TEACH YOUR CHILDREN
Part 10: Their Children's Hell Will Slowly Go By
TRIGGER WARNING: Anxiety attacks, flashbacks, brief moment where Sam thinks he's hurt Morpheus (he's fine!), and as per usual INTENSE EMOTIONAL ANGST!
Gabriel landed in Heaven feeling better for having seen Sam. The kid was the best thing to ever happen to him—the whole flock-and-family-combo felt like a fever dream most days. They were more than he'd believed possible.
He waved at his siblings and made for the prison without delay. The cells were quite a distance from Heart Hall and there wasn't a minute to waste. He'd already put this meeting off too many times.
The bright modern office halls changed as he grew closer. Shiny chrome and fluorescent lights gave way to cobblestone and torches—a jarring transition that spoke of too few workers taking care of too many projects. The Architects had probably been too busy with repairs to make upgrades a priority. Or they'd been conscripted into the army.
Four guards stood at attention outside the prison. One stepped forward and said, "Messenger—we have been expecting you."
"Yes. I apologize…if I am late."
"We were given no expected time—simply told to grant you access at your convenience."
"Oh. Good." Thank you, Michael, for remembering I have a casual relationship with time, he sent to his brother. Michael's amusement trickled through their bond, giving him strength to continue forward. "I only require one thing—no interruptions. Understood?"
The guard looked to her companions with a frown. "You do not wish for one of us to stay with you?"
"No," Gabriel grinned. "I wish to be alone with them."
"Of course, sir." The guard nodded and stepped back to her place.
Gabriel walked up to the doorway and took a deep breath, preparing himself. Do not destroy the prison. Do not destroy the prison OR the prisoners…because once they are destroyed you cannot remake them and try again. And Michael will not be happy.
He pushed through the doors and entered, forcing himself not to shudder as the "dead-zone" effect immediately fell over him. The prisons of Heaven were one of the few sections with built-in buffers that silenced angel radio. No communication through grace could pass through these walls in either direction. It was why guards always remained posted outside the doors.
Inside there were two more soldiers. Gabriel dismissed them, waving off their concerns, and made his way down to the cells. His grace roiled in anticipation, stirring ancient anger he'd long pushed aside. Do not destroy the prison, he reminded himself.
The humans sat in separate cells side-by-side, unable to see each other through the stone walls. The woman looked tired and bored. But the man eyed Gabriel with a glint of malice and understanding.
"Oh look! The ArchJoke has finally arrived, Ms Watts!" Shepard sat forward on his bench, back straight and muscles coiled tight, ready for action. "Just get back to our solar system, did ya?"
"Aww, an unimaginative nickname. How quaint." Gabriel grinned, feeling Loki rising closer to the surface. He had many masks, many roles, many parts of himself—and all were demanding justice from these two souls.
Shepard stood slowly and stretched—a lazy display of arrogance. "I have to say—all those stories about archangels being Heaven's greatest weapons seem a bit exaggerated. I met your Commander." He shrugged. "Honestly, not that impressed."
"Well, Mickey's always been a big stickler for rules and regulations. Doesn't like to get his hands dirty with filth," Gabriel said. He paced slowly in front of their cells, savoring the build-up.
"What, so he sent you?" Shepard scoffed.
"Duh!" Gabriel laughed, barely contained rage storming just below the surface. "I know, I know, I'm adorable, right? Tiny vessel, winning smile, jokes a lot. But here's the thing—my brothers only know Heaven and Hell. Mickey commands armies and has no time or patience for these kinds of things. Raphael, well, he's a Healer. He'd rather study you like a science experiment than interrogate you. And Lucifer would just dust your souls and be done with it. But me? I'm different."
"Yeah, you like to hear yourself talk," drawled Ms Watt in a weary tone.
"Oh, I do," Gabriel agreed. "I mean, I'm the Messenger, after all."
"Got any good messages for us then?" Ms Watt asked.
"A few, so listen up." Gabriel snapped up a chair, straddled it backwards, and pulled a lollipop from his jacket pocket. "I'm gonna ask some questions and you're gonna answer."
"What happens if we do? Time off for being a cooperating witness?" Shepard asked, leaning his face against the bars. "And more importantly—what happens if we don't give a shit about your questions?"
Gabriel peeled the wrapper off his sucker and stuck it in his mouth, considering his answer. He remembered Sam's welts and bruises and nightmares—had personally watched the video of the boy's torture twice. The torches flickered on the wall before he could restrain his temper.
"Let me make something very clear here," he finally said. "You two may have trained in interrogation techniques with the best and darkest minds available, but I have had centuries to perfect my methods. Centuries of practice seeking out the biggest dicks humanity has had to offer. I've done it all a thousand times over. And you know what?" He stared into Shepard's cold blue eyes, no longer smiling. "I consider every single one of those seconds as rehearsal for this moment."
Shepard lost his grin. His soul, a dim little thing, squirmed inside his chest. Even Ms Watt seemed to lose her air of boredom and sat up straighter.
"Once I have my answers—and you bet your ass I'm gonna get every bit of information I want if I have to strip it from your brains with my own sticky fingers—once I'm done and we've annihilated your creepy club in Britain, you and all your little friends get a first-class ticket to your own special Hell."
"Hate to break it to ya mate, but you're gonna need more cells if you plan on fillin' this place with our colleagues." Shepard looked around Heaven's prison, his face pale and sweating.
"Oh no," Gabriel scoffed. "We would never sully even our prison with your souls for longer than necessary. I meant Hell. Downstairs—way down. Think 'basement level.' And you are in a whole lotta not-luck, because the King of Hell—he's besties with the Winchesters. He's preparing a special eternity just for you and your friends." He crossed an arm over the back of the chair and leaned forward. "Shall we begin?"
Sam was falling. The silence of between lifted with a rush of air and sound as gravity yanked him back toward the world. He only had time to gasp in a breath, filling his lungs after an eternity of none, before his descent came to a sudden stop.
He landed hard, slamming face-down into a stone floor. He barely noticed the jarring pain that shot through his hands and bones upon impact or how his new-found breath left him. All that existed was the agony of his grace and wings.
Reality and dreams blurred together, indistinguishable to a mind and body in distress. Hunter-instincts told him to move—assess the situation. This amount of pain always meant danger.
Sam cracked open one eye and immediately closed it when pure white seared his vision. Rough stone scraped against his fingertips but at least he could move his arms. His legs were another story—they were bound in thick cloth that he couldn't shake.
