All Cretans Lie

by UnityGhost

"He would be in danger if he forgot his place. He shouldn't have permitted himself to forget that he was their sick patient, their delinquent foster child, their pet that just couldn't seem to be house-trained. The end, Gabriel reminded himself, was long overdue."

Part 24 of Post-Asmodeus Sabriel Feels. Here thar be angst, mateys. For those of you who follow me on Tumblr ( UnityGhost), it'll come as no surprise that I couldn't post because of school. But I have an extra two days of, and here we are! Thank you for being patient.

This story is based on a prompt from personface, who suggested:

The voices start to fade, start telling Gabe to hate himself less and less. He finds he's compelled to do it himself.

Thanks, personface!

At the moment I'm not taking prompts, but suggestions are welcome. Thank you for reading!

Perhaps Gabriel should have been horrified, or frightened, or - at the very least - just a little bit concerned.

The truth was that he had anticipated this, no matter how much he didn't want it to happen.

He confined himself to bed that morning, trying to ward off a splitting headache. He knew he ought to drink water, but couldn't bring himself to move. That he had been up much of the night, caught between vivid nightmares and vague but terrifying images he couldn't quite recollect upon waking, didn't help any of what was going on.

When he hadn't exited his bedroom by lunchtime, there was a knock at the door. Gabriel couldn't make himself sit up, but he managed to turn over when the door clicked open.

"Don't mind me," Gabriel muttered. "Just a headache."

"Uh-huh." Dean moved closer to the bed and peered down at Gabriel. "You know, Gabe, just because Sam isn't here doesn't mean you gotta hole up in your room."

"Excuse me?" With all the appearance of effortlessness he could manage, Gabriel pushed himself up onto his elbows. "Pardon my audacity, headmistress, but I have no plans to swaddle myself in misery. I prefer to think there's a difference between being neurotic and being lazy."

"Hey look, come on, I didn't say that." Dean sat down on the edge of the bed. "I know you don't need Sam to spoon-feed you. Just thought I'd check in."

Gabriel groaned and edged into a proper sitting position. He massaged his temples. "I'm fine. Are you looking for help with something? Translations? The Sunday crossword? Leftover coffee that's gonna go to waste if no one drinks it? Because I'm up for - "

"Why don't you just tell me what's the matter, huh?"

Gabriel froze, then looked away. "I …"

"Even if it's just that you're missing Sam. I know it can be a little - "

"All right, give me some credit, will you? I think I can keep my separation anxiety under control for a couple of days. You know what'd help? A fistful of Excedrin."

"Are you sick or what?"

"I'm not sick." Gabriel paused. "Not technically. More … uh …"

Dean waited.

Finally, Gabriel sighed. "Don't freak out. It's my grace."

"Yeah?" Dean sounded unperturbed. "What's wrong with it?"

"I mean it's … I mean … right now, it's …" Gabriel cleared his throat. "It's not there. It'll come back," he added hastily, without meeting Dean's eyes, "It will. I promise. This happened a hell of a lot with Asmodeus. Made sense: he'd take a truckload of it and suddenly it had a mind of its own, fighting back, in some kind of panic mode. Spring into action so hard it hurt. Then, other times, it was as resigned as I was." Gabriel's shoulders tensed. "Can't say that made him too happy."

Dean took a few seconds to process what Gabriel had told him. Then, slowly, he nodded. "I just made some lunch. I know you don't have a strong stomach right now but if your grace is down for the count then you should have something to help get it back in gear."

"I know. I know I should."

"Here, come on, come out to the kitchen. Jack's gorging himself on pizza. You should have some. Or something lighter, if that's what you want. Come hang out with us."

"I'm not much fun at parties right now."

"Jack wants to feed you." Dean got to his feet and clapped Gabriel on the shoulder." Come on, buddy, get up."

No, Gabriel thought, neither of them really wanted him there; and if Jack thought otherwise, he'd quickly recognize his mistake.

Gabriel closed his eyes.

Shut up.

He opened them again.

No one's lying. No one's delusional.

"Are you a hundred percent on that?" Gabriel asked Dean.

He'll say yes.

"Yeah, we've been saving you a seat," Dean told him.

