TEACH YOUR CHILDREN
PART 2: …Must Have a Code That You Can Live By

Castiel returned to the kitchen with a heavy heart. As an angel, he wished he could shoulder more of Sam's burdens. But how could he carry another's self-doubt and insecurity? He had plenty of his own to bear, and if it were possible, he'd make room for more.

He found the kitchen livelier than expected. The tension from earlier still remained, though everyone seemed determined to push through it. Dean was mid-story about a time John had caught him drunk as a teen in a New York City bar. Mary tried to look more amused than concerned, but Castiel saw through her smile. Even Gabriel's laugh sounded forced.

The story ended abruptly when Dean caught sight of him in the doorway. "How's he doing, Cas? Buried in books yet?" he asked, going for casual but his worry was easy to read.

Castiel rejoined them at the table, taking slow steps to give himself time to choose his words. "Sam is…struggling. I sent him and Morpheus outside for a walk."

"Alone?" Mary asked, almost dropping her coffee mug in alarm.

"No," Castiel explained carefully, already prepared for the arguments, "Sam is with Morpheus, and they will both be protected by the angel guard. We can join them in a while, but Sam enjoys solitude when he gets overwhelmed—which we have not allowed since his change. And I considered his eagerness to go outside at all to be a step in the right direction considering his hesitance to do so since his kidnapping."

"He's right, Mom." Dean said, although he didn't look happy either. "Even when it's just been the two of us, we've still made time to be apart. He'd do research while I'd interview witnesses. We'd take turns doing food runs so the other could shower or just kick-back for a bit. Honestly, I can't remember the last time we've constantly been together like we are now. Probably not since we were both kids."

"No wonder Sammy was ready to stab you with a fork." Gabriel grimaced.

"Believe me—the feeling was mutual." Dean drained his coffee. "I wouldn't be surprised if he insists on going back to separate rooms within a day or two."

Gabriel looked sick, and Castiel didn't blame him. The week before the kidnapping had been awful in terms of sleep in the bunker. The stress of Sam's nightmares had kept everyone on edge.

"God, I hope not," Mary whispered.

"Separate rooms?" Raphael asked.

The concept was foreign to the archangel. While angels didn't technically sleep, Castiel knew the young ones still required rest to recharge and grow. In Heaven's nursery, they were bundled together in near-constant contact with other grace-beings. The idea of a fledgling isolating themselves felt wrong—it just didn't happen.

"Yeah, Sam's only allowing himself to sleep in the communal bedroom because he's still recovering from the kidnapping," Gabriel explained. "Dean's probably right. Once the kid's feeling more like himself, he'll go back to claiming his independence by sleeping alone."

Raphael stared at them all. "What does sleeping alone have to do with independence?"

"You kidding me, Doc?" Dean laughed. "Sam stopped sharing a bed with me by the time he was eight years old unless Dad made him. Otherwise, he'd insist on a cot or the sofa if the room had one available. By the time he was a teenager, he'd sleep on the floor before sharing a bed with me."

"I do not understand. What does one's sleeping location have to do with independence? Can you not be independent and sleep close to your family? Does it not provide warmth and safety and comfort?" Raphael turned to Mary. "I know your sons grew up in unique circumstances. Surely, the rest of humanity does not adhere to these same strange standards."

Mary gave a strained smile. "Hate to break it to you, but they do. It's pretty normal in Western cultures to only sleep with those you're romantically involved with once you reach a certain age with only occasional exceptions."

"But Samuel is a fledgling. He needs to be close to others while resting—especially angels. His grace will demand it soon, and he has already proven capable of pushing aside those needs and instincts. It is not healthy." Raphael shook his head, determination visibly building in his own grace.

Castiel worried the archangel might fly off to confront Sam about the issue this very moment, but Gabriel intervened.

"Calm down, bro. Nothing's happened yet." Gabriel playfully tugged at the Healer's wings, then smoothed them over. "We have time to strategize. And even if Sam decides to go back to his old room, he won't be alone—I seriously doubt Morpheus would allow himself to be separated at this point."

Raphael settled back in his seat, momentarily satisfied that they had options. But everyone could see the wheels turning in his head. Castiel wondered whose stubbornness would win in the end—the archangel or the fledgling.

Sam led Morpheus out to the bunker's backyard. It was strange to think they'd only just met the night before. The canine's presence by his side felt completely natural—like he'd been there for years instead of hours.

