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ruinmylifc · 5 years

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[ muse #1 ] ●● is that cillian murphy? no, that’s just dante armstrong, the 45 year old cismale who is a 𝐅𝐁𝐈 𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐓. some say they’re self-destructive & unpredictable, but their family and friends will swear they’re efficient & candid. when i think of them, i think of at least sleepless nights, bullet proof vests, movie nights with the family, confidential case files, last minute therapy sessions, hidden gun holsters, sunday night roasts, clean shaves. i wonder if his family knows that 𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐀 𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐑. ●●

yeah, i did another thing and this one is gonna stick bc well... if you look under the cut i have given you all of dante and myself so i apologise for the length but it just flew out of me. i haven’t even put any wanted connections bc that would make it 10x longer. just love me and i will love you all the same.

trigger warnings: medical terminology, chronic illness, hospitals, vomiting mention.

i’m proud to present dante sean armstrong, eldest son of eris dorothy (nee may) and basil wayne armstrong. his sister was born two years later and then came his younger brother another three years after.

his childhood wasn’t exactly rainbows and glorious days of splendor, but it wasn’t horrendous either. their family lived on a property in the countryside and owned some animals. farm work and chores were to be done every day as well as keeping up with their school work.

both of his parents were strict and enforced a lot of rules and there were to be no questions asked. they hounded into the three of them the importance of working hard and providing for the family and that’s stuck with dante. he wasn’t allowed to get away with the things some of the kids these days do ( eyes at all you rebel lil shits ) and dare he disrespect his parents, he’d be punished for it.

UPDATED NOV 24: with that being said, his parents didn’t show their love physically but they showed it in a lot of other ways. long holidays to the beach, constantly spending time together on the lake, picnics, going to sporting events when they could, traveling sometimes, card game nights. spending quality time together was their way of showing love. to this day, that is still how they show their children their love.

dante is incredibly intelligent ( unlike myself so i’m sorry pls bare with me ) and that could be seen from day dot. he was hitting milestones before the average child was and his parents saw potential in him. they pushed him harder than his siblings, with school work and work on the property. basil originally wanted dante to take over the property but once he hit high school, he knew there was no way he was going to be able to keep this boy there.

he graduated high school top of his class with a full scholarship to boston uni for law, so he packed his bags and he was off. he only saw his family at major holidays whilst he was at college as he put his head down, bum up and studied hard with a job on the side.

with that being said he played as hard as he worked and knows how to have fun, so he says anyway. when the armstrong wife comes along we will plot when they met and we will go from there but aside from that! he was a bit of a player, enjoying the attention and action if you catch my drift.

UPDATED NOV 24: cue graduating college, moving to ashcroft in his early twenties and he went to work in the force for two-ish years until he was qualified, fit enough and had the experience to apply for the fbi as a special agent. blood, sweat and tears went into this passion of his and lord behold, he got in. it’s fair to say that dante should be married to his job, bc he honestly loves it so much and worked so hard to get in. it’s a bit sad. that’s where he’s been since his mid twenties. cue actual marriage and along came their first child.

UPDATED NOV 24: the main goal in his life when children started coming into the picture was to go out everyday and protect his family, no matter the cost. if he worked a 80 hour week to solve a case or to lock up criminals, then so be it. that was more people who cold potentially hurt his family behind bars.

dante is a family man as much as he can be, but he finds it hard to separate work and home as they both mean so much to him. so yes, he is a workaholic and the things he has seen through the years as brought him night terrors but he loves his family to death. anyone touches them and he will go wild.

ADDED NOV 24: dante is one of those parents that has always said it how it is, not wanting to lie (to a certain extent) to them or shielding them from the dangers of the real world. he is a softy especially in times when his family are upset, things are happening, appts needed, etc, but he shows a lot of tough love. before he joined the fbi and the kids were little, he was as soft as one could be but with the trials of his line of work, he had to learn to be tough. that unfortunately comes home with him, like his work.

