It could have been days, hours, fuck, even weeks. Sam didn't know anymore. All he knew was pain, heat, cold, more heat, than immense cold that ate into his bones. And the 'women of letters' were only kind enough to keep his wounds bound tightly enough to keep him from bleeding out. But other than that? Nothing. He was cold, and he felt a fever edging along his brow, growing in strength, the beads of sweat growing like pearls along his hair line.

They had changed things up, hanging him from the ceiling by his wrists, thick, iron cuffs cutting into the already raw and bleeding state of his wrists. He'd stopped struggling at this point. However, wrought as he was with bodily pain, it was his mental state that was slowly but surely dwindling.

The voices had yes, receded, still lingering. Bevell had given him another injection of the mind drug, but kept him restrained. So now he simply hung as he thrashed and screamed against the invisible tortures that spoke to him, loose limbed, too weak at this point to fight back, his leg throbbing, and his foot? Well, he wasn't so sure about that, and he was almost sure he was slipping into some kind of delirium as his fever climbed and shock set in.

He was alone.

Dean was gone.

Dead. All of them. Jessica, Dad, Sarah, Amelia….and then he couldn't think anymore. Just their faces taunted him.

But Dean. Dean most of all.

Because he wasn't able to take on the mark of Cain. Couldn't convince him to stay.

And Cas. Cas wouldn't be able to track him because of the fucking sigils on his ribs.

He was alone.

He slumped even further, not even caring that his wrists protested fiercely, blood now dripping down his forearms. His head hung low, chin to his chest. And in his first moment of weakness, of absolute exhaustion, he began to cry. As he recalled the moment in front of the mirror, his failed attempt at escape, for only a moment he thought: perhaps the voices were right, maybe I shoulda just done it.

With that thought, Sam sobbed.

He didn't want to die and that thought made his palm throb like a heartbeat.

Even with Dean gone, Cas was still out there. A purpose was still out there. He couldn't die, but how, without help, how could he get out of here? Wherever here was. His sobs were loud, rough, messy, against the muddy walls of the cellar, only making him feel that much more alone. So cold.

The door creaked and he flinched, violently, not even bothering to look up. But then was forced to when bony fingers clenched his chin. The image before him flickered, from blonde to the menacing and smiling face of Lucifer.

"Oh Sammy, you and I? We're never gonna be apart, doesn't matter what vessel I take, you and I? Together forever pal."

"You're not real," Sam panted, huffed, clenched his eyes shut so tightly he believed they could bleed, "Not real."

"How can you be really, really sure Sammy?" Lucifer smirked with a wink, "Remember what fun we had down in the deep, dark cage? And ooh not that little disco dance we had with little ole Cas, I'm talking the first go around? Surely you haven't forgotten."

"Go away!" Sam screamed, "You're not real!"

"That's what you said the first time the walls came down," Lucifer chuckled.

The voice doubled, split into two, "He's too far gone alright, if we don't do a round of antibiotics he'll be gone in a week. That's the problem with this method," the British voice continued, "Infection, so messy."

Sam attempted to clear the blur from his vision, the blonde before him merged so easily into the image of Lucifer, "You're not real,"

"Oh yes Sam, I am afraid I am," the accented feminine voice said, "If you had only done as I asked. Only a few questions, but now here we are. You could very well die."

Sam swallowed roughly, trying to salvage saliva in his too dry throat, despite his dehydrated state he could feel the hot tears leaking down his fevered flesh.

He flinched backwards, away from the touch to his leg, and then there was a painful squeeze, "You would really not talk after all of this?"

Sam tried to bury his face in his own shoulder, which wasn't too difficult given how high his arms were strung above him.

"I do suppose we'll have to start cutting, what should we start with? Fingers? Toes? More important appendages?"

Sam couldn't help it, finally, he lost it, he sobbed. It leapt out of him like a bullet, and he wouldn't open his eyes.

"Ooh, poor little boy, you must choose! Fingers?" he felt a blade against the tips of said fingers, "Toes," touch was felt there as well along raw, open flesh, "Or," and the blade grazed the crotch of his tattered jeans. With that one touch, scattered, red, violent images scurried across his vision and he gasped and cried, still willing his eyes shut. He once more felt the blade press into the underside of his big toe, he waited, he cried.

And then there was a brilliant flash of light and then ungodly screams. On instinct he kept his eyes clenched shut, shielding his head with his bound arms, chest stilling with cries as the chains clinked above him.

