twentysomething

Title: Cash Out, Get The Hell Out Of Town

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Sam/Gabriel, background pre-Dean/Cas

Summary: "He tries to asses the situation, but he is completely incapable of figuring out a situation where Gabriel should be wearing an Elvis suit on top of him and he feels like someone is trying to rape his skull, but- oh. There's a feather boa wrapped around his calf. Well, at least he's not entirely naked."

Length: 5600 wordish.

Warnings: Foul language, improbable amounts of alcohol, Vegas.

Notes: So, after watching the Hangover too many times and listening to Katy Perry on delirious repeat, this... idfk, happened. This had been sitting in my drafts folder for ages and I finally wrapped it up by sheer force of will tonight. Uh, I apologize in advance. (The important thing to remember is that I'm sure Zachariah is locked in their trunk somewhere.)




Sam wakes up naked, with a splitting headache and with Gabriel spread across him instead of a blanket.

He shuts his eyes and goes back to sleep, because no matter what he drank last night, this isn't fucking real.

Sam wakes up again- still naked- still with a headache- and Gabriel is still like a goddamn barnacle on his chest.

He tries to asses the situation, but he is completely incapable of figuring out a situation where Gabriel should be wearing an Elvis suit on top of him and he feels like someone is trying to rape his skull, but- oh. There's a feather boa wrapped around his calf. Well, at least he's not entirely naked.

He figures the first and only way to start forgetting this ever happened is to get Gabriel off him and find some fucking pants- both of which seem pretty impossible at this point, but to be fair, Sam had thought that ending the apocalypse would be pretty impossible, but they'd done that. In fact, that's pretty much the last thing Sam does remember. Dean had said he was going to get fucked up and so were they or he was going to punch them all in the dick and what the shit did he drink last night?

"Baby, go back to bed," Gabriel says into Sam's collarbone, but Sam has already tried that and everything is still super fucked up, so he probably needs to try a different course of action. He tries to sit up but Gabriel is a heavy motherfucker and Sam really wishes he were more concerned about how naked he is. He also needs to go to the bathroom or puke or probably both.

"Gabriel, I will piss on you," Sam threatens and oh, God, talking is like trying to give birth through his throat. Gabriel nuzzles in closer.

"You didn't tell me you were into water sports. That's gross, boo." Gabriel mutters. Sam wishes he could kill himself.

"Get the fuck up, I want to die and I need to be in a bathroom, maybe forever," Sam hisses and seriously, he is really fucking naked here and the longer he's conscious the more he thinks he needs to fix that.

"You are so shrill, sugar." Gabriel whines, but he slides sort of over and Sam takes two steps before he falls down and fuck it, he is not too proud to crawl, naked, to the fucking bathroom and where the fuck are they?

The good news is the floor between the bed and the bathroom yields pants- which, okay, Sam still hasn't managed to put on, but he's getting there. Using one hand- the other being occupied with the pants- he leverages himself into a hug around the nice, cool, friendly toilet. And- and that's his cell phone in the bottom of the bowl. Sam debates whether he really has the moral fortitude to stick his hand into a toilet, but feels okay deciding, no, it's not flipping happening. He's warming up to the idea of maybe standing up again to try to pee, but he's really not making a lot of headway.

"If you're going to drop a log, just, fucking warn me first. I can't move, but like... at least I'll be prepared." Dean's voice echoes in the bathroom and what the fuck? Sam doesn't want to move his face off the porcelain- which, in retrospect, is probably just as gross as sticking his hand in it- so he still has no idea where Dean actually is.

"Where the hell are you, man?" Sam asks, because most of the places they go, when you're in the bathroom if someone else is in there, you know.

"I'm in the bathtub, you dumbshit, oh, Christ, I'm never drinking again." Dean moans. "Also, for the love of- put some pants on." Sam whines and shuts his eyes.

"I'm getting there, asshole. Do you know where we are?" Sam prompts, because he's still drawing a blissfully huge blank for pretty much all of last night, but they didn't wake up in prison, so he feels safe counting it as a win. He hears a big, heaving sigh from across the room.

"Dude, the last thing I remember last night was getting thrown out of the Luxor because we were fucking around in the weird fucking corpse hall. To be fair, I think we were trying to salt and burn them, though." Dean offers.

