Fire and Ice

Sam: come with me

Gabriel: *smirks*

Gabriel: wait

Gabriel: where are we going?

People didn't just knock at his door. The occasional service person, sure, maybe an assistant or doorman. But they always called ahead, were never...unexpected. So a tap-tap-tap on the front door of his condo made him suspicious. Even if he checked the cameras before getting up, had sigils carved into every door frame, even with the unbroken line of salt under each wooden board covering the threshold sill, he still answered with a gun hidden on one hand, just out of view and one boot behind the door, preventing it from opening all the way.

A tiny frown puckered his brow, and he flickered his gaze around the empty hallway, then studied her all the way down, then back up. He might've been told about a new neighbor, but he also trusted his building manager to do thorough background (and foreground) checks on all potential buyers. Perhaps it slipped their memory, or it was buried in an update that never landed in his inbox. Either way, he would find out. Maybe the old leaser had sub-let, in which case it was against their agreement if they didn't notify.

He took his security seriously.

There was a pause, and his eyebrows rose in expectation. No further explanation, no ambush seemed imminent, just a weirdo. "...Do you want a medal?"

Usually the other way around but hey, be a trendsetter she always said. Holding the little bag of goodies and knocking on the door, she waited paitently with a bright smile. She said her greeting and held up the bag for him, this was until he gave her the cold shoulder. At first, she didnt know how to react. Now she did take into account that the neighbor could be an asshole but not THIS much of an asshole. Being sized up and talked too like this? She wasnt gonna allow that.

In this, he was yet again grateful for the lack of emotion. It might be nothing, but perhaps it’d saved him from being poisoned, hexed or something worse. Better not to take the chance.

Deep inhale, deep exhale. Chose your words carefully Rockelle, you still have a status to uphold. For lack of a better word, she smiles at him, a sinister smile that a woman gives when she cannot say what she is truly thinking. "Oh my love, Im more than capable of living here. Next to a man. I dont need to be by other women just to make YOU feel safer. How flattering of you to think I would have that many people over at a time. I appreciate the concern but I will make sure my singing or my trainees dont get in your precious way." The woman responds in a sweet tone, despite the smile on her face that was screaming 'dont push my buttons sir.'

As for the clutter in the hallway...as far as he was concerned one person was too many people. Didn’t matter if she was putting her key in or leaving to go to a stripper convention, he just didn’t want to see anyone anywhere close to his house.

Oh god, a singer. Did he mutter that outloud? Probably. He’d heard enough. He didn’t even bother cutting her off, just turned on ‘Now if you-’ and shut the door. Anything after that would’ve had to be shouted at the door, or else he wouldn’t hear it. He was too busy calling to get someone to collect what was left at his door. And ripping a new one to the building manager. 

“My mind can linger where it pleases.” He hissed through a snarl, orange splintering his irises for a quick second before fading under closed eyelids. Sam drew up his knees under the blanket and draped his arms across them, lowering his head on a yawn. His temper had flared, but mostly he just wanted to go back to sleep. Quietly, he wondered if Sam would notice if he lay back down.

A sigh, and he propped one cheek on a hand, listening to the crunch of footsteps outside. “Clearly.” He said, deadpan. It wasn’t totally clear of he was actually taking it seriously or not, but definitely not as much as Sam wanted him to. He’d said these things as if they’d make much of a difference to him. He was still a Fallen, no matter whether he wielded a throne or not. The hunter’s tools of the trade were for demons, and he was something else entirely.

But then, maybe they’d work on Sam. It occurred to him now that maybe that was why he was worried.

“Why don’t you send your dog out to fetch? It’s not like they can see her.”

Sam stared back, trying to reel his agitation and alarm back in. Sometimes this haunting Archangel could really grate on his nerves, particularly because much like Sam, he seemed to live with one food in each word to some extend. He was an Archangel, but he served in Hell while also being a demonic Prince of Hell. Maybe that was why Samael was so unfazed. There wasn’t a big threat for him.

“Pompous, arrogant bastard, why do we hang out with him?!”

The image of Samael flimmered, overlaying itself with a ripped open chest, gashed throat and damp blood on the bed sheet. Sam furrowed his brows and flicked a hand upwards, twisting his head sideways, mumbling: “Hush, not now. I am trying to think!” His demand was only met with quiet chuckle and more inaudible whispers in his head. His head was thrumming and the veins on his wrists pulsed.

