Duty Free Gift for the Traveler - Chapter 3/?
Duty Free Gift for the Traveler
Author: Sofiwick.
Chapter: 3/?
Beta: The awesome Kodamasama.
Pairings: Sam/Gabriel, Dean/Castiel.
Rating: PG-13 (it may go up in later chapters).
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me. I am making no profit from this fanfiction.
Spoilers: Up until 6x22.
Warnings: undecided!Dean, hesitant!Cas, Mr. Fix-It!Sam, flirtatious!Gabriel, Bobby being Bobby.
Takes place right after 6x22, with a few changes (prepare for spoilers): Castiel kills Crowley, Sam’s Wall is still there, and Balthazar is alive.
Summary: Sam already has his hands full with Dean’s epic gay love affair with an ex-god without Gabriel suddenly deciding he wants his own slice of hot Winchester.
Thank you for the wonderful feedback! You guys are awesome!!
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
*º*º*
Chapter 3: I’ll Be Seeing You
*º*º*
They are all over the place. Sadly, that includes Sam.
He wakes up to Dean teaching Castiel how to make pancakes the way he likes them, because Dean already came to the conclusion that the angel has nothing to compare stuff to and will automatically like anything he likes. By the way they are looking at each other, Sam figures it’s going to be a good day.
Until Cas leans in to give him a peck on his cheek - something a character did on a chick-flick he and Sam were watching the night before. Dean completely freaks out - the entire package complete with taking two steps back, wide eyes, and rubbing the place where lips met skin.
Sam notices he has a problem when he knows his day will suck solely because Cas is capable of romantic gestures while Dean has the emotional plenitude of a spoon. When has his life become all about someone else’s relationship?
They stop talking to each other.
A few days later, Dean is sitting on the couch throwing Castiel anxious glances, as if expecting a hug or a kiss that is not coming anymore. Sam is expecting that too since - starting a few weeks ago - 6 PM is the hour Cas proclaimed as ‘us time’ - basically, the moment he takes his rightful place beside Dean and snuggles next to him, not caring if Sam is there or not.
Seeing how he can’t scream and throw the TV out the window but also can’t just stay there and do nothing, the youngest Winchester grabs his brother by the shoulders and threatens to flee to Mexico until the economy improves unless Dean makes things right again.
So, the next morning they’re okay again - as okay as they get, anyways.
Until stuff happens, and they are not okay. For the nth time.
Sam stops trying to keep track of it. It’s all headache inducing, really.
Finally, one morning they are ordering coffee, and Dean - out of nowhere - declares it fundamental they head to New York. Sam comforts himself by thinking they’re at least breaking the routine somewhat.
It all starts with a cashier just being polite. “Do you want cream in your coffee, sir?”
“Oh… I don’t know. Let me ask Dean.” Cas turns around. “Do I want cream in my coffee, Dean?”
Maybe it’s all the symbolism in that moment, what with Castiel giving up Godhood for Dean and being dependent on his opinion, that makes Dean speechless for a moment, looking at the angel like he just realized he’s there. Sam likes to think the magnitude of their weird-ass relationship just bitch slapped him in the face.
Dean fidgets. “Ah- hm- well, do you want it, Cas? You don’t have to ask me.”
“But I don’t know what cream is for,” he states calmly.
“It’s something to make your coffee sweeter.”
“I see.” Castiel nods. “Do I want my coffee sweeter?”
“Dude, this is something you gotta figure out for yourself-”
“You know what, maybe you should try it, just for a change.” Sam hands a bill to the cashier, who is looking at them like they are a particular flavor of crazy, and tugs them out of line.
Dean is strangely silent as they wait for their order.
“You seem upset again,” the angel points out, looking upset himself.
Looking back on it, maybe Sam should have started being wary the moment Dean crosses his arms on his chest and looks at the floor for no particular reason. It means he’s thinking - and last time he did that when they were not on a case, Sam had to bail him out. “Cas, do you eat when you’re not with us?”
His head tilts. It is so Cas, Sam hopes he’ll never stop doing that. “Why would I do that?”
“Dude…” Dean murmurs to himself, “You don’t know anything about food.”
“And?” Sam asks with a frown.
“And, Sammy! This shit need to be fixed. We’re going to New York”
Hm, because yeah, that’s the natural progression of this conversation.
*º*º*
And so they begin slowly making their way to New York. Because New York has food. Yay?
“There’s Little Italy - really good pasta, and this place on Lower East Side where they sell knishes - I think that’s the name anyway. I don’t remember where the Greek restaurants are, but they are out there somewhere.”
“That’s very cultural of you, Dean,” Sam teases. “And what are we supposed to do between meals?”
“You guys can geek it out in some museums or something. Take the grand tour downtown while I take a nap.” The hunter grins, looking genuinely happy for once. Sam decides to shut up. It’s the beginning of November - they can make it to the Big Apple and back to Bobby in time for Christmas.
Cas doesn’t try to argue with his human anymore. If Dean wants to drive for weeks on end just so they can spend a few days walking around downtown New York, he’ll humor him by not insisting on how pointless all the driving is. At least time on the road means they can partake in their new favorite - and only - merry activity together: Guess What Song It Is.
Or what Sam likes to call it: Guess What Song It Is Even Though We Listen to the Same Stuff Everyday Over and Over Again So It’s Fucking Obvious What Song It Is At This Point.
“C’mon, Cas, I know you like this one.” Dean turns it up, bobbing his head to the rhythm.
“‘Whole Lotta Love’. It’s my favorite guitar solo.” The angel gives him this small, honest smile that Sam has entitled ‘this is something I saw on TV once, but I shall use it all the time because it makes you happy’.
Right on cue the hunter beams. “Really? You hear that, Sammy? Cas has a favorite guitar solo!”
Sam rolls his eyes. They can’t get to New York soon enough.
*º*º*
Just because Dean and Cas decide to spend their days hiding inside their love cocoon of classic rock doesn’t mean Sam stops doing his job.
“Check this out.” He hands Dean the newspaper.
The head line reads, ‘Five Killed in Wayne National Forest’. “That’s way south from here, right?”
“Keep on reading,” Sam says.
“Only survivor, Jake Carper, claims the attacker was ‘a guy with flaming hair’.” He raises an eyebrow. “…Okay, this should be interesting.”
Castiel shows up as the brothers load the car. “Hey, Cas. Hop in.” And the angel does, without needing to ask where they are going or why. Sam muses over where else he would go. “We think there’s a hunt south of here.”
“I see.” Castiel sounds tired, and they worry a little even though a worn out Cas isn’t anything new these days.
“Dude, what’s with the long face? We’re still going to New York.” Dean comforts him with a boyish grin. “As soon as we’re done, we can get back on the road. Think of it as a detour.”
“I’m sure New York will wait for us,” the angel assures him, looking amused. Dean doesn’t get the silly smile off his face for a good five minutes.
Quite frankly, Sam feels somewhat envious of their unusual relationship, for when he looks past all the pointless denial and insecurity going on, he also realizes that they are together. Most days hurting and unhappy, yes, but on the road together nonetheless.
Hunters don’t have relationships, period. Oh, some tried, and they all kissed it goodbye in horrible ways. The realization that Sam can never settle down and be completely happy - have a house and a family waiting for him while at the same time running the family business - is more devastating than it should be at this point in the game.
Dean has someone who can travel with them, someone with the power to hold his own when things get ugly and will stand by his side no matter what - most likely for the rest of his life, and quite literally, beyond.
Sam has the possibility of shy flings that will - obviously - lead nowhere and the notion that maybe somewhere out there a pretty girl hunter exists and will be willing to start a relationship on the road with him.
The other option is solitude. For Sam won’t quit the job and no smart, sensible woman will just spend day in and day out all alone, waiting for him to show up every couple of months, wondering if he’s okay - if he’s even still alive.
Or he could just get himself angel-married - all the cool kids are doing it nowadays, after all. But that is just… no.
*º*º*
Since Crowley’s death there haven’t been many demons running amok; at least in the USA, as far as they knew. The hunts are getting scarce - with the exception of the occasional salt and burn, until Sam finds himself bored out of his mind in the backseat of the Impala as Dean complains to Castiel about the nothingness that is Butt Fuck Nowhere, Ohio.
Quite honestly, Sam doesn’t know what to do with himself. His days are filled with searching for something to kill and watching his brother slowly screwing up the best thing that has ever happened to him. At times, Dean seems dead set on not enjoying himself at all costs, Castiel himself looking more tired every time he comes back from his business meetings in Heaven.
“Do you want to investigate with us?” Dean proposes. Sam raises an eyebrow, knowing his brother can see him through the rear view mirror. Dean clears his throat, keeping his eyes on the road.
“Last time you were not pleased,” Castiel points out. Sam tries not to chuckle - he was told all about it.
“No, but I think your people skills need improving.” Dean encourages him with a pat on the shoulder. “You can’t just believe everything you see on TV - you gotta walk around, do some people-watching.”
Sam can’t even try not to smirk. “Let me translate it for you: Dean is being cute ‘cause he doesn’t want you to be all alone in a motel room while we inv-”
“The conversation hasn’t moved to the backseat yet, thanks.” Dean sounds nervous for a moment, as he always does at the mention of Those-Things-That-Shall-Not-Be-Named - AKA human emotions. Yet seeing the usual blank expression on Castiel’s face, he lets it go. “We can make you a fake FBI ID card,” Dean continues, “but do not open your mouth, dude. We do the talking.”
“Yes, Dean.” Sam sighs as Castiel stares at Dean with his usual ‘you-are-my-intended’ intensity. Dean lets him, looking every so often to the side to be sure he still has the angel’s attention to himself. Friendly Neighborhood Angels: now in the front seat of your car to better stalk you.
Sometimes they make eye contact for long periods of time, laugh and even - somewhat? - snuggle on the couch. Most of the times, though, they still break each other’s heart. And Sam’s too.
