TEACH YOUR CHILDREN
PART 7: And So, Please Help Them With Your Youth

WARNING: mentions past child abuse (no details)

I wish this could last forever, Sam thought when he woke the next morning. He'd curled toward Castiel at some point in the night. The seraph's grace glowed with contentment like a beacon of peace. The effect was so strong it left no room for embarrassment when Sam realized how close they were.

That serenity echoed from the other sleepy souls and grace in the room. But Sam knew it was too good to last—not with a Winchester's luck. And he was right.

The calm shattered by breakfast. Gabriel casually announced they would begin flying lessons the following week—with the assistance of the angel guard. His words were met with silence until Dean exploded.

Sam watched, speechless, as Dean bluntly voiced all his worst fears.

"What if they decide Sam's a threat and they smite him? Or they get sick of perching in our treetops and smite us all so they can go home? And why does Sammy need to learn flying now anyway? That seems a bit more advanced than the shit he's done so far! I mean, he almost blew up the bunker making a little ball of light this week!"

The intense questioning and debate lasted over two hours. Gabriel reassured Dean that Sam would be completely safe the entire time—both with flying and the angel strangers. Mary and Castiel occasionally raised their own concerns, but it was hard for anyone else to get a word in around Dean. But the issue was still brought up daily until Sam couldn't take it anymore.

By Sunday, he locked himself and Morpheus away in the quiet seclusion of his old room, only coming out for meals and scheduled grace-work. The stack of books by his bedside multiplied with each passing day. His grasp of Enochian grammar and vocabulary also expanded. No angel will take me seriously if I sound like a baby.

By Tuesday, Sam was sleeping less than four hours. Nightmares broke up those hours into smaller segments. Angels aren't supposed to sleep anyway, he told himself in Wednesday's pre-dawn hours.

He passed restless nights devouring Raphael's books from Heaven. The books began as a means of avoidance—a habit he'd picked up long before Stanford. The fact that his brain now absorbed information at an unprecedented rate didn't hurt.

Perfect recall meant Sam only had to read something once, but it didn't guarantee understanding. He kept a notebook full of questions. Sam went over them with Raphael whenever tensions in the bunker rose.

By Thursday, he'd finished four books and started a second notebook. Dark smudges became permanent features on his fingertips and under his eyes. The others tried to hide their stares over breakfast, but the lack of conversations made their glances even more obvious.

Sam didn't care. He didn't have the energy to care. There was barely enough energy for his usual morning run.

This is getting ridiculous, pup. Morpheus' voice held the edge of a growl. The canine trotted along the footpath, remaining close to keep Sam from stumbling. It was a full-time job in his current state.

"Running isn't ridiculous," Sam mumbled, breathing hard.

Gabriel said he'd make you wear a helmet if he has to heal another head injury from a fall.

Sam ran faster without answering. Nervous energy thrummed through his body. It had left him dizzy and short of breath before he'd gone running. Now, it fueled his steps.

If only he could run fast enough to escape the approaching afternoon. They were all supposed to be introduced to the unknown angels guarding the bunker. And then fly around the yard, or something. Sam hadn't paid much attention past the "meet other angels" portion of the announcement.

Pup! Stop, Sam! Morpheus' warning barely registered over Sam's own thoughts. But the canine's teeth snatched the bottom hem of his jacket from behind, abruptly ending their run.

"What the hell!?" Sam snapped as he landed hard on the ground.

Morpheus planted himself in front of Sam, his steely blue eyes holding a rare level of seriousness. You are not paying attention, he scolded.

Sam glowered back. "I'm running! You don't just knock me on my ass because I'm not listening!"

I didn't stop you because you weren't listening, Morpheus huffed. You are not paying attention to your route. Where are you going?

Sam looked around—they weren't on the path. Panicked, he scanned the woods for anything familiar. It took him a moment to spot the cleared path several yards back. He'd failed to take the turn that looped back toward the bunker, and continued his sprint into the woods.

"I-I've never done that before," Sam said, still stunned. His chest hurt from forcing cold air through tight lungs. It made his face burn and sinuses drain.

Morpheus shoved his face closer, and Sam made himself stay still. Bracing for a staring contest he'd never win, the feel of fur against his forehead was unexpected. The canine pressed a cheek to Sam's skin, like a mother's hand checking a temperature.

Sam tolerated it, knowing he couldn't evade his guardian's fussing. But it didn't stop a mumbled, "I'm not sick."

You are freezing and drenched in sweat. With practiced ease, he gently grasped the hood between teeth and pulled it over Sam's hair. And I am not ignorant to how little sleep you're getting.

Sam winced. He'd hoped the canine wouldn't notice. "It's just been the last night or two."

Blue eyes narrowed.

"Or three," Sam amended. Cold from the ground seeped into his legs and made them ache. He needed to get up before they cramped.

As though sensing his intent, Morpheus laid down next to Sam without warning. No more running for today. Up, pup. You need to rest before this afternoon.

They were only halfway through their usual morning routine. Sam stared at the soft inviting fur, torn between finishing his run and longing to be warm. The decision was made for him.

Up. Or I will tell Gabriel to postpone his plans because you're too tired.