Sounds came in waves, slowly registering until they crashed over him in a deafening roar. He covered his ears with bloody palms but it did nothing to block the rising noise. Too many voices screamed through his mind to make out any words.
He couldn't think through the noise and pain bombarding him. There was a vague sense that he'd been looking for someone. Or had he argued with them?
Something wet touched his face and Sam flinched. It returned, working across his cheeks and forehead—a tongue lapping at his tears. He shuddered, whimpering as he pushed it away.
Memories flashed unbidden. A white dog with blue eyes who liked to lick his face. Another set of blue eyes, paler and colder, belonging to a man's face. He also had a tongue that liked to lick Sam's face—a forked tongue that froze his tears, turning them to ice against his skin.
But this tongue was tiny and warm. It tickled his eyelids, wiping tears away before they could fall. It was accompanied by something soft that brushed across his brow. Feathers? No—fur.
He forced one of his eyes open, squinting at the kaleidoscope of light and colors. A small white face pushed closer, filling his vision. The dog stared back with frantic blue eyes, mouth opening to bark.
Sam heard nothing over the thunderous chorus of voices, but he remembered a name. Morpheus! The sight of the canine brought back other memories—the book, the fight, the nightmare. But he was awake now.
Awake, and definitely not in the bunker.
"Morpheus? What's happening?" He felt his own words more than he heard them.
A hand touched Sam's temple, pouring unfamiliar grace over him. It coated his face and moved down his neck to spread across his chest. His own grace shrank away from the stranger, recoiling into a ball that left him shaking and nauseous.
"No!" Sam lashed out, pushing the hand away as hard as he could.
Another hand grabbed his shoulder and rolled him onto his back. Nuriel looked down at him, black curls forming a halo around her frowning face. Her mouth moved like she was speaking.
Alarm shot through Sam. Why was Nuriel here? His list of worst case scenarios started getting check marks near the top.
Her grace continued to wrap around him, making his skin tingle like when Raphael had healed his burns. The pain and noise dimmed to tolerable levels—enough that he could think and move without screaming.
"No! No touch!" he ground out, clawing at her arms to dislodge them. They held tighter, and Nuriel shook her head sending her curls flying back and forth. He kicked his legs harder against the bindings but they only tangled worse.
Sariel joined Nuriel above him, her stoic face revealing nothing about their motives. The guard leader knelt by his feet, seizing his ankle before he could land a kick to her face. She said something and a hint of exasperation flickered in her eyes.
Sam screamed as they held him down. "GABRIEL!" he cried with his voice and mind, hoping to reach the archangel either through prayer or angel radio. "Gabriel! Raphael! Castiel! Help me—angels take me!" Fueled by fear, his grace surged to the surface. Lightning arced from his skin, forcing the angels to stagger back in shock.
He rolled away from them, hoping to gain some distance, and the cloth binding fell away from his legs. Scrambling to his knees, he saw what had been wrapped around his lower torso—the blanket and sheet from his bed. He paused, suddenly unsure of his situation. But there was no time to speculate once he saw his surroundings.
They were in a massive underground cave. Ancient pillars hewn from rock stretched toward a ceiling too high to see. There was no obvious light source, yet everything seemed too bright—the walls themselves were glowing.
But it was the sea of faces surrounding them that made Sam's heart hammer against his chest. Dozens, if not hundreds, of people were gathered in the cavern. Most wore the familiar grey suits but he'd recognize them as angels regardless of their clothing. Grace-lit wings rose from every angel's back, casting prisms of color that shimmered sunshine on water across every surface.
His vision swam as memories merged with the present. Only one place had held this amount of grace in Sam's experience. Stone changed to steel and the temperature plunged to freezing. Lucifer's laughter echoed above the cacophony of voices. His soul shuddered and screamed—Run! Hide!
Tiny feet pawed at his hand on the floor but he didn't dare look away from the crowd. They were growing restless, whispering to each other and shifting closer. Then, he saw a burst of white fur at his side as Morpheus shifted to his large form. Several angels started moving forward, wings flared in alarm and blades dropping into their hands.
"No!" Sam forced himself to his feet, grabbing handfuls of fur to remain steady. His grace rose within him again, crackling along his skin. He flung a hand out, prepared to defend them both against an attack. He felt a growl vibrate through Morpheus' body.
Sariel stepped in front of them, facing the crowd. Her wings extended outward like a curtain of flames. The angels fell back several feet.
A quick glance around the cavern revealed several doorways. The closest was only about thirty yards behind them. He saw Nuriel move toward them and bolted.
Darting through the crowd, he used his size to his advantage. Spots of color danced in front of his eyes and the roar of voices crescendoed. He stumbled, disoriented from the pain splitting his head. Hands grabbed at him but quickly fell away as his grace turned storm-strong, rolling through him like a tempest and striking down anything that stood in his path.
Gabriel, I don't know where we are but Morpheus is with me. I can't hear him anymore—I can't hear anything. There's too much noise. There are so many angels here…and grace!
Sam desperately hoped the other angels couldn't intercept his prayers. Then, his thoughts turned to his family and a new fear surfaced. What if there had been an attack on the bunker?
Castiel, the bunker's been compromised! I don't know where I am, but two of the guard were here when I woke up surrounded by angels. Don't trust Zadkiel if he's there! Please, keep Mom and Dean safe. And keep yourself safe, too!
The door opened just before he could reach it and Sam slammed into the figure that stepped through. A gentle hand steadied him. Familiar grace flowed over him—a blast of pure heat that smelled of wood smoke. It melted the icy echoes of the Cage, replacing them with memories of fire.
Sam forced himself to look up, knowing who he'd see.
Michael smiled gently from behind the face of a young John Winchester. His head tilted and his mouth moved. Sam stared back, still unable to hear. Even the noise of the angels was quickly drowned out by his own blood rushing through his ears.
Wrenching himself out of Michael's grasp, Sam stumbled backwards several steps until he ran into a wall of fur. Leaning into Morpheus, he watched as Michael raised a hand. The air thrummed with energy.
Hush, my angels. Your noise is too much for sensitive young ears. His words were met with swift silence as the Host listened to their leader. Thank you. Until further notice, I am ordering radio silence. Emergency use only.
Sam pressed harder against Morpheus, legs shaking from the effort of standing. Michael's words were the first clear thing he'd understood since waking—and almost the last voice he wanted to hear. Why was the archangel here in some cave?
Michael crouched down. "You are safe, child. No one will hurt you here."
