Work Text:
"...Grab a rope & yodel."
Sam turned his head away from the front of the house and chuckled to himself. He never meant to eavesdrop on customers, but every once in a while, a bizarre line of dialogue cut through the coffeehouse chatter. He focused his attention back to pulling shots from the finicky espresso maker.
The Italian Rocketship, they called it. So named by the Boomer manager who decided to crack it open one day because it was on the fritz. "I was a mechanic for thirty years, son; I think I can repair a damn coffee maker." He could not. "If Italian engineers weren't so obsessed with coffee, they would've beaten us to the moon," he had grumbled. His frustrated attempt at fixing the machine also voided the warranty, and that was the end of Uncle Bobby's tenure as manager. Sam promoted Billie, and The Plaid Moose Café had run like clockwork ever since.
"Matcha latte," he called out, garnishing the foam with a light dusting of electric green powder before placing the travel mug on the counter.
He followed that with, "Frozen Mocha Latte Chill, three shots, add vanilla, add caramel, double cream, double sugar, extra whip." He suddenly regretted instituting a policy of reading out the full order. He wondered if he was violating some sort of privacy law, detailing this diabetes bomb in public.
"Right here," replied an impish figure, gesturing to himself. "But I distinctly recall ordering a tall drink of water to go with that."
Sam checked his station for the order slip, but he looked down and grinned as his mind caught up to his ears. He felt his face get hot, embarrassed for falling for the guy's dumb joke.
"Leave him alone, Gabriel; he's working." said Matcha Latte. "Don't be a creep."
"Gimme a break, bro. He's a big boy, he can take a little friendly banter. You probably already have a boyfriend anyway, don't you, stud?''
Matcha Latte rolled his eyes. "Or a girlfriend. Not everyone is a raging homo like you, y'know!"
"Takes one to know one," Frozen Mocha Latte Chill shot back. Gabriel.
"You know I'm utterly indifferent to sexual orientation. Get your drink and sit down." Matcha Latte guided the shorter man to a four-top and shoved him into a chair. "Behave yourself," Sam heard him say.
"Sam!"
"What?" he cried, startled. How long had Billie been standing there?
She pressed a paper cup into his hand. "Small dirty chai. And when you're done with that, I need a flat white for here, a double macchiato to go, and four Frozen Chills. Think you can manage that, Loverboy?"
Sam nodded, dumbstruck. He was so far behind, and Billie could be truly terrifying if crossed. He mumbled an apology and returned to his post.
After the four Frozen Chills and a handful of iced coffees to go, the afternoon rush died down. Billie sent Alfie to the Rocketship for the rest of the evening & released Sam.
Gabriel and his friend were still in the cafe, both hard at work on laptops. They appeared to have finished their beverages, though, so Sam stopped by their table. "I'm about to take off but before I do, can I get you anything?"
Matcha Latte didn't look up. "No, thank you,'' he replied, "but could you rinse this for me? An unwashed matcha cup will smell particularly vile in an hour's time."
Sam took it automatically.
"Cassie, don't be rude." Then Gabriel looked up at Sam, and the twinkle in his eye made him wish he hadn't offered "anything."
"Your number," he declared. "I have a proposition for you."
"Gabriel!" hissed his friend.
He waved a hand his direction, shushing him, but kept his eyes locked on Sam's. "Not like that. I notice your baked goods are more like baked bads." He gestured at the table top, littered with half-eaten pastries. One of everything, it looked like. "I consider myself something of a connoisseur of sweetmeats, and these ain't it." He paused, and Sam opened his mouth to offer an apology or a refund, but Gabriel held up his hand. "I'm not angling for my money back. These are all business expenses. See, I have a little bakery business that I run out of my home, but lately, I'm outgrowing my surroundings. You have a professional kitchen and a desperate need for legitimate pastry offerings. I have patisserie skills out the butt and a desperate need for a professional kitchen. Capiche?"
Sam nodded along. He knew the baked goods were, yes, pretty terrible. He didn't eat sweets himself, and the pastries had been something of an afterthought. The first week they were open, Uncle Bobby had brought in a bunch of items from the grocery store's bakery section, and for a few months, they had sold okay. But the profit margin was abysmal. Non-existent. So Uncle Bobby sourced cheaper and cheaper menu items, until the only people eating the doughnuts and muffins were the homeless folks who stopped by every morning for yesterday's leftovers. To be fair, though, even his little charitable project was wearing thin - just this week, one of his regular beneficiaries had wondered aloud if he had considered not carrying food at all if it was so bad that he could barely give it away.
"I hear you," was all he replied. He held up a finger and dashed over to the register. "Hey Kaia- oops, excuse me, ma'am. Kaia, can you look in that drawer and grab me a business card? See if there's one with my name on it."
The cashier dug under a pile of receipts and lost USB keys. "Here's one," she said, pushing it towards him and returning to her customer.
