rating: T
fandom: Supernatural
pairings: Gabriel/Sam Winchester
warnings: a load of angst with a ridiculously fluffy ending
word count: 9k
summary: several years after Gabriel's death during a witch hunt gone wrong, Sam still can't let go of his pain and his love. he's mostly coping well, although he doesn't see the point. but one day everything changes. (aka I wrote a v sad sabriel post so of course I had to fix it. it took me 8 months to get this relatively short story finished and get myself through the writer's block, but here it is, finally.)
hope you like it guys and come tell me what you think - either here or on ao3, you know us writers we live for the feedback hehehe
read it on ao3
tag list under the cut
@keepingcalmisoverratedgoddamnit @lacqueluster @kibberswrites and @janimoon if I remember correctly you wanted to read it once it was done - it is now =))
it only took me forever but here it is going up on ao3 tomorrow bc 5 am fml please enjoy the sappiest fluff
part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 part 9 part 10
“We’re gonna… what now?”
“I’m surprised you look so shocked, Dean-o, considering all those deep-fried archangel threats I used to get from you.”
“You do know I never actually meant those, right?”
“Oh wow. I think the spell did something to my ears. I’m hearing things now!”
“Shut up, you moron. You’re family. And that’s official now. So no, I don’t wanna deep-fry your sorry ass. Besides, Sam's puppy eyes would haunt me forever if I do.”
“Now that’s the reason I can get behind. Sam's puppy eyes are the power to be reckoned with. But don’t you worry, bucko. Sam and I are gonna be as far away as possible when you do it. And yes, before you ask, you’re the one who’s gonna do it. Holy oil is a no-go for Cas, assuming that you’d want all of his feathers intact for whatever kinky games you kids are up to when nobody’s watching. Same goes for Sammy here as he’s currently hosting yours truly.” Gabriel paused to bow and bat his eyelashes – Sam's eyelashes – at Dean. “So, would you be my hero and rescue this gorgeous damsel in distress?”
“Okay so first of all stop – stop doing that, it’s just… wrong!”
Dean looked appalled and all but ready to throw up, which made Gabriel grin from ear to ear and bat his eyelashes some more. He could do this all day if it wasn’t for Sam gently nudging him aside and taking back the control of his body.
“Gabriel is right, Dean. We’ve talked the whole thing through and it looks like this is our only option. The witch is long dead and a counterspell is not an option. Never has been, in fact, if Gabriel's guess on how the witch got a hold of that spell is correct.”
“I never guess wrong, kiddo,” Gabriel butted in, but Sam waved him aside. Dean snorted.
“I know I said that having you both in Sam's body was wrong – and it is, but I stand corrected. It’s also hilarious when you start bickering like that.”
Sam threw Dean a perfect bitchface, but Gabriel ruined the effect by trying to stick his tongue – Sam's tongue – out at him at the same time, and Dean doubled with laughter. Sam decided to sulk until Gabriel showed him a mental image of what they looked like from the outside, and he had to admit that it looked ridiculous.
“It’s good to see you all in such a good mood,” Cas said with a small smile. “It means we’re gonna get through this ordeal. All of us. And it makes me happy.”
His statement made Sam and Dean look at each other and burst out laughing all over again.
“Cas. Buddy,” Dean said, throwing an arm around Cas’ shoulders. “Have you met us? The heavier the shitstorm the funnier it gets. We’ve spent the entire apocalypse laughing our asses off, remember?”
“And yet, we survived,” Cas said, unperturbed. “So, I stand by my words.”
Dean shook his head, still chuckling, but his eyes were soft and fond. Gabriel sent Sam a mental eyeroll, making him snort, but Dean and Cas were too busy staring into each other’s eyes to notice. Sam cleared his throat.
“So. Burning Gabriel's body. Dean, you on board?”
“If you prefer your boyfriend extra crispy, Sammy, then why the hell not? You know me. I don’t judge. We can wrap him up in bandages and take him out on Halloween to scare the crap outta some local kids. Could be fun.”
“Gabriel's body isn’t human, Dean. It cannot be damaged by fire – including holy fire – and it will not burn. So, technically, it wouldn’t be crispy at all.”
There was a pause as Dean turned to stare at Sam. “You two,” he said, jabbing a finger into Sam's chest, “are idiots. Should have lead with that. Save me from panicking over having to deal with this two-people-one-body thing indefinitely once Gabriel's vessel is gone.”
“Aww, but it’s no fun this way, Dean-o!”
“Zip it, shortstack. I’m the one who’s gonna save your ass here, remember?”
“And our hero swoops in to save the day by setting the prince’s ass on fire. A classy move. I gotta say, I like your style.”
