Sam paced slowly, padding stocking-footed across the plush black carpet and back again. He wanted to complain, about something - he thought he ought to be cold, hungry, tired, damp, thirsty, something that could make him uncomfortable, angry, or indignant, but it was all taken care of, leaving him frustrated only at the lack of things to be frustrated about. With a touch, he had found himself no longer surrounded by the four run-down walls of a badly-kept midwestern motel room, but in something more like a suite.
In place of the balsa chair he had toppled, he had found himself stumbling instead into a wide padded armchair upholstered in a soft, silvery-gray leather. The table it faced was carved from a heavy ebony with curving legs and feet in the shape of claws clutching at the mirrored orbs that connected it with the floor.
The entire room was opulently appointed in muted shades of blacks and grays, and the effect was rich and peaceful. It was hard not to be soothed, though Sam did his level best to maintain a certain level of neurosis - certainly enough to avoid the abundant snacks set out seemingly with him in mind, and to ignore his thirst with regards to both the tall jug of cool clear water on one bedside table and the pitcher of dark wine occupying the other side. It was this very hospitality that made Sam the most suspicious. You didn't have to be a hunter to have read Hansel and Gretel as a child, or Alice in Wonderland, or the myth of Persephone and Hades. No such thing as a free lunch, indeed. Even if it really was who it looked like for a moment - and surely it couldn't have been - he's not sure he'd have trusted the offerings. Even the bookshelf, fully stocked and rising so high in the stone room it needed an old-fashioned wheeled ladder, seemed somehow threatening.
Could it have been him? Surely not. They had seen his wings, burned into the wood floor of the Elysian. Just remembering it made Sam's stomach turn. Their connection had always been on uneasy footing, but nevertheless, seeing him there, lifeless, sapped and left a shell, it felt like another failure, another person he had led down, fatally.
Sam alit on the arm of the chair that had caught his fall when he had tumbled through the world. He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to get his thoughts in order, to remind himself of reality, to not get caught up in a dream.
They had seen that... film, he had appeared in. And even though he would never have told Dean in a million years, Sam had held onto it. It wasn't a perversion, it was just all that was left of him, and for some reason that seemed just out of reach, it was hard to let go. Even more deep a secret: Sam had prayed, just in case, even knowing that they would go unheard. Silently he mouthed the name in the night when the nightmares snared his mind. He didn't know why, exactly, but the name that came to his lips when the fear and panic threatened to wipe him away like a bad stain was Gabriel.
He could swear it had been him, all forehead and wry smile and sly, golden eyes peering out from beneath thick blonde brows. The face had been there for hardly a fraction of a second, but the image was seared into Sam's mind just the same.
But that wasn't possible. It just wasn't.
He didn't even hear the gentle rustle behind him.
"You're not going crazy." Came the familiar voice, sharp and masculine but gentler than Sam could remember ever hearing it.
Sam tried to tamp down his relief. It could still be lies. He frowned and shook his head.
"Is there anything I can do to convince you?" He stepped forward, heels making dents in the deep carpet piles. Sam had never seen him so earnest.
"Where's Dean?"
"Ouch." Gabriel said. "Talk about your unhealthy codependency. Sheesh." The thin veneer of tenderness evaporated, and Sam found it almost a relief, more convincing than any argument.
"What did you with him?" Sam pushed, trying his best to trample his hope and stay focused.
"Relax, Samsquatch. He's fine. I just... granted his wish, that's all."
"His wish?"
"Yeah, you remember. Wishing someone would take you away and all. Just felt I was the man for the job."
"Get real, you know he didn't mean it." Sam defended.
"Oh no? Sounded pretty genuine."
"Listen, if you really are... who you seem to be," Sam stammered a little, almost unable to say the name aloud, "You must know you stepped in it here. Even if you stop me from going anywhere, Dean will find me. He's probably already on his way. You weren't exactly subtle, after all." Sam gestured to the outfit, about which 'flamboyant' would be an understatement.
"No, I wasn't. In fact I'm a little disappointed that you didn't figure me out already. Your'e usually so astute." He enunciated, never breaking eye contact as he popped the last 't'. "I'm not afraid of him coming looking for you, kiddo, I'm counting on it."
"So I'm what, a trap?"
"Mm, more like a lesson."
"I should have guessed." Sam's chin jutted. "What's your takeaway this time? Because your lessons have been so great for everybody in the past."
"Alright big guy, I know that's a sore spot. Heh. Spot-"
Sam was not amused.
"-But why do you think I set this up for you? Nice and cozy, lots of reading material, I bet you didn't even check out the bathroom. Did you check out the bathroom?"
"You think I'd rather be some pampered pet than be on the road with my brother?"
"What if he didn't want to be on the road with you? What if he hadn't recruited you on his little death march in the first place? Do you really think you wouldn't both be happier?" Gabriel mused.
Sam was quiet at first, reticent to admit that it wasn't the first time he would be considering questions like those. He only spoke when he had an answer he thought woud work: "The past doesn't matter. This is our life now. He wouldn't throw it away."
"I forgot how annoying you two were. Listen, just think about it. Oh, and your mule-headed brother has thirteen hours, so I should probably mention there's nothing weird about the food, otherwise you'll nobly starve yourself and we wouldn't want that."
"I'm supposed to believe that?"
"Kiddo, you barely eat as it is. There's nothing poetic or amusing about spiking your viniagrette, and if I wanted you unconscious it wouldn't exactly be a fancy trick to get you there."
"Speaking of tricks-"
"Ah ah ah." Gabriel scolded "You and I have time yet. Wouldn't it be more satisfying if you figured it out on your own? I'll give you a hint. Check the library. I know how you like your research." His eyes flashed gold, and the bent of his grin betrayed loud and clear just how pleased he was with himself.
Sam turned away to scan the ancient spines lined up on the shelves, and when he turned back, the room was empty and still, as if Gabriel had never been there at all.