Sam is more and more puzzled as to how they didn't wake up in jail. Behind the toilet are a pair of sunglasses and Sam snatches them and when the room is tinted a hazy brown, he feels like he might be able to open his eyes more than an angry slit.

"C'mon, man, pants." Dean insists. Sam groans, but he figures it's a legitimate request- although, after a couple of minutes of squirming, Sam realizes they're not his pants, which is why they're, like, a foot too short and a size and a half too small.

"Are you wearing manpris?" Dean asks, a hint of a laugh in his voice.

"Fuck you, these aren't my pants," Sam insists. Which does leave him with the troubling question of where his pants actually are, but at least for now, there's a layer of clothes between his junk and open air, which is appreciated. Except- he still has to go. Shit.

"Biscuit, come back to bed," Gabriel plaintively calls from the bedroom. Sam doesn't need to see Dean to know that Dean's What The Fuck Eyebrow is raised hardcore.

"Biscuit, did you fuck an archangel last night?" Dean asks in a hiss. Sam bangs his head a couple times against the seat.

"Thank you, Dean, for asking the question that I really never ever wanted to think about." Sam mutters.

"Samantha, you skank, did you give him your flower?" Dean adds, viciously. Sam finally summons the righteous indignation to turn in the direction of Dean's voice.

Oh, god.

"Those are seriously big words for someone with a gallon of spunk in their hair," Sam spits out. "Is there just something about Mary, or-" Sam looks into the tub. "What the f- are those poker chips?"

"Okay, one, I'm pretty sure I tried to take a bath, so that's conditioner, dickweed, and yeah... I mean, I think I tried to take a bath in my money," Dean argues, throwing a handful of chips at Sam, only about two of which actually get all the way to him.

"Whatever, Scrooge McDuck." Sam shoots back.

"Cheesecake, you cannot be puking that much. You drank like a little bitch last night." Gabriel yells. "If you're worried I'm not respecting you in the morning, I didn't really respect you last night, so." Dean tilts his head at Sam in a mockery of Cas's judging head tilt. Cas. Shit, where is Castiel?

"Dean, where's Cas?" Sam asks, because oh god, what if Cas is in prison? Oh, God. Dean scrambles up, shedding chips everywhere, and at least Dean is wearing his own pants, even if his shirt looks like old newsprint- what the fuck is written all over it?

"Cas?" Dean shouts. "Cas, you here?" Sam uses this opportunity to regain vertical integrity, which is hard, because he's super tall. There's a lot of him to get upright. But he also uses it to pee, and he feels about a million times better after, so he's thinking about washing his hands as Dean blows back into the bathroom.

"I can't find him," Dean yells. "Also, why the fuck is Gabriel dressed like Elvis?" Sam shrugs and then vows to never do that again.

"If I could explain any part of last night... Well, I can't, so." Sam replies. "Have you tried calling his cell phone?" Dean runs his hands through his hair, only to come up with two handfuls of 'conditioner'.

"Ugh, Jesus, like I know where my phone is, Sam. Also, Christ, I have to wash my hands, move." Dean says, elbowing Sam over. "Give me your phone." Sam points at the toilet, where his phone had stubbornly refused to flush.

"Be my guest," Sam says breezily. Dean stares at Sam long and hard.

"Seriously, Sam. Never drinking again." Dean vows, shaking his hands over-enthusiastically, flinging water everywhere. Sam rolls his eyes, but moves over to finally wash his hands and- what the FUCK.

Why is there a ring on his left hand. On his ring finger. WHY.

"Dean, do you remember, oh say- before we got thrown out of the Bodies exhibit- if I- mmm- got married?" Sam hisses at him, brandishing the ring- the terrible, pretty, sparkly ring- in his face. Dean's face goes totally blank, then he bursts into awful, honking, mean laughter.

"Oh God. Sam, did you marry a hooker last night? What the shit, man?" Dean asks, wheezing chuckles between words. Sam feels like the punch line to a Carrie Underwood song.

"I have no idea!" Sam cries and turns to face the doorway as a loud cough signals that Gabriel is finally up and about.

"Uh, not a hooker," Gabriel says and at least he seems to have whammied himself into some normal clothes, because the jumpsuit is gone. Sam raises his eyebrows.

"So, you remember last night?" Sam asks, because that's typical. Gabriel shakes his head.

