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The sun is beginning to pierce the horizon when Sam finally gets back to the apartment. It’s been a long night and an even longer hunt, and all he wants to do is pass out on his bed and sleep for at least twelve hours, but he still has things to do. Taking off his mud-covered boots, he heads for his brother’s room to check on him.
Dean’s fast asleep, not even opening a wary eye when the door creaks. His face is pale, his breathing heavy. He doesn’t look worse than he has for the last week, so Sam carefully closes the door and heads for the bathroom.
As he strips off his dirty clothes and turns on the shower, the hunter makes a list of everything he still has to do before he can get some sleep. First of all, he has to write his report for Adriel, detailing every aspect of the hunt. The angel at the head of the Hunters Department is a pernickety asshole, so Sam has to write it now, while he can still accurately remember every detail.
Unfortunately for him, what had looked like multiple hauntings in a poor human suburb of the city turned out to be a poltergeist bound to a freaking shovel, of all things! One single poltergeist sent on his way to the afterlife doesn’t pay nearly as well as a multiple haunting, but Sam is hoping he can convey the difficulty of the hunt in his report and, if Adriel is in a good mood, he might get a small prime out of this. They really need the money.
The hot water running on his skin loosens his tired muscles, and Sam sighs, washing off the dirt and exhaustion of the hunt. Once his report written, he’ll have to send it to the Department. Fortunately, one of the perks of living in the angelic city center is that there are mailboxes at every street corner.
Of course, the privilege of living here doesn’t come cheap, especially since Dean’s boyfriend has been called back to the European front and can’t help them with the rent anymore. Castiel is the only reason the Winchester brothers have obtained the legal authorization to take residency in the city center. They had met the angel on a joint operation between the Hunters Department and the Heavenly Army. Castiel and the brothers were sent to investigate demonic omens.
There aren’t supposed to be demons on this continent anymore, most were exorcized when the angels decided to take Earth over, almost a hundred years ago, and the rest fled to Europe were they have regrouped with the rest of the powerful supernatural beings to form the Resistance. To everyone’s surprise, they still haven’t been completely eliminated.
They had found the demon in Wyoming, eventually. In a cemetery. Trying to open a tomb that wasn’t a tomb but really the gate of Hell, though none of them knew this at the time. Sam will always remember the way these yellow eyes had bored into him when the demon had swung them against the tombstones. The creature had been strong, almost stronger than Castiel, but somehow the three of them had managed to overpower him and the angel had sent his twisted soul back into the Pit.
Now that they know what it is, the cemetery is protected. Devil’s traps and Enochian spells are etched all around it, and a small garrison is stationed there permanently. A strange friendship had developed between Dean and Castiel during the hunt, based on trust and mutual respect for each other’s abilities, as well as a small part of attraction. Once they got back to Detroit, they had started seeing each other on a regular basis, and that friendship quickly turned into something else.
Sam doesn’t know exactly what the angel’s feelings are, but he knows his brother well enough to be sure that Dean had been in love with Castiel after only a few weeks. To his credit, the angel took a real interest in Dean’s well being. He called in some favors to get residency rights for both of them, and even found them this place, a nice two-bedroom apartment where the walls aren’t paper-thin, where there’s always hot water and the heaters work without a glitch.
Castiel had spent quite a few nights here (in Dean’s bed mostly), and Sam had grown to like him. But then his garrison was called back to Europe, and Castiel had to leave. That was six weeks ago. Only a few days after, Dean had come down with what was commonly known as Hunter’s Pneumonia. Sam had wanted to send word to Castiel but Dean had strictly forbade it, saying there was nothing the angel could do from all the way across the ocean and that he didn’t want to worry him. Sam still thinks he’s an idiot, but he made a promise to his brother and he isn’t going to break it. At least, not as long as they have the disease under control.
Which reminds Sam he has to swing by the drugstore when he’s out to mail his report, and pick up Dean’s medicine. He shakes his head; now is not the time to be dwelling on the past. The hunter turns the water off and reaches for a towel. He dries himself quickly, runs the towel into the mess of his hair and takes a look at himself in the mirror. There are deep shadows under his eyes, and bruises are starting to bloom on his ribs where the poltergeist had thrown a bookshelf at him.
With a sigh, Sam wraps the towel around his waist and starts brushing his teeth. He’s rinsing his mouth when there’s a loud bang on the door, and Sam pinches the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. What now? With a sigh, he checks that the towel is secure on his hips and walks quickly down the hall to the front door, hoping whoever this is hasn’t woken Dean up.
If there’s one angel Sam wouldn’t want to have to talk to after a sleepless night, it’s Zachariah. So it only makes sense that he would be the one banging on their door at (he checks the old mechanic clock) barely seven in the morning. Zachariah is their landlord. He’s also a very creepy guy. It’s the way he’s wearing his vessel, like a stretched-out suit that he’s just itching to get out of. It always seems to Sam like he’s mere seconds away from shedding his human skin and letting his true form out.
Zachariah’s smile as Sam opens the door is anything but pleasant. It’s trying for polite and enthusiastic, but it manages to come out as alien and predatory. Sam suppresses a shudder.
“Yes?” he asks, his knuckles going white as he grips tightly the towel around his hips. He knows why the angel’s here. He also knows he doesn’t have the money to pay him yet.
“You were supposed to pay the rent two days ago,” Zachariah says. His mouth seems full of sharp teeth to Sam’s exhausted mind.
The hunter sighs, lowering his head. “Just a couple more days, I swear I’ll have the money by then.” He licks his lips. “Please,” he adds, for good measures.
“Sam, Sam, Sam.” Zachariah shakes his head, like he’s sorry, except it’s obvious he isn’t. The angel has something in mind, that much is obvious, but Sam is damned if he knows what it is. “You know I can’t have any of that, don’t you? Can’t be seen doing favors to humans now. I have my reputation and everything.” A flash of white, hungry teeth. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to throw you and your brother out. And with Dean’s health, what a pity.”
Sam’s heart skips a beat. He can’t mean it, right? He can’t just leave them on the street, Dean will never make it if he does. But of course Zachariah can. Even if, as hunters, they have more rights than most, they are still only human. They don’t matter. Maybe if Castiel was here... but the angel is away, unaware of Dean’s poor health.
Sam looks up at Zachariah. His despair must be showing on his face, because Zachariah pretends to feel sorry for an instant. Putting a finger on his cheek, the angel looks at Sam from head to toe, thoughtful. The hunter is very much aware of how little he’s wearing, all of a sudden.
“Maybe we could come to an arrangement,” he muses, and it’s so obvious then that he’s got Sam right where he wants him. And Sam knows, without any doubt, that whatever Zachariah has planned for him, he will do it.
Because what other choice does he have?
***
Sam has heard of Club Rouge. Every human living in Detroit knows of it, even though they’ve never set foot in it and never will. They wouldn’t want to, anyway. The kind of stories you hear about this place...
Officially, Club Rouge is just another private club, members only, where angels can go and relax after a long day. There is alcohol – the kind that would knock any human out in just one drop –, music and ‘exotic dancers’ as they say, and all the staff except for management is human. Human strippers, human barmen and barmaids, human waiters.
But according to the word on the grapevine, the strippers aren’t asked to just strip, and the waiters aren’t there just to serve drinks to the costumers. The stories say that the angels who go to Club Rouge expect sexual favors from the human ‘hosts’, as they call them. But these are just rumors, and when you’ve worked for angels your whole life, like Sam and Dean have, you learn that most rumors about the creatures from Heaven tend to be largely exaggerated.
As it turns out, this one isn’t so much.
Zachariah is responsible for all of the club’s human personnel. He’s upper-management if you will. When Sam accepted to work for him, he was very precise about what would be expected of him as a Club Rouge host. And it might not be as bad as what some of the wildest stories suggested, but still.
Sam glares at his own reflection in the mirror. The backroom is brightly lit, so there’s no way for him to miss how tightly his black leather pants cling to his hips and his ass, how almost transparent his white shirt is. And, above all, he cannot ignore the thick, brown leather collar around his neck, marking him as the property of Club Rouge.
“Enough with the bitchface, boy, you look gorgeous!” Pamela, one of the dancers, smacks his ass as she passes next to him. Sam glares at her, and she just smiles and winks at him.
Sam grits his teeth, but doesn’t say anything. Unlike him, these people chose this line of work. After all, it pays well enough, and here your bloodline doesn’t matter. Most of the good jobs available to humans, such as hunting or being a servant in an angel household, are only available to specific human bloodlines. Vessel bloodlines, to be exact.
Angels, for some reason, can only live on this plane of existence by inhabiting a human body. Much like demons possess a human host, except angels can only take a willing vessel, and only one from specific bloodlines. It is considered a great honor to be asked to be a vessel. The kind of honor you can’t exactly decline, unless you’re particularly fond of seeing your loved ones die in atrocious pain.
“Winchester!” Zachariah’s voice brings Sam back to the present. The angel is standing near the door, grinning at him. “Your shift is about to start. Stop checking out that pretty body of yours and get to work.”
Sam takes a deep breath to calm his nerves. It’s completely uncharted territory that’s waiting for him on the other side of that door, but he doesn’t have a choice. He signed the contract. He’s bound to the club now. The hunter swallows around the lump in his throat, feeling the pressure of the collar on his neck, and nods.
He’s feeling very self-conscious as he steps into the club’s main room. The place is bathed in a dark, reddish light, except for the stage that is brightly lit, so the guests’ attention is drawn to the dancers. But even though most eyes are following the girls’ slow movements in rhythm with the lascivious music, Sam can still feel some of them staring at him.
It’s unnerving, and the hunter tries to ignore it as much as he can while he walks up to the tables he’s been assigned to and starts taking up orders. He scribbles the names of various drinks he’s never even heard of on his notepad and does his best not to wince when a female angel pats his butt appreciatively.
On his way to the bar, he stops at another table to clear away the empty glass and bowl. The angel there is alone, sprawled in his comfortable seat. His vessel isn’t imposing in any way, neither tall nor strikingly handsome (though quite attractive when you really look at him, not that Sam is), but there’s something about the way he looks around the room, eyes wandering on the other angels with an air of amused superiority, something that makes Sam think this isn’t just anyone.
“Can I get you anything else?” he asks, and the angel’s eyes turn to him with an intensity that make Sam’s breath catch in his throat. The angel tips his head on the side, looks him up slowly, taking in the view.
“You’re new,” he says. His tone is amused more than anything, though there’s a little touch of innuendo in there too. Sam’s not really sure how he feels about that. The angel raises an eyebrow at him, mocking, and Sam clears his throat.
“Um, yeah, this is my first day.” Why the Hell is he so nervous? It’s not like he’s never talked to an angel before, even a high-ranking one. But this stranger’s eyes are so intense, it’s like they’re boring into his very soul. Sam bites his lip.
There's a long, tense silence stretching between them before the angel rolls his eyes, breaking the mood. "I'll have a Frozen Cloud and another bowl of caramels," he says. Sam notes it down dutifully, glad to finally have a reason to stop staring at the angel's eyes.
"Coming right up," he breathes, not even sure the angel can hear him with the music filling the club. Sam doesn’t look back at the angel, makes a beeline to the bar instead.
The barmaid looks at his notepad and starts mixing the drinks with a dexterity Sam’s rarely witnessed. “First day, right?” she asks as she pours into one of the glasses a bright blue alcohol, the smell of it almost making Sam dizzy as he nods in answer. “And they gave you sector five to cover? Who did you piss off already?”
“What about sector five?” Sam asks, watching as she adds four spoons of brown sugar into the drink.
“That’s where Harachel always goes, and he’s got a taste for fresh meat.” She looks at him, eyes dead serious. “If he asks you for some alone-time with you, say no. I don’t care how much you need that money, it’s not worth it. You hear me kid?”
Sam nods, gulping. He looks around his sector, eyes falling on the short angel lounging in his seat, all by himself. “Is that him?” he asks. “The lonely angel over there, the one who asked for caramels?”
The barmaid looks up and gives a short, barking laugh. “Good Heavens no! Harachel’s not here yet, maybe if you’re lucky he won’t come in at all tonight. That one there, though, you better take extra good care of him. That’s Gabriel.”
Sam’s head shoots back to her. “Gabriel? The archangel?” His eyes are blown wide in surprise and awe.
“Yup, that’s the one!” she confirms, filling a bowl with delicious-looking caramels. “But don’t worry, he won’t give you any trouble, never does. Truth is, I’m not even sure why he comes here. Never takes advantage of any of the girls or boys, never goes home with a host, he just drinks and eats candy and watches the crowd.”
She shakes her head, puts the bowl of caramels on a tray with the drinks. She quickly tells him what is what so he doesn’t give anyone the wrong drink, and tells him to hurry. The table of the female angel with the grabby hands is starting to look impatient.
He goes to the archangel first, though, brings him his bright blue cocktail and his candy. He can feel Gabriel’s eyes on him, the intensity of his stare, but the angel doesn’t say a word and Sam hurries off to the other table.
He really should have started with them. Actually, he shouldn’t even have stopped at Gabriel’s table on the way to the bar. These angels don’t like to be kept waiting.
“Too long, boy, way too long,” the female angel, a slender, feisty blond tells him. “You’re gonna have to make up for it.” She looks at him haughtily, spreads her legs as far as her short skirt will allow her to. “On your knees,” she demands.
Sam closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. This is what he signed for, what the collar around his neck proclaims to all the angels in the club. They can touch his clothed body anywhere they want, and they can put his mouth to any use they see fit, and he has nothing to say about it.
Slowly, Sam sinks to his knees. As the angel pulls his head between her thighs, he’s glad at least he gets to chose if he wants to follow a guest home after the end of his shift or not. Even though he wouldn’t mind the extra money that would bring him, he doesn’t thinks he’s ready to go that far yet.
This, though? This he doesn’t have a choice about, except the one to take it as a victim or not. And since he’s stuck working as a host for the foreseeable future, Sam decides he’d better get used to it. He’s also going to make sure none of the customers have any reason to complain about him to Zachariah.
Sam raises his hands to her thighs, presses his palms up and hooks his fingers in her underwear, pulls them down. He nips at the white skin of her inner thigh and she barks a laugh, tightens her grip in his hair.