"Thanks." He stumbled around a chair that hadn't been pushed in all the way and made his way back to Gabriel. "Here's my card. That's me," he added, pointing to the name on it. "Sam Winchester. I'm the owner."
"He knows," Cassie grumbled.
Gabriel passed his hand in front of his throat. Cut it out, the gesture said. "Haha, brothers, amirite? Do you have any?"
Cassie's eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed. "This isn't a social call, Gabriel."
Sam cleared his throat. "Anyway, um, I'm heading out now. Give me a call on Thursday. That's the day I work in the office, so we can talk at length about your proposal."
"Looking forward to it, Sam Winchester." Gabriel stood and shook his hand. "Gabriel Angelus," he said, offering him a bright blue business card.
"Angel Food Bakery," Sam read.
"Call me anytime," Gabriel responded with a waggle of his eyebrows.
"Haha. Yes. Good. Well, I better go. It was great meeting you, Gabriel. And Cassie, was it?"
"Castiel. And you're still holding my thermos."
***
"Plaid Moose Café, this is Billie. Oh, it's you." She held the phone to her chest. "Sam, it's your little boy-toy."
Sam trotted towards the office. "Do you mind covering the Rocketship?"
Billie handed him the phone with a beleaguered sigh. "Tell him that we have a business to run here and he needs to shit or get off the pot."
"Charming as always," Sam laughed. "Gabriel! What's going on, man? Are you coming in this week or not?"
"Samuel, Samuel, Samuel."
"Don't call me that," he groaned.
"I know that my contract was supposed to start on Monday. And I am coming in today, I swear."
Sam huffed a disappointed sigh. "Except?"
"No 'except;' l'm coming in."
"Yup. See you then, I guess."
"Sam!" The urgency in Gabriel's voice gave him pause. "I'm at the back door. Let me in."
"Oh shit." Graceful as a moose, he ran from the office, through the bar area, into the kitchen, and threw open the back door. "Sorry, sorry, come in," he told Gabriel. He still held the receiver to his ear, and the sound of his voice echoed out of Gabriel's phone a second later.
Gabriel scowled at him around a giant box, overflowing with baking paraphernalia. He had bags hanging from both arms. "There's more in the car," he said, gesturing behind him with his head and pushing past Sam. He dropped his parcels on the nearest counter and led Sam outside.
Two more armloads each, and the entirety of Angel Food Bakery lay sprawled across the kitchen of the Plaid Moose Cafe.
Sam relieved Billie from barista duty, and she disappeared into the kitchen to help Gabriel get settled. Every once in a while, the cafe quieted, and he could hear Billie's measured tone, giving him instructions or advice, but not precisely her words. He was immensely grateful in that moment for her managerial competence- Gabriel struck him as flighty, and he suspected that he would need a firm hand to keep him grounded. Sam had no faith in his own ability to keep the baker in check. The guy was kind of adorable. Bit of an asshole, definitely an incurable flirt. They'd only known each other a few weeks, and almost all of their interactions thus far had been in business meetings with Billie and with lawyers. But. Sam already knew that he was a sucker for Gabriel's puppy-dog eyes.
He was no stranger to puppy-dog eyes himself. Being the youngest child, the ability to make yourself appear cute and innocent saved you from big-brother beat-downs and/or scored you the last bowl of Lucky Charms.
This was different, though. This was borderline romantic feelings. This was Sam liking Gabriel. The notion bubbled in his chest and erupted in a grin when he heard his laughter coming from the kitchen.
"Iced mocha, extra whip," he called out, too cheerily. He smiled too widely at the customer who picked it up. He thanked Kaia too eagerly for the next order.
"Are you okay?" she asked.
"Yep, I'm great," he replied, too briskly. "Y'know what, though, I think I better go check on Billie and Gabriel, make sure they don't need my help." He waved Alfie back to the register from the front of the house and put Kaia on the Rocketship. "Great job, kids. You're doing great!"
As he shambled into the kitchen, he heard Billie chuckle. She and Gabriel stepped out of the walk-in, both smiling. He was momentarily taken aback. He had not really expected them to get along. Like, at all. He felt the tiniest pang of jealousy.
"Sam!" She called him over. "Take a look at this cake Gabriel made."
Gabriel turned his phone around to reveal an elegant peachy-pink geode cake. Even Sam knew they were rather trendy- he didn't see why that would be particularly noteworthy. But as Gabriel came closer and thrust the screen into his hand, the innocent-looking crystal formation became a faithfully reproduced vulva.
"A friend wanted a 'vageode' cake for her girlfriend's 30th birthday surprise party. Surprise!"
Billie doubled over with laughter. "I told him that I expect one for my 40th next month."
"Send me that reference photo," he teased, and she laughed again.
"Oh yeah, I can just imagine the conversation now : 'Hey honey, the new guy at work wants a picture of your vagina!' That'll go over well."
