AFTER THE STORM
PART 7: Death Is Just So Full and Man So Small.
Castiel only half-listened to the movie. Metatron may have given him "Star Wars" as part of the pop-culture download, but this was his first time actually watching them. His attention, however, stayed on Sam. An internal storm had been steadily brewing in the fledgling since Crowley's departure.
The King of Hell's accusation that they were ignoring the threat of Lucifer had stirred up a hornets' nest of emotions in his friend. Guilt and helplessness from the demon's words continued resonating off the young grace throughout the film. Occasionally, the fragile wings twitched against his palm and Castiel would soothe them as best he could.
Lucifer's face from the previous morning, taken from an aging rockstar, kept flashing in Castiel's mind. As Sam unconsciously projected his memories and fears, Castiel pushed back with warmth and feelings of safety. And tried not to allow his own guilt over Lucifer's current presence on Earth to carry over.
It had not yet been discussed—Castiel's decision to say "yes" to Lucifer, nor the actions committed while the archangel had been in control. He was unsure if Sam had already forgiven him, or if the crime was being over-looked in favor of dealing with everything else. Neither option sat well with the seraph.
When the film ended, Gabriel got up to change it out for the next in line. Raphael asked Mary questions about the Force while Dean stood and stretched. Sam stayed put, silently observing everyone, so Castiel remained with him.
"Anybody want anything?" Dean asked.
"Coffee, please. And are there anymore cinnamon rolls left?" Mary turned pleading eyes on Gabriel, who nodded with a smile.
"Of course! I brought all the good stuff. You know, for second breakfast." The archangel reached down and lifted his picnic basket off the floor by the end of the couch. Castiel didn't remember it being there when he'd entered the room.
"You're a God-send, Gabriel." Mary planted a kiss on his cheek and started pulling out dishes. Dean made a gagging noise and walked out.
"Sure, give Dad all the credit," Gabriel pouted before glancing in Castiel's direction. "How about the couch potatoes? Anything I can tempt you with from my magic basket?" Castiel heard his brother's unvoiced concern. You think we can get him to eat a bit more? He barely had anything this morning.
Sam shrugged, then shook his head.
"How about something warm? Hot chocolate or tea?" Castiel prodded. Sam shrugged again, but didn't say no.
"Hot chocolate sounds perfect, Cassie. I'm gonna make some for all of us," Gabriel said and bounded into the hallway bellowing, "Deano, hold off on those coffees!"
Sam gave the exiting archangel an exasperated sigh before turning a questioning look on Castiel, as though asking 'what's up with him?'
"He is worried," Castiel explained simply.
It was true—Gabriel's flock had been threatened and harmed several times in just a few days. He would likely swing between hyper-protective and aggressively nurturing for a long while. There had been a time when Heaven's leaders were expected to fuss over their underlings. Then the ranks decided that caring equaled coddling, and flocks faded into rarity.
Sam's face fell as he nodded, slow and serious, and sat up. His ever-present anxiety spiked even higher, although he hid it well on the outside. Pushing his hair back, the boy squared his shoulders and blew out a breath—a series of gestures Castiel had seen countless times performed in an adult body. This was Sam bracing himself for a potentially devastating discussion.
Castiel frowned, wondering how Sam had interpreted his words. Winchesters never readily agreed to someone worrying about them. He thought about how he could clarify his statement when Raphael spoke up.
"Samuel," the Healer said in a solemn tone. Sam immediately turned, his spine snapping to attention. "Do you suppose the Force works similarly to grace?"
The question was met with silence until Mary sat on the ottoman across from Sam. She put her plate down between them—several cinnamon rolls sat next to a huge pile of Gabriel's special fruit salad. "It's not a trick question, Sammy," she said, tearing apart a roll and handing part of it to her youngest. He automatically reached for it, but just held it like he didn't know what to do with the sticky bread. "Careful, the icing's starting to drip."
Sam almost panicked, drawing his hand closer to keep it from getting on the couch. Just as the glob started sliding off the top, he shoved it into his mouth for lack of any other option. The sweetness made him scrunch his face, but he chewed and swallowed. His gaze cut back to Raphael. "What?"
The archangel tilted his head. "Is the Force to a Jedi what grace is to angels? Does it work the same?"
Sam gave a half shake of his head before swinging around to Castiel. "What?" he repeated, part-outraged and part-incredulous.
Castiel recognized the Healer's attempt at focusing Sam's mind away from whatever was keeping the fledgling on high-alert. Asking him about a familiar and favorite topic was smart. Playing along, Castiel snagged a strawberry and shrugged. "I do not know enough about these films to answer. I may know the dialogue, but I do not understand human nuance."
"Is it explained later in the series?" Raphael showed enough genuine curiosity that Sam felt compelled to answer.
"It...umm," Sam nibbled on the roll absently as he finally considered the question. "I guess there are some similarities, but they aren't the same. The Force is a mystical energy that the Jedi and Sith can tap into. People who are born sensitive to the Force can manipulate it for their abilities."
"So, they do not contain the Force within them." Raphael stated with a nod.
"Not in the same way that angels have grace. I...I don't really understand grace that much yet. But angels are made of grace, right? It's like their blood and energy and consciousness all in one. But the Force is more of a universal energy that connects everything..." Sam explained, going into details contained in something called an "extended universe."
Castiel didn't understand most of what Sam said, but relaxed as the boy's silence was finally broken. They each asked questions to keep him rambling. And while he remained disconnected, he was no longer completely despondent.
Dean and Gabriel returned carrying trays of extravagantly created drinks. There were piles of whipped cream topped with some kind of colorful sugar that sparkled, and peppermint sticks standing tall in each glass. Both men's eyes warmed at the sight of Sam sitting up and talking.
"Ugh," Dean interrupted with a groan, "I hope you guys realize that you've opened yourselves up to days of lectures on the various eras of Sith philosophies and the subtle differences between all twenty-nine combat styles."
"There's only seven, Dean," Sam corrected in a tone that suggested this was a common argument.
"Whatever, nerd," Dean handed Mary and Raphael a drink before climbing over the ottomans to reclaim his seat. The Healer stared at it without drinking. "You gonna show them your YouTube playlist of Star Wars theories?"
"No. You gonna show them your playlists?" Sam challenged.
Castiel almost laughed at the deep blush that burned the hunter's neck and face.
"No! Truce." Dean quickly answered, dragging a grin from his brother. "Aaaand I think it's time for the next one. Gabriel, a galaxy far far away is calling our name, let's go!"
