#samgabe

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Sam woke slowly, his eyes blinking open and trying to take in his surroundings. He tried to lift his arms and found that he wasn’t able, noticed he was tied to a chair and said chair was sitting in the middle of a devil’s trap surrounded by a ring of burning holy oil. The room he was in was dim, but he could still make out a few distinct things: the floor was a dark hardwood and the walls were stained log - he was in a cabin. He glanced around, trying to get his eyes to focus to the dark, and noticed an ornate rug just to the left of him that was starkly familiar - it had been in the cabin Gabriel had brought him to after Dean died, back when he still thought Gabriel was Loki. It could just be a coincidence, of course it could, because Gabriel was dead. He’d died in the Elysian Fields hotel over three years ago and Sam knew that. Sam knew he was dead. He’d seen the burned ash wings spreading out from his lifeless vessel. Gabriel was dead.

And yet, as he strained his eyes in the darkness, he saw a figure leaning in the doorway, a figure with golden-shining eyes. Sam cleared his throat and tried to make a mental map of everything he could possibly use as a weapon against this...being...that looked exactly like his dead archangel boyfriend. No angel blade, no demon-killing knife, no gun. He tried to wriggle out of the restraints on his wrists, but they wouldn’t budge.

“You won’t be able to break those, don’t waste your energy.” The figure in the doorway said, and Sam winced - it sounded so much like Gabriel it hurt. He moved toward Sam, stepping into the light just outside of the ring of holy fire, “Who are you?”

Sam smiled weakly and paused, looking him over. The navy jumpsuit had been replaced with a simple red button-down underneath a tan jacket and a pair of dark-wash jeans. His eyes were still honey-gold, glowing bright and angry in the dim light. Sam hadn’t seen him like this since, well, since the night he’d died.

“I’m Sam Winchester.” Sam said, and the man let out a bitter laugh.

“No, you’re not.” He pointed a blade at him, “Sam Winchester is asleep in his motel room. So, I’m gonna ask again, who are you?”

“Sam Winchester.” Sam repeated, brows furrowing. Sam Winchester is asleep in his motel room. Familiar college hallway, a Gabriel look-a-like. What looked like an archangel blade in the Gabriel-look-a-like’s hand. The man scoffed and twirled the blade between his fingers, walking slowly around the ring of holy fire. Sam could hear his boots thunking across the hardwood floor as he came to stand directly behind him. There was a long pause and Sam could hear his blood ringing in his ears as he tried to fit together a plan. The ring of holy fire dissipated and Sam heard him step closer, and suddenly there was cool metal pressing up against his neck, a hand in his hair forcing his head back to look into those fire-golden eyes.

“How do you know my name?” Not-Gabriel’s breath ghosted over his face and it smelled like caramel coffee. He placed two fingers on Sam’s neck, gliding soft to the pressure point just below his jaw. A moment passed where he just looked into Sam’s eyes before that all-too-familiar feeling of grace rushed through Sam’s body, warming him, surging through his nerves like live electricity. Sam closed his eyes, leaning slightly into the touch, and he knew in that moment that this was Gabriel. He’d know that feeling anywhere. Regardless of what Dean always said, every angel Sam had encountered had a different feeling to their grace. Castiel’s was colder, like ice running through his veins, Gadreel’s had been heavy, suffocating, and lukewarm, Lucifer’s -- Sam didn’t want to think about -- fire coursing under his skin, burning down his throat and scorching his insides. And Gabriel’s was warm. It was warm and it felt right, like he was safe and loved every moment it flowed through him.

Gabriel’s fingers slowly withdrew and Sam looked up at him - at the hard line of his mouth, the angry furrow of his brow. Sam smiled, slow and sad, and Gabriel snapped his fingers once more.

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The first time, Loki swept him away to Milan. Sam had been alone for two days straight with all of his friends away for spring break, and Loki had shown up, offered his hand with a wink and a smile, and suddenly they were wandering sunlit cobblestone backstreets. When they finally arrived back in Sam’s dorm and Loki pushed him into bed, kissing and whispering absolutely filthy things in his ear, it was all Sam could do to wonder if this was how Loki treated all of his devotees. He woke in the morning to find empty sheets and an empty dorm room, but the basket of muffins sitting on his nightstand were still warm.