A voice in the back of his mind told him to question the sudden acceptance—after all, Sam's history of following his instincts concerning supernatural creatures had often ended in disaster. He needed to be especially careful that their newest addition didn't ostracize Dean. As funny as his brother's reactions had been so far, Sam knew it could easily spiral into jealousy and anger.

You've got some deep thoughts there, pup. Morpheus nuzzled his hair as they walked along the tree-line.

The frost-covered grass crunched beneath their feet, and Sam looked down at Morpheus' paws. "Does the cold hurt your feet? Should we sit by the fire instead of walk?" he asked instead of responding to the canine's comment.

Morpheus snorted in amusement. Do I look cold to you?

"Well, no. But your paws…"

My paws could handle pure ice and snow for days at a time. Do not worry about me. I will tell you if there is a problem with any activity or location.

Sam frowned. "You were cold this morning," he insisted.

I was lazy, Morpheus confessed.

Sam opened his mouth to say something more, but cut off in a gasp when he felt a tongue lick across the juncture between the side of his neck and shoulder. It tickled, causing a full-body shiver. "Hey!" he tried to sound firm, but it came out more of a squeal.

What would you like to do, Sam? Walk in the woods or stay in the yard?

"Actually," Sam wiped the slobber off his neck while glancing around the yard, "I need to get back into my running routine. This body has no muscle or training at all, and I haven't had the chance to test my stamina yet."

You like to run? Morpheus trotted around to face Sam.

"I didn't always," Sam said with a wry grin, "but it grew on me as I got older. By the time I went to Stanford, I loved it. When we found this place, I had my own path and everything for the first time—so much better than random motel parking lots, or nameless streets." He walked over to the firepit and sat on one of the blankets still laid out on the ground.

Morpheus followed, watching him start his stretches. Why are you worried about having more muscle?

Sam shrugged. "You didn't see me before—I used to be taller than Raphael and had more muscle mass than Dean." He paused in his stretches and looked at Morpheus. "Don't tell him I said that."

His muscles were all tight from not being used properly, and it took a while before Sam felt ready to try running. Or jogging, at least—it probably wasn't a good idea to rush straight into a sprint with a relatively new body. Standing, Sam did a final stretch with his back and looked out over the yard to map his usual route.

Where do you normally run here?

"There's a natural path through the woods that I widened a couple years ago. I got tired of bloodying my legs on thorny branches." There was no way he'd be able to run the full five-to-seven-mile course on his first day, but maybe he could do two. "You gonna follow?"

Like you could stop me. Morpheus chuffed at the idea of staying behind.

"Well, let's go," Sam said, starting at a light jog, "before the others come out and decide I need a nap."

They moved at a light and steady pace without the need for conversation. The sun gleamed off the frost, not yet warm enough to melt. Sam's sneakers slid in some places and he forced himself to go slower when the path was covered in leaves or grass.

It didn't take long for the sweat to start pouring down his face and neck. His muscles screamed from lack of use, but he pushed further. I've not even gone half a mile yet, he scolded himself, I can still see the yard for fuck's sake!

He hadn't even been this out of shape as a six-year-old the first time around—John Winchester had seen to that. The brothers were used to running laps around motel parking lots in the pre-dawn hours before they entered kindergarten. Dean had always run alongside him, turning it into a game when Sam got too tired or frustrated.

Sam smiled at the memory even as sweat ran into his eyes. As a child, he'd appreciated his brother's presence and infectious enthusiasm. It was the only thing that got him through most of those mornings. But looking back on those times with much older eyes allowed him to see something very different—a young boy desperate to keep his even younger brother from complaining and angering their father.

His smile faded as he thought again of John. Sam had only questioned their morning routines on rare occasions. When he turned four, he'd been deemed old enough to start basic training. He remembered feeling excited at being allowed to join Dean in his "big boy" activities. But within a week, that joy had soured from sore limbs and exhausted tears.

One morning, Sam refused to get out of bed no matter how much Dean begged and cajoled. John's sudden appearance brought an end to the argument. He'd thrown the blankets off Sam and made him run double. Even Dean was near-tears when they'd finished.

Shaking his head, Sam brought himself back to the present. His lungs burned, and he blamed the stinging in his eyes on the sweat. As he wiped a sleeve across his face, he missed the tree root on the path. He landed on the hard ground with an undignified yelp, confused and half-blind from his stupid hood.

