Gabriel had his hand in Sam's unruly brown hair, but it had a hesitant touch in it. With the Winchester lying in his lap and reading one of the books he had snatched from Singer, Gabriel had a good view on Sam's eyes.
In broad daylight, when Sam squinted his eyes behind the dark sunglasses he wore, no matter if the sun shone or not, it was hard to notice, but here in the darkened motel room, it couldn't be more obvious to him. They were tiny, but sadly present, the small bits of grace that had pierced Sam's eyes, when he fell into the cage and laid his eyes on not one, but two archangels. It made Sam's eyes shine and almost inhuman in their new found beauty, but for Gabriel it was a repetitive sign of failure.
The sparks of grace in Sam's eyes belong to his elder brothers and he wasn't sure if it was their grace that hurt Sam or their continued fighting, which Sam could still feel through their grace. It was so deeply ebbed into Sam that he had yet to find a way to ease his pain, even if the Winchester responded in the traditional way. Namely being fine.
So many people had cursed this word, when they heard it from a insistent beloved person, that Gabriel was sure his father regretted inventing the word at all.
Why I can't help you, Gabriel asked himself and carefully stroked Sam's head.
He had searched through all his contacts, buried himself in Raphael's old scriptures and even asked Lady Justice for her blindfold, but nothing would help. Even wrapping his wings around Sam, like he did now to sooth the sharp light of the world around them, brought temporary comfort only. Something of the pain always remained.
In Sam's eyes and in Gabriel's heart.