TEACH YOUR CHILDREN
PART 3: And So, Become Yourself

Lunch was a rowdy affair, full of laughter and joking. Dean led the kitchen effort, teaching Castiel and Mary how to make his famous burgers. Gabriel conceded that they were the best he'd ever tasted, and Morpheus seconded the opinion with a growl as he wolfed it down.

The tension of the morning melted away as Sam tore through his own burger. Running always made him ravenous, and he hadn't been this hungry since he'd woken up from the massive healing session with Raphael. Plus, eating meant he didn't have to talk, and that was just fine with him. Sam relaxed into the playful atmosphere without feeling like he had to add to it.

Gabriel cleaned the kitchen with a snap. "Alright, lovely humans. I'm claiming the next few hours for some angel maintenance out by the fire. You are welcome to join us, but I suspect it might be a bit boring."

Dean made a face. "No, thanks. I'll be in the garage with Baby. She needs maintenance, too."

"I'll join you, if that's okay," Mary said.

Dean looked startled for a second, then grinned. "You know anything about cars?"

Mary raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms. "I was married to a mechanic for a number of years, you know. I'm not just a pretty face."

"Awesome," Dean said softly to himself. He caught Sam's eyes. "You good, Sammy?"

Sam gave a nod. Even if he wasn't okay, he didn't want Dean and their mom watching. Grooming was an awkward enough affair without an audience. "I'm sure I can manage to sit in the yard with only four super-powerful beings to keep me safe for a few hours without you. Go, have fun with the car."

"Try not to trip over any tree roots!" Dean called over his shoulder as he walked out of the kitchen. Mary followed him, slapping Dean on the shoulder.

"Don't forget your 'car-washing shorts!'" Sam yelled back.

They heard a scuffle in the hall as Dean tried to turn back, but Mary made him keep walking with a firm, "No! No more fighting, or we're working on laundry instead of the car!"

Gabriel laughed. "'Car-washing shorts?' Do I want to know?"

"No, you really don't," Sam said, shuddering dramatically.

"Does Cassie know about them?" Gabriel asked in a loud whisper, nudging Sam toward the door.

Sam looked over in time to see Castiel squint in confusion. "Probably not, if he's making that face."

"I did not know Dean owned any shorts," Castiel said, sounding bewildered by the idea. "He has always vehemently opposed that form of clothing."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well, 'the lady doth protest too much, methinks.' You should have seen him when we went undercover at a school. He posed as a P.E. teacher, strutting around in a pair of gym shorts. And I'll spare you a description of what he wears while washing the car."

"I may just pop into the garage later. With a camera." They walked out into the cool afternoon air, Gabriel cackling the whole way. Morpheus ran circles around them in his tiny-form, yipping and tripping and rolling the whole way.

As they approached the firepit, Sam's stomach twisted, and he wished he hadn't eaten so much. He didn't know what to expect from these "more involved grooming" sessions. Grooming already seemed pretty involved—complete with constant touching and invasive grace.

Sam settled onto his pillow. His nerves kicked up a notch when the archangels sat on either side of him. Castiel toed off his shoes and sat in front of Sam, looking as uncertain as Sam felt. Morpheus climbed into the hollow between Sam's crossed legs and rested his head on his ankle.

"Alright, Samuel," Raphael began, setting a hand on Sam's right shoulder, "I think we should discuss what you can expect from these sessions before we begin."

Sam nodded in agreement, glancing up at the Healer through unruly bangs. He pushed his hair back so he could see better. "Yes, please."

Raphael smiled. "As you know, fledglings raised in Heaven would not grow wings until they are much older than you. They would already have centuries of experience using their grace and be able to shape their wing's pathways for flight themselves. However, you are unique, and so we must improvise."

Sam made a face, wishing that he could be "normal" for once in his life.

"Hey, now," Gabriel said, bopping Sam's nose gently with a finger, "none of that."

"What?" Sam scratched his nose.

Gabriel frowned knowingly. "I know what you're thinking."

"You're reading my mind?" Sam asked, outraged.