And he means it.

It had been months since Gabriel's arrival, months since Sam had begun telling him that it was possible to get better - to shake off at least a fragment of his self-abuse, so that the pain became sometimes, and not always; to have fewer dreams, fewer attacks of memory; to ask for help without the fear of violence or derision.

"All right," Gabriel agreed. "Just … give me a few minutes."

"Come out when you're ready. It sounds like you're sure this isn't anything to call Sam over."

"Let the kid have his downtime."

"Ah, sure, yeah, downtime. Look at all the fun he's having over in Tulsa." Dean pulled his phone from his back pocket and, after a few seconds of scrolling, held it out so that Gabriel could read Sam's text messages: Had to tell them I learned to be "respectfully dominant" toward my wife from my preacher dad. And then, half an hour later: I've been prescribed a double dose of prayer; take twice a day.

"Ha," said Gabriel, "Gross. What is he doing?"

"Masquerading as a religious fanatic so he can get an inside look at what's going on with kids under 'Satanic influence.' Their parents keep ending up dead, which is apparently all it takes for the kids to snap out of it. Not a pretty picture."

"And is Cas putting on the same show?"

"Probably not as convincingly. Sam's really good at looking remorseful."

"And Cas has a penchant for looking confused. Proud of them both. It's not every day you find that kind of raw talent."

"So what do you need from me, then?"

Gabriel tensed. "You're not pissed. That's … appreciated."

"All right. We'll be waiting for you."

"Consider me officially RSVP'd." Gabriel forced himself to stand. His head stung, but he wasn't dizzy or nauseated. "I'll be out in a minute."

While Dean was gone and Gabriel was getting dressed, he took inventory of his body - not to assess the effects of gracelessness, with which he was sorely familiar, but to better understand his response to Dean's invitation to Sam's absence, and to the question of, What are they going to do to me so long as I'm useless?

Over these last several months he had learned to read each one of them. It was anything but a smooth or rapid process, but Gabriel knew that he wouldn't have fallen for Sam's imaginary repentance in a house of prayer - because by this time, he could recognize when Sam was being honest. He could recognize when Dean was being honest. Neither of them had the time for diplomacy, Castiel couldn't help being frank, and Jack had the colorful forwardness of any child.

There's nothing to be scared of, Gabriel told himself, just to see whether he could identify his own sincerity.

And there it was. Wherever the assertion had come from, it was likely correct.

"Uncle Gabriel!" Jack exclaimed when Gabriel came into the kitchen. "Dean made pizza."

"Dean made pizza," Gabriel agreed.

"You should try some."

"I … should not. Because I'm not hungry enough to take advantage of his masterpiece." If that's okay, he considered adding, but didn't. "Gonna grab, I don't know, an apple or something."

"Uncle Gabe." Jack looked somber. "You really should. Sam says that - "

"It's fine," Dean interrupted. "Guy's just not up for it. We have apples."

Jack shrugged. "Okay." He bit into the slice of pizza, shut his eyes, and made muffled sounds of delight.

"He's having a religious experience," Dean told Gabriel.

Gabriel smiled. "I've been responsible for some of those, and I wouldn't disagree with you."

He spent most of the rest of the day locked in his bedroom, per routine; but, a few hours after lunch, decided to search one of the medicine cabinets for something to relieve his headache. He found two separate bottles of aspirin, one two years past its expiration date and the other unopened.

Gabriel hesitated. If someone noticed that he'd had the gall to take from an untouched bottle of medicine …

But there was what Gabriel told himself, and there was what Sam would have insisted upon.

Within half an hour, the headache was nearly gone.

That evening, he got a knock on his door. When he opened it, Sam smiled at him.

"Oh!" Gabriel was surprised. "I didn't think you'd be back until tomorrow at least."

"No, this wasn't a hard case. Just some witch with too much time on her hands."

"And I hear you've become quite the thespian."

Sam laughed. "You're doing okay?"

Gabriel hesitated, and Sam's face fell.

"Turn that frown upside-down, soldier," Gabriel said. "I'm not falling apart. But - you didn't talk to your brother, by any chance?"

Sam looked worried. "He gave me some pizza but … not really."

