He doesn't like to think about it for various reasons, the least of which is because he's never quite alone. But there in his bathroom, as he brushes his teeth, he knows. He tries not to think about it, and Gadreel senses his desire not to talk and shies away as best he can. Sam brushes his teeth until his gums hurt. If he didn't have Gadreel, they'd have started bleeding by now.

He can't quite pinpoint when it happened, but something has changed; shifted imperceptibly.

It's subtle, and yet not. Hitherto, Sam's life has been a macabre collection of horrors and miracles, none of which have ever brought glad tidings, but this? This somehow frightens him all the more, and Sam's fairly certain his concerns don't trend towards the monstrous for once.

He leans down, his long hair brushing the basin of the gas station's sink as he rinses the toothpaste from his mouth. Gadreel doesn't enjoy the taste, but Sam's not about to stop brushing his teeth just because of the trifling fact he doesn't need to anymore. It's a lifelong habit, after all.

From his vantage point, Gadreel quietly defers. There's a familiar echo, a thought-that's-not-a-thought, but something passes between them all the same. It says, It is your body. But the angel doesn't say it, and Sam doesn't hear it, and yet… and yet...

For most of Sam's memory, life has given him little to celebrate and even less to hold on to. There's Dean, who he'd do anything for. There's Cas. Kevin has endeared himself to the family, too. And now….

Sam can't quite say it, doesn't even dare to think it, because he has an audience and he has no idea how to explain the confusion swirling in the space between his ears. While it's no dirty secret, it frightens him all the same. Maybe if he starts to think about it, he'd have to start thinking about it, and Sam doesn't think he's ready for anything else huge going down just yet.

Life in recent memory feels like a suffocating stroll through the most garish desert. The sun blinds him and mirages trick him everywhere. Despite his best efforts, Sam always makes the wrong turns, and what he mistakes as an oasis usually turns up something like poison.

But it's been a few months, and life doesn't feel so confusing anymore. The sun doesn't burn his skin and he can see where he's going. There's a horizon now, and it's neither unbearable nor unreachable. It's like he tripped and fell into an oasis somewhere, but he's not drowning. Inch by inch, there's an angel lifting him free, and they're both tired and soaking wet, but Sam's never felt better.

It's the other half of the equation which frightens him.

'You are troubled,' says Gadreel. His mood seems equal parts curious and fretful, as though he knows Sam's thoughts do not tend towards the immediately dangerous. But how could he not know?

"I am," Sam admits, because he can't lie. He rounds the corner, opening the door to the Impala with a loud creak. Dean's going to fret over the noise for this whole damn trip.

"Don't worry," he tells Gadreel. "It's… I'll figure it out. Get some rest, okay?"

The angel hesitates, but complies. He's still hurt, and hardly strong enough to argue. But even as he fades quietly into the background, Sam can feel his worry even if he can't hear his thoughts.

Sam tugs at the wrapper of a protein bar, eyeing the discolored topping with some trepidation. The chocolate twists in messy spirals, with nuts and berries and flaky bits of granola peeling away. It's a half-melted, gummy mess.

You know, kind of like him and Gadreel.

Oh, they're not really a mess, not yet. But there's an instinct in Sam warning him off, whispering of a tangled web so dire neither he nor Gadreel will ever find their way free. It doesn't bother Sam nearly as much as it should.

He pointedly does not think of the other night in the shower, and takes a bite of his protein bar. It's hard and gummy and too sweet on his tongue, and disgusting with the lingering aftertaste of his toothpaste. The opposing flavors clash but soon find a balance with his taste buds.

When Dean hops back in the driver's seat, Sam's doing a grand job of not thinking about a lot of things. Like how he's not sure he wants Gadreel to leave at all. And he doesn't understand it or even comprehend it, but it's nearly as terrifying a thought as being alone again, and Sam doesn't think he's ready to think about that.

Something has been changing for months, but it's only now Sam's become aware of it. And he knows he'll have to give it careful examination, and soon.


The case takes some creativity and effort, but soon they're on their way back to Kansas. Sam sits in the Impala as Dean drives, listening to the steady thrum of Grace in his ears, thumping with his heartbeat as it flows through his veins. Gadreel has mostly recovered from his previous exertion, but he still seems to sleep from time to time.

It's quiet and cold, and Sam glances over at Dean, a ghost of a smile warming his lips.

"You gave it up for me," Sam says. "The boys home."

Dean snorts, but it's half-hearted. "I don't know what you're talking about, man. I was glad to get out of there."