"No. I don't need to," Gabriel scoffed. "I know that face. Let me just say this—yes, you are unique. But you are not the only unique angel. Each archangel is unique. The first seraphs were unique. Same with the cherubs and cupids and all the other ranks. Each new form of angel came with their own challenges, and we all had to learn as we went. Angels aren't manufactured on an assembly line—even when we reached the tenth generation of a rank, we'd still have special cases who didn't respond to training or healing techniques the same as their siblings. Just look at Cassie!"

Sam saw the seraph sit up, unprepared for the sudden shift of attention.

"What about me?" Castiel asked.

"You were part of the same generation as Uriel and Balthazar, weren't you?" Gabriel asked, and Castiel nodded. "Well, there you go! Three seraphs—all completely different from each other. Uriel loved discipline and orders. You kept mostly to yourself, but asked questions incessantly to learn more. And Balthazar got into constant trouble with his explorations and sass, even as a little thing."

Raphael chuckled, making Sam turn toward him again. "Gabriel is trying to say that we are used to adjusting our methods to suit the circumstances. You need not feel singled out or alone. Being unique is perhaps not as unique as it seems."

Sam blushed and nodded. Their words made sense, and chipped away at the feeling that he was a freak among angels. Gabriel ruffled his hair—a gesture that was becoming more common as days went by. Sam swatted his hand away.

"Good. Now, as I was saying, we must improvise how we proceed." Raphael's hand rubbed the back of Sam's neck, encouraging the muscles to relax. "You do not have enough control over your grace to build the pathways for your wings, so I will do it for you."

"How?" Sam asked.

"I will use my own grace to shape the basic passages—the 'feathers,' if you will. It may take a few days, and we will teach you control exercises between each session. It should be enough to get you started. You will take over the process under our guidance as your control grows stronger." Raphael's hand dropped down to Sam's wings, pressing into the pressure point at the base that made them flatten across his back like a shawl. "We will start with a thorough grooming before I begin shaping them. Are you ready?"

Sam glanced at each of them. Gabriel shifted on his pillow so he was situated more behind Sam than next to him. Castiel looked intrigued by the process, but seemed content to watch until directed to do something different.

"Okay," Sam finally consented.

Both archangels worked in tandem, taking their time to groom the small wings. Raphael told him stories of Heaven—of how the first fledglings came to be, and his own role in nurturing them. Gabriel added commentary, usually involving the young, panicked archangels trying to sort through unexpected mishaps.

Sam listened in awe, imagining the newly-built halls filled with tiny grace-beings. It was easy to picture a flustered Raphael running behind squealing children who were egged on by a playful Gabriel. But he heard what they were careful not to describe as well—Michael and Lucifer's place in those early days.

When they finished, Raphael explained that he would begin shaping basic pathways. "Gabriel, I want you to watch so you can mirror what I do on the other wing."

With their grace already intertwined with Sam's own, it was easy to feel Gabriel's uncertainty.

"Are you sure? I am not as experienced in grace-work as you are, brother."

Raphael just nodded. "You are experienced enough. And you are a fast learner when you set your mind to it. Besides, this is not exactly an established technique. We are both learning as we go."

"Wow," Sam muttered, looking at Castiel, "way to inspire confidence in your guinea pig."

"And you are the guinea pig, right?" Castiel asked with a knowing smile.

"Yup," Sam said, trying not to let his nervousness show.

"Hush," Gabriel teased, putting a finger over Sam's lips, "guinea pigs don't talk."

Sam felt the difference as soon as Raphael started. He hissed as the Healer's grace dug deeper past the surface, sculpting the mass of energy and giving it form. Gabriel quickly caught on to what Raphael was doing, and began work on the left wing.

If grooming was like hair-brushing, then building pathways was like hair-braiding. Having sections of his wing pulled into tight bundles was uncomfortable. It tugged painfully at his spine and stomach.

"Sorry," Gabriel murmured when Sam's breath hitched on a particularly harsh tug.

Castiel held out his hands. Sam took them, grateful for the support. The seraph continued the storytelling, albeit in his own awkward way, when it became apparent that the archangels were too focused to talk. Most of his tales were of mundane things, and he usually ended up switching stories before he reached the end of one.

