[SPN Crossover Big Bang] Check Yourself Before You Wreck Yourself - Part One
Check Yourself Before You Wreck Yourself
Sam had just finished a case, a big one that had been going on for months. He should have counted on the trial taking a longer time than expected, but he had hoped that he would be able to make it out of court earlier. Now he stood there, sipping on his glass of victory champagne, never really taking his eyes off the clock that just wouldn't stop ticking. He needed to get to the airport soon, but he couldn't just run out of the office, not when all the bosses were gathered.
Sam was a good lawyer and he had a chance to make it big, if only the name partners would notice him. He had actually gotten a praise of “Good work,” from the senior partner, Zachariah after helping to close this case. He had called him Simon instead of Samuel, but really, coming from Zachariah, any form of positive acknowledgement was a plus. Maybe just a few more years with cases like this one and Sam would be secure with a future in New York's largest law firm.
It took yet another forty minutes before Sam had the chance to slip out. As soon as he had closed the door behind himself, he started running, taking the stairs three steps at a time as he rushed down to the reception area. He checked his bags out and was quickly out the door, his laptop bag smacking against his leg. Outside, he single-handedly fished out a paper bag with the treats he was going to allow himself on the flight. The small wheels of his weekend luggage bag screeched as he hurried down the sidewalk, desperately trying to catch the attention of a cab driver.
His phone started ringing as a cab finally pulled into the curb for him. Shoving his large bag in through the car door, Sam squeezed himself in after it. Finally fishing the phone out from his pocket, he pressed ‘answer’ before leaning forward, asking the driver to take him to JFK.
“You're not even at the airport yet? Damn, Sammy,” were the words that met him when he put the phone to his ear. “You’re making me think you don't want to come to the wedding.”
Sighing, Sam ran a hand over his eyes. “I know, I know, it's just, the case. It took more time than I thought it would. I'm sorry. I'll still be able to make it there in time, I promise. And, hey, we won the case!”
“Yeah, that's great man. Maybe one day your bosses will actually learn your name, or even better yet, you'll quit and get a life that isn't about filing papers and kissing ass. Meanwhile, I would love to have my best man actually present at the wedding. There's the rehearsal dinner and have you even had your tux fitted? And right, Cas keeps nagging me about asking if you’ve got a plus one?”
“Look, I promise I'll be there in time. And I've already told you guys, I'm not bringing anyone.”
“One can always hope. You need some love to spice up your boring life, Sammy,” Dean said, sighing in Sam's ear as he hung up. Sam, in turn, glared at the phone's display as his brother's picture faded into his screensaver.
Putting it back in his pocket, Sam looked out the window instead, taking in the New York skyline. How long had he been living here now? Three years, closing in on four. When he had first arrived in the city, he had felt like the streets were paved with gold and round every corner a new opportunity waited for him. He was a lawyer and he had a job at one of the country's most prestigious law firms. What could go wrong?
As the years passed, nothing did go wrong. Nothing really happened at all. He still had the same apartment with the smallest bedroom ever. At first, he had been too caught up in his new work to go on any dates, and his love life had been stuck that way ever since. He went on about one date a year, and while pretty much all those men had wanted to get Sam into their beds, Sam himself wasn't much of a one night stand guy, and so far second dates had been as rare as water in the Sahara. He had the same job, and yeah, nothing really changed, except his initial view of the city. The gray buildings looming over him lost their spark and instead of gleaming gold, the only thing around the corner was another hobo or closed drug store. He didn't leave though, because any time now, he would make that break he had been waiting on. Any time now.
Dean said it was a pipedream, that instead of being an office slave, he ought to do something that made him happy instead. Of course it was easy for his brother to say something like that, with the perfect life he had. Well, not perfect because being a mechanic, even if you were your own boss, wasn't the best-paid job. Then there was the deal with their father, which Sam wasn't thinking about right now. But Dean had a job he loved and a guy he loved, who loved him back in return.
The first time Sam had met Cas, or Castiel as he had introduced himself as, had been just before he moved to New York. The place he had shared with Dean back then had been filled with boxes marked with everything Sam owned. He had been taping up the last one when Dean had peered in through the door to Sam's bedroom, stating that he wanted him to meet someone.
“His name is Castiel Novak, and we’ve, uh, been going out for a while. I just wanted you to meet him before you left.”
