The weeks pass quickly, Gadreel spending any scrap of time Sam allows him (plus occasionally when he's sleeping) in the bunker's library, catching up on the totality of human knowledge. Both Dean and Gadreel insist Sam isn't well enough for hunting, so he helps Kevin with research for the angel tablets instead.
Sam's back hurts off and on, the pain ephemeral as ever. It ripples and pulls tight between his shoulder blades, as a cramped muscle might. Though each bout remains short-lived, it's happening often enough he's wondering about it.
Whenever Cas strolls into a room, Gadreel looks on like someone starved for hope. He still won't exactly talk to Gadreel, but the tension and anxiety has cooled. Gadreel passes on messages to Sam about the happenings on angel radio—mostly to reassure Cas the others have no idea where he's hiding—and Sam relays them. Cas will mumble a 'thank you'—specifically to Sam—and scurry away as soon as he can.
Sam wonders how long it will take for Cas to trust the other angel. Probably a while.
So Gadreel waits quietly, his desire to speak to and befriend Cas so overwhelming even Sam aches with it. Any apprehension he's previously felt about the angel's presence has dispelled like smoke.
Angel radio, thankfully, no longer makes Sam's ears bleed, though the static annoys in its own way. Cas' name remains a regular occurrence, while Gadreel's name never even comes up. Casualties and grim occurrences from the angelic civil war begin to fill up the chatter.
"I do not know if this is relevant to us," Gadreel says to Sam one day, "But the angels are concerned over some of our fallen brothers."
Sam's halfway through his dinner, the crunch of food ringing in his ears. He swallows a mouthful of greens. "What's going on?"
"It appears a number of angels have been executed in a manner most peculiar."
Sam frowns. "Peculiar how?"
"An angel blade is not utilized, and the vessel survives the angel's death."
While Sam's all for vessels surviving angelic possession (himself included), nothing about this sounds like good news. "How?"
The mystery puzzles the angel, radiating low and heavy in his gut. "I do not know. Neither do the others."
"Is this a massacre, or…?"
"Not quite. Four are known to have died in such a manner. Two belong to Bartholomew's faction, and two to Malachi's."
He passes on the information to Dean, Cas, and Kevin. It's worth keeping an eye on.
The angel manages to surprise Sam often. He thinks he notices him praying one night. He prays the next night, too, and another, and Sam finds himself wondering why Gadreel would still pray after getting thrown into an eternal lockup.
The biggest change, by far, is Gadreel's presence. Sam doesn't have to coax him out. It's weird, but it works. A few scant weeks ago, talking only happened whenever they had need of the angel. It surprises Sam to admit it, but it's a welcome change.
Sometimes his nerves still flare up. The strangeness of carrying around a passenger feels disconcerting at times, with Gadreel's thoughts and feelings jumbling up against his own. Gadreel senses this, and slinks back into the darkness when Sam's feeling antsy. They have an interesting system going on where Gadreel hovers on the edge of Sam's mind, observing quietly to see how Sam's doing before coming out.
Sam has no words to describe his appreciation for this.
Lately, though, Sam feels more curious than nervous. He can't help it. He learns more about this angel every day, this creature who heals and hides but seems to take nothing for himself.
In turn, Gadreel's curiosity about the world he sees through Sam's eyes hums throughout his Grace. The angel manages to endear himself to Sam somewhat, with his questions about textiles and paper cups to his utter confusion on aspects of everyday human life.
Somewhere between the nights spent reading in the bunker's library and the occasionally hilarious questions about rather normal things, Sam realizes what he has long suspected is indeed true: Language, art, human music, the totality of human accomplishment—it's all new and strange to Gadreel. Even his first introduction to the English language only happened the day he met Sam, when he took his prior vessel.
Sure, he knows angel things. He can recite universal constants, do virtually any sort of math, and he's aware of strange, obscure stuff about the universe, the things angels just seem to know. His knowledge of the practical, however, sorely lacks.
The first time Sam sits down to watch a movie with the angel looking on, he has a dozen questions.
"What is the purpose of this?" he asks. Sam can feel intrigue flaring, bright and warm against his skin, as the brilliant colors of CGI dance across the screen.
