Chapter 1

Keeping the Fires Burning

"If you're watching this, I'm dead."

Sam couldn't say for sure why his heart plummeted at those words.

His history with Gabriel was complicated, but there had never been anything between them. At least, nothing beyond the awkward flirting way back when he thought he was a simple janitor. And sure, Gabriel had tried to prepare Sam for what was coming, and thought he was helping in his own way. But his methods had been brutal and traumatizing, and Sam didn't know if he could ever forgive him.

But what was forgiveness to a dead archangel?

He was numb as he and Dean watched the rest of the video, not really processing anything as Gabriel gave them a plan to officially grind the apocalypse to a halt. It was a long shot, and flimsy at best, but it was far more than they had.

He remained numb until Dean finally stopped at a run down motel in the middle of nowhere. While Dean caught a couple hours of sleep, Sam plugged a set of headphones into his laptop to watch the DVD again. He needed to hear the words again. Examine it, and pick it apart and . . .

And he didn't know why it mattered so much to him, he only knew that it did.

It was Gabriel's suicide note.

Oh God.

But the video was different this time.

Gabriel was still in that ridiculous getup, sans mustache, but he was sitting on the bed alone, looking at Sam through the screen. His expression was complex, and Sam couldn't begin to read it.

"If you're watching this, it means that big bro left you alone for more than five minutes." The Gabriel on the screen huffed a laugh and turned away. "I kinda hope you never see this. But if I'm right, then I'll never get another chance to . . ." Golden eyes lifted and for a moment Sam thought he was truly speaking to him. "I'm sorry. I know what I did to you. I'm not gonna make excuses, or rehash anything. I knew what was coming and I should have done more. I could have done more. But I'm a liar and a coward, and everything I did do was too little too late. That's apparently my thing. Always too late to help anyone worth a damn. I just wish . . . It could have been different. We could have-" There was another laugh, this one a little less bitter. "Just keep being your stubborn self and keep pushing on. If you do that then my brothers don't stand a chance."

Sam didn't realize he was crying until his eyes blurred to the point he couldn't see.

There were so many almosts and what ifs that had been laid out between them. All laid out in Sam's peripheral and willfully ignored by both parties out of anger and fear. All those missed chances now lay in ashes along with the remnants of Gabriel's wings.

And Sam cried for what could have been.

oOoOo

This boy had been marked by an angel, etched right into his very being.

Dean Winchester had stepped out to deal with the other angels who had answered his call, while he remained to see what he could do for the younger brother.

The lingering scent of sulfur still clung to the boy, but it's source had been purged by whatever ritual he had tried to accomplish. He was very weak, and he had told Dean as much, and there was a moment he was unsure that Sam could be saved at all.

But the internal damage was not what made Gadreel's breath catch and his vessel's heart clench beneath his ribs. There, no more than a thread wrapped around his soul, was the mark of the Archangel Gabriel. It was horribly scratched and cracked, like another had gone through great pains to try to tear it out, only to be unsuccessful.

Gadreel still bore his, and sometimes it had been the only thing keeping him from finding a way to end it all during his imprisonment. Like Sam's, it was brittle with age and a millennia's worth of damage, but still it remained. That tiny shred of grace was a reminder that someone, at some point, had cared for him, and had believed in him. Maybe, in the right circumstances, that could have grown into love.

But he had been locked away, and Gabriel had been slain at the height of the apocalypse, or so he had been told. All that remained was the memories of laughter and moments that had held such potential . . . The things he kept close, like treasures to be guarded.

And here was another being who, at some point, had caught Gabriel's eye.

Everyone in heaven knew who the Winchesters were. Even in the darkest cells in Heaven's dungeons, there was no escaping the stories of the Righteous Man, the cursed boy destined to be Lucifer's vessel, and the young angel Castiel, who had sided with them over their siblings. Most stories were biased, spoken from those who would have seen the world destroyed in the wake of Michael striking down Lucifer for good.

Heaven and Hell were thwarted by a pair of humans and an angel who learned how to disobey orders.

The stories had given him hope.

At some point Sam Winchester had crossed paths with Gabriel and the Archangel had deemed his soul worthy of a mark of protection.

