Chapter 26: Darkest Before Dawn
Gabe caught sight of a mini van's headlights at the end of Bobby's street, turning the corner just as he came to an abrupt stop by the curb. Kevin and Adam, gone off to somewhere that was hopefully safe. After the events of the night, Gabe wasn't sure if such a place even existed in Lawrence, but he sincerely hoped the pair made it before the LPD flooded the streets.
He barely took in the house-only registering that it was surprisingly big and private in his haste to reach the porch. The light was on, revealing a sturdy door that Gabe didn't even have to knock on before it was pulled open.
Books greeted him, stacked on either side of the foyer and extending down further into the house. The sheer amount jarred him so completely from his worried thoughts that he froze on the threshold, agog at the shelves and stacks that he could see just from the door.
And I thought Cas was a book worm, he thought incredulously, wondering for half a second if he'd somehow gotten the address wrong.
Then he looked down to see that the door had been opened by a teary Ben, and Gabe knew he'd gotten the place right.
"I'm supposed to be asleep, but everyone's upstairs and I heard you knockin' and I knew it ok to open the door cause Daddy said only friends know where Unca Bobby lives."
Ben said all this in one exhale before clutching the teddy bear his arms up to his chin and bursting into sobs.
"Shit," Gabe said, shutting the door with his foot before realizing that he'd sworn in front of Sam's nephew, and wasn't that just the cherry on top of the whole night?
Not that Gabe thought it mattered. Ben didn't look as if he'd heard through his distress, and judging from the thumps and muffled voices upstairs, everyone else in the house was preoccupied.
"Ok," Gabe said (even though it wasn't ok at all), crouching in front of Ben and frantically searching his mind for some sort of kernel of advice. His ability with children was largely limited to humoring ones in good moods, and of the upset ones he'd encountered in his work, he'd never been the one to have to comfort them.
But watching Ben cry his little heart out sent pangs through Gabe's, and suddenly, his panic diminished. After all, he'd been Ben once upon a time, and before he'd decided to chug through life with a smirk and snake charm tricks, he'd cried more times than he could count.
"I know you're scared. But I think the worst is over tonight," Gabe said, shrugging his jacket off and using the sleeves of his work shirt to mop some of the tears away. "Everyone's going to pull through, and soon your mom will be here to help."
Mentioning Lisa helped abate the tears, but Ben's breath remained wobbly and hitched. He edged closer to Gabe, leaning in with a scrunched-up face and an obvious plea in his body language.
He'd never understood the desire to have kids, but Gabe had to admit something was soothing about hugging one. It must've been the night getting to him, or the fact that Ben was the cream of the crop.
"Better?" Gabe asked when Ben seemed just about done hugging. He wasn't accustomed to someone feeling so small in his arms.
Ben nodded, but instead of pulling away from him as he expected, he looped his arms around his shoulders and held on.
Gabe paused before mentally shrugging and picking Ben up. He couldn't fathom how Ben found him reassuring enough for this, but he knew that it would tear Sam to pieces if he saw Ben like this. It killed him not to run upstairs to see what state Sam was in, but Gabe couldn't leave Ben like this, or worse, bring him up with him and make it all worse.
He unconsciously followed the subtle direction the book stacks designed, stepping into a living room with an unlit fireplace and yet more books. A particularly loud thump from upstairs made both of them look towards the stairs that forced a gap into the otherwise floor-to-ceiling array of books.
"Ignore that," Gabe soothed when Ben's tears silently began anew, "Why don't you tell me where the kitchen is? You know Bobby's house better than me."
He asked mostly for Ben's benefit, hoping that giving directions would distract him, and it did a little. Gabe walked out of the living room and back to the foyer, this time following the hall straight ahead until he hit the kitchen in the back of the house.
"I never got the book vibe from Bobby," Gabe mused aloud, keeping his voice soft for Ben's sake. Unsurprisingly, there were books stacked on the small table in the corner, but the counters were relatively clear. An open door that led down to a basement and an old dog snuffling in a doze beneath the table supplied the sequence of events that had led Ben to the front door. Sneaking out of bed to pet the dog seemed like a very Ben thing to do.
"Daddy says he's loved books forever," Ben mumbled, lifting his head to watch as Gabe filled a glass with water.
"Drink up. You've got to replace those tears, or else you'll shrivel up like a raisin," he said, setting Ben down at the table and pulling out the other chair. He had to move the books sitting on top of it just to sit.
Hopefully, Bobby won't mind.
Ben drank dutifully, a faint smile flickering on his face. His eyes said he was too smart for Gabe's logic, and Gabe distantly recalled through the haze of exhaustion now eating at his mind that Ben could pick up on people's thoughts.
"His name is Rumsfeld," Ben said, nodding at the slumbering dog. "He's the worst guard dog ever. But he's nice when he doesn't fart."
"Duly noted," Gabe said with an overly wary gaze down Rumsfeld.
Ben clutched the teddy bear closer to his chest, the motion putting a monogram at the bottom of one of its feet into view for the first time. The blue thread read "S.W" and matched the tattered ribbon around the bear's neck.