The sound of rapid footsteps drew near, and Sam's panic overwhelmed any pains from the fall. He yanked the hood back, ignoring the sharp burn in his palms, and almost screamed. Concerned blue eyes blazed within a sea of white only inches from Sam's face.

Are you hurt? Morpheus asked as he sniffed and inspected every part of Sam he could reach.

"I-I'm fine," Sam panted, unable to catch his breath, "I…there was sweat…I couldn't see." He tried to stand, but his legs shook. Heat seared his right knee, and he looked down to see a sizeable gash in his pants where blood oozed freely.

Morpheus circled him, then laid on the ground facing the way they came. Get on. I'll take us back.

"What?" Sam asked, dumbfounded. He'd hoped the whole "I'll teach you to ride" thing had been a joke.

Up, pup. Your knee and hands need healing, and we're too far out for you to walk back now. So—up! He said the word like a human ordering an animal to "sit" and "stay." He said it like someone expecting to be obeyed.

"You gonna tell me to 'roll over and play dead' too?" Sam asked, only half-joking.

Morpheus turned a baleful eye on him. Only if you prove smart enough to grasp the concept of 'up.' Which you have not. Do I need to repeat it?

"No!" Sam frowned indignantly, and looked at Morpheus' back. The canine was massive, even while laying down. "Am I supposed to just climb onto your back?"

Yes, unless you'd prefer to stand. Then I could walk under you in my smaller form and shift. There was humor in his deep rumble, but also a hint of truth—Morpheus would do it if Sam didn't climb.

"You're as bad as my brother," Sam grumbled as he clumsily pulled himself onto the canine. Blood from his scraped palms left streaks of red across the pure white fur. "I don't know why you two aren't best friends. You're both bossy."

Maybe he and I are too alike. Plus, I prefer him unsettled and on-edge—he's more amusing that way. Morpheus rumbled with laughter and Sam felt the vibrations through the fluff. He hoped this wasn't a mistake. Alright, you won't be riding me like a horse. Bend your knees, and grip with your thighs. We'll work on technique at various speeds another time—for now, just try not to fall. If you feel unbalanced, lay forward and hold my neck. Understand, pup?

"'m not a pup," Sam muttered, but obeyed. His right knee hurt to bend, but it wasn't intolerable.

I'm going to stand up now. Ready?

Sam grunted his acknowledgment, then gasped as he rose in the air. The movement was smooth, but still disorienting. He'd only ridden a horse when he and Dean had been sent back in time to retrieve phoenix ashes from the wild west. The experience had left him bruised and sore for days.

Morpheus' head swung around to look at him. His blue eyes studied Sam's position and wary expression. Relax, Sam. We're going to walk back slowly. It will be good practice for you, but I promise not to jostle you or take off in a run.

The canine stayed true to his word, and kept his steps slow and measured on the path toward the bunker. His smooth gait allowed Sam time to relax. And as he grew more familiar with the movement, Sam adjusted his position until he felt comfortable.

"So, I guess you weren't joking about me learning to ride?" Sam asked once he was certain he wouldn't fall.

Morpheus snorted. No, I was not joking.

"Isn't it, like, demeaning to you? To have people ride you like this?"

I must have a way to get my charges out of danger. If you were a physical pup, I could scruff you and run. But many of the children I've cared for were shaped like you. I learned long ago to improvise, and this is the best method I've found.

"Are we talking, like, if the bunker caught fire or…?" Sam trailed off, the image of flames taking over the other scenarios he'd been entertaining. Did they even have smoke detectors in the bunker?

Or if we were to come under attack. Morpheus' words broke through Sam's wandering thoughts.

"We'd run from an attack?" Sam scoffed. When was the last time they'd run from anything? Even with the Darkness, the retreat was only long enough to regroup for another attack.

Morpheus came to a stop, jarring Sam forward in his seat. Do you have a better suggestion? Shall I toss you at an enemy by the hem of your pants, perhaps?

"Umm, no. But I can still do some things. I can…fire a gun." Sam winced, remembering the black eye he'd gotten as a kid from a small pistol's recoil.

No, Morpheus growled. The sound made Sam jump and sent goosebumps down his arms. You will NOT fight. Not until you have learned to do so, and are cleared by both the angels and myself. Until then, if I say 'UP' for any reason, I need you to listen.