Sam felt confused. What was this alternate universe he'd stumbled into? He cleared his throat. "Um. Can I do anything to help?"
Billie recovered her usual composure, though with a playful twinkle in her eye and a Mona-Lisa smile on her lips. "I think we got everything squared away. Gabriel will be in every day this week to get some test batches made, and we'll start trialing the new menu on Monday morning."
"Good," Sam intoned.
"Billie gave me a key and the alarm code. I told her that I'm likely to be in and out at all hours. I do my best creative work after midnight, and people in my profession are usually up with the sun anyway."
Sam looked back and forth at them, then remembered that he had left the teenagers in charge. "I should get back out there."
"No, I'll go," said Billie. She slapped Gabriel on the back on her way past. "Good luck," she added, tossing him a wink.
"Don't need it," he replied, returning her wink with an eyebrow waggle, "but thanks."
***
The new baked goods were hugely successful. His staff were happy to have food they didn't have to apologize for. The regular customers were thrilled that they didn't have to sneak in their own snacks. The only people who weren't immediately excited about the new joint venture with Angel Food Bakery were the folks who were accustomed to receiving the Plaid Moose's cast-offs. But when Sam realized that the popularity of his new menu meant that he had nothing to offer his homeless friends, Gabriel made a point of always making a tray or two of "oopsies" to give away: perfectly edible, but not quite attractive enough for the pastry case.
Gabriel came in at 4 am every Monday and Thursday to prepare puff pastry dough in a cold, empty kitchen, and at 6 am on Wednesdays and Saturdays to bake breads and cakes. Any other day, Gabriel might appear at noon and work until closing time, or he might stroll in sometime after 5 pm and stay until the place reopened at eight in the morning.
Late one night, a few weeks into the new arrangement, as Sam sat at the office computer doing the ordering, he heard the back door open and slam shut heavily, coupled with a grunt.
"Hello?" he hollered.
"Just me, Sam."
"Hey, Gabriel. It's almost midnight, dude." He got up, stretched, made his way to the kitchen. "What are you doing here so late?" He stopped in the doorway. There stood Gabriel, in an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt, board shorts, and a ratty pair of flip-flops, sporting a pair of sunglasses and a killer sunburn. "What the hell happened to you?"
"A liquid lunch, followed by a little snooze on the beach," he replied and he wrenched his obviously sore arms up to counter level, trying and failing to launch his grocery bags up and over the lip.
"Jesus, you're a wreck. Here, lemme help." Sam took the plastic bags off his wrists as gently as he could. He frowned at the big yellow smiley face on the bags. "Walmart?"
"Well, Wally World isn't my first choice, either, but it's the only thing open at this hour."
He watched without comment as Sam rummaged through his purchases, emptying all three bags onto the prep table. None of the items belonged in any of the cafe's offerings. One bag held pretzels, potato chips, marshmallows (mini and regular), and Funyuns. The second had microwave popcorn, Chex cereal, a box of saltine crackers, and M&M's. Bag number three contained chocolate chips, butterscotch chips, three kinds of trail mix, a can of mixed nuts, and a package of rolling papers. The assortment earned Gabriel a quizzical look.
"Whoops, those are mine," he said, reaching for the latter. "Everything else is for the genius brainstorm I had, right before I fell asleep. I'm gonna make a Rice Krispie treat, with everything," he announced, sweeping his hands before him, like he was reading from a glorious banner in the sky.
Sam held up the Funyuns. "Everything?" he asked, crinkling his nose.
"Nope, those are mine, too." Gabriel reached for them. He raised the hand with the rolling papers. "First the one, then the other," he smirked. "Care to join me?"
Sam chuckled. He didn't partake in any mind-altering substances, besides the occasional beer and copious quantities of caffeine, but he wasn't about to judge Gabriel's choices.
"I better not. You have fun, though- just don't burn down the building."
"I won't. You sticking around much longer?"
Sam shook his head. "I should have been done hours ago. The site I'm ordering from tonight just overhauled their interface, and the new one is a nightmare. I was almost ready to checkout when you showed up."
"Oh sure, blame the hobo lobster for your internet troubles."
Sam laughed aloud. "You do look like a hobo. I was starting to worry that you had a sleeping bag stashed somewhere."
"Nope, not a homeless, I just play one on TV."
"I should go finish this order. I'll let you know when I leave."
"Right-o. I'll be here. Creating!" he added with the same wave of his hands.
By the time Sam returned to the office, the website had timed out, taking his entire order with it. He briefly considered starting over, but he decided that that option would end in him hurling the computer into the parking lot. He jotted down the customer service number and resolved to call in the morning. Either someone would take his order over the phone, or he would find a new supplier for fancy syrups.
"I give up," he shouted.
"Cool," Gabriel yelled back. "Come hang out with me."
