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They get there too late.

The idiot intent on trying to raise Bacchus himself has already finished the spell, and this isn't loose change magic this is 'lightning in the walls, four human sacrifices, sell your soul and burn your insides out' magic. This is magic that's meant to turn a town of four thousand people into an orgy of sex and violence.

And they're too fucking late.

Sam's at ground zero when the spell tears out, furious and alive. He sees the great whirling, churning mass of it, feels the room vibrate like someone's struck it sharply and then Gabriel shoves him down behind the stone altar. It sounds like the whole world caves in and Gabriel is a lot heavier than he looks. But Sam's fairly sure the Archangel is the only reason he isn't carved in half by the same thing that destroys the altar.

He's breathing into the floor, lungs burning, eyes watering and then suddenly the world isn't caving in on itself any more. He's left coughing dust when everything stops shaking and Gabriel is gone off his back with a scrape of boots across concrete. Already up and moving while Sam's still relearning how to breathe. When he finally manages to drag himself up on unsteady legs he finds Gabriel in the middle of the room, staring down at where the contents of the altar must now be.

"Did it get out?" he asks. Because that's exactly what they were here to stop from happening. Sam clambers out of the wood and chunks of stone and comes round the makeshift altar, smacking dust off his jeans.

The witch looks like he was taken out by his own magic, there's just a dark, broken patch of floor where he was standing.

"Did it work?" Sam demands, coughs. "Gabriel?"

"Oh, it worked," Gabriel says stiffly.

Sam's stomach flips.

"The town -"

"The town's fine," Gabriel tells him. He finally turns to face him, expression tight and unhappy, eyebrows drawn down.

Sam shakes his head, not quite believing it.

"What - how, I mean Cas was pretty sure it would turn into a nightmare. Why isn't it -"

"Maybe because I'm holding it," Gabriel says slowly.

Sam frowns.

"You're holding it?" he asks incredulously. "The spell, the whole thing."

"Yes, the whole thing," Gabriel's voice has gone low and rough. He brushes at his own sleeve in an almost irritated gesture, dust floating off in tiny bursts. But the movement is stiff and anything but casual.

Sam looks at him, really looks at him. At the slow twitch of his hand and the tight, strangely serious line of his mouth. There's none of the loose, easy almost arrogant control he's always wearing

"How's that - ah - how's that going exactly?" Sam asks cautiously. Because he knows for a fact that this was magic with some serious power behind it. Bobby had pretty much said the thing couldn't be stopped, couldn't be contained. That was why they'd come here to prevent it from happening.

Gabriel glares at him.

"Better than the alternative I would have thought," Gabriel says tightly.

Which isn't an answer.

Sam shakes his head, heads for the stairs.

"We have to get out of here -"

"We can't." Gabriel tips his head towards the ceiling, where the lines of black painted there are now running and swirling like they're alive.

"The whole room is sealed. It's like a magical fail-safe so the villagers can't come up and eat whatever suicidal moron does the spell before it's done causing mayhem."

"You can't just teleport out?"

"Not in the same amount of pieces as I teleported in," Gabriel explains.

Sam looks at the ragged wall behind the altar.

"What about the walls, they're not exactly solid, maybe we could smash through -"

"Yeah, let's not do that," Gabriel says slowly, like Sam's missing something, again. Which he'd probably do a lot less if Gabriel canned the special angel crap and told him stuff every once in a while. The air of mystery is getting really old.

"So what then?"

Gabriel shakes his head, then winces and rubs the back of his neck.

Sam knows how his face must look, confusion, worry.

"So what we're trapped in here?"

"Until your idiot brother and Castiel get here," Gabriel says miserably, as if being forced to live by the laws of speed limits and Winchesters is terribly beneath him.

"They're probably still three hundred miles away, you did teleport us here after all."

Gabriel huffs annoyance and lifts a hand, presses it against his forehead in a way that could be irritation or genuine discomfort. Sam's pretty damn worried that it's the latter. Worrying about Gabriel is a foreign concept, but he'd come here to help him, and that's exactly what he's doing. For all that he gives them endless amounts of shit he is, tentatively, on their side now. For all that he flatly refuses to let them say as much.

Sam can't just ignore the fact that Gabriel is an Archangel and he's quite clearly suffering.

He looks at him, at the way he's leant into the wall at a strange angle, skin paler than it has any right to be.

"Are you ok?" Sam asks.

Gabriel smirks in his direction but it's so thin even Sam can see through it.

"Are you actually worried about me? That's kind of funny and something I'll no doubt mock you for endlessly later."

Sam scowls because it's not like Gabriel needs new things to mock them about. He's about to tell him where to shove it. But there's a dark flash of red on his skin, just under his nose. It's startling, in a way Castiel's blood never is.