But Sam just listened to the sound of his voice, letting the deep tones wash over him and distract him from the discomfort.

By the time they were done, Sam was exhausted. His wings felt raw, and his muscles were sore from trying to keep still. "I think my legs are asleep," he said, fighting a yawn.

"I think the rest of you is almost asleep, too," Gabriel said when he shifted around to face him. "Come on. Let's get you inside. You can take a nap before dinner."

"I don't need naps," Sam grumbled, even though he wanted nothing more than to curl up where he was and do just that.

"Absolutely," Gabriel pretended to agree. "Grab Morpheus for me."

"Wha-?" Sam asked, rubbing his itchy eyes.

Instead of explaining, Gabriel just scooped up the sleeping canine and tucked him inside Sam's hoodie. He rearranged Sam's arms so they were wrapped around the tiny bundle. "Okay, up you go," was all the warning he gave.

Gabriel got one arm under Sam's knees, and picked him up bridal-style. Sam didn't have the energy to properly protest. He settled for a frustrated growl as he was pulled against the archangel's chest.

Raphael chuckled from behind them. "Yes, you are very fierce. I am certain you will become even more intimidating as you grow older."

Sam tried to twist around to scowl at the Healer, but Gabriel tightened his hold. "Stop that—both of you. Raphael, aren't you supposed to be the responsible one? Don't antagonize him!"

"Consider this payback for centuries of your 'helpful' contributions to my care of fledglings in Heaven."

Gabriel responded with his usual snark, but Sam only heard his tone. The words grew distant and fuzzy as his eyes closed. Each step across the lawn made Sam feel heavier. He was asleep before they reached the bunker.

They formed a routine.

After breakfast in the morning, Sam would go for a run with Morpheus. That usually ended with Morpheus running and Sam riding. It was Sam's favorite part of the day, once he got over the weirdness of riding a dog like a horse.

Morpheus was a patient, but firm, instructor. He made racing around the yard and through the woods fun. Sometimes, he would test Sam's reflexes by springing an Up, pup! midday on him. He expected Sam to react instantly, and it only took one "not now" for him to learn that Morpheus meant business. An hour-long lecture and his entire hair washed by dog-tongue taught him to not question Morpheus' seriousness.

Lunch was now delegated to Dean, Mary, and Castiel to prepare. Dean liked to make it a competition to see if he could outdo whatever Gabriel was planning for dinner. As a result, lunch quickly became an extravagant affair with hours of research and effort going into it each day.

Sam worried it was a sign that Dean was getting bored with not hunting. But Castiel assured him quietly one day that he had never seen Dean laugh as much as when they were in the kitchen together. Even Mary flourished with her new-found purpose as part of the "kitchen crew."

After lunch, the angels groomed Sam and kept working to form his "feathers." The first few day, he fell asleep immediately afterwards. But by day five, he was able to stay awake.

That evening, the angels started Sam on meditating and learning to actively control his grace. Raphael guided him through the exercises. His deep voice, resonating through Sam's body and mind, was as effective at inducing a trance as their grooming sessions.

Sam learned to push and pull his grace throughout his body. He formed a ball of energy between his palms large enough for even Dean to see—on his very first try! He got so excited, it burst, shattering all the lights in the room.

Gabriel cried tears of joy, and hurried to reassure a panicked Sam that he was proud. He snapped away the shards of glass and made late-night hot chocolates for everyone to celebrate. The next day, Mary took over lunch-planning and made an Asian salad with chicken, almonds, and oranges just for him.

That afternoon, Dean tried to make Castiel skip out on the pathway-building session. Thanksgiving was the next day, and the hunter had decided that the humans would take charge of the meals for their first holiday together as a family. But Castiel remained insistent—Sam's wings took precedent over some date marking colonization and genocide of a native race.

"Fine," Dean snapped, pushing Castiel out of the kitchen, "but that means Sammy has to help us in the kitchen tomorrow. He's still part-human, and this is our first holiday with Mom."

"No problem, Deano!" Gabriel called out as he ushered the angels safely away. "We'll take a break tomorrow for feasting and lounging."