He shouldn't. He should go home, make himself a nice green salad, maybe have a hot shower. Then again, he had all day tomorrow to sleep. His day off- he could ask Billie to place the order. Or it could wait. He shrugged and headed to the kitchen.
Gabriel hadn't accomplished much in his absence. All of the groceries still littered the prep table. Sam found him bent over the opposite counter, his face and torso pressed to the stainless steel surface, his arms to his sides.
"That doesn't look very sanitary," Sam snarked.
"It's not as comfortable as it looks."
"The sunburn?"
"Oh yeah. I'm dying. I'm trying to decide if I can sleep in the walk-in."
"You should not do that."
Gabriel waited a beat. "Gee, really?"
Sam noticed that the backs of Gabriel's legs were as red as his chest. "How did you manage to burn both sides?"
"I started off on my back, but I turned over when I felt my face getting a little crispy. And then I fell asleep for six hours." He tried to stand up. He winced. "Ow. I think my skin is stuck to the table."
"There's some burn cream in the first-aid kit. You stay there."
"Very funny."
"I'm not trying to be funny," Sam replied, stooping to retrieve the first-aid kit from a cabinet. He pulled out several single-use packets of antibacterial ointment and a package of gel bandages, designed for isolated burns on hands or arms. "None of this is useful. Oh!" He searched the drawer by the cash register for Kaia's Lubriderm. She was always complaining that the hand sanitizer irritated her skin, so Billie allowed her to keep a bottle of hand lotion at her station. It wasn't aloe, but it would help.
"Did you find any lube?"
"Excuse me?"
"Just a little bent-over-the table humor. Don't mind me, Samsquatch, I'm a little delirious right now."
"I have hand lotion. It's better than nothing." Sam squeezed a small amount into his hands. "This might be cold." He wiped the lotion down Gabriel's left arm, trying not to feel self-conscious about caressing a co-worker. Gabriel shuddered, then sighed. "Is that okay?"
"S'okay," he mumbled.
Sam worked the lotion around his arm, and the extra moisture broke the seal with the table.
"Ah, I can move again," Gabriel sighed. Then he grimaced. "Nope, just unstuck. Everything still hurts like a motherfucker."
More lotion, more awkward angles, and Gabriel was free. He stood and allowed Sam to apply the cooling balm to all of his sunburn. "I can take my shirt off," Gabriel offered. He couldn't, though; the movement chafed his skin raw. Sam gathered the fabric and guided it up and over the affected areas as gently as possible.
Gabriel thought he could get his own chest, but he struggled to rotate his arms inward. Sam was obliged to do everything for him.
A couple of spots were more severely burnt. Sam slathered Gabriel's face and ears and the back of his neck. The skin on his neck looked particularly angry. Sam put a burn bandage on it and googled second-degree sunburns. "Uh-oh."
"What uh-oh?"
"It says that lotion will hold in the heat and make it worse."
"Like butter."
" ... Butter?"
"On a burn. On a cooking burn." Gabriel swayed a little as he met Sam's eye; Sam frowned. "People used to say to put butter on it. But that traps the heat. You gotta put it under cold water."
"Okay. This says a sunburn needs aloe. I have some at home. Let me take you there- I don't want you driving right now. You look-" Drunk? Stoned? Or disoriented? Was the sunburn so bad that he needed medical attention? He didn't feel qualified to make that call- a trip to the ER could wipe out a year's profits for a small business in a snap. But he had no one waiting at home for him, no one to keep an eye out for worsening symptoms.
"I look what?"
"What? Oh," Sam stuttered. "You're in pain," he finished, unconvincingly.
"Yes," Gabriel sighed. He allowed Sam to gather up the groceries and lead him to his vehicle, a beat-up old Ford pick-up. Gabriel winced as he climbed into the cab, and let out a whimper when he turned to put on his seatbelt. "I can't," he whined.
Sam jumped out of the driver's seat and walked around to the passenger side. He tugged the belt out and around Gabriel, leaning over him to secure the buckle. Gabriel sucked in a breath. "Y'okay there?" Sam asked.
"I'm great," he grinned.
Sam returned his smile, then stepped back and closed the door.
It was a short drive to Sam's apartment. He helped Gabriel to the door, then guided him to a barstool at the kitchen counter. He grabbed a carton of coconut water from the fridge. "Drink this," he said, sticking a straw into the spout. "You're probably dehydrated as hell." Then he disappeared into the bedroom to tidy up. He shoved the clean laundry off the bed, back into the laundry basket, and hung up a clean towel in the bathroom. "I'm just cleaning up for company. It's just good manners," he told himself. But he also felt a thrill to be inviting someone into his bedroom. Into his bed. "But not like that," he continued, pushing down the pile overflowing the hamper, trying to get the lid to close. He fluffed the pillows and straightened the sheets before calling it quits. Not spotless, but not bad, either. "Oh, aloe," he muttered. He found a half-empty bottle of green stuff under the bathroom sink. He carried it to the nightstand.
