Fic: 'For Love is Strong as Death', 6/6
Title: For Love is Strong as Death
Characters/Pairings: TFW. Sam/Gabe, eventual Dean/Cas slash.
Summary: Four months after the apocalypse that wasn’t, Sam, Castiel and Gabriel are brought back to life at the same time and place, leaving Sam to deal with two suddenly human angels and the fact that he can never see his brother again...
Masterpost
With the angels back to normal (one of them gone entirely) Sam had been half expecting to be back on the road by the next day at the latest. He could tell that Dean was starting to feel the familiar itch of restlessness in his bones (so was Sam, if he was going to be honest about it). But Bobby, having taken one look at the full extent of the damage done to his house by the angels’ unexpected and miraculous recovery, had demanded in no uncertain terms that they stick around long enough to clean up their own damn mess.
Apparently the shockwave had been worse than they’d first thought, as for the last three days they’d been finding more and more bits and pieces that needed repairing wherever they looked; cracks running up walls, splits in the wooden flooring. It wouldn’t be such a big deal except they’d realised that even minor flaws like those could well be disrupting the runes of warding and protection Bobby had inlaid into every square inch of the place. It all needed fixing, fast. And worse, if Sam wasn’t mistaken Bobby was in genuine mourning for some of the books that had been inadvertently ripped or torn, so he really didn’t feel like testing his temper by skipping out on the clean-up.
Currently, Sam was occupied in knocking out the last remnants of broken glass that still remained around the edges of one of the upstairs windows, in preparation for the new pane that would have to be put in. He could hear the distant rhythmic pounding of Dean with a hammer somewhere downstairs, violently broadcasting all the unresolved sexual frustration that Sam was desperately, desperately trying to ignore.
Castiel had disappeared without explanation for a day and a half after his recovery, presumably off taking care of Important Angel Business - but then, to everybody’s mutual and unacknowledged surprise, he’d come back. Not to warn them of some new apocalyptic event, or inform them in his usual voice of doom about a hunt the next town over, but simply to hover about exactly as he’d been doing before. Still clad in his thrift store jeans and army jacket; still content to sit and read whatever book Sam had last recommended; still, for all intents and purposes, acting human. It was weird, frankly, and it seemed to be throwing Dean completely for a loop. His brother hadn’t been this jittery around Cas since the days immediately after his resurrection.
The reinstated angel had even tried to help out with the repair work, under Sam’s patient supervision. But after he’d misjudged his newly restored strength and promptly put a hammer straight through the floorboards, only creating yet more work for them, Dean had stepped in and furiously banned him from all and any further DIY attempts. Ever since, his brother had been stalking about the house sporting a low slung tool-belt as if it somehow made him the ‘man’ in his epic gay relationship with an angel. Sam really wished there was someone around with whom he could share such observations and commiserate.
He sighed, examining his handiwork and deciding it would do for now. Running a hand through his hair, he glanced around the room, trying to figure out which problem to tackle next. Before he could make a decision, however, his phone vibrated in his pocket, ticklish against his hipbone. He fished it out and flipped it open, finding a text from an unrecognised number.
It read: ‘Sorry I didn’t let you know I was taking off. Had to stretch my wings sharpish. You know how it is. Went to Vegas. I’ll bring you back something pretty next time I stop by. xo’
It was the first word from Gabriel in over three days.
Sam stared at the message incredulously, reading it over a second time. He was pretty sure he’d just been blown off. By text. Affronted, he couldn’t help but marvel that Gabriel had the sheer audacity to end whatever weird, tentative, nonexistent... thing they’d had by text.
He got halfway through typing out a reply that told the archangel exactly where he could go shove his ‘something pretty’, before belatedly realising he wasn’t actually a woman scorned, no matter what Gabriel’s dismissive tone implied.
After almost a full minute of indecision, he ended up shoving his phone back into his pocket without sending anything in return. If Gabriel wanted to play it like that, well fine. Sam could play too. After all, he knew by now that nothing could infuriate the archangel more than being thoroughly ignored.
For the next two hours he received increasingly frequent texts from the same unknown number, each one detailing some minor adventure in Vegas. After the seventh (which informed him that cheating at cards was indeed a lot easier with powers) he gave in and saved the number under Gabriel’s name, but still didn’t send out a reply.
After the eleventh, Dean asked short-temperedly who the hell was texting him so often.
Sam hesitated.
Immediately, his brother scowled and pointed a screwdriver at him authoritatively. “Tell Gabriel that if he’s going to be enough of a dick to ditch you like that, he can damn well leave you alone altogether.”
“Dean...” For an utterly surreal moment, Sam felt all of twelve years old again, mortified and irritated, insisting to his brother that he was big enough to take care of himself, thanks. Dean had always been overprotective, but that it was happening now, over Gabriel, was maybe the most traumatising moment of Sam’s life.
