I Hope You're Lying, a supernatural fanfic

AN: Wow. Wow, really? This story was taken down? Because I used a bad word in the original summary? Holy cow... Just... Wow. Okay. I guess that makes sense. It's in the rules, right? But, sheesh, I've never had this happen before. I feel like... Should I be offended, or something? Maybe. Maybe not. On with the show.

Here's the quote I put in the summary, the quote that this fic is based off of:

"For your sake, I hope you're lying. 'Cause if it's true, I swear to God I will march into hell myself, and I will slaughter each and every one of you evil sons of bitches, so help me God." - Dean Winchester

Bah. Enjoy. :)

Disclaimer: I do not own the television series Supernatural. I do not own the characters of the television series Supernatural. (Because if I did, it would be all Sabriel/Destiel, all the time. Booyah.)

I Hope You're Lying

Gabriel was furious.

Sam was missing. The only way to find him was to get answers from the demon he and Dean had strapped to a chair in Bobby's den, and the son of a bitch wasn't talking. It was making noises, sure; ugly, gurgling noises, for the most part courtesy of Dean and thirty years of Torture 101. But it wasn't talking, which meant they weren't any closer to finding Sammy.

Gabriel couldn't risk using his own tricks. He might go overboard in his rage and kill the stupid fuck. Not that he wouldn't, anyway. As soon as they found out where their lovable Sasquatch was, this demon was toast. The burnt kind.

Dean wiped blood from the blade in his hand, smearing it across his knuckles and down his fingers. There was a dead look in his eyes, fog and glass and dark, dark things. Dean wasn't there anymore. And Gabriel was grateful for it.

"This thing ain't gonna talk," the young hunter said quietly, dropping his knife in a mason jar full of holy water and wiping at his hands with a bloodied rag.

"Maybe you aren't being...intimate enough," Gabriel replied, lazily eyeing the demon up and down.

"Cutting this guy's balls off isn't going to make the thing inside him spill," Dean argued, throwing the rag across the room angrily.

"Might make me feel better," the angel muttered darkly.

Dean turned towards the window, hands on his hips. "Just use your mojo and get it over with."

The demon turned to look at Gabriel sideways, its one remaining eye widening as far as the purple, swollen skin around it would allow.

"Fine," the angel said absently, uncrossing his arms and straightening from his leaning position in the door frame. "But you're cleaning up the mess."

"Wait," the demon wheezed, sucking in a sharp, shallow breath. "Wait."

"No more waiting." Gabriel reached forward, hand engulfing the crown of the demon's head.

"He's dead!" the possessed man shouted. "Sam Winchester is dead!"

Gabe's fingers curled, fisting blood-matted hair and yanking the demon's head back. "Bullshit," he spat into its face.

"I-I..." The demon choked, blood dribbling down its chin. "I can take you." It gasped as Gabriel gave another hard yank to its hair. "I can take you to his body."

The angel shared a brief look with Dean, lips tightening into thin lines. "Tell us."

"You'll kill me."

"I'll kill you no matter what," Gabriel growled, his hand starting to glow hot and bright.

"I'll take you. I'll take you," the demon pleaded.

Gabe glanced at Dean again, the elder of the Winchester brothers offering only a frown before saying, "Ice it."

A flash of light, a liquid scream, and then there was quiet.

"Could've been telling the truth," Gabriel said, wiping his hand on the demon's shirt.

"I don't care," Dean replied. "It's been hours. If it was going to talk, we would've had Sam by now." He sighed, eyes roaming over the various utensils lining Bobby's desk—most of them well-used within the last several hours. "Get rid of this thing, would you?"

The angel snorted, a smart quip on the tip of his tongue. When had he started taking orders from runts like the Winchesters?

"When you started sleeping with my brother," Dean muttered before Gabriel could say anything.

Gabe scowled and snapped his fingers, the demon and the mess disappearing soundlessly. "Two way street there, Dean-O. Sam isn't exactly complaining." A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "And, from what I hear, you and my little brother aren't so innocent yourselves."

Dean grunted but said nothing, utensils clattering loudly as he threw them into a small wooden box.

There was a sudden gust, loose papers flitting anxiously as stale air stirred around them. Castiel stood in the center of the devil's trap where the demon had been only moments before, Sam's large figure draped around him.

"Sam!" Dean shot forward instantly, hands gripping his brother's tattered clothing and helping the angel carefully bring him to the floor. Sam flopped lifelessly, his skin pale and cold. Stooping beside him, Dean took hold of the younger man's face, ignoring the sinking feeling in his stomach. "What happened? Where did you find him?"

