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I believe I promised a Gabriel/Sam interlude something like eight chapters ago? They wouldn't fit until now, for some reason. But here we are.
Title: Gabriel
Rating: PG-13
Fandoms: Good Omens, Supernatural
Continuity: Set just after The Second Plan
Characters/Pairings: Gabriel, Sam, mention of everyone else. Gabriel/Sam
Summary: A long overdue talk, an archangel's faith, and wings
Wordcount: 3160
Warnings/Spoilers: Mention of nasty things during the First War, and Gabriel's wings. Heavy references to SPN ep 'Mystery Spot' (3x16? I think?)
Disclaimer: Not mine
This time, though, before he could leave, Castiel's stare lasered in on him from across the room, hitting him like a bullet between the eyes. The angel never moved, never blinked, never spoke. Just stared, until Sam got the message.
Take care of my brother.
Sam nodded shortly. Managed to meet Cas' eyes. He meant to. Take care of Gabriel. He meant to. Maybe growl at him a little first, tell him to quit running away for a start, but ... He meant to. Gabriel was his. He was going to look after him.
He found the archangel in the junkyard. Well. Not found, exactly. Saw. Stopped. Stared. Unable to breathe. Unable to move. He saw Gabriel.
He saw Gabriel's wings.
Not all of them. Not the way they'd been in the factory, not splayed out, tier on tier, stacked around him the way no physical thing should work. Not like that. Not a spray of power and feathers and glory, not the might of an archangel even pinned. Not that.
Only the two. The two damaged ones. The ones that had been torn, broken, smashed. Just them, alone, two crumpled, battered arcs pooling around the seated archangel. Wrapping jagged around Gabriel's hunched form, the archangel curled in on himself, looking down at them. Tracing ancient scars with one hand, oblivious in his misery. Sam had never ... never seen Gabriel look so small. So small, so damaged. Just a hurt man, wrapped in broken wings, curled up on the hood of a junker. Not even the first time, not even when Sam had still thought him human, just a janitor making jokes ... not even then had Gabriel seemed so small.
He must have made a noise. Made some little sound, a breath of shock, of pain. He must have, because Gabriel jerked, a snapping flash of fear and then power as he spun, the wings trailing after him, spilling off the hood, and Sam jerked after them before he thought. Jerked forward to catch them, to stop them catching on machinery or earth or anything ... anything that might hurt them. More than they already were, anyway. He jerked forward, and Gabriel froze, going absolutely rigid in something close to terror.
"I'm sorry, I ..." Sam stammered, wincing internally. Yeah, way to go, Sammy. The one person in the world who's going to remind him of who did this, and you go and grab at them. Real smart, there ...
"No," Gabriel managed, visibly forcing himself to relax, to fit his face back into the Trickster's smile, and pull the wings ... Pull the wings up. But not away. Not back wherever the angels kept them that humans couldn't see. Gabriel pulled them up onto the hood, tucked them close ... and didn't take them away. "Sorry there, kiddo. I'm a little ... jumpy, right now?"
Sam bit his lip, nodded. "Figured that," he said, approaching cautiously. Coming close enough to see the faint tremors in damaged wings, to see the way Gabriel watched him carefully. Close enough to wonder why the archangel bothered. Why he didn't hide them away and tell Sam to fuck off.
Gabriel smiled lopsidedly, following Sam's gaze down to the asymmetrical arcs, curling one hand absently through his own feathers, following the cruel line of one scar. "I know," he said quietly. "It's been driving Cas wrong all morning. Every time he looks at me, I can see his eyes wandering back. It's driving him crazy, not being able to fix it."
Sam felt his breath hitch a bit, catching rueful hazel eyes. "He can't fix them?" he asked, feeling his hands knotting. "Or Aziraphale? They can't ...?"
Gabriel shook his head. "I've been carrying them broken for more than six thousand years now, kiddo. Some scars just aren't fixable." A wry smile. "Nah. Unless Dad suddenly feels like getting up off his ass and coming down here long enough to wipe them clean ... Or Raphael, maybe, but let's face it, that's even less likely ..."
