A/N: Well greetings my fellow SPN fans! Well, what can I say? Do you guys even remember me? Sorry for not updating; I know I'm being a HUGE pain in the ass but my schoolwork has been quite frankly, a bitch.

So, set after 5.11 and before 5.12. Here's to Gabriel popping up soon! *raises glass* A shoutout to Wicked-Freakin-Witch who gave me the idea, even though she didn't know it, of having this end with The Brotherly Hug.

Warning: Contains suggestions of suicide, swearing, Emo! Sam and one sarcastic Archangel.

Disclaimer: Obviously, I do not own Supernatural, Sam or Dean. Not even a teeny tiny knife or weeny gun.
Lyrics are the awesome Skillet's "Whispers in the Dark". (So, not mine either.)

~Whispers in the Dark~

I will be the one that's gonna hold you...
You'll never be alone
When darkness comes you know I'm never far
Hear the whispers in the dark...

He was going to kill himself.

He had made up his mind after thinking the idea over and over in his head. It was, he believed, the only real option they now had left in order to stop Lucifer. If there was no Sam Winchester, there would be no vessel for the devil to slip into and begin his plans for a hell on earth.

If he was honest, Sam had been thinking dark thoughts like these for months. Ever since the full realisation of what his actions had done fully sunk in - killing Lilith had set Lucifer free, and he was responsible for it - Sam had felt as if he had been drowning. Drowning in misery, and depression.

For thanks to him and his foolish actions - seriously, why the hell had he gone off with Ruby and believed what she had told him? Who in their right mind listens to a demon? - the Apocalypse was here, right under their noses. Omens were everywhere, a sort of smug reminder sent directly from Hell to let the world know what one Sam Winchester had started. Not that Sam himself needed the reminder when he couldn't stop thinking about what he had done; what he had let happen. So many deaths already and all thanks to him.

He glanced down at his hands. It's a wonder that they are not permanently red. They should be. So many people and so much bloodshed, and all of it pouring from his own hands.

It was all his fault.

He shuddered, the image all too real.

So Sam crept along the top floor of Bobby's house, his skills as a hunter working in his favour for once. It was midnight and although both Dean and Bobby where downstairs, busy planning and flipping through dusty books and pouring over maps… In short, something he really should be helping with, but Dean had rejected his offer of help and told him to catch up on his sleep. Hell knows he needed sleep, but right now Sam couldn't help but feel that there was another reason Dean didn't want his help.

Dean had said he hadn't meant it; that he was sorry… But Sam knew that Dean was right.

He didn't want his help to solve something he had caused.

"Sam? What are you doing here?" Dean stopped in his tracks, looking hard at his brother. He placed several books he had unearthed from cardboard boxes on top of the kitchen table, prompting a cloud of dust to be flung into the air. After a second of coughing, Sam created a space for the books, shoving his laptop out of the way. With a sinking feeling in his chest, he stood up to face his brother, who hadn't looked at him since he entered the room.

"Sam, you haven't answered me yet. What are you doing?" Dean asked again, this time looking Sam in the eyes. A small frown creased in the older Winchester's forehead as he spoke. Sam felt his throat tighten, but refused to lower his eyes. He wanted to help and was going to; hell, he had to!

[It was all his fault]

"I thought I could help you guys out, yeah? Um... I could research -"

"No," Dean abruptly interrupted him before turning his back. Sam stared, and decided to try again.

"Dean, I just wanna help -"

"Help? Help as in, 'let's screw around with a demon bitch, drink her blood, and start the freakin' Apocalypse'?" Dean thundered, slamming his fist on the table. A lone glass fell and shattered, but it didn't break the silence. Not as it should have.

Sam stood, frozen into place. He knew, of course that his brother was devastated over the deaths of Jo and Ellen, knew that both of them hadn't recovered fully yet from their stay at the psycho ward but… He had well and truly believed Dean had stopped believing in what he had just said.

But apparently he was wrong.

[It was all his fault]

Dean stood there, breathing hard. He ran a hand over his hair and sighed. Standing there and looking at his younger brother, he realised he had just made a huge mistake. He did not truly mean what he had said. Not really. He just couldn't control himself; couldn't hold it fully together. Maybe he was mad, as in the 'cuckoo's nest' mad. But he wasn't mad at Sam. Not really. The kid beat himself up too much without his older brother adding to it. It was Dean's job to look out for his baby brother – it always had been – and now… What sort of job was he doing?

