TEACH YOUR CHILDREN
Part 9: Teach Your Parents Well
TRIGGER WARNINGS: anxiety attacks, VERY brief and vague mentions of spanking, and INTENSE EMOTIONAL SCENES.
There's not a whole lotta fluffs in this chapter, but I promise to make it up to you (there are, like, 2-3 chapters of PURE FLUFF planned...I SWEAR)! I just wanted to give y'all a heads up here. This chapter came in at just under 13k, and only about 500 of that is fluff.
Gabriel fiddled nervously with his jacket on the bunker's lawn. Double checked to make sure his messenger bag holding the laptop was secure. Ran his fingers through his hair. Re-fiddled with his jacket.
"Stop that," Raphael tutted, knocking his hands away and fixing Gabriel's collar. "You are fine."
"Says you," Gabriel mumbled. "You've been back several times. And you didn't leave for several centuries."
"I may as well have left—for all the good I did. Now," Raphael ruffled Gabriel's hair, "are you ready?"
"No," Gabriel pouted, "but let's go. If we waited till I was ready, we'd never leave."
"Come on, brother." Raphael grinned. "There are many seraphs who have been celebrating your return and are eager to see you again."
"Better late than never, I suppose," Gabriel sighed, then spread his wings and flew home.
They landed in Heart Hall—a place filled with fond memories of song and dance and love.
Gabriel gasped to see it now. The once opulent hall had crumbled into ruins. Several towering pillars laid broken across the floor. Intricate carvings of art and verse were coated in dust and soot from battles he had not been there to fight.
His gaze drifted from the walls to the faces that filled the room. The seraphs had fallen silent in surprise and awe when they'd entered. Gabriel's grace churned when he realized they were all in vessels and that most of their wings were in tatters.
He didn't have long to lament. Within seconds, an almighty cheer rose through the Host, echoing across Heaven as word spread. The Messenger has returned! Gabriel! Gabriel is here!
"Hey kids!" Gabriel said with a soft smile, trying not to wince at the rising volume of yelling over angel radio. "Miss me?"
The seraphs rushed forward, many with tears in their eyes. Gabriel's arms instantly came up, embracing as many as possible. He felt their excitement and pain as his own. Raphael's hand on his back offered calm strength and kept him from being overwhelmed by their siblings' emotions.
"What is this I hear?" A soft voice rose above all the others and the seraphs fell silent once again, though their joy remained as they turned to face the newcomer. "Could it be that my baby brother has returned to grace me with his presence?"
Gabriel raced through the Hall and launched himself at Michael. The Commander caught him easily, spinning around once from the force of his momentum. Laughter filled the Hall. Gabriel's alone was louder than the rest of the seraphs combined.
"Hello, Gabriel," Michael whispered, holding him tight. "It is good to have you in Heaven once again."
"It is good to be back—which are words I never thought I would say." Gabriel laughed and wiped his tears against Michael's shirt. "I was not sure I would be welcome."
"Always." Michael pulled back to grasp Gabriel's face with both hands and touched their foreheads together. "You always have and always will be welcome here. Heaven is your home and we are your family—no matter how many other homes and families you gather along the way."
Raphael waded through their siblings to reach them. "Shall we?" He gestured toward the door.
Gabriel nodded and adjusted his bag. As much as he wanted to greet every single member of the Host, he simply did not have the time for it tonight. He turned to the Hall and waved. "I promise to say goodnight before I leave! Everyone, behave. Do not do anything I would not!"
Raphael snorted. "And what exactly is it that makes the list of 'things you would not do?'"
"Nothing," Gabriel whispered with a grin.
He followed the older archangels through the door and down a hallway. These had been bustling corridors of activity when Gabriel had last been here, although they'd looked very different. Apparently, Heaven had modernized—everything had a sleek, minimalist look to it.
One room had two guards stationed on either side of the entrance. They nodded to Michael as he unlocked the door and entered. Gabriel froze when he saw the inside.
The walls were covered. Photographs, maps, blueprints—all with copious notes detailing names, dates, places, and routines. The tables held piles of papers and books. A radio sat to the side where a seraph listened to a stream of reports coming through from angels in the field.
"Someone has been very busy," Gabriel said, giving a low whistle.
"You thought we would bide our time?" Michael asked as he walked around the central table. "I have agents monitoring every member of the Men of Letters—in every country the organization is currently active. So far, only the British members are engaged in practices we deem unacceptable."
"You may not even need my intel for this," Gabriel mused. He looked at all the faces on the wall and wondered which ones had participated in hurting their sibling and Sam. They were all guilty in his book but he wanted to know who carried the most guilt.
"Oh, no. We definitely need your help. We are unable to infiltrate the inside of their facility." Michael grinned, slow and dangerous. "Or we could, but it would not be by stealth."
"I believe I can help with that. Although, this may be difficult—human technology does not always work amid so much grace." Gabriel set the laptop on the table and pulled out a thick stack of paper. "Good thing I printed out all the important information."
"Excellent. And I have found a solution to the grace interference." Michael tapped the seraph who sat by the radio. "Can you please ask Ash to join us?"
"You are working with humans now, Michael? Excellent." Gabriel grinned at the prospect.
"They are quickly becoming indispensable to our efforts to rebuild. I do not know how, but they have learned to manipulate grace all on their own. I need to give you a tour of the communities they have created."
"I would like that," Gabriel sorted through his papers, laying them out in various piles, "but not on this visit. I need to return before everyone wakes."
"How is Samuel?" Michael asked. Gabriel hesitated and the Commander frowned. "Not well? Do you have need of any resources? We can certainly spare more Caretakers. Or Architects—do you need better facilities on Earth?"
Gabriel huffed a breath and held up a hand, halting his brother's worried tirade. "More angels in the mix will not help. Samuel barely spoke to anyone in the week preceding his first time meeting the guard. It ended up going well, considering, but it was a great stress to him. And he is still adjusting to their presence."
"Then what worries you, brother?" Michael glanced at Raphael for assistance, but the Healer looked just as concerned.
"We do not know—that is the problem," Raphael answered.
"It may be nothing," Gabriel said, "or it may be everything. Samuel has been acting odd, like he is hiding something."
Michael's mouth twisted, fighting a grin. "A fledgling who manages to keep secrets from two archangels, four seraphs, and two humans. I can see why you are concerned."
Gabriel smacked him in the arm. "You are not helping."
"My apologies." Michael rubbed his arm and moved out of reach. "And how goes his training? Sariel reports he has begun to learn flight."
"He will be trying his first solo flight tomorrow!" Gabriel felt he might burst with pride. Heaven help him if he started carrying pictures of Sam in a wallet—he'd be compelled to show every angel, creature, and person he met.
"So soon?" Michael gasped.
"What can I say? The boy is a natural. His grace work is exceptional, he is practically fearless when trying new things, and you should see him read. I think he has almost finished the books Raphael brought him in less than three weeks!"
Raphael nodded. "Although, I have been informed by Nuriel that my selection was highly inappropriate for Samuel's age and knowledge."
The door opened, admitting a human Gabriel had never met. "Howdy, boss man! I heard you needed my assistance. What can I do for the big burrito today?"
Gabriel was glad he wasn't drinking anything—he would have spewed it everywhere. "Do you even know what a 'burrito' is, Mickey?"
"Yes, I do. Ash, allow me to introduce my younger brother, Gabriel."
"Younger, cooler, more awesome brother." Gabriel winked.
Michael ignored him and ushered the man into a seat, sliding the laptop closer. "This is what I need assistance with today. Can you make this work in Heaven?"
Ash pulled out a marker and began drawing sigils across the closed lid. Tiny characters, mostly Enochian, rapidly covered every free inch. When he finished, he opened the screen and turned it on. "Presto, mis amigos!" Ash said with a flourish as the log-in screen appeared. "You'll have no problem with power either. I've made it so the battery draws juice from Heaven itself."
"Nice!" Gabriel said, impressed. He'd heard stories from the Winchesters about the genius of their friend, but this was beyond his expectations. "Mickey definitely needs to give you a raise."