Their little dance around each other is getting old so fast, like watching reruns of the same episodes of Seinfeld every night for two months until you get so annoyed you actually consider taking the first flight to New York and killing someone.
Ah yes, Sam is losing it.
Luckily, he also has a favorite game of his own.
“Cas, don’t you get tired of just sitting here all day?” He tries not to smirk just yet, knowing full well what type of answer he’ll get.
“At first. However, I discovered that watching Dean drive is quite soothing.”
Living is worth it just to watch Dean’s ears get red as he mistakes the gears and makes the car jolt.
*º*º*
“Beaten to death. All five of them. Nothing like this ever happened around these parts, let me tell you.” The officer designated to assist them gives Sam a thick file. Opening a map on the table, he points at the circles drawn with red ink. “Their camp was here; these markers are where we found each body.”
The brothers analyze the map while Castiel looks through the pictures. Now that Sam thinks about it, maybe it could come off as a little weird for three FBI agents to be on the same case. He makes a mental note to ask Bobby later.
“Did they all die in different parts of the woods, or were the bodies moved post mortem?”
The officer extends his hands to Castiel in a silent request for the photos he’s holding. The angel tilts his heads, probably trying to remember the appropriate reaction to someone offering you their hand. Sam practically shoves the photos into the officer’s hand before Castiel has the chance to shake it and make things awkward for everyone.
If he thinks that was odd, the officer says nothing. “See the blood on the tree trunks?” He shows them a photo of one of the victim’s body, blood everywhere around it. “They were killed and left there. The coroner said they were all dead within the same hour.”
“That’s a long distance between each body,” Dean whispers to Sam.
“We think more than one guy did it,” the officer overhears them and comments, “with their own hands. Sick bastards.”
Dean snorts. “It takes a lot of strength to do this much damage to a man barehanded. ‘Specially a man with a gun.”
“Sick, drugged bastards.” He shrugs.
“How come one victim got away?” Sam asks.
“Jake Carper? Completely lost his mind. We committed him to an asylum right away - heard they released him yesterday. Shouldn’t have, though. That one is definitely on drugs; I don’t care what the blood test says.”
*º*º*
Jake Carper doesn’t look high, nor show any withdrawal symptoms. Although, he does look scared out of his freaking mind. With hesitant fingers he holds their FBI cards, only letting them in after some deliberation and Sam’s sympathetic eyes. His hair is slick like it hasn’t been washed in days, sleepless red eyes in contrast with his brown irises.
“I already told the police everything, and they didn’t believe me. Can’t you people just leave me alone?”
“We know, Mr. Carper.” Dean sits on the couch beside Sam. “But we’re different from your local police. We need you to tell us what you saw.”
The man looks at the brothers’ serious stance - complete with little paper notebooks - to Castiel’s stiff posture and unnatural blue eyes, staring unblinking at him.
Sam clears his throat. “Were you friends with the victims?”
“Yeah, co-workers. We hunt in that park every year.” Jake hugs a thin blanket tightly around his body. “The open season is only in January, but we got a permit for Small Game Hunting - wild turkey, rabbits, that sort of thing-”
“Why?” Castiel asks.
Jake jumps a little at the sudden interruption by such a grave voice coming from a slim man. Sam stops himself from rolling his eyes just in time. “Not now, Cas.”
“Why what?”
“Why were you hunting when there are already dead animals at the supermark-”
“I’m sorry about my partner, Mr. Carper,” Dean almost shouts over the angel’s words. “He’s a vegetarian; he doesn’t know what he’s saying.”
Castiel narrows his eyes, ready to deny the silly accusations as Jake mumbles, “What does that got to do-”
“Can you tell us what happened that night, Mr. Carper?” Sam discreetly pinches his brother. Dean gets a clue.
“…Hm, we were camping in a clearing in the woods,” he starts. “It was our last night there ‘cause we all had already killed something to take home.
“It just… came out of nowhere. Th- this thing. It was like a really small man - the size of a boy, only… grrr-” Jakes shudders. “Naked, and his hair was on fucking fire, I swear to God! It jumped Jimmy and started hitting him… over and over again. Greg grabbed it from behind, but it sent him flying - like, ten feet, or something.
“I punched the little fucker and look!” Jake takes his arm from under the blanket to show them bruised knuckles. “We tried shooting it too, but nothing happened. No blood or anything.” Dean and Sam exchange a concerned look. “How is that even possible?”
“What happened then?” Sam asks softly.
“We ran, what else! It was dark, so I don’t know how we got separated. I only stopped running when I got to the road, and I can’t even remember finding that ranger - luck, I guess.”
“Mr. Carper, why do you think it didn’t go after you?”
“… I outran it…?” Jake looks uncertain, but Sam doesn’t think he’s lying.
“Was there anything else unusual about the attacker?”
“You mean besides his hair being on fucking fire?” When the witness starts sounding hysterical, it’s time to stop.
Sam nudges his brother in a silent message that they should leave. “Thank you for your t-”
“What were you doing before your group was attacked?” Castiel asks. Dean sends him an ugly look.
“We were cooking- wait, wait!” Jake almost jumps from the couch. “There was this one thing! I can’t believe I almost forgot it- The whistles!”
“…Whistles?”
“Like an hour before we got attacked, we kept hearing these sharp whistles coming from the woods. We wanted to go find out who it was, but it was dark and we couldn’t figure out what direction it was coming from…
“You guys think there’s a connection, right?” Jake gets up and goes straight to the liquor cabinet. “The police didn’t believe me. They said we were on drugs, but I swear we weren’t! Ju- just look at the exam they made me take!”
“Mr. Carper, sit down, please-” Sam tries, but it’s ignored by the agitated man.
Serving himself a shot of whiskey, he downs it in one go. “I mean, what kind of sick bastard keeps whistling over and over before killing people?”
“Calm down-” Dean says, getting up. The brothers freeze when Castiel reaches for Jake.
The angel holds the man’s shoulder firmly, confidence and security rolling off him in waves. Instead of freaking out even more, Jake lets out an exhausted sigh and relaxes. Sam feels his own tension leave his shoulders as he watches the angel’s soothing presence take over the room.
“Were you the one cooking?” Castiel asks.
Jake looks at him with glassy eyes, almost hypnotized. “Yeah, over a campfire.”
“What were you cooking?” Sam tries to think of something to say that will stop the angel from saying any more strange things - yet the warm trust suddenly beating in his chest tells him to let Cas handle this one.
“A rabbit-”
“The one you killed?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you.” The angel gives him a small, reassuring smile - the one Sam always gives him when Dean’s being a particularly unbearable asshole - pressing two fingers to the man’s forehead. “You should rest, Jake Carper.”
He nods dumbly, and instead of falling to the ground immediately like they are used to seeing happen, he drowsily makes his way to the couch. With a relieved sigh, he closes his eyes and falls asleep, completely forgetting about the alleged FBI agents in his living room.
Dean blinks.
“What the hell, Cas!”
*º*º*
“Dude, stop it.” Sam tried everything to postpone this fight, at least while they are driving, but Dean has apparently decided he’s now immune to car accidents.
“No, Sam, he’s gotta understand he can’t act like a child! This is a serious investigation.” Dean turns to the angel riding shotgun. “You’re powerful; we get it. Doesn’t mean you get to toy around with people, man!”
Castiel looks more confused then ever, like Dean’s odd human reactions have finally worn him down. Although baffled Cas is much better than heartbroken Cas. “I don’t understand what you’re accusing me of-”
“Why did you mojo that guy?” Dean asks, sounding way angrier than he should be. Sam really wants to punch his brother when he overreacts.
Castiel’s now almost dark blue eyes narrow at the question, the angel’s presence in the car feeling like it’s suffocating Sam, all cells in his body telling him to run for the hills. This is the other end of the spectrum, he thinks, a huge difference from the protective love he felt only moments ago - the sentence he’s on our side, he’s on our side repeats itself like a mantra in his head.
“I did no such a thing. Jake Carper had not slept in several days. I gave him the means to have a peaceful sleep - you could say I merely suggested him to rest. If he was not inclined to do so, he wouldn’t have.” Castiel doesn’t blink as he says this, head held high and not a hint of regret in his voice. “Now, if you would stop your temper tantrum, I’d be happy to inform you of what supernatural creature we are dealing with.”
“You know?” two flabbergasted Winchesters ask. When had that happened?
“Yes,” Cas confirms. “You weren’t asking the right questions.”
Dean is gaping at him like this is unprecedented. “You don’t get to tell us how to do our jobs! Jesus, I’m fucking tired of this crap-”
Vaguely, Sam remembers someone telling him in high school that the quiet kids are all bound to snap one day, seeing as they bottle things up and downplay their right to show emotions. At the time he thought it was a mean thing to say - like Sam was doing something wrong when he went to sleep fuming after a fight with John, all the things he wanted to scream caught in his throat because saying them would upset his father even more.
Now he thinks he understands what they meant.
Sam snaps. It’s either that or smashing his head through the car window glass.
“What the Hell is your problem, Dean?!” His brother forgets whatever he was about to say at the powerful image that is Sam punching the back of Castiel’s seat, the entire car bouncing around dangerously. Even the angel looks startled at him, and Sam can only imagine the - ridiculous - image he presents right now, with his face red and his floppy hair flying all over his eyes. “Pull. Over.”
Dean doesn’t dare disagree. The next moment the car is stopping, and his brother is turning around to look at him like Sam is this crazy guy with the physic power to shut him up and leave their angel speechless. The silence only makes him feel crazier, as if accusing him of violating the natural order that is Dean and Cas being dumbasses around each other.
Sam has to remind himself that, yes, right, nuclear meltdown going on.
“You know that’s not what he meant! Why are you acting like an asshole all the freaking time?” Somewhere in his mind, a voice that sounds like his own is singsonging dude, you totally lost it.
