Kiddo

by hardwired

Sam starts having some interesting dreams. Sabriel, Destiel. Spoilers for season 7, becomes AU before 7.09

This is entirely self indulgent and then some. Spoilers for season 7, breaks off before 7.09 and goes its own way.

When Sam dreams it's usually nothing good. Dean thinks he knows, maybe because of his own nightmares about hell or because he actually believes what Sam tells him. But Sam's nightmares aren't like anything he could put into words and he's sure that if Dean really had the experience to understand what Sam dreamed about, he'd be crazy too. Or, crazier.

Sam's dreams don't always end when he wakes up. They don't always end when he sneaks a Valium or a few swallows of Bobby's holy water diluted whiskey.

It helps when he wakes up because he rolls off the bed onto a rib he cracked the day before, but even then he still remembers. His mouth still tastes like blood and sulfur, his lungs still have trouble rediscovering air. He wakes up choking a few times. More often he wakes up on fire. Or at least, that's the best way to describe it. He's just glad when Dean doesn't notice. The way Dean goes still except for his eyes is irritating when Sam is just trying to restrain himself from screaming for Tom Cruise in his best Ricky Bobby impression.

Sam doesn't really know how it works out, but he's pretty sure the fact that he's so crazy is what's keeping him so sane. He knows he's going to have a nightmare, but he still rolls over when Dean turns off the light. He's been alternating nights when he prays not to dream, to see if praying actually helps.

When they get back to their hotel room after chasing down one hell of a pissed off werewolf, Dean groans and falls face forward onto a bed. A billow of dust rises from him, and his feet are hanging off the mattress, but Sam's pretty sure he's down for the count. Sam figures he should follow suit.

He checks the window, locks the door, and slaps the light off before getting into bed. After lying there for a long moment, he leans over the edge of the bed and pulls out the shotgun stowed behind the bedskirt. He checks to make sure it's loaded and that the safety's on before replacing it and rolling back over. He's not sure if he prayed the night before. He's actually not sure that he slept the night before.

"Get out of my hair," he mutters into the pillow, and then he's out.

Sam dreams about Bora Bora. At least, he thinks it's Bora Bora. He's never actually been there, so it's just a guess. And he's a little more preoccupied with the fact that he's not experiencing torture beyond description. He suddenly dreads this more than ever. At least there was something to predictability.

He's standing at the end of a dock. Crystalline blue water spreads out as far as he can see and the sunlight is soft and warm, mingling with the breeze. He doesn't move, determined not to set this nightmare in motion. A gull cries, the waves whisper against the shore and lap at the dock. He remembers joking once to Jess about going to Bora Bora. It had almost seemed possible then.

He hears the comical plunk of something being dropped into the water behind him, but he doesn't turn around. He doesn't move when a hand grips his arm, and he doesn't move when he realizes the hand isn't Lucifer's.

"It's just a dream, kiddo." Sam wants to move, but he's already convinced himself not to. His breathing shallows out. He stares at the horizon until a familiar head of hair bobs into his vision, waving a little in the breeze. Then, he looks down.

"Gabriel," he breathes.

"Heya, Sammy." Gabriel grins up at him, same hawk nose and twinkling eyes, wearing a ridiculous Hawaiian shirt. His hand doesn't leave Sam's arm.

"Is this..."

"Could I really say anything to convince you that this is the real McCoy?"

Sam shakes his head after a moment.

"That's what I thought." Gabriel stays smiling, and shoves Sam over the edge of the dock.

Sam wakes up sitting in bed and exhaling sharply. Dean throws a recently worn pair of underwear onto his face.

"Ugh, Dean, what the hell?"

"Gotta get on the road, buttercup," he replies gruffly. It takes Sam's eyes a moment to focus enough to really see that he's scrubbing water out of his hair with one hand and grabbing for a duffel with the other. "Bobby called in with a job. Few hours from here," he explains when Sam doesn't respond. Sam finally clears his throat.

"Great. Uh, give me ten and we'll be golden."

"I'm going to check us out. You've got until I get back."

Sam just rolls his eyes and gets out of bed. This sure as hell isn't Bora Bora.

What they think is a ghost turns out to be a mermaid. She's not a spoiled redhead though, and has no problem crawling out of the lake to kick Sam and Dean's asses. She claims that it's because of the Leviathans that she's on the shore-side prowl, but they still have to put her down.

Sam ends up having to dive for the body so they can salt and burn, which is just some bonus fun.

That night he has another dream about Gabriel. This time he's pretty sure the beach is in Hawaii, even though he hasn't been there either. He turns to look this time, to watch Gabriel smirk from beneath his sunglasses while sauntering a circle around Sam.

"You look like you could use a breather, Sammy," he says cheerfully, wrapping a hand around Sam's elbow and gently tugging him down the shoreline. Sam doesn't say anything, but walks with him. Gabriel doesn't try to convince him that it's real, but it's over before he gets much of an opportunity anyway. Sam wakes up with the taste of saltwater on his tongue and the feel of phantom sand gritting in his teeth.

He still sees Lucifer, hears hell like a scream behind every voice, crawling under his skin. He still has nightmares. Dean is drunk and wasting away right in front of his eyes yet still denies that everything is a thousand times more fucked up than ever before.

But sometimes he sees Gabriel, under the sun, smiling like it's all so damn funny he can hardly contain himself. Sam starts to care less and less if the dreams are a trick and just take the peace where he can get it. It's not much anyway.

He starts to talk to Gabriel. They sit down on the sand and Gabriel tells him stories about the universe and how insanely hot the virgin Mary was. Sam is kind of impressed that his brain is capable of making up some of the things Gabriel says. He's done a lot of reading in his life, but he has no idea where most of it could be coming from.

One night he's sitting on warm black sand. They're somewhere in Italy that Sam's not sure he remembers from anything, but it's real enough that he's sure he's seen it somewhere. He has his pant legs rolled up so he can stretch his feet to the edge of the surf. The skies are overcast, but somehow that seems fine. This is the longest of these dreams he's had so far, and he's trying to make it last.

"Now, Muhammad had charisma. The ladies were all over that guy, I mean crawling. But Khadijah, man." Gabriel makes a low whistling sound and Sam turns to look at him. He has his eyes closed, stretched out on his back, twisted up in another crazy shirt. His eyes open to a squint when he feels Sam looking at him.

"I'm not boring you, am I?"

"No."

"Then why are you giving me that weird 'eugh' face?" Sam rolls his eyes. "Oh, back to thinking serious thoughts about these dreams, are we? I can throw an umbrella drink on you if you're not happy here."

"No, no, it's not that," Sam protests immediately and maybe a little too forcefully. "It's just..."

"It's just exactly what I just said," Gabriel says, sitting up.

"No, it's not. Really. Just, tell me how hot Muhammad's wives were."

Gabriel stares at him, and Sam tries to keep his face straight even though he knows how bad he is at it.

"Fine. Where do you want to go?" Gabriel turns his body toward Sam and crosses his legs.

"What do you mean 'where do I want to go?'"

"On vacation, where would you go?" He repeats, gesturing at their surroundings.

"Uh, I don't know. Alaska?"

"Alaska? Are you-" Gabriel cuts himself off. "Whatever, fine. But you're going to have to chill with Luci for a while." He sighs. "Alaska, seriously?"

"For the wildlife?" Sam shrugs. He has no idea what's going on, but he's kind of used to these vague dramatic scenes now. They're just like when the real Gabriel was still alive. Which makes sense if this is all in Sam's head. Which it has to be.

"Okay, enough of this." Gabriel moves to stand.

"Wait, I thought you were going to tell me about Muhammad's wives."

Gabriel stares down at him like he's insane.

"They were babes. Now wake up."

Sam blinks awake. It's still dark out, but he immediately recognizes the flicker of a TV on mute. He rolls over to see his brother passed out against the headboard, one hand on the remote, the other on a half-empty plastic bottle of whisky. It looks like an episode of Unsolved Mysteries is just ending. Sam gets up and goes into the bathroom.

He washes his face in the sink that's almost too small for him and pats himself dry with the threadbare hand towel. He looks at himself in the mirror, pushes his hair back off his forehead.

Lucifer is leaning against the door frame, and waves at him cordially in the mirror.

"Morning, sweetheart."

Sam ignores him.

It seems like Gabriel is gone. Sam tells himself it was going to happen eventually, that it was just a fluke or a trick. He tells himself he's not shoving anything down anymore, so he can't be shoving down any feelings of disappointment. It was just bedtime stories on the beach anyway.

Now he just sees Lucifer, even if it doesn't always look like him. Sometimes it looks like Azazel sitting on the edge of his bed when he wakes up in the middle of the night. Sometimes when he's fighting something scary, it looks at him with Adam's face. But the greater part of him knows it's not real, which works.

Then he finds out that Dean killed Amy. It's like the ground he's been pitching his tent on is gone, washed away by a flash flood. He has to leave. He has to pack up his gear and find another place to sleep.

The first night is the hardest. Lucifer is taunting him, and Dean isn't there, Bobby isn't there. Sam has both hands on the wheel, but they're slipping fast. It feels like there's blood on his palms, slicking up everything, and he's just fighting to keep a grip.

Gabriel saves him.

