Warnings for rape/ non-con in later chapter. Angry, power hungry, dark!Sam. Homophobic language.

"Hey." said a voice, something kind of distant yet familiar. there was a rapping sound, a thunking of something against the walls of Sam's head. His brain pulsed two heavy, painful beats in response to the intrusion.

Sam rolled over, away from the noise. In his space, taking his time, rude. He blinked up at the TV he had left on and processed the images of a blender, slicing up ice and frozen blueberries with ease. t could all be Sam's if he called, but only for a limited time.

There was a knock on the door, again. Sam unhappily remembered that was what had woken him.

"Hey, Sam." Gabriel's voice. It was gentle and invasive, getting under his skin like a cancer.

And the first image in his mind was Gabriel's head thrown back, his face squeezed tight like it hurt and it felt so good and the way his sex smelled in the tiny car. Fucking shit to Hell.

"Sam? Sam, you need to get up. You left your phone at the bar, you weren't answering."

"Ok. Ok, one minute." Sam hoarsely called through the wall All that whiskey had rubbed his throat raw. Whiskey and fighting and fucking, the Winchester way.

"Hey, can I come in?"

"Uh..."

"Just for a minute, people can hear me yelling through your door."

"Um."

"One minute?" Gabriel pleaded again.

"Yeah, yeah, ok." Sam got up and that was when all the rocks in his head came crashing forward to the front of his brain, making him see white spots for a moment. A hangover. Perfect.

Still clutching his forehead, he opened the door to let Gabriel in and the manager passed him, closing the door behind himself. Sam dropped back down on the bed, closing his eyes against the cruel light screaming through the bottoms of the window curtains.

Gabriel handed him a bottle of water which Sam promptly held against his throbbing forehead.

"So..." Gabriel started, grabbing the desk chair from the corner of the room and dragging it so he was sitting across from Sam.

Sam took a deep breath. He didn't want to talk about it, or maybe he did. He wanted to pretend it never happened, or maybe he wanted to do it again. It was... it was Gabriel. Gabriel. How the fuck was Sam even supposed to know what he wanted when Gabriel was the way he was? Bossy, pushy, heartless. All the things that had made Sam suffer and still, Sam wanted to be next to him, make him feel things and do things.

"So, they're releasing the body today." Gabriel said, "We need to decide what we're going to do with it... John didn't leave a plan of action and Dean... well, I don't think Dean knows what he wants. John was raised catholic. He has that tattoo on his arm and all, fans might wonder... if we didn't give him a catholic funeral. But then comes the question of where we should bury him."

"Why... why are you asking me these things?" Sam asked, his voice breaking. He had forgotten, for a moment. It was a little, tiny moment where he wasn't cold and numb. A little moment where he was allowed be worried about a drunken half of a hand-job. A moment where it was like that even fucking mattered.

"Because, Sam." Gabriel said, "Dean is having a hard time with it and that's why you came out here, right? To help settle things?"

"Maybe. Yeah." Sam rumpled his hair, leaned forward and focused on what Gabriel was saying. He could do this, he was an adult, he just always seemed to forget when Gabriel was around. "Um, so go back to the funeral thing. Dean and I weren't raised like that, I don't know anything about it."

"Ok, well," Gabriel took a deep breath, "It's pretty basic. There's a wake that we might want to open to his fans. No media or anything, but something where people could gather and remember him. I got a call from a few of his colleagues who want to send things. Gordon Walker wants to send something. So does Steve Wandell. Then there would be a mass which we wouldn't have to leave open to the public. Then the burial."

Gabriel gave a shrug and leaned back, pinching his nose.

"It would be expected. I'll give you time to think about it, but we're meeting the mortician in a bit. We could bury him here, or send him someplace. He's from Kansas, that'd be appropriate."

Sam buried his head in his hands, wishing he wasn't hungover for this.

John being buried, it seemed almost sacrilegious. Sam had only known the man on the road and in the wind, it seemed wrong to think of burying him in some cemetery of some city he just meant to pass through.

"Sam?" Gabriel asked. When Sam looked up, he saw that Gabriel's eyes were small and watery and pink around the ridges. The sacks beneath the eyelids were like purple-red gouges in his face, dark and unnatural because Gabriel had been a lot of things but tired had never been one of them.

