Lo and behold, I have returned. For an idea I had all the way back when I was putting the details of this story together, it took a long time to get there. I knew from the start I wanted Sam and Gabriel together, call me a trash shipper if you will, but I adore them as a couple. They just put me in my happy place.

I also know a lot of you have been waiting for them too, so I'm very happy to announce the slow burn is building up heat, and Gabriel is now in the story, in his own strange way. Enjoy him.

Chapter 23: Five Stages

The hunter straightened up immediately from where he was sitting, shock filling him at what he was witnessing. He'd known he was going to see Gabriel. That was the whole point, but he'd been expecting the same little speech about how to trap Lucifer, and had watched purely for a feeling of walking down memory lane. That was not what was happening and he had no idea why.

"What the hell?" he breathed.

"Oh, damn. I hope not. That was probably bad enough for you as it was," the archangel replied from the screen. "That is what happened, right? I don't see any other way you could have gotten Lucy back in there. What other option was there, getting on your hands and knees behind that punk he was riding around in while Dean pushed him? Looks like you got out okay though, physically anyway."

"I don't believe this," he breathed, too shocked to even try to correct him on that assumption. What was this? Some kind of magic from Gabriel, a trick of some kind, or was it worse, and Sam was starting to see things again? "You're dead."

"Righto. I most certainly am, Sam," the heavenly being promised him. "Dead or not though, you look like you've got a lot going on in your head right now. I can just tell from the look on your face. Got the whole sad puppy dog look in your eye. What happened?"

For a moment, he didn't answer. He could just be going nuts. The lack of anyone to talk to about his problems had caused him to snap maybe? It's not like it would be that big of a shock to him. He'd never watched the film more than that one time, but what were the odds Gabriel had slipped some piece of himself into it? Well… he supposed it was possible, but the angel hadn't talked to them last time. It had been a recording, nothing more. A magical recording, true, but that was it. He hadn't engaged with Sam and Dean, had just given his message and then gotten down and dirty with the busty, blonde CEO standing behind him.

Was this another recording with some lucky guesses? Was Gabriel really talking to him?

"What's two plus two?" he asked suddenly.

"Really, Sam? We're going with this?"

"Just prove to me you're real," Sam hissed out, desperate to know either way.

"Four, okay? Two plus two equals four," the angel stated. "Anything else on the pop quiz or can we focus on you?"

"What do you mean, focus on me?"

"Well, you don't strike me as the casually watching porn type, at least not one staring me," Gabriel told him. "By the way, where are you even staying? It looks awful. Never got past the crappy, cheap motels, did you?"

"Yeah, I… You know what? Doesn't matter," he said, something instinctively telling him not to give up his location so easily. Call him paranoid but he'd like to know what he was dealing with first. "How are you doing this? Was it some stored up magic, angel grace or something?"

"Eh, something like that. I could explain it, but it would take a lot of words that never got translated into any human languages that you know, so why bother?" Gabriel asked him. "So, you put this in? Why? Something wrong? Lucifer get out again and you need more answers?"

"No, nothing like that," he admitted. "I was… lonely, I guess."

"Most guys that watch this stuff usually are."

"Not like that," he groaned before shaking his head. "It's Dean. He's… he's gone. Dead, actually."

"What, again?"

Sam glared at the screen, thinking about stabbing the disc before the angel whistled softly.

"Okay, not in the mood to joke. Got it," he stated. "Sorry. You didn't find anyone to bring him back then?"

"I didn't look," he admitted.

"Really? You?" Gabriel asked. "Why?"

"I… I don't know. I guess I could have but… it feels selfish to. He's somewhere better, you know? Besides, I'm not even sure anyone would be willing to make a deal for him. I've got it on some good authority that no demon would be willing to deal, and there's no way I can force it without offering myself up… and I know Dean. I'm more than willing to do it, but he'd hate the fact that I did so, maybe I'm trying to put what he would want first and… Plus I've got so much to deal with, and with him gone… it just all… God, I don't know..."

