Five Feathers
Sam Winchester could scream. Then again, he could also do crystal meth. Neither sound like a particularly good idea.
He feels trapped in his own body, like he could scream his lungs out until they disintegrated into a bloody pulp and nobody in the immediate vicinity would so much as bat a goddamned eyelash. Maybe that wouldn't hurt so much if the only person in the immediate vicinity wasn't his own big brother, his freaking hero.
He thinks this might be what people call depression. Or, like his big brother tells him, it's just Sammy being a teenager. But then why did he feel like this last year, when he was twelve and not a teenager?
"Jesus, Sammy, I can hear ya brooding from over here." Dean drawls, not looking up from the rifle he is cleaning. "Something you wanna talk about?"
"I... Well, I..." Sam searches for the right words to say but nothing comes. The last time he tried to tell Dean how he felt the seventeen-year-old had told him to stop being so emo. "Nah, it's nothing."
The older Winchester brother looks up and frowns at the younger. Normally Sammy is the one going all couples-counselling on him but recently it seems that the kid has decidedly stopped talking about things like thoughts and feelings, only talking about things that he thinks that his dad and Dean want to hear. Well, whilst Dean might not usually be over-appreciating of his brother's need to talk about things, he kind of wishes that the kid would right now.
But he's Dean Winchester and so has no idea how to handle this. Nowhere in the Big Brother Manual does it say how to deal with brooding thirteen-year-old brothers who clearly need to talk but won't. Yeah, someone missed that chapter out.
"You sure?" He settles for saying, trying to hide his concern by going back to his gun cleaning. He sees Sam nod out of the corner of his eye and he sighs, deciding that something definitely is wrong here. "Nobody's picking on ya at school, right? 'Cause if they are, you just tell me and I'll-"
"No, Dean. Nobody's picking on me." Sam tries to smile but at the same time feels inexplicably like crying. "I'm fine. Really."
Even as he says it he knows it's a lie. He's been having thoughts recently, bad thoughts. Thoughts about how easy it would be to get himself killed on a hunt and manage to make it look like an accident. Thoughts about he's nothing but a useless dead-weight to his small but select family. Thoughts about how he has no real friends outside of his big brother. Thoughts of how his mom probably wouldn't be dead if it weren't for him. Thoughts about how much easier it would be to die than to live.
He looks around the motel room they are currently staying in. It's the usual; grotty carpet, mouldy ceiling, two beds that might as well be made of cardboard, a small dining table (where Dean is sat with the gun) with a wonky leg. Sam is currently sat on his bed, the one furthest from the door, as he beholds all that he has to call home. This is all he'll ever have, no matter how much he might long for the apple-pie white picket fence life that most kids his age scorn.
Sam knows he can't have that. Not if he wants to have his brother and father too. Sometimes he envies Dean for having had his five years of normal, for having fives years of Mom. At the same time though, he pities Dean for it. Whilst it's easy to long for what you've never had, it's even easier to mourn that which you miss.
Now he just feels selfish. Selfish and kind of like he wants to die. He vaguely wonders whether if he died he would see his mother again and if she would even recognise him.
"We should wrap this werewolf case up pretty soon, Kiddo." Dean breaks the silence, suddenly on edge from Sam's look of desolate thoughtfulness. "Not a moment too soon, either. Five people dead so far."
"What do you think it's like?" Sammy blurts out, just needing to talk about some aspect of it. He thinks he might explode if he doesn't. "Dying, I mean."
"Sammy-"
"I think it must be kinda peaceful, y'know."
Now it's Dean's turn to feel tears stinging at his eyes. He tells himself not to be so stupid though, that this is just Sammy asking an innocent question. No way would Sammy, his baby brother, seriously consider doing something like that. And if even if the kid was feeling that low, Dean's pretty sure Sam would have spoken to him about it. Right?
Dean studies his brother for a moment, trying to decipher the true meaning of the question. The kid looks kind of skinny and forlorn, with big black sacks under his eyes and his hands fiddling nervously with the hem of his plaid shirt. All of a sudden Dean finds himself fighting back the urge to crush his little brother into a bone-breaking bear hug. He's seventeen though, and he's a Winchester; he doesn't do hugs unless he's one hundred and ten percent certain that it is vital to Sammy's wellbeing.
"Maybe you should get some sleep, Sammy." He says, feeling guilty for not wanting to deal with the problem. Just seeing Sam like this is painful for him. "If Dad ganks this thing tonight then we'll be off early in the morning."
Sam just nods sullenly and lies down, tucking one arm under his pillow to cuddle it. It's been a long time since he's slept with a teddy bear in the bed with him but sometimes he just needs something to hold, something to anchor him to the Earth. He feels something soft brush against his hand and his fingers curl around something that tickles his palm.
