Sabriel One-Shots

Sam Winchester, FBI

Summary: Sam Winchester is not a hunter in the universe, rather a FBI agent, and a fairly new one at that, following in the footsteps of his brother and father. He meets Gabriel Novak, an employee at a morgue as he investigates a string of killings, and develops a liking for the man.

It was obviously busy work for new recruits - that's all this case seemed to be for Sam.

This was his first time as an FBI agent being sent in to investigate something completely on his own, and he couldn't help but feel a bit nervous. Usually he would be assigned a partner or someone to watch him to make sure he didn't screw up, but now that he was easing into the FBI work, they were giving him more slack. Sam appreciated that they weren't treating him like a child any longer, though now the stakes were higher for him. If he screwed something up now, he may lose his job.

He closed his eyes and shook his head, taking a deep breath as he told himself to calm down. He looked at himself once more in the car mirror, going over the case facts in his head; seventeen people found killed by decapitation in the more poor side of town. They all reportedly knew each other and had been seen together on various occasions, though were known to be more reclusive, mostly seen at night. Oddly enough, the person who actually lived in the house was nowhere to be found, yet the witness' descriptions didn't depict the resident at all. They had witness drawings of the suspect, and it was believed he was still in town. Where he is or who he is remains a mystery, as well as a motive. Sam had decided to take a second look at the bodies. How could one man kill seventeen able-bodied people all in the same house at the same time? It didn't make any sense. They must be missing something.

Sam finally exited the car, taking in the fresh air as he walked across the sidewalk and up the steps of the morgue where the bodies were being held, walking in with a confident stance, portraying no emotion, just as they had been taught. A man looked up from the front desk. He was short, with golden locks about as long as Sam's and whiskey colored eyes. Sam reached in his jacket pocket and pulled out his badge.

"Sam Winchester, FBI. I'm here about -"

"I know why you're here, I was the one who answered your call," The man interrupted with a smirk, holding out a hand, "Gabriel Novak, at your service. You can call me Gabe though."

Sam put his badge away and reached over the counter to shake Gabe's hand, which felt kind of clammy. Was he nervous? Or perhaps that was Sam's own hand he felt. "Nice to meet you," Sam greeted, pulling his hand away from the shake. "Since you remember our call, I suppose you know what I'm here for?" Sam asked.

"How could I forget such a handsome voice?" Gabe winked. Sam could feel his chest heat up. Was he...flirting? "A voice that fits your looks, by the way." Gabe smirked smugly. Sam kept his face clear, hiding his embarrassment. He cleared his throat, shifting his feet a bit.

"Sorry but now's not the best time to be flirting," Sam said politely.

"Well, at least that's not a no," Gabe shrugged, taking it. He grabbed a ring of keys laying on the desk. "Follow me, I'll show you the bodies," he gestured for Sam to follow him as he walked to a door on the right, sticking a key in the knob. He was dressed business casual, with a white button-up shirt tucked into black pants and shiny black shoes. Sam had to admit, he looked good from behind.

Gabe led him down a flight of stairs, the temperature dropping at a surprising rate as they entered the room full of metal freezers lining the wall, surrounding clean metal tables. Gabe handed Sam and apron and gloves and put some on himself as he walked to one of the small, square freezers, giving it a strong tug. The door flung open and Gabe pulled out the drawer, revealing a young woman's body covered in a sheet. Gabe helped Sam move it onto a table for better examination. Sam flipped the sheet open, and now he could see the disconnect between the head and the neck. It was surprisingly clean - he hated to say it, as he was complimenting a murderer, but one had to admit it was impressively done.