I Could Fill Your Cup (1/2)
Mar. 19th, 2013 01:46 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dime_lioraTitle: I Could Fill Your Cup
Pairing: Sam/Gabriel
Type: Romantic
Rating: NC-17
Medium: Fic
Word Count: Total 11,081
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or any related character. I do own a fedora. It is quite snazzy.
Summary: Quiet, skittish, introverted Sam Winchester meets an unstoppable force in Dr. Gabriel Novack, but can the older man draw him out of his shell?
Warnings: Recollections of past abuse.
Link: "I Could Fill Your Cup" (1/2)
Notes: This is to fill the Sam/Gabriel bingo square for the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
spnpairingbingo
Sam is used to odd things happening while he mans the help desk for the late night shift. When the tech center introduced the twenty-four hour support desk there had been a wide variety of responses from his co-workers, most of them negative. Sam had jumped at the chance of taking the midnight to eight AM shift. He’d pictured eight blessed hours, minus his forty-five minute lunch break, of uninterrupted internet time.
It wasn’t that he had a bad work ethic, or that he wasn’t interested in putting his degree to good use, but he honestly liked the idea of the isolation. Of the peace and quiet.
There wasn’t much in the way of privacy when it came to the rest of his life. He shared a small apartment with his mechanic brother, a byproduct of Dean raising him in the wake of their mother’s death and their father’s alcoholism, and on any given day his time at home was spent answering questions or avoiding bad eighties movies and reruns of Dean’s favorite medical drama. Honestly, Sam loved his brother, but being around him all the time could drive anyone crazy.
The money was good, the hours were enticing, and ultimately it had seemed like the perfect arrangement. This way he’d be getting home about the time Dean was leaving, and waking up around the time Dean got back. Being a slow waker worked in his favor. They’d eat dinner together, Sam dropping mumbled responses that no longer warranted glares from Dean, and then Sam would read or code while Dean did his own thing. On Sam’s two days off, Tuesday and Thursday, they would have brother time.
On the weekends Sam had the apartment all to himself, because Dean never spent those nights at home when he could be off with whichever hook-up was currently occupying his attention.
It had seemed like the perfect arrangement, except the very first night Sam took over a young man in an over-sized coat and pajama pants had slammed through the door with a tower tucked under his arm and an almost feral look on his face. He’d dropped the computer on the desk, and then began waving his hands and shouting at full volume with no warning, starting mid-sentence. “-is when the goddamn thing just crapped out on me! It’s due Monday! What am I supposed to do? How could you let this happen?”
Sam spent an hour explaining to the overwrought student that he was not the man who answered the phone that afternoon, that he did not tell the guy that a defragging would solve all his problems, and that this was probably fixable. Two hours later, the student pacing and screaming at random intervals, Sam managed to purge the hard drive of the majority of the spyware and viruses the student had accumulated. He also gave a very unappreciated lecture on the virtues of anti-virus software and the importance of not downloading random files or clicking on suspicious links.
That would have been the worst of it, but it turned out that the kind of people who need tech support in the wee hours of the morning fell into two categories: antagonistic lunatics on a deadline, and inebriated idiots. There never seemed to be much in the way of a middle ground. So Sam’s quiet internet time became a nightly re-enactment of something between Girl, Interrupted and Porky’s.
Still, it was better than the alternative. He didn’t have to deal with crazy professors anymore, and that was a blessing in and of itself. He didn’t have a manager to refer them to, so he just told them he was the manager. His boss had said it was ok. Sam found that after a while it just became routine to look up and see some half-dressed co-ed, or the occasional drunken frat boy. He became the master of using the air cans to get weed out of keyboards, at explaining how a beer bath would kill a hard drive, and one night a girl claimed Sam was the only reason she didn’t slit her wrists.
There was, at least sometimes, some job satisfaction involved.
After the first three months he was used to the hours, used to the madness, and the lulls he’d originally expected became odd. Sam would get restless sometimes, and he’d consider calling Dean just to hear someone bitch. It occurred to him that it probably wasn’t healthy that the only person he had to call was his big brother, but what about their life was?
Maybe it was the surprise, maybe it was the boredom, but when the bell rang to announce someone new and Sam looked up to see a perfectly normal looking older man in a canvas jacket, jeans, and a t-shirt he felt the smile breaking his face. The guy arched one dirty blonde brow and stepped forward, a wicked grin answering Sam’s. He was short, but then again everyone was compared to Sam, and the hair that matched his eyebrows was slicked back into an almost pompadour. One hand came out, and Sam gripped it and felt the calluses on the fingers and palms. A man who worked with his hands, Sam’s father had always said, was a man that could be trusted.
“Hi! I’m Sam, how can I help you?”
