The torture continues, of course. Gadreel seems to have found new strength to endure it, somehow, his Grace shining more than before. It's a slight thing, though. The angel still hangs on by bare threads.
Then one day unfolds different than all the rest. Sam's awake, and while Gadreel screams, Theo laughs. All at once, there's a flash of silver, and a maelstrom of noise. Something sweeps through the room like blinding starlight, and Sam's fingers tingle with the awareness of loose, flowing Grace. A moment later, Theo groans, and an explosion of light fills the room. Their torturer falls to the floor.
Sam's confused, while Gadreel, though his senses remain scraped raw from the pain, seems to understand what's just happened. He does not get the opportunity to explain before hands are on his shoulders, shaking him.
"Sam!" calls a voice, and it sounds suspiciously like Dean's.
Gadreel's head has flopped backwards at a painful angle, and he's unable to muster the strength to move. He groans a noise of acknowledgement, spilling from his lips like gravel. He clacks his teeth by accident, his tongue sliding across his too-dry mouth, and he can't form words—though he's putting an excruciating amount of effort into it.
"It's Enochian," says another voice. And oh, thank fuck, it sounds like Cas. "It cages an angel's grace."
"Get it the fuck off of him, now!"
And Sam feels hands working the collar around his neck, snapping it free, and Grace long trapped underneath the surface of his skin expands—though it remains weak and thin. His eyes remain shut, and no matter how Sam tries to open them, tries to coax his angel to do it, Gadreel can't. So Sam tries to push forward, to take control of the body. It prompts a rush of alarm from the angel, who weakly pushes Sam back down.
"Don't," he warns. "The pain, it shall overwhelm you."
But Sam wants his eyes open, craves the sight of his brother and Cas. But fear of the pain stills his efforts, and he stops fighting Gadreel.
"I told you," he tells the angel, reassuring. "I told you they'd find us. We'll be safe now."
A bubbling rush of warmth, fondness, and pure gratitude sweeps through him before the angel turns his attention back to communication. He groans in the dreary, dank room, taking a heaving breath as two hands come to cup his cheeks and tilt his head forward, the touch gentle and careful.
"Sam? Sammy?"
It takes incredible effort, but the angel finally manages to open their shared eyes. The world has gone blurry and wobbly, and he can't make out the faces before him so well. But he can see just enough: the twisted lines of worry on Dean's face; Cas hacking at the shackles on his wrists.
The angel tries again to make his voice work, but it feels like sandpaper dragging over pavement, so he abandons the idea. He bobs his head at Dean instead, hoping he'll interpret it as a nod.
The lines of Dean's face change, near imperceptible, so he must have succeeded.
"Is Gadreel still with you?" Cas asks, yanking hard on the shackles.
He nods again, a slow, bare inclination of the head, and he's trying to make his voice work again because he doesn't want Dean worrying about any pain Sam may have endured.
"Sam," he manages to croak, "is... all right. I… I protected—."
"Gentlemen, in the event you've forgotten, we're in a den of angels," a calm voice calls out, and it's only then Gadreel and Sam both notice Crowley surveying their apparent path of escape. "Do save the happy reunion for later, and let's be off, shall we?"
For the first time ever, Gadreel feels happy to see the demon. Ridiculously happy. Under any other circumstances, Sam might laugh.
The thought evaporates as Cas manages to free one of his hands. His entire body goes limp, all of his weight crushing his still-chained wrist. Dean and Cas both lunge to catch him, and he falls heavily against them, accepting their help to stand. Cas positions himself so he can continue to work on the other wrist.
Dean has his arms wrapped around Sam, propping him up as best he can. "Gad? Gadreel? You the one in charge right now?"
Only now does his vision clear, perhaps a side effect of his unyoked Grace. "Yes," he murmurs. "Sam... I... shielded him… from this."
Something changes in Dean's eyes, and it shines like gratitude. "Is Sam awake?"
Gadreel nods. "He is, but he feels nothing. He… he can hear… you."
Dean pats his back, tightening his grip on the weak angel. "Take it easy, Gad. Sam. We gotcha, now. We're going to get you both out of here."
The angel feels such profound relief at Dean's words, and Sam wraps himself around Gadreel to comfort him. They made it. They'll be all right.
Cas frees his other hand, and it flops lifelessly down at his side. Gadreel all but collapses into Dean's and Cas' waiting arms.
He doesn't know how it happens, precisely, but he guesses Cas and Dean (and maybe Crowley, too, because Sam knows he's got a heavy body) carry him out of there. His legs certainly don't work, and even if they did, he has no strength to move.
Something cool and soothing spreads across his forehead, and Sam opens his eyes long enough to watch Cas press his palm against his clammy skin. They're in the Impala, now, and Sam realizes he's lost time while everyone did the escaping thing. Dean drives and Cas hovers over Sam's and Gadreel's shared body, while the demon rides shotgun up front.
He feels searing heat, just shy of painful, followed by a relaxing rush of warmth cascading from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. Sam can feel Gadreel almost weep in relief.
