I'll believe he's gone when I'm cold and buried in the ground. Find me on A03 as GabrielLives. Sabriel is my life. I swear a lot. And I tag my spoilers.
“You need a vacation,” Gabriel chirped suddenly, his chin resting in his hand propped up on the bunker’s kitchen table.
“I don’t think so, Gabe,” Sam said with a chuckle as he popped another spoonful of cereal in his mouth. “I’ve had my fill of shitty hotel rooms and continential breakfasts,” he added as he chewed.
“I am appalled, Sam.” With over dramatic flourish, Gabriel stood, spinning around the kitchen as he continued. “Do you really think that I would send you anywhere close to those disgusting, roach infested, dead bodies floating in the pool, soggy ass waffle serving, cardboard boxes then maybe you don’t know me very well.”
“Oh, I know you plenty well. And I wouldn’t put it past you to send us there for no other reason than to fuck with me.”
“Sam, please. I love you so much more than that.”
A sharp snap echoed off the tile walls, and Sam shifted in his seat as the scenery around him altered, the kitchen fading away and a deserted sandy beach complete with soft crashing ocean waves appearing in its place.
The seat beneath him vanished as well, and Sam dropped unceremoniously to the warm sand.
“What the hell, Gabriel?” Sam scrambled to his feet, and too quickly discovered his cozy flannel pajamas had disappeared. His eyes went wide at the sight of the skin tight, black boy shorts practically painted on him, and nothing else.
“What the hell, Gabriel!?” he growled, hiding himself behind his hands.
“What can I say, I like the view.”
“Where are we?”
“Still in the bunker, Sam a lam,” Gabriel crooned with a smile. “It’s just an illusion, of course.”
Sam frowned, huffing his displeasure at the archangel. “Give me back my clothes.”
“Don’t like the beach? Not a problem, my love.” There was another snap, and the summer beach transformed to a wooded trail, autumn leaves falling as Sam found himself atop a horse, Gabriel on his own beside him. “Perhaps a romantic horseback ride to a scenic hilltop.”
“Gabriel,” Sam closed his eyes in frustration, “why am I still not wearing a shirt?"
"Because I still like the view,” Gabriel snarked as he reached over to flick Sam’s cowboy hat down over his eyes a little. “You can definitely pull off the look.”
“If you don’t stop this, I won’t talk to you for a week.” Sam pulled out his most devastating glare, not quite sure the threat would ever persuade Gabriel to stop.
“Still not your cup of tea?” Another snap rang out and Sam wished he was still in bed.
As the shimmer faded again, Sam’s anger instantly faded away as he took in the new surroundings. They both were seated at a sturdy wooden table, small desk lamps spread out and giving a soft light to the room. Around them were shelves, covered from floor to ceiling in books. More than Sam could ever hope to read. Sam gasped in awe as his eyes trailed up, seeing floor after floor of more precious books, and at the very top, the domed ceiling that was covered in fluffy renaissance angels.
“Oh my god. Gabriel…” Sam felt overwhelmed at the sights around him. He ran a hand over his mouth, confusion settling over him as his fingers bumped into cold plastic that was resting on his face.
A pair of black rimmed glasses sat on Sam’s nose, plucked off so Sam could examine them. He glanced down further to see himself wearing a deep maroon sweater vest with a faint argyle pattern, a black button up underneath it.
“I look like a teacher,” Sam chuckled, letting out a loud laugh when he glanced over to Gabriel and found him looking at him like a cup of water in the desert.
“Haven’t you been listening?” Gabriel asked as he plucked the glasses from Sam’s fingers to gently place them back on his face. “I like the view.” Gabriel smiled. “So how ‘bout this place? Am I getting warm?” Gabriel leaned in closer, only inches away from Sam, “Do you like it?”
“You have a kink,” Sam said with a coy smile of his own. “And yeah, this is the one. We definitely need a vacation.”
The small space between them disappeared as Sam leaned forward, connecting their lips in a sweet kiss. A final snap echoed out in the air, and the illusion dissolved away, the archangel and his hunter following it, leaving the bunker’s kitchen empty behind them.
Idk about you but Im about ready to disappear into the woods and never set foot in civilization again. We are simply in the worst and most depressing timeline
“But no human being can tame the tongue. It is a restless evil, full of deadly poison.” - James 3:8
Previous Chapter / Next Chapter
Ship: Sam Winchester / Gabriel
CW: explicit sexual content, religious trauma, catholic guilt, crisis of faith, internalized homophobia, sexual shame, trauma, grief, dissociation, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, sex as coping, child abuse (mentioned), alcohol abuse (mentioned), homelessness (mentioned), explicit language
Series Summary:
Sam Winchester moves to a small Midwestern town to begin his life as a Catholic priest. One ridiculous night, one ridiculous man, and one ridiculous mistake later, faith and desire collide. Forcing Sam to confront whether holiness requires the erasure of the self, or the courage to live honestly in its presence.
