Chapter 1
A/N: Hello! So, a few things: Still very new to the whole writing SPN fanfiction thing. This is my first time trying to write Sam and Gabe as main characters, and I'm a little nervous. I know it's by no means a masterpiece, but I hope you enjoy it anyway! Let me know what you think, if it should be continued, etc. Thanks for reading!
…
"Um…so. Yeah." Sam stammered, standing with Gabriel at the end of the latter's street.
The corners of Gabriel's mouth quirked up and he raised an eyebrow expectantly.
"You're good? I mean, with everything?" he finally managed, shifting uncomfortably.
The angel's face broke out into a full-blown smile then, and he laughed. Sam decided then that the sound reminded him of wind chimes being tossed by a sudden, strong breeze, and he loved it.
"Geez, Sam, yeah. Why wouldn't I be?"
"Just checking," Sam mumbled. This was awkward. More awkward than it should have been, considering what had just transpired between them back at the Winchester's apartment.
"Are you sure you don't want me to walk you up to your house?" Sam had insisted on walking him home, despite the fact that Gabriel could fly. But the angel didn't mind. He enjoyed walking when he could, especially with Sam.
"Pfft. And never hear the end of it from my family? No way, Jose."
"Right," Sam said, recalling that Gabriel lived with his brothers—like Sam did with Dean, though the angel had four other brothers to deal with, as opposed to Sam's one.
"I'd better get in there," Gabriel chirped, turning to go. He must have caught the hesitant and slightly hurt look on the taller boy's face, however, because he leaned up on his tip-toes and pressed a gentle, lingering kiss to Sam's lips. Sam felt it then, what he had felt earlier; warmth and electricity lighting up his nerves at the contact, nearly taking his breath away. He also heard the pleased rustling of feathers, though Gabriel had not manifested his wings.
"Night, big guy," the blonde said softly when he pulled back, patting Sam's chest.
When Gabriel made it to his front door he looked back; he wasn't sure why until he saw Sam still standing there at the end of the street, hands in his hoodie pockets. Gabriel grinned and gave one last little wave before going inside.
Dean, home from work when Sam strolled in, made a crack about his brother's dazed expression and "heart eyes." But Sam didn't care. Not when he could still taste static on his tongue as he drifted to sleep that night.
…
Gabriel gagged and swiped his mouth with his hand. "Aw, geez. You're kidding me. You got be freaking kidding me," he mumbled, the side of his face pressed to the cool porcelain of the commode. This was not happening. It just wasn't happening. This had especially not happened after him and Sam's first time. Frick. Double frick. Sam. How the hell was he ever going to tell Sam? They hadn't even technically been together when they'd fucked. Did Sam even consider them together? A couple? This was a fucking nightmare.
"Hey! Excuse me, prima donna! You're not the only one who wants to make sure his hair looks decent today!" Balthazar knocked on the door and impatiently jiggled the locked knob. Luckily that was all he could do, as house rules dictated that privacy was to be respected and there was no suddenly flitting (or "poofing" as Sam tended to call it) into a room when the door was locked. The rule was not always obeyed (Balthazar and Gabriel himself being the most frequent offenders) but Gabriel was hoping he'd caught his younger brother on a good day.
"Go. Away. Balthy," he groaned from his place on the bathroom floor.
"Oh come on, Gabriel! I can't use Michael and Lucifer's bathroom; you know how they get!" the younger angel whined.
"Dear gods, I said one minute!" Gabriel snapped, reaching up to grab a hairbrush from the counter and hurling it against the door. It struck with a benign but loud whack; Balthazar muttered something else but thankfully let Gabriel be. The angel stood up on wobbly knees and braced himself against the sink. He turned on the faucet and splashed his hot face a few times. Gabriel studied himself in the mirror, noticed his color coming back, and smoothed out his hair and clothes in an attempt to look presentable. His fluttering hands paused briefly at his stomach; Gabriel glanced at his phone (which he'd dropped on the floor during his unexpected but desperate fumble to the toilet) and had the fleeting thought that maybe he could—should—call Sam.
But no. Not yet; not now, no matter how much the angel longed to hear the other boy's voice at the moment. He could be mistaken, after all. He simply sighed and stuffed the phone in his pocket, exiting the bathroom to join the week-day morning noise and chaos in the kitchen. His unusual silence went overlooked in the face of Balthazar spilling orange juice all over Castiel's homework.