One of these days he was going to get Gabriel back for his little pranks. Spencer sat in the backseat of the impala and tried not to shift around in the heavy silence that had fallen over them ever since Gabriel had vanished and Dean had stormed out of the room with only a growl of "Get your shit, we're leaving in five."
Things had been tense ever since Gabriel had yanked Sam down for that kiss. Spencer, for his part, was actually rather pleased to see that happen. He'd read the books, he'd spoken with Gabriel. He knew how his guardian felt about Sam. In some ways he probably knew a little better than Gabriel would actually like him to. He could see just how much Sam meant to him. To see him finally step up and put himself out there and actually take what he wanted, to see him get this chance at being happy in the middle of all this mess, it made Spencer's heart and grace both sigh happily.
Unfortunately, their other observer hadn't thought so. It was obvious that Dean wasn't all too pleased with these events. It was equally obvious that he was trying to restrain his temper just the slightest bit. Whether it was because of Spencer's presence, or because he didn't trust himself to stay somewhat calm, or what, Spencer didn't know. But Dean was keeping his lips sealed.
There wasn't even the sound of his music blaring to break the silence. The whole car was just...quiet. Spencer found it rather unnerving.
For about the tenth or eleventh time since they'd gotten into the car, the mood and the confined space both had Spencer shifting to try and get more comfortable. He'd spent all weekend learning about his wings and how to use them, how to hide them, even how to begin to prepare his muscles for flight - muscles that Gabriel said he needed to exercise and grow before he made any flight attempts. But doing all that on a private island with only Gabriel's cheerful company was one thing. Compacting himself into the back of the impala with two people up front - one of whom was beyond furious and one of whom was alternating between deliriously happy and extremely worried and just a bit guilty - wasn't fun at all.
Spencer's grace responded to emotions. Empathy, Gabriel called it. Dealing with that had been in his earliest lessons, right alongside the telepathy. What he hadn't expected was how much stronger his empathy was with his wings free. Gabriel said it was because wings were made of grace, and your wings being out allowed you to pick up more, to feel more. Sometimes Spencer swore he could taste it. A flavor on the back of his tongue that had him wanting to shift again and again and try to resettle himself.
He had his wings tucked away. Gabriel described it as 'dumping them into a pocket dimension to hide out. It's how I stayed hidden so long. You think I could wander around with these bad boys free and somehow manage to keep hidden? Yeah, right!'
It wasn't the most comfortable of things, though. Gabriel assured him that the weird itching feeling would eventually go away, or he'd just get used to it. Until then, he was stuck shifting and trying to get comfortable, flexing his wings out in a dimension that no one else would be able to see. His wings wanted to be free, to be with him, but that just wasn't smart or safe. Besides which, he still wasn't that great at not accidentally making them solid sometimes. At the beach house, that didn't matter. Gabriel laughed when one of his wings knocked something over or struck a wall - or one memorable time, actually knocking Gabriel off his seat. Out here Spencer had to be a bit more careful.
His shuffling wasn't going unnoticed, though. Sam caught on to it first and Spencer found concerned eyes turned back his way. "Are you okay, Spencer?"
"I'm fine." Spencer answered immediately. It was the answer he always gave. "I'm just, adjusting. Gabriel says I have rather decent control but some of it is taking a bit of getting used to."
That seemed to be enough of a reminder to pull Sam out of his own thoughts and have him shifting so that he could better face Spencer. There was a light on his face that Spencer recognized. It was a sensation he'd felt himself plenty of times over – the thrill of new information. "I can't even begin to imagine. It has to be a huge adjustment to make."
