Dean had taken Sam out to a bar. Nothing unusual in that, Sam thought to himself, as he sat on the barstool facing the rack of spirits hung up on the back of the bar. He was listening to Dean shamelessly flirt with the barmaid, and smirked into his own drink. From the moment that Dean opened his mouth, Sam knew that he was going to strike out with the girl. Her body language was screaming 'no freaking way sunshine' at him, and though Dean had seen this and had stopped openly suggesting anything, he seemed unable to stop his charm from seeping out. Dean always accepted an answer he got, he was a Southern gentleman, after all, however, once he started flirting he just couldn't stop. Sam wasn't that interested in picking up random chicks in a bar, but he always went along as Dean's wingman. Though most of the time Dean managed perfectly well on his own, there was an odd occasion where girls that Dean was hitting on would turn to Sam for confirmation about what the elder brother was saying. It was Sam's job to assure them that Dean was 100% truthful, genuine, or whatever was needed of him. However, Sam's favourite sport whilst out with Dean was to watch other dudes strike out with other random chick in the bars. To be honest, Sam just liked people watching – watching body language tells actually helped him in court sometimes, being able to see when to add just a little bit more pressure to get the desired result from a witness or the jury. He also used it to learn when to take a step back and let impact set in, and when to just leave a point completely. To Sam, human nature was a fascinating thing.

Dean was shamelessly on his way to being flat out drunk, and Sam had to rein himself in a little, knowing that Dean would definitely be in no state to be driving anywhere, and that it would be up to him to take both of them and the Impala back to either his place, or Dean's. He knew that there was no way on this Earth that Dean would want to leave his baby out overnight, especially not on the day that he had finished her. She'd been in the garage for longer than Sam could remember, and though he was happy to see her on the road, he didn't exactly want to have to tell Dean that they would have to leave her somewhere. It wasn't long before Dean noticed that Sam had stopped drinking with him.

"C'mon Sammy, this is a celebration!" Dean half slurred, raising his glass to eye level in a mock toast, before knocking back the remaining liquid. "Baby's on the road!" Sam smirked.

"I know Dean, but you're in no state to be driving her home, and I do actually have work tomorrow," Sam reasoned, knowing full well that Dean would respect his decision because it was due to a work reason, not a half assed statement about feeling ill.

"Okay Sammy, you win. Though I'm not sure I quite want to hand over her keys to you. I like the fact I'm finally able to drive her." Dean grinned sheepishly. "But I don't want to leave her out here either and like you say, I'm in no state." Sam was glad that Dean had graciously accepted defeat, and he held out his hand for the keys.

"You know me well enough not to hurt her," he said with a chuckle. "But I really do have to get back home." Dean consented, and placed his empty glass on the bar, steadying himself slightly as he stood up. Sam nodded his head in thanks to the bartender, before leading he way out of the bar.

As usual, after the two of them going out together, Sam let Dean crash on his couch. It was a compulsive decision based on the fact that there was no way that Sam was going to Let Dean go anywhere until he had slept off some of the alcohol in his system. After handing Dean some blankets, he padded up the stairs into his room to get into his own bed. However, just as he was about to get into bed, he remembered something he had left in the pocket of his jacket that he had worn to work that morning, even if it did seem an age ago. The pockets in Sams jacket were like little trips to wonderland, in the sense that you never quite knew what would appear out of them. Sam liked to feel prepared, but he himself sometimes wondered why he kept empty gum wrappers, month old receipts and his latest favourite – take out menus. Luckily, Sam knew which pocket to look in, though it did involve emptying it out completely before being able to find what he was looking for. In doing so, he found his napkin from his coffee that morning. It was customary to have a napkin come with the drink, in case of spillage or for use as an insulator if the cup was particularly hot. Sam hadn't noticed at the time, but he now saw something printed on it in neat, black letters.

'555-0125

You didn't give me yours, but I hope you'll accept mine – G'

The note made Sams thoughts stop momentarily, as he wasn't entirely sure how he should take the tone of it. It was plain that Gabriel had wanted him to contact him, but the words didn't give anything else away. Folding the napkin over on itself, Sam placed it on his night stand, underneath where his phone lay charging. Clearing his head, Sam retrieved the change he had originally been looking for from his jacket pocket, adding it to the large bottle he kept stashed next to his wardrobe. Sam looked again to the napkin on which Gabriel had written his number. Though it had been easy to miss at the time, Sam reckoned that Gabriel must have written on the napkin when he had his back turned towards Sam and the counter. What confused Sam the most was the fact that he was usually so observant, and he couldn't believe that he hadn't seen it at the time. The only trouble was, Sam didn't know what to do. He could ignore it, saying that he had thrown the napkin away without looking at it, but then Gabriel might use a different approach. Sam didn't find the idea of texting Gabriel abhorrent, though he had a funny feeling that the barista was after something more than just friendship. And then there was the fact that it was Gabriel – pure trickster, who liked to joke and flirt with any customer that Sam had seen him serve. For now, Sam decided that the best thing to do would be to sleep on it, and see what the morning brought.