One minute he's pacing in his hotel room, the TV cranked, trying to block out whatever else is blaring in his head. He hears whispers, millions of whispers, he sees faces.

The next minute, he's kicking something over, backing up into the wooden wall of a tiny building and hitting his head on the ceiling. The whole thing shakes with the impact.

"Whoa there, yeti man, settle it down!"

"Gabriel?"

The small man salutes him from his seat on a bench stretching across one wall of the shack. He's bundled in several layers of heavy drab clothing with large rubber boots on his feet. There's an earflap hat on his head, one sporting cat ears and lined with electric blue fur. He sets the short fishing pole in his hand aside to stand up, and Sam surprises him with a bear hug.

"Alright, easy. There we go, Gargantutron." Gabriel pats Sam weakly on the back

"I thought..." Sam swallows, releasing him finally. Gabriel smirks up at him.

"You thought, what? I was gone for good-again?" He gives a bark of laughter. "In your dreams, butterc-Oh, right. I mean, nope. Still here."

Sam sits on the bench and Gabriel follows. It's a tight fit and their shoulders rest against each other.

"What is this place?" Sam takes in a spilled box of fishing gear and a perfectly round hole cut in the floor. It's an ice fishing shanty.

"Sorry, but it ain't Alaska. Canada I think. North of Toronto. Hard to say."

"Where have you been?" Sam's surprised at the desperation in his own voice, but he recovers quickly.

"Where have I been?" Gabriel scowls at him and huffs in indignation. "I've been trying to find dream real estate in Alaska, because you're too damn good for island paradises."

"What?"

"Oh, pops. I forgot we were avoiding that conversation because your noggin's a hellfire goulash." Gabriel slaps his knee and picks up the rod he set aside before.

"We're ice fishing in Canada because I told you I wanted to go to Alaska?" Sam asks after watching Gabriel struggle with his line for a while.

"Hey, there're those shiny Stanford smarts I remember."

"And I haven't been dreaming about you because you were busy looking for somewhere like this?"

"Bingo. Everything except I didn't start this one, you did. If it had been me, I'd have waited for Alaska."

"I did what now?"

"Not important. Just spill the beans already. What's the major malfunction in Samland?" Gabriel seems to have broken the rod and sets it aside again.

"I mean... I split with Dean."

"Again?" Gabriel quirks an eyebrow. "What'd that ass hat do this time?"

"What makes you think it's something he did?" Sam objects.

"Because Dean has always been a bomb waiting to go off. And now everything's not only gone to Hell, the water's chin high."

"He... lied to me." Sam says, and Gabriel laughs. "He's losing it. He's turning into something I can't stand to look at."

"What, like Cary Elwes gaining the weight? Or James Spader. Why did James Spader have to get older, I swear. Remember how pretty he was?"

Sam stares at him, unamused.

"What, Sam? Dean's not a guilt machine, he's a freaking factory. He thinks everything is his fault, not just the things that are. You're his fault, I'm his fault, Cas is his fault." Gabriel ticks them off on his fingers. "He thinks he's bad, really bad. And he's getting bad just to keep himself convinced."

Sam stares at him. "You've got to be in my head."

"Your head is a mess. So I'd rather not, thank you." Gabriel turns up his nose and Sam actually smiles.

"I didn't know how much I needed this." He sighs, relaxing in his seat.

"Yeah, well I did." Gabriel grins, and Sam laughs. "Now pick up that rod over there and get to fishing while I tell you about all the pranks I pulled on Fatima."

Sam wakes in his hotel room, inexplicably tucked into the queen bed. And the lights are off. The last thing he remembers is Gabriel conjuring a coat for him in the shack, and helping force the sleeves over Sam's numb fingers.

It takes him longer to get out of bed than usual, but he manages it. When he brushes the taste of brine out of his teeth, he doesn't find Lucifer staring back at him in the mirror for the first time in a month.

He dreams about Gabriel every other night. In the interim his mind burns, his mouth fills with the taste of sulfur, and he gets kicked out of a hotel room once for losing his temper and shouting at Lucifer. But he also learns a couple of period-specific jokes in Aramaic and how to make friends with Baba Yaga.

Dean shows up in Lilydale. Sam's anger and loneliness are renewed at once. He wishes he didn't love his damn brother so much.

That night he dreams about a field in Switzerland where Gabriel makes him a bracelet out of little white flowers. It's unreal how beautiful of a day it is, and Sam almost laughs at himself for thinking so. It is a dream, after all. The air is warm and sweet, lazy in the long grass. He and Gabriel lie with their sides pressed together. Gabriel's boot taps against Sam's calf as they argue over shapes in the clouds and Gabriel tells him several upsetting stories about deadly carnival acts he's been involved in. He's not shy about the things he's done, and Sam's past scolding him, so he just listens.

It's still surprising to wake up calm in the dark, warm under the blankets rather than stifled by hellfire. It makes it a little easier to deal with Dean.

Gabriel's voice popping up in a back corner of Sam's mind helps too, mostly by laughing at him. Spending so much time with a being so vast and timeless helps put things in perspective. He can see things in his brother that he's seen in Gabriel, and been forced to let lie. It's not an attitude he's prepared to adapt completely for Dean, but he knows he'd rather have his brother around than not in much the same way.

It's not as though Sam tells Dean everything, either. Even dreaming of him every other night doesn't cause Sam to slip and say Gabriel's name a single time. Dean can only guess what Sam dreams about, and Sam likes it that way.

When Sam wakes up from a nightmare, he drags his limbs from the bed and goes for a run to prove they're still there. He can feel every muscle bunching and stretching, twisting, beneath his skin. He knows how it feels to have them pressed and cut from the bone, tensed to bursting and spread to splitting. He knows how the air can burn, heat can curl skin. He knows just what his bones look like when clean of flesh and blood. Movement reminds him that he's whole and capable.

About a week after they're back together, Sam and Dean happen upon a couple of Leviathan errand boys completely by chance at a gas station convenience store. They come out on top by the skin of their teeth, end up with a scattering of oozing body parts to bury. Dean takes care of it while Sam visits the nearest emergency room to have his now broken arm looked at. The painkillers put him to sleep less than a minute after Dean helps him to bed.

The first thing he sees is fire, then he's shouting and falling back, landing hard on shifting ground.

"Hey, Sammy, it's okay," Gabriel shushes him. His hands are on Sam's face and chest, his eyes steady. They burn gold in the light of the fire, and Sam anchors himself to them. He comes back panting, pain sharp enough in his arm to make him groan. There's sand sifting up under his shirt, damp on his back. Gabriel pulls him up and holds on.

"Where are we?" Sam asks shortly, turning away from the flames.

"Relax, kid, we're on a beach in the West Indies. It's only a bonfire." The heat tickles Sam's back, and he slowly realizes he can smell wood burning, clean and simple. Gabriel leads him further away from the fire and pulls him back to the sand. The fire cracks and roars behind them, harmonizing with the sound of the waves. Sam is shaking.

Gabriel's fingers tug on Sam's, gently pulling so he can inspect the short cast on his arm.

"How'd this happen?"

"Leviathan shoved me. I fell and something heavy fell on top of me," Sam breathes. He watches Gabriel's hand run over the sigils already written on the thing, plus a phone number, and a sad face courtesy of Dean. When the angel remains silent for longer than usual, Sam looks at him. He's frowning. Sam thinks he might even be hesitating.

"I'm going to fix this," he informs Sam suddenly.

"What?"

"Your arm, idiot." Gabriel rolls his eyes.

"But, you-"

"Don't argue, just hold it out."

Sam does as he's told, and when Gabriel seems satisfied he seizes Sam's cast with both hands and presses.

"Oh, Christ!" Sam curses as the cast splits cleanly from one end to the other. He drags in a sharp breath and watches Gabriel pry it open and tear the padding down the same path. He pulls the cast off in a single sharp motion and throws it away carelessly. Sam thinks he hears it land in the ocean.

"Hush," Gabriel chides. His fingers travel across Sam's damp skin so softly it feels like a breath. Sam watches him lean close, feels his lips brush against his throbbing arm. Then the pain is gone, all of it.

"Did you just..."

"Kiss it better? Yes. I did." Gabriel is smirking at him, and Sam can't fight a smile as he stretches his fingers and twists his arm experimentally. Still shaking, he reaches out to Gabriel. When Gabriel doesn't move away, Sam raises the angel's jaw with his fingers and leans in to brush their lips together. Gabriel's mouth presses back slowly, then follows Sam as he pulls away.

"Thank you," Sam says.

He wakes up happy. He can feel that his arm is healed, but he keeps the cast on for a few weeks so he doesn't have to explain anything to Dean. Sam knows he should tell his brother what's happening, but he doesn't really know. Thinking about it scares him. Suddenly everything is so complicated, and the dreams aren't just a simple comfort anymore.

Whatever Dean might notice about Sam, it's not impressive enough for him to mention it. It doesn't win out over the trail of black goo they've been following. They're having a hard time keeping their blades clean and the trunk stocked with industrial solvent, and the Leviathans are starting to get peeved. But for all they've taken down, they're still swinging in the dark. Sam and Dean are just waiting for the backlash.