"Will you show me your playlist?" Gabriel wagged his eyebrows as Dean choked on his drink. Chuckling, he gave the remaining cocoas to Sam and Castiel. "Here you go, kiddos. Drink up. Cas, hold mine too for a second. Don't drink it." He moved to Castiel's feet, lifting them up and sitting down with them on his lap.
"Gabriel, what..." Castiel tensed at the unexpected closeness. He'd never put his feet on someone's lap before—it seemed intrusive. And made him feel suddenly vulnerable.
"Hush, Cassie. I promise not to tickle you."
"Unless he changes his mind. Or gets bored. Or thinks it might be hilarious." Dean said with a smirk.
"Okay, yes. Unless those things happen, I promise not to tickle. Now give me my drink, little bro. I'm a lot less likely to do anything if I'm occupied with chocolate." Gabriel reached dramatically with his shorter arms and Castiel handed him the mug that said 'Tricks are for Tricksters.' He snapped the lights off and the movie started.
Mary scrambled to her seat and settled between Raphael and Dean, leaving the plate of food behind. "You're supposed to drink it," she whispered to the Healer.
"How do I get to the drink? It is covered in foam and gritty sugar," he confessed.
She laughed lightly. "It'll dissolve on your tongue. Just try it."
Castiel vowed to never forget the sight of Raphael with a whipped cream mustache. With a smile, the seraph settled in with his own drink. He quickly got lost in the sweeping shots of the ice-planet Hoth, marveling at human creativity.
It wasn't until Luke fled Dagobah to chase the vision sent by Darth Vader that Castiel noticed Sam was shivering. The boy held his cold mug in a death grip as he stared unseeing at the screen. A brush of his grace told Castiel all he needed to know—Lucifer lingered in his thoughts. He suspected that Sam's own experiences of being misguided and manipulated were adding to the memories.
Gabriel. Castiel nudged the archangel with his toes as he gently removed the mug from Sam's hands. Gabriel banished it with a wave so Castiel could coax the boy into laying down again. He considered stopping the movie, but decided against it.
This was going to happen regularly until Sam's brain processed all his unsorted memories. Before the kidnapping, most of it seemed to happen during sleep. But there were enough instances of Sam having flashbacks during the day.
It was always a toss-up as to whether the boy would come out of it with a brief head shake or with his grace surging everywhere. The one thing that remained a constant was Sam's embarrassment. If they kept their reactions calm and contained, then maybe Sam wouldn't feel like these episodes were so imposing.
Gabriel passed him a blanket, and Castiel draped it over Sam. Tiny shivers had worked their way up the boy's arms, and he wanted to ward off both the chill and insecurity that always came with memories of the Morningstar. He could just smite Crowley for his callousness.
Dean saw what they were doing and helped. Without a word, he pulled off Sam's shoes and tucked the blanket around his brother's feet. Sam pulled the blanket up over his shoulders and wormed his toes under Dean's thighs. The hunter smiled fondly and rested his arm over the covered legs, adding a layer of weight and security to the warmth.
How is he doing? Raphael's true-voice rumbled under the sound of the film.
He is troubled, Castiel answered honestly.
What's bothering him the most—the demon, the angels, the kidnapping? Gabriel asked, joining them in their silent conversation.
Castiel had almost forgotten Sam's reaction to the guards' arrival. It certainly hadn't been positive. There had been both fear and anxiety, but he didn't know the exact roots of either emotion. He did, however, recognize what had truly upset Sam. There is a combination of factors. But overall, I believe it was what Crowley said...about us not taking the threat of Lucifer seriously.
Let me guess—Sam feels like it's his duty to help lead the charge against his worst enemy. Gabriel gave a weary mental sigh.
His duty? But he's too young and untrained. He cannot think others expect this of him! Raphael exclaimed, the idea unbelievable. Does he understand that the very armies of Heaven would fight to see him safe?
Castiel glanced at his brother and saw the familiar frustration often inspired by the Winchesters. It came from their ingrained belief that the world was their personal responsibility regardless of how many times older, more powerful beings told them otherwise. Of course, some of those beings had only recently joined their cause. Before their return, the world had endured by the brothers' actions alone because no one else cared enough to do it for them.
To be fair, the only times Heaven has aided the Winchesters is when it ensured the Hosts' survival. Almost everyone who has stood beside them in loyalty or love has died. Besides, every time Sam tried to stop hunting in the past, it ended in disaster. And he has always taken the blame. I do not think anyone has ever encouraged him to give it up. He knows no other life. Castiel said carefully.
There was a pause as the archangels sat in silent contemplation.
So, he was upset by the demon's words, but not the demon itself? Raphael asked slowly, grace still rolling with disbelief.
Castiel almost snorted. It has been a while since Crowley last posed a serious threat to us. He is an annoyance more than anything.
Regardless of whatever alliance you have been forced into, a demon should always be treated with caution. The King of Hell even more so! Raphael lectured.
Reasons why Crowley was the least intimidating 'villain' in their lives ran through Castiel's mind, but he didn't get the chance to explain any of them. A tendril of grace smacked him in the back of the head, making him startle and turn to find Gabriel giving him a stern look.
Seriously! What happened out there, Cassie?
What do you mean? Castiel felt adrift in the sudden shift of mood. He double checked Sam, making sure he wasn't being affected by their discussion. The boy seemed engrossed in the film now that the shivers had died down.
He means that when the King of Hell appears within arm's reach of a fledgling, it's grounds for all-out war. Raphael answered instead, his critical gaze making Castiel want to squirm.
Gabriel's hands squeezed his ankles like he was trying to be reassuring. We get that you've had to team up recently, but...
I would think you, of all people, would understand that things are not always so black and white, Castiel interrupted, staring straight into his brother's golden eyes. Less than a month ago, this bunker held the Winchester brothers, the King of Hell and his immortal witch mother, myself with Lucifer in possession of my vessel, and our Father. And when everyone, including God, had given in to despair, Sam was the one breaking up the pity party!
Cassie... Gabriel started, his disapproval melting into to concern.
No! Castiel cut him off. Why does Sam feel it is his duty? Because while Dean convinced Amara to give her brother a second chance, Sam convinced God to give His creation another chance. Samuel Winchester gave hope to the Father and made Him care again. And, yes, we have all either teamed up with undesirable allies or turned ourselves into something unrecognizable—all to save this ungrateful world!
We know, Raphael said softly, without judgment.