He shook it off and hurriedly made his excuses to leave, feeling Dean’s disapproving stare on him all the way out of the room. It was good timing, at least, as on the way back upstairs his phone buzzed yet again. Frustrated, he dragged it out flipped it open.
‘Met a showgirl called Samantha,’ Gabriel’s text read this time. ‘Kinda reminded me of you. All big green eyes and a beauty spot freckle. Even let me call her Sammy. xoxo’
He narrowed his eyes at the message, irrationally incensed. His plan to refuse all contact momentarily forgotten, he typed out with jerky movements, ‘Nice of her. Personally, I always hated anyone calling me that.’
He hit send and enjoyed a moment of spiteful satisfaction.
...And alright, yes, fine - there was maybe a small chance Dean was right when he said Sam could be passive aggressive on occasion.
xxx
Gabriel frowned down at his phone. Well, he supposed, at least that had been the best reaction he’d received so far.
Though mostly because it was the only reaction so far...
xxx
Sam should have remembered that the archangel made getting what he wanted into an art form. Now that he’d successfully provoked Sam into first contact, it was as if he simply wasn’t willing to go on being ignored.
The next day, in true trickster fashion, Gabriel made good on his offhand promise to gift Sam with something pretty by depositing a Las Vegan white tiger in Bobby’s living room. (“Cat!” Dean had yelled in stunned fright, upon discovering the thing. “Really big cat!”) Gabriel himself hadn’t shown, although Sam had no doubt whatsoever that he was laughing himself silly over the whole debacle, wherever he was.
So, while Bobby despaired for the state of ridiculous chaos his life had become lately, Castiel took it upon himself to return Gabriel’s ‘present’ to where it had come from. Sam had never before thought he’d have to witness their resident angel trying unsuccessfully to sneak up on a confused and singularly unimpressed adult tiger. It was one for the scrapbook, if nothing else.
‘What?’ Gabriel’s protest of innocence read when Sam called him on it. ‘I honestly thought you liked animals!’
xxx
After returning the tiger to its rightful owners, Castiel reappeared in the living room to find Sam stretched out on the couch, his phone resting on his stomach and vibrating intermittently with incoming messages. The angel drifted closer, gesturing at the device.
“If you wish Gabriel to stop contacting you, why are you-”
“I tried putting it on silent,” Sam interrupted him, sounding resigned. “Gabriel has powers again, remember. He made it play Build Me Up Buttercup until I willingly set it back to something audible.” He continued to stare at the ceiling for a moment or two, and then added with wry respect, “And you should have seen what happened when I actually tried to turn it off...”
Castiel refrained from asking. Instead, as Sam reluctantly levered himself up into a sitting position, he moved to join the human on the couch, perching himself awkwardly. Sam eyed him sidelong.
“...I did not expect Gabriel to depart as he did,” Castiel admitted at last, somewhat hesitantly. Approaching conversations with Sam, he’d learned, was comparatively a lot easier than with Dean, but it was still a process fraught with difficulties.
Sam snorted. “Why not? It’s what he does, isn’t it?”
“How do you mean?”
“You said it yourself. He runs from anything like responsibility or... or commitment. Shouldn’t have expected it to be any different now.”
Castiel frowned, surprised to feel a little surge of defensiveness on behalf of his absent brother. “You dismiss him too easily. Perhaps you were unaware, but Gabriel has never once taken his attention from you and Dean since the moment your true destinies became apparent, through all the years of your lives. He is hardly a stranger to committed causes.”
Sam looked away, flustered, and Castiel continued.
“Gabriel, as far as he is able, runs from pain. And with that in mind - did something happen between you?”
“No,” Sam said, too quickly, watching Castiel with a cagey expression.
Oddly enough, the angel remained unconvinced.
Before he could say as much, however, Sam’s phone buzzed again. Sighing, he picked it up and read whatever new message it displayed. A smile tugged unwillingly at his mouth, but he made no comment and didn’t share with Castiel the source of his amusement.
The angel regarded him gently. “He misses you.”
Sam blinked. “Sorry?”
“Gabriel. He misses you, I imagine.” His gaze drifted to the loose stuffing that spilled from one of the many new gashes in the couch, inflicted by the tiger before its departure. “Admittedly, he sometimes has... difficulty in communicating such sentiments.”
Sam huffed laughter despite himself. “Yeah, no kidding.” Then, sobering, he added, “Look. Nothing’s stopping him from coming back, so...” He trailed off with a shrug.
Castiel just tipped his head. “Does he have reason to?”
The human flinched, and didn’t answer.
xxx
Not as far away as Sam might imagine, Gabriel snapped his fingers and conjured up a peach daiquiri, idly wondering what his next move was going to be.
xxx
Dean was having a stressful day. His little brother was being stalked by an archangel with a psychotic sense of humour, and his own angel troubles didn’t bear mentioning. The house was still blown to pieces; this morning he’d walked in on a tiger, for fuck’s sake; and an hour ago Crowley had successfully abused his already frayed nerves so badly he’d turned and hurled a paint roller at the demon’s head. His whole life, frankly, was rapidly becoming a circus.