"Good!" Dean yelled after them.

Sam walked in silence to their place by the fire. He'd forgotten all about Thanksgiving. They rarely celebrated Christmas most years—Thanksgiving less so. It hadn't occurred to him that their Mom's return would change that. But it did. It changed everything.

"You doing alright there, Sam-a-lam?" Gabriel asked quietly.

"Yeah," Sam answered, forcing a smile, "just lost track of the days, I guess."

"You have had a lot to deal with a while now," Raphael pointed out.

"Understatement of the year," Sam mumbled, but Raphael heard him if the gentle wing-tap to the back of his head was any indication.

"I think we'll keep things light this afternoon," Gabriel said as they took their usual seats. "Just some grooming for right now. Tonight, we'll have you start building these pathways yourself."

Sam nodded, petting Morpheus who laid across his ankles. All their energy exercises had made him more sensitive to the other angels' grace. He'd begun to pick up what they were doing to his wings—see their intentions enough to anticipate their next steps. He felt ready.

The archangels each took one wing. Sam shivered as their grace poured over him. He closed his eyes, drifting on the sensation. Grooming always put him into a trance-like state now, and he was learning to enjoy it.

Energy tingled along the new appendages and down his spine. He felt where the new "feathers" had formed kinks and twisted out of place. It got easier to identify with each session, but it still sometimes boggled his mind to recognize anything about the things growing out of his back.

The archangels worked quickly, smoothing the disheveled grace into its proper place. The tingling grew to an itch, and Sam felt something shift. His consciousness expanded outward, connecting to the world around him. He sat up straighter in surprise. It hadn't happened since that very first grooming with Gabriel—this sudden explosion of awareness beyond himself.

Sam sensed the archangels at his back, and the seraph at his front—like two suns and a moon in orbit around his own comet-sized self. He gripped the pillow under him with both hands, trying to ground himself. Then, he opened his eyes.

Castiel towered, a massive being of swirling blue light and rotating faces. Black wings reflecting every imaginable color flared out to frame the ox head just as it was replaced with a lion. Sam gasped in wonder, and heard the seraph echo him.

"What is wrong?" Raphael's voice rumbled like a quake within a mountain.

"Nothing," Castiel replied, a whispered roll of thunder. "Samuel's eyes are open, as Gabriel calls it. He is seeing me—seeing my true-form."

"How you know?" Sam asked. His voice sounded so small in his own ears.

"How do you know," Raphael gently corrected.

"How do you know?" Sam repeated, tempted to roll his eyes. He refrained, not wanting the world to spin out of control.

The lion head leaned forward, then shifted to be replaced by a man's face. It looked nothing like Jimmy Novak. "Your eyes are glowing with grace."

A recent memory, wrapped in pain and ice, rose unbidden to the surface of Sam's mind.

"His eyes are glowing all bright and weird," said a woman in disgust.

"Oh? What color?" Shepard's voice sounded distant.

"I dunno. White with, like, sparks of violet."

Sam shivered again, and slammed his eyes shut. Not now, he thought. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead, sharp and freezing. He wanted to wipe it away but his hands wouldn't release the pillow.

There were no pillows in that place. He held onto it like a life-line. Every muscle in his body seemed too tight, too stiff, too constricted to move.

"Samuel?" the thunder asked softly.

Fingers brushed across Sam's face, wiping through the sweat. He shook his head and tried to will away the memories and voices. Days had passed since they last intruded on his thoughts—he'd hoped they were gone for good.

The hands moving over his wings paused but didn't go away.

"What is wrong?" asked a howling wind.

"I do not know." The thunder moved closer. Warm palms framed Sam's face, thumbs smoothing his brows. "Samuel? Can you open your eyes for me?"

Sam pressed into the hands, wanting to crawl inside their warmth. He forced himself to take slow breaths through his nose when his mouth refused to open. Nausea threatened to make his lunch resurface.

Something moved over his legs. A soft, wet tongue licked at his right wrist, tickling the skin. Relax, pup, Morpheus' voice cut clearly through the storm of grace surrounding Sam's senses. You're safe with your family.

