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Angels love television.
Sam noticed this particular quirk when he glanced up momentarily from his research to see Castiel and Gabriel sitting shoulder to shoulder on his motel bed, the both of them transfixed by the grainy cop drama playing out an investigation in subdued tones. Neither of them had said a word since Sam had muttered something about "shutting up and letting Dean sleep", and it was only when he realized how concerning quiet with Gabriel in the room was that he had dragged himself back to reality. He couldn't claim surprise, considering the circumstances surrounding the Winchesters' last encounter with the pseudo-Trickster, but the reverence with which the two observed seemed almost religious.
Castiel's elbows rested on his knees, chin placed delicately on the steeple created by two fingers breeching up from interlocked hands. The near worshipful position drew Sam's expression inward, pinching at his brow and his lips, before his shifted his attention to the smaller form next to Castiel. Even Gabriel, full of the strangest sort of self-loathing Sam had ever encountered (and he knew quite a lot about self-loathing), was intent. The occasional piece of popcorn would fly at the screen from his hands, usually whenever the lead female detective had a close up, but his face held a gravity that Sam would have claimed impossible, had he not witnessed it before, the light of a holy fire painting dark shadows on jovial cheeks. A pile of uneaten popcorn had accumulated on the carpet below the television, and it was perhaps the dichotomy of those burdened eyes and the fact that their owner was halfheartedly trying to feed the actress that caused Sam to eventually speak up.
"Aren't you guys sick of watching people yet?
Two pairs of eyes, both of a color that should not be possible (he wondered if that had something to do with these two men being ethereal, eternal beings), slid over to acknowledge him, though the blue quickly scanned away to land on his dozing brother. They'd not woken Dean.
"What do you mean?" Asked around the crunch of popcorn.
"I mean, you guys were assigned to watch people. Real people. For thousands of years. Isn't television a little boring?"
"These are not real people." Gravel. Castiel again looked toward Dean, lips pressing thinly together. He'd not yet mastered volume control, and thus relied on external cues. Gabriel had no such qualms.
"Yeah. They're less interesting."
"Then why do you watch them?"
"That is why I watch them. They're predictable. Easy. In TV land everything has a scripted ending. There's none of this funky free will stuff going on." Honey eyes were now focused entirely on him, and Sam felt his shoulders coming up in an almost defensive maneuver. He could pick Gabriel's vessel up with one hand, but the being inhabiting the skin could crush him with the lazy snap of a few fingers. This feeling--the utter insignificance of a blade of grass beneath the tires of a semi-truck, unable to even fathom getting out of the way--must have been what cause that shortness of breath in Dean whenever Castiel turned that expansive attention to him.
And Castiel was no archangel.
"You can guess what's going to happen. The guy's gonna get the girl. They're gonna find the bad guy. Hell, even shows like this--sure, they might solve the case, but some sucker still got screwed over. But you know what? That's okay. That's how it's supposed to go. Every show has its own rules to follow, and it all works out in the end. Do this thing, that thing happens. Even the deus ex machina--it's a rule." Castiel moved idly out of the way of Gabriel's gesticulations, scooting inconspicuously to the side. "TV's great. You plug something in and you get the right result. But you monkeys have to always change things up so that your rules don't make any sense an--"
"Gabriel."
The groggy voice had all three of them looking toward the other bed, Sam craning his neck, glad to be free of that stare. There was something deeper in that stare than in any of Castiel's. Sam wasn't entirely certain he was comfortable with yet another all-powerful being having any sort of interest in him.
"Yeah, Dean-o?"
"Just watch your damn show."
Gabriel's grin split that gravity right down the middle, and he laughed and looked back at Sam. The hunter could see centuries of Trickster representations in those slitted eyes and that open mouth and once again wondered just how long Gabriel had been Loki for. How many years had he felt separated from him home due to conflict between members of his family? There was none of that pain now, though--just laughter at the expense of his irritated brother.
"Sorry about that, sleeping beauty." But he wasn't looking at Dean. Those eyes were on Sam again, though they were no longer boring holes into him. Sam found it easy to return the smile he was offered, which only made Gabriel's grow, creasing his cheeks. "We'll let you get back to dreams of busty asian beauties." A sputter, and then a conceding grumble. Dean rolled over, Castiel returned his attention to the television (Dr. Sexy, MD--he changed the channel with a blink), and Sam looked back down at the book on the kitchenette table in front of him.
