Privilege

Part 11 (I need a life) of my series Post-Asmodeus Sabriel Feels. Created to fulfill LunaHermioneGinny's prompt over on fanfiction.net. This user requested a second story centered around Sam as sufferer and Gabriel as the source of comfort. I was happy to oblige. The next story will also be following a prompt and there'll be another change of pace - after that it's back to playing my favorite game of How Much Can Gabriel Suffer in One Story?™

I usually post on Tumblr first. Plus if you visit me there you get to see how weird I really am: http://unityghost.tumblr.com

WARNING: This story contains themes of sexual assault.

Sam had taken to falling asleep in Gabriel's room. Not every night, of course: Gabriel would never have asked that much of him (or at least liked to think he wouldn't). But Sam knew how much of a difference it made when someone stayed nearby while Gabriel was losing consciousness - a process he hadn't been able to escape since losing the majority of his grace in Hell.

It was easy to feel vulnerable while falling asleep, even for people who did it on a regular basis.

Sam would sit, still clad in jeans and flannel, against the wall or in the corner, scanning the Men of Letters' texts for anything he, Dean, and Castiel might be able to use to their advantage in future hunts. While Gabriel wasn't proud of it, he was too scared to insist that Sam stop and focus on himself for a little while. After all, it wasn't as though Gabriel had any pride to lose at this point.

Well, maybe that wasn't true. Gabriel had almost told Sam not to sit on the floor, that he could lie down and rest in the bed and in the process help Gabriel feel more secure. But THAT – even GABRIEL was above that.

It wasn't unusual for Gabriel to still be fully alert well past the middle of the night. It almost irritated him that Sam wouldn't lose patience, tell Gabriel everything would be fine, and leave him to face the night on his own. Sam didn't deserve to put himself through Gabriel's neurosis – at least not twenty-four hours a day.

Still, Gabriel found it was getting a little easier to accept that Sam wanted to be there for him. So much easier, in fact, that Gabriel worried he might get overly comfortable with having such compassion on hand almost all the time. What would he do if something changed? How much more would it hurt if he stopped EXPECTING anything to change?

He was lying awake thinking about this a few hours after Sam had fallen asleep in the corner of the room.

Gabriel always kept the light on as long as he was still up. Once in a while Sam turned it off if he was staying in the room; if he left, he didn't touch it.

And since the room was lit, Gabriel could see what happened.

It was a straightforward process: for two minutes, Sam shifted in his sleep. Then, without warning, he jolted awake without a sound, staring at the wall, and shuddered as though overcome with a chill.

Gabriel sat up. "Sam?"

Sam jumped and turned to look at him.

Gabriel peeled away the sheets and stood. "What's up? Are you okay?" He moved closer to examine him. "Crap, are you sick or something? You look bad."

Sam scrubbed his hands over his face and sat up a little straighter. "No. No, I'm all right. Didn't mean to - "

"I was awake." Gabriel lowered himself to the floor to sit beside him. "What's the matter, Sam?"

"I uh ... I don't know."

"Wrong. Think of something else."

Sam shook his head. "There's no need for you to stress out over me. It's my job to make sure YOU get through the night, not the other way around."