((Supernatural AU)) One More Miracle (Chapter Five)
Previous Chapter
This chapter contains some homophobic language that might disturb some readers.
Sam woke up sluggishly, slowly becoming aware of his surroundings as he was dragged back into consciousness by the light streaming through his bedroom window and the sound of the traffic rolling by outside. He drew in a breath, stretching his legs and curling his toes. Something warm shifted beside him, and finally he opened his eyes.
Gabe was curled up next to him, and at some point during the night he'd pulled every bit of the blankets and sheets on Sam's bed over his body. It was a comical image; the top of Gabe's head poked out from a sea of fabric, his hair ruffled and his eyes lightly closed.
Sam shivered, and despite his reluctance to disturb him, he reached out towards Gabe, grabbing a corner of one of the blankets and gently tugging. It didn't give in the least - Gabe only gripped it tighter - and he sighed. He pulled harder, and Gabe groaned, nuzzling down into the blankets. A hand shot out from the Gabe's cocoon and tried to smack Sam's arm away.
“Gabe, will you give me some damn blankets?” Sam groaned, still groggy.
“Get your own,” Gabe mumbled into the pillow.
“They are mine.”
Gabe let out a soft “Mmff...” and relaxed his grip, letting Sam pull some of the sheets back over to his side to cover himself.
“Thanks,” Sam breathed. He yawned and lay back again, closing his eyes.
“Mmhmmf.”
-
The rustle of fabric against skin woke Sam again some time later, though he wasn't sure just how much longer he'd slept. He opened one eye, wondering for a moment if Gabe had stolen all of his blankets again, but the bed was empty beside him. Gabe was standing, pulling on his pants.
Sam reached out and grabbed his bony wrist, and Gabe turned.
“You leaving?” Sam asked softly.
Gabe smiled. “Nah,” he said. “I've had to pee for the last hour though.”
“Oh...” Sam yawned magnificently. “What time is it?”
“Ah...” Gabe glanced at his wrists for a watch that wasn't there, then searched the room for a clock. “Bout ten,” he said.
Sam hummed thoughtfully. “Don't you need to open your shop?” he asked. Gabe paused, let his arms fall loosely to his sides and smirked down at him.
“It's my shop,” he reminded Sam as he leaned downward, pressing a sleepy kiss to his lips. “I can open it when I damn well please.”
-
The bed dipped a few minutes later as Gabe sat down next to him again, and Sam glanced up, waiting for him to lie back. He didn't, though; he just sat there, stiffly, and Sam furrowed his brow, anxiety settling in his gut.
“Gabe,” he said, pushing up on his elbows. Gabe blinked at him. “You okay?”
“Don't get mad,” was all Gabe said in reply.
“What?”
“Just...don't get mad.”
“You know, you saying that is really reassuring me,” Sam told him. Gabe said nothing; his gaze darted between Sam and the door. “Gabe, what happened? Did the toilet explode or something?”
“No,” said Gabe. “But I...” He trailed off, scratching the back of his neck and offering Sam a crooked, half-forced grin. “I met your brother.”
“What?” Sam threw the covers off and was out of bed like a shot, heading straight for the door until Gabe cleared his throat loudly behind him. He paused, turned, and Gabe merely gazed at him with one eyebrow cocked and a smirk on his face, glancing up and down his body until Sam realized his clothes were still strewn about the room.
“Oh-” he choked, and Gabe tried very unsuccessfully to suppress a laugh as Sam grabbed his jeans and pulled them on.
“At least I remembered to put pants on,” Gabe offered as Sam reached for the doorknob.
Dean was leaning against the opposite wall with his arms crossed over his chest. Sam started, stumbling as he opened the door, and he tried to force a casual smile, but it didn't work. Dean cocked one lazy eyebrow.
“Morning, Sammy.”
“You're up early,” Sam said. ”It's not even noon.”
“Well I was about to go back to bed, but ah...I think there's one more person in this apartment than usual.”
“Dean, right?” asked Gabe as he poked his head around Sam's shoulder, pointing a finger towards Dean.
“I'm guessing this is Gabe,” Dean said, still nodding toward Sam. Sam smiled awkwardly at his brother.
“Pleasure,” Gabe continued, extending a hand. Dean didn't take it.
“Dude,” he said instead, “I will shake your hand when you have a shirt on. Nothing against you, but I personally prefer not to have first introductions when people are half-naked.” Gabe withdrew his hand as Dean ran his own fingers through his ruffled hair and headed for the kitchen.
“Hell of a first impression,” Gabe offered.
“Relax,” Sam assured him. “He'll warm up to you. This uh...this isn't exactly how I'd wanted you guys to meet.”
