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30 Day OTP Challenge
Day One: Holding Hands
In Which Someone has Inappropriate Thoughts in a Graveyard
Sam checked his pockets for the fifth time, as though maybe he hadn’t been thorough and there might be a few shells left somewhere. Yet again he came up empty. He was stuck in the middle of a graveyard on all Hallows Eve with two empty shotguns, one unconscious brother, and about a hundred restless ghosts pacing around the hasty salt circle he’d drawn. He’d tried praying to Castiel with no answer. That probably meant the Enochian he’d noticed on the iron gates were angel wards. Who the hell put angel wards on a cemetery?
This wasn’t exactly a normal cemetery, though. The ghost they’d been investigating turned out to be some kind of guardian, keeping the rest in their graves. There’d been nothing about it in the local folklore. Sam read and reread the reports; it seemed like a simple salt and burn. Something basic to get back in the swing of things after coming back from Hell, after nearly losing his mind and just barely stopping Cas from tearing the world apart. They’d been playing so many high-stakes games that when Dean suggested a “busman’s holiday” he’d jumped at the suggestion.
Now Dean lay in a heap across his legs. There was a trickle of blood coming from one ear that Sam didn’t want to think about. He was breathing, that was the important thing, and first aid could wait until they got back to the Impala. If they got back to the Impala. Right now Sam was splitting his attention between the ghosts and the ominous black clouds overhead. If it rained… if the salt washed away…
The scent of chocolate warned him an instant before the drawling voice. “You know, when my brother asked me to keep an eye on you for him I thought he was being overprotective. I didn’t think I’d have to bail you out of a milk run.”
Sam twisted his head and met laughing brown eyes. “Gabriel. How’d you get in here? The gate has wards, we saw them.”
“Pff. Amateur stuff.” The archangel shook his hair back and bent to check Dean. “They stopped me from blinking in here, but the holes are so big I can walk right through. What happened to this idiot?”
“Ghost threw him into the tombstone.” The tightness in Sam’s chest loosened into something warmer. He told himself it was relief, because what else would it be? “Can you get us out? If you can’t use your mojo-”
Gabriel made an airy gesture. “Hello, archangel. The wards only keep me from affecting the environment here. They can’t do crap about this.” He bent and hoisted Dean into a fireman’s carry, giving a melodramatic grunt of effort. “Man, tell your brother to knock off the cheeseburgers.”
Sam looked down to hide a smile. “You could lift twenty Deans.”
“Well, now I’m blushing. Sit tight, I’ll be back for you in a jiffy.” He stepped over the salt and strode towards the cemetery gate down the hill. The ghosts backed away as though touching him would hurt. Maybe it would. Sam watched until the archangel disappeared behind a mausoleum, then let his head fall back against the tombstone. At least they weren’t going to die tonight.
Something splattered onto his forehead. A raindrop. Sam swore and scrambled to his feet. More rain was falling, fat scattered drops that made little dirt ripples where they fell. The ghosts drifted closer, eyes fixed on him with hungry intent. Sam cast around for something, anything to use as a weapon. All he had were the shotguns and the clothes on his-
Sam stopped mid-thought and yanked his arms out of his jacket, pulling it and the shirt underneath off. A few quick knots, some creative bracing with the shotguns, and he was stretching a makeshift fabric umbrella over the precious salt line. It only covered half, but the thickening rain was slanting enough for the tombstone to shield the rest. The ghosts hissed displeasure. One of them batted at the protruding end of the shotgun. Sam held on grimly, hoping the soaking fabric would hold out another few minutes.
“Well, well. This is a pretty sight.” Gabriel stepped around the tombstone, mouth quirking up in amusement. “If I knew all it took to get your shirt off was a bunch of ghosts and a rainstorm…”
Sam pulled the best bitch face he could manage with water dripping into his eyes. “Very funny. Little help, please?”
The archangel laughed. “Since you ask so nicely. Take my hand. As long as we’re touching they can’t hurt you.”
The rain was heavy enough now to be dripping through the shirts. Sam swallowed, watching the ghosts. “You’re sure? You don’t have to carry me like Dean?”
“That would look utterly ridiculous. Come on, Sam-a-lam, don’t you trust me?”
The answer to that used to be “no”, but things had changed since Mystery Spot. Gabriel was the one who had reappeared in time to talk his brother out of opening Purgatory, the one who’d bullied Crowley into giving up his marker on Cas and Raphael into calling off the second Apocalypse. Gabriel was both the most and the least angelic angel they knew. Since he’d picked a side- their side- he had always come through in the end. Maybe he was a little whimsical with the timing, maybe he played some elaborately unfunny jokes, but Sam did trust him. Absolutely. He dropped the shotguns over one shoulder and took the archangel’s hand in his.
He didn’t know what he expected. There was no sudden thunderclap of power. The ghosts didn’t disappear with disappointed howls. They simply edged backward as he and Gabriel walked towards them. Sam shot a wary glance at the nearest. “What happens if one touches you?”
