God willing, I'll see you on the other side
Sam had been driving most of the night, energized by a combination of caffeine and elation. He knew how to do it. After two, nearly three years, he finally knew how to repay a very old debt. Dean was taking care of things with Benny and frankly, the less Sam thought about that, the happier he was going to be. At least this time it was an amicable
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“Don’t have a kilt for a proper caber toss.” Breathing no longer hurt, which was pretty awesome. “Thanks.”
After tugging his shirt down, the big hunter stood and ambled towards the minifridge in the corner, pulling out a beer for himself and a sugary soda for Gabriel. “I guess I should fill you in on what happened since.” Since you died saving our lives.
“You were right, you know. About the rings of the Horsemen. We got them and we, ah, we opened the Cage.” What he wanted to do was look away as he starts to lay this all out, but Gabriel deserved the truth, he deserved Sam to look him in the eye. “But the only way to get Lucifer in was for me to say yes. So I did.”
“I said yes. Michael, he, ah, he tried to stop me. I drug him into the Cage with us.” Sam tried not to look down at how bad his hands started to shake. Memories of Hell still skitter to the surface sometimes and he had to just close his eyes and breathe through the pain. Let it pass
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Still, it could hardly distract him from what Sam said. In fact, it took Gabriel all his self control not to drop the can onto the bed he was sitting on.
"No - wait. No. I don't think I said that. In fact, maybe I should have specified: Do not get in the cage with my psycho brother and my other psycho brother." By all things holy, Gabriel wouldn't want to be locked in between the two of them for a day, not for any reason at all. He didn't want to imagine what they would do to a man who had turned on them in such a spectacular fashion.
"It was a good move that you took Michael with you. They're not as different as they like to believe." He took a deep breath. "Hell. I didn't think you'd actually even get one of these bastards in there." And they were caged. Not dead. Maybe this was not something to be happy about, considering, but... they were still his family.
There was a moment of silence. "You humans... sure are something." Gabriel reached forward with a glance to the side, trying to seem casual as he wiped off a trickle of beer that had escaped from the bottle and over Sam's fingers because of the way Sam's hands shook. "Well, that's a bit unfair. I haven't often met a human quite as stupid or brave as you, Sam."
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Gabriel’s response merited a strained smile. “Yeah, getting the rings was the easy part. But the only way to shove him back in was to.. to jump.” And that fall was not something he wanted to be thinking about, not if he wanted to sleep anytime soon. The touch snapped Sam out of his memory and he smiled again, taking a hasty sip before the beer was set firmly down on the nightstand.
“Thanks. Guess that was one thing we both managed on the way, huh?”
Sam leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, hands hanging down. He’d been trying to get out of the habit of pressing the scar on his hand with only marginal success and talking about Hell always made the need worse. “Dean, he got me out of the Cage. After two hundred years there really wasn’t much left, but he did it anyway. Somehow he convinced Death to get me out and put up a wall in my head so I didn’t go immediately insane.”
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There was a certain weariness as he said these words. He realised Sam probably had to think he was pants-on-head crazy for the fact that he had even tried to talk to Lucifer, but Gabriel knew the angel that was buried under all that hatred and resentment. More than the cut on his vessel's body, he was still hurt by the fact that Lucifer had actually done it, killed him. And for no good reason, too, other than to get his way. Yes, Gabriel had drawn the knife, but to protect the humans, not his own little ego trip.
"So... not that I'm complaining, but why did you bring me back? Did meeting my brothers just convince you you needed some more archangels in your life?" He frowned.
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He huffed out a laugh at the question, more than willing to follow the archangel’s lead and change the subject. “Hardly. I.. you didn’t deserve what happened to you, Gabriel. Most angels, demons, all of those higher powers we’ve met never gave a damn about humanity, about the people that were paying a price for their games and a Plan that didn’t matter anymore.”
This time when his eyes met Gabriel’s, his expression was sincere, the look Dean sometimes called his puppy dog look. “You deserved better. I found a way to fix that, to bring you back, so I had to take that chance, I had to do it.”
Sure, that chance might have melted his face off, but it was still a chance worth taking.
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"Must've been moonlighting as a pagan god that made me this way. It's all hands-on work with these guys. I mean, literally. They all have tons of half-human bastards around," Gabriel said with a grin that was still a bit crooked. He'd known Sam was special, but it was difficult to look at someoen the same way when you knew they'd been through Happy Fun Times With Lucy And Micky, the extended version. A miracle this human hadn't cracked yet.
"No, you really didn't have to do that. But you did. I don't think any angel or demon would have even considered it. They wouldn't have been sure I'd go along with their scheme du jour. But I told Lucifer this, and I still think it's true - if we're gonna have this permanent pissing contest with the goodies up there and the baddies here," he stamped the floor once, "it's just fair if at least one of us is here with you humans to... well, hold the umbrella." Almost playfully, the large wing, mostly dry now, wiped over Sam's back and hair, barely touching him, but the air in motion ruffling his hair.
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The ruffle to his hair gets an exasperated, if somewhat affectionate bitchface. "Brought you back for more than your umbrella services, dude. But you're welcome."
His hands were steadier now and Sam picked up his beer. "Are you ok? I mean.." he gestured vaguely at the bloody rent in his shirt.