“Enough teasing, boy,” she says, but there’s more amusement than haughtiness in her voice now. “Get to work.” And Sam does.
***
When his shift ends it’s only three, but it feels to Sam like it’s much, much later. He's exhausted, his feet hurt, his knees hurt, his freaking jaw hurts... This job is almost as exhausting as hunting. He spent the last hours catering tables, giving blowjobs and being touched and groped by half the club members. He's had to turn down several proposals for some alone-time.
Harachel, the angel the barmaid (Ellen, that was her name) had warned him about, had't shown up, which is a good thing he guesses. As he trades the club's outfit for his own, much more comfortable clothes in the backroom, Pamela and two other strippers Sam doesn't know yet burst through the doors, laughing.
"Hey gorgeous!" Pamela calls, slapping his ass. After tonight, it doesn't bother Sam as much as it had earlier, though he does give a little yelp and throws what Dean would call a bitchface at her, for good measure. She just laughs more at that. "So, who you gonna follow home, tonight? You seemed to catch a lot of angels' eyes, I noticed." She winks at him.
"No one," Sam says, slamming the door of his locker shut. "I'm not a hooker."
Pamela waves his comment off, like it's nothing, but Sam notices how her jaw is set now. He thinks he might have upset her. He didn't want to sound like he despises what she does for a living, but the truth is, he doesn't think he could ever do it. Not that he has some crazy, romantic view of sex, but for him it's something two people do to share a good time, and to do that with someone he feels no kind of connection with whatsoever, well...
They all leave the club together, the stripers, the bartenders and the hosts, but most of them have someone waiting outside for them. Warily, Sam observes his coworkers meet up with their clients. Pamela walks up to a tall, dark-skinned angel with a slight swing in her step. She looks confident and doesn't hesitate to wrap her arm around his waist when she reaches him. The angel lifts a finger and presses it to Pamela's forehead, and Sam is too far away to hear the rustling sound of wings as they disappear, but knows it from whenever Castiel used to fly in and out of their apartment.
Sam sighs, hoping she'll be okay, and starts walking. He shouldn't worry about Pamela, she's been doing this a long time, and it's her own choice, her own life. None of his business. An old truck passes him and stops a bit down the street. Sam eyes it carefully as he keeps walking towards it. There aren't many cars in the city center. Angels and electricity don't mix very well, which is why most of the lighting in the city is provided by magical means. As he gets closer to the truck, he notices a complex pattern of Enochian symbols etched into the dark metal.
When he reaches the passenger door, he can't help but take a look at the driver. Ellen's looking back at him with a half-smile softening her strong features. "Need a ride?" she asks him. Sam considers refusing –he doesn't live that far away from the club, and it's a warm night– but his legs and feet are killing him. He chews on his bottom lip, unsure, and Ellen's smile grows cheekier. "I won't bite, I swear!"
Sam huffs amusement and opens the truck door. "Thanks," he says as he climbs in. "I appreciate it." He gives her his address, which earns him a long whistle.
"Why the heck are you working at Club Rouge if you have connections high enough to get to live in the city center?" she asks, curious. When Sam doesn't say anything to that, she tactfully changes the subject of the conversation, and they spend the short ride discussing the unusually warm temperatures of the last few years. It's trivial, and it's exactly what Sam needs after that first night.
Ellen drops him off in front of his apartment building, and Sam waves her good night before walking up the stairs to the main doors. The building is quiet at this hour of the night, and his footsteps reverberate in the long, empty hallways. Stifling a yawn, he opens the door to his apartment and drops the keys on the small table. There's a muffled sound coming from Dean's bedroom.
His brother should be asleep, so Sam reaches for the silver knife hidden in his boot and makes his way as silently as possible to the bedroom door. He pushes it open, gets a good look inside. Dean is alone, curled up in his bed. He's coughing. Sam rushes to his side, and Dean squints at him. His forehead is burning under Sam's large hand.
Crap.
"Thank you for coming at this hour, doctor," he says, fighting against the sudden need he feels to just lie down where he's standing and close his eyes.
"Of course I came, you idjit! I wasn't gonna let your brother die on you just because you keep ungodly work hours." Bobby Singer, who's been the Winchesters' doctor since they were kids, gives Sam a slap on the back of the head. "Now I'll write you a prescription for some new meds. But there's only so much I can do, you know. Sooner or later, you're going to need more help than I can give."
"I know, doc, I know," Sam says, pinching the bridge of his nose. Human medicine has yet to find a cure for Hunter's Pneumonia and wherever this virus comes from, it's proven resistant to most angels’ healing powers. There are only a few angels who have the ability to get rid of this disease, and they are both extremely expensive and arrogant. They very rarely go through the trouble of healing humans.
But, sometimes, it actually helps to be one of the best hunters of the North American continent.
"Adriel said that if I can gather the money, he'll get in touch with the Chicago healer, Raziel." Though the help of Sam's superior will do Dean no good if he can't afford the angel's exorbitant rates. And though his deal with Zachariah means he no longer has to pay rent, working at Club Rouge two nights a week also leaves him less time to hunt, thus reducing his income.
Sam can feel a weight in his stomach as he walks Bobby to the door, thanking him again for his help. There aren't a thousand ways to make good money quickly, and deep inside, he knows he doesn't really have a choice anymore. The doctor squeezes Sam's forearm before he leaves, and the heavy door silences his footsteps when it closes behind him.
The clock tells Sam it's already six-thirty a.m. He knows he should write a letter to Castiel right away, have it leave if possible before Dean wakes up and makes Sam swear he'll wait some more. But he's just too tired. There's no way he can write anything coherent right now. Careful to leave his door open so he can hear it if Dean wakes up, Sam undresses quickly and drops onto his own bed. The second his head hits the pillow, he's asleep.
When he wakes up, it's already early afternoon, and the heat in Sam's bedroom is suffocating. This summer is unusually warm for Detroit, and Sam is so glad they don't live in their old filthy, badly isolated building anymore, because he doesn't think he'd have survived that. Stretching his shoulders, he gets up and walks to the window, opens it to get some air in the room.
He finds Dean in the kitchen, wrapped in a thick blanket, his hands wound around a small bowl. He looks terrible, his face pale and sweaty and his lips trembling slightly, but he made it out of bed on his own and apparently managed to heat up some soup, so Bobby's new meds seem to be working.
"Hey," Sam says as he opens a cupboard, looking for some bread. He grabs what's left of the smoked ham while he's at it. "How you feeling?" He finds a sharp enough knife in the drawer and starts slicing the bread and the meat while his stomach reminds him loudly of how late in the day it already is.
"Awful," Dean croaks. His voice is rough, and just that one word sends him into a small coughing fit. Sam watches him carefully, but Dean takes a deep inhale and manages to bring his breathing back to normal. He raises the bowl to his lips, slowly swallows around the warm soup. He sets the bowl down and looks at his brother. "You’re gonna write to Cas, aren't you?"
There's more tired resignation than anger or accusation in Dean's voice, and Sam sets the knife down, rubs a hand on the back of his neck.
"I'm sorry Dean, I don't really have a choice there. You're getting worse, and Castiel has a right to know, even if there's little he can do from where he is."
"I know." It's almost a whisper, and Dean looks away, shielding his eyes from Sam's concerned look. "I just don't want him distracted from the fight, that's all."
They eat in silence, then Sam helps Dean move to the couch and brings him their bag of guns, because even when he's sick there's just no way the older Winchester will spend the day doing nothing. Slowly, carefully, Dean lays the weapons down on the coffee table and starts taking them apart to clean them.
Sam spends the rest of the afternoon between writing to his brother's angel and running household errands such as buying food for the week, paying a few bills, picking up Dean's prescription at the drugstore and washing the sheets of Dean's bed. Boring, mundane stuff that keep his mind off of what was waiting for him that night. His second shift at the club. His first time actually selling his body.
Sam's lips are stretched around a tall, black angel's dick, its weight uncomfortable in his mouth as he sucks on it, when he feels warm eyes on the back of his neck. Years of hunting have sharpened his senses, and he can tell this is not just the semi-interested stare most angels throw at him. This is more intense, more predatory. There's power in the way whoever it is is looking at him.
Power and want. To his embarrassment, Sam feels himself grow hard in the too tight leather pants. It really shouldn't affect him this way, especially not when a definitely male body part is pushing against the back of his throat, trying to get in deeper, but it does.
The hand in his hair tightens, the hips under his palms start moving greedily, and Sam should know what's about to happen, should know to draw back if he doesn't want to choke, but he's so focused on that intense stare boring into the back of his head it's almost too late when he hears the angel grunt somewhere above his head.
He does choke when the angel comes deep inside his mouth, and he ends up coughing as the man huffs in amused laughter and zips up his pants. Slowly, Sam gets back on his feet and reaches for his tray. Trying to act natural, he turns over, searching the crowded club for the owner of that stare.
He can't find them. There's a female, red-headed angel looking at him with lust in her eyes, but there's no way that's what he felt earlier. Somewhere on her left, the archangel Gabriel is sprawled in his seat but doesn't seem remotely interested in Sam. The hunter's been watching him discreetly since he got here, curious, but Gabriel only seems to be observing his fellow angels. Just like Ellen told him, he doesn't even spare a glance at the beautiful dancers, or any of the human hosts, so there's no way he was the one watching Sam.
Taking a deep breath to try and calm himself, Sam gives a last look around and gives up. Instead, he weaves his way through the tables and the bodies to the bar, which takes him right by the archangel's spot. When he passes it, slender but strong fingers wrap around his wrist, efficiently stop him as a jolt of something runs through him.
He looks down at the smaller man, unconsciously licks his lips. Gabriel's eyes quickly flick down to his mouth then back up, but there's only lazy curiosity in the hazel irises. The archangel raises his empty glass and shakes it, making the half-melted ice cubes in it rattle loudly. A raised eyebrow achieves to make his point across.
"Frozen Cloud?" Sam manages to articulate around the sudden tightness in his throat that has nothing to do with the leather collar he's wearing or his coughing fit from earlier.
"Excellent memory, boy," Gabriel says with a smirk. "I like it." He squeezes Sam's wrist a bit before letting his fingers slide off, and Sam tries his best not to look like he's fleeing as he all but runs towards the bar. His skin's too warm where the archangel touched him.
Ellen is too busy serving the customers, so Sam grabs a few bottles and some glasses and puts them on his tray. He has no idea how to make a Frozen Cloud though, so he has to wait for her to have a five second break in the flow of orders so he can ask her to make him one. In the meantime, he takes a bowl from under the counter and proceeds to filling it with the various sweets he can get his hands on.
She must have seen what he was doing from the corner of her eye, because she starts mixing the bright blue alcohol with other stuff without his asking her, and soon enough she's handing him the strong cocktail with a wink. Sam suppresses the blush that threatens to show on his face for no good reason at all and takes the drink, puts it on his tray and gets going.
He makes his way through the tables, serving their drinks to distracted angels (Pamela is dancing, and all eyes are on her as she moves on her impossibly high heels around one of the stage's poles). He's about to move on to Gabriel's table when a broad shoulder hits him, making the blue cocktail slosh in it's glass as he fights to keep his tray horizontal.
Sam looks up at the man who pushed him. He looks up, because that man is a mountain, towering even over Sam, who Dean has been calling a giant since he was fifteen. Even if he hadn't been in the club, Sam would have known the man's an angel by the sheer arrogance showing on his face.
His vessel's features could have been considered quite attractive if they weren't distorted by a self-important sardonic smile. Black hair frames a long, aristocratic face with high cheekbones, full lips are stretched into an unpleasant smirk and thin, green eyes are looking Sam over from head to toe, taking in with obvious delight the leather collar around his neck, the white open-necked shirt and the tight black leather pants. There's something hard and hungry there when the angel's eyes meet Sam's again.
"You're new." The man's voice is sharp and dangerous, and all of his instincts are screaming at Sam to get as much distance between him and this creature as possible. Not trusting his voice, he just nods, then tries to swivel around to go to the archangel's table. But a hand wraps around his arm, too strong fingers keeping him firmly in place. "You will come to me tonight. Name your price." It wasn't a question, more like an order.
Sam swallows around the lump in his throat. He tries to think of a way to decline without pissing the angel off, because something tells him that really wouldn't be a good idea, but his mind is blank. The grip on his biceps is iron-tight, and he can already feel the bruise that's going to form there. He looks down at the hand holding him in place and almost jumps when a much smaller one grabs the angel's arm and pries it away.
"This one is mine tonight, Harachel." The voice is warm and deceivingly amused, but there's a hard edge to it that is impossible to ignore. Sam watches Gabriel reach into the glass bowl on his tray and grab one of the sweets. The archangel makes an appreciative sound when he pops the chocolate-coated candy into his mouth, then wraps an arm around Sam's waist, possessively.
The angel, Harachel, the one Ellen warned him about, grits his teeth as his eyes go from Gabriel to Sam and back. He looks like he's about to argue, but then Gabriel arches an eyebrow and Harachel's jaw sets. Sam's body relaxes in the archangel's grip and he feels strangely at ease, almost safe. Gabriel's warmth seems to wrap around him. Gritting his teeth, Harachel give the archangel a short nod and turns around.
Sam watches him leave, pushing the other patrons out of his way with obvious rage. Next to him, Gabriel chuckles lightly, and when Sam looks down at him the archangel raises an expecting eyebrow. Sam's never met an angel with such a grasp of his or her vessel's facial expression, but then this is the first archangel he's ever seen. Maybe their vessels fit them better somehow? Gabriel is still looking at him like he's waiting for Sam to say something.
"Um, thank you?" he tries. He's not sure why the archangel came to his rescue. Didn't Ellen say he never takes any of the hosts home? Gabriel just smirks and grabs another candy, pops it into his mouth. He lets go of Sam and starts walking back to his table, and when he turns his head to look at the hunter with a raised eyebrow, Sam follows.
Gabriel sits down, watches Sam carefully lay his tray on the table. His eyes are burning Sam's skin, and now the hunter is sure it was the archangel staring at him earlier. Gabriel holds out his hand, and Sam gives him his cocktail. Their fingers meet on the glass, sending a small shiver through Sam's body. The archangel beckons him closer, so Sam bends down until his face is just two inches away from Gabriel's. The angel puts his free hand on Sam's shoulder.
