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i.
“So what’s up with all the laundry?”
“Jesus Christ.” Instead of jumping, which would have been very satisfying, Sam only minorly twitches in surprise and sighs heavily.
Gabriel grins. “Eh, close enough.” He shuffles over to peek into the drum of the machine. It… honestly it just looks like normal clothes. Another tick in the anticlimactic box. Part of him feels compelled to conjure up a sneaky sole red sock to turn all their clothes pink, or maybe even just mix in your classic boxers-covered-in-pink-hearts. “Honestly I always thought you guys had an ever replenishing supply of flannel. Like cartoon characters.”
Sam nudges him out of the way with an elbow in order to get at the lint tray, which, rude, hits Gabriel somewhere around his solar plexus. One of these days he’s going to have to start carrying around an apple box to—
Wait.
Glancing around the bleakly concrete laundry room, brightly lit with fancy new LEDs that won’t give the lot of them mercury poisoning like the ones left behind by the original Men of Letters, Gabriel catches sight of a step stool tucked away behind the industrial sink.
“As poor fashion as it is to be caught in the same outfit twice,” Sam says while Gabriel fetches it, still picking away at the lint, “yes, we actually clean our clothes and re-wear them.”
“Sounds annoying.” He sets up the step stool, and with a flourish, steps onto it. “You guys get a lot of blood stains.”
Gabriel lets his smirk turn… dunno, smirkier?—and then the sodden pile of clothes in the washer becomes toasty-warm and gently wafts notes of lavender.
“Gabriel…” Sam sighs heavily again, but he’s finally turning to give him attention. His eyes drop from Gabriel’s down to the step stool to back up again, which, bonus, has the benefit of making a little zing run up Gabriel’s spine. Sam’s mouth twitches, but it isn’t a bad twitch. It’s the one where Sam’s trying not to smile, which is essentially his best expression behind actually smiling. “Did you have to go with lavender? I’ll smell like a Yankee candle store.”
He barks a laugh, but then whines, “Everyone’s a critic.”
Gabriel switches the scent over to orange blossom with a jaunty little snap of his fingers, and relaxes his shoulders from how hard they were unconsciously clenched.
He also sneaks another look at Sam, a longer one this time. He looks good, but when does he not? Sam somehow makes thinning hair and callused hands and the smell of Old Spice seem like the pinnacle of human achievement. If Gabriel knew this was where civilization led, he would have eaten that damn apple himself before Adam and Eve even clocked it.
“So, where’ve you been?” Sam says, heaving the clothes over to the table to start folding them. Gabriel lets him, content to continue watching for the time being.
It’s truthfully been a moment since Gabriel stopped by, but he doesn’t really… have anything to report. Skipping from a casino to a waterpark to minigolf and back to a waterpark again, pretty much non-stop. Somehow though, it’s just not as much fun as it used to be before all the Armageddon hullabaloo.
“Oh, here and there, you know how it is.” Gabriel hops off the stool, bored of the joke and a little itchy with nervous energy. “Some timeshares in Cabo I’ve left withering on the vine.”
“You bailed… pretty quick. After we won.” Sam keeps folding, voice soft and not a touch of hesitance in his movements.
Gabriel shrugs. He starts pairing socks just to do something with his hands. “Again, you know how it is.”
This time, Sam does hesitate. “If you—”
“You wanna get out of here?” Gabriel blurts. That itchy feeling under his skin starts to get louder, so he stomps it down like an empty soda can.
“Uh, sure. It’s not like we’re hunting anymore. To do what?”
Gabriel shrugs. He can’t find the other sock to the pair, so he teleports it over from where it was hiding behind the dryer. He has his moments of goodness. Of purpose.
“Hey,” Sam says kindly, nudging him with his shoe from under the table. Who has to wear shoes inside their house? Gabriel needs to get him some carpeting, or a roomba for the bunker. “Let me know, and I’m there.”
It’s easier to kick him back than look him in the eyes. “Okay. I’ll think about it.”
ii.
Gabriel waffles on an appropriate outfit, but ultimately lands on a polo, sports sunglasses, cargo shorts with comically large pockets, and a pair of toe shoes. He’s running a bit late, but takes the time to kiss his reflection in the mirror.
But the gambit works, because Sam bursts out laughing the moment he sees him at the market “Dude, what the hell are you wearing?”
