disclaimer. the usual; not mine, no profit being made, etc., etc..

a/n. So... I wrote this for my girlfriend. Because I fail and I haven't written her anything lately and Castiel muse is hiding from me (I think Dean hid him). So, uhm... have some Sabriel?

Spoilers for Season 5, Episode 8 Changing Channels. Spin-off fic of the episode. No real warnings aside from the swearing. Mentions of Gabriel (Loki) x Sam and some background Castiel x Dean... a lot of head canon. Please, enjoy. [If you happen to spot any typos, please point them out ;^;]

word. Approximately 4.300

Dean's still laughing in the background when the scene fades out. Sam scowls darkly at him.

"Why could you have had the goddamn... I never want to say that word again, this is somehow your fault."

"Hey, don't look at me, man. Trickster's the one fucking with your head, not me." That doesn't stop Dean from biting down another snicker. Sam just glares and waits for their next "test" to start.

The hospital had been one thing (it had been Mystery Spot all over again and now he's just hellbent on ripping Loki's throat out again) and then the fucking game show. Thankfully, he'd caught his breath and the pain had more or less vaporized upon their "commercial break" that he is never speaking of again.

If he gets Loki alone-

"You'll what?"

Sam startles out of his thoughts and spins around. There are hundreds of people looking at him. He's sitting on a stupid looking set-the ones with the couch and arm chair... a talk show set. Loki's grinning at him from the arm chair; gold eyes light up in pure mischief and Sam snarls out a vague, under breath curse. His body goes painfully still and feels too heavy before he can even consider jumping the Trickster. Loki just taps a small stack of index cards against his palm.

"Still too predictable, Sammy. Honestly, didn't you learn anything during out last meeting?"

He expects to hear a violent growl from Dean. Or... really, he just expects to hear something aside from the murmur of the "audience". When he tries to glance to his side, some of the weight leaves his body; just enough for him to turn his head. Enough for him to realise he's alone. He nearly panics (doesn't even notice he's jumped up) and turns on Loki with a glare, "Where's Dean?"

"Oh, relax. Mystery Spot made killing him boring. Dr. Sexy was just for nostalgia. And... really," Loki tilts his head, idly blows at a strand of hair that manages to get out of the slicked back mess, "If he'd done what he was told, it wouldn't have happened. Now would it have?"

He might have a point, but Sam doesn't care at the moment. "Where did you drop him, damn it?"

"Relax." Sam grunts in pain when his body locks back up and he's forced to sit back down, "I decided to be nice. He's experiencing the pleasures of after hours. I hear they have gorgeous angels this time of night. Or... well. The time slot Dean got dropped into."

There's something remotely terrifying in the way the smirk moves up to his eyes. Or, maybe Sam's too focused on the fact that this... this is kind of like their first meeting after Mystery Spot. The biting insults and defiance. Sam being locked in place. And Loki using nothing but a silky tone and suggestive looks.

Dean would kill him if he ever found out.

"Oh, wouldn't he just." Sam glares at the blonde. Loki just gives an all too careless shrug, "So, Sammy. Ready to work through this round of the game?"

"If I say no?"

"Well," Loki's tone takes a mild drawl and he looks moderately contemplative. Just a show; Sam knows he already has the whole thing planned out, "if you play along, I'll wrap this up when your brother finishes his role. If you don't... then, Dean moves on. And you stay here until you follow the rules. And I can't exactly promise that Dean's going to keep getting lucky. Three hundred channels, Sammy boy. And you've only been on three."

Sam scowls and settles back in the couch (takes a moment to relish in the way his limbs relax), "Fine."

[o][x][o]

Gabriel tries to not to notice the set lock in Sam's jaw. In the way he glares pointedly at a spot just beyond Gabriel's shoulder. In the way he's grown since Mystery Spot and those six months where things had been veered off course. Those six months he'd been so proud of himself (messing up Daddy's perfect story and Michael's destiny... he's kind of surprised his brother hadn't dragged him home kicking and screaming, now that he thinks about it) and the number of trysts he'd gotten into with the younger Winchester. He vaguely wonders if Sam's thinking the same thing... he could find out. But, he probably shouldn't push his luck.

He knows why they're sticking around. He knows what they want to talk about. And... really, all it would take is one word on Sam's part.

Well. Assuming that this round goes... moderately decent. All it will take is one word. (He tries to ignore that annoying little piece of conscience telling him that he's lying; even if this goes up in flames, he'll still jump in with one look from Sam.)

"Are we going to do this or not?"

