right now, so I want you to promise that after all this is over, we will."
There was a long moment of stretched quiet as Gabe absorbed Sam's words and Sam looked as if he'd locked his legs so he wouldn't run, but Gabe could tell that he'd meant every earnest word behind his request.
And why wouldn't he? After Jess, of course he would want some reassurance.
Gabe didn't make promises lightly, because he always strived to keep them and knew that he couldn't keep everyone that came his way. This particular one, however, was more than easy to make as he clasped his hands around the nape of his neck and looked him in the eyes.
"I promise."
Sam didn't question it. Gabe knew by the way his eyes unfocused that he was looking at his aura, and a surge of energy raced through him as he realized that his aura reflected his words accurately. Sam couldn't doubt him; not when he could see the proof for himself.
It was refreshing in a way, to know that someone would know he was telling the truth and meant what he said. The negatives of Sam's ability were certainly there, but Gabe had meant it when he said that he was glad there was someone that could set his straight when it came to the finicky emotions he still struggled to do more than just feel and move on from without contemplation.
"You have to go," Sam said after taking in his fill. His voice was quiet, a touch sad, but largely understanding.
"I do. But I think I have time for one more kiss," Gabe said with a hopeful tone that successfully lightened the somber mood as Sam perked up.
One kiss turned into two, and then three. Sam kept chasing him back towards his room and insisted on "helping him dress" by surrendering articles of clothing only with the payment of a kiss.
It was endearing, and Gabe's chest hurt at the thought of leaving Sam when what they had between them was still so new and innocent. Law enforcement made for long, odd hours away from home, and Gabe suddenly understood why so many people in the field had relationship problems or missed home so much when he finally got dressed and Sam had no more excuses to make him stay.
I don't want to leave him.
"You're a P.I and a damn good one," Sam said, reading his mood, "I get that. So, go do your job."
"That ability of yours is scary once you drop all the pretense," Gabe remarked, "But in a good way. You'll have to tell me more about it when I get back."
"I promise," Sam said, eyes glinting to show that he'd meant to echo Gabe's previous promise before he grew serious. "There is one thing you should know."
"What's that?"
"People can sense him," Sam said, voice low as if he was imparting forbidden knowledge, "His aura…it's evil incarnate. People can't see auras, but that doesn't mean they can't sense evil. It makes people uneasy. Some part of them knows there's danger, but they can't do anything about it."
What Sam was describing sounded familiar, and it took Gabe only a moment to pin down where he'd seen such reactions.
"The library, when you found Wilkes," he said, to which Sam nodded.
"His aura was fresh then. I'm sure reactions will be similar with this crime scene too. So be careful and try to keep a clear head."
Leaving was hard, but as Sam kissed him goodbye and pressed a thermos of coffee that he'd somehow managed to prep in between all the other kissing they'd done (a magic ability he hadn't mentioned?) with a teasing order to bring it back as soon as possible, Gabe thought he'd be able to manage. Sam would be here when he got back, and the reassurance was a comfort to cling to in the midst of the chaos he was about to throw himself headfirst into.
…
It was one thing to hear Sam describe what little he'd seen in stilted words, and quite another to see the crime scene for himself.
Gabe shouldered past the small crowd forming along the police barricade to find Garth and Zeke waiting. Both of them looked as if they'd been up all night, and Garth in particular was doing his best not to look back at the apartment building swarming with activity.
He couldn't blame him. Despite the spring sun shining down into the street, the apartment building somehow appeared exempt from the light, crouched back from the street and shadowed on either side by the taller buildings. It was as if it knew what had occurred within and decided to reflect it on the outside.
"It's good to see you, Gabe," Garth muttered, blue eyes darting around before leaning in. "It's bad. I haven't even look, because I know I'd puke, but Zeke did."
Gabe glanced at Zeke, who nodded stiffly and said nothing more.
"Well, gentlemen, don't worry your pretty heads about it anymore," Gabe said, trying to alleviate their nerves with a dash of humor as he clapped a hand on each of their shoulders, "I've got it from here."
The ominous atmosphere only increased the closer Gabe got. People coming out of the building practically ran out without looking back, and those heading in did so with obvious reluctance. Gabe's shoulder blades began to itch, and he got the impression that if Sam was here, he would have a lot to say about the auras.
But that wasn't the only thing that increased as he approached the scene. Eyes lingered on him, and it took Gabe a long moment to realize that they were looking at him because they knew he was back in business. The looks weren't bad- quite the opposite in fact-but it only added to the pressure that already weighed on him to solve the case. What did it say when an entire department was now looking to him to bring some much-needed insight?
It says that the faster we get this wrapped up, the less gray hairs I'll grow.
Jody and Donna were waiting by the front door, along with a woman Gabe had only seen a few times. Statuesque and somber, Billy Reaper was the right-hand woman of the Chief, and rumor had it that once the Chief retired, she would be a shoo-in for the position.
