Chapter 17: The Eye of the Storm

In hindsight, Sam should've expected Lisa to drop by.

If he'd been thinking a little more clearly, he would've put two and two together and realized that there was only one person John would call upon discovering his sleepwalking son in his living room. The man never called 911 if he could help it, and his social circle of callable people in the middle of the night was largely nonexistent.

But Sam wasn't thinking clearly due to a combination of Gabe and the looming pile of schoolwork currently waiting on his laptop. It was strange swinging from embarrassed delight at the turn of events with Gabe (his new boyfriend) to existential dread at the idea of tackling real work, and the conflict was so strong that when Lisa hammered on his door before barging in with Dean and Ben in tow, Sam nearly threw a textbook at her.

"Oh. It's just you," he sighed, managing to keep himself from slinging a copy of Modern Politics (Kevin's old book no doubt) at her when familiar shades of cobalt blue and green infiltrated his apartment.

"Just me?"

Sam winced, realizing his poor choice in words too late as Lisa descended upon him in a flurry of motion and medical items procured with alarming speed from her bag. The usually motherly, calm cobalt blue was riled up to a degree that boded nothing but painful trouble for Sam.

"Imagine my surprise when John Winchester of all people called me last night in the middle of my shift," she said, gearing up for what sounded like a long rant if her scowl and flashing eyes were any indication. "He informed me that the son he hadn't seen in nearly two years was dripping wet in his living room sleep-walking and that he wanted my help! He then had the nerve to hang up on me once you snapped out of it, and I didn't hear anything more until Cas was wise enough to call me and tell me what was going on!"

She shoved a thermometer in his mouth, and Sam glanced frantically at Dean, hoping for some rescue. Surely his brother would save him from this.

But there was no rescue to be found in his brother. Dean was too busy distracting Ben and helping himself to the fridge to dare risk his neck for him, his green aura revealing that he was doing his best to keep clear of Hurricane Lisa.

Coward, Sam thought grouchily as Dean purposefully avoided his gaze.

"Cas called you?" he asked meekly around the thermometer, hoping he wouldn't end up smote for asking a genuine question. Sam hadn't expected that of the man, but he was quickly learning the Enochian expert was capable of much more than he let on.

"Yes," she said curtly, grabbing his face and tilting this way and that. Sam didn't like how her frown deepened the longer she studied him. "Dean was passed out, so he gave me a rundown of what happened last night, or what he knew at least. He said you were in Gabe's hands, which was the only reason I didn't run out of the hospital and say screw it to my shift."

Sam blinked in surprise. Lisa was devoted to her job; she hardly ever left in the middle of work due to the nearly failsafe support system he and Dean had managed to work out for Ben. The two notable times he could think of were when Ben came down with a nasty flu last year, and when Dean had banged his head and (as always) underestimated the severity and promptly passed out at Bobby's in the middle of working on a car.

"Sleepwalking is serious Sam," she said, catching the confusion in his eyes, "Even if it's a weird brand of it in your case. I've never heard of anyone spontaneously sleepwalking so frequently and deeply. If it was completely medical, doctors would've tossed you into an MRI machine and run a thousand tests on you by now. I'm not a neurologist, but I know enough to know that they'd be very worried about your brain right now."

"But my brain's fine. Right?" Sam asked nervously. He'd been so quick to accept the sleepwalking as something in the same category as his ability to see auras (along with everyone else in his life; not that he blamed them) that he'd barely considered the possible physical implications. Was his brain slowly betraying him by going haywire in his skull?

That wouldn't explain the accuracy of the visions, but it's like the chicken and egg. What comes first and caused the other: a traitorous brain or premonitions?

"I don't think so," Lisa said slowly, betraying her hesitance. Sam couldn't be completely sure, but her aura suggested something similar to the chicken and egg line of thinking occupied her mind too.

The thermometer beeped, and she took it out to check the reading with a brief wrinkle of her nose.

"Mild fever," she announced, much to his displeasure, "Your adventure last night explains that. Dean, come help me cajole your brother back to bed."

"But I just got out of it, and the living room still needs to be cleaned," Sam said, trying not to whine (and failing miserably) as Dean finally summoned the necessary guts to step into the living room with Ben in tow.

"We'll handle that," he said flippantly, probably hoping to make up for his earlier cowardice, "Come on Ben, help me convince your uncle he needs some rest."

"Bedtime Unca Sam!" Ben exclaimed, hurrying over to him and clambering onto the couch to peer at him with solemn dark eyes. "It's for your own good."

"That sounds very ominous and exactly like something you picked up from your mother," Sam remarked, running his fingers through an impressive case of toddler bedhead. They must've come as soon as Dean had woken up; there was still a pearly sheen of sleep clinging to his nephew's soft aura.

