In a little alcove between the broken washing machines and rusting skeletons of old Volvos, Sam huddled in on himself and paced. He shifted in his hoodie and dug his fists into the pockets with agitation. His steps were wearing a ditch into the dirt. Back at the hospital, Bobby still wasn't talking or making eye contact, which made Sam want to scream half the time and sob the other. Dean sat in the hospital room or in the waiting area, just as silent. It was as if the two of them were waiting, but neither knew for what. Just anything. Doom or grace. The next thing to break.

Sam had brought coffee. Dinner. Only to watch the coffee grow cold and the fries congeal, while his brother pretended to read a magazine. Dean could avoid like Superman could fly—natural and unstoppable.

Sam gave up eventually, 'cause even he had his limits, and it was either get the fuck out of there or put his fist through the vending machine in the hall. Judiciously, he'd gone outside, meandering aimlessly at first and then seeking the broken parts of town like kindred. Warehouses that looked bombed out. Restaurants and tenements that were desolate and black. Of course, he found a junkyard—a land of discarded, ruined things. That was hours ago—time that ticked by and no one came looking. No one called. No one cared. And he'd be lying to himself if any of that surprised him one damn bit.

Hours passed. Hours in which the gaping pit in his stomach gnawed away at him, made him ache in his bones—a permanent, frostbitten empty space where the heat of his anger and vengeance had been. Hours in which he'd been sending cries up towards disinterested stars, growing hoarse with the cool September air.

His throat burned and closed in on itself, struggling to keep everything in. One good shake and he might explode, a broken bottle of so much bitter beer.

So, Sam paced. Tense and tearing, almost shuddering. Emptiness he couldn't contain scratched at his edges. It bit the tips of his fingers, the tip of his tongue, and longed.

Eventually, Sam dropped down onto a bench made of cinder blocks and bumpers.

He heaved a tight, wheezed, sigh that was full of anguish and then bent over, holding his head in his hands. End of the world. God damned, Lucifer. Some things were too big even for his brain, and the actual real-life fucking devil? Yeah, that was one of those things. His stupid, horror show life used be all werewolves and bloody murder and now? Now everything was mind-blowingly, world-breakingly epic, and if there was going to be a future history of the world, he'd go down as the last great MacBeth, whose frickin' name can't even be spoken or somebody bites it.

Sam doubled over, tightly gripping the back of his neck and pulling himself inwards, as though the chasm inside of him could be compressed, the edges stuck together and glued if only he could crush himself small enough. He was too big in the world, his presence unbearable. God. Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God. Unconsciously, he rocked. So much was wrong, so much. He couldn't remember what right felt like. The power had carved a place for itself deep and wide within him, and now it was gone. The rush and fulfillment it delivered was nothing more than a potent, sweet, tangy memory. The self he recognized nowhere among the hazed snippets of standing at the edges of graves, fires blazing.

He listened, and the junkyard was quiet.

He sighed again, sagged, and scuffed his feet through the dust. It wasn't fair feeling sorry for himself, but he couldn't stop.

A sharp wind cut through the lot out of nowhere, whistling among the scraps. With it came the damp, heavy air of a New England harbor and the scent of wet, fallen leaves. And then a force that was both familiar and foreign rolled across Sam's senses. He jerked as sudden inklings of fear skittered over his heart and sent it racing, shivered at the aura of power and electricity that sparked gooseflesh up his arms.

He snapped his head up and stared, eyes wide, lips parting in awe. Something cool, between relief and terror, slipped down his spine. His pulse hammered at his temples. A figure stalked forward in the darkness, limbs moving with ease, grace, and the assured calm of a lion sliding between tall grasses.

Gabriel . . . Sam's throat tightened against saying his name, though he wanted to. He wanted to feel the solid sound of it in his mouth. Speak it with reverence and thanks because Jesus he actually showed. Foul things, though, cannot pray, and the word broke apart with sorrow.

The archangel approached, the white of his T-shirt gleaming in the low light. Black motorcycle jacket and jeans made him a vision of contrasts. He stopped a few feet from where Sam sat and gazed down at him, serene and curious. Above, winged somethings flapped through the air unseen. A barn owl screamed long and loud from a place over Sam's shoulder.

Transfixed, heart thumping so hard he rocked with it, the human simply stared. "Didn't think you were gonna come," Sam eventually squeezed his voice past the lump in his throat and sat up. The light of the moon was just enough that he could make out the angel's expression and catch a glint from his eyes. They gave away nothing. For a second, all Sam could feel was the stormy charge in the air and the blood rushing through his body, because even just standing there in casual repose Gabriel was the embodiment of uncanny, and part of him would never not be frightened by that.

"Castiel's made you difficult to find." The archangel's tone was mild, matter-of-fact.

A silent, uneasy laugh jostled Sam's frame and his hand rubbed lightly over the spot on his chest that still stung. "Yeah. I tried to give you the address," he offered, unsure if prayers were the angelic form of e-mail. Unsure if he'd had any right to be forming prayers and making requests of anyone for anything, anyway. But his world consisted of a pretty small group of people when you got down to it, and he didn't see what he could possibly lose by trying.

Gabriel's lips twitched, casting strange shadows that Sam couldn't quite take his eyes off of. "We don't see the world the same as you. Geography is"—his gaze searched the junkyard a moment—"a matter of perspective."

Sam blinked up at him. "Oh."

"And I was a little busy," Gabriel added and shrugged. A smirk touched the corner of his finely wrought mouth.

Busy. "Yeah . . ." Sam shifted and looked away, the pain in his chest flaring with new vigor. Hunting demons, chasing Lucifer. Fixing my mistake, because that's all I ever do and all anyone around me ever does. Gabriel was just being kind by not saying it out loud, but he didn't have to. Sam took an unsteady breath, and somehow the air just seemed to slice into his throat. Maybe this had been a bad idea.