"Oh. Well, okay - don't freak out, all right? Because there's no need for it. But. When I woke up this morning …"

Sam folded his arms, watching Gabriel with fear in his eyes.

"When I woke up," Gabriel finished, avoiding Sam's gaze, "I didn't have any grace. And it's fine, it's - it's happened before. It's always come back. Always. If it can rebound when I'm in Hell, having it ripped out of me like a tree root, I figure it'll be fine. I mean, not fine, just - in flux. Not permanently gone."

Sam frowned, contemplating, searching Gabriel's face. "You look like you don't feel good."

"I'm not the usual picture of health you see every time you come into my room to mop up vomit in the middle of the night, but I'm in one piece."

Sam bit his lip. "Sorry I wasn't here this morning."

"Don't be. I survived. You know I always do when you need a break from - " Gabriel paused. "From routine."

Useless.

Gabriel stiffened. The word, the thought, had come out of nowhere - a hand clawing its way from what appeared to be an otherwise undisturbed grave.

He swallowed. "Anyway, don't worry. There's no problem. I'm …"

Nothing.

Not nothing, Gabriel pleaded with himself, No, that's not what they think. With grace, without grace, that's not how they -

"Well," said Sam, "How're you feeling?"

Gabriel found himself unable to speak.

Here it was again: that thick, dark feeling that swallowed him up, held him down, and gagged him. That putrid warmth coloring the normal with the sinister and contaminating the benign with the grotesque.

Memories, Gabriel told himself; these were memories. Don't be afraid. Stop being afraid. It's okay.

Alarm passed over Sam's face. "Hey - "

"Um - "

"Gabriel." Sam took him by the wrist. "What happened? Why are you shaking?"

"It'll stop," Gabriel told him, but didn't pull away. "It's just the shivers."

"I'll sit with you."

Gabriel shuddered, overcome by something like fear, or relief, or uncertainty, or perhaps all three at once. "And I won't fight you on that."

Sam led him to the bed, lowered himself so that they were side by side, and gripped his shoulder. "I wish I could tell you I know what that feels like."

"Oh, trust me, you really don't."

"When it happens … is there anything that pulls you out a little bit?"

Gabriel shrugged. "I'd like to say that you do, and you do, but it's still there; it hangs around until it gets bored." Then, worried that Sam would think he was ungrateful: "But it's better than being alone. Really. A thousand times better."

Sam offered a sad smile. "But you don't tell anyone when it happens, do you?"

"Why should I? It's just a feeling. It's not real. I have to wait, that's all. No need to call for help."

"It is real," Sam objected. "The feeling is real. The next time you - "

"I know, Sam." Gabriel closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. "It's habit. Instinct. I don't want to ask for anything." He looked up at Sam. "Ever."

"I know."

Gabriel was overcome with a sudden chill, so that he shuddered once more. His heartbeat hadn't slowed at all. An unexpected surge of nausea washed through him.

"Calm down," Sam said softly. "You're practically seizing."

Gabriel shrugged Sam away, and left the room as quickly as he could without actually running.

"Gabriel, wait!" Sam followed him into the hallway, where Gabriel began retching.

"Oh crap, hey, no - " Sam rushed him into the bathroom and helped him lean over the toilet. "Easy, easy does it. You're okay."

Gabriel's breath came in cold, shallow gasps. In his graceless state, he vomited and let Sam hold him in place as it happened.

"I know you don't care," Gabriel sputtered. "That you don't care about how much grace I have. I - " He heaved again before he could finish.

That was the food that Dean had given him, Gabriel recalled. Dean had expected responsibility that Gabriel couldn't exercise.

Gabriel couldn't be trusted - not with their food, not with their hospitality, not with their kindness. He had unwritten the peace of earlier, had spoiled the maybe of "Let's have lunch together," defaced the possibility that things were going to be okay.

"Sam, I thought - I - I asked for - "

He had asked for what he wanted, asked for their food, stolen their medicine -

"Gabriel," Sam said softly, "Just relax."