He realized he was rambling thoughts he hadn't even cleared out in his own head yet, just vomiting words out of his mouth the second they formed in his mind without any kind of forethought. Still, Gabriel didn't interrupt and waited until it seemed like Sam wasn't even sure what else to say.

"How long ago?"

"About a week," he breathed out. "It already feels like it's been forever."

Gabriel nodded his head, an expression of sympathy on his face. Sam wasn't sure if he believed it or not. This was all his imagination after all. He was sure he could have thought he was talking to anyone and they would feel sorry for him. He wanted the sympathy right now, needed someone to be in his corner no matter who it was.

"Want to talk about it?" the angel offered, and Sam almost felt like weeping in relief.

"Oh god, yes," he breathed out. It didn't matter that it was Gabriel, an archangel that had literally tormented him for six months with the idea of his brother dead and gone. It didn't matter that it was the same guy who'd tried to force the brothers to give up their bodies to bring about the end of the world, or that had refused to help them at all in any way until the very last minute.

Like many people in Sam's life, he had his list of grievances against him, but if it meant getting things off his chest, he was sure he'd talk to just about anyone right now. Hell, even Lucifer pretending to be friendly might have been welcome at this point. Sam was that far gone right now that he didn't even care.

"So, what happened?"

"Have you ever heard of the Leviathans?"

Gabriel appeared to think for a second before he shrugged his shoulders.

"Apparently God made them before the angels," Sam explained. "Big beasts, like to eat crap, dangerous. You know, that kind of thing."

"Oh. Yeah, Dad never talked much about his previous projects with us," Gabriel admitted. "Well, except to Michael. He told big bro everything, considering he was the cleanup solution in case anything ever went wrong. Let me guess, something went wrong?"

"Yes," he sighed out softly. "There was a tablet about them, a Word of God, written by Metatron?"

He watched Gabriel on the computer screen closely at that, and sure enough, his words got a reaction, a little wince from the archangel before he glanced away.

"Huh. No kidding. Well, I guess that would make sense."

"So then you know Metatron," Sam pressed. He was still trying to determine if this was real or not, and he wanted any information he could get a hold of to help him with his judgment call. Sam had not heard the name before Castiel had spoken it. Gabriel talking about something he himself could not know about might help him figure it out.

"I knew all the angels, Sam. Kind of seared in my brain, but more than that too," he replied. "I was the youngest of the original four. It kind of helped me bond with others. Not all, but some. Not all angels stayed when God flew the coop. Some left."

"Like you?"

"Pretty much," Gabriel replied with another shrug. "So what then? Dean was killed by one of the Leviathans?"

"We found the tablet and a prophet who taught us how to make a weapon to take them out," he stated. "Dean took the hit and then..."

Gabriel clucked his tongue and nodded his head in understanding. It wasn't the most sympathetic gesture in the world, but it also wasn't the mocking he would have expected from the archangel either. He had to wonder just what he was thinking.

If he was thinking at all. That is, if any of this was real. Sam wasn't ready to strike down the idea he was just going crazy again just yet.

"Sounds rough. I guess that is the life of a hunter though, isn't it? Try to save people and bite the dust yourself. A bit too altruistic for me though," he told Sam. "Things like that very rarely work out for anyone."

"You tried to save people too though," he whispered. "You saved Dean and me from Lucifer."

"And went boom for my trouble. Forgive me for saying so, Sam, but I could have easily gone the other way on it and been on my merry way. It wasn't my mess to clean up. It was theirs, and it was Dad's."

"Why did you then?" Sam asked softly.

The archangel sighed softly for a second and rubbed at his eyes.

"Your brother is amazingly good at guilting people into doing the right thing. Of course, I do find it ironic he was so gung ho for me killing my brother so he wouldn't have to do the same to you, but hey, that's a hypocrite for you, ain't it?"

Sam glared at the screen, angry that the angel would talk so cruelly about his brother after just learning that he was dead.

"He was trying to save me, you ass," he hissed out. "Lucifer is a monster. If we hadn't-"

"Sam, I already said holding him off was the right thing to do," the archangel interrupted. "I'm just saying your brother's intentions might not have been as noble as it's presented. I mean, if the whole idea was to keep two archangels from fighting, us being powerful enough to break the world and all that, why oh why was it so important I do the heavy lifting? Wasn't that the exact situation you were both hoping to avoid?"