Michael stared at the screen blankly. "I do not know what to look for—where do I begin?"
Gabriel grimaced. "We'll let Ash navigate through their systems for you. I'm sure he'll find even more than I did—and I found a lot. But this might be a good place to start." He reached over Ash's shoulder and brought up the video file of Sam's captivity. "I'm either gonna have to speed this up or come back when it's finished. There's about twenty-four hours' worth of footage here."
Ash pushed away from the table. "I don't need to watch my man get hurt. I already heard it when his screamed rocked through Heaven and that was way more than enough. Y'all have at it and call me back when you need me to sort through their server."
Michael's focus stayed fixed on the screen, not even noticing Ash's departure. Gabriel had forwarded the footage to when Sam first appeared and the Commander was shaking with rage already. With a few clicks to adjust playback settings, he started the video.
By the time it finished, Michael's eyes danced red-gold with righteous fury.
Sam ached everywhere. It had been almost a week since he'd started flying. He'd spent the whole weekend flying alongside Gabriel before attempting his first solo flight that Monday. It was an experience he'd never forget.
"You sure about this, Sammy?" Gabriel asked, kneeling down in front of him.
"It's 'Sam.' And yes, for the seventh time, I am sure." Sam tried to keep the irritation out of his voice.
The task was becoming increasingly difficult. Every time one of the angels asked if he was okay or certain about something, he felt annoyed. It built like pressure under his skin and he worried it might make him explode.
Gabriel nodded, clearly not convinced. He shuffled backwards awkwardly on his knees until there was about three feet of space separating them. Then, he put his arms out. "Okay, Sam. Come at me!"
"You've got to be kidding," Sam blurted out. It was like he was an infant taking his first steps.
"What?" Gabriel frowned, looking around without dropping his arms. "Too far?"
Oh my God—he's serious, Sam thought, shaking his head. "Too close."
"Why don't you try it first. It's gonna feel a lot farther without me helping—believe me."
Sam took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He found it easier to feel the other angels' grace when he didn't look at them. Slowly, he reached out toward the warm current that sat so close.
Several minutes passed without any change. He pushed hard, trying to get closer—kept pushing until he felt his wings activate. The world started spinning and he opened his eyes.
He wanted to gasp, but there was no air in between time and space. Gabriel was there, just out of reach—a motionless statue except for the spark of perception in his eyes. Six golden wings remained suspended around them like a cage of light, ready to keep Sam from flying in the wrong direction.
Sam turned his head and saw Castiel standing several feet behind him. The guard and Raphael were spaced throughout the yard, prepared to move if needed. He looked at Gabriel again and tried to push forward.
Nothing happened.
His wings felt like they were on fire from the effort. Time had no meaning here—no breaths or heartbeats to count it passing. He tried to take a physical step but his body didn't respond.
Panic set in. Sam couldn't reach Gabriel, couldn't move his body, couldn't remember how to get out of this place. He wondered if angels had ever died while between.
He didn't see Gabriel move—the world just suddenly appeared as the archangel's arms wrapped around him. Sam gasped, bursting into a flurry of motion now that the universe was unfrozen. The arms around him tightened, grounding him in reality.
"Okay. Okay. You're alright. Here, let's sit down. You're okay, I promise." Gabriel's voice was a steady stream of reassurances as he pulled Sam onto the grass with him.
Sam turned and laid face down in the dirt. He wanted to hug the whole Earth at once and never move again. Who needed to fly anyway? He didn't even leave the bunker to go grocery shopping.
Gabriel sprawled out too, keeping his hand on Sam's back. "You doing okay?"
"No," Sam grumbled into the grass.
"Still think I was too close?"
"I hate you."
Gabriel laughed. "Don't worry. You'll get it. It just takes time." His hand ran over Sam's wings, trying to soothe.
Pain erupted at the touch and Sam made an effort to roll away. His grace shuddered from his wings to his core. He grabbed a handful of grass and got his knees under him, desperate for distance.
"No, no, no—don't do that. Hold on, Raphael's coming." Gabriel's hand shifted to Sam's shoulder. It only slightly helped.
Footsteps pounded across the yard toward them. Sam groaned and swallowed back the lunch that was threatening to reappear. He heard voices blend together above him but they were just noise until one drew closer.
"Let me see," Raphael said in a calm rumble.
Gabriel stood as the Healer's grace, heavy and warm, poured over Sam like a blanket. The pain drained away, leaving only a dull ache. Sam sighed in relief, his muscles melting into mud.
"How is he, Raphael?" Nuriel asked.
"He strained his grace, but he is unharmed." Raphael tilted Sam's face toward him and brushed the hair from his eyes. "Can you look at me, Samuel?"
"No." Sam didn't want to open his eyes. It required movement.
A deep chuckle rolled over him. "That is fine. Let's get you to a better place to lay down—somewhere warm and soft. I doubt the ground will remain comfortable for long."
Gentle hands lifted him up and settled him against a broad chest. Sam debated protesting, but Raphael was warm and just as solid as the Earth. Besides, moaning also took energy. He fell asleep on a pile of pillows by the fire while Raphael massaged away the worst of the soreness.
That had been Monday.
He hadn't managed to move through the between place and make it to Gabriel until Tuesday. They'd celebrated that night—after Sam had collapsed and slept hard for several hours. Dean grilled barbecue chicken and they played card games all evening.
By Thursday, the ache was a constant presence. They practiced flying each day in short spurts and Sam slowly improved. But it also meant exercising a part of himself that had never been used before. He hadn't been this sore since he'd started running as a four-year-old.
Raphael's grace massages were almost worth the pain of flying. Not that Sam had anything to compare it to, but he was pretty sure the Healer of Heaven gave the best massages. They always left his skin tingling and his mind floating.
Sam grinned at the memory as he closed the bathroom door and locked it. Getting alone time in the bunker was nearly impossible anymore—not with angels, humans, and a shapeshifting canine constantly watching him. Luckily, his privacy was respected during "bath time."
He set the bundle of clothes down, carefully unfolding them until he got to the book. His stomach twisted at the sight, ruining his earlier joy. How could such a small thing cause so much guilt?
Sam sat down to review while the bath water filled. He couldn't afford to waste a precious minute on debating the ethics of his decision—not when time was this limited. The others would be knocking at the door if he took longer than an hour.
This might be his only chance to try. Gabriel had gone with Raphael to visit Heaven—his second time that week. Sam couldn't deny the archangel his excitement, but it served to cement his own plan even more.
One day, Gabriel would leave. Dean and Mary would pass away, hopefully of old age. Castiel would probably go with Dean's soul to Heaven or rejoin the Host's ranks. Sam accepted this. He just needed to be prepared.
The water finished filling the tub and he climbed in. It was weird taking baths again—especially now that bathtubs felt like the size of swimming pools. His favorite part about having privacy now, though, was being able to make the water as hot as he wanted.
Sam stared at his hands. Until reading the book, he'd always assumed that angel blades were made by some smithy in Heaven and that angels kept them stored in some sort of grace-pocket. But it clearly stated that they were energy formed into matter—it just seemed to lack certain steps. He'd have to improvise to fill in the blanks.
He pooled grace into his hands and visualized an angel blade—focused on the color and texture and weight. Energy prickled down his arms, making his palms itch. The sensation built and he tried to push it into the shape of a blade.
Sam gasped as a spark flew off his hand. He shoved his arms below the water, trying to put it out. The hot water exploded around him, drenching the walls and sloshing into the floor.
He sputtered and coughed, momentarily blinded by water in his eyes. Shit, shit, shit! he thought once he got a look at the bathroom. A sharp pain made him yank his hands out of the bath to reveal a half-dollar sized burn on each palm.
SHIT! There was no chance he'd be able to hide them.
The doorknob jangled and then someone knocked hard enough to shake the frame.
"Sammy?!" Dean bellowed from the other side. "Sammy, talk to me! You okay?"
"I'm fine!" Sam yelled back. "I…uh…dropped the shampoo!"