He heard a clatter from the kitchen. Gabriel was throwing the empty container into the recycling bin. He turned stiffly towards Sam.
"Ready?" Sam asked.
"Ready, Freddy. Lead the way." He followed Sam to the bedroom. "Nice digs," he commented.
Sam gestured for him to lie down on the bed, but Gabriel hesitated.
"Everything okay?"
"Well. Not to be a perv but I'm gonna need help taking off my shirt. And my pants."
Sam cleared his throat and gave an embarrassed grin. "Oh. Right. Here," he said, stepping behind Gabriel to help with the shirt for the third time that night. He felt awkward leaving it on the bedroom floor, like that was asking for Gabriel to crack wise about the intimacy of this whole encounter. He folded it neatly and set it on the hamper lid. "Can you untie them, your shorts?" Gabriel did so, and Sam crouched to slide them down over his bright-red thighs. And calves. Gabriel set a steadying hand on Sam's head as he pulled his feet free of the fabric. Sam was grateful that Gabriel had worn underwear under his board shorts, even if they were bikini briefs. Red bikini briefs that left nothing to the imagination. Sam stood, clearing his throat again. "I assume you want to keep those on," he said quickly, folding the shorts on top of the shirt. While his back was turned, he heard the bedsprings groan, then Gabriel groaned as he flopped onto the bed, face down on Sam's pillow.
"I'm ready," said Gabriel, voice muffled. "Be gentle."
Sam gulped. He grabbed the bottle of aloe and sat on the edge of the bed, facing Gabriel's feet. Starting with his feet felt less intimidating. He squeezed some gel into his hand. "This is gonna be cold," he warned, "and it's medicated, so it might sting a little." He rubbed his hands together briefly to warm the aloe and he massaged it into his right foot. Even the soles looked inflamed.
Gabriel hissed, then sighed.
"Y'okay?"
"Yep. Keep going."
He rubbed aloe into both feet, then the calves and shins, and the backs of both thighs. There was a clear line where the hem of the shorts had blocked the sun, and Sam was careful not to cross it. Still, the burn extended almost to the bottom of Gabriel's ass. Sam's pinky brushed against cottony fabric, and he felt his face heat up.
"Okay. Um. I'm moving up to your back now." Gabriel just grunted in answer. Sam rotated 180°. The first handful of gel made Gabriel gasp.
Sam couldn't reach the far side of his back. In retrospect, he should have walked around the bed, but it was two in the morning and his brain was not at full capacity. Instead, he knelt on the bed and swung a leg over Gabriel so he could work from the center out.
Gabriel gasped again, alerting Sam to what he had done . He was straddling him, his knees tucked against Gabriel's hips. He didn't really want to move- this would be the most efficient way to apply aloe, he thought. But if he was putting pressure on the sunburn? "Is this okay? Am I hurting you?"
"Yes, and no," Gabriel sighed. "In that order."
He finished his back. He covered his neck, his ears, his upper arms in the sticky goop. He moved away to wash his hands and let the gel absorb into the parched skin. Then he helped him turn over. Gabriel groaned as his back hit the mattress.
"I should have started on your front," Sam mused. "It's much less burnt; you will want to sleep on your stomach."
"Nope, I'm never moving again," he whined.
Sam settled on Gabriel's left as close as he could without touching him. He gathered up his left arm and coated it in aloe. His hand might have been relatively uninjured, but he massaged it all the same. He thought Gabriel was asleep, until he grinned and let out a deep contented sigh. He stiffened up again, when Sam reached for his other arm. Rubbing it from that position chafed; Sam moved to straddle his friend again. This time, Gabriel moaned a delirious "Yes," and reached his hand up to touch Sam's face. Sam took the hand into his. "Shh, I'm just treating your sunburn," he said, lying to himself as well as Gabriel. He treated his arm. He treated his chest. He moved further down Gabriel's body and treated his thighs and his shins and calves and ankles and feet again. He rubbed aloe into Gabriel's skin until he couldn't keep his eyes open anymore. He kept rousing himself from snatches of dreams. Finally, he gave up.
"I'm going to sleep on the couch," he whispered into Gabriel's ear.
"Stay," he mumbled, then snored once.
Sam smiled, and crept out of the room.
***
The sun was already high when Sam awoke. Gabriel stood in the kitchen, staring into the fridge. His hair was wrapped in a towel, and he wore a pair of Sam's Saxx boxer briefs. The ones with the chili peppers. On Gabriel's short, stocky frame, they looked like swim trunks. Sam wondered if he still had on the red briefs.
His thoughts darkened when he noticed Gabriel's back. It looked like he had put on a negative of yesterday's Hawaiian shirt. Those same large tropical leaves stood out in cream against the angry red sunburn. "Your back!" he yelped.
