Title: This Divided Man
Author: Ariathel
Rating: NC-17 overall
Characters/Pairings: Sam/Gabriel, Dean/Castiel, Bobby, Ellen/Hotch, Morgan/Jo, Garcia, Chuck, Adam
Spoilers: For Supernatural, Angels, Swan Song. Nothing Season 7. For Criminal Minds, if you know what happened to Haley, know that it applied to Jack in this story.
Warnings: Foul language all over, eventual sexy time, eventual depictions of graphic violence.
Words: 6928
Disclaimer: If Supernatural were mine, it would be on HBO with plenty of gratuitous nudity. If Criminal Minds were mine, it would probably suck.
Summary: In which Sam dreams an archangel's dreams
AN: Sorry it's taken me so long to post this, between the holidays and dealing with finding out my cat is in heart failure, this chapter took entirely too long to write.

There was a time when they just were. Before they were archangels and God, before lines were drawn, loyalties demanded, offered, and broken. Existing together, tied together so inexplicably that words were unnecessary. Joy was shared, love, awe, wonder, amazement. Pain was a foreign concept. Time didn't exist, neither did space. Dimensions were irrelevant, everything was infinite and them.

Awareness came slowly.

There was one voice, filled with a type of awe and happiness the others couldn't match. Looking back, it was that paternal wonder, the first look of a father upon his child, having just been birthed from the womb of a woman who had sheltered a life within her small body, keeping the infant safe until the world could be laid at its feet. It was their Father, their creator, the first. He adored this being. When the brushes of that feeling caressed the edges he slowly began to define as himself, an inexplicable contentment washed over him.

The emotions slowly split apart. He no longer felt so much crashing over himself, as though it were all a cacophony of voices within himself. Distinct others came.

Heaven came next. He still didn't quite grasp the concept of place, not yet. Heaven began as nothing more than a thought. A communal home. It felt like home because it felt like the others and their Father.

It wasn't until other places were created that senses developed. Touch, the feel of water. He submerged himself within it just to understand this creation, the fibers of his being mingling with the molecules of water, cascading through them, gently prodding their energies, understanding the wonders that held them together.

Heaven felt like the water, crystalline and flowing and ebbing through his being.

Sight came, and with it, the distinction between both Heaven and Earth. He couldn't see his siblings right away, but they could see the distinction between home and this wondrous new place.

He enjoyed being home, and the journey down to this new world. It felt like funneling himself, condensing himself until he was finite, with beginning and end. The reversal was freedom, though no less wondrous.

The sound of waves crashing was the first true noise he heard.

Saltwater was his first taste, his first smell.

Heaven did not offer the same stimulations. It held no smells, no tastes, no sounds. He preferred this world, watching as his Father shaped whatever came to his fancy. Plants, animals, they were each appreciated and cherished as parts of himself. He was created in the same manner as they, with attention and patience and a piece of the life force that was his Father.

Time became a reality. It wasn't until many turns of this planet that he realized the pattern. The way it spun was the same, unchanging. It moved through the void of space in the same pattern, over and over.

The life on the planet grew, morphed, and changed.

Then, his father created humans.

They were beautiful, his best creation yet. They were everything his father loved about himself and his firstborn children, condensed into an infinitesimal amount of space. And still, he watched.

Sam sat up, gasping sharply, eyes desperately adjusting to the darkness around him. His body ached. He stretched his arms out, hearing the joints pop, feeling the muscles protest as he pushed himself further and further. That feeling, of being funneled into dimensions, shuddered through his body.

He felt too large for his own skin. He was contained, and for a heartbeat, he could feel the blood rushing through his veins, the pulsing of his organs, the stretching and bunching and shifting of the fibers of his muscles.

With a breath, he was simply Sam Winchester, boy king, sitting in a dusty bed in a dumpy motel in the middle of bum-fuck-nowhere.

"What'd you dream about, Sammy?"

Her voice was a sharp reminder that it was, in fact, just a dream. Sam shrank back into himself, letting go of that infinite feeling as aftershocks of a vivid dream.

"I think I dreamt about the creation of the Earth," he murmured, sinking back into the pillows. His heartbeat was, once more, a more manageable cadence, his breathing no longer a panicked gasping for sustenance.

