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The main street of Cicero looks exactly the same as the main street of Kripke’s Hollow. At least, it does to Gabriel – Sam doesn’t really have an opinion on it, after Gabriel wakes him up and gently ushers him out of the cab. Gabriel hands Chuck’s debit card over to the driver, and waits for him to swipe it through while Sam glances around, looking…lost. Untethered.
“I thought this place would be bigger,” he murmurs, and Gabriel shrugs as he takes back the debit card, putting it carefully away into Chuck’s wallet. “Do you think that Dean will be…happy?”
“What, to see you?”
“I mean in general.”
“I guess.” Gabriel steps back onto the sidewalk as the cab pulls away from the curb. “Your brother isn’t exactly my era of expertise. I always had this idea you two would end up dying together, you know. Last great battle. Wasn’t really the case, from what I understand.”
“Wasn’t the case at all,” Sam agrees.
There isn’t really much to talk about as they walk down the street, in search of a place that will let them use their phone. Gabriel doesn’t want to ask Sam what will happen after he is reunited with his brother – Sam (although Gabriel isn’t in his mind, and would most likely be scared shitless if he was) probably doesn’t want to ask about Gabriel’s insecurities regarding what will happen after Sam is reunited with his brother.
So, they walk in silence until they come to a 7-Eleven, where a man with an inexplicably strong East Coast accent hands them a phone book and a telephone. Sam prowls the aisles like an anxious cat while Gabriel looks up “Braeden” and, finding it, dials the number.
“Is it ringing?”
“Shh.”
The phone rings six times, and then clicks over to voicemail – Gabriel viciously shoves down his disappointment. Looks like they’ll have to do this the hard way: showing up without prior notice. Still…
Fuck. What does he say?
“Dean Winchester?” He clears his throat, unsure of what to leave in a message to a guy you once killed (more than a hundred times, even). “It’s…Gabriel. As in, the archangel. Well, former. Long story. Anyways, you should probably know that I’ve got your brother here with me, and we’re going to swing by.” He freezes – what else is there to say? How do humans deal with this, the constant uncertainty of speech, the clumsiness of linear thought? “Uh, bye.”
He hangs up, and takes a deep, steadying breath.
“You should have let me call,” Sam says.
“Bite me.”
Sam’s lips curl up at the corners. “Maybe later?”
Gabriel stares, and then clears his throat again as the cashier reaches across the counter and takes his phone back. “I, uh.”
Sam takes his hand, holds it still and drags the pad of his thumb over Gabriel’s knuckles. Shit, the cashier is watching. There are probably other people in the store, too, watching, and what if Sam is ruining himself with this? The tall, good-looking guy holding the hand of the short, middle-aged (damnit, he is middle-aged, isn’t he?), paunchy fuck with the bewildered, stupefied expression.
But no one says anything, and Sam, after a moment, murmurs, “Can we try last night again? Once we know what’s wrong?”
Gabriel swallows. “Sure,” he says. Try again. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard a sweeter sounding pair of words.
They leave the 7-Eleven, not exactly holding hands anymore, but bumping their hips together, and it might as well be the best and most romantic thing in the world, the way Gabriel feels his chest swell up with excitement and longing. He tries to press it back down again – whatever is wrong with Sam is affecting him physically, maybe even spiritually, and Gabriel has to be prepared for the fact that there might not be an easy solution. There might not be a solution at all.
But there’s hope. Such a small, stupid thing, hope. But it’s kept whole nations going, before – why not one sorry excuse for a former archangel?
~
Lisa Braeden’s house is small, neat, normal looking. There’s a well-kept yard, a bicycle resting near the front porch, a pickup truck in the driveway. A street lamp hangs over the sidewalk – it isn’t yet evening, but if it were it would give anyone inside the house a good view of most of the street. It’s a quiet, safe neighborhood, and they are about to make it ten times less safe, less quiet.
Gabriel has not mentioned the possibility that they may be ruining Dean’s life by coming to see him. He doesn’t want to crush Sam’s hopes…well, what few hopes he’s actually expressed. But it’s there, and he knows it. Maybe Dean is living happily with Lisa, with his pseudo-kid. Maybe, without Sam, he finally has the chance to be a father. A normal guy. The hunter’s life, it wears on you. The Winchesters probably aren’t an exception to that.
Still, Gabriel steps up to the front porch, and he rings the doorbell while Sam hovers at his shoulder, expression pinched. There’s a shout from inside – sounds like it could be a kid – and then approaching footsteps.
