At some point, I should probably make this same theme - the whole platonic Sabriel hurt/comfort recovery thing that I've indulged in more than once already - into a single series. But I'm still new to posting fanfic (somewhere other than my own brain tissue, that is), so I didn't think to do it before.
Some of the material is slightly repetitive, drawing on themes in my other stories. This is largely because I base the events in each story on personal experience. I'll push the boundaries sooner or later. Oh, also, Gabriel's alive because. You know. I'm in denial. So let's pretend episode 22 never happened, yeah?
Anyway, always nice to hear from readers who enjoy post-Asmodeus Sabriel drama as much as I do. You can also find me on Archive of Our Own, Tumblr, and Wattpad. Same name.
DISCLAIMER: The material upon which the following story is based is the intellectual property of the CW network.
WARNING: This story contains themes of sexual assault.
…
Gabriel was getting really, really sick of the nightmares.
He would wake at two in the morning, three in the morning, four in the morning - and the bunker would be silent, and the silence would choke him, and he wouldn't go back to sleep.
He shouldn't have had to sleep at all. This whole thing could have been a brutal tactic administered by the Trickster himself: the fragments of grace that needed rest and food in order to replenish as quickly as possible, broken down further by the evasiveness of sleep and appetite.
And the degradation of being so close to human, even with the promise of eventual relief should he commit to the healing process along, certainly didn't help.
Now and again he would hear people moving around in the halls and in other rooms. He knew Sam spent too much time awake these days as well, fighting tooth and nail for more information on how to find his brother and rescue him from Michael's possession. Gabriel would have offered more assistance if only he'd had the energy. He could barely muster the strength to talk, partly because he was exhausted and partly because the nightmares made him afraid of speech.
Of course, he was well aware that no one here was going to do anything like what Asmodeus had done. Gabriel felt reassured every time he remembered that he was no longer in Hell. But much of him was still lost behind the bars of his cage that instinct overrode logic, so that he simply couldn't bring himself to risk punishment.
When Gabriel heard Sam's footsteps, he was always tempted to ask for help. Sam had given it before, when Gabriel got his attention by falling out of bed or unexpectedly getting sick. Gabriel knew that Sam wouldn't judge him, wouldn't hurt him.
But Gabriel also knew that it wouldn't do him any good to grow accustomed to Sam's post-nightmare guidance. Gabriel needed to learn to deal with this independently; otherwise, he wouldn't get past any of this.
Voluntarily seeking comfort was humiliating enough to hurt what grace he did have. He felt sure that reaching out would bring him closer to humanness. And the nearer he drew, the more he would have to sleep in order to function. The more he would dream.
And the farther he would fall.
Gabriel couldn't let that happen. So when the dreams jerked him awake every night without pause, he lay in bed, heart pounding and stomach pitching with nausea, trying to remind himself that he'd be fine. That this was all just temporary.
But once in a while, he couldn't just lie in bed - not when the dreams were bad enough. He wished he had the courage to fight, but the simple truth was that he didn't.
When that happened, when there was nothing to be done except beg for help, Gabriel did what he could to keep his dignity intact. The cracks were all too visible: it was as though he'd fixed himself up with Elmer's glue and bubble gum. But the pieces weren't entirely disconnected, and he intended to maintain at least the smallest illusion of wholeness.
Yet despite knowing that Sam was awake and would have been perfectly willing to do whatever Gabriel asked, Sam was busy. Sam was in pain. Gabriel wasn't going to pull him away from work that was far more important than events that had already happened, events that couldn't be stopped. Sure, such events had left Gabriel a mess, but the events themselves were over and done with.
No need to focus on the past when there were bigger things to worry about.
So Gabriel had gone to his brother whenever these particularly brutal dreams forced him into a state of near-madness. Castiel was careful, attentive, affectionate without scaring him. When Gabriel went looking for him, barely able to stand upright, Cas usually found him first. Sometimes Gabriel suspected his brother had been assisting Sam with research but had a quick instinct for Gabriel's distress.