Sincerity made no difference. However genuine their concern and kindness might be, there was no guarantee it would last. Impatience was always waiting in the shadows; Gabriel could smell it just as he could smell his own vomit then and there. Their affection and dedication was like the aspirin he'd removed from the cabinet earlier: there was a cutoff that Gabriel had acknowledged in the past, an inevitable conclusion that he had somehow managed to dismiss lately.

"I didn't mean to," he whispered. "My grace isn't - I'm sorry - "

He should not have allowed himself access to I think it might be okay. Instead, he should have continued waiting for what had to come eventually. When they made up their minds that he was a burden they simply couldn't handle anymore, the waiting game - which was a special kind of torture - would at least be over.

Gabriel shivered and gagged.

"Breathe, all right?" Sam sounded as though he was trying hard to remain calm himself. "I'm right here; it's okay, Gabriel."

He would be in danger if he forgot his place. He shouldn't have permitted himself to forget that he was their sick patient, their delinquent foster child, their pet that just couldn't seem to be house-trained.

The end, Gabriel reminded himself, was long overdue.

"Slow down," Sam instructed, gently lowering him to kneel on the floor. "Just - I don't know what I did. I'm sorry."

Gabriel should have reminded himself that the others were poisoning themselves by touching him, by speaking to him, by listening to his voice, by acknowledging that he was there at all.

"Sam," Gabriel choked, vomit still clinging to his lips.

"Yeah, hey, what is it?"

"I - I haven't told you everything, and - " He paused, waiting to see if he would get sick again.

"You mean about Asmodeus?" said Sam. "I know that."

"You don't, though; you haven't seen any of the worst. You don't realize just how - "

"No," Sam said firmly. "We've talked about this before."

There was nothing left for Gabriel to vomit. All that remained was him, only Gabriel - and that couldn't be gotten rid of. "I'm better, or I've been feeling better; I go back and forth, Sam, and I just don't know!"

Sam guided Gabriel upright. "Let's go lie down. In my room. Okay?"

"I don't know," Gabriel repeated.

"Come here." Sam half-carried him out of the bathroom and back down the hall.

"All right," Sam said, easing Gabriel onto the bed, "There we go. I gotcha."

Gabriel, still trembling, wrapped his arms around his middle and pulled his knees toward his chest.

Sam sat on the edge of the mattress and peered down at him. "If I scared you - "

"You didn't. I - that feeling, it wouldn't stop; it wouldn't go away. I feel sick and I can't control anything right now, and I - Sam, I'm not just trashing myself for funsies. There's a reason I say you shouldn't care about me. There's a reason I'm so convinced of that, Sam. Dozens of reasons." He swallowed, tasting the remnants of vomit in his mouth. "It's just that you think you have no proof of it. Dad knows why you'd believe something like that after everything I've put you through, but all I can do is cram the really, really effed-up shenanigans as far away from you as possible. Because there are whole lifetimes I just can't talk about. They're too humiliating, and - and I can't let you see what he - what I - "

"You don't have to, but you can."

"And," Gabriel continued hoarsely, "You're just going to have to take my word for it. This is the one thing you can trust me with, because I was there. I can't be wrong about what he made me do." When Sam didn't reply, Gabriel went on: "I know this is hard for you to hear. And I'm sorry. You just - if you want what's best for me, for all of you - I don't know, I guess I deserve the pain of whatever's in store for me. Why not let myself get hurt, right? You'd think I'd be eager to let it all happen, wouldn't you?" His breathing began to shallow. "A slow death. A little more of this here, of me lying on your bed with you looking at me like you're about to cry; and then I'm worried about what's best for you, and if I can't trust myself then I'm wrong and you're the one with your priorities straight. Sam - when the Cretan tells you all Cretans lie, what the hell are you supposed to believe? This is the most confused I've ever been and I can't figure out what to do with any of what's tearing at the inside of my head."

Sam took a second to consider his response. Then he answered, "A few of my law professors brought that up in seminars. The Liar Paradox. I used to tell my professors that whichever way you look at it, that guy couldn't've been a Cretan at all. Which means he has no authority." Sam offered his hand. "That means there are answers. Somewhere. You just gotta think creatively."

Gabriel's throat tightened. "So then what's the answer?"

Sam took his hand. "I don't know."