Putting the tape away for later, Sam nodded with a 'yeah, sure' and brushed his bangs away from his face as he walked out to the common area. He had suspected that Dean had been up to something, ever since Ash had called one night, wondering if Dean was home. Dean wasn't, but his excuse had been that he was out with the boys for a couple of beers. It didn't take a genius to figure out what was really going on, especially not when Dean came home later, smelling of after-shave, something he never or rarely used. Sam had just played along with the ruse, figuring that sooner or later his brother would come clean with him.
Walking through the door, he saw Castiel standing by the front door, his coat still on. It was a long trench coat that Sam would have thought was too hot for the L.A. weather, but each man to his own. He was good-looking with dark hair, fine features and really blue eyes. A bit pale, so like them, he wasn't a real local.
Castiel had smiled, just barely, but when Dean had introduced him as his boyfriend, the smile had grown. He and Sam shook hands and from there on, unlike in Sam's life, things happened for Dean.
Not able to pay the rent by himself after Sam's move, Dean had put an ad up, looking for a roommate. During the following seven months, he plowed through three of them. They were all different, but they had one thing in common as they were all obnoxious enough to make Dean kick them out. Seven months and then Dean gave up and asked Cas to move in with him instead. Cas, of course, had accepted.
Sam visited them once or twice every year and they him and each time Sam saw the couple he could hardly believe how in love they were. It was like a Renée Zellweger sappy romantic comedy type of in love. It didn't really make sense, only it did. Dean was the mechanic from the lousy, broken family that was the Winchesters. He had barely graduated high school and as soon as he actually had, he was off to work. Castiel was from a Christian home, the lone child left alone when his parents passed away. He was a teacher at the local high school, his subject history. They shouldn't go so well together, not so well that even Sam, the married-to-his-job workaholic, could feel a sting of jealousy at times when he looked at them. Only they did. They fit together perfectly.
Therefore, it was hardly a surprise when Sam got the news that Dean had finally gotten his act together, planning to make an honest man out of himself. He had dropped to his knee about a half year ago and the next day Sam had gotten a threatening phone call from his brother saying that if he wouldn't be the best man, Dean would do everything in his power to end Sam. And that was where he was at now, rushing to make his flight so Dean wouldn't have to go through with his promise.
The cab pulled into the side of one of the airport's larger gates and Sam leaned forward to pay the driver. Grabbing his bag, Sam opened the door to step out but before he had a chance to do so, a huge truck sped by just outside. The wind pushed him back into the seat which was good because the car door he was about to step through disappeared as the car that hit it just kept on driving until it skidded to a halt several feet ahead of them.
His cab driver kept on staring between the gaping hole in his car and the car that had hit him. The driver of the other car exited the vehicle, looking at the bump at the front of his own car. He then, slowly, looked down at the detached car door and then at the cab. A crooked smile started to spread on the driver's face as he slowly waved at the cab driver.
“What the fuck!”
“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,” Sam rambled as he exited, dragging his bag with him. He searched one-handedly in his pockets and retrieved a business card which he handed to the shocked driver. “I really need to rush. I'm sorry about all this and if you need like legal counseling, or anything, just call that number. I'm really sorry, but I need to be on this flight.”
Before the cabbie had a chance to say something, Sam started to march away from him, bumping into the man getting out of the passenger seat. The man was short, barely reaching Sam's shoulder, yet the crash caused the both of them to drop their bags. Closing his eyes, Sam tried very hard not to slam the man's face into the curb. He didn't have time for this.
“Hey, uhm, sorry about all that,” the man said as he nodded over at the two drivers that were arguing, both making wild gestures into the air. “I don't know what the hell was wrong with my friend. Oh, and here.”
He held up Sam's paper bag to him, as he shoved his own in his larger bag. Sam looked down at him, meeting the hazel-golden eyes. He counted to ten in his head, and mumbled a 'thanks' instead of a line of indignities and insults as he grabbed the paper bag and turned around, stalking into the airport.
“Anytime, kiddo,” the man called after him. Sam ignored him.
After finally making it to the front of the line to check his bag in, Sam found himself in line for the security check. Time seemed to pass slower as he stood there, even as it ticked on, closing in on the plane's departure time.
“Next!”