"Rest," Castiel tells him.
Gadreel's shaking hand grips Cas' own. "My brother, my brother," he croaks. Check that, Gadreel is weeping. He babbles a prayer in Enochian, and Sam feels rather than hears the words.
Praise Castiel, Your compassionate and honorable servant. Let his name be known to the universe entire. Let our brethren sing of his good deeds.
Sam still can't get over the fact Gadreel prays to the Father who tossed him in jail and threw away the key.
Cas' eyes moisten, and the harsh lines of his face soften more than he's ever seen. He leans over, his voice soft as his breath tickles their ear, hand warm on their shoulder. "You did well," he tells Gadreel. "You protected your vessel when others would have sacrificed them for their own sake."
Neither Sam nor Gadreel can fight the pull of sleep, the draw of the profound rest dragging them down.
"Rest," Cas repeats, and they do.
When Sam next wakes up, he feels perfectly fine, which strikes him as odd.
He cracks an eye open in the faint morning light, the dark horizon morphing to a royal shade of blue. Sitting up to get a better grasp on the situation, he sees Cas squatting next to him in the floorboard, scrutinizing him. Crowley sits in the front seat, prim and proper and absolutely silent for once. Dean, of course, still drives.
Sam can't feel Gadreel. At all. He's a half-second from panic when Castiel rests an arm on his shoulder.
"Gadreel rests in a profound state of unconsciousness," he says, his voice hushed. "He'll take some time to recover."
"Why do I feel fine?" Sam asks.
"Because I healed you. It's simple to repair a human body. Gadreel's Grace, however, presents a lot of difficulty." He pauses, pursing his lips slightly. "Sam, he's very weak."
He blinks, all the news swirling in his dizzy mind. "But you were human. Your Grace, you…?"
"I stole Theo's Grace," Cas tells him. "Don't worry about me."
The low rumble of conversation has captured Dean's attention, as Sam sees him glancing in the rear-view mirror. "Sam? You okay?"
He takes a breath, and nods. "Cas took care of it." He turns back to the renewed angel. "Thank you."
Cas nods, but his expression remains somewhat grim. It leaves Sam with a rotten, heavy weight in his stomach, roiling as he considers Gadreel's plight. But for now, Sam turns his gaze to the front seat, where Dean lets loose a great, big yawn.
"How did you guys find me?"
"Fumbles the Wonder Demon here had a connection," Dean answers, voice gruff with exhaustion. "He tracked down one of the angels who'd taken you." He hesitates. "And uh… I'm going to take care of something for him, in return."
Oh, God no, Sam thinks. What did Dean do this time?
"And I walk free now," Crowley says. "Of course, I couldn't leave until I'd heard the praising adorations of my favorite Moose."
Sam frowns, and thinks about telling the demon to go screw himself, but… well. He did kind of save their asses. As much as he'd like to stab him in the brain, he'd also like him to go away now.
"Thank you, Crowley," he drones, monotone. "You saved my life. And Gadreel's."
The demon wears a cheeky smile until the mention of the angel, and the lines of his face turn sour. "Oh, yes, the holy roller… Do keep quiet about that. I can't have my reputation sullied by rumors of helping angels." He looks Sam up and down. "Anyway, you seem fine, so… time for me to stage an exit."
And the demon vanishes, leaving Sam to blink at the sudden departure. He can't believe Crowley actually stuck around to help him.
The car falls silent, the only sound that of the engine roaring beneath them. Sam shuts his eyes, and searches for his angel, but can't find him anywhere. It's difficult not to panic.
"So," Dean says, his voice like a knife against the silence, "how's, uh… how's Gad doing?"
Sam lies back down in the seat, shuts his eyes once more. "I don't know. I can't feel him at all."
"It seems Gadreel sacrificed much of his Grace to protect Sam," Cas explains, his eyes dark and lips twisted into a frown. "He may recover over time, but… Sam, if you were to eject him now, he would not survive."
Sam shakes his head, the thought leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. "No way. Not after everything he did for me back there."
"In your post-torture state—."
"I wasn't tortured, Cas," Sam interrupts. "He was." Sam glances away, staring up at a spot on the roof. "He really did protect me. I never felt a thing."
It's silent for a long moment, until Sam hears Dean mutter something softly under his breath, shaking his head.
"Is that why he's so weak?" Sam asks, not meeting Cas' eyes. "He tried to keep me under, but I would wake up sometimes. Did it hurt him even more?."
"Yes," Cas finally says, "it did. But it isn't the only reason."
He doesn't elaborate, and for once, Sam doesn't want him to. So he turns his attention to Dean.
"Dean, what did you do?" Sam asks.
"What?"
"You said you were going to take care of something for Crowley. What?"
"Oh. That. He thinks he knows a way to gank Abaddon, so we're going to hunt ourselves a Knight of Hell and ice that bitch."