"Sam?" Gabriel asked again because Sam had forgotten to answer, "You don't have to do this if you're-"

"No, I need to do this. I want to. I just I wish... that things were different." Sam opened the bottle of water Gabriel had given him. Of course Gabriel would know exactly what to bring a hungover Winchester, he'd had twenty odd years of practice at it. "I need to do this." Sam repeated. "I'll go meet with the mortician, wake Dean up. We need to do this, he's our family. It shouldn't be left up to anyone but family."

Gabriel pulled his lips into a thin line, but didn't say anything further. Sam hated him for it.


There was a bruise.

Purple and mottled and roughly the size of Sam's middle, ring and pinkie fingers. Dean didn't say anything about it. Sam was starting to think that maybe last night hadn't happened, with the way that Gabriel was acting the same, didn't look at Sam like he did the night before, didn't use the same voice as he did when Sam's hand was on him.

That voice that was almost like they were lovers.

But Dean wore the proof on his cheek, even if he refused to acknowledge it. It was just another of Sam's tantrums and everyone was deciding to refuse to give it any attention. Sam waited in the passenger's side of the Impala while Dean and Castiel said goodbye in front of the hotel, their postures guarded, aware that everyone could see them.

They were disagreeing. Castiel kept looking over at the Impala to where Sam sat, but Dean was acting like his head could only turn in the opposite direction. Castiel hadn't had the sort of practice Dean and Gabriel had.

They were silent as they drove to the funeral home where John's body had been transported. Sam had a hangover, Dean had a bruise and none of it seemed to matter because John was cold and dead somewhere. It wasn't an abstract idea anymore, it was the truth. Sam was going to see his father for the last time and it was going to be a still, lifeless body.

"What happened?" Sam finally asked. Dean glanced over at him. "With Dad? Like, what was he like before the show... and stuff. Did he... did he say anything?"

Dean rubbed his nose, turning his eyes back to the road and squeezing the steering wheel.

"No. Not that I actually know of. He was a few doors down from my room, Gabriel was between us. And, we were supposed to hit the road, you know? And Dad wasn't answering his phone. Wouldn't wake up, we figured, but you know how he is after a show. Or how he...was..." Dean rubbed his nose again, roughly, like that would make it impossible to cry. "So after a couple of hours, Gabriel got worried and started bugging hotel management to let him in the room. They wouldn't, see, cause there was still like eight hours till check out and all this privacy crap.

"He ended up giving some poor maid three hundred dollars and then they found him. I was still in my room, I didn't know how worried everyone else was, they must have been trying to play it cool, figured he drank too much and didn't want to bother us—me.

"Then Gabriel came and got me a little while before the ambulance showed and he told me. The fucked up thing, Sam? I wasn't surprised. I mean, I was devastated. He's our Dad. We ain't got much family anymore. But... I wasn't surprised."

"What do they think happened?"

"You know Dad. It's pretty obvious."

"So... Mom died of an overdose and Dad died of alcohol poisoning." Sam said hollowly, Dean made a snort sound that could have been a laugh if it was actually funny. "And us? We'll probably be the death of each other."

Dean laughed at that, a real laugh, but it was short and quickly covered up once they remembered what they were doing and where they were going. Once they remembered that their father, cold and alone someplace, surrounded by strangers. Kinda like he had been in life, but quieter now, and more permanent.

"Glad you're here, Sammy." Dean said finally. "Don't know that I could do this alone."

"Sure you could. You've got Cas and Gabriel. I'm not much good to this family. You could've done this alone."

"Probably. But I didn't want to." Dean said, letting his focus turn back to the road. "I'm glad you came back."


The morgue wasn't much different from the hotel, actually.

It was the same, stifling silence in the hallways, the same tacky stucco wallpaper and the plush carpets that swallowed the sounds of their footsteps. The difference was, there weren't any neighbors that would wake in this place, this weird purgatory of grief driven politeness and respectful silence.

They saw the body first; and it was just as Sam had expected and yet noting like he had imagined. John looked younger, somehow, than Sam remembered. Fewer parenthesis lines framing his mouth, but more silver flecked in his hair and beard. He looked just like his father, but paler and more final.

He didn't smell the same, not like whiskey and cigars and leather. He smelled like formaldehyde and lemon freshener.

Dean had a harder time with it, glancing down at John quickly then anywhere else, but Sam couldn't tear his eyes away. With Dean, the shoe would drop later. It'd come up again, in a month, in a year, in a bout of unjustified anger or inappropriate alcoholism. Dean was so Hell bent on being their father, he'd carry that moment with him for the rest of his life.