"Sam…? Sam, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it," his voice was deflated and his green eyes were pleading with his little brother. A long sigh tore through the lips of the oldest Winchester.

Sam shook his head lightly, as if he had been swimming under water. Sure felt like he was drowning.

"Yes, you did," he whispered, yet his voice filled the room. His dark eyes looked huge in the dim light of the kitchen. Dean swallowed. Damn puppy eyes.

"Yes, you did… And I don't blame you, Dean."

[It was all his fault]

Oh, crap. Heading on dangerous territory. But if Dean was honest, he was just too tired and drained to sort this mess he had just created out now.

"I didn't, Sam. I didn't, okay? Look, why don't you head on up to bed. You're exhausted. Get some sleep and we'll let you know what we found out in the morning. Maybe you can help out then, yeah?" he offered, reaching out to his brother who appeared to be in a trance.

"It's my fault," Sam mumbled. Dean sighed again - Sam obviously hadn't heard what he had just said to him. He got a hold of Sam's sleeve and gently tugged him towards the door of the kitchen.

"Sammy, go and get some sleep. Then you can help us in the morning." Dean didn't know whether it was Sam himself or whether it was him saying 'Sammy', but Sam seemed to break out of his trance and briefly nodded his head. His eyes still had a dazed look however, and not for the first time Dean wondered when Sam had gotten so pale and drained looking.

"Good." Dean sighed in relief this time. Maybe he didn't wreak as much damage as he had imagined. "Night then, Sammy. See ya in a bit." He forced a small smile onto his tired face.

"Night, Dean." Sam mumbled, and started walking up the stairs, not really paying much attention to what he was doing.

[It was all his fault]

"Sam? You away to bed?" Bobby called out from his study.

Sam didn't answer. He was already at the top of the stairs, wondering what he could do to actually 'help'. He briefly heard Dean saying to Bobby that it was fine, Sam was tired so he went to bed, now do you wanna start at this, or from here, Bobby?

But while Dean relaxed, thinking all was well, Sam's mind went into overdrive. And when he reached the bedroom, and sat down, thinking things through, he had convinced himself that the only way to save everyone he cared about was to kill himself.

He was nearly at the bathroom when one of the old floorboards creaked and groaned. Sam froze, wondering whether he could be heard from downstairs. He held his breath, waiting for Dean to call up or to run out with his gun at the ready.

A minute or two later, Dean had not appeared. Sighing in relief, Sam realised he was safe and so continued to the bathroom, only this time lighter on his feet.

When he reached the bathroom, he went in and locked the door and sat down on the floor. His body against the door meant no one could get in, at least not until he had finished what he intended to do. He swallowed deeply at that thought.

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a long silver knife. Normally used to kill 'shifters, he was going to use it to kill himself. He ran his thumb along the blade, caressing the cold smoothness before he suddenly flinched. Watching the blood drip from his injured digit, Sam wondered how painful it was going to be. If he was honest, he hadn't planned any further ahead. Now, staring at this knife, the realisation of what he was about to do hit him.

He didn't want to die.

He ran a hand through his hair, noticing it was shaking. Hell, he was a coward.

"Christ, I can't do even this right," he whispered, and to his own ears his voice sounded hoarse. "I'm too scared to do the one thing that would save Dean. That would make him forgive me." A cracked laugh left his mouth, because it he was certain it was true – he was a total coward.

For look what he had done. He certainly needed redemption for his sins, which were numerous. And if he had listened to his brother, Lucifer would not be free, Bobby wouldn't be stuck in a wheelchair and Jo and Ellen would still be alive. Christ, what had he done?

"No. I'm doing this. I have to." Sam muttered feverishly, grasping the knife in his right hand. He held the blade over his left wrist, looking at the skin that he was going to tear. He could hear his heart thumping, the blood circling his body. But that blood was tainted. The sooner it was gone, the better.

And with that thought in his head, Sam Winchester raised the knife.

"Sorry Dean. But I'm doing this for you," he muttered, feeling his eyes burn. He was going to do this. He had too. "I'm gonna save you guys; make everything better."

He was bringing the knife down as he spoke, and was about to pull it vertically down his arm - "See, Sammy? Person knew what they were doing; vertical cuts draw more blood" - when he heard what sounded like…


"Well, I always knew you were crazy, Sammy-boy, but really - Suicide? That's gotta be a new one, even for you."