“Gabriel. I came to get my laptop fixed, but now I’m wondering if that’s the best usage of your offer.” A smirk accompanied the words, and Sam felt his own eyebrows rising in confusion. Maybe this guy wasn’t normal. He didn’t look drunk though, and the only smell wafting across the countertop was chocolate.
“Uh-well we don’t-I mean I only do tech stuff so, what else did you need?”
The smirk faltered for half a second, and then the man shook his head and held out an iMac. “Never you mind that Sam. I’m just being odd. Maybe you can help me?”
Sam took the laptop, grateful to be back on solid ground, and opened it up. The external part looked fine, stickers still in place and proclaiming the hardware fairly new and well cared for. He booted it up without problem and then looked up at Gabriel. “What’s the issue?”
“I’ve been trying to install a program for the last two hours, but it keeps asking for a password. I don’t have one. Just bought the damn thing really, and I never set anything.”
“Ahhh yeah I get you.” This wasn’t uncommon, and it didn’t take much to reset the admin passwords and work from there. “What do you want it to be? Or did you just want me to let you set it?”
The guy’s amber eyes twinkled, literally twinkled, and he tilted his head while sharing a roguish grin. “I dunno. Can I take you to breakfast?”
“What?” His fingers stuttered on the keys and Gabriel smiled a little wider.
“Well I can’t just spill all my secrets to you right away. I’ll need to vet you first, and breakfast seems like a good venue. When do you get off?”
Sam licked his lips and looked down at the prompt to enter a new password, then back up at the grinning student in front of him. “Uh-we’re not really supposed to accept payment for our service. Because they pay us. You know, the university pays us.”
Of course he sounded like a stammering idiot. Why wouldn’t he? If it affected Gabriel’s decision one way or another his face didn’t show it.
The smile was still firmly in place.
“This would most definitely not be payment for setting my password kiddo. Say yes, I promise you won’t regret it.”
So Sam said yes.
---
He met Gabriel at Lori’s at eight thirty, and the man looked just as fresh and awake as he had the first time. Sam ran one hand through his unruly hair and rubbed self-consciously at the bags he knew were under his eyes. He took the spot across from the older man and nodded his hello instead of stuttering out something stupid about how alive Gabriel looked.
“So is it punishment?”
Sam dropped his menu and looked up. Whatever showed on his face made Gabriel’s smile dim a bit, and then the older man leaned forward and plucked the menu back up and propped it into Sam’s slack hands. Reflexes allowed him to grip it tightly, and he tried a smile but from Gabriel’s wince it must have looked as bad as it felt.
“What?” His voice almost sounded steady, and the interruption from the waitress was more than welcome. Sam ordered egg whites and wheat toast, and Gabriel requested a double stack of pancakes and their “entire medley of syrup”. When the woman was gone the older man leaned back and looked just as relaxed as before.
“The graveyard shift. How’d you end up there?”
The drinks arrived and Sam sipped his water as he tried to formulate how to tell a stranger all his reasonings for choosing an undesirable shift. “I-uh-I asked for it. I wanted something different and with-I didn’t like-“
“Got nervous around the day crowd?” Gabriel’s smile was understanding as he gulped his soda.
“Yeah.” Sam was grateful to not have to spell it out, and he knew that showed in his voice. “The professors were the worst. They yelled all the time.”
Gabriel’s eyebrow quirked up, and he put his drink down. “Oh yeah? Who was the worst of that bunch?”
“Uh-it was a business professor named Crowley. Have you taken him? God I-I didn’t even ask what you major in.”
Those lips turned soft again. “Art. I’m in the art department. And yeah, I know Crowley. Miserable little British bastard right?”
Sam nodded as the food was delivered, and he bit into his toast before he continued. “He came in one time when his projector wouldn’t work. Brought his whole class, and then explained to them that they were in the program so that they wouldn’t end up being lowly customer service drones like me. How if I was smart I wouldn’t have to stand around and get humiliated for something I didn’t do. That was the worst of it. Him acknowledging that I didn’t do it, and belittling me anyway.”
“This recent?”
“About five months ago. When they offered the night shift conversion I was the first and only volunteer.”
Gabriel cut a huge chunk of dripping pancake and shoved it in his mouth before talking around it. The whole thing reminded Sam of Dean, and he found a little more of the tension in his shoulders releasing. “So what’s your wildest dream Sam?”
For a moment, a very long moment, Sam didn’t understand the question. Then he got it, and he swallowed reflexively before looking away. “I don’t-uh-I’m not a big dreamer.”
“Come on. I know you got one. I’ll tell ya mine if you tell me yours.” The eyes were twinkling again, and Sam tried desperately not to stare like an idiot.
“Well-sometimes I-sometimes I dream that I’m a paintbrush.”
The eyebrow went back up, and Gabriel leaned over with the lapels of his jacket hanging dangerously close to his syrup pond. “Go on.”