There was the creak of leather, and Sam glanced up quickly. The archangel was studying him, arms crossed. Waiting, obviously, because he had just come halfway across spiritual Whoville for . . . what, exactly?

Sam swallowed again and forced himself to look up from the dirt. His eyes traced the angled, perfect features of Gabriel's face. Strong chin, high cheeks. He tried to steel himself for it, to prepare, gird his loins or something, but their gazes met like the click of a lock, and it felt like sudden falling. A blow to the chest and pins on his skin. For a moment, Sam forgot to breathe and simply stared, deep and spiraling, into the angel's eyes. It was like getting lost. More. Worse. Like losing everything, every lie and shield and compliment undeserved. Like being flayed . . . and judged . . . and fucking torn—

"Sam?" Gabriel's golden, warm voice held concern as he came closer and knelt on the ground, bringing them face to face.

Gentle fingers touched Sam's forehead and cheek lightly, in a way someone in his life must have done once because it felt so perfectly familiar. He couldn't imagine what expression the angel was trying to smooth away. But Gabriel brushed his skin with care and tried again to meet his eyes.

Sam let him, briefly, but the rending ache in his body pulsed and he shut his eyes against it. Squeezed them tight and shrank away in denial as his edges grew ragged, his surface fragile. There was too much to carry, too much.

"Sam." More alarmed this time, Gabriel took him by the shoulders.

He tried to retreat from the pressure of those hands, but they held, gentle and inescapable. "Gabriel, I—" The words burst out in a phlegmy gasp, shocking Sam with how much they sounded like begging. His eyes flashed open. He drew unsteady breaths and searched the archangel's concerned face. I need . . . I . . .

"What?" With a tenderness that Sam didn't deserve, Gabriel stroked the side of his face and for the briefest moment Sam pressed into the touch before denying himself a small comfort best spent elsewhere.

"I . . ." Don't have the words for this. Please make it stop. "Please . . ." he managed to say, his voice small. The emptiness yawned, and it was like thorns piercing his lungs, bending his ribs until they cracked. Blood. He could taste it still. Levees stacked high with the things he should do, strained, burst. He was going crazy in slow motion, rivets popping under the strain of a bad design.

Gabriel frowned and held him steady. "I don't understand," he said carefully, angling to hold Sam's gaze.

Sam shook his head in confusion, and a little panic. He'd learned. He had learned, and he was sorry. But empty . . . empty. And he just couldn't be empty anymore. "Please, I . . . I need—" He gasped in air and searched, searched for what came next. "I need—" His lower lip quivered, and he took the angel's jacket in his hands, pleading for assistance, for suggestions, for anything. Gabriel, who he hadn't seen in weeks. Who had eyes, deep and dark, lips, soft and wet. Wings that were the glory of God.

Memories relived at the pace of dreams flashed through him. Skin and sunsets. Cool silk whispers of feathers. That feeling that Gabriel's every joyful sound was of his making. That he was powerful and pure and alive and good. It was stupid, but . . .

"Please," he breathed. His face flushed, but he held the angel's impossible gaze. "Please, I want to touch them."

It wasn't quite a question. He clenched his jaw against the embarrassment of asking, of needing anything so fucking much that he was basically down here in the dirt begging for it. But ever since he saw them he'd wanted to and then he had, and . . . a man could get addicted to something like that.

Gabriel looked unsure at first, wariness coloring his dark eyes. Sam clung to him harder, hoping that maybe Gabriel found desperation sexy, 'cause that Sam had in spades. Then slowly, a benevolent grin spread over the archangel's moonlit face. The sound that he made was, indeed, a laugh, but of a charmed quality. Sam let out a breath.

"That can be arranged," Gabriel said. Sam's hands on his jacket went slack, and Gabriel looked down at them, thoughtful for a moment. Then, "Is there somewhere you'd like to see?"

Sam laughed unexpectedly, and it cracked the painful binding around his chest, filling him with relief like cool water. He hadn't laughed in . . . Shit, when you couldn't remember, it was a long-ass time. It felt good. "You know, you don't have to whisk me off to exotic locations," he replied in hushed tones. It was hard, though, to deny how fucking fantastic that could be.

The angel shrugged. "It's nothing. A thought to grant a wish. Why shouldn't I, if I can?"

Sam grinned lightly, though his look was serious. "Because you're not a genie."

A sound of amusement and agreement passed into the space between them. It took Sam a second to realize that that was all the witty rejoinder he was going to get. Another second to register that Gabriel was watching, patiently waiting for a reply.

Sam cleared his throat. "Well,"—he let the jacket go, glanced down sheepishly at the dirt and then back—"always kinda wanted to see the Amazon, you know? Discovery Channel?" He laughed a little at himself. "God, I'm a nerd."

Gabriel's grin broadened into a dazzling smile, and he pushed himself to standing. Sam followed, jumping up from the fender bench and digging his hands into his pockets so he wouldn't scrub them anxiously on his jeans.

"Ready?"

Sam quirked an eyebrow, chuckling nervously, which was stupid 'cause he had slept with the guy before. "Won't it be dark?"

The archangel glanced up and around at the surrounding night air as though noticing it for the first time. His eyes settled on Sam, and he smirked mischievously. "Not when we get there."

When? Sam wanted to say, but before he got the chance to do much of anything, Gabriel reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder.

Reality folded under the pressure of angel wings, and they vanished leaving a stirring of dust in their wake.

XXX

Sam blinked, and somewhere between closing and opening his eyes, he'd been thrust into a fucking sauna. The world was suddenly vibrantly green, like every past green was just a rumor. Trees, like the windblown rock arches of Utah grew up and over one another, twining toward the sky. Ferns and flowers hung in the thick air, bending under their own weight. The ground itself was a rough carpet of brown detritus and small moss covered stones. Birds, startled by their sudden appearance, lifted up with a fuffle of squawks and beating wings. Hyacinth macaws and a pair of toucans spiraled up, calling shrill warnings. Somewhere beyond the solid wall of foliage, water rushed over round rocks in search of the river.