Sam scowled. "What, just obey without question? Did Gabriel not tell you anything about me?"

I promise you, Sam—it is the only thing I will ask for obedience on. Anything else is negotiable. I do not make demands of my charges. I am not here to dictate your actions and life. If I say 'UP' it means there is imminent danger. Your safety is my first concern.

Sam didn't respond right away, and Morpheus resumed walking in silence. The idea that so many people now considered his safety as their "first concern" was mindboggling. Who, besides Dean, had ever cared about his safety over anything else? The mission always took priority—they could worry over each other and their allies, but the mission came first. Sam was never the mission.

You doing okay, pup? Morpheus asked in a soft voice.

"Yeah," Sam lied.

Hmm. The canine glanced over his shoulder. You sure about that?

Sam shrugged and tried to wipe his blood off the fur with his sleeve. "I guess…oh, I don't know. A lot's changed in a really short time."

Like what?

"Like everything!" Sam said with a hollow laugh. "Like, a month ago, we were fighting God's sister while God made us pancakes and watched porn on Dean's laptop. Like, within a few days, I tried to take the Mark to lock Amara away again—the same Mark that corrupted Lucifer and Cain, and turned my brother into a demon. And when that didn't work, and God got His ass kicked, He gave up and it fell to me and Dean to figure out how to save the universe. Again. So, we shoved a soul-bomb into Dean, and he went off to detonate it in hopes of destroying the Darkness. And the next thing I knew, some woman was in our bunker, banishing Cas and shooting me. Then Chuck healed me, and I woke up a kid angel. And that doesn't include anything that's happened since then.!"

Sounds like people are used to relying on you to solve dangerous problems.

"That's the understatement of my life," Sam mumbled.

When did you start hunting?

"Me personally? I was nine when I finally convinced my dad to let me join him and Dean." He shook his head at the irony. How long after that did he first runaway? Three years? Four? "I'd gotten tired of being left behind for days and weeks at a time." Sam felt the muscles under him tense.

They left you alone for weeks? As a child? Morpheus asked. A dangerous edge hid under his calm.

"Well, I mean, I had money. And I was a lot better at budgeting than Dean." Sam searched his mind for other reassurances to tell the canine. "I had weapons, and knew how to safeguard a room with salt and symbols to keep the nasties out. Plus, it was really only during the summer months. Dad didn't want people to see me walking to-and-from school and get suspicious." He cringed at his own words, realizing it sounded so much worse when said aloud.

Your father had no other options? No friends he could let you stay with until he returned?

"Umm, sometimes we stayed at Bobby's house. But he and dad got into a fight, and we didn't see him again until we were adults. And once in a while we went to Pastor Jim's place. But it always depended on where we were when a hunt came up."

Sam remembered trying to make similar arguments to his dad, but they'd never ended well. John's stubborn pride kept him from letting others know just how often his boys were left alone for the sake of a hunt. And he didn't want his boys to grow reliant on others to take care of them. He'd said so often enough.

Was there no one responsible for your protection?

"Dean," Sam answered automatically.

And how old was he when he assumed that role?

For a moment, Sam couldn't answer. The words stuck in his throat. He stared at his own tiny hands, trying to imagine what it would feel like to be the main caregiver to an infant when he still struggled with doorknobs and shirt buttons. Swallowing hard, he managed to say, "Four. Azazel killed my mom when I was six months old, and Dean was four."

Morpheus stayed silent the rest of the way.

Dean burst out laughing when he saw Sam. The kid was riding—fucking riding—the damn dog like it was his personal steed. His laughter caused everyone else around the firepit to turn around. But only Mary laughed with him.

Gabriel's smile faded to a frown as he scrambled to his feet. Raphael and Castiel soon followed with equally concerned looks. Their lack of hilarity made Dean wipe the tears from his eyes and study the slow-moving figures.

Then, he saw the streaks of red shining bright against the white fur, and his stomach dropped.

"What the hell happened?" he yelled as he sprinted toward them, gun already in his hand. Images of creatures attacking them in the woods flashed before his eyes.

Sam gave him a sheepish smile. "I tripped."

"You tripped?" Dean asked incredulously. He tucked the gun back into his pants. "Did you land in a pit of spikes? Are you both hurt? Jesus, that's a lot of blood for a little trip, Sam!"

