#sabrielweek

It takes longer than it should, a testament to how far gone Sam is in the throes of withdrawal.  When he finally turns his head with a groan, his eyes crack open and he peers through the curtain of hair on his face, struggling to focus.  Gabriel says nothing, allowing Sam to come back to Earth.  He knows when Sam eventually comes to; his brow furrows in confusion before he scrambles up, fingers clutching the sorry excuse for a bed until his knuckles run white.

“You’re a hallucination,” Sam says, spitting each word.  Gabriel remains still, expression impassive.

“No, I’m not,” he easily counters.

Sam looks torn between believing him and dismissing him as another one of his hallucinations, and Gabriel still says nothing, allowing Sam the time to figure out the situation.  And he must decide on the first option, as fire blooms in his eyes and his mouth contorts into an ugly, hateful expression.

“Get out of here,” Sam hisses.  Gabriel shakes his head.

“Oh, Sam, what have you gotten yourself into?” Gabriel asks, at last taking a step closer to the bed.  Sam rises, unsteady at first, legs trembling as they try to support his disorientation.  It’s a losing battle; he careers back onto the bed with a huff, wincing in pain.

“Timber,” Gabriel says with a smile at his own joke.

Sam bares his teeth with a growl.  “If you’re here to mock me, then you can get the fuck out.  I’m not in the mood for your games.”

With a roll of his eyes, Gabriel ventures another step closer.  He can see the way that Sam’s body seizes up like a cornered animal, ready for a fight.  There’s almost something beautiful and alluring about the way that Sam illustrates this basic, primal instinct.  Gabriel wonders what other primal urges he can bring out of this poor hunter.

“I’m not here for games,” Gabriel says.  “I’m here for you.”

Confusion flashes on Sam’s tired face as he gives standing up another go, this time with more success.  He’s still a little unsteady, but he remains upright this time, which is progress.  “For me?  What do you care about me?”

Gabriel smiles again, aiming for his cruelest, coldest smiles that he gives upon those that he smites, but he’s fairly certain that he fails, that empathy seeps into it instead.  “You’re clogging up the airwaves with your thoughts and prayers.  I’m here to provide relief.”

Sam scoffs, taking a shaky step closer to Gabriel.  They’re close now, close enough for Gabriel to see those tired, pretty eyes bore into his own.  Sam may tower over him, but right now, Gabriel knows that Sam’s the smaller one between them.

“I don’t want anything you have to offer me,” Sam says, and oh, so much hate in that hoarse voice.

Gabriel quirks a brow.  “Really?  Even if I can make the pain go away?”

Something in Sam snaps.  He’s back to the violent fury of before, body shaking and vein throbbing in his head as he gesticulates wildly, fists clenched.  “Make it go away?  Since I’ve met you, you’ve done nothing but increase the pain.  You’ve further fucked up my already fucked up life, so you can take your offers and shove them up your ass.”

Gabriel sees the fist flying his way.  He chooses to do nothing about it.

There’s a loud crack as Sam’s fist hits Gabriel right in the jaw, his head snapping to the side from the brunt of the impact he did not care to lessen.  It does more damage to Sam anyway, as he pulls his hand back with a hiss.  When Gabriel turns his head back to face Sam with a level expression, he sees the shock color Sam’s eyes as he exhales with a shake.  It would have been so easy for Gabriel to dodge the hit, to catch Sam’s hand and crush it until it’s mangled and beyond saving.  Clearly, Sam must have thought that would be the outcome, not expecting Gabriel to take the hit.

Sam’s owl-wide eyes drop down a fraction, and it takes Gabriel a moment to realize that he’s starting at Gabriel’s mouth.  He raises a hand to his lips, and when he pulls away, his fingers are coated in blood.  His tongue swipes his mouth, taking in the blood as he looks back up to Sam.

“Is that what you need, Sam?  My blood on your hands, in your mouth?” Gabriel asks, the quiet tone leaving Sam gawking in uncertainty.

Maybe to really fix Sam, Gabriel would have to remove himself from the chessboard altogether.  But Gabriel doesn’t see that in the cards just yet, nor does he want that, so he takes the next best option.  He shifts on his feet, bracing himself with arms spread open.“Go on then.”

Sam shakes his head with another low sound in the back of his throat.  “Gabriel, I don’t want to fight you.  My death wish isn’t that big.”

“I’m not asking for a fight.  That would imply that both parties engage in combat, after all.”

Sam makes a choked sound in frustration as he steps closer.  “Dammit, Gabriel, just – just go away, please, just get out of here.”

