Dean spends an inordinate amount of time in the garage, teaching Cas about maintaining the Impala—though it's questionable whether they're actually working.
Though the instincts of a protective sibling flutter through Gadreel's Grace occasionally, he remains hopeful (and curious) about the progression of their relationship. Sam's thrilled, sure, but he has zero desire to accidentally walk in on his brother in the middle of sex.
In the interim, Gadreel tends to Castiel's flowers—with permission—and coaxes them back to vibrant life. Once dull and limp, now the blossoms shine bright and vivid under the angel's attention. His Grace hums with satisfaction at the sight of it.
It makes Sam wonder about the Garden, though he doesn't ask. It's Sam's little rule for himself. No matter how curious he is, he won't ask about something with potential for raw, unfiltered pain. If Gadreel wants to talk about it, he'll talk. He's given Sam a scrap before, so there's a chance he might again.
Kevin barely sleeps. He spends so long working on the angel tablet one day he snaps, repeating "falafel" over and over again, shivering like a twig in the wind, drawing in on himself even as he sweats.
Cas comes running down the hallway to fetch Sam and Gadreel. Seized with alarm, Sam hands the reigns over to Gadreel, who attempts to soothe Kevin's pain. In the midst of the boy's babbling, as Dean and Cas look on worriedly, Gadreel presses his palm gently against Kevin's forehead. Closing his eyes, he reaches out with Grace, sweeping feather-light within the prophet's bruised mind.
Kevin stops his fevered trembling, his voice growing still. He slumps over into Gadreel's arms, head crashing on his shoulder, only half-conscious. The motion surprises the angel, but he clasps an arm around the boy's shoulders in a steady grip.
"Th'nks, Ga'r'el," Kevin slurs, voice muffled in the fabric of Sam's shirt. A few moments later, there's wetness seeping through as the boy cries in exhaustion. "I want it to be over. I just have to keep working. It'll be over, then."
Kevin probably has no idea what he's even saying. Gadreel's hand flattens against his back, and all at once, a deep, stabbing burn tears through his Grace like a white-hot blade. A flicker of something flashes before Sam's mind, half-remembered and lonelier than the most barren desert, before the angel pulls Kevin closer, rubbing a single, gentle circle on his back.
"I know how you feel, Kevin Tran," he whispers. "For now, you must rest. I can offer you sleep free of your nightmares, if you wish."
Kevin makes a noise, something unintelligible even to the angel, and nods weakly, head bobbing like his spine might snap. The hand resting on his back slides up to palm the back of his head, and another whisper-smooth press of Grace bleeds into Kevin's body.
The boy goes slack, limbs loose and relaxed as Gadreel holds him, still cupping the back of his head. Something miserable, a horrid sort of déjà vu, fluctuates throughout Sam's body again. It's stilted, as though Gadreel pointedly tries not to remember it.
"He all right?" Dean asks, the fine lines of his face creased, eyes solemn.
"For the moment, yes," Gadreel answers him. "I regret I am too weakened to heal him entirely, but I have placed him in a deep slumber." He glances briefly at Cas before turning back to Dean. "He requires more substantial rest, however."
Sam passes on a message, which Gadreel relays. "Sam says 'Kevin needs a vacation.'"
Dean nods thoughtfully. "I promised the little nerd some time up in Branson, Missouri. If he's good enough when he wakes up, I'll take him up for some alone time."
Though the angel shows nothing but a calm and steady exterior, Sam can feel how much healing Kevin has weakened him. His Grace flutters, not unlike a warped candle nearly out of wick to burn. Sam feels no pain, but he has the distinct impression Gadreel does.
Gadreel slides an arm under Kevin's legs, repositions his torso against his own, and lifts him with ease. Secondhand, it feels bizarre to Sam, as though he holds the weight of a pillow, not a man.
"What's wrong with your Grace?" Cas asks, perhaps perceptive of some visual clue Sam doesn't notice.
Gadreel blinks, because even now Cas doesn't usually talk to him if he can avoid it.
"I am barely at half strength," he answers. "Every time I use my power, it weakens me further, and I am able to do less." He glides down the hallway with Kevin in his arms, weaving his way to the bedrooms as the other men follow.
Dean frowns, the tired lines of his face betraying his worry. "What about Sam? If you're so weak, is he—."
"I will not allow harm to come to Sam. I promise you this, Dean." Something fierce and almost protective briefly flares along the angel's Grace, so swift Sam thinks he might have imagined it.
"If you continue to exhaust your Grace, you'll harm yourself," Cas says, a thread of concern in his voice.
"Do not worry," Gadreel replies as he enters Kevin's bedroom, setting the boy down upon the sheets with extreme care, as if he'll shatter like glass. "Even damaged, my Grace can sustain Sam."
Sam wants to cross his arms, to frown, but his body doesn't listen. "I think you missed the point, Gadreel. They're worried about you."
The angel exhales a soft, harsh huff of air as he tucks a thick blanket snug around Kevin. "I doubt that." He leaves the room, flips off the light switch, and pulls the door shut. It creaks, releasing an unwelcome, atrocious noise in the quiet.
As they stand in the hallway, Dean's expression has grown more severe. "Yeah, but Zeke—Gad, I'm gonna call you Gad, okay?—what about you? Are you gonna be all right?"
Surprise pulses through Sam's bones. "Told ya," he teases gently.