When it comes, they're lucky enough to be on a job with Bobby. The three of them are trudging back to their hotel after a successful harpy hunt, Dean going on about the shower he's going to take and the case of beer he's going to buy. Bobby gripes back at him when Sam suddenly has a bad feeling. He grabs Bobby's jacket to pull him back just as a man steps out from the next room, and the knife comes down. It misses Bobby's heart, but still buries itself to the hilt in his chest. Bobby stumbles back wheezing, but draws his pistol. The boys follow, and they're suddenly in a mid-day firefight. It's Bobby who saves their asses, and it's Bobby who winds up slumped in the back of their car as Sam speeds down the highway and Dean shouts about what he'll do to Bobby if the old man dies.

For once, the boys stay with him in the hospital. It's a place in Nevada, where the rooms are patterned in pastel colors and the light makes everything seem duller than usual. They put Bobby in a coma. Half his face is covered in green bruises, and they have to cut his head open to reduce the swelling. Four of his ribs are fractured and his lung collapsed, not to mention tissue damage and blood loss. It's Dean's idea to call Sheriff Mills, and she actually agrees to come down as soon as she can to be their relief. Sam and Dean don't talk, and when their eyes happen to land on each other's in a heavy way like something might be said, Dean leaves the room mumbling about bad coffee or vending machines.

Sam sits in a stiff chair next to Bobby's bed and tries not to think about the way Bobby looks so fragile and silly. He falls asleep while Dean is gone, a hand over his face to block out the light from the hallway.

Gabriel is standing next to a map in front of a trailhead, "Joyce Kilmer Memorial Forest" burned clearly into the rustic wood frame of the display. He points at it and grins like he should be rewarded for going somewhere Sam can name. Sam looks around, takes in the pervasive wet green of the place, the endless wooly underbrush and trees wide and tall all around them. The light is all filtered through the canopy, dancing in the air but lying soft on the damp ground. It's overwhelmingly majestic.

"You know, I hate hiking," Sam says.

"You should try it with shorter legs." Sam always laughs at Gabriel's bad jokes these days. "Okay, kiddo, talk to me."

Sam doesn't answer at first. Then he manages to croak out, "It's Bobby. He's in the hospital. I'm there now."

"What happened?" Gabriel reaches him in a few steps and takes Sam by the elbow to lead him down a flat trail.

"Leviathan ambush. He got the worst of it." They stop when they come to a bench and sit down, their legs touching. "I tried to pull him out of the way, but I wasn't quick enough. It's because me and Dean have been going after them." Sam leans forward and puts his face in his hands. He feels Gabriel's warm hand on his thigh.

"You knuckleheads don't have a plan, I'm assuming?" Sam shakes his head. "Well you need to figure out your next move. There's nobody around to save your ass this time, or take the fall for you."

"Thanks, we hadn't figured that out yet," Sam mutters.

"Do your research, Sam. These guys aren't like anything you've seen or imagined. They have a sense of humor that could rival mine, and that can't be allowed."

Sam stares at him, a little surprised that he hasn't heard a symbol clash to follow that wildly inappropriate joke.

"I did my research. All I got were some apocryphal texts saying that a primordial sea serpent would bring on the end of days and God or 'the archangel Gabriel' would take it down."

"Hey, I know the story, no need to be so snappy."

"Yeah, well neither you nor God are around anymore," Sam says sharply. "So it's me and Dean."

"Or bust," Gabriel quips. Sam glowers.

"When I miss out on our next dream because a Leviathan ate me, I want you to remember saying that."

"Don't be so melodramatic."

"It's the end of the world, again."

"Geez Louise." Gabriel rolls his eyes. "It's the end of the world every five minutes. I'm older than sin and dead, so I have some perspective here."

"Yeah, and you almost let it come last time," Sam snaps.

"Instead I died to save you, cave brow. So maybe reign it in with the low blows. Unless you're actually going to blow me."

Sam glares at him. Gabriel quirks an eyebrow as if daring him to argue.

Sam wakes up from his first real gay experience with the most awkward hard on he's ever had in his life. There's a nurse checking on Bobby, and when Sam takes in a sharp breath, she turns to him. He gets a once over and an eye roll when he tries crossing his legs. Sam gives up and heads for the bathroom.

Jodie arrives to relieve them a few hours later, but Sam and Dean loiter long enough to be there when Bobby finally wakes up. He calls them idjits and grouches about whatever he can think of, and they grin their way through it. They don't leave until Jodie chases them off. They decide to lie low, which means mostly hustling pool and daytime cable in crappy hotels. Sam's dreams take him to nicer digs, places with silk sheets and ridiculous heart-shaped hot tubs. He knows Gabriel is distracting him, but he doesn't argue. They don't talk anymore, the way they used to. When he wakes up Dean is usually grinning at him, making eyes, or asking who the lucky girl is. It's awkward on so many levels, the first being that Sam still hasn't told Dean about Gabriel, and how now he really wouldn't know where to begin.

"We can't keep sitting on our thumbs. We have to do something."

"You've got squat on these slimy mothers, but you're still going to jump the gate skull first." Gabriel turns in Sam's arms to face him, disturbing the water in the tub and causing a flow of strawberry-scented bubbles to slosh onto the floor. Sam's hands find their way to his slick waist and settle there comfortably.

"We can't just sit back and watch this happen. Crowley knows where their boss is."

Sam flinches when Gabriel slaps him with a handful of bubbles. He wipes his eyes to find Gabriel glaring at him. He doesn't seem to have an argument, just a generalized dislike of the situation. It makes Sam feel a little guilty.

"You're the man of my dreams," he says softly. He gets another slap.

"And you're a sasquatch and an idiot."

Sam hoists Gabriel into his lap, and feels the angel's arms sliding around his neck despite the cold look on his face.

"I've had a lot more creative attempts to placate me," he says as Sam's hand runs around his back, exploring the pattern of his spine, the swell of his hip. "I've had first born sons, swords that took multiple lifetimes to forge, once I was even offered a cantaloupe."

"Did you take it?"

"Have you had cantaloupe? Of course I took the fucking cantaloupe. And I spared that little kid's family and his favorite goat before I burned down the village."

"How benevolent." Gabriel seizes Sam's throat suddenly, not gently. Sam tries his hardest not to tense every muscle in his body or fight back.

"You're not a first born, Sammy. And you're going to be killed before we've had enough time for you to satisfy me." Gabriel's fingers are hard points digging into Sam's neck. "Try harder," he says quietly.

Sam coughs when he lets go, wakes up coughing. This time Dean doesn't miss the marks of Gabriel's fingers on his brother's throat. He has to explain, just so Dean knows it's not Lucifer wringing his brother's neck. He leaves out the part about their argument occurring while they shared a bubble bath. After a round of yelling and accusations, Dean calms down and runs through all the theories Sam's thought of. He settles on the one Sam has been trying not to think about.

"Dude, maybe he's... real."

"Dean, he's dead. We went back. We saw his body, his... his wings on the ground."

"Yeah, but, Purgatory opened up, right? Maybe he got out somehow. Just enough to get into your mop head."

"Dean, why would he be in my dreams? Mine." Dean shrugs dramatically and Sam takes a swig of whiskey.

"Cas," Dean clears his throat before continuing. "You know, Cas was in my dreams like, all the time."

"Dean, Cas pulled you out of hell."

"Well, Gabriel took a real shine to you is all I'm saying." Sam's glad Dean hasn't realized just how right he is. "Look, just think about it. You said he knows things you can't know. And he's just like the old Gabe, but dreamier."

"Dean..."

"Sam, just ask him."

"What?"

"Next time you dream about him, just ask if he's real."

"Are you kidding me, Dean? Should I ask Lucifer if he's real while I'm at it?" Sam gets up to get the bottle of Jack off the nightstand.

"Look, just ask. See what he says. We'll hold off on the eel hunt until then."

Sam drinks half the bottle of whiskey by himself then pours the rest out so Dean can't finish it.

"Am I real? Did you seriously just ask me that?" Sam nods slowly. "Not like, 'hey, are you for real?'" Gabriel confirms.

"No. Like I meant it."

Gabriel gets out of bed angrily, but with surprising grace. Sam watches him walk naked to the bedroom door. He stops in the doorway with his back to the bed and bows his head. Sam sees the angel in him now more than ever, the storybook, illuminated manuscript angel he used to pray to. Gabriel single handedly restored his faith just a little in the most twisted way.

"Do you think I'm not?" It takes Sam a moment to even remember what he asked.

"I think..."

"You think if you admit that I am, it might blow your mind, right?" Sam doesn't say anything, and Gabriel doesn't wait for him to think about it. "But you know, Sam. You've known this whole time."

"It..."

"It's me, right?" Sam nods even though Gabriel can't see him.

"But I'm only in your dreams, Sam." He finally turns, and Sam thinks for the thousandth time time that all of Gabriel's grace can be seen in the gold of his eyes, however irrational that might be. Because he knows the real angel is beyond the vessel he presents to Sam each night.

"Where are you when you're not?" It's the first thing he thinks to ask. Gabriel shrugs.

"Wherever little angels go, naughty draft dodging angels."

"How did this happen?"

"Good question."

"But, why?"

"You got me, kid. Maybe a fluke, or God pulling my leg. Maybe I was just more attached than I thought." He walks back to the bed and flops down near Sam's feet. Sam only believes half of what he's saying.