"That's blackmail," Sam grumbled. Part of him wished they could postpone—by about ten years or so. But this was important, and the archangels were excited.

A hard, cold shiver made him resign to his fate and move. It took the last of his energy to climb the canine, but he eventually got situated. Heat pricked the skin of his legs painfully. Sam rubbed his hands over his jeans to get rid of the sensation.

Lay forward. You need to warm up.

"I'm fine." A bushy tail smacked the back of Sam's head before he finished speaking. It knocked him face-first into fur. "Hey!"

Morpheus stood and started moving. Sam dug his hands and knees into the canine's back to keep his balance.

Be still, Morpheus said, but it was an unnecessary order. Sam's muscles felt heavy with heat and fatigue—there was no way he'd remain seated if he tried to shift upright again.

"You're grumpy." Sam frowned, hated hearing the petulance in his own voice.

There was a quiet pause. I am frustrated, Morpheus replied quietly, because my charge does not sleep through the night.

"Sorry." Sam stared at the passing trees, guilt twisting in his stomach. "I don't know what's…"

And he does not turn to me or others for assistance. He insists on staying awake and reading without even trying to return to sleep. I don't think he understands that, as his guardian, I wake with him. I wake, and I wait for him to talk to me, and I watch as he sits in silence.

"Morpheus, I didn't realize…"

And when I try to express my concerns, he tells me he's fine. He is more upset about my loss of sleep than his own. Morpheus twists his head around, pinning Sam with his gaze. And he called me "grumpy."

Sam sighed. "I'm sorry," he said again.

He apologizes because he feels responsible, but does nothing to change the situation.

"Please stop talking about me in third person." It felt like he was listening in on a conversation without participating. Then, he considered the uncomfortable truth of Morpheus' words. He and Dean often apologized as a means of ending an argument—conceding without actual closure or resolution. "How do I change the situation?"

Talk to me.

"About what?"

Tell me about the dreams that wake you up and drive you to do everything possible to prevent yourself returning to them.

Sam hated dreaming. Too often, his brain took memories and twisted them. Faces and events became repainted with brighter colors and darker fears. Nightmares had plagued him since early childhood, but they'd grown far more intense now that he had grace.

Dreams of John had become a nightly event for the past two weeks—since Raphael's first visit to Heaven.

Some were pleasant memories of moments long-forgotten. A rare day spent in a park, playing frisbee with the sound of his dad's laugh echoing through the trees. A night they got snowed in at a motel and John read them stories as they laid curled up under a pile of blankets. He'd wake up feeling desperate and emotional, wishing he could remain in the dream a moment longer.

But they were overshadowed by nightmares. Events that had not simply faded from his memory due to time, but that he'd intentionally boxed up and shoved into dark corners. And now, those boxes were all open, spilling out without rhyme or reason.

Last night had opened a particularly bad box—his father's reaction to Sam's first time running away. "You want to run so bad? Well, you better start now—five miles, every morning for the next month. Run away again, and you won't be able to walk for a week." John had followed him each morning for three days, a belt clutched in his hand as a silent reminder.

Sam buried his face between Morpheus' shoulder blades. "I don't…I can't talk about them," he finally said.

Mary had been in a pre-Christmas frenzy all week. Each nightmare seemed like a betrayal of the stories she shared of a father he'd never known. A stranger who welded ornaments and slow-danced in the living room and accidentally melted a grill the first time he made steak.

Can't? Or won't?

The thought of describing the dreams out-loud made Sam's throat tighten. "Can't," he croaked. "Not yet." Not ever.

Morpheus sighed noisily, but nodded. How do you feel about the plan for this afternoon?

Sam weighed his options. Meeting new angels was pretty high on his list of Things That Seem Like Bad Ideas. It brought up an entirely different set of baggage that began the moment Castiel first took his hand and called him "the boy with the demon blood." On the other hand, it was still an easier subject to tackle than his father.

"I don't have the best history with angels," Sam said.

From what I know of your past, I believe that is a vast understatement.

Sam closed his eyes. The rhythmic movement of Morpheus' steps helped him relax. Being small again may make him vulnerable, but it also gave him moments where he could bask in the safety provided by someone much larger.

"Angels hated me before I even knew they existed." Sam crossed his ankles over Morpheus' lower back and used his arms as a pillow. "They saw me as an abomination. But they really just confirmed what I'd already known for years—that something was wrong with me. I felt dirty as a kid."

Because of the demon blood?

"I guess. Yeah, it was just something I felt. Anyway," Sam cleared his throat and tried to stay focused, "it took a long time for Cas to see me as more than just Lucifer's intended vessel. But until now, I didn't have any other angel allies. Gabriel might have eventually joined Team Free Will, but he died saving us before that could happen." He gave a humorless laugh. "Most angels end up dead around us. Dean has a collection of angel blades."

You believe the angels protecting the bunker are untrustworthy?

"No! I…I don't know." He tried to shrug, but his muscles wouldn't obey. "Gabe and Raphael trust them. Cas hasn't said anything, but he's got his own issues with other angels. They don't like him either."

What is your worst-case scenario for today? Morpheus asked plainly, like they were reviewing battle strategies. It uncoiled some of Sam's tension just to know he was being taken seriously.