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He was fairly sure... or desperately optimistic, at least. His grace just wasn't very strong and he couldn't tap into the angel network, either. Speaking of that. "Hey, you wouldn't know what's up with Raphael, right? Can't really phone home right now. I'm assuming Metatron is being mysteriously absent as usual."
Which at least meant he was out of the firing line. Gabriel could live with that. He followed Sam's example, taking a sip from the soda and looking down at himself. "I think so." Really, he didn't care to look at the evidence, but he supposed it had to be done. With one hand, Gabriel dragged up the shirt and stared at the wound. It was uncleaned still, surrounded by dry, clotted blood, an ugly black line that looked like dead, seared flesh. "And that's how you scar an archangel. Take note, kiddo."
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Sam made an unhappy noise at the blood and the scar, setting down his beer to make for the bathroom. He returned with a warm washcloth and a small towel. "All right dude, your turn. Shirt off."
Turnabout's fair play, right?
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"Why is my family like this?!" He asked, suddenly, straightening up. "Was I the only not thinking of clouds and cake when dad told us to love these new little squishy things he made, not turn their home into our personal stage for every new idea we come up with?" Not that he would paint himself as humanity's saviour, he enjoyed messing with them, too, but at least he usually picked on the less favourable examples.
While Sam was gone, Gabriel allowed himself a moment of pure, simple, unexplainable sadness that he couldn't and wouldn't justify, not with what he'd seen Raphael leaning towards - he'd met Donnie, his catatonic short-time vessel -, what he apparently had become. Sadness for an angel who had lectured him again and again and again on the rules of heaven while Gabriel, grace only half-formed, gleefully disassembled everything to see how it worked. An angel that had criticised his fascination with humans and tried to make him a much more profound being than he'd become. An angel that had, at times, probably loved him all the same, even when he was arguing him to near-death over some law that Gabriel didn't feel like obeying. A brother, despite all. When he heard Sam's voice, Gabriel quickly pulled himself together.
"Pushy," he said, as he started to unbutton his shirt.
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When Gabriel finished speaking, Sam reached out to squeeze his hand. "I'm sorry." And it wasn't a platitude, the 'I'm sorry' that's offered after someone dies and you don't really know what else to say. Sam really was sorry that things ended that way, that he'd lost three of his brothers.
The washcloth was warm and Sam laid a steadying hand on Gabriel's shoulder as he cleaned away the hard bits of dried blood away from the ugly scar. "I brought a change of clothes too. They should be about the right size."
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"I never liked the guy, but - Jesus Christ. You don't have to feel sorry about this. Especially not after that whole cage business." He didn't want to go into more detail, since he wasn't keen on triggering yet another memory for Sam.
Pain was a good distraction, he found. That sort of visceral pain humans must feel all the time, which was much different from being hurt as an archangel. Sam's hand could have been distracting, too, but that was a yet more dangerous thought. Gritting his teeth, the trickster looked up to Sam. "What, no 'they belonged to a twelve year old' or 'I would give you mine, but you need a shirt, not a tent'? You're losing your edge, Sammy."
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His thumb swept over his shoulder as he finished cleaning the wound, laying the washcloth aside and reaching for the towel. Touching Gabriel like that was leading to some unexpectedly distracting thoughts. Thoughts he really didn’t need to be thinking right now. “Here. And no, I didn’t get them off a twelve year old.”
Sam handed off the towel and retrieved a blue shopping bag from his duffel, handing it over with only the barest twitch of his lips. “Sears. Juniors section.” Losing his edge? Please. He grew up with Dean, remember?
“Get changed, I’ll get us some dinner.” He rifled through the takeout menus stashed beneath the motel phone and studiously not looking at Gabriel with his shirt off. “Any requests?”
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"Thanks," Gabriel said, instead, when Sam pulled back. Receiving the bag, he had to keep himself from grinning.
"Sears is shamefully uninclusive. This doesn't even fit over a 25 feet wingspan. So I hope you like strip shows. Not as good as the Spearmint Rhino, but I'm getting there." Cynewulf - no relation to the poet of the same name, the guy had not been all that bright - here certainly had gotten a good portion of his genes from his Viking father. Gabriel's vessel was small, but stocky and compact in build, with some visibly muscle under pale skin, now on display as he sat shirtless on the bed.
The question for dinner was immediately answered with: "Pancakes."
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Yeah, he could go into that quiet place in his head and pull the trigger when he needed to, but it wasn’t a place Sam liked to be. Which is why he was the one who’d be harangued about chick flick moments for the rest of his life. But it was okay. He was used to it.
And there might be a hint of a flush creeping up the back of his neck as he tore his attention away from Gabriel. Again. His vessel might be short, but he was solidly built, well put together and.. Obvious much, Sam?
“Let me guess, with plenty of strawberry syrup?” Oh look. Distraction. Sam stood, reaching for his jacket again. “I can go pick them up, unless you think you can hide your wings and not freak out the general populace?"
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If that whole being dead business hadn't broken his brain too bad, Gabriel could have sworn that Sam was looking his way. How easy it would have been to casually glance at his thoughts, had he had his full powers... but then, perhaps he would have decided to be fair and leave him the privacy of his own head, too. The man had saved him and did deserve a little special treatment, he guessed.
"I'll work on the wings," Gabriel said as he settled back on the bed, sprawling them, and stretching them from one wall to the other as he reached for the remote. "And leave dinner acquisition in your trustworthy hands."
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