ADDED NOV 24: if there is a problem, dante wants ppl to tell him about it straight away and not cut out minor details. he needs to know everything and as soon as possible so he can help, can work it out whether that be work, social life, family, etc. he is v unpredictable with his response too so one day if someone doesn’t come to him abt something for a long time, he could be rather tame and just move on with it. on another day, he could go off his rocker. you can’t really pick it esp when he comes across as being cold. (he’s not!! he is really warm with those he trusts and loves i SWEAR)

dante not long had become a supervisory special agent when mateo’s case came up. dante found himself being emotionally drawn to mateo and the situation at hand, having always struggled with not letting things get personal. so he offered him protection, took him in and opened up his home for him. of course, keeping him around is detrimental to the case and there’s no way he will be letting him go any time soon, but dante cannot help but feel protective over him. he is putting his family at risk by bringing him in but he doesn’t regret it and is more determined to resolve the case.

UPDATED NOV 24: emilio is now caught and dante is suspended for using his weapon. now begins the process of gather evidence, trials, etc.

personality.

he is completely unpredictable ; you may think he’ll react to a situation one way but will completely go the opposite. he says things that would be unexpected from him and he keeps shit real. he won’t sit there and talk abt the world being a wonderful place bc he will laugh in your face and tell you to fuck off to fairyland. he’s seen too much shit and done too much shit to know that life is not a movie.

he can come across as cold but he just doesn’t like to talk if he has nothing to say and he has a resting bitch face, sorry.

UPDATED NOV 24: it can take a lot to anger dante but when he gets angry, oh you know about it. he’ll yell and throw things and throw a tantrum if it’s really bad but most of the time, he tries to keep quite calm. if it involves his family getting hurt, he’ll get violent, period. no one touches his family.

THIS: as much as he keeps a guard up due to his job and is a somewhat strict parent and whatnot, he is a sweetheart. he’ll make his kids breakfast in bed on the weekends and would come in and kiss their heads when he’d come home from work and he’d be the one setting up easter egg hunts and is MUCH more affection than his own parents. his family’s happiness brings him happiness and they’re really the only people that see him smile often. also, he won’t go to work without telling them all he loves them. always. even if they’re sick of it.

UPDATED NOV 24: also, he beats himself up and is normally the one that tears himself down to shit. once he has his mind set in a bad way, he’ll tear himself to pieces and he really is his own worst enemy. and it’s bad. like, he beats himself up about everything and even won’t sleep at night over little things like having a fight with the kids, or not filling in paperwork right, or not speaking to his wife one night bc he is just too Stressed. v much is not okay

ADDED NOV 24: bc of this he tends to push ppl away, very badly too. he doesn’t think abt himself often and just wants to make those he loves happy, but he just??? can’t sometimes??? and i think that can be so frustrating

bonus point ; he is a very passionate lover!

secret.

in terms of his secret!! when he was in his final year of college, dante was mucking around with a group of friends throwing a football and tackling one another in between lectures. he had run backward off of the grass onto the path to catch the football and one of the guys ran and tackled him, knocking him to the ground with a very nasty blow to the head.

knocked out cold, dante was taken to the hospital were he had a severe concussion but there was no bleeding in or around the brain.

after this he became violently ill ; he knew that concussion caused disorientation but this was weeks, even a couple months after the incident and he was still having trouble. he suffered from severe headaches, vomiting, eyesight troubles and even his personality changed.

dante knew he wasn’t okay so he went to a couple doctors, had a bunch of neurological tests, ct and mri scans and he was then diagnosed with non-communicating acquired hydrocephalus. basically, the blow to his head caused one of the ventricles in his brain to block which restricted the flow of csf ( cerebrospinal fluid ).

with that, a shunt was surgically inserted in his brain to drain the excess fluid to other parts of his body and he has lived his life with this as his own personal secret. he hasn’t told his wife or children and his siblings and parents are the only ones who know ( bc they were by his side ofc ).

UPDATED NOV 24: he’s had regular check ups every so many years and as of lately, the shunt has started to play up and he’s suffering from headaches for a while now. will he do anything abt it? probs not. there has been too much going on for him to even think about himself.

#ashcroftintro.#medical terminology tw #chronic illness tw #hospitals tw #vomiting mention tw #character study ― dante armstrong.#mirror ― dante armstrong.#spotify ― dante armstrong.#aesthetics ― dante armstrong.#answered ― dante armstrong.#memes ― dante armstrong.#family ― dante armstrong.#wanted connection ― dante armstrong.