Dean Winchester opens the front door. His eyes are red-rimmed, and, as the door swings open, Sam makes a soft, alarmed noise.
Gabriel opens his mouth to say “hello”.
He gets a fist in the face for his trouble. See if he’s ever polite to Dean again.
Gabriel stumbles back, only to stop, abruptly, as Sam catches him and keeps him from going off the side of the porch. He doesn’t say anything as Gabriel ruefully massages his aching jaw, and Dean shakes his fist like punching people has become a foreign action. Maybe it has, if he’s been living the good life with Lisa.
“You fucker,” Dean says, and Gabriel holds up his other hand in a vain attempt to shield his face from further damage. “I thought you were dead, Sam. I thought…” Dean slumps against the edge of the doorframe, eyes haunted. “You have no idea what I’ve been through.”
“You have no idea what I’ve been through,” Sam counters easily. “Or Gabriel.”
“Why the fuck is he here?”
“Because he’s been taking care of me. I haven’t been…I’m not myself. Dean. Something’s wrong.”
Dean swallows; Gabriel isn’t sure (his eyes are still watering from the pain), but he might be crying.
Slowly, Sam lets go of him, gently nudging him off to one side as the two brothers stare at each other. Then, in one seemingly concerted movement, they both take a step forward. Dean’s arms come up, his fingers curling jaggedly against Sam’s shirt. Sam’s expression is a mixture of awkward familiarity and some deep, aching longing that Gabriel doesn’t recognize. It is, he thinks, something like losing your right hand, and then, afterward, being confronted with people who still have their hands. Not quite jealousy, but a physical acknowledgement of something that’s missing.
Gabriel feels out of place. He turns, still rubbing his jaw, preparing to…he doesn’t know. Head back to the 7-Eleven, he supposes. Maybe he’ll grab himself a bottle of water and then call a cab to take him back to Kripke’s Hollow…
“Wait.”
Gabriel freezes. He doesn’t see Sam and Dean part, uncurling from each other like commas, but he can picture it in his head.
“I thought you said you would stay?”
“What? Sam, let the douche go.”
“He’s not a douche, Dean, he’s…” Sam closes his eyes, briefly – when he opens them again, he’s looking at Gabriel, not at his brother. “He saved me. He’s still saving me. I don’t think I’d be myself if he wasn’t around.”
Saved me. Not “saved my life” or “saved my sanity”, but me. Is if Gabriel has somehow reached into Sam and rescued his soul from the torment it no doubt suffered in Hell. As if Gabriel has that much power.
Dean’s lips are thin and bloodless, pressed together in an unhappy frown as he glances, first at Gabriel, then at his brother. The sound of clinking plates and a young boy talking drift out of the open door. The sounds of a normal life.
“…Well, come in, then,” is the final verdict, and Gabriel pulls his hand back from his jaw in mute amazement. “But if you do anything…”
“I can’t do a damn thing, Winchester,” Gabriel interrupts. “Guess you didn’t understand me when I said former archangel.”
Dean doesn’t answer, and his expression of silent discontent doesn’t change…but when Gabriel takes a step forward, Dean takes a step to the side, and allows him, and Sam, to pass beyond into the bright sanctuary of the house, and the life that he has been halfheartedly trying to build for himself.
~
Lisa Braeden is a good person. She’s a strong mother, and when Dean tells her that his brother is back from the dead she doesn’t ask questions. She doesn’t demand to know what’s going on, only gives Dean a look that strongly implies her displeasure with the whole matter, and then takes her child and leaves. Gabriel hears the door slam, but doesn’t see it – he’s sitting on the couch in the living room with Sam, their thighs touching.
“She’s just going to stay at a hotel for the night,” Dean says. He’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest - his voice is rough, but Gabriel can’t tell if it’s from sadness, or anger, or just good old-fashioned whiskey. There are, he notices, quite a few empty bottles on the kitchen counter – he can’t see all of it, but he can see enough. “Sammy…”
“I know, Dean.”
“You don’t know. I have done everything to try and find you. I’ve read so many books, Sam, I’ve researched so many spells…”
“You promised you wouldn’t.”
“Yeah, well, I lied. Did you seriously expect me not to look for a way to bring you back?”
“I think I hoped you would.”
“I need a fucking drink,” Dean whispers.
“You’ve had enough to drink,” Gabriel speaks up. Both Dean and Sam glance at him, Sam with measured calmness, Dean with simmering anger.