"Gabriel, you're bleeding."

Gabriel grunts and presses at his upper lip, then seems surprised to find the smear of blood across his fingers.

"It's just physical damage, it's a manifestation. I can't actually haemorrhage if that's what you're worried about. It's warning me that I'm pushing at this body's limits."

Which isn't exactly comforting considering what Sam's seen Gabriel's powers in that body do. He's not even entirely sure how his body works. Or how exactly he has Trickster powers if he's an Archangel. But Sam's fairly sure that now is not the best time to be debating angel physiology. He's almost certain Gabriel isn't going to be doing any helpful explaining.

"What about if you just let a little of it out?" Sam suggests carefully.

Gabriel looks at him like he's going to win awards for his stupidity.

"It's about fifty tonnes of sex magic and you want it wild in this room? I'm a lot stronger than I look Sam and I can safely say it won't end well for you."

Which - ok, he doesn't exactly need any further clarification.

"So why is it ok inside you?" he protests.

Gabriel sighs, expansively, tilts his head back against the wall and swallows.

"Angels are essentially sexless. When we're not inside a vessel we don't really have the inclination or the ability to try and combine with each other in interesting and flexible ways. Lets just say the magic is confused about that and leave it at that."

"But you're in a body right now," Sam says carefully like Gabriel might have forgotten, because it seems worth pointing out. Much as Sam hates to be the bearer of obvious bad news. Because he seems to be saddled with that a lot.

Gabriel pulls a face, quick and tight and irritated. As if Sam has reminded him of something unpleasant.

"I'm working on that," he drawls out. Though it sounds more tired and breathless than mocking. He mutters something after it that Sam doesn’t catch.

Sam watches a trail of blood make its way across Gabriel's upper lip.

He reaches out without thinking and Gabriel flinches away from him immediately.

"I thought you were supposed to be the smart one," he snaps. "It's probably not a brilliant idea to touch me." He wipes the line away with his thumb.

"Yeah, I mean, yeah, sorry." Sam rubs his hands on his jeans, watches Gabriel very careful lean into the wall, cross his boots over each other.

He makes an unhappy noise and lets his head fall back.

"You don't look so good," Sam tells him.

"Thank you for that rousing endorsement," Gabriel grumbles without opening his eyes.

But when Sam doesn't say anything else he sighs and rolls his head to the side, looks at him.

"This room isn't exactly the best place to try any sort of containment considering how many of these nasty symbols want to do exactly the opposite. We're not exactly built to contain dark magic, and definitely not sex magic. If you had any idea how difficult this was you'd be more grateful."

"I am grateful," Sam murmurs. "Jesus, if only because there's a whole town out there that isn't currently turning into a blood-soaked orgy thanks to you."

"Have I mentioned that working for the good guys has no perks whatsoever," Gabriel says through a grin that feels a hundred percent false.

Sam tries to look grateful.

"The fact that you're helping people -"

Gabriel makes a rude noise.

"No perks whatsoever," he insists throwing his hands over his knees.

His nose is bleeding again and it's unnerving. Archangels aren't supposed to bleed. They aren't supposed to make brittle tight little noises of pain.

"Is this actually going to hurt you?" Sam asks carefully.

Gabriel takes a slow breath.

"Magic has a lifespan just like a living thing. Sex magic is furious enough that it tends to burn itself out quickly. Though it's going to be exceedingly pissed about not being given an outlet. So it's going to be incredibly unpleasant for me but probably won't kill me."

He doesn't sound half as sure as Sam would like.


"Doing this crap on the fly isn't exactly in the manual, Sam."

Sam can't resist.

"You get manuals?"

Gabriel rolls his head to look at him and looks halfway set on making a joke. But he tenses up suddenly and awkwardly, like he's just experienced something a lot like pain.

Sam swallows.

"Look, if there's any way I can help -"

Gabriel flinches like Sam's tried to touch him again.

"Please, don't suggest that again," he says stiffly.

Sam huffs something unhappy, starts pushing his boot through the rubbish that was on the altar.

"I'm thinking maybe if there's a knife here somewhere we can try and pry some of the symbols off of the walls, this place looks old enough to be falling apart, what do you think? Gabriel?"

Sam turns around.

Gabriel's on the floor.


Sam's up and across the room in seconds and Gabriel is easy to roll over, loose and slight and too warm.


The Archangel's eyes have rolled up in his head, he's barely even breathing. Sam's not even sure if he's supposed to have a pulse, he checks for one anyway and finds nothing. But Gabriel's skin is impossibly, furiously hot in a way that can't be good for anyone.