Sam paused at that, the words catching him off guard there. Where was Gabriel going with this?

"I was never going to go all out. Even weaker than him it would have been bad for the property damage. Besides, I didn't have a shot and we all knew that. Best I could do without causing too much trouble was to keep him busy long enough for you guys to skedaddle. If I could have just flicked my wrists and shooed him away, trust me, I'd have loved to but it was never going to work like that. In retrospect, my part was pretty small, much smaller than Dean's. In the end, the only part I had to play was to die. Dean's sacrifice was much worse. He had to give you up. Killing you or letting you jump in that hole, he was still losing you."

Sam's mouth felt dry and he stared down hard at the floor at the foot of his bed. He wanted to open his mouth to speak, wanted to say something, anything, but he had no idea what he could even say to that.

"What's your point?" he breathed out softly.

"My point is, if that Dean died, then he probably died trying to keep you safe. You both are so wrapped up in each other that you never think to even consider yourselves. He's gone, so try doing what he'd no doubt want you to do and move on with your life. Live it for yourself, or for him if it helps you feel better."

"You think it's that easy?" Sam asked. "What, just because you walked away from your family?"

"Never said it would be easy. Just what you need to do. By all means though, stay in bad hotel rooms and mope while watching porn if that's what helps," Gabriel replied smoothly. "I'm sure Dean would love the thought of you miserable."

The feed cut off before Sam could move, and he snatched out the DVD only seconds later, the fragile plastic in his hands. He was glowering at it so intensely it could have melted from his gaze alone. How dare that self-indulging, selfish, egotistical jackass even think for a second he would get how Dean would feel, what he would want? Gabriel didn't know Dean, and he certainly didn't know him!

He didn't break it though, as much as he wanted to. Even as he thought about breaking it into pieces, his fingers never moved, never bent it to snap it in half. Eventually, he put it back into the case and stashed it away in his bag, falling to his bed and burying his face into his pillow.

What would Dean want? He'd talked often to urge Sam into letting Dean go when he'd been facing Hell, but that had been with the idea Sam would die in his place. Heaven was different, wasn't it? Dean was up there right now, with memories of John and Mary to keep him company, happy for the first time in years. It would be like retiring to him.

Maybe he wouldn't even realize he was dead. Maybe he'd think he was driving the Impala, Sam at his side, the Sam he really wanted. Not an idiot who'd let Lucifer out of his cage, or one junked up on demon blood, the one who'd left his family for the pipe dream that had been Stanford, who'd chosen school over his own brother and then the fiasco with Ruby. The Sam with him in Heaven might be perfect and loving and everything Dean had ever wanted, a good brother.

And if Sam could be half that good of a brother, he'd just let Dean be and have what Sam could never have been in real life.

It wasn't about Sam moving on and enjoying his own life. It was about Dean finally not getting drug down by him. It was the only reason he knew that no matter what, he couldn't allow himself to break and find some way to bring him back.

His face was pressed up against the pillow when the hotel room door opened again. It still throbbed from where he'd been punched, but he didn't show it when he sat up and nodded to her as she set down lunch and thanked her with a smile. She'd seemed pensive before but immediately relaxed at the sight of his smile and gave him one too as he walked over and joined her for lunch.

All Emma had now was him. He needed to be a better uncle than he had been a brother. There was no way he was going to disappoint her too. So she couldn't know how he was feeling, how dead he felt inside right now. He needed to be the shoulder for her to cry on, not the other way around.

Though it was much easier said than done. He'd never exactly been a master of keeping his crap together.

As they ate, he saw her glance up at him a couple times.

"I'm fine, thanks," he assured her. "Believe me, it's not the first time I've been punched in the face by a family member."

She flushed a bit and mumbled what was probably another apology, but he only found himself chuckling a bit.

"You know, honestly, it really is okay," he affirmed. "My biggest worry is you being able to defend yourself so it's good to know that you've got decent form. Tell you what, why don't we try something else out tomorrow? We'll spend the rest of today logging the books, alright?"

