It's two days later when Sam finally says what he should have said ages ago.

"I never thanked you for saving my life," he tells Gadreel.

The angel stirs within him, a flutter of curiosity skittering across Sam's skin. "You need not express gratitude. I came to your aid willingly."

"But still," Sam stresses, pulling a shirt over his head. "Thank you. I… I had given up, you know? So thank you for saving me, even when I didn't want to be saved. Thank you for saving me when you felt frightened, and I didn't feel worthy of saving. Thanks for not leaving me when I was a jerk to you."

As he shrugs on his flannel overshirt and sits at his tiny desk, book in hand, he muses quietly on how the whole situation could have gone sideways, and yet, somehow, didn't. He can't believe something went their way for once, and now he has… this. Whatever this thing between them has become. His chest aches at the thought of losing it.

Gadreel's discomfort hums within him, a silent agreement. "You have always been worthy, Sam Winchester. I will never cease in my attempts to prove to you otherwise. I would save you again and again. You leave the world a better place while inhabiting it."

The words leave Sam curious as he considers the other night, when Gadreel had blinded him with the ecstasy and intensity of full possession. The cascading sensation of a rushing comet, but no pain; only bliss.

"Why don't you take control like that?" he asks. "Manifest yourself? Whatever you call it?" Sam frowns at the words on the page, shutting the book and setting it upon his desk. "Wouldn't you have an easier time doing stuff?"

He doesn't have to define 'that'. They both know what he means, and for once, it's something neither one of them truly wants to think about. Sam can't help but wonder why Gadreel's shy about it.

A thrum of unease snakes through Sam's insides. "I am inexperienced in this regard, so I cannot speak for my brothers. But… I do not believe angels typically…. possess individuals in the manner you and I have become accustomed to."

"What do you mean?"

"They take vessels. They do not share them."

Sam shifts, considering. It makes sense. "So, that whole experience was sharing? You and I were both kind of in control, it seemed."

Agreement echoes within him. "My brothers and sisters owe so much to this world, and yet they only take. They have forgotten our true mission: to protect and bow down to humanity."

Sam doesn't disagree with him, though the idea of anyone bowing down before him leaves his stomach done up in knots.

The angel sighs within. "I harbor no desire to take from you, Sam. I find I am much more content to share. To give what I have, and to share in what you give." He pauses. "I feel…. at home."

Sam props his face against his hand, leaning his weight on his elbows. "Don't you ever feel stuck? Trapped?"

This time, warmth unfurls underneath his skin, soft and pleasant.

"Your soul shines with a light I've never known, not even in Paradise. Nothing could feel further from a prison."

Sam has no idea how to respond, so he jumps back to the previous topic.

"Gadreel, when you're done healing, when you leave…" He pauses, because the idea of Gadreel leaving causes his blood to run cold. "You do know you have a home here, right? Just like Cas and Kevin, you're one of us now. You don't have to feel alone anymore."

The angel doesn't seem to know how to respond, but his Grace glows brighter than the sun, and gratitude sinks deep into Sam's essence.


Two days later, Sam's chopping up ingredients for a salad when Castiel shuffles into the kitchen. He tosses a "hey" at him, but Cas only nods, averting his eyes as he goes for the peanut butter in the cabinet. Sam ducks out of his way, grabs his own food, and makes for the table.

Deep in thought over a case, he jolts when a plate clatters on the table in front of him. He glances up to see Cas taking a seat, his expression pained and morose.

"How are you, Sam?" he asks, taking a careful, neat bite of his sandwich.

"I'm doing a lot better. Thanks."

The former angel doesn't answer, choosing instead to stare at his sandwich as if it holds the secrets of the universe. Finally, he asks the question Sam and his angel have waited months to hear.

"And Gadreel? How is he?"

The angel does the equivalent of sitting up straight in Sam's body, the rush of almost-motion tickling Sam's sides.

He does his best to shrug, as if nothing unusual had just happened. "He's healing, too."

"Ah. Good."

Sam beams, unable to resist. "He's happy you asked."

The kitten wanders into the room, sniffing the floor by the table. Cas reaches down and takes Mary into his arms, scritching at her head before setting her on the table. He stares at Sam as though he'd just parted the Red Sea. "I don't understand. Why?"

Sam casts a forlorn glance at his salad, and sighs. He can eat later. If he can get Cas and Gadreel talking, it's totally worth skipping a meal.

"You're his brother, Cas," Sam tells him. "He's been working hard to prove himself lately, you know?"

Cas says nothing. He just seems so lost.

"It certainly can't be because you're both angels on the run, or that he hasn't talked to another friendly angel in a very long time."