"You should try it." Sam jumped at the voice across the table from him. It was difficult to tell if Gabriel ever actually expended the energy walking anywhere. He usually just hop-skipped across time and space whenever he felt like it. Sitting back in order to properly express his incredulity, Sam quirked an eyebrow.
"Try it?"
"Yeah. Like the TV people. Easy problems, easy solutions. Scripts."
"You mean like 'playing my roles'?"
"Nah, you guys sucked at that, remember? I mean just.." He took a moment, lips curled upward at the corners. Sam was reminded of a singular cat schooled in the art of misdirection. "Maybe don't ignore what the world is telling you. Follow those rules."
"I think we're beyond any rules in the world we're living in now."
Gabriel shrugged. "Every world has rules."
x*x*x*x*x
Sam woke the next morning with a book on his chest, drool crusting his pillow, and a distinct absence of any other living soul in the room.
"Dean?"
The bed beside his was mussed, but empty.
"Castiel?"
No one.
There was a styrofoam cup, steaming, on the kitchenette table, his name sharpied on the side. Coffee. Sam weighed the pros and cons of actually getting up out of bed to retrieve it, decided that the caffeine was worth it, and swung his legs over the side of the bed.
"Here we see the majestic Winchester in its natural habitat--a crummy motel room."
Sam froze, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. He whipped his head toward the door, then toward the bathroom, and finally the closet. Nobody. The voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere.
"Hello?"
"The beast bellows its call to the wilderness, alerting the other animals to its position." The voice had a polite English accent, and barely seemed to be above a whisper, though Sam heard it clearly. And it seemed.. very.. familiar.
Standing, Sam took a step toward the table.
"And it's on the move! Ready to begin the day with the meal common of his species--coffee." Sam knew precisely where he'd heard a voice like that before. Dean would sometimes put on the nature channel in order to bore himself to sleep. Sam never really bothered watching, but that distinctive English voiceover had managed to infiltrate his mind nonetheless. This one was different, though. This one sounded like..
"Gabriel?"
"There it is! How fortunate for us--the Winchester mating call!"
"What!?"
Sam was up now, throwing open the door to the closet, looking under the beds, and checking in the bathtub. The narration continued.
"Look at him go! Up and running, seeking out his potential mate with a great fervor."
"Gabriel, where the hell are you?"
"Ah, see, he's getting desperate now, certain he can hear the other animal nearby."
"Gabriel."
"And there again. Ladies and gentlemen, this has truly been a treat. But sadly, this Winchester will be unsuccessful in his hunt today. His search for a mate--" "My search to wring your neck!" "--will have to continue another day."
Gabriel's voice disappeared. Sam stood in the middle of the room, his eyes darting from one corner to the next, and that was exactly the position he held when Dean and Castiel walked in.
"Woah, dude, something wrong?"
One last look around. "No.. No, I guess not."
"Awesome. We got donuts. So sit down and let's eat."
They settled themselves around the table, Sam choosing the donut least smothered in sugar, Dean digging into his, and Castiel idly picking sprinkles off of his. It was only when the unavoidable sweetness hit his tongue that Sam once again noticed the obvious absence.
"Hey, where's Gabriel?"
"Said he'd be back in a few days. Angel stuff." It was a miracle that Sam could understand him around the mouthful of donut. He turned his attention to Castiel.
"Angel stuff?"
"I am unaware of his current intentions."
"Do you have any angel stuff?"
"Archangels operate in different ways than other angels."
"Do you think he's actually doing 'angel stuff'?"
Castiel broke off a piece of the frosting and placed it experimentally on his tongue.
"No."
x*x*x*x*x
"Man, you think that hunt was a little too easy?"
"Sammy, why are you looking a gift horse in the mouth? Easy hunt means we get to hit up a bar tonight."
"I guess."
Sam opened the passenger side door to the Impala and carefully folded himself inside.
"Hello, and welcome to the Dating Game!"
The flashing lights, the audience applause, and the cheesy music caused Sam to jerk back into his plush chair, hands gripping the arm rests so tightly that he could feel the fibers underneath his fingernails. He squinted against the singular spotlight on himself, trying to see beyond it, but there was only darkness.
"You all know how this works. Let's meet our lucky bachelor--Sam Winchester!" A roar of applause, screams, whistles. "How about you tell us something about yourself?"