Sam was on his way to bed when Dean finally cornered him. “Dude, what the hell? I warned you! Didn’t I warn you about messing with a trickster?!”
His brother let out a long-suffering breath. “I’m sorry, okay?” He started up the stairs, muttering over his shoulder. “It’s not like I expected him to pull something like this. Believe it or not, I don’t harbour some secret wish to see you get eaten by a Vegas star attraction...”
Dean followed him stubbornly. “What the fuck happened with the two of you? I can’t even tell if this is him being mad at you, or his version of an apology!”
“Neither can I, really...” Sam admitted, frowning a little as he reached the landing.
“Well goddamn fix it, Sammy,” Dean snapped, and opened the door to their room.
They both immediately stopped dead on the threshold, staring. All over the place were M&M’s. Not bags of them, as one might expect, but a wild scatter of bright candy that looked as if it had been arranged by being dropped from a great height - except for the small fact that the mess was confined solely and pointedly to Sam’s side of the room, as though an invisible barrier contained it.
Dean turned slowly towards him, looking thoroughly nonplussed. “You seriously couldn’t just make a normal friend, could you...?”
xxx
Sam Winchester was swiftly becoming his obsession.
This wasn’t a problem in and of itself. After all, it wasn’t like Gabriel had ever done anything by halves. Moderation, he’d come to learn, was like a foreign language, in that you generally had to learn that shit while you were young. And Gabriel really hadn’t.
No, what actually bothered him was that he couldn’t quite get a grip on the nature of that obsession. In all honesty, he, too, was unable to quite decide if his actions were done as some kind of petty revenge for Sam’s rejection, or in sheepish apology for his own hasty exit. He was simply reacting blindly; so ruled by fickle emotion he might as well still be human. It had infected him, like a contagion, and he wasn’t completely certain there was a cure.
He sighed in exasperation, stretching himself more fully across the uncomfortable bed. Honestly, all those texts he’d sent to Sam had really made Vegas sound fun. So much so that Gabriel kind of wished he was actually there, and not hiding out in an unoccupied motel room about a mile out of Sioux Falls. Least then he could be having a good time while he was busy angsting...
xxx
Fearful of any further displays of Gabriel’s attention raining down on them during the night, Dean had resolutely banished his brother to go sleep in another room, any other room. Then, swiping a handful of conveniently placed M&M’s, he’d thrown himself down atop his own bed and proceeded to eat them one by one while he stared up at the ceiling, restless.
He was awake for maybe another hour, thoughts refusing to settle as he considered the remaining DIY jobs he’d have to tackle tomorrow; Sam and Gabriel; when they’d next be able to go hunting; whether that rattle in the Impala needed fixing; Sam and Gabriel. And when, finally, he did begin to drift off, annoyingly it didn’t last long.
There was a quiet flutter in the darkness, and he opened his eyes to peer blurrily up at Castiel standing above him. He twitched in surprise, privately cursing the angel’s creeper tendencies. Cas didn’t say anything, just went right on staring, and after a while Dean turned his face pointedly away, dismissive. Honestly, he didn’t want to be the guy who held grudges like this, who sulked and felt sorry for himself whenever things didn’t go the way he’d pictured them - and he wouldn’t be; he really wouldn’t - but just for the moment he wasn’t in any kind of mood to be reminded of what he couldn’t have. His defences rose instinctively, muscles going tense as he prepared to drag himself up and walk away if Castiel wasn’t going to.
But before he could do a damn thing, the mattress abruptly dipped as the angel wordlessly perched himself on the edge. And, to Dean’s further astonishment, with movements stiff and hesitant, Castiel proceeded to lower himself even further until he was prostrate, lying right next to Dean on the too-small bed. Dean froze, utterly incredulous. For a few moments Castiel fidgeted restlessly, trying to find somewhere to place his hands. He at last settled for interlocking them carefully atop his stomach.
They were both silent for about a minute.
And then, “The hell?! Not sure if you’re aware or not, but you’re kinda starting to send out mixed signals here, Cas.”
“I apologise.”
Dean waited for further comment, and when none came he sighed irritably. “You have no idea what mixed signals are, do you?”
“Not really, no.”
“Awesome.” Angrily, he started to sit up, but the angel halted him with a hand on his wrist.
“Be still, Dean. We need to talk.”
“Not like this we freaking don’t!”
“Dean.” And it was so completely unfair of Cas to trot out his Serious Business voice, which by now Dean practically had a pavlovian reaction to. Almost against his will, he stilled and waited anxiously. Clearly and precisely, Castiel said, “The reason I wouldn’t allow you to kiss me is because I did not wish to lessen our relationship.”
Privately, Dean marvelled at the ability to just come out and say shit like that. He sat up slightly, bracing his weight on one elbow and turning on his side to regard the other sceptically. “Lessen? Wait, are you... Are you actually giving me the ‘We’re Better As Friends’ talk?!”