Gadreel doesn't answer Sam, not directly. Something tired and icy sweeps through him, and Sam doesn't know how, but he knows it has nothing to do with the angel's mood. The angel's breathing quickens, shallow and rapid; never mind the weirdness of Gadreel needing to breathe at all, anyway. His Grace feels dim and wafer-brittle to Sam, stretching thin through his limbs.
"What about me?" Gadreel answers Dean. "I came to answer your prayer, Dean Winchester. I offered you and your brother my strength." He pauses, breathing deep. "I regret I have so little of it to offer at the moment, but it belongs to you and Sam, nonetheless."
Dean's expression sours more, if possible. "I know. I believe you already, man. Just take care of yourself too, okay?"
Gadreel thanks Dean with a cold, removed sort of politeness.
"Come on, Gadreel. He means it," Sam tells him.
"Sam, he only says this because if I falter, you will die."
Sam's attempts to convince him otherwise fall on metaphorical deaf ears. And beyond the pain, something else troubles the angel. Something ancient and weighty and dark that leaves Gadreel curling up inside, away from prying eyes.
A single word emerges from this cloudy hollow: Abner.
Sam's pretty sure he wasn't meant to hear that.
Sam doesn't mean to pry. He really doesn't. And it's not exactly prying when he's tuned into Gadreel's unfiltered thoughts whenever the angel comes out. Whatever he's feeling, it hurts, and far beyond the pain of exhausting his Grace.
Sam reaches out gently, the desire to soothe this pain overpowering. Gadreel has never mentioned the name 'Abner' before, and from the roiling sorrow the angel can't hide, the topic cannot hold pleasant memories.
Gadreel pulls away from Sam's reach, and burrows deeper.
The reaction surprises Sam—though, given the angel's prior inclination to hide, it shouldn't—so Sam pushes no further. Gadreel gives him his privacy, after all, so it's the least Sam can do to give the same in return.
"If you want or need to talk about anything, I'm here," Sam offers.
Gadreel says nothing, but a faint hum of acknowledgement flutters against Sam's ribcage.
Dean takes Kevin on a vacation to Missouri for a few days, proudly proclaiming he's all set with pay-per-view, food, and music. Gadreel does not see how it all adds up to a pleasant respite, but Sam assures him Kevin's a teenager, so he'll have a great time with his privacy, porn, and junk food. The angel frowns, but takes his word for it.
Sam comes up with an idea to try and convert a console into an angel detector of sorts. He traces wires through the floor and finds an old, colossal computer in the basement. It's not their area of expertise, so they call an expert.
Gadreel's anxiety over a guest dropping in runs hot enough to make Sam sweat, but he does his best to assure the angel Charlie Bradbury poses no threat. In fact, she's damn awesome and will probably be over the moon to meet a real angel. Yet, the angel's nerves don't settle in the slightest until she actually arrives at the bunker.
Gadreel spends a lot of his time figuratively wringing his hands. Sam doesn't blame him, really, but there's so much bleed-through it gets uncomfortable. It's something he thinks he'll have to work on with Gadreel, eventually.
Gadreel remains quiet as he simply observes Sam's and Dean's interactions with the woman. As Sam had promised, she's all sunshine and brilliance, and the angel's worry melts away. Maybe the fact Sam adores Charlie influences him, too.
Charlie talks about losing her job, LARPing and hunting. While Sam and Dean question her endlessly on her new role as a hunter, Sam feels Gadreel's intrigue of this small, fascinating woman grow. It's not long before he's asking Sam questions, wanting to know more about her.
Sam gets a bit tongue-tied talking to both Charlie and Gadreel, as he hasn't yet mastered the art of holding two opposing conversations at the same time. In way of compromise, he summons memories for the angel to peruse, who takes a moment to process them. Gadreel quiets, at least until Charlie mentions Becky.
Sam stutters and cringes, and feels his face burning hot. Anticipating questions, he throws more memories at the angel before he even gets the chance to ask. Not like he can keep much of a secret right now, anyway.
Unlike virtually everyone else who hears the story, Gadreel isn't amused in the least, which relieves Sam, in a way. In fact, the angel smolders quietly about it for a few minutes, as if personally affronted.
Hah. Gadreel, the angelic sentry, ready to defend Sam Winchester's honor. He's probably the only one.
It's quiet for a while as Charlie ducks under the console, humming a tune.
"Sam," Gadreel's voice softly calls to him. "You said 'yes' to Becky." He pauses. "But it was under the compulsion of magic."
Sam sighs. "Yeah. I said 'I do.' We got married. We got an annulment. I lost two weeks of time and woke up tied to a bed, confused as hell, and had to immediately jump into talking her into not drugging me again." He shakes his head. "I like to pretend the whole thing didn't happen."
Gadreel mulls on it a while. "Why did you worry I'd find it amusing? To have someone betray your trust is not humorous."
He shrugs. "Most people laugh when they hear the story."
The angel considers it all. "So you have been deprived of your free will before." He pauses a beat. "Tricked into a 'yes,' for example."
"Yeah."
"Like what I did. I did not trust you in the beginning, and also deprived you of a choice."
Sam shakes his head. "You're not like Becky, Gadreel."
"I fail to see the difference."
Sam holds the air in his lungs a moment. "You didn't do it for bad reasons. You were trying to help. Becky was being selfish."
A hum of distress itches across his skin. "I believe it matters only that I did it."