"And what exactly would you know about that?" she snapped. He pinpointed her voice coming from the chairs propped in the corner of the room, springs squeaking as she shifted.

"I was… infinite," he murmured. "Earth was amazing. I loved going back and forth, between Heaven and Earth. It was like taking my body and squeezing it through a funnel. The water, though. I loved being a part of it."

"Overactive imagination," Gabriel murmured, her chair groaning once more as she stood, pacing into the moonlight and standing at the side of his bed. Two fingers raised before he could back away, and he slipped from awareness with a gentle snap.

Gabriel felt a chill settle into her as it had never done before. Her vessel's heart pounded in an annoying human reaction to being blindsided with Sam's mutterings like a slap to the face. She rubbed her hands up and down the flesh of her arms, desperately trying to ignore the feeling of her skin puckered into goose bumps.

Beneath her gaze, Sam slept, without dreams.

Her flippancy had been carelessly thrown back into her face with Sam's mutterings. That feeling, she knew too well. The lesser angels didn't understand it. In the beginning, when it was just the archangels, Father, and the Earth, the lines between the tangible and intangible were blurred.

She knew, what Sam was describing, was grace. That first piece of themselves, they had intermingled and existed as one for seconds, eons, without beginning. They had been one, once, and nobody knew when they branched off into separate entities.

The transition between Heaven and Earth, though, it was like a funnel. Taking grace, something beyond dimension and measurement, and pushing it into reality, felt like condensing everything into a package.

Sam snored.

She sucked in a ragged breath.

Lucifer had most loved that feeling, the racing. They all marveled in it, like children. There was no knowledge to gain, simply observations made and forgotten, until they understood what it was to remember.

Lucifer used to explode into existence, like a comet racing toward the planet, hurtling into the water with a speed that should have knocked the planet off its orbit, but had little more impact than a splash.

As he hit the water, his grace used to explode, like a firework under the surface, racing the circumference of the planet, coalescing and breaking apart and coming back together, before streaking towards the stars, that streak of golden light expanding just beyond her awareness.

Language was still beyond them, though they were learning to make sounds. They were beginning to communicate, little more than grunts and noises and whines of happiness. But they were learning.

Sam was dreaming Lucifer's memories.

Gabriel sank deep into herself until looking out her eyes felt like trying to see through a telescope from a hundred yards away.

And still, Sam slept.

The devil's traps and salt lines at Linda and Jeff's did little to stop Sam as he crept through the stale house. The booby-trapped doors, he expected and dismantled with ease. The door to the basement was warded heavily, booby-trapped viciously, and most likely to be a futile search. Bobby beckoned Reid and Adam to follow him down the stairs, just in case. Sam and Gabriel crept up the stairs, slipping through the deadlier wards and traps.

The stairs creaked vulgarities beneath Sam's mass, nothing but the quiet shuffling of shoes on carpet alerting him to Gabriel's presence behind him.

He stopped before the master bedroom. Chuck had warned him not to go in there – the few weapons hidden there weren't worth the time and effort it would take to get in there. The bedroom he assumed they wanted came next.

Gabriel murmured in Enochian, her voice low, an unnecessary caution, but a habit that still shouted human.

They slipped past the door frame. Sam felt the slither of magics over his skin, and shuddered, desperately trying to shake the feeling like a skin. He felt Gabriel's eyes on his back.

"Chuck said the books were behind a false wall," he murmured, before gently pressing against various panels of the wall, searching for give. "He said to watch out for the-"

A clicking was his only warning, before his breath was knocked out of his lungs and fire raced along his spine, slipping into a sharp knife-edge sensation at the base of his skull. He blinked, sucking in air, his spine bowing as he felt weight press him down.

He focused on Gabriel pressing him into the floor, her teeth gritted in a snarl as he inhaled lungful's of what appeared to be dust. It settled into the archangel's hair as she pushed herself off him, kicking his knees in the process. "Next time, dumb shit, watch what you're poking."

The pieces of wall that had exploded outward when Sam foolishly triggered another trap now coated the floor and their bodies. Gabriel snapped herself clean and reached into the space between bolts of wood, finally yanking out what appeared to be several satchels of books.

"This all you need?" she raised an eyebrow, gesturing to the tomes on the floor.