Empty promises did nothing to reassure him. "Why here?"
Michael's head tilted and he frowned in apparent confusion. "Why are you here?"
Sam knew why he was there—because the angels had brought him! He glared at the archangel's mockery. "Why you here? You take me and—"
Michael raised his hand again and Sam flinched, bracing for a blow. He heard gasps from the crowd. Morpheus growled.
"I apologize," Michael said softly as he lowered his hand. "Your guardian informs me that he does not understand Enochian. And he has been unable to communicate to you through his usual methods."
"Oh, and you volunteer to act as translator? No, thanks." Sam ignored the whispers from the angels.
"I realize you have little reason to trust me, Sam—"
"No," Sam cut him off, "I have no reason to trust you."
Michael nodded. "And what can I do to gain your trust?"
"Let me go home."
"We did not bring you here."
Sam stared at him, incredulous of the blatant lie. "Well, Morpheus didn't bring me!"
Nuriel stepped forward. "Sam, you flew here yourself."
"No, I didn't," he scoffed, panic fluttering in his stomach, "I can barely manage a few feet across the yard! I didn't fly myself into the…the underground lair of some angel cult!"
"You think…" Michael looked like he might laugh but thought better of it. "You are not underground—this is Heart Hall. You are in Heaven, Sam."
"No." Sam shook his head, not caring that it made the pain spike inside his skull. "I can't be in Heaven. I don't even know where it is! I don't…"
He couldn't breathe—was there even air in Heaven? The angels all stared at him, their wings twitching in distress. Or was it disgust? Could all angels see his scraps of mutilated soul shoved inside their Father's grace?
"Sam, you need to calm down," Nuriel said, edging closer with her hands held out. It was meant to be a placating gesture, but it made Sam burrow as close to Morpheus as possible. "Raphael is on his way."
"You're lying!" Sam cried, tears stinging his eyes. He heard no reassuring rumble from the Healer or Gabriel's lighter lilting tone. His mind held only static and silence since Michael had hushed the crowd. Raphael! Gabriel!
The crowd gasped, many cringing in pain as Sam called as loud as he could for the archangels. Even Michael winced. Sam considered it a small victory.
Nuriel knelt down only a few feet away, keeping her hands visible and steady. "I'm not lying. You can't hear him or Morpheus because your grace is overwhelmed. You did a lot of damage when you flew here, and fledglings aren't meant to be exposed to this part of Heaven without proper protection. We need to get you to an area that—"
"No! I want to go home!" He didn't want to be shuffled around Heaven.
"I can't take you home until—"
If they wouldn't take him home, then he'd go himself. Sam closed his eyes, trying to focus on Castiel's grace. Warm rain, petrichor, soft and safe, blue… His wings shuddered painfully as they unfurled.
"No!" Nuriel yelled.
Several hands seized him at once. Sam screamed, twisting in their grasp, but there was nowhere to go. They held him still as someone folded his wings together. Hot grace wrapped around the aching appendages, forming tight bands that forced his wings to remain closed.
Sam flew into a frenzy, kicking and clawing anyone he could reach. His grace raged with him. He let loose a bellowing cry and unleashed the storm he'd worked so hard to contain in the past month. Lightning struck those who held him—a blast that sent them flying black several feet.
Opening his eyes, he was surprised to find Michael laying on the ground. The archangel looked shaken. Several other angels were also down, though most seemed to be recovering. But one figure remained still.
"No! No, no, no!" Sam ran to Morpheus, not caring if the angels decided to smite him.
Falling to his knees next to the canine, he stared in helpless despair. The massive chest slowly expanded. Sam gave a sob and laid himself across the canine, trying to listen for a heartbeat. It was muffled by fur, but he heard it—solid and strong.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please wake up."
Sam shook the canine, needing him to be more okay than just a heartbeat and breath. Tears blurred his eyes and tightened his throat, but he kept up his pleas. He didn't see the angel that knelt next to them until a hand reached out to brush the fur from Morpheus' eyes.
"Don't touch him!" Sam snarled, launching himself at the angel.
The angel's vessel was massive—a tall, burly biker covered in leather and tattoos. He laughed as he caught Sam easily and held him to his chest. "Oh, you're a feisty one! I bet you've been giving Nuri a run for her money. Now, settle down, little guy, before you hurt yourself."
Sam fought the arms that kept him pinned but it was useless. The vessel alone would have been strong enough to hold him without angelic grace. This is why I needed a blade, Sam thought as he kicked feebly.
That thought stuck in his head. He could try to manifest a blade again. Even if he failed at procuring a weapon, he'd still do quite a bit of damage.
He concentrated on pooling his grace in his palms, focusing on the shape and feel of the blade. I need this, he told his grace. The skin of his palms sizzled, blistering from the electrical energy as it accumulated.
Something cold settled in his right hand. Small and smooth, it hummed with his own grace. Sam closed his fingers around it, nearly crying with relief.
His left hand burned as grace continued amassing without form. Sam slammed his palm against the angel's ribs and pushed. The angel grunted and released him, staggering back a few steps.
"Oh, the new baby's got spirit!" the angel laughed, holding his side.
"I am not a baby!" Sam said through gritted teeth. He swung his right hand, landing a blow on the angel's left arm.
A thin line of blood appeared across the tattoo of a heart with the initials B.A.C.A. inside. Blue grace slowly seeped out like ethereal gas, and several angels cried out in alarm. The biker angel just held out a hand to calm the others, and then clasped it over the wound.
"Just a scratch! No need to get your panties in a twist."
"Barachiel!" Nuriel scolded from behind Sam. "You are supposed to be helping!"
"I am helping!" Barachiel said with a wink. "I kept him occupied while you healed his dog-friend."
Sam whirled around to see Morpheus rising to his feet. He stepped forward, intending to run to him, but a hand grabbed his wrist. "Let me go!"
"Hold on. No running with dangerous sharp things," Barachiel said. "Nuriel—a little help?"
Sam tried to grab the blade with his other hand, but Nuriel got to him first. "No! It's mine!"
"Samuel!" Nuriel snapped. "Stop this right now. I know you are scared and angry, but this is not the answer."
Tears slipped down his cheeks at the rebuke. His body and grace ached as he sagged in their grip. All he wanted was to check Morpheus and go home—he never asked to come to Heaven!
A commotion stirred in the crowed behind them. Then, someone plucked the blade from his hand. "Less than an hour in Heaven, and you've already stabbed someone. Your brother will be proud," said a voice in a well-known rumble.