“Well I'll bet it's not exactly easy to be polite to a guy who you probably can't stop picturing naked with your little brother.”
“I can hear you!” Dean called from the kitchen, sounding as if he were in pain. Sam tried not to laugh; he really did, but Gabe was giggling behind him, and it was far too infectious not to give in.
-
“You don't want to stay for breakfast or anything?” Sam offered as Gabe lingered in the doorway. Gabe glanced with a smirk over at Dean, who was lounging on the couch with a cup of coffee, trying to look casual.
“Nah,” he said offhandedly. He shoved his hands into his pockets. “As much as I love to pretend I don't, I do have a job to do. And besides, I'm sure you and your brother have some talking to do anyway.”
“Can I at least give you a ride?”
“I'll just walk.” He shrugged. “It's nice out.”
“Okay,” Sam relented.
Gabe quirked an eyebrow and smiled up at him. “You gonna get down here or what?” Sam grinned, chuckling and leaning down to kiss him, feeling Gabe thread his fingers through his hair at the back of his neck. He found himself laughing against Gabe's lips, feeling relaxed and somewhat giddy, and when he pulled away, his smile had grown twofold.
“Freaking adorable,” Gabe mused. “I'll see you, sasquatch.”
Sam felt like he was in a daze, and Gabe was just slipping out the door when he replied, “Yeah, see you...”
The minute the door closed, he turned to Dean, frowning. “You could have at least tried to be friendly,” he said.
“Dude, the first time I meet the guy is as he's walking down the hall half-naked with absolutely zero warning. You can't exactly expect me to bloom into a social butterfly on the spot, you know.” Sam deflated, sighing and hunching against the kitchen counter.
“I'm sorry, okay? I didn't exactly...plan for you guys to meet that way.”
“Oh, I bet you didn't,” Dean said with a knowing nod and a Cheshire Cat grin. Sam straightened up, glaring half heartedly at his brother. “Look, he seems great, okay? I'd love to meet him sometime when everyone's fully clothed and doesn't have...” He gestured at his head with a grimace. “...sex-hair.”
Sam ran a palm over his own scalp, trying to smooth down his unruly hair a bit. “I'm gonna take a shower,” he said, and when Dean opened his mouth to speak again, he pointed at him. “Don't you say a damn word.”
Dean pressed his lips together and shrugged, as if he didn't have any idea what Sam was getting at.
When Sam got into the bathroom and gave himself a good look in the mirror, he realized that Dean had been all too right about the sex-hair.
-
The shop was surprisingly crowded when Sam strode through the door on Sunday: a mother and her two kids browsed through the children's books near the back (or at least, the mother browsed while the kids shouted at each other); a young couple giggled by the door while they looked through a magazine rack; a tall man dressed in a long black overcoat picked through what Sam managed to make out as the Sherlock Holmes series from under a mess of dark hair.
When Sam turned, Gabe was gazing at him from behind the counter, resting his cheek on his knuckles as he grinned.
“You must be some kind of good luck charm, sasquatch,” he said. “Business has been booming all day. I should get dinner with you more often.” He winked, not-so-subtly, and Sam couldn't help but smile right back at him, digging his hand into his pocket and pulling out a battered iPod.
“You left this at my apartment,” he said as he approached the counter. “I know it's not mine. Mine has more Pearl Jam.”
“Geez, I wondered where this was!” Gabe exclaimed, taking it from him. He looked back up at him, trying his hardest to look put off. “You went through my music?”
“I honestly didn't think you'd mind,” Sam chuckled. “A lot of Florence and the Machine. Nice.”
“She speaks to me,” Gabe said defensively. “It's the closest thing I have to a religion.”
“I'm being serious!” Sam leaned on the counter. “You should play some for me sometime.”
“I just might,” said Gabe, smirking anew, and suddenly he was grasping Sam's collar and pulling him downward, pressing their lips together.
Sam wondered if people were staring and found himself not caring one bit.
-
Sam was nearly falling asleep on his feet as he walked home on Tuesday night. He hadn't done any schoolwork all weekend; his mind had been a whirlwind and he hadn't been able to concentrate on anything relating to his classes for more than a few minutes at a time. He'd gone into a self-imposed state of being a hermit in the library for several more hours than he'd originally intended, and while he'd gotten a good amount done and felt accomplished, it was late, and he was exhausted.
The shop was dark when he passed, and while he wasn't surprised, it was strange not seeing the warm light glowing from its interior in the darkness. He glanced up at the second level and could make out a small sliver of light behind the lowered shades in the window, and he surprised himself by smiling fondly. The idea of going up and dropping in on him passed fleetingly through his mind, but he waved it on by; it could wait for another day.