Sam glanced around, briefly contemplating exploring more hiding spots, but reconsidered the option as Gabriel glared at him. "No, I think that's what we came for."

He shook dust out of his hair, desperately trying to keep it from traveling underneath his clothes as they walked back down the stairs, with little success.

"The hell did you get into, son?" Bobby shot with a grin as Sam shouldered past the others waiting in the front door.

"Sammikins had a date with some drywall!" Gabriel offered, trailing behind, joining in Bobby's laughter. Sam ignored them all as he shouldered the heavy sacks of books.

Reid didn't know if growing up a hunter would have made the tome any more understandable. His crash course in the supernatural had included more of the "how to kill" side and less of the "why". He didn't want to interrupt Bobby's tirade about Jeff's paranoia – pointedly ignoring Sam's mentioning of the man's own obsessive and nearly impenetrable wards – and he certainly didn't want to ask Gabriel.

She was the most unsettling presence he'd ever come across. First glance told you she wasn't exactly sane. Beneath the youth and attractiveness, she wore her body like a skin, a costume to be taken off at the end of a night of trick-or-treating. Her eyes had a way of losing focus and slipping into something truly otherworldly. The way she could physically fill a room while remaining the tiniest person in it went beyond her vibrant demeanor, into a force that sometimes pushed Reid off his feet.

The only two tomes deemed worthwhile were a difficult read, even for a scholar such as himself. He bookmarked passages to come back to, once he had a better understanding of just what he was supposed to understand.

- that they may become as they were intended, whole and complete once more. Primitive though their essences were created, unable to rejoice in the splendor and wonder of the Youngest, the intertwining of essences promoted true Thought and afforded the Vision its own breath and life.

Upon the acceptance of both past and present, history and future will collide into what will come to be.

Reid blinked. If he was given to cursing, he'd have a few select words for the passages. He marked it with a strip of torn paper, and continued on.

He knew what it was to step out of time. The Earth continued its rotations and circuits, and though it cost him, he bounded forward. He watched as his Father's creatures wailed and moaned and tore apart all of creation. What was once a joyous refuge, a second home only to the sanctity and peace of his Father's Heaven, became a wasteland under their greedy and bloody fingertips. They cursed His name, sobbed tears of guilt and anger, polluting the soil.

He felt something dark stir within. Here, tucked away in this unknown future, out of step from the now, the first stirrings of anger twitched within his Grace.

They knew, now, what it was to walk as mortals, to form into human shape and step on feet still tender with newness.

He resented.

The lesser angels were coming to exist, the next phase of Father's creation, and he paid them little mind. His disdain had little to do with ego, and everything to do with comfort. It was hard to relate to these creatures, to watch them and wonder if he had existed like that once, new and unshaped and infantile.

Michael questioned his sullenness. Though they had experienced petty squabbles and pangs of hurt, this new emotion rolled through him, uncontrolled and resented. He would loathe these creatures his Father created.

Raphael did not care to understand his troubles. Gabriel, the youngest by an unknown time, watched with curious eyes and a quivering soul.

It was with Michael that he quarreled.

When the first humans were created, he wanted nothing more than to destroy them, to save this wondrous home from their undeserving hands.

His fights with Michael were both first and last, and it was that final blow from his beloved brother that sent him spiraling.

The feeling of traveling was no longer a free fall, but a sucking motion, down and down and down into icy cold.

He was alone, utterly and completely in this prison that stank of Michael's self-righteousness, the seals scattered across time and the planet. He railed against the absolute void of sensory input. There was no ocean to hear, no fruit to taste, nor sand to touch.

It was utter emptiness, and where time had once been a passing notion, it now trapped him.

The landscape around him rolled with fury and fire, matching the betrayal that burned his heart. It was in these moments that Hell began to shape, as he struggled, again and again, to see beyond the confines of this cage. Though he was horrified by the knowledge of the destruction to come on Earth, he could not see how the taint within his Grace spread beyond the walls of his confinement. There was little consideration for the things here, that which was created by his dark magics.

"I can't say this was your fault," came a familiar muttering. He whirled, repulsed by the screams surrounding him. This landscape was filling with the unworthy, and he wanted to crush them, to blot out their existence, and to punish them for what filth they had brought upon the world.

A part of him recognized the pull of his brother, wrapped in a tiny woman.