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unityghost · 6 years

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Scratches

I’ve come to supply the internet with more angst. One can never have too much angst. It’s kind of like parmesan cheese.

This fic, part 6 of my ultra-emo series Post-Asmodeus Sabriel Feels, is based on a prompt I got from @t-rexhighfives, who proposed the following: “later down the line (like probably a yearor two in the future), sam having a particularly bad day (bc lord knows sam hasnt been allowed to work through his own traumas, both bc of everything that happens and bc he wont let himself work through it) and then gabe is having a moderately bad day (not awful, not the worst, but not great either) and sam is trying to help gabe and its just. not working. and gabe is like '... sam, you okay?' and sams just like ‘fine, im fine’ and they both know its a lie and so gabe decides that since sam has helped him so much, hes gonna return the favor (idk if this is even interesting or good, i just think it would be interesting to have the tables turned on sam lol)”

It was good, and it was interesting! So thanks.

WARNING: This story contains brief references to torture and sexual assault.

... The spirit had been slaughtered by a local priest, and was exercising his revenge upon the clergy at the church across from where he was buried. Every seventy years or so, the parishioners were given the news that their pastor - or, occasionally, the assistant priest - had been burned alive. The general consensus was that it was suicide, and that the latest victims had picked up the idea from the unfortunate history of the parish. Sure, there were rumors of curses, of witchcraft and phantoms - but it was all fare for a small town whose self-image was all eighteenth-century colonial New England serenity.

The whole thing should have been a simple affair - gathering the sources, visiting the church, identifying the grave. And all of that had indeed been pretty straightforward; what they hadn’t anticipated was how swift and vicious the spirit proved to be.

He caught them in the dead of night just as they were preparing to incinerate the remains. Dean was armed with a lit match, per protocol, and the spirit seized it from his hand before throwing himself at Sam, forcing him into the dewey grass. He began to scratch at Sam’s face with ragged fingernails, and he screamed about the priest who had counseled him, the priest who had believed that some people deserved an early damnation. The spirit howled about how he himself had been among the casualties of the rector’s delusion.

But the spirit gave a spidery smile as he spoke about burning any priest that dared to warn the congregants about the dangers of taking a fellow man or woman to bed, lest they find themselves punished by the devil - just as he had been punished by the Reverend Casper Lockwood.

Only as the spirit attacked his brother did Dean find himself grateful that Sam allowed Gabriel to accompany them. Wickford Village in North Kingstown, Rhode Island was one of the few places Gabriel had never been in his millennia of existence.

“It’s not like there’s any real reason to go to Rhode Island at all,” he’d insisted. “Who cares about clams and potholes? But,” he conceded, “I could use a trip to overpriced new-age tourist shops as much as the next guy. You ever get ahold of those A-to-Z angel encyclopedias? I’m gonna sneak in and draw Shrek all over them.”

But in the cemetery, Gabriel - whose grace had returned in full force over the year since his rescue from Asmodeus - wrenched the spirit off of Sam, whose face was streaked with blood from the wounds inflicted by jagged fingernails, and pinned him down. But the spirit was strong; it seized Gabriel’s legs and threw him into the ground, reversing their positions so that Gabriel was crushed.

But there is no taking away an archangel’s ability to start a fire once he’s made up his mind and has his hands free.

Gabriel snapped his fingers, and the remains ignited.

Sam lay on the ground, listening to the growl of the flames.

By the time it was all over, the sky had inched from blue to gray, and Dean could barely stand up. Neither he nor Sam had slept in over twenty-four hours. He stumbled on his way back to the car, parked on the quiet village road strewn with the first shriveled leaves of late September.

“Dude,” said Sam, watching his brother collapse against the car. “You’re not driving like that.”

“I’m just tired; Father Pyro barely even noticed me.” Dean straightened up, pulled the door open, and hit himself himself in an inopportune area. “Son of a - !” He bent double and groaned. “You win this round, jerk. Get in the car.”

“No thanks, bitch. You think Cas could drive? I was thinking of hanging around, getting some breakfast at the café we saw on our way over.”

