dawnperhaps:

In the end, they broke each other.  And, to be honest, Gabriel had meant to break Sam.  At least at first.  The Messenger of God and the brother of the soldiers at war, all he’d wanted was to call Sam and Dean to their respective destinies, to get it all over with, to maybe see at least part of the garrison survive the bloodbath.  He’d made a living by giving people what was coming to them and the Winchesters were hunters, members of Earth’s band of half-crazed, revenge-driven killers; surely they were the perfect candidates to be used by the very supernatural beings they liked to hunt.

Sometimes, as Gabriel sits in his perfect island home, surrounded by a beautiful fake beach, delicious fake desserts, and gorgeous fake women, Gabriel wishes that he never actually met Sam, never had a chance to talk to him, to watch him in moments of weakness and strength, to see how very different from Lucifer he truly was.  The world is ending outside his quiet little home.  Dean Winchester withstood and continues to withstand Michael’s attempts to use him as a vessel, but, in standing against his destiny, he forgot everything else he once stood for.  And little Castiel, loyal to a fault, followed him into the darkness, hoping to protect the broken human he’d come to care for and, instead, becoming another tragic victim of love in Earth’s long list of sad stories and unhappy endings.  And Sam.  Sam played his part, just as Gabriel once hoped he would.

“This is stupid,” Gabriel laughs hollowly, closing his eyes as Sam’s lips trail down his throat.  When he decided to fly Sam away to his island illusion, he hoped that Sam would be a rough lover, that some sort of animal instinct would be unleashed and reveal Sam’s inner shadows.  But Sam is as sweet as ever, worshipping Gabriel instead of just taking him, and Gabriel tries not to let that burn, but it does.  Sam is Gabriel’s in this moment, but he is Lucifer’s forever.  It is not a spoken rule, but it might as well be written in Gabriel’s bones.  And oh fuck, does that burn.

“We’ll find a way.  Dean and I.  We will,” Sam promises, pulling away to look into Gabriel’s eyes with such a bright intensity that Gabriel swallows convulsively and looks away.  It sickens him that he ever tried to break the spirit of this man.  It sickens him even more that he almost believes Sam, despite the fact that the future has already been written.

Gabriel isn’t even sure how he spends most of his days.  He thinks he fills them with women, éclairs, and wine, but he rarely remembers any of it.  Everything he touches seems intangible, like touching beams of light or resting his hand against snow.  There are days when he thinks of nothing, when he lets the world outside his little pocket dimension paradise crumble to bits as he basks in conjured sunlight and drinks until he can pretend he feels it.  But there are days like today where he can’t help but think of Sam, of what it was like to have Sam in his house and in his bed, like he had in those few short moments before fate called them to attention.  He’s grown to resent Lucifer, to hate him maybe, for being able to have Sam.  It’s a selfish thought that he drowns in more merlot, but it lingers, the jealousy, the resentment, and, worst of all, the thought that he could have given Sam something different.  Not better, maybe.  But different.

His teeth are everywhere and Sam finally has to push him back and flip them over before his neck is covered in possessive bites that Dean will surely see.

“I’m yours,” Sam promises, reading the intention behind those insufficient little marks.

“I shouldn’t even ask you for that,” Gabriel says.  He wonders sometimes, if Sam would take anyone besides Lucifer, that he’d happily belong to anything that wasn’t the devil, but Sam’s eyes always look so earnest and Gabriel falls far too easily.

“Then be mine back,” Sam suggests, like it’s that simple.  At the time, Gabriel thinks it is.

Gabriel doesn’t know if Sam is still alive.  He doesn’t know how it’s possible, with Lucifer burning up his insides and consuming his mind.  If he’s alive, he’s probably half-mad.  Gabriel spoke to Lucifer once, watching his brother’s face – Sam’s face – contort with a cruel smile, easily reading the look in Gabriel’s eyes.  ‘Love’ is the word that Lucifer guessed with a quirked eyebrow and Gabriel fled – like always – before he could find out whether or not Sam was still Sam.  It shouldn’t matter.  This is fate.  They were just humans.  But Gabriel’s Grace, the part of himself he kept smothered all those years, aches and twists in him, fighting to be acknowledged.  But acknowledging it would mean coming to terms with it.  And Gabriel can’t.  Or he won’t.

Sam’s smile must be one of the wonders of the world.  It’s rare, but Gabriel likes to coax it out of him, to watch this conflicted, unfortunate human light up with life and peace.

“That is the worst joke you’ve ever told,” Sam tells him, shaking his head and grinning when Gabriel conjures up another margarita for him to drink, the ocean roaring outside the window.

“Easy on my pride, kiddo.  You’re drinking for free, so shut up and pretend to enjoy the show,” Gabriel tells him, and spends the rest of the afternoon telling worse jokes until Sam is groaning, but still smiling, and Gabriel feels content for the first time since he stopped calling Heaven his home.  He leans over and kisses him eventually, and they fall back against the couch in a clumsy heap, alcohol on their breath and laughter bubbling up in their throats.

In the end, Gabriel asked Sam to stay there in his imagined paradise.  And in the end, Sam obediently walked into Lucifer’s clutches.  And Gabriel, broken in a different way, stayed instead.