"I don't want to talk about this anymore," he says quietly after considering his next words for longer than he feels comfortable. Gabriel turns, stretching his neck and rubbing his cheek against the plush comforter. Sam watches his hair pressing up in messy loops and his stubble catching on the fabric.

"Don't be such a baby," Gabriel replies.

"We burned your vessel, you know." Sam swallows thickly. "Whoever he was, we made sure he went free in the afterlife."

Gabriel turns from Sam to stare at the ceiling. "Should I care?" he sighs.

"Would you care if it was me?" Gabriel gives a bark of laughter.

"I encouraged you to give Luci a turn at the wheel, remember?"

Sam's pretty sure he couldn't forget that if he tried.

"You died keeping him away from me," he argues.

"And then you took the vessel I'd been polishing for over twelve centuries and lit him on fire behind a scrap yard in South Dakota," Gabriel mutters.

"Dean didn't think we should go back. I made him drive across country with a body stuck in the floorboards." Gabriel laughs, and eventually Sam joins in. When they come out of it, Gabriel pulls himself up the bed and drops his head next to Sam's on the pillow.

"I'm actually really surprised that you haven't been nagging me about him. Unless it makes you feel better not to think about who you're really putting your paws on."

"You're an asshole," Sam says flatly. Gabriel laughs again, low.

"Not curious, Sammy? Not even a little?"

"Of course I'm curious. But what am I supposed to say? I don't care that I'm helping you violate the body of a faithful man, in my dreams?" Gabriel slings his leg over Sam's.

"Relax, I cut him loose in 1208."

"What?"

"His soul, I-" Gabriel waves a hand dismissively and makes a whooshing sound. His arm lands across Sam's chest.

"How-why?" It's Gabriel's turn to pause.

"He was following a gay Manichaean."

"What?"

"So many questions! It was Crusade-related. Whatever. Things were crazy. It was, special circumstances, you know."

"Special circumstances?" Sam repeats flatly.

"Like love, Samola," Gabriel growls, biting the lobe of his ear. Sam shudders.

"What was his name?" Sam asks, swallowing as Gabriel's mouth moves toward his throat.

"Who? The Manichaean?" he murmurs. His breath is hot on Sam's neck.

"Your vessel." Gabriel's laugh is so low it barely bubbles out of his throat.

"If you were awake right now, I'd think about telling you."

So Sam is having a real, gay relationship with an angel. In his dreams. And the angel is (mostly) dead. If John could see his sons now. Well, Sam hopes he would be able to laugh.

Dean finally gets it a couple of days later. He's peeling his socks off while Sam locks the motel door and checks their crappy Leviathan booby traps. Sam's eager to get in bed. If he can fall asleep just after midnight, he has a better chance of extending his time with Gabriel. It's just another strategy for maintaining his secret "long-distance" relationship.

Sam is just taking off his shirt when Dean shouts like something is biting him.

"Holy crap!"

"What? What is it?" Sam quickly surveys the small room and finds nothing unusual.

"You're boning Gabe!"

Sam freezes. Dean gapes at him.

"So the other night when you woke me up with your wailing-" Sam slaps the lights off and leaps into bed.

The next day they go to visit Bobby and Jodie where they're holed up in an old cabin built by Jodie's long-dead uncle. Bobby isn't quite back up to snuff, but at least the Sheriff is there most days to keep his drinking under control.

Sam comes back from collecting firewood just as Dean's mouth hits full speed.

"No, I mean full on, I have never heard a woman make the sounds he makes, Bobby."

"Oh, for pete's sake," Bobby groans and rolls his eyes. Sam clears his throat, dropping the wood by the door.

"I think that reflects more on your sexual experience than on mine." He dusts his hands off and takes a seat next to Bobby on the ratty sofa.

"Hey-"

"Are you boys really gonna argue this when we've got access to a real, honest to goodness archangel?" Bobby interrupts.

"But what do we actually have access to? We haven't decided if this is even real yet," Dean says.

"I think he's real," Sam says. Dean and Bobby turn to him in unison, and he waits out their stares.

"No offense, but I'm not sure how much your vote should count, Forbes Nash," Dean says.

Sam glares at him, fighting the urge to tell Dean that the real John Forbes Nash didn't have visual hallucinations, and he sure as hell didn't see Lucifer, or date an angel in his dreams.

"You saw the marks on my neck yourself, Dean." Sam sighs messily when Dean just narrows his eyes, knowing that his brother doesn't want to say that Sam could've done it to himself. "There's something I didn't tell you," he says finally.

"What?"

"When I broke my arm, and I had that cast," Sam says. Dean nods. "I could've taken it off whenever I wanted. Gabriel fixed it the night I came home from the ER."

"And he couldn't a even sent over a fruit basket?" Bobby grouches, patting the thick bandages on his shoulder and chest.

"How?" Dean asks.

"I don't know, but I'm telling you, Dean. I whacked that arm against a doorframe when you weren't around. It felt better than ever."

"You kept that on for two and a half weeks! I helped you put on your shirt!"

Sam shrugs.

"Unbelievable," Dean mutters, sitting back and turning away.

"So he's real?" Bobby seems to be looking for a consensus. Sam nods and Dean huffs. "Well then you better quit with the kissin' and get with the makin' him corporeal, Sam. The Leviathans are gonna catch up with us any day, and we need that scrawny winged butt monkey to save our collective ass."

"How exactly are we supposed to do that, Bobby?"

"Research, ya idjits." Bobby stands from the couch with great effort so he can make his dramatic exit to the kitchen. His body language screams "good grief."

Sam dreams about Gabriel a day later. He finds himself on a beach of black sand, feet bare to its texture. The sun is bright and the breeze barely brushing against him. Waves crash like thunder on hidden cliffs. He sees Gabriel standing waist deep in the ocean with his back to the shore. His shoulders are like smooth stone, his hair wet and gleaming. Sam tears off his clothes and wades out to him.

He presses his palms cautiously to Gabriel's skin, always afraid at first that it will fall away beneath his fingers. Gabriel relaxes into the touch, turning his face into Sam's hand when his fingers brush along his jaw.

"I had a sword once," he says. "I didn't like using it, so I left it alone." Sam pulls Gabriel into his arms. "I think I might remember where I left it."

They don't talk about Leviathans that night. Bobby and Dean aren't pleased, but Sam's sick of them anyway.

Sam wants Gabriel more than anything. After a day of phone calls with bad reception and childish arguments with Dean while they drive a hundred miles just to bruise their elbows breaking into useless book shops and libraries, Sam lies down on a rough cot of blankets in front of the cabin's sooty fireplace. As he pulls a threadbare quilt over himself he thinks about having Gabriel real, how odd he might feel set in the rough weave of reality. Nothing has ever been genuine with Gabriel, and now Sam realizes how long he's been desperate to pull back the veil.

Bobby shakes Sam from a nightmare the next morning as Dean's boots disappear through the door. The smell of whisky follows him. Sam knows they have to move soon. He knows just from Bobby's calloused silence through their sit down with gritty coffee that something is going to change today. They're going to be somewhere other than the cabin soon. Dean is going to come back in a few hours with a crazy move masquerading as a plan.

Instead, his brother wanders drunk in the woods until after dark. Sam catches the opening of the door from his cot. Dean's boots scrape across the threshold, past Sam and into the kitchen. Sam can hear him getting something to eat before he wanders back into the living room, stepping lightly this time. He falls asleep on the couch where he can see Sam. The whole time, Sam pretends to be asleep so Dean doesn't have to explain himself. He's still sure the crazy plan will come in the morning, but at least he has time.

The first thing Sam sees in his dream is Gabriel, standing close enough that one step puts his body against Sam's. Sam doesn't know where they are, somewhere outside. It's cold though the sun is high and bright. It smells like pine. Gabriel presses his face to Sam's neck, dragging his teeth across Sam's throat. Hands caress their way under Sam's shirt, fingers catching on his belt. Sam covers them with his own to press them into stillness. Gabriel pulls back to look up at him.

"Stop trying to distract me," Sam says. Gabriel's eyes narrow.

"You think it's all going to come down soon, and when you're gone, so am I. This is how I want to go out," Gabriel snaps, fingers squirming in Sam's grasp.

"Yeah, romantic, Gabriel, but can we just try to be real for five minutes?"

"Only my dad and billions of worshippers call me 'Gabriel', kid."

Sam kisses him just to shut him up, pulling away before Gabriel can push it further.

"I want that when I'm awake," Sam says without planning to.

"Well you aren't." Gabriel scoffs.

"Well, how can I be? How can we-"

"We can't, Sam!" Gabriel shouts, jerking his hands free and turning away from Sam. He curses in a language Sam is sure he doesn't understand as he takes a few steps through dry underbrush. They're in another forest.

"Just because you have no idea how to be honest or get by without pulling any tricks doesn't mean it's not possible."

Gabriel turns enough to glare back at Sam, but says nothing.

"You didn't pick this forest," Sam says.

"No, obviously."

"This is a forest in Washington we saw with dad once. We went camping. No monsters for one weekend. I was six."

"You found an injured bird. Dean helped you take care of it, but you had to leave it behind," Gabriel fills in.

"You're not an injured bird, Gabriel," Sam says.