His mind struggled to name her, Gabriel, his sister. His sibling, the youngest. His eyes wildly cast about again.

A man was eating his own flesh. He stared, head cocked to the side, unable to comprehend why he would do such a thing. Over and over, the man gnawed the epidermis off any available surface, plying bits off with sharp instruments. Red blood glistened on his lips, gushing endlessly from gaping holes in his midsection.

The man's eyes, still intact, flashed black. Lucifer did not know if he should be pleased or not. The screams reached a new height, and he blinked. A woman used needles to flay the skin of the cock off a man hanging by hooks, extending from beyond and slowly, slowly, tugging the bones and muscles apart from each other with sickening tears.

The sounds of Hell rose and fell in crescendos, screams, cries, pleading, tearing, burning, and choking. Lucifer turned once again to Gabriel. She stood behind him, a hand on his shoulder, and he tried to understand why she was here.

"Hell was never meant to be such torment," she murmured. "Heaven was all the beauty in life, for those who filled their existence with good. Hell was meant to be their darkest parts, the loneliness and hatred they brought on others, not this… torture, this sick lust for pain. I don't know why Michael cast you out. His decision was rash. We were all so young; we couldn't deal with the pain. True emotions ripped us to pieces. You and Michael tore into each other as only the closest of siblings could ever do."

"This place is mine," Lucifer intoned, turning once more to the carnage. He didn't understand if it was his place, or his creation. Either way, he didn't care. A distant part of him rolled with nausea, but he just watched.

"You rebelled against Father, and Michael took his pain out on you. Humanity tries so hard to do it right."

"I see nothing but stinking filth," he spat. These were the least desired. They were a curse upon his lips, an abomination, rotting mass infested with maggots and disease. These souls brought this torment upon themselves, their minds a treasure trove of horrors. This was his Father's pride and joy?

"You can't see beyond, what's out there."

Gabriel stepped back. The emotions in her eyes suddenly disgusted him, and Lucifer lunged, screaming. His voice joined the chorus. He wanted to rip those pitying eyes out, slit her throat for speaking vile words. He had done nothing wrong but love his Father the most, and his reward was this shit hole of fire and pain.

She flickered, and he crashed to the floor.

Sam choked, vomit already seeping into the floor, mingling with his tears as he tried desperately to clear his airways.

"Shh," Gabriel shushed him, her hands holding back his hair as his body shook. His shoulder and hip burned where he had tumbled off the mattress, his nose dripping blood and snot from the force of his convulsions and sobs.

Sam hunched his back, tucking his head against his forearms and braced against the floor, trying unsuccessfully to not breathe in the filth from the matted floor.

Throughout his breakdown, Gabriel never took her hand from his back. It kept him grounded, the sensation of touch.

Dean had been the first to care for him like this. He remembered a vicious fever from his childhood; one that left him chilled and soaked in sweat, crying because his body hurt, indescribable pain settled over him like a blanket. Dean had kept cold cloths to his forehead, children's Tylenol and chicken broth in his body, and a hand on his arm.

Throughout the entire night, Dean never once took his hand away, even while Sam slept. Waking to his big brother was a comfort he selfishly pulled to himself, hoarded away deep down inside, in a place the misery of childhood sickness couldn't penetrate.

Gabriel understood this need for contact. She didn't push, didn't demand anything from him, simply sat there, her hand rubbing small circles between his shoulder blades and along his spine as the sobs quieted, the nausea turned to a faint distaste, and the soul deep pain of betrayal faded into the memory.

When he tried to smother his hiccups, she pulled him to sit on the bed, pressing pills and cool water into his hand. He thankfully gulped them down, before stripping his shirt to wipe his face, tossing it weakly to the floor.

"Want to talk about it?"

He turned to her.

"I want it to go away," he whispered hoarsely. She gave him a small smile.

"I don't think it will, Sam. Your mind is trying to sort through Lucifer's memories. The best, the worst, the darkest and most depraved. It's yours now."

Sam twitched his finger over the machine stitches in the scratchy quilt thrown over his legs. He vaguely remembered a too-cheerful pastel pattern, though it's difficult to see in the more monochrome tones the night offers.

"Why now?" he whispered. "I'm assuming Lucifer left these in my head. Is my brain just now… sorting through them?"