Sam smiles, his eyes glazing over as he stares into the blackness of the night the headlights struggle to illuminate. "Thank you," he answers anyway. He turns his head to observe Dean, who retains a wistful sort of expression.

After a long, long time, so long Sam's eyes have shut and he's drifted close to sleep, Dean speaks.

"Are we… are we good now, Sam?"

There's barely contained anxiety in the voice, and Sam doesn't bother opening his eyes to check Dean's face. It doesn't matter, anyhow. "Dean."

"I just… I know, nevermind. I get it."

Sam sighs, his eyes still shut. "Do you understand why it made me so angry? I would've rather died than be possessed again, and you knew that."

He opens his eyes to glance over at his brother, whose jaw has gone tense, doing uncomfortable-looking twitches.

"I… yeah. I do get it." He swallows. "But I just couldn't just let you die."

"You didn't save me for me, Dean," Sam says, his voice soft and gentle. "You understand that, right? You saved me for you."

Dean says nothing for a long while. "Yeah." He repeats it again, his voice softer. "Yeah." He doesn't sound quite convinced, but Sam supposes at least it's a start.

"Somehow, we lucked out for once and ended up with the best of all possible outcomes with Gadreel," Sam tells him. "But Dean, it could have gone so badly." Sam stretches his arms out in front of him. "He could have just gotten up and strolled away with my body, and I would have been none the wiser. He could have killed you, or Charlie, or Kevin. We just don't get lucky like this. This isn't the sort of thing that will ever happen again."

"I know, yeah, I know." He looks so uncomfortable, white-knuckling the steering wheel. "It could have gone sideways so hard, I know." He shakes his head, a bitter laugh spilling from his lips. "I just didn't know what to do, Sammy. I was all alone, and you were dying, and… Hell, I shouldn't have even put out a prayer like I did, because even if you weren't dying, the angels that showed up were gonna kill you and me both." He shakes his head again. "Cas has been all over me because of that move."

Sam's lips quirk as he thinks of Cas chiding Dean harshly. "You have to live your own life, Dean," he tells him. "I won't live forever."

"I do have my own life!"

Sam quirks an eyebrow at him before closing his eyes and leaning back into the seat again. "You're getting there."

Dean doesn't say anything in response, but Sam's sure he's making some kind of a face.

"You need to respect my ability to choose," Sam continues. "If I did something like the Trials again, something that will kill me… you have to respect that."

It's silent a long moment, before Dean finally says, "Yeah." His voice sounds heavy, weighted down with immeasurable grief.

"If I'm ready to die, that's my right to make that choice," Sam continues. "That's different than doing everything you can to save me, but…" His voice trails off as he tries to find the words.

"You make a choice, I stick by it," Dean fills in.

"I know it's hard. I know it's easier to make a sacrifice yourself than to allow someone else their right to choose for themselves. But it's selfish to do otherwise."

It's quiet for several minutes, and Sam just lets himself drift in the darkness, closer to sleep.

"So, are we good, or…?"

"We're getting there," he finally answers, smiling a bit and opening his eyes. Dean glances over at him a few times, his entire posture relaxing.

"Yeah…?"

Sam nods, and his own lips curve into a smile. "Yeah."

Sam closes his eyes again; lets the sound of the engine and the road lull him closer to sleep. But as he thinks about it all, he feels empty and cold. What if Dean never actually gets over this co-dependence thing he has going on with him, even with Cas' help? It's enough of a worry it nags at him and keeps him awake; makes unease settle into his mind.

All at once, he feels the warm sensation of something shifting within his own skin, and he feels calm again. Sam exhales as Gadreel wraps his Grace around Sam's very essence, his consciousness, maybe even his soul, offering comfort.

So, the angel had been awake and aware for at least part of the conversation, and Sam didn't notice. He shrugs to himself and shifts in the seat to get more comfortable, wordlessly accepting the gentle warmth of Gadreel's Grace. If the angel remains semi-conscious, somewhat aware of their shared surroundings, and passing out the possession equivalent of hugs when Sam feels upset, well, Sam can't say he actually minds.

"I can be useful, Sam," Gadreel's voice ghosts across his mind.

Useful.

A heavy mass of emotion twists within Sam's stomach. It's not the first time Gadreel has pleaded his usefulness, not by a longshot, but there's something about the way he says it which leaves Sam feeling frustrated and sad. As if Gadreel, for as much as he enjoys them and their company, thinks he's only good if he's 'useful' and they won't let him stick around if he's not. Maybe if he does enough party tricks they'll keep him around.

Actually, Sam realizes, it's probably exactly what Gadreel thinks. Sam knows he hasn't exactly been vocal in telling him otherwise.