"Do you know who I am, kiddo?" Gabriel asks, eyes boring into the Sam's with a seriousness the human hadn't seen in them before.
"Yes," he says, as calmly as he possibly can with his heart racing in his chest. What he doesn't say is that even if Gabriel wasn't an archangel, even if he didn't have the power to make Sam go with him at the end of his shift, he would accept his offer anyway. He doesn't know why, but he trusts Gabriel.
"You know, if you don't want to, you don't have to..." The archangel licks his lips, like he's nervous about Sam's answer.
"I'm okay with it. That is, if you want to?" Sam tries to stretch his lips into a tentative smile that goes brighter when the archangel nods and smiles back, a soft curl of lips.
"What's you're name, kiddo?" he asks, and he's back to the lascivious, lazy tone he'd used on their previous encounters. Back to his normal self, it seems.
"Sam."
Gabriel's eyes dart to the left and Sam discreetly follows his gaze. Harachel is looking at them from two tables over, glaring. He isn't the only one whose attention is focused on them, it seems most of the angels find them more interesting than whoever's dancing on the stage. Gabriel raises an eyebrow at him, smirking, and Sam just stares back at him.
The archangel must have seen it as some kind of acceptance, or maybe he just thinks he's allowed to do this anyways (which technically he is, according to the terms of Sam's contract). His hand slides from Sam's shoulder to his neck and he pulls him down into a fierce kiss.
Gabriel's mouth tastes like chocolate and electricity, his tongue exploring Sam's mouth with strength and purpose. Sam finds himself responding to the kiss with more intensity than he thought he would, grabbing the archangel's arm to steady himself. His bent position is uncomfortable, but he doesn't seem to care. When they finally break apart, Sam's breath is short.
Gabriel presses his forehead to the hunter's. "Well, Sammy," the archangel smirks, squeezing his neck, gently. "You better go back to your customers. These drinks won't serve themselves, will they?"
Feeling about a hundred eyes on him, Sam reluctantly stands up straight. He isn't sure what happened exactly, but he thinks the archangel might have just claimed him as his in front of everyone. Well, for tonight, at least. Sam sets the bowl of candy on the table and picks up his tray. He gives a small smile to Gabriel, who just waggles his eyebrows at him over the bright blue drink he's now sipping.
The rest of his shift is uneventful. Completely uneventful. No one dares to touch him, they just order their drinks or sometimes ask him to send one of his colleagues over to them. There are no hands feeling up his bum, not even the occasional shoulder brushing against his. It's strange, Sam almost feels like he's got some sort of disease. He gets used to it eventually, though.
When the club closes at three, Sam isn't as tired as he was the previous day. But then, maybe it's just the adrenaline pumping through his veins talking. As he takes off Club Rouge's uniform, trading the tight leather pants and white shirt for comfortable jeans and a plain t-shirt, the collar slips easily off his neck. Sam stares at the band of leather in his hand for a while. There's no turning back now.
"Don't be so nervous!" Pamela chuckles, wrapping a hand around his biceps. "You'll be fine." She smiles at him reassuringly.
"I've never done anything like it before," Sam admits reluctantly.
"Like what, sex with a guy, sex with an angel or sex for money?"
Sam rolls his eyes. "I've had sex with guys before." Though not often, and he always topped. Somehow, he doubts Gabriel, the archangel, is going to let Sam fuck him.
"Just do whatever he asks you to, as long as it's nothing that can get you hurt, and it should be all right. You might even enjoy it." She winks at him before letting him go.
Sam breathes in deeply to steady his nerves, puts the collar in his locker and closes it. A strange mix of apprehension and exhilaration makes his heartbeat quicken as he steps out of the club. His eyes sweep the area before finding the archangel, who's leaning against Ellen's truck, talking to the bartender with his hands in his pockets.
Ellen looks a bit wary, on her guard as she answers to whatever Gabriel just said, but the angel doesn't seem to care that he's making her uncomfortable. His eyes flicker to Sam as the hunter walks up to them, and the corner of his mouth stretches into a half-smile. It's only when Sam's just a few steps away from him that the archangel pushes himself off Ellen's truck.
"Good night, Mrs. Harvelle," Gabriel says without looking at her. Ellen looks at Sam and the hunter smiles and gives her a small nod. It seems to be what she was waiting for.
"Good night," she says before climbing into her truck. Gabriel waits until she drives off before holding out his hand. Sam takes it, his own hand looking huge in Gabriel's small palm, and the angel steps closer.
"Ever flown with an angel?" he asks. Sam nods.
"Yeah." It's almost a whisper, but Gabriel hears him anyway.
"Well, this'll be just a little bit different."
Sam's expecting the two fingers pressed to his forehead, the rush of air around him and the dizziness that always followed whenever Castiel flew with Dean and him. But Gabriel just raises his hand and snaps. His vision blurs as the world seems to move around them, and just like that, they're not in the street anymore.
The view, on the other hand, the view is worthy of Gabriel's status. They aren't in Detroit itself anymore, but probably somewhere near Harrison, and Gabriel's living room opens directly on the shore of Lake St Clair. It's breath-taking, and for a moment Sam forgets why he's here, caught up in the beauty of the moonlight on the calm water.
Gabriel's amused chuckle brings him back to reality, to the situation he's in. To what he's about to do. He turns around to face the archangel, gives him a small, hesitant smile. Gabriel's looking at him with something akin to fondness, and it helps loosen a bit the knot in Sam's stomach.
"Nice place," he says awkwardly. Is small talk part of the protocol, or is he just making a fool of himself? Gabriel's smile isn't helping one bit. But then, didn't Ellen say the archangel never brought hosts home with him? Maybe he's as clueless as Sam is about the whole thing.
"Wanna see the bedroom?" Gabriel asks, wiggling his eyebrows at him. Sam licks his bottom lip, nervous, and nods.
"I guess that's why we're here."
The archangel, who had been leaning against a doorway, straightens up. "I told you, I'm not going to force you to do anything you don't want to, Sam."
"I know!" Sam protests. "I just, I..." How can he say it without sounding like a blushing virgin? "I'm a bit nervous I guess. This is kind of a first, for me." He rubs his neck. So much for not sounding like a giant girl. Dean would be mocking him forever if he could hear him right now.
Gabriel's features soften, and there's that fondness again in the hazel eyes, mixed with surprise and amusement. "We'll start slowly then." He holds out his hand. "Trust me?"
"Yeah." And the strange thing is, Sam really does. As he takes Gabriel's hand and lets the archangel lead him into the bedroom, Sam thinks he'd trust Gabriel with his life. Which scares him, because he barely knows the angel, and Sam grew up knowing that you can't trust anyone who isn't family.
The bedroom is huge and bright and a strange mix between comfortable, impressive and tacky. The king-size bed is covered in red silk sheets and a small mountain of pillows. The walls are an orangey shade of white. On Sam's right there is no wall, just a huge window that opens on the lake shore. With the lights in the room on, Sam can see his own reflection in the glass more than the view.
Gabriel leads him to the foot of the bed and pushes Sam on it before climbing in his lap. Sam's hands settle on the angel's waist and Gabriel grabs his neck, leans forward. Their lips meet, and the knot in Sam's stomach finally disappears. This is easy, uncomplicated, their tongues moving together in a graceful dance. Gabriel's mouth tastes like honey, impossibly sweet and delicious. Their mouths seem to fit together perfectly.
The kiss is deep and passionate, somewhat teasing now and then, when Gabriel's tongue pushes in and out of Sam's mouth in a quick move, but it's never rough, never rushed. One of Gabriel's hands is in Sam's hair, holding on to it, while the other one pushes under Sam's t-shirt to caress his taut stomach. Sam's hands slide up the archangel's back, pulling him closer.
The hunter can feel the low burn of arousal slowly growing in him, can feel his dick start to harden in his jeans as Gabriel pulls the hunter's t-shirt off, breaking the kiss only long enough to get the garment out of the way. Then the archangel's hands are on his chest, brushing his nipples, and Sam moans softly into Gabriel's mouth.
Gabriel starts rocking his hips, grinding his erection against Sam's through the layers of their pants. Sam breaks the kiss then, panting, and Gabriel's sinful mouth latches onto his throat, kissing and licking Sam's Adam's apple, Sam's neck, where the neck meets the shoulder... It's good, so good, until Sam's brain belatedly reminds him he is the one that’s supposed to make the other one feel good, in their arrangement.
"What–" he starts, hissing when he feels teeth sink into his flesh, just not hard enough to break skin. "What do you want me to do?" he eventually manages to ask. Not that he's sure he can do anything other than feel while Gabriel's licking his collarbone, still rolling his sensitive nipples between his deft fingers.
The archangel straightens up, looks into Sam's dark eyes. He cocks his head to the side, like he's pondering his options. "I want you on your hands and knees," he decides.
Sam swallows the small whimper rising from his throat. Gabriel climbs off his lap, sits on the bed next to him and snaps his fingers. The rush of cool air on Sam's suddenly naked skin has him hissing through his teeth. Gabriel's just as naked as him, still sitting next to him, his large dick proudly erected, as hard as Sam's own.
There seems to be an aura of power surrounding the archangel; it wasn't there before, though Sam thinks he might have glimpsed it when Gabriel faced Harachel in the club. There can be no doubt, here and now, to what Gabriel is, no way for Sam to think this is just like when he slept with Brady all those years ago. Gabriel isn't human.
Sam should be scared of these too-bright eyes glowing with power, should be afraid of the inhuman strength in the greedy hands showing him where to kneel on the bed, pushing his head down against the mattress. But all Sam can feel is lust and want. He's never felt so vulnerable, naked and opened like this, ass up and legs slightly spread before a being he knows he'll never entirely comprehend, but he trusts Gabriel, trusts the angel will make it good and hot and sinfully delicious.
There's another soft snap, and Sam wonders briefly if by the end of the night he's going to associate that sound with sex forever. Then a wet finger traces the edges of his entrance, teasing, and Sam's mind stops wandering as he focuses his whole attention to the foreign sensation.
The finger pushes in and Sam tenses up at the intrusion. "Relax," Gabriel tells him, running his free hand on Sam's back in an attempt to soothe him. Sam does his best to unclench his muscles and feels the angel's finger slide in deeper inside him. It wriggles a little bit before finding its target, and Sam's eyes close as it presses a sensitive spot inside him, making him see stars.
Gabriel works him open slowly, moving only one finger in and out of him to begin with, then adding a second one, and even a third one, making sure to brush against his prostate now and then. It's a bit uncomfortable at first, but as his body gets used to the intrusion the strange friction slowly turns into pleasure, and before he knows it Sam's whimpering with need against the mattress.
"You ready for me, boy?" Gabriel's voice is just a little bit breathless, and it sends shivers through Sam's spine.
"Yeah," he moans, and he almost whimpers when the fingers disappear, leaving him strangely empty.
But then there are too strong hands holding his hips, and something thick and hard nudges at his entrance. Sam bites his lower lip as he turns his head to look over his shoulder at the archangel. Gabriel's kneeling behind him, looking straight into Sam's eyes, and the air seems to shimmer around him. Then the angel slowly pushes in and Sam's head drops back down on the mattress.
Gabriel's cock seems even bigger to him now that it's stretching him open than it did earlier. It hurts, just a bit, but somehow Sam doesn't want the angel to stop, doesn't want him to ever stop. He can feel Gabriel's balls brushing against his ass and knows the archangel is fully sheathed inside him, and the image he's seeing in his mind isn't enough, he has to really see it, so he turns his head again.
Gabriel is staring right back at him again. He looks half lost in the pleasure of the moment, half straining not to move, to give Sam some time to adjust to the thick alienness of his cock inside of him. But Sam wants more, wants it all. He rocks his hips just slightly, and Gabriel growls, slides his dick almost all the way out before slamming right back in, hard.
Sam gasps under the suddenness of it. It still hurts, but he knew it would, knew it had to at first, and he starts to move his hips in time to meet the angel's thrusts. Sure enough, the pain starts to ebb away as his pleasure grows, until it's just a small spark of almost-hurt that only makes the friction feel even better. Every thrust now and then reaches that sweet spot inside of him that makes Sam see stars.
Sam's hands are fisting the silk sheets and he moans every time Gabriel pushes inside of him. He can hear the archangel panting and groaning and muttering filthy things as he pounds into Sam, his fingers digging in Sam's hips hard enough that there will be bruises for days there. He feels Gabriel tense up behind him, feels how his thrusts get faster and faster until the archangel buries himself deep into Sam and comes with a shout in which Sam can hear the edge of something otherworldly.
He thinks it might be a sliver of the archangel's true voice.
That thought brings him over the edge, and Sam comes, harder than he can remember ever coming, long white spurts of semen sullying the red silk of the sheets under him, his back arching under the strength of his orgasm.
He must have blacked out for a few seconds, because the next thing he knows he's lying on his back, Gabriel resting on an elbow beside him, fingertips absentmindedly tracing lines and patterns on Sam's chest.
"See, there was no reason to be so nervous, Sammy," the archangel tells him in an amused huff, but there's still that touch of fondness in it. "You did great."
"I don't feel like I did a lot, really," Sam admits. "You were a great help."
Gabriel kisses Sam biceps. "Don't sell yourself short boy, you did plenty. Such enthusiasm... You were delicious."
Sam turns to his side so that he can face the archangel. His hand strays to Gabriel's hip where his fingers start stroking the soft skin. "Well if you ever want my services again, just ask." A subtle –he hopes– way to remind himself more than Gabriel what this is: Sam can't afford to let himself think this could be anything more than a simple transaction.
Gabriel smiles, and if Sam sees any bitterness in the curve of the archangel's lips he's sure it's only his imagination.
"When are you working again?" he asks, and Sam's heart skips a beat.
"Not before Friday." The hunter bites his lip. Gabriel will have almost a whole week to change his mind, to move on to something –or someone– else. But he has no choice, he knows Adriel already has a case for him to investigate, something about a ghoul in Ann Arbor.
