#oneoddkitteh

“It wasn’t my fault,” Gabriel said indignantly. “The bastard slept with my brother and-”

“I’m going to need you to put on some underwear before you say anything else, sir,” the officer said to him, staring at the doorframe. “Please.”

 ----------

“You stole my toaster! That is not an appropriate way to deal with a breakup!” Dean yelled, and stalked out, silver toaster under his arm.

“If you weren’t a piss poor excuse for a boyfriend, I wouldn’t have needed to talk to bread about my emotional problems,” Gabriel retorted. “And frankly, I feel like the bigger problem here is that you slept with Cas!”

His voice rose into a hysterical yell, and oh dear, the neighbours didn’t need to hear him hit that pitch. Dean turned, staring him down.

“You didn’t talk to me for three months!”

“You think that’s an excuse to sleep with my brother,” Gabriel spat. “I was backpacking mountains, I didn’t have reception! Jesus Christ you emotionally stunted asshole. Fuck off. Take the fucking toaster, that I paid for, and never speak to me again.”

Dean hadn’t even reached the end of the path when Gabriel returned with his dog.

“Sic ‘im, Max,” he muttered under his breath.

Dean didn’t turn at the words, just sprinted to his car.

“You’re a sick freak,” he yelled from the window.

“And you’re a cheating cunt,” Gabriel screamed back.

 -----------------

“And the worst part is,” Gabriel said, “is that I haven’t had a shower yet, and I still smell like burnt toast. His toaster is shit.”

The police officer stared at Gabriel, sipping the cup of tea he’d offered. She said nothing for a long time.

Gabriel made eye contact again, raising an eyebrow. Not that he minded, but Suits usually had trains to catch. He got a bashful smile, before they pulled out a phone. Ah, so they were on a time limit. He knew it. Gabriel watched their eyes widen.

‘Oh shit,’ they mouthed.

Gabriel winced. Ouch. He hoped he hadn’t cost them their job. They didn’t look like they’d yell though, which was the big thing. He’d had all sorts through his space before, but the yelling ones were the worst. Looking away, he smiled at a kid in a dress, tugging on an adults hand. Kids liked listening, but never had the choice to stop. By the time they had that control, they didn’t care anymore.

Finally, he lay down his violin, switching off the amp and reaching for his water. Gabriel would rather coffee, but life never claimed to be fair. If it were fair, he’d be playing in a stadium alongside Lucy, and not busking to help with the rent.

“I know, I’m sorry. Family emergency. No, I’m fine, but I can’t come in. Yes, I know I owe you. No, this isn’t a mid-life crisis, I’m only 25, stop. I am handing in my notice tomorrow though. See you then, sorry, don’t tell Dean yet please, keep it down- ok, no. Bye..”

Water sprayed out of Gabriel’s nose and mouth. What. He turned, unable to hide his curiosity. They looked up, grimaced at him as if to say ‘shit happens, right?’ Dear gods, Gabriel was witnessing something new. This was a whole ‘nother level of the shenanigans he normally caught. He turned back to his case, pulling out his phone, still wiping water off his chin. His voyeurism would only embarrass them both. He also needed to start playing again soon if he wanted to get practice song in before the lunchtime rush. Gabriel was debating between a pop-punk mix or a Britney Spears/Beyonce mashup when someone crouched beside his case, dumping two fifties and a twenty on top of all the one dollar bills. They looked up at the sound of his loud inhale. Jesus Christ, this person was just full of surprises.

“Hi,” they said, smiling softly. “I just uh, really love your playing. I’ve seen you with the guitar and cornet too, but violin is my favourite.”

Gabriel nodded silently. Normally liking his music didn’t equate to 120 bucks in his case, but what the fuck, it was their life, and their 25 year old crisis.

“And uh, I wanted to thank you.”

“Why?” Gabriel frowned.

“For playing.”

They smiled, like that was meant to mean something monumental, and turned to leave. Like, what the fuck even? Gabriel stared at them, then down at his new riches. Balth and Cas were not going to believe this.

 --

Gabriel hadn’t quite forgotten it all when they walked into the coffee shop. He barely recognised them. Their hair was out, they’d grown a beard, and how dare anyone look just as good in paint splattered jeans as they did in a suit? They smiled when they saw him.

“Hi there,” he said automatically as they approached. “What can I do for you?”

“You’re Gabriel, right?”

He blinked, and pointed at his badge.

They rolled their eyes at him good naturedly, and it felt like a blessing. Dimples. Their stress lines were replaced with crinkles at the corner of their eyes and the cutest dimples he’d ever seen.

“I’m Sam,” they said. “I hope it’s not too creepy, but I found out your name through a work-friend. They said you wouldn’t mind.”