The itching sensation heightened between his shoulder blades. He'd only met the Chief once, but if Billy was here in his stead, something must be wrong.
"Mr. Milton," Billy said, velvety voice not quite matching the flatness of her tone, "You've arrived. Let me start by saying that it is a shame that it took this long for your expertise to be reintroduced to the case."
"Well, I'm here now," Gabe said, shaking her surprisingly cold hand before glancing at Jody and Donna. Jody shook her head gravely, and Donna shrugged minutely.
"The Chief would be here himself, but he's taken ill," Billy explained, lowering her voice as a pair of beat cops passed by, "I cannot speak for the severity of his condition at this time, but for today, the case shall have me overseeing things for the LPD. We will be working in tandem with the FBI, and they're aware that a consultant will be joining, despite their personal feelings regarding such involvement. I don't think I need to remind you that you'll be representing the LPD as much as any of our detectives in this situation."
Gabe was familiar with deciphering professional jargon. After coming across so many in all the states he'd been in, he read in between the lines easily.
The Chief is sick, and badly enough that if more people knew more shit would just hit the fan. I'll be the boss in the meantime and the first thing I did was put you back on the case because we need someone to trump the FBI, and they can whine about it all they want. Right now, you're an honorary member of the LPD, which means you better act like it.
"Crystal clear," Gabe said with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. He hated when law enforcement politics got in the way of work. As the consultant, he was always the one to suffer first from the pissing contests.
"Good," Billy said softly before turning to Jody and Donna, "I need to speak to the FBI, so I'll be up again later. Familiarize Mr. Milton with the situation."
A round of "yes ma'ams" and then they stepped into the lobby.
The smell hit Gabe before the scene did. Blood, only just starting to grow stale, and a sickly-sweet smell he'd long grown accustomed to associating with corpses. Just a whiff at the moment, but Gabe's nose never betrayed him.
Floodlights had been brought in to illuminate the lobby in lurid detail, making the bloody runes pop out even more from the cracked, shabby walls they'd been painted on. A pair of legs stuck out from behind the lobby desk, soles exposed from beneath the white sheet, and Gabe knew enough about blood splatters to know that the ones that decorated the wall behind the desk were of the sort that meant it was a mercy the body was covered and out of sight for the moment.
"Mr. Milton?"
Gabe turned and saw a pair of FBI agents he could place as the ones that had visited Sam. He'd described them well; Agent Arch was tall, young, and suave even with a pinched face of tiredness, while Agent Smith was gray and faded at the edges like the once innocuous lobby used to be.
"Agent Arch. This is my partner, Agent Smith," the FBI agent said, remarkably civil as he extended his hand.
"Gabriel Milton, but you already know that," he replied, schooling his face into a mask of impassiveness as he glanced at Agent Smith. He hadn't extended his hand, which meant he was looking at one of the old school/new school duos the FBI had a penchant for assigning.
"We're willing to listen to whatever conclusions you may draw," Arch said, eyes drifting around the lobby, "This…is unlike anything I've ever seen from a serial killer."
"Uniquely deranged," Smith piped up, "The worst sort of killer to hunt. You've got yourselves a killer that'll probably end up being studied in Quantico."
"What an honor," Jody said dryly.
"We've actually used some of your insight already," Arch said smoothly, cutting in before hackles could rise too far. "For instance, your connection with an Enochian expert saved us a lot of time. Mr. Novak is upstairs and proving to be especially helpful in translating."
Gabe was glad he'd gotten his game face on outside, because if he hadn't, he might've reacted tellingly. As far as anyone at work knew, he and Castiel simply had a work connection, with a passable acquaintance relationship due to Castiel's finicky nature and Gabe's ability to get through to him when other members of law enforcement would be met with an irritated brick wall. It wouldn't be detrimental if someone found out things went a bit deeper, but Gabe didn't want to bring any more heat onto the Winchesters if necessary.
Whatever happens, I'm keeping them out of it. Sam's already having too much of this bleed into his life.
Things were different before. Gabe had cared about Sam, and still saw him as the best partner he could ever hope for, but now the stakes had grown impossibly high. He had much more to lose in Sam now than just a partner and he'd be damned if anything happened to Sam on his watch because of this case.
"Castiel is invaluable in a case like this," Gabe said diplomatically, "But why is he here?"
He had to admit, he was concerned. Castiel didn't strike him as the nauseous type, but even seasoned officers would have a tough time with all this gore and he'd never been to any of the crime scenes.
But then the Dead Eyes broke into his apartment.
A lesser man would've begun to sweat nervously, but Gabe managed to rein in the sudden spike of panic. Had Dean and Castiel ever reported that? Neither had made any mention of it since that one time he'd visited Dean's place with Sam and judging by how Castiel had handled Ben last night (not to mention the fact that he'd driven the fucking Impala), he didn't think Castiel had moved out of cozy hideout with Dean.