Sam stands quietly, watching as Dean leans over the ancient computer, chatting with Charlie. "You know, Gadreel," he says, "I've made bad mistakes before trying to do the right thing. I drank demon blood to get strong enough to kill Lilith—she was a demon, Lucifer's first. I trusted another demon to help me find a way to get my brother out of Hell, and she led me by the nose until I accidentally started the Apocalypse. People died because of me." He leans against the wall and sighs. "I still have demon blood in me, probably." The edges of his lips quirk, though it's bitter. "It was all to make me a good vessel for Lucifer." He pauses. "You did know that, right? That I'm Lucifer's true vessel?"
He expects the angel to recoil, to express disgust. Gadreel does neither. "I suspected. I knew you were once his vessel, but not that you were his true vessel." He pauses a moment. "It explains why I am more powerful in your body."
Sam sighs. "That was supposed to be my high calling in life: to be a suit for an archangel."
Somewhere deep inside, Sam feels Gadreel sigh. "Sam, the content of your blood does not constitute who you are any more than the rest of your body. Being a vessel—even Lucifer's—says nothing about your character. It means only that your body is capable of housing the power of an archangel." He pauses a beat. "Your soul is that which matters, and rest assured, you have the brightest, purest soul I have ever seen."
Sam's heart nearly stops. He can't even reply. What could he even say to that?
"And if the demon blood troubles you, I can eliminate it before I leave. The amount is minuscule."
"I… You would do that?"
Warmth pulses through his Grace, unfurling inside his ribcage. "Indeed. It will be simple."
"But why?"
"I would like to earn your trust," he answers, a bright, hopeful flush of Grace threading throughout his limbs. "Perhaps one day, I can."
Charlie works in earnest for about an hour, as Gadreel looks on intently through Sam's eyes. The sounds of scraping metal and the clacking of a keyboard slowly draw to a close, and her voice rises from beneath the console.
"These files are encrypted. This is gonna take a while," she stands and sighs dramatically. "So, takeout? Sleepover? Braid each other's hair?"
The sheer confusion and puzzlement flaring through Gadreel's Grace makes Sam bellow with laughter. Charlie regards him uncomfortably for a split second until Sam waves his hand at her. "No, it's just me. It's a long story."
She relaxes and shrugs. "I did say this would take a while."
Sam considers it, and when Gadreel doesn't object, he smiles. "Well, I've got an idea." He pauses. "But you haven't met our other residents, yet."
"Oh, yeah!" she chirps. "Cas, the angel, right?" She bounces on her heels, clapping her hands together. "I know you said he was Graceless now and everything, but… dude, an angel! It's not magical, but close!" She's wearing a face-splitting grin. "Let's go meet him now!"
Dean snorts a bit, his expression fond. "There's someone else here, too," he tells her.
"Oh… Well, if they like medieval fantasy and sci-fi, then the more the merrier!" she chirps.
Gadreel actually frets. Sam almost laughs.
"So, you know how angels work, right? They take—."
"—vessels. The heavenly kind of possession, that sort of thing," she cuts him off, looking mock-taken aback. "Yeah, I got it."
"Well," Sam says, "There's another angel here, inside of me. He's helping me out and healing up himself. He doesn't take over often, and just watches from time to time."
Her smile fades, lips parted. "There's an angel in you right now?"
Sam nods.
Her eyes crinkle at the edges, gleaming with a wicked air. "It's inside you?"
Sam nods again, his head tilting a bit.
"And it watches from time to time?"
Sam's smile fades, his brow furrowing. He nods again.
Charlie snorts. "Kinky."
Sam almost sputters, falling over himself to explain how it's not like that before his brain catches up to the fact Charlie's just teasing him.
Gadreel understands, somehow, and finds it mildly amusing. There's an unspoken, mock-exasperated comment about humans before he stills. It makes Sam smile, and wonder. How much good humor has Gadreel truly experienced in his long life?
"Seriously, though," Charlie asks, "The friendly kind of angel?"
Sam smiles, and nods. "Best kind you could hope for."
The angel freezes, surprise cascading throughout the Grace in his entire body. Gadreel seems shocked Sam would have anything nice to say about him.
Sam sighs softly. Yet another thing the two of them have to work on.
Charlie's lips twitch before her entire face blooms in excitement. "That's cool! I mean, I know the angels right now are all being kind of dicks and all, but still! A friendly angel!" She pauses, and all at once seems wary. "Is he watching right now? Can he hear me?"
"Wanna talk to her?" Sam asks, playing off of Gadreel's curiosity.
Gadreel hesitates. "Is it acceptable?"
Sam answers by pulling at Gadreel, tugging him forward and out of his hiding place. It's become a practiced dance, as he's gotten much better at pulling the angel's Grace-strings over the months. Gadreel expands in a bright sweep of Grace, while Sam feels himself drift backwards, even as the light consumes. Charlie gasps about the time Sam's eyesight goes blue-white with Grace. His sight returns to normal an instant later, and he goes to blink, but can't.
A few months ago, Sam had felt disconcerted and ill in these rare moments, when Grace would expand and fill him more wholly. With time, he's become used to it. In fact, it's somewhat of an adrenaline rush when the angel takes his body without dulling Sam's mind. It's a flush racing lightning-quick under cold skin; a tingle worrying his fingertips. It feels like leaping off the side of a cliff and discovering he's feather-light and drifting in midair.
"I am Gadreel," the angel says, and offers a handshake, a move he's picked up from movies and endless questions to Sam.
She grins so brightly she might as well have just won the lottery. "Oh wow! Oh my gosh!" She grabs his outstretched hand with both of hers in a powerful grip, and shakes vigorously. Gadreel, pleasantly surprised, allows his hand to move freely. "I'm Charlie! Charlie Bradbury!"
