Chapter Text
Sam spends the first two weeks after he gets his soul back doing little else besides eat and sleep. Dean brings him food when he's awake enough to eat it and bullies him into the shower every third day or so, but otherwise leaves him alone, although Sam's caught him sitting by his bed more than once when he's woken up. He thinks Dean's watching him sleep, and while the idea should probably creep him out, he finds it oddly comforting. That probably indicates a level of screwed-upness that owes more to being a Winchester than it does Hell, but at least it's familiar, unlike almost everything else around him.
He knows there are things Dean isn't telling him, and at first he's too tired and weak to care, but as his strength slowly comes back, so does the desire to catch up. It's been a year and a half since he got back, and sometimes it seems like a few days, while others it might as well have been a decade or more. Either way, there's a growing hunger to know, to rejoin the world and take his place in it once more, like an itch that isn't quite getting scratched. Sam starts with the easy questions, asking why they're at Bobby's when Bobby's not home, if Dean's heard from Castiel, but quickly finds out that the answers aren't as easy as he expected. Instead of telling him about the job Bobby's on, Dean just says shortly, "It's complicated."
That becomes his stock answer for almost everything, from what happened with Lisa to where the angels had gone to how Sam had come back from Hell in one piece. Sam knows there's more to the story - there always is with Dean, but he also knows it's pointless to keep asking if Dean doesn't want to tell him. When it comes to his brother, smoke doesn't mean fire, but smoke bombs, and usually particularly nasty, bad-smelling ones at that. So when Dean goes out for groceries one day and comes back with a formerly dead archangel in the backseat, Sam doesn't even bother asking, just mutters, "Yeah, I know; it's complicated," and goes out to see if Gabriel will be more forthcoming than Dean's been.
He's not surprised when he isn't, but then, Gabriel was dead longer than he was, so Sam supposes it only makes sense that he knows less. Apparently, Castiel took him to Dean, just showed up and dropped him off like an unwanted package, without so much as a word about his resurrection or newfound humanity. (Sam gets the impression that the humanity is both unasked for and unwanted, and while he briefly considers pointing out that life as a human is better than death as an archangel, he ultimately doesn't because he's not exactly sure Gabriel would see it that way.) Dean mutters a few things under his breath about nosy brothers and inconvenient houseguests, but he's got a smile quirking the corners of his mouth when he shoves a stack of blankets and a pillow in the former angel's arms and points at the couch.
With Gabriel now staying on the couch, Dean doesn't hang around the house as much as he used to. Instead, he spends his time out in the junkyard, tinkering around with the Impala and another car that Sam suspects is going to be his once Dean finishes with it. He tries not to think about what it means that Dean's getting a car ready for him instead of just expecting him to ride shotgun in the Impala. Since Dean's culinary skills have never extended too far beyond grilled cheese and whatever he could heat from a can, Sam decided to try cooking. He starts with pancakes and eggs, then moves on to beef stew and meatloaf, and while his food is nowhere near as good as Bobby's, it's definitely better than Dean's, so he counts himself a success.
Gabriel takes to hanging out in the kitchen while Sam cooks, and once he stops grousing about how awful being human is, he proves to be surprisingly good company. He has thousands of years' worth of stories and doesn't mind sharing them, although Sam usually has to pay for them with little tidbits of food, handing over a slice of cheese or piece of carrot to keep the tale going. But it's worth it, for not only does Gabriel have a wealth of amusing anecdotes, but he also knows just about everything about the supernatural and speaks a number of dead languages fluently. Over various tasks, Sam's been treated to recitations of Ancient Egyptian love poems, heroic sagas in Akkadian, Pictish fairy songs, and an eyewitness account of the fall of Carthage - in Punic, no less. It's a history lover's wet dream, and all Sam's, so long as he keeps Gabriel well-supplied with chocolate chip cookies and lemonade.
Days slide seamlessly into weeks, and Sam's surprised to wake up one morning and realize that he's been back almost three months. He's pretty sure Bobby's dead - and worse, fairly sure he was the one that killed him - but he knows Dean won't confirm anything if he asks, and trying to remember just gives him a headache, so he says his good-byes in silence and hopes that Bobby's Heaven turns out to be better than his and Dean's. There's no question about him going to Heaven, and if there's a speck of justice in the universe, Karen was there waiting for him, so hopefully Bobby's happy with her.
That's why it's such a shock when Dean walks into the house one morning and says, "Pack up, both of you. We're heading out tomorrow."
Sam frowns, but it's Gabriel who asks, "And who says you get to order us around, huh?"
"I don't care where you go," Dean shot back. "But Sam and I have a job to do, so you can either come with us or hit the road on your own. Either way, you're leaving tomorrow, same as us."