Dean bowed, exaggerated and theatrical. “At your service.”
“Can we please stop talking and just get on with it already?” Sam said, finally managing to push Gabriel away from the controls. “You two can bicker all you want later, when Gabriel is safely back in his own body. You’ve missed this, I get it. I’ve missed it too. But what I miss more is being able to hold my stupid boyfriend by his stupid hand, and I’d really like to do it today, so. Cas? Talk Dean through it? Gabe and I are gonna get those sigils done.”
Cas nodded, and Sam turned on his heel, heading to the garage.
“I’m sorry, Sammy,” Gabriel said through their mental connection. “Got carried away.”
“Don’t be. I just… I guess some part of me is gonna keep worrying till you’re fully back, so let’s just focus on that, okay?”
“I’m already here, Samshine. Not going anywhere.”
“Yeah, well. Still gonna need to hold your stupid hand. Just to make sure.”
“I can work with that.”
“Okay, we’re here. What do we need?”
“Let me? It’ll be faster this way.”
Sam moved aside, and Gabriel took control of his body, setting to work on the sigils.
Half an hour later they were in the back seat of the Impala, and Cas was driving them away from the bunker. They debated angel travel, but decided against it, just to be on the safe side. Gabriel gave Cas directions to his nearest safehouse, a little over three hours’ drive away, and they headed there: a pocket universe was their best bet against the effects of the spell.
“You still need rest, Sam,” Gabriel said, gently taking control of his body again. “Sleep. I’ll wake you up when we get there.”
…
Sam woke up to sunlight streaming through the tall windows and a warm weight pressed against his chest. He blinked, not recognizing the room he was in, feeling a bit dizzy. Then, in a beat, in a breath, it all came back to him, and he froze, unable to move, to think-
There was a soft snore coming from somewhere close. The weight on top of him shifted, and he willed himself to look down, slowly, the litany of not a dream, not a dream, not a dream ringing through his otherwise empty head.
He raised a hand, slowly; hadn’t even realized it was trembling until he saw it brushing a strand of golden-brown hair off Gabriel's face. His cheek was warm and soft and he mumbled something in his sleep, and he was there and he was alive and he was real.
Sam wanted to speak, to say something – but the words got stuck in his throat and tears blurred his vision, and all he could do was hold on to Gabriel, to his solid weight against his chest, praying to he wasn’t sure who for it to not be a dream.
Gabriel must have felt it – the storm of emotions raging inside him – and pressed closer still, tilting his head up and finally opening his eyes.
Gabriel's hand immediately flew up to cradle Sam's cheek, to wipe the tears off his face, his eyes filling with concern.
“Sammy?” he said, voice rough with sleep. “What’s wrong, Sammy? What is it?”
Sam still couldn’t speak, couldn’t really do anything other than hold on to Gabriel for dear life.
“I’m sorry about putting you out like that, but you were still weak, and you were worried, and I didn’t want you to worry, I mean I could do the worrying for us both, so I thought it’d be better if you woke up and I was already here, you know, and look,” – Gabriel tugged on Sam's hand, showing him their entwined fingers – “you’re holding my hand now, see? No reason to worry anymore, en el od paracahe*, it worked, I’m here, I’m back.”
Gabriel's other hand was still cradling Sam's face, and Sam tried to take deep breaths, to calm down his too-rapidly beating heart, but it looked like it wasn’t working – and then Sam felt something, a weird but at the same time familiar pull in his chest, and a sense of calm washed over him, filling him with light, and love, and Gabriel.
Gabriel was looking at him, smiling softly, eyes glowing gold, and Sam smiled, too.
“I still want a wedding, you know,” Sam said, the lump in his throat gone and his breathing free and steady now. “A witch hunt gone wrong isn’t exactly the ideal setting, don’t you think?”
“Guess you’re right about that. There wasn’t even time for ‘and now you may kiss the bride’. Groom. Whatever.” Gabriel held up a finger, laughter dancing in his eyes. “I call dibs on the dress!”
Sam couldn’t help but laugh at that, pulling him closer by their entwined hands, kissing him – finally, finally! – for the first time after all those years apart; a kiss that was long overdue.
They spent an eternity like that, wrapped up in each other, and the sun still shone as bright when they pulled apart several minutes later.
“Sorry I couldn’t get back to you earlier,” Gabriel said, suddenly serious. “I was there, but… ghost stuff just didn’t seem to work for me. Guess I’m no Swayze.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Sam said, pulling him close. “You’re here now. Besides, Swayze isn’t really my type.”
“Ooh, so you’ve got a type? Do tell!”