Yes, you do. Castiel's aggression deflated. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head back against the sofa. He had worked with Crowley then, too—and it ended in disaster. He could still feel the Leviathans squirming against his true-self if he thought about it. The image of Raphael's death was forever seared in his mind. And what had he achieved? Could anyone say that the Leviathans were the lesser evil compared to a civil war in Heaven?
It seemed like any good he'd done over the years was overshadowed by even greater mistakes—world ending, wall breaking, life destroying mistakes. He looked down at Sam and brushed through the mess of curls with unsteady fingers. What qualified him to be a caretaker to Heaven's newest child?
Sam shifted, turning his head enough to gaze worriedly up at Castiel. Whatever he saw made the boy's anxiety spike higher and he reached a hand out to Castiel's knee. Trust and acceptance flowed freely over their bond, and Castiel felt unworthy.
Cas? A small voice whispered in Castiel's mind, almost like a prayer. But prayers registered in a distinct way to angels, and this was different. Almost like...
Castiel's eyes went wide as he sucked in a breath. He glanced at Gabriel and Raphael, but neither looked like they'd heard Sam. They were, however, paying attention to the change in Castiel.
Cassie? What's wrong? Gabriel asked, sitting forward as though preparing to spring into action.
Nothing, I... Castiel gave Sam a soft smile and covered the tiny hand on his knee with his own, trying to convey that everything was alright. He continued speaking only to the archangels. Sam just said my name—he spoke it to me.
He what?! Gabriel gripped tight onto Castiel's pant-leg, his eyes glowing with excitement and pride. An angel's first communication to the Host was the equivalent to a human child's first words. In fact, a fledgling had never spoken verbally before—it required physical form and none so young had ever taken a vessel.
Raphael leaned forward from his corner of the couch. He did that yesterday, too. I heard him call to you both when he awoke from the grace-explosion. The entire Host heard him.
"What is going on?" Dean's voice made them all jump.
"Nothing," Castiel and the archangels answered in unison.
"Yeah, that's not suspicious at all." Dean narrowed his eyes.
"Just angel-bro business, Deano. No crisis," Gabriel reassured with a little too much enthusiasm.
Dean shook his head, unconvinced. "Is that why your clutching Cas' pants like a security blanket, short-stuff?"
"You're sitting on your baby bro's feet. Who are you to judge?" Gabriel asked defensively.
"So weird," Dean mumbled. He turned to his brother, pulling the blanket away from the boy's face enough to see him. "You doing okay, dude?"
Sam nodded silently. Dean didn't look convinced, but he let it drop. He tucked the blanket back around Sam's shoulders, and returned to the movie, occasionally shooting wary glances at all of them.
Cas? Sam's voice sounded in Castiel's head again, stronger and more worried.
Castiel resumed playing with Sam's hair. Gabriel had told him of Sam's pained reaction to angel-radio on the archangel's first morning with them in the bunker. They'd agreed to not try it again until Sam was stronger. But if Sam was capable of reaching out, then perhaps developing wings now allowed him greater access to his abilities.
Yes, Sam? he replied as carefully as possible.
Sam's wings flared in surprise. I can hear you!
And I hear you. Am I too loud? Castiel swept the boy with his grace, but found no pain—only a tickling energy that pressed back excitedly.
No. It sounds like I'm hearing you through headphones, but it's fine. He gave a small smile. No wonder you guys always zone out when you hear someone talks this way. You can't hear anything else!
It becomes easier with practice. But, you are correct—when an angel is speaking directly to you, it can be difficult to split your attention. Castiel noticed Gabriel staring at him expectantly, impatient for an update.
Can everyone hear me? Sam asked, frowning.
No. Do you know how you are directing your words to me right now? Castiel couldn't help but trace the boy's furrowed brow, wishing to smooth it away.
I was just trying to pray to you...to get your attention. Sam's gaze traveled over Castiel's face. Something's wrong. What is it?
Nothing is wrong... Castiel started reassuring, but Sam cut him off.
Yes, there is! Fear edged into the concern that poured off the fledgling, and Castiel felt Gabriel start to try and get up.
Wait, Gabriel, Castiel said privately, stopping the archangel without taking his eyes off his charge. Sam, there is nothing wrong. I was simply discussing the events of breakfast with Gabriel and Raphael.
Uh huh. And, what, the lack of pancakes made you spiral into a dark abyss of guilt? Sam's voice was far too cynical when matched with such a youthful face.
Castiel decided to take the boy's statement as an opening. My brothers are concerned by our reactions to Crowley.
Why? Because we didn't let them smite him? Sam's aggression made way for confusion. I mean, sure, who doesn't want to shoot the asshole? But if we shoot everyone we've ever considered an enemy, then we'd have nobody. Not saying that Crowley isn't an enemy, but he's not— Sam suddenly looked away, his expression hidden behind a mask of stoicism.
Not Lucifer? Castiel finished for him. A shudder went through the new wings as they flattened protectively against Sam's back. Small, sharp fingers dug into the fabric covering Castiel's knee.
Yeah. Him. Sam took a shaky breath. What are we gonna do, Cas?
Castiel pushed the hair out of Sam's face and tilted the boy's head up until they were looking at each other again. What would you like to do?
That's...that has nothing... Sam floundered for words. I didn't mean, 'what movie are we gonna watch next?' I meant, 'what is our plan for stopping the devil?' We can't leave the fate of the world in Crowley's grubby hands!
Castiel's grace tightened in his chest with the insight on why his brothers had been so upset. He could picture Sam pouring over ancient tomes, researching possibilities with the same fervor he'd displayed in the past. The boy bordered on obsessive when lives were on the line, even during simple hunts. He'd memorized spells, exorcisms, sigils, and languages—never knowing what they'd need to be prepared.
But everything was different now.
The thought of Sam teaching himself how to fight or wield weapons with the intent to do battle was nauseating. His physical body was small and untested. Castiel focused his sight past the soft skin and fragile bone to see the grace-form inside. It was less trained than the boy's arms and legs. And his wings only had the form and protection given to them by Raphael. He looked impossibly young.
Cas? Cas!? Sam's voice broke through his thoughts with the volume of an angel's unfiltered true-voice. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gabriel wince.
Damn, that kid's got a set of metaphoric lungs on him! Gabriel whispered to the seraph.
Castiel shook his head to clear it, and sighed. I am sorry, Sam. I was lost in thought for a moment.
Like an idea on what to do? Sam sounded so painfully hopeful.