"No, Sam, I'm an archangel. My party dress is sticky with punch and one of my heels is broken, but I'm special because it takes more than three licks to get to the glowy center of my grace pop."

"What does that even mean?" Sam hates Gabriel's constant string of quips for one intense second.

"It means stop trying. I'm not going to help you, Sam. We've both had enough."

Sam steps forward to grab Gabriel's shoulder and pull him around.

"I haven't had enough!" he shouts. "None of this has been real, and you've been jerking me around this whole time."

"Sam-"

"No, this is my head, so listen to me," Sam continues, shoving Gabriel. "You've been back and forth telling me to figure out what these dreams mean and then telling me to drop it. You tell me to research but when I do you laugh at me. The way you hold your breath when I kiss you... and you just want me to help you get off one last time?"

"Sam-"

"You died once. It was our fault, and we sent you off like family. I'm going to die soon, and you'll be gone for good. Either help me, or be honest with me just once."

Gabriel grabs Sam by the front of his shirt and swings him around with barely a twist of his wrist. A small push leaves Sam pinned against a tree, bark scratching and digging through the fabric of his shirt.

"Sam, I love you, I really do. But this isn't something you want," Gabriel growls.

"Do you even know-"

"Don't ask me that, Sam," Gabriel hisses, hand curling against Sam's chest, pressing him harder against the tree. "I've said it so many times, and you never listened. I never asked you to say it to me, and I haven't questioned whether you understand what it means to love. I was born because God loved. I was made because it was so hard for people to love one another that I had to intervene. I left my family because I loved too much. Question anything but my understanding of that."

"I've-"

"You've never, Sam. You'll never have to because I'm just in your head," Gabriel says, releasing Sam, who stumbles slightly before steadying himself against the tree. "You don't know what you're asking me for."

"Then why don't you-" Gabriel raises his hand and Sam lunges forward to stop him from snapping his fingers. "We're not done, Gabriel."

"I won't do what you want me to do. You won't do what I want. I think we're about done," Gabriel shrugs, but he doesn't tear his hand out of Sam's grasp.

"According to a passage in the Babylonian Talmud, in Bava Batra, you're going to fight against the Leviathan and win."

"You shouldn't believe everything you read."

"Yeah, well I don't really think God's about to come back just so he can carve a giant sea serpent up for people to feast on. But you're right here, Gabriel. You've been here since right after this thing started, and-don't look away from me!"

Gabriel's eyes glimmer dangerously as he turns back to Sam, but Sam just seizes both his wrists, pulling Gabriel close so he can stare down at him.

"You could have left me to burn, instead of getting my hopes up," Sam says.

"I don't want to do this to you, Sam!" Gabriel shouts, finally wresting himself free. Sam has to take Gabriel's face in his hands and kiss him to calm him. Gabriel holds his breath for a moment as Sam's lips drag against his, and then press. It's comfort in hardly a motion, like they've just come down together, hearts thrashing as they strain for one more moment of pure intimacy. Then Sam pulls away.

"You're going to do it, whatever it takes," he says.

"You haven't even asked me what I can do." Gabriel sighs.

"I've known you could save us for a long time. Promise me."

"You're such a gir-"

"Dean's going to throw some terrible plan at us when this dream is over. Just promise me. Now, Gabriel."

"I promise, you gargantuan jackass." Sam kisses the edge of his jaw, his cheek, his brow. "I hate you," Gabriel mutters. "Damn it, Sam Winchester, I hate you so much," he seethes as Sam keeps kissing him. "You're going to hate me, and I hate you already because you're such an idiot. I regret ever-" Sam's mouth covers his. He presses Gabriel back into the tree, but he's not rough the way Gabriel is.

"It's all going to come down soon, and I love you," Sam says softly against the edge of Gabriel's mouth.

"Well I hate you," Gabriel snaps as Sam pushes his jacket off and pulls at his shirt. "I hate you and you should take people to dinner before you tell them you love them."

Sam laughs, and Gabriel bites him, hard.

Sam wakes up groaning and grimacing. Dean's already up and follows his brother's unhappy noises back into the living room.

"Dude, what the hell happened to you?" he asks as he hands Sam down a cup of almost-hot black coffee. The pain in Sam's back is so sharp he nearly drops it as soon as the cup is in his hand.

"I got in a fight with Gabriel," Sam explains. His lower lip stings at his first sip of coffee, which is how he knows it's split. He stretches his jaw and it pops loudly.

"So when you fight the little guy one on one he's a biter, eh?" Dean grins.

"What?" Dean motions to an area of his neck. Sam rolls his eyes and knows better than to lift his shirt and see if bite marks showed up there, too.

"So, this fight. You win?" Dean asks, sitting down on the edge of the couch.

"Yeah," Sam answers gravely, setting his mug down on the lip of the stone fireplace.

"So..."

"So Gabe's going to help us," Sam fills in.

"Great," Dean says cheerfully. He doesn't ask Sam how or when or if Gabriel can really do anything.

"Why?" Sam asks warily.

"Because we're heading out, Sammy. I already talked to Bobby, and we've got a lead."

"Where?"

"New Jersey."

He doesn't elaborate, and Sam nods. He looks up at his brother, and Dean looks back with his usual calm-and-cocky expression that they both know Sam can see straight through.

The clap of shotgun barrels swinging into place sounds from the doorway, and they both turn. Bobby walks in, barely a hitch in his step, and tosses a weighted duffel at Dean's feet.

"Well, come on, ya idjits. I'm not gettin' any prettier or any younger." He adjusts his ratty old hat, and Sam and Dean finally move to act.

They're in New Jersey for less than a day before all hell breaks loose. Crowley shows up in Bobby's hotel room and offers to help them for the sake of their common welfare. A few hours later, they watch as he smokes out and his vessel slumps to the concrete floor of a dark warehouse. Bobby curses when it falls on him, shoving to get it off his leg. Blood is already pooling from a gunshot in his thigh, and he drags himself back while the boys watch.

The leviathan lowers his gun, smirking from the body of some overdressed businessman named Dick Roman. Others advance behind him, like dogs waiting for their master to give them a command.

"You boys have given us such a hard time," Dick says fondly. "I can see why the angel would fall for you."

Both Sam and Dean tense, jaws twitching in unison.

"Don't you dare talk about Cas, you son of a bitch," Dean growls.

"Oh, Dean, don't tell me you came here thinking-no..." Dick laughs. He raises his pistol again, cocking it with a click that echoes in the quiet space. He points it at Dean.

"Sorry, Dean, but you won't be joining Castiel tonight. Cas is going to stay here, with us." He smiles. Sam doesn't miss the shock that flashes across Dean's face, and he bites his tongue.

"Go to hell," Dean growls.

"Hell couldn't handle us," Dick says. His arm moves and he fires before either of them can react.

It's quiet for a beat before Dean bellows Sam's name. Sam finds the concrete, barely feeling it meet his shoulder, but hissing at the cold of it on his face. He sees Bobby staring over at him, slack jawed and unmoving. Dean's hands are on him, rolling him, moving him. He hardly feels it.

"Dean," he sputters, finding blood in his throat and now on the ground.

"Sammy!" Dean barks.

"This is how God made you, Dean," Dick says. "Fragile."

"Sammy, come on," Dean says, his words running together. By all logic, he's about to die too, but he doesn't let go of Sam.

Sam coughs, drags in a breath, and lets his eyes fall shut. Dean shouts at him, but he's not listening.

"You promised, Gabriel," he thinks, and then everything is gone.

It's black, and cold, at first. Time passes, yawns. He feels as though his eyes are too heavy to open, but he's not trying. It's soft, and the softness presses. Sam doesn't know how long it takes, but he feels the softness wrap him, settle on him. It coats every part of him he can feel, and it's warm. It seems that days pass. He lets it brush him, lull him, smother him. It takes so long for him to notice that it's too warm. He can't sweat, he can't breathe. He's paralyzed by the heat, trying to scream. Everything is suddenly white, blinding like the center of the sun, somehow inside of him. There is no thought, there is no comparison to hell, there is no emotion. He's a piece of thread, stretching until it splits and frays, a frame of film heating until it melts in on itself in a flash.

Then the pain narrows into something he can describe. Ice cold air in his lungs, fingers wrapping inside of him, bending his bones. He can finally hear himself scream. Something tells him to scream, like a voice coming from inside but never audible. His hands curl, his knuckles cracking, and he can feel them. He can feel his skin, stinging, scalding everywhere. The smell of flowers is suddenly suffocating. Gardenias, roses, honey suckle, then pine, and sea breeze.

The voice that isn't tells him to be calm, and he's calm. He feels flames lick across his body in one sweep, and it's dark again. His body sings out with pain in every molecule and then falls back to itself. He tastes salt, and opens his eyes.

He sees himself standing, arms outstretched, facing the leviathans. Dean is at his feet, staring up. He watches wings unfurling from his own back, spreading with the sound of fire roaring.

"An angel," he hears Dick say, and Sam finally knows what is happening. "Another poor creature who thinks he can-"

"Oh, zip it, slimy," Sam hears himself say. He laughs, but there's no sound, only the thrill of it. "You know, I liked you a lot better before you started with all the grand blah blah blah and just shot people or ate them or whatever. Hey-what do people taste like these days? It's been a while since I partook, if you catch my drift." There's a very long pause, where the only motion in the room comes from bodies breathing and the wings, constantly shifting and bending, feathers falling and burning in the air.