Heat flowed through the palms on his face, melting away the ice. Sam sighed in relief as his muscles became pliant again. He moved his right hand into the soft fur, and felt the tiny body twist under his fingers to keep licking him.

"Okay," said Gabriel, back to his usual vessel's voice, "we're done."

The archangels' grace retreated from his wings, leaving his skin buzzing and warm. Raphael massaged the tension in Sam's neck. Gabriel gently peeled Sam's left hand off the pillow and held it between his palms, his thumb rhythmically rubbing against his pulse-point.

"Sam," Castiel whispered at close range, "can you open your eyes now?"

Taking another deep breath, Sam blinked. Blue eyes filled his vision, but they were no longer swirling in grace-light. He squinted against the afternoon sun, blinking a few more times until he adjusted.

Castiel's worried face came into focus—his vessel's face remained stationary, without any animal heads waiting to rotate into its place. The seraph smiled in relief. He kept his hands on Sam's face, using his fingertips to lightly scratch through the curls.

"You okay, Samshine?" Gabriel asked quietly.

"Y-yeah." Sam's voice cracked, still too tight to work properly.

"What happened?" Castiel asked, taking his hands away and sitting back.

"Nothing," Sam answered too quickly. His experience with the British Men of Letters was the last thing he wanted to discuss.

"Samuel…" Raphael started, but Sam shook his head.

Rolling his shoulders, he tried to dislodge the archangel's hand from his neck. "I'm fine," he insisted, avoiding everyone's eyes.

Raphael sighed and dropped his hand. "Did something make you uncomfortable? Did the grooming hurt or tug too hard anywhere?"

Sam's hands tightened and he forced them to relax before he pulled Morpheus' fur or Gabriel could comment. "I said it was nothing. I'm fine."

"It was what I said," Castiel admitted. "You became very upset when I mentioned your eyes."

"Cas, stop. Please. It was nothing." Sam refused to let them disrupt his first honest-to-God holiday with his Mom.

Gabriel inhaled sharply. "The Brits," he muttered, but Sam heard him and quickly turned in surprise.

"What?!" How did Gabriel know that? He'd promised he wasn't reading Sam's mind.

Gabriel winced. "They talked about your eyes glowing, didn't they?" he gently coaxed. "After they'd drenched you in ice water and left you for the night. Your grace kept you alive, working hard enough to make your eyes light up."

Sam snatched his hand back and glared. "How could you possibly…"

"We saw video." Gabriel glanced nervously at the others before settling his gaze on Sam. "They recorded your time there on a laptop, and we recovered it from the blast."

Sam's mind went blank, then flew into overdrive. He'd spent a week and a half trying to forget the whole experience, hoping he could just put it behind him. But knowing that they had seen and heard everything was another story.

He closed his eyes, rapidly flashing through images like photos in a catalogue. Anger warred with humiliation as he let himself remember. Had he been recorded the entire time, or just when the Brits were present? Did the angels only witness the things done and said to him? Or had they heard him whimpering in the dark, reciting the alphabet to himself?

"Sam," Gabriel said, drawing him out of his thoughts. The tone suggested he'd called Sam's name more than once.

Sam opened his eyes and took a steadying breath before looking to his left. The gold in Gabriel's eyes shimmered. Sam thought it was grace at first, but then realized the archangel was holding back tears. It made some of his anger deflate.

Gabriel continued in a quiet, shaky voice. "I'm sorry I've upset you. We weren't trying to keep this from you, and we didn't watch it to invade your privacy."

"Then why?" Sam demanded.

"That first night we had you back, right after Raphael healed you, you had a nightmare. Our grace was still wrapped around you, and we felt it all. I-I needed to know what they did to you. I was worried and angry and I knew you wouldn't want to talk about it."

Sam couldn't even begin to process it all. He knew they'd been worried. But Gabriel had only been with them a couple weeks—how did he know Sam wouldn't talk? Sam's need for "chick-flick" moments had been the running gag his entire life.

There was one thing that stood out though, and Sam focused in on it. "Angry?"