"That's way too long," Gabriel pouts. Then he raises an eyebrow, a mischievous gleam brightening his hazel eyes. "Think you can go for another round tonight?"
Sam huffs amusement. "Not right away I'm afraid, but if you can be patient, just a bit, then yes." He bites his lip, thinks of something. "Maybe I could give you a massage in the meantime?"
Gabriel's smirk, in any other circumstances, might have been worrying. "I like the way you think, kiddo. I really do." The archangel leans in, kisses Sam's neck before rolling on his stomach. He grabs one of the discarded pillows and rests his head on it.
As Sam reluctantly sits up, his body aching in places he didn't know could ache, he notices they've managed to scatter most of the cushions that were previously on the huge bed. The bedroom floor now looks like a sea of multicolor pillows, which seems somewhat fitting of the archangel.
Carefully because his muscles are complaining, Sam moves to straddle Gabriel's thighs. He admires the view before him, the lean body, all soft skin and delicate-looking frame. But under this misleading exterior of fragility there's a strength and power that have little to do with muscles.
"Um, do you have some oil or..." he starts asking, but trails off when Gabriel lazily lifts a hand and snaps. Sam's dick twitches slightly at that sound, and the hunter thinks he just might be ready to go at it again sooner than he thought. But there's a bottle of massage oil in his hand now, and a beautiful body under him, and he has work to do.
He uncaps the bottle and smiles at the coconut smell. Of course Gabriel would snap up massage oil smelling like food. He pours some on one of his hands, carefully closes the bottle before rubbing his hands together, warming up the oil. Then he settles them on Gabriel's shoulder blades and damn, his hands look so huge on the small archangel's back!
Gabriel makes a questioning sound and Sam shakes his head, focuses on the task at hand. He starts rubbing the angel's back, kneading the hard flesh until Gabriel becomes all pliant under his fingers. Gabriel is moaning soft appreciation under him as Sam's hands go lower, massaging the small of his back, rubbing now and then that firm, strong ass.
Sam can't help wondering what it would be like to spread the archangel open. Will Gabriel let him do that one day? Will he trust Sam like Sam trusts him, will he let Sam in? He'd probably be so tight around him...
The hunter puts his hands on the mattress, on each side of Gabriel. "I think I'm ready now," he breathes, and the angel gracefully rolls onto his back between his legs to look at him. Gabriel is hard again, and gives Sam's erected dick a look so heated the hunter thinks he just might combust.
"You know," the archangel leers, "you look glorious from here." One of Gabriel's hands grabs Sam's hip while strong fingers wraps around Sam's wrist, drags the human's hand between his own parted thighs. "Are you still loose enough to take me?"
Sam whimpers at the raspy quality of the archangel's voice and easily slides two oil-slicked fingers inside himself. He's never touched himself like this before. It's different from when it was Gabriel's fingers in him, but it feels just as good under the angel's gaze.
Sam puts on a show for Gabriel, just a bit, moves his hips up and down on his fingers, moaning softly. "Yes, Gabriel," he breathes, "I believe I am."
The archangel growls, grabs both of Sam's hips and pulls him forward so that Sam's ass aligns just right with his cock. The hunter lets his fingers slide free and carefully positions himself so that the head of Gabriel's dick rests just against his entrance. Then he just smiles at Gabriel, raising an eyebrow in a silent challenge.
Gabriel barks a short laugh before pulling Sam's hips down and simultaneously pushing his own up, slamming all the way up into Sam, who cries out. They start moving together in a slow rhythm, and Sam can't believe how different this feels from their first time.
The angle isn't the same for starters, but what gets to Sam the most is that this time he can see Gabriel's face. The archangel's eyes are riveting, Sam doesn't seem to be able to look away from them. Not that he wants to, the passion and power he can see there is far too arousing. Gabriel's irises seem to be glowing faintly, a green-golden shine that might be a physical manifestation of his Grace.
As their breaths pick up and pleasure starts building up again in Sam's body, the hunter absently notices how the air around Gabriel seems to shimmer again, like an aura of power and lust and something else, that something otherworldly he's felt before around the archangel. Gabriel isn't beautiful, not in the way Sam's brother or even Castiel are, but there's something about him, especially now in the throes of passion, that makes Sam want to worship him.
It's with that blasphemous realization that the hunter comes, a long, keening moan rising from his throat as he shakes with the intensity of his orgasm. Sam falls on his hands, takes a few deep breaths mere inches from Gabriel's lips before he can think again. The archangel is still buried inside of him, his hands going up and down Sam's back while the hunter recovers. From up-close, Sam can see green and golden sparkles of light in Gabriel's eyes.
The angel growls low in his throat and Sam starts moving again. Their pace increases quickly, and it doesn't take long after that for Gabriel to be shouting in pleasure as he finally tips over the edge, his eyes closing . Sam thinks he looks magnificent.
They lay together for a while, in a tangle of limbs and sheets, Gabriel lazily snapping away the sticky mess Sam left on his stomach. The archangel's neck still smells of coconut, Sam notices as he buries his nose in it. When he stifles a yawn, the hunter remembers he shouldn't fall asleep here. For one he's pretty sure hookers aren't meant to spend the night snoozing in their client's bed. And he has to check on Dean.
With a sigh, Sam slowly untangles himself from Gabriel's arms and legs. The archangel sits up, frowning at him. Sam bites his lip, the nervousness that had somehow disappeared making an unexpected comeback in his stomach.
"I, um, I need to get going." He looks around for his clothes and finds them neatly folded at the foot of the bed. Well, the ones Gabriel snapped off him, at least. His t-shirt lies in a heap a few paces over, where the archangel carelessly threw it. Sam reaches down, grabs his boxer shorts and pants.
Gabriel cocks his head on the side. "You could sleep here if you want. I wouldn't mind." His hair is sticking up at the back of his head.
"I can't," Sam says, pulling his socks on. "Sorry." He gets off the bed, puts his shoes on without looking at the archangel. He takes a deep breath, opens his mouth, then closes it again. He doesn't know how he's supposed to phrase it.
Gabriel spares him. "Your money's on the dresser," the archangel says, snapping. Sam nods and grabs his t-shirt, puts it on quickly. He can hear Gabriel moving on the bed, behind him, and he nervously licks his lips. He thinks they taste faintly of honey.
As he picks up the money from the dresser, an arm wraps around his waist and he feels Gabriel's cheek pressed against his shoulder blade, warm through the thin layer of his t-shirt. It's distracting, and Sam sticks the bills into his jeans pocket.
"Is it okay if I zap you back in front of the club or would you rather I fly you somewhere else?" The archangel's voice is muffled, but it vibrates against Sam's back.
"In front of the club is fine," he breathes, voice low, almost reverent. There's a suddenly tense atmosphere, and Sam sort of wonders if it's like this for Dean, when Castiel has to leave. Though Dean is in love with his angel, and Sam barely knows Gabriel.
"Take care of you, kiddo," Gabriel tells him before letting him go. Sam's about to turn, to say something, anything to the archangel, when there's the already familiar sound of snapping fingers, and the hunter is suddenly back in the street in front of Club Rouge.
Sam doesn't know what time it is, but there's already a dull grayness in the sky in the East, so pretty late he guesses. He starts walking in the waning night, only realizing when he reaches his building that his body doesn't ache at all. He smiles, silently thanking Gabriel for this small attention as he turns his key into the lock. Hunting is already gonna be a bitch on so little sleep.
He only thought of counting the money Gabriel had given him while eating a quick breakfast after a few hours' sleep. Turns out the archangel paid him much, much more than what Sam heard is the going rate for what they did. It's possible Gabriel had no idea how much he was supposed to give Sam, but somehow the hunter can't believe there's anything the archangel doesn't know.
In any other circumstances, Sam would have given him back part of the money. It was way too much, and the hunter didn't feel like he deserved it. But then, in any other circumstances Sam wouldn't have worked at Club Rouge and wouldn't have sold his body to an archangel, would he?
So he folded a few bills back into his pocket and put the rest into their money box before heading out to the Hunters Department's headquarters, where he found out he'd need to drive to Ann Arbor and find someone to keep an eye on his brother while he's gone.
The old Chevy Impala he's driving is one of the fastest cars in the whole region around Detroit. It's covered in runes and spells to make sure it doesn't die from all the angelic interference in the city. Its top speed is 20 mph.
It used to be his father's pride, this car. Now it's Dean's baby. He would probably cringe at the way Sam drives it, all jolts and jerks, his too-long legs not used to the pedals since his brother never ever lets him drive.
Sam stifles a yawn as he passes Ypsilanti. Only a big half-hour and he should be there. Then he'll be able to get out of the damn car and stretch his legs. He'll stop by the motel first, there's one not too far from the cemetery where bodies have been disappearing. Once he's all set he'll go and have a good look at the robbed graves, see if he can pick up a trail and track the damn thing to its den.
Sam hates ghouls. They are filthy, feeding on rotten corpses and taking the shapes of the deceased they eat, scaring off humans when they walk around town wearing the face of a dearly departed, as they say. Also, beheading a creature isn't that easy, especially when said creature is inhumanly strong. Yeah, Sam really hates these fuckers.
"Were all the other ones like this?" he asks the cemetery employee, who's standing next to him, nervously shifting his weight from one leg to the other.
"Yes, all seven of them the same. It's freaky, that's why we decided to call for some city help. Ain't no angels in Ann Arbor sir."
Ah, yes. "I'm not an angel, I just work for one." Well, two really, but the man didn't need to know that. "The Hunters Department rarely sends an angel to a human town for minor ghoul trouble." He touches the dry earth with the tip of his fingers, and adds, "Though maybe this once they should have."
"What do you mean?" The man asks, obviously less nervous now that he knows Sam is human. And really, it kind of amazes Sam that the guy could have thought he was an angel. Living so close to a city such as Detroit, one of the main angel cities on the North-American continent, it's a bit surprising the man's never met one even once in his life.
"I mean that you're not dealing with a ghoul, that's for sure," he says, standing up. It's a good thing the Impala's trunk is always full with their equipment, because this is going to require some serious investigating. "And this is the seventh body to disappear?"
The man nods. "One every night since last week end. No one never saw anything, though we tripled the night shift. Was on watch myself last night. Everything was fine until Finn almost fell into that damn hole. I'd passed there less than ten minutes before and there was nothing. If it's not that ghoul thing, what on Earth can dig so fast, and without making any sound?" He shakes his head, clearly bewildered by the whole thing.
Sam doesn't know, but he's got every intention of finding out. "About what time was it when it happened?" he asks, walking back to his car with the cemetery employee. He opens up the trunk and rummages into it, shoving guns, knives and stakes on the side until he finds the EMF detector.
"Just after three. I checked you see, because Taub said that's about when the previous one disappeared. Figured it might be significant?" The man is watching Sam with bright eyes, eager to have a look at what a supernatural creatures hunter keeps in his car. Or maybe just eager to have a look at the car itself. Sam guesses that in a small angelless town, the chances of there being anyone knowing how to etch the proper spells and symbols to keep a car running so close to Detroit were rather small.
"Might be, might not," Sam answers, slamming the trunk shut after having shoved a few things into a worn messenger bag. "But if whatever this is is a creature of habit, then maybe we can trap it." More importantly to the hunter, it means that Sam might be able to catch a few hours sleep before joining the watch tonight.
The grave only gives out a standard electromagnetic field. Sam takes a few soil samples he'll inspect later for sulfur residue (you meet a demon once, you're careful for the rest of your life) and finally gives up. "Not much more I can do out here." He turns to the cemetery employee. "I'll join your night team around midnight. Whatever this is, we'll catch it."
It's hard to look absolutely sure of yourself when you don't have the slightest idea what's happening, but Sam knows civilians need to see assurance in the people in charge. As the man accompanies him back to his care, he frowns, something occurring to him. "Do you have a list of whose bodies where stolen?"
"The Deputy Sheriff must have one. It's half past five so he's probably already left, but you can stop by the station tomorrow I guess. You think they might be connected?"
"Right now I have no idea if the victims are connected or not, but I'm not going to ignore any lead." Sam shakes his head. "It won't matter if we catch it tonight, though." He just wishes Adriel would have sent an angel with him, it would have made catching an unknown creature that much easier.
As Sam walks back to his motel, his thoughts wander towards Castiel. Did the angel already receive Sam's letter? The hunter doubts it, getting mail to the front can take quite some time. And even if he did, Castiel isn't going to abandon the battlefield to fly back to Dean, is he? And there probably isn't much he can do for Sam's brother from there, either.
Sam wishes he knew who Bobby had sent to keep an eye on Dean. He trusts the good doctor with his life, but he can't help but worry. He also hopes Dean doesn't drive Bobby's friend away by being his usual jerk self, which Sam wouldn't put past his brother.
The hunter sighs when he finally gets to just collapse on the creaky motel bed. There's no point driving himself crazy with 'what ifs', there's nothing he can do about Dean right now. What he can do is get some sleep so he doesn't trip over his own feet when hunting the not-ghoul in a cemetery full of empty graves in the middle of the night.
Kicking off his shoes, Sam grabs his small mechanical alarm clock and sets it for eleven p.m. He pulls his shirts and pants off, gets rid of his socks and slides under the itchy bed covers. He's slept in worst, but then last night he was in Gabriel's soft, comfortable bed, with its silky sheets and its mountain of cushions. Fortunately, Sam's body is too exhausted to really protest at the lack of comfort, and less than five minutes after his head hits the pillow the hunter is fast asleep.
Sam goes to the police station after that, where he's politely informed the Deputy Sheriff hasn't arrived yet. A young, long-legged woman asks him if he'd like some coffee as they wait for her boss to arrive, and Sam accepts with a smile. They sit at her desk in the reception area, slowly sipping the strong coffee.
"So, what brings you here in our dear Ann Arbor, Mr. Winchester?" she asks, crossing her beautiful legs in front of Sam in a seductive manner that would usually have the hunter flirting with her. For some reason though, he seems to not be in the mood for it.
He smiles though, because she looks like someone who likes to gossip, and that is always useful. "Please call me Sam," he tells her, setting the cup of coffee down. "I'm here about the missing bodies."