"Who are you?" Dick finally asks, still sounding more curious than concerned. The leviathans behind him are shuffling in their places. Sam's body sighs, hips shifting to contrapposto. The wings fold and twist against themselves, feathers dragging along the ground and leaving a trail of fire.

"I'm Gabriel," he scoffs. Dean and Bobby exchange a glance at that, but when no one responds, Gabriel continues. "I am he who stood in the presence of God. I was his beloved son, who spoke on his behalf to children who could not hear him."

The words are foreign both from Gabriel and from Sam. Sam feels pride watching Gabriel speak so cleanly through him, and bites it back.

"I don't know if you've heard, Gabriel, but God isn't here anymore," Dick says.

"No shit, Sherlock," Gabriel answers. "You think he'd leave you wandering around down here, breaking his little playhouse, snacking on his babies au fromage if he were still paying attention?" Sam feels the lie, though he doesn't understand it.

"Then what do you think you can do against us?" Dick finally asks. Gabriel's wings tremble, throwing off sparks.

"God is my strength, wherever he may be, however far estranged we are," Gabriel says easily. "What do you think you can do against me, Dick?" So Gabriel thinks God is doing them another favor.

Dick raises his arm, and it's ash at the wave of Gabriel's hand. The leviathan finally stumbles back in alarm.

"How-" he chokes.

"It's all in the hardware." Gabriel shrugs, raising his hand. The snap of his fingers by Sam's hand looks odd, but it still levels a third of the leviathans behind Dick to ash. The rest of them scatter, but none make it out of the warehouse before Gabriel has his way. The smell of burning flesh is sickening.

Dick is left standing in front of Gabriel. Dean has moved to Bobby, and pulls him farther back, away from the angel and his opponent. Bobby is pale with blood loss, head falling. Gabriel glances back as they move away, catching Dean's eye. There's a twinkle there that is Gabriel's alone. He turns back to Dick slowly, the alien motion of an angel.

"Where is Castiel?" he asks.

"He's with us," Dick answers.

"Give him back," Gabriel demands.

"You'll have to kill him to destroy us." Dick smiles. Gabriel surges forward and presses his palm to Dick's face. Light pours from his eyes and mouth, then sparks as he falls to the ground.

"No!" Dean cries, the sound clipped like he wasn't fast enough to stop it from coming out. Gabriel turns to him. He doesn't say anything, but somehow Sam can feel the remorse which is invisible in his expression.

His brother's eyes fall to the ground. "Heal Bobby," he growls.

Gabriel is immediately there, folding Sam's long legs to kneel, wings dragging. He lays a hand on Bobby.

"Sam," the old man scratches out, then takes a sharp breath as color floods back to his face. Gabriel stands, and Bobby sits up, hat falling off his head.

"Sam begged for this," Gabriel says. Dean presses his fist to the concrete.

"Is that it? Are the leviathans gone?" he asks. Gabriel scoffs.

"You know, I don't get you, Deano," he says, the words seeming awkward on Sam's lips. "I can read your mind. You want so badly to tear into me for wearing your brother like this." Dean's jaw clenches. "But what you really want is to break every part of me with your bare hands. You wish I were something you could get your fingers into, to pull me apart inch by inch until you're covered in my blood. And you want to find Cas in that mess somewhere."

"Listen to me, you son of a bitch," Dean says, voice low. He looks up at Gabriel, and his eyes are like hard stones. "I don't know where Sam is, but he's coming back. And you're going to help me get Cas back."

"Oh, I am?" Gabriel asks.

Silence stretches after his words. Dean stares, jaw clenched stubbornly.

"Alright," Gabriel finally says. He raises his arm, and Sam recognizes the motion. "Ready for a miracle?" he grins, and snaps his fingers.

The sound of wings fills the warehouse for an instant, followed by a squelching thud and harsh coughing.

"Cas!" Dean shouts, and turns to find the angel behind him trying to cough up a small lake.

"What in blazes?" Bobby mutters as Dean scrambles to turn Cas onto his back and lift him up.

He's soaked to the bone, curling into Dean's heat reflexively. Sam watches his brother rub hair from Cas' forehead and water from his eyes with more care than he's seen Dean use in a long time. Cas' eyes widen at the sight of Dean, and his lips try to form his name around the chatter of his teeth. All that he manages is a course groan and more coughing.

"It's alright, Cas. You're fine. Don't worry about it. You're fine. You're alive. I'm here." Dean is smiling despite everything.

"You're welcome," Gabriel says. It's all the warning Sam gets before he feels a pull like strings drawing tight around his bones and everything is dark again.

He burns, wants to cry out, but he can't. The voice is back, telling him to be calm, and he struggles to relax. His skin is searing, but some hidden stillness falls over him like a shroud of velvet. It's silent, but he smells the flowers again, fainter this time. He's tired, aching with fatigue, and his mind falls away without warning.

He finds himself standing. He's in the doorway of a small room of rustic construction, wood and mud grout, dirt for a floor. The fragrance of hay catches in his nose, and the thick smell of smoke from a candle burning at a table across the room. There's one small window set in a wall, revealing the twilight. An old man sits at the table, back hunched over his work. The candle light shines off the object he is polishing with a grungy cloth, and Sam steps closer in curiosity. He stops when he feels something brush against his leg. A small child rushes into the room past him, fingers catching on the edge of the table.

The child is a girl of no older than seven. Her head is covered in auburn curls, her face round and pale, cheeks flushed like a porcelain doll. A plain white garment like a night gown hangs off of her, its hem dragging in the dirt. She reaches out to touch the old man's forearm, her soft fingers contrasting the weathered skin of the man's arm, which is a patchwork of sun spots, dark hair, and scars.

The old man's hands still and he turns to the child with a smile. He says something in a language Sam can't understand, but when the girl answers it's in perfect English.

"I would like to see your work now." Her voice is small, but her tone oddly commanding. The old man just nods and carefully hands his work over to her.

It's a small horn, gracefully shaped and tapering perfectly from its broad cone to its delicate mouthpiece. Sam's guess is that it's brass, but the man's polishing has left it shining like gold. The girl doesn't raise it to her lips, but trails her fingers over it in a careful inspection. The old man speaks again, but the girl doesn't look up.

"No, it will be a long time before I do that," she answers. The old man simply nods, and she finally turns to him. "Your work is beautiful," she says.

The old man's eyes widen at the compliment like it's a great shock, but even Sam can see that he's a fine craftsman. The girl turns away without another word, pulling a cloth from inside her dress so she can carefully wrap the instrument. She looks up as she leaves, and Sam's breath catches at the sight of her eyes, twinkling gold in the flickering light.

"Enjoying the show?" Sam jumps at the voice, and turns to find the Gabriel he's used to standing next to him. The girl brushes past them as she leaves the room, but Sam hardly notices. He grabs at Gabriel's shirt to pull him up into his arms, kissing him hard on the mouth. Gabriel is laughing when they part, holding onto Sam's arms as he's lowered back to the ground.

"Good to see you, too." He grins.

"I don't know how you did it. I don't know what's happening, but thank you. Gabriel, I don't know what this is, but, God, you are amazing. I can't even begin-"

"Sam!" Gabriel cuts him off. "Take a breath." His eyes glimmer in a way that gives Sam pause.

"So," he starts. "This is... your dream? Your memory?"

Gabriel's eyes flick around the room.

"Maybe," he answers vaguely.

"Where am I?"

"You are here," Gabriel replies, waving his arms dramatically. "We're both here."

"Where is 'here?'" Sam asks.

"Your body, genius. Your gangly, gargantuan gorilla suit."

"How did this happen? How did you-" Sam stops himself. "Wait, where is my body?"

"Well, we're kind of on hiatus right now." Gabriel smiles sheepishly.

"Gabriel," Sam says warningly.

"Relax, babe. You're not dead, I'm not dead. You're not burning in hellfire, the leviathans have stopped their ridiculous snack run... What is there to complain about?"

Sam looks at him warily.

"So, you're in charge of my body?" he asks.

"Yep," Gabriel nods. "It's what you asked for." Sam doesn't argue with him.

"Then how am I not burnt up or crazy right now?"

"Uh, maybe just because I'm one hell of a great guy? You ask too many questions." Sam watches him open his mouth and point down his throat. It shouldn't make any sense, but Sam gets it. He's the gift horse and Sam should stop looking.

"How can we..."

"Fix it?" Sam nods. "I'm workin' on that."

"You're working on it?"

"Well, I need a new vessel. You torched my last one, remember? And it's not like I want to stay in your ginormous meat suit for the rest of forever."

Sam doesn't say anything, but his eyes fall to the ground after a moment.

"So, my body, is it going to fall apart like Nick's did?" he asks.

"Who? That guy Luci was toting around before you? Pshaw." Gabriel waves his hand, but when Sam looks up they stare at each other for a long time.

"Hey, it'll be fine," Gabriel says, clapping Sam on the shoulder. "I don't think you've ever been anything but pretty your entire life, and that kind of run doesn't end just because of a little archangel possession."