Sam clenched his fists. "Cas wants to hurt him for that," he noted, surprisingly calm. "Beginning to agree with him, a bit." Or a lot. Between killing Cas, and leaving Gabriel to suffer ... yeah, Raphael was so far from his favourite archangel right now ...
Gabriel bit his lip, tilted his head away. "You shouldn't, you know," he said quietly, drawing his knees up to his chest. "He had his reasons, my brother." His mouth twisted, but he sounded sincere. "I always knew that. I may not have known what he did to me to manage it until now, I may not have understood fully ... but I knew his reasons. Not reasons I happened to like, or ones I agreed with, but that's not saying they were wrong, exactly."
Sam shook his head, growling in his throat, resting his hands on the grill of the junker before he could do something unwise with them. "What reasons?" What could possibly ... what could possibly ...
Gabriel smiled bitterly. "Faith, Sammy," he said quietly. "Angels need faith to live, remember? Angels need to believe. That's why Raph ... that's why he did this. That's why he let this happen. To preserve faith."
Sam shook his head. "Gonna have to explain that one to me, Gabriel."
The archangel hugged his knees, still smiling. "Kinda had to be there, kiddo," he murmured. "After the Fall, you know. Kinda had to see. Michael ... Broke him, it did. Broke him into teeny, tiny pieces, having to throw Lucy down. All of us, really. Going to war with each other, having to kill each other, cast each other down. Hard to keep faith after that, yes? Hard to believe in much of anything, a brother's blood on your hands ..."
Sam shivered. He remembered that, yes. He knew that.
"And Michael was the worst," Gabriel whispered quietly. "He loved Lucy. He really did. Without him ... He had to believe. Someone had to help Mike believe in something, or he was going to wither fast. All of us could see it. And Raph ... well. Raph loved Michael. So Raph used me."
Sam had a feeling he didn't really want to know. But also ... that he might have to know. "How?" he asked quietly. And silently behind it, the real question.
What did they do to you?
The archangel shook, mouth twisting, and gestured down at the torn wings. "Proof," he said, blankly. "Proof that Michael was right to do what he did. Proof that Lucifer deserved what he got. Proof that Michael could believe in what he did, in what he had to do. Proof that Heaven was right to keep fighting." His hands clenched into quiet fists, and he finished: "Proof that my brothers had the right to kill each other."
Oh. Oh. Oh shit. Gabriel, who'd had to get torn open all over again before he'd even give them a means to hold his brother, let alone hurt him. Gabriel, who wouldn't even help them at all until they understood that he was never, ever going to hurt his brothers, not even for them. And then Raphael, and probably most of Heaven ... had pointed at him, held him up, and used him to excuse everything Gabriel himself hated. Left him hurt, left him alone, all so they could excuse what Daddy's orders had made them do.
And Raphael ... Raphael had known the whole time. Known that Gabriel could be healed. He had to have. Cas was awesome, really, really awesome, but he was no healer, and if he managed it, if he could look at it once and manage it, then no way in hell Heaven's chief healer had looked at the sigil, looked at the wounds, and not known. No way. And instead of helping him ...
Right. Sam had pretty much de facto hated the bastards since he found out what they did to Cas. All the things they'd done to Cas. But now ... now it was official.
"Is that ... Is that why you left?" he asked, softly, reaching out to carefully, carefully touch Gabriel's shaking shoulder, well away from the wings, to carefully hold on to him. "Is that why you left them?"
The archangel blinked at him, and tucked his face away from sight, down into his knees. Quickly, but not before Sam saw an expression that looked like nothing so much as shame. "Maybe," Gabriel muttered, muffled. "Maybe, Sammy. But ... Mostly? I was just tired of watching them all get hurt. I just wanted to ... I just couldn't watch it anymore. I was too weak to watch it, knowing what ... what was coming."
For some reason, that prodded something in the back of Sam's mind. For some reason, that clicked something into place. And Sam stared. "That's why you did it," he whispered, blinking. "That's why ..."