There were other questions under that which Spencer could sense. Questions that he really couldn't blame Sam for wanting to ask. However, he knew the younger Winchesters was too polite to actually ask them. Some, yes. The ones that weren't too personal. As for the rest? He was just too polite to put Spencer on the spot by asking them. His excitement and eagerness were easy for the fledgling to feel, though. He couldn't quite keep the smile off his lips as he looked up at Sam. "It is and it isn't." He finally said in response. "Gabriel made sure to teach me how to hide them, so right now my wings are essentially tucked away, hidden from sight of anyone. It's why I keep shifting, actually. It feels strange to have a part of myself tucked away and it makes my back sort of…itch. Well, not really my back. My grace at the back of my vessel."
Thinking of his body as a 'vessel' was definitely one of those things that would take some time to get used to.
He was kind of surprised when Dean broke his pissed off silence to ask "So you've got, like, actual wings? Not just some strange sort of grace-thing, but real wings?"
"You could probably classify them as both." Spencer answered, his voice a bit thoughtful as he tried to put this into words. "They are an extension of my grace. A hint of my True Form, you could say, only compacted down just like the rest of me. Gabriel assures me they'll be much larger when I finally get to release my True Form. However, they are physical, I can assure you. I knocked them into plenty of things, Gabriel included, as I learned control."
"Are they anything like angel wings in pictures?" Sam asked eagerly.
That took a bit more thought. "Yes and no." So far all his answers seem to be somewhere along the line of 'a bit of both'. "There's a valid reasoning behind why Gabriel calls me 'little bird'. Wings are slightly avian like. The basic structure is the same. Only, they're so much more, in ways I'm not sure I can begin to describe. The feathers…they can be so soft. Soft as down. And yet they can turn hard and extremely sharp."
Sam looked surprised at that. "Really?"
Nodding, Spencer sat up a little more, never able to help himself when it came to sharing knowledge. He always wanted to share what he knew with people. "Absolutely. Otherwise they'd extremely useless. Imagine the damage that could be done if our wings were soft and easy to hurt like an actual bird's. Gabriel says they can be just as much weapons as anything else. They also require, well, for lack of a better term – preening. Being angelic doesn't stop them from picking up debris when flying, or from the feathers ending up twisted. Gabriel's had to help out a lot there." He flushed a little bit at that; it felt sort of, intimate to talk about. Preening his feathers was something Gabriel had showed him how to do and it had felt like a sort of family thing. It seemed to him that it would require a lot of trust to have someone help. Wings had to be soft to clean and groom them – if the person helping was someone you didn't trust, they could end up seriously hurting you.
He really should've tried to find a way to talk about this without mentioning Gabriel, though. The sound of his name was enough to have Dean growling again. Spencer watched in discomfort, and just a hint of the horror a spectator feels as they see a car crash happening just ahead, as Sam sighed and turned to face Dean. "Dude, if you've got a problem, speak up and say something."
Spencer winced and tried to duck down in his seat. This wasn't going to be pleasant.
He had no idea how right he was. The car jerked towards the shoulder, sending Sam and Spencer both flying. Sam braced on the dash but Spencer slid across the car and slammed into the door with a grunt and a glare for the front seat. Just a little glare, though. He wasn't stupid enough to try and attract Dean's attention right now. Spencer knew very well how to hide out from the tempers of people around him. He kept himself pressed against the door and very much tried to keep himself invisible as Dean yanked open the driver's door and almost flung himself from the car. From behind Sam it was hard for Spencer to really see the younger Winchester, and he couldn't see his face, but he could see as Sam drew in a deep breath as if in preparation. Then Sam was climbing out of the car as well.
Oh, yeah, this was going to go so well. Spencer chewed on his bottom lip and watched as the two men faced off at the front of the car. Dean wasn't exactly trying to keep himself quiet. Spencer could hear loud and clear as he demanded to know "What the hell is it with you? Why do you always pick these...these...?"
Whatever Sam said was too low to be heard. His face, though – that showed a lot of temper.
Dean's temper wasn't any better. Whatever Sam said sure pissed him off even more. The two moved even closer and Spencer winced again. One didn't have to be a profiler to see how this was going to go. They weren't getting louder but their bodies were clearly showing how pissed off they were. It was going to come to blows soon enough, he would put money on it.