But Sam?

Sam wondered what kind of man he was. He looked at his father, the pariah and the messiah in a single, fleeting human body and felt... hollow. A penny of loss down a well of numbness. He wasn't angry anymore, how could he be? He'd spent his whole life hating his father for loving the stage and the song more than his flesh and blood. He spent the past ten years imagining meeting John again, finally popping the huge ugly infection of hate that had been festering for ten years, just under the surface of his skin.

But his father seemed so small, now. So insignificant.

And Sam didn't feel any of it at all.


"So," the mortician said, his voice a professionally practiced low tone. Clear and concise but still so, very sorry for their loss. "I have been told by the will executor that you wanted the body to be transported and buried in Lawrence, Kansas. He's already given the approval and-"

"Wait, there was a will?" Sam interrupted.

"Yes." the mortician said, sifting through the stack of papers on his desk. "It was written about six years ago, the executor of the will was a 'Mister Gabriel Novak.'"

Sam's spine went rigid at the mention of Gabriel's name, at this time above all the others, but Dean sighed and glanced at him out of the corner of his eye.

"All right, and he made the arrangements already?" Sam continued.

"He waived his right to make the judgement on John's behalf. It's up to you boys how you'll want to remember him. Now, perhaps the cemetery where a loved one is already buried would be a place to start."

"Mom wasn't buried, she was cremated." Dean said, half to Sam and half to the intruder on the uncomfortable heavy moment. "I don't know where his mom was buried."

"If John was baptized, you'll have those records. That would be an appropriate place to lay him to rest."

And there is was again, that distinct feeling of discomfort. 'Laying' his father to 'rest.' It was the most surreal part of the whole experience. Sam didn't know what to feel about the idea of leaving his father in the ground somewhere.

Even when Sam went Stanford, he'd felt his father and his brother around him, in the air and on the road, like a dream or a cloud that could never be pinned down or stuck. He could run from it, from them, and everything they stood for, but he could never leave them.

But the idea of leaving John behind-

"Ok." Dean said suddenly, his voice thick and gross. Like mucus and misery inside his mouth. "Yeah that sounds... appropriate, or whatever you said. I want to do that."

The mortician glanced at Sam, who gave a nod of consent.

"Well, in that case, we can talk about how you'll want to move the body. And when you'll be making those arrangements. Have you thought about what kind of coffin you'd be interested in?"

A pamphlet appeared out of nowhere, and Dean looked like he was going to be sick, so Sam took over, nodding along as he was told about all the kinds of boxes they could pack their father away in.

Sam nodded along, picked a maple wood one that seemed simple and sturdy, like John would have liked. It kind of looked like a bar top. Sam didn't know if that thought was poignant or in terrible taste. It was funny how the two bled together in the worst time.

"So, do you have any more questions?" he asked, closing his catalog with purpose. Sam shook his head, eager to be somewhere else, wishing he had somewhere else to be besides with Dean and this grief and accusation that couldn't be ignored between them.

"How'd he go?" Dean asked suddenly.

"How did your father pass?" the mortician asked. "Oh, well, he suffered a series of strokes. It looks like he had several smaller strokes before the larger, fatal, one..." He crinkled his brow at Sam and Dean's blankly stunned faces and continued, "The hospital released a report... He probably had a very bad headache, laid down to sleep it off and... and went peacefully."

Sam had to choke down his inappropriate snort. John Winchester going peacefully. There was a joke in there, somewhere. A big, cosmic joke.

"There was nothing anyone could have done..." he continued, his voice trailing off as he looked between the brothers.

Dean looked over at Sam, out of the corner of his eye. Sam didn't want Dean to see him thinking it was funny. Dean was the one who seemed to have the appropriate reactions to this thing, even if they were delayed.

"That's good." Dean said softly. The mortician raised his eyes, "Better than the alternative."

For some reason, Sam didn't think that John would agree. But Dean was the better son, the better person, the better adjusted.

So Sam nodded again.


They got back to the hotel and Dean went to his room with Cas. He looked so tired, and so pitiful with the weight of his father's death and the mark of his brother's fist on his face. Sam didn't object, even though that meant that he was on his own.

Dean was tired, emotionally drained and withdrawn. Sam didn't want to sit still, he didn't certainly didn't want to go to bed, didn't think he could close his eyes if he thought of his father doing the same and never waking up. A boring, human, old man's death. It didn't seem fitting, but Sam didn't have any idea what was appropriate, but he was sure that it wasn't him.