"If you want, I can tell a bedtime story?" Ben asked seriously. The effect was ruined by his scrunched-up face when Sam playfully pushed his hair up into a messy mohawk.

Dean snorted, and Sam glared at him before picking Ben up with an affirmative response. Even if he wasn't tired, he'd indulge his nephew as often as he could. He was already getting heavier, and Sam swore that he was just a little bit taller than he'd been a few weeks ago, and if that meant playing right into the trap, then so be it.

Plans, however, are liable to change, even the best ones. Sam hit the mattress and suddenly found he was more tired than he'd anticipated. Gabriel's scent and aura lingered in the sheets and combined with Ben's surprisingly good, if childish, attempt to weave a story that sounded heavily based off of Batman, Sam found his eyelids betraying him. Just a few minutes wouldn't hurt…

A few minutes turned into an hour-long nap that Ben shook him awake from with the eager news that breakfast was ready. Sam allowed himself to be groggily led out into a pristine living room, the smells of pancakes and coffee permeating the space and his brain enough to shake him fully awake.

That and the undershirt folded neatly on the counter that, judging by the amount of misty gold clinging to it, was not Sam's.

Crap, he thought, reaction delayed as Lisa and Dean broke apart from their hissed whisper session over the shirt to look at him. I thought Gabe had gotten all his layers on!

Well, he clearly hadn't, because the proof was currently displayed on the counter. Sam internally resigned himself to a grilling session as he approached his doom, cringing at the stormy green radiating off of Dean and the inquisitive cobalt blue waves that revealed Lisa had come to her own triumphant conclusions.

"I'd say I can explain, but Lisa looks like she already put two and two together," Sam sighed, plopping down onto a stool and setting Ben down in his mother's lap, hoping his presence would stave off the interrogation long enough for him to get a few bites in.

No such luck. Lisa, ever the multitasker, got Ben settled with one hand and tapped Gabe's forgotten undershirt (Sam could've sworn he'd left with that on) with a grin.

"I didn't know you were going to be in extra special hands last night, Sam," she teased, to which Dean groaned and shivered dramatically.

"Lis, please, this is bad enough," he whined, glancing down at the shirt as if it'd personally offended him. Knowing Dean, it probably had.

"We didn't even do anything!" Sam exclaimed; ears hot beneath his messy hair. The mere thought was embarrassing enough without present company included.

Dean groaned again, covering his ears and shaking his head as Lisa arched an eyebrow that spoke volumes paired with her trademark "As-a-mom-I-know-all" gaze.

"Ok, look, we shared a bed, but we didn't- you know-do anything. We just made it official," he muttered, casting a look at a curious, but ultimately oblivious Ben that was currently too caught up in stealing pancakes to be troubled by the obtuse adult talk around him.

Lisa cooed at his admission, and Dean whirled around, mouth agape as he pointed an accusatory finger at him. His aura was roiling with confusion and lighter green shades of disbelief.

"You-you-I can't believe this! I thought this was going to take some more time!"

Sam blinked, just as confused as his brother. Lisa interjected to clear things up.

"We've had discussions about you and Gabe," she explained as if it were perfectly normal to gossip about his love life with his emotionally constipated brother. "Dean believed that it'd take at least another week before one of you two came around, and I disagreed. Clearly, I was right once more about when the boyfriend status would be solidified."

"I had money on this Sammy!" Dean barreled on as if Lisa hadn't said anything. His aura was cross but in a cocky, lackadaisical way that Sam knew only showed up as that blotchy lemon yellow when he'd lost a bet he'd been hoping to win.

"Wait-you betted on my love life?" he asked once his brain had caught up on everything.

"Not much. It was all in good fun," Lisa shrugged, wiping Ben's mouth right before the syrupy mess he'd slowly been collecting on his chin dripped further down onto his shirt.

"Unbelievable," Sam said as Dean moved off to tend to the coffee pot in disgruntled mutters. "There's a killer on the loose, and you two are one step away from singing the kissing tree song in front of me."

"Oh, I know that song!" Ben announced, eyes brightening as he latched onto a part of the conversation he could understand. "Did you kiss Mr. Gabe in a tree?"

Lisa smothered her laughs behind a hand as Dean looked torn between egging Sam on through Ben or appearing horrified at the renewed confirmation that his baby brother was no longer single and therefore forcibly celibate.

Sam saw the desire to tease him win out in his aura a split second before Dean smirked and said, "Yeah he did, Benji."

He should've expected it after the multiple prank wars they'd waged on and off throughout their unique childhood. If there was an opportunity for harmless embarrassment, it was seized with both hands, but Dean was racking up an alarming amount of betrayals this morning. Sam would be pulling knives from his back for days.

He can laugh it up now, but I haven't forgotten about him and Cas.