A rush of wings announced Gabriel and Raphael's presence, both archangels flying to get there faster. They flanked Sam, each taking a side to check over for injuries. Dean heard footsteps behind him, and saw Mary and Castiel running to join the group.

"Guys, I'm fine," Sam insisted, pushing away their hands. "I wasn't paying attention and tripped over a tree root while jogging. I just skinned my knee and hands. That's all, I swear!"

Gabriel turned to Morpheus with an eyebrow raised. The dog nodded, confirming the story. The others all sighed, relaxing with the knowledge that no attack had occurred. But Dean wasn't satisfied.

"Why didn't you call us?" he demanded. "Did you even have your phone on you?"

"My phone? Seriously, Dean?" Sam shook his head. "No, I didn't have a phone with me. Because it doesn't fit in fucking baby-pockets! I can barely hold my phone. And I didn't need to call you—I wasn't in danger. I'd have walked back if Morpheus hadn't insisted on carrying me."

Dean pulled his own cell phone out, and opened the 'notes' app to make a list. "Alright, so first things first—you need a new, smaller phone. That's easy enough. Next, maybe we could look at sewing bigger pockets into your clothes. Or get you one of those mini-backpacks to carry essentials like a phone, and a damn first aid kit since you can't do anything without injuring yourself."

"Morpheus," Sam leaned down to whisper into the canine's ear, "can you bite him for me?"

Dean scowled. "Fine. Forget the backpack. You're getting a neon fanny-pack."

"Dean," Sam said quietly, rubbing his face with the back of his hand, "please stop. I'm fine, okay?"

Dean studied his brother closely. He saw past the bloody scrapes and torn clothes, and focused on the bright pink cheeks plastered with sweat-drenched hair. In fact, Sam's clothes were soaked as well. He took a deep, calming breath. "Okay. We'll put the phone and pocket thing on hold. But can you tell me why you're soaking wet? I mean, it's freezing out here, dude, and you look like you've been swimming."

Sam huffed out a laugh. "I was running."

"Running?" Mary asked, startling Dean. He'd almost forgotten the others were there. "You ran so much that you sweat through several layers of clothes?"

"Well, yeah," Sam hunched down in a way that set off Dean's 'little-brother' alarms, "I'm supposed to start training, right? I was just trying to get warmed up. Besides, this new body is completely out of shape—I've lost all my muscle mass and stamina. I gotta start somewhere." He ended with another shrug.

"Training?" Mary turned on the archangels. "I thought you were just going to teach him to control his grace, and stuff about angel-history!"

Gabriel put his hands up in surrender, his eyes wide with the same surprise she was projecting. "Whoa there, Momma! That's all we are going to teach him—how to control his grace and wings. And Raphael brought Sam those books to read at leisure. He's not gonna give the kid pop-quizzes or anything."

Raphael rested a hand on Gabriel and Mary's shoulders, quietly gaining their attention. "Perhaps we can discuss our plans in detail while I tend to Samuel's injuries. The cuts look superficial, but painful, and I do not think we should delay their treatment for the sake of this argument."

All eyes returned to Sam who remained hunched over on Morpheus' back. Dean saw the way his brother's legs trembled from the strain of keeping a tight hold around the canine. Sighing, he stepped to Sam's side and held his arms out in offering. "Come on, dude. Let's get you cleaned up."

"I can walk," Sam muttered without looking up.

"You can barely sit up, Sammy," Dean insisted.

Sam leaned forward and grasped Morpheus' fur with his injured hands before sliding shaky legs to the ground. His knees gave out the second his feet touched down, but Sam stubbornly kept himself upright by not letting go. Morpheus didn't even grunt as his fur was pulled.

"Sam—" Dean started, but was cut off when Mary pushed past him. She leaned down and wrapped an arm around Sam's middle, pulling him up toward her.

Immediately, Sam began fighting the hold. "I said I can walk! Damnit, Dean, put me down!" he yelled, kicking and elbowing angrily against the body behind him. Mary calmly let him as she stood up, her son secured against her despite his wild flailing. Dean bit his lip to keep from laughing

"Stop that right now!" Mary scolded, and the kid froze at the sound of her voice against his ear. "You're going to hurt yourself worse."

She turned around and Dean grinned at his brother's shocked face. Hazel eyes begged for rescue, but Dean just shook his head. "Should have let me help you before throwing yourself to the ground and almost collapsing."