She glances over her shoulder to Dean, and squeals. "A real angel!" She turns back to Gadreel. "Something supernatural that's not a monster. No need for holy oil!"
Sam feels his lips turn upwards in a slight smile. "I assure you, the holy oil is not necessary. Though, should it be needed, Dean Winchester will certainly not hesitate to 'deep-fry' me, as it were."
Sam's jaw would drop open if it could. He feels the angel glowing warm, his eyes crinkling, just short of a chuckle. It had been Dean's original threat—to 'dunk him in holy oil and deep-fry an angel' if things went wrong. And now, Gadreel's making light of it, and actually thinks it's funny.
Maybe Sam can't gape, but Dean certainly does. "Holy freakin' shit, Gad. Did you just make a joke?"
Charlie laughs (and Sam does too, from his vantage point). And for the first time since he's been in Sam, Gadreel really smiles—bright and pleased and happy.
"It is my great honor to meet a woman of such incredible intellect," he continues. "Though I do not know how to braid hair or how to sleepover or takeout, I would enjoy joining you in your festivities, if it is permissible."
"Oh no, no, no… No, I mean yes, of course you can!" she says so fast her words slur together. "Those are all expressions! But I can teach you how to braid! And you have a sleepover. It's when you and a bunch of friends spend the night together and do things like watch movies and eat bad food and have fun!"
Gadreel doesn't understand a thing she's just said, but goes along with it anyway. "Oh. I see."
"And Sam's hair is totally long enough to braid, so I'll braid your hair and I'll teach you how to braid mine!" she says cheerily, though her eyes flash with a hint of uncertainty.
"I… all right," Gadreel answers, tilting his head, attempting to piece together what he's just agreed to. Sam thinks he'll double over in laughter (and his body isn't even laughing), though he firmly tells Gadreel no one gets to braid his hair, thank you very much.
Dean absolutely loses it at Gadreel's confused answer—he's been snickering since Gadreel's joke—and turns away as he trembles and gasps for air between bouts of laughing. Sam hasn't heard Dean laugh so freely in… well, he can't even remember how long.
Charlie smiles like the first rays of summer, and it warms Gadreel to the roots of his Grace. And it's not Sam she directs her radiance toward, but Gadreel, and it makes all the difference to him.
"I must confess, I do not understand," Gadreel finally says. "Everyone is laughing, and Sam is adamant no one shall braid his hair."
A renewed fit of hysterical laughter tears loose from Dean, who at this point leans heavily against the wall, his hands holding his stomach. For all of the issues they still have to sort through, it's such a wonderful sight.
"Sam!" Charlie chides, having given into the madness of laughter herself, "Don't be a party crasher! These are important things we have to teach your angel!"
Sam gets a hold of himself, sarcastically thinking, "Whatever Charlie. My hair is not a part of this commitment." Which Gadreel goes on to repeat verbatim. Oops.
Charlie makes an interesting noise between a howl and a gasp, tears streaming down her face as she gasps between peals of mirth.
The room's laughter continues, and just as Sam finally gets a grip on himself, he feels something hot and bright rising to the surface. Gadreel's face splits open and laughter bubbles out of his mouth, too. It's funny to him because everyone everyone else laughs and he knows he and Sam are part the joke somehow. But it's fond, not unkind, and he enjoys it.
Sam finds himself struck with the sound of Gadreel's laughter. He's never heard the angel laugh before. It feels so good to hear and he doesn't even know why.
An intense chill rushes through his skin, something deep within welling up with powerful force, and it doesn't come from Sam at all. As laugher spills from Gadreel's lips, mingling with the sound of Charlie's and Dean's, gooseflesh rises on Sam's skin. Profound relief ripples throughout Grace, along with a sharp rush of joy, and something bittersweet as well.
He feels like he belongs somewhere. He feels welcome.
It's the sheer joy of companionship with others, the joy of not sitting all alone in cage, trapped in lockup. The others continue on, but Sam's laughter has evaporated as he observes Gadreel. He feels the pleasant rumble of the angel's mirth shaking his limbs and heating his face.
And all at once, it almost goes bad. A spike of fear seizes the angel, a wave of frigid anguish flowing through his Grace. Because this, all of it, is impermanent. Gadreel remembers everything he's come to enjoy and cherish will disappear when he finishes healing Sam. They'll send him away, and he'll again dwell in solitude.
Gadreel's laughter stills, and once jovial tears sting at the edges of his eyes, threatening to turn into real tears instead.
Sam knows he has to intervene, somehow, before this turns into a mess. He doesn't know exactly what he's doing or what he's searching for, he just feels the angel's Grace within, and acts.
It's not like before, when his mind had brushed feather-light against the intensity of Gadreel's Grace. No, this time, Sam reaches out and weaves a part of himself around the angel's Grace, winding around the light and bright warmth which make up the core of Gadreel, and he offers comfort. He thinks of calmness and happiness and every soothing thing he can dredge up, and gives it to the angel.
Gadreel's eyes close, breath catching, his Grace seizing in surprise. Sam thinks the angel isn't used to closeness with anyone, much less a human, and worries if maybe he's done the wrong thing. He doesn't expect it when Gadreel returns the odd embrace, his Grace flaring underneath skin and twining around Sam's own consciousness.
It's all fire and heat and light, but the intensity of it fades after a split second, and his entire awareness glows with warm, comfortable heat. A sea of gratitude flows towards him. Sam gives and Gadreel accepts, and Gadreel gives and Sam accepts, and for a few brief seconds, it's unlike anything Sam has ever felt in his life, and it's wonderful. It's weird and it makes no sense but it makes perfect sense, all at the same time.