Chapter Summary:
See above
The bar wasn’t lively, and that was exactly what Sam Winchester needed.
The place smelled of stale smoke, spilled beer, and something sweeter: pipe tobacco maybe, or the ghost of someone’s cologne. An indie-folk track crackled through the speakers on a loop. Even the jukebox sounded tired.
Sam nursed his second whiskey, elbow braced on the bar, collar popped against a chill that didn’t belong to late summer. The glass was warm in his hand. He liked that - heat in a place that had otherwise gone cold.
Dean used to say whiskey kept the cold out. Sam had only ever seen it keep him in one place for hours.
Just one more night, he told himself. One more mistake. Like pretending he hadn’t already fallen too far.
He didn’t look around. Didn’t want company. But he felt it anyway: a shift in the air, a press of warmth at his side, like someone stepping into a story already halfway told. A presence that leaned in close, sure of its place.
“Mind if I sit?” The voice was warm where the bar was cold, smooth and careless in a way that refused to be ignored. Too bright for a place like this. Sam felt it catch on him like a hook.
He glanced over and froze.
The man wasn’t at all what he expected. Shorter, mid-thirties maybe, honey-gold hair and a face with too much emotion - expression - for this bar by a mile. His coat was sharp, olive green over a burgundy shirt left open at the collar like he was inviting trouble. But it was the eyes that kept Sam still: bright, amused, gold like sunrise through stained glass.
And the way that mouth curved when he caught Sam looking… that wasn’t just a smile. That was a hook.
Sam cleared his throat, aware he’d been staring. “Free country.”
“Alright, Stretch,” the man groaned, sliding onto the stool beside him. He flagged down the bartender with two fingers and a wink, then turned back to Sam, head tilted like he was trying to puzzle him out.
“You looked lonely. Or tragic,” he said, tongue curling around the words like he needed to taste them first. “Mostly both.”
Sam huffed - barely a sound. “That your usual line?”
“Nope.” The man flashed a grin like a dare. “That one’s special. Just for you, big guy.”
The bartender slid a glass in front of him - neon, citrus-bright, practically glowing. Sam lifted a brow, “what the hell is that?”
“Cotton Candy Martini. Wanna taste?” he challenged.
“I’ll pass.”
“Suit yourself, whiskey man.” He took a sip, utterly unfazed, then offered his hand across the narrow space between them. “Gabriel. Gabe if ya’ nasty.”
“I’m not nasty.” Sam hesitated anyway, then reached out. Warm hand. Steady grip. Too confident for a stranger - practiced. “Sam.”
“No last names. Good.” Gabriel nodded, pleased with himself. “I like keeping a little mystery. Like Cher… Or God.”
Silence settled between them - not awkward, just… quiet. Sam stared into his glass, watching the amber slide in slow circles. Gabriel propped his chin in his palm and studied him with that unsettling mix of softness and sharpness, like he was listening for something Sam hadn’t said yet.
“So,” Gabriel said eventually, voice dropping low, smooth, “what’s a guy like you doing in a place like this? You’ve got the look of someone with something to confess.”
Sam let out a tired, humorless laugh. “That obvious?”
Gabriel’s grin sharpened. “Only to professionals.”
He took another sip, eyes skimming over Sam - the posture, the quiet, the shut-down stare. “Let me guess. You’re running from something. Bracing for impact.”
Sam didn’t answer. He drained his drink instead, setting the glass down harder than he meant to. The weight in his chest didn’t lift, but it shifted.
“You from around here?” Sam asked.
Gabriel’s gaze flicked to Sam’s mouth, slow and deliberate, before returning to his eyes. “No. I’m at a motel up the street.” A beat. “Wanna get out of here?”
The air between them buzzed - electric, uncertain, dangerous in that way that felt like relief.
Sam’s fingers curled around the empty glass. His mind whispered don’t. This was a mistake. A detour. Another thing to regret when the sun came up.
But his body was tired of cold sheets. His heart was tired of silence.
He nodded.
----
He didn’t let Gabriel speak; just slammed him into the door, and swallowed Gabriel’s startled gasp with his mouth. Tongues tangling in a fight neither of them meant to win, each taste sharp enough to be dangerous.
The kiss was all need and desperation - violent, holy, and obscene. Gabriel melted into it like he’d been waiting, like he’d known this was coming the moment he saw him.