Dean raised his head to stare at Sam. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, I mean, I can’t go to sleep now that it’s almost daylight.”

“I don’t even know where Cas - ”

“I’m here, Dean.” Cas shuffled over to them, face littered with fine bloody streaks just as Sam’s was. “Sam - ” He placed his middle and index fingers on Sam’s forehead and the pain of the scratch marks faded.

Sam touched his face. Only five o’ clock shadow. “Thanks. Now heal yourself.”

Castiel shook his head. “I don’t have enough grace at the moment. Fighting back was a little more than I’d - ”

“Let me, brother.” Gabriel touched him just as Castiel had touched Sam, and the wounds melted away.

“Sam, you’re gonna have to drive,” Dean instructed. His forehead was wrinkled in discomfort but he seemed otherwise recovered. That clumsy accident was, Sam realized gratefully, the worst that had happened to his brother tonight. “Cas is exhausted.”

Castiel looked more closely at Sam. “Sam, are you all right?”

“Yeah, Cas, you patched me up. Should have saved some of that juice for your - ”

“No. I mean you look distressed.”

Gabriel shot Sam a sharp glance. “He’s right, kiddo. What’s the matter?”

“I’m okay.” Sam was embarrassed. “Just thought I’d stick around for a little bit. I can always sleep later. You guys can head on back to the motel.”

“Sammy, you should come too.” Dean’s tone was gentler this time. “You need to get some rest. Come on.”

Sam shook his head. “I’m fine. Really. I promise. Later, okay?”

“I could use a cup of coffee myself,” Gabriel chimed in.

“You don’t need caffeine,” Sam pointed out. “It doesn’t do anything for you.”

Gabriel inclined his head in acknowledgement. “Technically you’re right. But in a much more important sense, you’re wrong. And besides, I just got a nice little bone-fire going for you guys, didn’t I?”

“You do realize how that sounds, don’t you?” Dean groaned.

Gabriel ignored him. “Coffee can only lead to more grace, am I right, little bro?”

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” Castiel replied.

“Oh, you’ve had one too many herbal teas. This guy” - he jerked a thumb at Sam - “is a bad influence.

“Gabe,” Sam interrupted, “I kind of want to be by myself.”

“Archangel vote counts as two; it’s the rules.”

Sam scoffed. “Whose rules?”

“Humans aren’t allowed access to that kind of information. Know your place, Sam. Now let’s go; these two want to get on the road.”

Sam struggled for a moment before admitting defeat. “Whatever, yeah, fine. I’ll see you guys later, okay?”

Dean hesitated. “Call if anything comes up. We’ll be around.”

Castiel’s gaze met Sam’s. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

Sam crossed his arms, shuddering against a chilly breeze. The sting of the wounds echoed in his skin like the remnants of a bad smell. “Yeah. Fine.”

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Gabriel promised.

With some reluctance, Dean and Cas climbed into the Impala, then drove away until they turned left on Main Street and disappeared.

Sam started walking in that same direction, saying nothing and refusing to acknowledge Gabriel keeping pace alongside him.

Sam kept touching his face, inspecting it for damage, and tried to ignore the twist of his stomach and the pounding of his heart.

But the silvery morning was too quiet, quiet enough to usher in a new voice: the voice that had playfully told him to hold still, that he wasn’t allowed to writhe in agony, that the more he screamed the deeper the knife would dig into him.

To Gabriel’s credit, he didn't try to initiate conversation. But it was hard for Sam to ignore the feeling of being examined from eight inches below.

The café opened its doors at 6:00, so they had fifteen minutes to lean against the bulky wood fence blocking off pedestrians from the water underneath. Off in the distance they could see a harbor and a few ducks and geese paddling their way into the daylight.

Finally, Gabriel spoke. “What was that?”

Sam shoved his hands into his pockets. “What was what?”

“The way you looked like you were gonna be sick the second that undadly freak of creation went back to where it belonged. What’s up?”

“Nothing.”

Gabriel’s expression darkened. “No, Sam. Nooooooo, no no no no no. I am not about to play the same game with you that you play with me.