Sure enough, not even ten seconds later Sam swung a punch that sent Dean flying.
Spencer told himself that he needed to stay out of it. That this wasn't his fight and getting involved would be stupid and would only cause trouble. They were brothers and he'd heard that siblings sometimes did this sort of thing. It was apparently normal, at least to some brothers he'd talked to. He just needed to stay here safely inside the car and keep out of their business. That resolve lasted right up until Dean launched himself up off the ground in a tackle that took Sam down with him.
Mentally running through a list of curses in almost every language he knew, the young fledgling scrambled out of the car, tripping a little and almost falling in his haste to get out. By the time he was out and on his feet, the two brothers were still rolling around trading punches that made Spencer wince in sympathy. Only brief sympathy, though. Then he steeled himself and tried to think on what Aaron or Derek or even Dave might do in a situation like this. He drew on his memories of them, experiences of countless times where they'd waded into a dangerous situation with volatile Unsubs – privately, he mocked himself for thinking of these two along those lines, yet it was far too fitting at the moment – and then he squared his shoulders and strode forward. If he'd thought about it he would've realized that his increased physical strength would've made him able to pull them apart from one another easily. But a lifetime of being small and scrawny wasn't someone one just put aside. Too used to thinking of himself as slightly weaker, he fell back on something he'd always had, something he knew better how to use now – his telekinesis.
Bands of grace fueled power wrapped around either brother and dragged them away from one another. "That is enough." His voice was hard and firm despite how he instinctively wanted to draw backwards when two hot and hard glares were leveled his way. Forcing himself to stay tall under them, he kept pulling the boys until Dean was pressed against the impala and Sam was pressed against the guardrail. Both were still sitting. That was deliberate. He'd kept them down low to give himself some illusion of height over them, knowing that his words and attitude would have more effect if he was towering over them instead of glaring eye to eye. Or, in Sam's case, glaring up at him.
Being a profiler meant being able to read body language. However, you couldn't study it without learning how to use it even just a little. Spencer drew on every trick he could to try and make himself seem a little more powerful, just a little more in charge than he knew he actually was. The trick to this was going to be to keep them off balance. It was the only way he'd be able to manage anything here with them.
Spencer crossed his arms over his chest and gave them the sternest look he could give. It was nothing on Aaron's, he knew, but hopefully it would do the trick. His back tensed and he knew if the others could see his wings they'd see them lifted up and spread wide in a display of dominance that probably would've made them laugh at him. "You two are being utterly ridiculous." He told them. When they opened their mouths to protest, the both of them, he went on without giving them a chance to say anything. "No, I don't want to hear it. I already heard plenty enough. This is neither the time nor the place for this. We have far bigger, far more important things to worry about than your inability to get along like normal, decent human beings. If you two want to throw punches and shout simply because you can't agree on something, kindly save it until we're at least at the motel."
"This is none of your business, Doc." Dean growled out, glaring hotly at him.
Inside, Spencer's stomach twisted a little. He hated conflict. On the outside he carried the calm he'd learned as a profiler. Panicking in tense situations was a quick way to get yourself and your team killed. "If you wanted this to be private between the two of you, I recommend you try handling it somewhere that isn't the side of a public road. Now, if you two are done being ridiculous, may we please get back on the road?"
He released them both from the bonds that held them. Then he didn't bother waiting; turning, he marched right back to the car and climbed into the backseat. He only had to sit there for a moment before both brothers got up. They didn't say anything, at least not with words. Just a few looks between them and they were both making their way back to the impala. No one said anything as they started back down the road once more. At least this time Dean reached out and turned on some music. Otherwise, it was quiet. Spencer tried to ignore it and the emotions in the air that were easily felt in the backseat. He just curled up and let the music wash over him. He didn't say anything more about the fight and he didn't offer to heal either one of them. Let them carry their bruises. The idiots.