The pounding stopped. "You what?! Dude, it echoed through the bunker. It shook the walls! I'm coming in."
"Wait! Give me a sec to grab a towel."
Sam heard the tell-tale sounds of lockpicks being used his eyes went straight to the book sitting on top of his clothes. He practically threw himself over the edge of the tub, careful not to use his hands or slip in the inch of water on the floor. He managed to throw the book in the cabinet under the sink and grab a towel when the door slammed open.
"Dean!" he screamed, wrapping the towel around himself.
But Dean wasn't looking at him. His gaze moved around the room slowly, taking in the dripping ceiling and flooded floor. "Shampoo bottle, my ass!" His eyes narrowed on Sam. "What the hell, dude?"
Holding the towel carefully between his fingers, Sam held his other hand without thinking. "Now, Dean, I can explain…"
Dean charged into the room, heedless of the water, and grabbed Sam's wrist. "Explain? Explain this!" He turned it so the palm faced up.
"I…" Sam swallowed, then heard the pounding of feet echo through the halls.
Mary, Castiel, and Morpheus slid into view, their eyes going wide as they took in the state of the bathroom.
"Cas, get over here," Dean barked.
"What happened?" Mary asked breathlessly.
"Guys!" Sam heard his own voice squeak. "I'm naked!"
"Then wear clothes next time you decide to blow up the bathroom," Dean growled, completely unmoved. "Cas, look at his hand."
Castiel gently took hold of Sam's wrist and frowned. "This is a grace burn."
"I-I was just," Sam scrambled for a plausible explanation, "practicing the ball of light trick. And it…went wrong."
One of Castiel's eyebrows lifted as his gaze travelled to Sam's other hand. "Dean, please hold your brother's towel in place."
Dean knelt down and grabbed the towel as Castiel gestured for Sam to show his other hand. Morpheus nosed his way next to them, demanding access to his charge. Reluctantly, Sam did as he was asked and revealed the other matching burn. Dean swore, loudly.
Castiel studied the burns in silence. Sam wanted to crawl back inside the bathtub and slither down the drain. He watched Mary make her way over to the bathtub and pull the drain. She kept shooting worried glances at him and he had to look away.
Finally, Castiel spoke. "I believe Raphael should look at these. I do not have much experience healing injuries from grace. And since you were trying to use yours, it may be prudent he examines them first," he met Sam's eyes, "to see what went wrong."
Sam gulped—he was so screwed.
"Dean, you should put some burn cream on those until Raphael returns," Mary said, grabbing armloads of towels from a shelf. "I'll clean up in here."
Castiel held Sam's hands for a second longer, searching his gaze. Then the seraph released him. Sam held the towel and tried to calm his heart as it crashed against his chest.
Dean stood, scowling at his soaked jeans. "Come on. First aid kit's in the kitchen."
Sam glanced back at the cabinet under the sink as they walked out.
Dean put the first aid kit back in the kitchen and leaned against the counter with his eyes closed. Something was wrong with Sam—and not just the fact that he'd injured himself. Every single Big Brother alarm had been going off for days now, growing louder with each suspicious incident.
He wanted to blame the angel guard. It would make things so much easier. But the fact remained that Sam's behavior had changed before then. He couldn't pinpoint the exact moment, but he'd narrowed it down. Something had changed between when Raphael had first returned to Heaven and Thanksgiving.
"Dean." Castiel's voice drew him from his musings.
He turned around and saw the seraph frowning in the doorway. "What's up, Cas?"
Castiel's frown deepened in thought. "I am…concerned."
Dean snorted. "Join the club."
There was a time when Castiel would have asked what club he needed to join. Dean missed those days. Instead, the angel just nodded and walked to stand next to him.
"I do not believe Sam injured himself how he described."
Dean straightened up. "You think he's lying?" He'd suspected that there was more to the story.
"He is either lying or not telling the whole story."
"Oh, Sammy," Dean sighed, "I thought we were past this."
Castiel shot him a sharp glare. "You both lie constantly—to law enforcement, to witnesses, to each other. This is not a new behavior."
"Hey, now. We may lie on the job…or did lie on the job when we still had one. But that is not the same as lying to each other—which we haven't done in a while. I think." Dean tried to remember the last time he'd lied to Sam about something big.
"You lied to him at breakfast when you said you were out of strawberries because you wanted him to eat more eggs and bacon."
"Well…yeah. But I'm talking about important lies, Cas. Not stupid little white lies." Besides, he'd piled strawberries on the kid's plate while saying it. That didn't count.
"All I know is that he did not get those burns from creating grace light."
Dean's eyebrows shot up. "How? I mean, he blew out the lights in the bunker the first time he made them."
"Yes—because his energy surged outward. But this is different." Castiel huffed in frustration. "Even if he'd kept the grace in his palms when it 'blew,' it would not have burned him like that. It is difficult to explain. The grace used for that exercise is minimal—it is about control. To make those burns, he would have been amassing a much larger amount."
Dean went to the fridge and got a beer. This whole situation called for alcohol. "Where's Sammy now?"
"He is watching a movie with Mary and Morpheus. I believe it is Lord of the Rings."
"Good. That'll keep him occupied for a while." He popped the lid off the bottle and took a swig. "When will the archangels get back?"
Castiel's head tilted and his eyes grew distant as he consulted with his brothers. "Soon."
"Not soon enough." Dean grabbed an ice pack from the freezer. "Come on. May as well watch some Hobbits while we wait."
The archangels arrived just as Dean was changing out the discs halfway through the movie. Sam was mostly asleep against Mary, his little bandaged hands cradled to his chest. Gabriel and Raphael's eyes both went wide at the sight and their heads turned at once to Dean for explanations.
Dean pressed play on the DVD and motioned them into the hallway. Castiel followed on his heels as Mary took sole custody of "Sammy Watching." They closed the door partway as Aragorn's voice drifted through the speakers.
"What happened?" Gabriel hissed quietly. "We were only gone a few hours. Why didn't you pray to us?"
Dean shrugged and looked at Castiel, feeling helpless with his lack of understanding.
"We are not entirely sure what occurred. Sam was very…vague on the details."
"No, he's not being vague. He's lying," Dean clarified. Anger and fear battled it out in his chest at the memory of feeling the bunker shudder.
Castiel nodded, sad and slow, and explained what had happened from their perspective. The archangels listened, concern growing with every word. Dean wasn't used to others getting as worked up over his brother's wellbeing—it was an oddly satisfying experience, if a little disconcerting.
"You're telling me Sam blew up his bath and tried to blame it on grace-light?" Gabriel asked in bewilderment.
"And that's not possible…because those balls of light take less energy?" Dean still didn't understand it all, but he was trying. Plus, "things that blow-up" all registered the same in his book.
"It is also a matter of frequency and vibrations, but yes—it takes a much greater amount of energy to affect water in the way you described. Especially if they resulted in burns. I must see his hands." Raphael led them back into the media room and sat on an ottoman in front of Sam.
Morpheus' head rose up from where he sat, snuggled into Sam's side. He glanced at the newcomers and nodded. Dean thought the canine looked relieved—the little furball had been plastered to Sam since the bathroom.
The kid woke with a start when the Healer gently drew his hands away from his chest. Hazel eyes, unfocused from sleep, blinked once before flying wide open at the sight of Raphael. Sam sat up, instinctively trying to pull his arms back but the Healer held firm.
"I heard you had an adventurous bath," Raphael said calmly as he began unwrapping one hand. He smiled, trying to put Sam at ease but the kid was too nervous. Dean sat next to him on the couch when hovering didn't give him a clear enough view. Morpheus squirmed so he was more on Sam's lap instead of being smooshed into the cushion.
Gabriel moved to stand over the Healer's shoulder, watching as Sam's palms were slowly revealed. There were several winces when the final piece of gauze was removed to reveal blistered skin. "That looks painful, kiddo."
Sam shrugged, his expression going stoic. Dean saw through it, more fluent in "Sammy" than in English. The kid's body language screamed, "guilty and trying to hide it."