"Don't move." Gabriel said sternly as he took his hand from Sam's shoulder and turned away, scanning their new surroundings.

Dutifully, Sam stood stock still, in his heavy jeans. And a sweatshirt. And man was that aptly named. Less than a minute here and a bead of sweat was already creeping down towards his eye. Seriously, the Amazon? What was he thinking? As he watched, Gabriel prowled through the undergrowth, pushing aside leaves the size of car windows and training his eyes on the ground.

"What're you doing?" Sam chanced that talking didn't technically count as moving.

The angel neither paused nor looked back. "Making sure it's safe," he said absently as he moved in a circuitous route. Things small, poisonous, or many legged scattered through the flora. Sam could see leaves bending and shaking. Above him, a branch snapped and dipped, and he decided quite forcefully that he wasn't going to look up.

"Do I wanna know what those were?" he called over his shoulder.

When there was no immediate answer, he started to turn to look, but then Gabriel was behind him, with a hand on his upper arm, chuckling into his ear.

"Most likely not."

"But it's safe now? No snakes?"

Gabriel stepped away toward some dense bushes. "Or spiders, or beetles, or ants."

"Right." Sam gave the rain forest a wary glance. Paris. Next time someone asks, Paris.

But the truth was, it was gorgeous, and it was everything Planet Earth (Dammit, Sam, we can't afford Hi-def) had led him to believe. Moss-coated trees. A canopy of green, filled with birds and darting monkeys. Flowers burst color everywhere. Flaming red Indian Shot, yellow Cat's Claw, purple Princess flowers, and more orchids in more shades than he could possibly name. They hung down from tree branches, and grew up in scattered beds. The air smelled like life: damp, earthy, fragrant, clean. He stepped and turned in wonder, a bit dizzy from looking up so high. He forgot, for a moment, why they were even there.

And then he caught sight of Gabriel, muscled arms crossed lightly over his bared, chiseled chest. His skin gleamed. The light filtering down from above caught in his bleached blond hair and made him look lit with holy fire. He was a Greek sculpture, breathing. Behind him, his wings stretched and flexed. Their unnatural whiteness was fairly blinding against the shade and green. Fuck. They were . . . everything Sam remembered. Huge, real, animated with a life and language all their own. Sam's breath came quick and high in his chest as he watched Gabriel stretch one . . . then the other, then flap, making a quick and powerful gust that rolled through the air between them. It tickled Sam's lips, cooled his damp hair.

The archangel canted his head slightly and watched with amusement.

Sam licked his lower lip before he'd even realized it. And fuck it was hot in a rain forest.

"I don't understand your fascination." Gabriel's voice held a smile.

Sam swallowed, his mouth suddenly gone dry. "Me neither," he breathed back. Fascination didn't seem strong enough. How could you roll the way his heart was running a race in his chest, and his legs were going loose, and excitement like heroin was shooting through his veins into a word like fascination? His gaze swept up and down the elegant feathered curves and then he sought the angel's eyes, dark and sparkling as the night sky. He jolted when they connected. Without words Sam pleaded. With a slow nod, Gabriel replied.

In one movement, Sam pulled off both the hoodie and the shirt he wore underneath and let them fall to the ground. Then he kicked off his shoes and pulled off his socks, hoping to hell there was nothing too sharp in the dirt. He kept his eyes on Gabriel and felt a thrill when he saw the angel rake him with a gaze that evaluated and approved. Of him. He didn't even know it mattered until it happened, and then he wanted to see it again, that little flare of a look.

Just jeans and boxers now. Sam glanced around the little clearing they were in; there was nothing but ferns, flowers, and trees. Hot air. And the beatbeat of his heart drumming in his chest. He could feel his pulse in his hands, in his tongue.

Sweat slipped down his spine, and Sam frowned at the tickle of each slithering drop.

"Is something wrong?" Gabriel closed the distance between them, looking curious and innocent. He moved into Sam's space like it was his own, quietly dominating.

"No." You take up all the air. "I . . ." He reached for the button on his jeans, only to find that Gabriel's hands were there first. And, Jesus . . . since when did . . . the angel was careful not to touch, but his fingers came so damn close.

Heat flooded up Sam's neck as his partner pulled his jeans down, slipped his boxers off, aware of each inch of skin as it was revealed. How the hot, dense air made it flush on contact and tingle. Gabriel's face and hands were just fucking inches away. It felt strange and primal, being naked in the wild. Care-free and secretive. Standing, the angel turned his sculpted lips up in a slight smile, teasing, and Sam gave them a longing look. He checked once for permission, for confirmation.

It was just like he remembered. Sam slid a hand around his partner's neck and pulled him close, chest to chest. They aligned perfectly, no dipping or twisting. Sam sought out that pouty lower lip to suck, taste. He planted small kisses, smiled, sighed, and relented when the angel crushed him closer and licked at his lips, demanding entry.

Sam surrendered him this. Not that he could have stopped him anyway, but it felt so damn good to be wanted. Devour me. And each electric touch of tongue shook free a piece of the pain, made him forget. He moaned into the angel's mouth, broke free to gasp. Returned.

Gabriel's skin burned. He remembered that. How every place they touched stung with sensation, so he was aware, every second alive with the feel of him. A fire barely contained, earth-rending destruction just here, just there, in and under muscle that rolled beneath his hands.

Sam made space between them and splayed his broad hands over Gabriel's chest. He rubbed up . . . down, scored the angel's lip between his teeth, and was rewarded with a sharp, unsteady gasp. Just like that. He drew his hands around his lover's sides, down near his waist at first, teasing, pushing his fingers under the waistband of his jeans. Gabriel nipped at him, mapping a trail of small bites and licks along his jaw. He never would have thought an angel could be so needy, hot. Mmm.