"Worst case? They decide their earlier opinions of me were correct and they nuke the bunker." They'd probably lure the archangels away on orders from Michael beforehand. But eradicating the Winchesters and Castiel would be pathetically easy for a small group of seraphs set on their destruction. Dean had seen them go after Amara—they would not survive such an attack.

Morpheus stopped walking. Your worst-case scenario involves all of our deaths—yet you have not raised a single concern all week?

"Who needs to raise concerns when Dean's been screaming them on an hourly basis? Besides, they wouldn't dare a full-out assault with Gabriel and Raphael around. I'll sound the alarm if they suddenly disappear together." And keep studying every book I can get my hands on, Sam thought to himself.

The one that currently laid hidden under his pillow detailed defense strategies—including the theoretical steps to manifesting an angel blade. There was no way Raphael would approve of him reading it, let alone attempting any of the steps. Sam wondered if it had been accidentally added to the pile, but he wasn't going to chance asking and losing access to the book for the next few centuries.

A snort from Morpheus drew Sam out of his thoughts. They started moving again. What is your next worst-case scenario? One that does not end in our deaths.

Sam considered his answer. He had worried obsessively over so many scenarios—none of which ended well. "Umm, if we're taking 'certain death' off the table, then I'm not sure. It's kinda a toss-up between open hostility and cold indifference."

Hmm, Morpheus mused. That is understandable. Hostility, while hard to accept, is at least honest. Indifference can hide too many things.

"Yeah," Sam whispered.

What is your best-case scenario, then?

"What?"

What would be your perfect outcome to this meeting?

Sam had not spared a single thought for a best-case scenario. There was no "perfect outcome." There was death and not-death.

"I guess…I learn how to fly quickly and they aren't forced to assist in other future lessons?"

Have you considered the possibility that these angels may like you? That you may end up being friends? From what I understand of angels, they take their "protective sibling" role very seriously.

"Nope—never really crossed my mind." He yawned, then coughed when he accidentally got a mouthful of fur. Blinding sunlight made him blink until his eyes could focus. "Morpheus, are we," he blinked again, "walking in circles around the yard?"

Yes. The canine's steps never slowed.

"Why?"

I would walk in circles around this country if it keeps you speaking.

Sam swallowed the urge to argue, and insist that he'd been speaking. But that wasn't true. His mind had gone into overdrive about thirty seconds after breakfast a week ago, and it hadn't slowed down. Every time Dean rehashed the issue, it rewrote Sam's worst-case scenario.

He hadn't lied—death and destruction definitely sat at the top of his list. But there were dozens of lesser, just as devastating, paths this could go. Most of them ended with the archangels leaving.

Sam had to think long-term. It might take ten or twenty years, but he knew he wouldn't remain the center of Gabriel and Raphael's attentions forever. Heaven would eventually call on them or the archangels would grow restless on Earth.

He just hoped he appeared old enough to make it alone by the time it happened.

You know that was supposed to encourage you to keep speaking, right?

Sam shook his head and smiled. "Sorry."

Would you like to talk with Raphael about your concerns before the meeting? He seems like the least likely to attract dramatics if we can get him alone.

"God, no!" Sam almost shouted. Gabriel might be dramatic, but Raphael was tenacious. The Healer would easily read between Sam's words, and be persistent enough to get a full confession of his fears. And there was no way to phrase his worries in a way that didn't make him sound like a scared child. "No, thank you. I'm just tired and overthinking everything, as usual. Dean and I were trained to prepare for the worst long before we knew how to read. It's an old habit—not likely to break anytime soon."

Perhaps you would consider resting until the appointed time. It wasn't a question.

"I don't need a nap."

Then I shall continue walking. Lay back down.

"What? No!"

Pup, your grace is sensitive and volatile when you are rested and calm. Do you really think "tired and overthinking everything" is a good state to be in when learning to bend time and space?

Sam groaned in defeat. "Fine. I'll go lay down. But only if you do too, Grumpy."

They returned to the bunker in silence—which meant they heard Dean's raised voice as soon as they walked through the door. The hunter had circled back to the "what if Sam falls from the sky" issue. Gabriel and Castiel were both trying to explain that angels didn't fly like birds, but Dean was too worked up.

By unspoken agreement, Sam and Morpheus passed the kitchen as silently as possible on their way to his room. The canine shifted into his smaller form so Sam could carry him. The click-clack of nails against the bunker floor would be a dead give-away.

Sam shut his door, and sighed in relief. Morpheus shifted again and nudged him toward the bed. It took a minute to kick off his shoes and shed a few layers, but then he was under the covers.

When the bed didn't dip under Morpheus' weight, Sam sat back up. The canine still stood by the door. "What are you doing?" he asked, frowning.

I need to talk to Raphael about this afternoon, but I was waiting until you were settled.

"No! I told you I didn't want to talk to him." Sam threw the covers back.

Don't you dare set one foot out of that bed, pup! Morpheus appeared by his side in a blink. You do not need to talk to the Healer-Angel. I will not betray your confidence. I have my own concerns, and as your safety is my priority, I need to discuss the plan in greater detail.

