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It wasn’t so much that Sam was doing research, for once he was really and genuinely curious.
He wasn’t sure why he was curious, but he was pretty sure it was the pair of stray dogs he saw fucking the shit out of each other in an alleyway when Dean, Cas and him had been on the way back to their motel after a hunt. Cas gave the two canines a sidelong look filled with a confused type of disgust. It was kind of awkward, too, because it was like tuning into a TV show where you had no idea what the hell was going on.
And so, he arrives at the simplistic Google start page, and glances mildly around the room (because Dean seeing him search up this crap would probably mean never-ending bestiality jokes) before typing ‘animal courtship rituals’, as, he really hopes that poor female dog had a little warning before becoming a half of a bad doggy porno.
Long story short, though, one of the first things that comes up is a list of the strangest ways animals ask each other to be their fuck-buddies, and after that, Sam ends up on a page about birds.
There’s whole books that could be filled with info on this stuff -- but to dumb it down, there’s a few major things Sam learns on his Google expedition. One: birds like to try and outdo each other. Whether it be odd feather displays or just trying to see which dude has the bigger balls, it’s always a big show. Two: when trying to convince another bird to become his lady-friend, birds like to take care of each other. It could be preening or feeding each other or maybe building something. It all sounds kind of nice. And lastly, three: sometimes, it’s ridiculous.
Like when the Bird of Paradise gets horny, it decides to break out a weird tutu type feather pattern that looks like a face. Some dance, and, there’s even some bizarre ass bird that does the moonwalk to attract a suitable girlfriend. Some of them grow colorful feathers on their bodies.
Sam’s suddenly really glad he’s not a bird.
+
Gabriel pops in two days after the Great Google Search, and lands in an irritatingly inconvenient position, considering Sam’s trying to do research for their latest hunt (which he suspects to be an vengeful spirit, but it’s better safe than sorry). “Heya Sammy,” he says casually, “what’re you up to on this fine, fine day?”
Sam rolls his eyes. “Trying to research.”
Gabriel bunches his nose up at Sam’s cross tone, “I see,” his voice is laced with the sound of distaste Sam usually associates with getting rid of a rotten food item, “are you up to anything else? Maybe, something a little less ‘family business’ related?”
Sam shrugs, clicking on an old newspaper article from the 70’s, “Am I ever up to something a little less ‘family business’ related?”
The archangel laughs softly, “Nah. Doesn’t mean I can’t ask, though.”
Sam hums in agreement, and they sit in a comfortable silence as Sam skims through the paper, his eyes aching just the slightest from the brightness of his laptop screen. Gabriel shifts, reaches his arm out from the corner of Sam’s eye. He plucks something from the hunter’s shirt. “What is it,” Sam asks absentmindedly, scrolling through the town’s sheriff department archives,
“Nothing,” Gabriel replies, “you just had a loose string on your shirt.”
Sam freezes for a moment before resuming his study, and just barely thinks preening.
+
Sam’s at a bar the next time Gabriel decides to show up and perch on the barstool next to him, and frankly, Sam’s pleasantly surprised.
Gabriel already has a beer in one hand, and is tapping out a light melody on the counter with the other. It’s sticky and warm in the room, but not uncomfortably so, and Sam decides he’s rather content for the time being.
Sam takes a long swig of his beer, which has gone lukewarm in his hand and sighs, at ease. Gabriel soon follows, but downs most of it in one go. Sam snorts, “Showoff much?”
Gabriel shrugs, his lips upturned with satisfied smirk, “There’s not really much to show off when you’ve already got this much on display.” Sam shakes his head and chuckles, watches out of the corner of his eye as Gabriel conjures up another beer from thin air and leans back against the counter. The tavern is slowly starting to bustle to life around them, filling with more and more people, including Dean and Castiel who are holed up in a booth just to Sam’s left.
Sam can vaguely see them chatting, and then Dean pushing a small dish of cocktail peanuts towards the angel. He sees Castiel shake his head ‘no’, with something that seems to be a fond smile as Dean shrugs and tosses a small handful of the peanuts back into his mouth. Gabriel sighs, and Sam turns his head to find that he’s been watching Dean and Cas, too. “I swear if they’re not a couple soon I’ll--,” Gabriel pinches the thumb and forefinger of both his hands together and collides them, miming a forced kiss.
Sam laughs easily, “Yeah, yeah I know. I have to deal with them twenty-four hours a day.”
Gabriel smiles, and huffs in an amused manner. And right there, Sam is suddenly acutely aware of their shoulders brushing together, the way he can feel the fabric of Gabriel’s worn olive green jacket up against his old flannel shirt.