The second time, months later, Loki took him to a cabin on a weekend that Sam was particularly stressed about finals and he lost himself in a snow blanketed valley. Hot cocoa, warm blankets, and all the silence he needed to write that term paper that was giving him trouble. He wandered around the small forest behind the cabin during his breaks and watched a few of the classic movies stocked up in the cabin. There was always coffee brewing, always food in the fridge, despite Loki only popping in once throughout the whole weekend (when he was getting frustrated with his final final paper and Loki appeared just in time to sweep him off his feet and into bed). By the time he dropped him back off at Stanford, Sam had not only finished all of his papers, he felt more relaxed than he had all year.

Loki visited him once or twice a month after that, always when Sam seemed to need it the most. It was comforting - knowing that his god would be there for him, perhaps not every time he prayed for him, but unquestionably when he needed him. Which is why, a year after he had devoted himself, in body and soul, to Loki, he started asking questions. He had long grown comfortable with the god in his bed, and in his life, and so when Loki answered with a click of his tongue and a wry smile, “A kiss for an answer”, Sam gladly took him up on it. Questions ranging from: how many devotees he’d had back in the old days (vs now) to what his life was like. He told stories of old, tales of jealousy and revenge and love, and it was like getting a glimpse into another world. A world of excitement, a world of wonder, and of magic, a world that was so different from the life he was living. Sometimes, when Sam went to sleep, he liked to dream about going back with him one day - of meeting Thor and Baldur and Hel and Narfi and seeing the golden-shining halls of an Asgardian palace.

Another year passed, and Sam managed to move off campus into a small studio apartment about a mile from campus. Loki popped in almost once a week then. He told Sam about his day, complained about the other gods, and ate all of the leftover takeout in Sam’s fridge. Sam eventually invited him out to see the new Star Wars movie and after that, Loki showed up pretty much every single Friday night to see a movie or try a new takeout restaurant. And then, one fateful night, Sam suggested they try out a bar his friends had talked about, and Loki hesitated, but agreed.

The bar was sparsely lit and loud. From the moment they entered, Loki’s hand was on the small of his back, guiding him and claiming him, and Sam wondered just what it was that was making him act like this. Sam had, at that point, been wholly devoted to his god for over three years, and though it was never exactly discussed, he had never taken an interest in having anyone else in his bed, let alone in his life. Loki guided him over to a booth in the corner and left for a moment to order their drinks. Sam watched as Loki walked off; he stopped a few feet away from the bar and stared off into the crowd. Sam tried to follow his gaze, and found he was staring directly at Brady, one of his friends from university. Brady made eye contact with him and waved, heading over to the booth Sam where he was sitting. Brady smiled and patted him on the shoulder, sitting down across from him in the booth. They talked about how their shared human bio class was going until Loki returned, drinks in hand. He slid in next to him, a hand firm on Sam’s thigh as he introduced himself to Brady as an old friend. Brady grinned and Loki’s fingers tightened. They stared at each other, unblinking, and Sam knew he was missing something.

Loki tugged at his hand, motioning for him to get up, and Sam looked at him incredulously. The god huffed and leaned down, breath ghosting against Sam’s ear, “Do you trust me?” And Sam didn’t hesitate, “Of course.” They were out the door of the bar in less than a minute. Loki lead him around the corner of the building, into a dark-lit alley, and Sam’s heart was thundering in his chest. He trusted Loki. He did. He trusted his god. Loki snapped as soon as they were out of sight and a moment later they were in Sam’s apartment.  Sam wanted to ask what all that was about - what exactly had happened between Loki and Brady. His heart was still pounding as he ran through a thousand possibilities, a thousand reasons. Loki was facing away from him now and Sam could see the tension in his shoulders as he stood there, unmoving for a long moment.

“Loki?” Sam breathed, dread hitting him hard in the stomach. Had he done something wrong? Had he taken this - this thing - he had with this god, this unfathomable being, too far? Had he been expecting too much? Sam shut his eyes, trying to compose himself, and when he opened them again, Loki was looking at him, boring into his soul.