Raphael hummed to himself as he examined the burn closely. "What were you trying to do exactly?"
"I was practicing the light-ball," Sam said, keeping his eyes on their hands, "and experimenting with it."
"In what way?" Raphael pushed the kid's sleeve up and looked at his wrist and arm.
"Just…playing with intensity. Seeing if I could make one in each hand."
Dean saw Castiel and Gabriel exchange looks. Not for the first time, he wished he could see Sammy's wings. He didn't need to see them to read his brother, but it certainly wouldn't hurt to have a whole other aspect of insight.
"And did you?" The Healer reached for the other hand and started removing the wrap.
"Did I what?"
"Create two balls of light?"
Sam took too long thinking about it. "Yeah. I think so. I kinda had my eyes closed."
Frustration built as Dean waited for someone to confront Sam on his obvious lies. Why were they all acting so casually about this? Why the delay?
"And how intense were you trying to make it?" Raphael's voice rumbled smoothly.
Sam shrugged again, curling in tighter on the couch.
Dean debated shifting back a little in his seat—the poor kid was wedged between him and their mom with two archangels towering above. Only Castiel hung back, content to watch from the doorway. He gave up on moving when he saw the right palm's burn was even worse than the first. It had been bad when he'd bandaged it but it seemed to have spread some since then.
"Close your eyes," Gabriel said.
"What?" Sam asked, his eyes doing the opposite.
Gabriel grinned and snapped the lights low, turning off the television as well. "Close your eyes and tell me when the light gets as intense as you remember. You know—through your eyelids." Sam gulped and shut his eyes. Gabriel leaned over Raphael's shoulder and reached a glowing palm toward the kid. "I'm gonna keep making it brighter till you tell me to stop."
The ball of light shone gold and white. It started as a soft radiance but gradually increased until Dean could clearly make out the movement of energy within. The room soon became brighter than ever and he had to look away.
"Yeah. Stop." Sam said in a small voice.
"Hmm," Gabriel mused. He waved his hand and the blinding light disappeared. Another snap brought the room's lights and television back on. "That's pretty intense, Samshine. I think you've officially earned that nickname!"
Dean glared at him, trying to convey as much "what the fuck?" as he could with eyes alone. He refrained from growling in exasperation when Gabriel just shook his head—angels either had more patience or a better plan than him. And he wished they'd share some of either with him.
"I can heal these—but no more experimenting without an angel's supervision. We do not want your mother or brother caught in an accidental grace explosion. Agreed?" Raphael leaned closer toward Sam.
"Agreed," Sam answered quickly. Dean saw fear flicker across the kid's face as he glanced at their mom. He wondered if Sam feared being caught or if he'd scared himself doing whatever fool-thing that had burned him.
Raphael smiled and held Sam's palms easily between his own. A glimmer of light shone briefly from where their hands met, and then it was gone. When the Healer sat back, the burned skin was once again pink and unblemished.
Dean felt something relax in his chest. Of course, it wouldn't last—the Winchesters just weren't that lucky. He just needed to discover the source of Sam's lie before something worse than bathwater exploded.
Everyone had been watching him since Thursday night. Sam felt their gazes follow him whether he was practicing flight in the yard or eating breakfast. Even Morpheus stayed closer, following him to the bathroom and waiting in the hallway until he finished his business. He'd had to sneak the book back to his room by smuggling it into his hoodie and hiding it once the canine started snoring.
Dean was the worst. He knew Sam was lying. His eyes screamed silent accusations whenever they saw each other.
It was a familiar dance to new music. They had kept enough secrets through the years to recognize when it started again. But Sam was not used to Dean remaining quiet. If he knew something, there was a guaranteed fight on the horizon.
By Saturday, Sam felt like he was losing his mind. Paranoia made him jumpy. He snapped at everyone, teetering between guilt and anger from moment to moment.
He knew he was out of control when he yelled at Mary. She'd playfully ruffled his hair at lunch, cooing about how well he'd done with flying that morning. Irritation, so strong that it physically hurt his chest, surged through him.
"Stop fucking touching me!" he screamed. He heard the hysteria in his own voice and wished he could stop his words even as they poured from his mouth. "Stop treating me like a child! I get it—I'm small and my hair is curly and you think I'm fucking cute! But fucking stop!"
Mary snatched her hand away like he'd burned her, cheeks blazing and unable to respond.
Dean stood, knocking his chair back several inches. "Knock it off, Sam! Absolutely no one thinks your fucking cute. You've been an ugly little shit for days and I'm sick of it."
Sam scrambled down from his chair and stormed toward the hall. His whole body shook with adrenaline and rage and shame. The sound of a fist slamming the tabletop stopped him.
"Where do you think you're going?" Dean barked.
"Away!" Sam yelled without turning around.
"Don't you dare walk outta this room without apologizing to Mom!"
Sam pressed his palms against his eyes, trying to regain control. The silence behind him was like a physical presence. He couldn't look at them—couldn't face their hurt and disappointment. "Sorry, Mom."
"It's okay," she said. Sam hated himself for causing the sadness in her voice.
"It's not fucking okay," Dean said before Sam could respond. "I'm tired of this attitude. For someone so worried about being rude to strangers, you sure have no problem being nasty to your own family!"
"Enough, Dean," Mary cut in.
"Enough?" Dean barked an angry laugh. "Are you kidding me? You should bust his butt for talking to you that way!"
Bile burned Sam's esophagus. Dean was right—their Dad certainly would never have tolerated his behavior the last few days. Their Mom had every right to…
"I will do no such thing!" Mary said firmly, anger finally filtering into her voice. "John may have used violence to enforce his rules, but I am not your father. I do not need you intervening on my behalf, thank you very much."
Sam ran. He couldn't listen to them argue anymore. This was his fault and he didn't know how to fix any of it.
The clicking of nails against the floor followed him down the hall. Morpheus caught up to him by the time he reached his room. The canine waited patiently, nuzzling at his neck while Sam fought with the doorknob.
Just breathe, pup. No one else is coming.
Sam tried to obey, but his lungs didn't get the memo. Everything was too tight—his chest, his throat, his skin. He couldn't relax enough to draw breath until he made it safely inside his room and locked the door behind them. Then, he gulped air like a drowning man. The rush of oxygen left him dizzy.
He threw himself onto the bed. What was happening to him? He'd never felt so helter-skelter, like his own mind and emotions were revolting against him. They spun him around worse than flying between.
Morpheus shifted down and leapt onto the bed. Talk to me, Sam. What is going on?
"I don't know," Sam groaned into his pillow, then turned his head to find the tiny white face only an inch away. "I feel like I'm going crazy. Again."
In what way?
"I…it's hard to explain."
Try, please?
Sam rolled onto his back and watched the ceiling fan slowly rotate. It usually calmed him. "It's like there's this storm under my skin that just keeps building and building but has no where to go. I'm so angry all the time—for no reason. And it hurts! It makes me want to punch things or hit my head against a wall, just to relieve the pressure."
I am sorry. Morpheus nosed into Sam's hair, curling up against his neck and shoulder. Will you talk to one of the angels about it? It may be a grace-thing.
"I can't! It…it gets worse around them. Like something is trying to claw its way out of my chest." Sam rubbed at his sternum, hoping to ease the sensation.
Someone knocked on his door. Sam closed his eyes, wanting them to just go away. A second knock made that dream vanish.
"Sam? Can I come in?" Mary's voice was muffled by the door.
He wiped his face before rolling off the bed and unlocking the door. She smiled softly as she wrung her hands. Her nervousness made him feel even worse.
Sam moved aside and let her enter. "I really am sorry," he said quietly.
She sighed, nodding as she sat at his desk. "I know, Sammy. And I forgive you. This has been hard for all of us."
"It doesn't excuse what I said." Sam looked down at his own hands.
"Maybe not, but I can understand your frustration. I mean, I can't imagine what it was like for you to wake up and discover you're an angel."
"Well, I can't imagine what it was like for you to wake up and discover your kids had grown up to be hunters."