“Don’t you dare tell me that I’ve had enough,” Dean snarls. “After everything I’ve been through, after everything you did, everything Sam did…Don’t tell me that now Sam’s alive again everything will be perfect.”
Gabriel frowns. “Everything isn’t perfect. Hate to say it, but dear Sam’s got a few screws loose, still. Don’t know how to explain it.”
“Try.”
“Everything is…muted.” Sam stumbles over the words, as if he isn’t sure that they’re the right ones, but he can’t think of anything else that works. “Everything is dull. It’s like looking at things…feeling things through a layer of saran wrap.” Sam takes a deep, shaky breath. “It’s…easier, around Gabriel. Sometimes I feel happy, or…I mean, sometimes I feel. But other times I don’t. But I remember…before Gabriel, there wasn’t anything. Just a long walk.” A pause, and then, “Gabriel thinks that if you call Castiel, he’ll come. That he’ll fix me if you ask.”
“He sure as hell didn’t fix when we asked,” Gabriel mutters. “But since you two are best buds…”
“I haven’t talked to Castiel since…” Dean trails off, but Gabriel hears the implication - since you died. “Why should I, Sam? Why should I do anything?”
Sam opens his mouth to speak. Gabriel gets there first.
“Because he asked for you,” he says, and Dean stills. “He almost didn’t want to bother you, by the time we got here, but the first sane, conscious thing he said to me was ‘where’s Dean?’ Because I’ve been thinking this whole time that you were the key to making him better. Are you really going to turn him away? Maybe it’s been two months of misery for you, asshole, but try and remember, from your own experiences, that a single day in Hell is like a week. Sam has been through too much for you to turn your nose up at him now. He’s heard God. How many people do you think survive that?”
“And what about you?” Dean demands. “Because I still don’t trust you as far as I can throw you. How do I know that this isn’t some sort of trick?”
“You’ll just have to trust me.” Dean snorts. “Sam did, after all.”
They, all three of them, lapse into contemplative silence. Sam occasionally moves, as if he wants to touch Gabriel but doesn’t dare to do so in front of his brother. Gabriel tries not to feel too disappointed by that.
Dean stares at some distant point, vaguely in the direction of the kitchen. Maybe he’s counting empty bottles. Maybe he’s cataloguing how many full ones are left. Whatever it is he’s thinking, though, eventually results in a soft grunt as Dean pushes himself away from the wall he’s been leaning against.
“Don’t blame me if Cas doesn’t answer,” he says, and, for the first time in days, Gabriel finds himself breathing a sigh of relief.
Slightly less than fifteen minutes later, Castiel arrives with the same amount of pomp and circumstance as when he showed up at Gabriel’s (Chuck’s) front door – which is to say, not much. Dean comes back from the kitchen, looking marginally less unhappy than before, and by the time he takes a seat in the easy chair across from the couch, he has an angel looming just behind him, peering over his shoulder.
“You have arrived,” Castiel says, and Gabriel snorts.
“Thanks, Captain Obvious.”
Castiel frowns. “Nothing has changed.”
“Depends on what you’re talking about.”
Castiel exhales noisily through his nose. It’s almost a sigh, and Dean, upon hearing it, smiles quietly to himself. Sam’s expression does not change - it remains calm, attentive, but…unaffected. “Sam. Sam has not changed. I thought that…” Castiel shifts his shoulders, looking…uncomfortable? Gabriel stares at his brother. “I appear to have been laboring under a misapprehension.”
“Explain,” Dean demands, and Castiel draws himself up to his full height, nostrils flaring.
He is quiet for a long moment, and then, “I thought that Sam’s trauma was a lingering result of hearing the voice of my Father. I thought that…reuniting him with you, Dean, would…aggravate his condition. Gabriel reassured me that it would help, but…nothing has changed. Sam remains…damaged.”
“I’m going to go out on a limb and say that that sounds bad,” Sam murmurs. Gabriel hesitates, and then carefully lays his hand overtop Sam’s. He gets a nod of thanks in return, and measured silence from Dean. Gabriel tries not to overanalyze it, but it’s…difficult.
“Fix him,” he says, and Castiel shakes his head. “No, don’t you look at me like that, fix him. You’re this big power in Heaven now, you have to…”
Castiel shakes his head again, and Dean…
Dean all but lunges up and out of his chair, spinning around grabbing hold of the lapels of Castiel’s coat. Gabriel is interested to note that Castiel, although he doesn’t allow himself to be moved by Dean’s anger, also does nothing to try and prevent it.
