Guilt.
It whispered around Sam with colorful language and violent growls. It howled deep and low and sent shivers down his spine in ways he had never experienced with anything else. The guilt was rooted deep within him, its branches taunt around his bones and wood strong against anything. It woke him up in cold sweats and dragged him out of bed when the remnants were too much to handle. Wounds from childhood, from the time of candied summers with his older brother, were clear against his skin. The proverbial stitching he wore on his body was poorly done and stretching across his ever-growing self-hatred. It had been years since his parent's death, since their parents death, but the roaring and twisting of the fire was burned into his mind.
And Dean, his faithful brother who never once pointed a finger to Sam, never once cursed or blamed him, had no idea the depth of what he felt. Sam locked it away and drowned it with hard liquor or lost it within the pages e wrote. Yet, as always, it came back with a vengeance.
It was almost poetic that Dean was a firefighter; though, Sam assumed it was because of their parents death that sealed his fate to begin with. He looked over at his brother in the driver's seat, thumbs bouncing against the wheel to the beat of the radio, mind drifting as his eyes were painted to the road, and wondered how Dean felt when the heat pounced on his unscathed flesh as if it were a feral animal. Did it hurt? Bring back the instinctual fear and hot press of tears? They never talked about, haven't since they were kids and their Uncle Bobby made them. It was better this way.
"You alright, Sammy?" Dean asked, eyes off the road for a second but fingers still dancing along to the music.
"M'fine." He replied. Short and simple wasn't too suspicious, right?
An eye roll later, Dean said, "If this is going to be rough for you then don't worry about it. There's a shop down the street from the station that serves those fru-fru coffees you like."
"A white chocolate mocha is not 'fru-fru', Dean," Sam scoffed.
"Yeah, yeah, princess. Whatever you say." The nickname earned Dean a punch to the arm and a smile that split across Sam's face.
The car smoothed into the back parking area, rocking gently against the rough pavement before parking next to a beat up maroon truck.
As Sam stepped out of the car, he noticed the truck had fuzzy dice hanging around the rear-view mirror. He snorted and turned to Dean. "Who does the truck belong to?"
"Take a wild guess."
Sam thought a moment before saying without any doubt, "Ash."
The brothers shared a laugh but it was quickly drowned out by the sound of the alarm ringing.
"Dammit." Dean cursed underneath his breath. He sent Sam an apologetic look, tossing the keys towards his brother before jogging towards the station. Sam caught them in a practiced sweep and called out a "be careful" to Dean's rapidly retreating back. He settled into the driver's seat, long legs adjusting to the difference. The engine purred to life and he grinned with pride. Sam drove quickly out of the parking lot with no aim but a free day ahead of him.
In Gabriel's opinion, the fire isn't the most destructive part. It's the aftermath; the burnt wedding photos or bodies of children with bright futures. The charred walls where pictures used to hang or stuffed animals meshed and melted together. He can fight a fire, does so six out of seven days, but those hours afterward dig into him.
This particular fire held no real danger, but then again he could be a bit cocky about it. Another idiot with a deep fryer playing professional chef, Gabriel thought as he helped hoist the hose up. The damage was minimal and no one was hurt. He relished in these kinds of fires. Don't get him wrong, all fires are bad, but at least there wasn't the stretch of burning corpse in the air.
"Took my girl on a date last night," The new kid said as he stood to the side, surveying the others. Gabriel tried to remember his name. Greg...George...Garth! His name was Garth. One of the youngest on the team, second to Adam Milligan.
"Didn't know you had it in you," Ash Harvelle grinned wickedly at the younger man's reddening face.
"Leave him alone, Ash," Dean slapped his friend's arm harmlessly. "Kid got lucky and wants to gloat. I remember when Gabrielle over here did the same thing."
"And I'll do it again when I score with your brother." He shot back, nothing but sass and humor tainting his voice.
"You're a piss ant, Gabe." Dean retorted.
"Caveman."
"Stop talking about yourself, man. Have some self respect." Ash whistled at Dean's reply.
Gabriel opened his mouth to say something but the Chief interrupted.
"I didn't realize we had first graders among us." Gordon's arms were crossed over his chest, eyebrow rose in challenge.