Gabriel gave a watery laugh and scrubbed at his face. "Yes, I was angry! You had been taken from me—by a human, of all things. And when I got you back, you were hurt and scared and I couldn't do anything to take that away. I couldn't undo what they'd done to you."

Sam nodded, understanding the helplessness of coming into a situation too late. It happened all too often with him and Dean. But in all their encounters with the archangel, before and after his resurrection, it was the one emotion Sam hadn't truly witnessed. Frustration and fear, yes, but not anger.

Gabriel's confrontation with Lucifer on the lawn that day was the closest he'd come to seeing the rage Sam knew all archangels carried. But it had remained contained—biting words and snarky insults without actual blows. Even Lucifer had behaved himself.

Sam was an expert on anger. He knew the different forms and motivations. Acting out of a sense of protectiveness and being filled to the brim with burning wrath were not the same thing. What would push Gabriel to be truly angry—and what would happen to those who caused it?

"What could possibly be going through your mind right now, hmm?" Gabriel's voice startled Sam out of his thoughts.

"Nothing," Sam replied automatically. Gabriel looked suspicious, but didn't push him. "Did everyone see it?"

"No, just us. Your mom and brother know about it, but they have not watched it yet," Raphael answered.

"I don't want them to." Sam pushed himself to his feet, refusing all the hands that rushed to help.

"Sam," Castiel started in his "let's think about this" voice.

"No! I'm serious." Dizziness made him sway, but he pushed it aside and focused on the wide blue eyes staring down at him. "I didn't even know they'd recorded me. If I had, I would have made sure the damn thing was destroyed before walking out of there. If you have questions, you can ask me—and maybe I'll answer. W-what happened there was nobody's business but mine, understand?"

Gabriel crouched down until they were eye-level. Sam wanted to tell him to take his pity and shove it, but realized he didn't see any pity. He saw gold and steel.

"I understand this feels like a giant violation, and I should have told you about the tape sooner. But you are wrong to think this isn't my business. First of all, those people had a powerful weapon of Heaven, and they knew how to use it—against me. If I hadn't managed to grab Cassie on our way out of the atmosphere, he would have been lost to us until you were an adult again. And maybe not even then."

Sam swallowed hard, and glanced at Castiel. The seraph was pale at the memory, and nervous to be brought into the conversation. Fingers snapped in front of Sam's face, and he jumped.

Gabriel was not done. "Second of all, you're lucky you didn't destroy that laptop. It allowed me access to their system where there are thousands of files. Information about angels, demons, pagan deities, creatures, and magics that even you Winchesters know nothing about. Remember that man gloating about torturing an angel for months? That's my brother. My business!"

Tears stung Sam's eyes, but he blinked them away. He hadn't even thought about Shepard's mention of the angel they'd held prisoner. That angel could still be captive, and Sam had just pushed that knowledge aside with all the other memories.

"Third of all," Gabriel's voice dropped lower, "you are a fledgling. A child, by Heaven's standards, and a member of my flock. They took you from me. They hurt you. My fledgling, my child, my responsibility, my business. Understand?"

"Yes, sir." The words slipped off Sam's tongue by instinct. He fought to control the emotions surging under the surface. His throat burned from the effort, and his face felt like it was on fire.

Gabriel's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Hey," he said in a softer voice, "that's not…"

"I'm sorry," Sam blurted out, failing to keep his breath from hitching halfway through. "C-can I go now?"

The archangel sighed and looked like he wanted to say more. Sam braced himself, waiting for a new onslaught. Instead, Gabriel gave a sad smile and nodded.

Sam backed away, passing the other two angels. He couldn't turn around—you never turned your back on an angry archangel. Even if that angel was staring back with a look of devastation.

He made it two more steps before running into a wall of fur. Morpheus had shifted unnoticed at some point. Sam pressed against him, silently willing the canine to move.

Morpheus swung his massive head around to nose at Sam's hair. Up, pup, he commanded as he lowered himself to the ground.

Sam grabbed the fur of his neck and swung a leg over his back without looking away from the angels. He'd never been so grateful for their hours of practice. The move was ingrained into muscle memory, and he barely shifted when Morpheus stood and trotted them away.

Where do you want to go?