“You son of a bitch,” Dean says, low, wrathful. “Tell me what’s wrong with my brother.”
“I don’t know.”
“Then find out.”
“It is not so simple as that.”
“You’re lying,” Gabriel says. Immediately, both Dean and Castiel fall silent, turning to look at him. Castiel’s expression is neutral. Dean’s is hopeful. “And here I thought that you’d gone back to Heaven with a clean slate. Looks like I was wrong. It is as simple as that…but it’s going to be painful. Imagine the worst pain you’ve ever felt, and then multiply it by three. That’s how much it’s going to hurt.”
Sam blinks. “It sounds like you’re going to…open me up or something.”
“Almost,” Gabriel allows. “It’ll involve some digging around. Maybe not physically, but in every other way that matters.”
“You have been through enough pain,” Castiel says. “If I were allowed some time, I could find an alternative…”
“What if we don’t have time?” Dean asks. “What if…what if he’s got some sort of demon parasite in him that’s making him not care? Christ, Cas, what if this kills him?”
“It is unlikely to cause Sam’s death.”
“But you don’t know that for sure.”
“…No. I do not.”
“Dean,” Sam says. “I don’t know if I’ll even…experience it, the way I used to. The pain, I mean. If this will tell us what’s wrong with me…”
Dean takes a deep breath. Gabriel wishes he could rouse himself to anger, to happiness that, maybe, they’ll finally be able to figure out what’s wrong with Sam and fix it, but all he feels is a slow, creeping sense of apathy. There’s the possibility that, soon, Sam will be normal again. Whatever it was that drew him to Gabriel in the first place, whatever it was that let him feel at least marginally like himself in Gabriel’s presence…that’ll be gone, and one enthusiastic, but ultimately disappointing, handjob in a motel shower won’t be enough to convince Sam that Gabriel is worth keeping around.
But…
“Tell me what I need to do,” Dean says, and Castiel, after a moment, nods reluctantly.
~
It’s less what Dean needs to do, and more what Dean has to keep himself from doing.
“The pain will be unimaginable,” Castiel says. “Gabriel was correct on that point. It may be best for you to remain in another room…”
“I’m staying,” Dean says, even as Gabriel takes a cautious step closer to the bed where Sam is lying. His wrists are tied haphazardly to the bedposts – to keep him from flailing about, Castiel had said. To keep him from injuring himself. To keep him from accidentally injuring one of them.
“So am I,” Gabriel says softly, and leans over the edge of the bed. He doesn’t touch Sam, but he stays close, and keeps his voice soft as he says, “But are you sure about that?”
“When I’m better,” Sam murmurs, “I’m going to kiss you. And I’m going to enjoy it properly, this time.”
“You’re just saying that.”
“I’m just a little off, Gabe, not broken entirely. Stick around and you’ll see how much I mean it.”
“I require something for Sam to bite down on,” Castiel says, and Gabriel reaches immediately for his belt – a belt that Chuck once wore, but now, he supposes, belongs to him. He slips it free of the denim loops and then neatly folds it in half, holding it up. Sam maintains eye contact with him as he leans forward and sinks his teeth into the leather – Gabriel feels at once aroused and perturbed. He takes a step back. His palms are sweating.
“I hate being human,” he says. Dean glances at him.
“Yeah, about that. You and I have to talk.”
“About the apology you owe me, for punching me in the face? Yeah, I can get behind that.”
“No, about…Sam. I’m not stupid, Gabriel. You’ve spent the last, what, month and a half with him? Two months? I see what’s…” Dean takes a deep breath, nose wrinkled like he smells something unpleasant. “What’s happening.”
“Oh. That. I doubt you’ll have to worry about that.”
“It’s Sam. I always worry.”
They both watch as Castiel deftly pulls up Sam’s shirt (Gabriel had debated long and hard about buying Sam button up shirts, but in the end he had decided that the tiny buttons might be too much for Sam to handle, especially back in the beginning, when even things like forks and shoes confused him). Castiel’s hand seems small against Sam’s chest – a testament, Gabriel thinks, to how large Sam actually is, how broad.
“If there is a place that you enjoy, you might want to go there. In your mind,” Castiel murmurs. Sam closes his eyes – his lips almost seem to form words around the belt clenched between his teeth. Just do it, it looks like, and Castiel’s expression smoothes out, and he plunges his hand forward.