If Sam was made aware, if Sam could witness some of the depraved acts in which Gabriel had engaged - not because he'd wanted to, and yet they had still happened, every one of them - he would not allow this to continue.

Undoubtedly, Sam would think twice about giving up: he felt he had to keep his promise to protect Gabriel, to nurture Gabriel, to show love he probably had to convince himself he really felt. But he would choose to end it, because Sam couldn't ignore what he knew, in his heart of hearts, to be right.

Sam squeezed his hand. "You can talk to me, you know."

Gabriel kept his eyes averted. "I just did."

"If you've got more to say, I'm here."

"I always have more to say." Let go. Let go of his hand.

"I have a question," Sam said softly, and Gabriel caught the hesitancy behind his words. Maybe it was now. This was as good a time as any; Gabriel had, after all, just implored Sam to make it swift.

"Listen," Sam murmured, "Hasn't it ever crossed your mind that maybe I worry you'll give up on me too?"

For a few seconds, all Gabriel could take in was the voice in his head - let go; let go of his hand - and then his mind went blank for a few seconds, and finally he heard what Sam had just told him.

"Uh," said Gabriel, "No."

"What about the other day?" A twinge of discomfort flickered over Sam's face. "When I spazzed out about the - "

"About that self-destructive young whippersnapper who ran into the middle of the road? I just wanted to help you."

"Well, sometimes I figure there's no reason you'd want to do that, and maybe you'll eventually see why I think so."

Gabriel tried to assess his own response to Sam's confession. On the one hand, he wasn't very surprised: Sam's relationship with himself was hardly more impressive than Gabriel's. Even so, the very idea was almost laughable - but also sickening, and Gabriel felt some of the nausea resurface.

"Shut up," he told Sam. Then, after a moment's hesitation: "Are you lying? Part of me hopes you're bullshitting me. Part of me hopes you're the non-Cretan."

Sam shook his head. "Dean's given up on me before. The guy who knows me better than anyone. If that's my metric, then ... " He looked away before returning his attention to Gabriel and forcing a smile. "Kind of proves me right, doesn't it?"

"No offense to your brother, but his patience is on the low end of the bell curve. And I know he's sort of your hero, Sam, but the only one who has the final say in who gets to give up on who isn't Dean."

Sam shrugged. "I was just trying to make a point. We're not really talking about me."

"Aren't we, though? Because I feel like self-revulsion has become a tautology with us."

Sam frowned. "What?"

"It's like we're throwing it back and forth. In fact, I - Sam, it's almost as if you're trying to take it away from me. Like if you keep on hating yourself enough, there will only be so much left for me."

"What makes you say that?"

"It's like you go grabbing for it. Except - and you should know this by now - there's an infinite supply of that ugliness to go around. It doesn't matter how much you try to take on; there's always going to be more for me. For all of us."

Sam fidgeted. "Yeah. Fine. But that has nothing to do with anything. Not right now."

"I don't want you to get the idea that this isn't about both of us. There's so much wrong with me, but I'm not an idiot. I know why you're so good at what you do."

For a few moments, Sam was quiet. Then he asked, "You want some water or something?"

Gabriel recoiled.

"Would you like some water?" Sam amended.

There were a few moments of silence. Then, eyes trained on Gabriel's hand clasped in his, Sam said, "I don't know how to read you. Sometimes you seem all right, but I can't be sure, because what would I do if I got it wrong and didn't think to check in and you …" He swallowed. "What if I miss something?"

"What if you do? It isn't your responsibility to take my vitals every day."

"Gabriel, you know what I mean. If something happened to you, just because I looked away for a second, I …" Sam trailed off.

"Nothing's going to happen to me." Gabriel knew Sam needed to hear him say it. "And even if it did, it wouldn't be your fault."

Sam shifted his gaze to his lap.

"You're not stupid," Gabriel pressed. "You know I'm always going to come running to you when things get out of hand. Plant my feet beneath your window, throw some pebbles, get down on one knee, give a speech. I don't even have the capacity to - " Here Gabriel paused, because it was precisely this that had soured the afternoon.

Sam looked back at him. "To what?"