Gabe gripped the edge of the table with white-knuckled hands. No wonder the teddy bear looked like it'd been to the ends of the earth and back. Had Mary done that for her son?
"I want to go upstairs, but I'm too scared," Ben admitted, fingering the frayed ribbon with downcast eyes. "But you want to go up too."
"It can wait," Gabe replied immediately, not even considering bringing Ben upstairs when the child had such reservations. It wouldn't be appropriate anyway depending on Dean and Sam's states. Ben was used to seeing both of them sporting the typical signs of fights due to their lifestyles, but this scale of injury was different.
Thinking of Sam being hurt in any way drove Gabe to his feet. He couldn't dwell on it; he'd been panicked enough on the drive over, and right now he needed to clear his head.
"How do you feel about hot chocolate?" he asked, hands dancing across the kitchen counters.
"Momma wouldn't want me to have it this late," Ben replied, tilting his head. "But I think I deserve it."
"That's the spirit," Gabe winked, exchanging mischievous grins with the now much more alert boy. It was easy being the calm one when he had to be calm for someone else.
He'd just got a pot of coffee started (Bobby had some truly impressive coffee grounds) and set a steaming mug of hot chocolate down in front of Ben when someone descended the stairs. Rumsfeld lifted his head a little, thumping his tail, but otherwise didn't move.
"Mr. Cas!" Ben exclaimed, smiling at the haggard man that burst into the archway.
"Ben. What're you doing out of bed?" Cas asked, half-smiling before his eyes drifted to Gabe. Then the smile fell, replaced by tired stoicism. "Gabriel. You came faster than anticipated."
"Like I'm going to go the speed limit when Sam's involved," Gabe snorted, but the tension was too great in the room for the joke to alleviate.
"Go. I'll take care of Ben," Cas said. The hand he rested on his shoulder was a bit awkward, but Gabe recognized the attempt for what it was.
Gabe didn't need further encouragement. He ruffled Ben's hair as he walked out, only hesitating briefly at the base of the stairs on his way upstairs.
…
Sam slept fitfully in what looked like an old boyhood room. Someone had stripped him down to his underwear and T-shirt, revealing feverish sweat and patches of dirt-caked skin. A low stream of nonsense mumbles filled the room, rising and falling with every shake of Sam's head and twitch of his hands.
"What the hell happened, Sammy?" Gabe whispered, kneeling by the bed too small for Sam and tentatively grasping his hand. Finger imprints marred Sam's face, shaped as if someone had grabbed his chin. The surge of fury at the sight wasn't unexpected, but its intensity was hard to reign in.
Gabe knew he'd promised Sam that he'd catch Yellow Eyes, but he might just kill him instead.
Sam's frown eased a bit. Gabe knew he was deluding himself into thinking Sam could sense his presence (this sleep couldn't be natural at all) but he stayed where he was anyway. The discomfort of the hardwood floor and the desire for sleep were unimportant in comparison.
He remained there, stewing in a mix of anger and worry until someone knocked on the door frame. Gabe turned to see Cas standing in the doorway, wringing his hands in a motion so uncharacteristic that he immediately stood.
"Dean said you know Enochian," Cas began, eyes flicking to the corner of the room and staying there. "As in…know it."
"I do," Gabe confessed, carefully setting Sam's hand down before focusing on Cas. "And…you?"
Dean hadn't said so outright, but there were too many little pieces that Gabe's investigative mind couldn't ignore. How was Castiel Novak an Enochian expert at such a young age, and how could he have recognized that Gabe knew it with such little to go off of?
"I do," Cas echoed, averted gaze returning to his face. His eyes were filled with a remarkable amount of clarity, and something like relief. "Do you know if…?"
"We're not the only ones," Gabe assured, catching Cas' drift. "But I only know of one other besides you. He's coming to town to save our sorry asses."
That startled a laugh out of Cas and encouraged him to step inside.
"I can do something for his face," he explained, chewing his chapped lip, "but I wanted to wait until you got here, as proof for you. Dean knows, but I know you wouldn't take his word."
He outstretched his pointer and middle finger, resting in on Sam's forehead. As soon as he made contact, a grimace spread across his face, but Cas didn't move.
Gabe watched in wonder as the bruises seemingly vanished. Cas didn't say a single word, but Gabe could feel a bright spark reminiscent of static electricity that prickled his shoulders. Beneath its shade, the lamp's brightness flared momentarily before dimming.
"You didn't say a command," Gabe remarked, leaning in with wide eyes to make sure the bruises were gone.
"I used to have to, but I've done this so many times that it's an ingrained habit," Cas shrugged, stepping back stiffly with the grimace still on his face. "His mind is a mess."
Gabe looked up at his sharply, and Cas hastened to explain.
"It's just his dreams. Or rather, nightmares. I don't know of what exactly," Cas said, gesturing helplessly at Sam. "I just know he's having them. It's like how I knew he was having a vision in Dean's apartment and not a simple migraine."
"It's not a good sleep, is it?" Gabe asked, brushing his fingers over Sam's cheek. The only thing that marred it now was dirt.