Raphael had gone into his office after the meeting. Nuriel's list of recommended reading materials for Samuel was extensive but well thought-out. He'd gathered several from his own collection and had been planning to stop by the old nursery and library.
Then, the alarms sounded.
Before he could even ask Michael to report, the Host erupted in a cascade of cries. A fledgling… in Heart Hall… Shapeshifter… Father help him… in a vessel…
Books tumbled from his arms as he raced toward the commotion. Michael, I am coming. What is happening? he asked, skirting around a group of stunned seraphs in the hall. Archangels were not often seen running through Heaven.
Samuel just landed in Heart Hall. I am on my way there now, Michael replied.
Raphael muttered a rare curse and ran faster. There was no telling what state the boy would be in if he'd flown himself. He required daily healing from their practice sessions in the yard. Then, another voice rose louder than all the others, sounding far too young and terrified.
GABRIEL! Gabriel! Raphael! Castiel! Help me—angels take me!
He staggered against the wall from the sheer volume and desperation pouring off Samuel. It reverberated throughout Heaven as the Host felt and heard him too. He steadied himself and ran faster.
I am coming, Samuel! Do not fear—you will be fine!he said. But there was no reply. He mentally tallied the likely side effects a fledgling might experience after an Earth-to-Heaven flight. The power in Heart Hall alone would be enough to short circuit his ability to hear and function.
Raphael heard the boy's frantic prayers to Gabriel and Castiel, trying to convey his situation and warn his family. It was heartbreaking to witness while being powerless to respond. Michael's call for silence from the Host was a welcome relief even as he felt Samuel's fear of the Commander's presence.
Then, he realized Gabriel's voice was absent. Father help us—Gabriel is in the prisons! One of the few dead-zones within Heaven where angel-radio didn't reach. A practical necessity for when angels were the ones kept within the cells, but at the moment it was just another barrier.
Seraphs stationed near the prisons—get Gabriel to Heart Hall. Immediately! Raphael ordered, nearly colliding with another cluster of angels as he turned a corner.
He felt a shockwave through his connection to Michael and knew something had happened. I had to bind his wings, came the Commander's sheepish reply. He was attempting to fly himself home. How soon will you—Oh Father!
What?! What is happening? Raphael asked, pushing seraphs out of the way as he drew closer to Heart Hall.
His canine is unconscious. Oh! How in the… did you know… Saints and Sinners, I am not going to survive this fledgling! The Commander was clearly rattled. The boy made an angel blade, Raphael!
I am here, Raphael assured him, pushing his way through the crowd. He heard Barachiel call for Nuriel's assistance, quickly followed by Samuel's protest and Nuriel scolding
The angels parted before him, revealing the most pitiful sight. Samuel stood with each hand held by a Caretaker. His wings trembled against their bindings.
Raphael took a calming breath and secured the tiniest angel blade from even tinier fingers. "Less than an hour in Heaven, and you've already stabbed someone. Your brother will be proud."
Stepping around Nuriel, he knelt down in front of the boy. A quick nod to the seraphs and they released their hold. He caught Samuel under the arms before he collapsed.
"Raphael?" Samuel whispered in disbelief.
"Peace, child. You are safe." Raphael sat back on his heels, gathering the boy to his chest. He wrapped a protective layer of energy around them, buffering the young grace from the rest of Heaven. Silent tears soaked through his tunic and he held him closer. "Shh, I am here and Gabriel is on his way."
He glanced at Michael who stood off to the side, not daring to get too close. The Commander nodded at the unspoken question. I will check with my guards closest to the prison. They should have informed Gabriel by now. I am surprised we have not heard—
Raphael, what the Hell is happening?! As though summoned, Gabriel's voice cut through their silent conversation. Samuel is here—in Heaven? What the fuck—MOVE, SERAPHS, OR I WILL RUN YOU OVER! Someone had better start explaining!
Ahh, I see they found you. Michael smiled fondly. I shall explain on a private channel, so your screaming does not distract Raphael.
Raphael mouthed a grateful thank you and focused back on the child. "Let me look at you," he said, shifting Samuel until his tear-stained face was visible. "My goodness. You are a mess. Burned, bloody, and barefoot—we really need to stop meeting this way."
Samuel looked down at his feet, wiggling his dirty toes and mumbling, "I was asleep and woke up here with—" His whole body tensed, eyes wide in panic as he twisted around. "Morpheus! Oh God, Morpheus, are you okay?"
Raphael kept a firm grip on the squirming body. Experience with Gabriel's sudden shifts in attention as a fledgling had come in handy through the ages. "He is fine, Samuel. See? Here he comes now."
The canine padded warily past the seraphs in the crowd. Most were watching the scene in stunned silence, but many were in obvious distress over seeing their youngest sibling's anguish. Michael was not going to have an easy time explaining this to them.
He cannot hear me, Morpheus said sadly as he finally reached them. Raphael nodded.
"Morpheus!" Samuel anxiously brushed the fur around the canine's face with the back of his hands. His fingers were curled into loose fists to protect the angry burns. "I'm so, so sorry. I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to hurt you. Are you okay? Did…did they heal you? Should Raphael look you over? I think Raphael should look you over. Raphael, I-I lost control—well, I didn't lose control, I did it on purpose, but I wasn't thinking and I caught Morpheus in the blast and he got knocked unconscious and mmph…"
Morpheus stopped Samuel mid-word with a well-placed lick across his face. Tell him I am fine and to quit worrying about me when he's the one in need of healing. He continued to wash the tears and sweat and dirt from the boy's skin, moving across his cheeks and down to his neck.
Raphael gently tugged on Samuel's hands. "Morpheus says he is fine and that I need to heal you instead."
"No, m'fine," Samuel tried to speak through pursed lips.
"You are decidedly not fine. And I am going to ban that word from your vocabulary if you insist on using it incorrectly." He looked at the burns—they were worse than the last time the boy had attempted to summon a blade. In fact, between the flying and the fighting, Samuel was in need of quite a bit of healing.
"How is he?" Michael asked quietly, standing a few yards away.
Samuel's head jerked up at the question. The sight of the Commander made him hunch his shoulders as his breathing grew faster and shallower. His wings flattened protectively against his back as best they could within the binding.
Raphael cupped his face, forcing the boy to look at him. He smiled when hazel eyes lost their glassiness and focused. "I am right here and you are safe," he whispered.