It isn’t like watching someone push their hand through tissue paper – Gabriel has never seen this act performed from the perspective of a human, and he’s surprised by how different it looks, without the aid of angelic senses. Sam’s chest swells with light as Castiel digs his fingers further in, and it’s less like watching someone push through a solid thing, and more like watching someone reach into a deep pool of dark water. Gabriel can’t see what’s going on inside of Sam, inside of his metaphysical being, but he can see the ripples edging outwards across Sam’s chest as Castiel searches for…something. Anything.
He’s so distracted by the spectacle of it that he almost doesn’t hear Sam.
It isn’t screaming. It isn’t sobbing, shouting, or swearing. The sound that Sam is making is not a sound that should be emerging from a human’s mouth when his soul is being rummaged through.
It’s a whimper.
Nothing more.
The whimpering does not grow any stronger or weaker as Castiel patiently combs through whatever is going on inside of Sam, but at least it stops when Castiel, apparently finished, finally pulls his hand away. Sam’s skin flows back together, like nothing ever happened, and Sam opens his eyes. The sound stops.
“This is a problem,” Castiel murmurs, and Dean immediately leans forward, movements jerky, worried.
“What? What’s a problem?”
“His soul.”
Gabriel feels his heart thump painfully in his chest, one sharp, staccato beat of panic.
“What?”
Sam’s soul. Gabriel’s spent all this time thinking it was something that he carried back with him from Hell, he hasn’t really considered the possibility that it was something he didn’t carry back. Souls are serious business. The soul is like a…a human’s moral center. It’s their spiritual and ethical brain.
It’s what allows humans to feel. To emote. To experience. Without it, they just…exist.
“What’s wrong with his soul?” Dean demands. “Cas, what’s going on?”
“It is…not entirely missing.”
“Not entirely?”
“Wait,” Gabriel says, “wait, just…it’s still there?”
“Mostly.”
“What the fuck is mostly supposed to mean? How do you lose part of your soul?”
“Dean, please make an attempt to remain calm.”
“Remain calm?”
Gabriel doesn’t say anything else, for the time being – he just steps up to the bed and carefully pulls his belt from between Sam’s teeth, setting it down at the foot of the bed.
“How are you feeling?” he asks, and Sam barks short, unamused laughter. “Right. How are you feeling physically?”
“Like I just got hit by a truck. It’s weird, though – it hurts more now than it did when he was actually…” Sam frowns. “I really don’t want to say ‘inside of me’.”
“Sounds a bit awkward,” Gabriel agrees. “Hey. Don’t worry. We’ll get it back. Whatever you’re missing, we’ll find it again.”
“That will be easier said than done.”
Gabriel glances up at Castiel, frowning. “Why’s that?”
“Because we have no way of knowing where the missing piece of Sam’s soul has fled. It could be anywhere.”
“Maybe even still in Hell,” Dean says faintly. “Oh God.”
“There are always ways around things,” Sam says. “Isn’t there a way to…I don’t know, track it?”
“No precise way.”
Gabriel reaches up, beginning to untie Sam’s wrists from the bedposts. Dean looks uneasy, but he doesn’t move to stop him. “Then we’ll have to go with imprecise,” Gabriel says. “Make do with what we have.”
“What we have is Sam. Theoretically, he should experience some sort of reaction upon coming into close proximity with the missing portion of his soul, but there is no telling what that reaction is, or whether it will even be strong enough to measure.”
“A reaction,” Sam says faintly. “And we don’t know what it is, or if…any of you, if I’ll be able to even notice it. So we basically have…nothing.”
“I will make inquiries,” Castiel says. “I do not have as much sway in Heaven as Dean thinks, but I have some. I have other duties, but I will find out what I can.”
“Wait.” All three of them turn to look at Dean. Gabriel works the last of the knots from the nylon cord binding Sam’s wrist, and Sam flexes his hand in response, trying to restore bloodflow faster. “What kind of reactions?”
“I have already said…”
“No, I get it, Cas, but just…give me a sample platter. Like, is falling down and frothing at the mouth out of the question, or is it going to be more subtle, like a…like an itch?”
“Both are possible,” Castiel concedes, “but the reaction will likely be neither extreme nor subtle. “
“It’ll take the middle ground,” Sam sighs. “Well, that’s something.”
“Something,” Dean repeats. “Something like…feeling more like yourself the closer you get to something? Or someone?”
“I do not understand,” Castiel says.
But Gabriel gets it. And, after a moment, it’s obvious that Sam does, too.