"It's a movie, Gadreel," Sam responds. "It's entertainment."
The angel stares through Sam's eyes, fascinated. Sam does his best not to glance away from the screen without dropping popcorn everywhere.
"How do they create these images? It seems rather impossible."
Sam chuckles. "It's special effects. They do it on computers and stuff."
"Computers? Such as your laptop?"
"Yeah, you know," he gestures absently with his hand, "just with more powerful ones."
He's drawing a glare from Dean, who shushes him. "Dude, we're watching a movie here," he says, shaking his head.
When he thinks Sam isn't watching, Cas gives him a knowing look.
Experiencing the world doesn't always go so well. Gadreel despises the basement and the small, windowless storerooms housing books, files, and other items. When the angel regards a bricked-over window warily, a thread of trepidation fluttering through his limbs, Sam connects the dots.
"Does this remind you of…?" Sam lets his voice trail off. He doesn't say 'when you were locked up.' He doesn't have to. The angel probably hears it anyway.
"Yes," comes the unhappy answer, an anxious rumble that settles too heavy in Sam's skin, bitter in his mouth like the taste of demon blood.
Sam makes a point to try and avoid the rooms. If duty leads him there, he props the door wide open while he's inside, so there's always an escape. The angel's Grace hums steadily throughout his body, warm and grateful.
Sometimes, Gadreel has many questions, and Sam thinks this must be what Dean went through with Cas years earlier. Sam once thought it'd grow tiresome with time, though it never does. Eventually, Gadreel begins telling Sam things in return. Small secrets of fairies, scraps of angel wisdom, even the creation of the universe itself.
He's never spoken of Eden, and Sam never asks. Sam gets it, he really does. It's probably a painful subject for the angel. So when one day Gadreel does mention it, Sam almost chokes on his food.
"Why do humans consume bovine lactose?" Gadreel asks as Sam pours milk over his cereal, clearly finding the prospect unpleasant. Sam's somewhere in the middle of explaining the intricacies of how agriculture and beasts of burden led to the foundation of human civilization when Gadreel relates, in turn, how the Garden had been perfect, providing everything humanity needed.
It takes a moment for Sam to remember how to breathe after the angel, aflutter with concern, zaps the food out of his windpipe. Handy thing, that Grace.
He clears his throat, his face flushed. "Sorry, I…" The truth feels too embarrassing to say out loud, so he just tries to continue on as if nothing happened. "Uh, thanks for the rescue." He clears his throat a second time. "So, it was like the ultimate vegan diet?"
If he could see Gadreel, the angel would squint at him in a very Cas-like way. "Vegan?"
"Oh, where you eat no animal products. You only consume plants."
"Ah. Then yes."
He says nothing else about the Garden, and Sam doesn't ask. He worries briefly his curiosity is more than evident to the angel, but tries to push it from his mind. The bleed-through of thought and emotion remains something they'll have to deal with until Sam's healed.
Dean and Sam take turns harassing Crowley. Gadreel, not seeing the benefit of negotiating with the King of Hell, threatens to smite the demon to his face. Crowley just snickers, and afterwards starts trying out new nicknames for the angel, much to Gadreel's chagrin.
Another time, when Sam turns on his laptop to do research, Gadreel stares through Sam's eyes in fascination. "How did this complex technology come to exist?" And Sam gives him a brief history of computers. He ends up using the Internet to fill in the gaps he doesn't know, so he explains the basics of the Internet while he's at it, too.
Gadreel then compares it to angel radio, and explains how latent energy in the fabric of the universe interacts with angelic Grace, allowing for communication even over vast distances.
One day, Sam peeks over Kevin's shoulder as the boy rants over some obscure bit of Enochian he can't decipher. Gadreel quickly relays the right translation to Sam, who gives it to Kevin.
After he writes it down, he gazes up at Sam, wide-eyed and just a bit excited. "Hey, what else does he know?"
Kevin remains the only one who hasn't thrown some sort of a fit about the Gadreel's presence. He probably doesn't trust the angel completely, but he says it's 'insurance' having an angel around so long as Crowley's going to stay locked up in the basement.