Sam stared at him, torn between wishing he'd never said anything and the need for reassurance that this wasn't going to end in disaster. Tensions were high enough in the bunker without adding in his own paranoia. "You sure?"

I promise. Now lay down and rest. I will join you as soon as I'm done. And no reading!

"Grumpy," Sam muttered as he flopped back onto his pillow.

I heard that.

Sam pulled the blanket over his head. "Good."

Raphael sat in the library, mentally reviewing his plans for their afternoon session. It had been several ages since he'd last taught a fledgling to fly. And there were so many new factors he'd never dealt with in the past.

Fledglings were traditionally taught flight in a special section of Heaven created exclusively for training. It had wards that kept the little ones from accidentally flying outside the zone and soft barriers that minimized injuries. Like the Garden, the training grounds held vegetation and bright skies.

Angels called it "The Fields of Gold" for the sunlit grasses that rippled like the sea. It was perfectly designed for its purpose. And utterly useless for Sam.

Raphael sighed, rubbing his temples

Samuel was not ready for Heaven—and Heaven was not ready for Samuel. Setting aside the violent histories between the Winchesters and the Host, Heaven was still in shambles and unsafe for a fledgling who could barely control his grace. And Samuel would not welcome an audience who tried to shower him in attention.

The sound of nails clicking against the floor drew Raphael's attention to the doorway in time to see Morpheus enter. When Samuel did not appear, Raphael sat up straighter. The two were rarely separated for any reason.

"Hello, Morpheus."

Hello, Healer. Morpheus sniffed at the dwindling pile of books on the table, his nose wrinkling. He shook his head, sneezing to the side, and made his way to Raphael's side. I wanted to talk to you about this afternoon.

"Of course."

I have safety concerns.

"About the flying?"

About the angels.

"Ah," Raphael nodded. He'd been expecting this all week. "What are your concerns?"

What are the chances they will view Sam as a threat?

"I have discussed Samuel with the guard numerous times, and have not sensed any animosity from them. If I had, I would have removed them from their post."

What would you do if they hurt Sam? Or tried to take him away? Morpheus' voice was calm and curious.

Raphael leaned back in his chair. He recognized a test when he saw one. But was it from Sam or Morpheus?

"They would have to get through two archangels. They would lose—and they are aware of that fact. Archangels are not the same as seraphs. It is not a simple matter of being stronger. We are older, larger, and faster. Castiel was the first seraph to stand against me, and he only survived the initial encounter due to Winchester-trickery." Raphael warmed at the memory, proud of Castiel's defiance against Heaven's cold corruption—a cold legacy continued by Raphael after Michael and Lucifer's fall into the Cage.

And if they tried to take him?

"The only reason they would remove Samuel from the bunker grounds is if he were in danger. We warded the building against any angel not currently living here—including the guard. The wards can be broken, but it would take serious effort and set off multiple alarms. And there are alarms set to go off if Sam leaves the premises unexpectedly."

What if they were under orders?

Raphael frowned. This was about more than meeting the angel guard. "You mean Michael?"

Yes. Morpheus tilted his head, openly studying the archangel.

"Michael is many things, but deceitful is not one of them." Raphael chose his words carefully. "He has no experience using manipulation and lies—and subtlety is a new concept for him. As a leader, he respects order and brute force. I spent millennia by his side before and during the Apocalypse, when we were the only two archangels in Heaven. I spent another few centuries watching our Father restore him piece-by-piece. I know the guilt he carries in regards to what was done to Samuel. And right now, his goal for Heaven is to make it a home worthy of our newest sibling."

Morpheus nodded slowly, and Raphael felt his curiosity spike. He wasn't sure what assurances the shifter was seeking, but knew this conversation was important. Questions sat on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed them—they would have to wait until he understood the situation better.

What do you have planned for this afternoon? Specifically.

Raphael laid out the schedule he'd discussed with Gabriel. After lunch, the flock would go outside. Gabriel would make the introductions, and allow some time for them to mingle. They would go over the basics of flying, and what to expect from the lessons. "The rest, as the humans say, we shall 'play by ear.' There is a good chance we will not get to any actual flying today."

That may be best. I expect this meeting will take enough energy as-is. Especially if Dean does not calm down beforehand.

Raphael winced. He could hear Dean and Gabriel debating in the kitchen even now. "Yes. Dean's protectiveness of Samuel has been quite overwhelming this week. I believe his heart is in the right place, but his method of expressing his concerns has caused more harm than good. I can speak to him before we go—without Gabriel's equally volatile presence."

Yes, please. I would do it myself, but he would not hear me. And there is only so much I can communicate through gestures and growls. Morpheus stood and padded toward the door. Apparently, he had the answers he'd needed.

"Morpheus?" Raphael called out. He waited until the shifter turned and looked at him. "Is Samuel okay? He has been very quiet lately. Are these his concerns about today, or your own?"

Sam's concerns are my own, was all Morpheus said before walking out the door.

Well, that was insightful, Raphael thought. It told him that Samuel or Morpheus, or both, had serious concerns about trusting the angels. Concerns that far outweighed any fear of flying—which seemed to be Dean's main worry.

With lunch still an hour away, Raphael flew to the guard. He needed to ensure the boy's first meeting with his new siblings went well. It would set the tone for all future introductions.