Rolling his eyes, he placed his laptop bag and the brown paper bag on the tape, stepping through the metal detector. No loud beep followed and Sam closed his eyes, thankful for that because he didn't have time for any of this right now.
“Sir, could you step to the side here, please?”
The customs officer held the paper bag in his hand and his colleague was pointing at the screen. Sam rolled his eyes because really, they were getting a bit too out of the line with the terrorist paranoia if they needed to go through a bag with a magazine and a banana.
“Sir, if you would be so kind to describe the contents of this bag?”
“It's a magazine... and a banana... Really, why do you even bother with - ”
Sam didn't get any further as the officer poured out the contents onto the desk. It was definitely not a fruit and the latest issue of Time. A magazine did fall out, but not the one he was expecting. Instead of a cover with Obama concerning the re-election, it was an old copy of Mad Magazine. It wasn't the only thing in there.
Small balls of something were rolled in see-through plastic wrap. It could have been candy, but it could also have been something a kindergartener had made in the sandbox. The officer unrolled one of the bits, putting it up to the light.
“Uhm, yes. That's not mine,” Sam said as he eyed the bag’s contents on the desk.
“Did you not pack this bag yourself, sir?”
“I packed my own bag, but that's not mine. You know, I think there has been a mistake. I must have exchanged the bag with this man I ran into. I have no idea what those things are, but they're not mine, I swear.”
“I've heard that before, pal,” the officer mumbled as he eyeballed Sam from head to toe. “You all say it isn't your shit, yet it's you who brings it onto a national flight. Hey, take a look at these.”
He turned to the man at the screen who stood up and sauntered over to the pair of men. He picked the little white ball up and held it up to his nose. He made a sour face and Sam didn't blame him. The things looked a bit like they were made entirely out of white plaster. He loosened the knife from his belt and cut one of them in half. It made a little squeaky noise and a green liquid oozed out. Humming, the officer stuck his finger in it and tasted it. Both Sam and the other officer made disgusted grimaces, Sam wondering how any man could voluntarily put something like that even anywhere near his mouth.
“No, these are okay,” he said as he wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Not drugs, just really fucked-up candy. My nephew eats these like, well, drugs, but there's nothing illegal in them. Just sugar, a thousand sweeteners and hell, I don't know. Eucalyptus. You're weird, but good to go, sir.”
The last part was directed to Sam as he gave him his best shit-eating grin to which Sam responded with the bitch face he had practiced to perfection over the years spent with Dean.
“That's very good then, but it's still not my bag. You can throw it all away. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a fucking plane to catch.”
He could hear the two officers laughing behind his back, but he really didn't have the time or nerves to turn around. The plane wasn't waiting for him, and he still needed to get to the gate. When he was finally taking his seat in the airplane he had thirteen minutes to spare and he could finally take a deep breath. That was when the miniature devil walked down the aisle between the seats.
He held a small black dog in his hand, one of those French bulldogs, and he walked like he owned the place. His free hand pulled through his rust-red hair, pushing it further back, scratching his neck. He looked down the aisle and caught Sam's eyes.
“Oh, it's you. Nice to meet you again,” he said with a smirk, like he didn't know how much crap he had caused Sam. He probably didn't and that was the only reason Sam didn't say anything, but only responded with a strained smile and a nod. In his mind, he couldn't stop repeating the words 'just keep on walking, just keep on walking'. Which, of course, was when the devil stopped, looking between his ticket and the seat behind Sam. Of course.
It didn't stop there either. The locker above the devil's seat was apparently full so he had to shove his bag into the one above Sam's seat. Only, the guy was a hobbit so he couldn't reach it like any normal person. So what did he do? Put his foot at the side of Sam's seat, heaving himself up. One of the stewardesses walked past them, gently nudging the man's crotch closer to Sam's face. His shirt was riding up as he worked to push his bag onto the shelf, revealing some tanned stomach, not to mention the happy trail that was currently almost tickling Sam's nose
“Excuse me,” Sam said, his face a firm mask of stone, as he tried his hardest not to look at the strip of skin, and even harder not to punch the man in the gut.
“Oh, yeah, sorry about that. Sorry about the whole car thing too. My friend was having a bad day,” he said as he climbed down and took his seat behind Sam. Sam even received a pat on his shoulder that caused him to twitch. “Right, I think we switched bags before. You can have your banana back if you want.”