Thankfully, his status as the former odd man out led to someone filling him in before he could make a misstep.
"His apartment was broken into, and he doesn't feel safe there," Donna explained, a touch of sympathy in her eyes, "Poor thing said he'd rather be out here surrounded by officers than there. They did quite a number on the place and took some of his Enochian books."
"Not to mention evidence," Jody grumbled, "Even if it's useless in the perp's hands."
"I see," Gabe said, relaxing as for once, proper channels had been navigated. Cas must've bullied Dean into making sure it was reported. "Does he have the translations for the Olsen scene?"
There was a moment of silence in which people suddenly found various aspects of the lobby interesting before Agent Arch courageously answered.
"It is to my knowledge that Mr. Novak wasn't…immediately utilized for the Olsen scene."
Huh?
Gabe's eyebrows flew up his forehead before he asked the obvious question.
"Why?"
"It appears the LPD's taskforce wasn't as focused on the Enochian as they were at the beginning of the case," Smith said nastily, "In fact, I heard the guy was harassed while he was reporting his apartment break-in-"
"The situation is being remedied," Jody said coolly, "But Mr. Novak is back in full capacity and has stated that he can work from the primary source."
"Nerves of steel, that one," Donna murmured.
Gabe wanted to ask what the hell had happened with Castiel (and why the man hadn't mentioned any of it last night), but Jody was already redirecting them, catching his attention with a jerk of her head and a look in her eyes that spoke volumes.
Later, she'd tell what she knew. But right now, he needed to work and put on a show fast.
Fine. If they want a show, then they'll get one, he thought, setting everything aside before reaching into his pocket.
More than one eyebrow arched as he pulled out a lollipop, but he saw Jody and Donna instantly perk up. Unlike the others, they knew what candy eating at crime scenes meant.
"Food isn't allowed-"
"Sir, with all due respect, just let him be," Donna said hurriedly, eyes darting between him and Agent Smith, "He knows what he's doing."
Gabe unwrapped the lollipop without any other interruption. He could hear his favorite detective duo explaining things further for the clueless FBI, but by the time he'd placed the lollipop in his mouth, he had already slipped into work mode.
Sam hadn't seen this side of him yet, but every so often, Gabe needed a bit of a boost when analyzing crime scenes. The need for a lollipop had plagued him ever since they'd found Cork strung up in the Internet café, but he'd held off, and then he'd been kicked off the case. Candy helped him focus, and Gabe only ever did it when a scene was truly puzzling or so chaotic that he needed the extra help.
Today, he thought it might be a bit of both. This was chaos incarnate, but as his eyes skimmed across the lobby, he found more questions than answers on the surface.
That didn't mean there weren't answers to be had. They were just a bit further under the surface and required a certain finesse to be raised to the light.
"Pineapple," he announced after savoring the flavor, "And our killer has learned to multitask."
Gabe gestured to the runes painted across the wall behind the lobby. The runes were vicious, slashing and dripping across each other; competing for room in a way that made his head hurt. Today, he couldn't help but begin to read them, pulling meaning from violence.
"Not even the guard dogs can stop me…"
"Messier than usual. He was in a hurry, but they're also messy because he hadn't planned on writing that particular message. He likes to put flourishes on his work," he said, voice clinical and calculating even as he shoved all the old memories of Enochian down.
"Mr. Novak said something similar earlier," Arch remarked. His skepticism was waning; beyond that Gabe couldn't tell much. He was too focused on the scene.
"Who's the victim?" Gabe asked, striding over as close to the body as he dared to without protective booties.
"Officer Perez. He was on door duty," Jody informed, face rigid as she approached with him. "His partner, Officer Simmons, left to respond to the sounds of gunfire down the street."
Gabe logged the information away for later (a shootout down the street was way too convenient) before picking up a corner of the sheet and taking a peek.
Perez had been nearly decapitated by the mortal slice to the throat. Gabe swallowed once at the red, wide grin of his neck, willing himself to ignore the overpowering smells of blood and death to focus on the-
Nicotine.
"Perez was a smoker," Gabe murmured, eyeing his stained yellow fingers before sniffing again, "He smoked before he died."
"And?" Smith asked. The FBI agents had approached but kept a tasteful distance.
"There are no butts anywhere. Not in here or out on the stoop," Gabe explained, mind already whirling as he tried to puzzle through the mystery, "Were they bagged?"
"None were on scene," Arch replied, and Gabe grunted before his eyes drifted further down.
"And he's missing his Taser. Where's that at?"
"We found that. It was upstairs in Hoffman's toilet," Donna replied, sounding relieved she was aiding in the process.
"The killer had his hand on that. Only reason why he'd leave it in the toilet," Gabe said before letting the sheet fall back down, "Tell me more about the shootout."
"One block down, between what witnesses reported to be Dead Eyes and another unidentified gang group," Jody said, "Biggest gunfight in the area in the past year. We were in between shift changes, so Officer Simmons as well as our two plainclothes officers went ahead to assist."