Feathers grazed the backs of Sam's hands as he moved them up, closer, knowing just where he was going and just what it would do, and smiling wickedly.

He stretched his fingers, tickling, and Gabriel arched up against him with a sharp cry—this glorious sound of shock and tender pain that touched Sam's spine and gathered heat in his groin. Already, he could feel the angel starting to shake, and there is no satisfaction in the world that compares. Their bodies pressed together, Sam swept into the crevices beneath the angel's wings, ringing with anticipation. His fingers slipped along hot, wet skin, brushed delicate feathers. Sensitive places, impossible conjunctions of being. Gabriel thrust his wings out as Sam curved a finger into the lower joint. And shookshookshook as the hands moved higher. A light touch to the upper joint and he moaned like it hurt, clutching at Sam's neck, holding himself there as his knees went weak.

Sam nearly toppled from the sudden weight and gripped him tightly.

"Ok?" he asked with a slight husky laugh.

Gabriel panted, drawing deep draughts of air. "I . . . can't . . ."

Maintain control. "I know." That was what made it so delicious. Sam kissed him quickly on the cheek and glanced around. "I remember." He drew back enough to catch the archangel's eyes and then looked pointedly at a nearby tree. "Can you lean?"

The angel nodded his agreement, but apparently had his own interpretation of Sam's intentions, because he started reaching for his fly. Fuck, yes. But Sam'd spent countless nights dreaming what he'd do with another chance, where to put his hands, his mouth. He caught Gabriel's wrist, and the angel glanced up in confusion.

"Just your wings," Sam breathed and touched his partner's face like he'd never beheld anything quite so stunning.

Gabriel's eyes flashed wide and dark, and he looked at once unfettered, gorgeously desirous, and unless Sam was wrong, apprehensive. He nodded anyway, his golden head catching sunbeams, and moved in silence to set himself obediently against the tree. He leaned his palms against it and spread his feet wide for balance. His wings quivered, swaying and jumping in anticipation. Oh fuck me, Sam thought, and a dozen other things that didn't make it to words. He'd be a liar to deny the warm rush of power that flooded his body when Gabriel acquiesced. He took a moment to simply look and swept his eyes over the broad wings, white and mottled tan. They struck bells in his core, and his breath caught. An angel, no, an archangel was spreading himself wanton and waiting before him. Accepting his touch, trusting his judgment. Not in a million years did he ever deserve a gift like that, and for a brief moment, he doubted he could live up to it. He had to try, though, and was he ever going to fucking try.

An angel's feathers feel like nothing else in Creation. Some nights Sam woke startled from a dream and felt phantom quills against his arms and chest. Sometimes while driving, he daydreamed of an African plain, lowering sunset, and wings of burnished gold. They'd stumbled into it, Sam more so than Gabriel, barreling after his own curiosity. He hadn't expected the raw sexual response, and really hadn't expected Gabriel's moans to be such a potent aphrodisiac. But they were, God, and the story he never told anyone was that he wanted more.

His hands ached to touch, just throbbing with emptiness. Hell, all of him throbbed, beating with his quickened pulse. Sam pressed his bare body up against Gabriel's ass, still concealed in jeans, just so he would know how hard he was. Just from this, just from watching. Gabriel pressed back with a small frustrated grunt, and if Sam hadn't been about to fuck him, he'd have wanted to anyway just for that.

He started at the crests, running his fingers down and out as far as they could reach. Light, quick pets, almost soothing. Gabriel rolled his head and rocked gently to the rhythm of the massage, their thighs touching. Sam grinned, biting his lower lip, and concentrated on the sensation of skin on feathers.

He moved lower. With easy pressure, Sam threaded his fingers between the coverts. They slid through his hands like sharp silk, a cool prickling that touched his nerves and made his stomach flutter. He squeezed lightly, dragging on the shafts.

Gabriel gasped once, twice, and let out a soft moan as the feathers slipped through.

Sam felt his dick pulse at the sound, and the fluttering turned to heat. Liquid, mobile, sweet fire energy poured into his body. He did it again, a little bit faster, a little more roughly. It was the pressure, he learned. The right grip, the right tug and Gabriel gasped in pleasured pain.

Sam hunted many things, and now he hunted this. He won small, animal sounds, long, low, aching groans that turned his blood to fire. He couldn't recall any lover so vocal, so unashamed and open.

The rough fabric of Gabriel's jeans rubbed against him as the angel swayed in an unconscious motion. Sam inhaled sharply at the friction, ground against him on instinct, and then pulled away from the temptation. Gabriel lurched to follow. The message was clear in the bow of his back and the arch of his neck: more.

More, Sam let feathers slide through his fingers, burning with icy fire.

More, panting, he shifted back to make space.

More, he hooked an arm around his lover's midsection and lowered his mouth over the small of his back. Blew lightly on the sweat-slicked skin, and heard a smile in the sound Gabriel made.

A kiss. A lick. Sam burned a trail up towards the angel's left wing. His tongue touched on the curve of the lower joint, and Gabriel stiffened, a surprised warble passing his lips. So tender, these places. Small underfeathers touched Sam's cheek as he laved, sucked, kissed. Searched for new and myriad ways to give pleasure. Each soft sigh entered him like wine, filling the vacant spaces with joy.

Beneath him, Gabriel began to shake.

A slight tremor at first.

Then more as he arched hard when Sam moved higher, his strong back straining. Arched and flexed, wings trying to grip the air.

He tasted like rain, clean and perfect and fresh. Sam gripped tighter, touched the upper joint with the tip of his tongue. Gabriel jerked with a loud moan, gaspgaspgasping as Sam ignited nerves that forked like lightning through a body not made to house them. Sam delved, melting his partner into mindless throaty passioned pleading.

A sound like breaking cut off the archangel's voice as his discipline found its snapping end.

Sam failed to hear his own terrified gasp.