Gadreel stirs in interest as Sam examines the angel tablet, and his lips curl upwards. He shrugs at Kevin, and points at his head. "Ask Gadreel. Maybe he knows something you need."
Sam sits as Kevin asks question after question. Sometimes Gadreel answers and sometimes Sam does, but before anyone knows it, two hours flitter away on conversation. The angel doesn't seem to mind the prophet's endless inquiry one bit.
When they're done, and Sam trots away, Gadreel's voice quietly whispers to him. "You see, Sam? I can be useful."
The statement seems to come out of nowhere, and Sam frowns in the empty hall. The angel has already retreated into his hiding spot, however, so there's no opportunity to ask him what he meant.
Sam thinks about it for a while, and shakes his head. Gadreel said it so honestly, so hopefully. He's not sure why, but it kind of makes Sam feel a little sorry for him.
Cas lets an exasperated sigh float in the air. "They're not doing well, Dean. I don't understand. I did everything the webpage told me to."
Sam glances over his shoulder to the distant corner of the room, where Castiel and Dean hover over a few potted plants underneath a grow light. He turns back to the boxes, thumbing through old, crumbly paper to find the one he needs, only somewhat listening.
"I don't know what to tell ya, Cas," Dean says.
"I believe they need more heat," Cas says after a pause. "Perhaps I can set up a greenhouse."
"No way, man. It's too cold outside." Dean pauses, thoughtful. "Maybe in Spring, if this angel-on-angel violence chills by then."
Cas sighs dramatically. "I'm warded, Dean."
"Hey, didn't stop that reaper chick from finding you."
Sam finds the correct label for his box, and stands, gliding around the shelf to find it. It's three boxes back, and even with Sam's height, he has to step on his tip-toes to reach it. He grapples at the first box and sets it aside, stretching comically to reach the second.
Cas makes a sound akin to a groan, a habit he's only picked up since becoming human. "I know. They're going to die, and it'll be my fault." He sounds positively morose.
"Are you really getting upset over flowers, Cas?" Dean asks. A moment later, "All right, all right. I'm here, right? What should I do?"
Sam hisses with effort, but he can't quite reach the second box and nothing presents itself as handy to step on. "Hey, Gadreel," he grunts under his breath. "You couldn't use your Grace and bring those boxes closer, could you?"
The angel doesn't respond.
"I don't think there's anything we can do," Cas continues. "Just water them, give them plenty of light, and plant food."
Sam blinks, tuning out the other conversation. "Gadreel? You there?"
The angel is, in fact, present. Sam can feel that much by the warmth humming steadily in his chest. His mind simply isn't anywhere focused on Sam.
"Gadreel," he whispers again, still groping hopelessly for the box. "Gadreel!"
At the too-loud grunt, the angel's attention snaps to Sam, though not without a startled flutter of Grace. Even Dean and Cas spin to face in his direction, their faces blocked by a row of boxes.
"Everything okay, man?" Dean calls.
"Yeah, sorry, didn't mean to be so loud," he replies with some embarrassment. He vaguely sees Dean shrug at Cas, and the two leave the room.
"I am sorry, Sam," Gadreel says. "I was listening to their conversation. What do you need?"
Sam makes another comical stretch for the second box, and fails. "I need the third box back," he says, his voice coming out as a groan, "but I can't reach it."
Something between amusement and annoyance skitters down his spine, making him squirm from the coldness of it. His palm tingles, and the box he needs slides flush against his hand with more force than strictly necessary. Sam just chuckles, easily setting it upon the ground.
"Thanks. Sorry to bother you." He smiles, though, because the whole thing strikes Sam as funny, for some reason. The angel rumbles softly with similar amusement, so Sam brushes the whole thing aside.
He lugs the oversized boxes he doesn't need back into place, and lumbers around the shelf, setting his box on the table.
"It would be so simple to fix," the angel says, his voice somewhat distant.
"Hm?" Sam hums, flipping through a dusty manila folder. "What would?"
"Castiel's plants."
Sam halts in his reading, thumb brushing against time-worn paper to mark his spot. The flowers sit nearby, so he sets the folder down, a piece of string left behind to mark his place.