But as he passed, something struck him as odd, catching his eye from inside the store: a sudden shift in the shadows. He stopped, backed up, and peeked through the window. It was almost impossible to see in the dark, but his stomach bottomed out when a figure shifted again, and muffled voices drifted through the door. This was bad.
He took a breath, reaching for his cell phone, but cursing when he remembered that it was dead. He set his jaw, a sudden wave of protectiveness washing over him, and he set his backpack on the ground by the door, reaching for the knob.
The door was unlocked, pushing open easily, and the minute he stepped inside, he heard the distinct sound of two men gasping and rattling out curses.
There was a loud scuffling, and then everything started happening so fast Sam couldn't think. One of them came at him, a fist whizzing by his cheek, barely missing. Sam still couldn't see, but his heart pounded with the adrenaline rush that took over when he pushed forward, hurling his full weight into the attacker. He gave easily, stumbling several steps backward before rushing at Sam again, fists flying. One caught Sam in the jaw, and he flinched. Another connected with his gut and he doubled over. Everything was dark around him, and he couldn't make out his assailant's face, but in one moment of perfect angling, the light from the street lamp outside streamed through the window and glinted in the man's eyes, and Sam took his chance; he sent his fist flying, and it connected solidly with bone. The figure grunted in pain and crumpled to the floor.
The second one was upon him before he had time to flinch at the pain in his knuckles, a pair of lean arms wrapping around his neck and pulling him back away from the door. Sam clawed at them, tried to get a grip on them, but the second attacker was much stronger than his size would have guessed. Sam felt his legs bump into something metallic and cold: a ladder against the bookshelf, and he slammed the figure back against it. The figure grunted, but didn't give, and Sam's limited vision was starting to go hazy from the tight press against his windpipe.
Suddenly, the lights flickered on, and both Sam and the two assailants cried out as the brightness assaulted their eyes. Lucas was hunched on the floor, blood flowing from his split lip as he hauled himself up - Sam could only guess that the one with the vice-like grip on his neck was Al - and in the doorway, glaring hard enough to scare the Devil himself, was Gabe.
He had a shotgun in his hands.
Sam took advantage of Al's momentary shock and managed to push him off, shoving him against the ladder and stumbling away.
“Get the hell out of my shop,” Gabe growled, and his voice was unlike Sam had ever heard it: full of malice that made him think he was more than willing and able to use the firearm in his hands.
“Bet you don't even know how to use that thing,” Lucas said, but he still didn't look like he wanted to put that theory to the test.
“You wanna bet?” Gabe asked, and he aimed the gun directly at Lucas' chest. Lucas visibly flinched, and Sam couldn't deny that a sick sense of satisfaction welled in his chest at that.
There was a sudden flash of movement and a loud clatter as Al yanked on the ladder, and the hunk of metal came crashing to the ground. With the momentary distraction, Lucas and Al rushed forward, shoving Gabe back onto the pavement and disappearing into the night.
Sam cried out as the ladder toppled and pinned his arm to the floor. He heard the crack of bone and tears sprang up in his eyes at the white-hot pain that coursed through the limb. He barely heard Gabe calling out his name and rushing toward him, and he clutched his arm to his chest as soon as the ladder was pulled off, cradling it gingerly and leaning back against the bookshelf.
“Sam...Ah, Jesus, sasquatch. Are you okay?” Gabe was breathless and his voice shook as he put the shotgun down on the floor beside him, kneeling by Sam, planting his hand on Sam's shoulder.
“Gabe, I'm sorry...I tried to...I couldn't...” His words came out in a rushing flurry, and Gabe was talking over him, soothingly telling him, “No, Sam. This isn't your fault. God, it's not your fault.”
“I think...I think my arm's broken,” Sam finally forced out.
“I gotcha, Sam. Come on. I gotcha.” He hoisted Sam up slowly, leading him over to the counter, letting him sit in the chair there.
Sam forced himself to laugh. “You weren't lying about the shotgun...” he said.
“Damn thing's not even loaded,” Gabe admitted. “Do you really think I'd ever be able to shoot someone?”
“Still, did the trick.”
“Well enough.”
Sam looked up at the bookshelf, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gabe's face fall when he did. The color drained out of his face, and a heavy weight lodged itself in his gut, making him unsure of whether he wanted to cry or vomit, maybe both.
“Sam...they're morons. Assholes. Dicks. They don't mean anything.”
Gabe's words did little to convince him, even if Sam desperately wished they could.
“Gabe...Gabe, geez I'm sorry...” He leaned forward, pressing his face against Gabe's shirt. Gabe's fingers trailed through his hair.
“Don't apologize, Sam...It's okay...You're okay...We're okay...”