Gabriel gave a tiny nod, indicating that he was still hearing the boy. No wonder—panic had Sam loudly projecting. Castiel sealed the room with his grace, protecting their privacy from outsiders.
Actually, yes. I did have an idea, Castiel opened his end of the conversation to both of his brothers. It would take all of them working together to carry out his plan. He slowly ran his palm over the flattened wings, anticipating Sam's displeasure. I believe we should let the archangels deal with their brother. And you can focus on relaxing and learning and getting to know your mother.
Sure enough, Sam's wings puffed out in anger. That's your plan? Trust Heaven to take care of everything? How is that not going to lead directly to a second biblical apocalypse? And we just, what, take a vacation?
Then what would you like to do? Castiel asked again, matching Sam's ire with calm patience.
Anything would be better than that! Sam answered, scowling. I can't do nothing while he's out there!
Samuel, he is not your responsibility. He is not Dean or Mary's responsibility. If anything, he is mine, but I have been charged with a much more important task.
A flutter of panic jolted through the boy. Are you...are you being called back to Heaven?
What? No! Castiel's eyebrows arched high in surprise, and rushed to reassure the bright swirl of grace and soul churning with distress. Even if Michael were to order my return, I would not comply. And Gabriel would never allow it either. No—there is no acceptable scenario that ends with my leaving.
But you said... Sam's breath hitched and his words stalled for a second. What could possibly be more important than Lucifer walking free on the Earth?
Castiel leaned closer, never breaking eye contact. You.
Sam blinked. Me? No, Cas, I'm definitely not more imp—
Yes, Samuel Winchester. You are far more important than Lucifer.
How can—
To. Me. Castiel spoke with stern authority, pausing between drawn out words to make sure Sam understood. You are more important to me.
The boy went completely still—even his grace froze. There was no flood of thoughts or emotions at the angel's declaration. Only silence echoed back over their mental link.
Whoa, dude. I think you broke the fledgling. Gabriel's voice was quiet in Castiel's mind. He looked quickly at the archangel, worried he'd done something wrong, but Gabriel continued before he could speak. Give him some time to work through the idea that someone besides his brother thinks he's worth protecting. And not in a 'we need you to survive for our plans' kind of way.
Castiel nodded. He smoothed his hand over the small back and began tracing words in Enochian. The boy's grace already had areas twisted out of place since being worked on only hours ago, and he decided to let the surer hands of the archangels fix it later. Right now, he just wanted Sam to relax and feel safe.
Sam closed his eyes and let the well-known sounds of the movie wash over him. He could recite every word, and most lines were wrapped in numerous memories of banter with friends. Some were used more often than others.
"I love you."
"I know."
Action music and the clash of ongoing space battles blended together. Sam existed inside a bubble of pure sounds, his thoughts taking the form of notes and blasters and the crackle of lightsabers. It was easier—familiar and peaceful and safe.
"I am your father."
A gasp not coming from the film broke the pattern of expected sounds. Sam's eyes snapped open and the world dropped back into place around him. It took a second to for his brain to reform the world around him, but gradually the lights took shape and became people. People with faces and names he recognized.
"What!?" The shocked voice belonged to Raphael. He was standing, wings touching the ceiling in a display of surprise. Sam wasn't sure how he knew that, but he did.
"Sit down, old man, before you hurt yourself." Gabriel teased, throwing a pillow at the other archangel. It bounced off his chest and fell unnoticed to the ground.
"Man, maybe you guys should do movie nights with the angels upstairs," Dean laughed. "It might help some of them lighten up a bit. Get that stick out of their collective holy asses."
"Excellent plan. Discuss later. Shh!" Gabriel waved his hand and Raphael was knocked back into the couch. "Now stay there and watch till the end."
Everyone's laughter was muffled to Sam, like he was listening through water. He kept his eyes on Gabriel—the archangel made a show of being engrossed in the movie, but kept sneaking glances at Raphael to see his reactions. There was no hiding the adoration there, nor the amazement of someone getting a second chance.
Gabriel's eyes darted to Sam, and there was no time to look away. Sam hunched down in his blanket when a series of expressions crossed the archangel's face too fast for him to interpret. It settled on a soft smile tinged with worry. He tilted his head as though to ask, "are you okay?"
Sam gave a slight nod and burrowed down further until his face was covered with cloth. A hand rubbed his shoulder, but there were no words spoken aloud or over angel-radio. Since Sam's change, Castiel had taken to using physical contact to convey even more than his words.
Words like, "You are more important to me."
Sam's mind jolted, trying to scramble away from its own line of thought. But all he could hear now was Castiel saying words that made no sense. Why would he say that? None of them were more important than the lives they saved.
Besides, Dean had told him of his conversation with Chuck—God Himself had entrusted the care of His world to the Winchesters. Of course, seconds later God had changed Sam into the least capable "world protector" possible. It was like the worst test imaginable.
The urge to move hit him and Sam managed to hold off until he heard the credits start. He pushed the blanket away and sat up as he tried to tug his feet free from Dean's weight. Nothing happened.
"Where are you going in such a hurry?" Dean's grin grated on his nerves, but then the hunter shifted. Sam's feet were pinched under the increased weight, and no amount of effort could move them. A few others laughed at their antics as they got up to stretch.
"Move, Dean," Sam managed to say through gritted teeth. He needed to get up. He needed to go to the bathroom. He needed five minutes alone. And he needed all of that now!
Green eyes sharpened at Sam's tone and studied him critically. The pressure on his feet disappeared, as did the blanket wrapped under his toes. "Good to go, Sammy," Dean assured him. "Do you need your shoes?"
Sam pushed off the couch and landed on the carpet. His legs felt hollow. "Yeah," he grunted and took the offered items. Without looking at anyone else, Sam made his way through the quiet room and slipped into the hallway.
It was a struggle to not take off running through the bunker, just to know he could. But running would have to wait until he had shoes on and he wasn't sliding around in socks. And he wasn't stopping to put on shoes until he was safely in the privacy of a bathroom. People didn't follow him there.
He went to the one with the bathtub—the others rarely used it and it had a lock. It clicked into place and Sam leaned his forehead against the cool door. Those five minutes started now.
All the bathrooms now contained a small stool—a humiliating, but necessary, requirement that kept Sam independent. It took less than a minute to finish his business and push the stool over to reach the sink. He washed his hands in hot water that turned his skin red, and finally looked up at his reflection.
It still startled him—a split second of panic when he didn't recognize the face staring back at him. Angles and strength had been replaced with delicate, round softness. The hazel of his eyes contained brighter greens and deeper blues.