Sam was a good uncle though (he tried to be), so he suffered and blushed through Ben spelling out K-I-S-S-I-N-G and Lisa innocently asking him if she should help him make space for more of Gabe's shirts since the one on the counter would obviously be the first in a long line. Dean swung between teasing Sam and withdrawing into an existential crisis as he reprocessed the implications of the new relationship, all as he dosed himself up with enough coffee to resurrect a corpse.

"He's a bit upset he slept through last night," Lisa explained as she ushered him back to his room. His first nap wasn't enough to satisfy her, and her resolute aura showed she wasn't budging on her bed rest order. "Which I can't blame him for. I mean, Cas driving the Impala? And then you getting together with Gabe? I thought Dean was going to have a coronary when he woke up. That's why he's drinking enough coffee to keep him awake for the rest of the week."

Sam snickered at the idea, letting himself be directed to bed. Gabe's aura lingered still, which was the only reason he even let the bed rest happen. It was too sickeningly sappy to even think to himself, but a small part of Sam found some comfort in the wispy gold and pastel traces of Gabe. He missed the P.I more than he'd expected.

Maybe it was the newness of the relationship or the horrible vision he'd had the night before, but Sam found himself more than a little worried about Gabe's wellbeing. He'd gone to walk into what had essentially been turned into a temporary devil's den, and then was expected to go through the rest of the day wrestling with the LPD and FBI and whoever else decided to hop onto the investigation. Sam knew that a P.I's worth was tenuous enough in the eyes of "real law enforcement" and Gabe would have to prove himself over once again as the agencies regrouped and reformed the taskforce.

It was infuriating.

However much Sam had come to recognize that there were some notable exceptions in the LPD, he'd still never been able to fully let go of his distrust in the system. His pre-law degree and personal research hadn't done much to dispel the preachings John had ingrained in him of the incompetence of the police because there was a grain of truth to it all. The justice system was imperfect, and the police were a shining monument to all of its terrible flaws.

Still, Sam persevered and didn't change his mind about being a lawyer, because he wasn't going to let a broken system stop him from doing what he'd set out to do all those years ago when he'd been young and naïve and blind to why his father hated cops so much.

Sam suspected that Gabe held the same sentiment when it came to being a P.I, because why else would he continue to subject himself to the scorn of the police? They both wanted to help bring about justice in their own way, damn the consequences and obstacles against them. It made Sam ridiculously proud of Gabe. He didn't know much about his childhood, but he knew enough to know that instead of letting the broken foster system get to him, he'd gone and entered a completely different system with its own set of flaws and carved out his place within it.

Sam couldn't fathom why. There was the initial (and depressing) thought that Gabe had become a P.I because he'd grown up to be accustomed to systems failing him and didn't know how to live any other way, but Sam hoped this wasn't the case(or at least, the main reason for Gabe's choice of career). Gabe was courageous and stubborn-overwhelmingly so-and Sam didn't think he'd let his past control him that much.

Not that he knew much of it. Sam was well aware that as of right now, Gabe knew much more about his past that he knew of Gabe's and that what he did know left him with more questions than answers. Knowing Enochian was the biggest secret, but there were also the darker secrets he'd only gotten hints at, like just how much Gabe bounced around houses as a child and the way he'd been abandoned so callously on the doorsteps of a church.

But Sam could wait. Patience and restraint came the most naturally to him out of the many qualities he possessed, and he knew Gabe would reveal his secrets in due time. There was always a flicker in his aura whenever Sam let him in on a little more of his past. Something like empathy, and a hidden yearning to unleash some of the things he spent so long running from.

Lisa, Ben, and Dean left around noon. Dean had to pick up Cas who, for some ungodly reason, was at the crime scene (Dean said that Cas had gone willingly, but both brothers had scowled because there were definitely bureaucratic machinations behind Cas being there). Lisa and Ben were going to go home and relax before she had to go back to work in the evening, and it was only then that Sam realized it was Friday and Ben wasn't in school for a reason.

Preschool (and the rest of the school systems) had been canceled until Monday on the grounds that a vicious serial killer was still on the loose, which Ben was thrilled about. Preschool, he said, was fun because of the people, but boring because he already knew everything they were teaching him there except for tying his shoes, but who needed to know how to tie shoes anyway?

The adults had shared an unspoken conversation with their eyes (and Sam's added ability to read auras) above Ben's head as he chattered about how the books were too short and how the teacher never believed him when he said he knew the whole multiplication table up to 12. Sam had known Ben was smart-smarter than even he'd been at that age-and he knew that Lisa and Dean were aware on some level of their son's unexpected brightness, but it had never occurred to any of them that they might actually have to do something about it besides letting Ben read bigger books when he was home.

Well, Sam knew they'd have to take some more proactive measures. Seeing auras allowed him to come to conclusions quickly, and he'd known even before Ben began to dream of fire and long, dark hallways he had no business walking down that his nephew was a little different. Not in a bad way (never in a bad way), but different in a way that not even the Winchester curse could explain. Winchesters were lots of things, but the touch of genius was not one of them

"He must have got it from you," Dean remarked before they left. "He certainly didn't get those brains from me."