Gabriel grabbed his hand, turning it palm up, before tracing the creases. Part of Sam knew he should push her away, but the part that needed her was growing bigger with each day, and the situation tasted of enough desperation that even Dean's voice in his head didn't have any worthwhile words to say when the archangel-turned-trickster came to him, her actions just a shade further than the line between friendly and interested.

"Michael cast me – him down because of… I can't call it a misunderstanding," he began, though he stopped and clenched her finger tight, halting its motions. "You already know all of this. Why do you want me to say it?"

"Because Lucifer's mind is the most violent place to be, and you're front and center in his pain."

He let go, tucking his hands under the quilt in a not-so-subtle 'fuck off'. "But why do you need me to tell you this?"

"Because, you dumbass," she threw up her hands in exhaustion, stomping off the mattress and kicking the chair in frustration. "Lucifer's memories will ruin you if you don't have help!"

She whirled on him. "You're already showing signs of it!"

He stiffened. "Signs of what?"

"You started cursing at Bobby today-"

"I always curse at Bobby!"

"In Enochian."

He bit back a retort, and visibly shrank back.

"Καταλαβαίνετε μου?" (Do you understand me?)

Sam blinked.

"ماذا عن الآن?" (What about now?)

"Yeah," he muttered. "I understand you."

Gabriel crossed her arms under her breasts. "Lucifer is older than the concept of time. You'll can quietly go insane inside his memories and never know the difference. We're trying to save the world, there isn't time for your insecurities."

He sucked in a breath. "Why can I speak Greek, and Arabic?"

"Because Lucifer can."

He tossed a shoulder helplessly. Gabriel took a step forward, allowing some of the tension to bleed out of her.

"But I've just got his memories-"

"Sam, this is more than just memories. If you've ever trusted me, for any reason, don't get stuck on the little details."

Silence crept over them again, and Sam sagged. Gabriel stepped onto the bed, seating herself next to him, and grabbing his hand once more.

"So, Michael misunderstood you?"

"Don't say that."

"Michael misunderstood Lucifer?"

She was tracing the creases in his palm like a reader. He shifted. "Don't you know this already?"

"No. I was never privy to Lucifer's thoughts, and Michael shut down shortly after. Raphael stopped caring right around the time Lucifer was cast down… and then I left."

"I think Lucifer would have asked forgiveness," Sam whispered. Gabriel dug a nail into his palm, before soothing the hurt with the pad of her finger. Sam suspected it was the shock of his revelation that broke her calm, but didn't dwell.

"He corrupted our Father's children, damned them from the womb."

"He stepped into the future. He saw humanity cursing Father – your Father, defying him, destroying His planet and each other in greed and selfishness. He wanted to stop it before it happened."

Gabriel laid her hand flat against his. "I wondered what changed. He was so bitter," her voice forced through clenched teeth, her fingertips pressing harshly into his. "We all were, everyone was bitter when humans came. Nobody understood why we should bow down to these creatures that were a step above shit-slinging primates, but Lucifer, he didn't explain why, didn't let it go. And then Michael just… that was it. They were both so stubborn, and Lucifer couldn't put his heart into fighting Michael. Michael couldn't kill him, and so he cast him down."

Sam allowed her to lace her fingers with his. The Dean voice in his head made a grossed out noise and promised to get separate motel rooms if Sam was going to bang his nasty trickster girlfriend.


"Then Lucifer created Hell. Or, he made it what it is. You were there. You looked like you do now. Maybe it was just my brain, trying to make sense."

Gabriel hummed.

"I guess Heaven is all your good memories. Hell was supposed to be all the terrible things people had done to others, the pain they inflicted on the people around them. I guess it makes sense. It's not like you're reverse-tortured into becoming an angel in Heaven, you're just… there. If Hell was what it was supposed to be, it would just be a bunch of bad people reliving the bad things they did to everyone else. But Lucifer went insane there, and that corrupted everything. After enough torture, demons were created."

"That is, at the most basic level, filtered through human understanding and then once again, watered down through human language, correct."

"Wow, you sure know how to give out compliments," Sam muttered.

Gabriel smacked the back of his hand with her free one. "I'm a master. Now, go back to sleep. I think I can keep you from dealing with any more of Lucifer's memories, even if it's just for the rest of the night."