The car falls silent, and Sam thinks it doesn't sound too iffy. Dean had been pretty determined to kill Abaddon anyway, so…
"What Dean isn't mentioning," Castiel says, his voice a growl between gritted teeth, "is he'll have to obtain a special Mark—a terrible curse—to do so."
Sam doesn't even know what that means, only that it's bad news, and he's too tired for this shit right now.
"Dean," he groans, readjusting his position in the seat. "This conversation isn't over."
Dean doesn't argue with him. "Just get some rest, Sammy."
He closes his eyes, and allows the sound of the engine draw him into a fitful sleep.
Cas continues to give him healing sessions, but Gadreel doesn't emerge. Sam can't quell the worry hovering as a constant weight in his chest. He has a thousand questions, fears, wonders if maybe Cas' stolen Grace just can't do the job. He's also worried Cas' stolen Grace will eat him alive, though he assures Sam it won't do so. Yet.
"Gadreel is still there," Cas reassures him. "I can sense him."
Sam's glad at least one of them can. "Why can't I feel him?" Sam pleads with Cas (but only when Dean's not around, because he doesn't want to have to go there yet). "We have this headspace where we go and talk, and he's not showed since you rescued us. He's been out of it before, but he was still there, sleeping."
Cas tilts his head, thoughtful, but not worried, and it soothes Sam's fears just a bit. "Perhaps 'profoundly asleep' is a better way to describe it. I am healing him as best I can, and so he exists in a deep state of recovery, absorbing the energy as he heals."
He takes a deep breath, nods, and glances away from the angel to the floor. "You can heal him, right?"
When Cas doesn't immediately answer, it's pretty much the only answer Sam needs.
"Like you before him, he's damaged in ways I cannot heal." He pauses. "Angels, however, are quite resilient. I'm sure he'll recover on his own."
"But cut off from Heaven's power, like you were those years ago, he'll—."
"Remember," Cas interrupts, "he's still an angel. We are resilient. Don't worry, Sam. He'll be all right."
Sam wants to close his arms around his chest, as if to draw the angel within him deeper, closer. He wishes he had some warm, healing source within him to blanket around the angel. It's a useless gesture, but he closes his arms against his chest anyway, hugging himself.
The room falls silent as Cas moves about, gathering items on the table behind him.
"Sam," he says, "I must say, I wish I had been more like you."
He swivels his head to stare. "What? Why?"
"You care so deeply," he answers, "so fiercely." Cas tilts his head, but there's something infinitely more human about him now. "You fearlessly challenge things that intimidate lesser humans."
"I'm not so sure about that, Cas," he protests.
"I am." His eyes go distant, gaze resting on the table. "I took this body from Jimmy Novak, and never chose to know him. As an Angel of the Lord, I told myself I had a mission, that my vessel's life belonged to me, now. So I locked him away."
Sam listens, considering.
"At some point, we angels forgot God intended us to become close with our vessels; to make them stronger, not rob them of their freedom and torment them." He glances back to Sam. "I feared Jimmy's influence, so I did not engage with him." He pauses. "You and Gadreel, the pair of you are… unusual."
Sam nods, slow and understanding. He had figured as much, given what he'd seen of angelic possession in years past.
Castiel continues. "Because you had previously given him access, Gadreel could have tapped into the power of your soul while he suffered. It would have empowered him, but at the cost of harming you. Just as when any angel touches a human soul, you would have recovered, but it would not have felt pleasant." He sighs, and places his hand on Sam's shoulder. "It is astonishing to me he did not do so."
Sam frowns, because he doesn't like the sound of it. Gadreel could have made things easier on himself, but didn't?
"I'm not really surprised, Cas. He's a good angel."
A ghost of a smile creases Cas' face, fondness softening his eyes. "I know."
"Is there anything I can do to help him?"
A smile blooms on the angel's face, his fingers squeezing Sam's shoulder gently. "Call to him, Sam. If he hears you, he will fight to awaken."
Sam frowns. "Can't you reach him? You're both angels, so can't you use angel radio or something?"
His smile doesn't falter, something soft and kind shining in his eyes. "I do not share the… profound bond you and he share."
What?
Oh. Oh.
Somehow, Sam's not surprised at all.
Halfway through a healing session with Cas, Kevin marches into the room, angel tablet in hand. "Guys, I know why Metatron made this damn thing so hard to read!" He's actually smiling. Something must be wrong.
Cas halts, and Sam blinks, his heart jumping at the surprise of the intrusion. Dean just swivels his chair in place, staring at the prophet.
"Spill it, Kev," Dean says. "We need some good news."
"This thing," Kevin begins, and waves the angel tablet, "isn't just the Word of God. It's a weapon. Any angel who gets their hands on this can cast a series of spells and power up, and I mean hardcore. Like, become a new God, hardcore. All you need is the tablet in your hand, and a drop of your own Grace, and you're good to go!"
Cas' expression falls. "Well, that counts me out. I don't have any of my own Grace."
Dean and Sam meet eyes at the same time.
"But Gadreel does," Sam breathes.
"But he's still not awake," Cas said.