"You're a lot more than 'useful,' Gadreel," Sam tries to tell him, but the angel has already drifted off to a restful slumber.

Sam frowns. He didn't envision things happening this way at all.


Something inside the angel has broken, Sam thinks. He's still too weak.

Sam's feeling great, possibly better than ever. But Gadreel feels frayed and unsteady around the edges, more so than ever, and it's not until Sam's thought about it for a day or two when he realizes it's nothing new. He's just paying more attention.

He wants to help, he does, but how does a human go about helping an angel? Gadreel's already claimed his Grace only needs time to regenerate, but the rot Sam feels has lodged itself far deeper than any superficial wound would explain. Though, Sam imagines being locked up since the dawn of time might have a lot to do with it, too.

Sam knows his fair share about cages. He knows how the days and weeks and years can stretch out forever until they lose all meaning; until the measurement of time itself seems becomes a long-forgotten concept. But he could linger on thoughts of eternal torture and hellfire, or try to think about better things.

He wonders now if time moves the same way in Heaven as it does in Hell. Because if so, Gadreel has spent something on the order of millions of years in lockup, which just makes Sam's paltry few centuries seem like playtime.

The angel rouses—though he's been paying attention the entire time—and acknowledges Sam's thoughts. It's telling he doesn't actually comment one way or another on Sam's suspicions. In any event, the angel feels cold and closed off about the whole subject, and seems to have no desire to talk about it. Sam can understand that. And still. Gadreel understands Sam's pain and what he went through in a way few others ever could, just as Sam thinks he might understand Gadreel's anguish.

The acknowledgement is silent. No words pass between them. It's not as though there's a lot to say about the subject of endless torture, but still. Sam's never felt this before. He's been possessed and had psychic abilities, but even at the height of both, he could never communicate like this. He would have thought it disturbing, or even chilling. Never warm and comfortable, never pleasant.

He makes a vague gesture to ask for privacy, and Gadreel retreats.

Gadreel will eventually recover, and so will Sam, and soon he'll leave (maybe he'll even retake his old vessel, if he gets another 'yes' from him him). This has always been the plan and Sam never doubted it.

So why does the thought of the angel leaving have his stomach done up in knots?

Sam never truly invited him in. He got tricked and allowed him to stay, but there's never been a true, informed 'yes' to pass his lips. And the idea Gadreel would have to leave eventually has always comforted Sam. He'd get his body back. But then, had he ever lost it to begin with?

If he's honest, no.

Sam sighs, one giant hand combing through his thick hair. This has all become ridiculous. They've become friends and have passed some time together, so sure, Sam might feel a bit fond of the angel. He's not unlike Cas in a lot of ways, with his questions and love of the library and bookishness. So it's normal Sam would feel some trepidation at the thought of a change. It's not as if this has become something else, like an attachment, or like… like….

It's not as if he's in love with the angel.

Right?

Oh, no. No no no. That's definitely not what's going on here. It'd be a damn foolish thing to go and do, to fall in love with an angel riding his skin.

He hopes Gadreel didn't hear any of that.

But whatever barrier had once separated them keeps dissolving away as time creeps by. Gadreel can no longer hide his loneliness and deep, aching sorrow from Sam, while Sam can't hide his anxieties and fears from Gadreel.

He can't keep any secret for long.


When they're back home, Sam finds himself thinking about Lucifer. Oh, how the Devil had defended himself! Told Sam a tragic tale about too much love, a story so poetic, a woven masterpiece, leaving Sam to wonder how long he'd spent preparing it. The story manipulated the listener, and some had actually bought it. Demons bought it. Nick certainly had. And in some alternate future as told by Dean, Sam apparently had, too.

As he brews a cup of tea, he considers the contrast with Gadreel. Sam firmly believes at this point the angel has been wronged in every way imaginable, set up to fail from the beginning because God just had to know what would happen. But the angel has never said anything in his own defense. The only thing Gadreel ever said on the subject? He loved humanity.

But he can't hide how he believes he's guilty, how he feels it defines him as an angel. It makes something in Sam ache with remembrance of his own past. It's something they share, this guilt. And Sam recognizes something else: a desperate, wild desire to do anything to fix it, yet paralyzed with the knowledge he never can.

Gadreel mopes around as Sam sips his too-hot tea, leaving him pondering the sequence of events which came to pass to bring him to the hospital. He's seen Gadreel's side of it now. He could have run away, but he didn't.

Sam feels so grateful for the angel, and he's never even bothered to tell him.

He sets down his teacup and closes his eyes. With a thought, he reaches inside himself, wraps himself around Gadreel's Grace, and pulls him into a tight embrace.