"Uh."
"He's a charmer, isn't he ladies and gentlemen?" Laughter. "Now let's meet our potential mates. Sorry, mate!"
"Happy to be here." Sam knew that voice. He could practically hear the shit eating smirk.
"Gabriel, what the hell?"
Gabriel tsk'd. "Come on Sammy. We aren't supposed to know each other here. Those are the rules."
"Is that what this is about? Your rules?"
"Well, sure. That and you've got about the thickest skull I've ever seen. You just can't take a hint, can you?"
"What hint??"
"It's the dating game, Sam! You've gotta ask the right questions."
"Are you serious." Silence. "Ugh, fine. G.. Bachelor number one."
"Yes?" Sing-song. More laughter from the invisible audience. Sam grit his teeth.
"Is this really worth getting me to understand?"
"Sure. You're cute when you're confused."
Sam felt his cheeks flare up. His grip on the arms of his chair alternated between squeezing and releasing.
"Are you.. trying to hint that you like me?"
"Maybe."
"Like.. like-me-like-me?"
"Sheesh, Sam. What are you, eight?"
"It's the dating game. You have to answer."
A pause, then a laugh.
"Then yeah. I guess I am."
Sam stood sharply, teetering backward. "Uh."
"Careful."
Making to take a step toward the spotlight, he instead found himself falling backward, with gravel digging into the back pockets of his jeans. Dean was roaring with laughter from inside the Impala. Sam hauled himself to his feet, brushing off the back of his pants and setting himself squarely down on the seat.
x*x*x*x*x
The sound of glass breaking is what finally drew Sam into the house they'd been scoping out. Gun drawn, he kicked open the front door and hurried inside.
Into a living room done up mostly in shades of pastel pink. Sam curled his nose immediately at the shock to his retinas before his gaze landed on the figure on the couch. Whoever it was looked as though they had thrown themselves upon the piece of furniture in a fit of despair, and lay with their face pressed into the fabric. Sam hurried forward, tucking his gun into the waistband of his pants. The closer to the figure he got, the more certain he became that it was a woman.
"Ma'am? My name is Sam. I'm here to help you."
With a hiccuped sob, she lifted her head to reveal mascara smeared around her--
golden eyes.
Sam immediately stepped back once, twice, and then a third time as Gabriel rose from the couch, looking more like himself with each passing moment--save the make up and the wig, of course.
"Bernardo."
Definitely Gabriel's voice, but his tongue slipped around the name with an ease that made Sam's interest pique. So there was a possibility that he was a glossophile.
The archangel came forward faster than Sam could retreat, and buried his face in the hunter's chest, cartoonish sobs wracking him. Sam awkwardly raised a hand to pat the top of Gabriel's head, craning his neck to look toward the door--outside of which seemed to be five star golf course. He squinted, grabbed Gabriel's shoulders, and held him back far enough so that he could look into his face.
"What the hell."
Sam could pick out a few words from the torrent of Spanish that followed--brother, twin, betray, and love. Specifically: love you. Spanish had never really been a language he'd been fascinated by, but now he couldn't help but intently watch the mouth before him form the words he could barely understand, which was, of course, why he didn't notice that his gun had been taken from his pants until it was pointed at his chest.
"Bernardo, tienes que morir."
"Woah, okay, what?? Gabriel??"
The gun went off and Sam immediately grabbed at his chest, only to feel the cold metal of the barrel through his shirt. Opening eyes that had squeezed shut at the sound he found himself standing, alone, in a house that looked as though it had seen better days. Gone was the pastel pink interior. Footsteps thundered up the front steps, and Castiel appeared beside him just as Dean rushed through the front door.
"Did you get it?"
"I.. I think so?"
"What the hell was it?"
Sam looked imploringly at Castiel, who could only stare back at him, offering nothing.
"I don't.. I don't know."
"Damnit. We'll have to look for any remains. C'mon Cas, we'll start in the basement. Sammy, you look upstairs."
He watched them go, then glanced up at the ceiling, certain there were no remains to be found.
x*x*x*x*x
At four o'clock in the morning Sam stumbled toward the bathroom, fumbling with the lightswitch. He closed the door behind himself, and blinked owlishly at the judge's bench across the room. He tried to take another step forward and found a podium As he watched, the room began to fill in with--Gabriel.
Bailiff: Gabriel.
In Court Reporter: Gabriel
This was a damned daytime courtroom show.