“Angels are doorways for spirits. They’d get a one-way trip north or south.” The archangel stretched out his free hand and brushed it through the nearest ghost. The shade broke apart in a shower of dull orange sparks, leaving nothing but the smell of ozone and rotting meat. Gabriel snorted. “Three guesses where that one went.”
The crowd of spirits still watched intently, unaffected by the other’s destruction. Sam felt his hand tighten on Gabriel’s. “Would it work for me? I mean, since we’re touching?”
Something like an electrical shock skittered up his arm from their joined hands. Without thinking Sam thrust his other hand towards the shape of a woman to his right. The shock arced into her, and she dissolved into orange sparks. It made the hair on Sam’s neck prickle with uneasy memory. “Whoa.”
“Behold my great and terrible power,” the archangel intoned, waggling his eyebrows at Sam. “I’ll come back in here while you take care of Dean and clear them out. Otherwise you’ll be digging and burning all day tomorrow.”
“Thanks. I hadn’t thought that far yet.” The gates loomed up ahead, archaic metal monstrosities wrought with mystical shapes. Sam glanced at the ghosts drifting along behind them. “Do you think any of them are headed upstairs?”
“Not likely. The good ones don’t usually stay around.” Gabriel produced an enormous raspberry sucker and stuck it in his mouth. “I passed that guy you burned on my way over, though. Straight upstairs. Said to thank you.” He grinned around the sucker. “Does that make your Winchester angst any better?”
The man found himself staring at the way Gabriel’s tongue was already changing color, candy red against the white of his teeth. For some reason it made him acutely conscious of how warm his hand felt, the softness of Gabriel’s skin against his. He looked away, heat creeping up his neck. What the hell? “I am not angsty.”
“Please. You invented angst. You’d think sacrificing yourself to put my brother back in his cage and spending a dozen-odd decades in Hell would make you drop that load of guilt you carry around.” The archangel held out another sucker, this one root beer brown. “You, my friend, need to loosen up.”
Sam took the sucker, meaning to put it in a pocket. Instead it found its way into his mouth. He huffed out a breath of surprise. “I’ll take that under advisement.”
“Do that.” Gabriel stopped to smirk up at him. “If you need help figuring out how, let me know. It’s sort of my area of expertise.”
It was the right moment for a joke, maybe a sarcastic comment. Sam had neither. He just held the smaller man’s gaze while his mind kept stuttering over the phrase ‘loosen up’. The candy was sweet on his tongue, and he wondered suddenly whether Gabriel would taste the same. It was unfamiliar territory for him. Dean brought the occasional guy back to the motel, so there’d been a few awkward walk-ins over the years, but other than that Sam had no clue what men did together. He could only imagine. The increasingly detailed series of ideas made him grateful the archangel had promised to avoid mind-reading.
Gabriel’s playful expression didn’t flicker a bit. “I mostly said that to make you feel better,” he said conversationally. “There isn’t really a way for me to stop reading your thoughts. Not yours, psychic boy. Much too loud.”
Sam jerked his eyes away, squinting at the empty highway while he tried to rearrange his thoughts. “I didn’t… it’s not… it’s just random thoughts. It doesn’t mean anything.” His voice sounded unusually high. “Anyway, I’m not psychic anymore.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night, kiddo.” He brushed his thumb over Sam’s knuckles, drawing the hunter’s attention back to him, and curved one teasing eyebrow. “And I mean whatever. Another of my areas of expertise.”
A trickle of what wasn’t quite panic ran up Sam’s spine. He searched for something to defuse the situation, to explain- what the hell was he trying to explain? He didn’t even know what his brain was doing. It was all chaos up there, chaos and an uncomfortable awareness of Gabriel’s proximity. He wasn’t even into-
“Hey! You ladies wanna cuddle all night or can we get out of here? My head hurts.”
Sam spun to see Dean leaning out of the passenger side of the Impala, smirking to rival the Trickster. Only then did he realize he was still holding hands with Gabriel- twenty feet outside the cemetery. He let go and stepped back, not quite able to meet the smaller man’s eyes. “Uh, we’d better- I mean, thanks for back there. With the ghosts.”
Gabriel laughed wickedly. “And thanks for the video montage.” He waved and sauntered back towards the gate as though he knew Sam was watching. When Sam himself realized it he spun on his heel and marched back to the Impala, climbing into the empty driver’s seat. He determinedly thought of nothing as he pulled onto the highway.
They drove in silence for a few minutes before Dean spoke.
“I’m not gonna ask where your shirt is, or why you were standing in the rain holding hands with an archangel. I’m not even gonna ask about the very obvious and public eye-fucking.” Sam hunched forward, embarrassed beyond words. “I’ve just got one burning question.”
Sam risked a quick glance at his brother. “What’s that?”
Clearly enjoying himself, Dean stuck a tape in the radio. “Why the hell are you sucking on a lollipop?”