“In the dream I’m this sentient paintbrush, and I go around painting things odd colors. Like I painted this one guy who came in for support once and then complained about me neon pink. And I made this girl who baked me cookies for saving her thesis a really deep blue. Sometimes I paint buildings, and once I painted the Washington Monument polka dots.”
Gabriel’s eyes were bright again, staring intensely into Sam as he nodded like he was agreeing with a question Sam hadn’t asked.
“Ok. Very good. I see now.”
“You see what?”
“You’re one of those.” Gabriel winked and leaned back, glass titled towards his lips.
“One of what?”
“A secret rebel. There’s a whole tightly coiled nest of anarchistic thoughts buried under that orderly polo shirt.”
“I don’t-no that’s not me. I’m-I just-“ He just what? He just got up in the evening, ate pre-packaged food, and tried to assure Dean that he was just fine. Then he sat at a desk for hours dealing with drunks and self-entitled jerks before going to bed and doing it all over again. That
sounded much less interesting than Gabriel’s idea.
“It’s ok Sam. You’re among friends now. You can tell me all about defacing monuments and embarrassing jerks.” The grin turned wicked, sinful, and Sam felt heat rush his cheeks as he looked away.
“So what’s yours?”
There was a huff of laughter, and when Sam looked back Gabriel’s cheeks were puffed out again. “I’m a hound.”
“A hound? Like a-a greyhound or a what?”
“Like one of those little hunting dogs. From the British fox hunts. I’m looking and looking for this fox in the woods, and there’s a crowd behind me cheering and laughing as I run through the underbrush following this one particular smell. I always wake up without having found the fox, but the smell sticks with me. Earthy and full.” Gabriel looked a little wistful at that last part, and Sam thought it was a good look on him.
“What does that make you?”
“Lonely.” The grin on his face belied the sadness of the word. “But I think that’s about to change don’t you?”
---
When Dean got home that night Sam had the Hamburger Helper made, and he doled out a bowl of it for his brother before they both took a spot at the little table.
“Was your night ok?” Dean always started with that, eyes focused in on Sam’s face so tight it was like he was studying each individual pore.
“Yeah I-I made a friend.” If a smile tried to come out Sam tightened down on it before it could.
“A friend? Like a friend friend?” Dean seemed to have no trouble smiling, and Sam would have been annoyed but it was good to see on his brother.
“Yeah. Maybe. He took me to breakfast. It was nice.”
Dean knew about Sam’s predilections. He also knew Sam hadn’t acted on them since he was fourteen. Shortly before he and Dean moved into this very apartment. Back then they had to eat Ramen and Easy Mac every night, when they ate at all. Still, that had been one of the best times of Sam’s life.
His brother shoveled Stroganoff in before he started talking. “I’m gonna want to meet him Sammy.”
“It’s Sam. And maybe. I don’t think it’s that serious yet.”
Dean pointed with a fork full of gooey meat. “He got that smile on your face. I’d say it’s serious.”
---
Two days after he met Gabriel, Dr. Crowley came into the tech center. The man walked up to the desk, eyed Sam for a long silent moment, and then cleared his throat.
Sam’s hand was straying towards the phone mounted on the desk. They had a button that connected instantly to security, and while he’d never hit it the fact that he could was comforting. “Yes sir?”
The professor pursed his lips before he placed both hands on the counter. Sam fought not to lean back and then lost. If the man was trying to intimidate him he was succeeding.
“I am here to apologize for my egregious behavior on my last visit. If I offended or insulted you I am deeply sorry.” He spoke loudly, as if there was an audience that needed him to project. “I am a limey, selfish, offensive prick with no concept of simple human decency.”
Sam’s mouth was moving, but no sound was coming out. Crowley narrowed his eyes and hissed under his breath, “Well say you forgive me.”
“I forgive you.”
“Thank you Samuel. I will endeavor to avoid future transgressions.” Stiffly the professor turned on one heel and stormed out. Fifteen minutes later Gabriel walked through the door.
“Hey Sammy! Breakfast again?”
---
It became their ritual, and Sam found the night moved a little slower sometimes if he thought about it. Which didn’t help him avoid thinking about it. Being with Gabriel was…always interesting. The man never pushed for anything personal, but he could be like a dog with a bone if he wanted Sam to spend time with him. He told Sam about the statues he carved, about the classes he was involved in, and about the quirky professors in the art department. It didn’t hit Sam until then that he’d never met any of those teachers, and he laughed so hard his eyes watered when Gabriel told him about a professor named Balthazar who was caught sleeping with one of his models by his class.
In return Sam told Gabriel about funny moments at the help desk, mostly related to porn viruses, and the classes he took before he got his degree. He told Gabriel about how he’d wanted to code, and how he was still working on a game he’d started designing his sophomore year. With every morning they ate together Sam talked a little more, stammered a little less, and it became easier to look at Gabriel’s intense gaze.