Mary expertly spun Sam around in her arms so they faced each other, and sat him on her hip. "Come on," she said, walking toward the firepit, "let's get you cleaned up. Raphael, can you fix his pants too, or do we need to grab him some new clothes from inside?"

"I can fix them," the Healer reassured.

Sam sat awkwardly in her arms. His hands were curled against his chest like he didn't know what else to do with them, and his body remained stiff. He wouldn't meet anyone's eyes.

Mary gently lowered him onto a blanket and ruffled his hair. "My goodness, Sammy," she said with a smile, "you got a serious pout going on there."

Sam glowered down at his hands, and Dean could see his jaw clenching dangerously tight. "I'm not pouting. I'm frustrated."

"O-kay!" Dean said, patting her on the shoulder and pulling her away from his close-to-exploding brother. He continued in a whisper as they made room for the angels, "We should probably tone it down before he Force-chokes us."

Mary grimaced, taking in her youngest's tense form, and nodded. Together they stood and watched the archangels try to fuss over Sam. "Try" being the operative word. "Did he hurt himself this much last time he was a kid?" she asked in a low voice.

"Not really. Sam wasn't a clumsy kid, and Dad taught us to control our bodies pretty early. I think this," he gestured toward his brother, "is more about Sam trying to do the things he could as an adult."

Dean felt Castiel sidle up close to him, their shoulders brushing. "Your brother is impatient to regain his physical abilities."

"Thanks for the newsflash, Cas." Dean nudged him with an elbow. "Try telling us something we don't know."

Castiel's eyes narrowed as he tilted his head in thought. "Sam thinks that Morpheus should sleep in his larger form on the bed with us."

"What?!" Dean yelled, gaining everyone's attention.

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. "You guys okay over there?" he asked with a smirk.

"Fine! We're all fine," Dean's voice cracked. He cleared his throat and watched as Raphael tried to coax a reluctant-Sam into showing them his palms. "You want us to go get started on some lunch or something?" Standing around was never his thing, and it didn't seem to be helping Sam's mood any to have everyone staring at him.

"That would be great!" Gabriel gave them a relieved smile.

"Come on, you two," Dean muttered, grabbing each of their elbows, "let's show the Master Chef how good Winchesters can be in the kitchen."

Raphael felt his own relief echo Gabriel's as the humans left with Castiel.

Samuel was too agitated for an audience. His injuries were minor, but his grace was rolling restlessly through his body and wings. Raphael didn't know the source of the fledgling's emotional turmoil, but it eased slightly as the others walked away.

"May I please see your palms now, Samuel?" The Healer held his own hand out and patiently waited.

"Why do you have to heal every little scrape?" Samuel asked instead. "Won't my body need to rebuild its resistance to things like germs? It can't do that if you bathe me in hand sanitizer and magically heal every bump."

"I do not entirely understand how your body works," Raphael confessed. "Angels have only ever had physical form when they inhabited a human vessel. But you are unique—your body is part of your true-form. As such, I do not wish to test its capabilities with fighting infection."

Samuel finally looked up to meet his eyes. "So, I won't accidentally leave my body if I sneeze too hard or something?"

Gabriel exploded with laughter at the unexpected question. Raphael smacked his brother with a wing, toppling him into a pile of pillows, and refocused on Samuel. "No, you should safely remain in your body no matter what." He wiggled his fingers, reminding the boy that he still needed to look at his injuries. With a sigh, Samuel reluctantly uncurled his arms and allowed the Healer access to the torn skin. "Have you ever felt like you were leaving your physical body? Since your change, I mean."

Samuel nodded, glancing at Gabriel. "Once. When Shepard blasted Gabriel and Castiel away with that egg-looking thing."

Gabriel stopped laughing, and settled in behind the boy. "I never asked how that affected you, Sam." He combed his fingers through the sweaty clumps of curls, using a touch of grace to dry them. Then, he scratched his way down Samuel's back, drying the clothes before starting to work on his wings.

"It…I guess it felt like something was pulling me in two directions." He gave a half-shrug. "I don't know how to describe it. But it hurt, and I couldn't move for a long time afterwards."

Morpheus padded over and flopped down next to them. Was that the angel-banishing device you told me about, Gabrieloki?

"Yeah," Gabriel answered in a tight voice. "I was hoping it hadn't affected you since you had no wings."