He found them in an emotional frenzy—a first for the Healer. Seraphs were not known for overt displays of feeling, yet Nuriel seemed near-tears as Zadkiel sat against her side, offering closeness for comfort. Even Sariel, who stood and stared stoically out at the horizon, appeared disturbed—it showed in her restlessly shifting wings.

They watched from above the bunker, just outside the human's physical plane. Hidden from all except those who could access such a place. Low-level demons would not even sense their presence.

"What has happened?" Raphael asked, ready to call Gabriel to them. No one answered. He frowned, and opened his mouth to demand answers when Sariel stepped toward him.

"We do not normally listen to conversations, but we do keep an extra ear out when the fledgling ventures into the woods with his canine. They rarely speak during these runs. But today…" Sariel trailed off. Raphael raised an eyebrow at her unusual hesitation. She touched two fingers to his forehead. "It would be easier if I showed you."

Raphael gasped as the conversation between Samuel and Morpheus played out in under a second. Morpheus' questions suddenly made sense. His first concern, however, was the boy's exhaustion. Knowing it was compounded by a lack of sleep, which was being avoided with the aid of Raphael's books, was worrisome.

He looked at the angel guard in a new light. Their reaction was genuine—grace cannot lie. Knowing the young angel feared them to such an extent was devastating.

"Yes, I was just made aware of Samuel's anxieties. But I had not realized it was so severe." Raphael offered the guard captain a smile and patted her shoulder. "What did you make of what you heard?"

"The fledgling must hate us," Sariel said brusquely.

"How so?" Raphael asked, hiding his shock at her words.

"He believes us capable of smiting him—that we might do so willingly. Surely, he would hate what he thinks hates him."

"Ah." Raphael sighed. It was a very logical argument, but childlike in its simplicity. He opened his mouth to correct her assumption, but Zadkiel spoke first.

"The child does not hate us, Sariel," said the angel of mercy in a soft voice.

"How could he not?" she challenged in disbelief.

"Because he has known hate and dares not return it." Zadkiel pressed harder against Nuriel's side. "He has seen how hate changes a person. That is not the fate he wishes for himself."

"Then what does he feel?" Sariel asked.

"Fear," answered Nuriel.

"But we are here to protect him!" Sariel began pacing, agitated by her own lack of understanding.

"Since when has any angel, besides Castiel, protected him? Gabriel tried, and Lucifer killed him. You must admit," Zadkiel's chin rose in determination, "before our Father's actions, no member of the Host would have guarded Samuel Winchester. I know—because when I passed along his prayers to those responsible for action, I received only laughter and sneers."

Raphael watched, riveted by the guards' exchange. He'd arrived with the intention of educating the seraphs on basic human emotional needs. Instead, he found himself learning insights he'd been too busy to see—concerning both the guard and Samuel.

Sariel was a natural soldier and strategist—her ability to assess a situation and instinctively know what needed to be done was a trait Raphael had witnessed since her days as a fledgling. She had no experience with humanity beyond her brief time on Earth after Metatron's actions. She had even less involvement with children.

And yet, her choice in guard members revealed an acknowledgment of her own deficiencies. She could have easily chosen two other warriors to protect the misfit-flock. But she picked a Caretaker and the angel who took the prayers of those seeking mercy and compassion. Her decisions showed an unexpected level of mindfulness.

"Healer, what can we do?" Nuriel asked. "I have never known a fledgling who fears us. How did you prove yourself to him?"

Raphael sat beside the Caretaker-turned-soldier, and thought back to his first encounter with Samuel. Their meeting had been intertwined with pain and smoke and terror—all of which served as barriers between him and the boy. It was remarkable to realize how far they'd come from that day.

"It was not easy, and I suspect it will no better for you either." Raphael threaded his fingers through Nuriel's wings. Not to groom, but to calm her grace. "Respect his boundaries—if he says 'no' for any reason, you stop. It will likely go against every instinct you have. He does not readily accept comfort, even from those he trusts. You must remember that there is an adult human mind underneath that young grace. He will not respond to anyone who treats him like a child."

"He has always been too mature for his age," Zadkiel said, nodding. "Even his early prayers addressed fears no child should be worried about."

Raphael hummed in agreement. "Go slow with him. Building trust will take time. You will be the first members of the Host he meets. All other introductions will be shaped by his experience today."

Sariel made a noise very near a snort. "What is it the humans say? 'No pressure?'"

"No pressure, indeed." Raphael smiled. "Now, let us review how you should, and should not, interact with Winchesters."

Gabriel prepared lunch, trying to ignore Dean's constant rambling. Whoever thought Sam was the worrier in the family had clearly never dealt with the hunter in full big-brother-protective-mode. It had been an exhausting week.

I swear to Dad, if he doesn't calm down, I'm gonna tranquilize him! Gabriel said silently to Castiel.

I might help you, Castiel replied.

Gabriel would normally have no problem handling the hunter, but Dean's near-hysteria over the upcoming meeting left no room for Sam to express anything. They'd watched the kid become increasingly withdrawn, but there'd been no opportunity to talk to him alone. He hoped Morpheus was having better luck. The two were inseparable.