Despite the plea, Gabriel does not budge.  “Not until I fix you.”

“You can’t fix me Gabriel.  You’ve done enough damage as it is, can’t you see that?”  Sam’s moving again, and yeah, all semblance of distance between them pretty much obliterates as those desperate, angry words tumble from Sam’s lips.  “You’ve broken us enough, I’m broken enough, so please just stop –“

Gabriel grabs onto Sam’s shirt and hulls him down, silencing his words with a hard kiss.  Instead of jerking away like Gabriel expects, Sam kisses back with ferocity, tongue laving across the cut on Gabriel’s bottom lip before forcing itself into Gabriel’s mouth, chasing the blood that lingers there.  It’s more bite than kiss, more hate than passion, but if that’s what Sam needs, then yeah, Gabriel will allow it and give just as good as he’s getting.  They bite and suckle at each other, wringing sharp sounds out of each other as their hands claw at shirts, hair, neck, cheeks – anything, as long as they’re touching, however brutal it may be.

Without preamble, Sam grabs hold of Gabriel and lifts him off the ground; Gabriel has the sense of mind to wrap his legs around Sam’s waist as Sam pushes him against the wall hard enough to make a thud, all the while never breaking the kiss.  Gabriel buries a hand in Sam’s hair, tugs on the locks until Sam hisses and nips Gabriel’s lips in punishment.

“I hate you,” Sam whispers against Gabriel’s lips when he finally breaks the kiss.  And yes, Gabriel can see the hate in his eyes, but also the questions, the lust, the need to be grounded by something.

“I know,” Gabriel says.

He yanks on Sam’s hair hard enough to bring his head to the side with a moan, and Gabriel nuzzles into the skin of Sam’s neck that’s revealed, biting down hard enough to bruise.  The way that Sam trembles from the ministrations makes Gabriel smirk into Sam’s skin, enjoying this little pain kink that Sam apparently has to some degree.  He twists his fingers in Sam’s hair, knotting and tangling it as he pleases while he presses hard, bruising bites and kisses along Sam’s neck, reveling in the pretty little marks that they will leave.  And Sam is like an electric wire, pawing at Gabriel’s face and neck, dragging his nails along Gabriel’s skin until red lines adorn his skin. 

Their hips slot together as Sam presses Gabriel harder into the wall, which in turn rocks their hard erections together in a quick strike.  Sam gives a broken moan at the contact, eyes fluttering shut as he rolls his hips into Gabriel’s again and again, the friction between their jeans almost painfully good.  Gabriel releases his hold on Sam’s neck to catch his lips in another rough kiss as he rocks against Sam in time to their hasty, needy pace.  They swallow down muffled sounds that neither is sure who is making as they lose themselves to the filthy rhythm, and really, Gabriel did not foresee this happening when he first arrived, but when Sam jerks his hips just so and Gabriel nearly sees stars, he finds that he cannot complain.

It’s dirty and rough and unrefined, but it’s everything that Sam needs right now as the room fills with the sound of their groans and ruffled clothing.  Gabriel can tell when Sam’s getting close, the way his thrusts start to stutter, little breathy ‘ah ah’s falling from his lips as his eyes squeeze shut tight.

Gabriel leans in, tongue tracing the curve of Sam’s ear as he breathes,  “Come for me, big boy.”

And like that, Sam shudders and comes with a long, low groan, thrusting through his orgasm until Gabriel himself comes with a hiss.  Sam presses his cheek to Gabriel’s, breathing heavily as his body shivers, coming down from the orgasmic high.  Gabriel just ruffles his hand through Sam’s hair again, a reassuring touch.  They’re gross and sticky with messes in their jeans like horny, rutting teenagers, but Gabriel keeps his legs locked around Sam, who does not make a move to put him down, either.

“If that’s what it takes to fix you, then I say let’s go again,” Gabriel says.

It wasn't like Sam actually hated himself. He just...didn't think he was good enough for Gabriel. ...okay, maybe that counted as hating himself a little bit.

But really, why would an archangel ever choose him? Gabriel had had so many lovers in the past - Kali, Sigyn, and God knew who else - and he chose the boy with the demon blood as his next conquest?

Sam didn't understand. He was polluted and tainted, and he didn't deserve to have an archangel currently in his lap, who'd suddenly paused in the middle of whatever rant he was on now and staring at Sam in horror.

Wait...shit. Damn mind-reading archangels.

Gabriel twisted quickly in Sam's lap, eyes wide and hurt. "Sam, you don't honestly think that, do you?"

Sam flushed, dropping his gaze. "No idea what you mean," he denied without hesitation.