“H- he put our covers at risk!” Dean looks at his angel for support, only to remember that oh, right. “If that guy wakes up and calls the sheriff about creepy FBI agents asking weird-ass questions and they start to do some digging, we’re gonna have to bail out of town-”
“When he wakes up, we’ll be long gone,” Cas calmly informs him. “I already told you I know what attacked those hunters.”
Dean opens his mouth to answer back, but surprisingly, nothing comes out. The angel looks between his hands and the hunter, aborting a few attempts at reaching for him. In the end, they fail once more at establishing contact between each other and look at Sam instead.
Turns out snapping takes a lot of energy, leaving you feeling like shit after the initial adrenaline wears off.
“… Tell us what you know.” Sam slumps back against his seat. Dean sighs, nodding in agreement.
Castiel is looking at them like he can’t believe they are just going to pretend nothing happened. Well, duh.
“…So, Cas?” The older hunter raises an eyebrow.
“Do you really wish me to tell you, Dean?” Castiel asks, voice like ice sliding down their spines. “After all, I don’t want to intrude on your work, even if you were the one who invited me in the first place.”
“This is how it’s gonna be, huh?” Dean’s voice sounds deeper, rougher - when it gets like this, Sam is never sure if he’s holding back his heartbreak or trying to control his anger. “Well, congratulations, Castiel. You were right, I was wrong - there. Does that make you feel good?”
Somehow, it doesn’t feel like they’re talking about what happened just ten minutes ago.
“Were I not here, it’d take days, maybe weeks, for you to understand what you’re up against because you were not asking the right questions. Since I asked them for you, we get to prevent more unnecessary deaths,” a tired Castiel explains. He sighs. “I did not do it to spite you. I did it because I love humanity, and I don’t want it to suffer.”
Dean doesn’t know what to say to that, so Sam mouths the words ‘apologize’ and ‘now’.
It figures they’re all too stubborn to say anything else. It feels like an eternity filled up with silence inside the Impala, only the sounds of cars passing by on the road reminding them there’s more to the world than petty hissy fits. They didn’t survive an apocalypse for this shit.
“Cas-” Dean murmurs, “sorry, dude.”
Castiel just stares at his lap, and Sam looks down to find Dean loosely holding a pale wrist in his hand. Just keeping it there, linking them together.
Sam has to control himself not to jump to the front seat and group hug them.
“It’s a Curupira,” the angel answers.
Dean scratches his head. “A what of what?”
“Curupira. It’s an entity of the Tupi-Guarani mythology in Brazil.”
Well… Okay. That’s unusual.
“Brazil? That’s like-” Looking at the car’s ceiling, Dean is probably accessing his internal map to come to the conclusion that, “It’s far.”
“It protects the forests and animals from hunters who don’t respect nature,” he continues, “the ones who hunt breeding females or kill more than they need to survive.”
“So, Jake Carper…?”
“Eating what he hunted,” Sam answers instead of Cas. It makes sense. It’s not that he ran for his life; the creature was never set on killing him. Sam shudders remembering the description they were given. “And the fire-hair thing?”
“It is exactly what it suggests. Its feet are turned backwards to deceive trackers. It whistles, plays tricks to lure them into the woods until the evildoers get lost and can’t ever find their way out.”
“This Curu-yada-yada is a long way from home,” Dean informs them quite pointlessly.
“I believe it was summoned here; it cannot just walk out of its own woods. This creature isn’t violent by nature. It’s attacking because it’s probably confused. ‘Freaking out’,” Cas tastes the words. “It’s possible it doesn’t know how to go back to its forest.”
Sam frowns. “Who summoned it, then?”
“I do not know. There are a couple of summoning spells that should be powerful enough.”
“More importantly - how do we gank it?”
“I… do not know.” The angel looks apologetically at the floor, like it isn’t awesome enough that they already know what they’re fighting against fifteen minutes into the first period of the game.
Dean rolls his eyes. “Great-”
“That’s awesome, Cas.” Sam’s louder than necessary voice makes Dean realize he should probably leave angels and younger brothers alone for the day. “We’ll do some research when we get to the hotel, find out how to kill this thing.” His huge hand covers Castiel’s shoulder, and it’s okay to have this contact, this comfort, because no one pulls away and Dean doesn’t say anything. “You did well. Thanks a bunch.”
“It is an entity needed elsewhere,” Castiel explains. “Rather than kill it, I find it would be wiser to send it back where it belongs. If we can draw it out from its hiding place, I might be able to help it.”
Dean doesn’t look too pleased about letting something that powerful live, but he doesn’t offer any other ideas. As he puts the car in first gear he doesn’t let go of the angel’s hand, holding it between his own and the gearstick.
“…” Cas takes a moment to contemplate this gesture as the scientific development it is. Sam can imagine angels in lab coats taking notes. Relaxing in his seat, blue eyes meet his own in the mirror. “You’re welcome, Sam.”
*º*º*
In order to fulfill their latest stupid plan, they have to make a stop on the way to the motel to get their hands on some axes. Although Cas had guaranteed the Curupira wouldn’t attack the locals who frequent the woods, they decide not to put that theory to test - after all, it’s not suppose to beat people to death, period.
Aside from variations of the same story, everything Cas said checks out. A premier research on Google results in drawings of an ugly boy with red hair and turned feet facing backwards.
Most sources state only the natives living in the indigenous reserves still believe it exists, while everyone else uses its myth as a child-friendly night time story. Indeed, it looks a somewhat silly creature wearing leaves around its waist, but Sam knows better than to take seriously the general opinion on supernatural creatures - his mind goes immediately to ‘Twilight’. In this world, vampires are bloodthirsty fuckers, not love sick teenagers, no matter how much Stephenie Meyer wants them to be.
After Dean is done preparing their guns - they figure they’ll at least slow it down - Castiel zaps them via Air Angel to the middle of a clearing, seeing as it would take hours to drive from their hotel to the area where the hunters were attacked.
Night falls over the forest, painting the trees with the icy blue shadows of winter. Maybe it’s the silence, but Sam is suddenly very aware of the natural beauty happening around him.
“Right, so-” Dean turns on his flashlight while trying to adjust the hold on his axe. “We split up. You see the fucker, you call Cas immediately, you hear me, Sammy?”
Sam smiles - thank God some things never change. “Yes, captain.”
“Good. And stay away from the roads,” he adds before Cas wraps long fingers around his wrist and takes them away.
He ventures into the woods slowly. Choosing a tree at random - one with a thick trunk that will take time to chop down - he hangs the flashlight on a belt loop and rests his gun by the nearest tree. He begins by striking the trunk at a 45 degree angle from the top. After a few times, he changes the angle to 45 from the bottom.
In five minutes he’s already bored out of his skull, the threat of imminent danger far away from his mind. If this plan doesn’t work they’ll probably have to come back the next day to hunt something, which is not the best idea. The chances of getting caught by the rangers are not as low as they would like, and who knows how long it would take to get a permit.
When a powerful blow to his side sends him flying to the ground, he even forgets for a moment what they are hunting and that this is probably it. He doesn’t have to look to know his left arm is fractured and his right leg hurt from landing on top of a huge root.
Childish cartons of boys with red-hair and leaves around their waists have nothing on the real thing. It is wrath personified, Sam thinks, naked and atrocious. The fire atop its head burns furiously, expelling blazes almost four feet long, illuminating everything around it.
The Curupira is mad. It’s staring at him, and Sam is more scared than he has been in a long time.
Sam tells his body to get up, call Cas, do something other than just half-lay there. His axe is lost somewhere, his gun is nowhere in sight, and he’s just staring at the thing that’s set on killing him. He doesn’t have to fight it, just pray to Cas; that’s the plan - open his mouth and just fucking say the name… Yet his lips don’t part.
Please, ow God, Cas! Help me, help me, no-
The next blow never comes. The creature looks around itself as if confused, not being able to move.
Warm breath hits the skin behind Sam’s ear, perfect against the cold and the pain all over his body.
A voice, so familiar it almost hurts not to remember to whom it belongs, whispers like a lover murmuring in the dark, “Close your eyes, Sammy-boy.”
And he automatically does, without asking, ‘who, what, who’ - trained to just do it when he hears the command. White light explodes behind his eyelids, and he knows nothing more.
*º*º*
Sam can feel the fires of Hell burning below him, waiting for him to make a mistake, to grab a false ledge and slip. His fingers hurt, nails bleeding from clutching at the rocks -he knows the cliff is endless, there’s no top when he looks up, but he can’t stop climbing. If he falls, it’s over.
He doesn’t remember how he got here, why he is doing this, who he is supposed to call for help. Thoughts and feelings collide with each other, crashing inside him, melting into a mess of incoherence he can’t escape from.
“Help me…” Feeling powerless, he prays weakly but knows no one will come.
Faintly he realizes he’s dreaming. Nevertheless, the fear suffocating him and the heat coming from below feel too real, threatening. And maybe it had been all real once - maybe at some point in time the fire really burned his skin, this fear the only thing his soul was capable of feeling.
A distant noise catches his attention. The muffled sound of trumpeting comes from far away, completely out of place in this dark nightmare. Sam turns his head to look behind him, being careful not to look down, and sees it. A herd of African elephants coming his way - trumpeting, growling, and rumbling.
Flying elephants.
Throwing water from their trunks.
At the Abysm.
…
What.
The.
Fuck.
Suddenly, Sam notices how absurd it is to be climbing a cliff with no summit, winged elephants behind him flying in circles trying to extinguish Hellfire.
He feels lucid again, entire sentences forming themselves correctly in his head, his thoughts untangling from each other - like watching Dean unlace the tight knot his five-year-old self once made with his shoelaces.
Reaching for the next rock, his hand finds level ground he can only assume is the top of the cliff. Sam looks up, and the shock of what he sees almost makes him lose his balance and fall.