Gabriel swung his head around as if he'd be able to see what he was yelling about. Sam disentangled himself from the sheet and strode to the bedroom for the aloe. As Gabriel drank another coconut water, Sam described the damage. He traced the outline of a leaf with one finger. Gabriel shivered.
"I'm glad it didn't blister. I was worried it might, and then I'd have to take you to the doctor." He applied a fresh layer of aloe to his back and the sensitive skin around his head and neck. "It looks better than I expected. Did you sleep at all?"
"Not really. I got up to take a leak sometime around dawn. Getting out of bed was tricky, and by tricky, I mean painful as fuck. I found some ibuprofen in your cabinet- sorry for snooping. And then I ran a cold bath and I guess I dozed there for a while, because I woke up, like, half an hour ago, wrinkled as the queen of England.” He looked down at himself. “I also stole a pair of drawers from your laundry basket. I hope that wasn’t the dirty pile. They smelled clean, anyway.”
Sam wasn’t about to comment on Gabriel sniffing his underwear. He glanced at the clock on the stove. It wasn't even ten o’clock yet. Late by his standards- normally, he'd have started his day with a run at seven and been at work for an hour already. It seemed later, though. He yawned. “It was a long night,” he admitted.
Gabriel yawned reflexively. “I should call Cassie and have him pick me up.”
“No, stay.” Gabriel looked at him askance. “I mean, if you want. Unless your brother is gonna rub you down with aloe every few hours,” he added with a shrug and a sly smile.
Gabriel chuckled. “Yeah no, he will not. And it would not be nearly as pleasant as being manhandled by you.”
Sam responded by ducking his head and huffing an embarrassed laugh.
“You hungry?” Gabriel asked. “I could probably throw something together. You have eggs, ham, peppers- I make a mean Denver omelette.”
“Last night you couldn’t move your arms.”
“Fair enough. I make a mean DoorDash order, too. My treat?”
“Sure.”
“Okay, two Denver omelettes from Donna’s Diner. What else? You a bacon guy or a sausage guy?”
“Bacon. But if we’re indulging, get me a side of each. Links, not patties.”
“Anything sweet? They have the best pastry chef in town, and that’s coming from the competition.”
“God no.”
Gabriel paused and looked up from his phone. “That was emphatic.”
“Yeah, sorry. I don’t do sweets.”
“You’ve mentioned. Who hurt you?”
Sam laughed. “No one. I ate a lot of garbage growing up, and I try to be more respectful of my body these days.”
“Gross. Okay, our food will arrive in 45-65 minutes. Hopefully I don’t starve between now and then.”
“Help yourself to whatever you can find.”
“You don’t have anything sweet in the house?”
Sam thought a minute. “Sometimes I buy dates if I’m really craving sugar, but I can’t remember the last time I picked some up. I probably have some frozen fruit? Oh! Have a spoonful of peanut butter!”
Gabriel squinted at him, a distrustful smile on his face. “Peanut butter? For a sweet tooth? Dude.”
Sam shrugged.
Gabriel looked around for his Wal-Mart groceries. He started unloading them onto the counter, slowly so as not to aggravate his sunburn. “Hmm. I can’t even make these, because some of the ingredients are at the cafe.” He turned to Sam, who was watching him work with a bemused grin.
“I’m not sure I would even have the baking pans you’d need for something like that.”
“Hah, baking pans,” Gabriel crowed. “I almost called my bakery that. The Baking Pan.”
“As in, a pansexual who bakes?”
“Yep.” He laughed and wagged a finger. “Don’t think I didn’t notice the little pan flag pinned on the corkboard in the office. Yours?”
Sam nodded. “To be fair, I’m pretty sure everyone who works in the cafe identifies as queer in some way. Except Uncle Bobby, who you wouldn’t have met. And my brother, who only comes in if something needs fixing. He’s a mechanic here in town.”
Gabriel lifted his eyebrows. “Dean, right? Yeah, we’ve met. He, ah, knows Cassie.”
“Really? Small town, I guess.”
“Not really.” He clapped his hands together. “Anywho. What should we do while we wait for food?”
Sam frowned at the bottle of aloe on the counter. “I really should run to the store and get more of this stuff. Is the medicated okay for you, or would you rather unmedicated?”
“Whatever you think, Nurse Winchester,” he smirked. “I’ll wait here in case the food comes early. And so I don’t have to move too much,” he added, easing himself onto a barstool. “Oh, and pick me up a box of Twinkies and/or Moon Pies. And a 2-litre of Coke? You’re a peach!”
***
By the time Sam returned, Gabriel was squirming on the couch, trying to find a comfortable position. He looked on the verge of tears. “I feel like my skin is crawling,” he whined. “It doesn’t even hurt, really, it’s just irritating.”
Sam looked him over. No blisters, nothing peeling yet. He felt his forehead- his skin was definitely hotter than it had been. “Come on. I’m putting you back into the bath.”