Something moved behind him and he almost fell into the mirror. A few frantic heartbeats passed and Sam realized it was his wings. He'd forgotten about them for over an hour.
Figuring he had at least two more minutes of alone-time, Sam climbed up onto the sink and turned to see his back. They looked nothing like the intricately patterned and brilliantly colored wings he'd seen on archangels or seraphs. These were...ugly—cartoonish, texture-less, and useless. A general lump of vaguely violet light.
Gabriel had once explained how their wing's form was built through training and use. That feathers were just grace funneled into pathways. Sam wished he'd asked more questions.
He reached over his shoulder until his fingers brushed against the barrier that coated the wings. It felt like the static left behind on an old-fashioned television when it was first turned off. The kind he'd grown up with in motel rooms and Bobby' house.
Holding it firmly, Sam stretched it around his side so he could see it without the mirror. It felt like a gel pack that had no temperature—not warm, not cold, and no degree in between. Just static and squishy and purpley-white.
"Awesome," Sam whispered sarcastically under his breath. He might feel differently about them later—after he'd learned to use them and they'd grown into something remotely similar to any other angel. But until then, these bastards had brought him agony for hours before busting free along his spine. And they were tattle-tales, revealing Sam's inner thoughts and emotions to anyone who could see.
Releasing the weird new appendage, Sam sat straight up so he was sideways to the mirror. Hopefully, he'd be able to hide them away like the others. But maybe he could try to control them a little on his own.
Glaring, Sam tried to make the ugly things fold against his back. Nothing.
Move, he thought. Not even a twitch.
Sam tried to make them span out instead, but it was useless. He sighed and tugged on the part that drooped down to his lower back. "You guys suck."
The wings flared outward as though annoyed with his analysis and knocked Sam off the sink. He twisted impossibly in midair and landed heavily on his knees and palms. Sam sent a silent thank you to Chuck that he hadn't busted his face on the cement. The last thing he needed to do was explain that he'd fallen off the sink to the rabidly protective angels and humans.
Wincing, he shifted so he could sit on his butt. He hissed as sharp tiny pains erupted from the places he'd landed. Lifting his palms into the light, Sam gasped to see his skin covered in scrapes. His knees were in the same condition—pants shredded, skin bleeding. It looked like he'd fallen in a parking lot after running and tripping.
Shit! Sam mentally screamed at himself. There was no time to change pants, and no way to hide his hands. How had he even done so much damage in so little a fall?
Footsteps thundered through the hall, and the door handle jiggled. Sam held his breath. Then, someone knocked at the door. Guess my five minutes are up.
As soon as Sam left the room, Dean turned on Castiel. "What the hell was that about?" he demanded in a low voice so little brothers couldn't hear. "Don't think for a second that I didn't notice all the weird looks and nods you kept giving each other the whole time."
"Dean..." Castiel started.
"We're supposed to be relaxing, so why is Sam wound tight enough to snap?" Dean pushed, knowing the angel was about to try and placate him with some bullshit. But he knew his brother, and Dean didn't have time to work his way through some cryptically vague answer. He'd marked the time, and they had five minutes to explain so he could go check on the kid.
"He's frustrated," Gabriel answered instead. Dean waved for him to elaborate, and the archangel seemed to understand his urgency. "It's Lucifer—Sam thinks it's his responsibility to make sure the world is safe from my brother."
Dean closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "What else?"
"What do you mean?" Gabriel asked.
Dean pushed the ottoman away with his feet and stood up. His watch said he had three minutes left. "I mean he wouldn't look at anyone when he ran from the room. He's not rushing off because he's determined to do research. That was not about Lucifer."
"I said something to him," Castiel said quietly.
When Dean turned to the angel, he was surprised to find blue eyes staring steadily up at him. "What? And when? When did you talk about any of this?"
"During the movie."
Dean felt a muscle twitch in his cheek in the following seconds of silence. "You weren't whispering." It wasn't a question.
"No," Castiel admitted, never looking away. "He used angel-radio to ask me something and we ended up having a conversation."
"So Sam is...right, okay," Dean nodded quickly to himself. Sam was able to use telepathy now with the other angels—wasn't that perfect. He squashed down the spike of jealousy over someone else being able to silently communicate with his brother. Not the time or place. "What did you say, Cas?"
"I told him he was more important to me than Lucifer."
Dean felt time slow down as he processed the full meaning of the statement. Oh...Oh! "Shit, Cas. What happened to keeping things light and easy?" he exhaled and checked his watch. One minute.
"Sammy's upset because you told him he's more important than the devil?" Mary asked hesitantly. Dean hated hearing the pain in her voice.
"Mom," his mind raced for the right way to explain, "Sam sacrificed himself to centuries of torture at the hands of two archangels. When we got him out, he saw Lucifer everywhere. And after everything, when the world was ending again, he went back to the Cage. He thought God was sending him visions telling Sam to get Lucifer's help."
"And?" Her voice broke.
"And it was a trap. Lucifer sent the visions to lure him there." Dean said. Thirty seconds. Plus, he still had to find Sam.
"Like when Vader sent Luke the false vision to lure him to Cloud City," Raphael commented in deep thought.
Dean stared at the archangel, wondering what happened to the guy he'd first trapped in holy fire all those years ago with Castiel. "Yeah, pretty much," he agreed, out of time. "Alright, let's take a little break. I'm gonna find Sam and make sure he's okay. You guys just...hang out here, okay? I may need some time."
"Well, it's eleven o'clock now. I could start working on lunch," Gabriel suggested.
Dean grimaced—he was still stuffed, but if the guy wanted to cook then who was Dean to say no? Besides, he needed to find Sam. It didn't matter what everyone else did as long as it involved staying away. "Good plan, Gabe." He flashed a thumbs-up to the archangel and bent to give Mary a kiss on the cheek before taking off in search of his brother.
He checked Sam's personal bedroom first, unsurprised to find it empty. Stepping silently through the hallway, he listened for any hint of the kid's location. The closest bathroom was empty. So was the next one. He was contemplating the chances that Sam may have actually gone outside when he heard it—a crash that sent him sprinting.
The door was closed and Dean automatically tried the handle. Finding it locked made him pause and take a breath. If Sam locked the door, it meant he wanted privacy. But Dean couldn't ignore the crash noise. So, he knocked gently on the door.
"Sammy? You okay, man?" he called. He gave Sam five seconds to respond before he'd pick the lock.