He lated an hour of hotel TV before he called a cab.

He was in that bar, from the night before, within thirty minutes.


"Gabriel." Sam slurred into his cell phone. On the other line, Gabriel gave a long, tired sigh. "Gabriel, I'm at... I'm at that bar. The one you sent Dean to- And some bitch won't give me my car keys. Fuckin- come and pick me up. She won't let me go by myself... bitch."

"Is it that one on the District?" Gabriel asked. His voice was deeper, like he had been sleeping. Sam was silent as he looked around the bar. for some clue. Gabriel sighed again. "Never mind. I'll figure it out. Try to not be an asshole while you wait for me, would you?"

"Fuck you, man."

"Yes, yes." Gabriel muttered. "Keep your panties on. I'm coming."

"You're wearing...panties."

"Yes, exactly." Gabriel said distractedly.


Gabriel's hair was creased in odd angles when he walked into the bar. Besides that, he looked the same as he did when he bid Sam and Dean goodnight at the hotel. He looked the same as he did when Sam was a teenager, waiting for Gabriel to pick his Dad up when John was too drunk to do much of anything but stare. Sam hated Gabriel so much right now.

Gabriel, with his stupid hair. Gabriel the stupid executor to his father's will when he had two perfectly able adult sons and one of which was even a lawyer. He still gave that to Gabriel. Fucking Gabriel got everything, and Sam and Dean were left with the leftover scraps of a life that Gabriel permitted them. Maybe Sam would feel his father's loss if he'd felt like he'd had his father in life.

Sam hadn't started out his drinking with the intention of getting furious at Gabriel. It just sort of happened, the longer he drank, the more alone he felt. The more alone he felt the more he realized how little he was feeling of his father's death. John was gone and Sam felt hollow. It was infuriating.

Gabriel didn't exactly look thrilled with Sam at the moment either.

Gabriel and the bouncer walked up to Sam, the big muscled bald bouncer guy looked unsure. "You know, normally we'd put 'em in a cab and send 'em on their way but... we wasn't sure. Considerin'."

"Yes. Thanks for holding on to him."

"Yeah, thanks for keeping me here while I waited for my handler." Sam sneered. Gabriel barely spared Sam a glance. "He always shows up. Hasn't got nothing better to do. The fucking dick."

The bouncer glanced down at Gabriel again and kept talking like Sam wasn't there.

"You gonna be alright?" He asked him.

"Yes, we'll be fine." Gabriel sighed. "Stand up, Sam. I'm not carrying you."

"Suddenly so shy about getting your hands on me?" Sam purred. Gabriel made his skin itch. Always had since Sam was a kid. Sam couldn't sit still when Gabriel was near, he wanted to rip his own skin off just to do something.

Sam tried to stand, but his leg must have fallen asleep, or maybe his bad knee gave out because he pitched forward. He was caught by the bouncer and Gabriel; the bouncer around his arm and shoulder, Gabriel's hands lower on his chest.

Maybe his arm fell asleep too, because he couldn't feel the rough impersonal hands of the bouncer, just Gabriel's small, pinpricks of heat over his pectorals.

"'m fine. 'm fine. Lemme go. Stop coppin' a feel, Gabriel."

Between the three of them, they got Sam's feet to work well enough to get to Gabriel's station wagon. The bouncer helped to fold him in while Gabriel settled into the driver's seat, smacking Sam's hand away as he went for the radio.

Sam tried not to pout, but the exhausted huff Gabriel let out told him he wasn't doing the best job. Gabriel. Fuck Gabriel. Sam wanted to hit him, he wanted to choke him. Gabriel was a piece of shit, spent his whole life taking energy and power from John, taking Sam's family away from him. How dare Gabriel be exhausted by him. But Sam knew how to get even now, knew how to make Gabriel go helpless and undignified as Sam had been his whole life under Gabriel's thumb.

Now that Sam had felt Gabriel in his hand, his thigh, his cock. Now that Sam knew the smell of him, it was easier. Sam reached over and rubbed his hand roughly into Gabriel's crotch.

"Jesus, fuck." Gabriel yelled, throwing Sam's hand off of him and glaring while alternately watching the road as he drove. "The fuck are you doing you drunken gorilla?"

