BREAKING THE FAST
PART 3

Fire crackled a few feet away—a pleasant heat that sank into his bones. A full moon dominated the clear night sky and cast the forest in a soft glow. On the cusp of winter, the trees echoed with insects serenading the final days of autumn before the cold and silence. His eyes tracked the fire's sparks and ash as they spiraled upward into the stars.

Dean sat back in their new lounge chair with a shaky gasp. "Oh..." he whispered, fighting the urge to either cry or laugh, "Gabriel, I hate to break it to you, but this is not the human equivalent of getting your hair brushed. The only things humans can do to feel like this on Earth are probably illegal...and dangerous."

"Well, I can only replicate some of the physical side effects. You just don't have the neural pathways and I don't want to melt your brain." Gabriel's answer was a shock-wave of sound cascading around Dean.

"Whoa, dude!" he jumped as it reverberated across his skin, "Inside voice! Turn it down to, like, a one." He heard a chuckle in a distant earthquake.

"On a scale of what?" This time, the voice rumbled like an explosion muffled within a mountain. Dean supposed that was a whisper to the archangel.

"On a scale of one to 'Oh my God, I'm being vibrated to death between two mattresses with magic fingers set to overdrive!'"

"That is a very specific scale," Gabriel cackled in his usual voice as he withdrew his fingers from Dean's forehead.

"Yeah, well it's a very specific volume," he muttered, shaking his head to clear the ringing. The world shifted around the hunter until his senses resumed functioning at their normal levels. His muscles remained relaxed and nerve endings all tingled in a good way. Shaking his head, Dean gazed at the others around the fire.

Mary was watching with wide, sparkling eyes and an easy smile. He grinned back. It had taken awhile to overcome the revelations from the night before and that morning, but several hours in the sun with a few beers and lots of laughter had finally eased some of the grief. Even if it was only a temporary reprieve.

Castiel sat cross-legged on the blanket next to Sam who was sprawled on his stomach across a pillow, faces both turned toward the fire. The angel was tracing designs with his finger onto the kid's back. Periodically, he'd pause and Sam would say something unintelligible. Dean was pretty sure it was all Enochian, but he hadn't asked.

Since that moment in the hallway when he first heard Sam shrieking the strange language at Castiel, Dean knew to be on high alert whenever the kid's speech changed. He understood "little brother" well enough that he didn't need the words to make sense of what was being expressed. Fear seemed to be the primary reason for Sam to switch languages the past couple days. Fear and uncertainty—he heard it in his brother's tone when he'd start whispering to Castiel. And the angel would rumble back reassuringly in a voice softer than Dean had thought possible.

But there was no fear or uncertainty in Sam's voice as he lazily mumbled responses to whatever the angel drew with his fingers. Castiel would either shake his head and rattle off a stream of foreign words, or he would nod and repeat one certain string of syllables that Dean was starting to memorize.

He glanced at what he'd dubbed the "Mary Poppins" basket several paces away and gestured for Gabriel to follow him. They strolled away from the fire, and Dean tried to not show how much his legs felt like jelly. Damn, but grace was awesome! Digging out two beers, he handed one to the archangel and said in a low voice, "Care to tell me what our brothers are doing?"

Gabriel smiled fondly as he looked over at the two and answered in an even quieter tone, "Cassie's made a game of drawing the Enochian alphabet on Sam's back while Sam tries to guess each one."

Nodding, Dean took a swig of his drink, "It's nice to hear him this calm while he...'talks angel.' Better than him screaming it in terror or whispering it like he thinks he's in trouble. Hell, I didn't know he could speak Enochian until a few days ago."

The shorter being sighed and hoisted himself up onto the picnic table. "I doubt he could access enough of his memories from the cage to make sense of it before getting grace. Now, the centuries he spent surviving Lucifer are as clear as the measly few decades of life top-side, so he's reverting to using it on instinct. Grace gives us near-perfect recall, and Luci was a shit teacher—he used 'lessons' as an excuse to torment. He kept Sam's vocabulary limited, then punished him for saying the wrong word or using English."

Dean felt his stomach drop. He remembered hearing Castiel tell Sam something about how no one would punish the kid, but there was too much happening to ask about it at the time. "He what?"