He didn't pull away, didn't look up, couldn't bear the thought of having to see the dreadful, horrendous sight of the malicious letters F-A-G tagged on the bookshelf across the room.
-
Gabe signed Sam's cast. He was the second person (after Dean, of course) to do so, and he took up nearly half of one side. Sam eventually had to take the Sharpie away from him, which made Gabe whine loudly about Sam stifling his creative process, but the real reason Sam did so was because - despite how adorable he looked concentrating so hard, with his tongue thrust out past his lips on one side of his mouth as he worked - he couldn't stop seeing the guilt that hid just behind Gabe's eyes. The last thing he wanted was for Gabe to blame himself for any of this.
Friday afternoon, the next time Sam went to the shop, his gaze lingered on the blue tarp that covered the bookshelf. The ruined books were in boxes in the corner and behind the counter, covered by old bedsheets. The sight of it was almost morbid, as if someone's life had actually been cut short that night.
“Good news, sasquatch!” Gabe piped when Sam walked in. “The streets of Lawrence are going to be short too dickwads for the next few months.”
“What?” Sam asked. Gabe slipped out from behind the counter, taking Sam's arm and making him turn to face him - and more importantly, face away from the covered bookshelf.
“I was starting to think that thing was a crap investment, but I guess I was wrong.” Sam's eyes trailed up to where Gabe was pointing: a security camera nestled in the corner. He let out a small laugh.
“I didn't know you even had security in here,” he said. “You know, besides the shotgun.”
“Guess they didn't either. But it got a good long view of those two asshats. With any luck, they'll be put away for a few months at least.”
“Lucas and Al?” Sam asked, eyes widening. “You're serious?” Gabe nodded.
“Course there's a lot of red tape to go through, but you don't have to worry about that yourself for now. I doubt they'll be bothering you anytime soon, sasquatch.”
“Wow...that's...” He trailed off. It was fantastic. Relief flooded through him like a wave, but his gaze inevitably trailed back to the tarp covering the bookshelf, and the image of the word that had been painted there flashed through his mind.
Gabe planted his hand on Sam's cheek, turning his head to face him. “Sam...what they did. You shouldn't let it get to you.”
Sam laughed bitterly. “Easier said than done.”
“I know it is. But promise me you'll try.”
“Okay,” Sam said. “I'm sorry, I just...I didn't want you to get dragged into all this.”
“Sam, listen to me. You didn't drag me into anything. Not a thing. You get that through your thick skull, okay?” He tapped his knuckles lightly against Sam's scalp - it was quite the reach for him -- and Sam tried to fight a smile, but he was blissfully unsuccessful. Gabe smiled as well, but the expression faded as he took Sam's bandaged arm between his palms.
“You didn't deserve this, though,” he said. “You're a stubborn son of a bitch, but you didn't deserve this...I just wish I could-” He stopped, suddenly looking thoughtful.
“Gabe?” Sam questioned when he remained silent for an almost uncomfortably long time, his hands still covering the cast.
Suddenly, Gabe pulled him toward the door. “Come with me.”
“What are you doing?” Sam asked, but Gabe didn't answer; he locked the door and hung a sign in the window that said Back in Fifteen Minutes before dragging Sam up the stairs.
He closed the door behind them and led Sam over to the couch, sitting him down on the flat cushions. “Gabe what the hell's gotten into you?”
When Gabe looked at him, there was such intensity gleaming in his eyes that Sam nearly flinched away. “Listen to me, Sam,” he said. “There's something I haven't...something I've kept from you. Something I need you to see.” Sam's heart raced.
“Gabe...”
“Just...you need to promise you'll trust me. Just trust me. That's all I need you to do.”
Sam blinked. “I...” He sighed. “Okay.”
Gabe let out a breath and placed his hands on Sam's cast again, staring down at it with purpose blazing behind his amber irises before he closed his eyes, and his brow furrowed in concentration. Suddenly warmth rushed up Sam's arm, and a soft white glow poured out like gentle fire from beneath Gabe's palms. He gasped as he felt the bones within his arm knit together and heal themselves, and the plaster cast crumbled and fell away.
When Gabe opened his eyes again, he looked almost sheepish, and Sam found he was having a hard time breathing.
“Gabe...you...”
“Healed you,” Gabe finished quietly. He ran a delicate finger up Sam's forearm. “I healed you, Sam.”
“But how could you...” He pulled his arm away, bringing up to eye level so that he could study it; it was pristine, perfect, without a single mark from the injury he'd sustained just days before. “It's like some kind of...”
“Miracle,” Gabe said, and he reached out placed his hand on Sam's knee, waiting for Sam to look him in the eye again before he continued: “And now I need you to trust me.”