Sam huffed and kissed Gabriel again, and again, and again.
“This,” Gabriel managed between the kisses, pointing at Sam's lips, “is the best answer to my dumb question. Could you please repeat?”
And Sam did.
…
Whenever Sam spends endless hours sitting by the window in a motel room up to his ears in research, Gabriel makes sure that he gets distracted by something funny or weird happening outside, like a bird landing on the windowsill or a puppy chasing its tail or some random guy tripping over his own feet and then fully flopping onto the ground, laughing and staring into the sky instead of awkwardly scurrying away - and every time Sam smiles at the sight before him, and reaches out a hand without looking, and feels Gabriel's fingers slip into his, and turns to bury his face in Gabriel's chest while Gabriel's hands comb through his hair and Gabriel's lips press to the top of his head, telling him he needed a break about an hour ago
They cuddle on the motel bed that is too small for the two of them, but, somehow, they manage. Gabriel massages the tension out of Sam's shoulders and kisses the tip of his nose as Sam slowly falls asleep, safe and relaxed and happy
this is a welcome home gift for my incredible beautiful amazing awesome daughter @gabriels-horn-of-truth - and what better to celebrate her return with than ridiculous mushy sabriel amirite or amirite)))
(of course there’s angst too. have u met me)
ao3
Sam's phone begins to ring somewhere after 7 pm and he freezes in place, not sure if he’s hearing things. It’s one of his older phones, one he hasn’t used for a long time. He listens to its cheerful outdated ringtone while he rummages through the nightstand drawer. The phone sits at the very back, wedged between an old notebook and another old phone. He pulls it out, hesitates for a split second, and presses the green button.
“Hello?”
“May I speak to Sam Winchester, please?”
“Who’s – um – who’s asking?”
“This is Molly from April Fools, Inc., and I’m calling to confirm your standing order for tomorrow. You have the Deluxe Package, so there’s quite a few options available for you. Can you spare a few minutes of your time and answer a couple of questions now so that we can narrow it down and set you up with the best solution possible?”
“Uh,” Sam says. His head is spinning, and he isn’t sure why. It’s probably just a mistake. Wrong number. Wrong Sam Winchester. “This must be a mistake. I didn’t order anything from you.”
“Hold on a moment, please.”
Sam hears a click and the first few bars of some standard elevator music worm into his ear. It’s a bit too loud, so he winces and moves the phone away.
“Mr. Winchester?”
“Yes?”
“I apologize for the inconvenience, it appears that the order was placed in your name by a Mr. Tuesday. It was paid for in advance, so all we have to do now is get those specifications for your order – if you choose to accept it, that is.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t know anyone named Tuesday. Are you sure you’ve got the right Sam Winchester?”
“You are currently located at a power plant on the outskirts of Lebanon, Kansas, is that correct? The building is listed as abandoned, the location subducted from all the development plans for the city, county and state, decently warded – although I could refer you to an affiliate company that deals in warding in case you wish to update your protection against metaphysical detection by the level 10 and up creation/destruction entities.”
“Creation/destruction entities,” Sam repeats, dumbstruck. “Levels 10 and up.”
“Major deities,” Molly supplies helpfully. “Those responsible for creation or destruction of some of the inhabited worlds. It looks like you are in agreement with your local ones, but you know what they say – better safe than face yet another apocalypse.”
“Apocalypse,” Sam says. “Right. Who are you, really, and how do you know all of this about me?”
“April Fools, Inc. is a multiverse-wide company that specializes in pranks and practical jokes, from simple yet classic ones like the disappearing whoopee cushion or time-adjusted superglue to elaborate pranking strategies tailored to our clients’ personal preferences. We can make your wildest pranking dreams come true – unless they imply permanent demise of the recipient, of course. No joke is off limits if its intention is a good laugh!”
“Good to know, but you still haven’t answered my question.”
“Our company strives to bring the perfect pranking experience to our clients. We perform basic background checks to make sure we can provide the best options. All information is strictly confidential, of course, and can be disclosed solely to the client.”
Molly starts listing the options that come with the Deluxe Package, but Sam barely listens. He isn’t sure what to think of the whole thing – he doesn’t want to be sure. He tries and fails shutting down the hope suddenly blooming inside him. It tugs at his heart – almost physical, almost painful – and whispers in his ear, fiery and fierce and strong, as if it hadn’t dwindled a little over a year ago. Pranks, hope says, Tuesdays. Do you still think it’s a coincidence?
Sam closes his eyes, phone still in hand, and takes a deep breath.
“Excuse me,” he says, not bothering to wait for a pause in Molly’s sales pitch. “Does this Mr. Wednesday have anything to do with your company?”