"No. Someone did this to him. I couldn't cure the fever," Cas sighed, running a hand through his perpetually messy hair. "Enochian can't do this, can it?"
"I'm not sure. Maybe Balthazar can shed some light when he shows up," Gabe mused. He wasn't sure how close Balthazar was, but something told him he'd be in town soon enough to help Sam.
"You sound like you don't know much about Enochian," Gabe stated, hung up on Cas' phrasing of the question.
"I haven't done much besides study it linguistically. If specialties exist, mine would be healing," Cas shrugged, a bit self-deprecating as he continued. "I've been too fearful to do anything blatant. The one time I did, men in suits showed up in town."
Gabe perked up. "You too, huh? What did you do?"
"I…may or may not have brought a horse back to life."
Gabe stared at Cas, trying to process his words. Cas gazed back placidly as if he'd just given the weather forecast for the next ten days.
"Could you elaborate?" Gabe prompted with a strained voice. And to think he'd thought conjuring the Beetle was the greatest feat possible.
"Well, technically the horse wasn't dead. It was on the brink of death? It's hard to say, but it'd been very sick," Cas clarified, "My neighbors ran a small farm, and it was the horse they let me ride sometimes, so I was understandably attached. I healed it to the point where the whole town was abuzz at the sudden revival of the horse. That's when the men came. Do you know who they are?"
Gabe shook his head. "Just that they're to be avoided. Balthazar offered to tell me what he knew of them, but when we met, I was young and dumb. I figured if I outran them and didn't use Enochian, that'd be the end of it."
"You stopped using Enochian?" Cas asked in disbelief.
"It worked," he replied blasely, frowning at Sam's face. "Can you believe I've used it more this week than I have in years? Now it's just a question of who gets here first: the cavalry or the suits."
"For some reason, that feels like the least of our concerns."
Sam's mumbling increased in pitch, matching the increased distortion of his face. Cas sprung into motion, moving faster than Gabe thought possible right before Sam screamed.
The shrill sound couldn't have cut Gabe deeper. It was short-lived-a fact Gabe was deeply grateful for-but there was no denying that Sam was scared.
"Help me hold him down. The last time he did this he nearly knocked someone out," Cas growled, throwing his body weight onto Sam's kicking legs.
Gabe obeyed without hesitation, grasping Sam's shoulders as he tried to buck them off. His skin burned beneath Gabe's hands, contrasting the shivers wracking Sam's frame. Full sentences were audible now, but they made little sense.
"Where's the exit? I can't see you, but I know you're there," Sam said, eyes rolling beneath his fluttering eyelids and the pitch of his voice dipping and falling. "The corner of Kingsford and Granby! Five down, two across…. Jefferson and 2nd. You're everywhere, aren't you…"
"Sam, can you hear me?" Gabe asked, fighting futilely to hold Sam still. He was way too big for him to hold down; it was a wonder they'd even gotten him upstairs.
However, his voice must've managed to get through in some form. Sam calmed, limbs ceasing their violent struggle. Cas flopped anticlimactically down onto Sam's stilled legs with a muffled oof, leaving Gabe to support Sam's upper body.
"It's alright Sam. It's just a bad dream," Gabe whispered, reassuring Sam and hoping his heart wouldn't burst out of his ribcage from the sheer stress of it all. He didn't think he could handle another outburst like that.
Thundering footsteps started from down the hall, heavy enough that Gabe already knew that a certain someone was probably about to burst in.
"What's going on?"
Of course, Gabe thought resignedly at Dean's tone. Sam was never going to squirm out from Dean's protective thumb after tonight, and the worst part was he couldn't blame Dean.
"Sam had another fit," Cas explained, scrambling off Sam's legs and helping Gabe ease him back down. "I thought I told you to stay put."
Dean made a noncommittal noise, heedless of the dried blood staining his arm down to his wrist as he rushed to Sam's side. Lisa wasn't far behind, but instead of following Dean, slowed to pull Gabe back.
"You look like hell," she said, voice lowered to a confidante's tone as she searched his face. Her blue scrubs peeked out from beneath her long coat. "I'm only saying this because Sam would want you to rest."
"After you've looked him over," Gabe said, gesturing helplessly at the bed. "He's got a high fever. That you can help with, but I don't know about the rest."
Lisa's dark eyes revealed none of her thoughts. She only nodded and patted her work bag, a wan smile flitting across her face.
"I'll do what I can. I'm afraid I'll have to ask one more hardship from you tonight."
Gabe tilted his head to indicate he was listening. Lisa unzipped a side pocket and handed him a plastic bag that was the medical equivalent of an evidence bag.
"The LPD sent over suspects they had in custody to my hospital, citing drug overdoses. Their symptoms match those of a few people that have been coming into the E.R. All of them were known addicts of some sort, but no one recognized the stuff they were taking," she explained, her no-nonsense attitude a refreshing breath of air. "The E.R is busy, so that's all I thought to grab when I realized something was up. You know what it is, don't you?"