Fear with bestial jaws tore into his gut, and his heart pushed against his ribs, nearly vibrating with its speed. The urge to scream and run and hide whistled through his veins. He knew what this was, but knowing didn't make one damn bit of difference. Angel dread, like only an archangel's hurricaning aura could provide, ripped through his fragile human senses.

Sam pressed his head between Gabriel's shoulder blades and held on tight, just trying to breathe. Not let go.

"I'm sorry, I—" The angel's voice quavered, thrumming deep and strangely muffled as Sam listened through the flesh of his body.

"Shh . . . s'ok," Sam muttered, because saying things makes them extra true.

Struggling for air, Sam lifted his head and placed a steadying kiss on the nape of the Gabriel's neck. "I know." It was only fear. "I can manage." He had once before. Driven an archangel beyond his limits, melted and undone and powerless. Sam let the fear run its course, mostly because he had no choice. But fear could give you focus. Give you fire. And in the wake of fear came the sharp joy of being alive.

Sam rubbed a reassuring hand through Gabriel's hair, damp with sweat, and left hot kisses against his neck and the side of his cheek. When Gabriel turned to meet him, he moved out of reach. Face flushed and fine lips parted in innocent desire, Gabriel panted, looked fucking wrecked, and Sam had never seen anyone wear sex so well. A burning look passed between them filled with lust, pleading. Gabriel blinked his glazed eyes when Sam still didn't move in to kiss him and then hung his head in surrender.

Sam traced his lips lightly over his partner's shoulder and, imbued with fresh white energy, found where he had left off. He swirled his tongue at the wing's junction, switching directions and pressure, blowing streams of air. Gabriel responded like going mad. He twisted and tried to flap his wings, shook his head and cried out. He pressed against the tree until its leaves shook and trunk creaked.

And then Sam pulled back and slowed. Paced. Recovered. Basked as one of God's most powerful creatures panted, needy and begging, a seeking proselyte. So strong, so vulnerable to the touch.

Sam placed a light kiss on the middle of Gabriel's back, there, and then another, as he prepared to start over, this time on the other side. Slowly, he switched arms, taking time to run his hands up the archangel's strong body. He had always enjoyed the soft roundness of women, how their hips flared and thighs molded to his hands. This was nothing like that, about as nothing like that as any body could be. Gabriel felt like living marble, silky to the touch but hard, constructed of a strange geometry he couldn't stop exploring. Gabriel hitched as Sam's rough palms scraped over his nipples. Interesting. Sam smiled against his lover's skin. Not quite as interesting as this.

The rain forest swallowed Gabriel's cries as Sam gave each inch of skin the full measure of his attention. His back ached and legs burned, but every whimper and moan that was almost his name was reason enough for just one more second. Quick flicks against the joint, and Gabriel's wings trembled. Sam sucked hard, and the angel bent back so much he almost brought them to standing.

Flick. Gabriel cried out.

Flick. His arms buckled and for a dizzying moment, they almost tumbled. Sam held him up.

Flick. Whimper.

A devilish smile flashed across Sam's face as he panted, tasting sweet anticipation. He was cloudy with it, high.

"Ready?" he muttered, nuzzling lightly.

"Y-yes," the archangel managed to say as he pushed against the tree with shaky arms.

Yes. Yes and yes and yes. Sam found the place that made his angel shudder. Hot tongue touched hotter skin. And then he brought his free hand up, skimmed over the muscles of Gabriel's lower back, and dipped strong fingers into the damp fold of his underwing. Gabriel rocked and twisted, as though trying to escape. Caught breath wheezed from his lungs as Sam slid his fingers higher, tracing, touching. Gentle, gentle.

Gabriel shook, a full body quake that he seemed as unable to control as his ragged, gasping breathing. He pushed back, straining into Sam's hands, writhing for the heat of his mouth.

So close. Sam laved faster and harder, the body beneath him bucking and finally moaning high and desperate. Beautiful, crumbling. Broken.

He touched against the most sensitive skin.

And they fell.

The angel's wings snapped in tight, and his knees became water. The sound of his ecstasy rolled as thunder through the sky, shaking the canopy. Sam peered up in surprised wonder as birds of every size and color scattered through the trees, screaming out their songs in a disjointed chorus that lasted only a moment.

Then silence.

His arm was still wrapped around Gabriel's middle, and Sam felt him pant and tremble through the aftershocks of his pleasure. Dirt and dead leaves ground into Sam's knees, so he carefully let his partner go as he stood up and backed away, his own body quivering. He watched as Gabriel sat back on his heels, swiped a hand near his groin in a curious gesture, and then slowly turned.

Their eyes met, and Sam sucked in a breath, suddenly thoroughly terrified. He dripped sweat. Burned from the inside out. His skin, wet from the heat, from the sex, if you could call it that, felt ready to combust, and yet a chill rolled out across his body.

Gabriel looked . . . fierce. Like an archangel.

He moved like a sonnet. Every muscle and limb unfolding with measured grace. He had a beauty that promised meaning, a rhythm of purpose. Sam stared, transfixed, into his dark chocolate eyes. The thought flashed through him with the pulse of a heartbeat that he was prey and should be running.

And then Sam was caught. A small sound of fear broke at the back of his throat, and he tensed, which should have been embarrassing only his brain had ground to a halt.

Long fingers curled into his hair and curved around the back of his neck. He stood dumb as Gabriel kissed him hard, licking his lower lip and then raking it with blunt teeth. It hurt, and then it stopped, just as his idiotic body started to thaw. Sam's eyes popped open, and the angel was giving him a long, heated look.

"What?" he breathed, suddenly aware that he was naked and that his partner was not, which couldn't begin to count as fair. Also, that Gabriel's thigh pressed against his hard cock and shifted with exquisite friction as the angel stared into him.

The hand on his neck lifted, and without changing expressions, Gabriel touched a light finger to Sam's swollen, stinging lips. Sam shivered. And then frowned slightly as he became an object of inspection. Gabriel's eyes flicked down to watch as he traced the shape of Sam's mouth and then back. Sam couldn't tell if the gesture was affectionate or dominating. Maybe there wasn't any difference.