"Sammy?"

"No," Sam sobbed louder, "No, no, no," because he recognized the voice and that was every reason to believe it was another delusion.

"Sammich, hey, tiny moose, look at me. You're alright, hey."

"Not real," Sam hiccoughed loudly, his chest ricocheting with cries, "Not real…"

"Sammy boy, I'm real, all real," the voice continued, "Hey, look at me, look at me please."

"I can't," Sam sobbed, "No," and then he felt arms around him and the chains disappearing and being lowered to the floor.

"Sammy, come on."

When Sam felt fingers carding through his sweat drenched locks, and two cool hands cup his face, with great reluctance he opened his eyes. But it was blurry at best, he blinked once, then twice, "W-What…"

"Did you think Dad would come back and not find the time to raise me back up? And did you really think I wouldn't show up when my favorite moose is in trouble?"

Sam's chest lurched with a painful sob, tears leaking endlessly, "Gabriel?"

"Yeah kiddo, it's me, you're alright," the archangel pulled the larger man into his lap, minding his injuries, but fully wrapped his arms around his torso.

"You can't be real, everyone is gone, everyone has left me," Sam cried, and without meaning to, or hell, who knew, he buried his face in the smaller man's shoulder, "I have no one."

"Shhhh, moosey. I'm here, I'm right here," Gabriel huffed a sigh, gathering Sam close, "Gonna get you outta here okay? I'm not up to full power, newborn disadvantages, but I took everybody out. Got it sweetheart? So I'm gonna get us in a car, get us to the nearest motel and get you cleaned up."

"Not real," Sam continued to cry, face still hidden.

"Just the fever Sammy, I'm very real," Gabriel said, hand pressed to the man's head and frowning at the heat he found there. Gabriel so wished he could heal him and zap them somewhere, he was weighing the two factors: Zap or heal? When he heard the commotion above this mud pit, multiple voices, not one voice above of the cellar he made the decision. He focused on the hotel nearest to Lebanon, Kansas. Hotel, not MOTEL. He had just enough power to settle them into a room that would not be disturbed. Perhaps his powers weren't too on the fritz, but to his dismay he knew he couldn't quite heal Sam. He'd moved them to the hotel not so perfectly, they were sitting on the floor, archangel with an armful of battered human.

"Sammy, you with me?" Gabriel voiced.

Sam groaned, loudly, "Where—what…"

"It's okay, I gotcha," Gabriel answered, "Bath time, and we'll see about what I can do healing wise." the kid was drenched in sweat, and dirt and blood. He conjured up some clothes, at least that was less energy consuming, than healing. He wanted to curse his Dad for not returning him full force, or fuck, talking to him afterwards. He knew THAT would take a few days, even more to be at full power. He situated Sam's back against the bed and moved into the bathroom that had a fairly large tub, he ran it warm, but not hot.

Returning to the bedroom he frowned at the slumped form of Sam Winchester, a man he remembered, in their short time together, to be so strong. And here he was, so broken. When Gabe had heard his cries, his pleas, it was almost too much. He had waited far too patiently to make his entrance and rescue the kid. Completely confused as to why Cas had not showed up, or Dean for that matter! But then he thought, there had to be circumstances. He would take care of the big kid and contact his little brother and the hunter that wanted him dead.

"Sammy, come on, you're a little big for me so you got give me some help," Gabe urged Sam up from the floor, only by the will of his father was he able to maneuver the moose into the bathroom. "Hey, it alright that I undress you? I got nice comfy clothes for you when I get you outta the tub." he carefully watched for Sam's reaction, of which was fevered, blurry and not quite understanding, "Okay, this is a nurse-patient-situation, no sexy times." he stripped Sam out of his tattered clothes and helped him lower into the water, keeping his burnt heel out of the equation.

Gabe bit at his bottom lip, eyeing Sam's pained expression, and then he focused all his grace that he could gather and fixed the burned and torn flesh of Sam's foot. That garnered him a contented sigh. When he was finished he couldn't quite catch his breath, but a few measured gasps and he was okay. His reward? Sam was eased into the warm water, eyes closed and breath soft and sleepy. His eyes opened blearily, trying to focus, "Gabe…Gabe?"