Cas snorts, taking another bite of his sandwich. "I'm no angel," he says, mouth full. "No Grace, no power to do anything."

Mary rolls over to her back nearby, chasing an imaginary something with her paws.

Sam can feel powerful, longing emotion stir within Gadreel, his desire to reach out and comfort his brother so tangible gooseflesh forms on his skin. So Sam pulls back and invites the angel to take control for a while so he can talk it out with Cas.

He hesitates, but takes Sam's offer. Sam encourages the angel from the sidelines. Just try, he presses.

Gadreel gathers himself, and speaks. "You are a better angel than most, Castiel."

Cas' expression of self-reproach morphs into surprise, and hey, as far as Sam's concerned, it's a start.

Cas stares down at his sandwich, his appetite perhaps gone.

"Gadreel, I never expressed my gratitude to you for resurrecting me." He pauses. "Thank you."

A warm, happy glow curls low in Sam's chest, spreading out until his fingers tingle. "You are welcome, Castiel."

The two angels talk, haltingly at first, but as the minutes pass the conversation picks up until they're both elbow-deep in Enochian. A sensation, a ghostly thought leads Sam to think Gadreel's catching up on recent history in Heaven, but he's not trying to tune into the angel's thoughts so much right now.

After a few more minutes, when it becomes evident Cas and Gadreel are going to seriously keep at it a while, Sam lets himself drift to the huge library in his mind, the one similar to the bunker's. He settles on the long, luxurious couch and shuts his eyes. He still hears snippets of the conversation at times, like voices muffled through a pillow.

He lies there, and thinks he should probably feel alarmed at how content he feels in this moment, but pushes it aside and drifts asleep. He's put off this existential crisis this long, and if he's honest, he doesn't think it's going to happen at all. So he rests in it, content, basking in how he feels better than he has in a long, long time.

At some later point, Sam wakes up to the crackling fire, the only light in the darkened library, and finds a blanket spread out atop him. Gadreel sits across the way, on the floor near the fire, cross-legged and still as a statue. He's facing in Sam's direction, but his eyes are closed, back ramrod straight, and he appears to meditate.

Sam can still feel his real body, back in the bunker, settled somewhere cozy and warm. Somehow, he just knows he's in his room, warm and comfortable in bed. The idea that his angel had thought for Sam's comfort for when he awakened made something in his heart clench.

Much like the roar of the fire, Gadreel's Grace glows hot, and dare he say it, happy. Sam can feel joy pooled in his belly; feels it like stardust in his bones.

He wonders if it's time to have that existential crisis yet.

Instead, he just grins, staring at the angel sitting in peace and contentment on the floor. Sam knows if he thinks about it too hard, if he lets Gadreel's emotions overwhelm him, he'll drown in it. So he just shuts his eyes and falls back to sleep.

For once, everything feels good, and Sam has no desire to rock the boat.


A week later, a church glee club dusts a biker gang at a bar, and despite the risk, the serious angel-on-angel violence has become something they need to check out. They're researching Metatron's strange angelic exorcism lately, too.

Gadreel doesn't relish the idea of hunting other angels—or encountering them—but goes along with it because Sam does. Also, Sam suspects he wants to watch over Dean and Cas, too, since he's the only powered-up angel they have at the moment. Glorified groundskeeper or not, his Grace has recovered significantly since he's stopped splintering it to heal Sam.

Besides, having a friendly angel along for the ride always gives them some insurance.

Sam never stops feeling amazed at how Gadreel's gone from running from these kinds of things to running towards them, all because he's become protective of their little family. They might as well get him a Team Free Will badge at this point, or something.

Of course, everything goes sideways, and they manage to show up at the exact wrong place at the wrong time.

Sam's pouring over old journals with Cas at a grimy motel table, while Dean's miles away interviewing someone. With no warning at all, a team of angels storm in, their unblinking eyes focused on Castiel.

At first, Sam finds himself flung against the far wall as one winged dick barrels towards him, angel blade in hand. Of course, an angel would attack first and only bother to ask questions later. Sam rolls out of the way quickly, leaping back up to his feet even as Gadreel's power surges forward like a mighty wind, fierce and more intense than ever before.

Sam expects Gadreel to take control, but it doesn't happen. Something else, something beyond description, takes place: Sam keeps control of his body, but all of Gadreel's power and strength itches at his fingertips. Their minds surge together, swirling in Sam's head, and they're so unified in motion and purpose they've become of one mind.

Any other time, Sam would ponder the trust it must take to allow Sam control of his body when enemies Gadreel fears so greatly stand right before them. Except Gadreel is in control… and so is Sam. They've become two who move as one, and Sam no longer knows where he ends and Gadreel begins.