Like, maybe, running it, he thinks.
“Mr. Tuesday,” Molly corrects him, “is a client. A very good client. I’m sorry, but I’m not at liberty to share Mr. Tuesday’s personal details with anyone but him. Company rules.”
She still sounds professional, but there’s a hint of apology in there, and Sam has a feeling that she wants to help. Company rules. Right.
“Okay,” he says. “Okay, let’s get through the options. You were saying?”
Half an hour later he’s exhausted his not-so-long list of friends, choosing the basic and most innocent pranks – to make them smile rather than anything else – but whatever this Deluxe Package is, it seems to include enough options to prank the whole planet, Heaven and Hell included. He considers pranking Crowley and Rowena – simply for the sake of getting to the bottom of the Deluxe Package – when Molly informs him that they could set them up for pranking each other, and then it hits him.
“Wait,” he says slowly, “hold on. Are you saying that I can pick anyone to play a prank on my behalf?”
“Yes, of course, it’s part of the special requests subsection of the agreement. Do you have anyone particular in mind?” She sounds a tiny bit hopeful and encouraging, and Sam knows he’s onto something.
“Can I request Mr. Tuesday to play one of the pranks for me?” It takes everything he’s got to make that sentence sound casual.
“It’s possible, yes. Although I’m afraid Mr. Tuesday’s circumstances are somewhat… complicated at the moment. It would take a lot of effort and resources on our part to meet your request. Are you absolutely certain that he is the one you wish to include in your pranking experience?”
“Yes,” Sam says, “Yes, I’m certain.”
“Your Deluxe Package should cover it, but, unfortunately, it would mean that the number of pranks available to you will be reduced considerably.”
“How many do I have?”
“Just one, I’m afraid.”
“Okay. Okay.” Sam pauses. His legs are about to give out, trembling, and he sags down onto the floor. His voice is calm and even when he talks again. “Here’s my final order. I’d like Mr. Tuesday to play a prank of his choosing, within the available range, on – on me.”
“On you? You’d like Mr. Tuesday to play a prank on you?”
“Yes.”
“One Deluxe Package gifted by Mr. Tuesday to Mr. Sam Winchester, including and limited to one Gold Standard Prank played by Mr. Tuesday on Mr. Sam Winchester, to be delivered not later than April 1, 2017, is that correct, Mr. Winchester?”
“Yes,” Sam says, glancing at the clock. A little less than four hours till midnight. He can manage the wait.
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Winchester, we hope you enjoy your Deluxe Package pranking experience and look forward to working with you again! Thank you for choosing April Fools, Inc.!”
“Thank you,” Sam says. “Thank you, Molly.”
The call disconnects and he lets his hand slide to the floor next to him, the phone a dead weight in his palm. He stares at it, still uncertain, unsure whether he should laugh or cry or get drunk because there’s still a chance this entire thing was just a figment of his imagination. Or a cruel prank. He pushes off the floor and gets up, heading to the kitchen for coffee. It’s Friday night and Dean’s out, which means he won’t be back any time soon. He might as well sort through a couple of MoL document boxes to make himself useful and to pretend like he’s not counting seconds till the moment the last day of March will give way to the first day of April.
He tries his best not to expect anything.
Not to wait.
Ten seconds after midnight.
There’s no grand entry. No fireworks of glitter and candy. No obnoxiously loud music blaring from every corner of the bunker.
Ten seconds after midnight Gabriel walks into Sam's room and wraps his arms around him, burying his face in the crook of Sam's neck.
Sam's still sitting at his desk, sifting through the papers, and for a moment he’s frozen, unable to move. Gabriel's arms tighten around him, and Sam's hand finds Gabriel's all on its own and something inside him breaks into a thousand pieces and mends together again.
He moves, then; turns around in his chair, pulling Gabriel into his lap, wrapping his arms around him, breathing him in.
Gabriel is silent still – not a single word, not even his usual quip, and to Sam this silence speaks a whole lot more than words. He holds him close, closer, presses a soft kiss to Gabriel's hair and feels him smile against his chest.
“You should have gone for Mr. World instead,” Sam says.
“Nah. It would’ve been too obvious. Besides, a whole world of legal issues to follow. Pun intended.”
“It wouldn’t be you if it wasn’t intended.”
“You know me so well, Sammykins. A man after my own heart.”
Sam pulls him into a kiss. Everything still feels like a dream, so he has to make sure. There’s golden fire dancing in Gabriel's pupils and his lips are soft and smiling and Sam can’t help his own smile and even though it’s impossible to kiss and smile at the same time, they manage, somehow.
