Mint and apricots

29. Not the fun kind

The following Sunday, Sam woke up in the guest bedroom – and future nursery – of the Novak-Winchester home surrounded by a soft feeling of good humor.

The week just that had just finished hadn't been so bad: despite continuing to find the psychotherapy sessions with Charlie useless and annoying, with Sam's return to work Dean and Cas had stopped breathing down his neck like he was a teenager in a hormonal crisis. Besides, Sam and Donna had started talking to each other again. With caution, first in a low voice, then with the same smiles they had exchanged at the beginning of their friendship, they made up with each other. They now discussed light topics, had a coffee at the vending machines in the middle of the afternoon and Sam felt pampered by that little interlude of serenity. He was relieved to be able to enjoy the opportunity to distract himself from his increasingly troublesome thoughts, at least during the hours he spent behind the library desk.

But the sense of well-being of that January 10th did not last long.

Sam was supposed to be at Gabriel's house by four o'clock that afternoon. He and Luc had agreed on that specific time. But after lunch, Dean and Castiel decided to celebrate Agnes's entry into the third trimester of her pregnancy with one of their more and more common marathons of their hottest new game, affectionately renamed It is time to find a name for the incoming baby boy or girl, and Sam couldn't resist their invitation to join them.

The result was that, between a Thea and an Ian, between a Milo and a Jude, Sam lost track of time and found himself getting on the bus to Salisbury Willows almost half an hour late. When he finally arrived in front of Gabriel's door, the delay had increased to an abundance of three quarters of an hour and Sam, seized with anxiety, found himself rushing into the apartment as soon as the landlord opened the door.

"My goodness, Sam," Gabriel, looking at him with worry. "What happened to you?"

The boy wore a pomegranate red shirt over a pair of black pants, had trimmed the exterior lines of his beard and combed his golden brown hair back; every little detail of his appearance suggested he was about to enjoy a night out. Part of Sam thought he might compliment him for the look, but the panic at the thought of keeping Luc waiting quickly took over.

"Is... is Luc here already?" he gasped, taking off his jacket with a few jerks of his arms.

Gabriel went towards him and, calm in a way that enhanced Sam's agitation even more, took his coat from his hands and nodded with a frown.

"He's upstairs waiting for you. But..."

As if his heart pounding in his throat and lack of oxygen weren't enough, Sam felt he had lost a few years of life there, at the base of the stairs, at the sound of that confirmation. A moment later, he was already running up the steps to the upper floor, taking three at a time.

"Sorry!" was all he allowed himself to shout at Gabriel, before leaving him there, stunned.

When he entered Gabriel's bedroom and saw Luc sitting on the edge of the mattress, legs apart, elbows resting on his thighs, fingers intertwined and staring at him, Sam knew he had better hurry to shut the door behind his back. Or that, in a futile attempt not to allow Gabriel to hear what was about to happen, or running away, and he simply could not run. He had asked for everything that was happening to him. Wasn't he the one who had wanted to go back to Luc, he who had wanted to meet him again and start over? And it was his fault that he was late. He was incorrigible, a recidivist.

When Luc sprinted at him and grabbed him by the arm to hold him still as he hit him in the face once, twice, thrice, Sam kept his lips pressed together in fear that, if only a moan had escaped his mouth, it would had made Luc's rage even more burning.