"Leaving behind Officer Perez and the two officers upstairs," Gabe concluded, straightening with a grace he'd developed after years of crouching over corpses, "He halves the force he needs to deal with, and manages to tie up any potential reinforcements. His distraction worked flawlessly."
"Are you seriously suggesting that the unsub set up a gang shootout in order to draw heat off of the building?" Smith spluttered.
"Yes," Gabe replied steadily, looking him square in the eye as he dragged his teeth across the lollipop. "He's not stupid. He knew reaching Hoffman would be hard, so he had to plan things out more. The gangs are easy enough to rile now that everyone's on edge. We've long established he's well versed in tech; it wouldn't be hard to remain anonymous enough to set it up."
"We retrieved a bag of drugs left in the empty building that the gangs had their initial shootout in," Donna said, head tilted slightly, "We assumed they were making a deal, but perhaps…"
"Each could've been told to meet a buyer, and instead found each other and one bag to argue over," Arch finished, brow creased with deep thought, "A riveting theory, but it goes against his hatred for gangs."
Gabe snorted, gesturing to the bloody lobby with a wide swing of his arm.
"He's descended into a new level of delusion. The kind that turns insane killers into hypocrites without them even realizing it. He's probably justifying it as a means to an end."
No one argued with him on that, and Gabe turned decisively towards the elevator. There was nothing else in the lobby that he wanted to go over, and he was more than aware that the true mess would be upstairs.
It was an even tighter squeeze than last time now that they had more people, but no one said anything about it. The atmosphere was palpable; a strong, sour taste in the back of Gabe's throat that not even the artificial sweetness of his pineapple lollipop could combat. A new wave of prickles made Gabe roll his shoulders, and beside him, Agent Arch appeared to be drawn as tight as a bowstring.
People can't see auras, but that doesn't mean they can't sense evil.
When the doors slid open, blood was predictably everywhere.
It slashed across walls in arcs, now darkened signs of a struggle. Floodlights illuminated this hall as well, bringing out the starkness in the dried stains. Yellow markers extended down the hall, creating a morbid breadcrumb trail to Hoffman's apartment door, which was wide open.
"This is too much for one person," Gabe stated, moving down the hall with precise steps to avoid stepping in places he shouldn't, "And the patterns are wonky."
"Wonky how?" Smith asked dryly.
"Like he squirted some of it up here himself," he replied, peering at a particularly puzzling arc of blood. Gabe was no expert on the nuances of blood patterns, but he'd seen enough over the years to know that blood was shaped by gravity and force in readable ways. Some of the blood on the walls was unreadable to a degree that stood out.
"Everyone's been accounted for in the building. The only known deceased are the three officers," Jody said, dark eyes roving across the blood with a faint ill expression, "Do you think-?"
"He has a thing for blood," Gabe confirmed, thinking of how Sam had described the hall he'd seen. Blood-soaked and highlighted as if The Crucifier wanted to draw even more attention to it. "It's one of those weird details about him that I'm sure the FBI will be able to psychoanalyze further."
"You're doing a good enough job so far," Arch murmured from behind him.
Gabe only grunted in response; eyes drawn by a familiar flash of a tan coat in Hoffman's doorway.
"Castiel! How goes the translating?" he called, infusing a bit of his usual persona into his voice.
Castiel craned his neck back out from behind the doorway, and Gabe was impressed to see that his only reaction was a head tilt. He certainly wasn't going to let on that they knew each other outside of work.
"Gabriel. They told me you would be back," he said, shaking his hand to complete the act, "Are you…eating a lollipop?"
"Yup," Gabe said, popping the "p" with a smack that had Castiel wrinkling his nose at his antics, "How's the scene treating you?"
"It's gruesome, but I'm managing," Castiel replied, eyes sliding past him to glance at the people behind him, "Ah. Is this a demonstration of your capabilities?"
"Always right on the nose," Gabe remarked as someone coughed behind him. Judging by how raspy it was, it must've been Agent Smith.
"Well, I shall leave you to it. I can tell you that the message downstairs was written quickly, and not planned in the slightest with all the errors. It translates roughly to "Not even the guard dogs can stop me from executing justice. You have paid the price for delaying Death."
The volume on the floor decreased with Castiel's words. His voice carried; the gravelly deepness naturally having that quieting effect on people. Gabe would've been jealous of his effortless commanding of a room if it weren't for the fact that he knew Castiel had absolutely no clue of it.
"Got it," he said, clapping his shoulder, "I'm assuming there's more in here…."
Gabe had stepped past Castiel to see what other Enochian would leap out at him with twisting runes but instead found himself trailing off in the middle of a very deliberate mess.
A circle had been cleared in the middle of the living room, with everything radiating out from it in haphazard spirals. Furniture, possessions; the minimal things Hoffman had owned were all there, some damaged and others destroyed by what looked like a very furious process. At the edge of the odd circle was another body covered in a sheet, as if The Crucifier had decided last minute to include the fallen officer in the arrangement.