The angel tilted his head just a little. "Your turn," he said, and grinned in a way that was almost definitely affectionate.

Then, as if he had practiced this dance before, Gabriel stepped around Sam as though they were in a waltz. Sam felt the hand that had tangled in his hair shift lightly down. As Gabriel pressed against his back, the hand came to rest on his chest, locking him in a half-embrace. The angel's free hand traced up and down his side. He couldn't stop himself from squirming.

"You're ticklish," Gabriel said in a soft, amused voice right up against his ear.

Sam moved away from his wandering, playful fingers and said nothing. Shame clouded his face, not at being ticklish but at wanting to laugh—at this, at anything, as though a moment's levity was too much light in a too dark a place. He grunted unhappily and might have said stop when Gabriel's fingers came back to try a second time, may perchance have told him to make him burn instead.

Gabriel's reply was the sexiest growl Sam had ever heard, and it went straight to his toes. Everywhere their skin came in contact beaded with sweat. Gabriel's hot breath swept over his ear and cheek.

Then wings. Sam panicked at the sensation of being swallowed alive. Encased. Suffocated in a sweltering, silky, sliding. A strangled sound escaped him as feathers shuffled, brushed, tickled maddeningly, and he wanted to cry. Stop. Do it harder.

Sam felt sweat roll down his body slowly, like ants. And suddenly every point of pain or pleasure screamed, like they'd just been waiting for his attention. His back hurt and legs hurt and bare skin pulsed with his heartbeat and God he ached. Gabriel's moans and pants could've turned on the dead, and Sam'd had to try not to grind himself against him, so now his cock throbbed and he needed—needed—

Gasp.

Gabriel's mouth settled on his neck, pressing hot and wet. Unexpected. So near the right spot that Sam stretched and turned his head away, giving him room, pressing into a wall of feathers. They'd only done this once, but the angel remembered. How silly was that? A kiss lower. A small nip. His vision went all crazy white and brain shut right the hell down, so he was just nerves and emotion. A sob escaped, and Sam felt Gabriel's hands start to move, exploring. Fuck. This they had not done. Mapping and learning what it was to be loved. Sam breathed in quick and heavy, waiting on a knife's edge and swallowing down the small pleas that would reduce him to begging. But Gabriel knew, without words, without begging.

He set his tongue against the spot like a brand.

Sam lost his sense of standing. Dizzying flying, swayed trees. Oh, fuck, god, yes. Pleasure scalded down his limbs and he writhed, slick skin sliding in the angel's grip. He moaned like it hurt and thought it good, better, the best thing anyone could feel without exploding and dying right then. Goose flesh rippled down his arms. He drew a feather into his mouth and whimpered around it.

Gabriel pressed and Sam's strength cracked, breaking slowly. Sank into his lover's body, his strength.

"Please," he sobbed, bending.

And it won him a moment of reprieve as the angel lifted his head to whisper in his ear. "Please, what?"

Finish me.

He could not say, did not know the words for the want or why, and so he trembled in the archangel's grip. He ran a hand over his own stomach and clutched the arm like an iron band around his chest.

Sam felt the back of Gabriel's knuckles travel down his side. Ghosting tender and then digging in. A hard grip on one ass cheek. And then fingers searching, one slipping between—

"Don't." He wrenched away from the touch in panic, 'cause he wasn't really like that and curious as he was, he wasn't that fucking curious. His stomach did this little flip of fear, but his lover hugged him hard.

"Shh, shh." Gabriel's lips calming upon his cheek. "Etharzi..." Another kiss. "I was only curious." The hand rubbing circles on his thigh.

Heart pounding, Sam eased back into a kiss on his neck. One lower. The fear just melted right out as feathers shifted along his frame. He reached for his cock, unbearably tortured by the brush of wings, only to have his hand pushed out of the way.

Gabriel's hand closed around him instead. He whimpered out a moan and then cried sharply, weakened as his partner found that spot again.

And then his body was no longer his own. Tequila pleasure ran through his veins. Dizzy, hot. The rain forest blurred in his vision to smatterings of color. Deep green, bright red. Gabriel's soft hand pumped and pulled his cock in measured trochee, stress-rest. Strong-soft, slick-slip, blistered heat.

Sam leaned, flexed, and gripped the angel's hair. Groaned shamelessly and crushed him to his neck. Panted, jumped, begged when he stroked the slit of his cock. Fingers touched his lips, and he sucked them in, hard, encouraging. Protested when Gabriel slipped them free. They trailed cool and wet over his chest in sigils of ancient lovers' form.

Harder. Breathless. Needed. Needed. Something...

Find me...

More.

Gabriel...

Sam stiffened, his vision flashing in white stars. The soles of his feet went numb, his lips tingled. A rough and needy sound tore from his throat as he came, gripping the strong arm across his chest. Gabriel's hand on his cock stopped, let go, and then slid home to wrap around his waist.

Breathe . . .

Breathe.

Bliss.

The angel held himself close, coiled around Sam's slightly larger frame. He flapped his wings lazily, and Sam shivered.

This. This calm. This bright star in his chest, glowing. Sam smiled.

It glowed, glowed and grew dim. He could feel it go. A few fleeting seconds, and it winked out. In the absence of light, the darkness gathered its own special gravity, drawing in every old regret and past failure to display a lifetime's worth of mistakes, a world-ending Category 5 storm of fuck ups. In seconds it was all just there, as it had been, and no array of angel feathers could hold something like that back. Sam sighed out a breath that tasted like smoke and pulled out of the archangel's embrace in silence.

He dipped to pick up his clothes and wordlessly pulled them on. The weight of Gabriel's gaze made his skin prickle. He knew he was being a prick, but he avoided looking back at him anyway, paying full attention to balancing as he put his pants on and then to tying his shoes. With every second, the creeping, sinking, clawing in his chest and bones returned. He tensed and hunched, as if he was protecting a wound.