For a person as laid back as Gabriel was his stare always felt like it cut straight through Sam.
“So do you live on campus, or you got a little lair somewhere else?”
Sam’s hand jerked on his glass and he looked up. “What?”
“I knew you weren’t listening.” Gabriel gave a dramatic sniff and rubbed at his eyes. “I’m just a pretty face to you aren’t I Sammy? Just another beautiful flower in your garden.”
Something about the joke made him lean forward, reach for Gabriel’s hand, and then pull back at the last second. He looked away when he responded. “I don’t have a garden.”
There was silence for a beat, and then Gabriel reached out the last few inches and took Sam’s hand, hauled him across the table by it, and pressed it against his chest in a dramatic flourish. At the top of his lungs he called out, “He thinks I’m beautiful!”
The waitress shushed him with a laugh and dropped off the check.
---
Two months into their ritual Sam was ready. Ready to ask Gabriel to meet Dean, and ready for his brother’s judgment. It was partly a way to get Dean to stop asking, but mostly because he wanted his brother to laugh at Gabriel’s jokes, to see the way his eyes sparkled, and to understand why Sam didn’t need him to be protective anymore. He could branch out. He could be a person who smiled and laughed, who made friends, and even someone who dated. Sam was ready, and Dean had to see that.
He knew as soon as Dean met Gabe it would ease off the paranoia his brother had been exhibiting the last few months, and that would be good because Dean paranoid? Never ended well.
Sam sat at their usual table, accepting his water and ordering Gabriel’s usual breakfast. By ten thirty it was stone cold. By twelve the waitress had taken his untouched food and Gabriel’s away, and quietly told him she’d throw the check out. Sam left her a big tip, and then waited a little longer. Just a few more minutes, in case Gabriel was up late working on his latest piece. The one he told Sam was top secret, and that he’d share when he was finally ready. Just a little bit longer and Gabriel was sure to crash through the doors with stone dust in his hair and his jacket askew.
At six Dean came through the door and led Sam out to the Impala. He drove them both home silently, and then led Sam to bed and called in sick for him. Sam didn’t eat the pizza Dean ordered, and he didn’t bother trying to defend Gabriel when Dean started to rail about the man. Instead he fell into a half-sleep, and he dreamed.
In his dream he was fourteen again, and Mason Kennedy had him pressed against the wall of his apartment building as they shared tentative kisses. Mason’s mouth tasted like the sloppy joe’s they’d been served at lunch, and his hands rested hesitantly on Sam’s hips.
They’d been there several minutes when Sam heard the crash, and Mason pulled back immediately. There, standing in the alley beside the dumpster and staring at them, was his father. The trash bag, now full of broken bottles, sat on the ground beside him, and Sam had time to think “it wasn’t that full this morning” before his father was throwing Mason into the wall and dragging Sam by his collar up the stairs and into their apartment.
Sam woke with a gasp, and pushed his sweaty hair out of his face. He didn’t need the dream to end. He remembered how it went. His hand strayed downwards, touched the scar curving around his ribs, and then he pushed out of the bed and made it to the bathroom in time to throw up.
Dean was there moments later rubbing his back and speaking in a low and soothing voice. “It’s ok. I got you Sammy. You ain’t there anymore. You’re safe now. You’re safe.”
He let his brother wash his face, sipped water dutifully, and stared dully at the old scars on Dean’s arm. The remnants of a busted liquor bottle Dean had caught at the last second.
“Maybe he was sick.” It was a stupid thing to say. Sure to gain scorn and derision from Dean because they both knew better. They both knew people were shitty, and that was the way of the world.
Dean surprised him. “Maybe.”
---
Sam had Thursday off, and he ended up at the grocery store. He hadn’t slept since his nightmare, and if he didn’t get some rest tonight tomorrow was going to be hell. His hands moved mechanically, collecting all the staples they usually put on the list. It was a foregone conclusion that they went for things that could be made easily. Why either of them had never learned to cook Sam couldn’t figure out.
Between take-out and plastic food he was pretty sure they were shaving years off their lives.
He was in the middle of picking apples, Sam drew the line at not having fresh fruit, when he heard the laugh. Sam looked up, a Golden Delicious in one hand, and froze in place when he saw Gabriel waving asparagus at a man only a little taller than him. The other guy was serious looking, dour, with black hair and a face that could have been impish if his mouth knew the motions of smiling.
Gabriel’s hand was on the man’s shoulder, body language screaming familiarity and warmth, and the asparagus waggled suggestively as he said something else Sam couldn’t hear through the blood pounding in his ears.
Blue eyes moved over Gabriel, landed on Sam, and then an eyebrow lifted. Sam dropped the apple in his cart and walked away. If Gabriel saw him, he never called out.