“Easy, cowboy,” Gabriel panted between kisses, grinning against his lips. “You’re acting like the world ends tomorrow.”
Sam’s voice was wrecked, a growl torn from deep inside. “Maybe, it does.”
Gabriel’s eyes gleamed. “Hot. Apocalyptic edging. Very on-trend.”
The space between them felt loud, like the echo after a slammed door. Sam could still taste him, a heat that refused to fade.
Sam shut him up with another bruising kiss, hands pulling at clothes with frantic purpose. The world blurred around them, coming off in pieces. Sam's shirt, Gabriel's belt, Sam’s moral compass, Gabriel kicked off his trousers with a breathless laugh as Sam shoved him toward the bed, eyes burning like a storm.
Gabriel began to pull his shirt off when Sam stopped him: “Keep it on,” he smirked. “You look so… cute like that.”
Gabriel dropped back onto the mattress, cock already hard against his wine colored shirt. But his gaze didn’t stray from Sam, who stood at the foot of the bed like it was judgment day - towering over him, silent, his chest heaving. Chewing his inner cheek.
“Take it out,” Gabriel’s voice turned soft, playful, reverent and the way the words slid from his tongue felt like they carried their own venom.
Sam didn’t move.
“Come on, big guy,” Gabriel cooed, nudging Sam’s hip with his foot. “Don’t be shy.”
With clenched jaw and trembling hands, Sam undid his belt, shoved his jeans and underwear down, and gripped his cock - flushed, leaking, and heavy with the weight of everything he wasn’t supposed to want. Gabriel’s breath hitched. His smile went molten with hungry eyes to match.
Then, without a word, Gabriel crawled to the edge of the bed and climbed onto his knees to reach Sam.
Eyes locked.
And he spit.
The thick strand of saliva fell, slow and obscene, landing right on Sam’s flushed head. Gabriel caught it with his fingershand, slicked it down Sam’s length in long, lazy strokes, never breaking eye contact. Sam groaned, muscles tight like he was holding back a scream. He graspedbraced his free hand on the back of Sam’s neck, pulling him close but not kissing him. Gabriel leaned in even more, voice syrup-sweet, breath fanning against Sam's agape lips. “There. Doesn’t that feel better?”
Sam swallowed hard, fingers twitching at his sides.
“Such a naughty boy,” Gabriel teased, eyes staring as if into Sam’s soul. Sam all but whimpered back, shaking his head as he stared into Gabriel’s eyes. “No?”
“No,” Sam gasped, voice rough, desperate.
“Oh,” Gabriel murmures, brushing Sam’s hair from his face. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you? Sorry, my good - good - boy.”
The words split something open in Sam.
He growled, shoved Gabriel back. With a hungry groan, Gabriel flopped onto his stomach, ass in the air, not looking at Sam.
“What are you doing?” Sam growled lowly, rubbing his hand down the silky shirt on Gabriel's back.
“Um…” Gabriel stuttered, looking over his shoulder at Sam. “I thought we - do you want to stop?”
“No,” Sam whispered, pushing Gabriel to flip to his back again. “I just… you’re too pretty not to… watch.”
Gabriel’s eyes blew wide open as he settled onto his back. Sam crawled on top of him, their bodies sliding together, sweat-slicked and shaking. Their mouths clashed again - hungry, reverent.
“You got…?” Sam rasped, breath hitching.
Gabriel didn’t answer with words. Just reached into the mess of clothes on the floor and tossed up a tiny pink bottle and a matching foil packet.
“Strawberry,” he said with a breathless grin. “Classy as hell. Also, pretty pink condoms.”
Sam stared at him for a long, breathless moment, like a drowning man memorizing the shape of the wave about to take him under. Then he leaned in, kissed Gabriel again. Slower this time, aching as he slipped the condom down his cock.
“See, pretty,” Gabriel smiled, watching, ravenous, as Sam then uncapped the bottle and squeezed the glossy, strawberry-scented slick onto his fingers. Sam didn’t look away, not even for a second. He watched Gabriel stare at the luscious substance with a filthy hunger, licking his lips. His eyes stayed locked on Gabriel’s as he suddenly brought those glistening fingers to the other man’s lips.
Gabriel moaned low in his throat, parting his lips without hesitation and sucked Sam’s fingers, obscene and slow. He held the gaze like a dare, tongue swirling around the sweetness, dragging it out like a serpent savoring the taste of its own poison, tasting him like sacrament.
Sam’s breath hitched. His cock twitched against his stomach.
When he pulled his fingers free, slick and shining, Gabriel licked the wicked grin across his lips.
Sam went back for more, squeezing another line of syrupy pink onto his fingers, then hooked one of Gabriel’s legs on his free arm, stabilizing it onto the bed.