She glanced up at him and he flashed her another smile that didn't feel so forced this time. It was funny, in a lot of ways she was a lot like Dean, but not in every way. She seemed downright shy right now, it was actually almost kind of cute. He couldn't say he could ever see his brother acting this out of sorts just over losing his temper and slugging him one, that was for sure.

"Going over the books sounds good," she admitted before going back to her soup, the smallest trace of a relieved smile on her lips.

It was actually something he wanted to explore more with her, that memory of hers. Her strength from her blood was nothing to sneer at, not by a long shot, but he wanted to see just how well she could remember everything. Research could come downright naturally to her, and if exposed to enough material and lore she could end up not even needing her own journal, able just to store it in her own brain. Sam could throw down with monsters just fine, maybe even as good as Dean, but he'd always been most comfortable looking up information and tucked away in a book. It was what he was really good at, and he had a feeling given a chance that she'd be just as talented if not better at it.

At the very least, the work might help her keep calm over the grieving period.

Once they were finished eating, he pulled out the cardboard box of the books, laying a few of them out on the table. They were going to really need to get a better way to organize them soon, once it was all sorted and cataloged.

"Alright," he said as he handed her a thick text. "Let's get started. This is one on demonology, your favorite subject."
She didn't laugh at his joke, but he did hear a soft snort and saw a mirthless smirk. For now, it had to be good enough.

They got to work, opening up the dusty pages and pouring over them, her writing in a notepad different names of monsters and chapters for reference later while he typed up the information on his computer. He'd never been one for a journal himself, at least in a classic sense. It all stored so much easier digitally than flipping through pages.

He was sure this would help her too, to work on her patience if nothing else. It was going to be a long road before she was ready to be on her own, but quiet moments like this would hopefully assist her in the long run. They worked on it until the night fell, going out for dinner, and Sam tried to think of other things besides sparring that could help Emma cool her developing temper.

#-#

"Explain to me why we're doing this again?" Emma asked as she looked down at the cuffs around her wrists, holding her arms close together. It wouldn't have taken much for her to break them, just to yank her hands apart, but before Sam had even slapped them on her he had made it clear she wasn't going to force them off that way.

He was more than happy to teach her how to win fights, but she needed patience too, and that was something she clearly didn't have a lot of. It would be good to practice this with her, covering the basics with her before any real hunt.

"A lot of monsters like to enjoy their food slowly," he explained to her. "It's much more likely you'll get tied up than outright killed by a lot of the creatures out there if you lose a fight against them. They always tie you up. It's best to know how to get out of these."

"I could just break them," she pointed out to him, pulling her wrists apart to pull the small chain tight, already straining the links easily to emphasize her point.

"I know, but that's not the point. Even if you did, you'd still have the cuffs on your wrists. Not something you want to be seen walking around with," he informed her. "Besides, cuffs are only one of the options. We'll move on to ropes later. Do you think you could just snap those if you needed to?"

She faltered at that, considering it.

"Something that thick and sturdy would probably be more effort," she admitted. "I think it would depend on the leverage I had, as well as the material the rope was made out of. I'm betting I could, but it probably wouldn't be the easiest thing in the world."

"Right. Well, having more than one solution to problems is always a good idea. I'm going to show you how to pick these, then you're going to practice. Once you got it down we'll have them cuffed behind your back so you can try when you can't see what you're doing," he instructed.

She nodded her head this time, no more argument in her.

"Besides, I'd like it if you only relied on your strength if you had to. I'd hate to admit it, but those eyes of yours are a dead give away about you," he continued as he grabbed a small hair clip to show her what she needed to do in order to pop the cuffs open. "I'd just give you contacts, but the skin around your eyes changes too. I don't suppose there's any way for you to keep that from happening?"

"Not that I know of," she admitted softly. "I'll… I'll try to keep in check."

"Right. Well, maybe some makeup could help with that too," he mused before the cuffs clicked open over one of her hands and then the other when he got to it. "For now, we'll work on this. Did you get what I did?"