“Long story. Tell you later?” Gabriel says before Sam can open his mouth to ask the question. “Getting back here is one of the best tricks I pulled, but we still need to do one tiny thing to make sure I don’t play the reverse Cinderella who appears after midnight and disappears with dawn.”
“Company rules,” Sam says.
“Still the smartest guy in these parts, huh?”
“I’m not gonna pretend I understand even half of it, so you’re gonna have to tell your story. Later. But now I believe you owe me a prank?”
“About that,” Gabriel says and falls silent, eyes closed, forehead resting against Sam's.
Sam takes his hand, squeezes. “Whatever it takes.”
“You and I are gonna have to get hitched,” Gabriel says. “If you still want me around, that is.”
“How is that even a question,” Sam says, dropping a kiss on Gabriel's temple. “Idiot.”
Gabriel looks up at him with a worried frown. “It is. I don’t mean just married, I mean – uh – bonded?”
“How is that even a question,” Sam says, kissing him on the nose. “Idiot.”
Gabriel beams, then, and – there he is, finally, laughing and kissing and talking at the same time, and it should be impossible, yet here they are.
“This is my best work,” Gabriel says, tugging at Sam's hand, pressing a kiss to his palm, “everyone can go home now, I’m officially the pranking king, one and true and only, cause you see, Sammy, the only way for me to stick around is to be in the process of pranking you, indefinitely, and it’s – it’s the double flip, see? The prank is that it’s not a prank, so it’s all serious and a legit question – be my bonded? Yes?”
“Yes,” Sam says, “how is that even a question, seriously-”
Gabriel lunges forward, cutting Sam off mid-sentence, and their kiss is desperate and frantic and Sam finally, finally knows that this is real.
Several minutes later they’re interrupted by a series of bangs and Dean’s outraged cries. Sam raises an eyebrow. Gabriel shrugs.
“That,” he says, “was my bonus prank. I’m much valued by the Company, y’know. So, I thought, why not stick to the classics and fill up Dean’s precious baby with glitter.”
“Before you say anything,” Sam says as soon as Dean appears in his doorway, “this was my welcome to the family present for Gabriel.”
“We’re getting married,” Gabriel adds.
They both watch in fascination as half a dozen different emotions flicker across Dean’s face. He crosses the room in a couple of quick strides, jaw set, and wraps them both in a bone-crushing, glittery hug.
“I hate you both,” Dean says. “Congratulations.”
tag list (message me if you wanna be added) @keepingcalmisoverratedgoddamnit @lacqueluster @kibberswrites
I still want my Stormpilot fic so how about Poe coming back from a long mission and Finn greeting him as soon as he lands with the fluffiest of kiss because they missed each other a lot ? (I am making myself swoon just imagining it) (Also, you gotta watch Rogue One) (Also also, so sorry if my madness over it spammed your dash ! I just ... aaaargh, best movie ever ! And the fandom is so nice and talented, it's insane) Hum. Anyway. Love and hugs, darling !
sorry it took me so long and also this thing decided to not be a drabble also angst but there’s the happy sappy ending I’m putting most of it under the cut hope you like <3
ao3
Every time Poelands after yet another successful mission, Finn is there, waiting. Poe takeshis helmet off and grins at him, spotting him among the crowd almostimmediately, and then they weave their way through people and droids andcargoes being unloaded, running towards each other, colliding somewhere inbetween the unspoken words.
You’re alive. You’re back.
Hey buddy, I missed you.
This hug iswhere Finn wants to stay forever. Poe is his best friend and there’s nowhereelse he’d rather be.
The huglasts just a few seconds and Poe’s hand ruffles Finn’s hair as they pull apartand Poe grins at him, again, telling him that the jacket still looks better onhim than it ever did on Poe. Finn laughs and shakes his head and Poe slings hisarm around Finn’s shoulders, steering them towards the base and their friendsto celebrate another small victory. They laugh and drink and talk missions andplans and strategy and Finn is still, after all this time, amazed by howeffortlessly he fits in. How this place and these people feel like a home he’snever had.
It’s notalways like that, of course. Sometimes it’s Poe who is waiting in the crowd forFinn to return from a mission. Sometimes they land seconds apart. Sometimes theyland together. But they still hug after they climb out of Poe’s X-wing, and Poestill grins at him and ruffles his hair and Finn holds him tight, and there’sthe same unspoken hey, I missed youbetween them.
Finn doesn’tthink about it too much. He doesn’t even know there’s something to think about.His life with the Resistance is so different from what it has been before thathe feels like he’s floating on air most of the time.
Except whenPoe is late from his mission.
