Work Text:
Gabriel was recovering, but it was pretty slow. He was waking from awful nightmares every night, and his smiles and quips were all too rare. It upset Sam, seeing Gabriel broken, but he understood.
Yes, he was back. But that didn’t undo the pain, the damage, that had already been inflicted on Gabriel’s heart.
Gabriel’s sleep was so broken that he often needed to nap in the afternoon. Dean tended to come over at that time, after discovering this, to talk about how to integrate Sam back into society. Really, it was a mess. There were records. A death certificate, paperwork at the funeral home confirming that he’d been embalmed, a plot in a cemetery where he’d been buried…not to mention that the life insurance had already paid out.
“I don’t know, man. Maybe we should make you a new identity. …Not that I have a clue where to start with that,” Dean spoke, sitting on a stool at the kitchen island, playing with a beer between his hands.
“That might be exactly what I have to do. …Dean, I’m more worried about you. Would you just tell me about this deal you made already?” Sam asked, trying to keep his voice low. He didn’t want to wake Gabe. He seemed to be resting decently for once.
Dean scowled at his beer before tipping it back for a good few swallows. When it brought it down from his lips, he continued to stare at the bottle, refusing to look into his little brother’s eyes.
“A soul for a soul, Sammy. …I’ve got a month before I have to pay up,” he spoke gruffly. “Well…three weeks now,” Dean finished, daring a glance up at his giant brother’s face.
Sam’s expression was a mixture of pure shock and horror. His mouth worked for a moment before he shook his head. “Dean, you have to—“
“Have to what, Sam?” Dean cut him off, voice low and dangerous. “Take a look in the living room, and tell me what I’m supposed to do, Sammy. Tell me if he could handle it again. …I wouldn’t be able to handle it again, either, you know. Not that I have any proof I could break the deal in the first place,” he said.
Sam’s eyes were staring at Gabriel, taking in his sleeping form. One of those rare smiles was on his lips, right now. A good dream, thank God. He looked back at Dean, pained.
“What am I supposed to do, Dean? How am I supposed to feel, knowing that…that some demon dragged you off because of me?” he asked.
“Turn off the damned puppy eyes!” Dean hissed at him, managing to keep his volume reigned in. “It’s done already.”
“Dean…what about Cas?” Sam said suddenly, desperate to keep his brother from resigning to his fate.
Dean took another swig of his beer, avoiding Sam’s eyes. “What about Cas?” he grumbled.
“You’re not that dense, Dean. You can’t be. He’s been head over heels with you for years,” Sam said. Dean looked up at Sam, seemingly stricken. Dean had met Castiel in college, and they’d become best friends. And though Dean snuck warm glances toward Cas at odd times, he’d never asked the shorter man out.
Castiel, meanwhile, did everything he could to make Dean happy, but carefully avoided making Dean think he felt more than friendship.
Somehow, they were blind to how the other felt, and everyone around them just waited and tried to push them together as subtly as possible.
The time for that was over, though. Especially if Dean had three weeks to live.
“Sam, that’s…he doesn’t—“
“He does, Dean. Think about it. Have you dated a guy since you met him? Have you ever told him you’re bi? And how about the fact that yeah, he has a few exes, but he hasn’t dated anyone since you’ve known him?” Sam pointed out.
The cogs were practically visible, clinking rustily a few times before whirring out of control. Dean’s eyes shot up to Sam’s, wide and desperate. “Oh, God, Sammy,” he spoke quietly.
“So does that mean you’re not going quietly, now?” Sam asked him. Dean nodded, and Sam relaxed.
“’Bout damn time,” Gabe’s voice came. Sam blinked and looked over. He’d obviously heard enough to know that Dean realized how Gabriel’s little brother felt. “Now what’s this about going quietly?” he muttered, standing and stretching before shuffling over. He was wearing a grayed robe over pajamas, and tattering bunny slippers. When he reached Sam, he slumped against him, putting his forehead into the crook of Sam’s neck.
Sam smiled fondly and reached up, threading his fingers through Gabe’s hair and massaging his scalp. “The price for me was Dean’s soul. We’ve got three weeks to break the deal,” he said. Gabriel stiffened a bit, then looked over at Sam, his head mostly still against Sam’s neck.
Instead of giving Dean hell, or even taunting him, Gabriel spoke in a very serious tone, saying, “Guess we’d better start researching this stuff…best place to start, I’d bet.”
---
When Cas learned the cost of Sam returning, he’d become pale and hadn’t spoken or reacted to anyone, not even Dean, for several minutes.
When he came out of it, he set on Dean with an unparalleled fury, chewing him out for several minutes before flat out ignoring him.
While Dean tried to get Castiel to talk to him, as they walked along the Berkeley campus, Sam kept trying to come up with a way to convince the mythology professor to give them the information they were seeking.
It was all made easier for them, though, when they showed up to see Professors Singer and Turner well over half way through a bottle of Black Label Johnnie Walker whiskey. They were quipping back and forth, and generally just snipping at each other, too.
Sam knocked on the open door. “Ah, excuse me, Professor Singer? I…we were hoping we could ask you some questions regarding the mythology of demons?” he said.
Singer and Turner both locked drunken stares on the group, then looked at each other. They both rose with a grunt signaling their creaking bones. “Well, don’t just stand there, ya idjits. Get on in here,” Professor Singer spoke. Both he and Turner had turned to the massive wall of bookshelves behind Singer’s desk, pulling books from them at seemingly random.
When the four of them were seated, Castiel very carefully making sure that Gabriel and Sam were seated between himself and Dean, Singer spoke up again. “So, what is it you lot are looking to learn?” he spoke, dropping another few books on his desk.
Sam looked at Gabriel, then Dean. Glancing back at Singer’s back, he answered, “Uh, well…I’m uh…I’m writing an article, and I was…hoping you could tell me about demon…contracts? Maybe how they would supposedly be broken?”
Singer and Turner both halted and looked at each other, and then they turned their combined glares onto Sam.
“Which one of you meatheads was dumb enough to sell your soul?” Turner spoke up.
Castiel wasted no time in pointing at Dean.