“I don’t know how long I was wandering around, after I was brought back…but I do know that I don’t remember anything before I found Gabriel. It’s just this huge blank. And I know that…when Gabriel is nearby, I feel…I feel. Not all the time, but…enough that it can’t be a coincidence. It can’t.”
Castiel pulls back, looking thoughtful. Dean watches him intently, until, eventually, the angel shakes his head and asks, “Gabriel, how were you brought back?”
“Oh, sure, ask about a guy’s most personal moment.”
“It is important.”
“Coyote didn’t exactly explain it to me, you know.”
“But you are at least partially aware of the process, based on your experiences with the pagan gods?”
Gabriel shrugs. “I can tell you that bringing someone back to life involves retrieving their soul and recreating their body.”
“And in the case of a creature that does not have a soul? Such as yourself?”
“Oh, thanks. In the case of there not being a soul, I guess you’d use whatever’s handy. Grace, or ether, or you’d end up taking bits and pieces from the…” Gabriel trails off, disbelieving.
“…from the dead,” Castiel finishes.
“Wait,” Dean says, “so I’m right? Sam’s soul is…?”
“Possibly inside of Gabriel. There is really only one way to be sure.”
“Fuck,” Gabriel says. “You’re gonna have to go digging through me now, aren’t you?”
Castiel looks apologetic; Dean looks positively gleeful.
Sam only looks concerned.
“You don’t have to do this,” he says, and Gabriel snorts.
“Bullshit. I’m not going to leave you a soulless husk for the rest of your life.”
“Partially soulless,” Castiel corrects.
“Whatever. I just…can’t do it.” He gestures towards the bed, and then, when Sam doesn’t move, Gabriel pushes at his shoulder, urging him to stand up. Slowly, and hesitantly, Sam does. “So, here goes. Castiel, you have permission to dig around in whatever it is that passes for my soul, and if you find anything that belongs to Sam, you can go ahead and take it out.”
“Wait.” Dean holds up a hand, frowning. “Won’t that just…leave Gabriel in the same position? I mean, I’m all for causing him excruciating amounts of pain, but I don’t want him running around missing part of…whatever it is that he has.”
“There is no way of being sure,” Castiel murmurs. “Gabriel is possessed of a human body, but his…for lack of a better word, we shall refer to it as a ‘soul’…is made up of not only the souls of the dead, but also his Grace. It will not be like…” Castiel pauses, seeming to struggle to find a comparison.
“It won’t be like taking a part out of a computer and putting it in another one,” Dean suggests, and Castiel, after a moment, nods, although Gabriel isn’t sure if it’s because he agrees or because he doesn’t fully understand.
“Gabriel, don’t do this,” Sam says. “You might end up like me.”
“At the risk of sounding like a clichéd asshole, that’s sort of a risk I’m willing to take. You’ve still got opportunities ahead of you, Sam. You still have…I don’t know, a chance at finding love, or money, or whatever it is that humans want these days. Me? I’m nobody. I don’t exist, Sam. I don’t have a real name, a birth certificate, a social security number…”
“We could get you all of those things.”
“Yeah.” Gabriel smiles sadly as he pushes Sam a little further from the bed, then carefully lays himself down. “I guess you could. But would it be worth it?”
“For a dude who got brought back from the dead, you’re awfully fucking whiny,” Dean mutters. And then, slightly louder, “You heard the guy, Cas. Go to town.”
“Sam,” Castiel murmurs. “Please restrain Gabriel’s wrists. Dean, retrieve that belt. Ensure that Gabriel does not bite off his own tongue.”
“Woah, what?”
“Sam’s reaction was not typical. Gabriel will likely experience a far greater amount of pain.”
Sam’s hands (big hands, hands that held Gabriel upright while the hot water pounded down around them) clamp around Gabriel’s wrists, pulling them up to the bedposts. Gabriel tries not to flex or lean away when he feels the cords being wrapped around his wrists. He scowls as Dean holds up his belt, still marked with the imprint of Sam’s teeth.
“Good luck, I guess,” he says, and Gabriel reluctantly opens his mouth, and sinks his teeth into the leather.
“Think of home,” Castiel says quietly. “Think of Heaven.”
Sam is watching him. He doesn’t look away, or close his eyes as Castiel’s hand first touches, and then sinks into Gabriel’s chest.
The last thing that Gabriel sees, before the pain overcomes him, is Sam’s expression, slowly morphing from careful neutrality into something almost like horror.
