Grave digging, no matter how much practice you get, is hard work. Anyone who's done the job properly puts a body deep, and it takes time and energy to get down there. To get to that coffin sunk all the way down into the earth.
Sam knows, better than most people, how true that is. He's been shovel deep in a grave a hundred times.
Of course he's currently the only person who's actually doing any work.
Gabriel's sat on one of the gravestones, hands stretched out behind him like he has nothing better to do. He's supposed to be showing he can be trusted not to mess with them when they're on a hunt, but he seems to have taken that to mean 'do absolutely nothing at all.'
"Maybe you could - oh, I don't know - help?" Sam says tightly.
"And miss the sight of you getting all sweaty and annoyed," Gabriel's voice is drawling and lazy. "You're giving menial tasks layers here that I didn't even know existed."
Gabriel gets the next shovel full of dirt in the face.
"That was totally uncalled for."
Sam ignores him and goes back to digging.
Gabriel is suspiciously quiet for a long minute.
"Stop looking at my ass," Sam says eventually.
"How did you know I was looking?"
"You're predictable, and annoying."
"What else am I supposed to look at? The dirt, the gravestones, the creepy graveyard trees?"
"Something that isn't my ass," Sam huffs. Because seriously, seriously? Dean gets the angel that makes cow eyes and rebels against heaven and explodes for him and Sam gets-
This is completely unfair.
"Yeah, but the sex is fantastic," Gabriel points out, like Sam hasn't told him not to read his mind a thousand times.
"It is not," Sam protests, slamming the shovel into the ground hard enough to vibrate soft agony all the way through his shoulder.
"Last night I think you actually cried." Gabriel looks smug, he always looks smug.
"Shut up," Sam tells him, and fumes quietly while another six inches disappears from the grave. Because that's not the point, absolutely not the point.
Even if it's completely true.