It wasn't until they arrived at their motel for the night that anyone broke the silence again. No one had talked through most of the day and they might've continued to be quiet with one another if Spencer hadn't been the one to speak up. But when the young genius went to get out of the car, he noticed something that he couldn't quite keep quiet about. For a second he hesitated with his hand just above the door. Then he gave a mental shrug. It would piss Dean off, sure, but maybe giving him something else to be mad about would be a good thing. "Dean."
Dean paused in the act of climbing out of the car, though he didn't turn to look at him yet. "Yeah?"
Biting at the inside of his lip, Spencer looked at the door again and then brought his eyes up to the back of Dean's head. "I'd like to preface this by saying that this, um, this wasn't my fault."
That definitely had him tensing up. Slowly, Dean turned to look at him, his eyebrows furrowed down and the lines in his face set a bit deep. There was more confusion than temper so far, though. "What?"
"This wasn't my fault." Spencer repeated, slipping his hand towards the door handle. Both brothers were turned in their seats now to look at him and they were giving him identical looks of confusion. Spencer tried to smile in that easy and reassuring way like Derek could do when he was in trouble and he knew it, and he was hoping to get out of it. Spencer tried and knew that he was failing pretty horribly at it. "See, um…You're the one that jerked the car to the side of the road and sent me into the door. So, really, this wasn't my fault at all. Just…just keep that in mind." With that, he moved just enough for Dean to be able to see the shoulder sized dent in the interior of the car door. It was where Spencer's shoulder had connected when he'd slammed sideways.
Up in the front seat, Sam sucked in a sharp breath and quickly smothered a smile while Dean made this noise that was strangely like a wounded animal and stared with wide eyes. Spencer flushed a little and spread his hands out, palms up. "At least my head didn't crack the window." Somehow, he had a feeling Dean wasn't as reassured by that as he'd hoped.
When Dean scrambled out of the car, his intentions obvious, Spencer decided it would be much smarter to quickly slide across the seat and out the other door so that he wasn't by that one when Dean got there. Good thing, too, as Dean yanked that door open and immediately started to curse. Spencer stared over the car and went back to chewing on his lip. Dean couldn't blame him for that, could he?
"He won't." Sam said lowly.
Spencer looked up in surprise at the man who had managed to sneak up beside him. "I thought I was the mind reader in the group." Spencer pointed out wryly.
A smile flashed over Sam's features and warmed them. "You are. I just know my brother, and I know that look. Trust me, Dean'll bitch, he'll moan, he'll try and make up stupid rules about you being in that seat or about something else, but he's not going to actually blame you. He knows it's not your fault and he likes you too much anyways."
"Likes me?" Spencer's eyebrows shot up at that. As far as he knew, Dean tolerated him most of the time.
One of Sam's hands came to rest on Spencer's shoulder and it gave a small squeeze. "He likes you, Spencer. We both do. What's between us, past and present, doesn't change that."
The flush came back to Spencer's cheeks even deeper than before. He dropped his gaze down and stuffed his hands into his pockets, shuffling just a little. He didn't really know how to handle open displays of emotion like that. It'd taken him a bit to adjust to it with Gabriel, someone that he trusted implicitly. It would take a little longer for him to get there with these guys. Flustered and not quite sure how to react to it, Spencer took a small step back, putting just a bit of space between them. "I'm um, I'm going to go take a walk." Spencer stammered out, cursing himself for the slight stutter that could hit when he was nervous. One of his hands came up and tucked a bit of long hair behind his ear as he smiled over at Sam, hoping to reassure the sudden worry he saw there. "It's fine, Sam. I just think it might be a good idea if I let the two of you get settled in here and maybe work some things out without me in the middle. I won't go far, just over there," He gestured with one hand towards the creek that showed just a ways away from their motel. They'd passed a small bridge over it to get here. "You can come find me when you're done, if you want, or I'll just make my way back eventually."
