Some nights, Sam dreamed.
After Gabriel... well, after Gabriel died...
Sam dreamed that Gabriel survived, and joined their team. That he gained Sam's total forgiveness and perhaps affection. Dreamed that when they found the bunker, he went with them, and when the angels fell, he too fell. Dreamed that he was just... there.
It was one of those nights.
They were in Sam's bedroom, with the door locked and the lights off except for the lamp on the bedside table. The yellow glow it gave off highlight Gabe's bare skin and made his eyes glint the prettiest shade of gold. Sam mouthed at the indent of his throat, just over his collarbone, and trailed kisses up his neck and along his jaw, and pressed their lips together.
Gabriel pushed Sam's hair back from his face, and wrapped his arms around his shoulders. He smiled—in that strangely adorable way he had where his teeth hid behind his lips and his cheeks dimpled and his eyes crinkled all around—and Sam had to as well. He bumped their noses together. Slid one hand down Gabriel's side, along his surprisingly soft skin, to settle his fingers on his hip. Gabe smirked.
"Awful sweet tonight..." He trailed his index finger down the side of Sam's face, and Sam shook his head. Turned his face to kiss Gabriel's fingertip. He caught Gabe's wrist in his hand, and pressed his mouth to his pulse point. And then in a proceeding line up the inside of Gabriel's arm, to his elbow, and to his shoulder, where he let his teeth graze lightly against the curve just before his neck.
He sucked red bruises in blooms across Gabriel's throat, and drew out quick breaths and a quiet hum. Gabe squirmed. Reached up and tangled his hands in Sam's hair, and wrapped his legs around Sam's waist. Sam bit him, lightly, and made him gasp. Gabriel gave him a light slap upside the head, and Sam just laughed quietly, and kissed the slope of his cheekbone and the side of his nose. Gabriel moved so their mouths met again.
Muffled, he muttered, "Kissing... is highly underrated..." against Sam's lips.
Sam snorted, and attempted to deepen their kiss and shift to be more comfortable at the same time. He only partially succeeded. But finally he settled on laying down on their sides, facing each other. Gabriel moved where Sam coaxed him to go with an amused glint in his eyes, and grinned when Sam pulled him close enough that they tangled their legs together and bumped their foreheads together and could kiss with ease.
Their hands slipped palm against palm, and their fingers laced through each other, and that was when Sam woke up. Of course.
Lying on his back in a dark room with walls of concrete and brick, a book on his chest and one lamp on. He glanced down at his scarred palm, and sighed.
Always a little too good to be true.
He sat up. He could hear Robert Smith singing, "I would tell you that I loved you, if I thought that you would stay. But I know that it's no use—that you've already gone away." He groaned, and rolled out of bed, and threw his door open, and he shouted.
"Turn down your music, Dean! Since when do you even listen to The Cure!?"
The singing abruptly went silent. Then Dean replied, "Shut up, bitch!"
Sam rolled his eyes.
He returned to his bed and his book and his disappointment.
Turned off his lamp so the room went black.
Maybe if he fell back asleep fast enough, he could dream about Gabriel again.