“Hey there!” Gabriel smirks from above. “Having fun?”
“Gabriel?” It is now official. Sam has gone batshit insane.
Flying elephants he can stomach, but pocket-size archangels who love messing around with his sanity are an entirely different problem.
Sam quickly gets to his feet. “Are you responsible for this?”
He snorts. “Oh, I’ve got nothing to do with your dreams, buddy. This is all on you and your twisted little mind.”
“Then I really am dreaming…” he murmurs, looking down at the darkness of the Abyss, now with almost no flames or heat emanating from it.
“Pff, you’d think so, unless flying elephants are a common occurrence where you come from?”
“And I suppose you’re real too?” He analyzes the archangel with suspicion.
“Want to find out just how much?” Gabriel raises his eyebrows suggestively.
The sudden heat spreading across his face is so not a good sign. Not many things can make him blush like this - nowadays the honor is reserved for Dean and Cas making him uncomfortable. “Hm, I’m fine, thanks.”
All he gets in response is a mischievous smile he remembers very well from his past encounters with the Trickster. The hunter looks to the side trying to think of a change of subject.
“And this?” Sam points to the herd of elephants in the distance.
“Now this is on me. I can’t change what you’re dreaming, so I’m just tuning it down a little bit.” He begins to walk and makes a gesture for Sam to follow.
Gabriel looks the same. Same size, same hair, same attitude. His eyebrows are still expressive, the light stubble on his chin and under his nose hasn’t grown an inch, his head moving in different angles and directions as he talks, hazel eyes catching the light in a certain way that makes them look almost green but not quite-
O-kay, and Sam is going stop now.
“Why are you here?” he asks, looking around to see that ‘here’ is actually a rocky wasteland that stretches out continuously, nothing coming up on the horizon.
“You were crying for help, and for some reason your prayers are coming directly to my inbox lately,” the angel tells him.
“What does that mean? This happened before?” No, Sam would definitely remember snooty archangels messing around in his head.
“Oh, yeah,” Gabriel beams his usual cheerful smile, “it’s how I woke up from the dead actually.”
Sam waits for him to continue, but the angel just keeps on smiling at him like that just answered it.
“… Would you like to elaborate?” He sighs, a little annoyed.
“I remember dying, alright - not really my plan for a Saturday evening; dying is more of a Thursday thing. I also remember not existing, if that makes any sense to you.” Gabriel crosses his arms, looking puzzled himself. “But next thing I know, I’m opening my eyes again, just like that.” He snaps his fingers. Sam tries not to flinch. “I heard your crying and whining for God to send someone to help lil’ ol’ Cassie, so I ran to the rescue.”
Sam just stares, not knowing what to say.
“Well, voila!” Gabriel waggles his hands like he just performed a magic trick and is now waiting for the applause. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
His throat feels suddenly very dry. Sam doesn’t know what to make of the possibility that God not only gives a damn, but that his praying actually made a difference. “So- so, God was listening?”
“Yeah, he’s a sucker for kicked puppies apparently.” Gabriel shrugs.
“Do you think he brought you back because I prayed?”
Gabriel tucks his hands in his pockets and looks away too casually to be natural. Sam can tell he also suspects that’s the case - if so, how is the hunter supposed to act around him? Should he say, ‘I’m glad my praying incidentally brought you back to life’?
“Anyways, looks like lately you have your hands full with our brothers,” Gabriel, not smoothly at all, offers as a change of subject.
“How do you-” Sam narrows his eyes in what Dean likes to call ‘Bitch Face No. 17: I’m on to You’. “Have you been watching us?”
“Ow, please!” He makes a dismissive hand gesture. “I got a Heaven to take care of. Do you think I’ve got the time to watch you Winchesters getting your asses handed to you by weird Brazilian folklore?”
Gabriel smirks over his shoulder.
Sam gapes, just realizing the obvious. “You saved me from that thing?”
“You asked for help. Don’t you remember?”
What Sam does remember is thinking the voice whispering in his ear sounded like a lover in the dark or some such nonsense. How he could think a voice that mocked everyone and their moms could pose as something so intimate is beyond him.
“What happened to the-” he pauses; flashes of the night start appearing to him as he tries to remember, “Curupira?”
“Back where it’s supposed to be. I could have killed it, but I’m eco-friendly now.” Gabriel gives him a thumbs up like he’s in some sort of commercial with the tagline on the bottom of the screen reading, ‘I support this cause’.
This angel had saved him. When he was powerless and frightened for no reason other than his own utter stupidity, this was the one who came for him. “Gabriel… thanks.”
Gabriel looks almost scandalized at the honest display of gratitude. “Samuel, please! Don’t start crying, or I’ll actually feel embarrassed for you.”
Sam doesn’t know what to do with himself here. Should he make more conversation? Ask how’s tricks and fear the answer? The brothers wonder often about the situation upstairs with their natural curiosity for all things dangerous and supernatural, but never approached the topic again after the first two times when Cas only said, ‘Gabriel is… handling it.’
“Don’t sweat it,” Gabriel reassures him. “Like I said, I don’t have time to watch every second of your mortal, boring life. So you don’t have to worry about me going all stalker on you.”
There’s a pause.
“Besides, I only watch while you shower.” Gabriel grins, and it’s terrible because it might be true.
Sam finds out you don’t need to be drinking something in order to choke. Saliva will do just fine.
Gabriel’s laughter seems to fill up the void of the landscape.
*º*º*
“Where are we going, by the way?” Sam asks what feels like thirty minutes into the dream but probably isn’t in real life.
“No where in particular,” Gabriel answers and leaves it at that.
They walk and trade a few words in a comfortable silence, Sam’s legs never getting tired. The view is always the same and yet, somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to be bored. Wandering along side an archangel is too surreal to make anything about it look tedious.
Sam wonders if they found his unconscious body yet, and if they did, why hadn’t they woken him up already. Not that he minds walking like this some more, no urgent worries in his mind. “When are you going to let Cas go?”
“Oh, what it this, I don’t even-” Gabriel’s nose frowns a little together with his eyebrows. Sam chuckles even though there’s nothing funny about that. “I’m the bad guy now? For your information, I was the one who insisted he get married to his human pet and spend the rest of his life - well, Dean’s - behind a stove wearing a ‘soccer mom’ apron.”
“… That’s honestly what you think married people do, isn’t it?” Sam shakes his head disapprovingly.
“Am I wrong?” The angel huffs, like the very idea is beneath him. “Anyway, I tried, but my baby bro is too much of a martyr to just let me run things on my own. If you think about it, he’s a true Winchester now!”
Sam smiles at that. It was almost the exact same thing he had said to Castiel himself. About doing stupid shit to be a member of the family.
“He’s feeling guilty. That’s what you get for hanging around humans…” Gabriel murmurs, gazing at the horizon.
Sam raises his eyebrows. “Why, are you feeling guilty too, Gabriel? Speaking from experience there?” Heh, Sam suspected there was a reason for the angel to come to his rescue and then hang around afterwards, even though it had already been stated he had much better things to do in Heaven. “Anything you want to share? Is that why you’re still here?”
“Fine - despite what you might think, Gigantor, I didn’t get my rocks off watching you suffer.” Gabriel sighs, trying to sound nonchalant and failing. They both know what he’s talking about - it’s something Sam will never forget. “I was trying to teach you a lesson, but maybe, just maybe, I went about it the wrong way.” He rolls his eyes, probably not used to admitting he regrets his actions. “I see that now.”
That was… surprisingly deep. The hunter had no idea somewhere out there Gabriel felt something akin to guilt for what he did all those years ago. Hell, before this conversation, Sam would swear up and down that the Trickster didn’t even remember that particular occasion out of his many pranks throughout the centuries.
“Of course, not that I was wrong, mind you! I just wasn’t exactly right,” the angel feels the need to add.
Sam abruptly realizes he never thanked him for sacrificing himself for them in that motel, never had the chance. Dean had only told him the entire story later, about the angel thinking of those gods as his family.
“What, why are you looking at me like that?” Gabriel looks around as if searching for whatever reason Sam is suddenly making puppy eyes at him.
“My brother told me about the conversation you guys had in that car.” Sam sighs, “You care, Gabriel-”
“Oh, boy-” The angel rubs a hand on his forehead.
“I’m serious! Those pagan Gods, they were like, your family, right? I’m sorry they died.” And he means it. Gabriel stood up for almost total strangers, going against his own brother for them. Sam doesn’t want to think what he would do in his place if he had to kill Dean to save someone else.
“Sam…” Gabriel laughs like he’s actually embarrassed to be hearing this. Embarrassment is not something the hunter thought him capable of. “Okay, you big care bear, you. Thanks for making this dream sequence not awkward at all.”
*º*º*
“Hm?” Gabriel stops and looks up behind his shoulders like he just heard something.
“What? What is it?” Sam follows his gaze. There’s only sky as far as he can see.
“Your brother is about to wake you up,” he says, turning to the hunter. “Well, this was pleasant… hm, not.”
Sam smiles sheepishly. “Thanks again.”
“…” Gabriel shrugs. He takes a button of his jacket between his fingers and adjusts it, as if it was in the wrong position before. “Anytime.” He shrugs like it’s nothing.
“Am I going to see you again?” Sam finally asks. What the Hell, right, maybe there’s a reason this particular angel keeps receiving his prayers.
“Sure thing. You guys are total dumbasses sometimes; I’ve got no idea how you survived this long without me.” Gabriel fixes his eyes somewhere on Sam’s cheek. He clears his throat. “Do you want to?”
“I think so.”
“Just pray for me. Like, think of my name before you go to sleep; I’ll definitely hear it,” Gabriel says, and it sounds like a promise to Sam.
“Okay,” the hunter agrees.
The angel smirks, hazel eyes finally meeting his own. “And be sure to do it while you shower too.”