Gabriel looked up at him, raised his head at Sam's tone, forehead wrinkling a bit. "Uh, Sammy? What I just said, wasn't it?" Sarcasm slipping back in on sheer autopilot, despite it all, and Sam had to take a little second to smile about that.
"Not that," he growled, grinning for a second, watching Trickster eyes light up a little in response. Then ... Then more serious. Because this ... "I meant the Mystery Spot," he said cautiously, and watched the archangel's face fall. "That's why you did it. That's why you did that. Isn't it?"
"What's why I did what?" Gabriel asked lightly, but he was looking away again. "Gonna have to explain that one to me, Sammy." And maybe ... Maybe Sam did. Maybe he did have to explain it. Because he was beginning to think the reason Gabriel acted so randomly sometimes was because the archangel genuinely didn't understand his own reasons half the time.
"You knew Dean was going to die, didn't you?" Sam whispered, leaning in gently, still holding one shoulder to keep Gabriel from leaning away. "You knew more than that. You knew we were vessels. Even then. You knew what we would have to do, if we said yes. You knew that. Didn't you?"
Gabriel bit his lip. Said nothing. But nodded, very, very faintly.
"And you tried to help me," Sam whispered, smiling just a little as the archangel's head came up in shock. "A hundred Tuesdays, six months after Wednesday ... you tried to show me what it was like to lose a brother. Tried to show me what I'd go through if I didn't leave then and there. Tried to show me what it was like to watch a brother die, over and over again. To watch a brother be taken away, just beyond reach, and I could get him back if only I could make the person who took him away see reason. You tried to show me that. Tried to make me avoid it if you could, and ... be able to survive it if you couldn't. Because you know what it's like a watch a brother get hurt, and not be able to do anything about it. To watch one be taken, and not be able to get him back. Don't you."
Gabriel had paled. Paled even more than he had in the factory, and that probably shouldn't be possible. And Sam knew he was right. He knew he was right.
"Good lesson," he said quietly. "Good lesson, Gabriel. Except there's a problem. One little problem." He leaned in, nose to nose, watching those wary hazel eyes. Watching the fear there, the hope. "You gave him back," Sam said. "You gave Dean back to me. Because you're not Heaven, not Hell. Not God. Because you don't believe what they're saying. You don't believe it. You don't believe that you can't get your brother back. You don't believe that you're going to have to hurt them. You gave me my brother back, after half a year of trying to get me to abandon him, because I didn't abandon him, and that's what you understood. That's what you believed was right, in the end."
He leaned close, wrapped one hand around the back of Gabriel's neck, cradling the archangel's head gently even as they both trembled. Both shook.
"Your brothers tore you open, Gabriel," Sam whispered gently. "Lucifer, Raphael ... I don't know how many. But they hurt you. I know that. And after that, after they hurt you ... the one thing you still believe is that you're going to get them back. That you can challenge destiny like a Trickster, and get them back. Because they're your brothers, and even if they hurt you, you're going to fight for them. Even if they do this," a little gesture towards the scarred wings, a little flinch inside himself for the sight of them, "You're going to fight for them. And that ... That is not weak, Gabriel. That is so far from fucking weak."
The archangel was crying silently, his hands locked around Sam's forearms, clutching them like he was trying to hold himself up by them, trying to keep himself from drowning. Gabriel was crying, and Sam never looked away. Never. Because this was important, and Gabriel needed to see. To understand.
"You're not weak, Gabriel," he said again, very quietly. "Whatever they've said, whatever they've told you ... You're not weak, just because you don't want to hurt them. And we ... We're not Heaven either. We get it, Gabriel. We get it. Aziraphale and Crowley, they're here because after six thousand years as enemies, they can't bear to hurt each other anymore. Cas helped you, Cas was ready to die for you, because you're the first brother in more than a year who hasn't forced him to fight you, hasn't forced him to kill or die. And me and Dean ..." A small smile. "You've known since the Mystery Spot that we get it. Or you should have, anyway."
Gabriel shook his head, mouth working soundlessly around the words, desperately. "Not ... not the same ... Sammy ..."