"Not really, no, which is sort of alarming, because I remember the, you know, formation of this planet, but not last night." Gabriel replies, looking pretty peeved about the whole thing. Dean frowns.

"Then how do you know he didn't marry a hooker?" Dean argues, and he looks way too excited at the prospect that Sam may still have married a whore.

"Because I have this," Gabriel returns, holding up his left hand and oh fucking shit hell no what the fuck. Dean laughs so hard he falls back into the money tub. Sam resists the urge to claw at his face and instead settles for manfully covering his eyes.

"Okay. I am going to find and put on my pants. And a shirt. And then we will find Cas and no one will be married. And then we will leave Vegas, and never, ever, ever talk about this weekend again." Sam says, although it's sort of muffled by his hands, which have migrated to cover his whole face.

After some investigation of under the bed, Sam finds his pants and a shirt he's willing to wear, even if it doesn't belong to him, all while managing to avoid making eye contact with Gabriel. He can vaguely hear Dean complaining that he doesn't believe that Gabriel doesn't have a cell phone, while Gabriel insists that it "puts you on the grid," which- Jesus Christ- he really hopes they're not married. Dean has at least towelled off his hair so he looks less like the star of a lot of disreputable bukkake porn and Gabriel has his arms crossed in a really sullen manner that Sam doesn't even want to touch.

"Okay. Now that we can go out in public-" Sam breaks off. "Dean, is that a dick on your shirt?" Dean immediately looks down, and yeah, sure enough, drawn over Dean's stomach is a huge, terrifying, veiny, hairy dick.

"I didn't do that," Dean says mildly, staring with perverse fascination at his shirt. Gabriel snorts.

"Yeah, your art is like a drunken kid finger painting, and this shit is amazing," Gabriel says, then frowns. "Wait, look- here- someone wrote... Is that Cher's signature?" Sam kind of hopes they didn't go see a Cher show, but then, if they did, at least he doesn't remember it. Dean swats at Gabriel's examining hands.

"Dude, stop touching, you married the other Winchester brother," Dean argues. Sam rolls his eyes so hard he thinks he sprains something.

"Just take the shirt off, Dean, it might help us figure out where we went last night," Sam suggests. Dean sighs, but shrugs out of the shirt and flings it at Sam's face. Sam makes a face, because great, really mature, Dean. Dean wanders back into the room to look for another shirt and finally winds up with a baby blue v-neck that proclaims, "Someone in Vegas Loves Me."

"That's hot," Gabriel intones blankly. Dean looks like he's winding up into something really good and Sam can't deal with this shit.

"Here, look, on the back it says 'For a totally... baller wedding, go to... what the shit does that say?" Sam asks, thrusting the old shirt at Dean. Dean frowns.

"Damn if I know. That looks like Arabic." Dean complains. "And seriously, where the shit is Cas?"

There's a knock on the door.

Sam frowns, but figures most of the shit that wants to kill them is totally dead, so he opens the door.

Castiel looks totally nonplussed.

"I do not think I like Las Vegas. A man asked me how much it would cost in order to persuade me to perform sexual acts upon his person." Cas says. He sticks his hands in his pockets, and he's wearing his usual suit and trench ensemble but he's dripping from head to toe.

"Cas," Dean says, looking relieved and pissed all at the same time. "Where the hell have you been?" He gets all up in Castiel's personal space and Sam settles in for another round of 'As the Oblivious World Turns' starring Cas and Dean.

"I was in a fountain," Cas says. "The police were rather upset." Dean blinks but he's grinning, probably because he's not married to Gabriel. When his angel gets drunk, he just passes out in a fountain instead of dressing up like Elvis and binding them legally.

"Did they try to arrest you?" Dean asks excitedly, like avoiding arrest is adorable- hands hovering over the trenchcoat like he wants to touch, just to make sure it's really wet. Cas makes the slightly scrunched-up face that means he thinks he pulled a fast one and feels uncomfortably like he enjoyed it.

"They were more confused that I escaped from the morgue," Castiel says. Dean raises both his eyebrows.

"What?" he asks blankly. "And why were you in the morgue?" Sam wishes he could sell this shit to Bravo, because seriously, this is so much better than Real Housewives. Cas makes a shifty face.

"I may have appeared somewhat... dead. At the time." Cas says.