Gadreel abruptly pulls away, slipping back into his mind, leaving Sam to drive the body. Sam takes a steadying breath, reaching up to wipe at his face, still smiling through it.
He's certain something intensely personal just transpired between Gadreel and himself, no matter how briefly, and he finds himself overcome with it. But he hides it with a smile and plays off his red face and tears as from the laughter.
"Yeah, so, like I said," Sam says, his voice a bit rough, "No one is braiding my hair, but I have an idea."
When they find Cas half an hour later, he's got a soaking wet kitten shivering in his hands, rescued from the clutches of late Autumn. Dean, fighting back a sneeze, proclaims the kitten absolutely cannot stay in the bunker. No way.
Charlie, in turn, proclaims Dean a heartless boyfriend. Castiel just gives him a sullen face, cradling the now-dry kitten in a thick towel and refusing to let go. He carries it with them to the couch, where it sleeps as they prepare to watch TV.
Gadreel glances over at the kitten several times, and resists the desire to reach out and touch its soft fur. It sleeps in Cas' arms, and he isn't certain how Cas might react. Yet, Gadreel observes it with fondness, from it's tiny form and white fluff down to it's delicate pink nose. It purrs softly, and a sweep of Gadreel's contentment spreads through Sam's limbs.
Sam observes with some amusement. He wonders if Gadreel enjoys small animals the way he enjoys plants. It would make sense.
"I enjoy all of my Father's creations, Sam," Gadreel tells him. Sam just smiles.
Three hours later, Charlie has braided Sam's hair in pigtails (Dean's already snapped a picture, to Sam's undying horror), and Gadreel expertly divides his time between watching Game of Thrones and attempting to braid Charlie's hair. Somehow, he manages to give both tasks extreme levels of attention.
Sam just sits back and watches. He's actually having a great time.
The finesse it takes to braid Charlie's hair seems just out of Gadreel's reach. With time, he's come to handle trimmers and Cas' plants well enough, but this new task requiring precise control of his fingers seems to leave him wanting. It's not the first time Sam's noticed it, per se, but it's the first time he pays attention. That's not normal, right?
His scrutiny doesn't go unnoticed. "When I take control of your body, I do not fully possess you," Gadreel tells him quietly. "While awake, you would feel overwhelmed with my Grace, so I refrain. However, I lose the ability to affect some fine motor control." He pauses. "I do not require it, in any event, to heal you."
Sam had known this, in a way. After all, Lucifer never held back, and the archangel's power had been frigid agony and pain and light, all mixed together in an all-consuming storm. With Gadreel, Grace brims full and warm everywhere, but his skin doesn't feel as if it would burst open. By exclusion, Sam had known Gadreel didn't flood his mind with his full power.
Gadreel might not have enough strength, either. A jagged edge lingers in his thin Grace, grown rough after healing Kevin. Sometimes Sam thinks he feels an echo of the angel's pain. Gadreel tries to conceal it, but can't. Even now, his pain lingers like the last snow of winter, and Sam's concern ties a knot in his stomach.
"You have a good heart, Sam," Gadreel tells him, "to worry for my sake."
Sam would refer to it as basic human compassion, but Gadreel probably wouldn't understand. So Sam says nothing.
Charlie continues to instruct Gadreel with pointers on French braiding her hair, and her enthusiasm pleasantly distracts everyone. "No, gather equal amounts, and pull just a little tighter. No, no, not like that. You need smaller groups of hair. Hmm, maybe we should try something easier."
Cas gives them a look bordering on comical. Gadreel doesn't seem notice but Sam does.
Sam smirks from his vantage point. Yeah, Dean's got Cas on a leash, in many ways. Sam, on the other hand, just enjoys watching his angel.
Gadreel's fingers twitch, ribbons of silky red hair splaying and slipping from between his fingers. He mutters an apology to Charlie and starts to braid again. If he heard Sam's slip of the thought—and Sam knows he undoubtedly did—he says nothing. Certainly, no one else is any the wiser.
Sam's starting to feel like he and Gadreel might share an entire world no one else is privy to.
Gadreel quietly checks in every few minutes, nervousness tense against his spine. He listens attentively for any sign Sam's feeling antsy and wants out. This extreme level of diligence puzzles Sam for a while, especially since he can just speak up at any time if he wants control again. Then he realizes Gadreel's never been set loose for this long before, not while Sam's also awake. Gadreel, despite his attempts to relax, has a coil of anxiety tensing low in his gut about it, fearful Sam will mind.
Oddly enough, Sam doesn't. Watching Gadreel interact with the world, and with people other than him, well, it's kind of fun.
Charlie chats all through the marathon, and when Dean finally gives her a glare with 'shush' written all over it, she sighs dramatically, shoulders sagging with her mood. Then she grins, sun-bright and airy, and hops to her feet. She tugs at Gadreel's hands to get his attention, pulling until he stands. She leads him across the room to a set of small, creaky chairs, balancing a drink precariously in one hand. Gadreel's attention falls away from the TV and settles entirely on her.
She asks about Heaven, so Gadreel tells her what he knows, careful to leave out the gory details. As if sensing his reluctance, she next asks about Gadreel himself. It surprises him, but he haltingly tells her his story, and his relief when she doesn't recoil cascades through his limbs. She asks about meeting Sam and Dean, and what happened after the Fall, and so he tells her that, too.