Finally, with a sigh of relief from both, Sam reached between Gabriel’s legs. The moment his fingers breached him, slick and sure, Gabriel arched off the mattress with a gasp, hips stuttering, thighs trembling.
One finger.
Then two.
Then three, working deep and relentless with precision.
He was so tight. So needy.
“Fuck,” Sam breathed, jaw clenched, watching him unravel. “You’re perf -.”
Gabriel cut him off with a moan. His head tipped back, spine bowed as Sam’s fingers curled just right, pressing into that spot that made him whimper, clawing at the sheets, and writhe like something possessed.
Sam could barely breathe. “Jesus, Gabriel… you're perfect.”
“Come on, Gigantor,” Gabriel teased, voice wrecked but sweet. “Make me feel something real.”
And Sam did.
He did with every inch, with every thrust, with every ragged gasp torn from his lungs as he moved inside him. There was no world beyond this. No motel, no sky, no sins or second thoughts. Just Gabriel’s body wrapped around him like fire, like home.
The rhythm of them was wild, chaotic and divine. Every thrust carved something open in Sam. Each slide of heat and friction, the slick sound of skin on skin, the way Gabriel’s back curved and his lips parted like he was offering prayers in broken syllables.
The stretch and pulse, the raw ache and liquid pleasure - it overwhelmed him, swallowed thought and breath alike. Gabriel met him thrust for thrust, mouth agape in want, gaze locked and feral.
“Sammy,” he moaned, the name like a sin soaked in sugar. “Fuck me.”
Sam choked on a sound, a half-growl, half-whimper. His rhythm stuttered, thrown off by the weight of his request. That name. That voice.
“Don’t call me that,” he snapped but his voice cracked down the middle, trembling with something far more fragile than anger.
Gabriel’s eyes glittered, wild and bright, pupils blown with lust and something deeper, something knowing.
“Make me, big guy,” he gasped, grinning through the wreckage, taunting and breathless. “Come on, Sammy. Make me.”
And Sam broke.
With a snarl, he slammed into him, hard and deep; all fury and need, no space left for second guessing. He caught Gabriel’s mouth with his, kissed him like he could silence the shame, erase the name, rewrite the moment with teeth and tongue and bruising want.
But Gabriel kissed him back harder.
He moaned into his mouth, gripping Sam’s hair and pulling him closer, tighter, devouring him. There was no escape. Not from this. Not from him.
Sam's hands roamed blindly. Gripping Gabriel’s hips, his thighs, his face as if grounding himself in flesh would keep him from unraveling. His pace grew erratic, unrestrained, hips snapping forward like he was trying to bury every last flicker of doubt inside Gabriel’s body.
“You want to be good?” Gabriel whispered between kisses, voice shaking. “Then take it. Feel how good you are. Give in.”
Sam didn’t respond.
He couldn’t.
His whole world had narrowed to the heat beneath him, the pull and slide, the gasp of Gabriel’s breath in his ear, the tight clutch of his body around him like he belonged there. Every thrust felt like punishment and prayer. Every moan Gabriel made was a tether, a rope anchoring him to the present, keeping him from spiraling into the dark.
And still, he wanted more. Needed more. Needed to be destroyed by it.
Without a moment's pause, Sam pulled both of Gabriel's knees up, using the underside of Gabriel's own thighs to open him wider, press him deeper into the mattress. Still, he needed more.
Gabriel dropped a hand between them, finding his strained cock. Frantically, he pumped himself tightly in his hand. He was close - so close - his body taut with need, mouth open around broken sounds and filth. His free hand scrambled for purchase around Sam’s throat, nails digging white crescents into his skin as he moaned, “Right there. Please, Sam… don’t stop, don’t stop.”
Sam’s rhythm never faltered. He drove into him with an intensity that bordered on desperate, drowning in the way Gabriel writhed under him, clenching around him like he was made for this. Made for him. Made for sin.
Suddenly, with his head thrown back against the pillow, Gabriel whines. “Fuck - Sammy, I’m -fuck-”
It hit him like lightning.
Gabriel cried out as he came, thick ropes painting his shirt, thighs trembling, eyes fluttering closed, hand clenching more around Sam’s throat. His body arched like a bow, every muscle drawn tight as pleasure tore through him. He was beautiful like that: flushed and wrecked, his whole frame shuddering in Sam’s arms, hips still rocking with aftershocks.
Sam watched him, stunned. Devoured him with his eyes while Gabriel's hand fell from his throat.
He’d never seen anything so undone. So alive.
And then it hit him.
