Chapter Text
December 1st brings about a sharp drop in the temperature, along with a few more flurries of snow: just enough to make driving generally unpleasant. From the looks of it, they’re actually going to get a few good inches of the stuff within the next month; all predictions are for a particularly chilly start to the winter, for Kansas, at least. They've spent the day hunting down and staking a pair of particularly vicious demons, and Sam has never been so glad for the bunker. Heated garage? Breakfast without having to go outside? Enough hot water for fifty showers? Hell yes.
He emerges from one of the longest, warmest showers of his life, wraps himself in a towel, and is about to pad down to his bedroom when a sound in the living room catches his attention, a rustle and a snarl. If Dean is out drinking again, Sam swears he’s going to actually escort his brother to bed, because not sleeping won’t make tomorrow’s hunt for the demons’ accomplice any easier.
What he finds instead is a supposedly dead archangel, perched on a ladder and struggling with a string of lights he’s trying to hang along the edge of the room. They’re blinking, illuminating the angel’s profile intermittently, and showing Sam that Gabriel’s already gone to town on the rest of the room.
Nothing he could say would even start to touch on the many, many questions forming in his head, so he clears his throat instead. Gabriel turns towards him, letting the lights fall awkwardly at one end. There are three little bulbs tucked in the corner of his mouth, but he lets them skitter to the floor when he catches sight of Sam and his mouth drops open. “Either Christmas came early-” Gabriel hops down from the ladder- “or this is the best welcome back party…” His gaze slides down Sam’s body and back up again to make eye contact. “Ever.”
Right. Towel. Sam tightens his grip on the terrycloth at his waist. “That’s not- look, how are you even here?” This doesn't even touch on the issue of the fireplace that’s replaced half the bookshelves on one side of the room.
"Short story? I’m your Christmas angel this year."
"And long story?" Sam presses.
Gabriel heaves a sigh. “Look, it took most of the mojo I had left to get away from Metatron’s trap, and with heaven going through more turbulence than a jet in a hurricane, I need a place to recharge. Cassie mentioned a bunker, and based on where we were driving, I figured it’d be this one.”
"The bunker is warded."
"Against angels,” Gabriel points out. “Tricksters do what they want.”
Sam watches as he digs through a box of tinsel on the table, one that had clearly come from the bunker’s basement. He recognizes the handwriting on the side. “You’re impossible, you know that?” he states finally.
"I am a bit of an-" Gabriel drags out a fistful of hanging snowflakes by the threads- "anomaly, yes."
Sam's finding that, while he would have appreciated a 'dropping in for a while' notice, he doesn't actually mind the archangel staying for a while. There's plenty of space in the bunker, and Gabriel deserves their help. He toes a ribbon of bells lying at his feet. “If I ask nice, will you explain all the Christmas stuff in our living room?”
"It was going to be a surprise. And don’t worry your geeky self about the bookshelves, they’re all stacked in the library. And in chronological order, you’re welcome.”
"I meant more like why, but I can’t honestly say I object to the fireplace." His wet hair should be getting chilly by now, but the room’s cozy and warm in a way it normally isn't. Considering he’s hanging the rest of the decorations by hand, that fireplace must have taken the last of Gabriel’s power. "Are you some kind of anti-grinch, or…?"
Gabriel snorts. “Nope. Just figured the two of you could use a little peace on earth and joy to the world.”
"Dean and I… we don’t exactly do Christmas." It’s true. He and his brother have tried in the past to have a traditional holiday, but it never seems to work out. Usually it’s grocery store pecan pie and spiked eggnog in a motel room, sometimes an out-of-the-ordinary hug between the two of them. Maybe a cheesy movie about believing in Santa Claus on TV.
"Which is all kinds of shameful," the angel butts in as he makes his way back up the ladder. "Like I said, big boy. This year, you get the actual, genuine Christmas angel. Heard on high and all that."
At this point, Sam’s only options are to fight the current and insist the angel contain his holiday spirit, or just wholeheartedly embrace it. Sam settles for the latter. It’s been too long since Christmas was a day to look forward to.
"If I go put on clothes… would you help me do my room like this?"
Gabriel looks up, a little surprised. His eyes, warm and honeyed with firelight, lock with Sam’s, still reflecting the steady blinks of the light string. He squints a little, as though trying to figure out Sam’s angle, but then smiles, soft and sincere. “Yeah. I’d like that.”