"Don't lie to me, I can hear it in that Cro-Magnon head of yours." Gabriel's eyebrows furrowed. "Why the hell do you think you're not good enough for me?"

Sam sputtered for a few moments, but decided to remain silent. If Gabriel could really hear his thoughts, then he would know why.

"Aw, Sammy, no," Gabriel said quietly at last, his voice cracking and drawing Sam's attention back to his face. To his shock, Gabriel's eyes were soft and fixed on his face. "It's me who's not good enough for you, you stupid moose. You-" His hands fluttered helplessly around Sam's shoulders for a few moments before grasping on tightly. "You have to believe me on that, Sam. You are good. Far too good for me, and I have no idea why you're still here, but you are and I'm just...I'm glad."

Sam stared at him, gaping in shock.

"Please say something," Gabriel said at last, biting his lip anxiously.

“You are the only contemporary physicist, besides Laue, who sees that one cannot get around the assumption of reality, if only one is honest. Most of them simply do not see what sort of risky game they are playing with reality—reality as something independent of what is experimentally established.”

The moment that they press play on Sam’s laptop, he knows that Gabriel is dead.  Maybe he knew it even farther back, in the Impala with Kali who broke off mid-sentence, staring straight ahead like she was seeing something else.  She refused to explain what had happened and remained quiet the rest of the way.

And so when he sees Gabriel’s face appear on the screen, something like a stone drops into Sam’s stomach.  Gabriel is dead.  It’s clear in those golden, mischievous eyes, all the confirmation that Sam needs.  As much as the Trickster likes to paint himself in the colors of dark humor and sarcasm, Sam sees something much more real and raw in his face. Acceptance.  A hint of fear, maybe.  Sam is looking at the face of someone who is stepping up to bat with the intention of striking out.

Sam barely blinks when Gabriel affirms his untimely death.  He’s not choked up about the loss of the archangel, not really.  While Gabriel may have saved him and Dean back in the hotel, one right doesn’t balance out the countless wrongs that Gabriel committed.  And okay, yes, maybe Sam has always been attracted to Gabriel, but sexual chemistry does not equate to trust.  Not all the time.

The Gabriel on the DVD is talking about the rings to contain Lucifer, but the mention of the devil’s name just makes Sam wonder what the Lucifer-Gabriel confrontation must have looked like.  Angels cherish their brethren – that much Sam has learned from Cas.  Cas never takes joy in the moments that he has to murder his siblings, and he wonders if Lucifer looked as broken as Cas always did when stabbing Gabriel.  Maybe Lucifer laughed, felt nothing for his younger brother.  Maybe Gabriel stood his ground and accepted death by his older brother’s hand, or maybe he would have felt as betrayed and hurt as Sam did when hearing that Dean was supposed to end Sam’s life.

He does not have to wonder what it is like to stand before a sibling that is envisioning you dead.  He’s not sure if that’s a comfort or not.

Dean bubbles with energy after watching the DVD, eager to find the remaining rings.  Sam wants to share in his enthusiasm and hope, but can barely manage to drudge an encouraging a smile.  He says little and goes to bed early.

**

Sam opens his eyes and sees white. He’s sprawled out on the floor of a completely white room, void of furniture and any other color.  Frowning, Sam sits up and props himself up on a floor that he cannot see.

“Hey kid.”

The familiar voice has Sam whipping his head to the side with a hitched breath.  There, sitting propped against an impeccably white wall, is a smirking Gabriel.  Sam gawks, eyes sweeping over the archangel in search of any sign of blood or cuts, a sign that Lucifer destroyed him.  But Gabriel looks perfectly put together, not a speck of blood on his face.

“What are you doing here?” Sam asks, and even to him, the words sound ridiculous.

Gabriel arches a brow and scoffs.  “Uh, this is your dream, Sam.  You brought me here.”

The words make Sam’s head spin a little.  He scrambles to his feet but does not dare risk a step toward Gabriel.  Not yet.  Even if this is a dream, Sam cannot afford to spare too much trust to such an ambivalent character.

“So, I’m dreaming,” Sam says slowly.

“Basically.”

“And you’re dead.”

Gabriel tilts his head to the side.  “I suppose so, yes.”

And really, this is silly.  Sam hardly gets decent sleep as it is, and when he finally manages to pass out, he dreams of Gabriel?  “Can you…  I don’t know.  Go away?”

With a snort, Gabriel stands as well, brushing imaginary dirt off of his clothes. “Invite me to your dream only to kick me out?  Kinda rude, Sammy.”

