Torn and Saved

It was a quiet day in the cabin. Inias remained at Samandriel's side for much of it, changing the dressings on his wounds, calming him from his nightmares, assuring him in his wakeful moments that he was not imagining the cabin and that he was no longer in the warehouse with Crowley. A couple of times it was Matt, not Samandriel, who woke on the camp bed, shivering and hyperventilating. He calmed quickly when Inias sat with him, offering him water and squeezing his hand. Around noon, Dean left to pick up Matt's father at the airport and the two angels were left alone.

Inias sat by the head of the bed, running his fingers gently and affectionately through Samandriel's hair. The puckered wounds on his forehead were already sealing, which was a very good sign. The sunlight streaming in the windows had evidently done him some good.

Samandriel hummed in contentment, leaning into the caress, and Inias smiled. It was a relief to see him recovering. He knew the other angel had not been trained or prepared in any way for such an ordeal. It wasn't something he was supposed to have faced. Gardeners weren't supposed to ever leave Heaven, let alone find themselves in a situation where capture by demons was even a possibility. Inias couldn't fathom what Naomi had been thinking when she sent Samandriel on a task that should have been a soldier's. She couldn't possibly have been so naive as to think that no harm would come to him. It had to have been a calculated move, and the thought enraged Inias. That all of his mate's suffering could have been part of some scheme...

Blue eyes blinked open, grace shimmering behind his pupils for a second before they contracted. For that brief moment, all the damage of the last two months was gone. Samandriel's face filled with such untarnished, unadulterated love and adoration that he seemed to glow. Just like the day they'd met. The illusion was shattered when he spoke; his voice rough and rasping.

"How long was I asleep?"

"Two hours," Inias replied, running his thumb over Samandriel's cheekbone. "That's the longest you've slept so far."

"I guess that's a good sign." Samandriel shifted, stretching his wings to their full span, though Inias did notice him favouring the left. He didn't quite fold it properly underneath him afterward.

He leaned down, planting a soft kiss on Samandriel's forehead, earning a purr from his mate. "A very good sign." He looked over Samandriel's bandaged wounds and the scars and cuts on his face and neck. "How are you feeling?"

Samandriel's smile was half-hearted. "Better, I guess. I'm sore. My vessel's... damaged." He shrugged, then winced. "At least it's over." His hand stroked down Inias' arm, gripping at his sleeve as if he were afraid he'd disappear. "I missed you, Inias."

Inias dipped his head to press his forehead to Samandriel's. It felt strange to have two layers of mammal flesh and bone separating them, but the gesture was no less comforting. "I missed you too, Sam."

Samandriel's hands reached up to perch on Inias' shoulders and his eyes slipped shut. They stayed that way for a moment, the morning sun cascading in the windows catching in their hair and feathers. They'd so quickly fallen back into their old rhythm that Inias could almost forget that they had been apart.

"Where are the Winchesters?" Samandriel asked, his eyes still closed.

"Sam went for a walk and Dean is fetching Matthew's father."

"Oh." Samandriel looked uncertain, then glanced down at his bruised and battered body. "Should he really see his son like this?"

"I imagine Dean will warn him."

"I hope so." He looked ashamed and Inias felt his brow furrow. He cupped two palms around Samandriel's jaw, tilting his face so their eyes met.

"What's wrong?"

Samandriel gulped. "I... I promised him that I'd only need him for the day. I said I'd get him back in time to spend the evening with his girlfriend. I promised." He shifted his eyes away from Inias. "If I was half the angel you are—"

"Don't do that to yourself," Inias cut in. "You're not a soldier. They shouldn't have sent you into that cess-pit without an escort. Our superiors knew you were vulnerable and they sent you anyway. The fault lies with them."

Samandriel's eyes drifted shut, tears slipping out from beneath his long eyelashes. His jaw clenched, wings shivering. "Naomi wanted me to be captured, didn't she? So she could keep an eye on Crowley."