Gabriel quirks a brow at the violent snarl and can't resist throwing the human a devilishly amused smirk, "We could do other things if you'd prefer—"

"There's an audience."

"Voyeur-exhibition, kiddo." Sam makes this too easy. Gabriel has to bite hard on his cheek to keep from cackling at the mortified look he's given, "I'm kidding. Jeez. You need more laughs, Sammy."

"What's on the cards?"

Gabriel pouts at him; still straight to the point as ever. Still, he looks back at the index cards in his hand—tiny, neat writing—and then back at Sam with a vague shrug, "Questions. This is a talk show."

"Why, so you can guilt trip me again?" The way he bristles is almost adorable (Gabriel wonders if his brief fling with Kali made him more attracted to violence than is considered "safe") and he's actually moderately amused that Sam finally figured out the game show stab.

"I was making a point, Sammy. Because, apparently: you're still a brick wall." Gabriel tries not to glare. His alternate reality had been so much better than this. Dean had lasted six months in his reality. There was no immediate threat of an apocalypse. Michael was still running the garrison under Father's supervision. Lucifer was still seething in his damn box. Uriel was... well, no, fuck Uriel. That dickhole had tried to send his lot to drag him home when Michael wouldn't. And he tried to kill Sam (and Dean, but that was Michael and Castiel's problem. Not his).

"What point?"

"That someone is going to die. Maybe Dean; maybe you," He doesn't want to think about that. Michael is lenient with his vessels. When he doesn't need them, he lets them control their life. Lucifer... as he recalls and if he's been hearing the chatter correctly, Lucifer's ruthless with his vessels and has no problem playing with humans that aren't his true vessels. "That life without Dean was going to suck. Do you know how pathetic you looked when he died in reality? At least in my reality, you shaped the fuck up and didn't do stupid as fuck shit like try to deal with Crossroads."

The snarl dies down when Sam flinches and Gabriel takes a slow breath, "Granted. At least you still have some sliver of humanity right now. I will admit that that particular sparkler in your personality was not appealing. At all."

Sam looks uncomfortable now and... as much as Gabriel doesn't want to check in on Dean, things are going fairly well on his end. (Gabriel tries not to wince and makes a note to scrub his brain later. He never wants to see Castiel or Dean naked again. He will, however, have to tease them in the future more.)

"Now, then," Sam glances up when Gabriel finally speaks up again (he tries not to be distracted by the kicked puppy look that's taken over), "You actually wanted to talk to me, no? These can wait. Or, they'll probably come up on their own. You wanted to ask me about the apocalypse. What could I possibly do for you?"

He's not going to lie to himself. He could never win in a fight against Michael or Lucifer. ... Well. Not Michael, ever. He'd have trouble winning against Raphael, for Father's sake. (Granted, he'd rip his brother's Grace out with his bare hands if he ever touched Sam, but he doubts Raphael's that stupid.) Lucifer... that he doesn't even want to think about. Castiel's already hidden them; really, Gabriel isn't sure what he could do.

"You're powerful. You can bend reality, you—you're a demigod, you have to be able to help somehow."

Oh, if only you knew.

"A pagan demigod." He tries not to bite the word out. It's gotten harder to lie in the past few centuries. More so in the past year or so, since he started screwing with the Winchesters. "Do you know how those winged dickbags react to pagan demigods? They string us up with tinsel and evergreen and use us as piñatas at their creepy ass reunions and military balls."

And now he's wondering if they actually would. Uriel would. Michael... well, he hopes Michael wouldn't let them do that to him. Raphael would be all too happy to have him off the Archangel roster permanently.

"But you could still help us." Sam looks desperate. Like he's only doing this to stop Dean's psychotic—and remarkably fail—plan to kill Gabriel if he says no, "Anything. There're four of us. There's Dean, Bobby, Cas, and me. Against Lucifer, against Michael," it takes a lot not to point out that Michael's a lot less of a dick than Lucifer, "against other hunters."

Gabriel tries not to startle too visibly. He'd heard things were getting bad, but... he hadn't heard that other hunters were turning on the brothers. He wonders if Michael is purposefully screwing with his angel radio. He sighs and lets his head loll forward in a mildly exasperated manner (mostly to recover).

"You could make a deal with Michael." When he looks back up, Sam looks startled. Maybe even a little betrayed. "He can't wear your brother without consent, right?" He waits for the slow nod, hopes he isn't treading too close to the water that'll show what he is, "So, make a deal with him: Dean says yes, they go after Lucifer now. They put the poor bastard Lucifer's riding out of his misery and beat that asshole back into the depths of Hell."