"Unfortunately," Gabe sighed, studying the single glove stained with a sticky black substance. Demon blood couldn't be mistaken for much else. "Help Sam. I'll…"
"Leave with Cas and Dean," she said firmly, looking back at the two men and addressing them. "You guys look like hell too and don't think I haven't noticed that arm, Dean. I expect the full story when I'm done looking over Sam. Get that blood cleaned up before you see our son."
Lisa couldn't have been more clear or frostier. They filed out without another word, all reluctant for different reasons but unwilling to go against the ice queen that had just blown in on a northern wind.
"She scares me," Cas said unabashedly after the door slammed shut in their faces.
"Scarier than the devil when she gets going," Dean shuddered, looking down at his arm. "At least it was only a graze. Put a hole in my goddamn jacket though."
"Tragic," Gabe quipped, wrinkling his nose at the semi-cleaned scrape. The immediate area had been wiped down, revealing a furrow in Dean's bicep about two inches long. Of all the bullet wounds he'd seen in his line of work, it was easily the least life-threatening.
"Took long enough for her to kick you idjits out."
They whirled around like a guilty group of children caught red-handed at the gruff words spoken from the end of the hall. Bobby's frown deepened when they hemmed and hawed, trucker's cap firmly fixed over his head and a first aid kit thumping against his thigh idly from his swinging arm.
"Dean, get over here before I give you a scrape to match," Bobby ordered, "And you, Novak. Learn how it's done from Lisa. That's the only way you're gonna get through this boy's thick skull."
Gabe stifled a laugh as Dean hustled over to Bobby with a cowed "yessir" while Cas stared at the man with a deer in headlights expression. Bobby was just as crotchety as he'd been handling his car, and the lack of personality deviance in the situation strangely reassured him.
They were herded like errant sheep into the living room. Cas gently shoved Dean onto the couch, taking the first aid kit from Bobby with determination.
"How did you find Sam?" Gabe asked, waiting until Dean was pinned to the couch before asking.
"I chased the guy we heard once we split up. Young, wearing a weird cape hood deal, and spoke in convoluted sentences," Dean started, ripping open an antiseptic wipe packet with his teeth before passing it to Cas. "Wasn't pleased to see me. He started with a full-on sword of all things, but when we got into hand to hand he whipped the gun out. The sound got me more than the shot. By the time I got my brain back in my ears, he was gone."
"At least the sword conjecture has been proven?" Cas suggested optimistically, cleaning Dean's arm tenderly.
"I retraced my steps, following my, er, gut," Dean said with a glance at Bobby, who'd settled into an armchair and didn't look as if he'd get up anytime soon. "About three blocks from campus was where I found Sammy, propped up against a tree. There's no way he could've gotten there on his own."
Dean didn't seem aware of the significance of the location, but Gabe knew that Yellow Eyes had been intentional. For whatever reason, he'd spared Sam, and left him by a tree just like his mother had for good measure.
But why leave him alive when the shrine signified the exact opposite intention?
"I started to retrace my steps back to campus, which was when I ran into Kevin and Adam. They were entering campus and saw me, which worked out for the best since the only building I know well on that damn academic maze is the history building."
"I wonder why," Gabe remarked dryly.
Dean flushed, but for once he didn't take the bait. In all honesty, he looked too tired too.
Gabe stepped into the foyer, leaving them to it. He had phone calls to make and a story to weave before people started jumping to conclusions he didn't want them to reach.
Jody and Donna were the easiest. They were already sympathetic to him and knew that there was more going on behind the scenes. Jody wasn't pleased about not knowing everything, but she accepted the lie Gabe told about Sam having a nasty case of the flu and being bedridden at a family friend's house with little complaint.
"Probably for the best anyway. I don't think the poor kid can go home," she sighed.
"Why?" Gabe asked, suspicions curling around in his already tortured stomach. It'd be a miracle if he got through all this serial killer business without an ulcer.
"Uniforms were dispatched to Sam's address while the basement was being processed," Jody explained, skillfully dodging around the direct mention of the creepy shrine of Sam that set Gabe's teeth on edge just thinking about it. "And by uniforms, I mean about half of the force. That sort of activity draws attention."
"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Gabe swore, toeing (not kicking; he didn't want Bobby to kill him) one of the book stacks. "Which channels?"
"Looks like all of them. They're going to have the Winchester family saga running before I have my morning cup of coffee," Jody said, displeasure running through her voice. "What a shitshow. Donna, tell those officers to man those barricades like they mean it!"
"Will they take my word for it that Sam's safe?" Gabe asked, concerned that the tentative plans he was forming as he went would topple before they even had a chance to grow. If the LPD or FBI wanted to stick Sam in protective custody up to his eyeballs, no one except the law would be happy about it.
"For now. Everyone's just relieved that Sam's not dead yet, but they're going to want to talk to him soon."
Gabe began to pace. This was the part he hated about dealing with departmental objectives. Everything had a process behind it, and he knew the steps the LPD would attempt to take, even in a highly irregular situation like this. Someone from the task force that didn't have personal ties like he did would have to come to confirm Sam was alive and safe here, or else the LPD would never accept it.