"Sam creased his brow. “What are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.” When Sam continued to look puzzled, Gabriel sighed. “That stupid back-and-forth where I freak out, and you become some kind of saintly masochist, and I try to get you to go away, and you say things like ‘Let me help you, Gabe’ and ‘I’m not gonna hurt you, Gabe’ and ‘I don’t want you to keep this inside, Gabe.’ That game.”

Sam looked away.

“Spill it, Winchester. What’s going on with you?”

Still averting his eyes, Sam muttered, “Bad memories. That's all.”

“That’s all.”

“Yes, Gabriel. That’s all.”

“Okay, well, what was that thing you said to me about trying to open up when someone offers to help make things feel a little less, I don’t know, soul-crushing? Oh, that’s right: you said to open up when someone offers to help make things feel a little less soul-crushing.”

Sam shook his head, thought about crossing his arms again, and realized he felt safer if he tried not to move at all. “You’re not going to want to hear it. It’s … it’s Hell stuff. It’d remind you of what happened with Asmodeus.”

“You mean like my stuff made you remember your time in the Cage?” He felt almost satisfied at the guilt that crossed Sam’s face. “Sam. Come on. It’s me. I owe you one anyway.”

“We’re not trading stocks,” Sam protested. “You’re not ready to deal with my shit, Gabriel.”

“Well if this stubbornness is anything to go by, you weren’t ready to deal with mine either.”

There were several moments of silence, in which Gabriel realized the weight of what he had said.

“You’ve helped so much,” he told Sam, hugging himself in a protective stance; and Sam could see that he was suddenly afraid someone would hurt him for his mistake. “I didn’t mean you haven’t. You’ve done a good job. You’re too patient, Sam. I don’t deserve what you’ve given me. Shut up,” he added as Sam opened his mouth to object. “My point is that I want to return the favor, not that I have to.”

Sam sighed. Gabriel let him have a few moments to think before Sam finally spoke. “That guy … the spirit … you saw the way he pinned me to the ground and made cuts all over my face?”

“Uncourteous bastard,” Gabriel agreed.

“Well …” Sam rubbed his palms together, staring off somewhere into the distance. “I still get these … these dreams about how Lucifer used to do the same thing. Only … only instead of trapping me on the ground, he’d throw me into the fire and keep me there while he drew on me. Pictures, you know - graffiti, sort of. Family pictures of all his brothers and sisters - every last one. But like …” Sam swallowed. “He used knives. All kinds of knives. I, uh - yeah. Yeah, that’s …” He trailed off, lowering his gaze to the sidewalk, examining his shoes - caked with clammy soil from the cemetery.

Gabriel tilted his head. “All right. Welp. That explains it. Now was that so hard?”

“Damn it, Gabriel.” Sam looked angry. “You know it is.”

Gabriel flinched. “I just … I want to help you.”

Sam glanced at him, and his expression softened in concern. “Gabriel, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to - ”

Gabriel waved a dismissive hand. “No, no, I’m good. Really. But anyway, Sam - why are you keeping this under wraps? Or, I mean, are you? Isn’t your brother there to listen? Or my brother?”

“I don’t know; I guess they could be.”

“But you won’t say anything.”

“I …” Sam licked his lips. “Gabriel … you understand. You understand better than anyone. I can’t talk about it because … because there’s too much there. Because I want to forget. And because I - ” The words caught in his throat. Gabriel watched him closely, wondering how to handle this with Sam as well as Sam had with him.

“Because what?” he pressed.

“Because I - because the last thing we need is extra problems,” Sam blurted out. “You’ve all got enough to be dealing with. And me complaining isn’t going to change anything; you know that! Besides,” he added more calmly, “This was your first time on a hunt with us - ever since things started to get a little better. You should be worrying about yourself, Gabriel.”

“Did you forget what I told you about how archangels have the final - ”

“The way he held you down.” Sam’s voice was quiet. “I know what that must have done to you.”

Gabriel tensed and Sam almost wished he hadn’t said anything to remind Gabriel of all those nightmares, all those spasms of memories - memories of the cold stone floor against his back and the hard warm body on top of him. “I’m not denying that. But look at me: I’m okay. A little shaken up, maybe, but okay. I knew what I was getting into. And anyway, now that I don’t need food or sleep I won’t have nightmares or puke my guts up. So forget about me for a second.”