She nodded and he closed them around her wrists again before handing the pin to her, allowing her to get to work on her practice. As she took to wiggling the thin metal in concentration, he went about making sure they had everything packed and ready to go. They wouldn't be in Sioux Falls much longer, and it was time to get going soon. Soon enough they'd be in New York where Sam felt it would soon be time to allow Emma a test run of her abilities.

#-#

Despite setting out first thing in the morning as the sun was creeping up over the horizon and into the sky, it was dark again by the time they reached Buffalo. It had been a whole day drive, only stopping a couple times in order to grab something to eat. Emma was glad to be able to eat a gas station sandwich again without having to worry about the possibility of getting drugged out. It was a lot less stressful and there were only so many veggies she could eat without getting sick of all the green her diet. It was close to midnight and her head rested on the window of the passenger side, gazing out over the street lamps as they passed residential sections and got closer to the inner parts of the city.

Sam had switched over when they'd reached the outskirts of the city, explaining to her driving in a city was a lot different than open highways, and she apparently looked too tired to be able to handle it. Honestly, she was more than happy to give up the wheel, not terribly comfortable with all the traffic that had formed around them the closer and closer they got.

Emma wasn't entirely sure that she liked New York, an odd twisted feeling forming in her gut. It seemed busier than what she was used to. Her life, however short it had been so far, had been long enough for her to get used to certain things. Solitude and quiet were a couple of them. The world was still so small for her, waiting in hotel rooms or the back of a car, and when she did interact with people it was her family or the odd stranger. She could count the number of people she'd talked to that she wasn't related to on two hands and still have fingers left over.

So really, when the Plymouth parked in a pay by the day garage and she followed him outside and into the street, still somehow full of people despite the late hour, suffice to say she wasn't at all prepared for it. The second she stepped out into the throng, she felt an itch in the back of her neck, reminded of ants with all the people scurrying around, pressed close together in a way that she hated. Everything about it made her feel uncomfortable, closed in and trapped. The buildings were so big that it made her head spin just to look up at them, the signs were all too luminous and glaring out at her in the too brightly lit night, and everything was loud beyond belief.

There were people everywhere. She didn't think she'd seen such a gathering before. They milled around in every available inch of the sidewalk, walking past Sam and her, bumping into her and making her push her way past them to move forward at all.

Her head was pounding before they even got to the hotel room that Sam had booked in advance, grabbing onto his hand suddenly when he slipped past someone and she'd lost sight of him for a second. It was idiotic, but for a second the fear of losing track of him had seized her and she'd been unable to stop herself from reaching out for him.

"Emma?" he asked when she stared down hard at the ground, ashamed to even say how she was feeling. "Emma, are you okay?"

"No," she grumbled out, not even understanding what was wrong with her. Someone jostled her and she launched herself at her uncle, shoving her face into his chest with a cry. Her ill comfort suddenly jumped right to panic that was exploding inside of her in a way she was sure she'd die from. It was hard to breathe all of a sudden, like all the air had been sucked from her lungs. There were too many people! It was too much! "I can't… I can't breathe..."

She wasn't sure if he understood what the issue was that fast or if he acted on instinct, but in a second she found herself pulled from the crowd into an alleyway. Her breath was still labored and she had to shut her eyes tight for it to all stop spinning around her. Everything felt too tight around her, closing in on her and making her feel small and insignificant, like a bug waiting to be crushed.

He was patient with her, gently rubbing her back as she remembered how to breathe again, letting her hold his other hand as tightly as she needed to. Not once had she risked letting go of him.

"Too many..." she whispered softly, not wanting to say it. Why had she reacted that way? Just how weak was she to be this afraid?

"Too many?" he asked her, softly prompting her to continue.

"Too many people," she confessed. "I didn't feel safe. I thought I'd lose you in all of them and wouldn't find you again."

She felt stupid saying it. With his height the chances of not being able to see him in the middle of other people he towered over was pretty ridiculous, and yet there it was. Even if she did somehow lose him, they both had cell phones. Calling him would have been easy, and yet seeing him slip out of view for just that small moment had been unbearable to her. She'd never encountered something like that, just so many bodies that she didn't even have space to move freely, much less think rationally.