He has no time to spend in wonder of this. The attacking angel descends upon him, his blade lifted high in the air. With augmented strength, Sam easily blocks his arm, twists, and the attacker loses his grip on the blade. Sam catches it with practiced ease, flips the hilt over into his palm, and drives it into the other man's chest. White light spills from his mouth, his eyes, roaring through the whole room.

There's a moment of stunned silence as the other two angels regard him warily. Castiel's in trouble, limp and too-quiet as one angel grasps him. The other angel seems torn between attacking Sam or defending his partner.

"Let him go!" Sam hisses, the power in his voice causing his skin to tingle and his ears to twinge. As he postures, angel blade in hand, he feels powerful. Ancient. Loyal. Gadreel's loyalty to both Sam and Cas shines hot like sunlight, radiant from the surface of his skin.

Sam understands. Gadreel will fight. His angel will not allow them to leave with Castiel or to harm Sam.

"You're an angel," the one gripping Cas mutters, shaking his head, eyes wide. "But I don't recognize you."

"Pleased to make your re-acquaintance, once you release our brother." As soon as he's spoken, he releases control back to Sam, but all of his angelic power remains, running in tendrils of Grace underneath his skin. Sam tightens his grip on the blade, and takes an advancing step.

The two angels share a glance, and Castiel groans in the shorter one's grasp. Not unconscious, then. Just stunned.

"Whoever you are, this doesn't concern you," the taller one comments. "Malachi wants Castiel, and you're a fool to get in his way."

Sam feels Gadreel surging again, his lips moving and the angel's words breaking loose, even as there's a profound sense of pointlessness to what he's saying. "Brothers, we are not creatures of wrath. We were created for compassion!"

"Compassion? For Castiel?" the blond retorts with a snort. "We're just following orders. You know what Malachi would do if we disobeyed? If we had it our way, if most angels had it their way, he'd be dead already."

Sam feels Gadreel's frustration, his desperation to make his brothers understand, and also his unwillingness to allow them to leave with Cas.

"You shall not leave with him."

With a thought, he extends his power and slams the door to the hotel room shut, trapping the five of them inside.

"Then you make yourself our enemy," the taller one says, and takes a menacing step forward. "Who are you, anyway?"

Sam remembers Gadreel's roiling fear of this very situation: finding himself trapped with Cas when the other angels caught up. And yet, here he stands, refusing to flee. The thought of running doesn't cross his mind. Gadreel stands ready to die for Cas, his friend and brother, and he knows Sam agrees, too. This unity of purpose and power makes the Grace flowing through his limbs burn hotter.

"I am Gadreel, the Wall of God," the angel booms, wielding his name like a weapon.

Sam knows, without a doubt, Gadreel's not spoken his own name and owned it like it meant something in too long of a time.

Both the angels stare back, slack-jawed and wide-eyed, and Sam takes their brief moment of shock as an opportunity to lunge forward.

The taller of the two doesn't have a chance. Sam catches him so off guard he's dead before a full three seconds pass. The shorter, blond angel clutches Castiel's body as if it were a shield. Sam advances...

...and the door flies open, two more angels piling in, blades drawn, launching themselves at Sam. He narrowly misses them, having to spin and roll out of the way. He catches one in the torso with the angel blade as he rises, but has to leave it behind in the flurry of movement.

The other angel has more skill, but Sam can do this dance better. After several close calls and more than one parried blow, he retrieves the blade from the fallen angel's torso, pulling it out with a wet slurp of a noise. He strikes the other angel in the chest, right through the heart.

For a moment, Gadreel freezes, panting with strain, staring around at the bodies with the horrified realization he's just slain three of his own brothers. They are the first angels to ever die by his hand, and if he had time, he'd lose his stomach.

But it lasts only a bare second. His next panicked thought falls upon the empty room, and how Castiel and the blond angel have vanished. Without so much as a plan, he tightens his grip on the blade and runs out the door with abandon, knowing with certainty the pair couldn't have gone far. At least with all the angels wingless, he knows they're still within reach.

He's right. Across the parking lot, the angel tries to stuff Castiel in a car. Gadreel launches himself at full speed towards them.

Or maybe it's Sam who's running. Or both of them. Sam's dizzy with Grace and power, and he feels like an angel himself. He's become so unified, so at one with Gadreel, and he doesn't know anymore. He is both Gadreel and Sam.

He leaps forward, tangling with the kidnapping blond. Sam's a warrior, unlike Gadreel, and makes quick work of the angel.

All at once, the strange unity is Sam, and there is Gadreel, and they have reverted to a human vessel and a possessing angel. No longer one, but two.

From the confusion, Gadreel emerges in control, and pulls Castiel back out of the car.

