Chapter Text
5 Years Ago
The water covered his head and Gabriel floundered once again. He was getting light headed, but he hardly noticed with the burning in his chest. It had been a dumb plan, exactly the kind of recklessness he had been accused of by his brothers. His movements seemed slower, even though he was redoubling his efforts to rise to the top. He didn't even have time for one last, self-deprecating joke before he was gone.
1 Year Ago
Sam nearly had a heart attack when he woke up. The sun was coming through the blinds: how late had he slept in? He barely had time to shower and call the station before rushing out of the house, ignoring the note Gabriel had left him, most likely to gloat over once again disabling his alarms. He 'worked too much' apparently, although Sam never failed to remind him it was because he was working that Gabriel was still alive. His secretary, Charlie, handed him his coffee as soon as he came in the door and gave him the lowdown on the calls that had come in overnight. The Wehr's dog had gone missing and there had been a few bar fights. A busy night, Sam was almost sad he had missed it. He thanked Charlie and went in to say hello to the rest of the crew.
The day went by without a text from Gabriel, which was odd but occasionally his work was busy enough that not even Gabriel could slack off. The door was locked and the lights were off when he came in. He called after Gabriel, who was probably sleeping off his long shift at the nursing home, but there was no reply so he simply headed to the fridge, grabbing the note to skim as he contemplated cooking or take out.
Time stopped.
Sam,
I'm sorry, it's over. I think you know why. My ring and the papers are in the office.
Gabriel.
He didn't know why. He stared at the note, his heart frozen, before gently placing it back on the fridge. His hands smoothed over the note, making sure it was exactly where it was.
He wished it was a nightmare, but he wasn’t blind enough to what had been happening to think that.
Sam took a step away, his eyes never leaving the yellow post-it. His heart was stuttering, or was that his breath? His vision was going blurry, and he recognized nausea and shame rolling around in his gut, but even stronger, anger.
“I loved you,” he choked out. “You fucker.”
Dean found him two days later after a concerned call from Charlie, his hands torn up and flecks of drywall in his hair. "It's ok, Sam," he spotted the ring in a corner and pocketed it before putting Sam to bed and rescuing the divorce papers. "Drink up, little brother." Sam was too exhausted to ask what pills he was taking, and was soon lost to vague dreams and cold sweats.
Today
Sam got to the station early, before any of the day-shifters stumbled in. He listened to the radio chatter while catching up with the paperwork he had left from yesterday and catching up on the news. A moment later, his body went rigid, jaw hard, and he strode out of the office in three large steps, calling for back-up on the radio and dialing the nearest forensic unit to beg for a team. He arrived at nearly the same time as the first cop car, the wheels still turning as he jumped out and stepped into the fray, interested motel patrons and early-bird journalists. He ordered Ritter to start taking statements, and nodded an invitation at Balth, turning towards the small room with the open door.
It was a mess. Surrounding a clean square of carpet, blood spotted the sides of the neatly made beds, the wall, and occasionally the ceiling. The bodies were not displayed, but rather simply crumpled where they had been rolled by the removal of the plastic sheet. Sam heard the snap of bubble gum behind him and gestured at the mess. “Pictures, Garth. Make them good. You,” he pointed at the greasy man who was reaching towards the bodies, “Out. My men will take your statement. You don’t give one, I’ll find you. Dean,” he added, turning to face the door and take the measure of the man casually leaning against the doorframe, a passive expression on his face, “You co-ordinate with the forensics team that’s going to be arriving in a few hours. Benny’s on bouncer duty and Garth, I want those pictures sent to Charlie stat.”
“Already on the cloud, sir.”
“Dean, get over here and help me roll the bodies over,” he continued, giving Garth a confused look, who’s arm was blocking Sam’s way.
“Gloves, gigantor.” Sam suppressed the urge to wince at the familiar nickname and accepted the too-small gloves from Garth, watching to make sure Dean took some too.
“So, are the forensics people as hot as on TV?”
“Is your doctor as hot as Dr. Sexy? I didn’t think so Dean.”
“Gross, Sam. Dr. Green is as old as balls.” Sam made a face while motioning Garth over. “I need Charlie to run face recognition and- oh. Never mind.” He stripped the gloves, resisting the urge to throw them in the motel garbage and grabbed his phone, swearing at some poor secretary before he was even out the door.