Sam’s eyes narrow, nose flaring as the comment rubs him the wrong way.  “I didn’t invite you, Gabriel.  I can’t control what I dream about.”

For Gabriel’s small size, he has an uncanny way of making himself larger than even Sam with just a fierce glare and a sneer.  “You called me, Sam.  Deny it all you want, but you brought me here.”

Sam exhales a breath he did know he was holding, tongue swiping his lip in thought.  The implications of that are worrisome, to say the least.  Gabriel’s dead, he admitted it himself, but if Gabriel could actually hear Sam in his subconscious, then what did that mean?

“You’re lying,” Sam says, as that’s the only defense he has left.  Never trust a Trickster, not even in the not-so-privacy of your dreams.

Gabriel’s sad smile is nearly sincere.  “Wish I was.”

*

Sam wakes up with a start, gasping as he sits up in bed.  Sweat drips down his body, leaving him chilled as he looks around the room, feeling the heavy weight of eyes upon him.  Dean is sound asleep in the bed next to him, snoring softly; otherwise, the room is empty.  He heaves a deep breath and lowers himself back to bed, hauling extra covers for his large frame.

He sees Gabriel’s smile when he closes his eyes, a cheerless expression with a challenge twitching at the sides.  Sam opens his eyes in a hurry, expecting Gabriel to be hovering over him.  When he’s faced with nothing but darkness, he turns over in bed and forces his eyes shut, though the image never leaves his mind.

*

The next few days keep Sam’s mind occupied, busy hunting down the next ring.  And if he spaces out and asks Dean to repeat himself more often than not, he doesn’t think anything of it.

He looks away when he feels Dean’s eyes upon him like a microscope, scrutinizing his every little move.  While he should be used to that treatment from his overprotective older brother, Sam finds it stifling now.

Everything feels suffocating.  It’s like there’s poison in the air, clogging his lungs until he’s choking and rasping for relief, but there’s nowhere to run.  Maybe it’s the pressure of the Apocalypse getting to him, but he feels as if he’s being held under water, and everyone who passes him by just watches him struggle and flail without lending a hand to help.

He rolls down the window of the Impala, ignores Dean’s gripe about wasting the AC, and breathes in the fresh air.

*

Gabriel appears in his dream the next night.  He’s sitting in the same spot as before, tossing a tennis ball into the air and catching it without looking.  Sam thinks he’s a bit of a show-off.

“You don’t have anyone else to bother?” Sam asks, sitting across from Gabriel, who shoots him a smirk.

“No one else invites me in like you do.  You call, I pick up, yadda yadda.”

Sam frowns, trying to wrap his mind around this new piece of information.  “If you’re dead, how are you bothering other people?  Who else dreams of you?”

This time, Gabriel’s smile actually is sad.  “No one anymore.”

He tosses the tennis ball in the air again, and this time, it never falls back down.

*

They’re close, so close to the Apocalypse and opening the Cage.  Sam thinks he should be afraid, but really, he just finds it to be a relief.  Maybe he, like Gabriel, is tired of all of the fighting.  He hopes he can throw Lucifer out of his body, but he would not bet money on himself; he’s been a losing racehorse on this messed up track he calls life for far too long.

Win or lose, at least it will be over.

He’s tired.  He’s so tired, and not just physically.  He begins to spend most of his free time sleeping, eager to escape the burdens on his shoulders and surrender to the concord of his dreams.

*

“You’ve been here an awful lot, Sam,” Gabriel remarks.  The lollipop he’s sucking and slurping on stains his lips blue.

Sam imagines Gabriel sprawled on the motel floor, lips blue in death and glassy eyes staring at a ceiling he cannot see.  He blinks the thought away.

“I’m tired.  It’s more peaceful here than in the real world,” Sam says, curled on his side on the white, white floor, staring at Gabriel through half-opened eyes.

Gabriel says nothing, just swirls his tongue around that lollipop in a lewd manner.  Sam rolls his eyes.  “I mean it.  There’s no Apocalypse here.  No worries about whether or not I’m going to die every moment, or reminders of how I’ve let everyone down.  Dean’s not here to gawk at and question me.  It’s safe and comforting.”

Maybe he’s said too much, but he would not take back the words.  Because yeah, maybe Gabriel can be annoying, but he amuses Sam and helps him forget about the real world, for however temporary it may be.

Lately, he’s starting to wish that this could become more permanent, or at least spill into the reality outside of his dreams.  But perhaps that’s another issue.

“More peaceful here, huh?”  Gabriel bites down on the lollipop with a crunch that echoes in the blank room.  “Guess I’m not doing my job well enough.”