Sam's heard it all before, but Gadreel's long confession to Charlie remains no less stunning. It's the longest stretch of talking Gadreel's ever done in Sam's presence.
"Seriously? So you spring the Heavenly slammer, find a vessel, and like ten hours later you march right into the crossfire to answer a prayer?" She sounds amazed and incredulous, but it's accompanied by a smile. "You had to know you were hopping out of the frying pan and into the fire with these two wingnuts!"
Gadreel hesitates, only partially because he doesn't quite understand the idiom. "No, I did not." His jaw clenches, a thin cord of tension winding inside him. "I cannot claim bravery on my part. I merely heard a prayer for help and answered it. I did not know of the Winchester brothers and their reputation until after I'd arrived."
"But you stuck around," she presses. "When the other angels were attacking, you let Dean put up all that angel warding. You let him trap you in the room."
Sam's attention stirs at this line of conversation.
Gadreel tilts his head slightly. "Indeed, I did."
"That's badass," she says. "I'd have been scared. I freaked out the first time these guys showed up."
His head tilts minutely. "Yet you completed your task. You are also… badass."
Charlie snorts, grinning. "Okay, then. So we're both brave, I guess."
Gadreel smiles faintly for a moment, and grows silent, his eyes distant and unfocused. His distress hums deep in Sam's bones. "Charlie, you and Sam are friends, yes?"
She smiles. "Yep."
He hesitates. "Do you believe it is possible to redeem oneself after a mistake?"
"Wait, you mean like what happened in the Garden?"
"Yes, but… in this instance, I refer to Sam."
That gets Sam's rapt attention, loud and clear. It doesn't go unnoticed by Gadreel, either, a low thrum of the angel's anxiety coiling around Sam's spine.
Charlie's lips part, brow furrowing. "Aren't you healing him? Keeping him alive after the badness of the Trials?"
"That I am," Gadreel answers, "but for an angel to enter a vessel, they must first gain consent. I did not understand in the beginning, but… the 'yes' Sam gave, while typical by the standards of angels, is considered unacceptable among humans." His lips quirk downward, distress thrumming throughout his Grace. "I spent a time in Sam's body, hiding from even him."
Sam knows this, of course. He's aware Gadreel was new to modern humanity and didn't understand the finer complexities of consent at the time. Sam's been waiting since the conversation over Castiel's flowers for the angel to sort through it on his own. And since Gadreel mentioned it earlier, during the conversation about Becky, and he's again poking at the subject now, he must feel ready to finally talk about it. So Sam sits back and listens quietly.
Charlie shakes her head. "But he's aware of you now, and he hasn't kicked you out yet."
"It is not so simple," he says. "If I leave, Sam will die. If he desires to live, he cannot expel me."
Her lips form an 'o'. "So he doesn't have a choice but to keep you around."
"It troubles me," he says, and his regret flows, cool and trembling, throughout Sam's body. "I like Sam, and would not wish him harm. However, now that I am familiar with human autonomy and how my brethren abuse it, I regret I took him as a vessel. I did not understand how a human might feel intruded upon, even for their benefit." He closes his eyes. "I have much to learn about many things, it seems."
Charlie's face contorts in a sour grimace. "Sounds like a Catch-22." When he frowns in confusion, she elaborates. "A no-win situation? You wish you hadn't done it because it hurt him, but if you hadn't, Sam would be dead. And would you have ever even learned it was bad in the first place?"
Gadreel's jaw relaxes, his eyes going distant in thought. "I do not know. Before the angels fell, I had never taken a vessel before."
"You know, Zachariah threatened Dean with stomach cancer if he didn't say 'yes' to Michael. You didn't do anything like that."
"While Michael's offense may be perceived as worse, it does not excuse mine." He sighs softly. "The end result—healing Sam—was all I considered." He pauses a beat. "I truly thought I could heal him, and leave him none the wiser. I believed I was doing the right thing." Shame and dejection pulsing through Gadreel's Grace, ringing clearer than Sam's own emotion.
Sam has to admit, he kind of prefers being alive right now, even as tired as he feels. And Charlie's right, too; Gadreel doesn't act anything like the other angels. He's had too much opportunity by now to take advantage of Sam, and he hasn't. It's probably why Sam's over the anger, now.
"You didn't mean any harm," Charlie says softly, putting a small, gentle hand on the angel's arm. "You're helping. And Sam doesn't mind you there now, right?"
Gadreel's expression tightens. "I believe a human would say, 'that does not make it all right.'"
And that's the kicker. Good intentions or not, it had still been wrong. Sam had thought hearing Gadreel say it would feel vindicating, but now the moment's finally arrived, he's just kind of weary with the whole subject. Just another day in Sam Winchester's life, right?
Charlie's nose scrunches up in thought. "Well, you two are stuck together now, sure, but what about the future?"
He meets her eyes. "I do not understand."
"You say you wouldn't do it again, but if you ran into another situation exactly like what happened before, what would you do different?"
Gadreel frowns. "I would explain myself. I would accept a 'no' and leave them be."
Sam would probably smile, if he could. At least he's imparted one good lesson on the angel.
She nods slowly. "And what if it were someone you really cared about? Someone you didn't want to die, but you knew they would say 'no' if you gave them the choice?"
Gadreel stills, an uncertain answer ebbing and flowing in his Grace. "Though it would be difficult, I imagine I would give them their choice." He shakes his head, eyes closing. "These emotions, these ways…. They are difficult for me."