Sam notices the popcorn at his elbow- it's in an old timey box and everything. Gabriel is munching on a handful.

"The state of Nevada insists I give you half," Gabriel whispers and Sam figures what the hell, takes the box and sits on the couch. Gabriel looks pleased and plops down unnecessarily close, warm and all elbows.

"What the hell, Cas!" Dean shouts, but he pulls Cas into the room, and pushes at Cas's sopping hair and turns Castiel's face this way and that between his palms. "I mean you're not- uh- dead now, are you?" There's something in the corners of Castiel's eyes and mouth that looks amused and pleased as he lets Dean manhandle them.

"No, Dean, I seem to be alive at the moment," Cas says, almost like a joke, but Dean glares at him, like jokes about being dead aren't cool, and Sam wonders if they just did it whether it'd be better or somehow, inconceivably, worse.

"Would their Lifetime movie be called 'Touched by a Renegade Angel' or 'City of Gay Angels'?" Gabriel asks quietly and Sam wishes he didn't like him so much, but he's incapable of not responding.

"'Angels in Dickmerica'," Sam suggests and is rewarded with a snort. He's momentarily distracted by the glint on Gabriel's hand, moving in for more popcorn.

"Gabriel, did you freaking- is that the One Ring?" Sam asks incredulously. Gabriel blinks, looking at his hand.

"It would seem so," he finally says. "You'd think I'd be invisible." Sam just stares for a minute, to the never-ending soundtrack of Dean and Cas dancing around going to winter formal together and then getting a house in the suburbs with their adopted baby and dog.

"You are not a hobbit," Sam insists, which is asinine, but what the hell else can he say? He married Sauron. Although, now that he thinks about it, really, they could both have hooker wives- just because they both have rings doesn't mean they married each other. He looks at his ring a little more closely and wait- shit.

"Did you give me Galadriel's ring, you dick?" Sam hisses at Gabriel. Gabriel just stares back at him with large, fake, fake, innocent eyes.

"At least it means you're the fairest of the elves?" Gabriel suggests mockingly, but he's smiling. "Also, you are such an unbelievably huge nerd." Sam can't stop staring at the shiny blinged out abomination on his hand.

"You're the one who made our wedding into role-play," Sam snipes, but he can't stop the small smile creeping across his face, or stop himself from tilting his hand to watch the ring sparkle. Maybe this is how Gollum felt. It was just so freaking shiny.

"Maybe I was just indulging you," Gabriel further suggests, practically whispering in his ear, which, married or not, there's just no call for, and there's really no call to get all excited over it. Sam snorts, because yeah, right, but he finally looks up when he realizes the room is suspiciously quiet.

Dean and Cas are staring at them.

"That's gay," Dean finally manages. Sam feels himself flush all the way up to his roots and is about to say something really, really mean- he'll think of it- when Castiel looks at Dean severely.

"Dean, you shouldn't speak of Sam and Gabriel's commitment that way," Cas says disapprovingly. Sam agrees with the sentiment, if not exactly the letter of the law. "It was a beautiful expression of their love and our Father's glory."

Even Gabriel stares a bit at that one.

"Wait, so you remember it- the wedding- like, there was a wedding?" Sam asks, because if Castiel remembers the whole night... well, that would just be typical. Castiel nods.

"It was lovely," Cas affirms solemnly. "Dean was your best man. I stood for Gabriel. We looked extremely dashing." Sam feels like he's in the Twilight Zone.

"Wait, do you remember the whole night?" Dean demands. Cas shakes his head, looking irritated.

"No. There are a number of unsettling gaps in my recollection of the previous night's events." Castiel says. Dean snorts.

"Join the club," Dean mutters. Castiel raises his eyebrows.

"I was unaware this was a common enough activity to require an organization.” Castiel replies, still looking a little befuddled. Dean opens his mouth to explain, but then just shakes his head and gives up.

"Did they take pictures, Castiel?" Gabriel asks urgently. Cas nods, still a little confused.

"Of course. It is traditional." Cas confirms, like he's some kind of shitty-idea-Vegas-wedding expert. Gabriel grins and Sam wonders if that's the last thing like, a billion, virgins saw before they were totally sacrificed.

"Castiel, where is this chapel?" Gabriel pushes, even as Dean is starting to frown.