"What about that little girl?" Sam asks, motioning at the doorway.

"Lina?" Gabriel asks, arching a brow. "Sam, she was my true vessel. She was fine."

"Did she go crazy?"

"No! And in fact, she could read and write when I was done with her," Gabriel says defensively.

"And all of your other vessels, they were fine?"

"I did my best," Gabriel answers stubbornly.

"How are you going to fix this, Gabriel?"

"You know, you're really high maintenance sometimes." Gabriel rolls his eyes and walks out of the room. Sam rushes after him.

It takes two weeks. Two weeks of Gabriel's memories (dreams, he says) and Sam being crushed and burned from the inside until he screams for death. Two weeks of Gabriel telling him to hold on, and "I love you, so don't you dare bail on me." Also, some "Your brother is not only perfectly fine, he's an asshole" and "My word, how do you fit into a shower with these legs. It's ridiculous!"

Sam's in a bed. He feels it before he opens his eyes, and it's not a hard floor, or a beach, it's a real bed. It smells like Jodie's cabin, and it's quiet. He rolls over to find a figure silhouetted in the doorway. His heart hammers in his chest. This has to be Gabriel's new vessel.

Wordlessly, the figure moves further into the room. Sam sits up in bed, limbs moving awkwardly like they're still a little numb to his commands. The figure sits down next to him without a word, and Sam reaches out to turn on the bedside lamp.

"Oh my god," he breathes. "How, this is..."

Gabriel smiles at him, golden eyes twinkling, same crooked grin, same jaw and nose, and hair. Same shoulders, same hands.

"I'm still dreaming," Sam decides, suddenly disappointed.

"Baaant, guess again."

"This can't be. How can you be in the same vessel?" Sam asks. Gabriel opens his mouth and points at it. "No," Sam objects. "Don't mess with me."

"Cas figured out a way for me to do it," Gabriel answers. "Something I hadn't considered."

Sam reaches out to touch his face, and Gabriel catches his hand.

"I'm as real as I'm ever going to get, kiddo."

Sam moves toward him but hesitates. Gabriel makes up for it by pulling Sam into his arms and holding him tightly. Sam feels himself shaking, but he doesn't know why and he can't stop. Gabriel makes a bad joke and their laughter dissolves into kissing. It's the first time they really move slow, and Gabriel's not rough and only provides a little inappropriate commentary. They discover how easy it is to fumble now that it's real, but that's good, somehow. It's their first time in a real bed, and the first time they lay together knowing that they have time. Sam closes his eyes knowing that Gabriel will still be there when he wakes up, because he's too human to go anywhere, and he promises.

They find a safe house to hole up in that's not in terrible shape. It's in Nebraska, not far from Sioux Falls, and Bobby says he's thinking about making it his new place. He still spends most of his time in Jodie's cabin.

It's amazing how long Dean dances around Cas. Sam finally catches them pressed together by the kitchen sink almost two months after his return. They've been inseparable since Cas landed in the warehouse. He's human now, and Dean hardly lets him out of his sight, not that he would admit it. Cas follows Dean around like a duckling when he's not talking to Gabriel, or not having a human absurdity explained to him by Sam or Bobby or Jodie.

"Can't believe we both went gay for angels," Dean snickers when he's drinking a beer with Sam on the porch stairs one afternoon. They're watching Gabriel and Castiel have some kind of heated discussion in Enochian while Castiel draws something in the dirt driveway with a stick. It's weird hearing them both talk in exactly the same tones as usual but in a language neither Dean nor Sam understand.

"They were women sometimes," Sam answers, watching Gabriel jab his finger at Castiel's drawing.

"Yeah, well I like what he is now. I don't care," Dean says. Sam glances at him, surprised to hear Dean say it out loud. Jimmy is gone from Cas' body the same way Gabriel's body is free, and Dean is watching Cas the same way Sam watches Gabriel. They finish their beers in silence. Eventually the former angels come to join them. Castiel sits down next to Dean, and takes his beer when offered. Gabriel puts his hand on Sam's thigh and asks what the stupid grin on his face is for.

Of course, it's not perfect.

Cas has nightmares. Screaming, punching Dean out of bed in his sleep nightmares. Vocal communication is twice as impossible between the two of them, so they're lucky they fell for each other so long ago and so hard. They nurse each other on instinct, and even Sam and Gabriel don't want to be in the house when Dean is teaching Cas about sex. It's a good thing they don't have neighbors to complain about the noise.

Sam and Gabriel are perfect for a while. Then they fight. Gabriel takes to storming off. He can't snap his fingers anymore, but he knows how to disappear on foot. His grace started burning out the second he took over Sam's body, and he gave the rest of it up so he could get his vessel back. He might have been the most human angel they knew, but he's a brat about actually being human. Sam's patience for his complaints aren't infinite because Gabriel knows just how to get on his last nerve.

Cas and Gabriel have each other, at least. They gather like conspirators when they aren't fighting like cats and dogs. Gabriel loves to torture Cas as much as he tries to help his little brother. They don't usually tell Sam or Dean what they're talking about, much to the boys' irritation. When Sam asks, Gabriel usually gets snappy or changes the subject. One morning Sam walks into the kitchen to find Gabriel at the table, staring at a blank piece of paper. He doesn't make a joke all day, and that night he insists on telling Sam a bible parable as a bed time story.

Sam and Dean leave Gabriel and Cas behind when they go on a hunt several months later. They get back before the sun is up. It's December and they rush into the house to get out of the cold. It's dark and quiet inside. Dean heads upstairs, but Sam detours to the kitchen. He doesn't expect to find anyone else awake.

Castiel is seated at the small dining table. Its surface is covered in complex drawings done in ballpoint pen, sharpie, and pencil on yellowing copy paper he must've found in the basement. His only light is from the stove, but he doesn't seem to mind. He's drawing a face, a woman with a strong nose and long, straight hair. He stops when Sam walks in.

"You're back," he states flatly.

"Yeah, Dean went upstairs," Sam answers, hesitating by the table before going to get himself a glass of water. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?"

"Drawing," he says over the rush of the tap. He turns back to the table. "What are you drawing?" he asks. As he moves closer, he can make out sharply rendered buildings and scenes, floating in a sea of faces.

"Memories," Castiel answers simply. Sam sits down across from him.

"These are all yours?"

"Yes."

"Why are you drawing them?" Sam asks as he looks at a picture of a smiling man with a sharp cheek bones and a thick beard.

"For Gabriel."

"What?"

Castiel looks up at Sam for a moment, then returns to what he was doing.

"He's forgetting," he answers flatly.

Sam runs his fingers over the edge of a picture depicting a lush garden full of ferns dripping from smooth pots and sharp flowers planted in levels of stone-surrounded beds. He recognizes it as one Gabriel has described for him before, an ancient garden near Nineveh.

"But you're not?" Sam whispers.

"I'm forgetting as well," Castiel sighs. He pushes his drawing across the table and starts on another. "But I'm satisfied."

"Does Dean know?"

"He will soon."

Sam nods, watching Castiel's pen sketch out the face of a woman with swift precision. She has large dark eyes traced in thick liner. Cas draws age into her, but not much. She's laughing, one of her teeth crooked.

"Who is that?" Sam manages.

"Khadijah al-Kubra."

"Muhammad's wife?" Sam asks in disbelief.

"She was great before they met," Cas answers. He finishes the drawing and sits back in his chair. "Gabriel favored her."

"He told me," Sam says. Cas leans forward and begins to scoop the drawings into a stack. Sam helps him. The table has just been cleared when they hear someone on the stairs. Cas presses his hands over the papers, and looks up when Dean comes in, dressed down to a clean t-shirt and loose pajama bottoms. Sam wants to turn away from the look in Cas' eyes. It's joy, desire, and shame all wrapped into one.

"What are you guys doing down here?" Dean asks, voice low in the quiet house. Sam stands from the table and leaves the chair out for his brother.

"I'm going to bed," he says. "Was Gabe up there?"

"Yeah," Dean answers, eyeing him warily.

"Night, Cas."

"Goodnight, Sam."

Sam leaves before Dean can stop him.

"Hey, babe. What are you doing down here in the dark?" Sam hears Dean ask as he mounts the stairs.

"I missed you," Cas answers. Sam takes the rest of the stairs two at a time.

The door to his and Gabriel's room is cracked open, and Sam slips inside without a sound, shutting it behind him. He undresses in the dark, as quiet as he can manage, before moving around the bed to slip under the covers. Gabriel rolls toward him, grabbing Sam's hip to pull him closer to the middle of the bed where he wants him. He threads their legs together while Sam adjusts the pillows and pulls the comforter over them.

"Took you long enough," Gabriel grouches sleepily. His breath is warm against Sam's chest, and Sam pulls his arm around to bring him closer.

"Sorry," Sam says. Gabriel gives him a clumsy kiss.

"I was cold," he complains. Sam doesn't answer him. After a few minutes, Gabriel falls back asleep. Sam measures his breathing, touches the pulse at his neck.

It's almost an hour before Dean and Cas slowly make their way back up the stairs. Sam hears them whispering to each other in the hall before they disappear into their room. Sam falls asleep soon after.