Spencer didn't really plan on going too far. He set out from the motel, hands in the pockets of the sweater he'd snapped up earlier inside the impala. The boys did need a chance to talk and Spencer wanted them to have the privacy to do it. Not only was it not his business, he also wasn't sure if he'd be able to keep his mouth shut if Dean started to say the things about Gabriel that Spencer suspected he might.
If he had to step into that, the shaky truce that he and the Winchester had built might be irrevocably damaged. Because Spencer doubted he could tolerate listening to the kind of insults that he'd already heard tumbling through Dean's thoughts. Hearing them there had been hard enough. He'd had to remind himself that people couldn't be judged for angry thoughts. If it came out of his mouth, though…
The friendship he had with the Winchesters was still new, still shaky sometimes. They were still working their way through a lot of stuff. Though, as Spencer thought about it, he was surprised to realize that his anger towards them, the resentment he'd felt towards their treatment of him, was so much less than it had been. He'd barely thought about it at all in days now. That surprised Spencer.
Picking his way along the hill, Spencer followed the grass down to the creek, not really thinking much about the motel behind him. There was a part of his mind that registered the boys on some level, kept tabs on them automatically as Gabriel had taught him to do. The rest of him was focused on his thoughts. Even as he found a large rock and sat himself down on it, staring at the water in front of him, most of his thoughts were turned inward.
When had he started to let go of that resentment? It wasn't that the memories were any easier to handle. Thinking of that panic room was still enough to make him shiver and his stomach clench. But, somewhere along the way he'd started to let go of his anger. Not that he'd ever been that good at holding on to it to begin with.
They're more than what I thought they were, Spencer thought to himself. All of them. Sam, Dean – Castiel.
That last name had him pulling in a little. Where he could admit right in this moment that he'd started to forgive the Winchesters, he wasn't sure how he felt about their angel. So far he and Castiel had managed to avoid one another. That wasn't going to work forever. But, it just…Spencer blew out a breath and drew his knees up, folding his arms on top of them and resting his chin on his arms. He could still remember the feel of Castiel's grace inside of him, the way it had been so warm, so wonderful, and how he'd been reaching for it only to have it turn on him.
Spencer wanted nothing more than to just avoid thinking about this. To just let it go until he absolutely had to finally face it. That would've been how he would've handled this anywhere else, in any other situation. But this wasn't any other situation. This was a war they were in. One that couldn't afford to have some of its key players mad with one another. This needed to be handled – soon. Or else it could get someone killed.
One word in all that had Spencer shivering again and pressing in against himself a little tighter.
War.
This was a war. One that, it would see, he was a key player in. More than that, there was something else after this, something more, worse than fighting against the devil and stopping the apocalypse. Something that directly involved him.
Gabriel promised to explain it to them once this whole apocalypse was over. Pathetic as it was, Spencer was content to never find out. Something inside of him told him that whatever he found out was going to change his life even more than it already had been – change it in ways he was never, ever going to be able to come back from.
Right now he at least held onto hope, futile as it might've been, that one day he could have his life back. That one day he could go home. This…this might take that hope away from him, and he just didn't know if he could handle that.
On the edge of Spencer's senses he felt something coming. There was only enough time to push to his feet and turn to the open grass behind him before suddenly a red haired woman appeared there. Her grace showed bright and clear, with wings of white and red lifting up beautifully behind her. Only, as Spencer looked, there was something else in her grace, something…off. Something not quite right. Like it was…damaged?
Whatever it was, it put him on edge. Defensively he checked all his own powers, made sure that his wings were hidden. He didn't have pagan magic like Gabriel to hide his grace behind. But he'd been practicing how to try and hide it a different way. In that moment he regretted that he had yet to be able to learn. This woman would know he had grace now that she was right in front of him. Gabriel had said people couldn't hunt him down or track him at all if he didn't want to be found. But being right in front of him? He wasn't hidden then.