"You still take the gold for 'unexpected revelations.'" Her smile grew to a lopsided grin he couldn't help but return.
"It's like the worst competition ever."
Mary laughed. "You got that right."
Sam's smile fell away, and he walked to the opposite side of the bed from where Mary sat. Instead of climbing onto the mattress, he stood and picked at a thread on the blanket. "Is this the part where you lecture or yell at me?"
"No. I was hoping this was the part where we talked to each other like people. And then maybe we'd go watch the second Lord of the Rings movie." Mary frowned. "Why? Do you think I should yell or lecture?"
"I…" Sam stopped, not sure how to answer. Part of him felt like he deserved a good, loud lecture. Maybe it would ease the strange pressure.
"Sam," Mary said when he didn't continue, "your brother was wrong to say what he did."
"No, I was…I was awful! I should never have said those things to you."
"So, you think I should follow your brother's suggestion?" she asked.
He stared at her without blinking. There was no way they were having this conversation. It didn't even feel real.
"Sam?" she pressed, clearly wanting an answer.
"Huh?"
"Is that why you think I'm here? To punish you somehow?"
He shrugged and dropped his gaze to the floor, not willing to answer outright.
"Oh, ba-Sammy," she sighed, correcting herself mid-word.
Emotions muddled Sam's mind. He didn't want to be treated like a child. Yet, at the same time, he didn't want his mother to stop calling him all the little names mothers use. But how could he have both? How could he want both?
Mary stood and walked around the bed to kneel next to him. "Sam, I'm still figuring out what it means to be your mom. But if there's one thing I know it does not include, it's hitting you. Not going to happen. Let's just put that out there now." She tapped his chin until he met her eyes. "And I don't mean because you've got a big old adult brain shoved in that noggin' either. I didn't hit Dean as a kid, and I had no intentions of starting as either of you grew older. Understand?"
Sam didn't understand any of it, but he nodded.
"Good. Now, how about you and I go chill out and watch some movies, hmm?" She leaned in closer like she was sharing a secret. "I find myself needing to know what happens next. And I could definitely stare at Aragorn and Legolas for a few hours."
Sam thought he might cry from sheer relief. What had he done to deserve such a mother? He nodded eagerly. "Yeah. I could probably go for that too."
Mary's eyes went wide with surprise. "Oh. Really? I hadn't considered…" she trailed off, shaking her head.
Sam quickly replayed the conversation in his head and gasped when he realized what he'd implied. Not that he didn't enjoy staring at Aragorn and Legolas—they were each aesthetically pleasing in their own ways. But he hadn't exactly expressed that to anyone in his lifetime either.
"That's not…I mean…" Sam tripped over his words in a rush to explain.
Mary just laughed and waved it off. "I don't care, Sammy. It doesn't matter to me one way or the other—or both ways? Honestly, I'm still learning a lot of the terms. Who knew there were so many ways of describing sexualities and genders? It's fascinating."
Sam's cheeks blazed hot as he followed her to their media room. He hadn't given his own sexuality much thought in recent years. And it wasn't like it would be an issue again for the next few centuries.
He helped her figure out the DVD player and they leaned against each other on the couch to watch with Morpheus curled up against him. An hour later, Dean and Castiel joined them. Sam tensed in his seat.
Dean exhaled loudly, hesitating in the doorway until Castiel shoved him forward. He scooped Morpheus into Sam's lap and sat next to them. Then, he slowly reached his arm out and pulled Sam into his side. "I'm sorry, dude," he whispered even though no one was paying attention to the movie.
"Me too," Sam said, finally relaxing.
"I shouldn't have said that…that thing about…Mom would never…" Dean's voice sounded as broken as his words.
"I know." He pressed his face into Dean's jacket and felt his brother's arm tighten around him.
"I don't know why I…"
"Shut up and watch the movie, Dean." Sam shifted so his head rested on Dean's leg. Mary snagged his feet and put them on her lap. Morpheus rearranged himself so he was laying against Sam's stomach. Once everyone was settled, Sam never wanted to move again. "Some of us are trying to bask in the glory of Aragorn and various elves. So, shush!"
Dean choked on laughter he tried to smother and pulled Castiel down beside him. "You heard the guy, Cas. Sit down and bask."
When the first disc ended, Sam realized the archangels still hadn't joined them. "Where are Gabriel and Raphael?"
"Not sure. They mentioned having another meeting in Heaven tonight." Dean stood, careful not to let Sam's head fall as he went to change the disc. "I don't know when they're leaving, though."
"They won't leave for another hour or two," Castiel said. "Did you need to talk to them before they go?" The seraph brushed his fingers through Sam's hair, scratching lightly against his scalp.
Sam shook his head, fighting not to moan at how good those fingers felt. "No. I was just curious. They don't usually miss out on movie-time."
"Gabe's been doing a lot of 'nesting' lately when he thinks we aren't watching," Dean said with a snicker—and used Castiel's signature air-quotes gesture with a wink.
"Like what?" Mary asked, grinning at the scowl Castiel sent Dean for mocking him.
"Like decorating rooms with little things. Or doing the dishes by hand. I think tonight is laundry—we saw him headed toward the washroom with a bunch of towels." Dean wormed his way into his seat, maneuvering Sam back into place.
The words didn't fully register in Sam's mind. He was too comfortable. And once the movie started playing again, he was too lost in the fantasy of Middle Earth to think about reality.
It happened near the end of the film—just as Gandalf appeared with the dawn at Helms Deep. Sam had started to drift slightly, lulled by his brother's hand carding through his hair. Then, Gabriel's voice cut through the soaring music and directly into Sam's head.
Samuel Winchester—your room, right now!
Sam jumped so hard he fell off the couch. Mary and Dean's hands grabbed for him, but he was already rolling to his knees on the floor. He looked at Castiel—the seraph's eyes were alarmingly wide.
"What?!" Dean looked between him and Castiel, instantly on high-alert. "What's happening?"
Sam couldn't move, couldn't speak. All the air was gone from the room. One thought screamed through his mind, louder than Gabriel's own words—HE KNOWS!
"Sam, what's wrong?" Mary asked, reaching for him. Sam shied away, pushing to his feet and staggering back several steps.
"Someone better start talking," Dean growled.
"Gabriel called for Sam," Castiel answered, his voice reflecting Sam's own shock.
"So? Is there danger?" Dean stood, preparing for battle. "Is he in trouble? Do we need guns or blades? I need information, folks!"
"He is calling him to his bedroom," Castiel clarified, "and he sounded…"
"Angry," Sam finished in a small voice.
Dean's gaze narrowed on Sam, studying him closely. He always saw through him and recognized hidden truths. "He's found what you've been lying about." It wasn't a question.
Tears burned Sam's eyes but he blinked them back, refusing to let them fall.
I said, "right now," Samuel! You have one minute.
Sam flinched and forced himself to keep breathing.
"You better go," Castiel said softly, adding a tight nod for encouragement. It didn't help.
His body went numb as he slowly staggered toward the door. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dean start to follow. Castiel stopped him, shaking his head. Morpheus had no such inhibitions, shifting into his larger size and silently padding along with Sam.
The hallway had never seemed so dark and long. Each step became harder as his mind whirled with all the excuses he knew would fail. Only Morpheus' nose occasionally nudging him kept him moving forward. Maybe Gabriel hadn't found the book.
Sure, his mind scoffed, he's just shouting over angel radio because he's highly disappointed in your sock drawer organization.
The door to his room was already open. Sam paused outside, debating whether or not vomiting would increase the archangel's sympathies. He doubted it.
A figure moved in the doorway, large enough to block the light from inside. Sam blinked and looked up to find a stone-faced Raphael. He stepped back in alarm, not expecting both archangels.
"Come in, Samuel," Raphael said, moving aside to make room for Sam to pass.
The blanket and sheets from his bed were laying in a pile on the floor. Gabriel stood next to the mess, staring down at the book in disbelief, and Sam's heart sank. The Messenger had never appeared so still.