Sam doesn't have a clue what he's supposed to do.



Sam can't shake the feeling that if he doesn’t do something Gabriel is going to burn in this crappy fucking basement in the middle of nowhere. The Archangel Gabriel is going to burn from the inside out.

Nothing's worth that.



Gabriel makes a protesting noise but his eyes open.

His pupils are huge and it's odd seeing any sort of physical reaction when the body isn't even real. Sam's aware suddenly of his hands curled round Gabriel's arms, of the way he's leant over him and he thinks this is exactly the sort of thing Gabriel would probably call him on. But the angel doesn’t have any business telling Sam he's being stupid when he can't even focus on his face.

He's not focusing on anything, like he can see a thousand things Sam can't.

Sam's gone all the way from worried into something sharper now, something that maybe realises this is more serious than Gabriel's admitting to.

"Gabriel?" he says again, cautiously.

Gabriel blinks, twice and then pulls himself back to a sit and pointedly out of Sam's hands. He's paler than before, holding himself still and careful like it hurts to pretend to be human.

"Next time I think about doing something this stupid your brother has permission to shoot me," he says stiffly. "Repeatedly."

There's blood against the curve of his neck now and Sam's fairly sure it's coming out of his ear. Sam's going to call bullshit on Gabriel's assertion that it's just a 'manifestation.'

Holding on to this much magic clearly isn't good for him.

And since there's no way to let it out, or burn it off -

Sam wipes his hands on his jeans, then fists them nervously against the denim. Because what he's considering is maybe the stupidest thing he's ever done, and he's done some pretty stupid things in his time.

"Gabriel, I can help. If I just let you -"

"Stop talking, Sam," Gabriel says and that's not his Trickster voice. It's flat and old and deep and it wants desperately to be obeyed.

Sam's never been very good at obedient.

He already has a hand in Gabriel's jacket and he knows the angel could be immovable if he wanted to be. But he isn't, he turns when Sam pulls him, he turns like he's human and Sam catches the hot skin of his jaw and pulls until he's facing him.

He kisses him.

There's a moment of perfect stillness, where Gabriel's mouth is strange and warm under his own.

Then the angel has his wrists in a tight vice of fingers that hurts, Jesus it hurts. There's a sharp grind of wrist bones and Sam makes a noise, can't help but make a noise. Gabriel's breathing against his mouth, and then into it. Suddenly hot and demanding. Sam kisses back, opens to the wet slide of tongue that's hard and dirty and greedy.

It takes Gabriel a long second to force himself back, to look at him.

"You can do this, if you need to," Sam says awkwardly. He feels stupid that he can't say it out loud, feels stupid because his voice shakes.

But Gabriel inhales, quick, messy, like just the thought of it, just Sam saying it -

"Sam," he says quietly and his fingers tighten.

Sam winces and Gabriel's hands very slowly relax.

"I don't think we're quite that good a friends, Sam," he says stiffly but it's clear he doesn't want to let go.

"Gabriel," Sam insists, just his name, nothing else.

"You're insane," Gabriel says shakily, he sounds drunk, he sounds desperate.

"Yeah," Sam agrees quietly. "I've been told that before, believe me."

The stillness is almost painful now, and Sam pushes, just a little harder.

"Come on, Gabriel, I know your self-preservation instincts are that good."

Gabriel makes a hard noise, like Sam's stupid.

"You know I'm going to fuck you," he says bluntly, and Sam's fairly sure he does it on purpose.

Sam swallows, swallows again.

"Yeah," he manages.

Gabriel exhales, surprise maybe at his lack of protest. There's no colour in his eyes at all now and that's unnerving in a way that's familiar. In a way he doesn’t want to think about.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

Sam thinks maybe it says something that Gabriel doesn't protest, doesn’t tell him no or try to change his mind.

He gives one nod, reckless and jerky. Even though he's not even sure of the answer himself. But he's already stepped off the edge.

Gabriel moves, unfolds slowly and for all that he's so much smaller than Sam he doesn’t feel it right now. Doesn't feel it when he fists hands in his shirt and pushes him down under his own weight and his mouth is one hot demand to open and give. While his shaky hands, that seem to have lost all ability to be careful, quickly drag Sam's shirt out of his jeans.

Gabriel doesn’t need focus, he doesn’t need concentration. The buttons come off of Sam's shirt with one jerk and the button from his jeans follows them with a clatter.

"No changing your mind," Gabriel says fiercely. It's not a question it's a warning and Sam has to swallow and nod and let Gabriel strip him in rough movements. He strips himself at the same time, gets distracted by the loose edges of Sam's shirt and jeans, cloth dragging almost painfully on flesh, over-warm hands stopping and pressing into every new line of bare skin. Like he can't help himself.