The woman smiled at him in a way that made him shiver. It wasn't entirely…sane. "What do we have here?" She asked in a faux sweet voice.
Spencer braced himself, ready to run, ready to get out of here as quickly as he could manage. Not back to the motel. No, not there. He couldn't lead her to the Winchesters. No, if he ran, it would be in the different direction, leading her away. That was even if she was willing to be led away. If she were here for them…the thought made his stomach twist. He wouldn't let this angel with the broken grace anywhere near the brothers. First, though, he needed to find out why she was here and what she wanted. He needed to know who she was here for before he could make the decision on what to do. With that in mind, he schooled his voice as steady as possible and asked her "Can I help you?"
Her smile slipped away and there was a hint of something underneath, a bit of who she might've once been. It was almost, regret. "You weren't expected." She told him, answering his first question. "I came here for the Winchesters and, instead, I find a little nephilim sitting on the sidelines. Are you following them?"
The way she said 'nephilim' it was easy to hear other words in its place. He could hear the 'abomination' underneath it and it cut deeply – a lot deeper than he'd thought it would. He pushed that pang aside and straightened up, putting on his most confused expression. "Who?" Best to try and play dumb and see what he could find out. She apparently hadn't been watching them – he knew that already. If she had she would've known that he was with them, not following them.
The glare that took her features said clearly that she wasn't falling for it, though. "Don't play me." She warned him. Her arm shifted and Spencer saw the angel blade slip from her grace to drop down into her hand. "Do you think to guard them? I was around in the War, child. I fought the shshaw before. You don't scare me. I won't let you stop me from reaching them."
The word resonated inside of Spencer and there was a part of him, that part that seemed to just know things sometimes, that whispered the meaning of that word to him. Shshaw – Wingless. A name some angels used for the nephilim.
He didn't correct her. Even without Gabriel's warnings that he needed to keep himself hidden, that not everyone would understand about a human fledgling, he still wouldn't have revealed himself to her. Hiding had been the name of the game for a very long time and it was only more so now. So he didn't comment on that part of things. He did, however, spread his hands out in what he hoped was a peaceful gesture even as his mind began to race to think of a way to get out of this. Only one route seemed clear in that moment. "I have no issue with you." He told her, drawing his arms back in just enough to slip into a more defensive position. "But I won't let you harm them."
Her lip curled up in a sneer and she was moving as well. Only, her position wasn't defensive – it was offensive. Her wings were lifted high in open threat. "You think that you get a choice?"
In that moment, the one thing happened that Spencer had been hoping beyond hope wouldn't happen. He felt the presence of Sam coming closer and knew the other Winchester was coming to get him. Spencer wanted Sam nowhere near here. Only, it was too late. Even as he felt him, he saw the angel look over his shoulder and her grace lit up at the sight of one of the ones she'd come for.
"Spencer?" Sam's voice called out. There was an edge to it, one that told him that Sam could see more of this than he probably wanted him to.
Spencer didn't take his eyes off the angel in front of him. "Go back to the motel, Sam." He called back. Please, Sam, go back to the motel!
Of course, the idiot didn't listen to him. If anything he moved even quicker than before until he was almost up to Spencer. Then he surprised Spencer completely by calling out "Wait…Anna?"
A flicker of his eyes towards Sam, who was almost to his side now, showed clear recognition on his face as the hunter looked to the red-haired angel. So, Anna, was it? And someone that they knew apparently. That might've made Spencer relax if he couldn't still see the angel blade and clearly read the animosity in the way she held her wings. She meant Sam harm. Far more harm than he'd realized. It wasn't the Winchesters she was after – it was Sam. Everything in her body language, in her grace and her wings, made that very clear despite the way she smoothed out her vessel's face to try and appear calm. She wanted to hurt Sam. No, more than that. She wanted him gone. Spencer would've bet anything on it.