Part 2
Pairing: Sam/Gabriel
Type: Romantic
Rating: NC-17
Medium: Fic
Word Count: Total 11,081
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or any related character. I do own a fedora. It is quite snazzy.
Summary: Quiet, skittish, introverted Sam Winchester meets an unstoppable force in Dr. Gabriel Novack, but can the older man draw him out of his shell?
Warnings: Recollections of past abuse.
Link: "I Could Fill Your Cup" (1/2)
Notes: This is to fill the Sam/Gabriel bingo square for the
spnpairingbingoSam is used to odd things happening while he mans the help desk for the late night shift. When the tech center introduced the twenty-four hour support desk there had been a wide variety of responses from his co-workers, most of them negative. Sam had jumped at the chance of taking the midnight to eight AM shift. He’d pictured eight blessed hours, minus his forty-five minute lunch break, of uninterrupted internet time.
It wasn’t that he had a bad work ethic, or that he wasn’t interested in putting his degree to good use, but he honestly liked the idea of the isolation. Of the peace and quiet.
There wasn’t much in the way of privacy when it came to the rest of his life. He shared a small apartment with his mechanic brother, a byproduct of Dean raising him in the wake of their mother’s death and their father’s alcoholism, and on any given day his time at home was spent answering questions or avoiding bad eighties movies and reruns of Dean’s favorite medical drama. Honestly, Sam loved his brother, but being around him all the time could drive anyone crazy.
The money was good, the hours were enticing, and ultimately it had seemed like the perfect arrangement. This way he’d be getting home about the time Dean was leaving, and waking up around the time Dean got back. Being a slow waker worked in his favor. They’d eat dinner together, Sam dropping mumbled responses that no longer warranted glares from Dean, and then Sam would read or code while Dean did his own thing. On Sam’s two days off, Tuesday and Thursday, they would have brother time.
On the weekends Sam had the apartment all to himself, because Dean never spent those nights at home when he could be off with whichever hook-up was currently occupying his attention.
It had seemed like the perfect arrangement, except the very first night Sam took over a young man in an over-sized coat and pajama pants had slammed through the door with a tower tucked under his arm and an almost feral look on his face. He’d dropped the computer on the desk, and then began waving his hands and shouting at full volume with no warning, starting mid-sentence. “-is when the goddamn thing just crapped out on me! It’s due Monday! What am I supposed to do? How could you let this happen?”
Sam spent an hour explaining to the overwrought student that he was not the man who answered the phone that afternoon, that he did not tell the guy that a defragging would solve all his problems, and that this was probably fixable. Two hours later, the student pacing and screaming at random intervals, Sam managed to purge the hard drive of the majority of the spyware and viruses the student had accumulated. He also gave a very unappreciated lecture on the virtues of anti-virus software and the importance of not downloading random files or clicking on suspicious links.
That would have been the worst of it, but it turned out that the kind of people who need tech support in the wee hours of the morning fell into two categories: antagonistic lunatics on a deadline, and inebriated idiots. There never seemed to be much in the way of a middle ground. So Sam’s quiet internet time became a nightly re-enactment of something between Girl, Interrupted and Porky’s.
Still, it was better than the alternative. He didn’t have to deal with crazy professors anymore, and that was a blessing in and of itself. He didn’t have a manager to refer them to, so he just told them he was the manager. His boss had said it was ok. Sam found that after a while it just became routine to look up and see some half-dressed co-ed, or the occasional drunken frat boy. He became the master of using the air cans to get weed out of keyboards, at explaining how a beer bath would kill a hard drive, and one night a girl claimed Sam was the only reason she didn’t slit her wrists.
There was, at least sometimes, some job satisfaction involved.
After the first three months he was used to the hours, used to the madness, and the lulls he’d originally expected became odd. Sam would get restless sometimes, and he’d consider calling Dean just to hear someone bitch. It occurred to him that it probably wasn’t healthy that the only person he had to call was his big brother, but what about their life was?
Maybe it was the surprise, maybe it was the boredom, but when the bell rang to announce someone new and Sam looked up to see a perfectly normal looking older man in a canvas jacket, jeans, and a t-shirt he felt the smile breaking his face. The guy arched one dirty blonde brow and stepped forward, a wicked grin answering Sam’s. He was short, but then again everyone was compared to Sam, and the hair that matched his eyebrows was slicked back into an almost pompadour. One hand came out, and Sam gripped it and felt the calluses on the fingers and palms. A man who worked with his hands, Sam’s father had always said, was a man that could be trusted.
“Hi! I’m Sam, how can I help you?”
“Gabriel. I came to get my laptop fixed, but now I’m wondering if that’s the best usage of your offer.” A smirk accompanied the words, and Sam felt his own eyebrows rising in confusion. Maybe this guy wasn’t normal. He didn’t look drunk though, and the only smell wafting across the countertop was chocolate.
