When Sam walked into the motel room, he wished that the pie-throwing ghost at the carnival had flung more of the sugary stuff in his eyes.
He stood there, gaping at a shirtless Dean and a equally as bare-chested dark- haired man—Cas, Sam suddenly realized with equal horrification and smugness—shoving their tongues down each other's throats, crushing each other close, and all but grinding their hips together. Suddenly, Dean brought the arm wrapped around the angel's waist and slid it down towards his pants, eliciting a slight moan from the angel. Not wanting to see any more than he already had, Sam scrambled out of the room, stomach lurching. Despite his haste, he made sure that he closed the door softly.
The younger Winchester felt a smile tug at his lips. He was happy that Dean had finally realized his feelings for the unearthly being, though it took a lot of coaxing on the Sam's part to get both men together. Sam had threatened to keep Dean abstained from pie, and he had God- knew- how- many conversations with Cas to find out the angel's true feelings for Dean.
Sam sighed deeply, looking up at the night sky. A soft breeze blew over the area, which Sam could barely feel under all the sugar and stickiness that coated his face. The Winchester's latest gig had landed them in a carnival in the middle of nowhere, Delaware and they easily ganked the poltergeist haunting it. Normally, Sam wouldn't have had a problem with a job like this—but it was a poltergeist dressed up in a clown. The bastard had died on his job when someone threw a peanut-butter and melted sugar pie at him, triggering allergic reactions in his throat, suffocating him almost instantly. Not long after he died, the guy went after the kid who did it to him, taking out the poor kid the same way he departed into the spiritual plane. After that particular revenge, the dead clown attached itself to the carnival and voila—dead bodies with sugary pie splattered on their faces and allergic reactions where there shouldn't be started turning up left and right. Sam had almost been one of those victims.
Unconsciously, Sam rubbed his throat. What was it with him, ghosts, and suffocation?
Sam winced when his hand came away from his neck coated with sugar. He scowled, then made his way to the public washrooms in the lobby. Absentmindedly, he sucked and licked the sugar off his fingers. Like Gabriel would do, Sam thought abruptly, entering the bathroom. The image of pale pink lips and a slightly darker tongue suddenly flashed before his mind.
He's a dick who killed Dean more than a hundred times, Sam reminded himself, as if trying to shake something off.
Sam locked the door behind him and padded over to a relatively sanitary sink, turning on the faucets. He shed his jacket, shirt, and undershirt, tossing them off to the side. He and Dean would go to the closest Laundromat first thing tomorrow to get all the sugar off… or if a certain angel was willing to snap his fingers and make them pristine, that would work too. However, Sam didn't think that Cas would be available until the next day (he tried to banish the image from his mind) so he dunked his head under the faucet and set to work.
Cursing the fact that he didn't have any shampoo and conditioner with him (he was a guy who used conditioner—so what?), Sam ran his fingers through the clumps in his hair, slowly undoing each and every one he came across. When he had separated what he could, he took his undershirt, scrunched it up, soaked it up with warm water, and started to scrub away at his face and neck with some of the soap from the dispenser next to the sink. Most of the sugary stuff fell right off, but some of it clung onto Sam's skin tenaciously, not letting go even when Sam picked at it with his own fingers. Groaning frustratingly, Sam turned off the faucet and propped himself against the sink. God, he needed to find a more efficient way to get rid of all this mess…
"Hey, kiddo," a familiar voice chirped. Sam looked up sharply to see a short man with wavy honey- brown hair and hazel eyes leaning against the wall. Despite his instincts screaming at him that the Archangel was not here for a fight, Sam narrowed his eyes and took out a knife that was tucked into his waistband.
"No need for that, my moose," Gabriel said bemusedly, though his eyes strayed momentarily at the blade. Sam blinked at the word 'my'.
"What do you want, Gabriel?" Sam asked wearily. He held the knife in his right hand, left hand brought up in front of him like Dad had taught him.
"I'm just here to talk." Gabriel pushed himself off the wall and put his arms up as if to say, 'I'm just a harmless Archangel that has killed your brother a hundred times, stuck you in a time loop, tricked you a fair few times, and made you go through a bunch of crappy TV shows and commercials. Nothing to be scared about.'
Sam snorted at that thought. Gabriel mistook the snort as a reaction to what he said and quirked an eyebrow and smiled mischievously. Sam's heart suddenly sounded much louder and beat much faster against his chest. "Well, if you want to do a little more than that, I'm fine with that too." The Archangel's eyes traveled up and down Sam's body slowly, taking in the hunter's disheveled, wet, and half-naked state.