~
The first thing that Gabriel remembers, upon waking up, is the pain. The horrible, unimaginable pain. He still has nightmares about the pain of having his Grace pierced, the day he died, the agony of his wings first igniting, and then exploding to leave their ashy fingerprint upon the floor - this pain isn’t that bad, but it’s close.
He opens his eyes, groaning softly. Something feels different. Something’s changed.
“You’re awake,” he hears. “We were starting to wonder if…if something’d gone wrong.”
Slowly, the world around him comes back into focus, like clearing rain off of a camera lens. First there’s nothing but blurry shapes and colors, and then, after a moment, things sharpen into recognizable objects – the nightstand beside the bed, the overhead light…
Sam’s face, hovering over him.
He’s smiling.
“Hey,” Gabriel says, but it comes out as more of a groan. Sam’s face disappears for a moment, and then, a moment later, there’s a hand pressing a cold glass against his lips, nudging his mouth open. It isn’t Sam’s hand, but Gabriel is too tired, too sore, to complain – he waits for the glass to tip up and then guzzles the water. He chokes, more than once, but he can’t seem to bring himself to stop. The water is so cold. So good.
“Dean, you’re gonna drown him.”
“Christ, Cas wasn’t kidding when he said it would hurt, huh? I mean, you sort of made it look like a cakewalk.”
“I was missing a piece of my soul.”
The glass tilts back, taking the little water that remains with it. Gabriel lists pitifully after it. “I’m thirsty,” he says – his voice is little more than a croak, but the words are recognizable. “Please.”
“You’re gonna choke yourself.” That’s Dean’s voice. Sam is the one who is leaning over him, peering at him, but Dean is the one who isn’t giving him more water. Asshole.
“I won’t,” he promises. He is distantly aware of the fact that he sounds petulant, almost childish, but he can’t bring himself to care. He needs something to drink. Water. Soda. Something. Anything. If he could just have some ice to suck on, he’d be fine. He knows it.
“Gabriel,” he hears, but it’s distant and soft. He can’t tell if it’s Sam’s voice or Dean’s. Or Castiel’s. Or the Pope’s, for all he knows. “Gabriel, stay with us. C’mon Gabriel, you’re fine, you can…”
“Castiel said he would need a lot of rest.”
“But it’s been two days.”
Gabriel’s eyes slip shut.
He doesn’t hear anything else.
He doesn’t know it at the time, but he sleeps for another day and a half, lying there in the bed that Dean shares with Lisa Braeden as if dead, or comatose. He doesn’t move except for the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathes.
Sam remains with him the entire time…but that’s another thing he doesn’t know. All he knows is that, when he next opens his eyes, it is to the sight, once again, of Sam’s face hovering over him.
“Awake again,” Sam says. For a moment Gabriel experiences an odd sense of disconnect – he sees Sam’s lips moving before he ever hears the words leaving his mouth, but then the world abruptly snaps back into order, leaving Gabriel’s head spinning. It soon passes. “Gonna stay with us this time?”
“Maybe,” Gabriel groans. His throat feels dry, but it doesn’t hurt to talk. “What happened?”
“You’ve been asleep for almost four days. Castiel said it would take a lot out of you, but…”
“What would take a lot out of me?”
“Your soul-ectomy,” he hears. Dean’s voice, but he can’t see Dean’s face. Which is good, because he thinks he might throw up if he sees the elder Winchester’s face right now. “Craziest thing I’ve ever seen, no lie.”
“I think I remember.” Gabriel closes his eyes, blocking out Sam’s concerned face. He tries to reach back, apparently almost four days back, and…
And it all comes rushing at him at once, like a tidal wave or a rockslide. It’s a barrage of information – Coyote and Raven and the others, his rebirth, the long walk, finding Chuck’s phone number, learning how to shave and how to make sandwiches and oven pizzas, and then Sam, Sam showing up at the door to an abandoned house that Gabriel was, essentially, just squatting in, Sam raving about the sky, Sam having nightmares and some days not even sleeping at all, but slowly getting better, slowly, until the day that Sam had made a list of things they would need if they were to go and see Dean…and then the motel, standing under the pounding water, Sam pressing a kiss to the curve of Gabriel’s neck, Sam touching him but not allowing himself to be touched, and Sam’s soul, fractured, a missing piece buried inside of Gabriel by the design of God or by simple coincidence of gods, and…
“Am I different?” he asks, although he knows already that “different” is a relative term. Regardless of whether he can now be considered soulless, he will always be different. He’s a former archangel – that’s really the best word, isn’t it? Different?