The angel flinches in surprise, and when Sam opens his eyes, they're inside of the mental Library again. The fireplace roars with warmth. His arms wrap around Gadreel in a physical embrace, even as he can feel his soul and Gadreel's Grace circling around each other from far, far deeper within.

"You were terrified, and stayed to help me anyway," Sam tells him, unwilling to let go of the angel, murmuring against dark, dirty blond hair. Forgiveness and warmth and gratitude flood his chest. "Thank you."

Gadreel answers with a halting voice. Despondent Thick with emotion.. "You… forgive me?

Sam smiles. "Yeah. You're forgiven." He squeezes Gadreel tighter. "In fact, I'm actually pretty damn glad to have you around." He pauses, closing his eyes. "Just in case I haven't made it clear."

Sam thinks it's damn ironic the other angels would scorn Gadreel, a true creature of such compassion among them, who has braved his fear and shown himself trustworthy and kind. He has his problems, his traumas, but he's a good angel.

A shocked flutter unfurls within him, and the form enclosed in his arms shifts, staring up at him. His expression begins as frozen, eyes wide and lips parted, but his face shifts into an expression of wonder.

"You know that, right?" Sam asks. "You are a good angel."

He does not answer, but turns his head away. In many ways, Gadreel remains a deeply wounded ball of pain who's still trying to figure out how to deal with the fact he's free after millennia of imprisonment and torture. Yet beneath the pain, his true nature remains warm and shines through. It's brighter now than it has ever been, and Sam would like to think his encouragement, and those of the others, has helped.

Sam pulls his trembling form back to him, and remembers the angel probably hasn't become used to such closeness with anyone, much less a human. And yeah, they don't do this. They don't do this sort of thing with each other. But Sam can't stand this sorrow and guilt which permeates Gadreel lately, and just wants to offer whatever small bit of comfort he can.

He thinks he'd do a lot of things right now for Gadreel. Maybe anything.

"I'm glad you're here," Sam whispers again.

Sam feels a burst of emotion so powerful his eyes water, the angel so overwhelmed his emotion bleeds right through to the vessel he's been so carefully tucked inside.

Back in the room, in the real world, Sam wiggles back against the chair, finding it ridiculously comfortable. He keeps his eyes closed, and simply lets the emotions overwhelm him, because not-so-deep down, Sam needs it, too. He needs to know he's more than just a fuck up who keeps bringing about heartache and the end of all things. Riding through the emotions of Gadreel's own moment, well, he'll take it as encouragement.

Back in the Library, Gadreel's voice drifts as a soft whisper, as if the angel can barely stand to speak. "You never cease to amaze me, Sam Winchester."


Gadreel's awakening had been just in time to save Cas' flowers. He tends to the colorful, velvety leaves and blooms. Even with all his angelic Grace and strength, his touch remains feather-light and nimble.

It's funny, a bit, how he's had to learn to use Sam's fingers, how the fine motor control took practice. Sam thinks if an angel just takes over completely, maybe it's not the same. Maybe they get it on the first go. But if you share with a vessel, it's harder. And Gadreel doesn't exactly just take over, even when he's in control.

It's a rare moment of contentment when Gadreel spends a few bare moments tending to these few potted plants. Sam wonders if he's thinking of Eden. If he ever thinks of Eden.

Gadreel the Gardener. It makes Sam's insides warm at the thought.

The corners of his lips quirk, Gadreel a bit amused. "Eden did not require a gardener," he says out loud as he scrutinizes a lopsided, sickly lily. "The plants grew with perfection."

Sam's heart beats faster, even though Gadreel still has the reigns. "But…?"

A small chuckle spills from his lips, and the angel shuts his eyes. "But, it is true I enjoyed the scenery." He opens his eyes, and turns his attention to the stem of the plant, his fingers carefully weaving into thick, black soil. "I enjoyed learning about every beautiful thing there my Father had made. I delighted in the many colors and scents."

He removes his fingers from the dirt, and with a thought, the grime vanishes.

Sam thinks about it, about Eden. Freaking paradise. Hah, he bets the angels strutted around like the modern day birds of paradise, shining as brightly colored, beautiful things. The gardeners with lush, green wings as rich as the garden around them, the guards standing strong with bright white wings.

Gadreel's eyes glaze over a moment, his entire essence going still. Sam worries he's crossed over into a place he should not have gone, at least until the angel speaks again.

"Angels came to Eden to marvel at the beauty of God's finest creation," he corrects Sam. "We admired humanity, God's most beloved creation. Many angels came to the Garden to bow down before you, following our Father's command to love you more than Him."