"Sam," Gabriel said to his back in a tone that was almost completely diplomatic, it nearly didn't sound hurt.

Sam flinched slightly and finished his tying. He focused on his fingers and waited, wondering and afraid what Gabriel might say. Anything from Am I just a sex toy to you? to Wanna tell me why you ended the fucking world, kid? seemed appropriate. He pressed his eyes shut.

"Sam," the angel said his name like it was this fragile thing, prone to sundering."I will listen." His voice was gentle, like coaxing a wounded pup.

It was absurd. The concern. How could anyone? After everything? Be so damned concerned that stupid Sammy was having a bad day? Sam squeezed his eyes shut harder and stood. The pain in his chest, in his gut, swelled and stuck like a bubble in his throat. It would've hurt less to chew rocks. The things . . . the memories had . . . no . . . words. They were pain and regret, shot through with anger, twisted with hopelessness and impotent guilt. He convulsed with a silent sob that felt a whole hell of a lot like a stab wound and then he turned. Looked.

Gabriel had put his wings away and crossed his arms customarily over his chest. He looked like he was just a man. Sam dragged his eyes up by degrees, fearful. He swallowed, took a few huffing shallow breaths, and finally looked him in the eye. It felt like invasion and though he frowned and shifted, Sam didn't look away. Bore it up, trembling.

After a moment of steady, quiet regard, the archangel's eyebrows lifted in questioning encouragement. Not judgment or scorn, and thank God not hate.

Sam felt his unneeded sweatshirt slip from his powerless hand. The vise in his throat spun open.

"I—" He drew a breath thick with saliva and doubt. "I-I loved her." The words squeezed out, foreign, cutting his throat as they came, and he couldn't look Gabriel in the eye as he said them. Sam tried to say the next bit, words ghosting across his lips. Nothing seemed to say enough, seemed to encompass the unspeakable enormity. He cast his gaze about the surrounding forest and then back at Gabriel. Desperation carved itself deeply into Sam's face. He tried to move, step closer maybe, but his feet refused and instead he sank to his knees. Something inside broke on impact.

"Ruby, she was . . . there for me when I—when Dean was . . ." Sam sucked in a breath, looked at the angel, and then away. "She told me what I wanted to hear," he admitted, sorrow heavy in each word. It'd taken forever for him to see that, of course, and now it sounded so simple, and he so stupid. "She . . . said that I would make it through, you know? She said that . . . I was powerful, that I could do great things. She said I could save people, that I had this gift." Sam stopped and looked down at his upturned palms. "She—she said I could stop the demons. Save the seals. Me." He looked up quickly, willing Gabriel to understand. "That Ididn't need protecting anymore. No one else was . . . was ever gonna have to die for me. 'Cause . . . 'cause." He clamped his jaw shut until it ached. Shaking, Sam swallowed and felt guilty tears sting at his eyes. "'Cause I'd be stronger and faster and, and better." He let out a bitter crumbling laugh and hunched, staring back down at his hands. "I, uh, I . . ." Surely, all of Heaven knew every detail of what he'd done. Surely, it wasn't news. But he'd never told anyone and heard the words echo in his own head. "I, um. I . . . drank demon blood," he whispered, and shied away as much from his own admission as from any angelic fury.

His whole body hummed with riotous emotion. Tears built until his vision shimmered, and he fought them off as long as he could. His voice shook when he spoke, expelling truth like demons. "I, uh . . . mur–mur—" A sob broke through and Sam failed in his fight, big tears spilled down his cheeks. His jaw trembled, but he forced the words out anyway, "I murdered a . . . a woman. A nurse. She, uh, she had a demon in her, and, um"—he gripped his hands together until it hurt—"and I needed . . . to, umm." Say it. He shook his head against the memory. "I needed to drink her blood. She—she begged me not to. Cried. God, she screamed, and I thought . . . y'know just the demon, right? But maybe, umm, maybe now I think, maybe it was really her, and I just . . ."

Sam crumpled in on himself as tears rolled hot and fast. He gasped in a wet lungful of air and cried like he hadn't in ages. So much more needed to be said, so many mistakes flayed open and pinned, crucified under a harsh light. But he couldn't speak. There was only a binding pain where his voice should be. And I'm sorry for the End of the World might take forever to say. "I-I was strong and now, I—"

Something moved. He saw blurry blackness pass into the edges of his vision and then felt a hand slide onto his bowed head.

"Sam," Gabriel spoke as though addressing a child. He played with Sam's hair, running strands between his fingers, and then knelt.

Sam blinked big tears from his eyes to clear his vision. Gabriel's hand cupped his cheek, warm. He waited.

"I can't offer you absolution," the archangel said carefully, his voice soft and eyes glassy with unshed tears. "Only God can do that."

Right. Yeah, of course. He hadn't—hadn't really expected anything different. Sam's body rattled like he'd been punched in the gut, and with closed eyes he started to nod. He understood. Of course, he understood. Rogue tears slipped from under his eyelids anyway.

Gabriel wiped one away with a brush of his thumb, and Sam automatically blinked to look at him.

"What I can offer," the angel went on, "is my forgiveness."

Sam stared back at him and then took a few tries to find his ability to speak. "Why?" he asked in a small, unsure voice. "Why would you do that?"

The archangel looked down, his gaze resting somewhere about Sam's knees. As far as Sam could tell, he gave the question a considerable amount of thought. He didn't move his hand from Sam's face, instead letting it rest lightly just where it was, and Sam found himself glad, grateful even, for the contact.

At length, Gabriel looked up. His expression was serious and searching. "Who in this world loves you?"

"Dean and Bobby," Sam replied without hesitation.

The angel nodded, looking thoughtful and not a bit surprised. "A father and a brother."

Sam nodded slightly into Gabriel's palm, not at all sure where this was going.