"Take me to your room and let me fuck you." Sam murmured. He reached over again and cupped Gabriel through his jeans. "Let me make you my bitch."

Gabriel pushed Sam's hand away and gave Sam a big shove for good measure. Sam shoved him back, and the car swerved.

"Are you fucking psychotic?" Gabriel shrieked, righting the car again, shaking now.

"If I am, it's because you made me this way."

"Jesus... Sleep it the fuck off, Sam. Just, shut up."

"What did you think would happen? When you took my Dad away from us? Show after show? City after fucking city all those years in a tour bus. What did you think would happen?"

"Oh, so this is my fault? Me? Personally?"

"Like you tried so hard to do the right thing." Sam grumbled, "Like you were trying to help Dad get sober. Trying to get me and Dean into schools, help us be normal. You didn't give a single fuck and what did you think would happen?"

"Shut up about things you don't know about, Sam." Gabriel said. He had that annoying adult tone that Sam was to slap out of him. "You have no idea."

"It's my life, Gabriel. You took my life from me and now I'm... now I'm like this and it's just what you get."

"Dean's fine." Gabriel said and it took Sam a minute to figure it out. Alcohol was making him fuzzy around the edges, making time go too fast. That and the smoke from the angry fire in his belly, where he kept all the injustice in his life, were kind of hard to see though. "Your brother was the same as you. He's fine."

"What are you saying?" Sam asked. Gabriel ignored him, like when Sam was a kid and adults wouldn't listen. Damn it, that was the last fucking feeling Sam wanted to remember in his life and ten minutes in a car with Gabriel and suddenly Sam was eleven and couldn't escape it. Sam raised his voice, "What are you saying?!"

"I'm saying sometimes people are born fucked to Hell. Sometimes people are just freaks. Dean can trust people. Dean can fall in love. Dean can hold his goddamn liquor and not hit the people driving his ass home when he's tipsy. You can blame me 'cause there is something in you that is mad all the time. But I say you're just an angry, asshole, victim claiming loser. 's always someone else, isn't it, Sammy?"

"Don't call me that."

"Fine." Gabriel said, and they drove in silence, "Fine."


They got to the hotel and Gabriel left Sam to head toward the elevators, his room was only on the second floor but Sam wasn't ready to sleep yet and it was probably Gabriel's fault.

"You're just going to leave me to wander around until I wind up at my room?" Sam asked. Gabriel's shoulders dropped.

"You'll be fine." Gabriel exhaled but he didn't sound so sure.

"'m drunk." Sam mumbled, "'m drunk and I need some help. So, help me."

"You're in a mood and you just want to be nasty to someone. You've got you head in your own ass and you want to tell me about the scenery. I'm tired. I do, actually, have things to do besides what you believe."

"Yeah. Your job. I forgot it was your favorite excuse. Your job. My fuckin' life. Dick. I'll find my own way to my room. Maybe."

"Can't just ask, can you?" Gabriel muttered, heading toward the elevators. "Always so demanding."

"Don't talk like that." Sam snapped. "Don't talk about how I always was."

"How about we just don't talk?"

And for some reason, that made Sam even madder. For twenty seven years, that hatred had been building in his gut, churning inside him with no hopes of getting out. He'd been ignored. He'd been resented. He'd been shuffled around from place to place like a piece of luggage, not a fucking human being and Sam finally, finally had a chance to vent that hot air that had consumed him for so long. He didn't want to stop talking. He'd spent most of his life not talking.

The elevator announced their arrival and Sam followed Gabriel to the same cold room he always seemed to be trying to escape. Somehow it felt too small and yet as lonely and unending as the arctic when he was in there alone.

He wasn't done talking. Sam grabbed Gabriel's arm, a little surprised at how well he could do it, and dragged him into the room.

"Let go, you yeti." Gabriel barked, using his nails to cut into Sam's hand. "Off. Off. Bad moose."

"'m bigger than you Gabriel." Sam said. He didn't let go. He squeezed until Gabriel winced, but it wasn't real because Sam had never seen Gabriel make that face before. Gabriel's whole arm had never fit in Sam's hand before. "You always used to ignore me, but I'm bigger now. Isn't that weird?"

"No. It's genetics, dumb ass. Let go."

"NO!" Sam said loudly. Maybe he yelled, because Gabriel looked nervously at the thin hotel walls. Like Sam's anger was something that needed to be kept decent. Sam shook Gabriel, dug his hand in hard enough that he could almost feel the fingers on the other side. Gabriel tried to jerk his arm back at that.