Sam spun around, still holding the knife, and looked up to see the face of the most annoying thing he knew existed. Which was funny, all things considering, as this ass' job for the past hundred years or so had been to kill annoying assholes who needed to be taken down a peg or two.

"You have got to be kidding me…" He sighed, rubbing a shaking hand over his face. A cheerful chuckle answered him.

"Nope, sorry buddy. For once, I'm not screwing around. And for the record, I'm not the one thinking about killing myself. That honour kinda goes to you."

Sam looked up into the hazel eyes of Gabriel, who merely smirked at his apparent shock. This couldn't be happening. Just when he was going to clean up this mess, he had to be interrupted. And by him, of all people.

"Look, I'm not in the mood for any of your tricks, you asshole," the youngest Winchester ignored Gabriel as he pretended to wipe away mock tears, and continued, "Clear off, kill someone, stuff your face with sugar, I don't care. I have something to do and I'm gonna to do it. If you don't go, I will kill you." Seeing that Gabriel didn't budge at this threat, Sam stood up and took a step forward towards the Archangel. Who merely smirked all the more.

"I mean it. I will kill you," he could hear the desperation in his broken voice and damn, his hand was still shaking.

Maybe Gabriel noticed that too, because he tilted his head to one side, and his smirk diminished somewhat. He looked at Sam with those hazel eyes that for once didn't dance with mockery or anger, but with something else.


"Sammy Sammy Sammy Winchester. What have you got yourself into now?" The pretend Trickster sighed, and it sounded surprisingly heartfelt. "I mean, killing yourself? I knew you were at a breaking point, but I'd never imagined you doing this," he spread his arms out wide as if to illustrate his point. The Archangel sounded faintly disappointed. Sam felt himself burn with anger as he listened – was he actually being condemned by Gabriel? He took another step forward.

"Who the fuck are you to lecture me?" he said, not caring that his voice was rising. Dean and Bobby and hell, the rest of the World could be somewhere else right now. Sam and Gabriel seemed to have been caught in a dark and perverse bubble. "You're the coward who took a tumble out of Heaven and came here to play your sick and twisted little games. I'm sure your brothers, even being the dicks that they are didn't think that you were at a 'breaking point.'" The furious words had barely left his mouth when he felt himself being slammed into a wall by some invisible force.

Christ, that hurt.

Blinking away pain, Sam wearily picked himself up to see Gabriel standing over him, looking furious. Once again he was struck by how… intimidating the other being could be when mad, and remembered that he was after all, an Archangel.

The Archangel's hazel eyes were sparkling with a dark, burning anger. Yet Sam refused to be cowed and met the creature's gaze.

"Listen here, you sad and hopeless son of a bitch," Gabriel's voice was low and dangerous, and Sam felt a tremor as he listened. Damn angels and their powers. "I came here to help you and not to have insults thrown at me. Just because I don't play Bible Wars doesn't mean that you can treat me like shit, okay?"

Another crazed laugh escaped Sam's throat as he listened. The hypocrisy in the room was becoming overwhelming.

"What makes you think that you can help me? Last time you tried to do that, you killed my brother, over and over and over again, while I had to watch, unable to help! I mean, how the fuck was that meant to work? What were you thinking!" Sam went to hit the smirking form of Gabriel, or to stab him or kick him - hell, trying to do something. He just wanted to inflict some form of pain on the creature that had very nearly driven him insane with that episode, but he found himself being pulled up the wall as if he was as light as a feather.

"I did that 'cause I was trying to get you to see that Dean was your weakness. Remember I told you that? And wow, lookee here - I was right. I also said that the bad guys knew it too, and guess what? I was right again." Gabriel stood in front of Sam, arms folded. His eyes were still glittering with anger, and he continued talking as Sam squirmed, trying to get himself down.

"And look what happens. Dean goes to hell, and you fall apart. You hook up with a skank and she leads you down the highway to hell. I mean, come on, Sam! What were you thinking!" He paused, and sighed. Sam suddenly found himself on the floor again with a hard thud. He looked up, ignoring the pain from the back of his head.

"I was trying to help my brother! I was trying to kill Lilith!"