He closes his eyes again. "And yes, the feathers of my wings are green." He pauses, considering. "Were green."

He feels slight flutter of pain in his back again, throbbing and stinging, just before it vanishes.

Sam's heart drops to his stomach. The phantom back pain he's been feeling… It's not his pain, it's Gadreel's. It's his wings.

"Yes," the angel confirms. "They burned in the Fall, wounded. They require attention, but I am incapable of doing so myself." He busies his hands with the last of the plants. "They will remain intact until such time they can be groomed."

Sam wants to see them. Wants to touch them, to give them the attention they need, but knows he can't. He hopes maybe Castiel will come around, and he'll help Gadreel.

Something hesitant unfolds in his gut before disappearing, and Sam wonders again if he made some sort of mistake.


When Gadreel meets Mary the kitten again, he bonds with the tiny creature instantly. He scoops her up in Sam's huge hands, dwarfing the ball of fluff. He enjoys playing with her, and loves to hear her purring against his shoulder. Sometimes he sits and lets the kitten sleep on his chest.

Sam thinks it's the most adorable thing he's ever seen. Gadreel, the stoic Wall of God: lover of kittens.

One day, Dean observes this, and grumbles about the kitten between sneezes. He's stopped trying to get close to the cat at this point, but despite his assertion he doesn't like cats, he still plays with her. Lets her chase string, throws toys, everything. He just doesn't scoop up the cat or pet her. It doesn't seem to matter though, because it just sets off his allergies anyway.

Gadreel watches Dean in a particularly awful fit of sneezing, and seems to understand all at once what's going on. He goes to touch two fingers to his forehead, but halts, thinking the better of using his Grace on Dean without asking him, first.

"I can make your sneezing stop," he says.

In response, Dean sneezes. "Yeah? That'd…" He sneezes again. "That'd be great, Gad."

Permission given, he touches Dean's forehead with two fingers, and heals him. Rewrites something Sam doesn't understand so the allergies won't return.

"There," he says, "Mary will no longer give you trouble, Dean."

Dean's brow knits together in confusion, just before leveling Gadreel with a bright smile. "Dude, did you just fix my cat allergies?"

Gadreel nods, to which Dean gives a lopsided, bright grin and sucks in a deep, sneeze-free breath.

"Oh that is so awesome!" He smiles, and scoops up the kitten in his hands. "Thanks!"

Gadreel warms, and Sam realizes it's the first time Dean has ever complimented or thanked Gadreel for anything. The angel, however, doesn't seem to mind. He's just warm with the knowledge he's slowly, slowly, getting there.

"You are welcome, Dean Winchester."


"Are you sure?"

"Damn sure," Dean's voice answers, tinny and thin on a nasty cell phone signal. "Looks like Metatron exorcised another angel and made off with its Grace."

Gadreel listens intently, but says nothing. Sam can feel his disbelief fluttering throughout his Grace. "Any sort of pattern showing up yet?"

"Cas says these are some of Malachi's angels, but the ones in the next town over belonged to Bart's."

Sam leans back in his chair, brow furrowed. "What is he even doing? He already kicked all the angels out of Heaven." He frowns. "Is it some kind of revenge thing?"

"No way to tell, yet," Dean answers, voice warbling with static. "But we've got to stop him, somehow."


Sam lies in bed, feeling the tingling warmth of Gadreel's Grace, and knows the exact moment the angel realizes Sam has recovered enough to survive without him. He still needs serious healing, sure, but it's work doable from the outside. Gadreel lets it float unsaid between them. He doesn't stop his work, either (Sam thinks he's focusing on his spine, for some reason), but there's a question there, yet unspoken.

A few things pass through Sam's mind, and zero of them have to do with kicking the angel out.

He enjoys this thing they have going on, this synergy, this companionship. Sure, he wants his body back, but… he doesn't quite want to lose this just yet, either.

He's awake and feeling better than he has in years, and it dawns upon him: he finally, finally understands why Gadreel's light within feels so dim. The angel hasn't just healed him, but he's done so at the expense of healing himself.

"Why?" he asks.

"You had reason to expel me. I had to make certain you would survive in such an event."

"You've been hurting yourself to help me," he says, flat and even, as though he's too astonished to believe it.

"I came to your aid," he replies plainly, as if it explains everything.

Maybe it does. Maybe angels once felt the same way before Gadreel got locked away. How they're supposed to act now, but don't.

Maybe Sam can survive on his own now, but Gadreel still needs him, whether the angel admits it or not. At the very least, the angel needs to heal himself, too. Something protective warms within Sam, wraps itself around the wounded angel fiercely.