He pulls it out and, lo and behold, there is a golden feather in his hand. For some reason it seems like a reassurance of something, everything, and Sam doesn't feel so bad anymore.
00000
Jess is dead. Jess is gone. Jess is never coming back. November 2nd, the anniversary of his mother's death. Fate has a truly sick sense of humour.
He's in the front seat of his big brother's Impala, pretending to be asleep. It's painful watching Dean trying to say things that might make it better but in reality only make it worse. Every 'she's in a better place' and 'it will get better, Sammy' remind him that it's happened and ignite the agony afresh in his aching heart.
If only he hadn't gone with Dean to look for their dad. If only he had gotten back sooner. If only he had just admired Jess from afar and never gone out with her then she would still be alive. If only. If only. If only.
It's raining outside, an utter downpour, the heavens themselves mourning the loss of such a beautiful and bright young woman, robbed of her future by one of Hell's agents. A deep, dark part of Sam wishes that his big brother hadn't come back for him, wishes Dean had just let him burn with her in the closest thing he's ever had to a material home.
"Sammy, I know you ain't asleep." Dean ruptures the screaming silence, never taking his eyes off the road. "You're thinking way too loud to be sleeping."
That's another thing that's driving Sam insane; his brother, albeit with the best intentions, trying to pretend that everything is fine and normal. Things can't ever be normal between them again, not after Sam abandoned the only family he's ever known to go to college in California.
A pang of guilt sweeps through the younger Winchester and he has to use all of his dwindling energy to suppress a howling sob. It's guilt for leaving in the first place, guilt for Jess, guilt for every bad little thing he's ever done.
"C'mon, Kiddo, you need to sleep." Dean says as he gives his brother a sideways glance. He's never seen Sam look so utterly destroyed and that breaks his heart, especially knowing that there is nothing he can do to make it all better. "You look like Death warmed-up. Please, try to sleep. For me."
Sam isn't sure if it's the begging desperateness in Dean's voice or his own need to be told what to do with himself at this moment in time now his head is a complete mess that makes him comply but he does. He leans his head against the cool, calming, familiar glass of the Impala's window and shuts his eyes.
Jess. All he can see etched into his eyelids is Jess. Jess laughing. Jess kissing him. Jess baking him cookies. Jess in her Smurf pyjamas. Jess pinned to the ceiling. Jess dead. Jess burning.
His eyes ping open and he gasps, earning him a concerned look from Dean. If he were to go to Hell right now then he imagines that it would full of burning Jesses and showing an endless montage of their greatest moments together. It even hurts to think of the good times right now and that kills Sam; he doesn't want to ever forget the love of his life but at the same time he doesn't want to remember her either, because to remember is to hurt.
So he just resolves to look out of the window. It's pitch black outside, still raining, and he wonders if Jess is just in blackness right now. He wants to believe in God and angels and Heaven but, with all that has recently passed, it seems an impossibility.
All of a sudden, out of nowhere, a large gold feather slams into his window, making him jump. It seems to be an answer to his question, telling him that Jess is up in Heaven and looking down on him with a smile.
He falls into a gloriously dreamless sleep soon after.
00000
Sam flinches as Asia's Heat of the Moment blasts through the Impala. It's a song he never wants to hear again, never wants to even think of again. Not now that it has all the connotations of his brother dying on him.
Oh wait. His brother has died on him. Has died for him, actually. But if you want to be really specific, his big brother has gone to goddamn Hell for him.
Sam all but punches the radio's off button as he feels the back of his eyes sting, like they're being poked with red-hot needles. For all of the times that the Trickster made him watch his brother die he still wasn't ready to see Dean get torn apart by hellhounds. He still isn't ready to see it when he has nightmares about it that make him wake screaming for a big brother that cannot and will never come.
He pulls the car over and opens the door, feeling like he needs to get out of that which is synonymous with his big brother, with Dean. The Impala's interior still smells of his brother and, whilst it might in time grow to be a comfort, it makes Sam want to die. He can't die though, not when he hasn't got Dean out of Hell yet, which he will. He'll do it even it kills him.
The world seems to swirl around him as he gets out of the car and leans against the door. Dean should be stood next to him, holding a beer and laughing about something stupid. Dean should be alive, not rotting in Hell for Sam. Sam wishes with all of his heart that Dean would have just let him stay dead; the pain of living without Dean is far greater than that of death. But that is exactly the reason why he sort of understands why Dean did it.
Sam lets out a shuddering breath and clamps his eyes shut against the wave of tears waiting to pounce. Dean wouldn't want him to cry, wouldn't want him to be running on nothing but last night's binge worth of alcohol. He can imagine what Dean would say about that.
Although he doubts it, he might just be able to cope if Dean were just dead instead of in Hell. He can't remember his time being a doornail but he knows that Dean has almost certainly got a spot in Heaven waiting for him. Or did have, before he went to Hell by his own goddamn hand. Yes, if Dean was just dead and most likely in Heaven, then Sam might just be able to cope with that. But Dean's not in Heaven, he's living through endless torment and suffering and agony in Hell. All because of Sam.