"Alternatively: Michael just kills me."

"He wouldn't—"

"Angels aren't that trust-worthy." Gabriel's mouth snaps shut and he tries not to stare. He tries to look curious and not… well, murderous is his initial reaction. But, really… he thinks he's just trying not to look betrayed at the moment. Sam doesn't know, it isn't his fault, if he knew—no. No, he'd still say the same thing.

"All he needs is Dean. Angels are… I don't even know," There's something hopeless in the way Sam throws up his hands, in the way his shoulders slump in defeat when his hands drop back to his lap, and something broken in his expression. It isn't the light Gabriel remembers from Mystery Spot (the determined, desperate light to have his brother alive), "They're… everything I thought they were in the worst ways possible. They're righteous. They're… they're fighting for the greater good, no matter what the goddamn consequences. Cas is getting better, but… he still doesn't think about humans first. He thinks about Dean first. Even when he's trying to keep me or Bobby alive, it isn't because he's thinking about us. He's still thinking about Dean."

Gabriel wants to say that he would never let Michael kill Sam. He wants to point out that an angel can't lie to their vessel—especially so in the name of consent. He wants to tell Sam that he would stand up to Michael, even at risk of having his Grace burned inside-out.

He really wants to tell Sam that Castiel can go fuck himself; because Gabriel isn't going to let anything happen to him, so long as he has a say.

"Michael wouldn't kill you."

Ok, that he doesn't mean to say. But, Sam's giving him a suspicious look now. So, he shrugs and tries to play it off, "Power of resurrection, right? You were thinking it. Lucifer's talked to you, hasn't he? If you die, he just pops you back down to Earth. As many times as he'd need to; so, no point in killing you."

Sam scowls at him, "That's not reassuring."

Reassuring or not, he missed the point. Gabriel just sighs, idly tosses the forgotten index cards over his shoulder (he doesn't need them anymore; he'll never get a positive word about angels out of Sam, no matter which question he asks), and pushes himself up from his armchair in a dramatic manner. It barely takes a second for him to cross the room and drape himself on Sam. He tries not to focus on the way the human locks up and bites down the second sigh. It takes more of an effort than he cares to keep his strength in check when he tilts Sam's face to make him keep eye contact.

"It's not supposed to be. This is war, kiddo. Whether you like it or not," he tries not to focus on the way the hopeful light drains out of Sam's eyes, "this is war and it isn't going to go away just because you try to pray for an end." I could preach that for hours. "The best way to deal with it—"

A short, ringing noise goes off in the back of his mind and he jumps up quicker than he'd like. He scowls over his shoulder, hoping Dean can feel the displeased look. But, when he looks back at Sam, he's grinning again (and taking a quiet pleasure in the startled expression), "Well. Dean's moving on I suppose. Deal's a deal, kiddo."

"Wait, I wasn't—"

Gabriel snaps his fingers before Sam can finish and lets out a heavy sigh when he runs his hands back through his hair. This is going to be a long war yet.

He could, alternatively, keep Sam and Dean in his world. Find them a good channel and leave them there. He might even let Castiel out to distract Dean and pop in on Sam whenever the other two are busy. But… sooner or later, one of his other brothers will figure it out. Or Dean will get restless. Or Castiel. Someone will get restless, someone will figure it out. Even if his realities are safer.

[o][x][o]

Gabriel quirks a brow when Dean accuses him of being an angel (mostly to ignore the hard expression trying to take over Sam's face) and nearly swears when Sam drops the lighter on the ground. It can't be—they're bluffing. Castiel told them about the Holy Oil and they're bluffing.

He wants to believe those words; but, the second the fire surrounds him, he feels it. The tight, nauseating twist in his gut and the inexplicable need to stay planted firmly in the middle of the circle to keep from touching the flames. He puts on what he hopes is a void expression (after failing to laugh it off; one look at Sam and any desire to keep up the charade was gone), snaps them back to reality and gives a slow clap, "Well played, boys. Well played."

He wants to scowl at Dean's attempt at humour; but, he lets it slide off.

"Where'd I screw up?"

It takes an effort to keep a straight expression and he makes a point not to look in Sam's direction again… until Sam answers his question; then he risks a tiny peek.

"You didn't. Nobody gets the jump on Cas like you did."

He should have left Castiel in time out. He should have just let Dean have one of the imaginary actresses—maybe even an impression of a past girlfriend or a copy of Castiel—but, he should have left Castiel in time out. Then he wouldn't have gotten onto the other set. And he wouldn't have had to intervene.