He ran the water while Gabriel stood in the doorway, shivering and miserable. “Do you want to borrow a swimsuit?”
“I don’t know,” he whimpered.
He opted to put Gabriel into the tub wearing the boxer briefs. He was unwell, and Sam didn’t feel like dealing with a naked man in his bathroom. When he had him situated, he found a thermometer. He wiped the tip on the hem of his shirt. “Here, put this under your tongue.” It took a while to beep, and when it did, Sam frowned at the number: 101.1. “Hmm. You definitely have a fever, but nothing life-threatening.” He thought a moment. “You stay here. I’m going to grab you another drink.”
“M’kay.”
He was handing him a fresh coconut water and two ibuprofen when the doorbell rang.
“Fuck, our food,” Gabriel moaned. “I can’t.”
“I know, babe,” Sam shushed him and ran for the door. He dropped the paper bag on the counter and returned to the bathroom.
Gabriel was sitting upright. His eyes looked clearer than they had since Sam left for the store. “What did you call me?”
“What did I call you?”
“You said, ‘I know, babe.’”
Sam’s mind raced. Had he? “Um. I don’t know. Maybe I said ‘Gabe?’ Either way, I’m sorry.”
He grinned and closed his eyes, leaning back as Sam propped a rolled towel behind his head. “Either way,” he replied, “I like it.”
Sam smiled back, even if Gabe couldn’t see. Gabe. Babe. Either way. He plopped onto the bathmat and took Gabe’s hand and sat with him until the painkillers kicked in and every part of him was pruny.
***
Sam took the next day off as well. When Gabriel’s car stayed parked in the back lot for a second day in a row, and neither of them showed up for work, tongues began to wag. Billie looked particularly pleased, despite the disruption to the schedule.
***
On the day Sam and Gabriel had to return to the cafe, a complicated game of musical cars ensued. Gabriel asked his brother to come get him from Sam’s place, but Castiel had his own job to go to. They compromised by agreeing that Sam would drop Gabriel at Castiel’s, Gabriel would ride to work with Castiel, who would sacrifice his lunch break to take his brother to the cafe. And all of this to avoid Sam and Gabriel walking into work at the same time. It was Sam’s fault. He felt awkward, even though nothing had happened, really. He didn’t want to tell Billie about this very unprofessional work/life balance he was striking, and he didn’t want the kids teasing him about having a boyfriend and making kissy faces at him. He was being stupid, everyone involved knew he was being stupid, and Castiel, for one, was not shy about telling him that he was being stupid. But he agreed to go along nonetheless.
As Sam pulled up to Castiel’s apartment, he chuckled. “Check it out- my brother has a car just like that,” he remarked, pointing to a sleek black Chevy Impala parked backwards a few spaces down. “I wonder if it’s a ‘67. Dean would know just by the grille or the headlights or something.”
Gabriel huffed. “Huh. Well, I’ll get out here. Thanks for the ride. See ya in a few hours.” He nearly stumbled out of the cab and hightailed it to his brother’s door.
Sam watched until the door closed behind him, out of politeness, then headed to the Plaid Moose.
***
He was still on hold with the syrup vendor. He deserved to deal with this himself, after leaving Billie in the lurch for a whole extra day with no warning. That didn’t stop him from googling potential new vendors while he waited. Gabriel poked his head in to let him know that he was back; Sam popped him a wave.
He gave up abruptly and hung up the phone when he heard Billie call out, “Dean Winchester, you sonuvabitch, get over here and give us a hug.”
He walked out of the office to find his manager enveloping his brother in a huge embrace.
“Did you really think you could come in here and not say hi?” she admonished.
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Billie,” he replied. “How are you? How’s Charlie? I haven’t seen you two in ages.”
“It’s not my fault you work 24/7. How many jobs do you have these days?”
He laughed. “I’ve cut back to just the garage and keeping that one happy,” he grinned, jerking his thumb behind him. Sam didn’t see who he pointed at; maybe she was out in the car.
“Hey Dean, fancy meeting you here,” he interjected when Billie excused herself to deal with a customer. “That sink in the bathroom is still waiting on a certain brother of mine to replace the faucet. It’s dripping worse than Dad’s old cabin.”
“Heya, Sammy. I, uh, was just stopping in to sample the new menu. Since no one bothered to bring me any,” he joked, sweeping his big little brother into a bear hug.
“I mean, I am trying to run a business here,” he retorted, grinning. “Let me go get Gabe, so he can show you what’s new.” He stepped into the kitchen to look for the baker, but he was nowhere to be found. Sam walked back to the front and heard his brother talking to someone. Oh, it’s Castiel, he thought, recognizing the low gravelly voice.
" ... calling you 'Gabe' now?"
"Hey man, did you ‘grab a rope and yodel?’” Dean laughed at his own joke. That phrase again. He would have to look it up in Urban Dictionary.