Next Chapter
This chapter contains some homophobic language that might disturb some readers.
Sam woke up sluggishly, slowly becoming aware of his surroundings as he was dragged back into consciousness by the light streaming through his bedroom window and the sound of the traffic rolling by outside. He drew in a breath, stretching his legs and curling his toes. Something warm shifted beside him, and finally he opened his eyes.
Gabe was curled up next to him, and at some point during the night he'd pulled every bit of the blankets and sheets on Sam's bed over his body. It was a comical image; the top of Gabe's head poked out from a sea of fabric, his hair ruffled and his eyes lightly closed.
Sam shivered, and despite his reluctance to disturb him, he reached out towards Gabe, grabbing a corner of one of the blankets and gently tugging. It didn't give in the least - Gabe only gripped it tighter - and he sighed. He pulled harder, and Gabe groaned, nuzzling down into the blankets. A hand shot out from the Gabe's cocoon and tried to smack Sam's arm away.
“Gabe, will you give me some damn blankets?” Sam groaned, still groggy.
“Get your own,” Gabe mumbled into the pillow.
“They are mine.”
Gabe let out a soft “Mmff...” and relaxed his grip, letting Sam pull some of the sheets back over to his side to cover himself.
“Thanks,” Sam breathed. He yawned and lay back again, closing his eyes.
“Mmhmmf.”
-
The rustle of fabric against skin woke Sam again some time later, though he wasn't sure just how much longer he'd slept. He opened one eye, wondering for a moment if Gabe had stolen all of his blankets again, but the bed was empty beside him. Gabe was standing, pulling on his pants.
Sam reached out and grabbed his bony wrist, and Gabe turned.
“You leaving?” Sam asked softly.
Gabe smiled. “Nah,” he said. “I've had to pee for the last hour though.”
“Oh...” Sam yawned magnificently. “What time is it?”
“Ah...” Gabe glanced at his wrists for a watch that wasn't there, then searched the room for a clock. “Bout ten,” he said.
Sam hummed thoughtfully. “Don't you need to open your shop?” he asked. Gabe paused, let his arms fall loosely to his sides and smirked down at him.
“It's my shop,” he reminded Sam as he leaned downward, pressing a sleepy kiss to his lips. “I can open it when I damn well please.”
-
The bed dipped a few minutes later as Gabe sat down next to him again, and Sam glanced up, waiting for him to lie back. He didn't, though; he just sat there, stiffly, and Sam furrowed his brow, anxiety settling in his gut.
“Gabe,” he said, pushing up on his elbows. Gabe blinked at him. “You okay?”
“Don't get mad,” was all Gabe said in reply.
“What?”
“Just...don't get mad.”
“You know, you saying that is really reassuring me,” Sam told him. Gabe said nothing; his gaze darted between Sam and the door. “Gabe, what happened? Did the toilet explode or something?”
“No,” said Gabe. “But I...” He trailed off, scratching the back of his neck and offering Sam a crooked, half-forced grin. “I met your brother.”
“What?” Sam threw the covers off and was out of bed like a shot, heading straight for the door until Gabe cleared his throat loudly behind him. He paused, turned, and Gabe merely gazed at him with one eyebrow cocked and a smirk on his face, glancing up and down his body until Sam realized his clothes were still strewn about the room.
“Oh-” he choked, and Gabe tried very unsuccessfully to suppress a laugh as Sam grabbed his jeans and pulled them on.
“At least I remembered to put pants on,” Gabe offered as Sam reached for the doorknob.
Dean was leaning against the opposite wall with his arms crossed over his chest. Sam started, stumbling as he opened the door, and he tried to force a casual smile, but it didn't work. Dean cocked one lazy eyebrow.
“Morning, Sammy.”
“You're up early,” Sam said. ”It's not even noon.”
“Well I was about to go back to bed, but ah...I think there's one more person in this apartment than usual.”
“Dean, right?” asked Gabe as he poked his head around Sam's shoulder, pointing a finger towards Dean.
“I'm guessing this is Gabe,” Dean said, still nodding toward Sam. Sam smiled awkwardly at his brother.
“Pleasure,” Gabe continued, extending a hand. Dean didn't take it.
“Dude,” he said instead, “I will shake your hand when you have a shirt on. Nothing against you, but I personally prefer not to have first introductions when people are half-naked.” Gabe withdrew his hand as Dean ran his own fingers through his ruffled hair and headed for the kitchen.
“Hell of a first impression,” Gabe offered.
“Relax,” Sam assured him. “He'll warm up to you. This uh...this isn't exactly how I'd wanted you guys to meet.”