He flung his arm out just as Sam got close and used it to keep the hunter back. His eyes stayed on this Anna, though. "Sam." His voice was low and full of warning he wished he could believe the hunter would heed. "Go back to the motel."
"Anna's a friend, Spencer." Sam insisted.
Snorting, Spencer gently pushed Sam back. "She's no friend. You need to get out of here."
"Oh, he's not going anywhere. Neither of you are." Anna said firmly. Her grip on her blade shifted, became less threat and more intent.
She wasn't going to let this go. She was going to fight him in her efforts to get to Sam. Terror filled Spencer, just barely kept down. He couldn't afford to let it consume him. If she was going to come for him, for Sam, than he couldn't let anything get in the way of protecting them, not even his own fear. Drawing on everything he'd been taught, everything that seemed like it already existed inside of him, he kept his body loose and ready for whatever she would send his way. At the same time, he fell back on the one thing he'd always been good with – words. "Whatever you hope to accomplish here, it's not the way to go. Hurting those two won't change anything."
"It'll keep Lucifer from his true vessel." Anna said.
Behind him, Spencer felt Sam's twitch, felt the realization hit him as well as the sorrow and guilt and heartache. Dammit.
Anna moved a few steps to the right and Spencer moved as well, keeping Sam behind him the entire time despite how much he could feel the hunter hated that.
"We're not the bad guys here. We're working to stop the apocalypse." Sam said, unable to keep quiet. "Anna, please. We helped you. Please don't do this."
Spencer reached back with one hand, not touching him but gesturing for him to be quiet. Anything Sam said was going to be lost on her right now. He could see that. Not giving her a chance to respond to Sam's words, Spencer spoke up, his voice pitched low and even as if she were just another Unsub he needed to talk down. "There are things going on that you don't understand, things you aren't privy to. I don't know who sent you down here…"
"I came of my own choice." Anna interrupted him. "They say upstairs that the apocalypse is over, but while Lucifer walks the earth it cannot truly be over. Not while he still has the chance of getting to Sam. He'll pressure him and eventually Sam Winchester will say yes. Then Michael will be left with no choice – he'll have to fight."
It was sound logic. Spencer really couldn't fault that. But it didn't change anything. Not for him. Bracing his feet, Spencer drew in a shaky breath and blew it back out, pushing out his fears with it. "I won't let you have them." He repeated his earlier words. From his jacket he pulled out the angel blade that Gabriel had given him to carry. It wasn't the archangels, but he hadn't said where he'd gotten it from. He'd just pressed it on Spencer and told him to keep it until he could learn how to draw his own. It felt strangely cold and heavy in his palm. Then Spencer gathered up his grace. Running solely off his need, he focused it at Sam. A second later the hunter vanished and Spencer could only hope he'd managed to send him somewhere safe.
A snarl was the only warning he had before Anna leapt towards him.
What came next was one of the most difficult and terrifying fights that Spencer had ever been involved in. This wasn't the avoidance fighting that he'd done with Dean when they'd been testing him. It was like all those fights in high school and college, only so much more dangerous. Here, he didn't run the risk of going home with bruises and maybe a broken bone. Anna meant to kill him.
The first slash of an angel blade across his leg had him sucking in a sharp breath and dodging quickly away. The second tore open his shirt and made a line of fire across his side. She didn't give him time to recover. She leapt at him again and Spencer just barely managed to knock her off and send her flying into a tree. Spencer's mind was racing, trying to think of what to do, how to stop her without killing her, and that put him at a distinct disadvantage. She was out to kill and she had the experience to back it all up. In a flash she was on him again and Spencer was barely able to hold his own, barely even scratching at her, when she knocked him down to the ground. Spencer was struggling to get free, to get away from the blade that was coming closer and closer to him.