It can be aday or two and when Poe lands he is battered and bruised and covered in grime,but he is still smiling when Finn runs up to him to help him to the med bay. Itcan be just a couple of hours and it’s nothing out of the ordinary, and Finn knowsit – anyone can be a few hours late if the circumstances change.
This time,it’s been three weeks. Three weeks of radio silence and one pointless rescuemission that discovered Poe never even landed on the little moon that was his destination.
It’s beenthree weeks and Finn is sick with worry. He dreams of running. Running throughthe maze of corridors, back on the Starkiller Base, knowing that Poe is there,somewhere, but unable to find him or the way out. Running towards Poe’s X-wingto find a complete stranger in his place. Running through the dark and quiet,his own ragged breath and uneven heartbeat the only sounds in his ears. He wakesup in the dead of the night, drenched in sweat, muffling a scream.
Jessika findshim like this, one day. She hugs him and holds him, stroking his back, sayingthat it must have been harder on him than anyone else and that everyoneunderstands and he should be brave and strong for Poe. He tells her that itmust be just as hard for her because Poe is her friend too, and watches hereyes widen and her mouth form a surprised oh.
She shakesher head and there are tears in her eyes as she huffs out a quiet laugh,looking up to the ceiling with Poe Dameron,ever the gentleman and the shake of her fist and you better come back, you idiot, you hear me. He is waiting for you.
They stayup till it’s almost dawn and they talk. Well, Jessika talks, mostly. Finn listens.It’s a lot to take in, but four in the morning is the time when everythingfeels slightly off, reality worn a little too thin, and it’s much easier toaccept it. He knows she is right. About them, about everything. But Poe isstill missing and it’s too much, and Finnfeels like he cannot breathe, but Jessika is still there and she is stilltalking, trying her best to distract him, so he wipes off his tears and triesto smile and asks her to tell him more about Poe. And listens.
He wakes upto the afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows and a breakfast tray onthe table. Must have been Jessika, he thinks, and the memories of their late-nightconversation rush in, settling somewhere in the pit of his stomach, heavy. The sightof food makes him sick, so he reaches for a glass of water instead.
Poe isstill missing. He tries not to think, tries to pull himself together, but itdoesn’t really work. The glass slips from his fingers and rolls under the bedand he cannot hold his tears in any longer. He cries for the first time sincehe was a little boy.
He takes along shower and heads to the gym, hoping that the combat training bots candistract him. He doesn’t walk through the landing strip and takes the long wayaround instead, avoiding the crowd. He is halfway through his warm-up routinewhen he hears footsteps and Jessika runs in, hugging him tight, laughing. She istalking way too fast and at first he doesn’t understand what she is saying, butthen some of her words finally register and he feels the ground tilt and slipaway.
They caughtPoe’s signal.
Finn spendsthe next two and a half hours switching between happy and desperate, pacingaround his room until Jessika forces him to stop. They found him. They’re on their way. What if they’re late. What ifsomething goes wrong. They found him. They found him.
There’s arush of air and sound as the X-wings land. The crowd around him erupts incheers as Poe takes his helmet off and throws it high in the air. His eyes lockonto Finn’s and he grins, and Finn feels like he’s in a dream, floating on air.They weave their way through people and droids and cargoes being unloaded,running towards each other, colliding somewhere in between, and Finn watches hisown hands reach out and pull Poe into a kiss. It’s awkward and clumsy at first,but then Poe tilts his head and his lips are warm and real and his hands hold on to Finn’s waist, pulling him closerstill, and this is it, Finn thinks, finally.
Finally.
“Took youlong enough,” Poe says, grinning, his breath hot against Finn’s lips.
“Jessikasays you’re an idiot.” Finn pulls away for a moment, looks at Poe’s smug face. “Iagree.”
The cheeringaround them is a lot louder now, but Finn doesn’t care. He feels the groundbeneath his feet and Poe’s flight jacket under his fingers, and it’s all solidand real and there. Poe looks at him,somewhat sheepish now, biting his lip.
uhhhh... remember this one? it’s taking me forever I know but here’s the next part. not a v long one but still - I haven’t forgotten this story and hopefully it will soon be finished. there isn’t so much left to write I think. just another little bit and an epilogue bc fluff.
anyway. enjoy!)
part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 part 9
Neither Cas nor Sam spoke for a full minute, and Gabriel could feel Sam's reluctance through their bond.
“On second thoughts, Cassie, maybe you should go check up on Dean after all. Make sure he doesn’t do anything incredibly brave and stupid, okay? Sam and I shall meet you in the library in a few.”
Cas nodded and left the room, closing the door behind him.
Gabriel let go of the controls, gently tugging Sam along with him. His body might as well have a nap while they talk.