The whole thing was disgusting, pointless. He never should have been reduced to such a state of desperation. But Cas knew he felt that way and responded accordingly, as if he'd been handling this kind of thing for years.
Gabriel didn't feel deprived when he couldn't ask Sam for help. It was only when he woke and knew that, should he choose, he could have sought out Sam, that he regretted having to make the right decision and leave him alone.
But there came one night when Gabriel no longer cared about making the right decision.
The dream took place in his cell. He experienced the usual panic of returning to the world he thought he had left behind. He tried to run away, just as he always did. He attempted to scream against the sweaty hand pressed to his mouth as the demon prince forced their bodies together, the cement floor grinding into the back of Gabriel's skull as he fought to keep his eyes shut, afraid to watch what was happening.
There was nothing strange about this dream. It was the familiar narrative, the same memory.
Yet something changed as Asmodeus lay on top of him. The weight, the smell, the shape of his hands -
It wasn't Asmodeus.
In the dream, Gabriel opened his eyes.
The gaze that met his was so familiar and yet so livid with madness that the dream froze in place, and Gabriel woke with that image blotted against the darkness.
He couldn't breathe properly, but somehow he managed to make it across the room, where he crashed into the door. When he succeeded in pulling it open, he forgot which way he was supposed to go and for a moment couldn't remember where he was, who he was even looking for, whether he would be penalized for leaving his room.
Gabriel got halfway down the hall before tripping, giving a strangled cry of terror, and pressing his palms to the wall - why, he could not be sure; perhaps he was looking for something to hold onto.
He couldn't see. He tried to draw breath and no breath would come. He made choked whimpers, incapable of screaming for help - just as in the nightmare.
It was the gentleness that pulled him out of it. The tentative warmth of someone's hand over his own, still tight against the wall.
Gabriel looked up. His throat ached and his body was soaked in sweat.
Sam lifted Gabriel's hand and held it, eyes bright with concern in his pale, exhausted face.
Gabriel coughed against the violent stinging in his throat. His breaths came quick and hoarse.
"Can you stand up?" Sam asked, still gripping his hand.
Gabriel shook his head.
Sam looked worried. "What's going on, Gabriel?"
It took several seconds for Gabriel to even remember how to speak, and when he could finally talk, his voice had the same sound that crushed bugs would have made if they could offer last words. "Not - not okay."
Sam studied him, alert for signs that this had been anything other than a bad dream or hallucination.
Gabriel almost wished it was. He didn't want Sam to feel he'd stopped working for no reason.
But Sam didn't appear irritated at all. "Let's go back to your room, okay? Actually - " He peered more closely at Gabriel's face. "Gabriel, you're soaking wet. What do you think about rinsing off before we go, huh?" He paused. "Unless you can't."
Gabriel knew what he was talking about. There were nights he refused to take his clothes off, even if no one was looking.
"It's not that," Gabriel croaked. "It's - " His hand tightened around Sam's.
Understanding colored Sam's face. "I get it. Now's not a good time to be alone." His other hand came up to brush against Gabriel's shoulder. "It's okay. That's okay. Come with me."
Gabriel let Sam help him to his feet before collapsing a second time. Sam half-dragged him back down the other half of the hallway.
When Gabriel was situated on the bed, Sam sat down beside him, leaving enough distance that Gabriel wouldn't feel threatened.
There were a few moments of silence. Sam was waiting for Gabriel to speak. But Gabriel's lips were clenched and in his head there was no language, only static.
Sam spoke softly. "Something's really wrong, isn't it? Tell me. You know I can help, Gabriel. Please."
Gabriel shuddered. "I'm sorry. I am. I go to Cas. If I go at all. Sometimes I - I try but I need - " Gabriel shivered harder. "He helps me but - but not tonight." His throat tightened. "I don't want him. He was in the dream."
Sam frowned. "You've been going to Cas?"
"I just - sometimes I can't do it." Gabriel's breathing grew tight and shallow. "I can't."
"You can't what? It's been a month since you got here - is this just not letting up? At all?"
"I'm sorry, Sam." He lowered his head to his knees and clutched them to his chest, fearing Sam's sudden irritation.