Silence fell again. And then Sam said, “You know you can talk to me, right?”

Gabriel gave an exasperated sigh. “Yes, yeah, Sam, I do. You’ve drilled that into my brain. But now that I have a clear head, I want to help you too.”

“Why?”

Gabriel stared at him in disbelief. “I don’t know, maybe something to do with the fact that you've held my head over the toilet in the middle of the night so many times I lost count? Or the way you made sure nobody ever touched me without my permission? Or how, after months of me clinging to you, you didn’t give up?”

Sam grimaced. “Well, that was because you were …” He tried to find a diplomatic adjective. “… troubled.”

Gabriel tutted. “If by ‘troubled’ you mean ‘an undignified disaster,’ then I agree. But how is this any different, really? Come on. I’m not gonna take a single thing you say seriously if you don’t prove to me that you can practice what you preach.”

“Gabriel.” Sam was frustrated now. “What happened to me happened a long time ago. You’re just getting back on your feet. You need to focus on - ”

“You’re right.” Gabriel touched his shoulder as delicately as possible, knowing what it was like to be afraid of touch. “It was a long time ago. But that means it’s been sitting with you for years. What have you done with it? What I’d really like is for you to let me know when something freaks you out - don’t just hold that in. But it doesn’t have to be me; it can be anyone.”

Seagulls squawked overhead. The twin aromas of coffee and pastries drifted through the crisp morning air; 6:00 A.M. had come and gone, and the café doors were open. But neither of them made a move to go in.

“I think I’d want it to be you.” The confession surprised Gabriel, and he blinked. “Because … I think you’d genuinely want to hear it. Not Dean; he’s worse than I am. He’s not even tempted to say anything and he doesn’t need me throwing out all these reminders of what he went through.” His features hardened. “But neither do you. I know you’re more interested, and it’s not that I don’t appreciate it - I do. But it’s gonna make things worse for you. Bring up all kinds of stuff.”

“That’s okay.”

Sam tried to quell his anger so that he wouldn’t frighten Gabriel. “No, it’s not. Not after all your hard work.”

Gabriel snorted. “I think you mean your hard work.”

“Give yourself some credit, Gabe.”

“You give yourself some credit! Man, are you difficult to work with! Look, you told me about the knife thing Lucifer did, and do I seem upset to you? Do I seem like I’m freaked out?”

Sam studied him. Then he said, “No. You don’t. I’m glad.”

“Great. Okay, your turn. Ask me if I think you seem upset.”

Sam gripped the bar of the fence until his knuckles turned white. “Okay - fine. I’m not gonna disagree with you.” A pause. “Look, I know what I went through. I understand what you’re trying to tell me, all right? But I’ll get over it. I’ve been dealing with this for long enough that I know what to do when things get bad. I don’t want to bring anyone else into it.”

“I hear what you’re saying about me and your brother,” Gabriel admitted, “But why won’t you talk to Cas? He’ll be fine.”

“He doesn’t know how to address this kind of thing. Can you imagine how that would go down?”

“What are you - ” Gabriel stared at him. “Do you even know him at all? Of course he’d know what to say! You’ve been the Three Musketeers for how many years now? And you think he’s not tuned in enough to help?”

Sam remembered how Castiel had looked at him back in the cemetery, brow furrowed in concern, and felt a twinge of guilt for misjudging him. “No, you’re right. That was a dumb thing to say.” 

“Sam.” Gabriel somehow managed to sound simultaneously gentle and stern. “You don’t look okay. You really don’t.”

“Well I’m covered in graveyard dirt, so I’d have to agree with you there.”

“You’re pale. Sick. Shaky. Here, look - ” He picked up one of Sam’s hands to demonstrate that it was trembling.

Humiliated, Sam pulled away. “Don’t do that.”

But Gabriel seized his hand again and glared, no longer desperate but suddenly determined. “Listen up, you obdurate son of a bitch. I really, really don’t want to see you hurting. You always talked about how hard it was for you to watch me, remember? That’s what this is like! We’ve spent too much time together for me to play along and pretend you’re okay. I want to help. So please. Just let me.”