"Is that how banishing works? By affecting the wings?"

"Mostly. It is a complicated process." Raphael brushed his thumbs over the scraped skin, carefully knitting the flesh back together.

"Think of it like an EMP for grace," Gabriel explained. "The blast goes off, and it short-circuits all the signals. The wings essentially banish themselves because all the pathways get messed up and the grace runs wild in the wrong directions."

"Oh. That…doesn't sound fun."

Raphael tapped on the boy's leg, and was pleased when he straightened them out without hesitation. "So, tell me Samuel—why do you believe running is necessary to your training?" He tried to keep his tone casual, but felt the tiny body tense anyway.

"I…" Samuel started, then paused, looking lost. The switch to Enochian had Raphael on instant alert though—it usually indicated a highly vulnerable state in the child that occurred unconsciously. "I not know."

"Hmm," Raphael hummed, considering how best to draw an answer from him. "What do you think our training will entail?"

Samuel brought his healed hands together, rubbing the left palm roughly with his other thumb. "Grace…exercise? How to fly. How to fight."

Raphael's fingers twitched and he heard Gabriel take a sharp breath. "You think we are going to train you in combat?"

"Maybe. Defend?" The boy seemed to recognize that he'd upset them on some level. He cast a worried glance over his shoulder and to Morpheus before looking at Raphael again with a frown. "You not teach defend?"

"Defense," Raphael gently corrected his Enochian. "I will only teach you to use defense once you are able to master flight. Flying will be your best defense anyway. And we never teach combat to those as young as yourself."

"You know I fight," he insisted, digging deeper into his palm with his thumb.

Before Raphael could intervene, Morpheus stretched his massive head forward and nosed at the little hands. Easy there, pup. Healer-angel just fixed those. Do they itch? Samuel shook his head without speaking, but stopped the familiar gesture in favor of petting the canine's head.

Raphael breathed a sigh of relief, hoping Morpheus' presence helped ease the boy from the harmful habit. "I know you have fought a great many battles in your lifetime, but that is not expected of you anymore."

Samuel scoffed at his reassurances. "What expected not matter!"

"Why?" Raphael asked. The boy rolled his eyes, but the archangel gently grasped his chin and held it until Samuel looked at him. "Why does it not matter what is expected of you?"

"Because it is expected! It always expected. Even..." he groaned, frustrated, and pushed Raphael's hands off his face, "I try leave, it follow. I never not need fight!"

"You have tried to leave hunting, but it follows you?" Raphael clarified.

"Yes!" Samuel said emphatically, nodding hard enough to send his now-dried curls bouncing across his face.

"And you do not trust that we will protect you?" Gabriel asked with a hint of sadness.

"I-it is not trust!" Sam rushed to explain.

It is the fact that enemies tend to find you no matter what you do, and you will not feel safe until you can fend for yourself. It wouldn't matter if you were surrounded by an entire army of protectors because your enemies are crafty and have done the impossible already. Morpheus licked at the boy's arm, and Samuel's entire body relaxed with the knowledge that someone understood.

"Yes," Samuel whispered.

Gabriel smoothed down the ruffled wings. They would need a full grooming session at some point in the day, but it would interfere with the conversation if Samuel was too loopy on grace to think straight. "How about we start you on the basics first. Then, we can work our way up from there."

"But…!"

"No buts!" Gabriel laughed, and mussed Samuel's hair. "After all, you will not be able to do much self-defense if you fly straight into a wall and knock yourself out. Right?"

Samuel nodded, resigned to accepting the angels' conditions.

"Good," Gabriel said. Then, he turned to Raphael and continued privately, I think we're gonna have to keep an eye on this one. He's not going to let this go without a fight.

Raphael gave a slight nod. Then it is a good thing we both have experience with stubborn siblings.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:
THANK YOU to everyone who has left comments and sent me messages on Tumblr! These past couple weeks have been heartbreaking, and y'all remind me that the world is perhaps not as doomed as I believed. Please, continue to be loving and kind to one another. The world needs more kindness right now.
Also, friendly reminder that I am writing this as fast as I can. And while I certainly appreciate folks letting me know they are eager to read more, demanding updates is not really going to help. My chapters are averaging 6-10k each...longer than a lot of one-shots. And I'm usually posting every 1-2 weeks...so please keep that in mind!

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