“Someone we know?” Garth asked, squinting at the body, sending the pictures to Charlie anyways.
“No one I’ve seen before. Hey, wait! Those ugly mugs were on the TV two weeks ago! I was at the dentist’s office and you know how that crap goes, man…”
“Lil help, brother?” The room darkened as Benny blocked the door and Garth cursed at him for ruining his shot.
“What, locals getting too rowdy for you, big man? Ever thought of retirement?”
“Dean,” Sam interrupted from the door, “Get out there.” He disappeared once more after leaving more instructions and the room cleared, except for Garth, who stood with a puzzled look on his face before shrugging and standing duty at the door, making sure his crime scene wasn’t contaminated.
A couple hours later, one of the forensic detectives scrutinized Sam as he was giving the details on what they had done that morning, before interrupting him. “Get a lot of crime this way?”
“We’ve had our bigger cases. I was an officer in LA for a few years, I know the drill and make sure my men don’t make mistakes.”
“Fuck it all up, you mean.”
“Yes,” Sam didn’t like the implication that he and his unit could be fuck ups but let it slide, following the man into the room.
“Have you ID’d the bodies?”
“Yes, Michael and Raphael Milton, from the New York Miltons. They’re doing a press release in 15 minutes.”
“Oh.” Sam nearly ran into the man, who had stopped walking, but quickly gathered himself and went to go do his job while Sam answered his smartphone.
“Sheriff Winchester.”
“Hey, Sheriff, we uh, we got a witness down here at the station. Says he’ll only talk to you.”
“Dean, you never call me Sheriff. What’s up?”
“I can try and take his statement if you want, but he’s pretty insistent.”
“Dean, I’ll be right there.” Sam waved at the team before heading to his car. Something was up.
“In there,” Benny gave him a nod and a small smile before going to refill his coffee cup once Sam entered the station. Sam headed to the conference room and prepared himself for whatever could be behind the door. When people asked for him, it usually meant they knew him and Sam knew way too many different kinds of people.
It still wasn’t anyone he was expecting.
"Gabriel?" Sam stared, slack-jawed, smartphone still in his hand.
His ex was in his conference room, feet resting on the table, arrogant wise-ass smirk all over his face. “Hiya, Sam!” Gabriel raised his hands and rested them on the back of his neck. “How’s things?”
“Gabriel.” Sam’s voice was less shocked, and more annoyed this time.
“You said that already.”
The wise-ass smirk hadn’t left yet.
It took Sam a moment’s hesitation to decide how he was going to handle the situation before he acted on it. He threw on his most patented bitchface he owned, unlocked his phone, and levelled Gabriel with the most I-Don’t-Care expression possible. “Would you look at the date? Haven’t seen you in, oh, looks like a little over a year. Kind of you to call in and see how I’m doing, but I’m in the middle of an important murder investigation, that my ex-husband apparently had something to do with. I’m sorry,” he said, holding up a finger and silencing any protests Gabe- Gabriel, was trying to make. “I really am, but my partners are going to have to take your statement. I’d say see you around, but I really don’t want that to happen.”
He turned around, left the room, and went for Dean.
He found his brother in his office. Sam stood in the doorway, hands by his side. “So, you didn’t feel like telling me Gabriel was in the building, asking for me?”
Dean stopped stirring his coffee for a moment. “Naw,” he replied, not even looking at Sam, “You would’ve run away. How’d it go? Wait-” Dean glanced at the clock hanging on the wall. “You did run away.”
“What’d you expect? Dean. It’s not like it was an amicable split,” Sam hissed.
Dean looked like he was going to say something, but stopped himself.
A heavy hand landed on Sam’s shoulder, and he jerked away from it.
“Winchester!” Benny’s tone was his usual Cajun gruff, with a bit more of an order attached to it. “You can fight later, just go take the man’s statement, for fuck’s sake.”
“And you can’t do it… because?” Sam snarled.
“Nobody was kiddin’ when they said hey wouldn’t talk to nobody else. Jus’ do it, man.”
“It’ll be handled, Benny. Just… I need a moment.”
“Then take one. Dean’s got an assignment too, so take it somewhere else.”