He leaned forward, handing Sam his real bag with his Time magazine and his fucking banana. He put the bag in the net in front of his knees along with the toy moose he had bought for Cas and Dean's wedding to prove to Dean that New York hadn't sucked all the fun out of his little brother.
“Yes, we did. Sorry that I don't have yours. It was full of some weird-ass candy and customs had a field day with them. Thought they were drugs. That was really amusing by the way. Just so you know. I’m, uhm, sorry and... stuff.”
“Too bad,” he shrugged as he opened the wrapper of a lollipop. Sam couldn't help but stare as he then opened a plastic bag with some Japanese writing on it, throwing some of the candy in his mouth along with the lollipop and the man must have noticed.
“What,” he asked, the lollipop still in his mouth, making his speech a little slurred. “I have a rare kind of diabetes. I need sugar to, like, survive the day. Also, those babies were premium Chinese sweet balls. You don't get a better sugar rush than that.”
Sam nodded, his forehead furrowing slightly. There was certainly something wrong with the man, but that wasn't any of Sam's business so he just nodded and turned his head straight ahead instead. His phone vibrated in his pocket, signaling that he had gotten a text message. It was Dean, wondering if he had pulled his act together and gotten his ass on the plane yet.
“Ladies and gentlemen, as we are preparing for take-off, please turn off all electronic equipment. If you have a laptop, please store it away now and please, enjoy your flight.”
Sam was still typing his reply to Dean when the man behind him leaned forward to whisper in his ear: “You should turn it off.”
“Shit,” Sam muttered as he jumped at the voice. “And yeah, I'm gonna. Take it easy, okay.”
“It's just some good advice, kiddo, but you should probably turn that thing off. People are getting uneasy because, after nine eleven, cell phones are kinda triggery, since they can be remotes to bombs in the luggage.”
Sam wasn't sure he had heard right, or if the idiot was actually suggesting that he was a terrorist on board a fucking airplane. And not only that…
“Are you serious? You can't just say words like that on an airplane. You can't just... Some words put people on edge and you shouldn't throw them around like that.”
“What? Terrorist and bombs? Because they are real threats, not something to take lightly. People die you know, every year because people with cell phones and bombs, and I am rambling now, aren't I? Sorry, I do that sometimes when I have a bit too much sugar. Should have stayed away from the Swedish fishes.”
Sam widened his eyes at the man, not really believing his ears. He turned around and looked down the aisle at where the stewardesses had gathered, whispering between each other. He didn't like the looks they were giving him and the midget weirdo, and he really didn't like it when one of them walked towards them with firm steps in her stiletto heels.
“Excuse me, sir, if you and your friend could follow me to the front of the plane.”
“What?!”
He loosened his seatbelt, standing up so fast he almost hit his head in the stupid locker shelves.
“Sir, I need you and your friend to follow me.”
“That's not my friend. I have never seen that man before in my life! I swear!”
The stewardess took a step backwards, and Sam really needed to calm himself, but it was really hard when the devil leaned forward, giving the stewardess an award-winning smile, telling her about the fact that they exchanged paper bags earlier, but otherwise they didn't know each other.
“Federal Air Marshal! Drop the device, sir!”
In the front of the plane, a middle-aged man appeared with a gun drawn and pointed straight at Sam. Whoever he was, he must have seen way too many cop movies, because really, this wasn't Bad Boys.
“It's not a device to anything,” Sam countered as he held his phone up, the message to Dean still visible on the screen. “It's just an iPhone. It's a god-damn phone!”
“Drop the device!”
Sam opened his mouth to once again claim how stupid this whole thing was, but after that he didn’t remember anything but the screams, a loud bang and the pain in his chest and then his back as he fell to the floor. It felt like a baseball bat had hit him in the ribs, and the air marshal said something about a rubber bullet, but to be honest, everything was kind of a blur by then.
* * *
“I have some good news for you, mister Winchester. We have located your bag on the plane, but it's already somewhere over Kansas.”
It had been long hours filling in papers and waiting for everything to be processed. A few times Sam had been close to snapping because he knew how to do paperwork, and these guys weren't the most efficient. He wasn't sure if they were being deliberately slow or if they just were as incompetent as they seemed.