"I don't know." Inias pulled Samandriel against himself, wrapping him in his wings. Samandriel melted into the embrace. "All I know is that it should have been me at that auction."

He felt Samandriel smile. "I would've liked to have seen Crowley's henchmen try to take you down."

Inias smiled back, nuzzling the nape of his mate's neck. The vessel's down-soft hair tickled his temples, and there, at the base of his skull, was what he'd searched for the previous night. That fresh earthy scent that was Samandriel. Inias inhaled deeply. It had been far too long since he'd last caught that scent.

"I should let Matt prepare himself before his father arrives." Samandriel shifted, squeezing Inias' waist in a hug before backing away.

Inias released his mate, stroking his cheek once more. "I'll be here if you have need of me."

"I know," he smiled, pecking Inias on the cheek. Then he positioned himself stably, shut his eyes, and relinquished control. His wings folded behind him—at rest but awake—and his vessel crumpled in on himself. A shuddering exhale was broken by a groan of pain.

Inias propped Matt up, soothing his bruised ribs as best he could. The vessel ran his hand through his hair, wincing, but was surprisingly stoic.

"Thanks," Matt breathed. "Those bruises are really something."

"Thanks aren't necessary. I merely eased your pain, as anyone would have." Inias felt what he supposed humans would call 'awkward'. Only a moment ago he would have kissed the face before him and now that very same face was a complete stranger. He wasn't accustomed to interacting with the vessels of his brethren... especially not his mate. "Would you like some breakfast?"

Matt glanced at the clock. "It's past noon." Inias just looked confused, so Matt shrugged. "Sure, why not?"

Over the years of observing Earth, Inias had at least learned which food items were generally considered appropriate for first meals. He just had to hope that Dean had stocked the cabin with more than that horrendous beer.

In the cupboards, Inias found a chaos of organic snack food the Winchesters had bought in the days of avoiding Sucrocorps' additives. Chips, pretzels, dried fruit that hadn't been touched since it had been tossed to the back. There were imported goods too; things that Sucrocorp hadn't got their hands on yet. The fridge was equally abysmal: beer, beer, and more beer, bacon, some expired cheese and sour milk. In what passed for a pantry he found cereals that had expired in 1995, and some two-year-old instant oatmeal. And some mould-ridden cream of wheat. He didn't particularly want to know how long it had been there; same went for the beef jerky. And that was not to mention the potatoes shoved in the back corner that had grown tendrils to rival any deep-sea cephalopod.

With a put-upon sigh, Inias took the oatmeal and set about 'refreshing' it. He momentarily considered whether he should really use up his grace just to make breakfast but he didn't particularly want to spend ten or twenty minutes cooking oats when a simple flick of his wrist could have the bowl full of perfectly good oatmeal in less than a second. He chose expediency.

Unfortunately there didn't seem to be anything in the cabin's less-than-inspiring stock of food that he could put on said oatmeal to sweeten it. It was his understanding that the meal was not nearly as tasty as it was nutritious. As if reading his mind, Matt called from the camp bed.

"Don't worry about putting sugar on it. I'm honestly too hungry to care."

Inias did as commanded, pouring a glass of water and taking both food and drink to the camp bed by the hearth. Matt thanked him and tucked in, falling silent while he scarfed down the steaming oatmeal.

Samandriel had evidently lost the ability to sustain his vessel at some point, apparently not too long ago seeing as Matt hadn't lost much weight. He wasn't dehydrated, but he ate like he hadn't seen food in days.

Inias well and truly did not know what to do with himself. He'd never been the most social in the garrison and that was with his own kind. Matt was human—mortal—and centuries of watching the Earth notwithstanding, Inias had no idea what to talk about with the young man. Thankfully he was saved from having to sort that out first by Matt requesting his help to stagger into the shower and then by the rumble of the Impala outside. Dean had returned; which meant that the haggard, sleep-deprived man next to him was Larry Pike.