For some reason, Benny always looked sympathetic, even if he had no idea what was going on. Sam gave his brother a hard look, one that said the argument wasn’t over before he moved out slowly.
“I had that handled you know, Benny,” Dean’s voice came floating from down the hall.
“Yea yea, what was that about anyways?”
“That? Oh, that was just Sam’s ex-husband or something. Hard to remember these things.”
Sam yanked the door open and stepped into the room to let it click shut behind him. He stared passively at the infuriating man in front of him before grabbing his notebook and pen from where he had dropped it earlier and sitting down.
“Gabriel Novak,” he began, but was quickly interrupted.
“Actually it’s Milton. Gabriel Milton.” Gabriel cleared his throat. Sam’s hand paused, and he fought the urge to go after Dean once before, his bodyguard be damned.
“Ok Gabe- Gabriel. What happened last night?”
“Well, I got this call from Michael. Something about ‘it’s all gone wrong’ and ‘we’re gonna be slaughtered by the media’ and other doom and gloom shit. So I got an address out of him, showed up at this creepy ass motel and ran into my other brother, Lucifer. I said hello, he said hello, I asked what was up and he said to go talk to the guys, they’d fill me in. He drives off, I knock at the door. Thank goodness - or not, I guess - it was unlocked, which was when I called the police. End of story. So Sam,” Gabriel leaned across the table, waggling his eyebrows. “How you doing?”
Sam closed his eyes. In, and out. Just breathe. “What car was Lucifer driving last night?”
Gabriel leaned back into his chair, sprawling once more. “Black SUV. Something ugly and guzzly. Don’t look at me like that, you know I’m not a car guy, not like you’re creepy brother. Has he got help for that yet?.”
“Why were your brothers in Lawrence?”
“Dunno. Not like this backwater town has anything to it. This place is the scum of the earth, gum on my shoe."
Sam fought the urge to point out that Gabriel had deigned to live in this very town for 4 years. "Can you think of anywhere Lucifer might have gone last night?"
"No. His girlfriend back in New York might be able to think of something though." Gabriel beamed, seemingly proud of his ability to contribute to the case.
"Her name?"
"Meg something-or-other. I've seen them in the papers." Gabriel gave a dismissive wave and started kicking a table leg.
"Thanks. Don't leave town."
"Or what, Sheriff - you're gonna come find me? Because last I check I hadn't heard from your sorry ass in a year."
"This is a murder investigation. We’ll find you."
Gabriel got the distinct impression that despite the demand to stay in town, Sam would appreciate if he disappeared again. He gave a slow grin. "Guess I won't be leaving anytime soon then."
The door clicked shut once again and Gabriel was left wondering if he was allowed to leave yet. He shrugged minutely, there was business to be done and it sure wasn't going down in a cop shop.
Outside of the station, Dean was trying to handle the grumpy guy. Didn’t he know morning was hours ago? He was yammering on about some plastic sheet and detailing some epic mission to recover it or what else and - his thoughts stopped as the man stepped closer to him and glared at him with hard, blue eyes.
“You should give me a little respect, Officer Winchester. I’m covering up for your mistake.”
Dean almost shivered, the delicious tones of that voice wrapping around his body and - “I’m sorry, Detective, I think I missed your name.”
“Detective Novak. Now where can I get some damn coffee that isn’t dirty dishwater around here?”
“Uh, there’s some hippy-dippy place just around the corner,” Dean vaguely gestured and Castiel turned around.
“Hannah, give this little dipshit a briefing.” Detective Novak purred, looking directly into Dean’s shocked face before turning up an alley.
Dean nearly jumped at the proximity of the woman. “Hi.”
“Hi. Come in here, we will fill you in on the details with the rest of our team. You are the liaison, no?”
“Yea, uh sorry about this morning. I got roped into wrestling cameras. The media,” he clarified for her when he noticed her confusion. “They were a little ballsy.”
"Yes. Murders are wondrous, are they not?" Hannah hummed as she passed Dean to open the door of a nearby sedan. "I'll fill you in and introduce you to the guys at the scene. I don't want to wait all day," she narrowed her eyes at Dean's slight hesitation. "Novak will come in his own time. He likes to make grand exits, he can find his own ride. Now get in, you don’t want to beg a ride from the boss, do you?"