“Dean, you’re already more than a friend to me.”
He blinked, taken aback. “I am?”
Castiel’s expression promptly fell, much to Dean’s bemused alarm. “You didn’t know...” he murmured in disappointed realisation, looking off to one side. “It would seem Crowley was right in his judgement of my communication skills.”
“...Crowley. You talked to Crowley about this.”
The angel disregarded his nonplussed commentary, instead turning back towards him with a newly determined look on his face. “I want to tell you something.”
Dean raised his eyebrows, by now so turned around he had no idea what to expect, and was half braced for almost anything. “Uhm. Okay?”
“When I was brought back, I did not believe you and I would meet again,” Castiel said without preamble.
Dean immediately frowned, disliking the panicky feeling that that thought still caused in the pit of his stomach. He shook it off, trying to refocus on what was actually being said.
“At the time, Gabriel asked me what I would say to you if this were not the case - and I must confess, I’ve been remiss in not yet saying it.”
Vague alarm bells were starting to go off somewhere in the back of Dean’s head, and it was more an instinctive reaction than anything else to pull back and mutter in protest, “Cas, c’mon man, no chick-flick moments...”
It was probably fortunate that Cas knew him well enough by now to thoroughly ignore him. Instead, the angel raised a hand, the way he used to when he’d zap Dean through time and space at a moment’s notice. Dean tracked the movement warily, half expectantly; but rather than the usual jab to the forehead, Castiel slowly settled his palm against Dean’s side. The human twitched in surprise and then froze, horribly certain that Castiel could feel the nervous jackrabbit pace of his heartbeat, which only got worse as the angel pointedly ran his thumb along the line of one rib, where Dean knew Cas’ handwritten Enochian sigils were carved into the very bones of him. “Set me as a seal-”
Dean drew a sharp breath. “Cas-”
“-upon thine heart.” Refusing to let him pull away, the angel moved his hand again, sliding it up beneath the short sleeve of Dean’s T-shirt and positioning it so that his fingers were lined up with the silvered handprint scar his Grace had once seared into human flesh. “Set me as a seal upon thine arm.” He kept them like that for long moments, the contact too close, too personal, before slowly allowing his hand to slip back down Dean’s arm and away. “For love is strong - stronger - than death.”
Dean stared down at him, wide-eyed and stunned into silence. He opened his mouth to say something, anything; but for the life of him couldn’t think of what would be an appropriate response. He was almost certain that an angel had just confessed to being in love with him, and yet Castiel’s expression remained open and completely free from expectation, not looking for reciprocation but merely having stated fact. It was mildly terrifying.
Finally, Dean managed to sheepishly mutter the only thing that came to mind. “...Dude, no Bible Camp moments, either.”
And Cas just smiled beatifically, like he’d known all along Dean was going to say something painfully tactless in response.
xxx
In the next room over, Sam attempted in vain to muffle a groan of embarrassment with his pillow. He truly was doing his best not to listen to the low timbre of voices that drifted through the wall by his head (if only for his own precious peace of mind) but it was almost impossible to ignore entirely, and he had no doubt whatsoever that he was inadvertently overhearing something intensely private between his brother and the angel. He didn’t even dare get up to flee downstairs, for fear of drawing attention to himself. Not to mention that doing so would probably bring a screeching halt to whatever emotional development was currently taking place next door, and Sam genuinely couldn’t take another week of Dean and Cas dancing around their shared issues.
He was just going to have to suffer through.
But that, he figured, was no reason to suffer alone. Admitting defeat, he grabbed his phone from the nightstand and quickly typed out, ‘Oh my god, I think I’m listening to Cas and Dean’s epic love unfolding in the next room. It’s cringe-worthy.’
The reply from Gabriel came within seconds: ‘Five bucks says Castiel’s a screamer.’
And really, Sam only had himself to blame for that particular mental scar.
xxx
Still lying propped up on one elbow, Dean regarded the angel in his bed and thought to himself that this really wasn’t going the way he may once or twice have imagined it to. For one thing, considering the amount of pillow-talk they seemed to be having, there was a whole lot less making out than Dean was personally accustomed to.
He frowned as something else occurred to him. “So wait. Let me get this straight. You wouldn’t kiss me because of... I mean... ‘cause of all that stuff you just said about...” He cleared his throat gruffly. “...love. And stuff.”
Castiel blinked earnestly up at him and nodded once in confirmation.
Dean floundered for a moment, feeling vaguely cheated, before hanging his head in defeat. “Man, you are just... not human.”
“You were always aware of this.”
“Yeah, well. I forget sometimes.” He heaved a breath and tried not to sound like he was whining as he said, “Ah, Cas, c’mon! That’s not how it works. The more you like someone, the more you’re supposed to want to do that stuff!”
