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Sam has seen Gabriel’s true form. Not the light, of course, because Sam’s got enough taint in him that something that holy would burn his eyes out of his skull, but the real Gabriel.
He’s been seeing it out of the corner of his eye for years, since Broward County, when Gabriel’s voice went hard and sharp like the edge of winter, too stone-heavy for the trickster persona and bitter like lemon-rind. It was there when Gabriel ducked his head and sighed and gave in, too – Sam caught the mirror-flash of falseness about that smile, the way the cruelty of it seemed to cut Gabriel too.
He caught another glimpse when Gabriel slammed Dean into the wall of that too-bright motel room and his anger made the air go still, like the eye of a storm or hanging for a moment before you drop over the crest of a rollercoaster. It was only a moment, a scrap of time, but it was like seeing a landscape lit up by lightning – the image sears itself into your retinas and lingers on long after darkness falls again.
The first time he sees it straight on isn’t long after that. It’s in the warehouse, in that moment of indrawn breath before Gabriel bites out, “Gabriel. They call me Gabriel.” and Sam feels like the wind has been knocked out of him.
Sam has been seeing flashes of bitterness, of resentment, of anger so dark and hot it turns his stomach, but it’s not until then that he sees how deep it goes. It’s not until then that he sees the heartsickness of a little brother who can’t do a damn thing to stop the fighting, the weariness of someone who’s held a sword too long and only ever wanted to lay it down.
But that’s still not all Gabriel is.
Later, Sam can see the thorns and hear the wild, mad, ringing laughter of someone who danced across a battlefield and revelled in the blood welling up around their bare feet. He can see the skeletal wings, arching out like the bone-bare branches of trees in winter, flesh and feathers wasted away by hope-starved centuries.
Later still, he can see the way the darkness makes the light a little brighter, a little harsher, a little sharper. He can see the softness of him, like rabbit fur or beach-sand, which you can’t help but leave your footprints in or take a part of away with you, clinging to your feet as you walk.
But that’s not all Gabriel is, either.
Gabriel’s an entire universe compressed into light, folded into human flesh, whittled down into a thin smile and golden eyes. Sam thinks that he could stare at the heart of him for eternity and still not see or understand it all.