"Castiel? Are you injured?" he asks, even as he touches two fingers to his forehead, knitting together sinew and healing wounds with power Sam's sure Gadreel doesn't have to spare.

"I'm all right now," he says, standing up straight. A moment passes, the two gazing at one another. It makes Sam feels a little awkward, like he's the unwelcome guest, because Castiel and Gadreel have become such good friends in so short a time. They chatter every day about a world of things Sam's not privy to, and sometimes he has to push forward and ask Gadreel to cut it short because there's work to do.

But now, only understanding and compassion shines in Cas' eyes, and Sam knows it's something his angel has craved. "Thank you, Gadreel."

But he hears something else, now. It's high pitched and tinny, and entirely inside of his head, and it takes a few moments before Sam realizes he's hearing and understanding angel radio for the first time ever.

Something uncomfortable flitters across the angel network, full of unease and anger. A name echoes around the world entire: Gadreel, Gadreel, the traitor, the fool. He's here.

Alarm seizes the angel, but he feels unsurprised by the reaction his name inspires. Sam, on the other hand, outright panics, even as Gadreel hands control back over to him.

"We gotta go," he tells Cas. "Right fucking now. I think Angel Radio just lit up on us."

Cas nods and moves with purpose, requiring no further explanation. As Sam runs back into the room, grabs his laptop and bag, he hears Cas speaking to Dean on the phone, beckoning him to return quickly.

"Angels are on their way!" he shouts across the room, talking over Cas, hoping Dean will hear him across the room. Not taking any chances, he grabs the phone from Cas' hand, and yells. "Get your ass back here, now." And with that, he tosses it back to the slightly bewildered Cas.

They scurry out the door, and head out on foot towards a dirt road leading to the main drag. Both of their bodies have protection engraved into flesh and bone to shield them from the angels' eyes, but wards won't help if they can't put distance between the hotel and themselves.

As they flee, Sam notices—feels-—how small Gadreel has become within him, smaller and tinier than he's ever felt before (except maybe the time he stayed unconscious for two weeks straight, but it's a close thing) and it's only then Sam realizes how much power his angel has used. He's done too much damage to himself.

"That was appreciated," Cas says, interrupting Sam's attempts to examine Gadreel, "but your method was unwise."

"Look Cas," Sam answers him, "We couldn't let them take you."

There's a pause, a somewhat bitter grunt spilling from his lips as they half-run, half-walk. "I am referring to your name, Gadreel." He hesitates. "It was not wise to reveal your true name. They will hunt us both, now."

The irony stings.

The roar of the Impala tears through the night, screeching up the road behind them, and Sam's not sure he's ever loved the sound of that car as much as he does now. And since he sees shadows moving in his periphery, it's really time to jump in and go.

Dean brings the car to a sliding halt and throws open the door, hopping out even as Castiel and Sam make a break for the backseat.

"The fuck happened here?"

"Get in the car!" Sam shouts in way of reply, colliding with Castiel and using the momentum to push him securely in the backseat. "Now, now!"

Dean's nothing if not perceptive in a battle, and just as Sam dives in, he's crashing back into the driver's seat. Sam scrabbles for purchase against the seat (and Cas, for that matter) as his long legs awkwardly hang out the car as it begins to move.

Before the car has really taken off, while it's still kicking up gravel, a crushing grip closes around a leg, and he's tugged out of the moving car in a second's time. He has no chance to prepare for the face full of gravel and dirt, for the twisting roll his body takes as it rolls on the ground, even as he breathes in the Impala's exhaust.

He lies face down for a brief moment, pain blooming throughout his body, then rolls over to meet a pair of eyes, angelic and gleaming blue. Gadreel surges forward once again, Grace suffusing Sam's entire body as they're unified once again. Sam and Gadreel both together, as one, in control.

Sam surges upward, rising to block a downward thrust of an angel blade, arm to arm—he curses how he'd lost his own in the backseat of the Impala. His deft movements leave the angel outmatched, swinging, overpowering, turning the blade back on his attacker and burying it in his chest.

The Impala spins around in the distance, whirling to face them. As Sam pulls the blade from the angel's body, bloody and tingling, he realizes he's attracted the company of more than a dozen angels.

Nope. Not going to end well.

The wingless monsters circle around them, boxing them in, and Sam spares a glance at the Impala, silently begging Dean to retreat with Cas. He doesn't know if Dean has the capacity to actually leave him behind, but he so desperately hopes he's learned something from Sam's lectures on too much co-dependency. Even more angels gather, and even if Cas and Gadreel both stood at full power, they could never win this fight.