Kevin marches over to Sam, holding out the tablet. He takes it, tentatively, staring back at the prophet in some confusion.
"I think it can help him," Kevin tells him. "Like when Cas was brainwashed by Naomi. If it has all that power in it, maybe it can wake him up."
Sam stares down at it, his mind drawing a blank.
"That's not a bad idea," Cas chimes in. "It was helpful in freeing me from Naomi's influence. It may confer some benefit on Gadreel's recovery." He pauses. "You can direct Gadreel's Grace yourself, after all."
The stone tablet feels old and dusty beneath his fingertips, and the symbols hurt his eyes to try and read. "I don't know what to do with this."
"Just try holding onto it for a while," Cas tells him.
Sam shares a glance with Dean, who shrugs.
"It can't hurt to try," he says. "We want your angelic pacemaker up and at 'em sooner rather than later."
Sam huffs, shaking his head. "I think right now I'm his human pacemaker, not the other way around."
The room falls silent for several long moments.
"Don't you guys get it?" Kevin chimes back in. "This is huge! If Gadreel can use this thing, he might be able to undo Metatron's spell. He could stop Metatron himself."
"Except Metatron is stocking up on stores of Grace to power up," Dean counters.
"And this is power God left for the angels to use," Kevin argues. "Everything in these tablets mean something. Metatron might be getting ready for the chance another angel could use it against him."
Sam stares back down at the tablet, and says nothing for a long time. "Looks like we'll eventually find out."
Two days later, Sam visits their Library, buried so much deeper within his mind now. Shadows blanket the room, save for the small fire crackling in the hearth. He's scoured this place every day, angel tablet in hand, hoping to find Gadreel.
Today, he finds him.
He lies sprawled on the floor, bruised and bloody, his breathing no more than a rattle. He's out like a light, still. Sam had expected as much.
He scoops him in his arms, and sets him upon the soft, oversized couch. Worried eyes sweep his slack, bloodied form. Sam maneuvers him from his mangled coat, followed by the soft, gray hoodie.
It takes only a thought to summon a bowl of water and washcloth, and Sam sets about cleaning the wounds speckling Gadreel's body. He's not sure it matters at all, since they're both just kind of like avatars or projections here, but it matters to Sam, so screw it. If any part of Gadreel is going to lie here and sleep, then Sam's damn well going to make sure he's somewhere in the neighborhood of comfortable.
When he finishes, he dries the skin, replacing the soft hoodie. He finds a blanket and draws it over the angel's slumbering form to keep him warm. His task done, Sam sinks down into the adjacent loveseat and looks on.
Afterwards, he visits all the time, multiple times a day. Sometimes he spends hours just watching Gadreel breathe. His breath comes easier than before, less strained. It relieves Sam.
He sometimes places his hand over Gadreel's chest, gentle, feeling the thump of the heartbeat against his palm. You know, just to remind himself his angel is still with him, safe inside his body.
One day, as he kneels beside Gadreel, his hand on his chest, his mouth dry and his eyes wet, he's not sure he ever wants Gadreel to leave his body. Despite his terrible run-ins with possession before, despite the desire for privacy and autonomy, this thing they've built together means more to him, and he's terrified at the thought of losing it.
The angel's heart beats steadily against his palm, and Sam shuts his eyes and prays.
A few days later, Sam reclines on his bed while reading up on rougarus for a potential case, the angel tablet sitting neatly in his lap. Something rustles within him, deep under his skin, and he realizes Gadreel has stirred for the first time.
He discards the book at once, and reclines his head, his eyes shut before the book even clatters to the floor. He rushes to their headspace, their Library, and drops to his knees at his angel's side. His hands grasp his shoulders, squeezing. In his periphery, he sees the angel tablet on the floor, but he doesn't reach for it.
Gadreel smiles at the touch, a weak twitch of his lips. His eyes remain shut.
"Sam, you are well?" he asks.
Of course he would ask about Sam first fucking thing.
"I'm fine. Cas healed me," Sam answers. "He's been healing you, too, but… it's going to take longer."
He doesn't say all the many things on his mind, about how the angel sacrificed too much Grace, or how he hurt himself for Sam's comfort. He doesn't say all of the things eating him with worry and guilt. He doesn't blabber on about magical tablets. And he doesn't say how happy it makes him feel, how relieved he is to finally hear him, because he might accidentally think the wrong thing and scare the angel.
Gadreel moves one hand to rest over Sam's on his shoulder, his smile soft and tired. "You are unreasonably delighted to see me. I would think you'd enjoy the solitude without me."
In theory. Yeah, he would have thought that, too, once upon a time, but it's totally not how it's worked out. Sam wishes he hadn't thought it so loudly, but… well, water under the bridge.
"This is what I mean," Gadreel continues. "Almost no privacy."
Even as he says it, Sam feels warmth bubble up in his chest, warmth that's so very Gadreel. He's overjoyed for Sam's safety, for his health, even for his company.
"You should rest," Sam tells him. "You need to recharge your Grace."