Gabriel was suddenly overcome by a memory that turned his stomach again: Asmodeus, holding him down, as a second demon raised Gabriel's arms and pinned them to the floor so that he couldn't defend himself. This, Asmodeus knew, was a more effective method than any magical restraints could have been. Magic didn't have a voice. Magic didn't have a body that could be clawed, punched, and bitten to no avail. Magic robbed Gabriel of only so much dignity, because with magic there was no hope; there was no wasted combat, no maybe I can get away from him that bled through resignation to the inevitable. When Gabriel was attacked, he flailed under the foul illusion of possibility.

It didn't matter how safe Gabriel might be now. That feeling, that awful feeling, had lessened in frequency, but increased in intensity whenever it returned. There was no safety. There couldn't be. The closest Gabriel might come to being truly safe was to ensure awareness that he would never be safe.

"Hey," Sam said quietly. "What's the matter, Gabe?"

Gabriel gritted his teeth. The ceiling blurred. "I don't know."

"Listen, your grace will come back, and even if it didn't we'd - "

"Have every right to throw me away."

"No."

"And when it's good to go, I'm a valuable asset, so if someone finds that out and comes looking for me and offers you payment - "

"I told you that's not gonna happen. Gabriel, none of this crap is worth your time."

"Doesn't matter. I'm giving it my time. My time is running to these questions with open arms. I can't stop it. I can't stop myself. He was - the memories are too strong." Gabriel blinked and felt a tear glide down his temple and into his ear. "I can't fight them."

"I can help!"

"You are helping. You're at the helm; you have been since the beginning. You started digging through the rubble at ground zero. And I - and - " Gabriel let out a tight sob. "You need to lower your expectations, Sam. If you think you can change me then you're only going to end up blaming yourself."

"Okay." Sam slid his hand out of Gabriel's and lifted him upright. "It's fine. You're fine. You're safe; everything's okay."

Gabriel squeezed his eyes shut but allowed Sam to hold him close. "You and Dean and Cas - you're good at fixing things. You're the world's handymen. You've got wits as your wrench and the universe is a blocked sink. But I …"

"Gabriel, we'll figure it out."

"Things come back so fast; a - a memory, and then something in that memory - it leads to another memory. Sometimes I remember things I didn't even realize I remembered. So I hear these voices telling me to clear out before it gets too late, and the next thing I know he's telling me about how no matter where I am, he'll always be with me - inside of me. And then I start thinking about how I gave in when it all got to be too much. Which makes me think of the things he did, the things he made me do, the things I let him do."

Sam tightened his grip. "You didn't let Asmodeus do anything."

"I could've at least tried to stop him, though; it just - after a while it felt like there was no point in trying anymore. But where's the honor in not fighting back? How can I forgive myself for going down just because he told me I would lose? I believed him. I couldn't help it."

"That's not - "

"Except I don't think I could have won, because I … because … Asmodeus was stronger, yes, but there's more than that. Asmodeus was right. I know that's not what you think, and I believe you - at least sometimes. I just - I know it. The same way I know my grace, and when it isn't there. It's automatic, Sam; it's in my blood at this point. I just know he was right, like I know glass will break when it falls. He was right about never being able to escape, never being enough for him, for anyone; never being quick enough to give, and being greedy enough to take everything he had to offer, pretending like I deserved any of it - his food, his love - "

"Don't say it like that. He didn't love you."

"And so what if he didn't? Is that better? What does that say about me, that he had me locked up for so long and never even learned to love me? It's like I told you, he was right. The proof is there, Sam, right in front of you. You see it every day. What have I done to show I'm worth anything more than what he said I was? He saw me as - "

"He saw you through his eyes. I have my own. And for all your talk about weakness, you certainly haven't stopped trying to fight back against me."

That surprised Gabriel. "Nobody's trying to fight you. I'm just … I need you to … to know what I am. That's all. For my sake. And for yours too. So that I'm not thrown off when it happens, and you don't keep forcing yourself into the pain that you do."

"'It' has nothing to do with this. And I'm not in pain. But you are. Which isn't your fault. It's not because you're not trying, or because you can't get better. It's because anyone, even you, even any of your family, or any of us, would've had to put in the same work you are after being put through so much torture."