The heat. The pressure building like a storm in his spine, in his gut, in every frantic, needy thrust. Sam chased it, let himself feel it, get so close, but then it came. That flicker.
That terrifying split-second of clarity.
What the hell am I doing?
This isn’t me. This isn’t supposed to be me.
With a man. Inside him. A stranger. I’ve tried so hard to not be this.
He faltered.
His rhythm stuttered, panic flashing in his eyes like lightning behind a cloud. Shame rose in his throat like bile.
Gabriel felt it.
Even in the haze of bliss, he saw it - knew that look too well. He reached up instantly, cupping Sam’s face with both hands, thumbs brushing against his cheeks.
“Hey,” he whispered, breathless but steady. “Look at me.”
Sam did. Eyes wide, wild, fiendish.
“You’re here,” Gabriel said, voice steady and low, like prayer. He leaned up, kissed his cheek, then his temple, his jaw, his mouth. Gentle. Steady. Real. “You’re not in the past. Not in your head. You’re with me. Right now. Just this. Just us.”
Sam nodded quickly, trying to convince himself it was true.
“Come on, Sammy,” he murmured. “It’s okay. Let go. Cum for me.”
That did it.
The dam finally broke. Sam gasped, voice raw, and slammed into him one last time - deep and culminating - as pleasure overtook him. He came hard, shaking, clutching at Gabriel like he might disappear.
Every wave of it was shattering.
Every second, a little death.
He collapsed onto Gabriel’s chest, panting, fingers trembling where they gripped his shoulder.
Gabriel wrapped his arms around him instantly, murmuring nonsense into his hair - praise and comfort and soft, broken laughter. “That’s it… just like that. You’re good. Such a good boy.”
Time unraveled.
Eventually, Gabriel guided them under the sheet, sticky and spent. He settled against Sam’s side, head tucked beneath his chin, hand tracing light patterns on his ribs.
His breath slowed.
He pressed one last kiss to Sam’s chest, and then he was gone. Quiet and stuck in his own head.
Sam didn’t move.
He stared at the ceiling, hand trembling on Gabriel's shoulder. He stared at the yellowed water stain directly overhead, blooming like guilt. His body hummed from the crash, from release, from warmth. But inside, quietly, the ache returned. Soft, but insistent. Not guilt exactly, just the echo of it. He didn’t know what this night meant, if it meant anything, but he knew he’d remember it.
Every sound Gabriel made. Every breath they shared. Every inch of that ruinous, perfect fall.
For one moment the ache in his chest had quieted. The guilt had gone still but not for long.
It came back slowly, like smoke curling under a door: thin at first, then suffocating. Sam’s body was still humming from the fall, skin flushed and nerves raw, but his mind was already spiraling. The silence wasn’t peace. It was pressure building behind his ribs.
Gabriel shifted beside him, propping up on an elbow to peer down. “You good?”
Sam didn’t answer.
“Sammy?” Gabriel’s voice was warm with sleep, soft around the edges. He curled closer, head resting on Sam’s chest, fingers idly tracing shapes over skin still damp with sweat. The ceiling fan above them buzzed its uneven rhythm, and their breaths mingled, slow and steady.
“You okay?” Gabriel asked again, quieter this time. Drowsy, but aware. His golden eyes searched Sam’s face, concern flickering in their depths. “You’re pretty quiet up there, Gigantor.”
Sam blinked. “Yeah. I’m fine.”
“You sure?” Gabriel tilted his head, lips quirking into a lazy smile. “I didn’t, like… break you, did I? You seemed like you needed it. In that way. Like, harder.”
Sam didn’t laugh. Instead, he reached up and gently pushed a strand of hair off Gabriel’s forehead. A small, aching gesture. Too tender, too much.
Gabriel leaned into the touch without hesitation.
They lay there like that, wrapped in warmth and silence, heavy with things neither of them knew how to say.
“I don’t usually do this,” Gabriel murmured after a while. “Hookups. Bars. Random guys. I came prepared, sure, but it’s not… normal for me.”
Sam exhaled through his nose. “Yeah. Me neither.”
Gabriel shifted again, elbow propping him up, eyes skimming Sam’s chest like he was trying to memorize it. Not lust, not anymore. Something quieter.
Gabriel followed Sam’s gaze up to the stain on the ceiling. “Yikes,” he said with an exaggerated gag. “This place is filthier than my old boarding school dorm. Just nasty.”
“So,” Sam whispered. “Why tonight?”
“I could ask you the same thing.”
Sam’s jaw clenched. He looked away. “Because… tomorrow, everything changes.”
Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “What, like you’re moving?”
Sam nodded slowly. “Something like that.”
A pause.