His smile wanes, just a fraction. "Indeed. Though I would protest to say I am already resting quite well." He opens his eyes for the first time to stare at him, and something in Sam squirms to see those hazel-gray eyes twinkle at him.
It feels so damn great to see Gadreel experience something other than misery, for once.
The angel's lips part, as if to speak, but he thinks better of it. Instead, he just keeps staring at Sam, taking several long breaths.
The long gaze should feel awkward, Sam thinks, but it doesn't. So he just stares right back, and reminds himself his angel made it. Gadreel's fine. Safe.
"We're okay," he breathes, letting his fingers tighten around the angel's shoulder. "We're both okay."
Gadreel's expression morphs, the lines of his face softening, his eyes blinking slow, languid blinks. Sam thinks he's drifting back to sleep.
"Yes, we are," Gadreel murmurs, his voice quiet, his eyes full of such reverence it makes Sam ache, because no one should look at him like that, ever, and—.
Gadreel's hand tightens around Sam's, halting the thoughts, his grip firm and unyielding. He doesn't look away from Sam for a long time, not until he falls into a restful sleep.
Sam refuses to leave until he falls asleep himself.
Gadreel remains in the library for a long time. Sam doesn't know if leaving takes too much effort on his part, or if he's just kind of stuck there (he certainly doesn't have the Grace for much else). But he doesn't vanish or anything, so Sam's glad.
Sam informs him of Kevin's discoveries about the angel tablet, but Gadreel's not sold. Sam holds it in his hands in the real world, and somehow the damn thing manifests itself in the Library, too. But Gadreel can't seem to make it do anything. He theorizes he's not worthy of such a power, but Sam shushes him. The topic becomes extremely touchy after that, so Sam drops the subject. For now. They both know he'll have to address it sooner or later, because if it means stopping Metatron, they've got to pull out all the stops.
So Gadreel remains in the library, resting and recovering. When Sam next drops in, he finds Gadreel reclining in the armchair, reading a book.
In all the times he's been here, it never occurred to him the books might have actual words in them. He'd just assumed they were part of the scenery.
Curious as to what kind of books float around in his own head, Sam glances over the angel's shoulder to see him reading an old college lecture on basic law.
The angel lifts his gaze from the book. "Hello, Sam." He returns to reading, his expression faintly intrigued.
Sam's still stuck on why one of his old lectures ended up in a library inside of his head… except, yeah, of course. Where else would it be?
He strolls over to the nearest shelf, paying careful attention this time. At first, he notices books cataloging classes he's taken throughout his life: Introductory Chemistry, Humanities, History of Art. As he moves to another shelf, though, he realizes the titles become vastly different. A massive series, an encyclopedia's worth, has mottled black and brown covers, and blares its title of "Guilt" in sickly green letters. An entire section, black as night, has the words "Demon Blood" smeared in… well, blood, all over the spines. Another section, this one with vibrant colors covering an entire floor-to-ceiling shelf reads "Jessica Moore."
Jessica…
It makes his eyes water. When he brushes his hand along one of the spines, he feels her laughter, her smile, echo through him.
He drops to his knees before he manages to jerk his hand back.
What's going on, here?
He moves to another shelf, reading the titles as he goes along. Dean takes up more than two giant floor-to-ceiling shelves. Castiel takes up half of a shelf, even in the short years Sam's known him. A few books farther down are bright red, the fiery color making him shiver. Glowing embers on the side of the spine say, "The Cage." He's surprised that section isn't larger.
He sees a book for everyone he's ever known, and for every terrible and wonderful episode in his life. His eyes water as he thinks of Madison, Sarah Blake, and so many others…. He shakes his head, and mulls over how people who get close to him tend to die.
The titles don't get any easier to read.
In the next row, he sees "The Abomination" and "The Boy King." He swallows thickly as he reads more: "The Apocalypse" and "The Trials" make him shudder. "The Wall" comes up next, sickly gray and cracked on the edges where hellfire bleeds through. There's a brief splay of color, and these books are named, "Amelia," but the last one is a dark, unpleasant shade of gray. The next section is called "Failure," a more sickly gray than the ones before it.
Sam looks away, unsure if he can keep strolling down this guided tour of memory lane. He takes stock of the books around him, and understands, finally. He had wondered about the nature of this strange place, this Library, before, but he sees now it's literally himself they're inhabiting… which shouldn't come as such a shock as it does. Either of them can peruse any book they choose, and Sam knows if he thumbed through one, it'd spell out his failures one by one. His good deeds, too, but they feel so small right now.
Gadreel has remained here the entire time, knowing well the nature of the place, and yet, he has taken nothing. Sam supposes most angels would rifle through his head and just take his memories by force. But Gadreel is not like most angels.
When he glances back to the shelf, at the gray books growing darker and more frayed, the sickly colors end abruptly with a single white book sitting alone at the end of the shelf.
When he first tries to read it, it says, "Ezekiel," but after he stares, it changes to "Gadreel." He blinks again, but the name does not change again.