"And you ended up doing all that, but you were so wrapped up you didn't bother to open your eyes to the bigger picture - you were being used! Then you pop my big bro outta his cage and before you know it, the Apocalypse is here!" Gabriel fumed. He crouched down to Sam's level, looking murderous. "Look, Winchester -"

"Oh, don't you start. I know that this is all my fault! I know that! That's why I'm trying to do the right thing here! If I kill myself, Lucifer can't get a vessel, which means that the least I can do his halt his plans!" Sam found himself shouting at the Archangel. All the anger and pain he had been feeling for God knows how long was starting to bubble. He couldn't cope with any of this anymore.

"I hate to break it to you pal, but killing yourself won't work. Good ol' Lucy will actually be able to feel you dying, and then he'll fix you up 'til you're good as new. Then you'll be back to square one!" Gabriel spat back at Sam, looking triumphant.

Sam felt his heart stop. That couldn't be true… If it was, it meant that all his plans were useless. He couldn't do a thing to stop Lucifer. Nothing he did ever worked though, so really, he should have seen this coming.

"You're lying," he said, his breathing harsh and ragged. "You're lying! That can't be!"

Gabriel laughed, sounding bitter.

"Why would I lie? What would I gain from lying about that to you, you moron?"

"I don't know… I don't know!" Sam threw his hands in the air in frustration. "Look, I've wasted too much time already. I have to do this -"

"Didn't you hear what I just said? It won't work!" Gabriel interrupted. "Your plan won't work; Lucylou will bring you back. Over and over and over again." He said, tapping his fingers off the ground as if he was bored by the conversation.

"I don't care about what you've said, you miserable excuse for an angel. I have to at least try to do something! I have to finish this; people have died because of my mistakes!" Sam felt his voice break –

It was all his fault

- but fought to keep going. "Look, you don't give a damn about anyone other than yourself, so you probably don't know what I'm going through, but I have to do this," as the broken words left his mouth, they sounded like a plea. And Sam realised that was what it was. A plea for help.

Gabriel kept tapping out a complicated rhythm on the dusty floor, but he looked up at Sam with a curious smirk. "You're going to kill yourself to help people? Or…" he said, tilting his head to one side, "is it because you can't cope anymore?" Gabriel's smirk grew as he spoke, knowing he spoke the truth.

Sam, who had been reaching for his knife, stopped and straightened his back. He turned to face the Archangel with a look of disbelief.

"What did you just say?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady. "Are you saying I'm giving in?"

Gabriel laughed, and leapt up off the floor in one smooth movement. "Affirmative, Cap'n. You're giving in 'cause you can't keep going. And you called me a coward," he said, rolling his eyes. "Mr Kettle, Mr Pot would like a word. Apparently you're both black." He laughed again.

It was at that exact moment that Sam felt himself snap. He picked up his knife with his shaking hands and moved towards Gabriel, who once again didn't budge at the threat of violence. This time, however, Sam had shattered and now felt broken; completely helpless. Anger, grief, depression… The things which had haunted him and goaded him for months were beginning to overtake him.

He caught sight of Gabriel's face, now closer to his own and he could see the look of confusion that suddenly passed over it. Sam felt himself grinning, but it was maniacal.

"How does it feel now to be played with?" he found himself whispering, holding up the knife.

"Yesterday was Tuesday… But today is Tuesday, too!"
"…Yeah. You're totally sane."

He was close, so close to stabbing the former Trickster but instead, at the last moment changed the knife's direction and stabbed himself, and then he found himself sinking the floor. He was drowning again, and the thought made him smile. Blood trickled down his chin. It was oddly cold, which made the youngest Winchester start.

But what did it matter? He had done it - now he could be free, and maybe, just maybe, the World could be a better place. Dean and Bobby would be safe without him constantly projecting them into harm's way and without him, Lucifer was stuck. Sam allowed himself one more smile to celebrate. He had done it.

He glanced up at Gabriel, going to show of in his moment of triumph, only to find that he wasn't there.

"Told you…You were a dick…" He found himself gasping for breath and gasping at the pain which was suddenly burning around his chest. He looked down and saw blood blossoming on shirt and beginning to stain the wooden floor. Blood. All his.

Not for the first time that night, Sam froze as more pain wracked his body.

Oh God oh God oh God.

He was dying.

And he was dying alone.

The thought made him panic and he began to shake with a mixture of pain and fear.

"I don't wanna… Die alone…!" he found himself muttering. And it was true. He didn't.