"Exactly the same," Sam corrected gently. "You want to keep your brothers. That's the same. You don't want to hurt them. That's the same. Every other bastard in Heaven or Hell wants you to hurt them, is trying to make you hurt them, and you're not going to. You've decided to say 'screw you' to all of them. That ... that is definitely the same." A little grin, a little smile, and he felt his heart lift as it coaxed an echo in the archangel beneath him. He felt his heart lift as Gabriel smiled.
"You ... You have a slight advantage, Sammy," Gabriel murmured, but not as hopelessly as he might have. "Your brother isn't going to destroy the world."
Sam flinched a little, but did his best to smile. "No," he nodded. "No. We already have. First seal, last seal. And if they find a way to make us say yes, well ..."
"They're not going to!" A snarl, suddenly, ripe and vicious, and the archangel was glaring at him from an inch away, damp eyes suddenly fierce and crackling with power. "You listen to me, Sam. They are not. Going. To. Not unless they've killed me and Cas and everyone else first. They are not getting you. Understood?"
Sam smiled a little. Just gently. "Or you," he whispered. "Or each other, if we have anything to do with it. That's the plan, remember? We're not going to let them fight. We're not going to let them die. Mostly because if they do, they take the world with them, of course, but ... They're your brothers. We do get that. We do understand that, Gabriel. If we didn't ... Aziraphale could have asked for something different, back there. He could have asked for a lot more than he did." He felt Gabriel shake, watched the eyes dip, and realised that Gabriel had known that. And feared it, too. Which told him ... a whole hell of a lot, actually. "He didn't ask," Sam said gently. "He's not going to ask. None of us are, Gabriel. Just ... can you trust that? Trust us? Please?"
For some reason, Gabriel smiled at that. A wobbly, lopsided thing, and for a second Sam thought it was the bitter smile from earlier, thought it was that hopeless thing, but ... it wasn't. It was sardonic, yes, and wounded, but it wasn't bitter. And it certainly wasn't hopeless. And then ... then Gabriel pulled gently on Sam's arms, implacably, and tugged Sam's hands down to rest ... to rest ...
"I do trust you, Sammy," the archangel whispered, while Sam stared in shock and maybe terror at the feathers and raised scar tissue beneath his fingers. While Gabriel -Gabriel- offered him damaged wings. "That's maybe the problem. I'm afraid I trust you ... far more than I probably should." Quiet, nervous. "Far ... far more."
Sam stared. He stared. There was nothing ... he couldn't ... He stared. Because this ... and Lucifer had torn them, had torn them again, and Sam was Lucifer's vessel and in all the world there should be no-one Gabriel trusted less, not for this, no-one who reminded the archangel more of who had done this, who had hurt him, and here ... and here ...
"I won't ... I won't hurt you," Sam whispered, almost desperately, his hand shaking among the feathers, trying to be gentle, more than gentle, and he had never regretted his size more, never regretted how huge he was, because his hand looked like nothing more than a weapon, a bludgeon, laid against those fragile feathers, those damaged, brittle bones. He smoothed them gently, traced fingers as lightly as was physically possible, because he couldn't pull away. Something told him that if he pulled away now, he'd break so much more than a wing. Something far more fragile. So he did his best to be gentle. "I'm not going to hurt you, Gabriel. Not ever."
Gabriel smiled shakily, more than a little desperate himself, and lifted his hands to catch Sam's face. Left Sam's hands free to do whatever the hell they wanted, while the archangel gently turned his head until he met those hazel eyes again. Gave Sam his wings in truth, offered them trembling while he clung.
"I believe you," the archangel whispered. Terrified, trusting. Real. "I believe you, Sam. I believe in you."
The kiss that followed hurt more than anything Sam had ever felt, hollowed his chest until there was nothing but ache, nothing but love, hurt more than anything had a right to hurt, and it was all in Heaven or Earth that Sam wanted. It was all he wanted.
Because what the hell could you ask for worth more than an archangel's faith?