"Knock it off, Sam." Gabriel whispered threateningly. "Your temper was annoying as a child. Now it's..."

Gabriel's face played off the shadows in the room, they caught on the big, ugly pores of his skin and made weird dents along his weak chin. Gabriel looked too small and vulnerable it made Sam want to hurl. Sam was the little one, the one always over looked. This was like a lie. He hated every little line in Gabriel's skin and the way he could feel little, weak pulses under his hand, where he was holding Gabriel hard enough to feel his blood beating beneath his skin.

Sam had spent his whole childhood with Gabriel looming over him and now he was so small and his skin was so tissue thin. It made it seem like it was all in Sam's head.

But it wasn't. Gabriel had ruined his fucking life.

"'m I scaring you?" Sam asked Gabriel, and his voice sounded so low and dangerous to his own ears the he shivered.

Gabriel didn't say anything, but his eyes did flick to the door, like he wanted to be anywhere else.

And that had always been the problem, hadn't it? Whenever Sam had a question, or an opinion or a feeling; John was too drunk and Gabriel was out the door, anywhere else, able to evade Sam's entire fucking childhood.

Gabriel couldn't run away now. The hot air in Sam's stomach shrilled at that knowledge. Sam dragged Gabriel the three extra feet and threw him onto the bed.

Sam hadn't thought it out. Really, didn't mean anything by it. He wanted a place where Gabriel was off his feet, unable to brush Sam off and walk away like the eighteen years of precedent before it.

But, Gabriel took stock of his prone form on the bed, with Sam menacing above him and made his own panicked conclusion, trying to roll off and away.

And Sam hadn't meant anything by it, but who the fuck was he to even think that Sam would want to do that to him? Fucking, self centered, entitled, ass-wipe Gabriel, that's who. Didn't know Sam at all, but he talked like he did.

Sam got onto the bed, grabbing Gabriel by the shoulders and forcing him back onto his back, pinning Gabriel's hips and waist with his thighs. Gabriel kicked out, his eyes wild and after a moment, Sam realized that he was saying something. Everything around Sam was numb, his ears were filled with the sort of roaring sound, like a sea shell held to his ear.

"Stop it, stop it, you can't just do this because you're mad. You're not allowed just because you're drunk. Off, off, off!"

Gabriel was reaching for the corner of the bed, trying to haul himself out from under Sam but fuck if Sam was having any of that. Gabriel's wrists were so tiny when Sam squeezed them in his fists, went so easily when Sam shoved them back onto the mattress, on either side of Gabriel's head.

"Let me go." Gabriel begged him. It was too weak of a voice, not the man that had taken Sam's shot at normal away from him. He fucking hated that voice, like nails on a chalkboard. "Please, let me go."

"No. NO! Fucking look at me. You can't... you can't ignore me anymore."

"Didn't mean to ignore you. Never meant to. I'm sorry. Let me go." Gabriel whispered.

"What did you think would happen?" Sam demanded. Gabriel still wasn't listening, he was trying to get away. "What did you think would happen when I was just a teenager and … and … there weren't any girls around, just, Dad's groupies and my stupid brother who was too cool for me and... and you."

"What do you want from me, Sam? I'm sorry that your Dad was who he was but... but..."

"But you were just doing your job." Sam sneered, "Your job was moving people around like they were puppets. Taking away all my free will. What if I had gone to a school, huh? Maybe I'd had a girlfriend or something. Not just my Dad and my brother and you. I grew up all distorted. Didn't have anything to think about... No body to think about like that besides..."

Gabriel looked up at him now, something pitying in his eyes. And Sam didn't like it, because it was a little fucking late for Gabriel to be giving a rat's ass about him now.

Sam sneered and released one of Gabriel's hands, using it to rub profanely against Gabriel's crotch. Gabriel hissed and tried to squirm away, taking his newly freed hand and scratching desperately at Sam's wrist over his most vulnerable area. But Sam was drunk, and his hands and fingers were just parts attached to him. Kind of like how the edges of his vision were blurry, so was the feeling in Sam's fingers. The only way he even knew what he was doing was by watching his hand moving in the hot 'v' between Gabriel's legs and the way Gabriel's eyes were huge and terrified.