As Gadreel sat beside him and held his hand, he let a tendril of his grace explore the full extent of the damage. Because of this, he felt it the moment Death came to speak with the boy. The machines he was hooked up to began to screech.

Dean burst back into the room, looking battered, but clearly ignoring if for worry for his brother. "What the hell's happening?"

Gadreel's initial plan to heal the boy was immediately thrown out. As scared as he was, he could not bring himself to lie, not to Sam, and not to his brother. "Death has come to speak with Sam."

Dean grew pale. "Like the horseman? Dammit, Ezekiel, I thought you said you could heal him!"

"I can, but not like this." Gadreel placed a palm on Sam's head. "I must first need to convince him to live."

And he would. Gabriel saw something worthy in this boy, just as Gabriel saw something worthy in him, and he did not spend all that time wishing for redemption to fail in his very first task. Sam did not know him yet, but he would, Gadreel would ensure it. Gadreel would show him that there were still things left for him here, and that his life still meant something to those still living.

He used their matching marks gifted to them from Gabriel to strengthen their connection and pull himself into Sam's subconscious. He kept the form of his current vessel, appearing beside two men sitting beside a fireplace.

Sam looked startled, but the wizened old form of Death looked mildly curious.

Death's head tilted to the side. "I'll be honest. You're not who I was expecting to see."

"I cannot let you take Sam Winchester. Not yet. Please, let me speak with him."

Death gestured with an open hand. "By all means."

Sam rose from his chair, looking uncertain, and confused. "Did Dean send you?" He asked cautiously.

"Your brother may have asked for my help, but I am hear to plead my own case for you to live. We have much to discuss, you and I, and much in common. I cannot let you go, not yet."

"I don't even know you," Sam bit out. "I'm done, okay? I'm tired of fighting this! Heaven, Hell, I'm done with all of it. Someone else can step up, because I've got nothing left to give."

The words made Gadreel's heart ache, and bolstered his resolve. "And I am here to tell you, that you will not be fighting alone."

Sam's expression became unreadable. "Why should I trust you?"

"I am no stranger to pain or failure. All of Heaven could argue that every evil that has ever befallen mankind was my doing. It was my failure that allowed the serpent to enter the Garden of Eden. A misplaced moment of trust cost me my family, and my freedom."

"It was also supposed to cost you your life."

Gadreel and Sam turned back to Death.

Death was staring into the fire, looking vaguely bored. He lifted his gaze to Gadreel, with a lifted brow. "You didn't know? Not surprising, I suppose. Raphael had been pushing Michael for your execution. Gabriel managed to convince him otherwise. Not that prison was much better, I'd imagine, but it did save your life. I do believe he left Heaven not long after."

Gadreel's grace clutched at Gabriel's mark buried within him, looking for comfort it couldn't give. Now was not the time to drown in grief, so he pushed it down the best he could.

"Always too late to help anyone worth a damn," Sam said quietly, startling Gadreel from his thoughts. Then he asked, "Who are you?"

"My name is Gadreel," he answered, voice low. "Your brother might be upset with me later. I gave him an alias."

"Of course you did." Sam gave a huffed, broken laugh. "So did Dean actually have a plan? Because, apparently I'm dying and it's bad enough for Dean ask random angels for help."

"There was no time. The damage done to you cannot currently be healed from an outside source, and you were ready to willingly give yourself over to Death. I can heal you, but I need explicit consent."

Sam's face hardened. "You mean possession."

"You know my true name, and I was greatly injured even before the fall. I am weak. You have the power to eject me at any time. I only ask to stay long enough to ensure your survival, then I shall return to my current vessel."

"May I add my own conditions?"

Gadreel felt a glimmer of hope. "Of course."

"I remain in control. I've had enough of creatures taking my body for a joy ride. And I want your full story, and your promise that you'll answer my questions."

"Agreed, and any information that I have is yours. You need only ask."

"Then yes."

TBC

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Author's Note: This idea came to me after watching s13.13 "Devil's Bargain", which gave me Sabriel feels. Plus I've been working on the gift so I've also been having Gadreel/Gabriel (Gadriel?) feels, and I do love myself some Sadreel. This little thing is gonna be three chapters, and will end in the current season, just so you guys know. Hope you enjoyed, and as always, happy reading!- Shadow