He can't stop himself. Sam sobs. He buries his face in his hands and sobs his heart out. His face is turning hot from the tears, his lips trembling and he's glad that Dean and Dad can't see him now. A truck shoots past him and a thought gets stuck in his head of just stepping out into the road to get hit by the next oncoming vehicle. The only thing that stops him is the fact that Dean is in Hell so that Sam can be alive and he can't cope with the idea of letting Dean's sacrifice have been in vain.
So he takes a few deep breaths, rubs at his eyes and removes his hand. He looks out across the road and wonders where it will take him. Then, for no reason whatsoever, he looks down.
And there is a gold feather. He gasps, remembering the one he saw shortly after Jess died. Once again, it gives him a sort of comfort that can't be explained by words.
00000
"Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. When will you quit reading and come to bed."
"About the same time that I'm not around to see it."
Sam laughs and looks up from his book at his brother, who is currently bright red and glaring at the Archangel Gabriel. The Archangel Gabriel who has recently joined Team Free Will upon the realisation that he's very much in love with the youngest Winchester brother. Sam returned the feelings full-force, not seeing it as a gay relationship because, whilst Gabriel's vessel might be male, it is Gabriel who he loves and, last he checked, angels aren't bound by the same gender categories as humans are. Gabriel could be in a female vessel and Sam's feelings would still be exactly the same.
Gabriel sticks his tongue out at Dean, disappears and reappears leaning on the chair that Sam is sat at. He places a hand on each of Sammy's shoulders and starts rubbing out the tension, smirking when it makes Sam drop his book and sigh in pleasure. The smirk grows when Dean starts to make gagging sounds.
The archangel leans down and kisses from Sam's ear down to his neck, sucking softly on the skin there, making Sam moan lightly. But then Sam remembers that his big brother is present and so elbows Gabriel away as he stands up to tower over the so-called Trickster.
"Gabe, you're mentally scarring my brother." Sam deadpans, gesturing to a traumatised-looking Dean. "Please don't."
"Amen to that, Sammy!" Dean chips in as he tries to unhear Sam's moan. He has no issues with Sammy being with a guy or even with an angel (anything seems an improvement after Ruby) but that does not by any means imply that he wants to witness them getting intimate. "Look, you guys are either gonna have to start getting your own room or... I dunno, just not do anything in front of me."
"But, Dean," Gabriel whines childishly, "pissing you off is half the fun!"
Sam glares at his archangel to which Gabriel winks and slings a possessive arm around his human's waist. He uses his strength to pull the hunter closer and rubs the side of his face into Sam's shirt like a kitten.
Dean clears his throat and crosses his arms, feeling very much like a too-strict parent. He'd rather be that though than see Sam and Gabriel getting down to it, which has happened before. It's something he'll never forget no matter how much he tries to bleach it from his mind.
"Okay, okay." The fun-sized angel pouts and removes his arm from Sam's waist, opting to hold the tall human's hand instead. "We'll go for a walk then."
Before either Sam or Dean can respond Gabriel snaps his fingers with a devilish smirk. The motel room transforms around Sam to be a beach on a deserted island. All around is fine, golden sand, the kind of gold that he can vaguely remember the feathers being. The ocean stretches out in the distant, a vibrant blue too clean to be anything other than fake. Yes, this place is definitely of Gabriel's own creation. In reality, they are probably just in an abandoned warehouse not five minutes away from the motel.
The beach is still beautiful though, just like everything else that Gabriel has ever conjured up for Sam. If there's one thing that Gabriel is good at, then set-dressing is it. But Sam knows that his boyfriend is good at many more things than just that.
Gabriel watches as Sam looks around in awe of their surroundings. There's something about Sam's smile, that rare true kind of smile, that makes Gabriel feel like the grand archangel he used to be, back before Lucifer's fall. Their hands are still intertwined and Gabriel decides to break Sam's reverie by kissing each of the hunter's rough knuckles in turn.
"It's beautiful, Gabriel."
"Just like you." Gabriel says it so sincerely that not even Sam's self-depreciation can make him doubt it. Or, rather, he cannot doubt that he is so in Gabriel's eyes. "I made it just for you."
"Thank you." Sam leans down and kisses the smaller man on the nose. "I wish I could do something like this for you."
Gabriel shrugs and guides Sam by the hand, pulling him along down the beach. He kicks up the heat a bit and snaps his fingers again, this time making Sam find himself in nothing but a pair of red swimming trunks.
"Hey!" Sam yells half-heartedly. "Where'd my clothes go?"