He added the final touches to the potato soup, and set it to simmer. The others would arrive soon. Now, if he could just figure out how to get Dean to simmer instead of boil over, they'd be set.

Raphael arrived and quietly asked for a word with the hunter. Gabriel held his breath, desperate for a miracle. When they returned, he counted his prayers as answered.

Dean sat at the table, calmer than he'd been in days. His eyes were slightly red when he smiled at Castiel. The seraph merely nodded back, but his wings telegraphed his relief.

I don't know what you said to him, but I owe you a life-debt! Gabriel told the Healer. Raphael smiled, but there was an uneasiness in his eyes that only Gabriel could see. What's wrong?

Raphael hesitated for a moment, then moved to stand next to Gabriel. He brushed his fingertips against the back of Gabriel's hand. It took every ounce of strength the younger archangel possessed to remain silent as images flooded his mind.

Should we postpone? he asked as Sam and Morpheus' words echoed in his ears.

No, Raphael said. I do not think 'more time' is the answer. He will only learn to trust other angels by interacting with them—not avoidance. I have already spoken to the guard about how best to interact with Samuel. I believe that a good meeting will relieve some of his anxiety.

What's gonna relieve my anxiety? Gabriel asked wryly.

Hopefully, my talk with Dean will help in that area.

What did you say to him, anyway? He looked over at the hunter who was now talking in hushed tones with Castiel.

Oh, I just shared some advice—from one big brother to another.

Well, now I really want to know.

Raphael winked. Sorry. It is a secret that can never be shared with younger siblings.

Gabriel gawked at the Healer. You say that like I'm not an older brother!

But you are not my older brother.

Gabriel had several comebacks he wanted to use, but Sam and Morpheus' arrival, followed closely by Mary, put an end to their discussion.

His heart sank as he studied the kid with new understanding. The bags under his eyes seemed darker now—his silence, heavier. Gabriel wished it was in his power to magically make it all better.

"Hey there, Sam-a-lam! You're right on time. Do you want any bacon or cheese on the top? Or both?" Gabriel asked as he ladled the hearty soup into a bowl. The kid's appetite had been lower than normal lately—which was saying a lot, considering how hard it was to get Sam to eat on a good day.

"Um, just some cheese. Thanks," Sam said with a yawn. He looked like he'd just woken up.

Gabriel threw a handful of shredded cheese on top, and set it in front of Sam. "Eat up!"

Sam just nodded, and stirred the cheese into the soup with one hand while the other rubbed sleep from his eyes.

"What about you, Deano? Bacon and cheese? Or bacon and bacon?"

"Double bacon and double cheese for me," Dean said with a bit more cheer than they'd been hearing.

"One heart attack, coming right up," Gabriel called back.

Mary joined him at the stove, a bowl in her hand and a smile on her lips. "Well, someone sure is a lot more cheerful. Is that your doing?" she whispered.

"Raphael talked to him," Gabriel said just as low. "Bastard won't tell me what he said though."

I can hear you, Raphael teased. Gabriel turned and stuck his tongue out without answering.

"Hmm, I may have to try and get it out of him later." Mary took the ladle and served herself. "I could use some pointers on how to de-escalate Dean now that he's too big to put in a time-out."

"Oh, please, let me help with that! It would only take a snap."

"Don't you dare." Mary giggled and shook her head. "I'd never hear the end of it." She smacked his arm on her way to the table.

Gabriel gave Dean his "heart attack in a bowl" and sat down. No one said anything for a few minutes—each person lost in their own thoughts. It was like they were preparing for a funeral.

"So," Gabriel started, just a little too loud, "are there any last-minute questions?" He saw Dean open his mouth, but Castiel elbowed him hard in the side. Good job, Cassie, he said privately with a smirk.

No one answered right away. Then, Mary broke the silence. "I know we're meeting the angels who've been guarding the bunker. And that they're going to help somehow with Sam's lessons." Gabriel nodded in confirmation. "I guess…is there anything we should know about angel decorum? Like, are there things we shouldn't say or do because they'd be seen as rude in your…culture?"

Gabriel swallowed the laugh that was building inside him. But he did grin. "Nah, not really. You're more likely to confuse them with human slang and pop culture. There are things that angels find insulting with other angels, but not so much with humans."

"Like what?" Sam asked in a small voice.

Gabriel turned so fast he almost fell out of his seat at hearing the boy speak. "Well, they aren't gonna get any movie or music references. And they take everything literally, so…"

"No. I mean what do they find insulting with other…angels?" Sam stared firmly at his soup bowl as he swirled his spoon through the cheese.

Some of Gabriel's elation deflated at the boy's nervous tone. He took a deep breath, and reached across the table. Sam finally looked up when wiggling fingers entered his field of vision. Gabriel waited patiently until the tiny hand stretched forward and rested between his palms.

"Sam, you do not need to worry about offending anyone. I know that you're nervous about today, but just be yourself. You won't be accidentally rude—trust me." Gabriel wanted to tell him that angels would see him as baby, and therefore incapable of rudeness. But he didn't think that would be very comforting to Sam in that moment.

"Be myself? That…that's your advice? Because being myself hasn't always worked out great for me." Sam frowned. "I've been reading those books on traditions and history. There are entire chapters dedicated to how to 'present your wings' for different situations. I don't even know what that means!"