“They’re ergonomic, Samuel.” He hops up and down and flexes to showcase his improved mobility. It honestly was either these or socks with sandals—Sam’s price of admission for making him go to a farmer’s market, yet again. He moves his sunglasses to the back of his head and hooked over his ears to complete the picture.
Gabriel used to be the cool angel. He won the Price Is Right like four times. And now look at him, actually excited to buy some fresh pluots before they go out of season.
“You’re gonna break a toe– watch it, come on.” Sam grips him gently by the arm to drag him out of the path of an errantly left electric scooter.
Gabriel happily tags along, obnoxiously stepping into his space and trying to trip him up as soon as Sam lets go.
They take a slow, easy loop; Gabriel’s barely listening to half the words he’s saying, but Sam keeps huffing in amusement, so he’s not shirking his entertainment duties.
He’s in the middle of reenacting a daring sea voyage with a skewer he used to sample an orange slice when Sam minutely freezes. Sam’s staring past Gabriel, eyes shuttered.
Gabriel follows the direction of his gaze, and—damn. It’s the honey guy.
Who’s fine, the honey guy seems cool, it’s just that he used to be Jack’s favorite. The couple of times they came here during Team Free Will 2.0’s peak heyday, Jack would beeline—forgive the pun—to his booth.
Uncomfortable, Gabriel pretends to ignore whatever’s going on in Sam’s head and blasély walks over to buy an assorted handful of honey straws.
He feels more than hears Sam’s approach, his gait long but slow. Sam comes to stop without touching Gabriel, but close enough that Gabriel can feel his body heat despite the gap between them.
“Here,” Gabriel says, passing him a buckwheat honey stick. “I call all the clovers.”
Sam clears his throat. “Thank you.”
As they wait for Gabriel’s card to clear, Gabriel bites on the edge of the stick like it’s a long piece of hay. “You hear from the little guy recently?”
“No,” he says, voice strangely thick. Sam collects himself with a one-armed shrug, shifting his tote bag from one shoulder to the other gently enough he doesn’t bruise anything. “But I’ve been praying.”
“Right.” Gabriel nods stupidly. The honey is thick on his tongue, but mild and mellow. If he remembers correctly, Sam prefers the sharper kind. He grabs his card back with a quick thanks.
“Have you?”
Foreign feeling panic shoots through Gabriel’s chest. “Nah,” he says, keeping his voice even. “Figured he was busy enough without me bugging him. Surely every angel from here to kingdom come is yapping at him.”
“I think Jack would appreciate your company.” Sam knocks their arms together. “They might be part of his family, but you also chose to be, too, from the beginning. You always treated him like he was family, and you know that counts for something.”
“Maybe.” Gabriel shrugs, uncomfortable.
He feels– he feels tight in his skin again. Of course he misses Jack. It’s not every day an angel gets a nephew, after all. Not that he could, or would, want to exchange the kid at the store. Jack had something most of his siblings organically lacked: compassion. But he doesn’t… he’s not ready to go back.
Something in Sam’s face shifts, and he cycles through several options before settling on fondly exasperated. “Come on, I’ll break the bank and buy you that disgusting oat milk latte you like so damn much.”
“Turmeric,” Gabriel cries, grateful for the out. Sam starts walking ahead to the vendor, not sparing a look back to see if Gabriel’s following him. Which he is, obviously, but still. “It’s a turmeric oat milk latte, how many times do I have to say this, that’s what makes it so good for your liver health—”
iii.
Gabriel whistles a little tune as he jogs down the steps. The Winchesters never bothered to de-fortify the bunker, so flying directly in is kind of a no-go from the jump unless he wants several extremely annoying sigils to feel as though they’re crawling up his ass. But it’s honestly good to stretch his legs every once in a while. Maybe one day he’ll drag over a mattress and they’ll surf down the staircase like in Princess Diaries 2.
He calls out Sam’s name when he hits the floor, but it’s the other brother who pokes his head out from the library.
“Hey Dean, great to see you, lovely as always,” he says, although truthfully Dean looks a little rough-and-ready around the edges. A little tired, a little more dishelved than usual. Gabriel thought it was just Sam who was taking advantage of retirement, but obviously it isn’t. “Trying to find a fella, about so tall, goes by the name of Sam?”
“You doing something this afternoon?” Dean asks. His voice is a bit more raspy than usual, like he hasn’t used it for a while, but it’s not unkind.