Gabriel faced him with a grim look on his face, "That's what Cas described seeing in one of Sam's dreams," the whiskey-gold eyes drifted toward the fire and softened at the sight of Castiel practically cooing his pride at something Sam said. "This exercise was actually Cassie's idea after seeing how well Sam responded to the grooming."

Dean would have spewed a mouthful of beer if it wasn't for the years he'd spent drinking around Castiel and his wacky one-liners. "I'm sorry, did you say 'grooming?'"

"What?!" Gabriel with a shrug, "That's what it is. It's the closest translation."

"Oh, he is not living this down..." Dean muttered.

"Anyway," Gabriel cut him off, "he really wants Sam to feel safe speaking it. We figured he needs a little positive reinforcement and better memories associated with Enochian to really break down that trigger."

"Couldn't he just stick with English?" Dean asked.

"Old, Middle, Early Modern, or Modern?" Gabriel shot back.

"What?" Dean finished his beer and grabbed another from the never-ending basket. He had the feeling he was going to need it.

"Do you have any idea how quickly languages change on this planet?"

"Uh, no?"

"The answer is 'pretty damn fast,' bucko. English is a little bastard of a language that took fifteen hundred years to form by absorbing whatever it wanted from other nations. And it took about a decade for you people to abandon writing for emojis."

"Your point?" Dean pushed before the ancient nerd could get too worked up.

"My point is Sam can't 'stick with English' because he will outlive the language. Once he's mastered his grace in a few centuries, he will be fluent in all forms of language from every era on Earth. But Enochian came first, and it has never changed. He shouldn't only use it when he's scared. Besides," Gabriel gave a half-grin, "Sam needs to get used to hearing and speaking it. When he grows strong enough to connect his mind with 'angel radio,' he's going to be bombarded with thousands of voices'...and there's no English option. It will be part of every interaction he has with the angels. And he will meet them all."

Dean grimaced at the idea of Sammy forced to mingle with the angels who had hunted the hunters. "But not soon, right? I mean, do we even know how they'll react to him? It's not like we've been best friends with them over the years. The few that were kinda cool like Cas either died or turned on us. Sam's got trust issues with angels—we both do."

"Don't I know it," Gabriel said as he drained his beer.

The hunter scowled and turned away to study the tiny figure by the fire, "I'm just saying, we've survived too much for me to just let him go off and get smote by some pissed off cupid. I don't want him meeting any other angels until he can defend himself." As an adult, Sam had been plenty capable of using his enormous size to intimidate enemies or hostile witnesses, but Dean knew his brother. He knew Sam was a bad-ass because of the underlying desperation and self-doubt. The kid was a born worrier and it always brought out his darker, more aggressive side.

When Sam felt helpless after Dean's death, it was Ruby's promise of power and control that drove his decisions. And after the cage and apocalypses and countless cycles of death/resurrection, Sam's lack of 'good enough' pushed him past the point of exhaustion on a good day. Bad days led to his brother doing stupid shit like walking back into the cage to beg Satan for help.

Now, the kid seemed as fragile as a damn baby bird—all bones and tufts of fluff and unbelievably breakable. Dean couldn't imagine Sammy facing the entire host without even the illusion of strength he'd held as a gigantic Sasquatch. What he could picture was how those little arms had clung to him in the garage, and again in the woods, during Gabriel's dramatic entrance.

Turning back to the archangel, Dean was startled to find those golden eyes already watching him.

"I promise Sam will not set foot in Heaven until I can ensure his safety. We will vet each angel he meets beforehand. I may even be able to work out a way for you to come with us on visits to the old homestead. But right now, Sam isn't ready for Heaven," he sighed and looked away, "and neither am I."

Looking at their newest resident, Dean tried to think of what he would do if their situations were reversed. If he'd found himself stranded in Heaven, separated from family and responsibilities, he didn't think he'd be cooking breakfast for the angels. And he definitely wouldn't be going above and beyond in helping them figure out their own shit.

I didn't even help Cas when he became human. I left him homeless and starving on the street until he was killed by a reaper. My little brother becomes part-angel, and Gabriel appoints himself as personal guardian. Guilt ate away at the contentment he'd built through the day as his mind began listing other times he had failed Castiel.