No one spoke right away. Sam shuffled into the room and stood by the wall farthest away from Gabriel. The bed between them provided no safety but the solid cement at his back helped keep him upright. Morpheus sat by his side, adding another barrier separating Sam from the others.
Finally, Gabriel held up the book. "Where…where did you get this?" He sounded distant, like he was in shock instead of angry.
Sam dug a thumb into his palm, needing to ground himself in something. "I…it w-was with the books. From Heaven."
Gabriel's eyes darted to Raphael, who frowned. Then, the Healer's eyes lit with revelation and chagrin. "I kept it on my desk after you left. I must have accidentally scooped it up with the others in my haste."
"That doesn't negate the fact that Sam knew we wouldn't want him to read it." Gabriel turned to him. "Am I right?"
"I-I didn't know that for sure," Sam said, looking down.
"Really?" Gabriel's voice turned hard and sarcastic. "You keep all your books wedged between the mattress and headboard? Hidden under the fitted sheet?"
"No."
"I didn't think so." Gabriel began pacing. "This…this is what you were trying to do when you blew up the bathroom, isn't it? You were trying to manifest an angel blade."
Morpheus' head snapped back to look at Sam in alarm. The canine had known the book contained something that might upset the angels, but he'd never pressed for details. His blue eyes looked wounded at the unspoken deception.
"Yes." Sam pressed himself harder against the wall, wishing he could disappear.
Gabriel stopped and took a step toward Sam, his voice dropping lower. "Do you know how dangerous that was?"
"I was just trying to…"
"What, summon a weapon that has the ability to kill angels?" He took another step forward.
Sam's stomach turned—did Gabriel think he'd wanted the weapon to use against them? "I needed to know…for defense…"
A blade dropped into Gabriel's hand. It was larger than the ones Dean had collected off dead seraphs. This one was longer, brighter, and gave off a hum.
Morpheus growled a warning as the fur on his back stood on end. Gabriel's eyes flicked in the canine's direction. He didn't back down, but remained in place across the room.
"These aren't knives, Sam. These are swords of Heaven—made to kill demons and dark creatures and fallen angels!" Gabriel's grace rushed through the room like a tempest.
"I-I know!" The wall was the only thing keeping Sam upright as his knees turned to liquid. "We've used them before."
Raphael placed a hand on Gabriel's shoulder. The Messenger shuddered and reeled his grace in, visibly trying to calm down. His blade disappeared.
"Samuel," Raphael turned to him, "you have used an angel blade as a human. They posed no more danger to you than any other dagger or knife. But you are an angel now—and an angel blade does not just cut flesh. It cuts grace."
Sam swallowed. He knew that—he did. He just hadn't quite taken that fact into consideration.
"The burns on your hands are nothing compared to what could happen if you summoned a blade incorrectly. What would you have done if the blade was turned the wrong way and sliced into you?"
"I don't know. Called for Cas?" Sam answered in a whisper. "I didn't…the book didn't say anything about…"
Gabriel laughed and Sam shut his mouth. "No, the book didn't say anything about the dangers, did it? You know why? Because it was never meant to be a textbook! It was just a dumb set of notes written down by a stupid student before the Earth even formed." Gabriel's grip on the book made it crumple.
Raphael sent his brother a sad, soft look. "You were never stupid, Gabriel."
Sam's mouth dropped back open. "You…you wrote it?"
"Yes, I wrote it. For me." Gabriel crushed the book to his chest. "Not for silly little fledglings who think they're ready to fight with weapons meant for archangels!"
"I wasn't…I can't summon…" Sam's words kept lodging in his throat as his mind struggled to stay present for the conversation.
"You are a fucking archangel, Sam! A fledgling, but still an archangel!" Gabriel thundered. "Dad made you the same way He made us—with His own grace."
"But…I have a soul?" Sam edged along the wall, wishing Raphael wasn't between him and the door.
"Yes, you do. And what do souls do to angel grace? Hmm?"
"They…" Memories flooded him—offering his soul to Castiel, not knowing it was Lucifer in disguise. He dug harder into his palm and shivered. "They give them a power boost."
Gabriel's shoulders dropped, his whole body seeming to deflate. "Yeah. And you have your own little power generator built right into the grace used to make archangels. Sam, you have no idea how powerful you will become as you grow."
"Samuel, I understand that you are used to operating within a human world with human rules." Raphael's stony expression softened as he stepped around Morpheus, petting the canine's head like he was making a promise. "But those rules no longer apply. You will learn what things are now harmful and what are not, but that takes time and patience. Trust that we will teach you these things."
Sam took a deep, unsteady breath and looked down at his hands. How could he explain the need to learn these things now—not in a year or a decade or several centuries down the line? What if he needed that knowledge tomorrow?
"I regret that we must leave soon—if this meeting were not so important, we would stay and discuss this further. As it is, it may be best we take the evening to calm down and talk more in the morning." Raphael turned and looked around the room. "Where are your notes?"
"My notes?" Sam asked hollowly.
"Yes. You kept meticulous notes on all your previous readings. I should have realized when you did not come to me with questions…" Raphael shook his head. "No matter. Please retrieve them."
Sam walked in a daze to his dresser and reached underneath to pull out the small notebook he'd kept hidden. Gabriel snorted behind him. It took all his control to not jump at the sound.
Placing the small notebook in Raphael's hand, Sam felt like he was handing over his last chance at protecting himself. Guns and stakes were no longer options with his small hands and they did nothing against the enemies they normally faced. The angel blade would have been his.
Raphael took it with a small nod. "Thank you. Now, I will be taking the rest of the books—"
"No!" Sam shouted in pure panic. "You can't! Please!"
Raphael shook his head and began gathering the books from Sam's desk and nightstand. "Nuriel was correct—these are far too advanced. I will bring you—"
"No!" He tried to grab the books but the archangel was too tall. His hands grasped at Raphael's tunic instead, yanking on the fabric to pull him down. "Please! I promise not to hide them. I need them, please."
Raphael looked down at him with a frown. "You have already hidden things—and that dishonesty led to you hurting yourself. How can I trust that you will not try again if given the opportunity?"
Sam heaved a sob into the tunic, pulling hard enough to tear it. "I'm sorry. Please, I promise. I'll do anything. I'll take any punishment, just not this. Please! I'm sorry!"
He heard Raphael sigh and felt a small rush of grace as the Healer shifted to sit on the bed. When Sam opened his eyes, he realized the books were gone—not given to Gabriel, not set down somewhere else in the room, just gone. He'd never find them again.
"Samuel," Raphael gently cupped his face with both hands, looking both fond and exasperated, "this is not a punishment. I will be bringing you other books better suited to your knowledge level and needs. Yes, we will have new rules for reading them. Yes, we will be monitoring your reading and work more closely, but only to ensure your safety and understanding of the material. But we will not stop teaching you."
Movement in the doorway caught Sam's attention and he turned to see Dean and the others standing there. His brother's eyes were scanning the room, appraising the situation—Sam's tears, the pile of bedding, Gabriel's aloof stance. "Everyone doing okay?" Dean asked evenly.
Sam was too upset to speak. Raphael just nodded, but Gabriel huffed and said, "Your brother has been trying to manifest his own angel blade."
Castiel gasped and pushed his way into the room. "What?"
Dean frowned, taking in everyone's reactions. "Wouldn't he have to have a blade first? I thought you guys got them at, like, Heaven's weapon shop or something."
"No," Castiel said, looking devastated, "they are created from our grace and unique to each angel. It is incredibly dangerous if not done properly. I cannot imagine…I do not believe any angel has ever tried before reaching adulthood."
"That's because no fledgling ever considered it!" Gabriel laughed, but it sounded all wrong—too high, too emotional, too frantic. "They were too busy playing and singing and cuddling with each other and Caretakers."
"Yeah, well we were raised with shotguns and salt lines," Dean reminded them all gruffly.
The room fell silent.
Sam squirmed, not wanting Raphael's hands on his face anymore. They were too warm and made his skin prickle all the way down to his chest. He didn't like it—didn't understand why it kept happening around the angels.