"Oh," she says, nodding gravely. "Now that's an ugly thing, stealing dead bodies. I hope you catch whoever's behind that. One of them was my great great auntie you see." She brushes off an invisible grain of dust from the nametag –which reads Adriana– on her chest.
Sam leans in. "Really?" he says. "I'm sorry to hear that. Did you know any of the others?"
She smiles at him, like she's glad she managed to catch his interest if not with her impressive cleavage then with her connection to his investigation. "Oh yes," she says, "anyone who's lived around here all their life knows them. They were the witches of Ann Arbor."
"Witches?" Sam's father used to tell Dean and him stories about humans who worshiped demons and got powers from them, slowly binding their souls to Hell. They used to be more common before the angels descended on Earth, though every once in a while someone will still be stupid enough to do it. Sam has never met any witch, but John Winchester fought a coven once, and the stories he’d had about it weren't nice.
"That's what people say. The story goes that the town faced some kind of grave danger, some kind of evil being creating havoc and mayhem." She was staring at Sam, obviously relishing holding his undivided attention. "They say that one night, when the moon was full, the youngest daughters of the seven oldest Ann Arbor families just walked out of their houses, met up in a meadow and cast a spell to bind the evil spirit at the bottom of a deep well. Then they just walked back home like nothing had ever happened."
She's leaning forward when she finishes, her voice soft and slightly admiring, like that of someone who's never been in the presence of evil in her whole life. Sam envies her, just a little bit.
"And these were the seven bodies that disappeared from the cemetery last week? Does the sheriff know about that?" The cemetery employees obviously didn't, since none of them could tell him of any connection between the victims (if you can call them that).
"Deputy Sheriff Hendrickson is not from this town and doesn't believe in those "fairy tales" as he says." She had mimed air quotes around the words, and was about to add something when a cool but detached voice interrupted her.
"That's because there's no such thing as witches, Adriana. Now I hope that the fact you have time to chat up this young man here means you've finished filing all those reports?"
Adriana promptly straightens up in her chair as Sam gets up to greet the tall, elegant black man who just entered the police station. He walks like a man who knows everybody around respects him and obeys him, but doesn't really make a fuss about it. He looks Sam up and down (well, mostly up, he might be tall but he's not that tall), gauging him.
"Sam Winchester, from the Detroit Hunters Department," he says. "And I wouldn't be so sure about witches if I were you, though that story does sound a bit far-fetched, judging from what I know of them. Still, it's a pretty strong connection and a lead worth investigating, don't you think?"
Hendrickson just smirks, like he finds Sam amusing. "Is this you first assignment, Mr. Winchester? I think you'll find out the whole think is much simpler and much less interesting than what you're hoping for. It's most likely someone who heard that silly witch story and decided to play a trick to spook the townspeople."
Sam doesn't know if he should laugh or feel offended. He settles for the latter, since mocking the Deputy Sheriff he's going to have to work with isn't the best idea ever.
"Actually, I've been a hunter for over ten years now," he says with a faint growl in his voice, but still mostly politely. "And I'd love to meet someone who can dig up a grave, make all the dirt disappear, remove the nails from a coffin and make out with an old body in less than ten minutes and without making a sound, all that for a prank."
Now that he think of it, a trickster god probably would be able to pull this kind of thing off. However, not only were all the remaining pagan gods busy fighting the garrisons of Heaven in Europe, but tricksters played deadly tricks to punish people, they didn't steal bodies to spook out a small town. And if one really did make its way to this continent, it'd be either staying low to avoid attracting the angels’ attention to itself or be planning something really bad. It wouldn't play useless tricks.
Deputy Sheriff Hendrickson doesn't have to know all that however. He seems to be the sort of man who will only believe angels are truly angels when one of them spreads his wings in front of him. For a second Sam has a vision of Gabriel leaning over him, huge, shadowy wings spreading out from behind him, vast and powerful. He blinks and nearly misses the Sheriff's snarky reply.
"That's according to these drunken morons who work at the cemetery. I'm pretty sure they just fell asleep somewhere and woke up in the morning to find the graves empty. You don't know these people, Winchester, I do. That's why I never mentioned that witches story to any of them. But hey, if you wanna waste your time investigating, that's your problem."
Sam sighs. Some people, he knows, just can't be reasoned with. Fortunately, Hendrickson is all too happy to get rid of this case and grants him access to all the police station's resources, as long as he doesn't interfere with the Deputy Sheriff's job.
There haven't been any other stolen bodies, and he can't find anything in his father's journal or any of the books he has with him that could explain any of it. There's something that's bugging him, but he can't put his finger on what it is. It's unnerving, like there's something right under his nose that he's just not seeing, and it's going to drive him insane.
He's going to have to head back to Detroit one day early, to do more extensive research. On the one hand, leaving Ann Arbor before the case is solved feels wrong, because what if something happens while he isn't there? But on the other hand, he's going nowhere here and nothing new has happened for days. Plus, he wants to check on Dean.
Sam gathers his papers, soil samples and other things and goes find the motel manager. His wife is at the desk, a small blond with skinny arms and so many wrinkles in her forehead that she looks older than her forty-six years. He tells her he's going back to Detroit for a few days, and that he probably won't make it back before late Sunday. After all, he has to be in the city Friday and Saturday night for his shifts at the club, not that he tells her that.
The drive back to Detroit feels even longer than it had the other way around. He hadn't left early, so it's already night by the time he makes it to the city. Sam is actually glad he decided to head back today and not tomorrow like he had first planned, because he's not sure he could work an entire shift at Club Rouge after such a long and exhausting drive.
He's about to open the apartment door when he hears a woman's voice coming from inside. It's both gentle and firm at once, though Sam can't make out her words from where he is. It must be Bobby's friend, the one the doc sent to watch over Dean. Turning the key into the lock, Sam gets inside the apartment, curious and just a little bit worried.
The voices are coming from Dean's bedroom –Sam can hear his brother complaining loudly about being old enough to go to the bathroom on his own.
"If you're such a grown man you should be mature enough to accept that sometimes you need help," the woman says. Her voice is kind of high-pitched, but not in an unpleasant way. "Now will you let me take you to the bathroom?"
Sam smiles, relieved that everything seems to be going as smoothly as things can when Dean is involved. He drops his keys in the key-bowl and closes the door.
"Sammy? Sammy is that you?" Dean's voice is louder as he shouts through his bedroom door, and Sam can hear it’s more croaked than usual, hoarse but not sickeningly weak. Bobby's new meds seem to be working.
"Yes, it's me," he says, walking into Dean's bedroom. "Came back early so I could check on your sorry ass and make sure you didn't scare away Bobby's friend here." He turns to the black woman standing near Dean's bed. "Hello, I'm Sam, this idiot's brother."
"Nice to meet you Sam," she says, and her voice is smooth and slow. "My name is Missouri, and you're brother is a charming idiot." Missouri is smiling. There's kindness in her voice and in her eyes, as well as just a hint of mischief, and Sam immediately likes her.
"Hey!" Dean protests from where he's half-sitting on the bed. They both ignore him.
"Don't let him seduce you, he'll only break your heart," Sam says. "I got it for tonight, thanks for everything. I don't mean to kick you out, but I've had a long drive, and–"
"Say no more, I'll get out of your hair," she cuts him. "Do you want me to drop by tomorrow, or will you be here?"
"I have work to do at the library, so if you can drop by early in the afternoon just to check on him, that would be nice. Sam smiles, walking her back to the door and ignoring Dean's comment that he doesn't need a damn babysitter. They say goodbye, and she gives him a strange look as she leaves, like Sam has dirt on his face or something.
When he gets back to Dean's room his brother is up, leaning against the wall. He looks greyer than he did a few minutes ago, and Sam sighs.
"What? I need to pee, I wasn't gonna wait until you two finished exchanging greeting cards, was I?" Dean barks at him, but it's a bit weak. Sam shakes his head, wraps an arm around his brother's waist and helps him walk to the bathroom.
"Any news from Cas?" he asks, and Dean shakes his head. Sam bites his lower lip. "I'm sure he'll get back to us as soon as the letter reaches him." There's something in his brother's face that makes him add, "I'm sure he's fine, Dean."
Dean doesn't answer, but he doesn't seem much reassured.
The first floor is opened to the general public, allowing them access to the main books on angel lore and common supernatural beings and other small curiosities. Floors two through five can only be accessed by hunters, however. Books are arranged by themes, their origins and reliability carefully labeled. Each section has a complete index book, sometimes several, and there are silent, watchful librarian angels making sure hunters handle the books properly, and putting them carefully back in place.
Floors six and seven are sealed off, said to contain books that are too dangerous and sensitive information about the angels themselves that they don't want to be publicly known, not even by those who work for them. A handful of high-ranking angels have access to it, but it's public knowledge that no one has set foot up there in the last fourteen years.
Sam has always loved this place. He feels at home surrounded by old books, surrounded by so much knowledge. If it were up to him, he'd spend his whole life in here, just reading through every single book. Dean has always left most of the library research work to him, and so had John back in the day. Sam guesses he must have inherited his love for books from his mother, though he never asked either Dean or their father about that.
Talking about Mary has always made both of them so sad, Sam soon learned not to ask questions. All he knows about her is that she was a Hunter too, met John on the job, and made killer pies. He vaguely remembers the smell of apples, cinnamon and gunpowder clinging to her, and her long, silky blond hair. Mary was killed by a wendigo when Sam was four years old.
The library is almost empty when Sam arrives at the opening hour. He makes his way through the floors, selecting books from different sections and hauling them on a special cart before laying them all carefully on a long table on the fifth floor. He gets his case notes out as well as more paper and several pens, then starts reading.
The hunter has been there for almost three hours, surrounded by open books, leaves of notes spread out everywhere on the table, still not sure he's found anything of use, when he hears a newly familiar voice.
"Hello kiddo!"
Gabriel, the freaking archangel Gabriel, is sprawled in a chair in front of Sam, feet propped up on the table, nudging a few books aside carelessly. He's chewing on a chocolate bar. Sam almost wants to snap at him to take his feet off the table and that eating isn't allowed in the library, except that this is an archangel. And also, he's kind of mortified that Gabriel found him.
Sam has been trying not to think about anything to do with Club Rouge since he set off for Ann Arbor. These two lives are separate for him, there is his real life, honest job and colleagues and all that, and there's the club, some sort of secret, kind of shameful life that has been forced upon him, and should have stayed in the shadows. And though he has been thinking of Gabriel more than he'd like to admit, he wasn't ready to see his brand new "secret" life collide with his job as a hunter so quickly. It’s bad enough that Dean knows about his job as a host already.
"Why are you here?" he asks in a whisper, eyes dropping down to the book open in front of him. He just barely prevents his cheeks from flushing.
Gabriel shrugs. "Thought you might like the company," he offers, seemingly oblivious to Sam's discomfort. Then, softer, he adds, "I missed you."
Sam doesn't know what to say to that. Gabriel has missed him. The information refuses to sink in. Slowly, the hunter turns a page, not reading any of the words on it. The silence stretches, tense and uncomfortable as far as Sam is concerned, though the archangel doesn't seem bothered at all by Sam's lack of response.
"So," Gabriel says eventually, rolling his eyes and taking his feet off the table to put them down under the table so he can lean on it, elbows propped up on the wooden length of it and chin resting on his fist. "What'cha working on?"
Sam looks up, finds the archangel's face much closer to his than it was a moment ago. He swallows around the sudden tightness in his throat. Gabriel's eyes are hazel with flecks of green and gold, his lips curved in an adorable curious pout. Sam remembers how they felt against his own, their sweet honeyed taste. He fights against the urge to lean over the table, grab Gabriel by the collar and pull him into a searing kiss.
The job. He needs to focus on the job. Keep it professional, distant. "It's a weird body-snatching case in Ann Arbor," he explains, trying to keep his voice even as he talks Gabriel through the case. The process is soothing, helping Sam sort through all he knows. The archangel's a patient, attentive listener, asking a few pertinent questions now and then to make sure he gets it all.
"This is very weird," he says once Sam's done exposing him the case. "What did the EMF read, again?" He looks at Sam like this is important, like his answer holds the key to the whole mystery.
"Just standard angelic levels," the hunter replies, frowning slightly. The angels' presence affects the whole continent's electromagnetic fields, even in places where there are no angels, which is why most cars won't run without the proper spells and charms, amongst other things. Though the levels of interference isn't the same in a city such as Detroit, with a high concentration of angels, as in a town like Ann Arbor, where they've never seen even the shadow of an angel.
Sam checks his EMF readings. His eyes meet Gabriel's, and he knows he's reached the conclusion the archangel wanted him to reach.
"Crap." It had been right under his nose from the start. "An angel's been stealing the witches' bodies."
Gabriel's eyes are strangely serious over the pile of now useless books spread on the table. This isn't a laughing matter. If an angel has been digging out old bodies of not quite humans and the Hunters Department doesn't know about it, then things really don't look good.
"Well," Gabriel says after a dramatic pause. "I guess you better let your superior know there's a rogue angel out there." He gets up, slowly starts walking around the table as he talks. "This does make things more complicated though. And here I was hoping I'd help you quickly close your case so I could treat you to a late lunch and whisk you away for the afternoon." He reaches Sam's chair, leans against the table, one of his legs brushing Sam's.
The hunter fights back the rush of heat that spreads through him from the simple contact. Is Gabriel insinuating that he wants to take him on a date? Sam is pretty sure this isn't how normal hooker-client relationships go. But then, Gabriel is anything but normal, isn't he? And Sam can't deny that yeah, he's interested in the archangel, and not only in a sexual way. There's something about him that makes Sam feel safe, feel at home when Gabriel's there, as strange as it may seem.
The angel is staring at him, waiting for him to say something, anything. "Um," he starts, not very eloquently. "I guess I should go now, then?" He looks up at Gabriel, like he's seeking permission or approval, but somehow absolutely not like he used to look at his father all those years ago when he was still learning the ropes of the trade.
Gabriel sighs, an amused huff of air, and smiles sweetly at Sam. "Sure kiddo," he says, patting the hunter's knee. "I'll see you tonight then. Try and don't uncover any more dangerous plots in the meantime, alright?" And without leaving Sam the time to answer, he snaps and Sam's alone in the huge library.
