To Slip and Fall

Part 9 of my never-ending angst-fest Post-Asmodeus Sabriel Feels. The stories aren't in order because occasionally I'll get a prompt for something that takes place a little later or a little earlier.

I wrote this for personface, one of my Archive readers. She expressed an interest in the topic of self-harm or threatened self-harm as a reaction to feelings of worthlessness.

Please come visit me on tumblr to learn more about my awkward social life: http://unityghost.tumblr.com

WARNING: This story contains a brief reference to sexual assault.

It was becoming a little easier to venture outside. Becoming a little easier to accept the reassurances he kept getting from Sam, Dean, and Castiel that if he stepped into the open air, he wouldn't be in any more danger than they would.

Not that that was saying a whole lot, because the Winchesters were the Winchesters.

Still, Gabriel would take what he could get. He wasn't exactly prepared to deal with what was routine for them, but it was better than remaining convinced he'd be targeted.

Besides, it was nice to at least imagine that he was moving forward. Gabriel figured he wasn't too annoying as long as he was making even a half-hearted attempt to be less ... what he currently was.

Typically it was Sam who offered to take him out for a meal, or coffee, or whatever Gabriel was up for (usually just coffee. Eating wasn't his favorite pastime after being force-fed miscellaneous substances, including his own viscera, for over eight centuries). But Castiel, too, was overwhelmingly thoughtful after too many years as a default Winchester, and even Dean had softened since Gabriel was rescued from Asmodeus.

His forays with Dean were the most challenging. Gabriel liked him, but talking with Dean was like talking to pieces of himself that were long dead: raucously hedonistic inclinations, a little bit of a temper, enough snark to burn down a small village. Now, after his escape, Gabriel was afraid of what he'd once carelessly pursued. Sex reminded him too much of his most degrading moments in Hell, and alcohol threatened to lower his defenses. Becoming openly angry or defiant was liable to get him punished, and he had the sense that his wit - if not totally eradicated - had been blunted.

Really, Sam was the easiest. He was less reserved than Castiel but more tactful than Dean. He didn't forget to ask if Gabriel was okay with being touched. He didn't push too hard for Gabriel to eat, even though they were both well aware that food and sleep could help Gabriel get his grace back more quickly after all those years of having it torn out.

But more important than Sam's caution and understanding was his patience.

There had been so many nightmares. So many moments of panic. So many flashbacks powerful enough to shove Gabriel into a corner, curled up and hyperventilating even as Sam tried to coax him back into the present. And more times than he could count, Gabriel had become so trapped in memory that he'd made himself sick - losing consciousness or throwing up so forcefully he couldn't stand without assistance.

Assistance that usually came from Sam.

So, unsurprisingly, Gabriel had developed a decided preference for Sam. But that afternoon, it was Dean who took him out for coffee.

The morning had been cold and rainy, and the bunker was still littered with wet footprints. Now, however, the sky was clear and the temperature mild.

In a strange way, calm weather disconcerted Gabriel after all his time in Hell. The tenderness of early spring made his rescue seem less real. While the bunker was comfortable, it was also closer to what he was used to - and therefore less likely to be taken away. Less likely to remind him of him of what had come before, to taunt him with the specter of who he used to be.