***
Sam needed a smoke and a whisky, in that order. Make that three whiskies and a pack of cigarettes. He inhaled the smoke greedily as soon as he was out the door, cigarette already lit. It settled into his lungs, reminding him to breathe again. In, out. In, out. Why did he ever think he had things figured out?
"Another," Sam motioned to the bartender, who didn't react.
"Sam-"
"No, Ellen. Not right now. Probably not ever."
He turned his attention back to the worn wood, expertly avoiding her motherly gaze. The blessed numbness was finally setting in, and he could breathe.
The thunk of the glass Ellen had just filled covered up the creak of the bar stool beside him.
"Drinking your sorrows now, I see, or is it celebrating the beginning of the next glorious case of your career?"
Sam closed his eyes and tried to suppress the heavy, rolling anger he felt. "Fuck you. Like I care about my career."
"No, just justice," Gabriel amended wryly.
"Fuck you." Sam took a few large swallows before grabbing the pack of smokes he had thrown on the counter earlier and standing up, pausing only to steady himself before heading out the door. Of course, the shorty followed him.
"Sam, I know this all a bit... Well, crazy, but could we -"
"You left me," Sam's voice was low, almost calm as he tried desperately to shove down the same hatred, anger, terror that he had felt a year ago. "Hardly a note. No warning. That 'you know what this is about?' I had no fucking clue, Gabriel!"
"Yes, well... See I was just a wee little janitor and you were Sam the big bad sheriff and I felt a bit.. underused and don't get me wrong, the sex was great, but - ah fuck it. I'm a Milton, of the New York Miltons, Sam. I grew up a stinking rich, spoiled prep school boy, ok? But my family was big and bad and I couldn't handle it, I ran away and faked my death - which would have been real if it wasn't for you, so thank you for that, by the way. I kept in touch with a few confidantes and a year ago I was told about a scheme my brothers had. They would walk away rich and as a consequence, the business would be ruined. That was my father's legacy and I couldn't let that happen. So I ran away, didn't fake my death this time- you're welcome, by the way- and tried to fix it."
The parking lot was silent, save for the distant roar of engines on the freeway.
"There's two corpses in my morgue and a murderer on the loose."
Gabriel winced. "Yea well, the best laid plans..."
"It was a stupid plan," Sam turned to Gabriel, who swallowed hard, very thankful that Sam had never thrown punches when he was angry. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Uh, hello - ‘Mr. Sheriff I’d like to report one of the biggest companies in America for investment fraud and insider trading please.’ - wouldn’t have gone down so well. And my family is scary, mafia scary-”
“I noticed. Murderer on the loose, remember?”
“As I was saying, they’re scary and rich and have the kind of connections you only see in movies. You were my husband, Sam. I wasn’t going to put you in danger.”
His words dispersed into the wind, curling and stretching out in the brisk evening air.
“Go home, Gabe. Watch some of that crappy TV you love.”
“You’ll see me tomorrow?” The suggestion was sent with Gabe’s signature smirk, or possibly a grin, as he watched Sam’s face for any trace of emotion, but the man wasn’t that drunk yet. Or possibly was too drunk.
“Good-bye Gabe.”
As Sam went back into the bar, Gabriel wondered what had happened to the cowboy boots he had given Sam at their last Christmas. They had made for a nice aesthetic.
Mmmm, cowboys. Motel TV, here he comes.
***
"I haven’t seen Castiel in years. He used to be not so…”
“Arrogant? Unproffessional? Absolutely infuriating?”
“Anal. He should be on one of those cop shows. You know the kind - ‘intelligent but unconventional genius solves any crime’."
"God, why are the assholes always so hot?" How Dean ended up having a drink with Sam's deputy and not his own partner, he didn't know, but he definitely regretted it now. Complaining about a man to the man's own family was low, even for Dean.
"I'd say fuck him but I don’t want to be responsible for World War III."
"I don't fuck colleagues."
Balthazar snorted. "Anna.”
"Fuck you, dude. How was I supposed to know she was undercover? Shit, that was a hot night..."
Balthazar groaned. “God, what is it with you and my relatives? That’s not going to get you into my pants, Dean.”
"Ew. Your name is Balthazar. Balthy. You are like, the opposite of attractive. You want to be in my pants, dude. Hey, who are these relatives? I thought you were some perpetual loner, a sad excuse of a man using my brother to advance his career.”