A murmur rippled through the crowd as seraphs whispered to one another. Samuel's cheeks flushed bright red when he finally seemed to realize that they had an audience. A much larger audience than just one archangel and a couple Caretakers.
"I think he is going to make it," Raphael answered Michael with mock-seriousness. "Of course, no guarantees once Gabriel arrives. He may smother him in his enthusiasm."
"Is…is Gabriel coming?" the boy asked, dropping his gaze to study the burns.
Raphael saw the young grace churn despondently and frowned. Did Samuel think Gabriel wouldn't come? Or was he just nervous?
"He is on his way now, Sam," Michael answered. "He has probably sent several seraphs to the healers in his haste to get to you."
Raphael, he needs to be fully swaddled and moved as soon as possible. Nuriel looked between him and Samuel pointedly, eyes bright with impatience.
He understood her desire for swift action, but she had never dealt with Samuel Winchester in a situation like this. Rushing would only result in resistance from the stubborn boy. And that was something he wished to avoid.
Gabriel, how far away are you? Raphael asked, trying to get a gauge on time.
Almost there! Dad can go damn Himself for giving me back this vessel and its short legs!
"Let's see what I can do about making you more comfortable until he gets here. Lean forward against me, okay? There we go." Raphael settled Samuel against his chest again, running his hand through the sweaty curls. "I'm going to take the binding off your wings. You promise not to take off on me, right?"
"Promise," Samuel muttered into his tunic.
He moved his hand over Michael's binding, dissolving it with little effort. He ran light fingers through the ragged wings. All the pathways they'd built over the last couple weeks were tattered.
Samuel hissed, pressing his face harder against Raphael's collar bone. "Definitely not going anywhere," he tried to laugh through his tears.
"I know, I know—it hurts, but it should feel better soon." Raphael did what he could for the moment, coating the frayed pathways with healing grace. He watched the light numbing take effect—Samuel gave a sigh as both his body and grace relaxed. "There we go. You just rest. I will do more after Gabriel joins us."
Sariel approached them with a pile of bedding. "Here," she said gruffly, thrusting the blanket and sheets toward him. "These came with him. He…looked cold earlier."
Raphael smiled and took them with one hand, keeping the other around Samuel. "Thank you, Sariel. That is very considerate of you."
"Where is he!? Move, move, MOVE, all of you—make like the Red Sea and get the fuck outta my way!Sammy, I'm here!" Gabriel's voice echoed around the Hall as he plowed his way into the far-side of the crowd.
Samuel stirred at the commotion, pushing himself upright. They watched as the archangel blew past all the seraphs, only knocking over a few who were too stunned to move. He finally burst into view, looking as disheveled as the boy he was trying to reach.
"Gabriel," Raphael sighed, shaking his head.
The Messenger's head whipped around at his name. His gold eyes went wide as he took in the sight of them all on the floor and sprinted toward them. "Oh, for Father's sake!" he blustered, falling to his knees at their side. "I can't believe you're here. Look at you—in Heaven! Oh Jesus, look at you! What happened? You don't even have any shoes…"
Samuel's breath hitched as Gabriel reached shaky hands out to trace the fresh tear tracks. "Sorry," he said, sniffing loudly.
"No, no—none of that. I—Raphael, is he okay? What are we looking at?" Gabriel asked. His hands moved over the boy, touching his hair and face and arms, just to reassure himself that he was safe. Samuel tentatively reached back, playing with a button on the archangel's shirt.
Raphael smiled fondly at them both. "We are looking at a very tired fledgling who will need a good healing session before we return to Earth."
"No! I want to go home!" Samuel protested.
"He has scrapes and burns to his hands…"
"What?!" Gabriel cut him off. He took the boy's hands and turned them over for inspection. "Sam…did you try to manifest a blade again?"
"He tried, succeeded, and managed to stab Barachiel before I got here." Raphael wondered if anyone was going to let him finish a sentence. "He also completely destroyed his wings' pathways in flying here. It will take us days to rebuild, so no flying lessons for the next week or two."
"Forget flying—I'm not letting you walk anywhere for the next decade. Come here." Gabriel scooped him out of Raphael's arms, careful not to touch his wings. Standing up, he tucked the mess of curls under his chin. "Oh, kiddo. I'm so sorry I wasn't there—and that I didn't get here sooner. I should never have left."
"It wasn't your fault," Samuel insisted. "I-I shouldn't have…"
"Hush, I'm not done."
Raphael got to his feet and grabbed the blankets. He worried that Gabriel might overwhelm Samuel's emotional state with his fretting. A hand on his arm stopped him from moving toward them.
Nuriel shook her head slightly. Let him fuss—it is good for them both.
He raised an eyebrow in surprise. I thought Caretakers advocated for calm when dealing with distraught fledglings.
We advocate for honesty, she corrected.
I do not understand.
Nuriel's gaze followed Gabriel as he paced, murmuring apologies and promises into Samuel's ear. You have a natural tranquility, Healer. You are as steady and solid as a mountain. Samuel expects that from you. Now, imagine if Gabriel had walked calmly into this Hall—composed, relaxed, unhurried.
Raphael shuddered at the image and understood her point. He would seem angry. Or worse, cold and indifferent.
Exactly, she said with a smile. Honesty is the best practice. Samuel needs to know that Gabriel is upset—that he is affected by what has happened.
You have missed being a Caretaker, Raphael observed.
With every fiber of my being. It is who I am. Nuriel looked at Barachiel. The seraph stared at the boy with eyes full of tears and wonder. We never stopped being Caretakers just because there were no more fledglings. Just as parents do not abandon their role when their child becomes an adult.
Gabriel clung to the boy as he paced. He couldn't stop moving—couldn't stop babbling. Nervous energy twisted through his vessel and grace, and he feared it would tear him apart if he stopped.
He'd been shaking since guards burst into the prison and informed him of the situation. Note to self—apologize to those guards. Maybe a basket of candy and flowers. And a vacation. He'd not been kind to them for interrupting his interrogation after specifically telling them to stay out.
"Gabriel?" Raphael stood a few feet away like he didn't want to get too close. He held out a blanket that looked suspiciously like one from the bunker.
"Yeah?" He took the blanket and wrapped it around Sam, draping it over the top of his head to block out the staring faces of strangers. The kid relaxed into him more.
"We need to go somewhere more conducive to healing."
"Like the infirmary?" Gabriel made a face at the thought of taking Sam to the sterile rooms where Heaven's healers treated injured angels.
"I was thinking of the Garden, actually."