"You are not meant to know what that means yet, Samuel," Raphael soothed. "Technically, you should not even have wings at your age. No one expects you to have mastered their use, let alone understand the nuance of angelic body language. That takes centuries for a fledgling to learn when they are raised among the Host."

"Cut yourself some slack, kiddo—you first met angels less than a decade ago. And Cassie is hardly a role model when it comes to Heaven's traditions and customs." Gabriel winked at the seraph.

Castiel nodded. "That is true. I was never very sociable. And even if I had been a 'role model,' you would not have noticed without seeing my wings."

"If you guys say so." Sam took a deep breath, and tried to smile. "I guess we should probably get out there before we're late. Unless tardiness is also accepted."

"Pfft!" Gabriel patted Sam's hand and sat back in his seat. "I was a few thousand years late to the apocalypse."

"Eat more before we go," Dean said, finally joining the conversation. "You barely had anything at breakfast."

Sam made a face and forced himself to eat a few bites before announcing he was done. No amount of cajoling could change his mind. Gabriel gave it up as a lost cause, but vowed to try again at dinner. If the meeting went well, hopefully Sam's nerves would be settled enough to eat more that evening.

Gabriel snapped their dishes away, not wanting to waste time with clean up. They walked out of the bunker as a group. No one spoke, but Raphael hummed an ancient song of peace.

Sam came to a sudden stop when they began turning the corner to the back yard. The boy looked pale, and his fingers twisted the fabric of his pants. Morpheus stood behind him, nuzzling without pushing.

This isn't going to work! Gabriel made sure only Raphael could hear him.

Dean pushed past everyone, and knelt in front of his brother so they were eye-to-eye. For a minute, they spoke without words. Then, he leaned forward and whispered in Sam's ear.

"You got this, dude. It's just a meet-and-greet…like those stupid open houses we had to do at the start of each school year. All that's missing is the crappy macaroni art."

Sam sniffed and gave a watery laugh. "Didn't you just cover your page in macaroni and glue cheese slices on top?"

Dean grinned. "That school had no appreciation for modern art. I was a freakin' genius and you know it."

"They gave you detention," Sam said disapprovingly.

"Totally worth it." Dean ruffled Sam's hair. "Now, you ready to meet some new teachers? Because if I have to teach you to fly, you'd be using a mini hang-glider. And a helmet. And pillows duct taped to every inch of you. Actually, I'd just get you a bicycle with training wheels—and you'd still have to wear the helmet."

"Jerk," Sam huffed.

"Yeah, yeah, bitch" Dean murmured, wrapping the kid in a hug. "You want me to carry you back there? That way, you'll be more eye-level with everyone."

Sam quickly shook his head. "No. The last thing I want is to look more like a kid."

Morpheus nudged at Sam's back. I'll take you. You'll be taller on my back. And warmer.

Gabriel thought it would also allow for a quick retreat if the shifter decided there was a threat. But he had to admit—Sam looked like a small warrior ready to ride into battle on the canine's back. It was much more intimidating than being perched on a person's hip like a toddler.

"I'm gonna go with Morpheus, actually," Sam decided, relaying the plan to Dean.

A flash of disappointment crossed Dean's face, but it quickly smoothed into a smirk. "Sure thing. I don't blame you—if I had a valiant, badass steed like him, I'd…" he trailed for a second and shuddered, "nope, I'd still walk. But I'd keep him close."

Sam swung himself onto Morpheus' back. "Chicken," he taunted as the group started moving again.

"Hey now! I've already got a badass steed, and her name is Baby."

Sam's eyes darted around the yard, searching for the guard. But there was no one on the ground. He took a shaky breath and gripped Morpheus' fur tightly.

Gabriel placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Relax, Sam. They're waiting until Raphael calls them down," he said, nodding the go-ahead to the Healer.

We are ready, Sariel, Raphael's voice rang clearly for all the angels to hear.

Sam felt the guards' arrival before he saw them.

Grace cracked through the yard, louder than Sam had anticipated. It sounded raw and clumsy and less powerful when compared to the archangels—the deafening roar of a go-cart against the purred hum of a muscle car. He jumped at the unexpected volume, almost falling off Morpheus.

Gabriel's hand squeezed his shoulder gently and the air warmed around him. Everyone's safe, Sam, the archangel promised. Seraphs tend to be noisy little buggers—no finesse or style. Then, he gestured Raphael to them. Keep Sam company for me until I introduce everyone.

Raphael smiled at Sam and took Gabriel's place. Sam wanted to protest that he was not an infant that needed to be handed off to another adult, but then he caught sight of the guard. He tightened his grip on Morpheus, and tried not to hunch over on instinct.

Sam had to tilt his head to see around everyone. His mom and Castiel stood on either side of him, a few feet out. Dean stood firm out front like a gate-keeper, never taking his eyes off the newcomers Gabriel walked towards.

They had landed by the tree-line, several yards away. An Asian woman, her face stoic and strong, was the clear leader. Two angels flanked her from behind—an African woman with kind eyes and a white man with a shock of freckles and red hair. All three wore the customary grey suits that seemed to be Heaven's uniform.