Against his better judgment, Sam laughs. It sounds strange to him; he can’t recall the last time he’s heard himself laugh for real.

The thought sobers him.  “I think we would have been friends in another life.”

Gabriel chucks the stick of his eaten lollipop off to the side where it disappears into the vast space of nothing.  “Isn’t this another life?”

*

Sam loses track of the days.  One day bleeds into the next, and he finds himself anticipating night, if only so he can talk to Gabriel again.  In his dreams, he does not have to deal with the weight of the Apocalypse, with knowing that everything is all his damn fault anyway, how everything would be better if he was not here to mess things up.

Gabriel never blames him, or pushes him do anything.  Gabriel just sits there and they talk: sometimes about Lucifer and the history of the world, and sometimes lighter topics, like animals and pop culture.  It’s a sharp contrast to his waking life, which mostly revolves around Dean telling him to focus and demanding to know what’s wrong with him.  Sam can never articulate to Dean that he’s just so tired of it all, and that makes his guilt grow and need to dream increase.

It should worry him that he values his dream life with a dead archangel more than reality, but he doesn’t linger on it. 

*

“Would you do it again?”

“Do what?”

“Stand up to Lucifer.”

“Probably.”

“You never intended to kill him, did you?”

“Did Dean ever intend to kill you?”

The fact that Sam does not know the answer to that makes him fall silent.

*

He does not look at Dean for the next few days, only making small talk when necessary.  Dean grumbles his disdain for being ignored, but Sam does not feel safe.  He jumps at every sound, every stray touch of Dean’s hand to his shoulder.  His heart pounds against his ribcage, adrenaline continually coursing through his veins as if he’s always under attack.  And maybe he is, because he swears he can see everyone they pass by staring at him like he’s a threat or a lost soul, and he can’t make eye contact with anyone any longer.  Nothing in this world is safe anymore.

He only feels safe with Gabriel these days.  And so late at night, he sends desperate prayers to the dead archangel, begging him to appear in this world and save Sam from himself and the unfeeling, cold eyes that seem to follow him everywhere.

The silence between them breaks when Sam is lying in bed in their latest motel.  He hears the front door open with a groan, the old wood scraping.  Sam sits up immediately, watching as the door opens completely, fully expecting to see Gabriel step in.  No one appears, but a chill creeps down his spine, his breath clouding his face. 

“Sam?”  Dean asks.  Sam does not tear his eyes away from the open door and the shadows that slither across the ground like snakes.

“The door, Dean.  Someone opened the door,” Sam says, and he knows that he probably sounds insane, but surely Dean could not ignore this obvious sign.

But Dean is just quiet for a long moment before he finally says in a quiet, uncertain tone, “The door’s closed and locked, Sam.  It’s never been open.”

And now Sam whips his head to glare at Dean in disbelief.  “Dean, the door is open.  How can’t you see that?”

And Dean just shakes his head like Sam is a lost cause.

Maybe he is, because when Sam turns back around, the door is closed.

*

“This feels real.”

They’re lying side by side and staring at the ceiling as if it is the sky and they’re picking out shapes in clouds.  Gabriel turns to look at Sam with a sparkle in his eyes.  “What does?”

Sam smiles, though he doesn’t know why.  “This. You.”

Gabriel’s quiet for a moment before he says, “Maybe it’s real to you.”

Sam’s stomach churns, unsure if he likes the implications of that.  But he does not have time to dwell on it, for Gabriel is sitting up, leaning over Sam, and is that Gabriel’s breath that Sam feels?

“Let’s try an experiment, hmm?” Gabriel smiles, all snark and promise as he leans in closer.  “Touch me.”

For all of their time together in this world, they’ve never touched.  The thought has crossed Sam’s mind often, especially when seeing Gabriel stretch so that his shirt rides up and reveals skin, and oh, doesn’t that stir something wanting in Sam.  But for all of his interest, there’s the overriding fear of his hand going through Gabriel, or something else frightening that would confirm the irrationality of his dreams.

Sam reaches out first, his hand shaking more than he would ever like to admit. When his hand comes in contact with Gabriel’s cheek in the barest of touches, Sam lurches back as if he’s been shocked.  When nothing happens (aside from Gabriel arching an amused brow), he tries again.  This time, he holds his hand to Gabriel’s cheek without moving it. 

Gabriel’s flesh is cold and clammy, but he feels solid – not like the ghosts that Sam has encountered.  And yes, this is a dream, but why should that make a difference?

Sam smiles as he trails his fingers down Gabriel’s cheek and neck, reveling in the unyielding form of Gabriel like a young, curious child. 