"Oh." He brightened at that. "That's perfect. Good idea, Raph."
The Healer gave him a wry smile. "I do get them on occasion."
"Every couple centuries or so," Gabriel teased, ducking away when his brother tossed a sheet at him. "Okay, let's move, folks. The sooner we get this kid healed, the sooner we can get him home. Morpheus—shift it and you can catch a ride."
Morpheus' ears perked up. He gave a full-body shake and shrank, then sprinted at the archangel. Gabriel snatched him up and tucked him into the blanket. Sam crushed the canine to him.
"Barachiel," Raphael called, gesturing the Caretaker toward them, "you should join us. We need to get that wound looked at."
Gabriel looked at the grinning seraph. "Barachiel! Did I dream Raphael telling me that you got stabbed?"
"Nope!" Barachiel walked alongside Nuriel, keeping his hand clamped tightly over his upper arm. "Your little one's a firecracker. He even managed to throw the Commander a couple yards. Never seen such determination in a fledgling before!"
"Yes," Raphael said dryly, "you learn to get used to it around this one."
"Sammy! Of all the angels, you stabbed Barry? He's one of the cool ones!" Gabriel playfully scolded as they walked out of Heart Hall. He heard the seraphs in the crowd rush at Michael with questions and stifled the urge to laugh—the poor Commander was not going to have an easy time explaining Sam to them.
"Sorry," came the muffled reply from under the blanket.
"Are you kidding?" Barachiel scoffed. "I'll still be telling stories about this when I'm in the Empty! Healer, can you make sure it leaves a scar? I'm gonna want proof."
Raphael just gave a long-suffering sigh and nodded.
Gabriel adjusted Sam so the kid's head rested higher on his shoulder. "I think you've made a friend," he whispered.
"Dean stabbed Cas when they first met," Sam huffed quietly, "and staked you. Maybe it's a sign?"
Barachiel's eyes went wide in recognition of the names. Gabriel knew he'd figured out Sam's identity. He would have laughed if it weren't for the spike in panic racing through him.
"Let me see that arm. You're not holding enough pressure," Nuriel intervened before the seraph could say anything. She pulled him to the back so they trailed behind the others while she answered his questions away from sensitive ears.
"What—stabbing is how you boys mark your territory?" Gabriel moved alongside Raphael as they continued to make their way to the Garden. He made sure the blanket remained high enough that Sam didn't see the others fall back.
"It's more Dean's thing. But he'll be happy to know I've picked up one of his habits." Sam yawned.
Gabriel felt little fingers picking at his jacket collar. He rubbed the back of the boy's head though the blanket. "Rest up, kiddo. We've got a little walk till we get to the Garden."
"I wonder if it looks the same…" Sam mumbled.
"You've seen it?" Gabriel asked, startled.
"When Dean and I were shot by hunters during the Apocalypse. Cas told us about the Axis Mundi and we met Joshua. He was nice." The kid's voice was soft, but they could hear the ache left by the memory.
"Well, it will probably look pretty different now that you're an angel. Joshua is still there. I think you'll like it." Gabriel wanted to show Sam a part of Heaven's beauty. Heart Hall was amazing even in its crumbling state—but part of its glory was in knowing its history.
The Garden was pure splendor. It was the seed of creation—the center of Heaven. A perfect place for healing and renewal.
They walked in silence after that. Nuriel and Barachiel rejoined them after a while. The biker angel made sure to meet Gabriel's eye and gave a serious nod.
The boy and his secret are safe with me. His identity changes nothing—he is still a child of Heaven and in need of nurturing by all grace-beings. The fact that he is a Winchester only means he will need even more support. And so will you, Messenger.
Gabriel gave a wobbly smile. Thank you, Barachiel. You are right—we will need all those things and more. He definitely needs more angels on his side.
Well, he has me! Barachiel grinned. And I like him.
Give him a chance to settle and realize that not all angels will want to kill him on-sight, and I think you two will be thick as thieves.
The seraph's expression turned somber. His reactions in the Hall make a lot more sense now. I had thought he was just a wild thing—a little bit feral, a little bit boisterous, and a lot scared. I hope I did not frighten him too bad.
Gabriel shook his head. Not this kid. He has a lot of scars and traumas, but he rarely holds grudges. Even when he should.
Be kind to yourself, brother, Raphael interjected. We have all made mistakes and fallen short of perfection. It is the lesson we learn from those mistakes and our actions afterwards that truly define us.
"Oh, look—we're here!" Gabriel said a little too loud, ignoring Raphael's eye-roll and sigh.
The Garden was as resplendent as he remembered. Lush green grass formed a thick, soft carpet between the trees and flowers that blossomed with every color. The air smelled like honeysuckle and rose and lemon balm, all drifting on a light breeze that carried clouds of butterflies. It was Gabriel's favorite place in the universe.
There were several clusters of angels already there—mostly Healers working to restore wings. A few, however, were there for the simple joy of grooming each other. Their voices were lifted in songs that Gabriel had not heard since the dawn of humanity.
Joshua saw them enter and strolled over to greet them. "Gabriel, I had wondered when I might see you again. And what do you have bundled under a blanket? I trust you are not sneaking any creatures into my Garden again." His eyes danced with delight and knowing.
Gabriel felt Sam tense up at the new voice. He slipped his hand under the blanket to run fingers through the kid's hair, trying to silently reassure him. "That was one time, Joshua!"
"Three times—that I know about," Joshua corrected him, switching to English.
"Well, I promise there's only two critters this time. One very tired fledgling in desperate need of a peaceful place and his canine companion. Kid did some damage to himself when he flew up here and Raphael's gotta look him over before we can take him home."
"Still not a kid," Sam grumbled under his breath, but Gabriel heard him.
"Listen, when you're one of the top ten oldest things in the universe, everyone's a kid." Gabriel lightly flicked his nose and withdrew his hand before Sam could retaliate.
Joshua chuckled. "Come. Let's get you settled. I have just the place."
The Keeper led them on a path past the old oak. The other angels all turned to watch their progression but no one approached. They crossed a small creek surrounded by tall, thick vegetation which swayed out of the angels' way. Gabriel knew immediately where they were going.
The weeping willow had been his favorite place as a fledgling. Her branches twisted outward, carrying curtains of leaves that spilled toward the ground like braids. She kept the brightness at bay and created a calm sanctuary beneath her boughs.
"Do you mind if I steal Nuriel away?" Barachiel asked before they went under the willow. "It's been a while since we've had the chance to catch up."