A steady, earnest gaze. "Is it enough?"

Sam frowned back at him, his heart skipping a beat or two at the feel of a thumb caressing his cheek. "No," he breathed, hoarse.

At that Gabriel looked satisfied and he broke the contact between them. He stood and went to retrieve his clothes, clearly considering the matter settled. In confused silence, Sam watched for a moment and all the things he hadn't managed to say tumbled around his brain. Not half of what he'd wanted to say, not half—

He jumped to his feet in impulsive anger. "That's it? Just like that, like it was easy? You can't just . . . forgive—you can't—" He stormed after him. Back turned, Gabriel tugged the hem of his shirt into place. "Look at me!" Sam roared and jerked him around with explosive violence.

Of all the dumb things Sam had ever done, an impressively long list, manhandling an archangel suddenly struck his heart as maybe one of the dumbest. Gabriel rounded into his space, furious and terrifying, his being flaring far beyond the bounds of his flesh. "I do look at you," his voice shook with something unidentifiable and he shoved in closer, forcing Sam back with each step. "And into you." Step. "And through you."

Sam retreated further, a chill filling the space where his anger had been. He stared, wide-eyed, barely breathing and weak from the whiplash of his own emotions. Gabriel visibly brought his own temper under control, closed his eyes, and adjusted the set of his shoulders. The charged air between them calmed some as seconds passed, and when the archangel opened his eyes again, all Sam could think was that he looked inexorably sad. Gabriel's gaze settled on Sam's chest, and he reached out to place his palm just over his heart.

Strange that such a gesture should be familiar. The angel's hand burned unnaturally, and all of Sam's awareness gathered to the point of contact.

"Do you remember what I showed you?" Gabriel asked, eyes following something only he could see.

Sam's own soul, black and dying. And when it wasn't that, a swirl of sickly green. Toxic waste. Death. Sam remembered. Remembered the pit of darkness that raged where his heart should have been, in the space under Gabriel's hand.

Sam swallowed and nodded, not really sure he wanted to know where this was going. What the angel could see now.

Gabriel lifted his eyes to look at him, and it was a longing, lost expression. "How do you think I should fix it?" He sounded as helpless as Sam felt.

"I—"

"If I cauterize the darkness"—his eyes flicked back down—"what would be left?"

Was he supposed to answer? Sam shook his head vaguely and shivered.

"Char." Gabriel ground out the word, dropping it like a stone. Sam felt him press his hand a little harder as he leaned in, looking. "I might as well damn you to Hell myself, because that is what Hellfire does."

He looked at Sam again with grim intensity. Sam covered the angel's hand with his own, offering and seeking reassurance. Gabriel let him wrap their fingers together.

"So." Sam gathered his courage. "So how come I'm not a demon? Chuck said my eyes—"

"Because you tempered the poison with love," Gabriel swiftly interrupted. Apparently, he'd been giving this quandary some thought. He sounded very sure of his answer.

Sam's eyebrows lifted in question, but Gabriel's attention shifted elsewhere instead. A particular, peculiar expression passed over the archangel's face: thoughtful and focused, but focused on something far, far, away. It looked like he was listening to music, and losing himself in the magic of the melody. Sam waited while the angel decided on his words.

"You're familiar with chemical compounds?" he asked at last.

"Sure." Sam frowned slightly back at him.

"Sodium on its own is reactive and toxic. Combined with simple carbon, though, and humans use it as medicine."

Sam smirked, because who'd have thought angels knew high school chemistry? But Gabriel's meaning was clear enough, to him anyway. He had demon baking soda of the soul. It was both ludicrous and strangely apt.

It also didn't answer the question. "And, what does that mean, though? Am I still evil?"

The archangel gave him a pained look. "It means . . ." He looked around the forest, glanced up at the canopy, and then met Sam's gaze steadily. "It means that I have hope." His mouth turned in a slight grin, and Sam exhaled tension he hadn't known he'd been holding in. He let the angel's hand go, and Gabriel moved off to grab his jacket from where it hung on a tree branch.

Sam took a moment to let the wobbly feeling inside settle. His ribs didn't hurt quite as much, the emptiness didn't yawn quite so far. He moved to pick up his hoodie and gave it a look of consternation. He couldn't decide what would look more douchey, tying it around his neck or his waist. He tried picturing what Dean might say and which totally condescending "my brother is an ass" face he'd use. At least insults would be talking, though, and Sam made a note to give that a shot.

". . . look around?" Gabriel was saying something.

"Huh?" He looked up.

"While we're here," the angel said each word slowly and paused between each statement, "would you like . . . to take . . . a look . . . around?" He eyes danced in amusement.

Right! Right, the Amazon rain forest. Sam'd almost managed to forget where they were, or that where they were existed on a real map somewhere. He swallowed his embarrassment under a cheeky grin and gave his companion a sidelong glance.

"Are you sure it's safe? I mean . . . I thought there were snakes and twelve kinds of deadly spiders."

Gabriel lifted a heavy fern leaf out of his way and peered into the green dark. "Three thousand eighty . . . one."

"Kinds?"

"Of spiders."

Sam knotted his shirtsleeves at his waist and stared at the angel's leather clad back. There was no way that jacket could be comfortable. Sam wondered if he could just turn it on and off, feeling things. Must be nice. "That's not funny."

Gabriel glanced back at him and grinned. "You don't have to worry."

"I wasn't!" Sam protested and made his way over. Gabriel looked away, and Sam got the distinct impression it was to hide a smirk. He gave him a pinched, bitchy glare. "I wasn't."

The angel pushed back the fern leaf and started off into the undergrowth. "Stay close, and ask before you touch anything that looks pretty."

Sam huffed, "Yes, Mom," and followed. "You know, I'm not an idiot!" he hollered, which might be highly frickin' contestable, but the implication annoyed him anyway.

The ensuing silence was frustratingly difficult to argue with.