“Laugh away, Winchester.” Sam came around the corner to see that Gabe had joined them. “Big words coming from the guy who still hasn’t told his brother that he’s boinking my brother.”
“Hey Sam,” Dean called too loud, too quickly, waving as if they hadn’t already said hello.
Gabe whipped around. “Hey Sam,” he echoed, with the same guilty tenor to his voice.
“What was that?” Sam wasn’t sure what he had heard.
Castiel was glaring at Dean. “You didn’t tell him?”
Gabriel cleared his throat, calling Sam’s attention to him while Dean whispered to Castiel. Something about, “I was gonna. It didn’t come up.”
“Hey Samwich, can I borrow you for a minute? I have to show you something in the back.” And Gabe pushed him into the kitchen, leaving Sam to wonder if he had heard correctly.
***
"So I've been thinking about your - frankly appalling - lack of a sweet tooth and trying to figure out what I could tempt you with."
"I'm sorry, Gabe. I get the idea that you like to feed the people you lo- that food is how you show ... friendship. And I get it. I'm a gift-giver too. I just don't-"
Gabriel interrupted him with a wave of his hand. "I thought about it, and I devised this." He whisked his other hand out from behind his back. Sam was glad to see the improvement in his range of motion. But that wasn't the surprise. Gabe held out to him a tiny china plate, so small it might have come from a child's tea set. The plate was dressed with a purple nasturtium blossom, and nestled within the petals was a single blonde truffle-shaped bonbon, roughly the color of a perfectly toasted marshmallow, topped with a pale pink drizzle. "This, my good man, is the Holy Grail of desserts. It is vegan, keto-friendly, wheat- and gluten-free, and contains no white sugar. It is delicious and decadent and satisfying, but not sweet. And I invented it just for you."
"I don't know what to say."
"Don't say anything until you taste it." Gabe pinched the morsel between two fingers and brought it to Sam's lips. He watched with a vicarious hunger as Sam's lips parted and brushed his fingers, a kiss both surreptitious and bold. Sam felt a thrill of warmth at the way Gabe's eyes shifted from ravenous to lamb-soft when Sam grabbed his wrist, pressing his fingers to his mouth again.
A burst of fruit bloomed on his tongue, and he remembered the parcel those fingers had delivered. He bit down, and his mouth flooded with notes of cherry, peach, and strawberry. He smelled honey and almond, orange blossom, and the faintest rumor of rose. A moan escaped him. His eyes fell shut as he focused his entire consciousness on savoring the sensations dancing on his palate. He chewed, he swallowed, he inhaled the last of the aroma into his lungs and imagined the flavor settling into his soul.
He opened his eyes. Gabe gazed up at him with a look of ecstasy. His fingers still gripped Gabe's wrist, but he clutched both their hands to his own chest. He watched the devilish grin cross Gabe's face and suffuse his entire being with mirth and joy. "What was that?" he whispered, too overwhelmed for speech.
"Well, I'm no expert, but I think we call that an orgasm."
Sam shook his head, and a laugh bubbled out of him. "I mean, the candy, the truffle. It's..." he grasped for a suitable word, "otherworldly."
"So you like it then," he teased.
Sam nodded. "You made that?"
"Yup!"
"From regular ingredients?"
“They're pretty damn expensive ingredients, but all from the earthly realm, yes. I didn’t promise my firstborn to the fair folk in exchange for unholy powers of patisserie, if that’s what you’re implying.”
“Huh. Said like someone who did promise his firstborn to the fair folk in exchange for unholy powers of patisserie.”
Gabe grinned, and Sam couldn’t help himself. He dug his free hand into Gabe’s thick mane and pulled him into a kiss. Gently, chastely, careful to avoid his sunburn. Suddenly, he found himself thrown off balance as Gabriel leapt into his arms. “Whoa!” Two surprisingly powerful thighs clung to his waist; thick arms wrapped around his neck.
“Mmmhmm, I could get used to this altitude,” Gabe murmured. He had the high ground now. He cupped the base of Sam’s skull and tipped his face upward. “Make me yodel, big boy.”
“Somewhere else, please.” Billie stood in the kitchen with her hands on her hips. Dean and Castiel trailed her, hands clasped.
Gabe dropped from his perch and had the decency to look chastened, at least until he noticed their brothers. His usual cockiness returned in a flash. “Oh ho ho, looks like we have a couple of lovebirds here, Sam.”
Castiel rolled his eyes so hard Sam thought he could have broken something. “Isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black?” Castiel’s face brightened, though, as he accepted a hug from Sam.
“Didn’t think you swung that way, Sammy,” Dean remarked, moving to hug his brother.
“You neither,” Gabe answered for him, standing back from the lovefest, his still-tender arms crossed protectively in front of him. He knew Dean well enough to know that he would hug him just for the excuse to slap his sunburnt back.
“Ehh, I’m cool with it,” Sam shrugged. “Either way.”