The man looked overwhelmed and exhausted but he kept looking at Dean like he was a god-send. Inias unlatched the bolt, opening the door for the two men. Dean nodded at him.

"Okay, like I said, Crowley really did a number on him." Dean spoke in hushed tones, glancing at Matt, who was still drying his hair. He was moving very slowly, not putting very much pressure on his head and avoiding the places where the picks had pierced his skin. Inias knew from helping him with his new dressings that the wounds were still paining him. He bore it well, for a human.

Both Inias and Dean remained in the kitchen to give Larry and Matt their space. Inias could well imagine how Larry was feeling. He supposed there was little difference between the feeling of seeing a mate for the first time in over a year and seeing a missing son for the first time in two months.

"So, what are you and Alfie planning on doing?" Dean settled back against the counter. "'Cause this ain't exactly the best place for you to hide. Cas knows about it, so this Naomi bitch probably does too."

Inias nodded. "I have a few places we can hide. I'll need to put up warding, but I intend to wait until Samandriel can move on his own."

"Fair enough." Dean looked over at the hearth, smiling briefly as Larry squeezed Matt against himself, crying even as Matt told him over and over not to. "What are the odds, huh? Saving some kid twice?"

"Either you have astounding timing or the boy has no luck."

"That's what you get for saying yes to being an angel-condom."

Inias frowned. "Being a vessel is a great honour, Dean. As is taking a vessel. It was a great honour for my vessel to be chosen to bear me, and it was a great honour for me when he allowed me in." He paused, reading Dean's scepticism. "It's not a one-way street, Dean. Only angels like Zachariah believe that. I do not see humans as less than myself. Weaker, yes, and smaller, but not lesser."

"And yet you still drag them into danger without asking. Do you think that kid over there would have said yes if he knew he was signing up for two months of brutal torture?" Dean jabbed a finger toward the father and son. "Save me all that 'it's an honour' crap. That right there is why I said no! That oh-so-caring-and-honoured archangel would have murdered my brother with my hands, along with half the people on this damn planet. And I was supposed to be honoured I'd been chosen?"

Inias bowed his head and sighed. "In your situation, I can understand. But believe me when I say that I would never put a vessel in harm's way without need. And I would shield that vessel from the pain of torture, as I am certain that Samandriel would have." He looked Dean square in the eye. "We're not all dicks, Dean."

Dean laughed despite himself. "All right, all right. I get it. It's not all bad. But you've gotta understand, almost all the angels I've met have been grade-A douchebags."

"Am I?"

Dean shrugged. "I don't know. I can't figure out if you've got a stick up your ass or if you're a deadpan little shit." Inias smirked as he continued. "But you stuck your neck out for Alfie, and, in my books, that counts for something."

~8~8~8~8~8~8~

Matt really didn't know what to do. He'd literally never seen his dad cry before. But here he was, clutching him and sobbing. He didn't have the heart to ask him to lay off, despite the screaming protests of his bruised ribs. He gulped.

"Dad, I'm okay... Why are you crying?"

Larry held him at arm's length, tears in trails down his cheeks. "You've been gone for two months, Matt! You went off to work and never came back to your dorm. I thought... I thought that if I ever saw you again it'd be because the police found your body." He shook. "Every time the phone rang I thought I was going to have to ID you..." He smiled, sniffing. "I've never been so happy to get a phone call at three in the morning."

His dad's hands withdrew, carefully avoiding the dressings. He looked pained as his eyes swept over the hodgepodge of bruises and cuts and scars. He lingered a long time looking at the angry red marks on Matt's forehead.

"What are those?"

Matt brushed his fingertips over the scabbed-over spots. They were still tender, but considering their origin he could hardly complain. Tender spots were better than brain damage.

"They, uh, had this Crown of Thorns thing," he replied. "I think Crowley was trying to probe the angel's brain."

Horror and disgust passed hand-in-hand through Larry's eyes. "So those were... You had..."

"Spikes in my head? Yeah."