A few seconds later, when more angels show up and descend upon the Impala, it roars back to life, spins around, and tears down the road away from them. He feels a heavy swirl of rot in his gut, surprise and relief and terror flooding him all at once in a terrible deluge. But he's just so thankful Dean has finally understood. Sam would never ask him to sacrifice the one he loves for his own sake. So he spares a thought, if not a prayer, that Dean and Cas should escape safely and live in happiness (it has been too long since he prayed, anyway).

"May they go in the arms of Your Grace and Your love, Father," Gadreel adds, praying where Sam will not. The words fly up to his absent Father, even as he thinks God would not care to hear him, anyway. It's so desperately sad.

Sam wobbles on his feet, facing the circling crowd. Gadreel's strength wanes, shards of glass raw against his skin, even as the angel fights to press his Grace forward. But it's like Gadreel's trying to climb a wall made of sand. Everything crumbles when he grasps it and he only keeps falling. A wound on his face from the gravel bleeds into an eye. His throat has gone raw and scratchy.

The angel cries out within his mind, a noise to make Sam's ears hurt as Gadreel's Grace shrivels up. He apologizes to Sam.

"I am sorry, Sam. I am so deeply sorry."

They both know he doesn't have time to heal, to recharge his angelic energy. Even if he could freeze time and regenerate, Sam and Gadreel couldn't take on all of these angels alone. They have no escape.

But the crowd keeps its distance, leaving Sam to wonder what the hell is going on. He expected swift attacks and near-instant death by now.

As he ponders it, the angels part, and a man with dark-hair and an unkempt beard steps forward. A sickly, twisted grin spreads wide on his lips, like spilled ink on parchment.

"Gadreel," he greets, his voice all fake-pleasant. "I was surprised to hear of you, especially in the company of Castiel!" He pauses, frowns in concentration, and his eyes go wide. "Is your human vessel Sam Winchester?"

Gadreel takes control. "Is it not rude to insult a brother without introducing oneself first?"

The angel cackles. "Me? I'm Malachi. When I heard your name, well, I had to come myself." He looks him up and down, his eyes shining with dark mirth. "How appropriate you'd choose Lucifer's true vessel as your own!"

Gadreel doesn't respond. Not to defend himself, not to argue, nothing.

Sam stares at the scene unfolding before him through eyes and limbs he feels but cannot move, and it feels so different than any other time Gadreel has taken control. And all at once, Sam's pain evaporates, his injuries still festering, but all sensation gone. Even as Gadreel speaks, what dim light remains wraps around the hunter deep within, a powerful desire to cocoon and protect Sam overwhelming the human.

Sam looks on as Gadreel faces the very thing he's feared since falling to Earth: the wrath of his brothers and sisters. And yet, in this moment, all of Gadreel's worry concerns Sam. He knows he inhabits Sam's body, and if they kill Gadreel, it will also kill Sam. A panic rises within the angel as he desperately tries to think of a way to give himself over that would spare Sam.

But he can think of nothing, and they both know the task to be in vain. Gadreel refuses to stop, though, desperate to save Sam. So Sam reaches out, touches the warmth of the burning, bright angel inside, gentle and soothing.

'It's all right,' he tells him. 'We'll stand together.'

Gadreel swallows thickly, a habit he picked up from observing Dean. He gives Sam the equivalent of a nod, and turns his full focus to the outside, as does Sam. Gadreel feels comforted he doesn't have to face it alone, but the relief makes him feel selfish. But Sam wraps his soul about him, and stands with him, also glad of all the ways he could go, he won't die alone.

"I'm not surprised you're so quiet," Malachi snips. "Behind Castiel, you're angelkind's most despised." He crosses his arms, shaking his head as he chuckles. "And riding a Winchester, of all possible vessels. How did you manage to swing that when it took Lucifer a whole year to manage it?"

Gadreel remains silent, though Sam feels a pang of guilt flow through him as the angel recalls his duplicity required to get a 'yes.' His hand grips the angel blade firmly, his eyes narrowed at the unknown faces around him. Angels he does not recognize stare with scorn, disgust, and hatred, and the weight of their judgment makes his eyes sting and his hands tremble. His despair at their rejection makes Sam's bones groan, and so he tries to soothe the angel from the inside. If they're about to die, he won't have the angel believe he's worthless. Not again.

"Ah, so stoic," Malachi laughs, and turns his back on Gadreel. "You should drop your blade, you know. You'll never kill us all." He glances back over his shoulder. "I'd much rather you come with us quietly."

Sam can hear Gadreel thinking he'll do no such thing, before pausing to consider it. "I will go with you willingly, and allow you to do whatever you wish, if—."

"I can already do anything I want," he said. "There are twenty of us, and one of you."

