Work Text:
In Which Sam Does Some Readjusting
Sam stood under the awning of the now-closed library, watching sheets of rain blow across the parking lot. This was much worse than the “scattered showers” predicted by the Weather Channel. It was the kind of rain he used to call Biblical before the Apocalypse ruined that euphemism for him. Of course, of course it would happen on a day when he’d walked from the motel. He sighed and pulled out his phone.
Dean answered on the fifth ring, sounding annoyed. “Yeah.”
“It’s raining.”
“I’m aware, genius. Freaking perfect timing, too. I barely had time to get Baby’s hood down before it bucketed on me.”
Sam frowned. “Why were you under the hood?”
“Oil change. I had to leave her out there totally empty,” his brother grumbled. “You’re gonna have to walk back.”
“Of course. You couldn’t have waited until we got to Bobby’s to do maintenance?”
Dean’s voice mellowed into amusement. “Every twenty thousand miles, Sammy. What’s the matter? Afraid you’ll melt? I’ve got pizza ordered if that motivates you.”
The younger man swallowed a curse. “I have my laptop, Dean, and you stole the case last week when your ammo bag broke. Do you have a thousand dollars for a new computer?”
“Easy, princess. Gabriel’s over here bogarting the HBO, I’ll see if he’ll come get you.”
“Archangels aren’t taxi drivers, Dean. You can’t just-” A yellow car with cartoonish checkered markings pulled into the parking lot from nowhere in particular. Sam sighed. “You are such a dick, you know that? See you in a few.” He tucked the phone away and bent to look into the car’s window as it pulled up. “I don’t think anyone uses Mini Coopers as cabs, Gabriel.”
The archangel grinned out at him from under an elaborately bushy mustache. “Their loss. The gas mileage on these things is incredible. Hop in.”
“I don’t think I’ll fit.”
“It’s this or walking, big guy.”
Sam dragged open the passenger side door and folded himself into the cramped space. He wound up squished against the smaller man, legs snugged close and shoulder against his head. The air smelled like sugar, but that was probably just Gabriel. “Anyway. Thanks.”
“Eh, what else was I doing? Dean stole the TV for some basketball game.”
A loose strand of hair tickled Sam’s cheek. Suddenly the small space felt tiny, completely filled, the places where they touched glaringly obvious. It was the cemetery all over again, and damned if Sam could figure out why. He wanted to ask for more space, room to think, but he held his tongue. You didn’t bitch when an archangel did you a favor.
Gabriel, cheerfully unconcerned, steered onto the main road. He went to look in the mirror and smacked into Sam’s tricep. “Whoa, hey, want to put away the guns? I’m driving here.”
“You don’t need the mirrors,” the hunter reminded him. “You don’t even really need the car.”
“You, sir, have no sense of style. Squish over.”
“There’s nowhere to- for crying out loud.”
Sam slid his left arm up along the back of the seat. Belatedly he realized it looked like a come-on, but moving would mean that it bothered him. That touching Gabriel bothered him. Of course it didn’t. He touched other guys all the time: slapping Dean’s hand from the last piece of pizza, bumping shoulders with Bobby as they loaded salt rounds, teaching Cas to play basketball. This was nothing different. There was no reason why Gabriel’s head against his arm should make him feel warm, no reason for the urge he had to tangle his fingers in the golden mess of his hair.
“I can think of one.”
Sam scowled. “Seriously, stop reading my mind.” Gabriel took a turn too fast, crushing them together for a moment, and the warmth became heat. The man swallowed hard. “You did that on purpose.”
“Hey, you started this cuddlefest.” The archangel looked at his passenger, eyes serious for once. “I’m following your lead here, Sam. If you’re really just having random thoughts, if you want me to back off, just say the word. I’m not going to molest you unless it’s fun for everyone.”
The blush was creeping up Sam’s neck again. He opened his mouth, then closed it and shook his head in frustration. “I have no idea what’s going on, Gabriel. I’m not… I mean, I’ve never been into… guys.”
“Until now.”
“Maybe.” There it was, out there. Sam took a deep breath. “But I have to think about it. Even without the whole guy thing, I have a pretty shitty track record. Everyone I hook up with ends up dead or evil.”
Gabriel laughed, reaching out to squeeze his knee. It felt good, easy and playful without being weird. Like he had to right to touch. Like they just touched now. “You really think that’s a worry with me? I’m an archangel, halo, wings, the whole shebang.”
“Dude, you’ve killed a lot of people.”
“Bad people.” Sam shot him a pointed look, and he threw up his hands in surrender. “Okay, mostly bad people. I’m not exactly like that anymore. I won’t promise not to do a little righteous smiting now and then, but taking up my mantle again kind of puts the kibosh on casual collateral damage.”
Unguided, the car made a left turn. Sam drummed his fingers on the seat back, thinking. “I don’t want things to get messy. With the group, I mean. Cas only just started hanging around, and Dean’s gonna lose it if he takes off again.”
Gabriel snorted. “You want proof of how much I’ve changed? Look how good I’ve been about not sticking those two on a deserted island until they give into their raw animal lust. I tell you, it’s a temptation greater than any apple.”
The man hid a smile. “I think the apple was a metaphor.”
“Aren’t you a smarty pants.” He took the wheel in time to turn into the motel lot. “Thing is, life is messy, Samsquatch. So you don’t normally like guys. So what? Maybe it’s not guys. Maybe it’s just a thing for angels.”
“That sounds pretty self-destructive.”
“That definitely sounds like you, then.”
Sam surprised himself by laughing. “Yeah, I guess it does.” He shifted his legs a little, trying to get the laptop out of his ribs. “Look, if I admit that I’m thinking about this, will you stop teasing me and just zap us inside? You’re not fooling anyone with this ‘style’ crap.”
Gabriel chuckled. “Got you where I wanted you, though, didn’t I?” He raised his fingers and snapped once.
The rapid transitions always made Sam’s vision swim. He blinked around the motel room, wondering why Dean was staring at him. Maybe it was the way he and Gabriel sat snuggled into the corner of the sofa beside him. More likely it was Sam’s arm draped over the archangel’s shoulders. He flushed, then lifted his chin and propped his boots on the coffee table. “Got a problem?”
“Yeah.” The elder Winchester dug a pair of beers from the cooler at his feet and handed them over, returning his attention to the television. “Jayhawks are getting creamed. Pass the remote, I can’t watch this massacre.”
The little smirk playing at the corners of his mouth warned Sam he hadn’t heard the end of this. There might as well have been a sign flashing “relentless teasing ahead”. He didn’t care. Nothing was currently trying to kill him, he had a cold beer in his hand, and there was pizza on the way. Life was good. Gabriel leaned into him, close but not pushing for more, and that was good too. Feeling magnanimous, he threw the remote at his brother. “Go ahead, find your soap opera or whatever.”
“It is a medical drama, not a soap,” Dean huffed. “Anyway, it’s not on Thursdays.”
Gabriel waved a hand towards the TV. “I think you’ll find they’re doing a marathon tonight. Season four, where Dr. Sexy helps Nurse Lola battle her painkiller addiction.”
The hunter squinted at him, suspicious, but changed the channel. He let out a hoot when white lab coats filled the screen. “Hot damn. I knew you’d be useful sometime.”
“Right, because this is the very first time I’ve done you a favor.”
They bickered amicably through the opening credits. Sam just smiled and drank his beer. Maybe there wouldn’t be as much teasing as he thought.