He paused for a second before chewing his bottom lip.

"You've got a phobia against crowds?" he asked her.

"What? No, I don't," she argued back. "That's not… I couldn't… How could I be afraid of something I'd never even experienced before now?"

"Well, you're used to isolation. You were almost always with just Dean and me, never even been in a room with more than a dozen other people in it while we went out to eat. That's a bit more intense than that," he reasoned. "Looks like it took you off guard."

She forced herself not to sulk at his words, only because she didn't want to look like a child. She already was feeling like a giant baby over here. What would her sisters have said to hear such a thing about her? Probably use it against her and force her into a city common area, just to force her to confront it and sneer as she broke down in front of them. At least Sam wasn't judging her, but she still did her best to keep her expression neutral.

"It's not… I'm not scared. It was just a shock to me," she reasoned. "I'll be fine. Let's just go."

"You sure? We could always-"

"Uncle, please," she ground out. "Before I lose my nerve."

She clung to him like he was a lifeline out to sea, hugging herself up close against his arm and her hands wrapped so tightly around him there was no telling where he ended and she began, but she made it to the hotel room without another freak out. To her it was a victory, even if she felt like jelly by the time they were inside.

No room to move, to think, everything too big and unfamiliar to her, and the people feeling like the pull of the ocean, trying to drag her out into the waters without a paddle until she would have been lost and alone. It had clawed at her in ways she was not at all okay with, especially since she didn't even know why it had felt so horrible to her.

She felt better in the lobby, but couldn't truly relax until she was inside of their room. Curiously, she glanced out the window, but the sight of them still down there in the street made her feel sick to her stomach, so she yanked the curtain shut and went to her bed.

"We don't have to stay long," Sam offered as he set their bags aside for the night. "Maybe New York isn't the right fit for you after all."

She only grumbled in response, her face pressed in against the pillow. It didn't feel even remotely the same, the soft material tight against her skin, and yet she didn't feel the same sensation of dread that had filled her before. Okay, so objects pressed close to her didn't seem to be an issue. Apparently just people.

Which was stupid, because she could easily knock anyone over that she wanted to. Not that she was allowed, seeing as how she wasn't allowed to hurt people. She didn't really want to hurt anyone of course, but the fact she wasn't allowed to was more than a little restricting.

Don't hurt people. Don't show your eyes. Don't get caught being anything but human. The warnings from her family were firmly drilled into her head, as much as she didn't want them to be. It was easy to miss her first hunt where she'd told the nix that she was proud of what she was. Now a small sense of fear tickled at her from the thought that a hunter could come after her. Worse yet, what if she never even knew she'd caught their attention? Anyone could be a threat. How was she supposed to know who she really had to be careful around?

It was a crippling feeling, one she didn't think she liked how she had discovered it. The flopping of her stomach, the way her nerves felt raw by the experience, it had all been the height of unpleasantness. She had never stuck out among the other Amazons, not in a way to be proud of. Oh, she'd been noticed when she'd hesitated, when the pain got to her, or whenever she messed up and got scolded. Never had she been head and shoulders above the others in any really exemplary way. She'd been lost in the group of her own kind, never truly being separate from them in any real way. How she'd longed to be an individual, to have her own mind and be special.

Now it seemed all that much easier to get lost in that assemblage of people, not allowing her to stand out, and even if she did, it was dangerous to. No wonder her head was still spinning.

In the end, she pulled the Odessy out of her bag, hugging it to her chest like it was a teddy bear. Maybe it was dumb, but the old and worn book felt comforting to her, solid and friendly under her fingers. If she believed hard enough, she could feel her father in the room with her, telling her that it was no big deal and she'd be fine, that he was proud of her no matter what.

It was probably the only thought that allowed her to relax enough to not feel like a complete fool.

#-#

Four hours of sleep was hardly conductive for a day of errands after spending all of the previous day driving, but Sam wanted to get to his father's lock-up early. It would be better for Emma if they headed out before there were too many people out and about, so the sooner they were off the better. He would have just gone himself, but he wasn't really sure he wanted to leave her in the hotel room alone, just in case. She'd seemed calm enough when they were inside but he didn't want to gamble on the risk of her panicking and he wasn't here to help her.