A tall, surly man swaggers up to them, and Gabriel’s amiable manner and smile is gone only to be replaced with a straight face and a cold stare. He fixes both on the guy, and Sam feels kind of small all of a sudden (and, that’s a ridiculous notion in itself) because Gabriel seems a whole lot bigger when he’s angry.
Sam bats lightly at Gabriel’s elbow when the man saunters off, looking a little diminished, and draws his eyebrows down in a ‘what the fuck?’ look at the archangel. Gabriel shrugs with the shoulder that’s still touched barely against Sam’s own. “Unless you were planning to be that guy’s bitch tonight then you should say thanks.”
Sam takes a contemplative sip of his beer, “Mind reading?”
“Mind reading.” Gabriel clarifies.
“Thanks, then.”
Gabriel doesn’t reply, but smiles down at the rim of his bottle.
+
Gabriel’s visits become more and more frequent, and it’s kind of awesome because the archangel and his brother are now on speaking terms instead of ‘I’m just going to stare at you angrily until you spontaneously combust’ terms. And sometimes, Gabriel brings his little fox terrier named Fenris. When Sam questions the name Gabriel only thinks for a moment before replying that his old aliases have a little sentimental value. Sam doesn’t question it further, because he knows pasts aren’t Gabriel’s favorite thing to talk about.
It’s only when they’re alone with Fenris lying curled between them that he lets Sam bring it up.
Sam finds out a lot of new things about his archangel/trickster best bud. Like, he had a thing as a watchmaker in Normandy in the 1920’s, and did you know that an ostrich’s eye is bigger than its brain? Gabriel does because he says he had this other phase where he was a taxidermist for a little bit. He says he needed the cover so he could smite some twisted hunter dude.
And at some point in the middle of an old story about a king of France, Gabriel pauses and summons up some sushi from midair because why the fuck not?
“Want some?” Gabriel offers, holding a California roll up for Sam to see. Sam wrinkles his nose at it.
“I dunno,” he says, and adds, “I’ve never really had sushi before.” And now that Sam thinks about it, he’s rarely ever eaten fish before, because him and Dean usually end up at a diner or at least someplace where they can get a hot meal quick and go. Fish isn’t usually on the menu, save for fish and chips.
Gabriel huffs, “Come on kiddo, fish is brain food. Probably helpful for you, no?”
Sam rolls his eyes and holds out his hand, because why not? Food is food. “Ey,” Gabriel stresses, “food is not just food, that’s like saying all music is the same,” Sam sticks his tongue out at him, because he’s the most mature guy you could be stuck with. “yeah, noted, now open,”
Sam pulls a face at him. Gabriel sighs condescendingly, and demonstrates in an irritated manner to “just open your damn mouth, Winchester” So Sam does, and Gabriel drops the sushi in, and Sam admits, it’s good. Wholesome and a little fatty tasting, the rice a lovely texture on his tongue. “I told you so,” Gabriel says in a childish tone, “Trickster knows best.”
Sam smiles and his thoughts barely flicker to the Great Google Expedition.
+
It’s raining and they’re cooped up in the Impala, again.
Sam isn’t thinking about Gabriel when he pops up in the backseat, it’s just a passing thought. It’s like how Dean says he isn’t worrying about Cas when he actually is. Or when Cas says he wasn’t anywhere important.
They’re lies.
Out of the corner of Sam’s eye he can see Gabriel tuck his legs neatly under himself and rest his head against the cool glass of the car window. Before this, Sam didn’t think all-powerful beings could look so small and tired and human. He just thought they looked like all-powerful beings with a bit of an inflated ego.
Gabriel shoots him a look -- I can hear your thoughts please stop thinking about me even if I know that was on purpose -- and holds his fingers in a threatening snapping position.
Sam rolls his eyes and leans back into his seat, letting the rain lull him to sleep.
+
When they arrive at their shitty home-for-the-night, Cas flies in, and invites Dean out for a beer. Sam thinks they’re all mildly surprised, but Dean’s expression takes the cake. He agrees gruffly and grabs his coat, and without saying goodbye, they leave.
Cas is invading Dean’s personal space, but as far as Sam can tell neither is going to say anything about it. Along with that, Sam swears he can see Dean throw an arm around Cas’s shoulders in the dim light of the parking lot.
Gabriel huffs, “Fucking finally,” the angel crosses his arms, and it’s kind of funny because his hair sticks up oddly on one side. Sam guesses it’s from sleeping in the backseat. Gabriel grumbles something that doesn’t sound like English and his hair fixes itself back into its usual floppily normal position, “what now, Samsquatch? Shall we go inside and play Monopoly?”
