maximumsuckage:

Earthquake

Sam was nowhere close to being asleep, though it was late and he suspected that sleep was the best thing for him at the moment. But the apocalypse was looming, and people were dying. The newscaster was talking about a series of earthquakes that had devastated a group of islands in Asia, and Sam watched the footage of the damaged buildings and flooded streets with a pained grimace. They needed to stop this. They needed to save the world. And yet here he was, the boy with demon blood, laying in the motel bed like he deserved to sleep.

The doorknob clicked.

Sam was sitting up in a heartbeat, gun pointed at the door. Dean was oblivious in the next bed over, asleep, and Sam was loathe to let anything wake him, even a fight. He deserved a night’s rest.

Slowly, gun still on the door, Sam swung his legs out of bed. At the same time, the door opened. The hinges creaked and it froze, and then when it started moving again, it was silent.

Sam stood. The only noise was the creak of a board beneath his feet. It didn’t matter that he was shirtless, dressed only in sweats. He was ready for a fight at any time.

There was a shadow in the doorway, and Sam squinted, then dropped the gun. “Gabriel,” he breathed, and then held a finger to his lips, pointing at Dean’s sleeping form.

Gabriel, to his credit, didn’t argue, but rather, stepped back outside. Sam grabbed a flannel from his bag and pulled it on as he grabbed the key and stepped outside, closing the door quietly behind him.

“What do you want?” Sam’s voice was just a bit harsh, maybe, but he thought he deserved to be a bit harsh after a herpes commercial of all things. “Come to play tricks again?”

Gabriel looked away, biting his lip, uncharacteristically quiet.

Sam crossed his arms and waited. “Well?”

Finally, Gabriel shook his head. “This is stupid. Shouldn’t have come here. Sorry to wake you.”

There was a raw tone to his voice that made Sam drop his arms. When Gabriel turned away, he reached out to grab the archangel’s shoulder. “Wait… why’d you come then?”

Gabriel shook his head and tried to pull his arm back. “No reason. Never mind.”

“No, dude, tell me. Does it have something to do with the apocalypse?”

He shook his head. His shoulder went limp under Sam’s arm, and he refused to look up at the hunter. It was so unlike the flamboyant trickster that Sam wondered if he’d been injured. “Gabe. Tell me what’s going on.”

“I dunno, never mind, I said. It’s stup-” His voice choked off, and he looked down, letting his stupid hair block his face. It wasn’t slicked back right now, Sam realized suddenly. It hung around his face, flat and gold in the night shadows, hiding his eyes.

“Gabe, what is it?” Sam’s voice took on a gentler tone, and suddenly he wondered if the archangel was crying. That was the most uncharacteristic thing that could happen here. Gabe, coming to them in tears in the middle of the night? That was impossible.

Gabriel tried to step away again, towards the parking lot, but Sam stopped him. “Gabe. Hey man, tell me what’s going on.”

Gabriel still wouldn’t look up, and in the dim light of the distant street lamp, it was impossible to discern anything besides the shadows of his hair. “Just didn’t wanna spend the night alone,” he whispered, and let out a choked laugh. “And my buddies don’t exactly know about the angel biz.”

“What budd-?”

“Like I said, stupid. I’m gonna leave.” Gabriel jerked away from Sam again, only to look up when Sam’s hand was still on his arm. “Lemme go.”

“You’re crying.” Sam had suspected it when the archangel’s voice broke, but he could see the glitter of tears in the low light now. It was jarring, like seeing a mountain collapse, or a dam breaking. The trickster, upset enough to shed a tear.

Gabriel made an irritated noise and ducked his head, scrubbing an irritated hand down his face. “I’m not,” he whispered defiantly. “I don’t care.”

“Gabriel-”

“I just knew people on those islands, and…” His breath hitched, and he buried his face in his hands. “And they’re dead now, I checked, and it doesn’t matter, ‘cause they’re mortal and were gonna die anyways, but now…”

“I’m sorry.” Sam didn’t know what else to say. It sucked, but that was the apocalypse, wasn’t it?

Gabriel was silent, face in his hands. Each time he took a breath, it came wet and ragged, but he still wouldn’t look at Sam.

Sam hesitated, then touched Gabriel’s shoulder, a human gesture of comfort. He didn’t expect the archangel to slump against him, like he couldn’t even hold up his own vessel, and he stumbled back a step under the sudden weight.

Then, for lack of anything else, he put his arms around the smaller man, holding him as he shook, crying into his hands. “It sucks,” he murmured. “I know.”

They stood like that a long moment, and then Sam moved an arm, fumbling open the door. “Come inside, okay? It’s okay. You can stay the night. No tricks, okay?”

Gabriel said nothing, still not looking up, but elbowed Sam in the ribs at the last comment.

He closed the door behind them, one hand still around the trickster’s shoulders, then hesitated. There was no place beside his own bed, and though there was no heavy sobbing or wailing, he got the sense that the archangel was grieving as deeply as anybody.

In a haste, he remembered the TV, and abandoned Gabriel to grab the remote and flip it from the news story on the most recent tragedy to a channel playing late night reruns of sitcoms. Gabriel didn’t move, watching him. His breath was shaky, his eyes red, but there were no tears at the moment.

Sam didn’t know if that was a good thing, or if Gabriel was simply holding in the emotion. Either way, right now he was hovering in the doorway, not moving until he was invited to.

Sam glanced around, but the only place to sit was the beds or a rickety chair next to a sad table. And he wasn’t cruel. “C’mere,” he said softly, sitting on the edge of his bed and patting the other side. “It’s okay,” he added, when Gabriel still hesitated. “Truce for one night.”

Gabriel still hesitated, but then picked his way across the floor to slump down on the side of the bed opposite of Sam, burying his face in his hands.

Sam straightened back, leaning against the headboard, and then moved over a bit to close the space between them. “I know,” he repeated softly when the archangel tensed. Gently, he wrapped an arm around Gabriel’s shoulders.

Gabriel’s breath came in a shudder when Sam touched him, and he slumped into Sam’s side like he was boneless, face hidden in Sam’s chest. It was a few minutes before he felt the muscles relax under his hand, and that was when he actually started to cry, silent and shaky tears that Sam could do nothing to comfort.

After all, the apocalypse was coming.

Sam pulled the kicked off blankets up over them and lay back, letting Gabriel cling to him as he gently rubbed the archangel’s back. He didn’t say anything about how everything would work out in the end, because he didn’t know. He just existed there, rubbing small circles and hoping his presence was enough of a comfort.

Eventually, the tears slowed, though Gabriel didn’t move. Sam fell asleep sometime after that, still holding the archangel, small and warm in his arms. For the moment, there was peace.

.

.

.

Sam woke up to the excited shout of Dean, and a cold emptiness in his bed where, hours ago, there had been an angel.

“Hey, dude, did you sneak out to buy us waffles?” Dean asked, holding up one of the two styrofoam boxes. A rolled up brown bag on the counter contained little packets of butter and jam and syrup.

Sam shook his head no, and smiled slightly. “No, not me. Great room service, probably.”

When he opened his waffle, the receipt for the food was sitting on top. Scribbled across the back of it in green pen was a messy note: Thanks- ❤️ Loki