There were only three words left behind, one for each living room wall. Gabriel didn't need Castiel to translate them, because his traitorous mind leaped ahead and did it for him, but Castiel's voice brought the words to further life.
"Heaven, Purgatory, Hell," he recited, nodding his head to each wall from left to right as he spoke, "There was another sheet left behind, but I think these reveal a lot more than the pre-written sheet."
"Let me guess. It's just a bunch more rambling about stuff he's already covered."
Castiel nodded, and Gabe resisted the urge to crunch down on his lollipop.
The Crucifier was losing what tenuous grip he had on reality; of that Gabe was certain. Killing the cops had somehow made him sink further into his delusions and simultaneously change the direction towards an unsettling path that Gabe suspected wouldn't bode well for the LPD.
"What about this circle?" Gabriel asked, stepping a little closer to the circle and craning his neck to look within it. "What's the deal-oh."
Centered in the cleared space, hidden by the height of the material around it, was a collection of human organs.
Gabriel identified the heart, lungs, and intestines before he pulled his head back, nostrils flared and lollipop close to being demolished between his teeth.
Deep breaths. No puking.
"Those aren't from any of the officers," he remarked, turning back to face the group with what he hoped was a put-together face, "Too little blood. He didn't have time to play Operation with someone last night."
"During the autopsy, the coroner discovered Olsen was missing her organs," Donna said quietly, face angled away from the circle.
Gabriel stared at them before glancing back at the pile of organs surrounded by geometric lines traced in blood.
"Olsen was killed Wednesday. How the hell did you keep this little fact out of the news?" he asked, shifting his weight to one side and eyeing the FBI agents with renewed interest.
If there was one thing Gabe had learned about Lawrence, it was that their journalists were of a different caliber when it came to tenacity and fear-mongering. The local news had taken to reporting on The Crucifier like pastors preached sermons, and they'd been able to sniff out the victims and their names almost as soon as the LPD. Even now, reporters were clamoring at the barrier outside, hungry for the next blood-soaked installment in the serial killer saga. Murder was good for their business; the gorier the better.
Agent Smith sniffed delicately before cryptically saying, "The FBI has its resources."
"Resources indeed," Gabriel muttered before his attention shifted to the body made a part of the disgusting setup.
"Anyone I know?" he asked, shoulder blades itching (when would they stop? ), and Jody sighed.
"Officer Bertram," she replied, voice subdued her head towards the bathroom, "And Officer Jones makes three."
The officers that were here when I dropped in on Hoffman.
Gabriel bit down on the lollipop.
"Dammit," he said, chewing aggressively before shoving the stick into his pocket. Irritation at The Crucifier coursed through him, and a bit of sadness at the fact that he knew of the officers. He didn't know either of them well, but he knew that they were decent guys in the LPD. They didn't deserve to go out like this.
He pulled back the sheet with renewed vigor, ignoring Bertram's bruised and puffy face to study the stab wounds that had taken him out.
"Defensive wounds on his arms. Deep, just like the stab wounds," Gabe said clinically, fingers itching for another lollipop or any other type of candy (anything to alleviate the death smell and evil around him). "What's he carrying around now, a sword?"
"Perhaps."
Gabe let the sheet drop a bit so he could look up at Agent Arch in disbelief, his candy search momentarily forgotten.
The agent shrugged, not even the least bit affected by what Gabe knew was one of his better "You're-fucking-crazy" faces.
"It's either a long knife or a short sword. Either way, it's a weapon that he's recently chosen to pick up, because all the other victims, even Olsen, showed no such signs of a weapon. Simply regular knife wounds."
"As if anything this guy does is regular," Jody muttered.
"His gun's missing," Gabe said, eyeing the empty holster. "Where was it found?"
"Toilet as well."
"Excuse me."
They all looked at Castiel, who held up a clipboard and tapped his pen against the marked-up papers. His translations.
"I believe there may be substance to the sword theory," he said, eyes shifting uncomfortably to Bertram. Gabe quickly covered him back up, and Castiel's eyes flicked upward again as he continued.
"There's a phrase here that makes mention of a sword. Specifically, a "holy weapon whose blade has been anointed by Justice," but that's all. He doesn't focus on that."
"What does he focus on?"
Gabe glanced further back to see that at some point, Billy had made her reappearance. How long she'd been there, he wasn't sure, but he was aware of her presence now.
Castiel sighed tiredly before looking back down at the clipboard. Gabe made a note to pull him aside and make sure he was alright, because while he may have had "nerves of steel," the scene was clearly wearing on him. He was an academic, and it showed in the awkward way he stood in one of the few clear spots in the room and how he kept fidgeting.