"Maybe he just got it on his own," Sam said, watching as Ben frowned down at the knots Lisa was trying to undo from his shoelaces (another failed attempt at shoe-tying) and tugged on his dark fringe. "Who says we have to get everything from our family?"

Once they were gone, Sam spent the afternoon working and making valiant attempts at not contacting Gabe. He knew the P.I was working hard, and while Sam felt useless sitting out on the crime sidelines, he was both too scared of Lisa (who had that nurse/mother sixth sense of when someone tried to defy her orders) and still a bit too tired and achy to go out and try to make some sense of the case by following other leads, like the Enochian graffiti. That last sleepwalking session had been on a different level than the others, so Sam just worked on catching up with what schoolwork was available since campus, unlike the lower level schools, looked to be closed indefinitely.

If he catnapped in between and spent too long staring at Gabe's contact in his phone, that was no one's business but his. The only witnesses were the Batman and accompanying Iron Man figurine Ben had left ("To make you feel better") and Sam was sure they wouldn't snitch.

Gabe's aura eventually began to fade, much to Sam's displeasure, leaving him feeling antsy. By five o'clock, he decided that Lisa's bedrest orders were fulfilled as a typical workday ran between 9-5 (the reasoning was flimsy at best, but satisfactory enough in Sam's mind) and that it was time that he dragged Gabe away from the case through the surefire method of food. It wasn't clingy if he applied the 9-5 logic to Gabe, and that wasn't as flimsy as his previous usage since he was pretty sure Gabe had gotten a timecard to go along with that gun he carried around.

Sam did his best not to reflect on the near breakdown he'd had in the tub the night before as he showered. Now that he thought about it, that was the second time he'd had a less than friendly experience in the tub and he didn't want to add a third to it.

Leaving the bathroom with one last wary gaze, Sam channeled his restless energy by pacing the apartment as he dialed Gabe. Kevin hadn't come home all day (a phenomenon Sam was no longer surprised by) so he had free reign to walk around and let his body go on autopilot as many people did when they became invested in a phone call.

He sat on the counter as he listened to Gabe complain about the FBI and flopped onto the couch and frowned at Gabe's admission that he'd lost track of time. Gabe sounded weary from his day, but still had the energy to crack jokes, which helped to ease Sam's worries. That, and the promise of a proper dinner.

With excitement coursing through his veins, Sam ran back to his closet and sunk into a fierce, but ultimately quick internal debate as he gazed within.

The black leather jacket hadn't been worn since he'd broken up with Jess, but Sam hardly gave that era of his life more thought beyond the cursory observation. Once he fixated on what Gabe would think when he saw him in it, it was easy to blow past any reservations and pull it out.

Sam shrugged it on, tense for just a second before exhaling in relief. The weight was a comfort across his shoulders instead of the burden it'd turned into towards the end with Jess, and that made all the difference.

…

Outside, the sky was cloudless, bright with city lights and a few faint twinkles Sam could delude himself into believing were visible stars. He walked for much of the way, only riding the subway for the last leg of the journey. After holing up in his apartment all day, the onslaught of people and their accompanying auras threatened to start a spiking headache Sam didn't want to affect dinner. Everyone was racing to get back home before it got any later, and as such, it was truly packed underground.

When Sam emerged on the edge of downtown, the streets weren't nearly as full as they were on typical Friday nights. There were still some people about, but for Lawrence, it was nigh on empty. The lack of public activity had been in the making for a while, but it was depressing to see that not even the beginning of the weekend could defeat people's fears.

He spotted Gabe's car parked a bit down the street from the small Italian place they'd settled on. Sam hurried his pace, passing by dusky and dim auras dampened by fear to reach the potent gold one he could see waiting behind the windowfront.

Gabe really has no business having an aura that strong.

"I hope I haven't kept you waiting for long-oof!"

Sam hadn't expected the hug tackle, but he returned it with vigor, enjoying the way he could tuck his chin on the crown of Gabe's head and breath in his scent.

"Not too long," Gabe mumbled into his chest before pulling back and planting a lightning-fast peck on his cheek. "You look great. Did you sleep the day away?"

"Sort of," Sam said evasively as they sat down. "But you look like you have things to tell me, and I know my day was much more boring than yours, so let it out."

That was all the permission he needed. They nibbled on bread (or rather, Sam did; Gabe was too busy talking to eat) as Gabe expounded the horrors of the day: interagency cooperation and paperwork. There was a lot of drama and pettiness and paperwork that went on behind the scenes, and Gabe wasn't a fan of "the boring slog while waiting for some sort of epiphany."

The actual crime scene was largely skimmed over. Both of them already knew of it, and Gabe only spoke about it once in connection to the sewer theory they'd been developing.