The hunter buys a sandwich and walks back home, eating slowly in the heat of the afternoon. Taking the time to think. He remembers the first time he saw Gabriel, the first time their eyes met. He remembers the rush of power he'd felt coming from those eyes. But if he has to be honest with himself, power wasn't the only thing that he'd seen in those hazel orbs. There was something else, something with which Sam's very soul had felt a connection, and he'd been trying to ignore it for the past week. In vain. And now he wonders if Gabriel might have felt the same something.
Sam doesn't know what it means though. He's never heard of anything like it, and he's been discreetly investigating human-angel relationships since Dean and Castiel got together. Such long-term relationships are very rare, and have always been built over a long time as far as he knows. Dean and Castiel's relationship was one of the fastest, and it took them months to come to the point of complete trust and love he believes it is now at. Not days. Certainly not seconds.
He should ask the archangel about it, but Sam isn't sure he has the guts to do so. Because yes, Sam Winchester, son of John Winchester and Mary Campbell, is intimidated by Gabriel. He isn't scared of him –though he should be, really–, he just feels small and clumsy next to him, which doesn't make any sense since he's neither of those things. He almost feels like a blushing teenager discovering love for the first time. Not that he's in love with the archangel, how could he be?
He finds Missouri in the apartment, she's helping Dean sort out the files they keep on all the creatures they've encountered, slowly building up their private documentation. There are notes on scraps of paper, carefully written out copies of reports, notebooks with pages torn out or only half-filled and a couple of books they managed to salvage in a haunted house two years ago. They usually don't have the time to keep it organized.
Sam makes some coffee for all of them and joins the other two at the table. Missouri is good company, gentle but authoritative, and with her help they might actually manage to sort everything out in an orderly fashion, eventually. Though Sam can't help thinking there's something slightly strange about her, in the way she knows when Sam needs a refill of caffeine before he asks, or how she will answer his questions before he opens his mouth. Bobby trusts her though, otherwise he wouldn't have sent her here, so Sam guesses if she's a bit psychic, well, that's okay with him.
Missouri cooks them an early dinner, some sort of soup with a lot of spices, as well as a large saucepan of wild rice. She takes her leave early enough that Sam still has a little bit of time before he has to leave for Club Rouge, and she promises she'll swing by tomorrow to keep an eye on both of them. Sam would have told he she doesn't have to, but Dean asks if she'll cook again, and Sam doesn’t have it in him to disappoint his brother. Also, it's a good sign if his appetite is back.
“I wish you didn’t have to do that,” Dean tells him when Sam’s about to leave. Of course he told his brother about his deal with Zachariah. He didn’t really have a choice, how else was he going to explain his leaving Dean alone all night otherwise? And Dean isn’t happy with it, but Sam promised he wouldn’t let any angel force him to do anything he doesn’t want to. He hasn’t told him about Gabriel yet.
Sam shrugs Dean’s worry away, grabbing his keys in the bowl next to the door. “It’s nothing you wouldn’t do for me. And I’m not a kid anymore, you don’t have to watch out for me all the time.” He pretends he doesn’t feel Dean’s glare at the back of his head when he walks through the door.
Sam hasn't been assigned the same sector as last weekend, so he isn't the one serving the archangel. He barely managed to exchange two words with him as he made his way to the bar some forty minutes ago, the archangel asking him at what time he was off while wrapping a possessive arm around the hunter's waist. Ellen had looked at him sideways when he reached the bar, then tipped her chin towards where Gabriel was lounging in his seat with a question in her eyes. Sam had smiled reassuringly and she nodded, a quick, accepting gesture.
Sam picks up a few empty glasses and wipes a table, looking through the crowd where the archangel is seated. Gabriel isn't there anymore. Sam frowns, scanning the room with all his hunter efficiency, and locates him standing not far from the bar, talking to the mountain of an angel that is Harachel.
Gabriel looks serious and almost businesslike, something that should be strange on a face that always seems to be smirking but somehow isn't. The other angel nods curtly, then walks away, and Gabriel turns his eyes back to Sam. His features soften immediately, turning into a flirty leer as he leans against the bar. Sam smiles, huffing in amusement as he shakes his head. This whole thing between them feels so natural Sam could almost forget they barely know each other.
"You ever been skinny-dipping in the lake, kiddo?" One of his hands is on Sam's waist, hot through the fabric of the shirt, the other one is curling in the soft hair at the back of Sam's neck, already pulling him down. Sam sighs into the kiss, soft and lazy, like they have all the time in the world. Which they might, the hunter thinks briefly, knowing the extent of the archangel's powers.
When their lips part, Sam breathes his answer against Gabriel's mouth. "Never. Though I'd love to give it a shot."
The archangel playfully bites Sam's bottom lip. "Good boy," he croons, and leads him through the French windows onto the little private creek. The archangel slowly starts peeling his own clothes off, leaving them to fall carelessly on the soft sand, and the hunter follows his lead with a grin on his face. The night air is still ridiculously warm, and Sam sighs when his now naked feet enter the cool water.
Gabriel is already a few paces away, knee-deep into the lake, looking back over his shoulder to Sam. He looks wild and magnificent and otherworldly as the moonlight reflects on the water to cast spots of light on his smooth skin. Sam feels a rush of desire flow through his body. Gabriel holds out a hand for him and Sam takes a few steps, reaches back. Their fingers entwine as the archangel leads them deeper into the water.
They just swim together for a while, kissing lazily, tenderly under the moonlight. Then Gabriel takes them back near the creek, and when Sam can feel the soft sand under his knees they stop, half-sitting half-lying in the water. They kiss again, Gabriel weaseling his way between Sam's legs. The friction of their erections rubbing against each other underwater is different, new and delicious, and Sam arches up into the archangel's body on top of him.
Gabriel's wet skin seems to glitter under the moonlight, his hair is almost flying in the breeze, and the stars above them, shining so bright, seem to form a halo around the angel's gorgeous face. He looks divine and decadent to Sam. Gabriel's lips are on his neck, hungry and possessive, and the hunter loves it. Sam sneaks a hand between their bodies, wraps his long fingers around them both.
The sensations are somewhat muted underwater, but it still feels incredible. Gabriel is muttering wet encouragement against the skin of his throat, licking his collarbone, and Sam's breath catches. One of the archangel's smaller hands joins his, makes his jerks quicker, rougher. Even better. Sam twists his wrist and hears Gabriel's groan of pleasure.
It doesn't take very long before they're both moaning into the night air. Sam is almost there, he can feel his orgasm building, but he wants this to last as long as it can, he wants to take Gabriel with him over the edge.
"Come for me, Sam." The archangel's voice almost vibrates with power, the order is impossible to ignore, and Sam throws his head backwards into the water as he tips over the edge with Gabriel's name on his lips. There are teeth sinking into his skin where his shoulder and neck meet, and the hunter can hear Gabriel's panting voice. "So beautiful... So perfect... Sam!"
The archangel's body tenses above him, and Sam is barely coming down from the rush of his own orgasm when he recognizes the expression on Gabriel's face. The archangel looks magnificent as comes, the air shimmering around him.
They lay together in the water afterwards, their legs entwined, gently kissing each other's skin, each other's lips. Sam doesn't know how long they stay like that, but by the time they finally get up and walk back to the house, he's already half interested again.
"I don't want you to go," the archangel says. He tilts his head in a very Castiel-like motion, frowning lightly. "Why don't I want you to go? You shouldn't have this effect on me."
Sam looks up at that. "What do you mean? What effect?" His heart is beating so fast all of a sudden, he thinks is chest is going to explode.
"You don't feel it?" Gabriel asks, frowning a bit more. Sam bites his lower lip, and Gabriel smiles, all the worry lines disappearing from his face. "Of course you feel it too. The attraction, strong and demanding, the connection my grace and your soul are making, the way we fit so perfectly together... It's a bit like the bond between an archangel and its true vessel, except stronger. A lot stronger. And you aren't mine."
Sam wants to say that yes, he is Gabriel's, completely. The archangel could do whatever he wanted with him, there's nothing Sam wouldn't do for him. It scares him that this man has so much power over his will though, so instead he asks, "Am I anyone else's?"
Gabriel's curt nod puts a weight in his chest. He knows, like everyone, that archangels can't just take anyone from a vessel bloodline like other angels can, they need their true vessel, a human whose body is perfectly in tune with their grace. They are so powerful they would burn out any other vessel. Fortunately, since occupied vessels age really, really slowly compared to normal human being, none of the archangels has had to take a new vessel yet since they Descended to Earth.
Still, the idea of being an archangel's vessel, of belonging somehow to one of Gabriel's brothers, well it's not a pleasant one. Rumors say that Raphael has been talking about taking a new vessel for a while. Sam's never accorded much thought to it, but now he's worried. "Who?" he asks when the silence grows too long.
Gabriel looks away for a second, like he's hesitating. Then he looks Sam in the eyes and doesn't avert his gaze anymore. "Lucifer," he says, voice soft and apologetic. Sam blinks, his mind blank. Gabriel continues, taking a few steps towards Sam. "But he's locked down deep into the pit, no way he's getting out. Don't worry Sam, even if the worst were to happen, I'd never let him have you."
The archangel has a hand holding Sam's arm in a tight, possessive grip. The hunter leans in, captures Gabriel's lips with his own. The angel's mouth is supple and pliant under his, his tongue just a little bit greedy against Sam's. "Good," Sam growls against Gabriel's mouth, feeling much more sure of himself now. "Because I don't belong to anyone but you."
Gabriel kisses him again, plastering his lean, naked body against Sam's. The hunter has to reluctantly pull them apart when the kiss threatens to turn into something more.
"I really have to go," he says softly. Gabriel sighs dramatically, but lets him button his shirt up. The silence stretches between them, and Sam starts chewing on his bottom lip again. Gabriel raises a curious eyebrow at him. "I... I hate to ask," Sam says, rubbing his neck, "but I really need the money."
Gabriel's easy smile drops, like Sam just slapped him. He snaps and there's money in his hand. "Why," he asks as he gives it to Sam. His voice is soft, like it's trying not to sound hurt, and Sam hates himself then, and curses that damn disease that's slowly eating Dean’s internal organs. "You're a hunter, a good one from what I've heard. It's a well enough paid job, why do you need to work for Zachariah?"
Sam swallows around the lump in his throat. "My brother," he says. "He's sick. Hunter's Pneumonia. He can't work, and my salary barely covers the med costs. I couldn't make the rent, so Zachariah, who's our landlord, offered to let me work it off. I need this money," he holds out what Gabriel just gave him, "to pay the healer. My boss said he'll get me in touch with Raziel, in Chicago, once I have enough to afford his services."
"Your boss is an imbecile!" Gabriel exclaims, looking shocked. "You, Sam Winchester, might be Lucifer's true vessel, a fact of no real importance as long as my brother isn't walking the Earth, but your brother is a true vessel too. He's Michael's! How could Adriel not know that? How could he not go trough the trouble of checking the exact bloodline of his employees?" Gabriel looks genuinely angry now, his eyes hard and cold. "As for Zachariah, I know for a fact he's aware of who you and your brother are. He took advantage of you when he should have come to me. But first things first." The archangel raises his hand and snaps.
"What the fuck?" Dean shrieks before a coughing fit takes hold of him.
"It's okay Dean," Sam says. At least he hopes it is. "Everything's going to be okay."
Gabriel takes a good look at Dean, then snaps again, and there's suddenly a second, confused-looking angel in the bedroom. The woman turns around, her long black hair flowing around her, and her dark eyes settle on the archangel.
"Gabriel?" she asks, sounding surprised and a bit humbled, something Sam has never heard in an angel's voice before. "Why am I here, sir?"
"This man is here is Dean Winchester, Michael's true vessel," Gabriel says, and Sam watches the shock on his brother's face with sympathy. "He suffers from the Hunter Pneumonia. You will heal him, free of charge."
"Of course sir," the woman replies, bowing her head curtly. She moves to Dean's bed, sits on its side and bats away Dean's hands. "Hold still," she orders, and Dean looks up at Sam, who nods in encouragement. Dean stops fussing and the angel presses two fingertips to his forehead and two to his chest, just above his heart.
Nothing visible seems to happen, but then Gabriel's features soften a bit, and the angel sitting on Dean's bed stands up. "It is done," she says. There's a flutter of wings, and Sam is fully expecting it to be the healer leaving, her job done. But it isn't.
It's Castiel. The angel appears at the foot of Dean's bed, still in his soldier uniform, and reaches for his lover's hand. Quick as lightening, Sam grabs Gabriel's arm before the archangel can react, wordlessly telling him that there's no danger.
"Cas!" Dean almost sobs, and he leans forwards to pull the angel into a clinging hug. "I missed you," he whispers in Castiel's neck.
"I came as soon as I got your brother's letter." Castiel's low voice sounds worried. "I went straight to Anael and asked her for a short leave. She gave me a whole week. We'll figure this out, Dean. Though you should have let me know what was happening, you should have told me."
"I'm so sorry, Cas, I didn't want to be a burden. You're right, I'm a moron." Dean's hands are grabbing Castiel's uniform like he's afraid the angel is about to vanish.
"He's fine, now." The female angel's voice makes them both jump, and Castiel's head shoots to where the three other people are standing, watching them. His eyes widen as they set on Gabriel, taking in Sam's hand resting on the archangel's arm. "He will still need some rest," the healer continues, "but his body should be completely rid of the disease in five days."
"Thank you Raziel," Gabriel tells her. She bows her head again, and disappears in a flutter of wings. Once she's gone, the archangel seems to relax. He wraps an arm around Sam's waist, an amused smile playing on his lips. "So, falling for an angel seems to be a Winchester thing, apparently."
Sam does his best not to blush under the disbelieving look both Dean and Castiel are giving him, and rolls his eyes. He doesn't untangle himself from Gabriel's grip, though, he relaxes into it instead. It feels oddly comfortable, having the archangel here in his apartment.
"Um, Sammy? How comes you have an archangel wrapped around you? Not that I ain't grateful and all," he tells Gabriel, "but this is kind of unexpected." Next to him, Castiel is sitting up straight, almost at attention, eyes fixed on Gabriel, a possessive hand still on Dean's knee.