He had to admit, he could empathize. Something like that couldn't have been easy to experience, especially since she hadn't seemed to understand just why she had been so uncomfortable, at least not that she would share with him. When he'd tried to delve deeper into it she had only rolled over and asked not to get into it. Talking might have helped but it could have also just as easily made it worse, and he could understand her reluctance. It's not like he was ever hopping up and down in excitement to explain to anyone why clowns made him want to climb to the top of a clock tower and start sniping them, or much more likely, run for hills as fast as he could. Dean was lucky. At least avoiding airplanes was easy enough, for the most part anyway.

Sam also didn't have the slightest idea how to help her. Confronting it seemed the solution most therapists would recommend, but that wasn't exactly Winchester style when it came to phobias. Mostly they just did their best to avoid the things that made them wig out, suppression just so much easier. Did he even have the right to tell her to get over it when he himself couldn't stand to look at anything related to his own fear? Besides, it's not like they were around large amounts of people often, most of their hunts in small towns and on their own. It wouldn't be something she had to face a lot, right?

He couldn't really worry about it right now, but he told himself when he was alone to try and look up the phobia and see if he could figure out how to help her with it. Not when she was around though. It wouldn't do any good to embarrass her over it.

Like he had figured, there were only a few people out when they left their hotel, some joggers and very early commuters. He risked a glance at Emma, but she seemed more at ease now. Okay, not the city then, which made sense because she'd handled Chicago just fine, though again, hadn't been any people to really mingle with. At least it confirmed what he was sure he was dealing with. Climbing into the car, he took off to Rover Hill.

The storage area was just as he and Dean had left it, untouched and left to its own devices. There was a layer of dust on the lock put on it, building up since they had been there the last time years ago now, searching for the Sword of Michael. With plenty of money in the bank account that had been set up to make monthly automatic payments, there was no reason for it to be disturbed by the owner of the storage units or anyone else for that matter.

Slipping the key inside and unlocking it, he held up his hand to Emma.

"Wait here a second," he said as he slipped inside and stepped over the wire in front of the door. The shotgun was still loaded and primed, and he made sure she stepped clear over it to avoid any nasty surprises.

The Amazon was slowly looking around, turning her head this way and that. He didn't blame her. He'd been rather impressed by it all too, just how much was in such a small space.

"This was put together by my grandfather?" she asked, awe in her voice.

"Yep. Weapons, books, all kinds of things," he said as he handed her a flashlight to look around properly. "Same thing as Bobby's place, grab anything that looks useful. Oh, except the boxes in the back with the white, painted markings on them. They're curse boxes, made to contain evil objects. Don't touch those."

"Okay. Sounds good to me," she said with a smile before she began to look through the things on the counter and shelves, clearly interested in all that the lock-up contained.

He moved in the opposite direction, trying to decide what to keep. The books would be best of all, but he figured he should take some of the guns and ammo off the wall. Never did know when a grenade or two might come in handy, and it wasn't doing any good here. With Dean gone and Emma not knowing what she was doing yet, Sam knew he was going to have to do most of the heavy lifting on the team for now. It wouldn't hurt to be armed to the teeth.

Sam paused as one item caught his eye, left out among rounds on a table. His hand trailed over the wooden handle of a sawed-off shotgun, left here from where Dean had found it. Experimentally he picked it up and pumped it, glad that it still worked without a hitch. No doubt it would have to be cleaned and oiled, filthy with dust, but Dean had made this himself and he trusted in his brother's craftsmanship to still work. Staring at the item, an idea started to form in his head.

The weapon was best for a short range, and Emma really seemed to like getting in close. This would easily suit her fighting style. Salt rounds wouldn't hurt anyone even if she missed, and from close enough it didn't exactly require someone to be a sharpshooter to hit the target. It was perfect for someone like her, the kind who would happily go against a ghost or demon face-to-face.

"Hey, Emma. Come here a second," he called over his shoulder, drawing her over to him curiously.

"What is it?" she asked him.

