TEACH YOUR CHILDREN
PART 4: Because the Past is Just a Goodbye
Dean remembered Heaven from his one time there during the Apocalypse. Most of the experience was bittersweet, overshadowed by what he'd thought were Sam's "best" memories. But he knew exactly what it would look like if he were to return there now.
The kitchen overflowed with music and the lingering scent of breads and roasted chicken from previous meals. Mary sat at the table across from him, making final additions to their Thanksgiving menu. She hummed quietly along to "Whole Lotta Love" as she flipped through the pages of a recipe book.
All that was missing was Sam and Castiel. And the archangels. And maybe the pillow-stealing dog.
Dean grinned. His family had grown so much in so short a time. It felt like just yesterday that they'd almost lost Castiel to Lucifer's possession. Even when the Devil agreed to join their venture against Amara, Dean had feared the worst.
He'd already seen the consequences of sharing a body with Lucifer. Sam was still recovering years later. Even if Castiel managed to reclaim his vessel and mind for himself, there was no way of knowing how much damage would be left behind.
And when the battle had ended, Dean could barely spare a glance for the broken God lying on the floor. He only had eyes for Castiel. And the relief that accompanied that gravelly voice saying, "Lucifer is gone," had outshined the fact that God was dying.
Less than a week later, the world had not ended. Sam and Castiel were safely by Dean's side, along with Mary and an archangel. And while things weren't perfect per se, life had never been better.
If this wasn't his Heaven, then he didn't want to go.
"What?" Mary asked, interrupting his thoughts.
"What?" Dean shot back, still grinning.
Mary's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "You look like Christmas came early."
"It did!" He leaned back in his chair, not even trying to hide his glee.
She studied him for a second, and it only made him grin more. "I guess it did," she finally said, her eyes softening as she joined him in smiling.
Footsteps echoed in the hall, but they only added to Dean's excitement. The sound meant more of his family was about to join them. Good—he had a list of things for Gabriel to go retrieve before morning, and he wanted Castiel's opinion on their dessert choices.
One look at their faces and Dean felt his high spirits plummet. Gabriel seemed upset, and Castiel shot a worried look down the hall before Raphael steered them into the kitchen. Something was wrong.
"What happened?" he demanded, rising to his feet. "Where's Sam?"
Gabriel tried to answer, but shook his head and shrugged instead.
The archangel's obvious distress and lack of words made Dean's stomach twist. "Someone better explain now!" he said, marching toward the angels. If he didn't get an answer in thirty seconds, he would go in search of Sam without it.
"Samuel is in his room," Raphael answered in a low tone. "I believe he is asleep, and it is probably best he continue resting."
Dean looked closely at each of them. There was stress and strain etched into their faces, but no one was battle-ready. He could only hope that their willingness to all part with Sam was a good sign.
"What happened?" Dean repeated in a calmer voice.
Castiel cleared his throat. "Sam had a flashback during our grace work."
"Lucifer?" Dean asked.
"The kidnapping," Castiel said with a slight shake of his head.
"And?" Dean gestured for them to hurry up with the story. "He's had plenty of flashbacks. What's different about this one?"
"He learned about the recording," Gabriel finally answered, "and that we'd seen it."
"He…so?" Confusion clouded Dean's mind. He and Sam had both been taken prisoner and tortured so many times it was practically routine. And regardless of whether they were taken alone or together, they almost always treated each other's injuries afterwards.
This time, everyone had been present for the intense healing session and saw what those bastards did to Sam. They'd even heard Sam recount parts of what had happened during the car ride home. What was he missing?
"How about we sit down and you start from the beginning?" Mary suggested, taking Gabriel's elbow and leading him to the table. The others followed.
Dean pushed the books aside, menu forgotten. "Alright, let's hear it."
Gabriel frowned and stared, unseeing, at the table. "Sam's tried to avoid any discussion about what happened. I think he believes it will fade away if he ignores it long enough."
Dean snorted. "Welcome to the Winchester coping method."
Gabriel's eyes snapped up to meet Dean's gaze. "Avoidance isn't coping."
"Says the guy who avoided his own family feuds for how many centuries?"
"Again," Gabriel's chin raised up in determination, "it is not the same as coping. And yes, I would know."
Dean scrubbed at his face. "Okay, so Sam isn't 'coping' with the kidnapping thing. That still doesn't tell me why you're all freaking out."
"I…" Gabriel's confidence crumpled, his distress rising back to the surface, "We may have had an argument? I'm not sure."
"Sam tried to stab me with a fork at breakfast. So, consider me a well-informed source when I say that arguments with my brother are a natural occurrence—the kid's like a freaking thunderstorm. Only now, he comes complete with actual lightning." Dean rolled his eyes, thinking fondly of their daily spats since childhood. He stood and walked toward the coffee pot. "He'll stew about it for a while. Him sleeping is a good sign—he's always super cranky when he's tired. I'm sure he'll wake up, mope a bit, and then apologize."