“Uh-well we don’t-I mean I only do tech stuff so, what else did you need?”
The smirk faltered for half a second, and then the man shook his head and held out an iMac. “Never you mind that Sam. I’m just being odd. Maybe you can help me?”
Sam took the laptop, grateful to be back on solid ground, and opened it up. The external part looked fine, stickers still in place and proclaiming the hardware fairly new and well cared for. He booted it up without problem and then looked up at Gabriel. “What’s the issue?”
“I’ve been trying to install a program for the last two hours, but it keeps asking for a password. I don’t have one. Just bought the damn thing really, and I never set anything.”
“Ahhh yeah I get you.” This wasn’t uncommon, and it didn’t take much to reset the admin passwords and work from there. “What do you want it to be? Or did you just want me to let you set it?”
The guy’s amber eyes twinkled, literally twinkled, and he tilted his head while sharing a roguish grin. “I dunno. Can I take you to breakfast?”
“What?” His fingers stuttered on the keys and Gabriel smiled a little wider.
“Well I can’t just spill all my secrets to you right away. I’ll need to vet you first, and breakfast seems like a good venue. When do you get off?”
Sam licked his lips and looked down at the prompt to enter a new password, then back up at the grinning student in front of him. “Uh-we’re not really supposed to accept payment for our service. Because they pay us. You know, the university pays us.”
Of course he sounded like a stammering idiot. Why wouldn’t he? If it affected Gabriel’s decision one way or another his face didn’t show it.
The smile was still firmly in place.
“This would most definitely not be payment for setting my password kiddo. Say yes, I promise you won’t regret it.”
So Sam said yes.
---
He met Gabriel at Lori’s at eight thirty, and the man looked just as fresh and awake as he had the first time. Sam ran one hand through his unruly hair and rubbed self-consciously at the bags he knew were under his eyes. He took the spot across from the older man and nodded his hello instead of stuttering out something stupid about how alive Gabriel looked.
“So is it punishment?”
Sam dropped his menu and looked up. Whatever showed on his face made Gabriel’s smile dim a bit, and then the older man leaned forward and plucked the menu back up and propped it into Sam’s slack hands. Reflexes allowed him to grip it tightly, and he tried a smile but from Gabriel’s wince it must have looked as bad as it felt.
“What?” His voice almost sounded steady, and the interruption from the waitress was more than welcome. Sam ordered egg whites and wheat toast, and Gabriel requested a double stack of pancakes and their “entire medley of syrup”. When the woman was gone the older man leaned back and looked just as relaxed as before.
“The graveyard shift. How’d you end up there?”
The drinks arrived and Sam sipped his water as he tried to formulate how to tell a stranger all his reasonings for choosing an undesirable shift. “I-uh-I asked for it. I wanted something different and with-I didn’t like-“
“Got nervous around the day crowd?” Gabriel’s smile was understanding as he gulped his soda.
“Yeah.” Sam was grateful to not have to spell it out, and he knew that showed in his voice. “The professors were the worst. They yelled all the time.”
Gabriel’s eyebrow quirked up, and he put his drink down. “Oh yeah? Who was the worst of that bunch?”
“Uh-it was a business professor named Crowley. Have you taken him? God I-I didn’t even ask what you major in.”
Those lips turned soft again. “Art. I’m in the art department. And yeah, I know Crowley. Miserable little British bastard right?”
Sam nodded as the food was delivered, and he bit into his toast before he continued. “He came in one time when his projector wouldn’t work. Brought his whole class, and then explained to them that they were in the program so that they wouldn’t end up being lowly customer service drones like me. How if I was smart I wouldn’t have to stand around and get humiliated for something I didn’t do. That was the worst of it. Him acknowledging that I didn’t do it, and belittling me anyway.”
“This recent?”
“About five months ago. When they offered the night shift conversion I was the first and only volunteer.”
Gabriel cut a huge chunk of dripping pancake and shoved it in his mouth before talking around it. The whole thing reminded Sam of Dean, and he found a little more of the tension in his shoulders releasing. “So what’s your wildest dream Sam?”
For a moment, a very long moment, Sam didn’t understand the question. Then he got it, and he swallowed reflexively before looking away. “I don’t-uh-I’m not a big dreamer.”
“Come on. I know you got one. I’ll tell ya mine if you tell me yours.” The eyes were twinkling again, and Sam tried desperately not to stare like an idiot.
“Well-sometimes I-sometimes I dream that I’m a paintbrush.”
The eyebrow went back up, and Gabriel leaned over with the lapels of his jacket hanging dangerously close to his syrup pond. “Go on.”