Sam chokes. “Gabr-”
And wakes up.
*º*º*
Author: Sofiwick.
Chapter: 3/?
Beta: The awesome Kodamasama.
Pairings: Sam/Gabriel, Dean/Castiel.
Rating: PG-13 (it may go up in later chapters).
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me. I am making no profit from this fanfiction.
Spoilers: Up until 6x22.
Warnings: undecided!Dean, hesitant!Cas, Mr. Fix-It!Sam, flirtatious!Gabriel, Bobby being Bobby.
Takes place right after 6x22, with a few changes (prepare for spoilers): Castiel kills Crowley, Sam’s Wall is still there, and Balthazar is alive.
Summary: Sam already has his hands full with Dean’s epic gay love affair with an ex-god without Gabriel suddenly deciding he wants his own slice of hot Winchester.
Thank you for the wonderful feedback! You guys are awesome!!
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
*º*º*
Chapter 3: I’ll Be Seeing You
*º*º*
They are all over the place. Sadly, that includes Sam.
He wakes up to Dean teaching Castiel how to make pancakes the way he likes them, because Dean already came to the conclusion that the angel has nothing to compare stuff to and will automatically like anything he likes. By the way they are looking at each other, Sam figures it’s going to be a good day.
Until Cas leans in to give him a peck on his cheek - something a character did on a chick-flick he and Sam were watching the night before. Dean completely freaks out - the entire package complete with taking two steps back, wide eyes, and rubbing the place where lips met skin.
Sam notices he has a problem when he knows his day will suck solely because Cas is capable of romantic gestures while Dean has the emotional plenitude of a spoon. When has his life become all about someone else’s relationship?
They stop talking to each other.
A few days later, Dean is sitting on the couch throwing Castiel anxious glances, as if expecting a hug or a kiss that is not coming anymore. Sam is expecting that too since - starting a few weeks ago - 6 PM is the hour Cas proclaimed as ‘us time’ - basically, the moment he takes his rightful place beside Dean and snuggles next to him, not caring if Sam is there or not.
Seeing how he can’t scream and throw the TV out the window but also can’t just stay there and do nothing, the youngest Winchester grabs his brother by the shoulders and threatens to flee to Mexico until the economy improves unless Dean makes things right again.
So, the next morning they’re okay again - as okay as they get, anyways.
Until stuff happens, and they are not okay. For the nth time.
Sam stops trying to keep track of it. It’s all headache inducing, really.
Finally, one morning they are ordering coffee, and Dean - out of nowhere - declares it fundamental they head to New York. Sam comforts himself by thinking they’re at least breaking the routine somewhat.
It all starts with a cashier just being polite. “Do you want cream in your coffee, sir?”
“Oh… I don’t know. Let me ask Dean.” Cas turns around. “Do I want cream in my coffee, Dean?”
Maybe it’s all the symbolism in that moment, what with Castiel giving up Godhood for Dean and being dependent on his opinion, that makes Dean speechless for a moment, looking at the angel like he just realized he’s there. Sam likes to think the magnitude of their weird-ass relationship just bitch slapped him in the face.
Dean fidgets. “Ah- hm- well, do you want it, Cas? You don’t have to ask me.”
“But I don’t know what cream is for,” he states calmly.
“It’s something to make your coffee sweeter.”
“I see.” Castiel nods. “Do I want my coffee sweeter?”
“Dude, this is something you gotta figure out for yourself-”
“You know what, maybe you should try it, just for a change.” Sam hands a bill to the cashier, who is looking at them like they are a particular flavor of crazy, and tugs them out of line.
Dean is strangely silent as they wait for their order.
“You seem upset again,” the angel points out, looking upset himself.
Looking back on it, maybe Sam should have started being wary the moment Dean crosses his arms on his chest and looks at the floor for no particular reason. It means he’s thinking - and last time he did that when they were not on a case, Sam had to bail him out. “Cas, do you eat when you’re not with us?”
His head tilts. It is so Cas, Sam hopes he’ll never stop doing that. “Why would I do that?”
“Dude…” Dean murmurs to himself, “You don’t know anything about food.”
“And?” Sam asks with a frown.
“And, Sammy! This shit need to be fixed. We’re going to New York”
Hm, because yeah, that’s the natural progression of this conversation.
*º*º*
And so they begin slowly making their way to New York. Because New York has food. Yay?
“There’s Little Italy - really good pasta, and this place on Lower East Side where they sell knishes - I think that’s the name anyway. I don’t remember where the Greek restaurants are, but they are out there somewhere.”
“That’s very cultural of you, Dean,” Sam teases. “And what are we supposed to do between meals?”
“You guys can geek it out in some museums or something. Take the grand tour downtown while I take a nap.” The hunter grins, looking genuinely happy for once. Sam decides to shut up. It’s the beginning of November - they can make it to the Big Apple and back to Bobby in time for Christmas.
Cas doesn’t try to argue with his human anymore. If Dean wants to drive for weeks on end just so they can spend a few days walking around downtown New York, he’ll humor him by not insisting on how pointless all the driving is. At least time on the road means they can partake in their new favorite - and only - merry activity together: Guess What Song It Is.
Or what Sam likes to call it: Guess What Song It Is Even Though We Listen to the Same Stuff Everyday Over and Over Again So It’s Fucking Obvious What Song It Is At This Point.
“C’mon, Cas, I know you like this one.” Dean turns it up, bobbing his head to the rhythm.
“‘Whole Lotta Love’. It’s my favorite guitar solo.” The angel gives him this small, honest smile that Sam has entitled ‘this is something I saw on TV once, but I shall use it all the time because it makes you happy’.
Right on cue the hunter beams. “Really? You hear that, Sammy? Cas has a favorite guitar solo!”
Sam rolls his eyes. They can’t get to New York soon enough.
*º*º*
Just because Dean and Cas decide to spend their days hiding inside their love cocoon of classic rock doesn’t mean Sam stops doing his job.
“Check this out.” He hands Dean the newspaper.
The head line reads, ‘Five Killed in Wayne National Forest’. “That’s way south from here, right?”
“Keep on reading,” Sam says.
“Only survivor, Jake Carper, claims the attacker was ‘a guy with flaming hair’.” He raises an eyebrow. “…Okay, this should be interesting.”
Castiel shows up as the brothers load the car. “Hey, Cas. Hop in.” And the angel does, without needing to ask where they are going or why. Sam muses over where else he would go. “We think there’s a hunt south of here.”
“I see.” Castiel sounds tired, and they worry a little even though a worn out Cas isn’t anything new these days.
“Dude, what’s with the long face? We’re still going to New York.” Dean comforts him with a boyish grin. “As soon as we’re done, we can get back on the road. Think of it as a detour.”
“I’m sure New York will wait for us,” the angel assures him, looking amused. Dean doesn’t get the silly smile off his face for a good five minutes.
Quite frankly, Sam feels somewhat envious of their unusual relationship, for when he looks past all the pointless denial and insecurity going on, he also realizes that they are together. Most days hurting and unhappy, yes, but on the road together nonetheless.
Hunters don’t have relationships, period. Oh, some tried, and they all kissed it goodbye in horrible ways. The realization that Sam can never settle down and be completely happy - have a house and a family waiting for him while at the same time running the family business - is more devastating than it should be at this point in the game.
Dean has someone who can travel with them, someone with the power to hold his own when things get ugly and will stand by his side no matter what - most likely for the rest of his life, and quite literally, beyond.
Sam has the possibility of shy flings that will - obviously - lead nowhere and the notion that maybe somewhere out there a pretty girl hunter exists and will be willing to start a relationship on the road with him.
The other option is solitude. For Sam won’t quit the job and no smart, sensible woman will just spend day in and day out all alone, waiting for him to show up every couple of months, wondering if he’s okay - if he’s even still alive.
Or he could just get himself angel-married - all the cool kids are doing it nowadays, after all. But that is just… no.
*º*º*
Since Crowley’s death there haven’t been many demons running amok; at least in the USA, as far as they knew. The hunts are getting scarce - with the exception of the occasional salt and burn, until Sam finds himself bored out of his mind in the backseat of the Impala as Dean complains to Castiel about the nothingness that is Butt Fuck Nowhere, Ohio.
Quite honestly, Sam doesn’t know what to do with himself. His days are filled with searching for something to kill and watching his brother slowly screwing up the best thing that has ever happened to him. At times, Dean seems dead set on not enjoying himself at all costs, Castiel himself looking more tired every time he comes back from his business meetings in Heaven.
“Do you want to investigate with us?” Dean proposes. Sam raises an eyebrow, knowing his brother can see him through the rear view mirror. Dean clears his throat, keeping his eyes on the road.
“Last time you were not pleased,” Castiel points out. Sam tries not to chuckle - he was told all about it.
“No, but I think your people skills need improving.” Dean encourages him with a pat on the shoulder. “You can’t just believe everything you see on TV - you gotta walk around, do some people-watching.”
Sam can’t even try not to smirk. “Let me translate it for you: Dean is being cute ‘cause he doesn’t want you to be all alone in a motel room while we inv-”
“The conversation hasn’t moved to the backseat yet, thanks.” Dean sounds nervous for a moment, as he always does at the mention of Those-Things-That-Shall-Not-Be-Named - AKA human emotions. Yet seeing the usual blank expression on Castiel’s face, he lets it go. “We can make you a fake FBI ID card,” Dean continues, “but do not open your mouth, dude. We do the talking.”
“Yes, Dean.” Sam sighs as Castiel stares at Dean with his usual ‘you-are-my-intended’ intensity. Dean lets him, looking every so often to the side to be sure he still has the angel’s attention to himself. Friendly Neighborhood Angels: now in the front seat of your car to better stalk you.
Sometimes they make eye contact for long periods of time, laugh and even - somewhat? - snuggle on the couch. Most of the times, though, they still break each other’s heart. And Sam’s too.
