Twelve Days Of Angstmas: Day Four- Gabriel

Characters: Sam, Gabriel, briefly Dean

Word Count: 930

Summary: Why did these things always happen to him? Dean was just out getting supplies. Taking care of an injured archangel was not how Sam had anticipated spending the next hour.

Spoilers: Season 6, a little past halfway

Disclaimer: Hmm, I've tried sending really polite letters, but they just keep ignoring me. Maybe I should go for a… face-to-face meeting. Still, as of now, I do not own Supernatural.

A/N: This is… I mean… I think I just wrote pre-slash Sabriel. Not what I was going for, but hey. Read into it what you want. The fact is, we've got Gabriel, and we've got Sam, and they have a moment. Enjoy!

Gabriel

Of all the things Sam was expecting that Thursday, a text from a dead archangel was not one of them. Yet, there it was, flashing brightly: Whr r u Sam? -Loki

Sam stared at the screen of his phone in disbelief for a moment. Gabriel was alive? Had he missed that memo while he was soulless? Or maybe this was a trick. Hesitantly, he sent a message back: Prove it's you.

A moment later, his phone pinged again. A picture of a pig-in-a-poke dominated the device, with the words below it reading, It was the heat of the moment Sam please

Yup, definitely him. Sam sighed and texted him the location, ignoring how pissed Dean was going to be. After all, if Gabriel wanted to come for a visit, he could hardly stop him.

A minute passed, and then another. Sam began to anxiously check his message box to see if he'd missed anything. It wouldn't be like the trickster to have his location and not do anything with it.

Suddenly, the sound of uneven wingbeats split the air, and Gabriel was there, lying on the other bed, looking pale and bloody and breathing unsteadily. Sam felt his breath catch. Oh God. Because he could see the archangel's wings. They had to have a thirty foot wingspan at the very least; they could barely fit in the space offered to them. But what really worried him was that the golden feathers were splattered with blood.

"Oh, crap, Gabriel," he gasped, moving to the side of the bed.

The archangel shifted and moaned, turning his head to peer at the Winchester, amber eyes hazy. "Hey Samsquatch," he murmured. "Sorry about the dramatic entrance, but I'm really not feeling my-" He broke off into a fit of convulsive coughing, and Sam instinctively reached out to steady him.

"Jeez, what happened to you?" he asked softly.

Gabriel chuckled a bit. "Well, after the whole Lucifer business, I'm hiding, right? 'Til you mooks can pull it off. Of course, then Raphael came and tried to start it all over again. He found me, wanted me to help him." He went silent for a moment, taking shuddering breaths.

"And then?"

"I told him to take his precious apocalypse and stick it where the sun don't shine," he replied bleakly. "He… he wasn't too happy with me, after that."

Sam winced in sympathy, sweeping his eyes up and down the archangel's body, observing the cuts and bruised he seemed to be riddled with, not to mention the state of his wings. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "What can I do?"

"Give me a place to hole up. I'll heal on my own, but if I could stay here…"

"Of course," Sam agreed reflexively. Gabriel relaxed a bit and closed his eyes, suddenly appearing way younger.

Was it weird to be thinking that? Probably. Sam got up from his place beside the bed and walked to the bathroom, soaking a few towels in water, then walked back over to where Gabriel lay. Gently, he placed the towel on one of his wings. The archangel stiffened, and his eyes flew open. "Sorry," Sam backtracked. "I just thought it might be a good idea to wash some of the blood off. If that's okay?"

Gabriel studied him through narrow eyes for a moment, then nodded sharply. Sam took this as the permission it was to begin his ministrations. He moved the towel carefully, trying not to pull anything or move feathers out of place. As soon as that towel was soaked through, he picked up the next and continued. Eventually, Gabriel relaxed, and some of the lines of pain disappeared from his face.

Before long, the golden wings were clean, or as clean as they were going to get. Sam tried to bandage them to the best of his ability, though it was hard; he didn't want to somehow mess up.

A few years ago, if someone had told him that he'd be fixing up the wings of Gabriel the archangel, he'd have tried to shoot them.

"Hey," he said. "You still awake?"

"Yeah, thanks." His voice was faint, but not shaky.

"Did I do alright? With your wings and everything, I mean."

Gabriel remained silent, and for a moment, Sam feared that by cleaning them, he'd somehow crossed a line. Somehow. But then the archangel whispered: "It's been a long time since I've trusted someone enough to touch my wings."

Wow. There were so many things wrong with that statement, he wasn't sure where to begin. So he started with the most obvious one. "You… trust me?"

"Well, I certainly don't trust Deano," Gabriel snarked. "He'd probably just kill me."

Sam couldn't deny that. "But why… why trust me? I'm… I'm tainted."

"That's the point." Gabriel's voice was barely more than a breath now, as he slid into sleep. "You are tainted. You've been through so much. Your soul's been tattered and torn and ripped and stained. But underneath all the damage, it's so bright, so… human, it amazes me." He gave a small, tired grin. "Why do you think I've always paid so much attention to you? Why do you think-"

He fell asleep mid-sentence.

Sam stated at the archangel in disbelief. What was he talking about? How could his soul possibly be-

Dean chose that moment to burst back into the room, a bag of groceries in one hand and a pie in the other. One look at Sam, and the wounded archangel on the bed beside him, and both dropped to the floor.

"What the hell?!"