“That was the plan.” Gabriel plays with the reunion tour tickets in his pocket before he realizes Dean’s wearing a heavy coat and boots. “Sorry, did you guys make other plans?” It’s the middle of the day here, but obviously not in Liverpool. There’s still about an hour before the opening act, but if Sam’s busy, they can always skip it and Gabriel’s just fly them over when Oingo Boingo goes on.
“Oh, nah. I’m just gonna go walk the dog.” Dean hesitates, and then rubs the back of his neck. “Hey, uh, don’t take it personally if Sam forgot you’re hanging out today. Today’s been a bit of a rough one, you know how it is.”
“Yeah, of course,” Gabriel said, very much not in the know.
“Thanks.” Dean jerks his thumb at the sound of their dog whining in the next room. “I’m gonna head out.” He pauses in the threshold. “And thanks for being there for him, in general.”
Gabriel nods, not trusting himself to speak, and continues on to Sam’s room.
He knocks on the door, walking in after he hears a muffled ‘come in’ from Sam.
“Hey,” Sam says, pulling himself upright in his bed. He looks exhausted, eyes a bit red-rimmed. “Shit, you told me you had something planned.”
Gabriel waves it away. “Eh, it’s nothing. Just brought some take out.” With a flourish, he produces a bag of steaming hot pupusas out of thin air like he’s Vanna White.
Sam blinks, and then cracks the beginning of a smile. “Did you get—”
“Loroco? Obviously, Sam, come on,” he chides.
“You’re the best,” Sam says, sincerely enough that Gabriel has to busy himself with pulling over an end table to eat on. “Sorry in advance if I’m, uh, bad company though. Kinda tired today.”
“That’s okay, I was kinda hoping to watch a movie and kick back, if that’s alright.” He reached into his pocket, where the tickets have helpfully morphed into a DVD of Small Soldiers. “Did you do your T gel yet?”
Sam shakes his head, so Gabriel fetches it from the desk while Sam sets up his laptop. And then tosses it at Sam’s face, because all this wholesome earnestness sucks and he’s maybe still a bit of an asshole sometimes.
“Thank you,” Sam says about halfway through the movie, startling him. Gabriel’s been watching humans fight each other since Cain picked up that rock ‘just to see how heavy it is,’ but somehow he forgot how violent this movie is. On screen, this poor little twerp’s getting stabbed by off-brand Barbie Dolls from hell.
Gabriel rips his eyes away from the plastic carnage. Sam’s smiling at him, but it’s soft, almost too small to notice. Gabriel had hopped up on the bed as soon as they finished eating, but it’s belatedly striking him now how close they’re sitting. Sam still looks tired, but more present than earlier.
This earnestness seriously blows. Gabriel wants to do something insane like make a joke to diffuse the moment, or even more goddamn deranged like tell Sam that his newly acquired crow’s feet are hot.
Sam kicks at his shin, so Gabriel retaliates by flicking him on the shoulder.
“Well, you’re welcome,” he says instead. “Twist my arm.”
iv.
Gabriel doesn’t fixate over it. He doesn’t. It’s healthy, the way he compulsively reads Yelp’s list of best tourist attractions. If Sam’s having trouble adjusting to the new normal, it’s the least he could do.
And it’s not that they haven’t been spending time together, because they have. Nothing that big or special, just little activities like going back to the farmers market every weekend or accompanying Sam on a run or even just dicking around in the bunker.
He knows that he’s got a place at the bunker. Literally. He’s literally got a room in the bunker that’s his, and he know this, because Sam snickered like an idiot when he taped up a stupid angelic themed Live Laugh Love poster a few years ago.
Gabriel just hasn’t been… staying there recently.
He has apartments scattered around the world, but more often than not, he just doesn’t bother resting. He just moves on and on and on to the next thing. It’s not like he needs to sleep either way.
So he scours travel mommy blogs, checks out various cute BnBs, and tries to build a comprehensive list of Things To Do With Sam whenever he’s not actively Doing Things With Sam—
“Seriously, you okay?” Sam asks, and by the furrow in his brow, it’s obviously not the first time he’s tried to check in.
“Duh,” Gabriel scoffs. Sam flicks his eyes to where Gabriel jittering his leg, so Gabriel purposefully stills it. “I’m fine, I promise, dad.”