The freed hand gave up its attempt at pulling Sam off his crotch and settled for shoving him away. Gabriel's hand fit over most of Sam's face, the sides of his fingers scratching into his mouth and Sam still didn't feel it. Sam didn't feel anything at all, and he wanted to, he needed to because Gabriel finally had to pay attention now. Eighteen years, he'd just wanted Gabriel to fucking look at him besides as a burden or a child or something to be patted on the head and ignored. It was about time Gabriel acknowledged Sam as a human but he looked weak and panicky and Sam couldn't feel any of it.

A pinkie finger slipped into the crease of his eye and Sam was snapped back to the moment. He roared and jerked his face to the side, his eye still stinging with the phantom, salt residue of Gabriel's fingertips. The taste lingered at the corners of his mouth.

"Shut up" Sam cried, "You filthy, pervert faggot asshole you ruined everything. Shut up,"

It was only Sam's voice echoing in the walls back at him. Sam hauled a hand back and hit Gabriel on the side of the face, just to remind him who was in charge here. Though Sam wasn't quite sure what to do with his power, he just knew he needed more of it.

Gabriel didn't yell out, only exhaled a long, shaky breath and squeezed his eyes shut.

"I'm sorry." Sam muttered, "I'm sorry but you weren't listening."

The side of Gabriel's face was swelling and turning pink.

"Would you listen to you?" Gabriel spat. He wasn't begging anymore. His lip curled into a familiar sneer as he looked up at Sam's form. "Does this make you feel good? Are you a big strong man now that your daddy's dead and you can fuck whoever you're bigger than?"

Sam hit Gabriel on the side of the face again and Gabriel turned as far into the pillow as he could. Sam wasn't apologizing this time.

"Fuck you for bringing up my dead father. You ass. You fucking ass. You fucking took my innocence. My childhood. My family from me and I'm here, in your lap and you're calling me a rapist. You gay piece of shit. You weren't complaining when I jerked your cock last night. You're such a filthy whore, Gabriel. You're a whore 'cause you don't stand for anything you'll just give it up for some washed out musician on tour. Don't care who you hurt 'cause you don't have any morals. Fucking slut. Willing to give it up to me in a parking garage. Can't have been easy for poor, filthy, whore Gabriel to get fucked, could it have? On the road with some two-bit country star. You made Dean a sex symbol when he was fifteen. Put him in lip gloss, I fucking remember you whoring him out."

"You're mixing your analogies, Sammy-kins. Am I a whore or a pimp?"

Sam lunged into Gabriel again, his hand landing over Gabriel's chest, as his hips crashed into Gabriel's vulnerably parted thighs. Gabriel cried out at that, pain and shock in a gush of consonants and once again, Sam felt the power of his position, his size, his control run through his body like the most delicious wine. But better, because it didn't dull him, it made him stronger and faster and smarter. Sam was good at control.

He rocked his hips again and Gabriel turned his head as far as he could into the pillow to get away.

"My whole life, you wanted them. My Dad. You know it's rape if he couldn't consent. Maybe he never sucked your cock, but you dragged him on stage. Made him preform her song, get all naked for them so you could get a check. And he was always drunk, you wouldn't even let him drive but you put him on stage. He could barely consent. What about Dean, huh? You brainwashed him, made him think he needed you and wanted you. Unbuttoned his shirt three holes. Made him pucker up his lips because you knew what people would think, what they'd want when they saw that. Sick. You're a sicko. Perverted, pedophile piece of shit.

"You ever think of that? My brother's glossy lips? He was fifteen. Is that when you thought about fucking him? Dean's so eager to please, you'd just have to remind him that you paid for dinner and he'd get on his knees if he thought he owed you. You're disgusting."

Sam rocked his hips again. Then again, faster, owning Gabriel like this. Humiliating him like he had humiliated Sam. This wasn't rape, it was fair play. Finally, Gabriel made a noise, escaping from the pillow like it was locked up. It was a whimper. Pathetic.

Sam reached between his legs, ready to grab Gabriel's manhood in his hands like a toy when he felt a shape to the flesh. Gabriel was half hard.

"Are you kidding?" Sam choked out a surprised laugh, "You're hard right now? You're getting off on this."

Sam gabbed a handful of hair and pulled so Gabriel had to pull his head out from the pillow to look up at him, eyes glazed over like he was thinking of someplace else.

And that didn't count. Gabriel needed to take the brunt of Sam's wrath 'cause he had started it in the first place. Sam stroked Gabriel through his jeans and Gabriel whimpered again, like it hurt. But Sam knew from experience that Gabriel couldn't feel things like hurt. It was another trick.