Emotions can cause a lot of problems for everyone, Sam thinks. It's no wonder the angel stays wound up like a clock.
Charlie nods. "Well, I guess it depends on what kind of an angel you want to be."
He frowns, head tilting. "I am myself."
"No, I mean, if you want to be a good angel or a bad one." She shrugs, gesturing with open palms. "You could be good as gold by angelic rules, but if your methods are immoral by human ones, people aren't going to trust you. They'll just assume you're a bad guy."
"I mean, it seems to me like the other angels wouldn't give a flip," she continues. "But if you don't want to be like them, you can't accept just any 'yes.' A person has to be able to make a clear choice."
Leave it to Charlie to deliver the simple truth with such clarity. Sam's going to hug her for that.
"I understand," Gadreel says after a long moment. "Thank you. Though it does not change the wrong I've committed against Sam."
"Well, at least you've apologized. That's a start," Charlie tells him, and draws a blank look. "You did apologize, right?"
A flood of pure anxiety sweeps through Gadreel. "I… no. An apology hardly seems adequate."
A month or two ago, it might have felt grating to hear this from the angel. Now, Sam just feels drained. There's no changing or fixing it, after all.
Charlie sighs. "Listen, sometimes you can screw up bad enough that people will never forgive you. It's a part of life. You can say 'sorry' until you're blue in the face, but the other person doesn't have to accept it." She pauses for a beat. "But you should always say it, even if they don't accept it. And don't just give an empty apology. It makes you a better person to try and make up for wrong stuff you've done."
Gadreel sits statue-still, stunned as he ponders the information. Sam thinks he might have to step in and explain it, but no, Gadreel does understand.
"Thank you, Charlie Bradbury," he says finally. "You are a human most wise."
She grins brightly, her eyes crinkling. "Aww, you're just saying that to get on my good side! Besides, it's just a heart-to-heart between friends, right? A Woman of Letters and an Angel of Letters?"
He closes his eyes, his hands gripping the side of the seat unseen. "Friends," he repeats, the word thick and heavy against his tongue, voice unsteady. "You do me honor. Thank you."
"Hey, chin up, man. Only the truth." Charlie smiles. "Besides, we have the rest of Game of Thrones to watch sometime, right?"
He smiles. "Yes. Though… perhaps we might watch something different. I must say, I do not enjoy the violence."
She looks thoughtful. "Um. Hmm. Oh, I know! We'll watch Narnia!" She smiles. "It has some battles in there, but it's very PG, you know? Great story, though!"
He nods slowly. "Yes. I would enjoy that."
"Speaking of stories," she trails off, glancing over her shoulder to the far corner of the room. Cas and Dean remain engrossed in the TV. "We're missing a great part!" she tells Gadreel, hopping to her feet and tugging at him. "Come on!" Then Charlie draws up short, hesitating. "If you don't mind watching more, that is?"
He smiles. "Of course not." He follows her and slides down on the soft couch, his eyes pointed towards the TV, but unfocused. His mind has wandered elsewhere, a thrum of distress still itching hot against Sam's skin. All at once, Gadreel gives up control of the body and withdraws inside, leaving Sam driving his own body again.
Sam flexes his fingers experimentally, listening as Gadreel shifts inside of his skin. The angel's Grace shines warm and steady, and retreats to a rather atypical place—somewhere right behind his forehead. It puzzles Sam, but he then recallsthere's actually a place up there, hidden within his skull; the library-shaped headspace neither of them has visited since the day Sam learned about Gadreel.
Well. Seems like an invitation.
Sam breathes deeply and closes his eyes, withdrawing his awareness to a pinpoint inside his mind. He thinks of the giant, empty library, similar to the bunker's library, and yet not.
When his eyes open, he almost stumbles in surprise. The room no longer houses empty shelves, but brims full-to-bursting with books. He spares a moment to glance about before noticing Gadreel next to the fireplace, back turned to Sam.
Sam trudges forward, coming to a rest beside him. Absently, he holds out his hands to feel the warm glow of the fire. It burns hotter than before, and Sam wonders what it means. Everything here probably means something, after all.
After a long moment, Gadreel turns haunted eyes on Sam, the sharp lines of his face shadowed in the dim light. Sam finds himself reminded, yet again, this place more than any other allows for no secrets. Gadreel shifts his weight, possibly more vulnerable than Sam's ever seen him.
"Sam," he says, his voice barely a whisper, "I am sorry. I share blame with Dean, as I suggested healing you from the inside. In any event, your 'yes' was not one I should have accepted." His lips tighten into a thin line, and his eyes flit towards the dancing flames. "I shall never do so again."
Sam stares at the side of Gadreel's head, watching the smooth muscles of his jaw tense. Something heavy and cold gathers in his gut, because he can't say the words Gadreel needs to hear.
So, he offers the only thing he can. "I know you are."
Gadreel doesn't turn to face him. Sam can't help but think of how much they have in common. Gadreel let the snake in the Garden. Sam let the Devil loose upon the world. Both ranked as catastrophic, nigh-unforgivable mistakes, and they've both gone through Hell and come out the other side, battered and bloody, to pay for them. And yet somehow, here they both are, standing tall and stuck with one another.
All of this still doesn't make it all right, not by a long shot. Despite the fact they get along well, he doesn't know if he forgives Gadreel for it yet (he doesn't Dean, anyway). Even knowing the angel hadn't understood the wrong he committed changes nothing. But as he watches the angel, stolid even as his Grace hums with dread, Sam thinks—no, he knows—he can forgive him. It's only a matter of time.