"Agent Arch will do," he said, shoulders tingling irregularly as he thought through all the pros and cons.
"You sure?"
"He's got a personal agenda. It's what makes him the perfect choice," Gabe said, the cracked book spines blurring into indistinguishable blocks of color as he paced. "I'm just too close to you and Donna for there to be solid credibility. Is he there?"
"No, but I'll send him your way to…?"
Gabe scrambled for the house number through his speed of light thoughts, but it turned out he only needed to recite half the address before Jody started to laugh.
"Of course you're at that old geezer's place. Say hi to him for me," she said, sounding more amused than she had in a long while.
The image of a smiling Jody unnerved Gabe so much that he didn't even ask how she knew Bobby Singer. Some things were simply better left unknown.
His next call was, if possible, more stressful and cryptic. Gabe feared the number might've already been deactivated (Balthazar had a thorough, if bizarre security regimen), but it went through.
"I hate America," Balthazar declared after a few rings. "Why are the vehicles so big? Is it an ego thing?"
"I need your help," Gabe replied bluntly. He didn't have time to entertain Balthazar tonight.
Balthazar sobered up quickly. Gabe laid down the basics of the situation, skirting around keywords after Balthazar chided him for being too careless over an "unsecured line."
"I'm in the process of procuring more secure communications, but my contacts in the Midwest are...sparse, to say the least," Balthazar lamented. "Oh, if only we could've done all this somewhere in the northeast. The network I have up there!"
"Focus."
"Yes, yes," Balthazar sighed. "Focus. The situation with your new beau is unpleasant, but no death sentence. I'll be able to do more when I get there, but the fever is manageable with medical remedies. I never thought I'd see a case for myself though."
"A case of what?" Gabe asked, exasperated.
"Oh, Gabriel. I tried to tell you when we first met, but you wouldn't hear any of it," Balthazar said pointedly, but not unsympathetically. "Think. If Enochian is the language of angels, then doesn't that imply that the leagues of hell have their own tongue to converse in?"
Gabe thought of the basement and the dark, residual energy he'd picked up at the crime scenes that translated to strange, malevolent auras Sam saw with reluctant eyes. Yellow Eyes had yellow eyes, and his signature was runic; a rune that wasn't Enochian.
I've been an idiot.
"Is there a name for it, or does that have to wait for a secure line?" Gabe asked, kicking himself for his short-sightedness. If he hadn't had such deep-seated history with Enochian, then maybe…
But maybes were useless now. From now on, he'd just have to listen and keep his mind open, and screw feeling uncomfortable about Enochian.
"None I know of. Whatever true name it has, it can only be spoken by native speakers, and its intentions have always been to harm and destroy. A very good and evil sort of narrative, isn't it? Leaves no room for us gray characters."
"Like that's ever bothered you," Gabe scoffed, pressing his back to the front door and sliding down to the ground. All the nervous energy fueling his earlier pacing drained down from his shoulders and through his heels, leaving him tired and lightheaded.
However, there was one more thing he had to tell Balthazar.
"Balthazar," he started, wondering what the man would make of Castiel Novak. "There's another one of us."
The pause on the other end was weighty enough to kill a person with.
"Don't tell me any more right now," Balthazar said, sounding distant with contemplation. "Unsecure line."
"Of course," Gabe replied, seeing through the transparent excuse. Balthazar had been ecstatic to meet him despite the aversion he'd held towards Enochian. It was his secret life's mission to find people like them, but Balthazar hadn't had many successes.
"Keep your wits about you, Gabriel, and stay inside wherever you're holed up. Makes it harder for the suits to find you."
The line went dead. Gabe shut his eyes, too lazy to care that the foyer wasn't the best place to take an impromptu nap. Just a few minutes wouldn't hurt.
A small hand pulled him from disorienting sleep. Startled, Gabe scrambled to sit up, forcing Ben to step back. The teddy bear was nowhere in sight this time.
"Sleeping by the door isn't comfy," Ben said, scrutinizing him with knowing eyes. "Why don't you sleep by the fire?"
"I shouldn't be sleeping, unlike you," Gabe grunted, hauling himself upward. A glance at his phone revealed he'd lost half an hour.
"Rumsfeld farted under my bed and now the whole basement stinks," Ben said, his entire countenance grave as he relayed the disaster that had forced him upstairs.
Gabe bit his lip, doing his best not to laugh, but he couldn't help it. Ben smiled toothily as Gabe lost in in the foyer, nearly knocking over a stack of books in the process.
"What's so funny Milton?" Dean asked suspiciously, voiced muffled in the living room.
"Your son," Gabe replied, shepherding Ben forward and wiping his tired eyes. They'd lit the fire in his absence, which was cast everything in an orange glow that didn't make staying awake any easier. "Don't bite my head off, because I'm about to relay some bad news, worse news, and apocalyptic news."
"Wonderful," Dean said dryly, setting down the glass tumbler he'd been sipping from on the mantle as Ben ran to hug his dad's legs. "Benji! Why don't you keep old Uncle Bobby company?"