Gabriel smiled. Crooked, soft. “Well. Guess the timing worked out.”
Sam didn’t answer. He just watched him - really watched him - taking in the scruff on his jaw, the curl of his mussed hair, the way his body draped in loose folds beneath the sheet. Like if he stared long enough, maybe it would last.
“Hey,” Gabriel said gently, nudging him. “This doesn’t have to be a thing. No pressure. No weirdness. We both needed something tonight. You’re allowed that.”
“I know,” Sam said, though his voice was quiet and hollow.
Gabriel kissed him again. Slower. Not with hunger, but with reverence. Like a thank you. Like goodbye.
It was almost unbearable.
Gabriel drifted to sleep first, his hand curled lightly on Sam’s chest. Sam stayed awake. Counting the cracks in the ceiling. Listening to the world beyond the window. Trying not to feel the shame clawing its way back into him.
When the sky began to pale with morning, Sam moved. Carefully, he slipped from Gabriel’s embrace. Dressed in silence. No buttons fumbled this time.
He looked at him once more. Just once. Then he pulled a motel notepad from the nightstand and scribbled a note, folding a twenty to slide underneath.
For breakfast.
(Not because you’re a prostitute.)
- Sammy
Then he opened the door. Stepped into the chill of early morning. Didn’t look back.
The late summer sun crept low across the parking lot, casting everything in a pale, golden hush. The streets were empty. Still. Like the whole town hadn’t woken up yet. Sam walked without direction, hands in his coat pockets, head bowed like maybe the shame would roll off him if he just kept moving.
And then he saw it.
A corner café tucked between two brick buildings. Its windows glowed with warm light, and rainbow flags fluttered gently in the breeze. A hand-painted sign on the door read All are Welcome Here!
It stopped him cold, but he stepped inside without knowing why.
The space was small and warm, full of mismatched chairs and the smell of cinnamon and coffee. The barista wore a crop top and a “QUEER LOVE IS SACRED” button. The walls were plastered with Polaroids and notes scrawled in Sharpie: You belong. You’re not alone. Words as an antidote to the poison he’d been carrying for years. Be Gay - Commit Felonies Against The Rich.
Sam ordered a black coffee with two sugars.
He sat by the window and sipped in silence. Around him, the world was soft and real. Laughter. Lavender syrup. The clatter of mugs. A flyer by his elbow advertised an upcoming queer clothing swap. He tried not to stare at it. He tried not to want anything.
But the ache bloomed in his chest anyway, a longing he didn’t have language for. A life he wouldn’t, couldn’t, let himself imagine.
When the coffee was gone, he rose and slid the empty cup into the bin. Pulling his coat tighter, he stepped back into the morning.
The streets were exceptionally quiet.
Two more blocks… and there it was.
A small, whitewashed church, ivy climbing up white painted wood, and the stained-glass cross catching the sunrise like fire. The sign out front read:
St. Sebastian’s Catholic Church
Service to Welcome Father Winchester
Sunday - 9:00 a.m.
Sam stopped at the gate, took one breath, then reached into his bag and pulled out the stiff white collar. When he slipped it into place, it settled against his throat like a weight. Like a promise.
How the Supernatural characters would react to finding out you're a metalhead....
Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Castiel, Crowley Macleod, Bobby Singer, Lucifer and Gabriel x GN!Reader
Summary: How they react to finding out you're a metalhead and what they think about it.
Warnings: fluff, angst, comedy, pretty much a touch of everything, lots of music of course, no description of reader and no use of Y/n
Word Count: 1.5k
Songs/Bands and Artists Referenced: Metallica - Master of Puppets, Enter Sandman, One. Black Sabbath - Paranoid. Linkin Park - In The End, Numb. Twisted Sister - We're Not Gonna Take It, I Wanna Rock. Rage Against The Machine - Killing In The Name. Marilyn Manson - The Beautiful People. System Of A Down - Chop Suey! Ozzy Osbourne - Mr Crowley, Crazy Train. Slipknot - Psychosocial. Papa Roach - Last Resort. Three Days Grace - I Hate Everything About You. Iron Maiden - Run to the Hills, Hallowed Be Thy Name, The Number of the Beast, Alexander the Great (356-323 B.C.).
Listen to the playlist on Spotify or YouTube Music
A/n: This was SO much fun, if anybody would like anything else like this, my inbox is always open! I WILL be writing some headcanons for Dean in a relationship with a metalhead!reader eventually, I just love it so much. I made the section with Bobby more parental because I just love him with the boys. - Also, I am not a major metalhead myself, I like some metal songs but I like a lot of other songs too. I apologise if any of these songs are not very metal to you (I googled Twisted Sister and they are officially classed as hair metal, hence why I mentioned them in the Sam section). This is for @cantchooseafav I included a few of my absolute favourite metal songs aswell, I hope you enjoy reading - that goes for everyone!