Gadreel hesitates, but presses on. "You would have a willing and cooperative prisoner."

Malachi seems to turn it over in his head. "And what is it you want?"

"Allow my vessel to go free and unharmed. He has not trespassed upon you. I am the one you seek revenge upon."

Sam might have fallen out of a chair, or stumbled, or coughed had he heard those words in any other situation. He doesn't like the idea, not one bit. He's ready to die in battle, standing unified with Gadreel. He's doesn't want to run away.

Malachi exhales, and shrugs. "And that's why humans should think more carefully about saying 'yes.'"

Gadreel bristles, and Sam can feel him grasping at straws. "He did not consent."

It draws Malachi up short, his face twitching in confusion. The crowd murmurs around them. "You couldn't possess him if he didn't consent."

"I tricked him," Gadreel continues. "I never told him I wanted him as a vessel. I disguised my possession as an answer to a call for help. When he said 'yes' to my offer to help him, I worded it such that I obtained consent He has not yet awakened to realize his mistake."

It's a lie, obviously. Sam's wide awake and capable of ejecting Gadreel. But the angel wants to protect him, and will drag his own reputation even farther into the mud to do so. Sam can't figure out why he's trying so hard.

Malachi nods, impressed. "Fascinating. Brilliant, even. I bet Lucifer wishes he'd thought of it."

Sam feels displeasure ache inside of him with each comparison to Lucifer, and he's not sure if it's his own pain or Gadreel's, or both. Probably both.

"Please allow him to leave," Gadreel presses.

Malachi clicks his tongue. "No." He waves his angel blade lazily in the air. "He's still a Winchester. Your vessel there? He tried and failed to seal up Hell. We would never let him go."

Gadreel closes his eyes, steels both himself and Sam, and postures, ready to fight. "Then this is how it shall be."

Malachi quirks an eyebrow at him, disappointment in his face. He raises an arm, flicks two fingers in Gadreel's direction, and all at once, the angels advance upon him.

Gadreel fights. Sam fights. They share the body and fight and fight and fight until pain and blood and darkness overwhelm the both of them.


When Sam awakens, it's possibly the worst possible moment to come to awareness.

The angels have shackled his hands over his head, his neck trussed with a collar (probably Enochian spellbinding, he guesses, to cage Gadreel's Grace). He feels a slickness on his skin and strange sensations of tingling numbness everywhere. Most concerning, his voice screams in a way he's certain his voice has never done before. Something twists in his gut, invasive—it shouldn't be there—but he feels no pain at all. Instead, it all tingles, numb and cool.

His body gives a ragged, shaking gasp when the thing slides free, his eyes trained on the ceiling. A moment later, the wretched thing returns and he howls again, the piercing, tonal True Voice of the angel ringing clear above the wailing of his human vessel.

It takes a good ten seconds for Sam to get even remotely oriented in the middle of this onslaught, even though he feels no pain. Nothing makes sense at first, not until he understands he must have stayed unconscious for a period of time while Gadreel remained awake. He realizes the angel has pushed his consciousness under on purpose.

The twisting thing digs deeper, feeling so strange, and Gadreel's desperate screaming grows more frantic. Sam's confusion clears, and he realizes despite the fact they're torturing Gadreel, he's not feeling a speck of pain or discomfort himself.

The damn angel still protects him.

Sam concentrates, checks the both of them as best he can when the thing—a knife, he finally sees—slides free. Gadreel's shouting dies to a burned-out groan. He quickly sees Gadreel's energy, the last essence of his Grace, burns into shreds as he tries to use what precious little of it he has to keep Sam at arm's length away from this.

His energy has grown low indeed if he can no longer lock Sam in his own mind; to keep him from consciousness.

Malachi's soldiers keep at it, Gadreel's exhaustion overwhelming as he remains upright, painfully so, by his wrists. He can't sit or rest at all. If he stands upright, his legs ache with the sting and burn of his wounds, numb patches to Sam, but pure fiery hell for Gadreel. If the angel takes pressure off of his legs and lets the chains around his wrists support him, his shoulders feel as though they'll rip from their sockets.

After a time, his tormentors leave, but angels don't sleep, and Sam knows this respite will only last a moment.

Gadreel doesn't bother hiding his thoughts, so they ring loud and clear through to Sam. He's light-headed and nauseous from so much pain, but straining to hold onto consciousness because so long as he can think, he can protect Sam from this pain. He feels certain of it (more than Sam), certain if he concentrates, he can keep his vessel from the pain, even to the end. He's known worse torture before, after all.

At some point, Gadreel begins to lose the battle for consciousness, and Sam finds the two of them inhabiting their Library, the peaceful shared headspace Sam has come to enjoy so much.