Now though, someone who seemed to be in charge had entered the room where Sam had been waiting for the last forty minutes, and he waved the release forms he held.
“I figured as much,” Sam said as the suit sat down on the other side of the desk. “Not much to do about that now.”
“Here's your cell phone, though.”
The suit nodded and pushed the stack of paper that would ensure Sam's release over the desk for Sam to sign. Now, Sam was a lawyer and he knew you shouldn't just sign papers like that. Once, he had read through the entire twenty-something pages before he ticked the “I Have Read And Agreed To The Terms Of Use” box when installing a new printer. This time, after so much time filling in paperwork, Sam just signed, eager to get out of there.
“If you put down an address at the end of the page, the airline will be more than happy to deliver your bag home to you, sir.”
“No, no,” Sam waved away as he pushed the papers back to the suit. “I'll just pick it up when I get to LAX. When does the next plane leave for Los Angeles?”
“In two hours maybe, but you won't be on it. You have been put on a no-fly list. I'm sorry, but you'll have to find another way to get home, sir.”
“What? You can't just put people on no-fly lists like that. I'm a lawyer and I know that I did squat wrong. You can't do this!”
“It says it right there. Both you and your friend have been placed on the no-fly list. I am sorry, sir.”
The man in front of him really wasn't sorry as he pointed at the third page of the papers Sam had just signed and on further inspection, it was there. He should have read it all, he really should, because there, black on white, was his signature agreeing that Sam Winchester was put on the no-fly list.
“He isn't my friend,” Sam pushed out, because really, it was better to insult the man that wasn't there than the man with the power that was sitting right in front of him.
“Are you sure,” the suit asked, leaning forward, forcing Sam to meet his eyes. “Because he said some... rather nice things about you.”
“You can't be fucking serious. Now, what am I supposed to do?”
Sam drew a hand through his hair, combing it back between his fingers. He needed to be there for Dean's wedding and oh fuck, he didn't need this in his life right now.
“Ever seen the movie Forrest Gump,” the suit asked, a smile Sam certainly didn't share spreading on his face. “Well, he ran across the entire country several times, and he was pretty stupid. I'm sure you can figure something out.”
In the end, Sam walked out of there without escort from the guard the suit threatened to call, but he fumed the whole way, glaring at the gray sky looming over New York, blaming it for not being sunny California.
Sam's day didn't get any better when the rental guy just looked at him like he was retarded when he asked if he could rent a car and pay when he had gotten to L.A. It didn't get better by the fact that he didn't have any way of confirming his identity, his passport and any other form of identification hundreds of miles away. Then his phone rang, Dean's face lighting up on the display.
“Don't scream now, but there’s been an incident and I’ve been put on the no-fly list and don't fucking panic because I have this under control.”
“Sam... You what? What the hell is going on, Sammy? What kind of incident? Are you hurt? I can't have my best man on crutches.”
“It wasn't something serious, Dean. I just can't fly right now so I'll get to L.A. another way. Don't worry, okay?”
Sam walked between the rental cars, checking if any of them might be unlocked and ready for a road trip to Los Angeles. It only resulted in one of the alarms going off and Sam having to stalk away very quickly while continuing to explain his situation to his not-amused big brother.
“Hey, it's you! I've been looking for you. I have something that belongs to you.”
Sam turned slowly, as he wasn't really sure he wanted to see what was behind him. It was a blue combo, a Toyota something-something, and it was driven by the tiny devil. Someone must be out to get Sam, because if he saw that man one more time, he was going to claim stalking and drag the whole thing in front of a court for a restraining order, and god knew that Sam could pull that off.
“Dean, I'll call you back. I might be able to make a deal with the devil.”
Dean was still talking, apparently very confused about Sam's last comment, but Sam hung up on him, walking over to the car, looking in through the window of the passenger seat. If the man had grabbed his bag, or at least his wallet or passport it would be great. Instead of any sane thing though, the man held up the pet moose and smiled like a proud child showing his mother his drawing.
The pet moose. The toy moose, the teddy moose that was nothing but a silly joke between brothers, that was what had been saved from the plane. He grabbed the moose by its neck, pulling it maybe a little too harshly from the man's hand.
“You couldn't take my wallet? My bag?”
“Sorry, didn't see anything like that. Besides, couldn't leave that guy behind, could I? Did you get a car or something?”