Dean -
First off, Dean would be surprised, a little taken aback, and then be like a puppy in love.
He'd walk into your room one day when you were sitting on your bed sorting CDs. You didn't notice him so he just wandered in, picking up familiar looking album cover.
"W-wait a sec, is this...Master of Puppets?"
"Yeah" You looked up with that sweet little smile of yours "It's my favourite Metallica album"
"You, like Metallica?"
"Yeah, love em. Master of Puppets is my favourite, but Enter Sandman is a close second"
"What the f-"
He still doesn't believe you, so of course he has to test you.
"Release date?"
"1986, specifically March 3rd"
"Okay, not bad, name another album"
"Metallica"
"Doesn't count, too easy"
"Fine, Ride the Lightning - '84, Kill 'Em All - '83, Load - '86, R-"
"Alright smartass, you like Metallica"
"Told ya" You grinned.
He settled next to you, helping you sort through all of your albums for the rest of the afternoon, making little surprised and impressed noises at some of the names he recognized.
After that? He'll play Metallica in Baby all the time, even more so than before. When it's just the two of you, you rock out, Dean's on half an air guitar and half the steering wheel while you're on drums.
You alternate singing the "Now I lay me down to sleep" section of Enter Sandman. After certain events involving Chuck, you retire this song for a couple months.
And in those not-so-quite moments when it's just the two of you and some good music, he looks at you like you're the world.
When you surprise him by rattling out all the lyrics to Paranoid by Black Sabbath, his breath actually stutters. He feels his heart beat skip, you're the one for him.
Sam -
Sam just, gets it. Even though your personality is completely not metalhead-y. He knows what it's like to like different kinds of music to the people around him *ahem Vince Vincente* so he never judges you, not for a second.
He's a depressed emo at heart so when you're researching one day in the library and your headphones disconnect, he immediately recognizes those first few piano notes of In The End.
At one point, you just lock eyes before damn near screaming out in unison.
"I tried so hard and got so far, but in the end, it doesn't even matterrrr!"
It's a silent acknowledgement, without being, y'know, silent.
You two make a deal of sorts, on the odd occasion it's just the two of you in Baby, he plays hair rock and you play metal and no one judges.
You can both agree on Twisted Sister as hair metal and finally you, Sam and Dean can all listen to something together as Dean will tolerate We're Not Gonna Take It and I Wanna Rock.
It's actually startling how much you and Sam relate to In The End and Numb, thankfully you have each other to make sure you don't get caught in the undertow.
Cas -
Straight off the bat, Cas is extremely worried. He thinks that you're secretly depressed and angry and he won't let you out of his sight for a second until you explain things to him. You teach him that while the lyrics of a song have meaning, liking a song doesn't mean you feel all the same things the song portrays. He learns how to feel things through music thanks to you, using is as a tool rather than a set of instructions.
Two instances in particular are quite memorable.
You played Killing In The Name for him and he related heavily, y'know, Heaven and the such. Now he's your trenchcoat clad metal buddy. Once when the Heaven stuff was really getting to him, Dean asked him to do something and he simply replied with "Fuck you, I won't do what you tell me" in his usual monotone.
Dean just spun on his heels and walked away, you cackled in the corner.
You showed him The Beautiful People, which he took a liking too. After Dean was being a dick for no reason, again, he muttered as he walked out of the room "I don't want you and I don't need you".
Chop Suey! worries him. A lot.
Crowley -
He's...amused when he finds out.
"You? A metalhead? Laughable really"
You huffed and rolled your eyes at him "Whatever, Mr Crowley"
Speaking of, that's his ringtone. Everyone thought it was just because of the obvious connotations, Dean was actually a little jealous he didn't think of it first. But you just genuinely like the song and it always makes you a little, something you'll need if Crowley's calling.
He cracks a lot of jokes. Especially if you like anything with a hell/demon theme, then he makes jokes about you being obsessed with "The King". If you're ever alone, he asks you why you like it. You see a strange, soft side of him then.
"Why is it that you're so entranced with this, loud drivel?"
"I don't know" You reply honestly "I guess, it's just a nice way to get things out sometimes. People think it's noise, just screaming and yelling, but they don't bother to stop and listen to what's being yelled. I feel like that a lot, so I guess it's kind of nice to have music that makes me feel less alone"
He moves maybe an inch closer to you, but it's just enough to notice.