It was Dean that woke Sam in the morning. Normally after he had been drinking on a week night, it was Dean who was dead to the world, and Sam would have to practically haul him out of bed and shove him out the door to get him to work on time. Dean was one of the lucky few who did not get hangovers, but he did like to sleep in. And yet, when Sam woke to a knocking on his bedroom door, and the smell of pancakes wafting through, he was pleasantly surprised that Dean was up before him.

"It's open," Sam called out, sitting up and stretching his arms above his head. "Figuratively," he added, considering the door was actually shut.

"I could do with a hand," came Dean's muffled reply. It sounded to Sam as if he were carrying something in his mouth, so Sam slipped out of bed and padded over to open the door. He was greeted by Dean, who was laden down with a tray of pancakes and coffee, and with a bottle of squeezy maple syrup clenched between his teeth. Relieving Dean of the syrup, Sam grinned at his brother.

"To what do I owe this?" Sam asked, stepping sidewards to allow Dean enter with the tray.

"I figured I owed it to you considering you always let me crash here. Just don't go into the kitchen until you get home." Sam rolled his eyes. Dean loved to cook, but he always made a terrible mess. It was worth it, however, to see the smile on Dean's face as Sam bit into the pancakes. Despite making a mess, Dean was good in the kitchen, and he actually relished the chance to cook for someone other than himself. The two brothers sat on Sam's bed as they ate their pancakes, and Sam couldn't help thinking back to when they had been younger. Their dad had always been pretty absent, which meant that Dean had to take to the kitchen in order for them to get by without starving. Though Sam had tried to help, Dean had had a natural knack for cooking. They always used to sit side by side on the couch in front of the television with their dinners, and Sam smiled. It hadn't necessarily been a conventional family meal, but that didn't mean that it didn't count.

Sam kept true to his word, and he didn't go into the kitchen before leaving his apartment, and he left Dean inside clearing up the mess he had created. He was amazed that Dean didn't have to go into work, however, since the impala was finished, he figured that Dean now wouldn't have to work every hour under the sun in order to cover the costs of living, and parts. Sam was glad to get away from his brother for a little while; he had the feeling that if Dean had offered to drive him into work that he may have just had to punch his brother. Sam did love his brother, but too much of him in one go did tend to grate on his nerves a little bit. Dean meant well, but when he was happy, he could be a little overbearing. As he walked to the station, Sam pulled the napkin with Gabriel's number on it from his pocket, and re-read over the note. He knew that Gabriel was into men; the sign outside the café was proof of this, and the fact that the barista had flirted with him also gave Sam the inclination that Gabriel was after more than just friendship with him. It had been a long time since Sam had fooled about with another man, but from what he could remember from college, he hadn't hated the idea of it. Sighing, he pulled his phone out of his other pocket and quickly saved Gabriel's number before he changed his mind or lost the napkin. He also made the decision that he would stop in the shop if Gabriel was working that morning. If he wasn't, then Sam would just have to call him.

When Sam stepped off the train at his usual stop, he was beginning to lose his nerve. Sure, Gabriel had given him his number, but did that mean that he wanted Sam to call him the same day? Sam was now wondering whether he had missed his chance with the other man now that he had slept on it. But then again, Gabriel had to know that there was a chance that Sam could have thrown the napkin without reading it, and therefore wouldn't have been able to call. Or maybe by not calling he might have crushed Gabriel's feelings and the other man wouldn't be interested in seeing him after this. Or even Gabriel had given the napkin to him by mistake and it was meant for another customer. Shaking his head, he started to walk to the exit of the station, his hands only trembling slightly in the pockets of his jacket. He couldn't believe the sheer amount of situations going through his head, it was almost as if he had become a teenager again. He wasn't even sure if he liked Gabriel, or just the idea that Gabriel liked him. Maybe he should just send a text instead. In his head, Sam cursed Dean. If Dean hadn't invited him out last night he would have seen the number at a more reasonable hour and then he could have called Gabriel then. Or texted him. Texting him seemed like a very good idea. That way he wouldn't even have to drop by the café to see if he was working. He could take a slightly different way into the office on the off chance that if Gabriel was working, he wouldn't see Sam and think he was avoiding him before he had a chance to send the message. Yeah, that would work. Sam's thoughts were racing at such a speed that he didn't even realise that he had stepped into the road, until someone grabbed hold of his arm and pulled him back to safety just before a bus rounded the corner. Sam turned to thank the person who had pulled him back to safety, and his eyes were met with glittering gold. He let out a sigh.

"Thanks, Gabriel."

Oh my God, I am so sorry about the gap between my last chapter and this one, I have been so busy in the real world that I literally haven't had time to write anything, let alone this. I'd been stuck at the pancake scene for about three weeks as well, I just couldn't find a way to move on from that point but I think I'm there.

I'm also currently working on some AU one shots, and I'm going to be posting them in drabble format, if there's anything you especially want to see from me just let me know. ALSO, I am (attempting to) work on a novel. Like, a publishable novel. So far, I have written 500 or so words of dross, so it's not going well, but I have characters and a plan and a plot and an end point and everything. Which is more than can be said for this story currently.

Once again, I apologise for the delay, and whilst I am on a bit of a roll with this story I will try and write the next 1000 or so words for the next chapter but it is nearly midnight here and I have work in the morning so what I'm actually telling you is complete and utter trash, and I probably won't update this for another six months.