“All right.” Sam turns back to his thick photocopy packet of an ancient scroll or whatever. It’s some translation project Sam’s been working on for a while, and Gabriel agreed to help him untangle some of the lost-context phrases. Which—okay, easily agreeing to do boring homework with Sam was probably a red flag on his part. Sam shrugs, artfully faked indifference. “It’s just that sometimes it seems like maybe you’re trying to avoid something.”
Gabriel blinks at him. “I’m not.”
“Okay,” Sam says again, but—
He’s not? He would know, right? If he’s trying to avoid something, or whatever.
“I like being with you,” Gabriel blurts. Absently, his knee starts jumping again.
Sam’s eyebrows jump all the way up his forehead.
Gabriel regrets saying it immediately, obviously, and tries not to grimace. But he also meant it. It’s– it’s important that Sam know that, that he’s not just a distraction to him.
“Me too,” Sam says falteringly. And then, fascinatingly, he flushes. “Not— about me, I like, you know. Hanging out. With you, too.”
A sweat would threaten to break out against the back of his knees. Luckily, angels don’t as a rule. “Don’t hurt yourself,” he jokes.
Sam chucks the papers at Gabriel’s head.
v.
Gabriel sort of knows he’s a smart guy, but after his third Long Island Iced Tea (in his brand new novelty glass, no less), he’s convinced he’s a genius.
After all that hang-wringing and artisanal cheese scouting missions, it turns out all he needed to do to make Sam perk up was take him to the Dave & Busters in Chicago.
“Holy shit, you’re incredible at this,” Gabriel yells to be heard over the sweet-sixteen birthday party happening at the other end of the room. Sam’s a goddamn monster at skee ball. “Your hand-eye coordination is insane, how are you so good at this?”
Sam grins. “You’re forgetting that I pretty much threw things for a living. Or, to live, I guess. If you toss holy water and miss the demon, you’re kinda screwed.” He doesn’t even break a sweat, chucking those skee balls like he’s part of a conveyor belt. “You have to be good at some of these games too, Gabriel, or can you only shift the odds at plinko?”
“You’re forgetting bingo, too.”
Sam laughs, hard enough to shake his shoulders, but doesn’t falter as the buzzer hits zero. He collects the frankly ridiculous amount of tickets and claps Gabriel on the back.
“Come on, there has to be a Street Fighter around here somewhere,” he says, and doesn’t take his hand away right after either.
A gaggle of kids rush past them to get to some game or another, and with a soft oof, Sam crashes into him fully.
Gabriel’s shocked a little stupid by the feel of Sam’s bony elbow digging into his side and the feel of his chest against him that he drops his glass on the ground.
“Shit,” Sam says, blinking down at the mess but not moving away. “I’ll get you a new one.”
“No harm, no foul,” Gabriel laughs, hysteria creeping into his words. With a snap of his fingers, the glass is whole and new in his hands again.
Sam frowns down at him. “That’s cheating.”
“‘Cheating’?” Gabriel wants to laugh again at Sam’s serious and slightly tipsy expression. “Man, just drop it. Or don’t, as the case may be.”
“Can’t you just let me do this one thing for you? Like, for once?” Sam snaps and, wait a goddamn minute, but is he actually mad at him?”
“Are you mad at me?” he asks, because he can’t leave well enough alone.
“I’m not mad— just...” Sam takes a step back, finally putting space between them, and slows down his words. “I feel like something’s going on with you lately, but you keep shutting me out.”
“I’m fine, how many times do I have to say I’m fine for you to understand that I’m fine and nothing is bothering me!”
“Just once when you’re not also screaming at me in public!” Sam yells back.
Gabriel shuts up with a click of his teeth. No one’s paying them that much attention; apparently making a scene isn’t an all too uncommon occurrence here.
Taking a deep, partially calming breath, Gabriel doesn’t actually feel like any less of an idiot.
“I didn’t ask for your help,” he grits out.
Sam’s eye flash. “And I didn’t ask for yours, either. But that’s what friends do.”
“Sure,” Gabriel mutters, and flies to one of his apartments in Dublin just to get some breathing room.
Friends.
+1.
It only takes Gabriel two days of sulking before he wanders back into the bunker with his tail between his legs.
He finds Sam in the kitchen eating a bowl of cornflakes with cut up bananas in it, and it looks disgusting and clumpy, but all Gabriel wants to do is grab his own bowl and have Sam play with his hair while they eat quietly together.