Contd: Trust
Title: Gabriel
Rating: PG-13
Fandoms: Good Omens, Supernatural
Continuity: Set just after The Second Plan
Characters/Pairings: Gabriel, Sam, mention of everyone else. Gabriel/Sam
Summary: A long overdue talk, an archangel's faith, and wings
Wordcount: 3160
Warnings/Spoilers: Mention of nasty things during the First War, and Gabriel's wings. Heavy references to SPN ep 'Mystery Spot' (3x16? I think?)
Disclaimer: Not mine
Gabriel
Gabriel had disappeared while the others started planning. Sam had looked away from him for a second, and the archangel had been gone when he'd looked back. For the love of ... This was beginning to be a habit of Gabriel's. A bad one. And consequently it was beginning to be a habit of Sam's to make his excuses and follow.This time, though, before he could leave, Castiel's stare lasered in on him from across the room, hitting him like a bullet between the eyes. The angel never moved, never blinked, never spoke. Just stared, until Sam got the message.
Take care of my brother.
Sam nodded shortly. Managed to meet Cas' eyes. He meant to. Take care of Gabriel. He meant to. Maybe growl at him a little first, tell him to quit running away for a start, but ... He meant to. Gabriel was his. He was going to look after him.
He found the archangel in the junkyard. Well. Not found, exactly. Saw. Stopped. Stared. Unable to breathe. Unable to move. He saw Gabriel.
He saw Gabriel's wings.
Not all of them. Not the way they'd been in the factory, not splayed out, tier on tier, stacked around him the way no physical thing should work. Not like that. Not a spray of power and feathers and glory, not the might of an archangel even pinned. Not that.
Only the two. The two damaged ones. The ones that had been torn, broken, smashed. Just them, alone, two crumpled, battered arcs pooling around the seated archangel. Wrapping jagged around Gabriel's hunched form, the archangel curled in on himself, looking down at them. Tracing ancient scars with one hand, oblivious in his misery. Sam had never ... never seen Gabriel look so small. So small, so damaged. Just a hurt man, wrapped in broken wings, curled up on the hood of a junker. Not even the first time, not even when Sam had still thought him human, just a janitor making jokes ... not even then had Gabriel seemed so small.
He must have made a noise. Made some little sound, a breath of shock, of pain. He must have, because Gabriel jerked, a snapping flash of fear and then power as he spun, the wings trailing after him, spilling off the hood, and Sam jerked after them before he thought. Jerked forward to catch them, to stop them catching on machinery or earth or anything ... anything that might hurt them. More than they already were, anyway. He jerked forward, and Gabriel froze, going absolutely rigid in something close to terror.
"I'm sorry, I ..." Sam stammered, wincing internally. Yeah, way to go, Sammy. The one person in the world who's going to remind him of who did this, and you go and grab at them. Real smart, there ...
"No," Gabriel managed, visibly forcing himself to relax, to fit his face back into the Trickster's smile, and pull the wings ... Pull the wings up. But not away. Not back wherever the angels kept them that humans couldn't see. Gabriel pulled them up onto the hood, tucked them close ... and didn't take them away. "Sorry there, kiddo. I'm a little ... jumpy, right now?"
Sam bit his lip, nodded. "Figured that," he said, approaching cautiously. Coming close enough to see the faint tremors in damaged wings, to see the way Gabriel watched him carefully. Close enough to wonder why the archangel bothered. Why he didn't hide them away and tell Sam to fuck off.
Gabriel smiled lopsidedly, following Sam's gaze down to the asymmetrical arcs, curling one hand absently through his own feathers, following the cruel line of one scar. "I know," he said quietly. "It's been driving Cas wrong all morning. Every time he looks at me, I can see his eyes wandering back. It's driving him crazy, not being able to fix it."
Sam felt his breath hitch a bit, catching rueful hazel eyes. "He can't fix them?" he asked, feeling his hands knotting. "Or Aziraphale? They can't ...?"
Gabriel shook his head. "I've been carrying them broken for more than six thousand years now, kiddo. Some scars just aren't fixable." A wry smile. "Nah. Unless Dad suddenly feels like getting up off his ass and coming down here long enough to wipe them clean ... Or Raphael, maybe, but let's face it, that's even less likely ..."