Gabriel laughs at Sam’s amazement.  “Who’s to say I’m not real?”

When Sam wakes up, his hand tingles.

*

Dean’s saying something important around a mouth full of eggs and bacon, but Sam can’t be bothered to listen.  He’s tapping an anxious rhythm on the top of their old table in this run down diner, unable to concentrate on anything else than his thoughts.

“Do you think something could come back as a ghost even if they don’t have a soul?”

Dean chokes on his food, coughing hard and thumping himself on the chest to clear his throat.  Sam doesn’t panic, just patiently waits for Dean to finish his freak out session.  When Dean’s swallowed his food and taken a long drink of water, he levels a serious look on his brother.

“The hell are you talking about?”

Feeling foolish, Sam fiddles with his napkin and stares at his untouched food.  “I mean, if someone dies, can they…still be around?  Even if they’re soulless.”

Dean’s looking at Sam like he’s discovered something unexpected and unwanted under the microscope.  Hesitant, disturbed. 

“No, Sammy,” Dean says at last, voice hoarse.  “I don’t think they can.”

Sam nods and fakes a smile, picking at his food again.  He’s not hungry, but he forces himself to eat anyway to feign normalcy.  Dean never stops staring at him.

*

Emboldened by his discovery with Gabriel, Sam disregards Dean’s consensus by throwing an arm around Gabriel in his next dream, keeping him close as they stare at the ceiling in silence.

“Dean says you can’t be real,” Sam murmurs.

Gabriel snorts.  “Dean can choke on a dick.”

A brief smile flitters on Sam’s face before disappearing.  “So you’re not dead?”

When Gabriel rolls on top of Sam, knees on either side of Sam’s waist, he offers Sam a petulant, sad smile.  “Oh, I’m quite dead.  But why does that mean that this isn’t real?”

Sam’s heart drops into his stomach as he swallows his sadness.  He wants to scream that there’s no way that Gabriel is dead, not when doors are opening on their own and Gabriel feels more alive than anyone he encounters in the waking world.  Sam refuses to believe Gabriel’s dead; there has to be another explanation for what’s going on.

As if sensing his confusion, Gabriel gives another promising smile and chuckle as he leans down.

“Let me show you,” Gabriel whispers as he closes the remaining distance.

Kissing Gabriel leaves Sam’s mouth cold like he’s touching ice, but instead of jerking away, Sam just licks in Gabriel’s mouth with an eager sound, an arm winding around Gabriel to keep him close as they lose themselves in the passionate kiss.  Gabriel presses closer until their hips are touching, and oh, doesn’t that feel real?  Sam responds by rolling his hips into Gabriel’s, breathing quiet little moans into Gabriel’s mouth as the warm waves of pleasure roll through his body.

They gasp for air as they pull back from the kiss, only to roll right back into each other, biting each other’s lips as the kisses grow heavier.  And it’s good, so good, but it’s not enough, not want Sam really needs.  And Gabriel must know, for he pulls back and stares at Sam with dark eyes drunk on desire as he reaches between them, fumbling with their zippers.  Sam hisses when their hard cocks are freed and rub against each other, the friction tantalizing. 

“Real enough for you?” Gabriel breathes against Sam’s kiss-swollen lips.  Sam gives a breathless laugh that turns into a moan when Gabriel begins to stroke them together in earnest.  Hissing, Sam covers Gabriel’s hand with his own and moves with him, and Gabriel groans, his head bowing.

They set a quick and dirty pace, the slick sound of their movements filling the room.  It’s good, so deliriously good that he wonders why they haven’t done this sooner, for nothing in the real world can feel as good as this.  Sam’s eyes close as he feels his orgasm approach already, so close to the brink just by this short period of contact.  Toes curling and breathing increasing, he tangles his free hand in Gabriel’s hair and groans out the archangel’s name as his orgasm hits him hard enough for him to see sparks.

Sam wakes up with a mess in his jeans, feeling more satisfied than he has in a long time.

*

Sometimes Sam swears that he can feel Gabriel in the real world.  He’ll feel a heavy gaze on him, see a flash of gold out of the corner of his eyes.  Sam will spin around at every little creak and sudden movement, desperately seeking out Gabriel and the world that he feels safest in.  But he’s not there.  He’s never there, but Sam keeps looking.

There are some days when Sam can hear Gabriel, and those are the worst of all, because Gabriel sounds close, so close, but he’s not here.  Gabriel’s voice is a low buzz in the back of Sam’s mind, a beehive that Sam can’t see but is desperate to find.