"He mentions making progress on his journey to purity. More mentions about how no one can catch him, repeated retribution motifs, etc. Besides the mention of his new "holy weapon," the only other thing I can bring awareness to with my expertise is that he's not only getting better at writing Enochian, but he's also branching out into non-Enochian rituals."
"I didn't think that was very Enochian," Gabe said, gesturing to the circle, and Castiel nodded, expression darkening.
"I'm not sure what that is, but it is unlike anything I've ever seen."
"Satanic?" Smith asked with the tone of an agent that lived through the old days of Satanic panic.
Castiel leveled a look at him that had Gabe making a show of searching his pockets for more candy lest he did something inappropriate like laugh. If Castiel was looking at federal agents like that, then he was a walking time bomb of caffeine deprivation.
Someone needs to get him a coffee soon before he explodes.
"Just because it is an unidentified ritual doesn't make it Satanic," Cas said slowly as if he was speaking to a particularly hardheaded moron. "You'll have to call someone else in for this because rituals aren't my forte if they aren't Enochian, but I would hazard a guess that it won't be identifiable as a standard ritual."
"He's making up his own?" Donna asked, alarmed.
Cas nodded, and Jody groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose.
"Just great. The guy's getting creative in more ways than one."
"Mr. Novak, why don't you take a break?" Arch interjected, a trace of compassion on his face, "You've done more than enough for today, and you were called at an early hour no less. I'm sure someone in the LPD can arrange for coffee to be had."
"I've got him," Donna said as Castiel's face lit up, "We'll be waiting outside."
Jody was quick to excuse herself with them. Gabe suspected that they sensed the evil more acutely than the others since they'd been on the case from the very beginning because both she and Donna looked one step away from shooting at the darker corners of the apartment.
"Well, I have one more body to see," Gabe said, looking down the short hall to where the open bedroom door beckoned, "Then I have a feeling I'm going to need a major recap on what the task force has been up to. It looks like a lot has gone down while I've been out of the game."
"It's been a busy week," Billy said, pulling out her phone.
A week?
Gabe ran the mental math and realized that Billy was right. He'd been booted off the case…last Wednesday. Tomorrow would make it a whole week since the Roadhouse had burned down.
This case has felt like an eternity.
"Right," Gabe said faintly, reminding himself to keep a better eye on the calendar moving forward.
"There are things we need to discuss, Assistant Commissioner," Smith simpered before turning to Gabe with an unreadable expression.
"You're an…acceptable addition to the task force, Mr. Milton, and I say that holding the opinion that P.I's are usually hack jobs."
"Hack jobs can be found in every level of law enforcement," Gabe replied cheerily, eyes cold as ice to counter his shit-eating grin.
He didn't think he imagined the way Billy's lips twitched as Agent Smith's face darkened, but Agent Arch stepped in at that moment to end the conversation.
"Mr. Milton, you still have the rest of the apartment to look at. I'll keep an eye on him, Zachariah," Arch said genially, doing his best to soothe his partner's ruffled feathers.
Agent Smith grumbled, but left with Billy, leaving Agent Arch to turn to him with an apologetic look.
"Sorry about him. He's…old school," he said with an apologetic smile and half-shrug.
"I know," Gabe said, quickly deciding that Agent Arch was one of the better FBI agents he'd encountered. That wasn't saying much considering the majority of the ones he had encountered tended to look down at him, but Agent Arch had a Prince Charming vibe that set him apart from the rest. FBI agents, in general, didn't look or act like Agent Arch.
That didn't mean he'd let his guard down, but Gabe now knew who he'd go to if he ever had to interact with the agency. Unlike Bela, he knew when to concede and compromise, and he could do it in style.
They walked down the hall single file (it was too narrow for anything else), with Gabe leading. The bedroom door was half-open, and Gabe glanced in to find Officer Jones lying face down between the bed and dresser. A lab tech was working the room, which explained why he wasn't covered.
"Less blood splatters, bigger pool," Gabe remarked eyes flitting across the small, cramped room, "Gunshot?"
"Point blank by his partner's gun. His was found under the bed, with only his fingerprints. One shot fired," Agent Arch informed, nodding at the dresser.
Gabe walked in further and turned to see that the mirror attached to the dresser had been shattered by the shot. His reflection looked back, unrecognizable by the refraction of the disjointed shards that clung to the frame.
He shot Jones, but not Bertram. Why?
"Blood on the windowsill," Gabe said, picking up the smears before studying the window further. The curtain rod was askew; the blinds a tangled mess, as if someone had grabbed onto them.
"Not Officer Jones. Lab's still out, but the blood type matches with Hoffman."
Gabe turned away from the window to see Agent Arch still standing in the doorway. The choppy stripes of light that filtered through the window cut across his face, highlighting his sharp green eyes and leaving his mouth in shadow.
"I've heard about you," he said suddenly, stepping in to let the lab tech out, "My partner hasn't, because he detests anyone that's not FBI on principle, but I like to keep an open mind. You're the nomadic P.I that goes where the work is. A wanderer."