“Dean, I understand the human desire to participate in sexual intercourse. Gabriel explained-”
Dean cut him off with an aborted sound of horror. “Stop! Oh god, please stop talking. Look, please do me a favour. Whichever way this goes tonight, just... just never mention sex and your brother again in the same sentence, okay?” He shook his head mournfully, and then seemed to actually process what Castiel had been saying. “And what the hell?! You actually took advice from Gabriel? Earth to Cas, he was probably lying!”
“How do you know?”
“Let’s see. Was he saying words?”
They glared at each other, left at something of an impasse, until Castiel added, “I wasn’t acting solely on Gabriel’s advice, you realise. I’ve witnessed for myself your past behaviour towards sexual partners.”
Offended, Dean shot him a look. “Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?!”
“You leave them,” Castiel said bluntly.
“...Oh.”
Which, okay, true - but it wasn’t like Dean did the whole cut and run routine in the middle of the night or something. He’d always been careful to make sure any girl he was with wasn’t after more than he was offering. Alright fine, it wasn’t like he’d ever claimed to be classy, but at least he was honest, damn it. Only...
Only this wasn’t like that.
Cas wasn’t some one-night-stand he’d found in a bar somewhere, and Dean wasn’t just looking for a hook-up this time. Actually, he had no idea what he was looking for, in all honesty. Only that Cas was it. He’d had these kind of genuine... feelings (god forbid he use the word) a total of twice in his entire life, first for Cassie and then for Lisa, and twice it had ended in disaster as soon as they’d gotten to know him well enough. But Cas... Christ, Cas had already seen him at his worst - literally at the very worst he was ever going to be - and yet here he was, having just told Dean he loved him. It was overwhelming. It was, frankly, more than he deserved.
But in the end, Dean couldn’t bring himself to say any of it. He’d never done well with words; not the ones that meant anything. That was Sam’s gig. Dean tended to subscribe more to the philosophy that actions spoke louder.
“Cas-” He stopped, mortified by how rough his own voice sounded. Gathering himself, he tried again. “Cas. You trust me, right?”
The angel regarded him strangely. “Yes,” he said, as though he couldn’t fathom why Dean even had to ask.
Careful as he’d ever been with anything, Dean slowly shifted his weight, bracing himself to lean further over the other. Castiel watched him, tense and confused. No sudden movements, Dean told himself firmly, determined not to make the same mistake as the last time he’d tried something this stupid.
Once again, however, Cas started to turn his head away. “Dean-”
And it was maybe the most dangerous thing he’d ever done to bring a hand up and forcefully halt the motion. After all, Castiel had his powers back now; he could vaporise Dean with a thought, if the mood so struck him. And if asked, Dean would maintain that was totally the only reason his heart was pounding like he’d just finished a hunt.
He caught Castiel’s gaze, refusing to let it turn aside. “Then trust me,” he insisted desperately, and ducked his head to kiss the angel for the second time.
He kept it tentative, stilted; found it disorientating, for a second, to feel the sharp graze of stubble instead of a woman’s glossed lipstick. It reminded him that Cas wasn’t the only one experiencing a certain first time here, and a swift jolt of nerves made heat prickle excitedly across his skin. But once again Castiel didn’t react in the slightest. He was too rigid, too inflexible wherever he came into contact with the human, as though not at all meant for this kind of intimate proximity. Dean stopped, drawing back just far enough to quirk a hopeful smile and nudge their noses together, trying his best to prompt a more positive response - any response - from the frozen angel.
Castiel’s eyes were luminous blue even in the shadows of the room, wide and assessing and maybe just a little bit intrigued. He didn’t say a word, but Dean could feel him deciding whether or not to let this continue. He held his breath, both of them waiting on the judgement.
And then, to Dean’s genuine surprise, the angel relaxed incrementally beneath him. He tipped his head back in something like curious invitation, and Dean didn’t hesitate to take it. He clenched one hand in the pillowcase beside Castiel’s head, gently reached out to curl the other around the angel’s hipbone, the rough texture of denim almost startling beneath his fingers. Cas twitched like he was ticklish, but allowed Dean to coax his mouth open as though accepting instructions. They shared breath back and forth between them, graceless and unrefined, all his finesse stolen by spider-light fingertips the angel skimmed across his throat.
“Me too,” he mumbled breathlessly against the curve of the other’s jaw, without having made a conscious decision to do so. “With the... the love stuff. Me too, okay?”
“Oh,” Castiel said quietly, lips shaping the syllable against Dean’s cheek, spoken like a revelation.
xxx
Sam hesitantly lifted the pillow he’d had jammed over his head for the past ten minutes. He couldn’t hear anything this time, and for a moment he let himself indulge in sweeping relief. That, however, lasted only as long as it took him to realise that the profound and oddly suggestive silence from next door was about ten times worse than the low, intimate murmuring of a few moments ago. Furiously, he cursed the stupidly thin walls in Bobby’s house.
His phone buzzed where it rested on his stomach, and he picked it up to read, ‘What’s happening now?’