Maybe even soon. He's not exactly mad anymore, after all.
"This is what Dean doesn't understand," Sam says. "It's difficult to let someone you care for make a dangerous choice. It's why he insisted on doing the Trials himself. It's so much easier to sacrifice yourself than let someone you care for make a sacrifice for you." Sam's eyes go distant in the firelight. "Sometimes, we save people for our own sake, and not for theirs."
Gadreel's shoulders relax, just slightly. A moment passes, and he nods. "I understand. As promised, as soon as you are healed enough to survive, I will depart. And… you are not required to forgive me. I do not ask for or expect it."
Sam watches, feeling so much loneliness swirling dark and cold in the angel's Grace.
"But I want to," Sam says. "In time, I can."
Gadreel's head rises, mouth parted, face slack. Sam smiles weakly, and reaches out to press a hand to the angel's shoulder. He gives it a squeeze, because really, there's no need for the angel to feel all alone when he's not.
"Sam Winchester," he finally says, his voice a rough whisper, "you do not cease to astonish me."
Only a few seconds pass back in the real world, yet it seems they stand there a long time. They stare at one another openly, searching for answers amid the confusing mess.
When they return back to the outside world, Castiel and Charlie have busied themselves with setting up a box for the kitten in the corner. The two pad it with an old blanket, and discuss what will pass for cat litter until someone buys some.
Dean looks on, his expression one of utter defeat.
Scarcely an hour later, they're all racing through bunker with Dorothy Baum in tow, chasing the Wicked Witch of the West with bullets made of poppy seed. It sounds like a the plot of a lousy spinoff novel, but it's far too frightening and real for that.
And then Charlie dies. Dean screams for Zeke, the new nickname forgotten in the panic. Gadreel drops to her side, and doesn't hesitate.
"Resurrecting her will damage me," he warns both brothers at the same time. "Sam will be fine, but I will no longer be able to assist you against the Witch. I apologize." He pauses only a moment before nodding at Dean. "Good luck."
He presses a gentle palm to her forehead, and lets his power seep freely into her skin. Under the powerful ministrations of Grace, her heart flutters weakly, and finally restarts. About the time she sits up, gasping awake, Gadreel falls backwards, a soundless, agonized cry vibrating harshly in Sam's head.
Sam only barely gains control of his body before slamming into the solid wall, though it makes little difference. A wave of exhaustion and dizziness fills him and drops him to the floor. Alarmed, he reaches within for the angel, tries to pull on his Grace, tries anything. But Gadreel slips right through his fingers into a well of oblivion.
Sam catches his breath, sitting back up. "He's out," he tells Dean. "We're on our own, now."
Charlie would end up saving all their asses.
A few harrowing hours and a dead Wicked Witch later, Sam watches as Dean, Charlie, and Dorothy talk about the Impala, Dorothy's motorcycle, and the rebellion in Oz.
Gadreel would probably have something to say, or a question about some aspect of the scene, if he weren't still out of it. Sam feels cold without the constant thrum of his warm Grace, and tries not to worry about the fact all his attempts to rouse Gadreel have ended in failure.
Charlie turns to Sam, and throws her arms around him.
"If you need anything," he tells her, "just… tap your heels together three times, okay?"
She snorts. "Me? What about you crazy kids? You going to be all right without me?"
Sam smiles warmly at her.
"Seriously though," she says, biting her lower lip, her entire posture slumping, "take care of my angel in there, okay?"
Sam stills, and tries to fight down a low thrum of worry all his own. "I will."
"Thank Gadreel for me, please, for bringing me back from the dead. Tell him when I get back we'll all have a real party, and by then he should have some favorite movies, and… Hey, do you think an angel would be into LARPing?"
Sam can't help but chuckle, just a little. It sounds muted and dull, his heart not in it. "Maybe. You can ask him when you come back, safe and sound yourself."
"Is he gonna bounce back soon?"
Sam nods to reassure her, though he'd really like to know himself. So he lies. "Yeah, healing just takes a lot out of him. He healed Kevin before you got here, and I guess resurrection tires him even more."
Her lips curl downwards, her head bobbing slowly. "I guess he must feel wrung out a lot, even under normal circumstances. I mean, with healing you and everything, since you're like the walking dead without him, right?"
Sam opens his mouth to reply, but stops short, his throat going dry. The thought had actually never occurred to him, and now that it has, he feels stupid for never realizing it before. The angel weakens when he uses his power to heal others, yes, but he's constantly expending energy to keep Sam going, too. A thousand other thoughts follow, such as the way his Grace palpitates thinly through his muscles and veins, instead of a smooth, solid stream.
"Am I like a zombie, now? Do I need to eat brains?"
Sam laughs, her distraction welcome. "No, you're fine. Angel resurrection is perfectly non-monster territory."
Charlie chuckles, and nods. "I'll come back from Oz to check on you guys. You know, from time to time."
"Are you sure you want to go? We can always use a talented Woman of Letters."
"And get stuck in the war between Metatron and all the douche bag angels? Are you crazy?" She smiles, taking a few steps back. "Catch ya later," she says with a wink.
When the door opens, Oz shines bright and blinding as far as the eye can see. It's everything Sam would expect from a fairy realm, complete with the Emerald City glittering in the distance.
"Think she'll be back?" Dean asks.
Sam smiles faintly, feeling wistful. "Of course. There's no place like home."
AN: Don't worry. We'll see Charlie again in this fic.