Leaning his head against the door, Dean heard shuffling sounds on the other side. When the lock clicked, he stepped back but the door didn't open. "Sammy? I'm coming in."
"Okay," came the muffled response.
Dean opened the door and carefully looked inside. His eyes went immediately to the small figure standing in the middle of the room. The image made him want to laugh, cry, and scream all at the same time.
Somehow, Sam had managed to injure himself in under ten minutes. The knees of his pants were torn and damp with blood. It took another second for Dean to realize the kid was cradling his hands to his chest.
"Man, what happened?" Dean asked, shutting the door. He guided Sam to stand in front of him as he sat on the toilet seat. The kid wouldn't meet his eyes, but allowed Dean to gently take his hands for inspection. "Whoa! Sam, what happened?" he repeated at the sight of scraped skin.
"I fell," Sam said, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
"Well, I didn't think you were bitch-slapping sandpaper." Dean pulled a first aid kit out from under the sink and started cleaning the wounds. Sam mumbled something too low for Dean to hear. "What was that?"
"I..." Sam took a deep breath, "I said, 'I fell off the sink.'"
"The sink?" Dean stared at him. "What were you doing on the sink?" Sam shrugged and looked at his hands. He winced when Dean dabbed alcohol over one of the cuts.
Instead of pushing for an answer, Dean focused on his task. Patience was usually the key to getting Sam to talk. Not that patience was the hunter's strongest trait, but he could quiet his urgency if it meant helping his brother.
So, he took his time cleaning the tiny palms, making sure all the dirt was gone and the bleeding stopped before coating them in ointment. He knew one of the angels would heal everything as soon as they returned, but the act of tending to Sam's wounds was sacred. When he finished, Dean pulled the stool over and helped Sam sit so he could get a look at his knees. How did he do this falling three feet? he wondered to himself. It seemed like too much damage for a simple fall.
"I wanted to see my...back." The words were so quiet, Dean almost missed them. When he registered what Sam had said, his worry ratcheted up even higher. He hated it every time his brother was injured, but seeing welts and bruises and burns on the kid had taken that feeling to a new level.
"Is it still hurting?" he asked, trying to keep his voice even. Sam shook his head, and stayed quiet for a minute while Dean pushed the cloth pants up the scrawny legs. The first touch of alcohol had Sam flinching but he didn't pull away. "Sorry," Dean said, trying to be both gentle and thorough.
"I wanted to see the wings," Sam finally answered. He kept his ointment-covered hands in his lap, fingers twitching like they wanted to pick at his shirt before the pain reminded him it wasn't a good idea.
Dean huffed a laugh. "You climbed up on the sink to admire your wings and fell, huh? And?"
"And what?"
"Are they glorious?" he asked with a grin.
"Dean..." Sam shook his head, exasperated.
"No, seriously," Dean stopped him, still smiling. He tapped the kid's chin so he'd look up. "I can't see them, Sammy. What do they look like? Are they badass? Fluffy?"
Sam sighed. "They're dumb. And ugly."
"What?!" Dean put the swabs aside and focused on Sam. No way was anything about his brother dumb or ugly—not on his watch. "They are not."
Sam scowled at him through his mess of hair. "How do you know? You can't see them."
"Because they're yours," Dean said. He ruffled the floppy curls and laughed as Sam tried to push him away with the backs of his curled up hands. "And because I'm the only one who gets to call you dumb and ugly."
"You're dumb and ugly," Sam muttered just loud enough for Dean to hear.
Dean just laughed again. "The way I understood it, the angels said you won't get your feathers until you start angel-kindergarten, or something. So, I can see why they may not be pretty enough for you yet. But why do you think they're dumb? Dude—they're wings. By definition, they are awesome."
"Well, they're not. I have zero control over them. When I want them to move, they don't. And when I want them to stay still, they're doing an interpretive dance of my feelings."
"You'll learn. Sammy, you are the biggest nerd on the planet. You gotta be excited by the chance to be an honor student again."
"I don't have time to train, Dean. The angels have a fucked up sense of time because they've been around for longer than our solar system. They didn't even think I'd get these for a few more centuries! If they think I'm gonna just hang out for decades of training..." Sam gave a frustrated groan and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. "Lucifer could make a move any second. Crowley was right—we've done nothing. We knew for days before the British invasion that Lucifer was alive and free. And now he's got a vessel. We don't have centuries—we may not even have weeks!"
Dean hated hearing the fear in his brother's voice.
He couldn't deny that he'd pushed down his own need for action in the days before Sam's kidnapping. There was just too much going on, though, with Sam's change, and the return of Mary and Gabriel. It's not like Dean was willing to launch on a solo-mission when his brother could barely sleep through the night.
But seeing Sam get hurt, knowing the helplessness they'd all felt during the entire twenty-four hours they'd been separated, was enough to make Dean reconsider hunting entirely—at least for a time. Not with Sam in such a vulnerable state.
Dean braced his hands on the thin, knobby shoulders. Jesus, the kid's shaking, he thought as he rubbed some warmth back into his brother's arms. "Listen, Sam. I know this hasn't been easy for you. But it's okay to give yourself time to figure this stuff out. Lucifer can wait—and if he doesn't, then his brothers can take care of it."
Sam let out an empty laugh. "You sound like Cas."
"Good," Dean said, sliding his hands down to encircle Sam's wrists. The kid was starting to fidget like he wanted to dig into his palm. Not a good idea in current circumstances. "Because I agree with him—you are more important than that son-of-a-bitch archangel."
Sam's head shot up in surprise. "How...?"
"Hey, I may not have cool psychic powers or telepathy, but I have ways." Dean smiled and leaned in closer. "We've got to stop this, Sammy. This cycle you and I have of taking turns at dying for the crisis-of-the-year sucks."
"It's not like we plan these things, Dean," Sam said, shaking his head.
"We may not plan them, but that's become our go-to solution. And I'm done with it." Dean felt something twist around his chest as he spoke the words. It was a fear that had wrapped it way around him, growing tighter over the years. It strangled him now—one last attempt at keeping the words inside. But it failed, and suddenly Dean could breathe.
Sam's arms twitched under Dean's palms, like he was going to pull away. Dean rubbed the wrists with his thumbs, trying to keep the kid calm. "'Done with it'? What's that supposed to mean?" Sam asked with a shaky voice.
"I'm saying that I'm done—no more hunting. I'm officially retired as of this moment. Because Cas is right." Dean pressed their foreheads together and knew he was doing the right thing when he felt Sam lean into him. He spoke just above a whisper. "Dude, you know you've been my number one priority since you were born, right?"