“What is it, Sam? What’s that you don’t wanna talk to me about? Cause, you know, this bond thing you and I got going is kinda giving you away.”
Sam's soul pressed closer to Gabriel, not unlike a human gesture of burying your face in the other’s chest when you wanted to avoid a difficult conversation. Gabriel tightened his embrace, sending Sam love and support through the bond.
“It’s my fault,” came Sam's mental whisper a few drawn-out moments later. “When you… I mean, at first, I didn’t think it was something permanent. I saw you collapse and for a split second I felt something, like – like a tug – I think it must have been the bond forming. But I didn’t know that then, and I thought – I thought the witch just knocked you out of your vessel.”
Sam paused, lost in the memory, and Gabriel saw his light grow dimmer with the pain that it brought back.
“It’s okay, Sammy. I’m here. It’s okay.”
“No, no it’s not. Gabriel, I – I killed him. I killed the witch – probably the only person who knew how to reverse the spell. We got him, when he hit you – he was distracted enough for Dean to get to him before he could pull anything else. And he was so smug about it. Going on and on and on how he was the only witch who could boast killing an archangel. How lucky he was to get the very archangel this spell was meant for. Cas asked him if he could reverse it and bring you back. He said that he wouldn’t do it even if he knew how. And I just – I couldn’t stand it, Gabriel. I couldn’t. I couldn’t deal with the thought that you were gone and I – I beat him to pulp. Used my demon knife. More than once.”
Gently, Gabriel cradled Sam's soul closer. He didn’t speak – didn’t feel the need to. Instead, he let his grace seep through the tiny cracks in Sam's soul. They weren’t something permanent, these cracks. But two years of watching Sam suffer were about enough. He was finally able to do something.
It took several moments for Sam to notice – the sensation shouldn’t have been unpleasant, but it was very subtle.
“Gabriel, what – what are you doing?” came Sam's confused mental voice.
“Just a bit of TLC for your soul, Samshine, nothing criminal. How does it feel?”
There was a pause while Sam pondered the question.
“Tingly, I guess. Hard to say for sure when you don’t feel your body.”
“Tingly’s good. Means that the damage is minimal, just as I thought. You’re too hard on yourself sometimes, kiddo. Blaming yourself for things you didn’t have a say in? Not good. Try a bit harder and your soul might crack.”
“But… but it was my fault, Gabriel. I killed the witch.”
“No, it wasn’t. You watched me die and then heard my murderer bragging about it. You reacted just like anyone would. If I were you, I would’ve killed him too. So. Not your fault.”
“But him being dead–”
“Is a good thing. If a spell isn’t reversed with the death of the witch who cast it, it at least gets a bit weaker. You got me a fighting chance is what you did. Don’t think you’d wanna beat yourself about that.”
“Oh.”
“Yep. And don’t worry about not getting enough intel outta him, cause you got the most important bits, Sammy, only you didn’t realize it at the time. The spell was intended for me. Not some random angel and not any of the other archangels – and that can mean one thing only.”
“Let me guess. There’s some of your grace in that spell?”
“Bingo!”
“But how’s that good news exactly?”
“It’s good news because it means we’ve got a simple solution to all of our troubles.”
“Seriously?!”
“Absolutely. You and I, Samsquatch, are gonna burn my body.”
Gabriel watches Sam sleep and everything is soft - Sam’s closed eyes and his parted lips and his curls on the pillow and the glow of the night-light on the bedside table
the night-light is shaped like a candle in an ancient-looking holder and what Sam doesn’t know is that it actually is ancient and its power is to banish his nightmares and protect him in his sleep and alert Gabriel when the dreams are too powerful for it to handle
Sam got it at a thrift store in some small town he wouldn’t probably remember the name of
Gabriel put it in there for him to find, a cheap thing Sam wouldn’t think twice about spending money on and the shop owner left thinking he made a bargain (Gabriel is still very good at this sort of thing)
Gabriel watches Sam sleep
Gabriel watches Sam sleep and Sam’s face looks so young, sharp angles and hard lines smoothed out now that Gabriel’s there and the nightmare is gone
Gabriel looks at Sam - Sam Winchester, the boy who ran away, the man who came back and stood up to every monster out there including his elder brothers and won, hunter extraordinaire with a heart so kind and so generous and ready to forgive everyone but himself
Gabriel knows that they call the other brother the righteous man, but to him Sam is and always will be a hero, someone worth dying for, someone worth fighting for
someone to love
Gabriel watches Sam sleep
Gabriel watches Sam sleep and he would give all the power of creation to be able to touch: to brush a strand of hair off his forehead, to run a thumb over his cheek - something, anything
there isn’t much of him left, a wisp of grace and the bond between them holding him together, letting him be even after he wasn’t, so he keeps pushing through the dark and the cold and not being; slowly, carefully putting himself back together - it feels like an eternity or two or ten, but in the end nothing is too long for this and nothing is impossible for them
“I’m gonna get back to you, kiddo,” Gabriel whispers, into the room, into Sam’s dream, now peaceful and full of bliss (Sam is smiling in his sleep; a tear rolls down his cheek)
do you remember building sandcastles when you were a kid? I used to build them a lot. there was a sandbox on the playground, but the sand there was too dry. except for when it rained. my parents wouldn’t let me go out in the rain, so I had to wait.