He rolled his eyes and sent back with a wince, ‘It’s gone quiet. I honestly don’t want to KNOW what’s happening now.’
‘Give me a minute to grab my harp and halo and I’ll come serenade them while they finally get it on.’
Sam snorted, amused despite himself. ‘Yeah, let’s maybe hold off on the choir of angels for a while. Somehow I don’t think Dean would appreciate your rendition of Barry White right now. Go back to your roulette tables.’
Gabriel didn’t text back, so Sam assumed he’d done just that.
xxx
Eventually, Dean forced himself to pull away, made stupidly happy when Castiel strained after him for a moment. It was difficult, not to give in to that kind of wordless request; but after considering the state of confusion Cas had gone and gotten himself into over issues of love and sex, Dean reluctantly supposed that taking it slower than usual would probably prove the wiser course of action. He ducked his head to nose at the line of Cas’s jaw one last time, and then grudgingly rolled away, stretching out onto his back and trying to suppress the insistent flare of heat low in his belly. Slow, he told himself yet again, like a mantra. Sure. No problem...
After a minute or so had drifted by, Castiel turned his head on the pillow to face him. “That was much more pleasant than last time,” he acknowledged.
Dean closed his eyes and grinned helplessly. “Good. Glad you thought so.” It was dumb, he knew, to feel so triumphant over finally vindicating himself to the other as a good kisser. Didn’t stop him, though.
xxx
The thing about Dean was that he was fucking annoying when he was happy, in Sam’s humble opinion. His brother had gone from proverbial thundercloud to positively chipper.
Sam had been unceremoniously awoken that morning by the strident tones of Eye of the Tiger coming from the bathroom, as Dean enthusiastically sung his way through a twenty minute shower. Exasperated, and thoroughly of the opinion that he’d already lost quite enough sleep due to his brother’s love life, Sam had face-planted back into his pillow and slept in for another hour out of little but spite.
When he finally ventured down for breakfast, it was to find Castiel sitting at the kitchen table and Dean still whistling the same tune as he busied himself cooking French toast. Unbelievable, Sam thought with mild incredulity, stopping in the doorway to watch. Dean hadn’t bothered to make anything more sophisticated than warmed-up leftover pizza in... longer than Sam could remember, frankly. Had he been in a slightly more generous mood, he might even have said it was sweet, that his brother was obviously pulling out all the stops to impress his new - boyfriend? Partner? Angelic significant other? As it was, however, Sam was irritable and unimpressed and the most he could summon was a resigned eye-roll as he moved to join them.
“Good morning, Sam,” the angel greeted him pleasantly as he took a seat opposite.
Dean glanced over his shoulder. “Hey, you want some toast?”
He grunted something vaguely affirmative and Dean resumed whistling, seemingly quite happy to perform the mundane task of making breakfast. Sam supposed it was a novelty for him, of sorts. So, as he sat there yawning his way back to full consciousness, the sound and smell of sizzling butter filled the room around him, and his brother’s good mood seemed almost contagious. Sam really wanted to go on finding it grating, but, against his will, the unfocused sense of irritation he’d woken up with gradually slipped away.
Eventually Dean turned and set down a plate of stacked French toast in front of the angel with a flourish. “There you go, try that. Do yours in a sec, Sammy.”
Sam smirked, amused beyond reason to see his brother playing domestic goddess. He debated asking if this was going to be a more permanent fixture, now that Dean was apparently one half of a married couple.
Cas, meanwhile, studied the food he’d been presented with in fascination. Dean, in turn, watched with visible expectation, clearly not intending to move until he’d witnessed a reaction of some kind. Sam rolled his eyes again, but even he found himself slightly curious. After a moment or so, the angel picked up a piece of the toast and ever so carefully bit off a corner, chewing thoughtfully. Dean practically held his breath.
At last, Castiel nodded once, so seriously he might as well have been passing divine judgement. “It’s very good. Thank you, Dean.”
“Better than the burgers?”
“Much better.”
Dean grinned blindingly. “Hell yes, told you I’m awesome.” He turned back to the frying pan with such obvious triumph that Sam had to smother a laugh.
His mirth was short-lived, though, as Crowley chose that moment to blink into existence in the chair right next to Sam, making the human jerk away from him in such surprise that he very nearly overturned his own chair.
“God, don’t do that!”
The demon ignored him, didn’t even seem to hear him, eyes drawn instead to the plate in front of Cas. He rubbed his hands together briskly. “Looks good, boys. Where do I place my order?”
At the stove, Dean let out a bark of sceptical laughter and turned to point a spatula sternly in their direction. “Dream on, demon. You think you’re eating my food, you can think again.”
“What? Why?”
Dean shrugged, widening his eyes innocently. “Call me crazy, I don’t cook for the soulless.”
“That’s highly discriminatory, I hope you realise,” the demon informed him snidely.
“Yeah, well, bite me.”
