Chapter Text
Sam Winchester never thought he would be grateful to hear Heat of the Moment blaring the moment he woke up.
His eyes flew open with a startled gasp, brain immediately registering the fact that the uncomfortable surface he was lying on was not his bed back at the bunker. His ears throbbed from the loud music assaulting them first thing in the morning, and as he turned to glare at the offending object that it originated from his eyes landed on the figure sat a few feet away from him and all he could think was, “Oh.”
Oh.
“Rise and shine, Sammy!” His very-much-alive (not to mention ten years younger) brother called brightly, foot propped up as he tied his laces, easy grin on his face in a way that was so familiar even now that it made Sam’s heart ache. His eyes were expectant as he stared at his younger brother, and still all Sam could think was, Oh.
This…This wasn’t right. Dean was dead and gone and had been for several months now. He had been around fourty when he had died, and yet the man sat opposite Sam was clearly no older than twenty-nine, if Sam remembered right. And this motel room, and the music, and the accursed time loop…that had ended well over a decade ago. The Trickster – Gabriel – was long dead, as well. Factually dead, this time, no lies involved. Michael had made sure of that much.
So, he thought as he looked down at himself, baffled, what’s going on?
But before he let himself ponder any of that properly, he did what he was really dying to do, and he flung himself at his older brother in a tight, frantic embrace. Dean cursed loudly and nearly fell backwards, one hand flying back to maintain balance while the other loosely hugged Sam back, confusion practically radiating off the older man as he awkwardly patted his back. But Sam didn’t care. He didn’t care that he was a thirty something (or, well, he supposed he was twenty-five again now) year old man clinging to his big brother like he was a toddler again, scared of the monsters under his bed. He just…
He had really missed his brother.
He had come to terms, somewhat, with his death. It was hardly the first time he had lost Dean, of course, but this was the first time he had forced himself to accept that it was permanent, that he wasn’t coming back. And he had tried to be okay with that, okay with the thought of Dean finally being at peace and reunited with his loved ones up in Heaven, but…it didn’t change the fact Sam was left behind on Earth, all alone. Didn’t change the fact that everyone Sam loved – Dean, Jack, probably Cas, Charlie, Bobby, everyone else – were all having a party upstairs while Sam was locked in the basement, so to speak. He knew that they would all want him to live on, to have the normal life that he had craved for so long, but by this point that was a little easier said than done. He hadn’t done the whole ‘normal’ thing since he was twenty-two, for the most part. But he had been trying, anyway. For them.
At least until he had woken up here, anyway.
He didn’t bother trying to explain to Dean right now, waving off his concerns with a vague comment about nightmares. Explaining to Dean would likely mean explaining everything that would happen in the coming decade or so, and he didn’t even know how long that one would take. At this point in their lives, demons were still a relative rarity, certainly not ones they ever co-operated with, they did not know angels existed, neither of them had ever been to hell…and so much more. He didn’t think Dean would believe about half of what Sam told him – he would probably be firmly shut down as soon as he got to the emotionally ambiguous blue eyed part-time angel, full-time best friend of the Winchesters in the form of Cas, and that was without even mentioning the sexual tension between the two of them that had existed for…well, as long as Sam could remember, if he was honest.
So needless to say, yes, he elected not to mention it to Dean until he felt more sure about the situation. But he needed to seek out the truth somehow.
And so that was how he found himself on the sidewalk that morning, completely ignorant of the bewildered stares of strangers around him, yelling the Trickster’s name at the top of his lungs.
Reasonably, he knows he doesn’t need to yell. Gabriel will be watching him; Gabriel was always watching him in the time loop, a fact that the archangel himself had confirmed later on, when they had become tentative allies and even more tentative friends. He also knows that he could probably be yelling the Trickster’s true angelic name to get his attention, but that could have the opposite effect. He knew that would have a decent chance of sending Gabriel running for the hills, and Sam really needed him to stick around right now.
He’s just opened his mouth to below his name one more time to the unresponsive sky when the oh so familiar voice comes from behind him.
“Geez, big guy, wanna scream a little louder? I think some folks up in Alaska might not have heard ya.”
He knows he will see it, but it is still somewhat jarring to whirl around on the spot and come face to face with Gabriel once again. He looks the same as he ever did, golden hair in short messy waves, greenish eyes gleaming with mischief and the barest hint of ‘I-know-more-than-you-ever-will’, eyebrow quirked lightly and small smirk playing about his lips. His arms were folded leisurely, fingers drumming on his forearm in a pattern that Sam recognised as the opening notes to Heat of the Moment. Sam still despised that song, make no mistake. In fact after the whole mystery spot chaos the first time around, he had thrown Dean’s copy of the tape out the window of the moving impala whilst on the freeway, taking great satisfaction in watching it get crushed beneath the wheels of a semi. And Gabriel, sly, vindictive bastard that he was at this point, probably knew fine well how Sam felt about the song. Only the knowledge of the future, and the fact that Gabriel would help them out, become their friend and ultimately go on to die for them, stopped him from decking the angel for that one.
He didn’t have time to beat around the bush right now, though.
“I know what you are.”
He declares it boldly, and Gabriel’s brow raises marginally. If he has any suspicion whatsoever about what Sam is about to say, he doesn’t indicate it. He probably doesn’t, Sam muses to himself. At this point in the timeline, he isn’t even supposed to know that angels exist in the first place, never mind the fact that the Trickster himself was one.