“Well I'll bet it's not exactly easy to be polite to a guy who you probably can't stop picturing naked with your little brother.”
“I can hear you!” Dean called from the kitchen, sounding as if he were in pain. Sam tried not to laugh; he really did, but Gabe was giggling behind him, and it was far too infectious not to give in.
-
“You don't want to stay for breakfast or anything?” Sam offered as Gabe lingered in the doorway. Gabe glanced with a smirk over at Dean, who was lounging on the couch with a cup of coffee, trying to look casual.
“Nah,” he said offhandedly. He shoved his hands into his pockets. “As much as I love to pretend I don't, I do have a job to do. And besides, I'm sure you and your brother have some talking to do anyway.”
“Can I at least give you a ride?”
“I'll just walk.” He shrugged. “It's nice out.”
“Okay,” Sam relented.
Gabe quirked an eyebrow and smiled up at him. “You gonna get down here or what?” Sam grinned, chuckling and leaning down to kiss him, feeling Gabe thread his fingers through his hair at the back of his neck. He found himself laughing against Gabe's lips, feeling relaxed and somewhat giddy, and when he pulled away, his smile had grown twofold.
“Freaking adorable,” Gabe mused. “I'll see you, sasquatch.”
Sam felt like he was in a daze, and Gabe was just slipping out the door when he replied, “Yeah, see you...”
The minute the door closed, he turned to Dean, frowning. “You could have at least tried to be friendly,” he said.
“Dude, the first time I meet the guy is as he's walking down the hall half-naked with absolutely zero warning. You can't exactly expect me to bloom into a social butterfly on the spot, you know.” Sam deflated, sighing and hunching against the kitchen counter.
“I'm sorry, okay? I didn't exactly...plan for you guys to meet that way.”
“Oh, I bet you didn't,” Dean said with a knowing nod and a Cheshire Cat grin. Sam straightened up, glaring half heartedly at his brother. “Look, he seems great, okay? I'd love to meet him sometime when everyone's fully clothed and doesn't have...” He gestured at his head with a grimace. “...sex-hair.”
Sam ran a palm over his own scalp, trying to smooth down his unruly hair a bit. “I'm gonna take a shower,” he said, and when Dean opened his mouth to speak again, he pointed at him. “Don't you say a damn word.”
Dean pressed his lips together and shrugged, as if he didn't have any idea what Sam was getting at.
When Sam got into the bathroom and gave himself a good look in the mirror, he realized that Dean had been all too right about the sex-hair.
-
The shop was surprisingly crowded when Sam strode through the door on Sunday: a mother and her two kids browsed through the children's books near the back (or at least, the mother browsed while the kids shouted at each other); a young couple giggled by the door while they looked through a magazine rack; a tall man dressed in a long black overcoat picked through what Sam managed to make out as the Sherlock Holmes series from under a mess of dark hair.
When Sam turned, Gabe was gazing at him from behind the counter, resting his cheek on his knuckles as he grinned.
“You must be some kind of good luck charm, sasquatch,” he said. “Business has been booming all day. I should get dinner with you more often.” He winked, not-so-subtly, and Sam couldn't help but smile right back at him, digging his hand into his pocket and pulling out a battered iPod.
“You left this at my apartment,” he said as he approached the counter. “I know it's not mine. Mine has more Pearl Jam.”
“Geez, I wondered where this was!” Gabe exclaimed, taking it from him. He looked back up at him, trying his hardest to look put off. “You went through my music?”
“I honestly didn't think you'd mind,” Sam chuckled. “A lot of Florence and the Machine. Nice.”
“She speaks to me,” Gabe said defensively. “It's the closest thing I have to a religion.”
“I'm being serious!” Sam leaned on the counter. “You should play some for me sometime.”
“I just might,” said Gabe, smirking anew, and suddenly he was grasping Sam's collar and pulling him downward, pressing their lips together.
Sam wondered if people were staring and found himself not caring one bit.
-
Sam was nearly falling asleep on his feet as he walked home on Tuesday night. He hadn't done any schoolwork all weekend; his mind had been a whirlwind and he hadn't been able to concentrate on anything relating to his classes for more than a few minutes at a time. He'd gone into a self-imposed state of being a hermit in the library for several more hours than he'd originally intended, and while he'd gotten a good amount done and felt accomplished, it was late, and he was exhausted.
The shop was dark when he passed, and while he wasn't surprised, it was strange not seeing the warm light glowing from its interior in the darkness. He glanced up at the second level and could make out a small sliver of light behind the lowered shades in the window, and he surprised himself by smiling fondly. The idea of going up and dropping in on him passed fleetingly through his mind, but he waved it on by; it could wait for another day.
