Supernatural Stories

Returned

WARNING: This one shot contains mentions of self-harm and suicide. Nothing too explicit, but it is there. Beware! Be safe! ❤️❤️

Sam sat at his desk in his room, away from prying eyes—Dean. Rest assured, Sam loved his brother immensely, but he needed his time alone. Especially now. He was still shocked that he and Dean and the others had managed to do what had just been done: transporting almost thirty people from one dimension to another and trapping Michael and Lucifer on the other side. Sam would admit the relief he felt knowing Lucifer was far, far away. Still, he recalled, the mission hadn't been flawless. A handful of refugees had been killed by Michael near the end, and there was, of course, Gabriel's sacrifice. That final reason was why Sam was here, away from Dean and the others.

Dean had never liked Gabriel, not really. The two had gotten off on the wrong foot, after Gabe had killed him over and over again, then trapped him in TV Land. But even after Gabe had helped them escape Lucifer at the Elysian Fields Hotel, Dean had never warmed up to him. That had become clear with Dean's utter lack of respect for Gabriel's revenge mission against the Norse gods. Sam still hadn't fully forgiven Dean for that.

But Sam—he'd learned to respect Gabriel, despite Dean's numerous deaths at his hands. After learning what Gabe had gone through with Asmodeus, Sam had felt a kind of . . . bond of shared experiences. Whatever the hell that was. Sam knew the struggle of wanting out of the family drama, of loving the people who so often caused you pain. Plus, he had liked the archangel's sense of humor. Dean had just found it annoying. Apparently, the only good angel to Dean was Cas—Sam rolled his eyes. God, those two were clueless. And lucky.

Sam's reflection was interrupted by a soft rustling noise by the door. Sam twisted around in his chair, expecting Castiel. It was not Cas.

"Hey, Sam."

Sam stared. Slowly, he began to stand up from his chair to make sure this wasn't some crazy dream or cruel trick of the mind. "Gabriel?"

The archangel smiled a little. "Third time's the charm, right?"

Sam blinked. He took a step towards him. "How—? How are you alive?"

Gabriel looked down at the floor and shoved his hands in his pockets. He shrugged before looking back up. "Magic."

There was an emotion behind his eyes Sam couldn't quite name, and it was unsettling. Oddly, Sam felt he recognized the emotion, yet still couldn't match it to a word. Some kind of sadness, some kind of disappointment, maybe. He left that thought for later. "Why are you here?" He couldn't disguise his surprise at seeing Gabe again. "Why not disappear, start over again?"

Gabe shrugged again, casting his eyes around the small room. That emotion was still there. It irked Sam to not know what to call it, yet to recognize it so clearly.

"You're the only person around here who doesn't pity me or treat me like dirt."

"Oh," Sam said quietly. He realized Gabriel wasn't leaving anytime soon, and sat down on his bed to listen. Only, Gabriel didn't speak. Not right away. But that tantalizing emotion kept dancing behind his eyes: close enough to be seen, but just far enough to remain nameless.

Eventually, he held up a hand and conjured an object. It was the archangel blade he had taken across the rift to fight Michael. "I, uh . . . actually wanted to hand this over. For . . . safekeeping, or whatever," he said, stepping forward to give it to Sam. He added, quieter, "I don't trust myself with that thing."

Sam turned the spiraled bronze blade in his hands. He knew why he recognized that emotion in Gabriel's eyes now. It was a reflection of something he hadn't thought about in a long time. Gabriel was asking for help.