“Ok, who’s this work friend? “

Sam grinned at him, unoffended by his wariness.

“Castiel. I worked on the law side of his translation service.”

“Oh-kay,” Gabriel said, dragging the syllables. “And what wouldn’t I mind?”

“I just wanted to give you tickets to an exhibition of mine,” Sam said. “You were the catalyst for the whole thing. I just want to thank you for that.”

Gabriel closed his eyes tight, and shook his head a little. What did he even do to deserve thanks?

“Ok, sure.”

Sam smiled at him, and they looked like they understood his confusion.

“If I hadn’t called in sick, I would have been accepted another project. You reminded me that some things are more important than appeasing my dad with a boring, respectable job, y’know? Your music is like magic, and you’re there nearly every day like clockwork. I wanted that dedication to my art.”

“Oh.”

He wasn’t sure he got it. Sam smiled at him anyway, and handed over an envelope.

“It’s up to you,” they shrugged. “But I’d love to see you there. Also, you guys do soy coffees, right?”

By the time Gabriel could think of a normal response, Sam and his double-shot soy mocha were long gone.

--

“He’s not a creep,” Cas said. “I feel like you underestimate the power your music has to move people, Gabriel.”

“And I feel like you’re not the best judge of who is and isn’t a creep,” Balthazar called from the kitchen. 

At least when he was cooking the house smelled like pasta rather than booze and weed. 

“Shut up,” Cas replied. He stared at Gabriel, wearing his serious face. “He’s really good. You’ll enjoy it.”

“I’ll try,” Gabriel said, pretending that he wasn’t sold.

 --

“They’re beautiful.”

Sam smiled at him, bumping his shoulder companionably.

“Glad you think so,” he said. “Have a favourite?”

They were hyper realistic, beautiful and simple. A pair of paint splattered sneakers, someone’s hand curled lovingly around a pen, the sharp lines of a suit shoulder.

“The Suit.” Gabriel stared at it, unable to keep from smiling. “You got it perfect.”

“I took photos first,” Sam shrugged.

“Don’t try and be modest,” Gabriel said, grinning over at him. “We’re a wonderfully artistic pair. Own it.”

“Calm the fuck down,” Gabriel grumbled, brushing a chunk of – dear fucking God, was that intestine? – out of his hair. “It was just a little explosion.”

“Of flesh!” Sam said loudly. Yelled. He yelled it. Loudly.  

“It could have been bigger,” Gabriel shrugged. “The sooner you stop screaming like a baby, the sooner you can shower it off.”

He had a point, the douche. Sam turned abruptly, and stepped straight into a pile of miscellaneous fleshy bits. The retching sound he made was a little like he had a hairball coming up. Only, this hairball was the vegie burrito he’d had for lunch.

“Gas.”

Gabriel stared at him.

“I… You… You might need to clarify that,” he said gently. “Maybe try a full sentence?”

“Snap us up some gas. I’m not cleaning up this shit, we’re gonna burn it down.”

Gabriel stared a little longer.

“Marry me?”

“Gas, Gabriel.”

 ---

“You have something on your ass,” Gabriel told Sam while they watched the house burn. “My eyes.” He waited till Sam had finished is eye rolling before he continued. “Also, a few chunks of liver and the better part of an eyeball. Just so you know.”

Sam turned and punched him.

 ---

“If you like water, you’re going to love 70 percent of me,” Gabriel started.

“You said your vessel made up like, one percent of what you are,” Sam said, without looking away from his laptop screen.

Just cause he was bored didn’t mean he’d sink to Gabriel’s level.

“Details, Sam. Play hard to get all you want, but one day I’ll get it perfect, y’know.”

“Mmm.” Sam wriggled his legs under the desk. It was built for tiny people, he could have sworn it.

 ---

“Cockadoodle-do you think I’m sexy?”

Sam cringed. This had to be one of the most bizarre yet.

“No, I cockadoodle-don’t,” he said into his glass. “Fuck off, will you?”

“Oh come on,” Gabriel exclaimed. “Do you realise how hard these are to come up with?”

Sam glared at him, and then at his drink.

“I saw your search history, Gabriel. Googling ‘worst pickup lines isn’t effort.”

“It could be, Gabriel said obstinately. “You aren’t the boss of me.”

“Can you please shut up?” Sam said, finally turning away from his table  and facing Gabriel on the other side of his booth. “I’m trying to feel sorry for myself, and you’re distracting me!”

“I know,” Gabriel replied. “That’s the point.”

He flagged a waitress with a warm smile, and ordered two more of what Sam had.