He wakes up before Gabriel, despite needing the sleep more. It takes him a long time to extricate himself from the limbs of the other man, who seems to have grown octopus legs just for the occasion. Gabriel rolls onto his stomach when Sam leaves the bed, greedily pulling the pillow and blanket with him.

Sam is still the only one awake when he comes back into the room carrying a tray of food. He sets it down on the nightstand and gently shakes Gabriel by the thigh until he groans into awareness.

"What's the emergency, farmer Sam?" he mutters as he blinks his eyes open.

"Just breakfast," Sam smiles. Gabriel quirks a brow and draws himself into a sitting position.

"Breakfast?" he asks, then looses an impressive yawn. Sam settles the tray over his lap, removing a mug of coffee mixed with hot chocolate and miniature marshmallows to the nightstand before taking another filled with black coffee and carefully getting into bed next to Gabriel. He snags a piece of toast smothered in nutella as Gabriel furrows his brow at the offering. There's also a chocolate orange split open, and several slices of cantaloupe.

"Do you need me to save your goat?" Gabriel asks as he inspects the melon.

"Just eat your breakfast," Sam laughs.

Gabriel manages half a piece of nutella toast before he can't contain himself any longer.

"I can't believe you're willingly giving me diabetes."

Sam steals the other half of his toast, and Gabriel goes back to eating. When he's done, he leans over to set the tray on the floor, and turns to Sam. Sam kisses him.

"Okay, you have to want something," Gabriel says. "And I'm perfectly willing to suck your dick without persuasion, so I have no idea what it is."

Sam looks at him for a long time. Gabriel stares back, eventually crossing his arms. Sam reaches over to uncross them. "Don't get mad at me," he thinks.

"What was his name?" Sam asks. He watches Gabriel's expression go from suspicious to confused to nothing. Sam wasn't sure he still had that seemingly angelic ability in him anymore, to make Sam feel like he was in danger of being crushed by a glare and a finger snap.

"Why do you want to know?"

"You said if I was awake you might tell me," Sam says slowly. Gabriel scoffs.

"You talked to Cas," he says.

"Yeah," Sam admits.

"Little brothers, I swear. You're the scourge of my existence," Gabriel gripes. Sam chooses not to point out that Gabriel is a little brother too.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because it's fine! What is there to tell? I'm not an angel anymore. I can't fit everything I knew as an angel into a human body. I get it. No problem."

"You've already lost-"

"I've lost most of it, Sam." Gabriel doesn't throw up his hands, doesn't look away or roll his eyes. "I know what I did. I can say it to myself like an old man telling a story, but it's fuzzy. The stories aren't mine anymore. I can't remember what they felt like, what they looked like. I'm not that anymore. I'm just this." He waves a hand at his body. "Is that what you wanted to know?"

"You didn't want to go on the hunt-"

Sam feels a sharp tug on the front of his shirt just before he finds himself on his back. Gabriel settles his weight across Sam's thighs and blows ineffectually at the hair that falls into his face. Sam tries to sit up but Gabriel shoves him back down to the mattress.

"I swear, it's a heart to heart every five minutes with you," Gabriel says. "The bottom line is that this has nothing to do with you, okay?"

"How-"

Gabriel smashes their lips together, pressing until Sam opens his mouth. It's rough and then slow. Gabriel kisses him senseless, and Sam is pliant in his hands when Gabriel guides his fingers to the headboard and starts to undress him. Gabriel has known from the very beginning just where to touch Sam, what he likes and what drives him crazy. They never talked about it, but Sam noticed. They fall into a rhythm of touches and sounds. Sam dissolves into curses, cut off by Gabriel's hand over his mouth just before he comes. After, they lie sated side by side on the bed, still half dressed and messy. For once they don't talk. Gabriel doesn't tell Sam any weird bible stories, and Sam doesn't complain about the interruption in their conversation.

When they finally move again, it's to leave the bed. They clean themselves and help each other get dressed in silence.

There's activity in the kitchen when they leave the room. The sound of dishes being handled and the smell of bacon rises up the stairs as they go down. Near the bottom step, Sam reaches out to smooth the back of Gabriel's hair. He turns back to Sam for just a moment before continuing around the corner.

Dean is dressed and clean-shaven with his shirt sleeves rolled up, flipping thick strips of bacon in a cast iron pan on the stove. Next to him, Castiel is sifting through the silverware drawer. Dean's threadbare Metallica shirt is a little too big for him, second hand jeans hanging off his hips. He turns when Sam and Gabriel walk in.

"Good morning."

"Yeah, great morning by the sound of it," Dean says.

"I've had worse," Gabriel agrees slyly.

Sam doesn't say anything. His eyes are fixed on the pile of drawings sitting on the table.

Gabriel flops down in one of their rickety chairs. It scrapes across the floor as he scoots closer to the table. Sam quietly sits down next to him just as Gabriel reaches for the pile of paper. Dean curses at the bacon and the silverware drawer clatters shut.

Gabriel doesn't say anything for a long time. Cas lays plates and forks on the table in front of them, then cups and a gallon of Sunny Delight. Gabriel keeps one hand on the drawings when he pours himself a glass and drains it so he can pour another.

Castiel sits down with a plate of scrambled eggs. Dean drops a plate of bacon and one of fried potatoes on the table before following suit.

"What's with the big spread?" Sam asks, trying not to stare at Gabriel.

"I dunno. Just wanted breakfast," Dean shrugs, shoveling eggs onto his plate.

"I considered adding notes to them, but I wasn't certain that it would be appropriate," Cas says, and Gabriel finally looks up.

"No. It's fine. These are... awesome. Thanks, bro."

"You're welcome, Gabriel. I hope that they will assist you-" Dean elbows Cas in the chest and receives a confused and irritated look in return.

"Hey, Cas, why don't you get some bacon before Sammy eats it all." He smiles and Cas' expression relaxes. He nods before reaching for the bacon.

Gabriel straightens the drawings and tucks the pile onto his lap. He stares at the potatoes until Sam drops a scoop of eggs and some bacon onto his plate.

"There was no protein in the diabetes I gave you earlier," he explains when Gabriel quirks an eyebrow.

"You gave him diabetes?" Dean asks around a mouthful of food.

"I wasn't aware that diabetes was a disease that could be transmitted in a manner that you're capable of," Castiel adds.

"Only if you're as sweet as my man," Gabriel grins. Sam's knee hits the underside of the table when Gabriel's hand suddenly grips his thigh.

"Come on, not at the table!" Dean gestures to the scarred wood and chipped dishes in front of them and Sam starts laughing. Dean hits him over the head with a moth-eaten dish towel until he stops.

After breakfast, Gabriel insists that he and Castiel be left alone to clean up the kitchen. Dean and Sam protest, but he throws an off-guard Dean bodily out of the room and ushers Sam to the door after him.

"Hey," he says as Sam turns in the doorway. He pulls Sam back around by the edge of his sleeve and kisses him. It's the first time they've done more than sit together in front of Dean and Castiel. "I love you."

"Yeah... I love you too," Sam replies. Gabriel rolls his eyes but grins.

Exaggerated retching sounds come from somewhere behind Sam, and Gabriel leans around him to throw a plate at Dean. It shatters somewhere in the living room.

"Dude!"

"Gabriel," Castiel calls warningly.

"Yeah, keep your apron on, Suzy Homemaker." Gabriel pushes out of the doorway and turns back to the kitchen.

"Who is Suzy Homemaker?"

Dean is glaring at the pieces of broken plate with his arms crossed.

"So I guess Cas talked to you?" Sam asks after standing next to him for a moment.

"What?"

"About the whole memory thing?"

"Oh, yeah, that." Dean waves an arm dismissively. "I figured that out like a week ago."

"What?"

"They were acting weird, you know. Gabe kept telling you bible stories, Cas wasn't saying a damn thing. Then he drilled me on Enochian before bed." Dean waves his hand as if that explains everything.

"Wow."

"Yeah, I had just unbuttoned his fly when he started babbling about sigils and crap. Unbelievable." Dean starts to pick up a piece of plate but thinks better of it. "Your boyfriend can clean it up. He's closer to the floor." He steps around the mess and flops down on the lumpy couch, which is probably the newest piece of furniture in the house. Sam follows.

"So you and Cas-"

"We're fine, Nancy Drew."

"And Cas is-"

"A lot cooler with it than I am." Their coffee table is two milk crates with an old door over them. Dean kicks one of the crates closer so he can prop his feet on the "table."

"Good."

"They're only gonna lose what they can't handle," Dean says, stretching out. Sam nods thoughtfully, and Dean turns to him.

"This is the best we're gonna get it, Sammy," he says, suddenly serious.

"Yeah."

"We'll take a few days before we look for another hunt. I wanna teach Cas how to drive before the world almost ends again."

Sam smiles. "That's cute," he says.

Dean hits him with a lumpy throw pillow, initiating a pillow fight which deteriorates into a wrestling match. They break the coffee table before Cas and Gabriel intervene.

Cas crashes the first stick shift he tries to drive and lands himself a couple of broken ribs. Gabriel leans against Sam in the hospital waiting room and jokingly asks Sam to tell him a bed time story. He tells Gabriel about an angel with golden eyes and a nasty sense of humor. Gabriel laughs when he hears about his questionable encounter with the Virgin Mary, but never interrupts.