"Perhaps we should reschedule tonight's meeting," Raphael sighed, removing his hands. Sam bit his tongue to keep himself from reminding the archangel that he didn't need to breathe and could therefore stop sighing.
"No," Dean said, surprising everyone. "I think everyone needs a break to calm down. You two go ahead and go to your meeting—it's important. I got this." He brushed past Castiel and placed a hand on Sam's shoulder.
"As you wish." Raphael nodded to Dean, then turned his attention back to Sam. "Try to get some rest tonight, Samuel. I promise I will return with more books in the morning. And we will discuss better ways to address your concerns."
Sam looked away without answering. How could they address what they didn't understand? They'd probably come back with picture books and an ankle bracelet with a built-in baby monitor.
Raphael stood and made his way to the door. Sam chanced a glance over at Gabriel. The archangel's silence was unnerving. He was still visibly tense—shoulders tight and drawn up, eyes narrowed and flaring with grace. Sam leaned into Dean when Gabriel finally moved to scoop the bedding off the floor.
Remaining in a crouch, Gabriel spoke in a rough, low tone. "I'm sorry I scared you—but you scared me, too. To know that you could have died using something I wrote…I can't even tell you how much that upsets me."
Sam swallowed, wanting to reach for the archangel but feeling frozen in place. "I'm sorry," he whispered for the umpteenth time that night.
"I know, kiddo." Gabriel gave him a small, sad smile. "Raph is right—you should get some sleep and we'll all talk about this more in the morning. Okay?"
"Yeah," Sam said, barely audible to anyone except the angels.
"Okay." Gabriel stood, barely keeping his grasp on the linens. "There's fresh sheets and blankets on his desk. I'm gonna drop these off at the wash room before we leave." He paused at the doorway. "If you need us to come back early for anything just pray."
The pressure in the room dropped slightly when both archangels left. Sam felt his legs shake. Dean gathered him into his arms just before he could collapse.
"Alright, dude. Let's calm down and maybe Mom and Cas can fix your bed so you can lay down. Or do you want to move to the big bedroom?" Dean offered in a hopeful tone.
Sam shivered at the thought of being watched all night. His independence had already been diminished by his size—his own actions probably demolished what was left. "No, I think I'll stay here tonight," he answered.
"Fine," Dean grumbled, sitting down on the desk chair. "But you and I are gonna have a talk now. The others may be willing to wait till morning, but I've already waited for days."
Sam tried to shift away, but Dean held him so they remained facing each other. "Dean, I'm tired," he started to argue, but his brother cut him off.
"Then you should have tried sleeping at night instead of reading books you snuck in here. So, tell me—what the fuck were you thinking? And I'm being serious here. I want to know what impending doom scared you enough to try making a weapon that could have killed you."
"I don't know," Sam muttered. He fiddled with the buttons on Dean's jacket.
"Do you think we can't protect you?"
"It's not that…"
"Do you think the angels can't protect you? Or that they won't? Hey." Dean tapped Sam's chin, making him look up. "I want to know—why is this so important right now?"
"I just…I need to do this, Dean." He stared into worried green eyes, begging him to understand.
"Why? I thought we'd agreed to retire, dude."
Sam rolled his eyes. "Yeah, sure. Retire."
"Hey!" Dean said, offended. "I haven't looked for a single case since this started. I've even fielded a few calls from hunters—told them we're closed for business and put them in touch with others. So, yes—retired."
"And what about the next apocalypse, hmm? Are we just sitting it out? Because we've reached a point where the world almost ends every damn year."
"Hell yeah, we're sitting it out. In case you forgot, there's an entire army of angels we now have on our side and it's time they did their part in protecting this planet."
Sam frowned and stared down again. They wouldn't know if Michael and angels would come through for them until tested. What if the moment of truth came and they failed?
"Sammy, man," Dean gathered him closer, "talk to me. What is this really about?"
"What…what am I…" Sam's voice quivered as he tried to reign in the storm of emotion threatening to break him. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do anymore."
"What do you want to do?" Mary asked quietly, sitting on the newly made bed.
"It doesn't matter—it never matters. Anytime I try to do anything it ends in disaster."
"That's not true," Dean said.
"It fucking is true!" Sam pushed off his lap, too restless to just sit. "I go to school—disaster. I return to hunt—disaster. Dad died, I died, you made a demon deal, then you died, I drank demon blood, I released Lucifer then jumped in the cage. And that's just the early years! Shall I list my failure to make decisions since then? Amelia, the Trials, the Book of the Damned, Charlie…"
"Alright, enough!" Dean reached out, grabbing Sam's shirt and dragging him closer. "Those things weren't your fault—even if I said differently at the time, I was wrong. And you left out all the times you saved us. Saved people and the world!"
"But that's always been my role! And now, I'm just expected to stop?"
"Yup!" Dean flicked him gently on the nose. "You got a second chance here, dude. We all got a second chance—to be a family and figure out what we want to do, not just what we're supposed to do."
"Yeah, that's a great plan!" Sam scoffed, ripping himself from his brother's grasp. "But what about when you're gone? Huh? What do I do then?!"
"Gone?" Dean sat back in surprise. "Where am I going?"
Sam let out a frustrated growl. "You're gonna die, Dean! Even if you and Mom live to reach old age, you'll still be dead within a few decades. And then what am I going to do? We have no idea how I'll age physically. I could look ten! How am I gonna navigate this world as a ten-year-old? I need to know how to defend myself without you!"
"Jesus Christ, Sam," Dean wiped his mouth with a trembling hand, "the angels will…"
"I'm supposed to depend on the angels?" Sam laughed and wrapped his arms across his chest. "I'm just supposed to cross my fingers and hope that I'll be welcome in Heaven once they all learn who I am?!"
Castiel suddenly knelt down next to him. "Sam, should you choose to remain on Earth after Mary and Dean's passing, you would still have myself and the archangels."
"Cas, I love you, but I am not operating under any illusions here. You would go with Dean—as you should. Raphael will eventually return to Heaven and stay. Gabriel has the attention span of a gnat—he'll grow bored within a few years and either take off as the Trickster again or return with Raphael. I mean, they're already wrapped up in meetings every other night!"
Castiel's mouth fell open. "You…you believe you will be alone once Mary and Dean die? That Heaven will abandon their newest fledgling on Earth for centuries without a care?"
"Heaven's never really given a shit about me before, Cas. And I'm not 'their newest' anything—I don't belong to anyone but myself." Just because Chuck had changed him didn't automatically make Sam part of their family.
Castiel started to speak, but Dean cut him off. "This is what's had you all tore up for the past couple weeks? You've been consuming books at a crazy rate—don't think I didn't notice the pile in the library getting smaller and smaller—and you were willing to blow yourself up to be ready for something that may happen years from now."
"I need to be prepared," Sam said weakly. "I can't rely on our weapons. I'm too small to properly handle most of them. An angel blade would be mine. And I don't know how long I'll have access to those books—or I didn't. They're gone now."
His chest constricted so quickly it made him stagger. Oh God, they're gone. All I have are my notes about theory—which are useless because I never understood the basic concepts to begin with. Panic swarmed him at the thought.
Castiel's arms wrapped around him, and the pressure and itch that had been building for days slowly eased. Sam buried his face in the seraph's neck as the scent of rain washed over him. "I know this has been hard—that you are struggling. But do not think for a second that I would abandon you. An eternity in Heaven with Dean would be Hell for both of us if we knew you were alone."
Dean snorted. "I'd make it Hell."
Sam tried to laugh, but it came out as a sob. He felt himself lifted into the air as Castiel stood. "Shh, it will all be okay, Sam. Let's get you into bed. You are exhausted."
"Don't wanna sleep," Sam mumbled into Castiel's neck.
"Cas is right, dude. Angel or not—you're gonna make yourself sick if you don't get some rest." Dean's hands pulled him from Castiel, and Sam tightened his grip on the seraph's coat. Someone gently pried his fingers away with a chuckle. "Let go, Sammy. Or do you want to move to the big room. We can totally do that if you want."