"It's not just what he said," Gabriel whispered.
Dean paused before pouring his coffee. He didn't bother adding any cream or sugar, preferring the bitter black liquid to accompany whatever the archangel was about to say. Turning around, he stared at those gathered. The three angels all looked uneasy.
"What did you say, then?"
"Sam was angry—told me that what had happened was nobody's business but his own. I disagreed." Gabriel snapped and a plain hot chocolate appeared. No foam or candy canes or glittery sugar.
The sight made Dean's stomach twist again. "And?"
"And I may have been a little too enthusiastic in explaining why it was my business. I just…I needed him to understand that he isn't alone! That he has people who care about him, and that we were all affected by his kidnapping. And that watching that tape went beyond us needing to know what they'd done to him." Gabriel stood and began pacing. "That man used one of Heaven's strongest weapons and he bragged to your brother about torturing another angel for at least a year. Those things are enough to guarantee at least a strike team. Taking a fledgling was an act of war. For Sam to tell me that these things are 'none of my business' is ludicrous!"
Dean moved closer and casually leaned against the island. "And?"
"And what?" Gabriel asked incredulously.
Dean shrugged. "All that sounds pretty reasonable. In fact, those are the types of things Sam normally points out to me, so I can't see him taking offense to any of them. He might be embarrassed that he'd overlooked those things in his attempt at avoiding the whole incident, but I don't think he'd disagree in the end."
"Gabriel said Sam was his child," Castiel spoke softly from beside Raphael.
Dean sucked in a breath, but it felt like all the air had left the room. "What did Sam say?"
Gabriel stopped pacing and winced. "He called me 'sir.'"
"Like, sarcastically?" Dean asked, hopeful.
"No."
Dean set down his coffee mug. His brain felt sluggish, but the coffee was souring his stomach. He suddenly wanted whiskey—a rare urge these days.
When was the last time he'd heard Sam call someone "sir" and meant it? He couldn't remember if it had ever slipped out when addressing Bobby, and saying it to law enforcement was part of their act. John was the only one who'd insisted on the moniker.
"Then what?" Dean croaked. "What did he do after that?"
Gabriel turned away from them and remained silent. Dean looked at the others, expecting an answer from someone. Castiel exchanged a silent word with Raphael before nodding.
"He returned to the bunker with Morpheus," Castiel explained, "but he was not in a good state of mind. He seemed…scared. Of us. Morpheus carried him back."
Dean sighed. Chuck Almighty—how did they manage to twist so many of Sam's major issues into a single conversation and let it end badly? Did the angels even understand? Gabriel's attitude suggested at least a shallow grasp of the problem, but Dean doubted it went much further.
"Right. Mom, do you care to go over the stuff we need for tomorrow with these guys? Some of these dishes need to be prepped tonight," Dean asked over his shoulder as he went to the fridge and rummaged around. He knew Sam wouldn't come out for dinner, and there was no way he was letting the kid go all night without food or water. He'd seen the physical effects that grace-stuff had on him—he'd be dehydrated and shaking come morning. As an afterthought, he grabbed the leftover burger patties for the dog.
"Sure, sweetie," Mary said. He heard her concern, but he knew she wasn't who Sam needed right now. "Are you going…?"
"Yep, you know where to find me." Dean shoved the various containers and water bottles into a tote bag. He nudged Gabriel with his shoulder on his way out, startling the archangel. Wide eyes met his, and Dean nudged him again even harder. "Buck up, short-stuff. If you didn't want a kid with Pandora-level issues, then you shouldn't have taken in a bunch of Winchesters. Now, get over there and help mom with that grocery list. I need apples for the pies. And don't you dare bring me Red Delicious—they may as well be painted potatoes. I want Mutsu or Jonagold, understand?"
"Aye aye, captain!" Gabriel saluted and tried to smile. "And Dean? I'm sorry if I overstepped any lines. I really wasn't trying to upset him. And I definitely never want him to fear me."
"I know," Dean said, nudging the archangel one more time.
He made his way to Sam's old room, rehearsing what to say. Winchesters were a volatile bunch. But Sam easily forgave—sometimes, too easily.
Dean lightly tapped on the door. It was met with silence, and he figured Sam was still asleep. He opened the door as quietly as possible and froze.
A mountain of white fur with eyes bluer than Castiel's stared at him from the bed. The lips curled back, revealing rows of sharp teeth. The effect was not entirely welcoming.
"I brought food," Dean whispered, "and I wanted to be here when he woke up." He mentally cursed. Since when did he ask a dog for permission to see his brother? Yet, looking at them now, it felt like the right thing to do.