"Holy angst-bomb, Batman," Gabriel's voice cut through the deluge and he stumbled back a step when he was shot in the forehead by a Nerf dart, "I swear, you Winchesters are the moodiest sons-of-bitches this world has ever seen. Stop it!" The words were punctuated by a second dart to the chest. "I can feel you from here, and so help me Dad, I will drag your ass into our grooming sessions until you lighten up if you don't quit."

Dean blinked in surprise. "I just..." his mind blanked on words for a second as he stared at the toy gun toting archangel and cleared his throat, "Thanks. For stuff...with Sam. And breakfast."

Gabriel looked mildly suspicious, like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop, but gave a brief nod when Dean's gaze held steady. The Nerf gun lowered. "No problem, Deano."

"It's only 'no problem' because you made it no problem," Dean huffed with a strained smile and sat next to Gabriel on top of the table, "You could have come in here and done anything, demanded anything. Put us all in a world of your making until we gave in. Taken Sam and left us with an illusion. Hell, you could have shown up disguised as anyone or anything and stayed hidden among us forever. But you didn't. Instead, you agreed to our terms, answered our questions, jumped in when Sam needed help. You even carried in our groceries, dude."

"That's because you wouldn't put down the angel blade to help and I didn't want Mary to carry everything herself. Time loops are one thing, but I'm not a barbarian!" Gabriel acted offended, but it was easy to see genuine fluster at the hunter's words.

Dean chuckled and drained his beer, "Such a mamma's boy..."

It had been eons since Castiel last felt this level of contentment. After only a day around his lost brother and the new fledgling, he had regained the long-forgotten connection that gets forged between grace-beings. That, combined with the thorough grooming session Gabriel had insisted on giving him after Sam was done, meant that Castiel's entire being positively buzzed with energy.

Grace flowed freely through his true-self and he reveled at remembering who he was outside his vessel. Using his fingertips, he wrote simple words infused with a hint of power across his young friend's back. Peace. That he rest without worry. Hope. That he learns to dream again. Love. That he knows he is cherished. Joy. That he laughs daily. Safe. That he feels secure. Love. That he accepts himself.

Each word was Castiel's personal prayer for Samuel in his new life.

The boy had fallen asleep while his mother hummed an unknown tune beside them. Castiel was pleased with how well Sam had taken to his "alphabet game." There had been no fear or discomfort during the exercise—only the childlike wonder Sam always displayed when learning something new. It was easy to picture him as a young human meticulously devouring any available knowledge. Asking Dean to teach him the older boy's advanced homework when his own was too simple to feed his intellect. The angel smiled and traced a new word. Grow. That he flourishes in his new life and second childhood.

The humming tapered off, leaving the fire's crackling blaze to settle over them like a whisper. Castiel could hear his brother talking with Dean, but he kept them muffled out of respect. If he reached his grace out far enough, he would be able to make out the humans in town several miles away. Not that he wanted to do such a thing, but it was once again a possibility. His hands smoothed over the soft sweater, wiping the metaphoric slate clean for whatever word came next.

Castiel was starting to see that the restoration of his grace went far beyond the 'physical' effects. And while his abilities returning to their pre-apocalypse state was a reason to celebrate, it was his renewed sense of purpose and self that excited him. It wasn't just that he remembered how to be an angel—he remembered why he was an angel. What it meant to act from a place of love instead of duty. How it felt.

Love. That he feels God's love emanating from within their shared grace. Love. That he experiences the Heaven Castiel knows is possible. Love. That Heaven is reminded of how to be a family again when they meet their newest member. Love.

"What's that one mean?" Mary's whisper cut through Castiel's thoughts and his head snapped toward her, startled at the sound without really hearing her words.

"I'm sorry?"

She gestured to where his fingers remained suspended and forgotten over her sleeping son's back. "You keep repeating that one particular pattern," Mary leaned forward and her blonde hair shifted and shimmered in the firelight. Reaching forward, she recreated the symbols in the dirt as she'd seen Castiel draw them.

Castiel smiled automatically at the sight. The shapes were a little off and one of the symbols was inverted, but he felt warmth bubble up from within at the sacred word written in the most ancient of tongues by the clumsy fingers of a human. "You are very observant, Mary Winchester. I was..." heat bloomed across his face—not from shame, but the fluster of trying to explain his new-found feelings of affection. He opened his mouth to try and explain, but was interrupted by the sound of footsteps.