He threw a gleeful Ben into Bobby's lap with one hand, strategically angling his bandaged arm away from his son. Cas rolled his eyes at Dean's habit of turning his son into a human projectile but sat up to listen to Gabe.
Understandably, none of the occupants were pleased with the thought of Sam and extended family being featured on the news, or of strangers (much less a Fed) in the house. Dean kept censoring the swear words he wanted to let loose, resulting in stilted replies from him and growing glares from Cas as Ben half-listened through his doze. Lisa came downstairs about halfway through, prompting an intermission.
"He'll be alright. The fever is already coming down a bit, but it's a high one," she said, letting her bag drop to the floor. "Budge over, Cas."
Lisa flopped down on the couch, toeing off her shoes and undoing her ponytail in a smooth, practiced motion.
"Now, tell me everything."
Gabe exchanged a loaded gaze with Dean, who grimaced and waved his hand in an errant gesture. Cas' look of surprise at Dean's lack of reticence would've been amusing if the situation hadn't been so serious.
"Sure, why the hell not. Cat's out of the bag," he said, collapsing onto the other side of Cas and shutting his eyes. The message couldn't be any clearer: Gabe was on his own for this part of the story.
The impression Gabe had gotten that Lisa Braden wasn't a woman to be trifled with only solidified when he backtracked for her sake to cover his escapade with Dean into the basement before continuing his convoluted narrative. She never expressed any doubts, not even when he touched on the less than normal aspects of the case and how Enochian factored into everything. He even told them about the men in suits, just in case they did come out of the woodwork. Bobby was unshakeable as well, but he seemed more absorbed in distracting Ben with an illustrated storybook so old that Gabe suspected it was worth a small fortune.
When he finished, silence filled the room. Bobby was the first to break it, heaving himself out of the recliner and depositing Ben on his mother's lap before striding to the mantle.
"You need a drink," he said matter of factly, pouring two fingers from the glass decanter Dean had left on the mantle. "It's a sipping whiskey, so don't go-"
Gabe knocked it back as soon as the glass was in his hand, accepting the scorched line of fire with little more than a grunt. On any other night, he would've sipped it-Gabe recognized quality liquor when he smelt it-but after all he'd been through he wasn't in the savoring mood.
"-knockin' it back," Bobby finished uselessly over Dean's impressed wolf whistle. "Where'd Sam find you again?"
"Enough, boys," Lisa said with a half-smile and pointed glance at her ex, "We've got children in the room."
"Ouch! You going to let her slander Dean like that, Cassie?" Gabe asked, momentarily distracted from his worries by the witty banter and Dean's priceless expression.
Cas blinked lazily, the half-sleep he'd been lulled into by the fire doing little to take the edge of his words as he replied with, "It's not slander if she's right."
"I've been tag-teamed," Dean said morosely, watching Lisa and Cas exchange crafty smiles with a pained face.
"And effectively at that," Gabe remarked, falling into a cozy armchair situated by the fire with a yawn. "I'm beat. If you have any questions, better ask them now before I pass out."
"What if the men in suits are the C.I.A or F.B.I or something?"
"Ben," Lisa admonished.
"It's alright. I don't think they are, because then my work with the police would've had me spotted by them ages ago," Gabe replied, stifling another yawn.
"How about-?"
"You go to sleep," Lisa finished for her son, gesturing for Dean to accompany her. "In the morning, you can ask Mr. Gabe any appropriate questions you have."
Ben pouted but didn't throw a tantrum at his thwarted attempts. His disposition was downright cheerful as he said goodnight to them, waving from over Lisa's shoulder with a tiny hand.
"If only the boys had been that reasonable about bedtime," Bobby grunted, stooping to stoke the fire.
"Dean doesn't know what that word even means concerning himself," Cas said, eyes already shut. "Gabriel?"
"Yeah?"
"You truly believe it's Yellow Eyes?"
Gabe's sleepiness wore off a bit. He'd skimmed over Yellow Eyes in his retelling, only mentioning the mark and his suspicions so Dean wouldn't explode, but that had been enough to put a murderous glower on the Winchester's face.
"I'm sure," Gabe replied quietly, gazing into the flames. "Whether or not that knowledge makes it to the news is a different story."
Bobby muttered a curse under his breath, reshelving the book he'd read to Ben.
"John's going to come regardless of what's on the damn news. He'll know I'm harboring the boys," he warned.
Gabe and Cas exchanged a look. Neither of them had met John yet, but they'd heard enough from the brothers to know just what their reaction should be.
"Let him. He's not laying an eye on Sam while I'm here," Gabe promised.
"He won't be here long," Cas said ominously, the picture of righteous anger on Dean's behalf.
"That's what I like to hear. And you," Bobby said, wheeling around to point a finger at him, "I know you touched my kitchen books. No more moving books."
"I had to sit down!" Gabe protested, wide-eyed at how astute Bobby was. When had he even gone into the kitchen?
Bobby harrumphed, fixing one last glare at him before walking out, muttering about presumptuous P.I's and wayward Winchesters until he was out of earshot.