Dean had thought of the canine as a bodyguard who hung out in case of an attack—not one who guarded the kid's sleep after an emotional blowout. But seeing Sam curled into the mess of fur, one massive front paw slung over his tiny back, Dean understood the role extended beyond physical protection.
Morpheus watched him step into the room and carefully close the door. Dean stood awkwardly at the end of the bed, unsure how to proceed. He'd never been alone with Morpheus without a translator, and he hadn't counted on the dog being awake.
After a minute of watching Dean shuffle his feet, the canine nodded his head toward the desk. Dean quickly sat down, clutching the tote in his lap. At least he wasn't stuck standing in the middle of the room until Sam woke up.
Morpheus huffed, and Dean looked up in time to see bright blue eyes roll in exasperation.
"What?" Dean whispered defensively. Surely, the dog didn't think he was going to just leave the food and go.
The eyes focused on the tote bag as a giant tongue licked across monstrous lips. Then, Morpheus looked pointedly at the desk. When Dean didn't move right away, the canine repeated the gesture, eyes flicking between the desk and the bag.
"You…want me to put the food on the desk?" Dean asked, feeling stupid. Morpheus nodded. "Okay. Sure." Dean pushed a pile of books to the side and tried to keep the bag from crinkling too loud as he followed the instructions. I'm following instructions from a dog. This is my life now.
Morpheus grinned, and Dean answered with a tight smile. He hoped Sam would wake up soon and end the awkwardness. Where's Cas when I need him? he wondered, rubbing sweaty palms on his pant legs.
Another huffed breath drew Dean's attention to the bed. This time, Morpheus nodded at him, then swung his head toward the other side of the bed. Dean hoped he understood the gesture.
"You want me to sit on the bed? Next to Sammy?"
Morpheus nodded again, still grinning.
Dean was torn between relief and fear. On the one hand, he wanted to be closer to his brother—needed to feel his breathing and know he was okay. On the other hand, he'd be putting himself next to a pony-sized magical wolf with a mouth that could easily fit around his head.
Sam shifted in his sleep. Dean watched, barely breathing, as his brother's fingers pulled on the tufts of fur and he burrowed closer into the canine's chest. Morpheus lifted his paw off the boy's back, letting him move unencumbered, then replaced it when he settled.
The gentleness always took Dean by surprise. No matter how many times he'd watched the two interact in the past week, he couldn't shake his instinctive fear of the creature. Size and form didn't seem to matter—tiny magical dogs were just as dangerous as giant ones.
Morpheus gave a low whine, and Dean looked away from Sam to find literal puppy-dog eyes turned his way. The tail thumped against the bed as the shifter carefully moved to nose at the far pillow without disturbing Sam.
Dean sighed. There was no defense against such a plea. Damn you, Sammy! It's your fault I can't deny looks like that, he silently cursed as he walked around the bed.
There wasn't much room. Dean cursed his brother again—this time, for only having a full-sized bed. But he squeezed himself onto the edge and carefully scooted over until he was certain he wouldn't fall off. Cozy. He didn't know what to do with his arms, so he kept them crossed over his chest.
They sat in silence for a few minutes. Dean stared at his feet to avoid the up-close view of the shifter's face. But it meant he also couldn't see Sam, and the urge ate away at him with each passing second until he gave in.
Glancing out of the corner of his eye, he was relieved to see Morpheus' head resting on the pillow and facing the far wall. It didn't look comfortable, and Dean suspected it was to give him some privacy. Finally, he looked down at Sam.
From across the room, Sam had just seemed like a sleeping lump. But now, Dean could see the tension in the boy's shoulders. And the dried tracks of tears on his face.
All fear of the dog disappeared at the sight. Dean gently brushed the hair away from his brother's face to get a better look. "Did he cry himself to sleep?" he asked in a low tone.
Morpheus raised his head to face him. The concern shone clear in the canine's eyes as he met Dean's gaze and nodded.
"Gabriel told me what happened," Dean continued softly. "I knew Sam was upset, but I didn't think…"
Sam had cried himself to sleep often enough as a child while Dean looked on, powerless to make it better. And always because of their father. But now, they were more likely to wake up in tears from nightmares no other human could fathom. To see his little brother reverting back to his actual childhood behaviors unnerved him.
Dean stared at Morpheus, needing answers. "Gabriel said Sam didn't like that they'd watched the tape from his kidnapping. That Sam thought it was none of their business."
Morpheus tilted his head, then nodded.
"Cas said that Gabe called Sam 'his child' during the argument, and Sam called him 'sir.'"
Another slow nod.
"Sam's only called one person 'sir' in his entire life, and that was our dad."
Morpheus' brow furrowed with his silent question.
"He—our dad," Dean sighed, searching for the right words, "he was a military vet before we were born. After our mom died and he became a hunter, I think he saw himself as a soldier again. Only the war had changed. And we were his troops. He gave us orders and expected us to obey. Insisted we call him 'sir' as a sign of respect. I think we called him 'sir' more than 'dad' most days."