Shit. He was already having to fight to keep his eyes closed. Shuddering as the waves of pain began to wrack through his body, Sam Winchester found himself praying for the first time in a long, long time. The sheer panic he felt was overwhelming.

"Please…Someone…Stay here…!" the last bit came out slightly louder than he intended, but maybe that would work in his favour?

Sam whimpered as the pain began to build again. He couldn't do this, not alone. He couldn't be alone!

"Please… Someone-"

"No need to shout, I'm here, you idiot."

Sam fought to open his eyes and saw that Gabriel was beside him, in fact… He was holding him. Arms were wrapped around his shaking, slumped over frame and his head was leaning against the chest of the older being. Sam started laughing, but Christ, blood was dripping from his mouth and down his chin. He coughed, before moaning again.

"Glad you think that this is so amusing, you idiot. In case you haven't noticed, you're dying!" That familiar voice sounded exasperated. Sam smiled. Blood dripped from his lips.

"It's just…You're actually…Holding me…" he murmured, coughing painfully. He could feel Gabriel's arms now, and he was surprised to discover that he felt safe. He found himself relaxing somewhat against the body of the Archangel.

"Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time." Gabriel sounded amused, but also faintly embarrassed. Sam laughed again, but this time the pain was so intense that he had to stop and started to cough instead.

"Oh Hell. Look, hold on for a second, alright? I'm slightly out of practise. Then again, I never did get going to 'Healing Morons 101'."

Sam grinned at that, but he felt his eyes beginning to close. He fought against it, but it was getting harder.

"What…Are…You gonna…-"

"Shut up, I'm concentrating." Gabriel ordered sharply, but then in a much more gentler voice he continued, "just hang in there, Sammy. You'll be fine. That's a promise."

Sam struggled for another breath, gasping in pain. "You can't…heal me… I have to…Die!" He heard another sigh of exasperation. Was it just Sam's imagination, or was Gabriel softly stroking his hair?

"We've kinda been through all that. Do try and keep up." Sam could just imagine the smirk on the Archangel's face. "Lucifer will simply patch you up before you can say, "Here, Gabriel. Hand me that silver trumpet, would ya?" But I'd rather he didn't do that; he'd try to win you 'round to his cause and right now I just don't think you need that."

Another gasp of pain, and another trickle of blood trickled down his chin.

"I have…To die! I need…To die!" Sam heard himself sob. Everything that had happened, everyone who had died… All because of him…

It was all his fault.

"Sammy," it was a mere whisper against his ear, "Dying isn't the way forward. It's the way back."

Sam strained to see Gabriel and saw that his eyes were filled with some emotion he couldn't quite understand, but he could understand the sad smile on the Archangel's face. He coughed again, and leant into Gabriel's arms.


"No buts, Sammy boy. Now, sleep. You're going to be fine," the soft voice seemed to be coming from some distant place, and it was getting farther and farther away.

Sam moaned in pain. He tried to speak, but he couldn't, and he then lost the battle to keep his eyes open. But the last thing he felt was the warmth of arms around him, and the surprisingly gentle touch of most annoying guy he knew against his forehead.

And then all went black.

Sam awoke the next morning after five solid hours of sleep.

He groggily opened his eyes to see that he was in Bobby's spare bedroom, and that he had been carefully tucked under the covers. His jacket and shoes had been neatly placed against the bedside table while the curtains had been drawn half way, just how he liked them.

He smiled, and yawned while attempting to get out of the bed when he saw that he hadn't been alone. He stopped in his tracks, half in the bed and half out of it.

"Good morning, sunshine. Planet Earth says hello."

"How long have you been here for?" Sam asked, looking at Gabriel in shock. Once again the Archangel had seemingly appeared from nowhere.

"Wow, someone's chirpy in the mornings." Gabriel grinned, getting up off the chair in had been sitting in and stretching gracefully. "I've been here all night, since you've asked. It's not all that big of a deal," he said quickly, seeing Sam was about to speak, "After all, I don't need to sleep or anything -"

"It is to me though," Sam said quietly, attempting to untangle himself from the bed sheets. He honestly did not know what to think. Gabriel had been watching over him all night. Why? Sam certainly didn't deserve such attention, even if it was from one of the biggest jerks the world has seen. But he was grateful, as embarrassing as it was. "You…You healed me then?" he asked, trying not to think of how safe he had felt in the Archangel's arms.