“In the dream I’m this sentient paintbrush, and I go around painting things odd colors. Like I painted this one guy who came in for support once and then complained about me neon pink. And I made this girl who baked me cookies for saving her thesis a really deep blue. Sometimes I paint buildings, and once I painted the Washington Monument polka dots.”
Gabriel’s eyes were bright again, staring intensely into Sam as he nodded like he was agreeing with a question Sam hadn’t asked.
“Ok. Very good. I see now.”
“You see what?”
“You’re one of those.” Gabriel winked and leaned back, glass titled towards his lips.
“One of what?”
“A secret rebel. There’s a whole tightly coiled nest of anarchistic thoughts buried under that orderly polo shirt.”
“I don’t-no that’s not me. I’m-I just-“ He just what? He just got up in the evening, ate pre-packaged food, and tried to assure Dean that he was just fine. Then he sat at a desk for hours dealing with drunks and self-entitled jerks before going to bed and doing it all over again. That
sounded much less interesting than Gabriel’s idea.
“It’s ok Sam. You’re among friends now. You can tell me all about defacing monuments and embarrassing jerks.” The grin turned wicked, sinful, and Sam felt heat rush his cheeks as he looked away.
“So what’s yours?”
There was a huff of laughter, and when Sam looked back Gabriel’s cheeks were puffed out again. “I’m a hound.”
“A hound? Like a-a greyhound or a what?”
“Like one of those little hunting dogs. From the British fox hunts. I’m looking and looking for this fox in the woods, and there’s a crowd behind me cheering and laughing as I run through the underbrush following this one particular smell. I always wake up without having found the fox, but the smell sticks with me. Earthy and full.” Gabriel looked a little wistful at that last part, and Sam thought it was a good look on him.
“What does that make you?”
“Lonely.” The grin on his face belied the sadness of the word. “But I think that’s about to change don’t you?”
---
When Dean got home that night Sam had the Hamburger Helper made, and he doled out a bowl of it for his brother before they both took a spot at the little table.
“Was your night ok?” Dean always started with that, eyes focused in on Sam’s face so tight it was like he was studying each individual pore.
“Yeah I-I made a friend.” If a smile tried to come out Sam tightened down on it before it could.
“A friend? Like a friend friend?” Dean seemed to have no trouble smiling, and Sam would have been annoyed but it was good to see on his brother.
“Yeah. Maybe. He took me to breakfast. It was nice.”
Dean knew about Sam’s predilections. He also knew Sam hadn’t acted on them since he was fourteen. Shortly before he and Dean moved into this very apartment. Back then they had to eat Ramen and Easy Mac every night, when they ate at all. Still, that had been one of the best times of Sam’s life.
His brother shoveled Stroganoff in before he started talking. “I’m gonna want to meet him Sammy.”
“It’s Sam. And maybe. I don’t think it’s that serious yet.”
Dean pointed with a fork full of gooey meat. “He got that smile on your face. I’d say it’s serious.”
---
Two days after he met Gabriel, Dr. Crowley came into the tech center. The man walked up to the desk, eyed Sam for a long silent moment, and then cleared his throat.
Sam’s hand was straying towards the phone mounted on the desk. They had a button that connected instantly to security, and while he’d never hit it the fact that he could was comforting. “Yes sir?”
The professor pursed his lips before he placed both hands on the counter. Sam fought not to lean back and then lost. If the man was trying to intimidate him he was succeeding.
“I am here to apologize for my egregious behavior on my last visit. If I offended or insulted you I am deeply sorry.” He spoke loudly, as if there was an audience that needed him to project. “I am a limey, selfish, offensive prick with no concept of simple human decency.”
Sam’s mouth was moving, but no sound was coming out. Crowley narrowed his eyes and hissed under his breath, “Well say you forgive me.”
“I forgive you.”
“Thank you Samuel. I will endeavor to avoid future transgressions.” Stiffly the professor turned on one heel and stormed out. Fifteen minutes later Gabriel walked through the door.
“Hey Sammy! Breakfast again?”
---
It became their ritual, and Sam found the night moved a little slower sometimes if he thought about it. Which didn’t help him avoid thinking about it. Being with Gabriel was…always interesting. The man never pushed for anything personal, but he could be like a dog with a bone if he wanted Sam to spend time with him. He told Sam about the statues he carved, about the classes he was involved in, and about the quirky professors in the art department. It didn’t hit Sam until then that he’d never met any of those teachers, and he laughed so hard his eyes watered when Gabriel told him about a professor named Balthazar who was caught sleeping with one of his models by his class.
In return Sam told Gabriel about funny moments at the help desk, mostly related to porn viruses, and the classes he took before he got his degree. He told Gabriel about how he’d wanted to code, and how he was still working on a game he’d started designing his sophomore year. With every morning they ate together Sam talked a little more, stammered a little less, and it became easier to look at Gabriel’s intense gaze.