Dean looked down at Sam and brushed his fingers through the baby curls again. It grounded him. Reminded him that things were different now.
"Sam hated it. He'd push back—either stay silent or say 'fine' instead. Sometimes, Dad wouldn't even say anything. He'd just get in Sam's face until the kid broke down. And if that didn't work, he'd make Sam do extra laps until the kid was puking."
John had preferred using 'extra training' as a form of punishment. It was only on rare, whisky-fueled occasions that he'd resorted to harsher methods. The memory made Dean shudder.
Shaking his head, Dean turned his eyes back to the canine.
Morpheus didn't seem surprised by Dean's words. He radiated calm understanding. It made Dean wonder if Sam had talked about their dad, or if the canine already suspected. Take away the supernatural elements, and their story wasn't that unique. But he'd be damned if Sam had to relive any aspect of it this time around.
Dean leaned in close and dropped his voice even lower. "Did anyone touch him?"
Morpheus' eyes narrowed, matching Dean's fierceness. He shook his head 'no' in a sharp jerk. The coiled fear in Dean's chest eased slightly.
"Did anyone look like they might touch him?" he continued.
Morpheus gave another quick 'no' before reaching the paw already over Sam's back to press against Dean's leg. A soft growl rumbled through the room.
Dean braced himself, unwilling to back down as Morpheus' face came closer. Hot, wet puffs of air blew against his neck as serious blue eyes filled his vision. There was no challenge behind the look—only a promise.
"You'll keep him safe if I'm not there," Dean said in a breathless whisper, "even from the angels."
It wasn't a question, but Morpheus nodded firmly anyway.
"Good," he sighed.
Fear of the angels hurting Sam had drastically faded over the past couple weeks. Trust slowly built in its place—but it didn't completely erase it. Castiel was the only one he completely trusted without question. He hoped to get there one day with the others. Distrust was too exhausting to maintain long-term.
Morpheus suddenly nuzzled Dean's hair. The move startled him, but he managed to not fling himself off the bed. Not even when a tongue licked along the side of his face, leaving a disgusting trail of slobber in its wake.
"Quit that!" Dean pushed uselessly at the unmovable head.
Morpheus ignored him, continuing to lick his hair and ear like he frequently did to Sam. It made Dean squirm, and he bit back the laughter building in his throat. Instead, he raised his shoulder to protect the side of his face.
"You are ruining a perfectly good moment here!"
Morpheus chuffed, the canine equivalent of a laugh, and got in one more lick across Dean's nose. Dean remained contorted, his ear pressed against his shoulder and eyes squeezed shut, until he was sure the slobber-attack was over. He felt the bed shift and opened his eyes to find Morpheus' grinning from a respectable distance.
"Is that how you get Sam to listen to you? Lick him into submission?"
The canine just snorted.
Dean wiped his face with the bottom hem of his t-shirt, hiding his smile behind the fabric. Maybe having a dog wasn't so bad after all. I'm getting soft in my old age.
"If you start licking me to make me listen," said a small sleepy voice, "I will bite you."
Dean and Morpheus both froze, giving each other sheepish looks. Oops.
Sam awoke to the sensation of being bounced and jostled. He felt drunk with sleep, his mind slow and confused. For a second, he thought he was in the Impala and that Dean must have gone over potholes or speedbumps. But then, he realized he was way too warm and wedged between two solid bodies.
Dean's voice reached him through the heavy fog. The tone of playful-outrage set Sam at ease even though the words themselves were lost in the space between sleep and waking. He heard a rumbling sound, and his brother speak again. This time, he understood the words.
"Is this how you get Sam to listen to you? Lick him into submission?" Dean asked in a semi-disgusted tone.
Lick me into submission? What the hell…? Sam opened his eyes to find a wall of white. Well, that cleared one thing up. Obviously, Morpheus was involved. And licking. Which reminded him…
"If you start licking me to make me listen, I will bite you," Sam said, trying to sound forceful. The effect fell short, muffled by the blankets and his own mumbling.
"Shit. I didn't mean to wake you up," Dean whispered. "I—we can be quiet if you want to go back to sleep."
Sam frowned. Why does Dean care about waking me up? he wondered, starting to push the blankets away. Then, the events preceding his sleep slammed into focus—the fight in the yard, that stupid tape, Gabriel's face scowling down at him, claiming Sam as his own. He kept a tight hold on the covers and pulled them back over his head.
"Hey! I said you could go back to sleep, not smother yourself to death," Dean chuckled.
Hands gently pulled the blankets from Sam's grasp even as he fought them. He didn't want to face anyone right now. If he could burrow through the bed to hide underneath it, he would.