Their little dance around each other is getting old so fast, like watching reruns of the same episodes of Seinfeld every night for two months until you get so annoyed you actually consider taking the first flight to New York and killing someone.
Ah yes, Sam is losing it.
Luckily, he also has a favorite game of his own.
“Cas, don’t you get tired of just sitting here all day?” He tries not to smirk just yet, knowing full well what type of answer he’ll get.
“At first. However, I discovered that watching Dean drive is quite soothing.”
Living is worth it just to watch Dean’s ears get red as he mistakes the gears and makes the car jolt.
*º*º*
“Beaten to death. All five of them. Nothing like this ever happened around these parts, let me tell you.” The officer designated to assist them gives Sam a thick file. Opening a map on the table, he points at the circles drawn with red ink. “Their camp was here; these markers are where we found each body.”
The brothers analyze the map while Castiel looks through the pictures. Now that Sam thinks about it, maybe it could come off as a little weird for three FBI agents to be on the same case. He makes a mental note to ask Bobby later.
“Did they all die in different parts of the woods, or were the bodies moved post mortem?”
The officer extends his hands to Castiel in a silent request for the photos he’s holding. The angel tilts his heads, probably trying to remember the appropriate reaction to someone offering you their hand. Sam practically shoves the photos into the officer’s hand before Castiel has the chance to shake it and make things awkward for everyone.
If he thinks that was odd, the officer says nothing. “See the blood on the tree trunks?” He shows them a photo of one of the victim’s body, blood everywhere around it. “They were killed and left there. The coroner said they were all dead within the same hour.”
“That’s a long distance between each body,” Dean whispers to Sam.
“We think more than one guy did it,” the officer overhears them and comments, “with their own hands. Sick bastards.”
Dean snorts. “It takes a lot of strength to do this much damage to a man barehanded. ‘Specially a man with a gun.”
“Sick, drugged bastards.” He shrugs.
“How come one victim got away?” Sam asks.
“Jake Carper? Completely lost his mind. We committed him to an asylum right away - heard they released him yesterday. Shouldn’t have, though. That one is definitely on drugs; I don’t care what the blood test says.”
*º*º*
Jake Carper doesn’t look high, nor show any withdrawal symptoms. Although, he does look scared out of his freaking mind. With hesitant fingers he holds their FBI cards, only letting them in after some deliberation and Sam’s sympathetic eyes. His hair is slick like it hasn’t been washed in days, sleepless red eyes in contrast with his brown irises.
“I already told the police everything, and they didn’t believe me. Can’t you people just leave me alone?”
“We know, Mr. Carper.” Dean sits on the couch beside Sam. “But we’re different from your local police. We need you to tell us what you saw.”
The man looks at the brothers’ serious stance - complete with little paper notebooks - to Castiel’s stiff posture and unnatural blue eyes, staring unblinking at him.
Sam clears his throat. “Were you friends with the victims?”
“Yeah, co-workers. We hunt in that park every year.” Jake hugs a thin blanket tightly around his body. “The open season is only in January, but we got a permit for Small Game Hunting - wild turkey, rabbits, that sort of thing-”
“Why?” Castiel asks.
Jake jumps a little at the sudden interruption by such a grave voice coming from a slim man. Sam stops himself from rolling his eyes just in time. “Not now, Cas.”
“Why what?”
“Why were you hunting when there are already dead animals at the supermark-”
“I’m sorry about my partner, Mr. Carper,” Dean almost shouts over the angel’s words. “He’s a vegetarian; he doesn’t know what he’s saying.”
Castiel narrows his eyes, ready to deny the silly accusations as Jake mumbles, “What does that got to do-”
“Can you tell us what happened that night, Mr. Carper?” Sam discreetly pinches his brother. Dean gets a clue.
“…Hm, we were camping in a clearing in the woods,” he starts. “It was our last night there ‘cause we all had already killed something to take home.
“It just… came out of nowhere. Th- this thing. It was like a really small man - the size of a boy, only… grrr-” Jakes shudders. “Naked, and his hair was on fucking fire, I swear to God! It jumped Jimmy and started hitting him… over and over again. Greg grabbed it from behind, but it sent him flying - like, ten feet, or something.
“I punched the little fucker and look!” Jake takes his arm from under the blanket to show them bruised knuckles. “We tried shooting it too, but nothing happened. No blood or anything.” Dean and Sam exchange a concerned look. “How is that even possible?”
“What happened then?” Sam asks softly.
“We ran, what else! It was dark, so I don’t know how we got separated. I only stopped running when I got to the road, and I can’t even remember finding that ranger - luck, I guess.”
“Mr. Carper, why do you think it didn’t go after you?”
“… I outran it…?” Jake looks uncertain, but Sam doesn’t think he’s lying.
“Was there anything else unusual about the attacker?”
“You mean besides his hair being on fucking fire?” When the witness starts sounding hysterical, it’s time to stop.
Sam nudges his brother in a silent message that they should leave. “Thank you for your t-”
“What were you doing before your group was attacked?” Castiel asks. Dean sends him an ugly look.
“We were cooking- wait, wait!” Jake almost jumps from the couch. “There was this one thing! I can’t believe I almost forgot it- The whistles!”
“…Whistles?”
“Like an hour before we got attacked, we kept hearing these sharp whistles coming from the woods. We wanted to go find out who it was, but it was dark and we couldn’t figure out what direction it was coming from…
“You guys think there’s a connection, right?” Jake gets up and goes straight to the liquor cabinet. “The police didn’t believe me. They said we were on drugs, but I swear we weren’t! Ju- just look at the exam they made me take!”
“Mr. Carper, sit down, please-” Sam tries, but it’s ignored by the agitated man.
Serving himself a shot of whiskey, he downs it in one go. “I mean, what kind of sick bastard keeps whistling over and over before killing people?”
“Calm down-” Dean says, getting up. The brothers freeze when Castiel reaches for Jake.
The angel holds the man’s shoulder firmly, confidence and security rolling off him in waves. Instead of freaking out even more, Jake lets out an exhausted sigh and relaxes. Sam feels his own tension leave his shoulders as he watches the angel’s soothing presence take over the room.
“Were you the one cooking?” Castiel asks.
Jake looks at him with glassy eyes, almost hypnotized. “Yeah, over a campfire.”
“What were you cooking?” Sam tries to think of something to say that will stop the angel from saying any more strange things - yet the warm trust suddenly beating in his chest tells him to let Cas handle this one.
“A rabbit-”
“The one you killed?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you.” The angel gives him a small, reassuring smile - the one Sam always gives him when Dean’s being a particularly unbearable asshole - pressing two fingers to the man’s forehead. “You should rest, Jake Carper.”
He nods dumbly, and instead of falling to the ground immediately like they are used to seeing happen, he drowsily makes his way to the couch. With a relieved sigh, he closes his eyes and falls asleep, completely forgetting about the alleged FBI agents in his living room.
Dean blinks.
“What the hell, Cas!”
*º*º*
“Dude, stop it.” Sam tried everything to postpone this fight, at least while they are driving, but Dean has apparently decided he’s now immune to car accidents.
“No, Sam, he’s gotta understand he can’t act like a child! This is a serious investigation.” Dean turns to the angel riding shotgun. “You’re powerful; we get it. Doesn’t mean you get to toy around with people, man!”
Castiel looks more confused then ever, like Dean’s odd human reactions have finally worn him down. Although baffled Cas is much better than heartbroken Cas. “I don’t understand what you’re accusing me of-”
“Why did you mojo that guy?” Dean asks, sounding way angrier than he should be. Sam really wants to punch his brother when he overreacts.
Castiel’s now almost dark blue eyes narrow at the question, the angel’s presence in the car feeling like it’s suffocating Sam, all cells in his body telling him to run for the hills. This is the other end of the spectrum, he thinks, a huge difference from the protective love he felt only moments ago - the sentence he’s on our side, he’s on our side repeats itself like a mantra in his head.
“I did no such a thing. Jake Carper had not slept in several days. I gave him the means to have a peaceful sleep - you could say I merely suggested him to rest. If he was not inclined to do so, he wouldn’t have.” Castiel doesn’t blink as he says this, head held high and not a hint of regret in his voice. “Now, if you would stop your temper tantrum, I’d be happy to inform you of what supernatural creature we are dealing with.”
“You know?” two flabbergasted Winchesters ask. When had that happened?
“Yes,” Cas confirms. “You weren’t asking the right questions.”
Dean is gaping at him like this is unprecedented. “You don’t get to tell us how to do our jobs! Jesus, I’m fucking tired of this crap-”
Vaguely, Sam remembers someone telling him in high school that the quiet kids are all bound to snap one day, seeing as they bottle things up and downplay their right to show emotions. At the time he thought it was a mean thing to say - like Sam was doing something wrong when he went to sleep fuming after a fight with John, all the things he wanted to scream caught in his throat because saying them would upset his father even more.
Now he thinks he understands what they meant.
Sam snaps. It’s either that or smashing his head through the car window glass.
“What the Hell is your problem, Dean?!” His brother forgets whatever he was about to say at the powerful image that is Sam punching the back of Castiel’s seat, the entire car bouncing around dangerously. Even the angel looks startled at him, and Sam can only imagine the - ridiculous - image he presents right now, with his face red and his floppy hair flying all over his eyes. “Pull. Over.”
Dean doesn’t dare disagree. The next moment the car is stopping, and his brother is turning around to look at him like Sam is this crazy guy with the physic power to shut him up and leave their angel speechless. The silence only makes him feel crazier, as if accusing him of violating the natural order that is Dean and Cas being dumbasses around each other.
Sam has to remind himself that, yes, right, nuclear meltdown going on.
“You know that’s not what he meant! Why are you acting like an asshole all the freaking time?” Somewhere in his mind, a voice that sounds like his own is singsonging dude, you totally lost it.