"Have one of the healers look at that wound," Raphael ordered, side-eyeing the seraph. "I will know if you do not."
Barachiel grinned. "I wouldn't dream of defying you—I remember your lectures!"
"Be gone with both of you!" Raphael growled playfully. "And get yourselves groomed while you are at it! Your wings are disgraceful!"
Gabriel snorted, watching the two Caretakers scamper off like overgrown children. This is what Heaven was supposed to be—how it had been so long ago. He couldn't believe he was seeing those days return.
He ducked through the leaves into the familiar refuge. The shaded shelter smelled like rich earth and water. Thick moss grew at the base of the willow, providing a perfect cushion for Gabriel to plop down on. "Alright, Sam-a-lam. You ready to emerge?"
Sam grunted and reluctantly allowed the blanket to be pulled away. He blinked, looking around slowly. Then, he blinked again and sat up. "Whoa."
Morpheus rolled off their laps and sprawled in the grass. Butterflies danced around the canine, curious of the new creature in their midst. He sniffed them but made no move to interact with the fragile flyers.
I like this place, Gabrieloki. It feels similar to my Mother's realm—but even older.
"It should feel older, Morpheus. These are the seeds of creation—the first plants. Life was started here before the Earth was formed. Grace sustains the Garden but doesn't form it like the rest of Heaven. These trees and flowers are not a manifestation." Gabriel leaned back against the willow and sighed. Hello, old friend.
She reached back, tickling his mind with tendrils of energy. You have returned to me.
Always. And I brought someone who needs your comfort. Gabriel looked down at the boy in his lap. Sam's eyes were roaming over everything around them, trying to take it all in at once. I'll introduce you when he's feeling better. I don't think he can hear anyone right now.
Did the little bird fall from his nest?
Gabriel blinked back tears. He did, actually. And I wasn't there to catch him.
"Are you okay? What's wrong?" Sam asked quietly.
"Nothing. I-I just haven't been back here in a long time." Gabriel sniffed loudly and wiped at his face, laughing. "We are sitting in my favorite place under my favorite tree. And she is making me very nostalgic."
Sam gazed up at the looming tree and slowly grinned. "Is it because she's a weeping willow?"
Raphael's laughter cut off any retort Gabriel could think up. "I believe someone is feeling a little better."
Sam huffed out a breath, holding his hands carefully on his lap. "I wouldn't say I'm ready to run any marathons, but yeah, I don't feel like I just plunged through dimensions and landed face-first on rocks."
"That sounds like there is room for improvement," Raphael said, settling onto the ground in front of them.
"Hold on—I need to get us situated." Gabriel shifted Sam around so they faced each other.
"I could just sit on the ground." Sam frowned, squirming until his toes were dug into the dirt on either side of Gabriel's hips.
"Not happening," Gabriel scoffed. He hadn't been kidding about not putting this kid down anytime soon. And he certainly wasn't about to let him sit on the ground when he had a perfectly good lap available. "I'm way comfier than the dirt."
Sam rolled his eyes without saying a word. Now that they were face to face, it was hard to avoid eye contact—but the kid was certainly doing his best to look anywhere except Gabriel. He stared out past the willow's leaves where a group of angels were singing softly in the distance.
Gabriel gently picked up the boy's hands, inspecting them closely. The burns were layered overtop scraped skin. "This looks like a whole lotta 'not fun.'"
"Yeah," Sam whispered, then hissed when Raphael started on his wings.
"Sorry," the Healer said. "This will not be as extensive as that first healing session I did with you. You have bruised grace and areas that have been stripped raw again."
"How soon before we can go home?" Sam asked.
"When I am certain your grace is healthy, strong, and protected enough to handle being flown back," Raphael said firmly. He met Gabriel's eyes over the boy's head. I have not asked him what happened to bring him here.
Gabriel's gaze shifted to Sam. Below layers of exhaustion left by faded adrenaline from his unexpected adventure was a growing tension. Nuriel was right—his grace was too obvious. No matter how schooled his expression and body language, the boy's grace was churning below the surface.
"Sam?" He tried to keep his voice light as he focused on healing the torn and blistered skin.
"Hmm?"
"You feel up to telling us what happened?"
Sam winced and chewed his lower lip. "You mean with the angel blade?"
"No, I mean how you got to Heaven."
"Oh." Sam tried to shrug but couldn't quite manage with Raphael's hands on his back. "I-I don't really know."
"Sam," Gabriel sighed, "come on, bud. You gotta give us something to work with here."
"I don't! I was asleep," Sam finally looked at him. His eyes were guarded, jaw clenched.
Gabriel stared back gently, eyebrows raised, waiting him out. He rubbed his thumb over the healed skin of one palm in soothing circles. Then, began healing the other hand, never breaking eye contact.
"I had a nightmare," Sam blurted out.
"I'm sorry, kiddo. What happened?"
The boy fell silent for a while. His eyes grew distant, staring through Gabriel's chest at something only he could see. By the time his other hand was healed, Sam still hadn't spoken.
Gabriel gathered the hands together and pressed a kiss to them. "It's okay. Take your time. We aren't going anywhere."
Sam's breath caught and the color drained from his face. "Everyone was gone," he croaked.
"Gone where?" Gabriel asked quietly.
"Gone. It was like some kind of apocalyptic future. Dean and Mom had been dead for centuries. I was still in the bunker but everything was different. No power, no food. There'd been wars—nuclear, supernatural, you name it."
Gabriel felt cold creep over him. He glanced at Raphael and saw the Healer frowning back. "And where were we? Me, Raphael, and Cas?"
"I-I don't know about Raphael and Cas. I think they were…" Sam swallowed painfully. "They were dead or gone. Heaven had been invaded. Destroyed. It was all gone. Y-you showed up, though…looking for something."
"And what did I do?" Gabriel prompted, fearing the answer. Please don't tell me I attacked him or blamed him for everyone's death.
"You…you were surprised to find me there. And you snapped up food when you realized I didn't have any. But you were fighting a war and couldn't stay. So, you flew away and I…" Sam blinked rapidly as he fought to keep control of his emotions.
"And you tried to follow," Gabriel finished for him.
The boy nodded. "I-I don't want to b-be alone," he said, losing the battle with his tears.
"Oh, sweetheart…" Gabriel pulled Sam to him, letting the kid lay across his chest. He glanced desperately at Raphael, wishing the Healer could give him the words he needed right now. But he was the Messenger—words were his domain.