Sam clenched his fists. "Cas wants to hurt him for that," he noted, surprisingly calm. "Beginning to agree with him, a bit." Or a lot. Between killing Cas, and leaving Gabriel to suffer ... yeah, Raphael was so far from his favourite archangel right now ...
Gabriel bit his lip, tilted his head away. "You shouldn't, you know," he said quietly, drawing his knees up to his chest. "He had his reasons, my brother." His mouth twisted, but he sounded sincere. "I always knew that. I may not have known what he did to me to manage it until now, I may not have understood fully ... but I knew his reasons. Not reasons I happened to like, or ones I agreed with, but that's not saying they were wrong, exactly."
Sam shook his head, growling in his throat, resting his hands on the grill of the junker before he could do something unwise with them. "What reasons?" What could possibly ... what could possibly ...
Gabriel smiled bitterly. "Faith, Sammy," he said quietly. "Angels need faith to live, remember? Angels need to believe. That's why Raph ... that's why he did this. That's why he let this happen. To preserve faith."
Sam shook his head. "Gonna have to explain that one to me, Gabriel."
The archangel hugged his knees, still smiling. "Kinda had to be there, kiddo," he murmured. "After the Fall, you know. Kinda had to see. Michael ... Broke him, it did. Broke him into teeny, tiny pieces, having to throw Lucy down. All of us, really. Going to war with each other, having to kill each other, cast each other down. Hard to keep faith after that, yes? Hard to believe in much of anything, a brother's blood on your hands ..."
Sam shivered. He remembered that, yes. He knew that.
"And Michael was the worst," Gabriel whispered quietly. "He loved Lucy. He really did. Without him ... He had to believe. Someone had to help Mike believe in something, or he was going to wither fast. All of us could see it. And Raph ... well. Raph loved Michael. So Raph used me."
Sam had a feeling he didn't really want to know. But also ... that he might have to know. "How?" he asked quietly. And silently behind it, the real question.
What did they do to you?
The archangel shook, mouth twisting, and gestured down at the torn wings. "Proof," he said, blankly. "Proof that Michael was right to do what he did. Proof that Lucifer deserved what he got. Proof that Michael could believe in what he did, in what he had to do. Proof that Heaven was right to keep fighting." His hands clenched into quiet fists, and he finished: "Proof that my brothers had the right to kill each other."
Oh. Oh. Oh shit. Gabriel, who'd had to get torn open all over again before he'd even give them a means to hold his brother, let alone hurt him. Gabriel, who wouldn't even help them at all until they understood that he was never, ever going to hurt his brothers, not even for them. And then Raphael, and probably most of Heaven ... had pointed at him, held him up, and used him to excuse everything Gabriel himself hated. Left him hurt, left him alone, all so they could excuse what Daddy's orders had made them do.
And Raphael ... Raphael had known the whole time. Known that Gabriel could be healed. He had to have. Cas was awesome, really, really awesome, but he was no healer, and if he managed it, if he could look at it once and manage it, then no way in hell Heaven's chief healer had looked at the sigil, looked at the wounds, and not known. No way. And instead of helping him ...
Right. Sam had pretty much de facto hated the bastards since he found out what they did to Cas. All the things they'd done to Cas. But now ... now it was official.
"Is that ... Is that why you left?" he asked, softly, reaching out to carefully, carefully touch Gabriel's shaking shoulder, well away from the wings, to carefully hold on to him. "Is that why you left them?"
The archangel blinked at him, and tucked his face away from sight, down into his knees. Quickly, but not before Sam saw an expression that looked like nothing so much as shame. "Maybe," Gabriel muttered, muffled. "Maybe, Sammy. But ... Mostly? I was just tired of watching them all get hurt. I just wanted to ... I just couldn't watch it anymore. I was too weak to watch it, knowing what ... what was coming."
For some reason, that prodded something in the back of Sam's mind. For some reason, that clicked something into place. And Sam stared. "That's why you did it," he whispered, blinking. "That's why ..."