It's not a pure, true white (more of an off-white or cream), but it seems absolutely brilliant compared to the filthy tomes next to it. He lets his fingers rest upon the spine of the book, considering it a moment. The book sends a pulse of energy through him, like a warm spring breeze. It makes him feel warm. Comfortable. Accepted.
He wonders what the book says. He thinks he might read this one.
Sam rounds the corner of the shelf to examine the other side, and to his surprise, finds it full. He sees many, many more books bearing Gadreel's name, each one the same humble, off-white shade. And even more books follow. One book is a silly shade of green named, "The Wicked Witch." He sees another set adorned in blue, which says, "Heal," on the spine. Another says, "Trust." And then he sees books as black as the night, which say, "Stand Together," and Sam doesn't have to use his imagination to know they're referring to the torture.
The last book on the shelf shines, lush and green as a forest, and it makes Sam think of Gadreel in the legendary Garden he's never seen. It's soothing to the touch, and has no name. Sam plucks it from the shelf, opens it, but can't read a thing. The letters continuously change, and some of the pages remain blank.
It is, he realizes, still being written. Probably many of these books are, he thinks.
He returns it to the shelf, and crosses over the library to the other row of shelves, wondering how many more secrets of his past his brain has chronicled. These shelves stretch out from one end of the Library to the other, far more immense than what he's seen so far. It's stuffed full of books of the darkest black he's ever seen, cracked and torn and frayed at the edges. He sees pages yellowed with age and stained with something dark he thinks could be blood… but it's old blood.
He can't read the spines on some of them, and frowns. Why? But as he goes further back through the shelves, his eyes begin to work. There's, "The Garden," "The Earth," "Abner," and "The Failed Sentry."
With a bit of a start, Sam realizes he's wandered into Gadreel's books.
It makes sense. It may be Sam's body, but right now, it's Gadreel's too, and this place is their shared headspace. It's only logical for Gadreel's life and memories to expand and fill the shelves, too.
He backs away, because these are private. No matter how curious he's felt about certain things, he won't rifle through the angel's memories trivially. Gadreel doesn't do it to him, as he's often left confused until Sam explains some past happening or hurt to him. It's only now Sam realizes how easily the angel could just take. The angel could literally read him like a book, because everything, his entire life, sits in this room.
Sam spins around, and catches Gadreel watching him, his gaze curious. Sam offers him a smile, and makes his way back to him.
"This Library, it's… it's me, literally me," Sam says, still amazed. "And you, too."
The angel nods.
"Is this… some kind of representation of how a vessel and an angel interact?"
The ghost of a smile tweaks the corners of his lips. "That is… somewhat true."
"We're somehow projecting in here, in the midst of all this?" Sam's never asked before, because he's just taken the space for granted.
The book in Gadreel's hand lowers to his lap. "We are not projecting, Sam. We are literally here." He smiles, just a fraction. "I am here, in totality. This is how you perceive my True Self." His expression softens even more. "Everything we have shared in this place has been real."
Sam's stomach does a little flip, recalling so many tiny things done over time in this room. He remembered how he'd cleaned up the angels wounds (and realizes now what he'd thought of as an avatar was the real, actual Gadreel, and so it had, in fact mattered). He thought about how he'd held the angel. How he'd touched his face and soothed his pain during torture.
He had been touching Gadreel's True Self. The thought makes his mouth go dry.
"Yes," the angel tells him. "It all mattered. Certainly, to me."
Sam had long known this grand library to be real in some way, though he'd only thought of it as a sort of mental construction. It's not easy to think of places existing only inside of his head as strictly real in any sense, but… when he thinks about what Gadreel has said, it makes sense.
Sam takes another glance around, equal parts embarrassed and amazed, and he needs to lighten the subject. "And of all the things you could read, you picked an outdated lecture on criminal law."
Gadreel smiles. "I am most enjoying the part wherein you tried to learn how to draw an anatomically correct face, rather than take notes." He turns the book around so Sam can see it, and sure enough, it holds one of his rudimentary drawings from when he'd sort of wanted to learn art on the side.
He smiles. "That was a short-lived phase," he defends himself.
"A shame," Gadreel says, staring back down at the book. "I enjoy the attention you gave to your subject's nose."
"Seriously man," Sam says, "this has got to be boring for a billion-year-old angel. There's… better stuff around." The statement makes something drop to his gut, but… yeah.
Gadreel looks up at him, the mirth gone from his expression, but the lines of his face still soft. "I would not intrude." After a moment: "I promise you, I have not."
"Oh, I believe you," Sam quickly says, and it's true. He hasn't doubted it for a moment.
The angel's lips part a fraction, and his expression of adoration returns. "You have such incredible faith in me, Sam Winchester. Why?"
He smiles, but he doesn't have an answer, not one that doesn't make him feel twisted up inside, heat flushing his cheeks. "You earned it."