Sam's not hard and when Gabriel discovers as much his hands stop and dig in, one moment of stillness. He makes a noise that's broken.

Sam shakes him out of it, he takes a breath and turns over, knee drawn up on the concrete floor, a dig of pain that makes him shift back.

Gabriel can't quite resist the blatant invitation.

Sam's breathing into the dust, nerves and tension making every exhale unsteady and too quick and Gabriel is sliding hot slippery fingers all the way inside him, quick and dirty and not as gentle as he might have been grateful for. It's strangely intimate and uncomfortable and Sam buries his face in his arm and just breathes through it.

He's fairly sure this is going to be rough. But if everyone walks out of here then that's ok, that's good enough and he wishes he didn't have that damn self-sacrificing streak. Because he's fairly sure he's pushed Gabriel too far to stop and he's in over his head and this isn't exactly the sort of situation where he ever thought he'd been trying a completely new type of sex.

That he's fairly sure is going to hurt.

"Don't say no." It's a broken shiver against the back of his neck, followed by a wet dig of teeth. Gabriel presses into the curve of his ass, one rigid line of heat. "Don't say no, Sam, don't make me do that."

Sam swallows down a dry throat.

"I won't," he promises.

He kind of wants to beg for more lube but Gabriel is already sliding up, already close and hard and burning hot and Sam relaxes as much as he can.

It's a slow push that drags a low shivery noise out of Gabriel's throat and a stunned unhappy noise out of Sam's. His knee slides up higher to take it, forehead pressed into the floor. It feels like it goes on forever and Sam holds the word 'stop' behind his teeth. Because he said he wouldn’t, he promised he wouldn't.

Gabriel is utterly gone with it, fingers caught tight on his skin, hips steady and slow and insistent.

It takes a long handful of uncomfortable pushes before Sam makes a startled rough noise at an unexpected spike of greedy wet pleasure and he's hard then, the painful drag-dig of it sharp where he's pressed into the floor.

He didn’t expect it to be good, didn’t expect to enjoy it. Sam's smart enough to know why people do, but this is - this is raw and hot. When every quick push goes so deep it sends fire along his spine, across his thighs and deep in his groin until he's gasping. Until he's fairly sure he's going to come like this, spread open and pressed into the dusty floor.

"Gabriel." It's just a garbled mess of a word but Gabriel presses in hard and sharp like it's a demand and that's enough, just enough. Sam gasps into the dust, hidden by his own hair when he moans his way through release, frighteningly intense and he can feel every slow push like over-stimulation.

He groans when Gabriel slides out, rolls him onto his back. Sam's still busy learning to breathe again when Gabriel pushes his thighs apart and slides back in and -


Sam's still too sensitive gasping and twitching on every slow pushing slide, greedy where he's still sore. But the little shivers of it stray closer and closer to good. He's fairly sure there's no chance he's going to get hard again, he's not the one under magical influence -

Until it occurs to him that he could be.

He catches the softness of Gabriel's waist, hauls him down and the angel grabs his hair and kisses him. Tight catch of pain from his fingers and his teeth. Before Sam manages to turn his head away.

"Share, Gabriel," he says roughly.

Gabriel groans against his mouth.

"Do you have any idea how much of it there is." It's a slow drag of words like it hurts to talk.

Sam shivers on the next push.

"Please," he says roughly and Gabriel makes a choked off noise.

The next time the angel kisses him it burns.

It burns all the way through.


The ceiling is grey and still crawling with black symbols when Sam blinks up at it. He's not sure how much later it is. But he feels achy and exhausted and hollowed out. Every breath rasps in and shudders out.

Gabriel's on the other side of the room, he's dressed again, boots shifting through the dust.

His expression is pale and tight and horrible. But he's not bleeding any more, he doesn't look unsteady any more.

Sam thinks maybe the loss of control is eating at him. He carefully pulls himself to a sit, regrets it almost instantly. He hurts pretty much everywhere, the quick red of bruises that will turns purple and blue later, the hard sting of teeth marks and the unfamiliar solid pain every time he moves. The hazy washed out memories of everything after the first time tell him why to all of those things. He thinks maybe everything got a little rough. He thinks Gabriel let it, maybe couldn’t help it. But Sam's definitely the one that came off worse for it. What with the being human thing, and the whole inexperience thing.

He thinks he finally understands all the fucking limping jokes now.

His shirt is a mess and his jeans no longer do up properly, but they'll do. He can always make up some shit about the guy trying to sacrifice him.

They've lost clothes like that before.

He careful makes his way back to the altar, even though his body desperately wants to lay down again.

Gabriel's still refusing to look at him.