"Let me come to yours, then."

Gadreel responds with a jumble of confusion.

"You should stay here until you're healed," Sam explains. "I'm an archangel's vessel. That has to have some kind of perk for you, right?"

Gadreel doesn't answer, but he doesn't have to. Sam knows he doesn't want to leave yet, and how he feels at home in the bunker. He has friends and companionship and the idea of being alone again terrifies him.

Sam takes a breath as he listens to Gadreel's many conflicting thoughts. Well.

"Gadreel," he calls, and the angel stills his thoughts to listen. "Yes."

The angel doesn't comprehend his meaning, confusion growing again.

"Listen to me, Gadreel," Sam says to the room. "I'm saying 'yes.' To you." He pauses, worrying at his bottom lip for a moment. "So far, I've told you that you could stay. That I wouldn't kick you out. But I never actually gave you a clear, unbiased yes." He lets his head drop back against the pillow. "So, until you're better, until you're healed yourself, yes. I'm saying yes. Unless… you don't want to stay?"

"No, I… I do like you, Sam. I enjoy your company very much."

Sam smiles. "Stay a while longer, okay? At least until you're a little better."

There's a flood of emotion again, less overpowering but no less vivid. And now, a new feeling flitters through his awareness: the angel feels undeserving of Sam's kindness, of his words. And it makes Sam so sad, because the angel has been nothing but gentle, kind, and protective.

And so, he keeps healing Sam. And begins work on himself, too.


Out of the blue, Gadreel levels him with a surprising confession.

"There was one other like you," he tells Sam. "One who showed kindness to me. His name was Abner."

Sam's reading when the angel speaks, so he stops, puts down the book, and gives him his undivided attention.

"The archangels imprisoned him in heaven for seven hundred years. We both weathered the pain of torture. For him, it became too much. I had long become accustomed to it, but he had not. I tried to help, to make it less painful for him."

He pauses, stricken. "He was the first angel to show gentleness to me in so long."

It's quiet for a long moment as Sam feels a terrible ache in his chest, an emptiness, a loneliness. "What happened?"

"He was killed shortly after being released," Gadreel finally tells him. "They told me as a cruelty. They said because I wasn't there to put him back together, no one else cared enough to try, and so he died after a battle."

Sam feels rage bubbling up inside of him. Friggin' angels, he thinks. But he pushes the anger aside, and stretches his consciousness around Gadreel, pulling him into a warm and tingling embrace.

"I'm so sorry," he whispers.

When he opens his eyes, he finds himself in the Library, his arms wrapped around Gadreel, who leans into him, accepting whatever comfort Sam might provide.

His eyes sting. Gadreel really does deserve so much better than this crap.

If the angel hears him, he does not respond.


Kevin starts babbling gibberish again, and Gadreel comes to his rescue, soothing pain and lulling him gently asleep.

He's troubled. "Do all prophets suffer so?" he asks Sam.

His mind wanders to the missing-in-action Chuck. "The last prophet did. He had terrible headaches when he'd have visions."

Gadreel frowns. "They have not asked for this burden. Why would God grant such a terrible fate upon those who can barely stand it?"

Sam would shrug, if he could. "And you wonder why I don't pray anymore."

Gadreel says nothing, choosing to settle the blanket more firmly around Kevin instead.


Of course, they're on a hunt gone wrong. Dean's gone missing, and now Sam and Jody have found themselves staring down a pissed pagan god who's knocked Sam flat on his ass.

"What's wrong with you?" Vesta shrieks.

Sam draws in a shaking breath as he stares down the demi-goddess. "What?"

"Dear boy, you're all duct tape and safety pins inside. How are you alive?"

Anger coils low and hot in Sam's bones, something ancient and righteous surging and filling every part of him. Sam's overwhelmed with it, with the rush of emotion and he thinks he may have never seen Gadreel this pissed off before.

The angel pushes forward without asking, seizing control with such a rush of Grace it leaves Sam trembling from the raw exposure of it—or would, if he had control of his body.

"Do not touch him, pagan filth!" the angel spits, rushing forward with his hand outstretched. Sam can already feel the power gathering in his palm, Grace burning hot in anticipation of the smiting. Vesta stumbles backwards to avoid him, but like always, Gadreel's as unavoidable as oxygen.

Gadreel gets as far as clutching at her shoulder before Jody comes up from behind, thrusting the oak stake through the goddess.

Vesta stares up in horror, meeting Gadreel's eyes for a moment, and Sam feels a low rumble of satisfaction gushing through his bones. His eyes narrow, and a dark smirk curves his lips as the goddess explodes in blue flames.