"Oh, he is out!" Dean gave a low whistle as he crouched down next to his brother, "He's drooling all over the place. I haven't seen him do that in years."

There was a sharp inhale from the archangel who had moved to stand behind Castiel. Tilting his head all the way back, he saw Gabriel gazing at the word written on the ground. The golden eyes shifted down to meet his, and he saw confusion there. "Did Sammy write that?"

"No, I did," Mary answered quickly as she sat up a little, "Was I wrong? Is that something humans shouldn't do? I just wanted to know what it meant."

"You? I...What?" Gabriel's bewilderment grew and it was clear to everyone that he had not expected her to answer. "No, no, nothing like that. It's just...how do you even know this word? Or was Cassie here teaching you? Maybe we should do Enochian classes for everyone..."

"Oh," she looked relieved to not have committed some unknown angel taboo, "No, he wasn't teaching me. I was watching him... He was just..." she kept trailing off, unsure what she should say, and turned toward Castiel in hopes that he would finish his explanation.

He sighed. "I was writing words of prayer anointed with my grace. My prayers for Sam in his new life—things like safety and peace and happiness." The heat was growing again on his neck and face. Was the fire getting warmer?

"Which was this one?" Mary asked, pointing at her drawing.

Gabriel knelt between Castiel and Mary. Reaching his hand across the ground, a golden light flowed down to ignite the traced lines. With a wave, the lines shifted to form the correct symbols. "It is our word for 'love.'"

Mary's eyes shined bright, "You...you wrote it more than once."

"There is more than one kind of love. It has many forms and ways and expressions. I guess I wanted to make sure there was no room for doubt." Castiel kept his tone calm, but he was certain Gabriel could feel the longing under the surface.

The seraph knew he had always committed himself to causes and tasks with a single-minded intensity that unnerved even some angels. That same drive was still present, but for once it was not guided by desperation. How long had he been recklessly rushing to fulfill some missing need, always questioning and seeking the answers to an unknown question? And now he had both the answer and the question.

Heaven was broken—not just as a system, but as a family. Each passing moment seemed to confirm that the memories of his youth were not an illusion of some previous lifetime. The bond between the archangel, seraph, and fledgling, and the way the humans fit seamlessly into their circle, was a clearest representation for they way things should be between Heaven and Earth. Not that they had perfect relationships, but there was a symbiosis occurring based on mutual affection. They all cared for each other in both feeling and deed.

Suddenly, an arm wrapped itself around Castiel's head. He heard his older brother's voice speak in his mind. And I wish for the rest of our siblings to have the same revelation. The arm unwound and a hand scratched through his hair, digging fantastically into his scalp for a moment.

Castiel turned and saw Dean giving him a familiar look—the same one he'd receive whenever he surprised the hunter by doing or saying something unexpected. It was a combination of shock, pride, humor...and jealousy that Dean hadn't been the one to cause the change in behavior. The first time Castiel saw this particular look was when he drank an entire liquor store.

"You're not even close to this dopey when you get drunk. This is more like that weird alternate future Zachariah sent me to where other-me was leading the resistance against zombies and Lucifer. And other-you was always stoned and planning orgies." Dean leaned forward to stare searchingly into Castiel's eyes. "Or when you lost your mind and rambled about bees while trying to convince us to play Twister. It's kind of a toss up between those two...because you seem a little stoned and crazy."

Gabriel just barked a laugh and clapped his brother on the back. He moved off his knees and plopped onto a pillow dramatically. "You think Cassie is fun? Wait until the rest of our siblings start getting this as a regular treatment. Can you imagine how differently the apocalypse would have played out if all the angels were too busy adoring each other and cherishing their human charges to plot the world's end?"

"Oh yeah," Dean rolled his eyes, "Uriel seemed like he was just one massage and margarita away from being a great big teddy bear."

The archangel groaned, "I think Dad made that one when He was grumpy. Probably right after breaking up another fight between the oldest two. Even Luci used to joke about Uriel's negativity—called him the 'funniest angel in the garrison'because the kid was a raging storm cloud as a baby."