“You’re working yourself too hard,” Gabriel said. “If I wasn’t here to stop you from imploding, you’d be useless to anyone. Pull your shit together, Sam.”

Sam blinked at him.

“Oh. Ok.”

 ---

“Gabriel, what.”

Gabriel held the keyboard out of reach, smile unwavering.

“Y’know, I designed the qwerty keyboard.”

“What.”

Gabriel’s smile was deadly. Sam bet this smile was the one he smiled at people just before he killed them.

“Yeah. I rearranged the alphabet just so you and I were together.”

Sam sighed.

“Can I please have my keyboard back?” he asked. “This is very cute, but the touchscreen buttons are too small. I can’t fake your ID if I misspell your name.”

Gabriel groaned loudly.

“No fun,” he said, slapping the keyboard down on the table. “No fun at all.”

“Good,” Sam yelled at his retreating back.

 ---

“Are you a library book? Because I'd like to-”

“Ok, fine. Do you want dinner? A movie? Sex? Seriously, just make an actual effort to talk about this and we can do that. I like you, you like me, but constantly making out that your affection is a joke makes me uncomfortable and less likely to pursue this, so be an adult. Also, stop interrupting me halfway through important tasks for bad pickup lines.”

Gabriel stopped, Sam’s book in his hand.

“Are you for real? You’re considering us?”

For a crazy powerful being, he was a little slow. He could have read it in Sam’s soul months ago. Then again, his respect for Sam’s boundaries was one of the reasons Sam trusted him enough to say:

“Yes.”

“Yes!” Gabriel shouted.

They got kicked out of the library. Sam refused to talk about it until he didn’t want to punch Gabriel, but they figured it out eventually. Dean figured it out even later, walking in on them after a night of debauchery (they cuddled and watched romantic movies all night while eating popcorn and donuts. Sue them) and was suitably amused.

Gabriel blinked at him.

“Technically I’m not a hooker,” he said. “I mean, nobody pays me, really. It’s more of a sugar daddy thing, but with multiple people. Art supplies are expensive, y’know? Some of them I paint for, too, but those are separate and therefore no money is exchanged for the sex part.”  

He bent over in his lacy lingerie, picking up the tight jeans he always wore to his ‘job’. Jesus Christ, he was having sex. For art supplies.

“I don’t think that stops you from being a hooker.”

Gabriel turned, glaring at Sam as he pulled his pants on. He wasn’t even going to bother with a shirt over his corset, Sam knew that. He’d just slip his button up neatly into his bag, coat on, and shrug when Sam asked why he wasn’t wearing it. How the fuck did he hide this?

“Do you even work at the bar?” Sam asked, leaning on the doorframe.

“Yes. Just because I get laid for stuff doesn’t mean I make legal money,”’ Gabriel muttered. “Jeez, why are you making this weird? It’s not like you have a reason to be invested in my sex life.”

Sam flushed.

“Maybe I want one.”

Gabriel stopped, one leg in his jeans, and looked up.

“Ok,” he said, drawing out the O unnecessarily. “I feel like that should be a conversation I have when I’m not ten minutes away from meeting someone. How ‘bout we put this on hold?”

 -----

They put it on hold for a week. Sam was out every day working on their portfolio. Gabriel was working every night. Gabriel came home one night to find Sam passed out on the couch, a dark spot of drool under their chin and their boxers slightly too low on their hips. Gabriel had never seen them without pants on, had no clue whether they were xx or xy because it hadn’t mattered. Just like it hadn’t mattered when Sam calmly told him that they went by they/them when possible, and that any gender stereotypes could stay the hell out of the house or Gabriel wouldn’t be considered as a tenant.

Now, Gabriel was curious. Sam was his friend, the quiet presence at his side on movie night, the loud voice arguing about rule on games night, the one who cooked vegetable soup when Gabriel was sick. They wanted something sex related with Gabriel. It was a strange thought. What would they like in bed? What would they be like in bed? Would it be weird? If it made things weird, it couldn’t happen. Gabriel liked them too much.

“Gabriel, I can hear you watching me,” Sam muttered into their arm. “Stop thinking and shower, you smell like jizz.”

It wouldn’t make things weird. Things were already weird.

“Shower with me, then,” Gabriel offered. “You have drool all over your face and your hair’s greasier than Dean’s dinner.”

Sam looked up. They stared at Gabriel.

“Aight,” Sam said. “We talking about this then?”

“Tomorrow,” Gabriel replied. “Too tired tonight. Shower and touch would be nice though. She was really rough today.”

It wasn’t till he finished talking that Gabriel realised that he’d been a little tactless. Sam didn’t react at all, just stood up and-

“Aight.”