“H- he put our covers at risk!” Dean looks at his angel for support, only to remember that oh, right. “If that guy wakes up and calls the sheriff about creepy FBI agents asking weird-ass questions and they start to do some digging, we’re gonna have to bail out of town-”
“When he wakes up, we’ll be long gone,” Cas calmly informs him. “I already told you I know what attacked those hunters.”
Dean opens his mouth to answer back, but surprisingly, nothing comes out. The angel looks between his hands and the hunter, aborting a few attempts at reaching for him. In the end, they fail once more at establishing contact between each other and look at Sam instead.
Turns out snapping takes a lot of energy, leaving you feeling like shit after the initial adrenaline wears off.
“… Tell us what you know.” Sam slumps back against his seat. Dean sighs, nodding in agreement.
Castiel is looking at them like he can’t believe they are just going to pretend nothing happened. Well, duh.
“…So, Cas?” The older hunter raises an eyebrow.
“Do you really wish me to tell you, Dean?” Castiel asks, voice like ice sliding down their spines. “After all, I don’t want to intrude on your work, even if you were the one who invited me in the first place.”
“This is how it’s gonna be, huh?” Dean’s voice sounds deeper, rougher - when it gets like this, Sam is never sure if he’s holding back his heartbreak or trying to control his anger. “Well, congratulations, Castiel. You were right, I was wrong - there. Does that make you feel good?”
Somehow, it doesn’t feel like they’re talking about what happened just ten minutes ago.
“Were I not here, it’d take days, maybe weeks, for you to understand what you’re up against because you were not asking the right questions. Since I asked them for you, we get to prevent more unnecessary deaths,” a tired Castiel explains. He sighs. “I did not do it to spite you. I did it because I love humanity, and I don’t want it to suffer.”
Dean doesn’t know what to say to that, so Sam mouths the words ‘apologize’ and ‘now’.
It figures they’re all too stubborn to say anything else. It feels like an eternity filled up with silence inside the Impala, only the sounds of cars passing by on the road reminding them there’s more to the world than petty hissy fits. They didn’t survive an apocalypse for this shit.
“Cas-” Dean murmurs, “sorry, dude.”
Castiel just stares at his lap, and Sam looks down to find Dean loosely holding a pale wrist in his hand. Just keeping it there, linking them together.
Sam has to control himself not to jump to the front seat and group hug them.
“It’s a Curupira,” the angel answers.
Dean scratches his head. “A what of what?”
“Curupira. It’s an entity of the Tupi-Guarani mythology in Brazil.”
Well… Okay. That’s unusual.
“Brazil? That’s like-” Looking at the car’s ceiling, Dean is probably accessing his internal map to come to the conclusion that, “It’s far.”
“It protects the forests and animals from hunters who don’t respect nature,” he continues, “the ones who hunt breeding females or kill more than they need to survive.”
“So, Jake Carper…?”
“Eating what he hunted,” Sam answers instead of Cas. It makes sense. It’s not that he ran for his life; the creature was never set on killing him. Sam shudders remembering the description they were given. “And the fire-hair thing?”
“It is exactly what it suggests. Its feet are turned backwards to deceive trackers. It whistles, plays tricks to lure them into the woods until the evildoers get lost and can’t ever find their way out.”
“This Curu-yada-yada is a long way from home,” Dean informs them quite pointlessly.
“I believe it was summoned here; it cannot just walk out of its own woods. This creature isn’t violent by nature. It’s attacking because it’s probably confused. ‘Freaking out’,” Cas tastes the words. “It’s possible it doesn’t know how to go back to its forest.”
Sam frowns. “Who summoned it, then?”
“I do not know. There are a couple of summoning spells that should be powerful enough.”
“More importantly - how do we gank it?”
“I… do not know.” The angel looks apologetically at the floor, like it isn’t awesome enough that they already know what they’re fighting against fifteen minutes into the first period of the game.
Dean rolls his eyes. “Great-”
“That’s awesome, Cas.” Sam’s louder than necessary voice makes Dean realize he should probably leave angels and younger brothers alone for the day. “We’ll do some research when we get to the hotel, find out how to kill this thing.” His huge hand covers Castiel’s shoulder, and it’s okay to have this contact, this comfort, because no one pulls away and Dean doesn’t say anything. “You did well. Thanks a bunch.”
“It is an entity needed elsewhere,” Castiel explains. “Rather than kill it, I find it would be wiser to send it back where it belongs. If we can draw it out from its hiding place, I might be able to help it.”
Dean doesn’t look too pleased about letting something that powerful live, but he doesn’t offer any other ideas. As he puts the car in first gear he doesn’t let go of the angel’s hand, holding it between his own and the gearstick.
“…” Cas takes a moment to contemplate this gesture as the scientific development it is. Sam can imagine angels in lab coats taking notes. Relaxing in his seat, blue eyes meet his own in the mirror. “You’re welcome, Sam.”
*º*º*
In order to fulfill their latest stupid plan, they have to make a stop on the way to the motel to get their hands on some axes. Although Cas had guaranteed the Curupira wouldn’t attack the locals who frequent the woods, they decide not to put that theory to test - after all, it’s not suppose to beat people to death, period.
Aside from variations of the same story, everything Cas said checks out. A premier research on Google results in drawings of an ugly boy with red hair and turned feet facing backwards.
Most sources state only the natives living in the indigenous reserves still believe it exists, while everyone else uses its myth as a child-friendly night time story. Indeed, it looks a somewhat silly creature wearing leaves around its waist, but Sam knows better than to take seriously the general opinion on supernatural creatures - his mind goes immediately to ‘Twilight’. In this world, vampires are bloodthirsty fuckers, not love sick teenagers, no matter how much Stephenie Meyer wants them to be.
After Dean is done preparing their guns - they figure they’ll at least slow it down - Castiel zaps them via Air Angel to the middle of a clearing, seeing as it would take hours to drive from their hotel to the area where the hunters were attacked.
Night falls over the forest, painting the trees with the icy blue shadows of winter. Maybe it’s the silence, but Sam is suddenly very aware of the natural beauty happening around him.
“Right, so-” Dean turns on his flashlight while trying to adjust the hold on his axe. “We split up. You see the fucker, you call Cas immediately, you hear me, Sammy?”
Sam smiles - thank God some things never change. “Yes, captain.”
“Good. And stay away from the roads,” he adds before Cas wraps long fingers around his wrist and takes them away.
He ventures into the woods slowly. Choosing a tree at random - one with a thick trunk that will take time to chop down - he hangs the flashlight on a belt loop and rests his gun by the nearest tree. He begins by striking the trunk at a 45 degree angle from the top. After a few times, he changes the angle to 45 from the bottom.
In five minutes he’s already bored out of his skull, the threat of imminent danger far away from his mind. If this plan doesn’t work they’ll probably have to come back the next day to hunt something, which is not the best idea. The chances of getting caught by the rangers are not as low as they would like, and who knows how long it would take to get a permit.
When a powerful blow to his side sends him flying to the ground, he even forgets for a moment what they are hunting and that this is probably it. He doesn’t have to look to know his left arm is fractured and his right leg hurt from landing on top of a huge root.
Childish cartons of boys with red-hair and leaves around their waists have nothing on the real thing. It is wrath personified, Sam thinks, naked and atrocious. The fire atop its head burns furiously, expelling blazes almost four feet long, illuminating everything around it.
The Curupira is mad. It’s staring at him, and Sam is more scared than he has been in a long time.
Sam tells his body to get up, call Cas, do something other than just half-lay there. His axe is lost somewhere, his gun is nowhere in sight, and he’s just staring at the thing that’s set on killing him. He doesn’t have to fight it, just pray to Cas; that’s the plan - open his mouth and just fucking say the name… Yet his lips don’t part.
Please, ow God, Cas! Help me, help me, no-
The next blow never comes. The creature looks around itself as if confused, not being able to move.
Warm breath hits the skin behind Sam’s ear, perfect against the cold and the pain all over his body.
A voice, so familiar it almost hurts not to remember to whom it belongs, whispers like a lover murmuring in the dark, “Close your eyes, Sammy-boy.”
And he automatically does, without asking, ‘who, what, who’ - trained to just do it when he hears the command. White light explodes behind his eyelids, and he knows nothing more.
*º*º*
Sam can feel the fires of Hell burning below him, waiting for him to make a mistake, to grab a false ledge and slip. His fingers hurt, nails bleeding from clutching at the rocks -he knows the cliff is endless, there’s no top when he looks up, but he can’t stop climbing. If he falls, it’s over.
He doesn’t remember how he got here, why he is doing this, who he is supposed to call for help. Thoughts and feelings collide with each other, crashing inside him, melting into a mess of incoherence he can’t escape from.
“Help me…” Feeling powerless, he prays weakly but knows no one will come.
Faintly he realizes he’s dreaming. Nevertheless, the fear suffocating him and the heat coming from below feel too real, threatening. And maybe it had been all real once - maybe at some point in time the fire really burned his skin, this fear the only thing his soul was capable of feeling.
A distant noise catches his attention. The muffled sound of trumpeting comes from far away, completely out of place in this dark nightmare. Sam turns his head to look behind him, being careful not to look down, and sees it. A herd of African elephants coming his way - trumpeting, growling, and rumbling.
Flying elephants.
Throwing water from their trunks.
At the Abysm.
…
What.
The.
Fuck.
Suddenly, Sam notices how absurd it is to be climbing a cliff with no summit, winged elephants behind him flying in circles trying to extinguish Hellfire.
He feels lucid again, entire sentences forming themselves correctly in his head, his thoughts untangling from each other - like watching Dean unlace the tight knot his five-year-old self once made with his shoelaces.
Reaching for the next rock, his hand finds level ground he can only assume is the top of the cliff. Sam looks up, and the shock of what he sees almost makes him lose his balance and fall.