Crowley scowled, tapping his fingers in annoyance against the tabletop. Sam had no doubt he was busy thinking up some sharp retort that would immediately put Dean’s back up, but before he could say a word, Castiel abruptly slid his plate over towards the demon. “You may try some of mine, if you wish.”
Sam performed something of a double-take, staring incredulously at the angel.
Crowley, too, seemed equally taken aback. “I can?”
“I believe I... owe you,” Castiel said with dignity. “For your advice. It proved much more helpful than I had imagined.”
The demon blinked, and then chuckled with genuine amusement. “My hard-earned wisdom for a bite of Winchester’s mangled attempt at fine dining. Well, that certainly sounds like a fair trade.” Despite the sarcasm, he wasted no time in accepting the offer, swiftly sliding the plate over the rest of the way. “Fine, fine. We’re square, angel.”
Dean turned and started to hand a second plate of toast over to Sam, but stopped when he spotted the swap that had occurred. “What the hell? That’s not-”
Before he could voice protest, the demon hurriedly crammed a larger than necessary bite into his mouth and chewed smugly.
Dean glared at him, unimpressed. “Fuck’s sake...” Breakfast promptly swerved away from Sam and was irritably placed in front of Cas again, along with the instruction, “Don’t give it away this time.”
Crowley scoffed, and mumbled through his mouthful of food, “Oh, that has got to be the first time he’s ever given that advice.”
Caught by surprise, Sam almost ruptured something in his effort not to laugh, especially given the thunderous expression that came over his brother’s face at the comment. Once again the spatula was brandished at them in wordless warning.
There came the sound of heavy footsteps descending the stairs overhead, and a moment later Bobby ambled in, immediately raising his eyebrows at the sight of them all. “Well ain’t this just cosy...” He headed straight for the coffee pot, edging past Dean with a smirk. “Might still have one of Karen’s old pinafores if you wanna borrow it, Dean.”
“Oh, funny man,” his brother grumbled. “You want something while I’m slaving over this hot stove?”
The old hunter snorted, pouring his coffee black. “Not if it’s that pansy-ass toast you’re offering. We got any bacon?”
Dean grunted appreciatively. “Man after my own heart, Bobby. Pull up a chair, I’ll see what I can do.”
Sam smiled to himself, glancing around at the rather mismatched group that occupied the room. This wasn’t at all where he’d imagined he’d ever be as little as six months ago, when the apocalypse had been bearing down on them and everyone at this table had been some kind of soldier, spy or traitor. It was kind of nice, if unprecedented, to watch Bobby automatically place a second mug of coffee in front of the demon as he passed (which Crowley promptly spiked with a hipflask); or to see Dean lean over Cas’s shoulder and pinch food from his plate, unrepentant when the angel frowned up at him.
But after a second or two the smile dropped slowly from Sam’s face, as the realisation struck that this bid they were apparently making to play happy families wasn’t yet complete. They were noticeably short one person. His hand went instinctively to the phone in his pocket, but he hesitated before he could pull it out. This, he imagined, wasn’t going to be a conversation he wanted witnesses for.
He got to his feet. “I’ll be back in a minute. Save me some toast, okay?” And with that he turned and ducked out of the room, his brother’s voice drifting after him.
“Don’t be long, bitch. I re-heat for no one!”
xxx
Standing in the middle of his room upstairs, Sam chewed his lip in indecision, and then suddenly hit send on a text that read simply, ‘Come back.’
He waited. A minute passed, and then two. Still there was no flutter of wings; no flashy entrance; not even a reply to his phone. Sighing, he tried again.
‘Seriously, Dean’s cooking breakfast for us all and there’s some kind of group-gathering in the kitchen. I think we’re having a collective Moment. You should be here to ridicule it.’
He wandered over to the recently repaired window and peered out at the salvage yard while he waited. His phone remained conspicuously silent, despite the fact that Gabriel usually made a habit of responding within seconds. After another few minutes, Sam rubbed his forehead tiredly. He should have known the archangel would be stubborn enough to make him spell it out.
Exasperated, he typed out hurriedly, ‘I’m sorry I didn’t say I liked you back, okay?? I froze when you asked me. Just get back here, I need to talk to you.’
He watched as the little digital envelope onscreen sailed away, too late to hit cancel, and had just enough time to begin questioning the wisdom of such a message when suddenly there was a sharp crack! of sound right behind him, so loud he ducked on instinct.
“I knew it!”
Whirling around, it was to find Gabriel wielding his own cell phone in grim victory. “I knew I didn’t get my wires crossed!”
Sam clapped a hand over his pounding heart, swearing in fright. “Hello to you too...” he muttered pointedly.
Gabriel ignored him, too busy gesturing angrily. “You, Sam Winchester, make everything complicated.”
“Wh- Excuse me?! I make things complicated?” He put his hands on his hips, nonplussed. “Really. That’s what you’re going with.”