Castiel was about to comment about how he had not known that statement to be in jest when he felt muscles shift under his palm still resting on the boy's back. The louder voices seemed to rouse Sam slowly from sleep. He rubbed circles over the building tension, hoping to ease Sam into consciousness without it being a jarring transition.

Dean immediately noticed the change in his brother, and sat himself between Sam and the fire. Castiel thought it was an odd choice of place for the hunter to put himself—too close to the heat for comfort and too close to Sam to be outside the required distance of 'personal space.' But then Dean hunched over, blocking the flames completely, and ran his fingers through the boy's hair. "Come on, dude. You're gonna sleep through the s'more making ritual and marshmallow sacrifice."

Sam's body stretched and rolled up onto his side enough that his face was toward his brother's voice. Hazel eyes blinked slowly before quickly locking onto Dean. "Wha...?"

"You fell asleep during our picnic, party pooper. So get up before I feel obligated to stick a spoon in your mouth and take a picture." Dean tousled Sam's hair a couple rough times, then stood up. He'd turned toward the picnic table with the basket, but before he could take a step there was a 'snap' and the basket appeared beside Gabriel. "Fireside service! We may let you stick around after all, Gabe," Dean joked and joined the archangel next to Mary.

Castiel watched them on his periphery but kept his focus mainly on Sam. Without the older hunter there, the firelight flooded their little blanket area. The boy leaned back against Castiel and realization hit the angel. With a life defined by moments of fire, it was probably a bad thing for Sam to see upon first waking. Of course, Dean would not need the extra ninety seconds of analysis to reach the same conclusion when Sam was the cornerstone of his instincts.

He ran his fingers through the back of the boy's curly brown hair and gently scratched the neck and scalp. This need for physical interaction with Sam (and by extension, the others) was still new and surprising. Gabriel had assured him that it was built-in as part of their angel programming—a drive to nurture each fledgling generation. The archangel joked that their Father must have used him as the prototype since he'd been obsessed with the younger angels compared to the older three.

Sam tensed for a heartbeat, then relaxed when he remembered who was behind him. "Sorry I fell asleep while you were talking."

"There is no need to apologize," Castiel said reassuringly. It saddened him that Sam was always so quick to take on guilt. "Do you wish to make these 'sa-mores' Dean keeps mentioning? I believe Gabriel brought the necessary ingredients and tools out here."

"Nah," Sam said with a slight shake of his head—not enough to dislodge Castiel's hand, the angel noted. "They're too sweet for me. I'll probably snag some graham crackers though."

"Too sweet!? Too...do mine ears deceive me, or are you denying the awesome deliciousness of sugar, Samsquatch?" Gabriel appeared next to them on the blanket with a whisper of wings. He looked like Sam had just declared his hatred of baby otters.

"Don't you think you should get better nicknames for me?" Sam scowled, "I'm not sure your old ones fit me anymore."

"Oh no," Gabriel waved off the idea, "I've seen adult human-you, so I know what you're capable of genetically. And while I have no idea what your grace-form will look like because there's never been an angel made from a human soul, I do know that you will at least be equal in size to us archangels. You'll have to be with so much power!"

"Really?" Sam asked, looking at his hands as though trying to imagine it.

"It's like looking at a puppy's feet to estimate how big it will be fully grown. Believe me, you won't stay mini-sized forever. But you should still eat something, just to stay on the safe side and not stunt your growth."

"No thanks, Gabriel, I really don't..."

Gabriel rolled his eyes and stretched his foot out to nudge Dean. When he had the hunter's attention, he sat up and made grabby-hands toward the basket. "Dude, can I even lift this thing? It must have half the kitchen inside it."

"Just the red bowl. And the graham crackers." Gabriel kept his arm out until Dean passed him the requested items. He then placed the sealed bowl and crackers on the blanket next to Sam.

The boy studied them with a mix of curiosity and suspicion before deciding to investigate. There was a struggle with removing the lid, but Castiel secretly loosened the plastic's grip with his grace and the thing popped off. Inside was a mixture of the fruits from breakfast, all looking as fresh and perfect as when they'd first been cut.

Sam beamed, "Oh, thanks Gabe! This is perfect." He grabbed a piece of melon and held it in his mouth for a second. Castiel wondered if the boy tasted things differently now. After he finished his bite, Sam raised the bowl to offer, "Thanks to you too, Cas. You should try some. Every single one has a totally different flavor and texture."