"The Best Little Chapel-" Cas says as Dean goes, "Hold up-" but Gabriel snaps his fingers and they're in a dusty parking lot and thank God Sam is still wearing sunglasses.

"Jesus, did you have to, Gabriel?" Dean hisses, whipping his head around to see if anyone noticed their unorthodox appearance. Gabriel rolls his eyes, already heading for the doors. Sam has a feeling this is going to end in tears.

When Sam walks in he's crammed into a large bosom.

Yeah, this is going to end right in the crapper.

"Mr. Baggins-Winchester!" someone squeals. "I'm so glad you two boys found your way clear into coming to pick up your things. I wasn't fancying sending this to Kansas!" Sam is finally let up and he tries to discreetly get a gasp of air, presented with a face straight out of Tammy Faye Baker's dreams. Gabriel waggles his eyebrows at Sam.

"Darling heart, aren't you glad we came back!" he enthuses. "Do you want to look at our wedding album?" Sam is struck mute and possibly blind- but indisputably, there is a hot pink and be-ribboned album in his hands with "Mr. Frodo and Samuel Baggins-Winchester" printed on the front.

Sam stares beseechingly at Gabriel, because really, why, God.

"True life, it does explain this," Gabriel says, handing Sam a Nevada Drivers’ License for Frodo Baggins.

"That didn't seem like something worth sharing right before this very moment?" Sam demands. "When you found that in your pockets, you didn't think, "Hmm, that's weird, maybe I should say something about that." Not at all?" Gabriel shrugs loosely.

"It's not the weirdest thing I've ever found in my pockets," Gabriel says expansively, and no, no- no, Sam is not asking.

"How did they even make this that fast," Sam wonders and oh, sweet Christ, the tuxedos. He doesn't even know where to start, and- where the fuck did they get that trident?

"It's the age of the internet, Snookums, anything is possible." Gabriel says cheerfully, and Sam thinks that maybe they lost the battle after all, because this has to be hell. "Besides, you look like you had fun." And sure enough, the way Sam is wrapped around Gabriel in the photo is nothing short of pornographic and Sam slams the album shut.

"I need salt; salt and a lighter," Sam mutters, clutching the book to his chest before Dean can see it and ruin his life forever. Gabriel pouts at him.

"Fuzzybear, those are our precious memories," Gabriel argues. "Not a poltergeist." Sam gives him the bitchiest bitchface in his arsenal from behind a pair of dubiously acquired sunglasses and an ocean of hate for Jagermeister.

"Tomay-to, tomah-to." Sam hisses. "Let's call the whole thing off." Gabriel's eyebrows fly up, but there's a moment between that involuntary reaction and the sly smirk slipping over his erstwhile husband's borrowed- created?- features, that is indecipherable and strange.

"Okay, Britney, I'm going to have to say... mmm, no." Gabriel says with a sardonic edge to his voice. Sam blinks.

"What?" he asks blankly. Gabriel rolls his eyes.

"No, I am not getting a divorce." Gabriel says, enunciating each word to death. Sam really wishes he could think of something practical to say but nothing is coming.

"What?" Sam manages again. Gabriel shrugs, takes the photo album out of Sam's suddenly limp hands and snaps out.

"Hey," Sam says slowly, staring at the space Gabriel had been in. He turns, still completely mystified as to what the fresh fucking hell that was, only to find Dean and Cas staring at him.

"That was cold, bro," Dean finally says, Cas nodding like Dean just brought some fucking Commandments down from the mountain. Sam flails around with his newly empty hands.

"I- drunk- we- why? What- no!" Sam cries. He is not the bad guy here! Sam is extremely fallible and prone to bad decision making- well, less "prone," more "inevitably will make," but- there is no way this can be his fault. "I don't know what the shit that was!"

Dean just shakes his head and Cas makes that face that means the world is a Terrible, Hurtful Place and he doesn't know Why Dean Wants to Take Him to the Strip Club.

"Dude, he shared his popcorn with you," and Dean says it like Gabriel sacrificed a limb or something. Cas just levels a Betrayed by Those I Care For Most face at Sam which makes him feel like he must have... okay, gotten high on demon blood and let Lucifer free, all right, he probably deserves anything he gets.

For a virtually expressionless angel, Cas conveys disappointment amazingly well.