"No - no Gabriel, I'm not upset! I'm not!"
With some reluctance, Gabriel lifted his head. He could feel sweat pouring down his face again. God, he must look disgusting. Maybe not even that much different from when he first arrived.
"Everything's fine, Gabe," Sam assured him. "I just wanted to know why you didn't come to me before now. That's all. I promise. I'm not angry." He gave a small smile. "Hey, listen, it was about time for a break. I wasn't getting anywhere. You did me a favor."
Gabriel relaxed a little. He disentangled his arms and legs so that he was sitting more comfortably. Although his heart was still pounding, he thought he could try to put himself at ease if Sam was telling the truth.
"Did you - " Sam hesitated. Then: "You said you had a dream about Cas?"
Or not.
"Do you want to tell me what happened?" Sam pressed. "Do you usually tell Cas about your nightmares?"
Gabriel tried to hold the image of the dream at bay. "I don't normally tell him anything. Everything's the same ninety percent of the time." He sighed. "What're you gonna do, you know? Just gotta … gotta let it run its course."
"Okay," Sam agreed, "So it's like when you have a fever. And there's nothing to be done unless it spikes and things get dangerous."
"Something like that." Gabriel shifted so that he was leaning against the pillow. "I go to Cas because it's not like he needs to sleep. And he knows what he's talking about." Gabriel rolled his eyes. "For the most part, anyway. With him I have to speak Castiel-ese unless I'm up for explaining a pun before it's even over." A pause, and then: "He does a good job. He's seen his fair share of crap."
"Yeah, he has."
"But - " Despite the sweat, he suddenly felt cold. "Maybe that's what happens if you spend too much time with someone. At least when you're like this. It was only a matter of time before my sick mind turned on me and used what good memories were there to make everything even uglier."
"I think I get it," Sam replied. "Lucifer pulled that all the time."
"And it's not like I didn't see more than enough of that when Asmodeus still had me. It's different now that - now that everything else is different." He looked Sam in the eyes. "I didn't want to see it. Not him. Not Cas. He would never - would never do - I mean - " He swallowed against a surge of nausea. "I know. I know that. But - god, Sam, it's all so gross! All of it. And right now Cas seems gross too. And I needed - I needed - "
"It's okay." But then Sam hesitated. "Gabriel, hey - don't let this get out of hand. Do whatever you have to do to keep yourself from getting lost in whatever it was you just saw." He was thinking, Gabriel knew, of other nights when Gabriel had refused to utter a word or been so sick he nearly passed out.
"I won't," Gabriel replied, but not with the firmness he had intended. Then he gave a frustrated sigh. "Ah, damn it, Sam; I know you need to sleep. You need it more than me. So I hope you know how much I appreciate you humoring me here."
"I can't sleep either," Sam told him with a sad smile.
"Doesn't mean you don't need it. But I won't push. I don't want to accidentally convince you to leave."
"You couldn't."
Gabriel grimaced. "On a scale of Jack to Asmodeus, how pissed are you gonna be if I say I'm sorry again?"
"Can we settle for a halfway point at Dean?"
Maybe Sam thought that Gabriel wouldn't notice the flicker of sadness at Dean's name. "Sam …"
Sam waved a hand. "It's fine; I didn't come to talk about me. At least … I didn't come to talk about that." He straightened his posture. "Anyway, we'll get him back. We will. We always figure something out."
"If you can save the world," Gabriel said softly, "You can save your brother."
Sam closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them again. "I know."
"And when I'm better - " Gabriel started, but Sam interrupted. "I know we roped you in before but this is different. I didn't realize how much rest you were going to need. Don't," he added as Gabriel opened his mouth to apologize. "We're fine on our own. If we get desperate enough, we'll ask for help."
Gabriel's instinct was to protest, to insist that the moment he felt more like himself he would jump in and fight back against his egomaniacal brother.
At the same time, he knew that Sam wouldn't reject Gabriel's offer unless he genuinely wanted to. This was about Dean, after all. If Sam needed Gabriel as part of the anti-Michael task force, he'd be demanding it.