Sam's perfectly fine. He's upright, standing, and feels okay. Conversely, Gadreel trembles and whimpers on the floor, bruised and bleeding.

Sam all but drops to his knees, gathering the angel in his arms, cradling his cold, blood-slick skin. Sam wants to help him so much, and it's all so unfair. He wishes he were stronger, better, more powerful; somehow able to help him instead of being a liability, to—.

"You are perfect just as you are, Sam Winchester," Gadreel says against his chest, his voice whisper-soft. It sounds like it takes effort to speak, even here. He presses fingers to Sam's lips, as if to stop him from saying anything else.

And the angel means it, each word, and Sam's eyes sting, his mouth gone dry. He wants to scream and scream about the unfairness of the situation, about how Gadreel deserves so much more than being stuck inside of a loser like Sam, who has failed everyone over and over again, and—.

"Stop, please," the angel whimpers against his chest. "Do not think such untrue things of yourself." After a moment, "Please, not now."

So Sam just holds him, only briefly notices how close they've become and how strange this might seem in any other circumstance. He brushes those thoughts away as he desperately offers Gadreel any comfort he possibly can. He holds his shivering form close to his chest, as if to suffuse him with warmth (as if his soul could compare with an angel's Grace, he thinks, followed by a gentle response of, but it does, it's beautiful).

He touches Gadreel's cheek, brushes his thumbs gently against his temples, and holds him as much as he can. Words evaporate away, and only emotion remains. Compassion and tenderness, devotion and loyalty, and if the both of them weren't dying, it might have felt beautiful.

Sam doesn't stop to think about it, doesn't hold himself back. He just feels, and shares it all with the angel, who returns the gesture, and they together share their own kind of communion in this place, with soul and Grace buried deep within flesh and blood


Sam doesn't often find himself awake afterwards. It's only when the torturer prolongs Gadreel's suffering and gets terribly creative that his control slips enough for Sam to awaken. He never feels pain, but knows Gadreel swims in it, drowning. And yet, he wastes his own precious Grace to keep Sam's senses intact, free from the agony he suffers constantly.

They heal his body, always when he's virtually dead. Gadreel knows nothing of value to tell them, and they've figured this out by now. He seems like the angel everyone takes their frustration out on, just because they can. Because they like it. Because it's fun.

It's not unlike being worked over in Hell by a group of demons. But this isn't Hell, it's Earth, and these aren't demons, but angels. Sam thinks, after his time in the cage with two royally pissed archangels, maybe Hell just imitates Heaven's methods. The demons had to learn torture somewhere, after all.

Sam doesn't know how long they've been there, only that at least a fair amount of time has passed. He would imagine a few days. Gadreel doesn't comment, even though Sam knows he's heard him. Either he doesn't want to burden Sam with the truth, or he doesn't know himself.

In any event, the torturer of the day—a gruesomely talented angel by the name of Theo—begins again, and Gadreel knows nothing but pain.

"Go ahead," Gadreel rasps, his voice a screeching rasp in the midst of all the wards and torture, but his gait remains steady and, if Sam could guess, downright intimidating. Sam has a tall body, after all. "Poke and prod. I can stand here for years and endure this over and over again. I've endured so much worse than this." He tilts his head downwards, narrows his eyes at his torturer. "So. Much. Worse."

Of course, Theo takes this as a challenge, and it's several minutes later before Gadreel stops screaming long enough to speak again. And he laughs openly at the other angel.

"For all your posturing, for all your theatrics, you will always be a coward. A traitor to your own brothers."

Theo grabs his face, hisses at him. "You dare to call me a coward? A traitor?"

"How many angels have you slain?" Gadreel fires back, his eyes blazing with conviction. "How much agony have you wrought upon our brothers and sisters by your own hand?"

"You ruined everything! The whole universe!" he shouts, and punctuates this with a stab of an angel blade into Gadreel's shoulder. It twinges with power and fire, drawing a long moan of pain from the angel, and even Sam feels it.

Gadreel has to concentrate to regain his breath. "I did not allow the Morningstar into the Garden. He fooled me. I made a mistake. But you, Theo, for all your bluster, the agony you've brought upon our brethren has been by your own hand, and your own choice."

Sam puffs up, something akin to pride in the angel. Finally, finally, his angel maybe believes it.

Theo backhands Gadreel so hard Sam can feel his cheekbone crunch under the assault. He doesn't feel the pain, but feels the angel's shudder, feels him fighting away the agony only he can feel.

Gadreel struggles against the chains binding his hands for a moment, the bounds keeping him standing upright with no hope of rest. He grits his teeth, his lips twisting into a bloody smirk. "You should be running, Theo, while you still may. Metatron, this war, it will kill us all."