Gadreel stares at him as though he holds the mysteries of the universe in his palm, and his gaze falls away. When he meets Sam's eyes again, his expression has grown incredulous.
"What is it… exactly… that you want?" he asks. "I would give you anything within my power."
It's a big question, and he thinks Gadreel could mean a lot of things. Maybe he wishes to know what Sam wants from him, what Sam wants from life, or even what Sam wants for breakfast (or, perhaps all of the above, it would seem). Sam would like to know the answer to these things, too.
"Maybe you can tell me. After a little bit of light reading," and he gestures to the books behind him.
He seems no less amazed, but now there's an edge of something like hope. "You wish for me to peruse your memories?"
And yeah, Sam actually does. He wants Gadreel to see everything about him, the good and the bad, and…. Sam feels sullen as he thinks about the inevitable response, how the angel will turn away in disgust and horror. But then, maybe he won't, and maybe he'll still want to hang around, and Sam can't help but hope a little himself.
Gadreel sets down the book in his hand and rises to his feet, placing a gentle, comforting hand on Sam's shoulder. He can feel the angel's desire to touch his face instead, but he doesn't, and Sam doesn't know if he should feel disappointed.
"Nothing could make me turn away," he says firmly, his voice whisper-smooth and certain.
Sam wishes that were true. He hopes it is.
"You just haven't looked hard enough, yet."
The angel's expression morphs, the lines of his face pinched together in frustration. "Sam Winchester, my Grace and your soul have touched. In that terrible place, when we embraced, the essence of us both met. I do not know precisely what this means, other than I know you." He glances away, a soft smile on his lips. "I will not leave or forsake you. I could not imagine ever doing so for any reason other than your dismissal."
Sam feels his heart drop to his stomach. Gadreel can't know what he's saying, what it sounds like. Certainly not…
Whatever you want, Sam. If it is within my power to give, it shall be yours."
The words make something raw ache inside of him, because Sam does want, and it scares him. And more frightening, the angel seems to feel this need, and raises a hand to press against the side of Sam's neck.
"Tell me."
Sam swallows thickly, feels off-balance and overheated and all nerves. "When… when you manifested before… And when we… it felt like we were one person."
The angel smiles as he stutters his way through it, and Sam can already feel the beginnings of it inside of him. His knees grow weak with the sensation, even as Gadreel's hands hold him steady. The same blissful rapture of heat and light and Gadreel overwhelms him, and Sam doesn't even pretend he's not crying out, basking in the connection and warmth of the angel's Grace. It cradles him and mingles with him until they feel like one spirit.
Words ripple through his mind, something he'd read long ago: 'Have you no beginning and end? Which heart is the real one? Which eye the seer?'
In the midst of it, Sam realizes several memories have come along for the ride—all of his awful, terrible deeds laid bare for Gadreel to see, to shirk away from. Yet the angel holds him tight, arms wrapping around him and Grace burning hotter.
As the light cools, as he returns to the knowledge of this body in the Library, he slumps into Gadreel's arms. The angel holds him upright without effort, cradling the larger man in his arms. Sam burrows his face into Gadreel's neck, and a hand, steady and sure, brushes warmly against the back of his head. Soothing. Comforting.
"I know every part of you, Sam Winchester," the angel whispers into his ear, unbearably gentle. "I know every hair on your head, every memory troubling you, every dark corner of yourself you hide away."
Sam wants to cringe, to shrink away and hide, but Gadreel's embrace feels unbreakable, and Sam doesn't have the energy to try and pull away.
"There is no part of you that could make me turn away," he says, and Sam feels the angel's cheek resting against his hair. "I will never forsake you, so long as you'll have me."
He pulls Sam upright, and Sam has trouble making his legs cooperate, because no one has ever said those words to him before. He can't even say anything. His mind swims with emotion, his eyes sting, and he's so overwhelmed with it all. He just doesn't even understand.
When Sam's legs regain some semblance of steadiness, Gadreel's hand gently tugs at his shoulder. "Here, allow me to show you something."
Sam turns and follows him through the shelves, through the chasm in the center separating his books and Gadreel's, to a small, lone shelf in the middle.
"When I first came here, there was but one book," Gadreel explains, gesturing at the small shelf. "Now, there are many, and it is my hope there will be many more."
The books start out a dark gray, turning to green, until finally morphing into the most brilliant, shining white in the entire library. These books do not have names—at least, not yet.
"They're in the center," Sam breathes, staring up from his crouched position at Gadreel. "So… they belong to both of us?"
Gadreel smiles, his eyes bright (though, not nearly as bright as Sam one day hopes to see). "They are the books we write together."
Sam returns the smile, and stares back at the ever-changing shelf in front of him. He wants to read these books most of all.
Time passes, and Sam's soul and Gadreel's Grace entwine even further with one another. To everyone's astonishment, the angel heals, and quickly. It's far, far better than anything they'd hoped for.
Castiel remains the only one who seems unsurprised, looking on with a knowing expression. Kevin, on the other hand, has convinced both himself and Dean that the angel tablet has worked a miracle.