His father paled, his hand running down his face, silent until he managed to splutter: "They were drilling into your brain!? While you were awake?" He looked like he was fighting a powerful urge to be sick.

"Dad, it's okay. Samandriel kept me from feeling most of it."

"Most of it?"

Matt sighed. "He couldn't keep it up forever, Dad. But he tried. I don't even remember the first two weeks."

"And the other six and a half?"

"On and off conscious; sometimes I could hear, but not see or feel... you know, one sense at a time." He ran his fingers through his hair. "There were only a couple of times I was actually fully conscious."

"And what happened—"

"Dad, do you really want me to describe being tortured by the King of Hell?"

Larry's head fell into his hands and he took a shaking breath. "You're right... You're right. I don't... I just want to know you're okay."

Matt nodded. "Well, I am. It's all right."

His father deflated, all the hours of sleeplessness hanging on him, weighing him down. He looked older than he should have—older than he was. Nevertheless, the hand that snared Matt's and held it had lost none of its strength. Matt couldn't have escaped that grip if he'd wanted to.

"How's Mom holding up?"

Larry chuckled. "I don't think she's stopped crying since you phoned."

Matt gulped. "What about Emily? She given up on me yet?"

The look that passed over his dad's face was hard to define. "No, she, uh... She never gave up. She kept us going. I think she had more hope than we did."

"Really?" Matt's eyebrows shot up. "She didn't... I dunno... move on? Find someone new?"

"No. Goodness, no. She's been looking for you."

"Really...?" Matt wasn't sure what to say. Sure, he and Emily had been close; they'd been dating for a year. But he'd never expected her to sit around waiting for him. Especially not through two months of nothing. He'd hoped that maybe, if he ever got free, she'd be there, but he'd never dared expect anything. After all, he hadn't even expected to escape. He'd been pretty certain from day one that he was a dead man.

"Yeah, she was hounding the police, threatening to get her PI's license and do their job for them." His dad smiled—a good, proper, genuine smile. "Then she started going around, questioning your coworkers and that homeless lady, Doris. And, uh, oddly enough, it was Doris who gave her a good lead. She apparently saw you disappear into thin air after talking to something 'real bright'. Emily, she started looking up... I dunno, folklore, I guess. She tried a couple of 'rituals' that were supposed to locate you."

"She did what? Seriously?"

Larry shrugged. "Well, apparently you told her all about our little cursed land incident and she thought that if a Native curse could be real, then old medieval spells could be too."

He grinned sheepishly. He had agreed never to speak of the bug thing to anyone, but Emily had been telling him about some ghost thing she'd run into and he'd... well, he'd told the whole stupid tale. And she'd believed it. All of it. She hadn't accused him of being crazy or anything. She'd even taken his word that those Winchester guys who'd been on the news weren't really serial killers.

"I take it those spells didn't work."

"No. The maps kept burning into the shape of a symbol which apparently means that there's some kind of blockage..."

"The wards." Matt nodded. "Crowley wouldn't have let it be that easy." He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "That's pretty badass though. You guys doing actual magic... Did Mom freak out?"

"A little. But there weren't any bugs involved, so she cooled off." Larry gave an exhausted chuckle. "Should'a seen her in church though. I've never seen her look so darn guilty. She tip-toed around that place like she'd just committed a felony."

They both grinned, Matt snickering at the image. Exhaustion and relief mingled on his father's face. He still didn't release his hold on Matt's hand.

"So, this, uh... this angel who jumped you... Did he make it?"

"Oh, yeah." Matt tapped his temple. "He's still in here. He's sleeping at the moment."

"Good. I mean, I... I want a chance to thank him." His dad swallowed. "From what I hear from Dean, he didn't have to give half a crap about you. But he kept you from as much as he could, and I want... I need to tell him I appreciate it."

He still didn't know how to deal with his dad being all emotional, but, then again, who did?