Sam yawned, suddenly, giving her a searching look. The innocent raised eyebrows he received in return didn't go very far in making him think she wasn't pressing him into sleep, but after another yawn, he rolled his eyes and sank down into the bed, releasing her hand and curling up on his side.

His dreams left a faint taste of ocean water in his mouth.

He sank into himself. This prison he called home was so removed from the denizens of Hell, and yet not far enough to not see them, the eternal torment they suffered. He railed against them, again and again, hating them, trying his hardest to destroy them.

They responded to that aching blanket of disturbia, the foul stench of sulfur and brimstone that sank into their beings, as he once permeated the waters of Earth.

Disgust gave way to pity.

For the first time in ages, the beauty that had once been Lucifer peeked through what he had become. He watched the souls descend, some rightfully sent to the pit, their essences dark and hateful. But, even in this place, he could see the desolation they felt. A few, a small few of them, had tried so hard. Their souls shone just a bit brighter, a painful stabbing of desperation that broke through his rage like nothing else had.

The rest of Hell devoured those souls. Their lights lasted the longest, but when they faded from sight, it was swift and brutal. He watched the women, sometimes a few foul thoughts away from Heaven, raped with knives and sharpened utensils, blood gushing between their legs from internal perforations. They might be filthy monkeys, but he knew them, inside and out. He knew the men who had cheated and stolen their way through life, all to protect their children. They didn't know any other way, and though their hearts tried to be in the right places, they had fallen short, and fallen down. He knew the women who prostituted themselves, greedily sucking indiscriminately on the cocks of men for a dollar, only to go home to pay it all to a john who used their bodies for his own pleasures, leaving them to sleep in sheets soaked with sweat and semen.

There was a primal sense of glee watching the demons pounce on the man who had been named Hitler. Lucifer felt a pang as he saw, through the fallen dictator's mind, the countless lives he had exterminated. Hitler was never given the option of leaving the rack. It was too much poetic justice to allow any and all a chance to take one of the vilest men in history apart. Hitler was one of their bigger attractions, and demons traipsed the many circles of Hell, just to stand in line for a century for their turn at him.

Lucifer might have hated these creatures, but through their minds, he saw the world as it had become. Dirty, the land raped of its natural beauty, oceans turned to muck as pollutants churned through them, the air barely breathable because of the noxious gasses poured into it by uncaring machines. Some of them deserved this.

Watching the brighter ones, though, he wondered if they all deserved it. Maybe some of them should have been given a second shot at life, perhaps different circumstances would have tipped the scales more definitively in either direction.

Lucifer understood, in a primal way, that this was his fault. This place had begun with his own hard feelings, and the corruption spread. He didn't know if it had taken on a life of its own yet.

He curled into a ball, desperately trying to reign in his emotions, the ripples spreading outwards from his grace. He had little hope that it would work, but anything to make this place a shade less desolate would be welcome. It was to the memory of those brightest souls he clung, keeping the shape of them in his minds' eye, reminding him of just why he was doing this.

It crashed on him like waves, gasping in pain as he pulled it all into himself, grabbing greedily at the ribbons, tucking them deep within, balling it all up and using bloody hands to shove it down, tuck it away where nobody would have to look at it.

Hell was quiet, for the smallest moment. Lucifer had pulled it all into his own grace, tucked all the pain and misery away, and it burned. It tore at him, shredding pieces indiscriminately. He clutched at his reasons, desperately trying to remain strong, to hold on.

It rolled, boiled, and the lid he was tightly holding on the pressure cooker within himself shot off. The last bits of sanity within him burned away, and with it, the violence exploded outwards once more.

Lucifer unwillingly gave up the last that had remained of the archangel, let it slip from his hands, and was lost. Hell marched on, the screams rose once more, and he bared his teeth in a feral grin, reveling in the pain.

This was his.

Sam woke up, a sob caught in his throat, as he desperately clawed at his chest. Strong hands held at his, trying to stop the destruction.

Gabriel nearly crushed the bones of his wrist as she held on, already railing at the strength that was spiraling out of control, beyond her control.