Sam paused, meeting his eyes.

Gabriel looked so much more like himself these days.

Sam took a deep breath. “I just don’t - ” He looked around, examining every part of the unfamiliar setting, hoping to distract himself from the tightness in his throat. “I - ”

Gabriel waited, still gripping his hand. When Sam didn’t continue, his voice softened. “There’s no one around, Sam. Just me.”

Sam looked at him, face flushed and eyes bright.

“It’s okay,” Gabriel went on. “Stop it. You’re hurting yourself.”

Sam turned his face away and squeezed his eyes shut. Now the prickling of the cuts was gone, replaced by the brininess of tears.

Damn it. After everything he’d been through with Gabriel - trying to bring him back to life, to coax him into something like what he had once been, to make the present feel stronger than the past - it was cruel of him to make Gabriel watch this.

Sam managed to compose himself enough to speak. “You know that feeling? The feeling that … that you can’t get out? That it’s happening right now and no one can help?”

Gabriel clutched his hand tighter. “Of course I do. But it’ll go away.”

Sam used his free hand to cover his mouth as the pressure against his chest became too solid to choke down.

“It will,” Gabriel insisted. “I’ll ride it out with you.”

Sam shook his head, clenching his eyes shut again, horribly ashamed. He lowered his hand. “It doesn't go away. It just - just gets worse before going down to where it usually is.”

Reminding himself that it wouldn’t get better - that it wouldn’t leave him alone - wrenched his control away.

He leaned up against the fence, trying to hide his face, trying to breathe.

“All right.” Gabriel put a hand on his back. “Just let it go back down to normal. Just wait for a few minutes. It’s gonna be okay.”

“No, it’s - that’s not what it feels like. Oh god - ” Sam shuddered, although there was no breeze this time. “You remember, don’t you? You know how bad it is. But you - you always talked about how you could tell the difference, how you knew your mind was playing tricks on you. Sometimes I just ... I don’t know where I really am, or who’s really with me. It’s - ” He released another harsh, desperate sob. “It’s too real.”

“Yeah, I knew how to separate one from the other. But only because I know how tricks work. They’re meant to feel real. And hey, so what if you can’t figure out what’s there and what’s not? Huh? Doesn’t change the fact that you’re gonna be fine.”

Nearly gagging from the effort of trying to maintain some semblance of dignity, Sam rasped, “Why did you make me do this? Why’d you want to make it stronger?”

“I didn’t!” Abruptly, Gabriel let go of his hand and took a step back. “I meant to make it easier!”

“I know - but -” He lowered his head, watching the sidewalk swim in a rough gray blur underneath him. “I told you not to.”

“Didn’t I always tell you the same thing?”

“No!” Sam jerked his head up despite feeling disgusted with himself. “I mean, yes, sometimes. But once in a while you … you looked for me. And you should have; I told you you could. But this is different, I ... I just wanted to be left alone.”

Gabriel looked helpless again. “You’re always alone. Because you don’t care about yourself enough to ask for what you need.” He hesitated.” You’re not scared of being touched, right? Not the way that I was?”

Am, Sam corrected silently. Aloud, he said, “Not usually. Not anymore. I - ”

Delicately, in case Sam wasn’t telling the full truth, Gabriel leaned forward and embraced him. Not the way Sam had done for him in moments of terror - Gabriel was so small that there couldn’t have been the same warmth and protection he got when Sam hugged him.

But Sam could tell he tried.

“I don’t care if you can’t tell what’s real,” Gabriel muttered. “You hold yourself together too well.”

“I really don’t.” Tentatively, Sam wrapped either arm around Gabriel’s shoulders.

“Come on. Your standards can’t be that high after a year of putting up with me.” Gabriel squeezed more tightly.

Sam was surprised - not so much by Gabriel’s outburst of affection but by his own reaction to it. He relaxed slightly, began to shiver a little less forcefully.

“That’s it,” Gabriel murmured. “You’re gonna be okay.”

They stood like that for several minutes, until Dean called to make sure everything was okay.

It wasn’t.

But gradually the wail of seagulls grew louder than the roar of hellfire.

...

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