Feeling slightly frantic, Gabriel pulled away. "Wrong. You went through it yourself, Sam, and you're miles ahead."

"It was different, and I'm different, and I'm not not still a mess; you know that. You've seen that, Gabe. And also, you were there a lot longer, and when you got out you had more you had to face, and - I don't know," Sam finished, suddenly helpless, "Just cut yourself some slack, man."

"I'm trying," Gabriel grated out, "And I can't."

"Not yet, maybe."

"I can't, Sam, because I - because - "

"Because what?"

"Because I shouldn't."

Sam didn't say anything for a moment. He watched Gabriel, studying his face, building an answer from whatever he saw there.

Then, at last, Sam said: "You never have to talk about what else he did to you. Not if you don't think you can. That's fine. But you have to trust that I know it was his fault, not yours. Those thoughts, Gabriel, those memories - they can haunt you, they can hurt you, but they shouldn't make you feel guilty."

Gabriel remained silent.

"I need you to trust me," Sam continued. "I know you usually do. You've got to take that a step further. Whatever I hear from you … it's not going to make me think you're disgusting. No one - not him, not you - can change my mind about that. Do you know why?"

Still, Gabriel said nothing, just looked at him.

"Because I know I'm right," Sam told him. "I know it like I know glass breaks when it hits the floor."

Gabriel's breath shallowed.

"It's okay," Sam said. "It's all gonna be fine. It's just me right now."

No more of this, no more crying, no more crying, please -

Sam laid a hand on his arm. "Relax."

There had always been uncertainty. Not once had Gabriel allowed for a unanimous vote in his mind so that Sam's declarations of loyalty could be accepted, beyond reasonable doubt, as wholly honest.

Now, looking into Sam's face, something shifted. For a moment Gabriel felt the same sense of absoluteness, the same unquestionability, that he knew every time he thought about his own worthlessness.

For a fleeting second, the verdict became obvious.

"Just for tonight," Sam told him. "Just for tonight, let me help; don't ask why. Just for today. We don't have to worry about tomorrow."

"I don't know," Gabriel stammered for the third time. "I don't - I don't know. I can't figure it out."

"You don't need to right now. There's a lot to figure out. I know that."

"It's not; it shouldn't be. I know I don't deserve this, and I know I can trust you, and I can't make them work together."

"They aren't working together. One of them's a lie and we can toss it."

"What if I know it isn't a lie?"

"What if I know it isn't a lie?"

Gabriel stared at him for a moment, and then turned away as he choked on another strangled sob.

"Gabriel, look," Sam said, "As much as I want you to learn to trust yourself, this definitely isn't the right time. If all you're thinking is that we don't want you here, or that you can't get better, then you need to come to one of us instead of taking your own word on blind faith. I hate to say it, but if the question is between trusting what I tell you and what you tell yourself - what Asmodeus tells you - listen to me for a while. Only me."

Gabriel kept his eyes averted. "I can't."

"Yeah. Exactly. You have to let me take charge a little bit, Gabriel. Until you can stop being so violent with yourself. Not like - I don't need to watch your every move, and you don't have to tell me what you're not ready to. That's fine. All I'm saying is if you're not sure who's right about you, assume I know what I'm talking about. Just trust me, is all."

"Sam - "

"Try. Just for tonight. There's no contract. Just try."

Gabriel wiped his eyes with his sleeve. "I don't - "

"You don't have to know. Not right now."

Gabriel stared at him bleakly, feeling numb. Then he leaned into Sam and allowed himself to go limp.

Sam held onto him. Neither of them spoke.

"Don't make me tell you," Gabriel muttered at last.

"I won't. Remember? You called me out on that. And I'm glad you did."

"I might never, though. I might never be able to."

Sam hugged him more firmly. "No worries about that."

"I - "

Sam remained still, waiting.

"For tonight," Gabriel whispered.

"Yeah. That's all."

"Okay."

"Okay."

It was then that Gabriel realized that some of the terror had begun to abate. His head hurt, but he no longer felt sick.

There was darkness around him, darkness inside of him, but no darkness in Sam's embrace.

More importantly, there was no insincerity. Just for tonight, the language of Sam's touch could be read as easily as anything else.