"A crypt," Castiel replied distantly, hand hovering over Dean's shoulder as if he was torn about comforting the young man. "He was abandoned there. Dean—"

"So fix him, already."

"I did," the angel admitted, his gaze landing on Gabriel's stoic figure standing off to the side. "He was not...in a good state when I found him."

"Then why the hell isn't he awake?" Dean ground out, shaking fingers brushing hair away from his younger brother's face.

"I cannot wake him, Dean," Castiel whispered, and the young hunter turned to him, breath catching in his throat at the absolute defeat he saw in his angel's eyes. "Sam is gone."

Dean swallowed, shaking his head. "No. You can bring people back. You can bring him back, Cas. I've seen you do it."

"His soul," the angel said slowly, "was destroyed...Dean, I can rebuild bodies. I can put spirits back into them. But I cannot...I cannot re-create Sam's soul. Once it is destroyed, there is no way to bring it back."

"The hell you say." Gabriel was surprised to find the words coming not from Dean's mouth but his own. He stepped forward, gaze locked on Sam's half-lidded eyes. "Dean, move."

Dean looked up at him angrily. "What—"

"Move," the angel barked, the young hunter on his feet in an instant. Gabriel dropped to his knees beside Sam, swallowing hard and allowing a small amount of grief to wash over him. It hadn't been long, this thing between the two of them. A few months on and off, at most. But angels never did anything the easy way. When they fell, they fell hard. And, Father above, had Gabe fallen for this silly little boy.

He shifted, bringing his hands up and letting them hover over Sam's face. "Please, Sammy," he whispered, closing his eyes and furrowing his eyebrows. "Please be in there."

"Gabriel," Castiel sighed beside him, sadness and ache in his voice.

But Gabe would have none of it. His hands clenched into fists as his eyes flew open, and he turned his head to set a furious, piercing look on his brother—one that, he was almost satisfied to notice, had the other angel recoiling just slightly. "Shut. Up. Cas."

Castiel swallowed, eyes wide and oh-so blue, before he stood, shuffling awkwardly to stand at Dean's side. Gabriel turned back to the prone young man, fingers uncurling and eyes closing again.

"Come on, Sam."

His hands moved, coasting downward along Sam's neck, collarbone, sternum. They began to shake as he slipped over the young hunter's ribcage, trembling violently as he stopped right over Sam's exposed abdomen. Gabe gasped. The feeling was faint, and he wasn't entirely sure if there was actually something there or if he only wished that something was there. But he had to try.

One hand gripped the fabric at the young man's hip, the other spreading over the taught skin of his stomach. Gabriel reveled in the familiarity of it. He knew every inch, had kissed and licked and bit his way across the many planes of Sam Winchester. This boy was his, was marked. And no fuck of a demon was going to tell him otherwise.

He summoned his grace, pushed out with his mind. What pushed back was light. And pain. Gabriel hadn't experienced anything like it, ever. It grew, rushing in his ears until he couldn't hear himself screaming anymore.

Something tore inside him.

And then there was darkness.

Consciousness was slow to take him. He could hear muted noises, could feel pressure on his arms, his face. Something in him churned, heaved...churned, heaved. He felt like puking. Could angels puke? He didn't know. He'd never had to before.

Gabriel. The voice was Castiel's, but it wasn't from the outside. It was in his head. And it boomed. Your body is trying to heal itself. Stay calm.

You stay calm, he replied childishly, but he let himself relax, quelled the unpleasant feeling.

And slipped back into darkness.

He woke again with enough strength to open his eyes. It was dark, night. He was in one of Bobby's spare rooms. Sam's bed.

Sam.

Someone shifted against him, and he was aware of a pressure on his chest—an arm draped over him. Breath across his face, the smell of hazelnut coffee creamer.

Sam.

Sam.

"Sam?"

The figure beside him shifted again, muttered sleepily, and settled further against him with a tired sigh.

"He's asleep," Castiel said to his right. Gabe turned his head, watching his brother's form emerge from the dark corner beside the bed. "Whatever you did, Gabriel...It brought him back."

The prone angel sighed, turned and stared at the ceiling until his eyes drooped closed again.

"How?"

Gabe huffed angrily, shaking his head from side to side. "Not now, Cassie."

"His soul was gone," Castiel continued, hovering over the pair in the bed. "Consumed. What you did...It should not have been possible."