"Just get to it," Sam ordered, trying to ignore how his pants suddenly seemed a bit too tight. He set the knife on the sink slowly then crossed his arms and somehow managed to glare at Gabriel efficiently enough to make the other man tilt his head slightly and start talking.
"Well," Gabriel started slowly. "I've been thinking about what Dean-o said about me and my brothers."
"Then why aren't you talking to him?" Sam shot back, remembering too late what his brother was doing right then. Gabriel smirked.
"He's a busy, happy man," Gabriel smirked. "And I gotta say, I was a bit surprised that it was Castiel—Castiel, out of all angels, who first dropped his pants with another guy but there's also this strange feeling of pride—"
"Get back on- topic," Sam snapped. Heat was spreading all over his body, and his head was becoming less clear-minded by the second.
"Anyways, as I said, I've been thinking," Gabriel continued.
"He can think," Sam muttered under his breath.
"Hey!" Gabriel said indignantly. "I nearly got you at the mystery spot and the warehouse, didn't I? Now are you going to let me finish?" When Sam waved a hand in his direction, he continued. "Alright, so here's the scope: things are getting complicated in Heaven and Hell, and all the angels and demons are tracking my adorable little ass in an attempt to recruit me for their side. So while I'm trying desperately hard to evade the two warring parties, I know that sooner or later, I'm going to be caught." Gabriel's face suddenly twisted into a bitter smile. "One Trickster Archangel against every other demonic and angelic force in the world. Not exactly the best chances for said Archangel."
Despite Sam's initial detest for the Archangel, he felt the walls surrounding his heart slide down. He knew how it felt to be hounded by every damn thing—he had the demons a few years ago calling him their Prince, and now the angels wanted him dead. It was one of the worst feelings in the world, knowing that a bunch of someones and somethings were after you and that you couldn't do a damned thing about it.
"So, what I wanted to ask tonight—what I want to do is—" Sam watched with empathy as the words chocked Gabriel's throat. He could tell that the Archangel wasn't used to asking for help, and waited silently until Gabriel finally got the question out.
"I want to join Team Freewill. I want to join you, the ex-blood junkie, the dropout with six bucks to his name, and Mr. Comatose in a quest for freedom. I want this to be over."
The last time the Archangel had said that, he had been encased in a circle of holy oil. Sam stared into Gabriel's hazel eyes. The Archangel's face was calm, but the hunter could see hues of green, gold, and brown swirl turbulently in Gabriel's eyes, giving away his true emotions. He scanned the smooth, unlined face for any lies, but as hard as he may try, he couldn't find any.
"Dean still has that grudge against you," Sam replied quietly. Gabriel seemed to deflate. "But I'll see what I can do to convince him you're okay."
Gabriel blinked, surprised. "Seriously?" The word slid through his lips disbelievingly.
"Seriously," Sam said solemnly, suddenly taking one of Gabriel's hands into his. He couldn't help but notice that the Archangel's hands were smooth and clean, though he had no doubt that Gabriel wasn't afraid to get dirty.
"And I don't suppose this is from the kindness of your heart, Winchester?" Gabriel raised an eyebrow.
Sam felt himself blush and immediately cast his eyes to the ground. "Everyone deserves a second chance," he murmured under Gabriel's intense gaze.
When the Archangel didn't answer, Sam would've thought that he had left if he still wasn't holding his hand. Sam looked up in time to see Gabriel's free hand reach for his hair.
"Hold still," Gabriel murmured, tilting Sam's head back down. "You still have some caramel stuck in there." Sam could hear the smile in the Trickster's voice and held his breath as Gabriel pushed him to the ground gently and straddle him.
Sam shivered as he felt Gabriel's breath dance across the nape of his neck. "Gabriel—" he growled, clenching his fists. It was getting harder and harder to ignore the way his and Gabriel's hips met.
"Yes, Sammy?" Gabriel whispered teasingly into his ear. Sam closed his eyes, jumping a little when he felt a something hot and wet brush his pulse point.
"Not the time or place, dude," Sam protested feebly as Gabriel nibbled his earlobe.
"That can be easily changed." Sam heard fingers snapping, and suddenly, he found himself falling back onto exquisitely soft sheets, Gabriel falling down with him. The smirk still gracing his lips, Gabriel crushed his lips onto Sam's and everything fell away except for the chocolate and sugar- tasting mouth of the Archangel.