Sam nudges the chair next to him out from the table, and Gabriel collapses into it. He lets his forehead fall flat on the cool, smooth metal surface.
“You wanna tell me what’s actually going on?”
“No,” Gabriel groans. Miserably, his hair continues to not be played with.
“Okay,” Sam says. And then proceeds to make a series of the most foul, wet chewing noises Gabriel’s heard since he crashed Louis XII’s coronation banquet.
Gabriel twists his head to squint up at him, and sure enough, Sam’s chewing his cereal open mouthed with an unimpressed expression.
“How are you this much of a bratty little brother?” Gabriel asks, and then waves his hand to shut up when Sam starts to speak. “Yeah yeah, takes one to know one. I walked into that.”
“I know I sound like a broken record, I’m just getting kind of worried, dude.” Sam puts down his bowl, and then puts his hand on Gabriel’s shoulder. The gesture is both what he wants and what he doesn’t want, so Gabriel turns his face back into the tabletop to hide. Sam’s palm remains warm and firm on his shoulder. “You’ve been a bit… wired, lately.” Sam squeezes him. “And it sucks because I don’t know how to help you.”
“I meant it, when I said you’re not a distraction.”
“I know.”
“But you’ve sort of been helping distract me,” he admits.
Sam snorts. “Ready to tell me why?”
“I, um, haven’t been back to Heaven.” Gabriel feels a rush of embarrassment. They’ve dealt with the apocalypse, a couple times actually, and yet going home for the angelic holidays is what’s making him freak out.
“Since Chuck?”
He laughs weakly. “Make that the 13th century?”
“Wait, seriously?” Sam actually sounds surprised. “Wow, okay. Is that something you want?”
Gabriel just shrugs miserably.
Sam grips him tighter by the shoulder, and cruelly manhandles him upright until Gabriel’s forced to look him in the eye.
“What’s stopping you?” Sam asks.
“Nothing. Everything, I don’t know.” Being forced to soulfully gaze into Sam’s warm eyes sucks. “I don’t even hear, what do you call it, angel radio anymore.” He feels embarrassed again, which is– which is just stupid. “I tuned in a little when it seemed like planet Earth was going to rain brimstone and whatever, but I’ve spent… so long giving my dad the middle finger. Staying completely off the radar. And even after he ran off, it was still… his. But now that’s Jack’s calling the shots,” he takes a steading breath, “I honestly don’t know.”
Thankfully, Sam lets him break eye contact. There was a reason Gabriel’s been repressing all this emotional hand-wringing.
“Maybe now’s a good time to check it out for yourself.”
The worst part of all this is, Gabriel knows that Sam’s probably right. Why is he still playing the role of the prodigal son? He finally has what he always wanted: a life to enjoy the company of humanity without any of his angelic siblings butting in to shut it down.
Part of him still wants to run, but Gabriel pushes past it, willing himself to be truthful this once.
“I know I haven’t been here all the time the past couple years, but being in the bunker with you guys, it was the first time I stayed somewhere that felt like home.” Gabriel crosses his arms reflexively.
“I’m sorry, Gabriel,” Sam says sincerely, and it feels so left field that Gabriel can’t help but let confusion show on his face. Sam self-consciously waves his hand at the kitchen. “You know, that it… that the bunker doesn’t feel like that anymore.”
Gabriel opens and closes his mouth before landing on, “Yes it does.”
Because it does. If the bunker didn’t still feel like a home, why else would he have been avoiding it?
“Okay.” Sam’s mouth twists, and with a bitter edge adds, “Then why haven’t you stayed?” Gabriel freezes, but Sam only blows out air and softens the expression on his face. “Look, I’m not trying to give you a hard time or guilt trip you. I get it, you know? It hasn’t felt… right for a while for me either.”
“But it’s your home.”
Sam gave him a look that says, Well didn’t you say it was yours, too?
“It’s not that, it’s just…” Gabriel scrubs a hand through his hair. Sam’s right there, watching him intently, but he can’t find it in himself to reach out and do something dumb like grab his hand. “I’ve spent the majority of my life not being something. Not being one of dad’s little helpers, not being invested, not being an archangel. I don’t know what I’m supposed to even be now.”
“Yourself.” Sam pats him on the knee, and Gabriel does a really good job of not freaking out. “You think– you think I don’t know what that’s like? Running away from your dad and the life he set out for you? And yeah, it’s… it’s really hard to change your whole life and how you view yourself. I’ve obviously been struggling with not being a hunter anymore. But you’ve been helping me, like, a lot. And every day is getting easier. I just don’t want you to feel like you have to hide your hurt from me.”