“Why are you so jumpy?” Dean asks, sitting on his bed and eyeing Sam as he prowls around the room.

“I can hear him, Dean,” Sam says, pacing around like a tiger in a cage.  “He’s alive.”

“Sam,” Dean says slowly.  “You’re freaking me out, man.”

Sam doesn’t reply, just continues to pace even as Dean pleads for Sam to stop. 

*

“I’ve been doing some research,” Sam says, idly running his fingers down Gabriel’s arms.

Gabriel’s sitting between Sam’s legs, his back pressed to Sam’s chest.  “Shocking,” he drolls.

Sam ignores that.  “Do you think you can transcend death?  Like, become alive somehow?”

Gabriel’s quiet for a long moment.  “I don’t know.”

Sam breathes a long, shaky sigh, running a hand through his hair.  “You’re in the real world, Gabe.  My world.  I…feel you.”

When Gabriel turns in place, he has a peculiar look in his eye.  “Yeah?”

He leans in, presses his mouth to Sam’s throat and bites hard, suckling the flesh until Sam moans.  “Feel this, then.”

Sam wakes to a pang in his neck.  When he checks his appearance in the mirror, he thinks he can see a dull purple mark.  He blinks again and it’s gone.

*

With the threat of the Apocalypse and his own failure looming over his head, Sam seeks out Gabriel everywhere.  He sees the archangel in every little thing, every shadow on the ground and in every howl in the wind that pounds against the windows.  Let me in, the wind cries, and Sam opens the windows every time, hoping that Gabriel will drift inside.

 “You’re imagining it, Sam,” Dean says, begs, desperate for Sam to see what he thinks is the truth.

And Dean doesn’t understand, doesn’t see the truth that Sam sees, doesn’t see how much Sam needs Gabriel and the safe world that they created in a white, white room where no devil can get him.

The worst comes when he overhears Dean telling Cas that Sam’s ‘crazy spell’ is setting back their work with the Apocalypse.  Guilt grows like a weed around his heart.  At that point, Sam gives up on reality.  Everything in this world feels plastic and fake, like a caricature of what the real world should be like.  It makes him antsy, fearing for himself and hating himself that he cannot connect like he’s supposed to, like Dean wants him to.

He takes sleeping pills most nights and passes out in their motel rooms, ignoring Dean’s angry and worried yells.

*

Gabriel’s leaning against the wall, tossing that tennis ball in the air again and again.  Sam’s watching through listless eyes, content to spend time with Gabriel in silence for as long as he can.

But eventually, the words spill from his lips.  “I’m thinking of staying here.”

Gabriel catches the ball and tilts his head, face quizzical.

“Staying here,” he repeats slowly.

Sam smiles, a hollow expression.  “With you, here.  I don’t want to live in the other world any more.”

Gabriel licks his lips uncertainly.  “You mean the real world?”

Sam’s eyes close.  “This is the real world.”

He opens his eyes when he feels a hand on his shoulder.  Gabriel is staring at him intently, more serious than he has been since this dream brigade began.  “You can’t do that, Sam.  I like you here, but you don’t belong here.”

And Sam crumples under the weight of Gabriel’s hand.  “Yes, I do.  You’re not dead, Gabriel.  I can feel you.”

With a low sound, Gabriel shakes his head.  “Don’t walk down that path, Sam.  You can’t start thinking like that.”

Sam responds by burying himself closer to Gabriel, pressing his head into Gabriel’s firm (alive) chest.   Gabriel pushes away almost violently, eyes wide and regretful.

“I think I should go for a while,” Gabriel says, each word a knife to Sam’s heart.

Alarmed, Sam reaches out to Gabriel, desperate to keep him here.  “Wait, Gabriel-“

But with a snap of his fingers, Gabriel is gone, and Sam is grasping for air, screaming until his throat is raw.

*

Sam wakes up with a scream.

Dean is at his side in an instant, blabbering questions and placating words, green eyes scanning Sam for any sign of injury.  But Sam doesn’t hear his questions.  He just tangles his fingers in his hair and groans, a loud and angry hum.

“He’s gone, Dean,” Sam says, nearly cries as he bows forward.

“Who’s gone, Sammy?  What’s going on?” The desperation in Dean’s voice would be heartbreaking if Sam had any foot standing in this world.

“Gabriel.  He’s gone, Dean, he’s gone.”

And Dean settles back, eyes narrowing in confusion.  “Sammy, he’s been gone for weeks now.”