A cold, wet nose pressed its way under the blankets and snuffled at Sam's hair. Sam tried to squirm away, but Dean's body left him nowhere to go. A tongue followed the nose, lapping at his face. He couldn't even yell at them for fear of getting his mouth licked, so he settled for clenching his jaw and growling in protest.
Very impressive, pup, Morpheus said, sounding amused. Are you ready to yield? Your brother brought food.
Sam nodded, and the canine retreated. The blanket fell away, revealing Dean's face hovering above him. Sam met his worried expression with a scowl.
"Morning, sunshine!" Dean said with an overly-cheerful smile. "Actually, I guess it's more like, 'late-afternoon-early-evening, sunshine,' now."
Sam ignored him in favor of scrubbing at his face. His eyes itched, and everything felt swollen. Crust came away from the corners of his eyelids, and he flicked it away in disgust.
"How are you feeling?" Dean asked in a more serious tone.
Sam shrugged without answering. He knew what Dean was referring to. It wasn't a coincidence that his brother had braved wedging himself on the bed with Morpheus. Clearly, the angels had informed him of the incident.
Shame curdled his stomach as he remembered screaming at Gabriel. How could he forget about the angel those Brits had tortured? How could he not realize how close he came to losing Castiel and Gabriel to that egg-weapon? Was he really that selfish?
"Hey." Fingers tapped at his chin, nudging Sam's face up to meet Dean's worried gaze. "Talk to me, dude."
"I—" Sam's voice cracked. Tears welled up in his eyes faster than he could blink them away. Fucking grace! he cursed, pressing his palms against the flood.
"Aww, Sammy," Dean sighed, "come here."
Hands plucked him from the bed. Sam found himself against Dean's chest before he could protest. The smell of leather and gunpowder had faded in the past weeks, now replaced by kitchen spices and herbs. He inhaled deeply, trying to calm down.
"I messed up, Dean," he whimpered.
"What?!" Dean scoffed softly. "No, bud. You had an argument. It's okay."
"No!" Sam pushed back, away from the safety of his brother's heartbeat. "You weren't there—you didn't see…I was so stupid, and s-selfish, and mean. I forgot…I forgot that his brother had been taken, and we almost lost Cas, and I yelled at Gabriel, and made him angry!" He could hear himself rambling, and knew he wasn't making sense.
"Dude. Breathe." Dean smiled and wiped his face with his sleeve. "You are not stupid or selfish. It's okay that you forgot some stuff after we rescued you. You've had a lot going on, and it's not like we did a debrief afterwards. Which was my fault. I told them you'd need space when we got back, and to not press you for details. And I promise—Gabe is definitely not angry."
"You weren't there, Dean!" Sam insisted, cutting him off.
"Sam, listen to me." Dean leaned in, pressing their foreheads together. "You had an argument, and you both said some stuff in ways that probably came out a little wrong. But Gabe is not angry. In fact, I had to stick him with Mom on grocery duty to calm him down. He's probably weeping and fretting all over the damn kitchen by now instead of getting my freakin' apples."
Sam blinked, uncomprehending. "What? Why…"
"Because he knows he upset you. And he knows he scared you."
Sam pushed Dean's face away. "He didn't…I wasn't…"
"Sam," his brother's voice was firm, but gentle, "you called him 'sir.'"
The very word made Sam's throat constrict, not allowing sound or air to pass. He shook his head, trying to deny it all, but Dean saw through him. Morpheus did too.
Sam, look at me. Morpheus waited until Sam tore his gaze away from Dean. What do you think you've messed up?
Sam glanced back at Dean. But his brother was staring oddly at Morpheus like he was trying to hear him speak. He suddenly wished he could talk to the canine over angel radio—some things were just easier to say silently.
Deep breath, pup. Your brother assures us that Gabrieloki is not angry. Morpheus nosed against Sam's hair without licking. I have worked for many gods—cared for their godlings. I know them well enough to recognize there are different types. Some are dominant, commanding militants. Some are possessive and overbearing. Others are flighty and shallow, too self-obsessed to remember they even have children.
Sam swallowed, trying to relax his throat. "Which type is Gabriel?"
Morpheus dropped his head down to nuzzle at Sam's hands, where his fingers twisted and dug into his palm. Slowly and methodically, he began to lick and push at the hands until they separated. He continued the soothing gestures as he answered.
Gabrieloki is none of those. He is more like my own Mother-goddess, Hecate. She is a fierce protector of all beings she deems her own. A need for justice drives her, and her store of wisdom guides her. But just as she is a Maiden and a Crone, she is also a Mother. She creates and nurtures life, and is devoted to all her children. Gabriel is like her. He has many faces, many forms. As an archangel, he delivered his Father's messages and justice. As the trickster god, Loki, he was a father and a mother, and continued to protect humanity by pursuing those who hurt others.
Sam stared down at Morpheus, barely blinking. "And now?" he whispered.