The flowers do look awful. Castiel may love these things, but he doesn't have a green thumb.
Sam feels Gadreel observing the plants intently, his thoughts incomprehensible to Sam. "What're you thinking about?" he asks.
He can feel the angel stretching, a soundless request for Sam to reach out and touch one of the plants. "This stem here, it…"
But Sam has no idea what Gadreel wants him to do, so before he even thinks it through, he gives the angel permission to use his body. Normally, he's asleep if the angel takes any sort of control—though, that's with his permission, too.
There's a faint flare of Grace, but nothing seems to change. It's only when his hand stretches towards the plant without his consent he realizes Gadreel has only taken control of his arm.
Huh. Can angels even do that? They can apparently do that.
A warm rush of Gadreel's amusement unfurls within him, a soft noise lilting gently between his ears.
Sam feels his fingertips brushing against vellum leaves, plucking a few out, and repositioning the stems. When his arm moves to the next plant over, Sam remembers the angel can't actually see what he's doing unless Sam moves his head, too, and so he lets his eyes settle upon the next flowering plant. It's more than odd, feeling the pull of his arm and trying to sync his eyes to the angel's concentration, though somehow it works. The two fall into a strangely satisfying pattern of coordinating Sam's body in tandem for the few minutes it takes the angel to finish his work.
The angel retreats, and Sam experimentally flexes his hand. The plants don't actually appear any different to Sam's eyes, but a feeling of distinct accomplishment thrums inside of him. The angel glows with more than a little satisfaction.
"With a small amount of proper trimming and the procurement of substances not found in this artificial garden, these plants will grow soundly, even absent from their native, tropical environment," he tells Sam."Castiel will be none the wiser to my interference."
Sam's about to ask him how he knows so much about flowers when he knows almost nothing about anything else, but stops short. Eden. Right. Maybe he did a stint as an angelic botanist. Is that even a thing?
If the angel hears him, he says nothing. A low, passing ache twinges along his upper back. Damn, it's starting to worry him. Maybe he overdid it with the boxes?
"Why not just tell Cas?" Sam asks, setting aside the phantom pain for now.
Gadreel remains silent for a long while. "I believe he would not care for my assistance. He would rather his plants die."
Something heavy and uncomfortable settles in his stomach, because this has a troublesome parallel. "It's his choice, right? Ask him. If he doesn't want you saving his plants, then you shouldn't."
Gadreel considers this, the deeper meaning not lost upon him. After a long moment, something almost timid pulses under his skin. "Even to save them from death?" he asks quietly.
Sam ruminates on his reply a moment. "He deserves a chance to say 'yes' to your assistance. Or 'no,' if he chooses."
Gadreel contemplates this for a long moment, distress thrumming throughout his Grace, worry electric against his skin. And Sam knows the exact moment Gadreel fully understands, and feels the angel recoil in his skin as if he'd been struck.
"Indeed, he does," Gadreel tells Sam, his voice angel slinks down inside of him, far deeper than he's been in weeks, ever since Sam encouraged him to come out. His brief moment of pleasure in the face of the flowers has evaporated, lost and forgotten.
"I did not wish to see him in distress when I could give aid."
Sam wets his lips. He thinks about pushing it further, but thinks he's already made his point. So he lets it go.
The next day, Sam makes purposely places himself in the backroom when Cas tends to his flowers. He's doing something wrong again, because Sam feels Gadreel's irritation rippling across his skin as he watches. It's sad, really, the way the angel itches to help but won't just come out and ask. So Sam tugs at him gently, encouraging him to go ask already.
"Brother," Gadreel says once he emerges, and Cas immediately halts, giving him a wary look. "You groom the wrong branches. Allow me to show you?" He reaches out, placing hesitant fingertips on the trimmers in his hand.
Sam worries for a moment, because his pointed, stormy blue glare suggests it's all about to go bad. Cas glances back at the flowers and breathes deeply, rubbing at his face. A dark smudge of dirt remains behind, painting a uneven streak across his cheekbone. When he looks back to Gadreel, his eyes soften, and he nods, allowing the other angel to take the trimmers from his hands.