Sam looked down at Jessica, who had rung the alarm in the first place. The idea hadn’t even occured to the Boy King. He still wasn’t that used to using the creatures of Hell in defence or as a weapon.

“We told you so… we told you so…. Just use her. You are in charge, stupid!”

Sam massaged his temple, not in the mood to deal with being criticised from essentially two fronts. It seemed ever since he had become the King of Hell, the demon blood had gotten louder than before. It of course had its reasons for doing that, trying to guide the human half, not well versed in demonic culture. Still, it made these type of moments rather awkward.

As Sam continued to massage his temple in the hope of easing his mind, he felt his body temperature rising and his conscious mind slipped downwards. His stance shifted. Where previously, he had been tense and agitated, even a bit bent over to make himself smaller, he now drew to his full height, dropped his arm and spoke with a calm and collected voice:

“Jessica, sick ‘em.”

Jessica was used to her master’s strange shifts of personality and thus she hadn’t paid his mental wrestling any mind. Sam nowadays could handle this well enough to not be completely incapacitated. Instead she simply headbutted the door, forcing it open a knudge and slipping out of the building.

Sam’s eyes kept peering through the slits of the shutter. Sounds of surprise and fighting drifted over to them. Screaming, wild gunfire as rounds emptied themselves rapidly, and the heinous tearing of flesh. It was impossible to make anything out in the dark.

So he rolled his eyes and turned away, dark hazel eyes scouting for his trousers. Ah, there they were, left discarded on the floor. He slid to the edge of the bed and tossed aside the sheet, a frown on his own brow as he cast aside the last of his bleariness to reach for the clothing, belt still on loops. When on Earth one had to...assimilate. Which meant he couldn’t go around in what he usually wore, the dark and draped robes of yesteryear. But then, the courts of Hell could be...traditional. Robes were basically normal there.

His wings, invisible to human eyes, fluttered, righting their sharpened feathers after his sleep. Or perhaps they were also reacting to the difference in temperature...while he clothed, gave no indication, he could hear the way Sam’s pulse rocketed, feel the way the room shifted it’s angle. The command sounded behind him as he slid the pants up, the creak of the door mingling with the sound of the fastenings.

A rake of hands through his hair and he joined Sam at the window, bare arms crossed over bared chest, bare feet quiet on the ground. The tang of ozone and cold, wet stone seemed to be brought with him. Without the brimstone orange of anger in his eyes they seemed to reflect that as well. He stood, quiet, listening to the rending and terror with the detachment of an echo in a cavern.

This was the version of Sam that garnered more respect, the way that a leader of Hell should be. Commanding, decisive. In control. Though he didn’t totally believe in that last one. He glanced over, only the slight tick of one eyebrow indicated any thought. That he may do something, as if he needed permission, could be brought up, but he swept this consideration under the rug. In the face of an apology, and the admission of guilt, he would overlook that little hiccup. A moue, and he shrugged a shoulder, giving a faint nod as acknowledgement of his apology. He inhaled and glanced back out the window. “I’m up now, sleep can wait.” To err is human. Inwardly, he smiled to himself. That was quite funny. Of course, he didn’t smile outwardly. Would he care to explain why if he did? Not really.

“That’s the trouble. I don’t know if I’d want to let you go into work by then.” He chuckled, voice dark. The finger that hooked Dean’s shirt dropped, instead sliding an arm across the small of his back, easing him in. Sam allowed himself to brush against the other’s ear, take a quick but soft nip of his earlobe. “But maybe it’d make screwing in the store room even more anticipated.”

“Personal, after-hours tour huh?” There was a second, where Sam’s eyelids lowered, and he dragged a look down Dean’s front, that questioned whether he’d bring up fooling around during work hours. But then he caught his gaze again there was nothing but satisfaction. “Can’t resist that.” Can’t resist...you. Sam quick snatched a playful squeeze of one of Dean’s back pockets before retreating. “Maybe I’ll come by around 8:45. I want to see your little apron in action.”

Was there a sizzle in the air? Maybe. Or one was just put to mind, as he cast lingering smirks over his shoulder as he withdrew to his car, parked just on the curb. He would say it was lucky he’d run into him...but it’s not exactly like he was in a metropolis. People ran into each other a lot in small places. He still had a couple of hours to kill before he could ambush the guy at work, so he’d find something to occupy himself with until that evening. Besides, he knew a perfect exit when he saw it. Always leave them wanting more an all that.

He gave Dean a wink over the roof of the car before getting in the driver’s seat.