"Anything's possible if you just believe," Gabriel mocked, fingers finding Sam's shirt tail and sneaking up underneath to press against the warm skin at the small of his back. He turned his head, nose burying into the young man's hair and inhaling the familiar scent.

"Gabriel—"

"Cas. Leave."

The angel brooded over them a moment longer before the sharp flap of wings signaled his departure. Sam stirred again on the bed, this time raising his head and gasping sharply.

"Gabe?"

"Yeah, Sam."

The young man huffed in relief, the arm across Gabriel's chest tightening slightly. "I was worried."

"How long have I been out?"

"A week," the hunter replied tiredly, laying his head back down on the angel's chest. "You should be more careful."

"You should stop dying," Gabe argued half-heartedly, sobering as a wave of memories assaulted him. "Are you all right, Sam?"

"Yeah." The young man yawned. "Just tired. Can't seem to get enough sleep."

Gabriel smiled, pressed his lips to Sam's temple. "It'll pass. You just need time."

A long, silent moment stretched between them before Sam took a quick breath. "Dean says I was dead. That you brought me back."

"Yeah. And it wasn't easy, either."

"My soul," the young hunter said, shuddering. "It was destroyed."

"What do you remember?" The angel began to make small circles on Sam's skin with his fingers.

"I remember...being taken. There were so many. They grabbed me." Gabe could see the chaotic images flashing in Sam's mind, felt Sam's fear and confusion. "I couldn't call for you. I tried, but they knocked me out." The young man's fingers gripped the sheets and squeezed. "When I woke up, I was tied down, drugged. It was dark, and I just kept seeing faces swimming in front of me—faces with black eyes. They didn't talk, they just...There was so much..." Gabe saw knives covered in Sam's blood, sharp-toothed smiles. He felt pain—unimaginable pain.

"Oh, Sam," he whispered, tightening his hold around the young hunter's middle.

"And then there was nothing," Sam continued, his tone frighteningly distant, "until I woke up here at Bobby's."

Gabriel didn't really know what to say. I'm sorry seemed so miniscule at that particular moment. It wasn't enough. Sam had been taken, tortured, and left hollow, all while the angel remained completely oblivious to his whereabouts. He'd even been mad at Sam, thinking he'd finally just given up on everything and gone to find Lucifer.

He should have known better.

"Sam—"

"I shouldn't be here," the young man murmured, burrowing his face into the curve of the angel's neck and curling into himself. How was it possible that Sam Winchester, moose-extraordinaire and Sasquatch-to-boot, could make himself into something that small? Something that frail? It was wrong.

Gabriel made a low growling noise in the back of his throat, anger flushing through his human veins and lighting his nerves on fire. Adrenalin masking the ache in his body, he sat and turned onto his side, pressing a hand into Sam's chest until the young man was flat on his back, staring up at him with bewildered eyes.

"You will listen to me, Sam," he demanded, wishing he didn't sound as tired as he did, "because I'm only going to say this once." It was lie. He would say it a hundred—a thousand—times, if he had to. Because Sam needed to know, needed to understand. Gabriel needed him to hear it now, in that moment, before everything went to shit again—as it inevitably would. "You are meant to be here. Whether it's because of Dean or me or some bullshit prophecy..." He brushed a stray hair behind Sam's ear, attempting to soften the harsh words. "...you are meant to be here."

Sam's wide eyes flitted back and forth across the angel's face, his mouth parted. Gabriel could hear the young man's heart hammering in his chest, could feel the chaotic rhythm drumming away beneath his fingers. And, suddenly, the seriousness of the situation gave way to smoldering need.

"Gabe—" Sam barely managed the angel's name before their mouths collided, teeth clicking and tongues clashing. The young man made a small sound of protest at being cut off so abruptly, but the noise quickly morphed into suppressed ache as the angel ran his tongue along the roof of Sam's mouth. It was slick and warm, and Gabe didn't really mind the stale taste that probably came from days without brushing his teeth. He wanted more—so much more.

But exhaustion and the small pains that adrenalin had pushed aside were beginning to filter back into his limbs.

He pulled away with a resigned grunt and fell back against his side of the rather small bed. Actually, he was almost centered on the lumpy mattress. How was Sam even able to squeeze his large frame in the small space beside him?

"Tell me," Sam whispered, one hand splaying across the angel's chest. It was wide and warm, and Gabriel wanted to sink into that touch forever as the young man began rubbing back and forth. "Please."