Gadreel spends several minutes explaining how Cas needs to treat each plant, flowering and otherwise. Sam passively listens. He hears Gadreel tell Cas he's chosen particularly difficult tropical plants to care for, at least by human standards. When he's finished, he gives Cas a faint smile, and retreats back within Sam.
"Well, uh…" Sam takes a step backward. "Good luck with the gardening?" He moves to grab his stuff and leave.
"Gadreel," Cas calls out, back facing Sam, "thank you." His tone sounds forced, but not necessarily unkind.
As Sam walks away, he hears Gadreel's voice call to him again: "See? I can be useful, Sam."
One day, Dean blasts rock music through the entire bunker, echoing loud enough Kevin yells about it. Dean just grunts and turns it up, refusing to entertain anyone's objections.
"Just get some headphones already!" the prophet shouts, but Dean doesn't answer over the blare of Metallica.
When in another room, with the volume less piercing, Gadreel's curiosity spreads whisper-soft, but insistent. "Why does Dean listen to music at this volume? A sustained duration will prove harmful to his hearing."
Sam doesn't actually know what's got Dean in a pissy mood, so he shrugs. The angel hovers near the edge of his mind, requesting permission, pressing gently to come forward. It's another one of those times Sam doesn't see the harm in it, so he lets him. It's not like he comes out often, or anything.
Gadreel turns to face Kevin. "Why is Dean, as Sam says, in a 'pissy mood?'"
Kevin's face screws up into quite a comical expression, ending with the kid roaring with laughter. Sam thinks it's been too long since the kid laughed so richly.
"Oh, that?" Kevin gestures down the hallway between chuckles. "Dean's having boyfriend problems. That means we all suffer until he gets over it."
This doesn't clarify anything for Gadreel, who stares down the hall uncomprehending. Sam does the mental equivalent of chuckling, and he feels the angel's displeasure settling low in his bones. He quickly reassures Gadreel it's Dean he's laughing at, not the angel, and the unpleasantness clears a bit.
Seeing Gadreel's confusion, Kevin attempts to clarify. "Him and Cas, you know?"
"Know what?"
The kid snorts, and it takes a moment before he catches his breath. "I know you're an angel and all, but you've got to know about romance, right? When two people… you know?"
Gadreel stares back down the hallway, down to the room where Dean holes up, and Sam can practically hear the gears turning in the angel's mind. Gadreel recalls how absolutely devastated Dean had felt when Cas died at the Reaper's hand. He remembers Dean adamantly insisting Castiel stay at the bunker, in safety.
"Oh," Gadreel finally says. "Oh." His head tilts, and Sam feels his lips draw up slightly, amusement flaring throughout his Grace. He turns back to Kevin. "Dean and Castiel are in love?"
Kevin just smiles warmly, and Sam can feel Gadreel glow just a little from the kind gesture. Kevin's been nicer to Gadreel than Dean and Cas both, and Gadreel doesn't feel awkward or uncomfortable in his presence as he does in virtually everyone else's (including Sam's, sometimes).
Though, Sam wouldn't put it past Dean and Kevin to have some kind of angel spell cooked up behind his back, just in case. 'Paranoid' remains an essential part of a hunter's identity.
"Yeah," Kevin says, chuckling again and crossing his arms, "Dean's kicking off a fit of heterosexual panic. If we go looking, I'm sure we'll find Cas in the kitchen, drowning his sorrow in ice cream, because Dean can't get over himself."
Any mirth Sam has goes still. It's kind of sad, really. Dean's having an overblown bout of machismo, while Castiel doesn't know what to say or how to handle it—or how to handle his own humanity, for that matter.
The angel furrows his brow. "Heterosexual panic?" he asks Sam quietly.
"Yeah, Dean's freaking out because he's got a thing for Cas. So he's probably about to go out and hook up with a woman to prove his straightness to himself."
The words float about in the angel's head, swirling in a dizzy mass of concentration. "Heterosexual?" After a beat, "Hetero, from the Greek heteros, a prefix meaning 'different or another.' Why is this prefix utilized? It seems evident if one engages in sexual activity, another individual will be involved."