“You’ve done nothing wrong.” He said, as he stepped forward. Loki took his hands, cradled them both between his own and looked him right in the eye, “Sam,” He whispered, soft and airy, “Do you trust me?”

Sam was panicking. Rightfully and truthfully panicking. Loki had never been this serious - should never have to be this serious - and something was obviously wrong, very, very wrong, but before he could even think, before he could figure out what felt off, he muttered, “ Yes.” And that was all that Loki needed. All he’d ever needed. Loki wrapped his arms around him and Sam pressed his face into Loki’s hair, his eyes fluttering closed as he took in a deep breath. Pine & sandalwood & an unmistakable tang of ozone. He felt warm and safe in his god’s arms, like he’d just wrapped himself up in his favorite comforter straight out of the dryer. There was a shift in the air as Sam felt the ground fall out from beneath him; he clung hard to Loki, and soon enough righted himself on solid ground once more. Loki held him for a moment more and then moved away, and Sam could hear his footsteps moving further away as he composed himself.

Sam’s eyes fluttered open and he was met, for a moment, with blinding sunlight reflecting off of glittering gold, and as his eyes adjusted he could make out more: startlingly tall marble pillars, golden-threaded tapestry lining the walls, a bed in the corner with fur pelts piled high, and golden-shining chests and dressers. Sam took it all in, his heart still thundering in his chest as he realized Loki was no longer with him. He stood there, alone and still in this enormous room, and prayed silently for his god to return.

There was a chuckle behind him and Sam spun around to find Loki, a small, weary smile on his face, “Here.” He handed Sam a pelt, similar to the ones he’d seen on the bed, and headed over toward the gold dresser. A tense silence settled over them as Loki searched through the top drawer, then the second, and finally pulled a white gown out of the bottom drawer. He snapped his fingers and the fabric seemed to grow, stretching down and out, and he handed that to Sam as well.

“Put them on.” Loki said, and Sam obeyed, carefully slipping off his clothes and setting into the gown. Loki placed the pelt around his shoulders and tied it off, his fingers lingering on Sam’s chest, staring at the fur.

“Loki?” Sam whispered, and the god’s eyes shot up to meet his, “What’s going on?” And Sam instantly regretted asking. Loki’s face was sullen as he cupped Sam’s cheeks and brought him down for a long, slow kiss. They broke apart, their foreheads resting against one another.

“Think of it as your own, private witness protection, Sammy.” Loki let out a soft sigh before patting him on the cheek, a slight smile tugging at his lips, “Or should I say, Sigyn.”

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Sam groaned as he picked himself up from the floor, his wrist stinging as he put pressure on it - probably a strain, hopefully not a break. He blinked, realized that he was no longer in a warehouse, and the witch that had been less than three feet from him was gone as well. There was speckled linoleum beneath his fingers and as Sam took a look around, he noticed he was in a hallway that looked oddly familiar. He remembered this - the tan brick walls, the old wooden display cases, the stairway at the end of the corridor, and as he turned, he heard the telltale sound of a spring-lock door opening behind him.

And then? A fond click of a tongue and an all-too-familiar voice called out to him, “Did you get lost there, detective?” Sam’s heart was in his throat in an instant.

"Gabe?" Sam whispered, turning and moving toward him faster than he probably should have, with his head still spinning from being knocked around by that witch. But it’s Gabriel , here, now, right in front of him, and Sam couldn’t help but reach out for him as he stumbled closer. Gabriel took a step back, his eyes wide and his trademark grin quickly transformed into a frightened scowl. He was wearing a navy jumpsuit, his hair shorter than the last time Sam had seen him, but that didn’t matter now.

"What?" Gabriel breathed, taking another step back, but Sam had him, his fingers closing around his wrist. Sam pulled him close, his face buried in Gabriel's hair the instant they made contact. And it only occurred to him moments later, how strange the situation was.  How he'd been in a warehouse minutes before, and yet now he stood in a university corridor, his dead lover cradled in his arms. And he remembered, then, why this place looked so familiar. He looked down, his heart still pounding in his throat, expecting to see a demon, a ghost, or some eldritch monstrosity in place of where Gabriel had just been. Instead, Gabriel threw him, quite literally, into a wall, and all Sam heard before he blacked out was the sound of snapping fingers.

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