"Hey, guys!" Gabriel said cheerfully as he skipped the last few steps. Linking arms with the leader like they were best friends, he steered them to the group. "Welcome to our humble abode-bunker. This is Dean Winchester—his reputation precedes him, I'm sure. I know he looks grumpy, but I assure you, he hasn't stabbed me once since I got back! Then we've got Mother Mary, also a Winchester. Unlike Dean, she looks sweet. Just don't get on her bad side because she can be terrifying."

"Hey!" Mary frowned, but her lips quivered with the effort to not grin.

"And over here is Castiel, who isn't nearly as treacherous as our siblings make him out to be. He's just light-years ahead of what the Host is starting to learn now."

Sam tapped Raphael's hand. He mouthed the words, "What is he doing?!"

Gabriel bumped Castiel with his hip—a move that made the guard leader stumble as she was pulled along. But the rough-housing was softened by Gabriel's wing trailing across Castiel's shoulder. Sam saw the tense muscles under the trench coat sag as they relaxed into the touch.

He is being Gabriel, Raphael answered. He gently rested his hand on the back of Sam's head. Those traditions and customs you worried about earlier? Gabriel delights in finding decidedly non-traditional ways to carry them out.

Sam took a deep breath when they turned to him. The leader looked less stoic now and more flustered. The other woman openly smiled and shook her head in fond exasperation, like she was used to Gabriel's antics. He didn't know if he'd ever seen another angel smile so brightly.

"And last, but not least, we have our dynamic duo—Sam and Morpheus. Each are formidable in their own way, but completely unstoppable when together. And yes, they both bite," the archangel said, winking at Sam.

"Gabriel!" Sam blurted out, feeling his cheeks burn. He'd only bitten people under dire circumstances.

Dean was right—this was exactly like open house when all the parents and teachers try their best to good-naturedly embarrass the kids. He had just never been on the receiving end of it. John never attended their school functions.

Gabriel ruffled his hair, and then motioned at Raphael. "I won't waste our time with this guy. You know him already."

Sam saw the leader's eyes widen at hearing the Healer referred to as "this guy." Gabriel maneuvered her toward the front of the group again. The red-haired man gave Sam a small smile and followed. But Raphael drew the other woman to his side with a touch. Sam was surprised to see her lean against the archangel.

Once Gabriel was in place, he released the woman and stepped to the side. With a flourished gesture in her direction, he said, "Everyone—this is Sariel. She's in charge of keeping us safe, and has never learned to smile. Give me some time—I only started her humor lessons a couple weeks ago." Sariel immediately smoothed the wrinkles from her suit and edged further away from Gabriel. "This is Zadkiel. He's one of the youngest and nerdiest, but he can hold his own. And in the back, we have Nuriel. You'll never find a sweeter sibling—which I can only say because I'm out of reach from her arms and wings."

Sam sat in stunned silence, barely feeling Morpheus beneath him. He watched as Zadkiel broke off from Sariel's side and walked up to Castiel with a tentative smile. Dean and Sariel were left to a staring contest until the hunter began growling out ground rules and safety questions. She answered everything with calm efficiency, and the two quickly fell into a discussion on defense strategies.

Mary seemed torn as to where to go, but as soon as her eyes landed on Sam she drifted his way. "How are you doing?" she asked in a low tone.

Sam shrugged. He hadn't known what to expect—but this certainly wasn't it. He'd have felt silly if he didn't feel so numb.

She leaned down and kissed his crown. Then, straightened up and looked at the angel standing with Raphael. "Hello, I'm Mary. And apparently, we're both sweet-but-deadly."

Nuriel grinned and glanced at Raphael. Humans shake hands, correct?

Sam startled, not expecting to hear her voice in his head. The movement caught the angel's eye, but she just kept smiling. Raphael nodded, and Nuriel proudly put out her hand. "Do not listen to the Messenger. He likes to play games. It is nice to meet you, Mary. I am Nuriel." Her vessel's voice was slightly deeper than the one Sam heard over angel-radio, but it was warm.

Mary looked delighted by the prospect of shaking the angel's hand. "Yes, we are very used to Gabriel's theatrics around here."

"Hey!" Gabriel yelled from across the group.

Raphael ignored him. "Nuriel used to work with me. She was one of the best Caretakers in Heaven."

Sam remembered that Caretakers were like nursery workers. He felt a tiny flare of outrage that they thought he needed a child specialist. But he didn't have time to protest.

Nuriel knelt down and extended a hand for Morpheus to sniff. He licked her wrist in a show of approval. She jumped with a giggle at the sensation. Then, she lifted her gaze.

"Hello, Sam."

AUTHOR'S NOTE:
I'm SOOO sorry I've not been replying to reviews on here, my beautiful darlings!
The Struggle Is Real to navigate this site's review/comment inboxes and I feel like weeping with how often I have to navigate back and forth to answer everyone.
I'm going to TRY and see if my nerves can handle it from now on...but I want you to know that every single comment is ADORED AND CHERISHED AND SAVED FOREVER IN MY EMAIL FOLDERS! I appreciate all your feedback, and feel blessed to know so many folks enjoy reading this story.