"Chill, Kiddo. They've been delivered back to the motel room and I imagine are giving Dean some kind of seizure." The archangel winks and Sam can't help but melt at the adorable playfulness shining in his lover's eyes. "I just thought that you wanted to repay the favour. I give you something nice to look at, you give me something nice to look at back."
Sam laughs and, to Gabriel, it sounds like a song. The supreme being runs a hand down Sam's stomach, feeling the muscles clench under his touch. He doesn't go any further than chest and stomach though, just wanting to feel all that is his under his fingers.
This is a date to them. Their dates often go like this; Gabriel will randomly grab Sam, snap them off somewhere, something surprisingly romantic will take place and, later, passionate, loving sex will ensue. Usually, Gabriel will find a way to make Dean know that he's just had his wicked way with the older hunter's brother, usually by snapping himself and Sam back into the motel room just as things reach their height. Sam normally doesn't realise what has happened until it's too late.
Today is different though. Today, Gabriel knows that something bad is coming. Something that will separate him and Sam, possibly for the rest of forever. He knows that, for Sam and for nobody else, he will face Lucifer. He also knows that it is highly likely that he will die. He's sort of at peace with that though, because he knows that there is no truer way for him to prove his love for Sam Winchester. He knows Sam won't be at peace with it though.
Gabriel reaches behind his back, pulls at something, winces and then turns back to Sam. There is a golden feather in his hand. Sam just gawps, a smile twitching at his lips.
"Some people give flowers, I give feathers."
Sam takes the feather and looks at it like it's most wonderful thing he's ever seen.
"These... they're... yours?"
Gabriel just nods and grins when Sam leans down to kiss him properly on the mouth. He would give the kid his entire set of wings if it would make Sam this happy. And Gabriel will, just not in this way.
00000
His mother. Jess. His father. Madison. Dean. Ruby. Gabriel. Why is it that everyone Sam loves dies and, usually, it's all his fault? Granted, Ruby was playing him but, for a time at least, he had believed himself to be in love with her.
He had thought that Gabriel would be different, what with him being an Archangel of The Lord and all. But no; Sam's even managed to get his beloved archangel killed by association too, just like everything else he's ever loved or has ever loved him. He's like a plague. One touch and you're doomed.
And so here he is now, sat on a swing in some desolate park in some crap-hole of a town, not caring that Dean's probably going out of his goddamn mind with worry. Dean's been way more overprotective than usual since Gabriel's rewardless demise. He's been babying Sammy, staying in with his little brother rather than go out to the bars, he's been avoiding all mention of Gabriel altogether. The worst of it is the look that he's been giving Sam recently. It's like he expects Sam to explode any second and if he does or says the wrong thing, cuts the wrong wire, then the fallout will be deadly.
Sam loves his brother, he really does, but he just can't handle that level of affection right now. Not when Gabriel's not here to give him the angel's own brand of affection as well.
He'd really thought that he and Gabriel were forever. Or, at least, that Sam would die long before Gabriel seeing as archangels don't really die all that often, and then Gabriel could chill with him up in Heaven. Where do archangels even go when they die? Do they go anywhere at all?
Sam shudders at the thought and the spikes of ice-cold agony that it sends shivering up his spine. Gabriel's just too... Gabriel to be dead. He keeps expecting Gabriel to just pop up out of nowhere with a smirk on his face and a Twizzler in hand with a perfectly good explanation for letting Sam stew in his grief like this. Maybe he had to play dead to avoid Lucifer's detection. Or maybe he had really gotten hurt and just needed some time to repair himself.
The wind whistles and rubs its spindly fingers in Sam's hair, jarring him from his thoughts. He reprimands himself for having thought them in the first place. He knows Gabriel isn't coming back, he knows he's alone now on that front and he knows that Dean is treating him like a freaking glass doll because of it.
Dean. He really should be getting back to Dean. His big brother went out on a food run five hours ago. Sam's been gone for four and a half of those hours and has five missed calls from Dean. He's not trying to be mean, he isn't, he just needs to be alone right now, far away from that look in Dean's eyes whenever the older Winchester looks at him that reminds him of all that he has lost.
The odd thing is, though, Sam hasn't cried yet. It's been three days and he hasn't shed a single tear. He's just been kind of in shock. Well, it was shock at first. Now it's just flat-out denial, steadily moving on into guilt territory. And he still hasn't cried. Because to cry would to be to admit that it's happened. Yet at the same time Sam wants to cry, feels like he'll implode if he doesn't get rid of all of this grief in some way or another.
A sudden and strong gust of wind assaults Sam's face. Something flies into his lap and he looks down; it's a gold feather.
Sam cries.
00000
A/N:
So this is yet another work I have produce on my iPad in my college free periods. This probably explains why I never get my homework done! I have this one-hundred word prompt table that I'm using to write with and this story is based on the word 'Feathers'.
Thank you very much for reading this, I apologise for any errors, I hope you liked it and please let me know what you think! :3