"Heya Sammy, how ya feeling?" Gabe smiled, and he couldn't help himself, he threaded his fingers through the brown locks that seemed shorter than he remembered from before. He made it point while doing so to scratch his scalp, Sam only sighed like a contented child.

"Is that really you? Why?" Sam slurred, slumping into the bathwater.

"Dad brought me back, thought I'd be useful, turns out he was right," Gabriel said with the purse of his lips.

"Why save me?" Sam asked, tired brow furrowed.

"Why not Sammy?" Gabe began, "You know you're a soft spot for me…" Gabe didn't expect a hiccupped cry to escape the human, but fuck, it did. The archangel frowned, "Sammy, don't cry, you're okay."

"Not okay, I'm alone," Sam sobbed, head turning away, cheek pressed to the porcelain.

"No, Sammich, you aren't, I'm here." Gabe shook his head at that statement, why would he think that?

"Dean's gone, I failed again," Sam continued to cry, even though he wanted to sleep with the warmth around him.

"Sam, hey, look at me, "Gabriel urged, "Look at me."

Sam did, "What…"

"Dean isn't dead. Dad told me when he brought me back, part of the reason I guess. He wanted to make things right, so kiddo, I think Dean is raising hell to find you. I just happened to find you first."

"What?" Sam sobbed once more, large, impossibly brown eyes wide, "What?"

"Sammy, shhh," Gabe started, becoming somewhat alarmed that Sam suddenly wanted to lurch up from the tub, "He's fine, you're fine, we all survived the umpteenth apocalypse. Breathe, honey, breathe. Let's get you out and into bed you need to sleep."

"How'd…how…did I get here?" Sam stammered.

"Limited powers sweetheart, but I got us here. I'm gonna nuke those bitches as soon as I have the chance," Gabriel growled, "But let's get you to bed, snug and warm."

The archangel helped the human up from the tub, and without any resistance he re-dressed Sam into sleep pants and a t-shirt, led him to a large bed. He was expecting a fight but Sam went willingly onto the bed, "You get some sleep kiddo, got it?" he tucked Sam in between sheets and two blankets. He sent his grace in small waves, to ease the fever, it was almost nothing, but he could feel through the human connection it helped.

Gabriel dozed in his low-mojo state, but he was startled awake by not just yelps, or whimpers, but screams. And his eyes turned to Sam tossing and thrashing in the bed. He shot up from his chair moved to the bed, "Sammy! Hey! It's just dream!" with more rest he could take away more of the fever but Sam's mental state remained.

"There's so much glass, so much glass and blood," Sam sobbed, "No, no, no, please!"

Gabriel wasn't a sentiment creature, he prided himself as such, but these cries made his heart break in two. He shimmied onto the bed and gathered the large man into his arms, "Sammy, there's no blood, there no pain, you're okay."

"I don't wanna do it, please, Gabe…where were you…" Sam sobbed, without thinking he buried his face in the crook of the smaller man.

"Shh, Sammy, you're okay, you're with me, you're not there," Gabriel held him tighter, "There's no one here to hurt you."

"It burns, it burns so bad…cold…" Sam hiccoughed, fingers clenching in the material of Gabriel's shirt, "They both…Lucifer…all of them…burned me so bad…Gabe…"

"Sam," Gabe spoke firmly, combing back his still damp hair and kissed his temple with emphasis, "Just a bad dream, you're safe. Gonna get big bro here and everything will be okay."

"I missed you," Sam sobbed.

Gabe's heart lurched, "What?"

"I missed you, don't leave, please," Sam stuttered and he couldn't catch his breath, "Don't leave, don't leave…everyone leaves…don't wanna be alone."

"Shhh," Gabe gasped, holding the man closer and rubbing his back in hopes to garner more steady breaths, "I'm not going anywhere, right here ya big moose." and the archangel thought that might have snapped him out of it but Sam only snuggled closer and latched tighter, burrowing his face between the space of his neck and shoulder, "Sam." he spoke with seriousness, "I'm not going anywhere, go to sleep. I'm right here."

"Gabe…" Sam whimpered.

"Yeah, sweetheart," Gabriel said shaking his head, engulfing his arms around the human, pulling the blankets around both of them, "Sleep, I'm not going anywhere."

He just hoped Cas and Dean would be as welcoming when he called them. And he would. But all that mattered was that Sam was safe, warm, healed. And so unwilling to give the archangel up. That, he hoped was a lingering component. When Sam whimpered and clutched him closer, he knew it was.