"I, um, we met at the club," Sam says before Gabriel can blurt out anything highly embarrassing. "I guess we sort of... bonded?" He looks at the archangel's face, and Gabriel smiles to him, a soft curl of lips that turns into a smirk when the angel directs it at Dean, his hand sliding lower to grab Sam's ass.
Dean glares warily at the archangel, then raises an inquisitive eyebrow at Sam that seems to be saying is he forcing you to do stuff? 'Cause if he is, archangel or not, I'll make him bleed.
"The club?" Castiel asks, frowning. He must have picked up on Dean's tensed suspicion, because he carefully eyes Gabriel.
The archangel's smile drops. "Zachariah took advantage of the boys' financial issues to force Sammy here to work at Club Rouge." That spark of anger is back in Gabriel's eyes, and Sam can feel the angel's body almost vibrate with contained fury where it's pressed against his. "He will regret this decision, believe me."
Castiel nods slowly, understanding, but Dean still looks suspicious. Sam makes a show of wrapping his own arm around Gabriel's shoulders and smiling down reassuringly at his brother. Yes, this is what he's chosen, the all-powerful, righteous archangel with an incredible sweet tooth. Dean seems to relax a little at that, though Sam suspects he's still going to grill him as soon as the occasion arises. He’s suddenly very glad he told his brother about the club before, or Dean would have probably made a scene right now.
Gabriel smiles again, and it kind of amazes Sam how easily the archangel swings from one mood to another. Though his body is still tense, so his anger can't have been pushed that far away. "Well," Gabriel says with a voice so sweet it sounds almost sarcastic. "We're gonna leave you two love birds to your reunion. I'm sure you have a lot to talk about." The suggestive waggling of his eyebrows is completely unnecessary, in Sam's opinion.
They exit the bedroom, and Sam lets Gabriel explore the apartment. He looks like a curious child who has to see everything, picking stuff up to inspect it, opening drawers and cupboards. Sam should be annoyed at this invasion of his and his brother's privacy, but for some reason he's just vaguely amused. When Gabriel bites into an apple he took from the small fruit basket on the kitchen table, Sam has to stifle a yawn.
Gabriel looks at him like he's not sure what to do. Then he seems to make a decision and walks up to where Sam's leaning against the kitchen wall. He puts his hands on Sam's hips. "How about you get some sleep and I'll explore your bedroom with you tomorrow, hum? After I take care of your charming landlord."
"That would be awesome," Sam tells him, leaning down to brush his lips lightly against Gabriel's. The angel deepens the kiss, his tongue stroking Sam's gently, almost tenderly. When they part Sam yawns again, and Gabriel huffs amusement.
"Go get your beauty sleep," the archangel tells him before kissing his nose and snapping away. Sam smiles at the empty air in front of him, then drags himself to his bed. As soon as his head hits the pillow, he falls into a contented, happy sleep.
Sam shouldn't have been so surprised that his brother gets along rather well with Gabriel once he's made sure the archangel didn't coerce Sam in any way. They have the same love for trash food and silly, crass jokes. It feels comfortable having them all here, even when Missouri stops by at lunchtime. Sam's now certain she's a psychic, because how else would she have known to bring enough food for five people instead of three?
Gabriel informs him that he's released of his Club Rouge contract, and that Zachariah has offered them one year of free rent as an apology. Sam's pretty sure the archangel didn't leave him much choice in the matter. He's not complaining though, and he fully intends to properly thank Gabriel as soon as he manages to drag him into his bedroom.
Gabriel doesn't seem to be in a hurry though, which is irritating. Frustrating. That's it, Sam is frustrated. The archangel is sitting next to him on the couch, telling a story about some trickster god playing a trick on some English duke back in the days from before the Descent. Dean is laughing, while Castiel is staring at Gabriel with his usual intensity. Sam has the unsettling feeling the angel is taking Gabriel's story much more seriously than he has any reason to.
Sam wraps an arm around Gabriel's waist, drags him closer to him. The archangel seems unfazed, still telling his story with big hand gestures and some sound and light effects. Maybe that's what's put the slightly disapproving look on Castiel's face, Gabriel abusing his powers like that? Sam shakes his head, discretely. He needs to focus on his objective here. He moves one of his legs up on the couch, maneuvers Gabriel so that the archangel is now sitting between his parted legs.
Gabriel relaxes against Sam's chest, completely at ease, but still engrossed in his story. Sam puts a hand on the archangel's shoulder, just lets it rest there for a while. Then, very slowly, he starts rubbing his thumb into Gabriel's skin, just under the joint. Gabriel tenses slightly, but when Sam's thumb moves to the base of his neck he cocks his head on the side, giving Sam better access.
The flow of the archangel's words slows down a little as Sam rubs Gabriel's sensitive spot there. His left hand is resting on the angel's stomach. The hunter uses it to pull Gabriel even closer, to press the angel's firm ass against his own growing erection. He hears Gabriel's soft, discrete moan under the roar of Dean's laughter and smiles, pressing a quick kiss on Gabriel's neck.
"Okay kids," Gabriel says, taking Sam's left hand from where it has been slowly moving up his thigh and entwining their fingers together. "Story's over, time to go to bed now. Besides, our brave soldier here's been dying to get his hands on Dean for at least an hour, but he's just too polite to say anything."
Dean's eyes glide to Castiel, and he must see something there that Sam can’t, because he grins and gets up, forgetting he's still supposed to take it easy. The elder Winchester wavers, but, quick as lightening, Castiel's by his side to support him. They stare into each other's eyes until the angel smiles almost wickedly (something he learned from Dean how to do) and promptly sweeps Dean off his feet.
"Hey!" Dean protests as Castiel starts for their bedroom. "Put me down! I'm not a damn girl, and I can walk!"
"This way is more effective," Sam hears Castiel say before the door closes behind them. He smiles, looks down at the archangel in his arms, who is still far too tense for his liking.
"So, how about I show you my bedroom, so you can get your hands all over me?" He slides his right hand greedily into the collar of Gabriel's shirt, kisses the archangel's neck properly this time, lips and tongue and a soft graze of teeth.
"Sam..." Gabriel gently pushes his hand away and turns so he's facing the hunter, kneeling between his legs. "Sam, you know you don't owe me anything, right? I mean, if you don't want this, I'll understand. I won't have you back working at the club, I won't make you pay for Raziel's treatment. I won't think any less of you."
Sam stares at the archangel with wide eyes. Then, because he can't help it, he laughs, a soft, throaty sound of amusement that shakes his shoulders. He rests his forehead against the angel's. "Seriously, Gabriel? You said it yourself last night, there's something between us, an attraction that has us orbiting towards each other, and it has nothing to do with Club Rouge, or money, or me feeling like I owe you for what you did for Dean. Yeah, sure I owe you, but that's not the point. The point is that I want you, want to be with you."
Gabriel's about to protest, Sam can see it on the archangel's stubborn face, so he kisses him to shut him up. Gabriel's kisses always taste a different flavor of sweet. Tonight, it tastes of apples and honey as Sam licks his way into that delicious mouth. Gabriel stops resisting then, grabs Sam's neck, threading his fingers into Sam's too-long hair. Sam’s hands pull the angel's shirt out of his pants. Their mouths part just long enough for him to take the garment off Gabriel, then the archangel's mouth is back on his.
"Bedroom," Sam manages to say when Gabriel nibbles his lower lip. It sounds more like 'egroom, but the archangel hastily raises a hand to snap them onto Sam's bed, so the hunter guesses it doesn't really matter.
Ever the impatient one, Gabriel transported them without their clothes, and Sam grins against the angel's lips as he imagines the clothes just laying on the couch where they were just a second ago. Gabriel starts kissing his jaw as he grinds their erections together.
The archangel suddenly stops moving, stares down at Sam with heated eyes. "Tell me what you want, Sam. Tell me what you've been wanting to ask me since our first night together."
Sam bites his lower lip, hesitating. Gabriel's fingers caress lightly his chest, reassuring. "I want you," he finally says. Gabriel's hand slides down to wrap around Sam's erection. "I want to bury myself inside of you," the hunter continues, words flowing more easily with each of Gabriel's strokes. "I want to make you mine like you made me yours. Oh, Gabriel!"
Gabriel claims his mouth again, tongue delving between Sam's lips, before he rolls them with inhuman strength so that Sam is on top, his strong thighs between the archangel's. Sam moans softly. "Lube, we need lube, " he says as he slides down Gabriel's lithe body, leaving a trail of hot, wet kisses down the angel's chest and stomach. When he reaches the head of Gabriel's already leaking cock, he swipes his tongue over it, making Gabriel moan and grip the sheets under him.
"Gabriel?" Sam asks again, and the archangel looks down at where Sam's crouching between his parted legs. There's a small snapping sound and a tube of lube appears next to the hunter's hand. Sam grins, then licks down Gabriel's cock, teeth grazing the thick vein pulsing there. The archangel's hips buck up and Sam grins, swiping his tongue lower, teasing Gabriel's balls before lifting the angel's hips.
The sound of lust and need Gabriel makes when Sam reaches his goal goes straight to the hunter's cock. Gabriel's legs spread wider, the angel's hands flying to Sam's hair as Sam's tongue explores the ring of muscles of Gabriel's entrance. The hunter vaguely thinks that if anyone was doing this to him, there's no way he could hold Gabriel's position more than a few seconds. That's one of the perks of having an archangel for lover, he guesses.
Sam uses his thumbs to open Gabriel just enough for the tip of his tongue to slide in. It's strange, not like anything he's ever done before. Gabriel is swearing loudly and enthusiastically, tugging on the hunter's hair, and to know he's responsible for that turns Sam on much more than he thought it would.
Quickly, Sam uncaps the lube and coats his fingers. He trails his index around the saliva-slick entrance, then slides it inside, pushing against the muscles. He watches his long finger disappear into Gabriel with a kind of fascination he's never had before. He wriggles it until he finds what he's looking for, Gabriel's whole body jerking as he presses on the angel's prostate.
He starts moving in and out, watching the archangel shudder. When he adds a second finger Gabriel feels so tight that Sam can't help moaning, anticipating what Gabriel will feel like around him. The angel is making wrecked little noises punctuated by Sam's name.
"Sam... Sam!" Gabriel's voice is raspy, his body trembling. "I need you in me Sam. Now!"
"O... Okay." Sam almost doesn't recognize his own voice, it's so low. He crawls back up the archangel's body, nipping at a nipple before he starts kissing him again. The hunter slicks his cock quickly, positions himself, then pushes slowly, carefully, into Gabriel. The angel is tight around him, hot and delicious, and Sam is breathless by the time he's fully inside.
"You can't hurt me, lover," Gabriel tells him before squeezing his ass around Sam. The hunter swears, then starts moving in and out in slow, delicious thrusts. They are sweating, panting into each other's mouth with little grunts and moans. Gabriel's legs wrap around Sam's hips, his hands slide on his broad shoulders. Their bodies move together as if they were made for this.
The air fills with the sent of ozone and starts to shimmer around the archangel in a way Sam is now starting to get familiar with. He slides one of his strong, large hands down Gabriel's body to wrap long fingers around the thickness of the angel's cock. Sam knows he isn't going to last long, Gabriel feels so perfect and tight around him, so he does his best to bring his lover over the edge with him.
Sam climaxes first, burying himself deep inside Gabriel. The archangel follows right behind, coming with Sam's name on his lips. The bed, the walls, even the windows seem to shake around them, but Sam is too caught up in the aftershocks of his own orgasm to notice.
It takes him a few minutes to catch his breath enough to think of pulling out of Gabriel. The archangel kisses him on the forehead as he does so, murmuring gentle, tender words to the hunter. Sam drops on Gabriel's chest, knowing the archangel is strong enough to take his weight, and wraps an arm around the angel's slender waist.
They talk softly for a time, of little things of no importance, before Sam finally falls asleep in his lover’s arms, feeling safe and happy. His brother is getting better, Castiel is back with them, and Gabriel won't ever let anything happen to any of them.
"No!" he says in a breath, and raises his hand to snap away. Quick as lightening, Sam grabs the angel's elbow. He feels the world move around him in a now familiar way as Gabriel transports them somewhere else.
Gabriel doesn't have the time to react to Sam's presence, doesn't have the time to snap him far away from the cave they're in, as hundreds of pillars of black smoke fly around them, seeming to flee as fast as they can from the dark hole in the ground they're coming from. There are seven bodies around the hole, all women, forming a macabre circle, their rotten limbs connecting them together. And above them, two angels are fighting.
Sam can barely see them, they're moving so fast. They're blurs of light so bright it hurts looking at them, clashing together with an inhuman roar of anger and power that he can hear over the rushing noise of the black things. When the hunter takes his eyes off of the fight, he notices that Gabriel isn't by his side anymore.
The archangel is near the ring of bodies, reaching down to one of them. Sam watches helplessly as Gabriel's fingers brush a decaying arm. There's an electric spark, a loud explosion sound, and the archangel is blown away halfway through the cave, landing hard on his back.
Sam runs to where Gabriel is cradling his arm like it's broken, kneels down next to him.
"You need to break the circle!" the archangel shouts over the roar of the fight above them. "Close the gate!"
"What gate?"
"The hole in the ground! Just break the circle and it should close up! I can't do it, it's spelled to repel angels and I don't have the time to break the curse!"
Sam looks down at Gabriel, sees the look of emergency in his eyes. Nodding quickly, he gets back on his feet, running to the ring of dead bodies as fast as he can. The black pillars of smoke rush past him, knocking him down a few times, but the hunter gets back up, determined to put an end to whatever dark magic this is.
When he reaches the bodies, the foul smell of decaying flesh and fresh blood washes over him. Trying to ignore it as best as he can, Sam reaches down for the arm of the nearest corpse. His long fingers wrap around squishy dead flesh and hard bones, and a searing pain shoots through Sam's hand. The hunter grits his teeth and pulls.
The woman's palm lifts off her neighbor's calf effortlessly, and there's a furious cry as one of the fighting angels rushes down towards Sam. The hunter barely has the time to think that this is it, this is how he dies, before salvation appears in front of him in the form of Gabriel.