“Come with me,” Gabriel blurts before he can second guess himself.
Gabriel can see the moment Sam realizes he’s being offered a road-trip up to Heaven, because his eyes go wide.
“I’m human?” Sam says, incredulous. “Sorry, it’s just I’m not sure it’s for the best if I—”
“Yes, he’ll take you up on that,” Dean interrupts from the doorway. Eavesdropper.
Sam whips his head around. “Dean…” Sam shakes his head. “After everything, Jack made it clear that he did what he did to make sure all…” he sucks in a breath, “this would be over. Maybe we shouldn’t—”
“Go knock-knock-knockin' on heaven's door?” Dean jokes, but there’s a harsh edge to it. “Is it over, though? Have either of us stopped friggin combing the papers for cases every morning, even knowing there’s not gonna be one? Tell me you haven’t been miserable missing him these past couple weeks, and I’ll drop it.” A stone drops in Gabriel’s stomach. He– he knew, but it hurts hearing it confirmed yet again. “Just because I don’t want to talk about it doesn’t mean I’m– I’m unaware, man. So go. Say hi to the kid.”
“Did… you want to come, too?” Gabriel wiggles his fingers. In for a penny, in for a pound. “I’ve got two hands and like a hundred metaphysical, incorporeal limbs.”
“Uh, maybe?” Dean shifts from one foot to the other, shooting nervous looks at his brother. “If you want me to tag along Sammy, I will, but I trust you.”
“Yeah, I know you do.” Sam scoffs at him, but follows it up with a tiny, wry smile. “I just don’t know what you think is gonna happen—Jack’s gonna wanna see you, too.”
“If you say so,” Dean says, obviously in appeasement and not in agreement. “I think I’ll just hang back, change Baby’s oil like I’ve been putting off. And half-pint knows he’ll be baked into angel cake if he doesn’t bring you back in one piece.”
With an aggrieved sigh, Gabriel turns the sugar in Dean’s coffee into salt. “Again, cosmic-interdimensional-creature-bigger-than-Detroit, speaking.”
“Hey,” Sam says to just Gabriel, stealing his attention back. Gabriel’s helpless to stare at him as his nervous energy that’s been building up starts to dissipate again. “I’m ready when you are. I know this isn’t easy.”
Gabriel takes in a slow, slightly unsteady breath in through his nose. Gabriel’s not the… vulnerable type.
Instead, he arms himself with a teasing grin. “Nah, we can blow this popsicle stand.”
Sam nods, and, of all things, gently holds his hand and threads their fingers together. This, coming from a guy who once shouted at Gabriel until his voice went hoarse. In Sam’s defense, Gabriel had put googly eyes on his packer, but still.
He can feel the coarseness of Sam’s calluses, but his palm is warm and dry, and he’s never gonna let go.
Dean sputters and gags loudly into his salty mug, choking out, “Goddamnit! Gabriel, you son—”
“Okay, time to go!” Gabriel calls, walking quickly but definitely not running out of the kitchen.
Sam holds his hand all the way out of the bunker.
“We don’t have to go, you know.”
“No, no we will,” Gabriel says adamantly.
Sam looks unconvinced, but in Sam’s defense, Gabriel’s been promising they’ll leave in ‘just one minute’ for the past twenty.
It’s cool out; a nice overcast, fall afternoon. Gabriel doesn’t get cold, but Sam’s like a furnace under his layers and layers of flannel.
“You don’t need to go back. It’s your choice.”
“Yeah, but now that you’ve made me address my anxiety like a dick, it’s not like I can’t go now.” He tries to turn it into a joke. “Plus, it’s the least I can do for you.”
“Can you– it’s not about what you can do for me.” Sam huffs and jams his hands in his pockets. “We’re friends. And I know we don’t have, I dunno, a mission or whatever anymore, but you don’t have to keep doing things for us to hang out.”
“I,” he chokes out. His head, but it feels oddly empty and hollow. “I thought you had fun.”
“No, I did, I do. I just mean,” Sam takes a deep breath, “you don’t have to entertain me, or keep taking me places. Visiting Heaven with you… yeah, I wanna do that. Just like I want to talk or watch movies or do errands together. So much has changed recently, and you’re so good at making me remember that this, that us, our friendship, it’s not going anywhere.” He crunches a leaf beneath his boot. “At least I hope it isn’t.”