Any other time, Sam would spare a moment of awe (and envy) over the angel's recently acquired, near-encyclopedic knowledge of ancient language. Explaining human constructs of sexuality, however, has his stomach done up in a knot. For the moment, he skips right over the detail that one can partake in sexual activity all alone, because given Gadreel's curious nature, it will probably lead to questions Sam doesn't want to answer.
"You really don't know about sexuality?"
"Of course I know of sexuality. Eve and Adam expressed their love in such a manner."
When Sam thinks about it, it's not so surprising he doesn't know the finer points and distinctions. Apparently, he hasn't read any books on that just yet.
"Heterosexuality—it's also called being straight—is when people want sex with someone of the opposite gender. Homosexuality is when two people of the same gender want sex with each other. There's also bisexuality, which is when you're attracted to both genders."
Gadreel mulls over it. "Why not simply refer to it as sexuality? Why does gender matter when one is in love?"
He makes an outstanding point, one Sam personally wishes everyone held.
"There's a stigma around same-sex relationships. It's not one of humanity's shining qualities, but… yeah. It's changing slowly, but not fast enough." He pauses. "It's terrible and it keeps people apart, sometimes. People fall in love, but the stigma and cultural rules, you knowt… Sometimes, people don't ever get over those things."
Gadreel remains silent a long moment, a cold, rattling ache expanding in his gut. "That is… distressing to hear," he says aloud. "If two individuals share love, such a thing should not keep them apart."
"Yeah, isn't it sad?" Kevin answers, oblivious to the fact Gadreel wasn't talking to him. "Sam and I keep hoping they'll figure it out, but so far, no luck."
"I do not understand," Gadreel says, his attention turning to the boy. "Castiel is not male." He gazes at Kevin as if his intense stare could make the world understand him. "Gender is a human construction angels do not possess."
Kevin snorts. "Yeah, but your vessels do." He makes a gesture at Gadreel. "I mean, look at you. You showed up on Earth, walked around in a guy, and went to the hospital, where you ended up with Sam, another guy."
Sam listens as the angel thinks it through. "I had not realized." He tilts his head. "But I am not male, either."
"Humans don't think that way," Kevin says. "As long as you're possessing a dude, most humans are going to think of you as a dude."
After a moment, Gadreel looks away and nods once. "I see. Thank you, Kevin Tran."
The angel doesn't relinquish control, and instead stares down the hallway as if committing it to memory. His thoughts swirl like a dust storm, unfathomable and more vast than the prairie outside.
"Thank you, Sam. I believe I can provide assistance with this situation, now."
Sam would sigh if he could. "Good luck with that," he responds dryly.
Nervousness coils against Sam's ribs as Gadreel steels himself and marches down the hallway, reentering the room with Dean. He doesn't acknowledge him at first, if he even sees him. Gadreel walks over to the music player, and when he can't quite determine how to cut if off, he simply motions with his hand and uses his Grace. The music dies instantly.
A chair clatters to the floor behind him. He turns just in time to see Dean leaping to his feet, jaw set and teeth clenched. "Dude, what the hell?"
"You act as a fool, Dean Winchester," Gadreel tells him.
Dean's face drains of color instantly. "Zeke?"
"Castiel is an angel, not a man," he continues. "Despite his powerless state, you should remember he is not human."
"Uh…"
"He is neither male nor female. You should not allow narrow, human constructs of gender impede your love for my brother."
Dean stares dumbly, his mouth opening and closing a few times. "I told you before, man, I don't really do the whole 'love' thing."
Gadreel regards him sourly. "No, you do not say 'love.' To refrain from use of the word does not mean you are not, in fact, expressing love."
There's a long, awkward moment of silence as Dean seems for all the world speechless.
"Love is precious," he tells Dean. "It is a honor for each of you to love the other." He pauses. "I believe a human might say, 'Get over yourself, already.'"
Gadreel lifts his hand, and the blaring music resumes. The angel retreats all at once within Sam, quick as a flash. Dean sees this changing of the guard, and Sam can see his brother mouthing his name, sound lost in the music.
Sam grips the table, white-knuckled, and howls, doubled over, in hysterical laughter. It would take an angel with no use for human hang-ups to finally strike Dean speechless. For all of his and Kevin's subtle commenting, there's something to be said for such directness.
