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Gabriel was moody for an angel. At least Sam had always thought so.
Sometimes he was sullen, withdrawn even, making Sam wonder what was going on in his head. He'd be quiet, no jokes or banter, just a set jaw and intense gaze. He'd cast that gaze on Sam and almost make the hunter squirm under the scrutiny. Those were the times Gabe would ask the tough questions.
"Do you think humans will ever evolve enough to quit killing one another?"
Sam didn't have an answer for that. Who would?
"Why do you all put so much faith into governments that obviously don't have anyone's best interests in mind but their own?"
Sam had sat quietly in some rundown diner thinking on this far too long. He stabbed absently at his salad. "I don't know, Gabe. What the hell are we supposed to do? The world isn't a perfect place- we're doing the best we can I guess..."
Other times Gabriel was animated, almost childlike in his pursuit of knowledge in all things Sam Winchester. He'd pepper him with questions for hours, days sometimes, and Sam would smile and indulge it.
"What's your favorite candy?"
"I don't know, I haven't eaten a lot of sweets since I was a kid."
“For shame, Sam-o, we gotta change that. Ok, what's your favorite song?"
"Oh man, that's a tough one. Let me think."
But the question was immediately forgotten, Gabe was on to the next.
“Pick a Hepburn, Audrey or Katharine."
Sam had laughed at the frivolity of it; the questions provided a welcome reprieve from whatever ominous thing loomed on the horizon. They made him scratch his head at times, smile at others, and sometimes made him think deeper than anything else in his life.
It was one of those random fluffy questions that turned out to be Sam's favorite in the end. It's the one that always made him smile and served as his daily reminder of the Archangel.
"What's your favorite color?" Gabriel hadasked, his amber eyes alight with mischief, "Wait, don't tell me. Let me guess!"
"Okay, go for it." Sam had set his book aside on the scratchy motel room sheets, knowing he wasn't going to get any research done for a while. Truth was, Sam didn't really have a favorite color, but he thought it would be fun to play the game and let Gabe guess.
Gabriel bounced onto the bed where Sam was sitting.
"Hmm," Gabriel's eyes trailed over Sam's face, watching him try to hide the amusement there. "Is it red?" He didn't let Sam answer before he was shaking his head no. "Nah, red's too easy, too common; my Sam isn't a red kinda guy."
Gabriel straddled Sam's legs, resting his weight on Sam's thighs. His smile was lopsided and endearing as he leaned in, like maybe he could see the answer in Sam's eyes.
"Blue, maybe. You certainly look good in blue." He wiggled his eyebrows playfully.
Sam tried not to blush as he broke eye contact, mentally noting that the Angel liked him in blue.
"Gabe," he started, almost telling Gabriel that he didn't really have a favorite color, he liked them all, but Gabriel put a finger to his lips before he could finish.
"Shhh, I'm thinking. Don't interrupt, this is important stuff," Gabriel said, his eyes staring at Sam's lips.
Sam almost kissed him then, almost told him that his eyes were Sam's favorite color: whiskey brown mixed with honey and light. He'd almost said the blondish locks on Gabriel's head were his favorite color, or the perfect cream of his skin, but he didn't have time before Gabriel was placing two palms on Sam's face, his eyes alight like Christmas morning.
"YELLOW!" he had said excitedly. "It's yellow isn't it!"
It wasn't a question, it was a declaration. "Your favorite color is yellow, am I right?"
And Sam couldn't disagree, he couldn't tell him no. He could never tell Gabriel no. So he'd grabbed the Angel by the hips and pulled him tighter into his lap, nodding his agreement as he leaned in for a kiss.
Gabriel had broken away minutes later, both of them breathless and flushed. He looked so pleased with himself.
"Knew it," he'd mused, smacking his lips to Sam's again.
And now, years later, with thousands of hours spent missing the Angel, Sam still had to admit that Gabriel was right. Yellow is his favorite color. It made him think of laughter, of happy times, of eyes so full of love and hope that Sam mistakenly thought nothing could ever take it away.
He thinks of Gabriel as he sees the marigolds dancing in flower boxes on porches, as he watches fields of mustard dancing in the breeze, even in the yellow balloons tied to a random mailbox, directing people down the driveway to a children's party.
Yellow is in his heart now, it's in road signs and bees, in butterflies and bananas. It's everywhere, in everything; constant reminders of something Sam loved and lost. But even with all the pain in his heart, it's still his favorite, still a bright and cheerful reminder of what he had.
Yellow.
Sam lives in yellow.