"While the circumstances may have been happenstance and impromptu, I believe Gabriel's intentions were honest," Cas says quietly, and Sam can see Dean biting his tongue about any intention of Gabriel's being honest, but he's biting his tongue.

Over Gabriel.

Sam wants to claw at his face.

"You guys can't be serious," Sam mutters. He's still confused and hungover and sort of pissed, but mostly confused by the time Dean drags them to the most disreputable breakfast buffet Sam has ever seen. And that includes the one they both got food poisoning from outside of Mobile. He feels like this has to be Gabriel's most elaborate prank yet. Because this? This is batshit bananas to an nth degree beyond killing Dean and giving him fake herpes.

The fluorescent lights are flickering and dim, and Sam's not even sure it's open until the world's surliest waitress checks that they're all getting the buffet and Dean lights into it like no one has ever fed him, ever. But then, that's always been Dean's response to a hangover, whereas Sam gets a glass of water, a glass of thinned orange juice and a cup of coffee. Maybe if he tries really hard, he'll eat a piece of toast, but just looking at Dean's hideous smorgasbord of food is making him nauseated, so.

Cas has a glass of water, but Dean- hope springing eternal- pushes one of his waffles in front of Cas, who looks at it like it's a UFO.

"Eat it," Dean instructs, gesturing at it firmly with his knife. Cas blinks and as he opens his mouth to protest that he doesn't need to eat, Dean shoves a piece of crispy bacon in his mouth. Sam doesn't know how they don't have a show on Bravo already. Castiel just chews slowly, like he's being asked a deeply philosophical question about life and meaning and existence, but eventually swallows.

"Alright," Cas says eventually, after taking a sip of water. Sam blinks, but this slow smile spreads across Dean's face and Sam sort of feels like he's intruding on something as Dean explains that you have to unwrap the piece of paper from around the napkin-covered utensils to eat the waffle. All of a sudden, Sam feels like this huge jerk and okay, maybe quoting Gershwin wasn't the best way to broach the subject, but they got drunk and got married in Vegas. What part of that was supposed to make him think this was serious? Although- thinking about it now- Sam is sort of perturbed about how much alcohol it must take to get an archangel black out drunk.

Sam's really starting to stew in his recriminations when Gabriel shows up, all smiles, and rattles his coffee cup against the formica top of the table obnoxiously until their bitter, bitter waitress appears to fill it. He just grins like a little sunbeam.

"Are you bipolar?" Sam asks, his mouth running away from him like a Kenyan Olympian. Dean shoots him this look like he's going to send them to Dr. Phil if Sam doesn't stop being a dick- and this is seriously new ground for Sam- being the Winchester brother who's a total dick, but he's apparently really good at it. Gabriel shrugs.

"Most things seem less daunting in the face of pancakes," Gabriel replies cheerfully, their waitress giving him this look like she might smite him dead. The irony of this situation is overwhelming. "Including saving our marriage." Sam chokes hard on the mouthful of water he'd just sipped.

"You did that on purpose," Sam accuses. Gabriel shrugs.

"You should get used to it," Gabriel advises him, taking a delicate sip of the burnt coffee.

"I'm not even sure whose side I'm on, all I know is I could sell it to HBO. Well, maybe Skinemax." Dean mumbles under his breath. Sam stomps on his foot. Dean scowls. "Bitch, do not even." Sam glares at him.

"Shove it, Jerk," Sam shoots back. Cas looks like he's the last kitten in the box in the rain being thrown into a sack to be drowned.

"Oh my God, that is- Christ," Sam mumbles, as per usual uncomfortable blaspheming in front of angels, but totally incapable of stopping. Sam grabs Gabriel's wrist and starts dragging him toward the bathroom, because they're never going to get anything done with the fucking Honeymooners across from them.

"Don't have sex in there," Dean shouts after them, and if there were anyone else in the restaurant, Sam would be really fucking embarrassed.

"That is actually sound advice, it seemed unclean," Cas calls and Sam really wishes someone would kill the shit out of him. Gabriel makes this amused noise.

"If you wanted to get me alone, all you had to do was say so. You have conjugal rights." Gabriel says solemnly. Sam pushes him through the door. "I would never withhold sex. I mean, I strongly suspect that you’ll try, but I have to warn you, it's not a very effective way of training me."

Sam opens his mouth, then pauses.