Balthazar held up a hand. “I’d invite you to one of my orgies sometime, but the less police, the better. Castiel is my cousin. Anna is a sister. Oh - that witness who refused to talk to anyone but Sam? Another cousin. The vics and that guy they are looking for, also cousins.”
Dean was silent for a moment before taking another drink. “Just to set the record straight, I’m not into those corpses.”
“Y’know, I think I have a key. We could sneak in the morgue, one for me, one for you. No cameras there either.”
Dean turned to the deputy with a flat look."How are you not in jail?”
Balthazar sniffed. “Incest is not a crime.”
“I’m pretty sure it is.”
“Not if no one knows. Anyways, I haven’t seen any of them since I was a little boy.”
“And not quite such a pervert. You’re cut-off, Balthy.,” Deans head was flat on the table where he’d let it fall.
“I’m lovely. Well, it’s been fun, Dean-o. See ya round.”
“There better be bars in between us next time!” Dean called as Balthazar began to walk towards the door.
“Kinky!” Balthazar yelled back, a few patrons turning, unsure of which man to stare at.
Dean let his head fall back down. “Another.” He mumbled at the not-so-clean wood. “Should have gone to Ellen’s.”
“Excuse me. What was that?” The deep rumble that interrupted his pity party should not have sent fire through his veins while he was still recovering from Balthazar. Dean lifted his head just enough, making eye contact with Detective Novak.
“Evening, Detective. Your cousin is a charmer, watch out for that one.”
Detective Novak’s eyebrows drew together. “Which one? And call me Castiel.”
“Balthazar.” Angling his body towards the bar, Dean open his mouth to call for another but was interrupted by the waitress who appeared in front of him.
“Another beer for the necrophiliac,” disgust flitted across her features, “and the same for the cop. Let me know if there’s anything else, gentlemen.” She let her sultry voice dip a little lower, her eyes lingering on Castiel. “Cops get special treatment around here.”
"Thanks," Cas acknowledged without looking up, "but I think I'll forgo the 'special treatment' tonight."
Dean's eyebrows rose as the waitress sneered and left to go help some other fool. "Wow. Cas, she’s totally hot.
"I'd take it you haven't been offered the special treatment then."
"What?" Dean sputtered. " Maybe I just turned her down!"
"No, you aren't the type to turn down a sexual advance. Don't worry, it's not your lack of appeal, you just aren't her kind of mark. You'd be a lot more bitter if she had offered, I think. Nothing of yours is worth to her, I'm guessing."
"Look, I'll have you know I am fully capable in bed-"
"I don't doubt that, Dean. On the contrary, I meant anything of monetary value. See how she's talking to that man over there? She's looking for more than just tips. Drunk idiots keep no secrets, especially from a bartender. Cheers," Castiel knocked Dean's bottle where it still sat on the table between them, untouched.
Cas' phone vibrated on the table, and he swore as he read the text. Dean couldn’t help but think that was hot too.
Cas stood. "That was Hannah. Guess that beer is going to have to wait. Let's go," he threw some cash on the table and stood.
"My car’s on the next street over," Cas said as he lead Dean towards the alleyway.
"Have a thing for dark alleys, do you?" Dean muttered, just loud enough so the other man could hear.
Dean's reflexes were near perfect, but he had no time to react before he was roughly shoved into the wall, his back scraping loose concrete. He had even less time to question what was happening before Castiel's tongue was begging entrance into his mouth.
Dean's reflexes finally caught up to him as he settled his hands on Castiel's ass, grinding into the other man's body as hands wound under his shirt and up his chest.
"Cas. You called me Cas." Castiel ground out as he mouthed at Dean's neck.
"Yea well, didn't wanna rhyme." The little gasps that kept interrupting him turned became harder as Cas bit down. Then, without warning, Cas stepped back.
"I'll see you tomorrow, Dean." Cas adjusted his shirt, rolling up his sleeves to hide the loss of a button on his cuff.
"What? I thought- didn't we have a call?"