Sam shrugs, flinging his bag over his shoulder, and follows Gabriel inside. The air inside their motel room is noticeably warmer, and it bites pleasantly at Sam’s cheeks while he’s placing his stuff on his bed. Gabriel hovers at his side, toying with Sam’s things by levitating them and dropping them back into Sam’s duffel. “Really?” The hunter raises his palms in annoyance, and Gabriel just laughs in a strangely Trickster-sounding way.
“Of course, can’t have you being productive when there’s Monopoly to be played,” he quips,
Sam groans, “You seriously want to play board games?”
“No.” Gabriel snorts, “I could be in the Caribbean right now, I don’t need board games.”
“Then why aren’t you in the Caribbean?”
Gabriel draws his lips into a pout, thinking, “It’d be rude to leave you here all alone,” and Sam is about to object to that, because, since when has Gabriel ever cared about being polite? But he’s interrupted before the thought can process into speech. “and besides, it’s always a party with a Winchester around.”
Sam lets out a breathy laugh, and falls back onto his bed. It’s nice to lie down, and his back aches with relief. Gabriel soon follows, and the ceiling Sam was staring at shimmers into the evening sky. The bed shivers and Sam can feel cool grass against his neck and hear the slightest chirping of insects. “Where are we?” He asks.
“Somewhere in South America.” Gabriel says, and shrugs, the grass ruffling around his shoulders. It’s humid, pleasingly so, and it reminds Sam of the night at the bar.
The air is sweet with the smell of flowers nearby, and it rests crisp and fresh in Sam’s lungs. The sky is tinted a very slight pink, stars already scattered across the mass expanse of blue.
He can vaguely see Gabriel’s silhouette shifting, perching so that he’s leaning back on his elbows. He can see the sharp angle of Gabriel’s nose and the tiny movements of the archangel’s eyelashes fluttering around. It’s a little bit unnerving how Gabriel doesn’t seem to blink, but Sam supposes angels don’t really need to blink, anyway. “Cas must be giving you a lot of pointers, eh?”
“Huh?” Sam mutters dumbly,
“Staring. You’re staring.”
“Oh,” he feels himself flush even if he’s not embarrassed, “sorry.” He’s not sorry, either, but he thinks Gabriel wasn’t really apposed to the idea of staring at any rate.
“I wasn’t,” Gabriel retorts, “just a little… intimidated, moose,” and Sam smiles, because he’s taller than an archangel and, okay, that thought always makes him smile. “Hey, this was a normal height when I made this vessel, okay?”
“You made your vessel?”
“Yeah,” he sounds smug, Sam notes, but it’s Gabriel so it’s normal, of course, “I didn’t really want to go vessel-shopping so I made one myself, and that’s why I’m the best looking motherfucker around.”
Sam laughs outright, seeing as, Gabriel you are a goddamn asshole.
“I’ve never understood that term, ‘goddamn’, to me it’s like if you said you are a Daddamn asshole. Fatherdamn asshole.”
And Sam laughs himself breathless, at that. He just cannot stop laughing, and he knows Gabriel’s looking at him a little funny, but he’s pretty sure it’s a fond look.
Sam stops when Gabriel kisses him, though.
It’s kind of sloppy and messy and the angle is weird and Sam can feel Gabriel’s nervous little pants of breath, hot against the skin of his lips. Also, Sam’s half-pinned half-not under five-foot-something of archangel and he’s okay with that. He’s got experience with supernatural beings kissing him, anyway.
Gabriel hesitantly pulls away, and Sam can see little jolts and flickers of movement around his eyes which flash gold. Gabriel’s nervous. Sam’s smiling kind of stupidly. The stars wink above them and Sam briefly wonders if this counts as a date. It probably does.
Gabriel sighs and there’s suddenly a warm, heavy weight on Sam’s shoulder. Wisps of Gabriel’s hair tickles at the base of his neck. Sam is wholly content, for once. It’s a wonderful filling feeling like several shots of whiskey on a summer evening.
Gabriel leans over to kiss him again (Sam doesn’t protest) the archangel’s lips sweet with the tropical air and pliant under his own. The angle is still kind of weird and it’s still sloppy but that’s alright. They’ve got time to improve, at least. “My kissing skills do not need improvement, Sam Winchester,” Gabriel murmurs against Sam’s mouth, “I could make you come with a snap of my fingers, so stop talking.”
Sam chuckles at that, and is curious to know what that’s like.
It’s curiosity that got him here in the first place, after all.