Sam shakes his head furiously, his heart pounding as his breaths became short and labored.  “He’s alive Dean, he’s been with me, and he left me-“

Unable to hear any more, Dean envelops Sam into a rough hug, holding him close as Sam shakes and whispers something about a cat in a box.

*

Sam loses touch with reality slowly, like sap running down a tree.  He can hear Dean talking to him, begging him to pay attention, but Sam just stares and stares out the windows of the Impala and motels, waiting for Gabriel to return to him.  Gabriel has to be lurking around somewhere. 

Gabriel is safe.  Gabriel is real.  Gabriel is a world where there’s no more worries and no fear of failure.

He’s alive.  There’s no other way to explain how real he felt in the dreams, the way that he could affect Sam in his waking life.

He remembers Gabriel saying that it all exists in Sam’s mind, but it does not make it any less real.

Sam’s lying in bed, eyes half-closed, as he thinks it over.  “You’re real, Gabriel. You’re real.”

There is no response, but he does not need one.  He knows what he needs, knows what’s real to him.

Whenever Dean hears Sam mutter such things, he sends his brother a sad look and presses both hands on Sam’s shoulder, forcing his little brother’s broken gaze on his.  “Baby brother, you gotta listen to me.  Just because you want him to be here doesn’t mean he’s alive.  Just ‘cause you see him doesn’t mean he’s real.”

And Sam just shakes his head, sad that Dean cannot see the world as Sam does.

*

He sees Gabriel in odd places: a tuft of hair in the super market, golden eyes in a mirror.

At one point, he hears Gabriel’s voice in the radio in the Impala.  Sam hits the radio so hard it breaks, and Dean pulls over and demands to know what the hell his problem is.

Sam just shakes his head over and over, assuring Dean that Gabriel would come for him.

Sometimes, he hears strange noises in the middle of the night.  It’s a low, sad sound, and sometimes Sam thinks it’s Dean crying.  But just when he thinks about it, the sound stops.

*

 Sam doesn’t leave the motel anymore.  Dean keeps him in the room, away from all other people who may remind him of Gabriel.  For the most part, Sam is content to lay in bed and sleep, praying that Gabriel would show in his dreams.

He doesn’t.  Not anymore.  But Sam curls up and closes his eyes hard, still believing that he’s not alone.

“I think I’m going crazy, Gabriel,” Sam whispered, voice breaking.

There’s a soft whoosh of fabric flapping, and then a warm puff of air at his ear.

“It’s okay, Sam.  What’s the saying?  We’re all mad here,” Gabriel’s voice whispers.  Sam’s smile is all teeth and the voice flutters away.

*

“Gabriel?”

Sam’s curled in bed again, knees almost to his chest as he calls out for his alive dead archangel.  Nothing happens at first, and Sam fears that Gabriel won’t arrive.  It’s been three days since he’s last heard his voice, and he’s becoming antsy.

There’s a flutter.  Sam exhales, taking that as a sign.

“Where are you?  You said we’re all mad here, but where is here?  If I keep you alive inside me, then you kinda do transcend death, don’t you?”

The curtains swish, but only silence follows.

*

Sam keeps a bottle of sleeping pills with him, away from Dean’s prying eyes.  Dean watches Sam like a hawk, muttering things about how Sam probably needs a hospital, but he refuses to send him; he thinks Sam will fix himself.  Sam insists that he was never broken in the first place.  All he needs is Gabriel, and everything will be alright.

But Dean can’t be there all the time.  And when he’s gone, Sam rolls the bottle of pills in his hand, contemplating.  Gabriel’s alive, he knows it, but Gabriel isn’t here, hasn’t been here in so long.  Sometimes he can hear Gabriel whispering in his mind, but it’s not the same thing.

He wonders if he can make Gabriel physical.  Maybe there’s a summoning spell that works on deadalive archangels.  Or maybe if he prays, prays harder than he ever has in his God forsaken life, it will be enough to conjure Gabriel.

Maybe there’s a way to get to him.

Sam spins the bottle of pills around and around and around.

*

Sam opens his eyes and sees white. He’s sprawled out on the floor of a completely white room, void of furniture and any other color.

Sam sits up and feels lighter than he has in a long time.

“Hey kid.”

Sam turns, and there Gabriel is, standing in front of him like old times.  Gabriel’s smiling, but it’s sad, so damn sad, but there’s this golden glow around him that makes him look so alive and healthy.

But Gabriel’s here, he’s here he’s here’s he’s here, and that’s all that matters.  Sam runs to Gabriel, pulling him into a tight embrace.  “I’ve missed you.”

Sam thinks that Gabriel feels warmer.  Or perhaps Sam is colder.  He cannot tell which it is.