"No, sir," they said in unison. Gordon merely smiled and shook his head, turning to Garth and saying, "Idiots, I tell you."
"Last one to the truck buys the first round of drinks!" Dean exclaimed and shot past them with a peel of laughter.
Sam scratched the hair under his navel, a yawn stretching his lips and watering his eyes. He padded into the living room and sent a wary glance to the haphazardly thrown boots and pants across the floor. Dean's body jolted away from his position on the couch and started blearily up at his brother.
"Wha time is it?" The end of the sentence was muffled by his face hitting the pillow.
"Ten thirty." Sam's voice was amused. He walked over and nudged at Dean's side with his foot, lips turned upwards. "Dude, how many drinks did you have last night?"
"'Dunno," he mumbled and groaned. "Gettin' too old for this, Sammy."
"How about I make you a nice, greasy breakfast?" Sam smirked and tugged Dean over until he fell off the couch with a thud.
Later that day, after he was forgiven with the promise of buying a pie, Sam decided to walk to the bakery near their apartment. The sky was clear and the evening sky was a canvas of purples and blues, mixing and darkening as the sun lowered. His old flames would tell him how "poetic" he was when it came to describing the world around him, but Sam never thought of it as such. He merely appreciated.
The shop was buzzing with warm energy from its patrons and the sweet aroma of the merchandise. Sam eyed the racks of pies, all set in rows of different flavors and sizes.
"Is pie your favorite?" A voice asked from behind him. Sam turned and looked at the voice's owner, a man shorter than himself with a messy mop of dark hair the color of and eyes that battled between burnt honey and evergreen. He stared for a moment before answering. "Uh, yeah. No, no. Actually, it's for my brother," Sam cleared his throat in embarrassment. The man laughed and nodded. "I'm more of a cake guy, myself." He gestured to the small white bakery box in his hands.
"I like cheesecake. My Uncle makes the best in the state." Sam said and turned his attention back to the pies.
"I wouldn't doubt it. I'm Gabriel, by the way." The man extended his hand.
Sam took it and grinned, mentally taking in the soft palm in contrast with a few rough patches and scars. "Nice to meet you, Gabriel. I'm Sam."
"Likewise, Samwise," Gabe answered with a cocky grin.
Sam's eyebrows gathered. "Did you just refer to me as a Lord of the Rings character?" He asked incredulously.
The shorter man's laughter was silky and full of life. "You bet I did. I'll be seeing you. Don't take any long journeys into Mordor." Gabriel winked and sent a wave, exiting the store and taking most of that electricity with him.
When he realized his mouth was still hanging open, Sam quickly composed himself and grabbed a cherry pie. He hoped his face wasn't as red as the dessert.
"Finally, Gabe!" Ash and a few others nearly attacked him as soon as the door opened. "We thought we were gonna have to started this party without you."
Gabriel snorted and placed the bakery box on the table, reaching across to muss Adam's hair. "Had to pick up birthday boy's cake and got a little distracted."
A collective voice of gasp and "oohs" filled the room and Gabe rolled his eyes. "It's nothing like that, you idiots. Guy was totally out of my league anyway."
Adam patted his friend on the shoulder and smiled. "Don't think like that, man."
"Enough touchy-feely moments, I want cake!" Someone - probably the Chief's fiery daughter Cassie - said and everyone laughed, joining in to sing 'Happy Birthday' to Adam.
He flew out the candles once, then twice, frustrated that they kept lighting up again. Gabriel couldn't hold it in any longer and nearly fell over with sobs of laughter.
"The trickster strikes again," Gordon mumbled.
"Sam, I sent you for pie, not to make googly eyes at strangers," Dean said over a mouthful of cherries and crust. It was love at first sight when Sam came in with the box.
"I wasn't making 'googly eyes'," Sam scoffed. "I was...being nice."
Dean mumbled something but his brother chose to ignore him. "Whatever, it doesn't matter. I probably won't see him again."
"Never know, might be fate," The last word was pitched into a mocking, Disney-like tone.
The younger Winchester snorted. "When has fate ever been that kind to us?"
A/N: So, here is the "official" third chapter. I'm much more pleased with how this turned out. Hope you guys like and don't forget to tell me what you guys think!