"No. You know Dean, you're an easy man to figure out, almost easier than grand larceny back there," Cas began, nodding at the way they had come. "You're honest, for one. Going by the way you kiss, fucking you would be a revelatory experience. You're not as dedicated to your job as your little brother, judging by the way you forgot crime and justice as soon as I touched you." Cas paused, leaning closer to Dean once again, faint traces of cologne nearly distracting him from what Cas was saying. "You called me unprofessional Dean. I assure you, I am a consummate professional. You, on the other hand, were ready to go work slightly inebriated." With that, he simply turned and left, leaving Dean gaping, trying to work past the lump in his throat and lingering arousal.
***
The shrill beeping of the alarm pierced Sam's skull. Throwing his arm over the snooze button, he half groaned, stopping when he realized that made it hurt more. He sat up, trying unsuccessfully to shove his hair back before braving the walk to the bathroom - and the light, which he turned back off as soon as he found the painkillers. Padding his way to the kitchen, he marvelled at the clean hallway. There was nothing to stumble over, and even a year after Gabriel had left it still surprised him.
Gabriel. He touched his chest, the ache of his loss still raw. But he's back now, some traitorous part of his mind whispered.
Downing his pills and beginning the coffeemaker, Sam fumbled through his coat to find his cigarettes before heading out onto the porch distract himself from his throbbing head, which wasn't being helped by thinking of Gabriel.
He hadn't really explained all that much last night. Was he really unhappy? Gabriel was good at hiding emotions, hell, he had hidden his entire identity despite being married to the Sheriff.
Sam flicked his cigarette nervously. He had no reason to marry me though.
No, just the name change and the Sheriff's protection, the stupid voice answered again, clearly miffed with his indulgence the previous night.
The smell of coffee wafted out the screen door and Sam followed it back inside, grabbing a thermos from the counter and filling it while checking his email, swearing at the hot liquid which splashed on his hand.
"Just another day at the office," he muttered, trying to speed read the updates from the forensic team and the reports from last night, quite a chore with the brightness so low his screen was barely glowing.
Locking the door behind him, he stepped easily into his big truck and let it's low rumble burrow into his bones.
Sam stopped short once he stepped into his office.
"Oh. I had noticed a cot in your office. I hope you don't mind, he needs his beauty sleep or we all pay dearly. Come on, we'll let him be and I'll fill you in on the case." Hannah had come up silently behind him and Sam couldn’t help but wonder if she had followed him through the whole precinct.
"You've been here all night?"
"There may be more of us than just Lucifer, but we need every advantage we can get. He's lived up to his namesake - incidents seem to always appear near him, but we've never had anything concrete until now. As you know, we do more than just forensics - we're detectives, and work closely with other detectives and the FBI to minimize mistakes. Lucifer is a sadist, he spent time on those bodies and the plastic sheet suggests he intended to keep it clean but got carried away. We've checked all outbound flights from yesterday morning and given the airlines an updated photo along with passport information. We also have been monitoring everything within a days drive but nothing's come up so far. If he's already killed again, it's a low profile victim and it may be a while before we hear about it, if ever."
Sam was silent for a moment, taking it all in. "What are the chances of him sticking around Kansas?"
Hannah grimaced. "I'm going to have to talk to the brother, Gabriel. Depending on the nature of their relationship, Lucifer might stick around to finish the last of his siblings."
"So, what's the motive?" Sam asked, thinking of what Gabriel had mentioned about his father's company the night before.
"Like I said, best case scenario, he lost it and Michael and Raphael were in the wrong place. Well, best case for Gabriel, not so much the public. I hear he's your ex-husband?"
"Yes," Sam shied away from giving anyone with half decent profiling skills more than that. Thankfully, Detective Novak had woken up and come out of the office to glare at the coffee maker.
"Like a child," Hannah admonished. "Sit down, I'll make your coffee."
"Sam, how much do you know about Gabriel's family?" Castiel asked once he had his coffee in front of him.
"Not much - yesterday was the first time I've heard of them."
"Rumours are that the Novak brothers were about to get in deep shit by possibly jump starting another recession. I was talking a friend in New York," Castiel nodded at Hannah, who was clearly unamused that he hadn't been sleeping the whole time he was in the office, "who filled me in on what's been flying around. The officer in charge of the investigation has yet to get back to me. If that's true, Sam, then his brothers actions were most likely Lucifer's trigger, and Gabriel will be next."