Wanderer.
"I like to travel," Gabe replied, reaching into his pocket for another lollipop. He'd need it both for the room and for the direction this conversation was taking.
"P.I's don't travel," Agent Arch said, tilting his head, "They also don't primarily work for local law enforcement. P.I's settle down somewhere and open an office so they can catch cheaters and find lost puppies."
"It's called diversification," Gabe retorted, "Keeping up with the times and whatnot."
He unwrapped his upsettingly linty lollipop after taking a glance at the flavor (watermelon), ignoring the way Agent Arch's eyes tracked his movement across the room.
"You're an anomaly. The FBI isn't a fan of those," Arch warned, but not unkindly. If anything, he sounded puzzled, like Gabe was a particularly interesting riddle he was taking his time to solve. "But then, this whole case is an anomaly if we're going by the agency's guidebook."
"Then don't."
Agent Arch blinked, and Gabe sighed before deciding to just go for it. If he was going to get into it with the FBI, he might as well go all the way, and besides, they couldn't afford to have people stuck in useless, circular tracks of thinking on this case. Walking the trodden path was now deadly.
"You strike me as a fairly intelligent guy," Gabe admitted, however much it pained him to do so simply on principle "So use your brain. Don't rely on what the FBI taught you with this case. If you want to catch this guy, you'll have to think outside the box."
"Like you do?"
"Yeah. I suppose like I do," Gabe confirmed with a smirk.
"I'll take that into consideration," Arch said, and genuinely sounded as if he would before his eyes strayed to Officer Jones, who was now covered by a sheet.
"Walk me through it," he stated abruptly, clasping his hands behind his back and pinning him with a look that left no room for argument.
Not that Gabe planned on arguing. He only smiled and rose to the challenge with the trademark confidence that made him so good at what he did.
"Officer Perez went on a smoke break. That's how The Crucifier snuck into the building. When Perez returned, he took him down before he could raise any alarm bells," Gabe started, fingers drumming on the stick of the lollipop, "His feet were pointing towards the door, but the blood splatters tell a different story. He was facing inward when he was struck."
"And then he was relinquished of his Taser."
"He needed it for a reason. After killing Perez, he made his way upstairs using the back stairwell. I suspect Officer Bertram may have been drawn from the door by some sort of distraction. They fought, The Crucifier disarmed him, and then killed him, taking the key he had for the apartment."
"You noticed the door wasn't kicked in," Arch said approvingly.
"I notice a lot of things," Gabe sniffed, crossing his arms, "A busted down door is obvious. The Crucifier was trying to be as quiet as possible, but once he got inside, he started losing it."
"Officer Jones and the gunshot."
"Exactly. Officer Jones probably told Hoffman to retreat down the fire escape out here, and in his haste to nab Hoffman, The Crucifier decided to forgo a one-sided sword fight and just shoot him, but not without Jones getting his own shot off."
"And then the unsub got Hoffman," Agent Arch said, gesturing to the window.
"Hoffman got his brains knocked around in the process, but I'll bet you 10 bucks that's what the Taser was for," Gabe said, gesturing to the windowsill, "Hoffman was dragged out to the living room, where The Crucifier did his thing. He ditched the weapons he touched in the toilet and then they left, most likely down the same stairwell he came up."
Agent Arch stepped in, glancing at the fractured mirror and observing his reflection for a long moment before looking down at Jones.
"You're better than the rumors say," he murmured, looking up with a faint frown, "Even if you have some quirky habits."
Gabe snorted before chomping down on the lollipop, the cracking crunch loud in the cramped room.
"You're not so bad, agent," he said as he left, "I might just get along with one of you feds yet."
…
"These agents are awful, Sam," Gabe groaned, hunching over the tiny desk he'd been assigned and glancing over his shoulder to make sure nobody was listening too closely. "Maybe it was the lollipop eating or my breathtaking humor, but I don't think they respect me. I thought I'd die if I spent one more second in that conference room."
"The feds tend to be assholes," Sam said sympathetically, "Do you want me to bring you something to eat? I don't think you should be subsisting off of lollipops and stale station food. Not at this stage at least."
Gabe's face turned a traitorous shade of pink at Sam's considerate nature. He was glad nobody could see much of him besides his back because otherwise, people would've surely commented on it.
"That'd…be nice," he said haltingly, unsure if he should agree because he wanted it or disagree because it would put Sam out of his way, "But only if you want to!"
"I wouldn't have offered if I didn't want to," Sam teased, before humming with thought, "Actually, you know what? Meet me for dinner so we can have a bit of fun, and maybe I can spirit you away for the rest of the night."
Gabe's mind went to much more pleasant tracks of thought at Sam's words before stumbling to a halt.
"Dinner?"
"Yeah, dinner," Sam echoed, before making a noise that Gabe just knew meant he was doing that crinkled brow thing that he found adorable. "You lost track of time, didn't you?"