"There's a manhole in the alley behind the building," Gabe said, slowing down a bit to take a long sip of a beer he'd ordered. It was odd seeing him drink in public instead of going for some sugary fruit punch, but after a long day of work, Sam figured he needed it. "I checked before leaving, but then a million things hit me at once after I left, and it didn't occur to me to have someone test it until I was back at the station. So I had to persuade everyone to go back with some luminol, which was annoying as fuck. Bela was giving me hell about it and the FBI was skeptical, but I made them all look like fools when that damned thing came back positive for blood."

"So that confirms it," Sam said triumphantly, glad that one of his visions had led to a useful real-life development before a sudden thought occurred to him. "Wait. This means he's like an unofficial fifth member of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles."

Gabe began to choke on his beer, and Sam had to take it from him as he began to wheeze with laughter. Of course, their waiter chose to come around at this time and looked very confused as Sam began to list of possible Renaissance artist names they could christen The Crucifier thanks to the power of Google.

"I can't believe that didn't occur to me earlier," Sam lamented after they'd gotten themselves together enough to put their order in with the poor waiter. "I blame my nephew. He's got my head filled with Marvel and DC and trying to find books both age-appropriate for a 4-year old and interesting enough to satisfy him."

"Oh? Do tell, Sam. Is Ben's genius blossoming?"

"In a nutshell," Sam sighed before explaining what had gone down that morning.

Gabe laughed at Lisa and Dean's reaction to them getting together ("I knew I had forgotten something!") and then listened to the descriptions of the intelligence that couldn't be contained by preschool.

"Does it have anything to do with, you know, the Winchester thing?" he asked, waving his hand in a complex manner to supplement the vagueness of his words.

"I don't think so, but maybe? It's hard to say because he's so young. He doesn't see-stuff-like I do, but he must sense something. He has this way of uncannily picking up on what people are thinking."

"A telepath!" Gabe exclaimed immediately, face lighting up at the idea.

Sam blanched at the idea of Ben reading any of their minds.

"No, I don't think so. Ben's never said anything word for word, and he's honest in that way kids are. He told me about the-dreams-so he would've told me about being able to read minds."

"Hmmm. So maybe it's a less specific type of telepathy. Like he can get people's general impressions? And then uses his natural intelligence to fill in the blanks. It probably comes so naturally to him that he doesn't even know it's something not everyone can do," Gabe posited, not willing to let go of the telepath idea.

"Maybe. It'd explain why he can read big books but can't tie his shoes. Remembering the meanings of words doesn't require kinetic muscle memory," Sam mused, disgruntled at the fact that there was perhaps some merit to Gabe's outlandish theory that Ben was some kind of telepath. The term conjured up images of X-men and people messing around with other's minds Harry Potter style, not his precious nephew grabbing someone's hand and peering at them with dark eyes that knew just a bit too much.

"But you have a point. He probably doesn't even know," Sam sighed, rubbing his fingers over his temple. "I didn't know not everyone could see auras until I was…five? I asked Dean if my aura was green like this, and he was very confused."

"Ben's almost five, isn't he?"

"Yeah, in April," Sam said, smiling at the thought before humming. "Maybe by then, it'll become more apparent."

"You'll just have to ask him like you did with the dreams. Otherwise, Ben will get very confused like you did when you were a kid," Gabe declared, draining the last of his beer, "I'm sure he'd tell his favorite uncle."

"I'm his only uncle."

Conversation veered into the mundane when their food arrived, or at least, as mundane as conversation could be between them when their lives were defined by more incredulous events and occurrences than the average person. Sam gave himself permission to whine only a little about his stupid homework, and Gabe talked about how many times he'd visited each state. Much to Sam's embarrassment, it appeared as if his groggy, tired side had expressed extreme interest in his travels the other day.

Of course, that day had been the day Bela and her reluctant posse had dropped by, so it was no surprise that in the end, they swung back to talk about the case. This didn't stop Sam from counting dinner as a successful endeavor in relaxing normalcy; their plates were mostly clean, and Gabe looked relaxed in a way he hadn't all week.

"…so of course I had to tell Bela off because I'm not even getting paid to work the case right now and she still had the nerve to try and turn the social tide on me…"

Distracted by Gabe's aura (which was nothing new) and his pretty eyes (also not new) and the sound of his voice (a newer development), it took Sam a moment to register what Gabe was actually saying, and when he did, it didn't make him happy.

"You're not getting paid?" he asked incredulously, snapping out of the pleasant fog his mind had descended into by watching the way the gold curled around Gabe's arms and shoulders.

Gabe stopped speaking abruptly before wincing. His aura revealed in shades of pastel blue and chalky purples that while he hadn't wanted to let it slip, he'd been resigned to speaking of it one way or another.