But as he passed, something struck him as odd, catching his eye from inside the store: a sudden shift in the shadows. He stopped, backed up, and peeked through the window. It was almost impossible to see in the dark, but his stomach bottomed out when a figure shifted again, and muffled voices drifted through the door. This was bad.
He took a breath, reaching for his cell phone, but cursing when he remembered that it was dead. He set his jaw, a sudden wave of protectiveness washing over him, and he set his backpack on the ground by the door, reaching for the knob.
The door was unlocked, pushing open easily, and the minute he stepped inside, he heard the distinct sound of two men gasping and rattling out curses.
There was a loud scuffling, and then everything started happening so fast Sam couldn't think. One of them came at him, a fist whizzing by his cheek, barely missing. Sam still couldn't see, but his heart pounded with the adrenaline rush that took over when he pushed forward, hurling his full weight into the attacker. He gave easily, stumbling several steps backward before rushing at Sam again, fists flying. One caught Sam in the jaw, and he flinched. Another connected with his gut and he doubled over. Everything was dark around him, and he couldn't make out his assailant's face, but in one moment of perfect angling, the light from the street lamp outside streamed through the window and glinted in the man's eyes, and Sam took his chance; he sent his fist flying, and it connected solidly with bone. The figure grunted in pain and crumpled to the floor.
The second one was upon him before he had time to flinch at the pain in his knuckles, a pair of lean arms wrapping around his neck and pulling him back away from the door. Sam clawed at them, tried to get a grip on them, but the second attacker was much stronger than his size would have guessed. Sam felt his legs bump into something metallic and cold: a ladder against the bookshelf, and he slammed the figure back against it. The figure grunted, but didn't give, and Sam's limited vision was starting to go hazy from the tight press against his windpipe.
Suddenly, the lights flickered on, and both Sam and the two assailants cried out as the brightness assaulted their eyes. Lucas was hunched on the floor, blood flowing from his split lip as he hauled himself up - Sam could only guess that the one with the vice-like grip on his neck was Al - and in the doorway, glaring hard enough to scare the Devil himself, was Gabe.
He had a shotgun in his hands.
Sam took advantage of Al's momentary shock and managed to push him off, shoving him against the ladder and stumbling away.
“Get the hell out of my shop,” Gabe growled, and his voice was unlike Sam had ever heard it: full of malice that made him think he was more than willing and able to use the firearm in his hands.
“Bet you don't even know how to use that thing,” Lucas said, but he still didn't look like he wanted to put that theory to the test.
“You wanna bet?” Gabe asked, and he aimed the gun directly at Lucas' chest. Lucas visibly flinched, and Sam couldn't deny that a sick sense of satisfaction welled in his chest at that.
There was a sudden flash of movement and a loud clatter as Al yanked on the ladder, and the hunk of metal came crashing to the ground. With the momentary distraction, Lucas and Al rushed forward, shoving Gabe back onto the pavement and disappearing into the night.
Sam cried out as the ladder toppled and pinned his arm to the floor. He heard the crack of bone and tears sprang up in his eyes at the white-hot pain that coursed through the limb. He barely heard Gabe calling out his name and rushing toward him, and he clutched his arm to his chest as soon as the ladder was pulled off, cradling it gingerly and leaning back against the bookshelf.
“Sam...Ah, Jesus, sasquatch. Are you okay?” Gabe was breathless and his voice shook as he put the shotgun down on the floor beside him, kneeling by Sam, planting his hand on Sam's shoulder.
“Gabe, I'm sorry...I tried to...I couldn't...” His words came out in a rushing flurry, and Gabe was talking over him, soothingly telling him, “No, Sam. This isn't your fault. God, it's not your fault.”
“I think...I think my arm's broken,” Sam finally forced out.
“I gotcha, Sam. Come on. I gotcha.” He hoisted Sam up slowly, leading him over to the counter, letting him sit in the chair there.
Sam forced himself to laugh. “You weren't lying about the shotgun...” he said.
“Damn thing's not even loaded,” Gabe admitted. “Do you really think I'd ever be able to shoot someone?”
“Still, did the trick.”
“Well enough.”
Sam looked up at the bookshelf, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gabe's face fall when he did. The color drained out of his face, and a heavy weight lodged itself in his gut, making him unsure of whether he wanted to cry or vomit, maybe both.
“Sam...they're morons. Assholes. Dicks. They don't mean anything.”
Gabe's words did little to convince him, even if Sam desperately wished they could.
“Gabe...Gabe, geez I'm sorry...” He leaned forward, pressing his face against Gabe's shirt. Gabe's fingers trailed through his hair.
“Don't apologize, Sam...It's okay...You're okay...We're okay...”