Now, he is both. He is Gabrieloki—mother, father, messenger, trickster. Morpheus raised his head so they were eye-level. When he came to my Mother seeking my help, I asked him what he wanted for himself. Do you know what he said?
Sam shook his head.
He listed only hopes he had for you—happiness, peace, safety. And when I asked again what he wanted, he told me he already had more than he knew possible. A home where he can be himself, and a flock who accepts him.
"He said that?" Sam asked. He thought about the moment they'd learned Gabriel's true identity. The story of the archangel running from his broken family to escape his own destruction still resonated strongly with Sam. And in the end, they both sacrificed their lives to stop the fighting.
Gabriel was nothing like John. Nothing like the man who sacrificed his life so the fighting could continue. The man who claimed to do things for their protection, but always made Sam feel he was under guard instead of safe. The man who taught him and Dean that the lives of others were always more important than their own.
"He said what? What's anyone saying?" Dean whispered intensely. "I am so lost. Did we learn what 'type' Gabriel is yet?"
Sam jumped, forgetting that his brother had heard almost none of their conversation. "Morpheus was telling me his first impressions of Gabriel."
Dean grinned. "I wish there was video."
Sam felt a smile tug at his lips—his brother's amusement was always infectious.
So, pup, Morpheus placed his paw on Sam's lap, now that you are more calm and awake, do you still believe you've messed something up?
The smile fell away.
"What's wrong, Sam?" Dean asked, serious once again.
"I don't know how to fix this," Sam finally admitted.
"What's broken?"
Sam shrugged. It was like saying the words out-loud would shatter everything. He didn't even know what words to say.
Dean sighed, shaking his head. "Come here," he said, opening his arms in invitation. "Come on, get your tiny butt over here."
Sam reached for him, and let Dean settle them back against the headboard. The familiar heartbeat was slower now, and easier to hear when his own blood wasn't roaring in his ears. Dean's hands rubbed circles across his back.
"It's hard to believe how fast everything's changed, huh?" Dean murmured. Sam nodded, and let him speak. "Seems like yesterday it was just us against the world. And now, we've got a home, and a mom, and a dog, and a bunch of angels all living on top of each other. But we're all just people, Sam. And people make mistakes. You and I make mistakes all the time. Sometimes, it only affects us. And sometimes, we unleash a new apocalypse on the world."
Sam and Morpheus snorted in unison. Dean reached over and tentatively scratched behind Morpheus' ears. The canine looked surprised, but soon relaxed and stretched closer in delight.
"I think it's fair to say, this mistake is not apocalypse-level. It isn't even a routine salt-and-burn level. It might reach 'sorry I froze your computer with porn again' level, but even that's probably pushing it."
Sam let his fingers trace the edges of a button on Dean's shirt as he listened. "What if his brother, the one the Brits tortured, is dead?"
"Dead or alive, whatever happened to that angel is on the Brits. Not you." Dean tugged at Sam's hair. "And Sam—Gabe isn't Dad."
"I know," Sam answered quickly.
"You sure? Because you're acting more like the time you accidentally broke Dad's gun trying to clean it than someone who got in a little argument."
Sam flinched at the memory. "I guess I…I don't know. I didn't mean to call him…that. It just happened."
"Are you upset because you called him 'sir?' Or because he scared you enough to make you say it accidentally?"
"Both," Sam reluctantly admitted. He felt Dean nod.
"What about now? Are you still scared of him?"
Sam thought about it. His emotions had been all over the place the whole day. Sleeping hadn't helped as much as he'd hoped. But the fear had reduced down to nervous tension mixed with shame.
"I'm not scared of Gabriel. I think he just caught me off guard, and all I saw was an angry archangel." His breath hitched, and he closed his eyes against the flash of memories. Worse memories of a far worse archangel.
Dean made a noise, and his hand returned to rub Sam's back. They sat there for a long while, taking comfort in each other's presence. Sam found himself drifting, finally finding some peace, when the silence was interrupted by a loud growl from Dean's stomach.
"And on that note—do you want to go to the kitchen for dinner or eat here? I brought a bag of food just in case."
"I'm not hungry," Sam said automatically. It was true—his stomach had been unsettled since before the argument.
"Yeah, I figured you'd say that," Dean sighed. "How about this—would you be up to talking to Gabe tonight?" Sam tensed, and Dean quickly continued, "Because I honestly don't know which one of you is more upset about the whole thing. You've both worried yourselves sick. And dude—tomorrow's Thanksgiving! I want you to be able to relax and have fun."
The enthusiasm in Dean's voice was easy to read. And it was genuine, not forced just for Sam's sake. Their first Thanksgiving with their mom was definitely something to celebrate.
Sam groaned, and pushed back so he sat across from his brother. Dean was right—everyone would be on edge if he and Gabriel didn't talk. And it made no sense to wait till morning.
"Fine," Sam conceded, rubbing his face. He felt so tired still.