With a sigh, Gabriel closed his eyes, drawing the memory forward. It was as if it were from lifetimes ago—all his memories were that way. They blended and meshed until he couldn't remember time. It was easier that way, forgetting the years that passed and changed without him. Structures had crumbled, the earth had shifted, people had died. Sam would die. Eventually. For the last time. Gabe was hard-pressed to think about it. He didn't want to—but, as proven by recent events, he couldn't ignore it. Sam was destined to meet a sticky, painful end.

"Gabriel?"

The angel drew in a tight breath. "I took a...precaution."

He felt Sam frown. "What kind of precaution?"

Gabe swallowed. "I hid you," he said, quietly. "Well, part of you. I took a sliver of your soul and buried it."

"Where?"

"In my super-secret shoebox under the bed."

"Gabe..." Sam sounded irritated. The angel loved it when Sam was irritated. The tone of his voice, the crinkle of skin between his eyebrows, the thinning of his lips. He wasn't afraid to cop an attitude with an archangel. It was magnificent. It was Sam.

"Inside you. I couldn't exactly take it from you without...consequences." The young man was quiet, so Gabriel took the opportunity to fill in a few blanks. "See, your soul, outside your body, basically has no use. It's a puzzle piece that's only compatible with you. If you take it out and try to fit it into anything else, nothing's going to match up. I wouldn't be able to hide your soul anywhere but in you."

"How does something that already belongs to me get hidden in me?"

Gabriel chuckled. "I had to go real deep." The attempted lecherous grin was somewhat of a flop, but Sam didn't seem to be paying attention to his facial expressions anyway. "I had to get to a place that even I probably wouldn't be able to find again. It took a while."

Sam's fingers curled and uncurled distractingly on the angel's chest. "How long?"

"Months. Close to a year, I think."

The hand on Gabriel's chest stilled. "But we weren't even together a year ago," the young man protested.

"...Yeah, I know." There was a quiet moment, and then the angel felt Sam smirk against his shoulder, kissing it lightly and continuing the soothing motion on his chest. "Unlike a puzzle piece, however, no matter how small a piece of your soul remains, it can be re-grown. Cultivated, I guess. But at a more extensive rate. I just found the small piece of you that was left and gave it a sharp yank of encouragement."

"That's why I'm so tired."

"Smart boy," Gabriel said with a soft smile.

Sam shifted. "And why I have this." Gabe turned his head as the young man lifted his shirt, and, almost immediately, a static shock coursed through his body. There, on Sam's abdomen, not quite centered and petering off to the young man's right side, was Gabriel's hand print. Seared into Sam's flesh, puffy and angry-red.

"Sam," the angel started, but could not find the words. His hand reached out, fingers hovering shakily but never touching the brand. "I...I don't know what to say."

Lowering his shirt, Sam pressed against his angel again, wrapping a long arm across his chest and stringing one leg between the other's. "You don't have to say anything," he replied sleepily. "I kind of like it. Chick magnet, you know?"

"Do you even know what it means?"

Sam shrugged. "I know what Dean's means." He paused to yawn widely. "He was saved by someone who cares about him, drawn up from hell."

Gabriel huffed. "I didn't draw you from anywhere. You were there the whole time." He turned so that his chin was resting against the crown of Sam's head. "And what makes you think I care about you?"

"I know you care about me," Sam said matter-of-factly. "You can't kid a kidder's lover."

"Lover," Gabe snorted, pulling Sam further against him nonetheless. "No, I guess not."

A comfortable quiet overtook them, lulling the two into the warmth of each other. Gabriel absently counted the number of breaths that Sam drew in and expelled, just as he'd done since meeting the silly, young hunter. He'd have to start fresh, seeing as a week ago those breaths had stopped entirely, which was still sore on his mind at the moment. He made it to forty-seven before Sam said anything else.

"Sheep work much better, if you're trying to get to sleep."

Damn these Winchesters. Hanging around angels must have made them susceptible to reading minds.

"Not just yet," the angel admitted. "I want to make sure."

Sam yawned. "Of what?"

"That you'll keep breathing when I'm not paying attention."

With a twitch of his lips, the young man nestled his face into the crook of Gabriel's neck. "I'll keep breathing."

"You promise?" Gabe's eyes were already starting to droop, his fingers stringing into Sam's hair.

"Yeah," Sam sighed contently. "I promise."

AN: Well, I hope all questions were answered, all loose-ends tied up nicely with spider legs and pretty bows... *shrugs* I'm happy with it. I guess that counts for something. :P Later, Gators! Catch you all on the flip side.