"So," Sam looks furious. Betrayed. Gabriel doesn't blame him all that much, "which one are you? Grumpy, Sneezy, or Douchey?"

This time he makes eye contact. He makes sure Sam doesn't look away and lets out a slow breath.

"Gabriel, okay?" His chest tightens, almost to the point he forgets that his vessel does require air, "They call me Gabriel."

"Gabriel? The Archangel?"

If Sam looked upset before, he's border lining absolutely murderous now. His tone alone is nearly enough to make Gabriel keep his mouth clamped shut. But, centuries of putting up with his siblings… and he resorts to shrugging it off in favour of attempts at humour.

"Guilty."

And, almost on cue, Dean starts talking.

Normally, Gabriel can ignore him. He can focus on Sam and try not to feel horrible when the puppy eyes are replaced by something akin to a vindictive stare that barely masks betrayal. He wants to explain, really, that he isn't that different from Sam. That he ditched because he wanted… well, something different. Something that he could consider normal… or, at the very least, safe.

Normally he can ignore Dean. But, the second Dean starts throwing insults at his family—his brothers are not douche nozzles… well, not all of them—he loses any interest in peace. Michael always told him he had a sharp temper. He tries to keep his attention on Dean, but his gaze keeps drifting back to Sam. And Sam can't seem to keep his mouth shut.

"It doesn't have to be like that. There has to be some way to—to pull the plug." Sam looks desperate. Still angry. But desperate. Gabriel might have calmed down if this were any other argument. He nearly snarls at the younger brother.

"You do not know my family. What you guys call the apocalypse? I used to call Sunday dinner."

It's impossible to keep still. He can feel his vessel trembling and, for the first time in a long time, he wants nothing more than to let his Grace out of the confines and just… get away. But, he's still not desperate enough to cross the Holy Fire. Not yet. If they keep pushing, though.

Although, something akin to delight (malicious, horrible delight; the same delight he feels when he serves up just desserts) tries to spark to life when he snaps that they should be able to relate. The fact they haven't figured it out; there's something horribly amusing about it. Especially when he elaborates Sam's destiny.

"As it is in Heaven… so it must be on Earth."

Dean looks angry now. Sam finally looks away. The kicked, terrified expression is back and Gabriel feels his anger slowly drain. Enough that he doesn't start snapping at them again.

"So… boys. Now what? Stare at each other for the rest of eternity?"

"Well, first of all," Dean speaks up too quickly. Gabriel might be amused under different circumstances, "you're going to bring Cas back from wherever you stashed him."

Like Hell I am.

"Oh am I?" Castiel is safer in time out; safer away from Lucifer and Zachariah and Raphael.

"Yeah. Or we are going to dunk you in some Holy Oil and deep-fry ourselves an Archangel."

Or, of course, he's going to get threatened. He could point out that that isn't going to bring Castiel back. But, after a moment longer of consideration (a moment spent glancing at Sam and recalling how he had spoken about his brother's loyalty to Dean—of all people, Dean), he snaps his fingers.

Castiel looks horribly frazzled and he almost sounds bitter when he bites out a greeting. It's enough to put Gabriel back in a relatively snarky mood; enough that he doesn't feel remotely apologetic when he responds with sarcasm. (Castiel just fixes him with a blank stare that Gabriel's learned to recognize as hostility waiting to be unleashed.)

"Ok, we're out of here."

Gabriel finally lets his gaze drift away from Castiel (warily; he's still waiting for his brother to put the flames out and jump him) to Dean and—

"Come on, Sam."

And then to Sam. Sam looks disappointed. Like he's waiting for something extra… and he keeps waiting. He glances at Dean and Castiel, then back to Gabriel… and slowly turns.

Just say it, Sammy. He knows the human can't hear him. Castiel turns away, too.

"Uh, ok…?" He feels something like panic. "Guys?" He thinks Sam looks over his shoulder, but he doesn't want to let himself hope. "So—so what? Huh? You're just gonna—you're gonna leave me here forever?"

Sam doesn't turn until Dean does. Castiel doesn't until the firm alarm is pulled; he stays a moment longer. Gabriel knows that look.

"We can win, Gabriel."

Michael sounds exhausted. Gabriel is exhausted. Raphael looks horrible. Anael… Uriel… Samael… even Kafziel, and Gabriel can usually care less how horrible he looks.