The archangel shrugged. “Well, if I recall correctly, only one of us had the decency to be upfront.” He waved his phone. “Oh, and look at that. I happen to have it in writing that it wasn’t you.”
Sam knew he shouldn’t have started this conversation by text. Damn it.
“You’re the one who skipped out of here at the first opportunity,” he shot back defensively. Then, suddenly incredulous, “To Vegas! Have fun, I hope?”
The archangel glanced off to one side, oddly evasive. “Probably not as much as you’re thinking...”
Sam sighed. “Look, whatever. Forget it.” He raised his hands, running them through his hair in a calming gesture. Easy as it would be to let this devolve into an argument worthy of ten year olds, that wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind. “Gabriel...”
But the archangel was busy studying the last text Sam had sent to him, and seemed to have decided further explanation was unnecessary. He motioned to it inquisitively. “I suppose I’m to understand from this that you’ve, what, had a change of heart?”
A little embarrassed, Sam stared off into the middle-distance and muttered, “It wasn’t exactly a change of heart...”
The archangel cupped a hand to his ear. “What was that, sorry?”
“It wasn’t a change of heart! I like you, okay? I liked you when you asked me.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and snorted humourlessly. “God knows why. You’re immature and obnoxious and... and really fucking annoying!”
Dry as dust, Gabriel purred, “Well you just know all the tricks to sweep a guy off his feet, don’t you?”
Sam felt himself colour slightly at the mild reprimand. But hell, wasn’t like he was lying. “Just thought I should let you know,” he said, with as much dignity as he could still muster.
The archangel huffed, apparently offended. “Yeah, thanks for that.” Hands in his pockets, he raised his eyebrows impatiently. “That it, then? We’re done with this conversation, right?”
Sam’s stomach dropped unpleasantly at the other’s unimpressed tone. Abruptly, the conviction came upon him how stupid it had been, calling Gabriel here for this: stupid to think he was still interested. Maybe even stupid to think that had ever been the case in the first place. After all, Sam was damaged goods at best, and it wasn’t like Gabriel was stuck for options anymore.
Unnerved, confidence vanished, he looked away. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess we are...”
“Just checking.” He nodded unhurriedly, allowing awkward silence to descend tense and heavy between them, before adding like an afterthought, “So... why exactly aren’t we making out yet?”
For a few seconds Sam didn’t react, not entirely sure he’d heard that correctly. When he did at last turn to look back at the archangel, it was to see the slow slide of a smirk and golden eyes alight with mischief. All the breath left him in a rush. “You’re such a dick...!”
Gabriel practically preened. “You like it.”
And yeah. He did, kinda.
Fuelled by exhilaration and still-lingering annoyance (something that had become an almost permanent state of being around Gabriel) he moved forward and didn’t let himself hesitate when he got close enough to fist a hand in the archangel’s shirt and haul him into a kiss. Gabriel came easily enough, not even a twinge of resistance. In fact, he laughed delightedly right into Sam’s mouth, which was probably just about fitting for the first time they did this, and had to stand on tiptoes while the human stooped to reach him properly.
“You’re too short,” Sam complained, grinning like it was an endearment.
He should have known better, really.
Before he’d even finished speaking, the archangel planted hands on his shoulders and fucking jumped. Sam caught him on nothing but instinct, staggering a little as he unexpectedly found himself with an armful of archangel. There were legs wrapped around his hips and one sneaker digging into the back of his thigh, and it had never been more apparent that he was in over his head here.
“What?” Gabriel said, all innocence. “I am perfectly willing to climb you like a tree if I have to.”
Sam blinked, stunned momentarily wordless by that particular phrasing. At last he managed to rasp a weak, “...Good to know,” and then they were kissing again.
It was almost a shock to find the archangel still loose-limbed and heavy, seemingly unchanged by the restoration of his Grace. Sam revelled in it, turning them towards the nearest wall without any pretence of coordination, shoving Gabriel up against it to better hold him in place. Generally, this wasn’t at all the type of behaviour he considered appropriate for a first kiss - but god, what about Gabriel was ever appropriate?! Sam figured he’d have to come to terms with that sooner or later, and there was really no time like the present...
Too late he heard the floorboard creak out in the hall, his brother’s short-tempered yell, “Sammy, get your ass back downstairs, food’s getting cold!”
Before he had time to so much as claw back higher brain function (never mind do anything about their position) the door opened and Dean poked his head inside with his usual disregard for privacy.
“You hear m- Fuck, fuck, my eyes! Oh my god, what the hell, Sam?! Put him down!”
xxx
Downstairs, at various points around the kitchen, Crowley, Castiel and Bobby all raised their eyes to the ceiling as a succession of dull thuds and the muffled sound of Dean’s screaming filtered down through the house.
“...Great,” Bobby drawled after a prolonged moment or two, turning to scowl at the angel like he was personally at fault. “Sounds like the other idjit’s back.”
“Oh good, he owes me money,” Crowley commented mildly.
Castiel just smiled, vindicated.
Extra Scenes