Dean shuffled in shortly after, weariness exuding from his entire frame. He mumbled something about Lisa staying in the basement with Ben before half-collapsing on top of Cas, asleep before the poor man even had time to speak.
"I'll check on Sam. Have fun you two," Gabe teased, winking at a resigned and very pink Cas before making his way upstairs.
Health-wise, Sam looked no different than he had the last time he'd seen him. Lisa had cleaned most of the dirt off, giving Gabe's hand a clean cheek to stroke. Sam's skin was hot and dry, pulled tight over a clenched jaw and wrinkled brow.
"Hang in there, Sam," he whispered.
Whatever haunted Sam, Gabe hoped it would ease with his vigil. Eventually, he knew he'd be dragged from Sam's side for sanity's sake, but until that moment, he'd stay.
…
Gabe's dreams made no sense. In a chaotic swirl of feathers and oil, he thought he might've seen a flash of Sam's profile, but when he reached out to him, Sam vanished. Lost in a storm filled with lightning and echoing voices reciting fragments of Enochian, Gabe didn't know where to begin searching for Sam, much less how to find a way out.
Waking turned out to be mercy, but also very sore and strange. Something was licking his hand, and after a hazy moment of confusion, he realized that the thing licking his hand was a dog.
"Oh. Just you," he rasped, turning his head with a wince to look at Rumsfeld. Sleeping in the chair would have to be avoided in the future. Gabe felt like he had a case of vehicular whiplash.
Sam slumbered on, undisturbed by the dog's snuffles and Gabe's muttered curses as he tried to realign his back. A strong slice of morning sun illuminated his face through the gap in the curtains, drawing Gabe's attention to the rapid eye movement beneath the shut lids.
"What're you seeing?" he asked, brushing Sam's hair back from his forehead and kissing it softly. His fever didn't feel as high as it had in the night, but the warmth still concerned Gabe.
"He's having really bad dreams."
Gabe turned to see Ben clinging to the doorframe, swinging his upper body in and out indecisively. It could've been mistaken for bashfulness if his wariness wasn't written in every tense muscle the boy had.
"Can you…see what he's seeing?" Gabe asked carefully. If so, he wasn't sure Ben should come any closer, or even be near the room. Not only would Sam strongly disapprove, but Gabe didn't like the idea of Ben seeing any more nightmarish images than the ones he already suffered through.
"Just flashes. I don't want to come in," Ben admitted on a swing away from the room. His riotous bedhead swished with the motion like a dark wing. "I know that makes me bad, but-"
"It doesn't make you bad," Gabe cut off firmly, "Sam wouldn't want you seeing anything like that, so-Rumsfeld, don't!"
Before he could move the inquisitive dog away from licking Sam's hand, Rumsfeld whined and backed away on his own as if scalded, lips pulled back in a mock snarl. He retreated in a skitter of claws, almost bowling Ben over in the process.
"Daddy says dogs can sense bad things," Ben said, frowning as Rumsfeld ran past him, "I hope Unca Sam gets better soon. He's gonna be so mad when he misses out on stuff."
Gabe managed a weak laugh that trailed off into a sudden drop into sadness. Ben was right. Sam would be pissed if he missed a major development while passed out, and it made Gabe miss him all the more.
"Don't be sad, Mr. Gabe," Ben said plaintively, sensing his change in mood, "You've got new friends in the living room."
"New friends?" Gabe echoed, confused.
"One's a mister from the F.B.I, and the other talks fancy," Ben stated, scratching his head with a yawn. "I don't think Daddy likes either of them."
"Dean wouldn't," Gabe chuckled, his spirits momentarily lifted at the thought of reinforcements downstairs. There was a swoop of nerves at the thought of laying eyes on Balthazar for the first time in years, but strangely enough, Gabe didn't feel the standard bolt of paranoia.
"Should I tell them you're coming?"
"Yeah. Just need to brush my teeth and…not shave. I don't have time for that," Gabe said, running a hand over his jaw.
Ben showed him to the nearest bathroom with all the pomp and circumstance a child showing off knowledge he had and someone else didn't could muster before heading for the stairs. Gabe only shook his head fondly at the kid's antics, familiar with the mood swing personalities of young children.
After trying (and failing miserably) to appear as if he hadn't spent the past 12 hours running through increasing cycles of stress, Gabe went downstairs to face the music.
Balthazar stood by the fireplace, hands clasped around the handle of an umbrella he tapped erratically against the rug-covered floor. His button-down shirt shimmered and his shoes gleamed in a way that bespoke wealth.
"Gabriel! You look like an unkempt ruffian," he proclaimed, still strangely tapping away with his umbrella.
"You look…European," Gabe retorted lamely, leaping over the last three steps and Rumsfeld, who'd decided to settle at the base. "How'd you get here so quickly?"
"No sleep and an airtight, if insane, flight plan," Balthazar replied cheerfully, eyes crinkling with his smile. "It's good to see you."