“Oh?” He replies, voice a casual, careless drawl, “I thought we’d already established this one, pal. You know I’m a trickster, I know I’m a trickster, your destined-to-die brother knows I’m a trickster…”
“No you’re not,” Sam interrupts, ignoring the instinctive bristling inside at the comment about Dean, “You’re an angel.”
Gabriel laughs, and his face still conveys absolutely no shock or uncertainty at the direction of this conversation. He’s always been one hell of a liar.
“Thanks, Sammy, but flattery won’t get ya anywhere, and it sure as heck won’t save your-“
“It’s not flattery,” Sam interjects once more, “It’s fact. You…are an angel. An archangel, to be precise. The archangel Gabriel.”
Now, his face does change. He takes on a somewhat guarded expression as he takes a minute step back, staring up at Sam with a newfound wariness and suspicion. His eyes narrow slightly for a moment, tongue flitting across his lips nervously, before he schooled his face into an uncaring one once more and spoke again.
“Angels aren’t real, kid,” He said flatly, posture now considerably more tense. Sam didn’t relent.
“Yeah, they are. There’s angels, and there’s archangels, and you’re one of them. You, Michael, Raphael and…” His voice pauses for a second before finishing, slightly quieter, “…and Lucifer.”
Gabriel is still staring him down now, his expression closed and utterly unreadable. He looks Sam up and down for a moment, before a slight scowl crosses his face and before Sam can stop him or eve protest, he’s raised his arm and snapped his fingers loudly.
And faster than he can blink, Sam finds himself in an unfamiliar motel room, perched on the edge of a bed while Gabriel stands in front of him.
“Okay,” The angel concedes irritably, “I think you and I gotta have a conversation, kiddo.”
Sam sits up straighter.
“Yeah, actually, we do. There’s a lot more going on than you know right now, Gabe.”
The familiar nickname slips out without him fully registering it, before his mind can catch up with his mouth. The angel in front of him blinks in surprise at the familiarity of his tone, and Sam inwardly curses himself for his loose tongue. He was so accustomed to it in the future, it had started to come as naturally as referring to Castiel as Cas. He had forgotten himself for a moment, forgotten that they were currently a decade in the past and even the all-powerful archangel in front of him would have no idea of the future just yet.
Despite the somewhat tense atmosphere, Gabriel can’t seem to resist a slight grin.
“Nicknames already, eh Sammy? Aren’t we getting intimate,” He teases, and Sam rolls his eyes, well used to his taunts and flirts after so long knowing him.
“Sorry, it’s…habit,” He justifies, waving a hand dismissively. Gabriel’s brows furrow and his head tilts slightly in confusion, and Sam is struck by the strongest feeling of déjà vu because right now he looks exactly as he did in that warehouse all those years ago, the first time he and Dean had uncovered his identity – equal parts keenly intrigued, puzzled and furiously rebellious.
“Meaning?” He enquires, voice marginally sharper, and Sam sighs, gesturing to the identical bed next to him.
“You might wanna take a seat, this…this could take a while.”
And Sam opens his mouth, braces himself, and launches into the longest explanation of his life.
To his credit, Gabriel does not interrupt once in the whole hour Sam is speaking. In fact he thinks it’s the longest he has seen Gabriel be silent, aside from the aftermath of his rescue from Asmodeus. Even when he is explaining the angel’s first (fake) death, and later capture and torture, Gabriel hardly reacts, gaze hard and thoughtful and eyes growing more and more distant as the story went on.
And finally, he reaches the end. He wraps it all up in the messy bow that is his life now – Jack is God, Cas is gone, Dean is dead, and Sam is here, ten or so years in the past, surrounded by people who should rightfully be dead as well right now.
“…Well,” Gabriel finally says when Sam has fell silent for longer than a minute, “That is quite the bombshell to drop on a fella, Samsquach.”
His eyes do seem somewhat overwhelmed now, and he jumps to his feet and begins pacing back and forward, deep in thought. It’s such a human thing to do that Sam almost laughs. He’d grown used to Cas gradually becoming more like a human as he spent time with them, but Gabriel…he had truly acclimatised with humanity. He could be mistaken for one of them so easily, in the way his brow furrowed slightly and the way he stubbed his toe off the desk and cursed absently, rubbing it, and even in the way he reached into his pocket and pulled out a lollipop, sticking it in his mouth thoughtfully. Sam didn’t dare interrupt this process, until Gabriel finally looked back at him.
“Well, you aren’t lying,” He says at last, “I can see it – your soul is older than it should be.”
His nose wrinkles slightly.
“WAY older, actually,” He observes, looking at Sam with a slight frown. Sam shrugged somewhat self-consciously.
“I told you, I done time in hell. Time is all wacky down there, so the age of my soul, it’s…well, it’s a little hard to place, these days.”
Gabriel hums his acknowledgement.
“So, you’ve stopped about ten different apocalypses in as many years. I’m dead now, your brother is also dead, my brothers are also all dead, and so is my father – You know, God himself - who has been replaced by my nephilm nephew; A nephew who was raised by my baby brother, who was a little in love with your brother,” He summarises, blinking slowly.
“That’s breaking it down to the very, very basics, but…yeah, essentially.”
“And yet now you’re here, claiming you have no idea how this has come about, but armed with enough knowledge to stop literally all of this from even occurring in the first place?”
“Well, maybe not all of it, but pretty much, yeah.”
Gabriel drops himself down onto the bed next to Sam, shaking his head slowly, before he manages to sum the whole shitshow of a situation up in three simple words that Sam couldn’t agree more with.
“Well, fuck me.”