"Why not?" Sam finds himself asking, and this, this terrible fucking need to know is his goddamn Achilles' heel. Gabriel smiles sweetly up at him.

"Because, buttercup, if you don't think I can't convince you into having sex with me anyway, you've got another lifetime of wedded bliss coming. I like angry sex, too." Gabriel chirps. Sam slaps a hand over his face, because seriously, what the fuck is he going to do.

"Look, Gabriel, I-" Sam doesn't even know where to start. Well, okay, that's not true. "I'm sorry- I was kind of a... kind of a douche." Gabriel raises both his eyebrows. Sam is perilously close to wringing his fucking hands.

"I realize now that I was being insensitive," Sam tries. Gabriel keeps watching him, placid and freaking unnerving. "Cas said that-" Sam pauses to reflect that hearsay may not be the way to go here. He runs his hands through his- frankly- disgusting hair.

"Uh... look. Why did you marry me?" Sam finally asks. Gabriel's eyebrows manage to raise themselves a fraction higher.

"For the same reason most people get married, Sam." Gabriel's face is rocky steady, which just makes Sam wait for the punch line- "money," "property tax rebates," "unplanned teen pregnancy"- but nothing comes, Gabriel just keeps staring at him, steady and even.

"Um," Sam says, completely frozen and that's when Gabriel kisses him.

Sam remembers, vaguely, through a veil of terrible liquor, kissing Gabriel last night and thinking it was pretty nice.

But now- hungover, confused, nauseated and a hot fucking mess- but sober? Kissing Gabriel is like staring at the sun- waving sparklers too close. His mouth is hot and slick and dear fucking God.

"That's why I married you," Gabriel says, pulling just a scant inch away, close enough that Sam can still feel Gabriel's breath ghosting across his mouth.

"Oh," Sam whispers, small and wrecked and needy, because Jesus fucking on a pogo stick Christ.

"Well, I should say that's why Frodo Baggins, Nevadan, married you," Gabriel amends thoughtfully. "But his line of reasoning is pretty much the same as mine." Sam barks out unattractive, horse laughter and Gabriel smiles, secret and strange and Sam- Sam likes that.

"And if you're not in a rush," Gabriel starts, already angling his mouth towards Sam's, "You know, to marry someone else, maybe you could try it for a while. Being married to me."

Somewhere in the restaurant, Journey's "Faithfully" starts playing on the overhead and Sam thinks, fuck it, and kisses Gabriel again.

"Just so we're clear, if you grow a mustache, we really are getting a divorce," Sam says against Gabriel's mouth. Gabriel laughs and kisses him again.

"I'm still yours," Gabriel croons at him, shittily, and Sam just laughs into the next kiss and the kiss after that.

When they finally come out of the bathroom, Sam catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror, lips pink and slightly bruised, shirt wrinkled and he looks- well, like he's been making time with an archangel in a Vegas buffet bathroom- but he looks... happy.

Predictably, when they sit back down, Gabriel with a giant stack of syrup-drenched pancakes, Dean looks sort of disgusted.

"This is going to be so goddamn terrible," Dean muses, leaning back in his chair, the remains of his decimated breakfast scattered across the table. "You're just going to be impossible to live with, aren't you?" Sam's not really sure which one of them he's talking to, but they shrug in unison anyway.

"Haters to the left," Gabriel says, practically glowing with satisfaction as he takes a huge bite and, coincidentally, puts his hand inappropriately close to Sam's crotch, but theoretically, on his thigh. Cas looks serene and only a little shit eating, like he set this up all along- which, Sam wouldn't put it past Cas, but that's a hell of a long game.

"I am pleased you've managed to come to a felicitous arrangement," Cas pronounces, like "And he looked, and it was gay and sacrilegious and good." Dean looks so fucking alone in his brotherly and assholey disapproval, but Sam sees the way he hides a smirk in the rim of his coffee cup and rolls his eyes.

Sometime, soon, they're going to have to figure out what the fuck they're going to do with the rest of their lives- including getting Dean and Cas fucked up enough to do something like admit they have a feeling or a thousand for each other- and Sam's going to have to come to terms with the fact that he got married to an angel in a ceremony probably out of the Lord of the Rings. But right now, he just hooks a foot around Gabriel's ankle to watch him blink and grin slowly, and takes a sip of awful orange juice with an easy smile.