"Sam!" she shouted, lightly slapping him, hoping to knock some sense through his memory-induced mania. She pressed into his hips with her knees, trying to stop him from bucking her off. "Sam, come on, you're awake now, you're okay, you gotta calm down," she said, over and over. Animal noises were escaping his throat, his head tossing from side to side as she pressed his wrists on either side of his face, using her supernatural strength to press him into the mattress.

Slowly, his movements stilled, though it took minutes for his ragged breathing to even out. The whimpers still ghosted against her face, but she didn't pull back.

Sam's eyes met hers. "Why are you doing this?" he whispered, his voice as broken as it had been that day on the road, surrounded by strangers, racing towards the one place he hoped his brother would be.

"Because you need someone," she murmured, letting go of his limbs and sinking back. Her position over his pelvis would've given her reason to waggle her eyebrows, once, but now it was simply a comfortable spot. She braced herself on her thighs. "I was waiting for Lucifer's memories to tear you apart. It was impossible, that he would reside in your head, and not leave pieces of himself behind."

"I don't understand why now, why all of a sudden, this is happening."

"I don't know, either." Gabriel shifted. "Want to talk about it?"

"Not really."

As she shifted, devious actions far from her mind, his body gave a slight stirring of interest, and the breath punched out of his lips.


"Is it really so bad? I'm asking for nothing in return – no blood, no promises, nothing but this."

She stared at his lips, shifting once more, before slowly lifting her hands, tugging the sheet down and laying her hands on his chest.

Sam's internal war flashed across his face, and Gabriel patiently waited, leaning her weight on the places where her palms met flesh. She waited, with a snap, in case Sam chose the path she wanted.

He finally brought a hand up to her neck, bringing their lips together in an aching kiss, and she snapped, sound proofing the walls. Gabriel let go of her restraint, coaxing his mouth open with her tongue, until she could explore the heat within. A sound left her lips, pained and wanting, an eternity built up into that moment when he was finally hers to touch and taste and explore. Sam brought his other hand to the small of her back, molding her to him as she wrapped her arms under his shoulders and held on tight as they fought for dominance in the kiss.

It was like the floodgates had opened. Their casual flirting and denied touches culminated in a frenzy of heat and desire, tongues meeting and dueling and tasting, teeth biting, pressing the limit of too much, finding out just what it was that would tear the other to pieces.

Gabriel was the first to make Sam cry out when she pinched a nipple, swallowing the noise greedily, squeezing once more and rolling her fingertips to feel his hips buck underneath her as he cried out again. He bit her bottom lip in retaliation, and slipped his hands under her skirt, into the panties, squeezing the cheeks of her bottom, pressing her down into his hardness, thrusting up into her warmth. Her voice rose to match his, hips undulating, trying to feel him through layers of cloth.

He deftly flipped them, fitting himself on his knees between her thighs, rough hands yanking her clothes off, fingertips ghosting over her flesh, unable to settle on any one location. He skimmed them up her ribs, pupils dilated as he watched her body writhe. Her waist made her squirm, almost ticklish, while her shoulders made her sigh. A kiss, a slight swipe of tongue to the inside of her elbow, then wrist, and she almost purred.

He braced one hand across her hip, the other slipping under her head to tug at the hair there, baring her neck to his lips.

There would be bruises there in the morning, if she let them remain, as he bit and sucked marks across her neck and collarbone.

"Sam," she cried, "please."

"We'll get there," he responded, "I've got you, Gabriel," his voice was rough with need, meeting her gaze through lowered eyelashes as his mouth lowered to feast on her breasts. One hand dropped to the apex of her thighs, as he drew the pebbled flesh into his mouth, tongue running over the sensitive tip as his teeth lightly scraped around the outside, and she let out a muffled shriek as his thumb rubbed her clit, two fingers slipping easily into her warmth. It was a sensory overload, and Gabriel bucked up, hands scrabbling over his back, yanking on his hair, pulling him up to her mouth. "Sam, Sam, Sam," his name was a chant on her tongue, each time a bit more wrecked, a bit less control, until she sobbed it out into his mouth.

His length pressed against her thigh, and it took all of Gabriel's concentration to retain enough mental faculty to reach down as his mouth ravished hers, devouring and possessing, to wrap her hand around his cock. She stroked once, twice, before desperately guiding him towards her heat. His fingers slipped out of her, before he pressed his head where they had just been, and paused.