For a person as laid back as Gabriel was his stare always felt like it cut straight through Sam.
“So do you live on campus, or you got a little lair somewhere else?”
Sam’s hand jerked on his glass and he looked up. “What?”
“I knew you weren’t listening.” Gabriel gave a dramatic sniff and rubbed at his eyes. “I’m just a pretty face to you aren’t I Sammy? Just another beautiful flower in your garden.”
Something about the joke made him lean forward, reach for Gabriel’s hand, and then pull back at the last second. He looked away when he responded. “I don’t have a garden.”
There was silence for a beat, and then Gabriel reached out the last few inches and took Sam’s hand, hauled him across the table by it, and pressed it against his chest in a dramatic flourish. At the top of his lungs he called out, “He thinks I’m beautiful!”
The waitress shushed him with a laugh and dropped off the check.
---
Two months into their ritual Sam was ready. Ready to ask Gabriel to meet Dean, and ready for his brother’s judgment. It was partly a way to get Dean to stop asking, but mostly because he wanted his brother to laugh at Gabriel’s jokes, to see the way his eyes sparkled, and to understand why Sam didn’t need him to be protective anymore. He could branch out. He could be a person who smiled and laughed, who made friends, and even someone who dated. Sam was ready, and Dean had to see that.
He knew as soon as Dean met Gabe it would ease off the paranoia his brother had been exhibiting the last few months, and that would be good because Dean paranoid? Never ended well.
Sam sat at their usual table, accepting his water and ordering Gabriel’s usual breakfast. By ten thirty it was stone cold. By twelve the waitress had taken his untouched food and Gabriel’s away, and quietly told him she’d throw the check out. Sam left her a big tip, and then waited a little longer. Just a few more minutes, in case Gabriel was up late working on his latest piece. The one he told Sam was top secret, and that he’d share when he was finally ready. Just a little bit longer and Gabriel was sure to crash through the doors with stone dust in his hair and his jacket askew.
At six Dean came through the door and led Sam out to the Impala. He drove them both home silently, and then led Sam to bed and called in sick for him. Sam didn’t eat the pizza Dean ordered, and he didn’t bother trying to defend Gabriel when Dean started to rail about the man. Instead he fell into a half-sleep, and he dreamed.
In his dream he was fourteen again, and Mason Kennedy had him pressed against the wall of his apartment building as they shared tentative kisses. Mason’s mouth tasted like the sloppy joe’s they’d been served at lunch, and his hands rested hesitantly on Sam’s hips.
They’d been there several minutes when Sam heard the crash, and Mason pulled back immediately. There, standing in the alley beside the dumpster and staring at them, was his father. The trash bag, now full of broken bottles, sat on the ground beside him, and Sam had time to think “it wasn’t that full this morning” before his father was throwing Mason into the wall and dragging Sam by his collar up the stairs and into their apartment.
Sam woke with a gasp, and pushed his sweaty hair out of his face. He didn’t need the dream to end. He remembered how it went. His hand strayed downwards, touched the scar curving around his ribs, and then he pushed out of the bed and made it to the bathroom in time to throw up.
Dean was there moments later rubbing his back and speaking in a low and soothing voice. “It’s ok. I got you Sammy. You ain’t there anymore. You’re safe now. You’re safe.”
He let his brother wash his face, sipped water dutifully, and stared dully at the old scars on Dean’s arm. The remnants of a busted liquor bottle Dean had caught at the last second.
“Maybe he was sick.” It was a stupid thing to say. Sure to gain scorn and derision from Dean because they both knew better. They both knew people were shitty, and that was the way of the world.
Dean surprised him. “Maybe.”
---
Sam had Thursday off, and he ended up at the grocery store. He hadn’t slept since his nightmare, and if he didn’t get some rest tonight tomorrow was going to be hell. His hands moved mechanically, collecting all the staples they usually put on the list. It was a foregone conclusion that they went for things that could be made easily. Why either of them had never learned to cook Sam couldn’t figure out.
Between take-out and plastic food he was pretty sure they were shaving years off their lives.
He was in the middle of picking apples, Sam drew the line at not having fresh fruit, when he heard the laugh. Sam looked up, a Golden Delicious in one hand, and froze in place when he saw Gabriel waving asparagus at a man only a little taller than him. The other guy was serious looking, dour, with black hair and a face that could have been impish if his mouth knew the motions of smiling.
Gabriel’s hand was on the man’s shoulder, body language screaming familiarity and warmth, and the asparagus waggled suggestively as he said something else Sam couldn’t hear through the blood pounding in his ears.
Blue eyes moved over Gabriel, landed on Sam, and then an eyebrow lifted. Sam dropped the apple in his cart and walked away. If Gabriel saw him, he never called out.
Part 2