"Dude, what are you waiting for?" Sam sputters between bouts of chuckling. "Go talk it out with Cas!" He stands, holding his aching stomach, and leaves the room, still laughing like he's lost his mind.
A few minutes later, the music stops. Sam peeks around the corner and sees Dean and Cas sitting on the couch, staring at each other intently and inching closer every second. They're talking, but too far away for Sam to hear.
He has to stifle a satisfied hum, because they might get their act together. He turns away and leaves before he accidentally sees something he doesn't want to.
"Good job, Gadreel," he tells the angel.
Sam can feel Gadreel's smile, soft threads of Grace sweeping through him, warm as a roaring fireplace . A slight prickle of pride tickles at his skin, too, as he seems to realize he's done a Very Important Thing.
Without even thinking, Sam lets his mind brush against the warmth of the angel's Grace. It's like sinking down into a vibrant thunderstorm brimming full of life itself.
For just for a moment, Sam lingers, and Gadreel doesn't seem to mind at all.
Sam lies on his back, rubbing hands over his eyes. His body feels worn and his mind frayed, exhaustion aching through weary muscles. A headache dully throbs behind his eyes, somehow worse now he's attempting to sleep.
Gadreel stirs at the influx of pain, concern humming low against his spine. Considering his dire health and Gadreel's weakened state, it all seems rather silly. It's almost as if the angel worries about Sam's petty comforts.
Sam thinks maybe he does, though he's not sure why.
"I'm fine," he says abortively. Reflexively.
Gadreel does not exactly ignore him, but he frets. Sam feels him doing a quick check of his entire body, his attention flittering everywhere in a cloudy muddle that carries a shade of worry. When he settles upon the headache, he doesn't soothe it away immediately, but he does draw Sam's attention to it, expectantly.
It makes Sam smile faintly. He'd tell Gadreel he doesn't need every tiny problem fixed because it's sort of embarrassing, but this angel has little use for human hang-ups. So he just shrugs his consent.
"As long as you're already there," he says.
The angel whispers something unintelligible, maybe Enochian, and Sam feels his headache melt away in a cooling, quiet rush, blessed relief in its wake.
"Mmm. Thanks." He wiggles on the bed, letting his body sink deeper into the mattress. Everything feels better, now, even his tired muscles and threadbare nerves.
"It would be simpler if you informed me of these issues," Gadreel chides softly. "When I am not present in the outside world with you, I cannot sense your discomfort unless it is dire."
Sam throws an arm over his eyes, a huff of air escaping his lips. "Yeah, I'm sure you love being stuck in there, just to have me bother you with petty stuff." He can't keep the sharp, sarcastic edge out of his voice. "Like you don't have any healing of your own to do."
Gadreel remains silent a long moment. "Your discomfort is not a petty matter."
Sam's breath halts, his eyes snapping open. An unspoken 'to me' hangs in the space at the end of Gadreel's words, and Sam has no idea what to even say to that. Maybe he's just imagining it. So he just goes another direction entirely.
"Gadreel, why…." he hesitates, inhaling deeply. "Why did you pretend to be Ezekiel? Dean and I, we wouldn't have known any different if you'd used your real name."
The angel sighs quietly, a thrum of discontent seeping throughout his Grace. "I was hiding. It seemed a wise decision, at the time."
"Yeah, but what were you going to do when you ran into the real Ezekiel?" Sam frowns. "Cas knows him."
Gadreel remains silent so long a time, Sam thinks he might not answer. Finally, flushed embarrassment pools in his gut. "I did not think that far ahead."
Sam's lips quirk. "You have a tendency not to think things through, don't you? Like earlier, when you just marched up to Dean and told him what you thought?"
A flood of sourness strikes him ice sharp, causing Sam to grin. Despite sharing a body, they can still misunderstand each other.
"I'm not making fun of you!" Sam defends. "I promise! I'm just saying, it was kind of a bad plan."
He worries for a moment he might have finally offended Gadreel, but amusement, bright and tingling, slowly warms his entire body. "I suppose it was."