"Dean? My brother, Dean? That who you get all hot and heavy for? That's who makes you cream yourself? You're disgusting."

"No, it wasn't Dean. Never Dean. Never like that. Please, just stop talking. Do what you need to but just stop... just stop saying things like that. I'm going to be sick."

"Whatever I need to do? Oh, please, Gabriel, who are you kidding?" Sam stoked Gabriel's cock again, "You're the gay one, you think I get off on this. You're so pathetic, such a slut, so desperate for it. Don't you see that you disgust me? Perving over my brother?" Gabriel shook his head again. "Or maybe... or maybe it wasn't Dean at all. Did you ever want me, Gabriel? The baby of the family? That what gets you going?"

"Please, stop."

"That's not a no."

Sam unzipped Gabriel's pants now. It was a familiar movement, he'd done it before. Gabriel had stopped trying to push him off, just laid out on the mattress and waited for it to be over. Gave up the fight before Sam even got to drag it out into a full brawl. Gabriel's cock looked weak and ineffective, jutting out from his wrinkled jeans and zip-up hoodie. There were wet tear tracks along his face, his eyes were squeezed shut.

Sam looked away from his face because it made all the blood in his body feel the bad kind of tingly, like when a bird flew into his window or when he walked past a homeless person on the street. Or like when he thought of his father, tucked away in the dark and in a box underground, where he would only get left behind.

It was distracting him from the bigger picture.

Gabriel's cock was still as disappointingly human as it was in his car. Responsive to Sam's touch as before. The sound of flesh on flesh, that dirty rubbing noises filling the spaces between the walls.

"So, how old was I when you first wanted to corner me in your motel room and molest me? Was I still carrying around that teddy bear? Still rolling up the legs on Dean's hand-me-down jeans? Tell me, Gabriel, I want to know."

"I'm going to be sick." Gabriel begged.

"You're going to be sick? What about me? I'm the one who was the object of someone's sexual fantasy when I was eight."

"You weren't eight." Gabriel spat out and Sam actually stopped stroking for a moment. Gabriel looked mortified that it slipped and took his hands, which had been free but limp and defeated by his sides, and covered his face. He kept wanting to do that, gyp Sam out of the full effect.

"Go on." Sam whispered. Gabriel shook his head so Sam jerked his cock, his grip intentionally too harsh and tight. "Go. On."

"You were... you were seventeen." Gabriel muttered. Sam dragged his hands away from his face but Gabriel just looked up at the ceiling instead. "It wasn't... it wasn't like that. You were just... I saw you... you'd left the window open on your motel and I was looking for Dean and I passed it and... you were..." Gabriel petered off so Sam sped up his jerking, softer now, making it good, like a reward, "Touching yourself."

"And you wanted to go in there, spread my legs and fuck me until I screamed?"

"No! No." Gabriel whined as Sam worked him faster. His legs curled in the sheets, tensing and releasing, climbing to the orgasm Gabriel was trying defiantly to escape, "You just seemed so sad and lonely and I thought—gah—I thought maybe I could make it better, we can make it better together. I didn't think of... fucking... just..." Gabriel's back was tensing, the veins in his neck popping out. Gabriel had never made a face like that before. Sam wanted to see it now. "Stop. Stop, please, don't make me-"

"You want to come, Gabriel. I already know you're a sick pervert, watching kids beat off and getting hard over it."

Gabriel came with a sob, spurting over Sam's fist with stripes that were far hotter than Sam anticipated. He'd only felt his own come before. He was surprised that Gabriel was made of the same stuff.

He shoved his fist into Gabriel's face.

"Lick it off." He demanded and, this time, without taking his eyes from Sam, Gabriel obeyed and let Sam shove his fingers into Gabriel's mouth, wipe Gabriel's come off on the insides of his cheeks, knocking the sides of his teeth. "Filthy, filthy sick pervert. It's not rape, Gabriel. I'm not even hard and you came. What's that look like to you?"

"Like you're too drunk to get it up." Gabriel said flatly, without any bite. It was worse than the sneering and the begging.

This sort of defeat that Sam had wanted all along.

He suddenly felt light headed and all the wrong kinds of tingles in his blood. He fell forward onto his stomach, half covering Gabriel's arm and shoulder.

Then Sam passed out.