His words earn him an especially sound beating, but the angel endures it. Gadreel thinks it's worth it to see a spark of terror in Theo's eyes, he thinks. Sam doesn't exactly agree, but he'd rather have his angel defiant than defeated.


"Do not worry," Gadreel says, his voice a tiny rasp, even in the quietude of their Mind Library. "I have endured far worse while imprisoned in Heaven, and for far longer. They cannot break me. I will keep you safe from this so long as we draw breath."

Sam has to resist a shudder, because the idea, the knowledge, Gadreel's had worse terrifies him. He rubs soothing circles against the angel's back, trying not to think about all the ways could get worse. Sam tries not to think about how the angel has known imprisonment since the dawn of time and for most of his existence has probably known nothing but torture.

"Dean will look for us," Sam tells him, keeps telling him, because it's the only salvation they might have. "We'll get out."

The angel does not believe him, but nods anyway, remaining silent.

Sam doesn't blame him, because he doesn't know how Dean and Cas would pull it off. This place would be a deathtrap for them both, so he kind of hopes they stay far away.

He tightens his arms around Gadreel's heavy frame, embracing him. The angel's head lies against his shoulder, his body splayed loosely in Sam's lap. He's amazed he still has any form at all, at how he's even still alive. But until a truly fatal wound falls, they can string Gadreel up and do anything they'd like, and he won't die.

And Gadreel wants to die. It's been there, all along, a desperate emotion in the undercurrent of everything else. Here, he can't even begin to hide it.

But he refuses to take Sam with him.

It's the culmination of all of his suffering, Sam thinks. All of his sorrow, all of his moodiness, the troubles of millions of years culminating in a desire for it just to all be over. An angel who feels lost, confused, and scared, and just wants peace and quiet.

And Sam, holding the angel in his arms, bows his head over and weeps. He has nothing to give Gadreel, nothing he can do for him.

"Sam," he groans, weak and soft. "Thank you for returning my name to me."

His eyes sting, and he turns his head aside. Even now, however long it's been, Gadreel still spends his energy adoring and thanking Sam.

Time passes in silence. Sam rubs his back slowly, gently. Without thinking, he turns his head towards Gadreel, drops his neck slightly, letting a kiss fall upon the angel's forehead.

Sam might worry about it, about what it means, but he chalks it up to affection and comfort now. In fact, he's pretty sure he'll do it again at some point, because damn it, Gadreel deserves some kind of fondness, and some kind of warm affection. Anything but this endless torture that seems to define so much of his long, terrible life.

Sam lowers his face into the angel's sandy hair, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. He's no longer weeping, but for all the emotion he feels, he might as well.

"Sam," Gadreel murmurs again, drowsy. Painful. "Sam." Like he's choking on it, half-delirious.

Gadreel falls unconscious sometimes, after they torture him for a really long time. He often becomes confused and delirious just before he passes out.

"Save your strength," Sam murmurs, wiping at wounds and smeared blood on his face.

"I've heard no word more beautiful in any language," Gadreel mutters anyway, seeming not to hear him. "Nothing more glorious." He mumbles something incoherently, pauses a moment, and babbles Sam's name again, over and over.

Sam has no idea what he's going on about, but it isn't the first time. This state of confusion will last until Gadreel rests—truly rests. Most of the time, he just babbles Sam's name, as if reminding himself he must always stay on guard. And the angel will finally rest, until someone sees fit to awaken him with new terror.

It all overwhelms Sam. He has to do something, whatever little he can.

He wraps his consciousness around Gadreel's dim Grace, and pulls hard, tugging him into an embrace more fierce and tight than ever before. The angel gasps against him, whimpering, and Sam only continues because he knows the embrace feels good to Gadreel. Not painful. Soothing. Gadreel needs more soothing, and less punishing.

He tugs at his Grace until the angel returns the pull, dragging at his consciousness and his very soul. They draw as close to each other as possible, entwined like silver fire, Grace and soul wrapping around one another in a dance unlike anything Sam's ever known before. And then it's not just Gadreel's Grace and Sam's soul, but it's everything both of them are, tugging, pulling, embracing. It's almost like the time Gadreel manifested within him so fully, sharing everything so intensely, but this? It's, brighter, hotter, closer, and Sam feels like he'll burst with it. He never wants to stop. It's like basking in starlight; in the fiery heart of a galaxy.

Gadreel gasps. Or Sam does. He can't tell who is who anymore. He feels like both. Soul and Grace don't just wrap around each other anymore, but they touch, and mingle, and blend, and become one, and it's bliss and joy and peace….

And for a long time, Sam knows nothing but starlight and searing heat and Gadreel.