Castiel reached into the bowl and took out a raspberry. The blend of tart and sweet tastes was sharp on his tongue. The seeds were very small and made for an interesting experience chewing. "I did not assist with the fruit preparation for breakfast. But thank you for sharing. That one was...much stronger than I anticipated. It made my eyes burn a little, but I liked it."

Sam shot him a look over his shoulder and grinned. "No—thanks for getting the lid off. And yeah, berries tend to be that way. If you want subtle, you should try the melon. Or kiwi! That one's softer in flavor but really good."

Castiel stared at him. "You felt me help with the lid?"

"Well, yeah. It made the whole bowl light up and kinda vibrate. Why? Were you trying to be sneaky?"

"No! I was..." he broke off with a small smile because Sam was right—he was trying to be sneaky, "I was just trying to help without you noticing."

Sam turned so he was facing the two angels and gave him a look that meant 'you just said something stupid, but I'm patient.' "That's kinda what 'sneaky' means, Cas."

"You are correct," he nodded, "but my reaction was to you registering my use of grace, not at being caught using it."

"He means that it was impressive for you to catch what he did—even though he was a total clutz and we will be working on that. No brother of mine will be that clumsy in stealth. You need some prank-training, bro." Gabriel bounced a marshmallow off Castiel's cheek and it landed in the fruit bowl.

"Why is it impressive?" Sam asked, picking the offending puff of sugar out of his fruit and threw it over his shoulder into the fire.

"Because you are a wee babe with no training. And most angels really wouldn't have seen that. He used almost no power, but you saw and felt it. Which means you are super sensitive." The archangel explained it while assembling a monstrosity of stacked graham crackers and chocolate bars. The metal stick he was wedging marshmallows onto had three prongs and held six at a time.

Castiel decided to stick with the fruit. "Have there been other times you've sensed us use our grace when it wasn't discussed beforehand?"

Sam frowned in concentration, "Umm, I guess so. I feel it pretty regularly. It's strongest whenever one of you flies in or out of the room. And Gabriel's snaps are like whips being cracked right next to me. But there's smaller things too. When you heat the blankets it's like you've run them straight from a dryer and they're crawling with static. Or when you heal us, everything glows blue and feels like water. It's always a mild temp—never extreme. Or when..." his voice broke and his eyes glazed for a second until he blinked and he dropped his gaze away from the others, "someone was explosively angry and locked himself in my room. That was intense. It took days before I could get warm again."

"Sam," Castiel glanced in alarm at a confused Gabriel, then leaned forward to better see the boy's face. It was turned downward as Sam picked through the bowl. He repeated himself until hazel eyes looked up, "Sam, that was before you had grace."

"So?" The whisper was almost silent, but the angels easily heard the uncertain answer.

"So, how long have you been able to see and feel the grace of angels?" he asked gently, not wanting to spook the suddenly tense boy.

Sam shrugged. "It started when Death returned my soul from the cage. Well, I guess it started in the cage, but that was different."

"How was it different?" Gabriel asked in a soft voice. He'd set his food-creation aside and was concentrating on Sam. Castiel could hear Mary telling Dean a story involving her hunting a poltergeist in a puppet workshop. The hunter laughed and Castiel let them fade into the background, satisfied that they would not interrupt and cause Sam to shut down.

"Umm," the boy shifted in obvious discomfort, but the angels both knew he needed to talk about it, "well, grace formed my entire reality in the cage. It shaped my perception, even gave me a body when my soul got left behind. I was enveloped in it for, like, two centuries. It wasn't hard to sense grace because everything was grace. But topside is different. Maybe it was because I existed inside it for so long, but almost every time an angel used it I would feel or see something. Not always at first, but it got stronger through the years. Especially after Gadreel."

Castiel felt the archangel's shock. No, Gabriel. Do not ask right now. He shot a stern look to his older brother, grateful Sam couldn't see it.

But what...!? Gabriel's eyes had widened and glowed with flaring specks of gold.

Castiel gave a sharp shake of his head. Later. If you ask, he will run. It was worse than you think.

Gabriel's nostrils flared briefly, but the gold light dimmed to normal levels as the archangel regained control. That was NOT reassuring.