"Well, you're alive and walking, aren't ya? Well, I should rephrase that to 'you're alive and attempting to clamber out of bed sheets, albeit with no success' but it just doesn't have the same ring to it." Gabriel laughed, watching as Sam threw him a look.

"Well, they're tucked in pretty damn tight!" Sam said, watching as Gabriel laughed again. "I'm glad I am an endless source of amusement to you, I really am."

"Sorry." Gabriel smirked, showing that he really wasn't, "oh, you're hopeless. Let me help." before Sam could protest that he was perfectly fine managing this little mess by himself -in fact, before he could even blink - the former Trickster was beside him, and began untucking the sheets which he himself had tucked in several hours ago.

Within seconds, Sam was free. He looked down to see the bloodstains from last night on his shirt and winced. How was he gonna explain this? He didn't have a clean shirt handy. Out of pure interest, he lifted up his shirt and saw that he had indeed be healed, and there was not even a faint scar to show what torture he had inflicted upon himself.

"It was you who healed me, right?" Sam suddenly found himself asking. Seeing Gabriel raise an eyebrow, Sam backtracked. "I'm not saying you wouldn't or anything, just that I hoped it was you and not…" he trailed off, not wanting to remember the previous night. "Not…Him, you know…" he finished weakly.

Gabriel smiled at him before saying gently, "It was me, Sam. Not big bro. Honest." The Archangel then dug his hands into his jean pockets, looking awkward. Not a look that Sam would normally associate with the him.

Sam coughed. "Oh, right. Thanks, by the way." He was mentally cursing himself for creating an awkward scene. He decided to busy himself by looking for a towel so he could go and get a shower.

"Oh, and about your shirt? Here." Sam looked up in time to catch a neatly folded and totally clean shirt, and he couldn't help but smile at Gabriel.

"Thanks. Again!" he muttered, and began his trip out of the bedroom. He was halfway across the floor again to the bathroom when he realised that he actually had so much to be thankful for.

Gabriel, the ass that he was, had actually been there for him when he had needed help the most. He had been sarcastic as hell, yes, but then again that was what Sam had needed. Truth stung like a bitch but again, he had needed that. He had been cowardly to give into the pain and grief, his companions for the past few months. Sam now realised that in order to help his brother to save the world, in order to gain redemption for his mistakes and sins, he was going to have to face the Apocalypse head on. Screw being weak and miserable, there was work to do. Gabriel had shown him that, and yet he had not properly said thank you.

He paused outside the bathroom, remembering all too vividly the previous night's events, and opened the door to see that there was no blood on the floor and no sliver knife to be seen. Seems Gabriel was pretty through in his work. Another thing to thank him for.

"Oh, what the hell." Sam muttered and rushed back to Bobby's spare bedroom, only to discover that it was empty.

"You just have to go and disappear when I need to talk to you, don't you…" Sam said with a sigh.

Feeling disappointed- not that he knew why and besides, it was something that made me feel embarrassed again - Sam looked around the room one last time.

"I don't know if you're here or not, but I wanna say thank you. For everything. Wow, feels weird talking to an empty room. But like I said, maybe you're here, so then it's not an empty room. Just, you know, a room that looks empty." Sam found himself grinning, and he rubbed his forehead. "Man, I'm rambling. Look, thanks, okay?" Deciding that he had rambled for long enough and it was time to retreat, Sam left the room and made his way towards the bathroom yet again.

So he never did see the smirk of his new guardian angel, and he certainly didn't hear the faint whisper of, "You're welcome, Sammy boy. And it's not your fault."

But what he did see was something that caused tears to burn behind his eyes. For after he got his shower, went back to the bedroom and proceeded to get changed, he unfolded the shirt that Gabriel had given him, and watched as a small piece of paper fluttered into his hands. And written on the paper were the words:

Dying isn't the way forward. It's the way back.

And now Sam understood what Gabriel meant.

Which was why when Dean called for him to come downstairs, Sam pulled his brother into a hug, startling him, and said that he loved him.

He was no longer looking behind him, he was looking forward. And although what lay before all of them was not going to be easy, Sam Winchester was now facing it with not only his bossy, older brother who he loved, but a new resolution to kick some serious demon ass.

Well, what can I say? I love me some Sam and Gabby moments, as my best friends will tell you. I obsess. A lot.

Well, hoped you enjoyed! Once again, sorry for not updating on 'Suffered in Silence' but my revision is piling up again. Stupid GayCSEs…..