"All rise." At least he was already standing. "The honorable judge Gabriel presiding."
And in another Gabriel walked, a powder wig piled high on his head, and took a seat at the judge's bench. Sam wondered which of these Gabriel's was the real one, and continued wondering that until the bailiff sauntered up to his stand. "Hey Sammy. Long time no see."
"I saw you two days ago. You tried to shoot me."
"Nah. You ever seen a telenovela? I would've just played that 'Mm whatcha say' song and then your evil twin would've come back the next week. But two of the three stooges had to interrupt."
"You still tried to shoot me."
"That was two days ago. Now you're defending yourself." He stepped back, and his tone grew more serious. "Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, blah blah blah?"
"Yeah, okay."
"Do you know why you're here?"
"I had to pee."
"Gross."
"Gabriel, why are you doing this?"
"I told you already, Sam." Conspiritorially. "Since the rules in our world aren't working to our favor, we'll use the rules of these worlds."
"Our favor for what?"
Gabriel cleared his throat.
"Sam Winchester, are you aware that the plaintiff--" Sam looked to his left and saw another Gabriel, who winked at him before blowing an exaggerated kiss. Sam ducked it before he realized what he was doing. "Has been attempting to express an affection for you that goes beyond mere friendship and, or teammates?"
"I guess."
"And what is your response?"
"So you're asking me to tell you how I feel about you in front of this whole courtroom?"
"Need I remind you that you are under oath?"
"Shouldn't the judge be asking these questions?"
"I have no idea--these shows are stupid."
"Then why are we in one?"
"Just answer the question."
Sam took a deep breath through his nose. "I don't like these games."
"Go on."
"Maybe, if he had come out and just said something I would have been able to pick up on his hints more easily."
"But that's not the game. Those aren't the rules."
"Let's just make up our own damn rules." Now it was just he and Gabriel, eyes locked on one another, the courtroom melting away around them until they were both standing in the motel bathroom. "If you want something, just come out and say it. No more tricks." Sam wasn't entirely sure what he was saying, or why he was saying it, but offering this would be easier than going through yet another waste of time television show. "No more shows."
Gabriel pursed his lips, squinting up at Sam.
"One more show."
"Gabriel, n--"
But he was gone. And Sam had no choice but to wander back to bed, before cursing a minute later and returning to the bathroom.
x*x*x*x*x
A week and a half later, Sam turned the key to the motel room and stepped inside, his shoes squeaking on the tile entryway.
He heard the first strains of what Dean liked to call the 'porn groove', saw the lit candles, and got more than an eyeful of naked Archangel lying on his bed.
He turned to bolt out the way he'd come in.
Which was when Sam slipped on a misplaced rose petal and broke his nose on the doorframe.
x*x*x*x*x
Three hours and one bandaged nose later, Sam was once again turning the key to the motel room, opening the door with great hesitation.
To his surprise, he found Gabriel. Just Gabriel, sitting on the end of Sam's bed, cross-legged, staring at the television. One elbow was placed on his knee, and his jaw was balanced atop his curled fist, pushing his cheek up toward his eye. His other hand kept up a rapid pace of snapping, with each snap changing the channel. Considering the pace, and the limited number of channels they received here, Sam guessed that he'd been cycling through them like this for a while.
"Hey."
Gabriel seemed to snap out of something then, sitting bolt upright and snapping his attention in Sam's direction. Guilt set into those features as soon as he saw the white across Sam's nose.
"I can fix that."
Sam held up a hand, and Gabriel immediately slumped back down.
"Sorry about that last one. I didn't actually need you to prove to me that your skull wasn't as thick as I thought it was."
"Ha ha. Funny, Gabe."
"At least I was straightforward, right? No more tricks?"
This gave Sam pause. This incredible being, this Archangel turned Pagan god, had taken his advice to heart. Had listened, and had tried.
"Yeah. You were."
Gabriel's guilt seemed to fade with that, and he moved over slightly on the bed, a bowl of popcorn materializing in his lap with a snap. Grinning openly at Sam in that way that made his eyes nearly disappear, he patted the bed next to himself, offering the popcorn with his other hand. And Sam, unable to deny that tentative hope, settled himself on the bed beside the angel and placed an arm around his shoulders. Gabriel pressed into his side, flicking a piece of popcorn at the female detective onscreen.
"So, what do you want to watch?"