They'd parted with a hug, and they solidified their reunion with a similar one. As they did, Gabe felt the familiarity down to his bones; the knowledge that this was someone that understood him at a level few could.
"What's with the umbrella?" he asked, squinting suspiciously at the finely carved handle. At second glance, it looked fancy even for Balthazar.
"A device of my fashioning," Balthazar said cryptically. "You know how I am with my artifacts. This was the only one I could pass off as mundane while flying. I'm afraid the rest of my aid will be slower to arrive."
On a particularly pointed tap, a white-blue glow flared from the tip of the umbrella, illuminating a line that cut diagonally through a corner of the living room. It blinked out nearly as quickly as it'd appeared, and if he'd been a skeptic, it could've easily been dismissed.
Gabe recognized that particular line. Balthazar had done something similar the first time they'd met, but he'd used an outfitted cane and specific Enochian command.
He's gotten better.
"A small ley line. Nothing magnificent, but enough to work with," Balthazar murmured, his crafty smile making him look more like a mad scientist than a posh collector.
"I'm suddenly regretting not paying more attention to the ins and outs of Enochian," Gabe sighed, feeling completely out of his depth.
"No time for regrets now. Catching you up won't take long since we have two more brethren to include in the fold."
"Two?" Gabe asked. The magical umbrella must've zapped some of Balthazar's brain cells along with the floor.
Balthazar's eyebrows rose. "My dear friend, your senses are worse off than I could've dreamed. Don't tell me you didn't realize that federal agent-?"
"You know you can call me Michael, right?"
Gabe and Balthazar turned in tandem to watch Michael (he did say to call him Michael, hadn't he?) stride into the room in full federal garb, Cas drifting in behind him in crumpled clothes and a scowl.
"He woke me up," Cas complained to Gabe, "He said it was important. What's more important than my coffee?"
His tired eyes slid to Balthazar. Some of the grumpiness faded into contemplation, complete with a signature head tilt.
"You sense it, don't you?" Balthazar asked, quietly delighted.
"You must be Balthazar. Gabriel mentioned you last night," Cas replied, glancing between all of them, "You too, Michael?"
"It was clear that both of you were unaware of each other, and I didn't want to meddle when the risks are too high," Michael said apologetically.
"You knew I knew the whole time?" Gabe asked.
"Of course. I rarely use Enochian, but I've never muted my senses."
"Don't look so glum," Balthazar tsked, catching the increasingly morose look on Gabe's face, "There's no shame in being a runner. You wouldn't be the first to run from Enochian."
"There's a difference between running and being so blind to it that I can't even recognize it when it's in front of my nose," Gabe snapped, irritated at himself. Cas was one thing, but Michael?
Even worse, he remembered a flitting feeling upon meeting both of them. It'd been nothing more than a twinge in his shoulders, but in hindsight, it seemed blindingly obvious.
"It's not so simple. You've been actively repressing this aspect of yourself for a long time," Balthazar said, steering him towards an armchair. "That sort of thing has its effects."
Cas wandered over. Gabe noticed that he gave both Michael and Balthazar a wide berth. He didn't blame him; he'd been disoriented enough meeting Balthazar the first time.
"I've never met anyone like me before, and now I've met three in less than 24 hours," Cas remarked, looking askance at Michael. "It seems a bit too fortuitous."
"Not very trusting, are you?" Balthazar drawled.
The glare Cas leveled at him spoke volumes. Balthazar looked more amused than anything by the blatant suspicion, but Gabe butted in regardless before it could escalate.
"Enough. I know these aren't ideal circumstances. I'm still trying to process how you fit into this," Gabe started, referring to Michael, who'd sat down on the couch with steel posture reminiscent of Cas at his stiffest, "not to mention the sheer insanity of last night. So, let's keep our heads cool."
"Very well," Cas murmured, "So, where do we begin?"
They all looked at each other. In the daylight, none of them looked like they harbored anything beneath surface appearances. If Gabe tried, he could almost fool himself into thinking dire circumstances hadn't pushed them together.
But all he had to do was look at the stairs and be reminded that the day of ignoring his problems was over. Upstairs, Sam was lost in a world of nightmares, and Gabe refused to have him wake up to a continuation of them. Not if he could help it.
Balthazar rapped his umbrella decisively on the floor. All the joviality from before was replaced by a more serious expression.
"From the beginning, as is always done. Settle in, gentlemen. I fear this will be a long conversation."
AUTHOR'S NOTE
I should be more ashamed of the way I ended this chapter, but I'm too busy laying out how the last 4 (yes, 4!) chapters of Reactivity will go. Didn't want to post this chapter until I had them all hammered out, but now I do and so here this is. Apologies for the radio silence in February, but it's historically been a meh writing month for me the past couple of years.
Speaking of years…I vividly remember writing the first chapter for Reactivity around this time in 2019 at the library. Oh, to be writing in a library right now, or just in high school and with a bunch of free time like I did with Chromaticity!
And yes, I hunted very passionately through the SPN wiki for the name of Bobby's dog. Apparently, Rumsfeld was only in one episode? If that's true then I have the most selective memory in existence.