“Couldn't,” Sam said as he started walking away from the car. “My license is in my wallet, which is on the plane.”
“Too bad. If you want, you could tag along with us?”
The car drove slowly, creeping along with Sam's steps. That restraining order wasn't far over the horizon now.
“Thanks, but I don't think so. I'm not really a dog person,” Sam replied as he eyed the dog sitting with his paws on the window. It felt like it was looking at him like he was a walking steak. “I'll find a way to get to L.A. By myself, thanks. Thanks for the moose too.”
“Hey, I know that we got off on the wrong foot, but really, you should get to know me because, seriously? I am kind of awesome. I'll cover the costs too, you know. You can pay me when we get to Hollywood.”
That made Sam skid to a halt, the car soon following his example. That was it. This guy wasn't for real. Nobody could be like this. This was Candid Camera or Punk'd or something like that, because this was just not happening.
“It's L.A. It's not called Hollywood, it's called Los Angeles.”
“Yeah, I know that, but kid, I'm going to Hollywood.”
With a smile like that, he would fit right in. Sam continued staring, and somehow, the man interpreted it as a yes because he leaned across the seat and opened the passenger's door for Sam.
“Hop in. I'm Gabriel Loke, and this hellhound here,” he said as he lifted the bag containing the French bulldog and moving it to the back seat, “is Crowley, and if you ask nicely and maybe offer him your soul, he’ll give you his spot in the shotgun seat.”
“I'm Sam Winchester,” he replied and he didn't really know when he had given in, but within seconds, he had seated himself and closed the door behind him.
They managed to drive maybe a mile, a mile and a half, before the silence was broken by Gabriel who apparently thought Twenty Questions with the theme 'Sam's private life' was the best way to start a several-days-long road trip.
“So, Sam,” he started it all as he one-handedly opened a bag of M&Ms disturbingly skillfully as he kept his eyes on the road, “do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“A brother,” he responded, hoping that it wouldn't lead to a conversation. Of course, Gabriel didn't give up just because Sam gave him a short answer once. Or twice for that matter.
“Do you have a dog?”
“No.”
“A cat? You're a cat person?”
“Nope, no cat. No pets. At all.”
“Okay,” Gabriel said looking over at Sam. “How about this then? What’s your favorite brand of candy?”
“I don't really eat candy. Never had a taste for it. I prefer healthy food, like salads. Not all of us have a medical condition that still sounds like something a five year old made up so that he could have candy even if it wasn't Saturday.”
That actually managed to shut Gabriel up for a while, the only sounds the car engine and the noises of the city from outside. The first few minutes was a comforting silence, with Gabriel focusing on the road ahead of them and Sam being able to relax enough to sink into his seat and close his eyes. He couldn't sleep though, the silence hanging heavy in the small car. He opened his eyes then, glancing over at Gabriel.
He sat straight up, his hands hugging the wheel tightly enough that his knuckles whitened. He was chewing on something; Sam didn't know if it was some kind of candy or his lips, but it didn't take long before Sam gave up.
“Sorry, it's just,” Sam started what already felt like an awkward apology. “I finished a large case and my brother is getting married on Friday and I'm his best man. I really need to get there in time so I'm sorry if I'm a bit stressed.”
“That I can understand,” Gabriel said after a moment and then his smile reappeared. “What I don't get is how you don't like candy? I mean sugar it's just so... just so... Man, there's gotta be something seriously wrong with you. I’ll have to teach you the right way to live. I’ll be your sugar Yoda. Not to be confused with sugar daddy by the way. And,” he said and started the blinkers, getting ready to pull off the road, “we’ll start with waffles.”
It was the first time Sam laughed during the trip.
Gabriel steered them into the parking lot of a waffle house, sliding smoothly into a parking space. Sam looked at him, not really sure if he was serious or not. Gabriel ignored him though as he reached back to pull Crowley out of his travel bag. The dog didn't look too pleased with anything, especially not Sam as he glared at him and gave a growl that shook his entire little body.
“Shush, mutton-head,” Gabriel hushed the dog as he put him down on the ground, connecting the leash to the dog's collar. “And are you coming or not, Sasquatch? I'm gonna have some waffles with or without you.”