"You up for coffee?" he asked. "I can't leave the wards, but I'm sure there's coffee in that pantry somewhere."

"Sure," Larry replied, though he stopped Matt's attempt to stand. "I'll get it. You relax."

~8~8~8~8~8~8~

For three days Larry Pike remained in the cabin, caring for his son during the young man's hours of consciousness. He spoke with Samandriel, and with the Winchesters once Sam returned. During one of Samandriel's waking periods he cleaned out the fridge and pantry, even going so far as to pop into Whitefish for supplies. Inias made sure he had an anti-possession mark; albeit, in hindsight, branding his sternum with it wasn't, perhaps, the best option. Samandriel scolded him afterward.

With each day Samandriel grew stronger, more of his wounds fading away. Some scarred, including the gouge in his shoulder, but most vanished. His bruises paled to a dull purple, the bags disappearing from under his eyes. His wings showed marked improvement, and by the third evening he was flight-worthy, though still weak.

Inias, for his part, had tried to keep shows of affection to a minimum in Larry's presence. After all, the vessel was his son. He didn't want to make the man uncomfortable. Samandriel, on the other hand, didn't seem to have such concerns. His hands and lips had made that clear enough.

It was that third evening when Larry finally approached Inias and lowered his voice.

"Look, I don't mean to pry, but I've got to ask... What exactly are you to each other?"

Inias considered the man. "Samandriel and I? I'm his mate."

"Oh." Larry shifted, "That's, uh... you... have you two...?" He trailed off, gesturing vaguely and evidently loathe to ask directly, but Inias got the gist.

"I assure you, Larry, we would not copulate without acquiring our vessel's consent."

"Ah. Good." The way he ran his hand through his hair reminded Inias of Matt. Like father, like son. "So the two of you haven't?"

"Not in these vessels."

Across the room, Matt cleared his throat. "Dad, it's okay. I've already given my permission."

Larry looked briefly scandalized. "You what?"

"Hey, it's not like it'd be the first time I..." Matt stopped abruptly, as if he'd suddenly realized what he'd been about to say. He bit his lip, his face flushing a rather dramatic shade of red.

Larry stared at him. "Wouldn't be the first time you what?"

Matt grimaced. "Look, we had this party at our dorm. Ty and I got sloshed and... things happened."

There was a very long pause. "Does Emily know?"

Matt's laugh was shrill with nerves and embarrassment. "Yeah. She was there. She sat on the couch and watched."

It was Larry's turn to go red. "Oh."

In the silence that followed, Inias tried not to laugh. He'd always found it amusing how humans could make something as simple as sex into something absurdly awkward and hard to talk about.

"Well," Larry sighed. "I guess you learn something new every day."

Matt snorted, still red as a beet. "I guess so."

~8~8~8~8~8~8~

Sam and Dean didn't return to the cabin until the wee hours of the morning, so Inias, Larry, and Matt had the run of the place. They flipped on the surprisingly new television set, pulled the camp bed into position, and popped some popcorn. There was crap on, but wasn't that always the way of things.

After an hour of America's Funniest Home Videos, Larry asked when Matt would be coming home. It was the question both Inias and Matt had been dreading.

Matt carefully explained that Samandriel couldn't go home, that those in charge of Heaven would have him killed. He explained that both Inias and Samandriel needed to go into hiding, and that, as his vessel, Matt needed to go with them. Larry nodded, resigned, as if he'd suspected as much. He rounded on Inias, wanting assurance that the angel could keep his son safe. Especially when Inias told him that they would be departing in the morning.

Overall, Larry took it well. Inias suspected that he was just glad to know his son was alive. The rest of the evening passed in a celebratory air. Matt talked to Emily and his mother on his dad's cell phone, and Larry told him about his place being held at his University until he could come back. The grin didn't leave Matt's face until he fell asleep, his head rested snugly against Inias' collarbone.

Once Larry's snores joined the sounds of the cabin, Inias flicked off the television and shut his eyes, following the humans into sleep.