The only place warm enough outside was by the fire, and Sam was done being under the watchful gaze of angels.

"My room," he whispered.

He dismounted when they got to the top of the stairs inside the bunker. Mary and Dean's voices drifted through the war room from the direction of the kitchen. Sam hoped to avoid them for now, not wanting to talk to anyone.

Morpheus followed Sam's gaze, his ears perking up at the sound of the humans. Understanding Sam's unspoken wish, he shifted down again and allowed Sam to carry him through the halls. The clacking of his claws would definitely blow their cover.

Sam tucked him inside his hoodie. He chanced a quick detour into the library on the way, and grabbed two of the books from Heaven. It wasn't until they got to his room and closed the door that Sam felt safe.

Leaning against the solid wood, he gulped in air like he'd been drowning. The books fell from his arms, crashing loudly to the ground. He barely felt his knees give out, or his body slide down the door to sit on the floor.

Sam closed his eyes and let go, unable to control the panic or emotional storm anymore. Too many memories competed for attention until he had no choice but to just let them play out. Shepard's fist and stick brought phantom pains to his long-healed body, and he pulled his knees up to ward against them.

John's voice crept in, raging over the pain, and Sam was powerless to fend off the words. Arguments and lectures from a lifetime ago echoed in his ears. Buck up and quit crying! You're a hunter, not some sissy civilian. Quit being a baby, or I'll give you something to cry about.

He didn't notice Morpheus climb out of his hoodie, or shift back into his large form. All he saw was Gabriel's cold face, claiming Sam as his own. What did that mean?

Sam pressed his fists into his eyes, finally done riding out the blitz. Something large and wet ran across his face and hands. It took several passes before his brain could identify it as a tongue. A nose joined the effort, rooting hard against his hands to dislodge them. Morpheus, he remembered.

It took a minute, but Sam managed to pull his arms back down and open his eyes. He tried to smile, but his mouth wouldn't cooperate. "Hey," he sobbed, tears freely flowing.

Morpheus studied him in silence for a second. Then, he huffed. Hot air blew through Sam's hair. Come on. Let's get you off this floor and into bed.

Sam grabbed hold of the canine's neck, fatigue hitting him like a freight train. Morpheus raised his head, pulling Sam to his feet. Together, they walked to the bed Sam hadn't slept in since the night before the kidnapping.

He kicked off his shoes and climbed onto the mattress. It wasn't as comfortable as the communal bed Castiel made, but it was familiar. And someone had done him the courtesy of fixing the blankets and pillows back into place. He pulled them up over his shoulder and pressed his face into the pillow, trying to smother the tears.

The bed suddenly dipped, almost causing him to roll completely over. Sam snapped his head up in alarm and saw Morpheus had climbed up next to him. That was new—the canine had only slept in the bed in his smaller form so far.

Morpheus' mouth opened in a wide, wolfish grin. The others will be less likely to approach the bed when they see me like this. He settled down, instantly warming Sam with his body heat, and nuzzled his snout into the back of Sam's hair. Go to sleep, pup. Things always make more sense when we can think clearly.

Sam closed his eyes and shifted closer to the warm body, sleep already dragging him under.

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

I know it's been waaaay too long since the last chapter, but there are *reasons!*
The Character Ask game I started on Tumblr grew into such a success, I decided to DO what I've been waffling over-I created a sideblog dedicated exclusively to this series! All of which couldn't have been done without the help of nathyfaith and carryonmycobaltangel.

COME CHECK IT OUT, spn-bythegraceofgod
It includes:
Asks answered by characters
Master FicList page, with side stories written by readers set within the BTGOG!verse
Characters page, including bios and pics
Prompt fics set within the BTGOG!verse
Fanart by readers
Moodboards
And hopefully more!

I've got at least 30 more Asks to answer, so I'm gonna take a day or two to try and knock as many out as possible. They'll be posted my one-shot collection, "Ask and It Shall Be Given You," where the first 30 are already waiting for your viewing pleasure.

Thanks so much for everyone's patience and understanding!
And come be my friend on Tumblr, theriverscribe AND spn-bythegraceofgod