"Hey." Sam's voice broke into his thoughts. "What do you think about trying to go back to sleep? I know you don't like to, but it wouldn't hurt to break the habit."
Gabriel squirmed. "Look, Sam. I want my grace back as much as anyone. More than all y'all put together. And it's not like I haven't drained it even more just by trying to fall asleep, all right? So thanks, but I'll pass."
Sam bit his lip. "Okay. I know nothing I say will change your mind."
"That's right. It won't."
In the silence that followed, Gabriel felt something like guilt.
"Look," he said in a gentler voice, "I know you're trying, Sam. When the world gained a good hunter, the populace lost a good psychiatrist. But you don't have to wring yourself out for me, not when you've got all this other crap going on. It's not like you need any more angel-induced BS in your life. There's the occasional - the occasional - this," he said lamely, gesturing to his sweat-soaked body, "But for the most part all I really need is for you to ride it out with me. Keep me company. Otherwise, yeah, I'm gonna get stuck in a graceless brain with nothing to pull me out of it. The whole thing is embarrassing, but, hey, I've been in more awkward situations." Gabriel hesitated. "All right, that's not true. This is a new low. But still. What can you do?"
Sam frowned. "I'm not pushing myself that hard. I wouldn't push harder than I could go."
"You're a terrible liar."
"I'm not lying!"
"All right, fine; then you're just really good at lying to yourself. Anyway, I won't lecture you any more. I'm happy you don't mind. Really. I know I … I would have no patience for myself."
"That's because Asmodeus taught you that you were worthless." Sam's voice was quiet, careful.
"Maybe." Gabriel was growing tired again - a feeling he hated, still hadn't quite gotten used to, found totally degrading - but rest was out of the question. "What about you? How're you doing, kiddo?"
Sam looked away. "I'm not really interested in talking about me."
"Hmm. I guess I'm not in much of a position to counsel."
They sat in silence for a few moments, and that was all it took.
Asmodeus whispered to him. Gabriel could feel his hands on either shoulder. Could smell his breath.
And Castiel. Castiel forced him to remain still, ran his fingers over the twine in Gabriel's lips, held him down until he couldn't breathe.
Blue eyes flaming with hunger. A smile stretched too wide across usually gentle features.
"Hey, Gabriel - hey, buddy - come on, easy. Easy. It's okay."
Gabriel had collapsed into Sam's side, shaking uncontrollably, his vision walled off by that hideous grinning face. He heard himself whimpering. He was weak, unable to sit up on his own.
"It's okay," Sam said again, wrapping an arm around him.
Gabriel thought he might be sick. There was no breath entering his lungs, no way for him to talk.
"Hey hey hey!" Sam moved him so that he could examine Gabriel's face. "Gabriel, everything's okay. I promise. Just calm down."
Gabriel tried to say that he couldn't, but words wouldn't come.
He retched.
"Gabriel, breathe, man! I know you can do this! You've done it before! Come back to me!" Sam shook his shoulder.
Gabriel heaved a second time, heard Sam say "God damn it," and knew nothing more until he found himself kneeling in front of the toilet with Sam holding him in a sitting position.
"Gabriel, please. Please don't let yourself get so lost like this. Focus on me."
Sam was angry with him.
Gabriel shook his head, trying to get Sam to understand that he was sorry, that he didn't want to get hurt. Not now. Not again.
Especially since throwing up had been extremely problematic when Asmodeus was around. He'd had to really learn to fight it once his mouth was sewn shut. Getting sick meant getting beaten, or choked, or -
Gently, so as not to make the nausea worse, Sam wrapped his arms around Gabriel's waist. "What's going on in your head, man? Why won't you talk to me?"
It was funny that, despite everything else being so slow-going, Gabriel no longer flinched when Sam touched him. Even when Sam didn't ask before reaching out. Which didn't happen often, but sometimes - like now - had to be done.
Sam seemed to have a sense of what Gabriel was feeling. "Gabe, I'm not mad, all right? Scared. Not mad."
Gabriel breathed a little more easily, letting Sam keep him in place, still feeling nauseated and yet terrified of what might happen if he gave in to it.