"No comment," Gabe replied, peering upward at the caged clock that had mysteriously been cracked despite its protection.
6: 50? No wonder I'm so hungry.
"Gabe…"
"I'm fine," he sighed, rubbing his forehead and sitting up to crack his neck with a satisfying pop, "Just getting into the nitty-gritty of things and being reabsorbed into the taskforce. A typical day of work."
"Mhmm. Sounds like you need a massage."
"You know how to give massages?" Gabe squawked before lowering his voice. If the bullpen heard that out of context, rumors would abound before he could say "interagency relations". "Wait, is that an offer or just a general statement meant to tease me?"
"It'll be the latter if you don't come to dinner with me mercilessly."
Gabe gasped louder than he wanted to before looking at the clock once more.
Dinner, or another round of toiling over useless paperwork?
"Where do you want to eat?" he asked after about 2 seconds of incredibly deep and nuanced mental debates over the choice.
Sam perked up audibly over the phone as they set a meeting spot (Gabe, much to his delight, discovered that Sam was suddenly incapable of deciding what to eat now that they were dating), and they hung up shortly after that.
"Going somewhere?"
Of course, it's the one person I don't want to see right now…
Gabe continued in shrugging on his jacket, only turning around to face Detective Talbot once he'd grabbed everything he needed from his desk.
"Yes, actually. There's something called sustenance that I'm in dire need of," he said, slinging his bag onto his shoulder.
Bela frowned, lips tugging down into a scowl that did little to help the sleep-deprived look to her face.
"Station food not good enough for you?"
Gabe glanced at the table that held the station's goods on any given day. Right now, there was a very sorry-looking, crumpled excuse for a donut box and a single bagel.
"Is it good for anyone?" he asked rhetorically before slipping past her with a chipper, "Excuse me!"
"So you're just going to leave!"
Her voice was pitched high enough that it caught more than a few people's attention, even those at the water cooler on the other side of the room.
It wasn't the best look for him, but Gabe had slithered his way out of worse confrontational situations. Bela was clearly irritated at the fact that she'd been sidelined as a paper pusher within the task force, and she never knew when to quit when it was good for her.
"That's what I'm doing," Gabe confirmed, turning on his heel to pin her with a look that completely contradicted his flawlessly calm face, "I'm hungry and I, unlike you, don't get paid overtime."
The murmurs that had begun quieted a little as Bela faltered.
"You didn't know?" he asked innocently, pressing onward so he could cut this off before it could escalate. Gabe had a lovely boyfriend to meet in half an hour, and he didn't fancy being made late to his first official date with Sam because of a petty dispute.
"I get paid by the hour per case. However, there is a certain limit on the hours I can work per case, and technically, The Crucifier is classified as one case. A ginormous one that'll make history in all the wrong, infamous ways, but one nonetheless," Gabe explained, sighing as if put out by the terms of his own contract before shrugging morosely. "I haven't technically been paid to work this since about a day before you kicked me off the taskforce."
Everything Gabe said was true, to a degree. The terms of his work contract with the LPD said that his hours could be increased if there were "incredible extenuating circumstances" and it didn't get much more incredible than a serial killer. However, the paperwork he'd filed with the LPD to negotiate had gotten frozen in the system when he'd been given the proverbial boot, and he had no idea what its status was.
"So really, I worked for free today. I'm sure the LPD will handle it, but as of now, I am a free man consulting solely because the LPD really wants my consultation," Gabe said nonchalantly, "Which means I'm going to get dinner right now."
Sam would've loved the look on Bela's face, but Gabe mentally shuddered as he thought of how he'd respond to the information regarding his contract.
That's a problem for later, he thought as he left a sufficiently chastised bullpen in his wake. Maybe if I skim past it, he won't get too mad about it.
Gabe had about as much hope of that happening as The Crucifier turning himself in, but a man could dream. Sure, it was a little harder now that he knew Sam had a built-in lie detector, but Gabe was nothing if not stupidly persistent and persuasive. If he played his cards right, he could maximize the date aspect and minimize the looming serial killer talk that had pretty much defined how their relationship had evolved.
On second thought, maybe he should prepare himself for Sam growing belligerent on his financial behalf. Stupidly persistent didn't mean he was stupid enough to underestimate Sam Winchester.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
I'm back, in May like I estimated, even if it's pretty much June at this point. This chapter is like a bad sandwich; we got fluff and Gabriel humor on either end and a giant mess of crime scene gore in the middle. That's nothing new here, but I'll say it again: this is M for more reasons than the sexy ones!
On a more light-hearted note, I'm a big fan of the second transition I wrote with Gabe talking about the agents. Probably the highlight of that late-night session of writing.
Tell me what you think as always! I've been writing other stuff while I took a break from this, but I'm used to the specific crowd Reactivity draws and I've missed you guys. I'll have more specifics on the future of this story at the end of the next chapter ;)