"Because Dad—"
"I didn't say 'since you were six months.' I said 'born.' Those first six months I spent plastered to mom's side learning how to take care of you. You've been mine since day one, and I'm tired of seeing us give up everything. So I retire, you'll take flying lessons," he gave a dramatic shudder at the thought of flying, "and neither of us will be involved in the Lucifer problem."
"Dean..." Sam hesitated and sat back a little. "This is our life."
Dean didn't follow, but he didn't move away either. "Yes, exactly! My life didn't end with a soul-bomb, your life didn't end with a crumbling soul. Mom's life didn't end in a nursery fire. Cas and Gabe's lives didn't end with Lucifer."
Sam shook his head. "But other lives will end with Lucifer if—"
"Sammy, you just fell off a sink and shredded your pants," Dean cut him off. "I'm not teasing you here, but what exactly do you think you can do against Lucifer right now? Hell, what would we do even if Chuck hadn't shrunk you? We don't have anything to go against an archangel."
"We'd think of something," Sam insisted weakly, but Dean saw him wavering. The kid's eyes were darting around as he tried to think up an argument.
"And which one of us would die this time, hmm? You? Me? Cas?" Dean paused until Sam looked back at him. "What about Mom? She's a hunter. You think she'd sit out on a hunt against the devil who hurt her son?"
Sam closed his mouth and blinked rapidly as he slowly shook his head. Dean gave him space to get his breathing under control. A glance at his watch told him they'd been talking for almost twenty minutes. He was surprised the others had listened to him.
"You really think you could do it? Give up hunting?" Sam had the same tone of voice he'd used when first speculating about the existence of angels—excited and reverent, but almost afraid to hope. He sounded like Dean had offered him something holy.
"If it means getting to live a life with you and Mom and Cas, then abso-fuckin-lutely. And that doesn't mean we gotta stop helping people. Maybe we'll start the first hunter's bed and breakfast, complete with research library and rare weapons collection. We could be like really fancy Bobbys!" As Dean said the words, he started to really picture it for himself. And he found he liked what he saw.
"It sounds like you've thought about it before," Sam said quietly.
"Maybe, a time or two." Dean smiled. "So, what do you say? Willing to give it a try?"
"It might be hard to explain to people why I'm retired as a six year old," Sam said wryly, trying not to smile back.
"But it would be worth it to see their faces." Dean stood and stretched. The crack from his back sounded obscenely loud in the small bathroom. "Come on, dude. We can work out all the details later. Let's not make Mom wait anymore to see Return of the Jedi."
"Wait," Sam said as he hopped off the stool. He winced as his knees straightened. "I need my shoes."
"I'll get them. I didn't just pick grit out of your hands so you can get shoe-germs all over them." Dean groaned as he bent down to get the tiny sneakers, but froze when he saw something on the floor. There were four new indents crushed into the tile. Flecks of blood mixed with dust in the center of each. "Sam, is this where you fell?"
Sam walked over in his socks and looked at the holes with the same shock dean felt. "Whoa, did I do that to the floor?"
"How? I don't weigh enough to dent freaking tile if I fell. You probably couldn't dent it if you tried!" Dean shook his head. "You sure you just fell?"
"I thought so," Sam bit his lip and didn't look up, "I got angry, and the wings knocked me off the sink. But as I fell, I think they turned me so I wouldn't hit my head? I don't know...it happened really fast."
"Yeah, we're definitely asking Gabe. Come on, let's go let the archangels kiss your boo boos."
"Be nice, or I'll take you flying with me when I learn how."
Dean shuddered—it would be so much worse than when he'd taught Sam to drive in the Impala. Baby hadn't shifted gears right for a week afterwards. He stared down into hazel eyes. They were dry now and shining with mischief. "You're a menace."
Sam just snorted a laugh and nodded in agreement. "I learned from the best."
"That you did."
They made the slow trek back to the movie room, continuing to exchange insults the whole way. The room was suspiciously quiet when the got there, although the reason was fairly obvious—only Castiel and Raphael were left.
"Where's the pipsqueak? Did he decide to cook lunch after all?" Dean dropped the ridiculously little shoes next to their mother's pair. He noticed Sam was staying right against the back of his leg.
Castiel's eyes narrowed as they moved further into the room. "He and your mother went to the kitchen to 'putter around.'" He stared closer at Sam. "I assumed he meant he was building a golf course off the pantry. What happened?"
"He's...what?" Dean tried to think past the idea of Gabriel golfing in his kitchen. Then his brain caught back up and he looked apologetically at Sam. He'd hoped to delay the inevitable by a few more minutes than zero. "Sam had a little accident. I cleaned him up, but just alcohol and neosporin."
Raphael held a hand out. "May I?"
Fingers held tightly to Dean's pant leg and he heard a small hiss of pain. He looked down and saw Sam studying the archangel, weighing his options. Finally, the kid nodded and padded over pillows to place his hand in the Healer's palm.
Raphael hummed as he gently inspected the wounds. Nodding, he then bent down to look at the knees. The archangel frowned and repeated Castiel's question, "What happened?"
Sam squirmed as he recounted the sink story. Dean grinned. "I think your wings were insulted and they chucked you off the counter." He meant it as a joke, but Castiel seemed to agree. Well, partially agree anyway.
"It's possible they were responding to your frustration," the seraph speculated. "I am glad you did not acquire anything worse than a scrape."
"He did," Raphael said, still frowning. "His left knee has a microscopic fracture. It would not register on human medical equipment, but I can see it. May I heal you, Samuel?"
Sam nodded, too stunned by Raphael's injury assessment to be nervous. The archangel held the kid's hands between his own and a white glow emanated from them. Moving one hand down, Raphael held his palm above the torn knees and repaired the damage to skin and bone. Even the pants were fixed.
"Thanks," Sam said with a small smile and started to move away. Raphael's grip on his hand stayed firm.
"Just a moment, Samuel. I need to check your wings." He slowly turned Sam around to see his back and let out a rolling chuckle. "You are going to be just as bad as Gabriel. We will groom these this afternoon. I need to reapply the protective barrier anyway."
Sam looked up at Dean with his patent-puppy eyes, but Dean threw his hands up and backed away. "Don't look at me! I got no authority on wing-stuff. And since you are clearly in capable hands and not in danger of climbing on counters, I'm gonna make sure Gabriel isn't cooking another feast." He threw a look at Castiel. "Or playing golf in the kitchen."