Sam reluctantly released the fabric and allowed himself to be transferred to Dean's arms. He saw Mary turn down his blankets and Morpheus jump onto the bed in his small form. Dean lowered him to the bed and Sam felt his body melt into the mattress. He was beyond tired.
Mary tucked the blankets around him and Morpheus, then kissed his forehead. "I love you, baby," she whispered in his ear. "It's going to be okay—you'll see. I would storm Heaven from within if I had to. I would take on Michael himself. You won't be alone, I promise."
"Thanks, Mom," Sam said, blushing.
Castiel perched on the side of the bed. "Would you like help getting to sleep?"
Sam considered it for a moment. Usually, he hated being made to sleep—hated having his mind touched by anything or anyone. But right now, the prospect of lying in bed for hours with only his thoughts seemed much worse. What he really wanted was the bliss of nothingness, even if it was temporary. "Yes, please."
Dean's eyebrows shot up. "Wow, really?"
"Yeah," Sam curled onto his side, pulling the blankets up to his ears.
"Sleep well, Sam." Castiel brushed his fingertips across his forehead, and the world faded away.
Gabriel was the first to escape the meeting as it ended. He couldn't wait for Michael to take his soldiers and wipe the British Men of Letters' headquarters from existence. Then, he'd have some peace, knowing they'd never touch his flock or anyone else ever again.
He hated meetings, and that had not changed since he'd left Heaven. They made him edgy enough without the subject being "the worst members of humanity." He needed a break before moving on to the next item on his schedule that evening—interviewing the prisoners who'd hurt Sam.
"Are you alright, brother?" Raphael asked quietly as he approached from behind.
"No," Gabriel said. His shoulders slumped. Too many things were wrong for him to be alright.
He couldn't stop seeing Sam's face from when he'd been confronted. Or the way his wings had quivered. Or the sound of his voice as he'd pleaded with them to not take those damn books.
"Perhaps you should check on him," Raphael suggested, steering them toward Heart Hall. "Castiel informed me that Samuel is sleeping. Go—remind yourself that he is safe. It will calm you. And hopefully keep you from accidentally demolishing our prisons."
"And that would be a bad thing?"
Raphael scowled at him. "Go."
Gabriel flew into the bunker's kitchen. Dean and Mary both jumped in surprise. Castiel saved their coffees from spilling and tilted his head. "You are early. I did not expect you to return for several more hours."
"Needed a break." Gabriel shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant.
"They getting any closer to taking those bastards down?" Dean asked.
"Before the new year, if all goes according to plan," Gabriel said. He couldn't wait—no more worrying, no more waiting, no more meetings. And hopefully it would give Sam some closure. The kid deserved it.
"Good." Dean drained his mug.
"So, how was he after I left?" Gabriel asked. All three glanced at each other, their faces a mixture of misery and trepidation. He felt like sprinting to Sam's room as his worry spiked. "That bad, huh?"
"We, uh," Dean cleared his throat, "got to the bottom of some things. But it's kind of a long story and Sam should be here for it."
Gabriel looked to Castiel, who nodded in agreement. "It is best to wait until morning."
"I thought I might check in on him."
"Cas knocked him out, so you should be good." Dean got up and stretched. "I'm headed to bed, too. It's gonna be a rough day. You might want to reschedule lessons tomorrow."
"Right." That didn't bode well, but at least he'd get some answers to the kid's behavior.
Gabriel said his goodnights and walked down the hall to Sam's room. The boy was curled into a tight ball under his blankets. Morpheus was snuggled against his head on the pillow.
"Just making sure he's okay," Gabriel whispered when the canine opened his eyes.
He brushed the hair from Sam's face and smiled as he felt the boy's grace respond. Dad-above, I love this kid.
Gabriel, Raphael's voice interrupted his thoughts, Michael says he is ready whenever you return.
On my way, Gabriel replied. He pressed a kiss to Sam's forehead. See you in the morning, he promised silently as he flew back to Heaven
It is colder than usual when Sam drags himself out of bed. He shivers and pulls on shoes with the toes cut out. They stopped fitting his feet seven years ago, but there are no stores within walking distance anymore, so he makes due.
He conjures a small grace-light to illuminate his way to the kitchen. The silence is only broken by his feet scuffing through the thick layers of dust—he can't remember what the hum of electricity sounds like. The generator hasn't seen fuel in half a century.
The kitchen is bare—no surprise. But the plumbing still works and he is grateful the well water never got poisoned during the last war. He'd almost killed himself guarding it.
He drinks a glass of icy water. Hates the way it burns his teeth and belly. But it's all he has to sustain him until he can scavenge the woods for birds again.
A sound startles him and his glass shatters on the floor. It is a sound he has not heard in a very long time. The sound of wings.
He turns quickly, snatching a butcher knife from where he's taped it below the counter. The sight of Gabriel makes him freeze. The archangel looks just as surprised to see him.
"Sam," he says, almost like a question, "what are you doing here?"
"I live here."
"Still?" Gabriel's eyes scan the kitchen, taking in the empty shelves and grime-covered surfaces.
"Yeah." He tapes the knife back into place. Curses when the tape doesn't stick anymore. "Is something happening?" It's not the question he wants to ask.
"Umm, you could say that. Haven't you heard over angel radio?"
"I learned to tune it out." He refuses to admit that the sound of angels hurts too much. Their voices are a constant reminder of everything he's lost.
Gabriel pulls himself up straighter, his face expressionless. "Well, then I won't bother you with silly little details about war. I just came to grab something I'd left behind."
"Oh." Sam shuffles awkwardly in place. "Do you need help finding it? I've moved things around a lot in the…"
"Nope. Already got it when I realized someone was here." Gabriel shakes his head. "Damn kid, when did you last eat?"
Sam shrugs. Food isn't always a priority. He's learned to exist on less than what humans need. Grace doesn't fill his belly, but it keeps him alive between meals.
Gabriel sighs in exasperation. "Didn't you at least learn to snap up food? Or did you forget you're an angel?" He snaps his fingers and several bags of food appear on the counters.
Sam's mouth waters at the sight of bright red apples peeking over the top of one bag. "Thanks," he whispers, not bothering to answer the archangel's questions. None of the books he's read help on the food-front. Angels don't eat. He doesn't think of himself as an angel anymore.
A hand brushes through his hair, making him jump. No one touches him. Not since Dean's death.
"Kiddo, what happened to you?" Gabriel asks, almost fondly.
Sam tries to remember. There is nothing to remember—just empty spaces of time passing. People leaving, one-by-one, until all that remains is him.
"I don't know," Sam says.
"It's probably best you never came to Heaven." Gabriel's eyes glaze over. "You'd never have survived the invasion."
"Is there anything left?" Sam asks. He's gone so long without news—doesn't even know how many humans are left at this point.
"No." Gabriel turns away, fists clenched. "I need to go. I…I'll try to check on you again. Soon. If I can."
Sam wants to stop him—make him stay and fill the emptiness. Warm grace saturates the room and it stirs something deep inside. "I'm sorry," he blurts out, knowing it can't possibly cover everything he needs to say.
"I know, kiddo." Gabriel pauses at the doorway. "If you need anything, just pray for me. I'm always listening."
He flies away without turning around.
Panic surges in Sam's chest. "Gabriel, wait!" His grace reaches for the archangel, wings flaring, and follows the trail of energy.
Closing his eyes, Sam pushes himself between. Despair and regret drives him forward. Why was he so stupid? He cannot lose the trail—he may not get the chance again.
Everyone else is dead. Beyond dead. Where did souls go when they were destroyed? He needs Gabriel. Doesn't want to exist in shadows, alone and locked away in a prison of his own making.
Agony courses through his grace with every passing second. He dares not open his eyes—the devastation of the world will only distract. Only Gabriel matters.
He flies forever.
Eternities pass without air or sight or heartbeat.
He has never flown this long.
It hurts.
And then, he's falling.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: (no note, because author ran and hid under the bed)
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