Wet Dream

Chapter 1

Sam Winchester came to awareness with his arms tied above his head.

It said a lot about the kind of life he'd lived that it didn't surprise him. This wasn't even the first time he'd been in this situation this month. He could already hear Dean's griping in his head, 'situational awareness, Sammy, learn it,' and he figured it might be best if he could get out of this on his own. If he was fast enough, Dean wouldn't even have to know.

He took stock of his surroundings. Nothing about where he was seemed familiar. There were black silk sheets underneath him on the bed and a similar red silk pillow under his head. On the floor lay what looked like a tacky cheetah print rug that looked just about as ugly as any of the pieces he'd seen in the myriad of hotels and motels he'd sheltered in his life. And for some reason, in the corner, was that... an ice cream machine?

Whatever was keeping his arms together was strong and seemed to only tighten whenever he pulled on it, so he gave up on that. For now.

Instead, he wracked his brain for what could have done this and frowned when he came up blank. The last memory he had was of translating a heavy, dense text of biblical lore that was so dry it made his college textbooks seem like pleasure reading in comparison. The point was - he couldn't remember how he had gotten here.

There was no active hunt. They were meant to be taking a break. Dean had been working on the Impala while he was reading, Sam remembered. And this just didn't make any sense because nothing should have been able to get into the bunker and kidnap him without making some ruckus - triggering some kind of alarm.

He was working himself up again when suddenly, a pop sounded, along with a gust of wind that blew some hair into his eyes that he was frustrated he couldn't push back. Any irritation was brushed aside when he registered what he was seeing.

"You're dead," he said and then cringed. Because it also said a lot about the life he'd lived that, once again, this was not the first time something like this had happened. He'd been pretty sure in this instance, though.

"Not quite, Sammich," the Archangel Gabriel replied. And he might not be dead, but Sam was alarmed to see that he certainly looked on the verge of it.

"You did a pretty convincing play at it, at least," Sam said. It was concerning how pale Gabriel looked—how muted. Gabriel had always been so full of life in his memories. Even at his worst.

"Is there a reason I'm tied up in a room that looks like a porn star's wet dream talking to a not-quite-dead Archangel...?" he asked when it seemed like the angel wasn't going to comment. "Or am I just here for laughs?" Sam hoped that wasn't the case. He didn't think he could handle Gabriel's brand of humor right now.

Gabriel glanced around the room and almost looked like he wanted to be amused for a second before the dead look came back. Sam was starting to feel concerned. Concerned, and a little angry at the thought that Gabriel had, in all probability, faked his death again. The angel joined him at the bed and almost seemed to topple onto it when he went to sit down. Suddenly, the concern won out.

"You tell me," Gabriel commented, answering his previous questions. "The room came from my mind, but the bondage is all you."

Sam tried to understand what the angel was saying—watching him carefully as he slumped on the bed. Then it hit him, and he felt stupid for not having recognized it. He'd been in this position before, after all.

"I'm dreaming. You're in my dream," he said confidently. It wasn't a very comfortable realization. The last person or...well, Angel, who had visited him in a dream like this had been Lucifer, and his intentions certainly hadn't been benign. Sam had a whole different set of issues and feelings when it came to Gabriel. Ones he wasn't always comfortable thinking about when he thought he was dead. But now that he was alive...