the sand holds the water well. it stayed wet even after everything else got dry. if you dig deep enough. or, there were always puddles. potholes in the driveway filled with muddy water. I used my plastic scoop to fill my plastic bucket when the puddle was too shallow to dip it in.
I’d build the outer walls of a castle, and a drawbridge, and inner walls and staircases and I would put pretty leaves and dandelion heads and clovers on top. a flag made of some twig with a leaf on it. I’d close my hand, folding my fingers so that all of them but index and middle were tucked into the fist.
and there he was. the king of the castle. he walked over the drawbridge and round the walls and up the stairs. he climbed on top of the highest tower of the castle and looked over all of his lands. the sun was shining and the sky was blue and the kingdom prospered.
sometimes I feel that life’s a little bit like building sandcastles. you prop up the walls and surround yourself with pretty things and people you are comfortable with. sometimes their way of thinking about things is similar to yours, sometimes you wonder if you have anything at all in common. either way, you just seem to click. somehow.
you work, you sleep, you eat, you go out - you build a routine around you, sandcastle walls and drawbridges and staircases. if you lie down on the floor of your sandcastle and look up you can see sand walls with your fingers imprinted in them, and the sky that is the bluest of blue and the green of the grass and the trees. a dandelion on top of the highest tower.
you are the king of your life and you look around from the top of the tower and everything is fine. everything is in order and your kingdom prospers.
but there’s always somebody who is too busy to be somewhere else so they don’t look where they’re going. and as they run, their foot lands right in the middle of your sandcastle, leaving it in ruins. they don’t look back, usually. or, maybe, they do look back and drop a hasty sorry over their shoulder and it makes you cringe and hold back your tears. and you cannot even tell where the drawbridge was and half of the flowers are broken and the twig that was the flag of your kingdom is missing.
when you’re four years old and you’re on the playground you let yourself cry and maybe chase that other kid around the playground and hit them on the back with your scoop for ruining yout beautiful castle. you sulk and mope for a while and then get your bucket and fill it with puddle water and start working on a new castle. it’s gonna be twice as big and it’s gonna have three drawbridges instead of one.
with life, you kinda do the same. time passes and you move on and you build the sandcastle of your life and the sun is shining again.
but what do you do when the sand is too dry and there’s no water left?
with that effortless grace of models in magazine photoshoots where they slouch against walls, wearing three layers of oversized designer clothes while still managing to look frail and not shapeless
like I would if you put me there instead. mine is a life of on and off dieting, and avoiding my body in the mirror when I shower, and eating after midnight, and feeling guilty about it
I’m never going to be skinny, I tell myself, I teach myself to love the body I’m in, the body that sometimes feels like an alien
like an enemy, fighting me every step of the way, betraying me with sudden cravings and its persistent, annoying love of chocolate at all hours of day
I’m never going to be skinny. I started counting calories. I ate ten grams of chocolate per day for almost a month and then I was on my way home and I was hungry and tired. I bought a box of my favourite pastries and ate all of them in one go, and got dizzy and high on all of that sugar
I’m counting calories. it’s working. I cannot do it all the time, I relapse, I say fuck it and eat an entire chocolate bar, and then another, but it’s still working
I’ve got a mid-thigh gap. it feels so weird. it feels like I’ve never had a thigh gap before, although I know it cannot be true. I was much thinner before I hit puberty. I should have had a thigh gap then.
right?
I have thin wrists and long fingers and soft fine bumps of wristbones and veins shining through the translucent skin on the inside. I have beautiful hands. and they are always this way, no matter how much weight I gain they stay the same thin and delicate hands of someone who is skinny
but I’m not
I’m never going to be skinny
it’s not something to lose sleep about. just a fact. I’ve accepted it a long time ago. I love my curves and my wide hips and I’ve got a great ass. I switched to wearing short skirts and I don’t give a fuck. I’m used to all the extra fat on my stomach and ways to cover it up and I know my cheekbones look their best after a sleepless night