It was not meant to be. Castiel ended their silent communication before Sam could grow suspicious. He reached out and pried the boy's white-knuckled fingers from the fruit bowl. Setting the food aside, he loosely held the small hand between his two palms. "That makes sense. I was unaware of your sensitivity as a human. I am sorry if I made you uncomfortable."

Sam shook his head which looked more like a full-body shudder, and then looked up with a strained smile. "It's cool, Cas. You never really did. Others, though..." he shrugged again, stalled on words.

Gabriel sat forward and held out a hand to Sam. Castiel felt the tiny fingers twitch against his own palm like they wanted to pull away. He didn't tighten his hold, but the boy didn't retreat. Instead, he hesitantly gave his other hand to Gabriel who took it and mirrored Castiel. "The very word 'grace' means the freely given favor of our Father—mercy and salvation and blessings. It was never meant to be used as a tool for punishment."

Sweat began to build on the hand Castiel held and he felt the fingers twitch again. "It's not your fault, Gabriel. I mean, you did some dickish things for sure, but I get it now. You saw how destructive the path was that Dean and I were going down. We would sacrifice anything and everything for the other, no matter who got caught in the crossfire. It took us years to learn what you were trying to teach us back then. And I don't think the other angels ever really saw me as anything but an abomination. Probably even more so after I returned from the cage."

"We were wrong," Castiel cut in before Gabriel could respond, his voice rumbling with heavy conviction, "Heaven was wrong. Not just in our perceptions and judgment, but fundamentally. We lost our way long before you were born. Before they even started manipulating bloodlines to create you. You were never an abomination, Sam."

The boy took a shuddering breath and blinked rapidly. He glanced up through curly bangs, eyes darting between the two angels. Self-doubt seeped through their growing bond and Castiel pushed back with a wave of affection and acceptance. Surprised hazel eyes fixed on him, and a smile tugged on the corner of Sam's mouth.

"Thanks, Cas," he mumbled, blushing as he shyly gave in to a full dimple-making grin.

You may want to dial it back a bit there, little bro. I think even the humans felt that. Gabriel's true-voice rang through his head.

Good. Castiel shot back, fondly exasperated with absurd Winchester self-worth issues. They need to know it too.

Definitely missed your calling as a guardian or nurturer.

"You guys aren't gonna bust out singing 'Kumbaya' or anything, are you?" Dean's gruff voice broke through their silent discussion. Both he and Mary were staring them.

Sam yanked his hands out of the angels' grasps and grabbed the fruit bowl. "No, we're not going to sing, Dean." Castiel had to admit that the 'bitchface' shot toward the hunter was quite impressive.

"Whatever, dude!" Dean held his hands up in surrender and laughed at them. "You're the ones sitting in a circle holding hands. Excuse me for being curious!"

"Admit it. You're just jealous because no one was holding your hand, Deano." Gabriel sighed as though imparting some great knowledge and hoisted his marshmallow trident into the fire.

"Do you want me to hold your hand, Dean?" Castiel asked seriously, slightly worried his friend would feel left out or jealous over the attention he gave to Sam.

"Damn it, Cas! That's not...No!" Dean flailed in his fluster and hunched over the stick he was furiously shoving marshmallows onto.

Laughter rang out through the woods, momentarily silencing the nearby insects. Castiel was still contemplating the intricacies of human hand holding when the nightly chorus resumed.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:
My mind has been jumping around way too much and didn't want to settle down enough to write this chapter.
Shout out to Echodoki for lighting a fire under me-I wrote 7/11 pages in the last 24 hours!
There is power in all your comments! ;)

Now, you should probably strap your seatbelts on, because things are gonna pick up in the next part of this series...
*insert evil laugh*

Also...

BONUS MATERIAL: Gabriel's lecture on the history of the English language

"Old English, formed between the 5th and 6th centuries. You wouldn't know a single word—spoken or written. The whole language shifted from the 8th to the 15th centuries as nations invaded each other and words were shared. You might scrape by in the Early Modern English era—that was Shakespeare's language in the 16th century. Modern English, as in the language you would mostly recognize today, didn't start until a century later. Where do you think English will be in another five hundred years?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Wow, dude, really? You give me a fake grace-buzz, then kill it with a lecture on the history of the English language?"