Then, without waiting for Sam, he started strutting towards the waffle house, Crowley walking beside him with his short legs oscillating like a clock on speed. Shaking his head to get everything in order, he opened the door and rushed after Gabriel.
* * *
“I’ll have the triple chocolate chip waffles with extra caramel sauce and uhm, if you could put some marshmallows on there too, you would make my day. And for the giant here, a waffle with strawberry jam, some powdered sugar and just a little chocolate sauce. The good kind.”
Their waitress nodded and closed her pen as she tapped it against her notepad before she swayed off behind the counter to deliver their order to the kitchen. Sam raised an eyebrow at Gabriel who leaned back on the sofa, petting Crowley sitting next to him. The dog seemed to, if not enjoy, at least accept it.
“What a gentleman. Ordering for me and everything.”
“Hey, I'm paying so it's just right. Besides, if you were to order I bet you would take like a Cesar salad.” Gabriel faked a shiver, nearly making Sam laugh out loud, but he resisted, though he couldn’t suppress a smile. “And I wouldn't be a good guide in the glorious kingdom that is waffles and sugar if I let you eat something nutritious and healthy would I?”
The waffles made it to their table a few minutes later, steaming hot. Sam had to confess that they looked absolutely delicious. Gabriel's was a serving of diabetes straight up and the caramel sauce spilled over as he took the plate from the waitress' hands.
“So, when you're not not eating waffles, what do you do,” Gabriel asked as he loaded another mouthful of waffles. “You mentioned something with a case before. Are you a cop? You look a bit like a cop with all these...”
Gabriel didn't finish the sentence, but only waved his hands before Sam, looking up and down at his body. Sam gave a strained smile, but shook his head.
“I'm a lawyer.”
“Okay. How did you get into law?”
“College,” Sam chopped the answer short and took another bite of the waffles. He wasn't going to admit it to Gabriel, but they were fucking delicious.
“You really do suck at small talk you know. We're gonna be traveling together for a few days, so I thought we could get to know each other a little. If you want to ride with a stick up your ass it's fine by me. I'm sorry for being polite.”
Gabriel was going to be the death of Sam. It was clear now that the small man with the golden eyes currently fixed intently on Sam was going to be the end of his life. It was maybe two years, three? Three years since Sam had gotten laid and really, he was fine with that usually. Gabriel however, was doing some very bad things to Sam's libido and just, fuck, he couldn't let himself fall for someone like that.
“I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” Sam said as he buried his face in his hands, smacking his cheeks lightly. “I'm an ass, I know. Sorry, uhm, what did you do in New York, Gabriel?”
It took a second before the man answered as he finished chewing.
“My, uh, my mother died. I was in New York for the funeral service.”
“Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that. I really am.”
“You apologize a lot, don't you, kiddo.”
Sam huffed, but couldn't help but quirk his lips as Gabriel gave him a wolfish grin. They ate in silence after that, but at least no awkward atmosphere hung over them. Sam looked over the table at times, stealing glances.
Spreading out a map on the table after putting the finished plates in a pile at the side, Sam flattened the edges of the paper. He pulled off the cap of the pen with his teeth, moving it around between one corner of his mouth to the other as he drew out their route on the map. Gabriel followed the pen's trail on the map, nodding every now and then.
“You don't suppose we can make it to the Grand Canyon too?”
Shaking his head, Sam explained just how big a detour that would be, more than a hundred miles. To make sure Gabriel understood just how stupid an idea it was, he drew small arrows on the map, turning it around and showing it to the man.
“Too bad,” Gabriel said as he took a sip from his can of ice tea, “cause you gotta admit that the Grand Canyon would be a, well, a great place for mom.”
He picked up a red coffee can from his bag, one of those really old ones with a buckle to hold the lid in place. He shifted it in his hand, tossing it just a few inches up in the air only to catch it again. There was something soft sounding from the inside and was that what Sam thought it was?
“Is that...” Sam said as he was trying to find the most appropriate words to use in a situation like this. “You know, most people keep the ashes of their dead relatives in urns. Not in... a coffee can.”
“My old mom loved coffee, so why the fuck not keep her in her favorite coffee can. It's probably older than you, but don't worry. I had it fixed so it's air tight now. And besides,” he smiled and winked at Sam, and god, really? Winked? “I'm not most people, and thank god for that.”
* * *
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