The next night, Gadreel asks Sam if he might use his body for a moment to pray. It's a simple enough request, so Sam acquiesces.
A moment later, his body stands from the edge of the bed, spine rigid and posture immaculate.
"Thank you, Sam," Gadreel says, as he slowly drops to his knees, clasping his hands together.
Sam sort of fidgets within his own skin, uncomfortable. He shouldn't stick around for this. He supposes he could hightail it to the library-shaped headspace they share. He hasn't visited it since learning about Gadreel, after all.
"You want me to wander off, or…?"
Gadreel lifts his head, eyes opening a sliver. "That is unnecessary," he says. "Perhaps you would care to join me?"
Sam doesn't mean to recoil from the suggestion, but he does all the same, and it doesn't go unnoticed. He reels it in, though, because he's not going to rain on Gadreel's parade if the angel wants to pray.
He'd stopped praying years ago, after Death had freed his soul from Lucifer's Cage. God didn't seem to care anymore, and those who might hear his prayers were probably the sort who'd come and kill him. No, he'd prayed unfailingly his entire life, but no more. It had never done him any good at all.
"I'll pass. But knock yourself out."
The angel radiates gratitude all the same, and closes his eyes again.
"Father, it is I, Gadreel, Your son." He shifts on his legs a bit. "My words lift up to You from the lips of my vessel, Sam Winchester, for whom I pray for safety and health. I ask also for the health of his brother, Dean Winchester, the prophet Kevin Tran, and the angel Castiel." He pauses a moment, a somber mood overtaking him. "I pray I may have the opportunity to earn their trust and friendship in the future, despite my many shortcomings."
Sam really feels he shouldn't listen in, now. It's private and more than a little depressing. And yet, Gadreel did invite him to pray with him, and while Sam can't bring himself to pray, he can't bring himself to look away while Gadreel does, either.
"I thank You for Your many blessings upon me, Father," he says without a shred of irony. "I thank You for surviving the Fall. I thank You for the vessel I inhabit, for his tolerance and kind spirit, and ask that I may use my Grace wisely to heal Sam until he is recovered."
Sam wonders if anyone has ever given thanks for his own existence in the world before. Dean probably has, or would, if he prayed to anyone other than Cas.
Gadreel pauses, glancing up. Sam wonders if he's thinking too loud, if he's interrupting the angel. But he just closes his eyes again.
"As always, I submit to Your will, Father, whatever it may be. Please protect those who harbor me and show me compassion, and do not punish them for their goodness towards me, your weak son." He wets his lips, and Sam can feel a million terrible, agonizing thoughts echoing in the angel's Grace. "Amen."
Gadreel stands, gracefully extending to Sam's full height.
Sam watches in astonishment. After everything Gadreel has experienced, he thanks God for scraps and minutia, asks for the well-being of others, but not himself. He can't believe he's praying to the guy who locked him up.
"He is my Father, Sam Winchester, and I am an angel," Gadreel says plainly, as if it explains everything.
In a single fluid motion, he sinks down on the edge of the bed, and returns the body to Sam. Sam's about to disagree with the angel, to ask him more questions, but Gadreel curls up somewhere faint and distant before he can. Sam takes it as a signal he doesn't want to discuss it.
The dull throb in his back again spikes again, clenching between his shoulder blades in a spasm. As before, it disappears almost as soon as it hits.
Every night after, the angel asks for permission to use Sam's body to pray. And Gadreel prays with Sam's voice and Sam's hands, down on Sam's knees, and it's always the same prayer, over and over again. After a while, it becomes clear to Sam that Gadreel seems to think being allowed to enjoy anything at all is a blessing from God. He stops watching him pray entirely after that.
The pain isn't his, but it hurts all the same.
AN: I am fully aware there are more than three sexualities, and that gender and biological sex are not the same thing. However, I've written the section the way I did for two reasons. One, Gadreel is honestly not going to know the difference until someone explains it to him (he's been locked up for most of time). Two, Sam himself, while I like to think he may have an awareness of different sexualities beyond the standard gender binary, probably hasn't had time to think about it too deeply (what with the saving of the world multiple times these past few years and all).