"I'll listen to you yell" You see the sincerity and sliver of humanity seeming through "If it's about those miscreant Winchesters of course"
"Thanks Crowley" You reply, and he knows you really mean it.
Bobby -
Bobby is a concerned dad for a total of 3 minutes. He hears Psychosocial coming from your room with you singing - well, let's say singing - along to every word. He pushes the door open just a crack, peering in to see you thrashing your head around.
"Hey kid?"
"Oh hey!" You smile, pausing the music "What's up?"
Who the hell woulda thought you would be into Slipknot?
"Just, checkin' in, you alright?"
"Fine" You grinned, perky and cheerful as ever.
"Okay then, you uh, enjoy. Just keep it down a little, tryna read out here"
"Oh yeah, sure, sorry!"
"'It's- fine"
And that's it, he just goes back off to researching lore and you put your music back on, a little lower this time.
Then Last Resort plays and he ever so slightly sees the appeal.
Lucifer -
At first, he looks at you with a sly grin and an air of cockiness.
"Who are you trying to impress, little one?"
"No one, asshole, I just like the music"
"Hm" He muses "We'll see"
He's such a dick you could just kiss him - uh, n-no not that, kick, yeah, you could just kick him.
Lucifer LOVES it. Rememer when Casifer went to his room to listen to music and be an angsty teen? Yeah, that happens a lot. Although now, you just listen to music together. He'll be the slightest bit vulnerable when you listen to music together, wrapping and arm around your waist and looking at you in a way he's never looked at anyone.
I Hate Everything About You is Lucifer's jam. Seriously. Especially when it comes to you. You're a human, he hates humans, his father's most loved creation, while he remains the least. And of course, you're a hunter, you kill evil things, of which his is one. You've tried to kill him, and yet here you are, loving him for some bizarre, absurd reason.
He hears it coming from your room when you think no one's home and he creeps in slowly, sitting beside you, a little closer than just anyone would, shoulders brushing. You share a look that says everything words can't and as the song plays, you rest you head on his shoulder.
While you may hate everything about each other on paper, in reality you love each other, neither of you know why, but you do.
Gabriel -
You play him Run to the Hills and he immediately takes offence.
"What? 'Cause I'm a coward?"
"No, Gabe I swear, it's just my favourite Iron Maiden song! How about I pick something else?"
You flicked to the next song, Hallowed Be Thy Name.
"Uh, let's try again"
"Woe to you, oh Earth and see. For the Devil sends th-"
"Next!"
"My son ask for thyse-"
"Oookay, maybe Iron Maiden is the wrong band to start with"
"Y'think?" He quirks an eyebrow at you, turning to look through your collection "How about this one?" He asks, holding up Reign In Blood.
"Yeah that sounds-" You froze, remembering the first track "Uh, maybe not"
You finally land on Crazy Train, and all goes well. Thank Chu- let's not.
He doesn't mind Crazy Train but he's not a big metal fan, he is however a big fan of you, so when he sees how happy you are listening to your music, he decides to become a moderate metal fan, just to see that special little look on your face.
Years after Dean doesn’t die on a nail and Cas is saved from the empty and Gabriel has survived apocalypse world, Sam wakes up in the bunker to the sound of his radio alarm turning on to Heat Of The Moment by Asia. He flies upright in bed, nearly flinging Gabe onto the floor, and literally crashes into Dean and Cas’s room to make sure his brother is actually okay and not dying by taco or piano.
Gabe cooks every meal for the rest of the week. And does the dishes. And the laundry.
i like to think that the same way castiel watches over you when you sleep, gabriel does the same thing except instead of soothing you to sleep by blocking out nightmares, he turns your dreams into television shows/movies (idk if anyone else’s brain does that when you’re dreaming, but i can sometimes break it up into changing the channel or flipping through film reels) and it’s his fun little way of keeping your dreams lighthearted and pleasant so you can get a good nights sleep without having to relive traumatic hunts through your subconscious
(im so sorry for all the gabriel ideas i just adore him i hate that his character wasn’t given more attention)
A/N: please don’t ever apologise for Gabriel ideas I’m obsessed with them pookie 🫶🏻
He’d be laying next to you, and in a moment if he sees a change in your expression that indicated distress, you best believe he’s changing that. His hand is gently on your forehead, tuning into change the occurring nightmare into a completely different setting- something calm, serene- potentially humorous, and he smiles to himself when he sees you slightly smile in your slumber- knowing he’s done something to make you smile.
I feel he’d also just insert himself somewhere in the dream as well for just an added bonus, and if you were to make a little hum or a giggle in your sleep he’d just absolutely melt.
turnnoffyourmind
discoholicmusic
prguitarman
vaporwave
yousharknotpass
gummygunk