A seed of panic blooms in his chest when neither Sam, nor Dean, answers right away.
“Am I,” he starts to repeat, but then stops, and forces himself to swallow.
“Not the way you think,” Sam says. “Breathe, Gabriel. It’s going to be okay.”
“It’s not going to be okay if I’m running around without a part of my soul,” he counters. “I’m human, now, that’s sort of a big deal.”
“Except for the part where your soul is like a piece of silly putty,” Dean chimes in. Gabriel blinks up at the ceiling, at Sam’s face, and then struggles, vainly, to sit up. Sam eventually has to help him, carefully putting one arm behind the small of his back and lifting. Gabriel simultaneously resents and appreciates the gesture, something that Sam, perhaps, senses – when Gabriel is able to keep himself upright on his own, Sam pulls his arm back.
“Sam?” he asks, “are you…?”
“I’m normal again, if that’s what you’re asking. I feel…everything.”
“And me?”
“I watched Castiel pull the piece of my soul out of you,” Sam says. “What you’ve got inside you…it’s like a puzzle made of water. When Castiel took part of it out, the rest sort of…filled up the empty space.”
“Like silly putty,” Dean says.
“Well, maybe, but it’s sort of more…grand than that, isn’t it?”
“I’m just calling it as I see it, Sam.”
Gabriel tries to raise a hand to make them pause – he has the feeling that if he allows them to continue to argue, they’ll be at it all night – but his limbs feel weak, almost hollow, like he’ll fall apart at any second. The movement attracts their attention, though, and that’s enough.
“So I’m…?”
“Congratulations, asshole,” Dean says. “You’re still a real boy.”
“You make it sound so fabulous,” Gabriel mutters, and Sam…
Sam is smiling. Gabriel’s noticed it before, but he hasn’t really looked at it. Sam is smiling, a real smile that’s lasting longer than fifteen seconds at a time. His eyes are clear and focused. His expression is fond, and Gabriel is suddenly struck with a desire to know.
“Did Castiel say anything about...?” Gabriel makes a motion with his hand (vague, more due to his lack of strength than any desire to be coy for Dean’s sake), but Sam seems to get the idea quick enough - first he stares, but then realization slowly dawns across his face.
“Oh. Oh. It was, uh, something to do with the part of my soul that I had left trying to…reach out, I suppose, but every time it did it found your soul attached to mine, so it kept rejecting it. That’s why I would get better, then get worse again. Cas didn’t really go into detail, he said something about…business in Heaven.”
“And Hell,” Dean chimes in, but Gabriel is hardly listening. “There’s something going on in the Pit, but he wasn’t specific. Me, I’m staying out of it. Sam’s back, he’s alive, so I’m done with Hell. Done.”
“So everything is normal now,” Gabriel pushes. “Everything is fixed.”
“Everything.”
“Then you promised me something, didn’t you?”
It takes Sam a few minutes to remember what Gabriel is talking about – it’s sort of understandable, he’s been unconscious days, but he still feels a pang of unease when Sam doesn’t immediately know what he’s talking about. Did he forget so easily? Is it that there’s just been so much else happening?
Is he having second thoughts, like Gabriel had predicted?
But then Sam’s expression clears, and Gabriel feels something in his chest ease, like he’s been clenching his fist for days, and now he’s finally been allowed to rest.
“Yeah,” Sam murmurs, and, despite the sudden noises of protest coming from his brother, he kneels on the bed and leans over Gabriel, their mouths bare inches apart. “I did, didn’t I?”
“Oh, dude, that’s just wrong. You’re gonna make out in my bed? Really?”
“I thought you’d be done with me by now,” Gabriel says. Sam’s eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles.
“That’s something we’re going to have to work on.”
“After we ask Castiel to tell us about what’s going on in Hell,” Gabriel amends, and Sam blinks.
“It’ll happen,” is all he says, and then he leans forward and, ignoring Dean’s increasingly loud sounds of dismay, he fits his mouth to Gabriel’s in a slow, lingering kiss. They aren’t exactly rutting on the bed, but Gabriel can still feel Sam’s interest in the kiss, the eager movement of his lips, the way his body lists forward instead of back.
For the first time in months, Gabriel feels as though his hopes have finally been justified. There are still problems – there will always be problems, whether they have to do with Heaven, or Hell, or them as…whatever it is that they are, these days. But problems can be solved. Which means, Gabriel thinks, that the hardest part has finally come to pass.