Because he knows trying to hide it from me would be pointless.

"I mean, technically I'll be getting paid soon, but it's currently stuck in the system?"

"Gabe."

His tone was somewhere between the one he used when Ben pitched one of his rare fits of pique and the tone he used when someone hadn't been listening to him for a long time and he was tired of it. The mix halted Gabe's meager attempts at distraction and encouraged him to quickly explain his hourly contract and the woes of paperwork and that he would be paid, but right now he wasn't exactly getting paid.

"This is unacceptable," Sam stated firmly once Gabe wrapped up explaining the dilemma.

On the outside, he was doing his best to project calmness, but on the inside, Sam was boiling over with righteous indignation at the whole situation. How dare they beg for Gabe to come back and help them and then not pay him?

Gabe must've seen past the thin veneer of tranquility on his face because he darted his hands out to grasp his with a placating smile and words thick with practiced, charming calm.

"Look, it's not that big of a deal. I've been wrapping up my assistance on some smaller cases, so it's not like I'm hurting financially. And since the whole bullpen now knows I'm not being paid, I'm sure my paperwork is now being expedited post-haste before the fuss gets too big."

Logically, Sam knew that Gabe was speaking sense, but this was Gabe. He wasn't going to stand by and let him be screwed over by the LPD (which he was feeling a renewed bitterness towards), not even if it was temporary.

Maybe they'd only been officially dating for a day, but Sam knew Gabe, and knowing someone in the way he knew Gabe meant that he was on the list of people to take care of. He'd earned that spot long ago, but it was only now that Sam truly grasped the means he would resort to for Gabe.

He couldn't verbalize any of this to Gabe. It'd just upset the P.I, who would only proclaim for the thousandth time that he could take care of himself and that Sam didn't need to do anything for him. So, Sam would say nothing on the subject for now, but he knew deep down that Gabe had already won him over in the ways that mattered: loyalty and, dare he say it, devotion intense enough that he'd resort to the bloodier methods he knew if it meant keeping Gabe safe.

Dean's going to be so mad when he figures out I'm completely whipped for Gabe.

"I knew you'd be upset about it," Gabe sighed when Sam didn't relax under his admittedly comforting touch.

"Yeah, because they're not paying you!" Sam exploded, just barely managing to keep his voice down to an acceptable degree since they were still in the restaurant. He couldn't say what he wanted to (that he'd do anything he asked of him) so he channeled his aggression into the topic at hand he could speak on.

"Not for long! There's no need to go on a crusade," Gabe rushed to say, his face a touch nervous.

"Highly doubtful," Sam muttered, grasping Gabe's hands tightly as he tried to rein it in. The P.I had only seen him truly upset a handful of times, and Sam knew he could be forceful. "You put up with a lot of shit you shouldn't have to."

"Perhaps," Gabe said with a half-shrug that showed how used to it all he was.

He reached out a hand to grasp Sam's chin, tilting it just enough that he felt compelled to look Gabe in the eye.

"But it's alright. It's not the worst thing I've endured, and right now I'd much rather focus on you."

Sam harrumphed as Gabe pecked his cheek. It wasn't enough to fully satisfy him, but he'd back off. If this was what Gabe wanted of him, then Sam could calm down.

For now.

They split a desert, forks clanking together in an immature fight that Gabe started no matter how much he tried to argue that he hadn't. It was childish, but as Sam stole a forkful of chocolate tiramisu, he couldn't bring himself to care.

"I've got lots of sweets at my place anyway, so I can concede on this particular battlefield," Gabe said, sweeping his arm in a mock-gracious motion that involved his fork coming perilously close to Sam's eyes.

"Oh, we're going back there?" Sam asked innocently, hiding the thrill the idea sent through him. It wasn't as if it'd be his first time there, but it would be different now.

"If you want," Gabe replied, his level-headed exterior largely matched by his aura with the exception of a blue-green blur of nervousness. "I'd say we should go to a bar to round the night off, but you're too young. And what with the teensy weensy serial killer problem Lawrence has going on, we can't do much else."

"Ah yes, our nemesis, Fra Angelico," Sam said gravely. It was the last Renaissance-era name they'd been discussing before they ordered dinner and the freshest in his mind.

"That wily old rascal Fra," Gabe replied just as seriously before dissolving into a fit of giggles so hard that his eyes crinkled.

Sam couldn't resist joining in, and that's how the waiter found them upon returning to give them the check: two mostly grown men wheezing over an empty dessert plate and the name Fra.

"We might just need therapy," Gabe sighed after collecting himself long enough to take care of the bill. Sam would've argued with him about it, but between his resolute aura and the look in his eye, he knew Gabe wouldn't budge.

"Probably. My school guidance counselor sure thought so," Sam said, frowning at the memory of the nosy woman that had been convinced Dean was an immoral excuse for a brother, yet had remained comfortably blind to the real problematic Winchester wasting away in the family house.