“Hey there!” Gabriel smirks from above. “Having fun?”
“Gabriel?” It is now official. Sam has gone batshit insane.
Flying elephants he can stomach, but pocket-size archangels who love messing around with his sanity are an entirely different problem.
Sam quickly gets to his feet. “Are you responsible for this?”
He snorts. “Oh, I’ve got nothing to do with your dreams, buddy. This is all on you and your twisted little mind.”
“Then I really am dreaming…” he murmurs, looking down at the darkness of the Abyss, now with almost no flames or heat emanating from it.
“Pff, you’d think so, unless flying elephants are a common occurrence where you come from?”
“And I suppose you’re real too?” He analyzes the archangel with suspicion.
“Want to find out just how much?” Gabriel raises his eyebrows suggestively.
The sudden heat spreading across his face is so not a good sign. Not many things can make him blush like this - nowadays the honor is reserved for Dean and Cas making him uncomfortable. “Hm, I’m fine, thanks.”
All he gets in response is a mischievous smile he remembers very well from his past encounters with the Trickster. The hunter looks to the side trying to think of a change of subject.
“And this?” Sam points to the herd of elephants in the distance.
“Now this is on me. I can’t change what you’re dreaming, so I’m just tuning it down a little bit.” He begins to walk and makes a gesture for Sam to follow.
Gabriel looks the same. Same size, same hair, same attitude. His eyebrows are still expressive, the light stubble on his chin and under his nose hasn’t grown an inch, his head moving in different angles and directions as he talks, hazel eyes catching the light in a certain way that makes them look almost green but not quite-
O-kay, and Sam is going stop now.
“Why are you here?” he asks, looking around to see that ‘here’ is actually a rocky wasteland that stretches out continuously, nothing coming up on the horizon.
“You were crying for help, and for some reason your prayers are coming directly to my inbox lately,” the angel tells him.
“What does that mean? This happened before?” No, Sam would definitely remember snooty archangels messing around in his head.
“Oh, yeah,” Gabriel beams his usual cheerful smile, “it’s how I woke up from the dead actually.”
Sam waits for him to continue, but the angel just keeps on smiling at him like that just answered it.
“… Would you like to elaborate?” He sighs, a little annoyed.
“I remember dying, alright - not really my plan for a Saturday evening; dying is more of a Thursday thing. I also remember not existing, if that makes any sense to you.” Gabriel crosses his arms, looking puzzled himself. “But next thing I know, I’m opening my eyes again, just like that.” He snaps his fingers. Sam tries not to flinch. “I heard your crying and whining for God to send someone to help lil’ ol’ Cassie, so I ran to the rescue.”
Sam just stares, not knowing what to say.
“Well, voila!” Gabriel waggles his hands like he just performed a magic trick and is now waiting for the applause. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
His throat feels suddenly very dry. Sam doesn’t know what to make of the possibility that God not only gives a damn, but that his praying actually made a difference. “So- so, God was listening?”
“Yeah, he’s a sucker for kicked puppies apparently.” Gabriel shrugs.
“Do you think he brought you back because I prayed?”
Gabriel tucks his hands in his pockets and looks away too casually to be natural. Sam can tell he also suspects that’s the case - if so, how is the hunter supposed to act around him? Should he say, ‘I’m glad my praying incidentally brought you back to life’?
“Anyways, looks like lately you have your hands full with our brothers,” Gabriel, not smoothly at all, offers as a change of subject.
“How do you-” Sam narrows his eyes in what Dean likes to call ‘Bitch Face No. 17: I’m on to You’. “Have you been watching us?”
“Ow, please!” He makes a dismissive hand gesture. “I got a Heaven to take care of. Do you think I’ve got the time to watch you Winchesters getting your asses handed to you by weird Brazilian folklore?”
Gabriel smirks over his shoulder.
Sam gapes, just realizing the obvious. “You saved me from that thing?”
“You asked for help. Don’t you remember?”
What Sam does remember is thinking the voice whispering in his ear sounded like a lover in the dark or some such nonsense. How he could think a voice that mocked everyone and their moms could pose as something so intimate is beyond him.
“What happened to the-” he pauses; flashes of the night start appearing to him as he tries to remember, “Curupira?”
“Back where it’s supposed to be. I could have killed it, but I’m eco-friendly now.” Gabriel gives him a thumbs up like he’s in some sort of commercial with the tagline on the bottom of the screen reading, ‘I support this cause’.
This angel had saved him. When he was powerless and frightened for no reason other than his own utter stupidity, this was the one who came for him. “Gabriel… thanks.”
Gabriel looks almost scandalized at the honest display of gratitude. “Samuel, please! Don’t start crying, or I’ll actually feel embarrassed for you.”
Sam doesn’t know what to do with himself here. Should he make more conversation? Ask how’s tricks and fear the answer? The brothers wonder often about the situation upstairs with their natural curiosity for all things dangerous and supernatural, but never approached the topic again after the first two times when Cas only said, ‘Gabriel is… handling it.’
“Don’t sweat it,” Gabriel reassures him. “Like I said, I don’t have time to watch every second of your mortal, boring life. So you don’t have to worry about me going all stalker on you.”
There’s a pause.
“Besides, I only watch while you shower.” Gabriel grins, and it’s terrible because it might be true.
Sam finds out you don’t need to be drinking something in order to choke. Saliva will do just fine.
Gabriel’s laughter seems to fill up the void of the landscape.
*º*º*
“Where are we going, by the way?” Sam asks what feels like thirty minutes into the dream but probably isn’t in real life.
“No where in particular,” Gabriel answers and leaves it at that.
They walk and trade a few words in a comfortable silence, Sam’s legs never getting tired. The view is always the same and yet, somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to be bored. Wandering along side an archangel is too surreal to make anything about it look tedious.
Sam wonders if they found his unconscious body yet, and if they did, why hadn’t they woken him up already. Not that he minds walking like this some more, no urgent worries in his mind. “When are you going to let Cas go?”
“Oh, what it this, I don’t even-” Gabriel’s nose frowns a little together with his eyebrows. Sam chuckles even though there’s nothing funny about that. “I’m the bad guy now? For your information, I was the one who insisted he get married to his human pet and spend the rest of his life - well, Dean’s - behind a stove wearing a ‘soccer mom’ apron.”
“… That’s honestly what you think married people do, isn’t it?” Sam shakes his head disapprovingly.
“Am I wrong?” The angel huffs, like the very idea is beneath him. “Anyway, I tried, but my baby bro is too much of a martyr to just let me run things on my own. If you think about it, he’s a true Winchester now!”
Sam smiles at that. It was almost the exact same thing he had said to Castiel himself. About doing stupid shit to be a member of the family.
“He’s feeling guilty. That’s what you get for hanging around humans…” Gabriel murmurs, gazing at the horizon.
Sam raises his eyebrows. “Why, are you feeling guilty too, Gabriel? Speaking from experience there?” Heh, Sam suspected there was a reason for the angel to come to his rescue and then hang around afterwards, even though it had already been stated he had much better things to do in Heaven. “Anything you want to share? Is that why you’re still here?”
“Fine - despite what you might think, Gigantor, I didn’t get my rocks off watching you suffer.” Gabriel sighs, trying to sound nonchalant and failing. They both know what he’s talking about - it’s something Sam will never forget. “I was trying to teach you a lesson, but maybe, just maybe, I went about it the wrong way.” He rolls his eyes, probably not used to admitting he regrets his actions. “I see that now.”
That was… surprisingly deep. The hunter had no idea somewhere out there Gabriel felt something akin to guilt for what he did all those years ago. Hell, before this conversation, Sam would swear up and down that the Trickster didn’t even remember that particular occasion out of his many pranks throughout the centuries.
“Of course, not that I was wrong, mind you! I just wasn’t exactly right,” the angel feels the need to add.
Sam abruptly realizes he never thanked him for sacrificing himself for them in that motel, never had the chance. Dean had only told him the entire story later, about the angel thinking of those gods as his family.
“What, why are you looking at me like that?” Gabriel looks around as if searching for whatever reason Sam is suddenly making puppy eyes at him.
“My brother told me about the conversation you guys had in that car.” Sam sighs, “You care, Gabriel-”
“Oh, boy-” The angel rubs a hand on his forehead.
“I’m serious! Those pagan Gods, they were like, your family, right? I’m sorry they died.” And he means it. Gabriel stood up for almost total strangers, going against his own brother for them. Sam doesn’t want to think what he would do in his place if he had to kill Dean to save someone else.
“Sam…” Gabriel laughs like he’s actually embarrassed to be hearing this. Embarrassment is not something the hunter thought him capable of. “Okay, you big care bear, you. Thanks for making this dream sequence not awkward at all.”
*º*º*
“Hm?” Gabriel stops and looks up behind his shoulders like he just heard something.
“What? What is it?” Sam follows his gaze. There’s only sky as far as he can see.
“Your brother is about to wake you up,” he says, turning to the hunter. “Well, this was pleasant… hm, not.”
Sam smiles sheepishly. “Thanks again.”
“…” Gabriel shrugs. He takes a button of his jacket between his fingers and adjusts it, as if it was in the wrong position before. “Anytime.” He shrugs like it’s nothing.
“Am I going to see you again?” Sam finally asks. What the Hell, right, maybe there’s a reason this particular angel keeps receiving his prayers.
“Sure thing. You guys are total dumbasses sometimes; I’ve got no idea how you survived this long without me.” Gabriel fixes his eyes somewhere on Sam’s cheek. He clears his throat. “Do you want to?”
“I think so.”
“Just pray for me. Like, think of my name before you go to sleep; I’ll definitely hear it,” Gabriel says, and it sounds like a promise to Sam.
“Okay,” the hunter agrees.
The angel smirks, hazel eyes finally meeting his own. “And be sure to do it while you shower too.”
Sam chokes. “Gabr-”
And wakes up.
*º*º*