"What job?" Sam blurts out, trying to avert the confrontation he could see brewing between the two of them.
Dean shrugs. "I'm not sure yet. Something's killing pets over in New Jersey, though, and I want to get whatever it is before it starts in on humans."
Sam snorts. "Pets? Seriously, Dean? I mean... it's probably just a coyote or something."
"Yeah, well, we're gonna check it out either way. Promised Bobby we'd look at it, so we're going."
"Bobby?" Sam chokes out, his chest constricting until he feels like he can't breathe. Bobby was alive?!? He had to be; Dean wouldn't have left a hunt undone for this long otherwise.
"Yeah, he's the one who found it. You ask me, though, I think he just wants his place back. Hey, we got any of that spaghetti from last night left? It wasn't half bad." Dean grins at Sam and gives his shoulder a friendly punch, then heads into the bathroom to wash up, completely unaware of the bombshell he'd just dropped with his casual statement.
Bobby was alive. And more, he was sending them away so he could get his home back. He had to know Sam was back; Dean wouldn't have kept it from him, couldn't have even if he'd tried, not when they'd been staying there for months. But he hadn't come by, hadn't called or sent a note that Sam was aware of, so that must mean... Bobby didn't want to see him. But why? Why would Bobby, of all people, turn his back on him? He'd stood by them through everything, from Meg possessing Sam to Dean selling his soul and Sam drinking demon blood, had even told Sam he was proud of him right before they went to face Lucifer, but now that he was back from Hell, Bobby didn't seem to want anything to do with him.
It hurts. God, it hurts like he's been kicked somewhere vital. Bobby had been the one person who understood Sam's need to leave, his desire for something more than the hunt. He'd mailed his college application for him and encouraged him to go when he was accepted. And when Dad died and he and Dean had been so lost, Bobby had been there for them, given them a place to stay without needed to be asked, so to have him turn on him like this now was just... unthinkable. Worst of all was the knowledge that it was just him that Bobby didn't want to see, since he apparently had no trouble talking to Dean and turning him onto a possible job. Just like Dad, actually, although Sam had been angry enough with his father not to feel the pain of how he'd abandoned him until it was too late to do anything about it.
"Sam?" Gabriel's voice breaks through the confusion and pain, and Sam stares at him blankly as he asks, "Want me to take care of heating dinner up?"
He nods automatically, barely processing the words before Gabriel slides down from his seat on the counter and starts moving about the kitchen, pulling the leftover pasta out of the fridge, heating it up and adding extra butter and olive oil with a sure touch, as comfortable with the mundane task of making dinner as if he, and not Sam, had been the one cooking for the past several weeks. Sam's dimly aware of Gabriel idly chatting away, and while he can't really make sense of the words, the even rise and fall of the other man's voice is comforting, a familiar rhythm that almost makes it seem like his world wasn't just yanked out from under him. A hand lands on his shoulder, gripping and squeezing him gently, and Sam looks up into warm brown eyes that radiate sympathy and understanding. He's been abandoned too, he thinks, laying his hand over Gabriel's for just a second before Gabriel turns away to plate the spaghetti and lay plates out on the table.
Sam makes it through dinner without Dean realizing that he's basically been shredded on the inside, thanks to Gabriel launching into a detailed story about the time he hid Thor's hammer in Valhalla and sat back while the other god tore the place apart looking for it. It had turned up in Odin's bed, a fact that probably would have gone over better if Odin hadn't been in bed with his lady when Thor charged in to retrieve it. The story's a good one, bawdy and funny, and Sam wishes he could pay more attention to it, but he does his best to laugh when Dean does, and if the tone's hollow or his mind wanders, Gabriel doesn't call attention to it. Whether it's the story or the prospect of a hunt on the horizon, Dean's in a good enough mood that he offers to do the dishes after supper, shooing both Sam and Gabriel out of the kitchen. Sam thinks about asking Gabriel if he thinks they'll ever be normal again, but when Gabriel turns those brown eyes on him again, he chickens out and hurries upstairs to his room instead.
That night, he dreams of falling, hurtling through an endless expanse of space into a howling, neverending black pit where pain sinks icy claws into his soul. When he wakes up, shivering hard enough to make his teeth chatter despite the balmy spring night, he's not surprised to discover Dean snoring softly in the chair next to his bed. What does surprise him is the fact that he wishes it wasn't his brother keeping watch over him, but somebody else. Someone with warm eyes and a quick smile, who also knows what it's like to lose the only real father he's ever had. It isn't Dean he wants sitting by his bed, but Gabriel, who's so far above him, even without any of his angelic powers or Grace, that it's laughable.
Sam doesn't get back to sleep for a very long time. The next time he wakes up, it's mid-morning. Dean's chomping at the bit to get going, eager to be out on the road again, and Gabriel's gone.