Gabriel looked up at him, raised his head at Sam's tone, forehead wrinkling a bit. "Uh, Sammy? What I just said, wasn't it?" Sarcasm slipping back in on sheer autopilot, despite it all, and Sam had to take a little second to smile about that.
"Not that," he growled, grinning for a second, watching Trickster eyes light up a little in response. Then ... Then more serious. Because this ... "I meant the Mystery Spot," he said cautiously, and watched the archangel's face fall. "That's why you did it. That's why you did that. Isn't it?"
"What's why I did what?" Gabriel asked lightly, but he was looking away again. "Gonna have to explain that one to me, Sammy." And maybe ... Maybe Sam did. Maybe he did have to explain it. Because he was beginning to think the reason Gabriel acted so randomly sometimes was because the archangel genuinely didn't understand his own reasons half the time.
"You knew Dean was going to die, didn't you?" Sam whispered, leaning in gently, still holding one shoulder to keep Gabriel from leaning away. "You knew more than that. You knew we were vessels. Even then. You knew what we would have to do, if we said yes. You knew that. Didn't you?"
Gabriel bit his lip. Said nothing. But nodded, very, very faintly.
"And you tried to help me," Sam whispered, smiling just a little as the archangel's head came up in shock. "A hundred Tuesdays, six months after Wednesday ... you tried to show me what it was like to lose a brother. Tried to show me what I'd go through if I didn't leave then and there. Tried to show me what it was like to watch a brother die, over and over again. To watch a brother be taken away, just beyond reach, and I could get him back if only I could make the person who took him away see reason. You tried to show me that. Tried to make me avoid it if you could, and ... be able to survive it if you couldn't. Because you know what it's like a watch a brother get hurt, and not be able to do anything about it. To watch one be taken, and not be able to get him back. Don't you."
Gabriel had paled. Paled even more than he had in the factory, and that probably shouldn't be possible. And Sam knew he was right. He knew he was right.
"Good lesson," he said quietly. "Good lesson, Gabriel. Except there's a problem. One little problem." He leaned in, nose to nose, watching those wary hazel eyes. Watching the fear there, the hope. "You gave him back," Sam said. "You gave Dean back to me. Because you're not Heaven, not Hell. Not God. Because you don't believe what they're saying. You don't believe it. You don't believe that you can't get your brother back. You don't believe that you're going to have to hurt them. You gave me my brother back, after half a year of trying to get me to abandon him, because I didn't abandon him, and that's what you understood. That's what you believed was right, in the end."
He leaned close, wrapped one hand around the back of Gabriel's neck, cradling the archangel's head gently even as they both trembled. Both shook.
"Your brothers tore you open, Gabriel," Sam whispered gently. "Lucifer, Raphael ... I don't know how many. But they hurt you. I know that. And after that, after they hurt you ... the one thing you still believe is that you're going to get them back. That you can challenge destiny like a Trickster, and get them back. Because they're your brothers, and even if they hurt you, you're going to fight for them. Even if they do this," a little gesture towards the scarred wings, a little flinch inside himself for the sight of them, "You're going to fight for them. And that ... That is not weak, Gabriel. That is so far from fucking weak."
The archangel was crying silently, his hands locked around Sam's forearms, clutching them like he was trying to hold himself up by them, trying to keep himself from drowning. Gabriel was crying, and Sam never looked away. Never. Because this was important, and Gabriel needed to see. To understand.
"You're not weak, Gabriel," he said again, very quietly. "Whatever they've said, whatever they've told you ... You're not weak, just because you don't want to hurt them. And we ... We're not Heaven either. We get it, Gabriel. We get it. Aziraphale and Crowley, they're here because after six thousand years as enemies, they can't bear to hurt each other anymore. Cas helped you, Cas was ready to die for you, because you're the first brother in more than a year who hasn't forced him to fight you, hasn't forced him to kill or die. And me and Dean ..." A small smile. "You've known since the Mystery Spot that we get it. Or you should have, anyway."