"Mine too," Gabe admitted before tilting his head, "And I went to several schools."

They exchanged another look before simultaneously rushing out of the restaurant and preventing the establishment from enduring another round of laughter on their part.

"It's cold out here," Gabe gasped between laughs, latching himself onto Sam's side in the blink of an eye.

Not that Sam minded; in fact, he'd been hoping something similar might happen. Sam used to have no problem with making advances, but his romantic rustiness led him to overthink things a bit when it came to Gabe. It didn't help that he really, really didn't want to mess this up either.

"It's not so bad," Sam said casually, draping his arm over Gabe's shoulders and tugging him closer. The gold rush of his aura was instant, warming his entire arm and running down his shoulder in welcome waves of color.

"To you maybe," Gabe grumbled, snaking his arm around his waist, "Must be nice to-"

Sam's phone began to buzz insistently in his back pocket, distracting Gabe from finishing his thought.

"I'm not getting it," Sam said immediately (curse whoever was interrupting them now of all times!), squeezing Gabe pointedly.

"It could be important," Gabe pointed out, and before Sam could blink the P.I had whipped it out of his pocket and eyed the caller ID.

"Oh, it's Kevin!" Gabe said, smiling before answering. "Woohoo! This is Gabriel Milton, P.I and consultant speaking to inform you that you're currently interrupting a very successful first date in progress."

"Gabriel," Sam hissed, shocked and embarrassed at the sheer gall in the P.I's voice. He hadn't had nearly enough beer to be this bold.

The volume rose on the other end of the call; not in anger, but as if multiple people were talking to each other. Gabe's mischievous expression faded into something more serious as he listened, leaving it up to Sam to guide them towards the Beetle.

"Uh-huh. Uh-huh."

Sam didn't like the sound of Gabe's voice, or the turn his aura was taking. Luckily, the street was empty enough that Sam could sigh dramatically and not feel too embarrassed by the moroseness beginning to seep into his mood.

Well, it was good while it lasted.

And that was the real kicker. Sam had naively hoped that perhaps life would pause long enough for them to have the rest of the night to themselves without any interruptions because the date had been good. He didn't think he'd let himself get his hopes this high since…well, since he'd originally met Gabe and hoped that they'd still have something once the case was over with.

Sam wasn't sure if his mild sexuality crisis or the obtuseness he'd developed towards romantic overtures due to Jess had blinded him so thoroughly was more responsible when it came to how he'd initially perceived Gabe. He felt like a moron of the highest degree that he'd taken this long to get it together; only someone really stupid could've made all the excuses he'd made, but Sam supposed that was why the hindsight saying existed.

Considering how easily I got over the fact I can also be into guys, I only have the latter to blame. Maybe Lisa had a point when she said Jess messed me up more than I'd let on.

"On our way," Gabe said before hanging up and pinning him with a look.

Sam studied Gabe for a brief moment before exhaling noisily. That sort of look meant that while no one was grievously injured or dying, they were still going to rush off to their next location with a haste that would leave him clutching his seatbelt.

"At least let me fold up my legs properly before you go zipping through evening traffic," Sam grumbled, already flashing ahead to a dizzying drive and a cacophony of angry honking in their wake.

Gabe's face shifted to brief confusion before dissolving into a smile bright enough to light the near-empty street they stood in. It caught Sam off guard because he didn't think what he'd said was enough to warrant having the sun smile at him

"I like it when you do that," Gabe beamed, tugging him down into a bruising kiss that left Sam short-circuiting on the sidewalk.

"Do what?" he asked breathlessly, inhaling Gabe's scent and aura. It was like standing in sunlight, and his warmth and spice was a comfort in the too-quiet city that surrounded them.

"Stay two steps ahead without me even having to say anything. It makes my mad scientist brain feel validated."

Sam barked out a laugh before kissing his forehead, a startling amount of fondness welling up in his chest. He'd only known Gabe a few weeks, but life before him was already a distant, foggy memory Sam couldn't dreg up without difficulty and a large lack of enthusiasm.

"Is validation sort of kink I should be made aware of?" he teased as he nudged Gabe towards the Beetle.

"Who doesn't like a little bit of praise?" Gabe retorted, quick on the uptake with a cheeky wink that Sam rolled his eyes at.

"Where are we dashing off to tonight to rescue Kevin?" he asked once they were pulling away from the curb. With his legs tucked in and the glove compartment opened so he could help himself to some candy, Sam tried to convince himself that he would survive the drive.

Gabe took a turn at a velocity his high school physics textbook would argue was impossible on the earthly plane, shattering Sam's half-hearted attempts at tricking his brain into believing a drive with Gabe could be normal.

Note to self: teach Gabe how to drive without making GTA look like a joke in comparison.

