Privilege

Mirrors

Once they had privacy, Sam asked: "Did I miss something?"

Gabriel groaned, not looking at him.

"You wanna tell me what's going on?"

"You wanna tell me why you practically broke the door down?"

"Don't be melodramatic. The waiter had a - "

Gabriel threw up again, which Sam had not been expecting. He bit his lip, wishing he hadn't just eaten.

As Gabriel gasped for breath, Sam asked, "How come you didn't say anything?"

Gabriel braced a hand on the sink and dragged himself back to a standing position. "The usual. I think my mental integrity took a wrong turn and got lost somewhere on I-35."

"No, I mean what set it off? Was it the food? I know sometimes you'll taste or smell something that - "

"No, Sam. It wasn't the food." Gabriel turned on the sink, wincing at his haggard reflection in the mirror, and splashed himself with water cold enough to burn. "I don't want to have this conversation in a moldy public bathroom."

As they left the restroom and made their way to the exit, Gabriel kept his eyes fixed on the floor, evidently not wanting to meet anyone's gaze.

Then, before they could leave, Sam halted. "Oh, hold on - I have to pay the waiter."

As if on cue, the waiter scurried over to them and addressed Gabriel. "Sir, are you all right? Do you need medical assistance?"

Gabriel's face lost what little color it had regained in the past few minutes. He shook his head, lips clenched and arms folded over his stomach.

Sam was quick to notice. "Here - " He withdrew his wallet from his jacket pocket an shoved a fistful of bills into the waiter's hand. "Keep the change."

"You really don't have to - "

"No. No, you were great. Thank you."

The second the glass door tinkled shut behind them, Gabriel spoke. "I can't do this. I can't anymore."

"I can help you; you know I can help."

"No Sam, I know you think you can help. Look, I'm not saying you don't have a good intuition for this stuff. Handling me must not be all that different from handling a vengeful spirit who" - Gabriel placed both hands over his heart in mock sentiment - "just wanted to be loved all along."

"Stop it, Gabriel."

"But this isn't working," Gabriel went on, ignoring him. "These trips out of the bunker for soup and coffee and impromptu CBT. I always manage to find something new to turn me into what you just saw. Sam ... I'm getting worse, not better."

"No." Sam shook his head. "No, you're doing fine. Don't hold yourself to such high standards."

"I'm sorry, but when have you ever met an angel with low standards?"

Sam offered a tight smile. "Well, Lucifer did pick me to be his vessel. Gabe, you have to give yourself some credit. Think about where you were when you first came to stay with us. You're different now."

Gabriel snorted. "Oh yeah? Listen, I'm every bit as thrilled as you are that I managed three mouthfuls instead of two before it all came back up. But I'm not better, Sam. I'm screwy in new ways."

Sam sighed. "We'll leave this for another day, all right? Get in the car; you need to drink some water."

The five-minute drive back to the bunker was silent, save for the crackle of plastic as Gabriel sipped from a bottle of tepid store-brand water. Sam kept glancing sideways at him, watching for signals of distress. He felt a little guilty for not picking up on them in the diner.