"It's okay," Sam said. "It's okay. I'm right here. You can get sick if you need to. It's just me."
Even if Sam hadn't spoken, Gabriel doubted he'd have been capable of holding it in for much longer. He spent several agonizing, humiliating minutes heaving everything he'd managed to eat that day into the toilet. He hadn't had much, of course - but enough. Despite Sam's words of reassurance, despite his strong but gentle grasp, Gabriel's instincts told him to brace for the worst. Especially given that it had been so hard for him to stay balanced, and now there was a mess to clean up.
"It's all right, Gabriel," Sam soothed. "It's all right."
The more he said it, the further Gabriel relaxed in his grip. Maybe it was the sound of Sam's voice against those ringing in his head.
Asmodeus. Castiel.
"Good?" Sam asked when Gabriel had gone a full minute without gagging.
Gabriel only fell back against him in response, wishing neither of them had to move. What little energy he'd had was now gone. He didn't even have the strength to keep shivering.
"Come on," Sam murmured, shifting so that he could stand up and bring Gabriel with him. "Just hold onto me."
As he had done earlier, Sam supported Gabriel until they were back in the bedroom.
As much as Gabriel didn't want to, he lay down, because after vomiting he couldn't even sit upright.
There was a knock at the door. Then a familiar voice: "Sam? Gabriel? What's going on?"
Gabriel shot up.
Castiel stood at the door, peering in with confusion and worry in his face.
"I got it," Sam said hastily, and hurried over to Castiel, whose expression turned to one of surprise. Sam drew him out into the hallway and Gabriel heard them talking in low voices, but blocked out what they were saying. Seeing Castiel's face had -
"Gabriel. Hey. Gabe. He's gone."
The voice came as though from a great distance, but it was there. Gabriel blinked, vision clearing.
"Thanks," he whispered.
Sam must have noticed the guilt in Gabriel's eyes, because he said, "Cas is fine. He's around if you want him; otherwise, he can stay away. He understands."
"It's not him. Not really."
"He gets that, Gabe. It's all good."
Gabriel was tempted to sit back against the pillows, but instead he sat up to look at the clock. 4:49.
Well, if he wasn't going to go to sleep - and he wasn't - he would start the day three hours early. Read, maybe. Find something to get him at least a little ways away from his own brain.
"I'm all right, Sam," he said. "Go to sleep." He was lying, of course. He still felt afraid. Sick. Scared to be by himself. But he was well enough to survive without someone else in the room.
"It's too late to go to sleep," Sam replied. "Actually, I was thinking maybe we could go into the kitchen and, I don't know, have tea, maybe." He gave a small smile. "I'd offer you something stronger, but … probably not the best way to put yourself back together."
"You're no fun." Gabriel pushed himself up off the bed, but struggled to stand upright, still exhausted both from his nightmare and the sickness it had engendered. "All right, if you really wanna go, I'll come with you. You better not be making this up just because you feel sorry for me."
Sam took Gabriel by the shoulders in order to keep him steady. "I'm not."
Gabriel hesitated. "Is he out there? Castiel?"
"No. I told him to wait in his room. He's fine, Gabe. Really."
Gabriel had a sense that that wasn't true; after all, Castiel had always been more sensitive to rejection than the rest of the family. Gabriel knew he must have hurt his brother's feelings. But was there anything to be done just then?
One problem at a time.
"You're too nice for your own good," said Gabriel as they made their way toward the door, Gabriel doing everything he could to support himself but letting Sam guide him. "It's gonna get you killed one of these days."
"We'll see. I'm not as nice as I used to be." There was no regret in his voice, only observation.
"Don't sell yourself short," Gabriel told him. "You're a good kid."
The images from Gabriel's dream were dying down now. Maybe the movement - this time leading to something good - helped to clear his head.
He tried not to think about Castiel. Tried not to think of the guilt that trod just behind the terror.
He was sick of the nightmares. But at least no one was here to make them worse, to perpetuate them, to leave no boundary between dreams and consciousness. For now, he could appreciate that much.
For now, he would take what help he could get.