"Here," he said as he handed it to her. Two weeks since Dean had passed, and he felt it would be good to give her something of a legacy.

"I thought you said no guns," she asked in confusion as she looked the weapon over.

"It's nothing complicated, and you really do need some kind of firearm. This will be a good compromise, and you couldn't possibly miss with the range it has," he told her. "Besides, it was Dean's."

"It… it was?" she asked, suddenly handling it with much more care, cradling it like it was made of glass.

"Yeah. He made it when he was like twelve or so," he told her. "Maybe thirteen. You can have it."

She stared down at it, swallowing hard as her fingers traced over the metal and wood. If she'd looked awed at seeing the lock-up for the first time, it was nothing compared to the gaze she had for the sawed-off. It was if he'd just handed her her whole future on a silver platter.

"Thank you," she breathed.

He ruffled her hair and let her get back to searching, grabbing some other things and putting them in bags with care. They couldn't empty the whole thing of course, but there was no sense in leaving too much behind either.

In the end, he emptied out most of the stuff he thought would help them, weapons, books, and any kind of charm laying around. He left the curse boxes be, knowing they were safest there. Idly he considered the motorcycle, old fashioned looking but sturdy, before dismissing it. The last thing he needed was to worry about Emma hopping onto the thing and possibly breaking her neck. Besides, he had a feeling she would hate it with no stereo to listen to. She'd long since gotten addicted to the tapes from Dean's collection, creating yet another generation following John with a sad love of mullet rock.

Nothing so far on the road had convinced her to give other types of music a chance, groaning whenever it was his turn to drive and he had something more modern on the radio with ballads or love songs. Pop music made her gag, and anything from boy bands or starlets made her complain about the lack of soul to the words.

"Seriously, how many times can a girl who has millions of dollars whine about getting dumped again? It's clearly her if she can't get them to stay," she'd complained once, and Sam promised himself anything from later than 2000 was going to get a resounding no from her and to not even bother trying.

Maybe they'd come back for the bike later, once Emma was older and more mature. It could be a fun project for them to work on together.

Mostly because he did want her to have fun with her life. Before all of the… crap that had happened to him, Dean had loved hunting and everything to do with his life. He'd been his best when on the road, happy and delighted in the thought of protecting people. There had been a shine to his eyes that had slowly died over the years. It hadn't been just Hell, though Sam was sure that had been a big part.

Not the biggest part though. Sam didn't think anything could hurt Dean the way Sam's mistakes had, just how badly he'd shaken the faith he'd once had in his little brother. Too much had been put on Dean's shoulders near the end, he had to wonder if maybe that's why he hadn't gotten out of the way when Dick had exploded. Maybe he'd wanted a way out finally.

He had been terrified of Emma turning out like that, cursing existence and how hard things always got. The idea of her dead inside had clearly gnawed at Dean. Sam owed it to him to ensure that she didn't end up like that, that she found joy in this world and could enjoy it like his brother from all those years ago could.

He wondered, would… would Dean want him happy too? Was that allowed now? If it was for Emma, would it be for him as well? Could he possibly be able to find a light at the end of this tunnel too, to actually be happy and not just fake it for her sake?

What Gabriel, or the very least what his brain had thought was Gabriel, had said rung out in his mind. Moving on might be what Dean wanted. He probably wouldn't want him to mope. Maybe, just maybe, he could find something to be happy about again given enough time.

Maybe he should watch the DVD again, try to talk to the archangel once more and get some further advice. Could it really hurt?

End of Chapter 23

Emotions are hard and draining, and grieving can come in all forms. Fears, pain, crying, needing to talk to others and even the desire for it to stop so you can move on. Winchesters are all too familiar with grief. I hope that this came out well though and was enjoyable in its own right.

Also, Gabriel was fun to write. He's a goof, but he can also come off as fairly harsh when he's trying to teach someone a lesson. Truly Sam's memories of him are far from the best, and wouldn't expect anything better at first, I don't think. Still, doesn't mean the trickster doesn't have some good points to the things that he says.

If you guys would be so kind, please, please leave a comment on your thoughts on this. I'm dying to hear your opinions on this chapter.