There was no way he was going to win against her. She had too much skill; a true warrior of Heaven. The fact that he was still alive was beyond amazing. Now – now his luck was running out and he knew he wasn't going to be able to force that blade away from him. Not without doing something that might kill her.
So Spencer did the only thing he could think of to do. Clutching tight at her wrist, fighting with everything he had, he shut out the world, stopped paying attention to their surroundings or his shields or anything at all, and he gathered up every last bit of his grace and reached out to wrap his light around hers.
The touch of grace to grace was something that had once terrified Spencer. There was still a hint of that now, the fear of what she could do to him with their lights touching, but he pushed those feelings to the side and dove in even deeper, delving right down into her grace. The gasp she gave was heard and ignored. Spencer focused solely on the damaged part of her grace that he'd seen before. This close he could see it was like a wound, broken and festering. Not just one, either, but countless ones, all of them radiating pain and fear and hurtpainangerhatestopstopstop! in a blaze like a fire. They were like an infection, only of emotion and grace instead of something physical. They were dark and festering and Spencer's light reached out to them.
The first brush against them had Spencer's body choking on a scream that was only barely kept behind locked teeth. What had been done to her, the pain that had been caused to create this, to make her this, screamed into him. The memories washed over him in wave after wave and he jerked back, both their eyes going wide as they stared at one another. Her hand was frozen, blade just inches from his skin.
Somewhere off to the side Spencer heard a voice shout loud and clear in the evening air, a furious cry of "Anael!" That rang around them like thunder, loud and furious.
Neither one of them paid any attention to it. Spencer brought his free hand up, the one that wasn't holding her wrist, and he cupped her cheek. Then he dove back in.
Just like before, as soon as he touched that wound, the memories came screaming in, threatening to overpower him and making him feel so sick. Only this time he didn't pull away. This time he stayed there and, following his instincts, he pressed even closer. What he was doing, he didn't know. He trusted himself over to those instincts and pressed in even closer as the poison in her grace poured into his. Like lancing a boil, his grace sliced across hers, right across the damage, and all that wrongness came pouring out of it. He saw her, strapped down to a table, screaming as the needles were shoved into her head, into her grace. He felt the pain as her wings were strapped down and her body held tight while things were done to her, things that ripped her and broke her and left her screaming, begging, pleading to do anything, anything they said so long as they made it stop.
Spencer wrapped his light around hers and drew the darkness out bit by bit. He felt her shuddering. In a vague sense, he knew her body was pressing down on his now, the blade lying off somewhere to the side. Now that the weapon was gone he was free to bring his other hand up and cup her face with that one as well. He drew her face to his until their foreheads were pressing together. Every breath he drew in tasted dark and foul. The sickness was pouring off of her. Spencer's body shuddered under it, yet he didn't pull away because he could see, he could actually see it as it faded, little by little. Whatever he was doing, it was working.
With each new memory, Spencer rode it out with her, the both of them seeing it all. Him living it and her reliving it. Spencer held her through it all and took the pain of it onto himself. He'd stared this as a way to save himself. Now, he wouldn't stop until he'd saved her.
Slowly but surely the damage on her grace began to change, the frayed edges of it getting stronger and glowing brighter until, suddenly, it was helping as well. It was strong enough to do some of its own healing. Their graces twined together tighter and tighter as his light slowly chased away her dark. She fell against him more and he took on her weight as he took on her pain. You are safe, sister, his grace whispered to her, and she opened to him, no longer fighting him at all. She sank into him and Spencer watched as the last of the dark faded away and her light shone bright and whole, any traces of that damage gone.
Opening his eyes, Spencer found himself staring up into a pair of hazel eyes just inches from his own. They were lit slightly by the grace that was glowing inside of the vessel and showed her joy clearer than anything else. "Thank you." She whispered to him, none of the earlier anger or mockery in her voice. "Thank you so much."
Spencer wanted to answer her – he really did. But the best he could manage was a small smile before his eyes rolled up in his head and he slipped down into unconsciousness.