"Sam, please," she begged again, pressing her hips up, trying to force him into her, but he simply raked his eyes over her form. "Come on, Sam, I need you, come on!"

"All yours," he ground out. His lips crashed to hers as he thrust in, bottoming out in one harsh stroke. Gabriel shrieked into his mouth, nails digging into his back as he withdrew to thrust in again. His hips slapped her thighs, his arms holding her shoulders into place as he pressed in, over and over, straining to bury himself as deep as his body would allow.

Gabriel was beyond rational thought. Sam was hitting the ache inside of her, each stroke bottoming out into a spike of pain and pleasure, her body arching into his, her thighs spread as wide as they could go, giving him as much room as possible.

She clutched him tighter, lips touching as they shared the same air, unable to do more than breathe together. He swallowed her whimpers, while she clung greedily to the groans forced from within, beyond his control.

"Sam, more, fuck, harder," she cried hoarsely, her voice wrecked as his thrusts sped up. The sound of their hips slapping wetly permeated the room, and Gabriel clung to him as tightly as she could while he changed the angle of his movements, tipping her legs up over his arms, and threw himself into her once more.

"Just like that?" he muttered as she cried out, over and over, his voice rising to match hers. "You like that? My cock all the way inside you, owning you, you're mine, come on Gabriel, I want to hear you scream my name." His voice rushed over her, his thumb flicking over her clit once more. Gabriel felt her pussy clench down on him, orgasm rocking through her as his name passed her lips on a shout, over and over.

He thrust through her tightness, his strokes more and more erratic until he finally pressed back in one more time, crying out her name into her mouth.

His body slowed down, her legs falling bonelessly to the mattress, as he struggled to keep from collapsing on her. She wrapped her arms languidly around him, tugging him down, until his weight pressed her into the mattress, chests pressed together and heaving.

Air rushed past her ears as he panted, and she quietly snapped them dry, assuming Sam wouldn't appreciate the feeling of sex and sweat drying on his skin.

"Why did I wait so long to do that?" he muttered into the space between her neck and shoulders, nose turned gently into the space beneath her ear. She just hummed, calming her racing heart. "Do you still want to know what I dreamed?"

She hesitated, then nodded, and clamped down her limbs like a vice to keep him from crawling away. Sam gave a quiet laugh as he struggled to back up enough to look her in the eye.

"Lucifer tried to fix Hell."

She was glad she held him tightly, so that the clenching of her muscles was barely discernible from her already tense position.

"He realized it was his anger that had sort of started the ball rolling, and had corrupted it. I guess in his last moments of sanity, he felt pity for the souls he didn't think belonged there. I mean, pity for the ones that, under slightly different circumstances and a few different choices, could've gone to Heaven. He took it all into himself, all that madness and… everything that made Hell what it was, he sucked it inside, tried to bury it down, and that was it. Everything went out of control, and I think he lost what was left of his mind."

Gabriel pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, giving him a watery smile.

"Is this news, to you?"

"Yes." Gabriel relaxed, cradling her thighs around his hips, as she absently ran a hand through his hair. "I had so little time with Lucifer, it felt like. The Earth was around for a long time before humans came along, but in the scheme of things, Lucifer fell so soon. Until the day he shanked me, I hadn't seen or heard from him."

"Do you think it's possible for your Father to forgive him?" Sam's voice was hesitant, and he leaned back further, watching the emotions flickering across her face. He didn't understand her well enough to discern them all, but he needed to see it anyway.

"Yes. My father's forgiveness is infinite. Even Lucifer can be redeemed."

Sam sank back down onto her, waiting while she wiggled, kicking and pulling sheets over his back. "I think Lucifer will get his chance for forgiveness," she said tentatively.

"Even though he's lost his mind?"

Gabriel shrugged. "If he's sincere, my father will let him come home."

Sam shifted, finally rolling off her, wrapping an arm around her waist, tugging her against him.

He wanted to say, "You're more affectionate as a woman," or maybe "You weren't this affectionate before Lucifer," but he kept it in, inhaling the fruity scent of her hair, and slowly drifted off to sleep.

Gabriel laid a hand over his arm, his mind having slipped into slumber, and briefly prayed to her Father. Sam was handling the assimilation of Lucifer's memories well enough, but she knew the worst was to come. She hoped he would forgive her for withholding the truth.