Jody stares at Sam in open shock for a moment—she'd known the situation, but seeing it has her staring with wide-eyed fear. And Gadreel hasn't calmed, he's still as angry as a minute ago, and Sam's almost drowning in the intensity of it.

Finally, he bows his head, closing his eyes, and Sam feels white-hot Grace reaching out, caressing him. He's actually pissed off because the goddess tried to hurt Sam.

Since when did he become worth getting upset about? Sam thinks it's strange.

Gadreel makes a low noise of disagreement in his throat, but the trap door springs open and Dean's head pops out.

"What did I miss?" he asks frantically, glancing around.

There's a pulse of embarrassment from the angel, as if he suddenly remembered they had an audience. So Gadreel retreats, deeper within Sam than he's been in months, Sam thinks maybe he's the one who's been missing everything.


Back in the bunker, Sam sits on the couch with Mary, listening to her purr contently. When Sam holds Mary, she sits on his lap. When Gadreel holds her, the kitten claws its way up to his shoulder and purrs endlessly. Somehow, the cat can tell the difference between Sam and Gadreel.

Sam pulls gently at Gadreel, and the angel surfaces. The kitten notices, her tiny head lifting to stare up at them, tilting in a uniquely feline manner.

"Hello, little one," Gadreel murmurs, gently lifting the kitten and placing her on his reclined shoulder. She rubs her face against his neck, and settles in to continue her nap.

These moments feel so calm. Sam loves them, loves how not-alone he feels. Delights in how this angel, this steel-faced Wall of God loves soft kittens and gentle purring in his ear.

"Why did you feel embarrassed?" Sam asks him. "Back there with Vesta?"

Through eyes he doesn't control, he sees his vision go distant and unfocused. It's silent so long Sam thinks the angel might not answer. Well, that's all right, he supposes. The angel has a right to privacy, too.

The thought sends a distinct feeling of displeasure through him, and he can feel the angel resist the urge to shift in the seat. He doesn't run, though, so Sam counts it as a development.

"I am protective of you, Sam," he finally answers. "The thought one might take you from this earth in such a terrible way…. I became angry."

Protective. Of Sam. Huh.

"And of Dean, Kevin, and Castiel, of course," he adds, but it's a rushed afterthought, and not without some frustration.

Sam can't figure out why Gadreel would feel protective of him; why he would feel anything other than a grumbling animosity for the vessel he's in but doesn't actually take. Sam's just a warm body to house the angel, after all.

"No," Gadreel interrupts him, his tone sharp. "Do not think this way. It is untrue."

But it is true, he thinks. He's the boy with the demon blood, the one who let Lucifer loose, who started the Apocalypse, who failed to complete the Trials…

"Stop," Gadreel admonishes him. The kitten shifts on his shoulder, mewling at the noise.

"I let Lucifer free. People died. I drank demon blood."

Gadreel remains silent a moment. "Were you not fooled?"

"What?"

"The demon, Ruby. The one Dean has spoken of," Gadreel says. "Is she not the one who misled you into setting the Lightbringer free?"

Sam feels cold.

"You let him out. I let him in," Gadreel says.

"It's different," Sam argues.

"It is not." After several long moments, Gadreel's voice continues. "It makes little sense you would blame yourself, yet hold me blameless for my own trespass." He pauses. "We have both made mistakes, but we both deserve a chance." He sighs. "Sam, you are blameless in these events. Surely, you know this?"

Sam sullenly thinks he doesn't feel blameless. Shame, misery, exhaustion, they all overtake him. Everything has piled up and never gone away, all the things he can't scrub clean… It's why he went through the Trials to begin with, because they would purify him, but he didn't even finish those.

Grace wraps around his very essence, warm and pure and powerful, more insistent than ever before. He thinks he might drown in it. It's hot and bright and so amazing, this embrace Gadreel holds him in, and his soul screams for it, for more.

"Sam Winchester," Gadreel says softly, "You are a good man. I have seen your soul, and it shines like the sun." He pauses. "You deserve good things."

Sam hesitates. "What about you? You still blame yourself for the Garden. Lucifer tricked you, too."

The angel sighs. "I do. But… the terrible things in its wake, they were not my doing. Just as the Apocalypse was not yours."

"You're innocent, too."

Gadreel hesitates, restless. "I… deserve a chance to redeem myself."

"That's not an answer."

The angel smiles faintly. "No, I suppose it isn't." He pauses a long moment. "Yes, I yet blame myself for my weakness."

"But you didn't do it."