"Actually, Kevin doesn't need rescuing this time around. He rightfully assumed that you were still conducting your liaison with me, so there's a whole little group of college-aged kiddos gathered at your place," Gabe replied, somehow unaffected by the insane turn they'd just made.

"Liaison makes us sound like we're spies or something," Sam said, unwrapping a chocolate and quickly chewing it before another turn could lodge it down his throat. Dean would never let him live it down if he died by errant mini Kit Kat.

"Kevin's word, not mine," Gabe shrugged, "Charlie's there along with Meg, and they think that with the current combined brainpower assembled at your place plus us, we can come up with a name for The Crucifier."

They'd used so many names for the killer that it took Sam a moment to register the significance behind Gabe's words. They weren't talking about some silly nickname like Fra Angelico, Unofficial Fifth Member of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, or FBI lingo like "unsub" or even awful nicknames journalists come up with like The Crucifier.

A name other than Death.

Sam hoped his shiver went unnoticed as he asked, "A name? Like a real name, surname and all?"

Gabe nodded, practically bouncing out of his seat. His riotous aura swirled with an array of excited, swirling colors, at odds with the strained composure of his face.

"I know it's hard to believe, but I think they're onto something. They certainly sounded like it over the phone."

"The kids," Sam muttered, slouching down in his seat (as much as he could with his gargantuan stature) and crossly opening another Kit Kat. "I told them to leave it to the authority."

"Have you looked in a mirror lately?"

Gabe yelped as Sam hurled a piece of candy at him, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender that he quickly ended when Sam yelled at him to keep his hands on the wheel you're the diver for God's sake!

"I'm just saying, you're what, a year or two older than them? Charlie and Meg are older than you for sure," Gabe said, rubbing his cheek and shooting him a mild affronted look. "They have just as much right to want to help as you do, even if it is highly unprofessional of me to resort to this."

"That's operating under the assumption that it's only just a year or two that separates me from them," Sam replied sourly, leaning his head against the window and looking out at the city. The emptiness was like a gaping void, making itself aware with every darkened window and unchallenged illegal lane change Gabe made.

It was one thing when it had just been him and Gabe. Sam had grown a bit more nervous when Dean had been roped in and Cas had been drawn in deeper, but that was largely manageable. But now The Crucifier was pressing in on everyone, forcing them into flight or fight.

Flight into the subways, seeking the warm press of strangers in a fearful herd, or fight in the form of indignant college students reaching out through mutual of mutual and seeking out their own answers. Sam would've been impressed at the tenacity his friends were showing if the stakes weren't so damn high.

He'd been trained for situations like this, but all the others had was each other, a Winchester as a link to the madness, and their own limited personal experiences to keep them going.

"Hey."

Sam glanced down at the hand grasping his thigh before following it up to Gabe, who was looking at him sidelong with gold eyes made luminous by the flashing strips of streetlights.

"You're not responsible for them, Sam," Gabe said, somehow cutting through all of his worries with a few well-placed words. "They're their own people, making their own choices. Just like you did when I asked you at the Roadhouse if you wanted a ride to school, only to have you lead me all the way to Castiel I'm-the-sole-Enochian-expert-in-Lawrence Novak."

A laugh bubbled out of Sam before he could help it, and Gabe smiled before squeezing his thigh.

"The choices have been made here Sam, and they're beyond your control. You just go to go with it now."

"I suppose so," Sam acquiesced before looking up at the road and bolting upright, "Gabe, the car -!"

"Sonofa-motherfu-agh!" Gabe aborted swearing in his panic as he swerved out of the way, grip still iron tight on his leg. "Why was that dude going so slow anyway-ouch!"

"That's for not looking at the road," Sam tsked, crossing his arms as the butterscotch bounced off his ear and spiraled off behind them.

"But you're so pretty Sam-ow, stop throwing my own candy at me!"

"Eyes on the road!"

Squabbling predictably broke out shortly afterward, as letting one of Gabe's driving mishaps go unaddressed was simply not done. But since Gabe managed to drive reasonably with his hand unmoved from his leg, Sam didn't let it get too heated even if he should've. Perhaps Gabe drove better when he was physically aware he had a passenger that wanted to survive the drive.

And since Sam had let his hand drift to curl around Gabe's leg, Gabe didn't seem to put too much heart in the arguing either. Clutching the seatbelt got tedious, and Gabe's thigh didn't cut into his palm nearly as much when Sam gripped it as the seatbelt had.

Neither of them mentioned the touch, choosing to wax on about anything but the location of their respective hands. Their silent acceptance was acknowledgment enough in the face of the impending development in the case.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

The boys deserved a date before they get back into the fray of things. Case developments are up ahead for them, and no one's going to get rest for a while! There's a serial killer to catch after all.

It's been a long June for me so far, and writing hasn't come as easy as I wanted it to, but hopefully July will be better.