“Sam—”
“I keep getting in my head, and you keep pulling me out.”
“I dunno—”
“Gabriel. For weeks you literally dragged me out of the house, made sure I ate, tried to make me laugh, and just kept me company when I didn’t have the energy to do even that.”
“Yeah, but this is,” and he struggles to find his words because this should be obvious to Sam by now, “cowardly, you know? I’m not taking you to Heaven so you can reconnect with Jack and your family, I’m doing it because I don’t want to go alone.” Gabriel can only look at Sam out of the corner of his eye. “And like, selfish, too—I’m not a saint or whatever helping you pick up your prescriptions, I just wanted to spend time with you.”
Sam just rolls his eyes at him, and deadpans, “Wow, you’re right, screw you for liking me and my personality.” He can tell Sam’s trying to make him laugh, but Gabriel can’t. He just can’t. “I don’t know how you’ve convinced yourself that you’re tricking me into this… this. You don’t have to be alone—you shouldn’t be alone. I’m happy to support you, and I know how hard going back home can be. But dude, you being there for me? It mattered.” Sam takes a half-step forward, so Gabriel’s forced to take a half-step back. “It still matters to me.”
“Stop– you gotta stop, man.” Gabriel’s seconds from pulling his hair out.
Sam raises his eyebrows and takes another deliberate step closer to him. “What? Torture you by telling you how you’re a good friend?”
“Yeah, actually, or I’m going to do something distinctly unfriendly like kiss you.”
“Okay.”
Gabriel’s heart stops. Like, it actually stops and he’s too stunned to reboot his vessel’s circulatory system so breathlessly goes, “Uh, wh—”
Sam’s giant legspan means he only has to take one more step until he’s close enough to pull him up into a kiss. Gabriel leans into it, belatedly getting his heartbeat back on track just in case Sam notices the lack of a pulse.
He’s– he’s so nice to kiss; this must be what junior high feels like. Giddy, nervous, delighted because the cute guy in school decided he was going to French kiss you.
Gabriel’s not sure if Sam’s good at this in general, or if he’s just embarrassingly into him, but it doesn’t matter. He buries a hand in Sam’s soft hair, and Sam keeps kissing him so gently, gently, gently.
Sam leans back, but keeps his arms wrapped around Gabriel’s.
His eyes narrow in confusion. “Did you– how are we the same height?”
“I’m pretty magic, dude,” Gabriel says, not bothering to keep from laughing. He taps his toes on the apple box he conjured up beneath his feet to put them at a more even height, but does a double take when he looks back at Sam’s face. “Wait, are you disappointed?”
“No—,” Sam tries to argue, but—
“Holy shit, you are! Here I was, trying to keep you from getting a crick in your neck, but you like that I’m shorter!”
“Shut up,” Sam mumbles into his mouth, trying to kiss him again. His cheeks are pink.
“No way!” Gabriel cackles, wrapping his arms around Sam’s neck and kicking the box aside because Sam likes him. Sam—oh holy shit. “You like me,” he says out loud, a bit dazed by it.
“And regretting it.”
“I’ll have you know I’m a catch.” Gabriel flips his hair. “Supreme being over all the cosmos.”
Sam pinches his side, but his eyes are amused. “And bigger than Detroit, I hear.”
“Eh, only if I stretch,” he murmurs between pressing kisses to the underside of Sam’s jaw.
Sam huffs, but hugs him tighter. “Can you stop being an asshole and move back into the bunker now?”
“Yup,” Gabriel agreed, too stupid giddy to know or care what he’s agreeing too. “Sam?”
“Yeah?”
“You ready to fly?”
“Yes.” Sam grins at him, one of his huge, unfiltered, devastatingly bright smiles. “Definitely.”
Gabriel tentatively extends his angelic awareness to poke around before taking flight, and he hears a chorus of greetings and welcomes from his siblings in response.
There’s Jack, joyful and loud but not overwhelming, and then a beat later he hears Michael chime in, with just a touch of curiosity. And– hell, he can feel Castiel encouraging him to stop taking so damn long, which is not Gabriel’s fault, he still thought the bastard was dead after all, but Gabriel unfurls his wings on cue anyways.
The faster he takes Sam home, the faster they both can come back to their home after.