Gabriel shook his head, mouth working soundlessly around the words, desperately. "Not ... not the same ... Sammy ..."
"Exactly the same," Sam corrected gently. "You want to keep your brothers. That's the same. You don't want to hurt them. That's the same. Every other bastard in Heaven or Hell wants you to hurt them, is trying to make you hurt them, and you're not going to. You've decided to say 'screw you' to all of them. That ... that is definitely the same." A little grin, a little smile, and he felt his heart lift as it coaxed an echo in the archangel beneath him. He felt his heart lift as Gabriel smiled.
"You ... You have a slight advantage, Sammy," Gabriel murmured, but not as hopelessly as he might have. "Your brother isn't going to destroy the world."
Sam flinched a little, but did his best to smile. "No," he nodded. "No. We already have. First seal, last seal. And if they find a way to make us say yes, well ..."
"They're not going to!" A snarl, suddenly, ripe and vicious, and the archangel was glaring at him from an inch away, damp eyes suddenly fierce and crackling with power. "You listen to me, Sam. They are not. Going. To. Not unless they've killed me and Cas and everyone else first. They are not getting you. Understood?"
Sam smiled a little. Just gently. "Or you," he whispered. "Or each other, if we have anything to do with it. That's the plan, remember? We're not going to let them fight. We're not going to let them die. Mostly because if they do, they take the world with them, of course, but ... They're your brothers. We do get that. We do understand that, Gabriel. If we didn't ... Aziraphale could have asked for something different, back there. He could have asked for a lot more than he did." He felt Gabriel shake, watched the eyes dip, and realised that Gabriel had known that. And feared it, too. Which told him ... a whole hell of a lot, actually. "He didn't ask," Sam said gently. "He's not going to ask. None of us are, Gabriel. Just ... can you trust that? Trust us? Please?"
For some reason, Gabriel smiled at that. A wobbly, lopsided thing, and for a second Sam thought it was the bitter smile from earlier, thought it was that hopeless thing, but ... it wasn't. It was sardonic, yes, and wounded, but it wasn't bitter. And it certainly wasn't hopeless. And then ... then Gabriel pulled gently on Sam's arms, implacably, and tugged Sam's hands down to rest ... to rest ...
"I do trust you, Sammy," the archangel whispered, while Sam stared in shock and maybe terror at the feathers and raised scar tissue beneath his fingers. While Gabriel -Gabriel- offered him damaged wings. "That's maybe the problem. I'm afraid I trust you ... far more than I probably should." Quiet, nervous. "Far ... far more."
Sam stared. He stared. There was nothing ... he couldn't ... He stared. Because this ... and Lucifer had torn them, had torn them again, and Sam was Lucifer's vessel and in all the world there should be no-one Gabriel trusted less, not for this, no-one who reminded the archangel more of who had done this, who had hurt him, and here ... and here ...
"I won't ... I won't hurt you," Sam whispered, almost desperately, his hand shaking among the feathers, trying to be gentle, more than gentle, and he had never regretted his size more, never regretted how huge he was, because his hand looked like nothing more than a weapon, a bludgeon, laid against those fragile feathers, those damaged, brittle bones. He smoothed them gently, traced fingers as lightly as was physically possible, because he couldn't pull away. Something told him that if he pulled away now, he'd break so much more than a wing. Something far more fragile. So he did his best to be gentle. "I'm not going to hurt you, Gabriel. Not ever."
Gabriel smiled shakily, more than a little desperate himself, and lifted his hands to catch Sam's face. Left Sam's hands free to do whatever the hell they wanted, while the archangel gently turned his head until he met those hazel eyes again. Gave Sam his wings in truth, offered them trembling while he clung.
"I believe you," the archangel whispered. Terrified, trusting. Real. "I believe you, Sam. I believe in you."
The kiss that followed hurt more than anything Sam had ever felt, hollowed his chest until there was nothing but ache, nothing but love, hurt more than anything had a right to hurt, and it was all in Heaven or Earth that Sam wanted. It was all he wanted.
Because what the hell could you ask for worth more than an archangel's faith?
Contd: Trust
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