Dean looked again at Sam, giving the kid a second to let him know if he wasn't okay with being left alone. Sam gave him the all-clear nod, so Dean made his way to the kitchen. He thought maybe they had decided to go somewhere else when the hallway outside his favorite room wasn't filled with the scent of food.
Peering inside, he was surprised to find that Gabriel and Mary were there, but they weren't cooking. Instead, they were sitting at the table and talking over cups of coffee. Both heads swiveled his direction when he cleared his throat. "Hey folks," he said, grabbing a cup of coffee for himself.
"How is he?" Mary asked.
"He's okay. We talked, and uh...Gabe, how would you feel about making a cake?"
The archangel raised an eyebrow. "What kind of cake?"
"A retirement cake," Dean said, suddenly nervous to say it out loud to someone besides Sam. "I'm giving up hunting. We can help people in a support capacity from here. But I can't risk losing him or Mom to this life—not after we've been given a second chance. We're leaving Lucifer to Heaven. I want to be kept in the loop, but I don't want to be involved unless he comes after us."
"Wow. Yeah. Wow." Gabriel nodded quickly. "I can do that—keep you updated and make a cake."
"Sam really agreed to this?" Mary asked, unconvinced. Dean didn't blame her. She'd grown up in the life, and understood it usually only ended in a hunter's funeral.
"Sam is scared," Dean explained as he sat next to her. "Lucifer being free is his worst nightmare come to life. And he's always been made to face his fears head-on. Literally." He scoffed at a childhood memory, truly recognizing how horrifying the whole thing had been for Sam. "When he first learned about supernatural stuff, Sam was always thinking there were monsters under his bed or in closets. Dad gave him a .45."
"Comforting," Gabriel said darkly.
Mary looked ready to explode. "Just when I thought I couldn't be angrier at him..."
"What I'm trying to say," Dean rushed on, not wanting this to turn into a conversation about John, "is that Sam doesn't know how to sit out of a crisis. Not anymore, at least. This is all we know. And if we want Sam to actually give this a chance—living a life free of constant fighting and fear and danger—then I can't be running off hunting some wendigo by myself. We've been a package deal since day one, and that hasn't changed."
"So, where big brother goes, little brother follows?" Gabriel mused. "Let me tell you—fledglings are a full-time handful even in heaven. Retirement may turn out to be harder than hunting."
"Well, unlike Sammy, I ain't getting any younger. And hunters don't have long life expectancies." Dean grinned, warming up to the idea. "I want to be there for this. His childhood was full of dirty motels and abandoned homes and knowing how to avoid CPS. He deserves better this time."
"You too, kiddo," Gabriel said softly.
"What?" Dean asked, almost choking on his coffee.
"That was your childhood too," the archangel pointed out. "You both deserved better."
Dean pushed down the knee-jerk denial when he caught the storm on his mother's face. Instead, he just nodded and smiled again. "Well, bring 'better' on!"
"So what can we do?" Mary asked in a tight voice. Her smile wobbled and her eyes shined with tears, but she fought through it. Dean reached over and covered her hand with his own.
Gabriel leaned back in his chair, and ran a hand through his hair. "I'd say, right now, we establish that no one is going anywhere. Sam was worried about Cas returning to Heaven, which isn't happening. I'm not going anywhere either, if anyone was wondering."
"Really?" Dean sat up. He hadn't thought about it much, but he'd always figured the archangel was just there to get Sam stabilized. That he'd probably leave in a month or so, then stop by once in a while to check on them.
Gabriel tilted his head as he looked at Dean with bright amber eyes. "You thought I'd leave?"
"I wasn't sure. You don't seem like the 'settle down' type of archangel," Dean said with a shrug.
"I never had a reason. Now I do."
Dean knew his surprise showed. "That simple, huh?"
"Yup!" Gabriel said happily, then grew serious. "Listen, I know we had a strong 'frenemies' thing going before, but I always liked you boneheads. And now, you've become the closest thing to family I've had since leaving Heaven. Dad sent me here for a reason—to take care of the Winchesters. Including Castiel, who is now under my authority for whatever that's worth. I'm in it for the long-haul, folks. Get used to it!" He finished with a wink.
"Hey, I could get used to anything if you keep cooking the way you do!" Dean promised.
"I'm not above using every tool at my disposal to bribe people into my corner. And," he paused and let the mischievous grin form slowly, "speaking of bribes."
"What?" Dean asked warily. A glance at Mary proved she had no idea what the archangel was referring to either.
"I heard you dug pretty deep into the bribery bag and promised Sammy a dog yesterday," Gabriel whispered like they were conspirators. "It just so happens that I know a god who breeds a very special line of canines."
"What, like a hellhound?" Dean blurted out. Sweet baby J, he had promised Sam a dog, hadn't he. It seemed like a lifetime ago.
Gabriel smacked him on the arm, almost knocking Dean out of his chair. "Why does everyone assume I'm going to bring him a dangerous creature? No, not like a hellhound! But it wouldn't be like any dog you've ever seen."
"In what way?" Dean almost hesitated to ask.
"In a way that it would be able to keep up with a fledgling and not get hurt. These pups are as smart as humans. Loyal and protective and a wee bit magical." Gabriel clasped his hands together and pleaded. "Please, Deano! Let me make some calls today, and I'll give you the details before you decide. If you say no, then we can go to the shelter or whatever you'd planned. Okay?"
"Yeah, okay." Dean sighed—they were getting a damn dog.
"Hey, dogs are awesome!" Gabriel insisted, standing up and refilling his mug. "Besides being able to help protect the kid, I think it will help give Sam some stability. Nothing says 'settling down' like getting a pet."
"Guess not," Dean muttered, then cleared his throat. "So, Mom—you ready for this?"
Mary smiled and framed his face with her delicate hands. "Absolutely, sweetheart." Rising up on her toes, she kissed his forehead. "Now, I believe you owe me a third movie. I've waited long enough for it!"
"Yes, ma'am!" He gave her a mock-salute, and grinned as she linked elbows with Gabriel. The two skipped into the hallway, laughing together. We've all waited long enough for this.
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
Well, folks...that sure was some season 12 finale, huh?
All I can say is that I look forward to the vast amount of fix-it fics that will get written during the hiatus!
Meantime, here's my birthday gift to myself and y'all: over 10K of fluffs, all from the POV from Team Free Will!
Blessings to you all-Stay loving and kind!
Come be my friend on Tumblr: TheRiverScribe