"No. But the absence of my diligence—."

"Lucifer fooled you," Sam interrupted.

Gadreel hesitates. "Yes."

"Then why am I blameless and you're not? You just said what we did was no different. That the things that followed weren't our doing."

Gadreel breathes deeply. "A human saying I've heard—the pot calling the kettle black—would seem to apply."

"I don't think you're using it correctly. And it's not a complimentary saying."

Gadreel huffs softly. "I am aware."

It's silent a long while, and when Gadreel speaks again, his voice has become impossibly soft.

"No one has ever told me I am blameless before."

Sam would frown, if he could. "No one's ever told me that, either."

The angel sighs, and Sam feels a rush of heartache not his own tearing at him.

"We are so alike, you and I," Gadreel whispers, his voice stoic as ever, despite the twisting pain he feels underneath. "Seeking redemption. Hungering for the understanding of our brethren." He pauses. "Unbelieving of kindness offered to us."

It's the most intimate thing the angel has ever said to him. And he's kind of right, Sam thinks. The both of them seem kind of miserable and alone.

Gadreel's light pulses within him warmly.

Sam does not feel worthy, certainly not of this. A demigod has just told him he's barely held together with duct tape and safety pins, and the angel not only tends to his physical wounds, he's trying to soothe Sam's worries, too.

Gadreel's eyes fall closed, and he sighs, his stony façade crumbling a fraction. "I shall show you, then."

For a split second, Sam feels like he's touched the surface of the sun itself and lived to tell the tale.

He doesn't have a chance to ask what's going on before he's nearly blinded by the force of Gadreel finally manifesting within him fully, truly, for maybe the first time, at least when Sam's been conscious. Actually, scratch that, definitely the first time, because he's never felt this before.

Sam never realized how little control the angel had ever truly taken.

There's so much heat and light and his vision nearly whites out, and instinct drives him to dig his fingers into the cushion, but they don't move. The Grace no longer swirls warmly from the angel's hiding place, but instead lights him with pure ecstasy, and he'd weep with the angel's beauty if his eyes would listen. He'll full-to-bursting with the angel's light and it feels wonderful.

Through the haze, he has a vague sense this feels wonderful for Gadreel, too, who shivers as the moments pass. Taking an unsteady breath. "Sam, would that you see yourself as I do."

It's exceptionally hard to form words, especially self-deprecating ones, in this moment. He feels something fond and impossibly kind gather round his mind, pulling him in closer and Sam's just lost in it, selfishly grasping for more.

"I am you, Sam," the angel murmurs. "Every atom of your body glows with strength and courage."

It's acceptance, kindness, affection, loyalty, compassion, all rolling off the angel's Grace in waves and taking Sam apart to pieces inside. It's too, too much sensation, his entire body on fire with Gadreel's emotions, emotions somehow more powerful than his own. Sam knows he can't escape the onslaught, but he doesn't even want to try. He just lets the intensity of Gadreel's acceptance and affection press in all around and inside of him, so blinding Sam thinks he might shred to pieces but knows all the same he won't.

Sam feels everything. He feels his own injuries, but there's no pain, only the soothing warmth of Grace. He feels broken wings beating against his own back, feels the massive, heavy arch and length of them, pulsing and glowing. And he sees: lines of Grace, a true form of an angel which should spill out of him, but somehow tucks inside as if he's a puzzle piece that fits there.

At some point, Sam gains control of his body again, and his head has drooped back on the couch, His voice has gone raw and his mouth hangs open in a soundless moan, because it's pure, unfiltered ecstasy for the both of them. Sam's never been connected to someone this way before, not even Lucifer. Gadreel accepts Sam, and Sam hadn't realized until that very moment how fucking desperate he'd been for it.

"I will be your wall against all who would tear you asunder," the angel's voice rings in his head. "So long as you are yet my vessel, I will defend you from all."

And as sudden as it began, Gadreel retreats, his Grace swirling up and tucking back inside of his body. Sam pants where he lies upon the couch, tears streaming down his face, feeling so empty he can barely breathe. But there's a tug—just enough to remind him the angel hasn't really gone anywhere.

Sam feels only raw desire and desperation for closeness in its wake. He longs to have the angel back, just like he'd been a moment ago, the both of them mingling and touching, Grace and soul somehow communing, and both of them so together in the same skin. It feels as though anything else after experiencing Gadreel could never seem real enough.

If the angel hears him, he says nothing, and Sam shirks away in embarrassment.

He's not in love. No. Absolutely not. But it's possible he's well and truly fucked.

The kitten makes an annoyed noise before hopping down to settle on his lap.