But, Michael is as void as he'd been when the war started. When Father gave the order. Joshua has the younger Graces kept safe in the Garden. Away from their brother's taint. Michael's able to stand before the rest of them, sword in hand and expression set.

The last look Michael gave them—all of them—before the newest assault began was one of encouragement. They could win… so long as they kept faith.

"We can win, Gabriel."

He's not sure why Castiel's hanging back. Or why he hasn't attacked yet. The flames have gone out and Gabriel should get out while he can. But, his brother just stands there.

"We can find another way."

Gabriel imagines the smile that takes over is a bitter one and he shakes his head slowly, "Michael thought the same thing, Castiel. Why are you being so stubborn? You know how this is supposed to end."

"It wasn't supposed to do anything, Gabriel. Our brothers—"

Castiel's mouth snaps shut and Gabriel narrows his eyes in suspicion. He hasn't listened in on the angel radio much in the past few centuries; but, he's kind of wishing he had.

"You are still connected to Heaven, Gabriel. Michael would welcome you back to the garrison much more readily than me."

"What did they do?"

"He needs someone he can trust. I don't think he trusts Raphael and Zachariah. He doesn't trust Anael, either. Not since she regained her Grace—"

"What did they do, Castiel?" He doesn't mean to raise his voice; especially not enough to shake the building. He bites down a swear and locks up; he half expects to see Dean kick the door back open, Holy Oil on hand. But, the brother's don't come and Castiel refuses to meet his eye.

"Uriel… was pushing for this. He wanted Lucifer to rise. Michael believes that he was working for Zachariah… and Zachariah for Raphael."

Gabriel feels his stomach drop and he sways in place for a moment. His brothers had gone off the deep end well before the apocalypse—he knew that much—but this….

This he doesn't want to believe.

[o][x][o]

Sam feels… numb is probably a good word. His motions feel automated as he follows Dean out of the warehouse. His responses come on their own. All he can focus on is… humiliatingly enough, everything he said to Gabriel. Everything he'd said when he thought he was dealing with the Trickster. When he was hunting the Trickster down for killing his brother a hundred times over. Never mind what he had done with the Trickster—every threat, every swear, every insult—all of it was playing on an endless reel in his mind.

"I'll tell you one thing." Sam looks up and tries not to let the disappointment show on his face or in his body language. Dean gives a faint scoff and shakes his head, "right about now, I wish I was back in a TV show."

Sam nods, vaguely, "Yeah. Me, too."

Back on Dr. Sexy, M.D.… even back in that stupid 'Supernatural' show. Whatever the fuck that was supposed to be. (He makes a note to ask Gabriel about it later… assuming the Archangel ever comes within five miles of them again.)

But, really, he kind of wants to be back on that talk show. Just him and Gabriel. No Dean to get Gabriel riled up; no Castiel to give him the guilt-trip looks from Hell. Just them. He can't even begin to think of how to apologise, but….

He jumps (he hears Dean swear) at the sound of wings, much louder than Cas' (that and Cas is standing behind them, so it couldn't have been him), and stares. Dean growls out something that sounds like 'get the fuck off my car, douchebag.'

Gabriel just gives him a vague smirk from where he's seated, cross-legged, on the hood of the Impala. Behind him, his shadow casts out six wings; they raise high and proud, enough to shadow Dean and Sam, before they fold back.

"Yeah, cute show, jerk-off, now get off of my car."

"Only if I get to pick the first detour."

Sam blinks, slowly. He thinks he hears Dean sputtering out a string of colourful expletives and Cas trying to tell him to calm down. He doesn't take his eyes off Gabriel and the angel doesn't break eye contact.

"Though, on second thoughts, I'm not much of a car person. I'll be in touch with Castiel." Sam has to bite on his tongue to keep from snickering when Gabriel stands up on the hood (Dean gives another snarl) and stretches his arms above his head, "I'll drop in if I hear anything. Try to stir up trouble elsewhere and keep Zachariah off your trail. Raphael's so busy bitching at Michael that he shouldn't bother you for a good while. You boys play nice; I'll check in later."

Sam barely hides the grin when Gabriel vanishes; he just tries to assure Dean that this is a good thing.

end a/n. My first attempt attempt at Sabriel fic and at writing Sam. Gabriel I'm a bit more comfortable with. At any rate, written for my girlfriend, as before mentioned. I just felt like sharing here, as well.

As always, C&C very much welcome! Flames will be ignored and fed to Lucifer.

Was thinking of a potential follow-up... thoughts? Yes, no, maybe?