"Awesome," Dean's grin lit the room as he ruffled Sam's hair. "You want me to be here, or…?"
Sam batted his hand away. "No, it's cool. I'm sure you've got a million things to get ready for tomorrow."
"Hey," Dean waited until Sam looked at him. The smile was still there, but his eyes were serious. "If you want me here, nothing else matters."
"Pie doesn't matter?" Sam asked with a half-smile.
"Not as much as you, dude. And if you aren't comfortable…"
"Dean. You have become such a therapist in your old age. Go make pie. Please. I'm sure Morpheus can provide enough support to get me through a single conversation." Morpheus snorted from where he laid with his head on the pillow. "Besides, if it gets too awkward, I can just ride him out of here."
Dean laughed and stood up to stretch. "And what—go live in the woods?"
"You could leave me food by the fire," Sam said, "and books so I don't turn feral."
"Whatever. You wouldn't last without wifi for more than a day." Dean went to the desk and pulled a bottle of water from the bag. He tossed it to Sam. "Stay hydrated, lost boy. And don't forget to feed Morpheus. There's food for both of you in here. I'll check on you once the kitchen is set for tomorrow."
Sam waved him off, and focused on opening the water. The sound of the door opening and closing made his stomach twist. A paw pushed against his leg, and he looked up to find Morpheus staring at him.
"What?"
It's okay if you'd rather wait till tomorrow to talk to Gabriel.
"No, it's fine. I'm being silly." The lid finally came off and he took a sip. The cold water felt good on his throat. "It's the grace…I think. It makes my emotions go haywire, and I can't stand feeling out of control. I wasn't even this way as a kid. But Dean's right—if I don't talk to him now, I'll work myself into a frenzy again by morning."
I would rather you slept until morning.
Sam rolled his eyes and climbed off the bed. "That may not happen regardless of how this conversation works out." He gathered the books he'd dropped by the door and placed them on the nightstand before climbing back up. It wouldn't be good for the angels to see Heaven's oldest tomes laying around on the ground like trash.
Why do you anticipate trouble sleeping even if your talk goes well?
Sam shrugged and grabbed the top book. "I just slept. And tomorrow's a holiday. That alone would be enough to throw my sleep schedule off without any emotional drama."
The book had no title, but there was a list of chapters in the front. They were all written in Enochian, and they didn't make much sense. The lines listed didn't seem connected to one another.
Sam turned the page to the first chapter and slowly worked his way through a few lines. He didn't recognize all the words, but what he could read made little sense. Something about water flowing into a stone, and life, and a blade. It was either a spell or a terrible nursery rhyme.
A knock at the door made him jump.
"Come in," he called, cursing when his voice cracked.
Gabriel peered into the room like he expected an attack.
Sam studied the archangel. Dean wasn't kidding—Gabriel looks as bad as I feel. Oh god, how bad do I look?
"Hey, Samshine," Gabriel said weakly, "is it okay if I join you two?"
"Well, I think it might be hard to talk with only your face in the room." Sam smiled and patted the mattress in front of him.
Relief shone in Gabriel's eyes as he quickly entered the room. He didn't bounce his way onto the bed in his usual fashion, but he did climb up and sit cross-legged in the middle. "How are you doing, kiddo?" he asked in a quiet tone.
Sam felt tears try to return, but he blinked them away and huffed a small laugh. Why had he been so nervous? This was Gabriel—the archangel who loved candy too much, and who fretted over Sam's bathwater temperature. Seeing the ancient being sitting barefoot on his bed, picking at the strings on his pants, made any earlier echoes of John disappear.
"A lot better, actually," Sam answered.
Gabriel's eyes narrowed. "Really? You don't look a lot better."
"That's rich," Sam scoffed, poking at Gabriel's leg with his toes, "considering you don't look all that great yourself."
The archangel's mouth dropped open in surprise. "Sassy brat! I always look great, thank you."
Morpheus gave a loud yawn. You both look like shit. The only clear winner here is me.
Sam splashed water from his bottle onto the shifter, careful to not let any fall on the book. Morpheus simply chuffed and licked Sam's face. Revenge dispensed, the canine settled back on the pillow.
Gabriel smiled at their antics, but the worry didn't disappear from his eyes. Nor the sadness. Leaning forward, he slowly closed the book in Sam's lap and placed it on the nightstand. Then, he gathered Sam's hands between his own and held them gently.
"Sam, I am so sorry. I should never have yelled at you like I did. I don't," he took a deep breath before continuing, "I don't ever want to give you reason to fear me. Ever. Okay? That's not who I am. That's not how I want us to operate."
"I know," Sam cut in, "and I'm sorry too. I should have told you about the angel—your brother. And I shouldn't have told you that…all that…was none of your business. I'm just…I'm not used to anyone besides Dean getting that worked up over my safety or wellbeing."
