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Sam comes back from a hunt dirty and hurt and everything feels wrong. He can’t explain what he means when the archangel Gabriel, who’s kind of sort of his guardian angel now, asks if he’s doing okay. Normally he says yes. Today he hurts inside.
"It’s just..." Sam clenches his filthy fists at his sides, trying so hard to keep from losing his temper. "Everything about my life..."
"What are you saying?" Gabriel interrupts before he can find the words he needs to explain why he feels how he does, and all grasp on maturity and calm crumbles.
"Nothing is ever mine!” Sam tries to snap, but it comes out a strangled, angry cry. He kicks the heap of laundry on the floor, scattering his and Dean’s dirty clothes across the motel’s dingy carpet; a t-shirt skids and stops at Gabriel’s feet. The angel looks down at it, unreadable, then back to Sam.
He’s breathing hard, trying to keep it all in, but it’s pouring out now, clouding the smoky air with every hurt he’s been through. “Nothing is ever mine,” Sam repeats. “And it’s not what I haven’t had, it’s…” he can feel his shoulders shaking, but he doesn’t want to stop, not now. “Everything has been taken away from me, and what I’ve been left is so tainted and wrong that I can’t even say it’s mine anymore-” Sam lurches forward and finds the motel bed, pulling himself into it.
He doesn’t care that Gabriel’s watching anymore. He can’t stop the dry, quiet sobs racking through his whole body, every time he’s been ‘okay’ suddenly washed away. “I have nothing,” he gets out, curling into the fetal position as though he can hold himself together.
"Can I touch you?" Gabriel asks gently, just loud enough to be heard over Sam’s hiccuping breaths. Sam nods shakily, not because he really wants to be touched, but because why the hell not, everyone else has.
Gabriel crawls onto the bed, then curls up behind Sam, pressing his steady chest against the trembling line of Sam’s back. His hands slide around Sam’s body, coming to rest on Sam’s chest, and then he says softly,”Let it out, Sam.”
Sam makes a broken noise, buries his face in his blood-stained hands, and sobs. Gabriel’s presence, Gabriel’s hands against his heart, keep him grounded, and for the first time in years, he cries until he’s out of tears and gulping in air.
"It’s- my mind, my body, even my soul…" Sam chokes out. Gabriel makes a soft shushing noise, and nuzzles closer against Sam’s spine, but Sam needs to get the words out before they destroy him. "They aren’t even my own- I- I look down at my hands and I see myself killing, like I used to when I was full of demon blood." Sam curls in on himself further. "I’ve been possessed, and tortured, and betrayed, and manipulated, and raped, and-” He breaks off. A new batch of tears is welling up and sliding down his face.
"I know," Gabriel says softly against the back of his neck. "I know, Sam."
"You don’t know how hard it is," Sam croaks, "to trust anyone anymore. To trust myself and what I’m seeing and what’s real. Sometimes I want to be dead because then maybe I’d know." He slowly lifts his head from his hands, breathing shaky. "And no one can touch you when you’re dead."
Gabriel slowly slides his hands away, and Sam rolls to face him. “No, not you, I didn’t mean-” Sam’s managing a watery smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m sorry for dumping this on you.”
"Why haven’t you told anyone all this?" Gabriel asks, aghast but trying to keep his voice gentle.
"I can’t. I can’t tell Dean; it would wreck him. I have to keep going strong."
"Being brave doesn’t have to mean being quiet," Gabriel says, a hint of fire in his soft voice.
Sam shakes his head. He can’t burden his brother with this; he has to keep holding it. Holding it in.
"Tell me, then." Gabriel gently reaches out to run a hand down the side of his face, reassuring him.
Sam accepts it listlessly. ”I have to shower. I feel filthy.” He doesn’t make a move to get up.
Gabriel sits up on the bed. “Do you mind if I take you somewhere?”
"I guess not." Gabriel rests a hand on his arm, and suddenly he’s upright, still clothed and dirty, in what looks like a bathroom. It’s bigger, grander, and cleaner than anything Sam’s ever seen, though, and directly in front of him is a huge bathtub, probably big enough for two small people or one moose-sized person. It’s already filled with steaming water, and it smells like heaven.
"Strip and get in," Gabriel orders. "You’re gonna clean up and pour your little heart out, and I’m gonna wash your hair."
It’s been a long time since he was naked in front of anyone, but he doesn’t care about if the archangel is watching him or not. Sam squirms out of his blood-spattered clothes and sweaty underthings and steps in. The water is just this side of too hot, deliciously sharp at first, but soothing once he’s adjusted. Gabriel pulls up a chair at the head of the tub and coaxes Sam to lean back in the water so his head rests on a towel in the angel’s lap. If he weren’t still stirred up and emotional from earlier, he might have gone to sleep right there.
"You can talk if you want," Gabriel offers, stroking his hand through Sam’s still-dry hair, "or you can just get clean. Physically, mentally, whatever. You got a soap preference?" Sam shrugs, and Gabriel decides for him. "Strawberry it is. You’re gonna sleep well tonight, cupcake."
As Gabriel wets his hair down and starts massaging the shampoo into it, Sam regrets never taking Jess up on her ‘come to the salon with me’ offer years ago, because apparently having someone else wash your hair is amazing. He doesn’t start speaking until Gabriel’s done washing and is combing his fingers through the wet hair, and even though he has his eyes closed, he can tell the angel is really listening to him. His hums aren’t brushing Sam off, just acknowledging. Sam tells him about his nightmares, mostly, and the way he wishes something about himself was still sacred. Gabriel kisses his wet hair and tells him that he still is and always was, inside and out, no matter what. Sam draws a deep breath of warm, lavender-scented air, and doesn’t let himself cry again.
Gabriel starts rubbing conditioner into Sam’s hair after god knows how much time had passed, and Sam opens his eyes to look up at him, upside-down. “I never knew you were nurturing.”
"You never saw me with the right people. Miracles don’t make headlines the way gristly deaths do. And… I’m sorry I was ever one of the things that hurt you." Gabriel huffs. "I hope you heard that, ‘cause I’m not saying it again."
Sam smiles a little, letting his eyes slide closed again. He feels better now. Cleaner, as though the warm water had passed through his skin and washed some of the crap off his soul. His baggage is still there, but somehow it weighs a little less. Leaving that bath is so damn difficult, especially because he’s getting sleepy. “Are we going back to the motel, or…?” Sam asks hesitantly as he pulls on a clean pair of boxers to sleep in.
"We could. But I have a king-sized pillow top a room away, so I thought maybe you’d spend the night with your angel." There’s a question in his eyes, and it’s not about staying the night. It’s about ‘your angel’.
Sam answers them both. “Perfect.”
He sleeps with Gabriel nestled against his chest, and for the first time in weeks, he doesn’t have the waking-up-in-hell nightmare. Gabriel grounds him. Maybe it’s grace, maybe it’s having someone to listen, maybe it’s all the strawberry and lavender in his hair. Maybe it’s having something that’s finally his.