"I flew forever—it felt like weeks. And when I landed here, I was half-asleep still and thought…I thought the angel guard had kidnapped me."
Gabriel had no doubt that the boy had been trapped between for a terrible length of time. No wonder his wings were in tatters! He ran his fingers through the tangled mess of curls. "I am so, so sorry, Sam. That must have been terrifying."
"It was stupid! Just…just a stupid dream," Sam said, angrily swiping away tears. "I can't believe…I just…I acted so stupid! I could have killed Morpheus! I could have lost him in between or when I blasted Michael and the others…"
"Hey! Whoa there, mister! Take a breath," Gabriel cut off his tirade. "None of that was stupid. Flying into Heaven while you're asleep? That's definitely gonna be disorienting! And you have good reason to not trust angels who haven't earned it yet. Nothing you said or did was stupid."
Sam stayed still and silent—every muscle clenched to the point of causing fine tremors. His grace twisted frantically, reaching toward both archangels for reassurance. They heard a low, miserable hum that carried through the Garden, turning heads toward the distressing sound.
Gabriel couldn't stand it anymore. With one hand tangled in curls and the other resting on Sam's lower back, he dissolved Raphael's protective wrap from everywhere except the delicate wings. He wanted nothing to stand between him and the infant grace.
"What are you doing?" Sam asked, stirring restlessly at the change. He tried to push himself upright but Gabriel's hands kept him in place.
Something I should have done a long time ago, Gabriel thought as he began draping his own grace around the boy. "I'm redoing Raphael's protections. You are upset and your grace recognizes me better. Just relax."
He'd read between the lines of Sam's dream. This wasn't a metaphor or the boy's mind twisting their fight. It was a clear picture of what Sam truly feared—an eternity of isolation in a world devastated by events he played no part in preventing. A life abandoned by those who made life worth living.
I don't want to be alone. Sam's words would haunt Gabriel for years. Not "I didn't want to be alone." Not past tense. I don't want to be alone.
He focused on the one thing he realized he'd unintentionally been avoiding. For all his dramatic displays of affection, he'd rarely let others see the depth of his emotions. It was time to change that.
Gabriel closed his eyes, drawing on every ounce of feeling the boy in his arms stirred. Love, adoration, the need to protect and cherish. He cautiously streamed it all into the grace that enveloped the fledgling—not too much at once so as not to overwhelm.
Sam gasped softly and went still. His grace surged up to the wrap, pressing tight against it. "What…?" he broke off with a shuddering breath. "I don't understand."
"I know," Gabriel said sadly, "but you will. And I promise—you are not alone. Not now, not in seven centuries, not ever."
Sam hid his face and Gabriel let him. He scratched lightly on the back of the kid's head and neck, infusing the wrap with more emotion. They drifted there, in warmth and contentment, under the swaying leaves of his favorite tree.
Raphael continued to work on Sam's wings, gently sealing off the exposed areas and relieving the ache of injury. He hummed along to the songs sung by the angels in the distance. Gabriel smiled, feeling the deep bass rumble through them as he played with Sam's hair.
Things needed to change. They'd been so wrapped up in treating Sam like an adult that they'd neglected caring properly for his grace. There would have to be compromise.
Gabriel thought over the last few weeks. Sam had grown steadily more irritable with each day and they'd all chalked it up to stress or frustration. But as he felt the boy's grace soothe itself against his own, he realized there was more to it.
Sam denied his basic needs almost daily—food, sleep, and touch. The food and sleep were sometimes problematic, but they could usually coax him into eating and resting. Touch, however, was a bigger issue.
Grooming could only provide so much on its own. Fledglings needed to be touched by other angels—it fed their grace, nourishing it as it grew. By pushing them away, Sam was starving himself. It showed in each outburst of anger.
A plan took shape in his mind. It would require a lot of patience and love. And possibly some firmness. Not my strongest suit, Gabriel admitted to himself. But he was willing to do anything to make the boy in his arms understand he was fucking wanted.
"Gabriel," Raphael said softly, "I am done for now. He should be protected enough to take home."
"Awesome." Gabriel pushed the hair away from Sam's temple. The kid still had his face planted against Gabriel's chest, but he seemed much calmer. "You hear that, Samshine? You ready to go home?"
Sam nodded, turning his head so he could see. He blinked at the brightness of the Garden, then yawned. "Yeah. Oh…oh God, I forgot." He pushed himself upright, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "I prayed to Cas! I told him not to trust Zadkiel. Are they…are they alright?"
"They are fine," Raphael reassured. "I have spoken to Castiel and Zadkiel several times now and kept them apprised of our situation. Your family is safe, though eager to have you home."
"I bet Dean is being a terror," Sam groaned.
"All the more reason to get a move on, don't you say?" Gabriel stood, keeping Sam in his arms.
The boy instantly started squirming and protesting. "Gabriel, I can walk!"
"Uh huh. That's nice. Maybe next time, if you remember your shoes, I'll let you walk around." Gabriel glanced back to make sure they still had Morpheus. The canine was running after them, a cloud of butterflies trailing behind him.
Raphael raised an eyebrow at him. The ground is safe enough for him to walk. It is not like there is broken glass or nails in Heaven's Garden.
Have you even met me before? If you think I'm putting him down for one second, you are sorely mistaken. Gabriel glared back, tightening his hold on Sam just a little bit more.
His brother laughed, a deep rolling chuckle that carried across the Garden. Nuriel and Barachiel's heads turned at the sound. They gave thanks to the healers and rushed to join them.
"Are you healed?" Raphael asked Barachiel with a mock-stern look.
"Good as new!" The seraph showed Raphael his arm and winked at Sam. "Even got to keep the scar."
Sam blushed bright red and groaned. "I-I'm sorry I stabbed you."
"No worries! It's good for me—keeps me on my toes. I'd gotten a bit too rusty over the years." Barachiel grinned and looked Sam over. "How are you feeling? Better now that Raphael's fixed you up?"
"Uh, yeah. I'm fine."
Raphael scoffed loudly. "He would say that if he were bleeding out."
"Well, he always was a special kinda idjit," a gruff voice said from near the Garden entrance.
Gabriel almost dropped Sam when the boy suddenly twisted in his arms. The man looked just like the archangel remembered from all those years ago at Crawford Hall. He even still had the old tucker cap on.
Sam gasped. "Bobby?"
AUTHOR'S NOTES:
Sorry for the delay on this one! It kicked my butt all over the place...
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