"It's been a long time since I had anyone in my life to get worked up and worried over. And let's face it," he grinned, and ran his thumbs over Sam's wrists in a familiar gesture of calming, "you Winchesters have needed someone to fret over you besides Cassie. Besides, once you claimed him as an honorary Winchester, he became as bad as you at getting into trouble."
Sam nodded, unable to deny it. Castiel really was as bad as them. And when the angel worried about them, he tended to try and fix everything himself. Usually with disastrous results.
"Sam, can I ask you something?" Gabriel's nervousness was back, and Sam swallowed hard at the sight. He felt his heartrate soar, and knew the archangel noticed the difference too. "You don't have to answer, of course, but it—"
"Sure," Sam interrupted. Listening to an anxiety-ridden ramble would only make things worse. Better to rip the band-aid off all at once.
"Was it my yelling that scared you? Or the words I said?"
Sam froze, dropping his gaze to their hands. The yelling hadn't helped matters, but Sam was rarely bothered by shouting or loud noises. It was the words, spoken in a low tone, that had caused the most panic—My fledgling, my child, my responsibility, my business. Understand? Shouted or whispered, those words still inspired a terror Sam couldn't identify or understand.
"Words," Sam answered.
Gabriel sucked in a breath. Sam peered up through his bangs to find the archangel nodding, a sad look on his face.
"Yeah, I thought that might be the case," he sighed. "Listen, Sam—I probably shouldn't have said those things in that moment, but that doesn't mean they aren't true. I see everyone in the flock as mine, just like I'm all of yours. But being my child doesn't make me your dad. And I don't just mean 'I'm not John.' I mean 'I'm not your parent.' I don't get to make decisions for you, and you aren't expected to obey me, 'or else.'"
"You won't send me to bed early for not finishing my dinner?" Sam gave a watery smile, but his voice shook.
"Heaven help us if that were a rule! You'd be back in bed by breakfast," Gabriel tried to joke, "but no. There will be no punishment/reward system between you and I. If we make mistakes, we'll deal with them as adults. We'll talk through things, give each other space as needed. If trust is broken or feelings get hurt, then we'll work to repair them."
"How can I?" Sam asked, feeling lost. Thoughts of the poor angel being held captive for over a year by the Brits wouldn't leave him. He'd barely survived twenty-four hours with them. Could he forgive someone who'd failed to mention knowing Dean's location if the situation were reversed?
"How can you what, Sam?"
"Repair what I broke?"
Gabriel looked confused. "What did you break?"
"Trust," Sam answered, his chest tightening again, "by not telling you what the man said. About your brother."
"Oh, Sam. No," Gabriel said firmly, scooping the boy off the bed and into his arms.
The sudden change startled Sam, but then his grace settled, making him realize just how frantic it had been. He exhaled in relief into Gabriel's shoulder. A hand ran over his wings, making them shudder, then still. Sam almost groaned—it was like the moment a migraine suddenly dissipated after hours of agony.
"There you go. Does that feel better? You had quite a storm brewing in there," Gabriel murmured softly.
Sam nodded, rubbing his face against the archangel's shirt. His head felt too heavy to lift. The hand trailed up from his wings to lightly dig into the nape of his neck. His muscles melted.
"Good. Now, I want you just relax and listen to me for a minute. What happened was not your fault, Samuel Winchester. I only mentioned what that man said to show that the situation was larger than just your kidnapping. I did not mean that you are to blame in any way. If there had been no tape, then I would have asked you to talk about it. I needed to know what had happened so I could help you—not to place blame or judge you. You did nothing wrong."
"But I broke trust," Sam insisted.
"No, little one. You broke nothing. I trust you. It is time to let it go. You are not responsible for the world."
No matter how many times he heard those words, Sam still felt a knee-jerk impulse to deny them. But before he could argue, a rush of warm grace flowed over him. It tingled along his skin and made his own grace curl in contentment against it. Exhaustion threatened to drag him back to sleep, but he managed to get one more question in first.
Promise? he asked, grace-to-grace.
I promise, Gabriel assured. Now go to sleep, and dream of peace and pies and puppies.
Sam felt himself be lowered back onto the bed. He turned on his side, curling into the mountain of fur waiting for him. The blankets were pulled up over his shoulders. A kiss grazed his forehead, and he was asleep.
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
I should never go so long in between updates again.
Or write when I'm sick.
Because THIS is the result.
THANK YOU FOR BEING SO PATIENT!
I LOVES YOU ALL 333
And I'm sorry for taking so long getting back to folks in comments! FFN's comment system is so broken sometimes, and it makes it super hard to figure out who I've answered and who I haven't. If y'all ever want to talk or ask me questions, feel free to message me on Tumblr!
My user ID is the same as here: theriverscribe. And don't forget my sideblog dedicated to this story/series: spn-bythegraceofgod.