He didn't pull away, didn't look up, couldn't bear the thought of having to see the dreadful, horrendous sight of the malicious letters F-A-G tagged on the bookshelf across the room.
-
Gabe signed Sam's cast. He was the second person (after Dean, of course) to do so, and he took up nearly half of one side. Sam eventually had to take the Sharpie away from him, which made Gabe whine loudly about Sam stifling his creative process, but the real reason Sam did so was because - despite how adorable he looked concentrating so hard, with his tongue thrust out past his lips on one side of his mouth as he worked - he couldn't stop seeing the guilt that hid just behind Gabe's eyes. The last thing he wanted was for Gabe to blame himself for any of this.
Friday afternoon, the next time Sam went to the shop, his gaze lingered on the blue tarp that covered the bookshelf. The ruined books were in boxes in the corner and behind the counter, covered by old bedsheets. The sight of it was almost morbid, as if someone's life had actually been cut short that night.
“Good news, sasquatch!” Gabe piped when Sam walked in. “The streets of Lawrence are going to be short too dickwads for the next few months.”
“What?” Sam asked. Gabe slipped out from behind the counter, taking Sam's arm and making him turn to face him - and more importantly, face away from the covered bookshelf.
“I was starting to think that thing was a crap investment, but I guess I was wrong.” Sam's eyes trailed up to where Gabe was pointing: a security camera nestled in the corner. He let out a small laugh.
“I didn't know you even had security in here,” he said. “You know, besides the shotgun.”
“Guess they didn't either. But it got a good long view of those two asshats. With any luck, they'll be put away for a few months at least.”
“Lucas and Al?” Sam asked, eyes widening. “You're serious?” Gabe nodded.
“Course there's a lot of red tape to go through, but you don't have to worry about that yourself for now. I doubt they'll be bothering you anytime soon, sasquatch.”
“Wow...that's...” He trailed off. It was fantastic. Relief flooded through him like a wave, but his gaze inevitably trailed back to the tarp covering the bookshelf, and the image of the word that had been painted there flashed through his mind.
Gabe planted his hand on Sam's cheek, turning his head to face him. “Sam...what they did. You shouldn't let it get to you.”
Sam laughed bitterly. “Easier said than done.”
“I know it is. But promise me you'll try.”
“Okay,” Sam said. “I'm sorry, I just...I didn't want you to get dragged into all this.”
“Sam, listen to me. You didn't drag me into anything. Not a thing. You get that through your thick skull, okay?” He tapped his knuckles lightly against Sam's scalp - it was quite the reach for him -- and Sam tried to fight a smile, but he was blissfully unsuccessful. Gabe smiled as well, but the expression faded as he took Sam's bandaged arm between his palms.
“You didn't deserve this, though,” he said. “You're a stubborn son of a bitch, but you didn't deserve this...I just wish I could-” He stopped, suddenly looking thoughtful.
“Gabe?” Sam questioned when he remained silent for an almost uncomfortably long time, his hands still covering the cast.
Suddenly, Gabe pulled him toward the door. “Come with me.”
“What are you doing?” Sam asked, but Gabe didn't answer; he locked the door and hung a sign in the window that said Back in Fifteen Minutes before dragging Sam up the stairs.
He closed the door behind them and led Sam over to the couch, sitting him down on the flat cushions. “Gabe what the hell's gotten into you?”
When Gabe looked at him, there was such intensity gleaming in his eyes that Sam nearly flinched away. “Listen to me, Sam,” he said. “There's something I haven't...something I've kept from you. Something I need you to see.” Sam's heart raced.
“Gabe...”
“Just...you need to promise you'll trust me. Just trust me. That's all I need you to do.”
Sam blinked. “I...” He sighed. “Okay.”
Gabe let out a breath and placed his hands on Sam's cast again, staring down at it with purpose blazing behind his amber irises before he closed his eyes, and his brow furrowed in concentration. Suddenly warmth rushed up Sam's arm, and a soft white glow poured out like gentle fire from beneath Gabe's palms. He gasped as he felt the bones within his arm knit together and heal themselves, and the plaster cast crumbled and fell away.
When Gabe opened his eyes again, he looked almost sheepish, and Sam found he was having a hard time breathing.
“Gabe...you...”
“Healed you,” Gabe finished quietly. He ran a delicate finger up Sam's forearm. “I healed you, Sam.”
“But how could you...” He pulled his arm away, bringing up to eye level so that he could study it; it was pristine, perfect, without a single mark from the injury he'd sustained just days before. “It's like some kind of...”
“Miracle,” Gabe said, and he reached out placed his hand on Sam's knee, waiting for Sam to look him in the eye again before he continued: “And now I need you to trust me.”
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