The archangel raises his hand, doesn't even bother to snap. The angel turns to ash less than two feet away from where Sam and Gabriel are standing, grey dust falling to the ground. Sam lets out the breath he didn't even know he was holding, a long, shaky exhale as he takes in how close he just came to death. His mind is carefully trying to ignore that his lover is powerful enough to kill an angel in a mere second.
The gaping hole in the ground is quickly closing up, but Sam barely notices it. His eyes are on the angel who lands in front of Gabriel, the one that was fighting whoever just tried to kill Sam. His grace is coming back into his vessel, revealing his aristocratic features, his deep green eyes and sleek black hair. Sam looks up at Harachel's deadly serious face, but the angel ignores him.
"I apologize, I was too late." Harachel's voice is tight, like the angel is trying not to let show how badly the fight he was just in has affected him. "She is out."
Gabriel sighs. "You did what you could. We'll just have to catch her I guess." The archangel kicks the small pile of ashes on the ground with one foot. "Who was it?"
"Uriel." The name sounds familiar to Sam. He's pretty sure Uriel is –or rather was– the name of one of the Hunters Department's Specialists, relatively high-ranking angels that spend most of their time on the battlefield but can be sent by the Department on special intervention missions.
“That actually makes sense,” Gabriel muses. “He’s always admired Michael too much, almost worshipping him. And he was way too proud to think of warding the circle against humans.” The archangel looks sideways at Sam with a sad smile. The hunter reaches out, wraps his fingers around Gabriel’s small wrist, trying not to flinch at the memory of the woman’s decaying wrist he last held.
Harachel follows Gabriel’s eyes. “Lucky you brought… him with you then.” The disdain is clear in his voice, made even more obvious by the grimace on his beautiful face.
Gabriel growls. “Sam Winchester is the only reason we even knew the Sons of Light were on the move. He and his brother prevented the gate in Wyoming from opening, and he closed this one. You’d better show him some respect.”
Harachel nods, but Sam wouldn’t call the look the angel gives him ‘respectful’. The hunter decides not to give it too much importance. After all, you can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink. Instead, he focuses on what Gabriel just said.
“The gate in Wyoming. You’re saying this,” he points at the ring of old corpses where the hole was, “this was a gate to Hell, aren’t you?” So those pillars of black smoke had to be demons. And an angel opened the gate? It doesn’t make any sense to the hunter. “Who are these Sons of Light and what do they want?”
“This isn’t any of your business!” Harachel snaps at him. “Now if you’ll allow me,” he adds, turning to Gabriel, his voice a little bit more contained, “I’ll dispose of the psychics’ bodies and make my report to Raphael.”
Gabriel nods, but his eyes are throwing daggers at the lower angel. “Come on Sammy, let’s go home, shall we?” he says, still glaring at Harachel. He doesn’t wait for Sam to answer, just snaps, and all of a sudden they’re in Gabriel’s house.
It’s the first time Sam sees it in broad daylight, and it feels even warmer and brighter now, especially after the darkness and gloominess of the cave. But the hunter isn’t looking at the breathtaking view over the lake. Instead he turns to the archangel, who’s popping in his mouth some red candy he took from the table. It crunches loudly in his mouth.
“Gabriel,” Sam starts, as calmly and diplomatically as he can manage, “Gabriel, I deserve to know what’s going on.”
“Of course you do!” the archangel says, putting a hand on his chest as if he were wounded that Sam could ever think he’s keep him in the dark. The theatrical pose slips, and Gabriel looks serious again. “The Sons of Light are a small group of angels who wish to bring Paradise on Earth by jump-starting the Apocalypse.”
“Paradise,” Sam says. “When angels can live on Earth like they do in Heaven. Isn’t that already the case?”
Gabriel shakes his head. “This isn’t Paradise. This is the angels being fed-up with Dad’s disappearing act and deciding to take early what’s supposed to be theirs one day. When the Apocalypse comes and Michael faces down Lucifer again, killing him for good, then the Earth will be destroyed and all the humans with it, and Paradise will take its place and angels won’t need human vessels anymore. That is, if Luci doesn’t beat Michael’s ass and just burns the world to ashes.”
Sam frowns. He can see why the idea would appeal to some angels. A lot of them look down on humans as if they are no more than an inconvenience they have to suffer. “So this Uriel opened a gate to Hell and Lucifer walked free?”
“No.” Gabriel shakes his head. “Thankfully, my brother is locked down better than that. There are seals keeping him in and everyone else out of his cage, seals that have to be broken. The last one of these seals is Lilith, the first demon Lucifer created. She was down in the pit, but now she’s out, probably joining the Resistance as we speak with an army following her.”
“So we can’t kill her? Then the garrisons don’t stand a chance, do they! How can they fight and make sure they don’t kill one specific demon?”
“We can kill her,” Gabriel says. “We just have to make sure we manage to kick her sorry ass before there are 65 broken seals. Fortunately, the first one is still intact for now.”
“What is it?” Sam asks.
“The first seal shall be broken when a righteous man sheds blood in hell. We will know when it happens, but now that all the angels are on Earth, we have no way to see what is happening in the pit.” Gabriel sits down on the armrest of the living room couch, sighing.
“What I don’t get,” Sam asks, “is why the angels who don’t like it here don’t just go back to Heaven? I mean, is someone forcing them to stay?”
Gabriel shakes his head. “When my brothers all came down on Earth –I was already here, that’s a long story I’ll tell you another time– when they Descended, they forgot to leave at least one angel at the Pearly Gate. The Gate closed shut behind them, and no one’s ever been able to go back through it without dying first. So now we’re stuck here, but my brothers wouldn’t tell the humans they managed to lock themselves outside, would they?”
Sam shakes his head, sitting on the couch next to where Gabriel is perched. He can’t quite believe it all. The archangel’s hand lands on his shoulder, a reassuring, warm weight that makes him feel slightly better. “I guess it’s a good thing that righteous men usually don’t go to Hell, then,” he says, leaning against his lover.
“I guess so,” Gabriel concurs, but his voice is colder than Sam would have liked.
They stay like that for a while, lost in dark thoughts but finding comfort and warmth in each other’s presence. Sam doesn’t know what the future has in store for him, but if he has to be honest, he thinks that as long as Gabriel is with him, he can face anything. Even the Devil himself, if it comes to that. Though he really hopes it doesn’t, because, for all its faults, Sam likes this world, and really doesn’t want to see it end.
Eventually, Gabriel squeezes his shoulder, breaks the silence that has settled in the room. “We should go back to your place Castiel is wondering where we are. The kid’s got balls, tugging on an archangel’s grace like that. I like him.” He smiles, amused, then becomes serious again. “Dean is your brother, what do you want us to tell them?”
Sam bites on his lower lip, hesitating. Dean really doesn’t need anything more to worry about, but if he finds out Sam’s been keeping him in the dark, he’ll be so pissed. Castiel, on the other hand, will be heading back to the battle front in less than a week, and facing many more demons than he was just two days ago. “Won’t all the angels know, anyway? What with all these demons out. Plus, you knew when the gate opened.”
The archangel shakes his head. “I only knew because Harachel called for me. Knowing Raphael, he’ll keep the information close to his chest, sharing it with only a few high-ranking, well-trusted angels.”
“But Castiel deserves to know! He isn’t one of these Sons of Light, you know that! If it weren’t for him, that yellow-eyed demon would have opened the gate in Wyoming. Dean would kill me if I let his angel go back to the front unaware of what he’ll find there.”
“As you wish, big boy,” Gabriel tells him, pressing his lips against Sam’s in a quick, chaste kiss. Ignoring his lover’s scowl at the nickname, the archangel snaps them back to Sam and Dean’s apartment in the city center, where the elder Winchester and his angel are waiting anxiously for them.
“Where the hell were you?” Dean eyes Gabriel distrustingly. So much for them getting along so well the previous day, Dean can’t help being over-protective whenever it comes to his baby brother.
Gabriel rolls his eyes. “This would be so funny if I had been doing unspeakable things to Sam’s gorgeous body. As it happens, not so much.”
It takes them quite a while to sum up the situation to Dean and Castiel. The hunter isn’t exactly the most patient of listeners, and he keeps interrupting Sam to ask questions none of them have the answers for, such as where is Lilith now and who can they trust, exactly. Castiel doesn’t say anything, but the worry is as clear on his face as it is in Dean’s eyes when he looks at his angel.
“You know,” Gabriel tells Castiel when they’ve finally managed to tell the whole story, “I could have you reassigned to the city guard if you want. That way you could be close to Dean.” That way you would be out of danger, he doesn’t say, but they all hear it anyway.
Castiel and Dean have a silent conversation through looks, Dean begging Castiel to accept the offer. Sam can’t read the angel’s face as well as his brother’s though, so he has no way to know what goes on behind these too blue eyes.
Eventually, Castiel shakes his head. “I can’t,” he says. “As much as I would love nothing more than to stay by Dean’s side, I cannot abandon my garrison, especially not now that every single soldier is needed. I couldn’t respect myself if I did. And neither could you, Dean.”
Dean doesn’t say anything to that, just looks away so that no one can see his eyes watering. Sam carefully studies his own fingernails. He’s suddenly glad Gabriel’s place isn’t on the battlefield like Michael’s for instance, but that his role is running things here, on the new continent. His fingers entwine with the archangel’s, and he silently prays to wherever God may be that he never has to fear for Gabriel’s life like that.
It’s amazing how much one’s life can change in just a couple of weeks. Two weeks earlier Sam had no idea that there was a plan to free Lucifer from his cage. He didn’t know Dean and himself were archangels’ true vessels. His brother was sick and he had no idea how he was going to pay the doctor’s bills, Dean’s meds and the rent. Now, Sam shares his bed –and his life, he hopes– with an archangel, he doesn’t have to worry about rent and his brother is fine.
The world also got a lot scarier, and pretty soon Castiel will go back to a war that just became much harder to win, leaving Dean in anguish over his lover’s safety. The brothers will go back to hunting, their boss fearing to give them too dangerous jobs until Gabriel will order him to stop cocooning them just because of who they might be one day.
Life will go on, and for a little while there will be no more signs of a pending Apocalypse. As far as they know, at least.
Tears fall down on the dirt, but he doesn’t see them. All he can see is her blood staining her white shirt, pooling on the wooden floor where she fell, a knife set deep into her chest. His wife gave up her freedom to this Zachariah guy so that Bill and their daughter could live thousands of miles away, where there are no angels to threaten to take their baby girl as a vessel, and where there isn’t a war raging on. He cannot let her sacrifice be for nothing.
He can’t let go of Jo’s death. She’s too young, barely twenty-five, and she’s his whole life. She was alone in the house when they came, a band of thieves who’ve been ransacking the villas of Cashmere Hills for months. She must have fought them, because the kitchen was a mess when he came home after a weekend working in the city. But they were stronger, or maybe they just outnumbered her, and she didn’t make it.
Bill puts the small box in the hole he just dug, then throws the dirt back on it. He stands, wiping his tears with the back of his hand, waiting, his whole body trembling with grief and rage. This is wrong, this is completely wrong, he knows it, but he can’t live without her.
“Well, well, well,” a woman’s voice says from behind him, and Bill turns around to face her. She’s beautiful, her long hair flowing around her in ebony curls, her generous body displayed in a dress too small and too light for the chilling weather. “William Harvelle. I’d have thought that a former hunter would know better than to summon a demon.” Her eyes turn bright red in an instant, sending shivers through Bill’s spine.
“I want to make a deal.” Bill’s voice is as cold as the South wind blowing around him. The demon laughs, a clear, ringing sound, like a little bell. It would have been very attractive if her eyes weren’t still red. Her perfect white teeth look sharp and dangerous, even though Bill knows they’re only human teeth.
“Of course you want to make a deal, why else would you be here? But what makes you think I want to make a deal with you? You do know we’re a little bit busy, with the war against the angels and all that.” She smiles, a patient smile that belies her words. If she didn’t want to deal with him at all, she would already be gone.
“What do you want in exchange of my daughter’s life?” he asks, ignoring her jibe. “The standard deal is my soul, right? You can’t have too many of those downstairs, can you?”
She cocks her head on the side, considering. “Standard deal is ten years. Right now we can’t afford to wait ten years.” She trails a hand down Bill’s arm, slowly. “I can give you two months. Two months, where you can hold your daughter in your arms, and then you come with me down to the pit. It’s a good deal, if you want my opinion.”
Bill grits his teeth. It’s not a good deal, he knows it. But he also knows it’s the best he’s gonna get out of her. With rage, he grabs the demon’s neck, pulls her to him. There mouths meet in a clash of lips and teeth, her tongue sliding into Bill’s mouth and claiming it, claiming his soul. Neither of them is gentle, and when they part, the former hunter’s lower lip is bleeding.
The demon huffs amusement, licking her own lips clean. She grins, letting her hand pat Bill’s ass. “See you in two months, Harvelle.” And with a wink, she’s gone. A gust of cold wind blows around Bill as the hunter starts running back to his house. The frozen dirt road is slippery under his shoes, making him almost fall twice, but he doesn’t care. When he reaches the house and yanks the door open, there’s a light on in Jo’s bedroom. He’s almost certain he switched it off before he left.
There’s the sound of a drawer being opened, and then Jo appears in the doorframe, a gun in her hand. “Dad?” she says, lowering her weapon.
Bill runs toward his daughter, pulls her into a rib-crushing hug that has her stiffening in his arms. He blinks away his tears, reveling in the heartbeat he can feel in her chest.
“Dad, what happened?” Jo asks, tentatively patting her father’s back, hoping he’ll let her go. “Last thing I remember, one of these guys is sticking a knife through me, and then I wake up on my bed, almost completely healed.”
“I patched you up, honey. Don’t worry, everything’s okay now.” Reluctantly, Bill lets go of his daughter. “You’re gonna be just fine,” He pretends he doesn’t see the worried look Jo gives him. She’s a smart girl, it probably won’t take her long to put two and two together, and she’s going to be royally pissed when she understands what he just did. But right now, Bill just want to enjoy the sight of his daughter, alive and well.
As he watches her prepare hot cocoa in the kitchen, he knows what he did was the right thing. After all, Ellen didn’t use to call him her righteous man for no reason.