One day, while Sam reclines on the couch in the Library, soaking in the warmth of the fire, and watches Gadreel idly read a book (it's an old chemistry lecture, Sam thinks), his prior uncertainty on the subject has morphed into solid conviction.
He honestly doesn't want Gadreel to ever leave.
He wants him to stay. He wants this thing they have to continue for as long as it can. He wants to hold the angel, wrap his mind and his soul around Gadreel's Grace, and feel his Grace hold on just as tightly. He wants to hold the angel in his arms and soothe away every terrible thing that's ever happened to him. He wants to kiss him and touch him and make him feel wonderful things, things he's never felt before and could never even imagine.
It's not as if he's in love with the angel, he'd told himself before.
Except he is.
'Just because you do not say 'love', does not mean you are not, in fact, expressing love.'
Sam has gone and fallen in love with the angel riding his body.
Well, fuck.
The angel reads on, unaware of Sam's revelation. They don't intrude on each other's thoughts, thankfully, but…would Gadreel want that from him? Could he?
Sam can't keep it a secret long, and he finds himself suddenly very worried, because he doesn't know what to do.
He settles for rolling over on the couch and closing his eyes.
"Come on," Kevin pleads. "Just try."
Gadreel, behind the wheel of Sam's body, stares down at the table where the angel tablet rests.
"I cannot wield such power," he answers.
"Gad, you're not even trying!" Dean calls out. "Come on, just pick it up, use some of your mojo, and see what happens."
"Come on, Gadreel," Sam encourages from inside. "You can do this."
Gadreel hesitates, staring at the tablet a long, tense moment. "Castiel is a much more worthy choice."
"But I can't do it," Cas interrupts. "I don't have my Grace. You're the only one who can. And Metatron? This angel war? It's all chaos. If you can harness the power of this tablet, you can stop Metatron, reopen Heaven, and lead everyone home."
Gadreel says nothing, shaking fingers extending towards the tablet, just short of touching them.
He's afraid. It rushes through Sam's skin like ice.
"What if it does work?" Gadreel murmurs to Sam. "How can I wield such immense power without harming others?" He pauses. "I am not worthy."
Sam sighs within, and wraps his soul around Gadreel's' Grace again in the embrace they've become so fond of. "You were God's Most Trusted. I think if anyone can do it, you can. And I believe in you, Gadreel. You can do it."
He hovers just short of the tablet, and then he's touching it, raking the pads of his fingertips over ancient letters. They hurt his angelic eyes to try and read, but the Kevin's beside him, telling him what to do.
"Pick it up," he says.
The angel grasps the tablet and does as he's told.
"Now, put some of your Grace into it. Not a lot, just a bit, and—."
No more than Gadreel has thought of it do the letters on the tablet begin to shine, white and gold and warm in his hand. He can feel the power underneath his hand, flowing, cascading, gathering around his wrist and weaving up his arm like water. It leaves gooseflesh in its wake, and Sam feels dizzy with the intensity of it.
But other than a rush of power, nothing happens. Gadreel feels warm and restored, perhaps healthier than he's felt since the dawn of time, but he no more knows how to harness the power than Kevin does.
And the fear morphs into utter terror.
He sets the tablet down with a clatter, backing away from the table, Sam's heart racing in their shared chest.
"Forgive me," Gadreel says. "It did not work. I cannot use it."
And he flees the room, ignoring Sam's protests to try again.
Two days later, they're three states over and working one hell of a confusing case. They're either hunting a woman in white, another rit zien, or some other vengeful angel.
Gadreel feels great discomfort at the prospect of hunting other angels (as does Sam) at this post-torture junction. But they have a serious problem here to fix, and where problems exist, hunters must move in and clean up the mess. Plus, they just need some intel; something to help them understand.
Since Sam's realization, he's distanced himself from Gadreel somewhat, afraid and uncomfortable and just worried about how the angel will react. It hasn't gone unnoticed, either. Gadreel inquired after his well-being, but Sam wouldn't answer. The angel did not further push or intrude, but Sam knows it's only a matter of time before he accidentally lets it slip, somehow. And Gadreel will feel creeped out and disgusted and will probably leave.
Sam just tries not to think about it, which of course means he thinks about it a lot. It's just a matter of not thinking about it at the right times.
He shifts in his seat, trying to find a comfortable position. Oh, well. No one made bar stools with comfort in mind. He needs to distract himself, anyway.
"So, more angel exorcisms?" he asks after Cas returns to the table.
"Yes," the angel answers, downing half a bottle of beer in several long gulps.
Dean gives him a look. "Damn, Cas. Don't tell me you're getting hammered while on the job."
The angel shakes his head and ignores Dean. "It's heinous. There are other ways to take an angel's Grace that don't involve such a terrible, painful death. There's no sense to it."
Dean grimaces, passing another beer to Cas. "There ain't nothing about this that makes sense, Cas."
Sam hears Gadreel thinking about the angel tablet again, about the pain his brothers and sisters suffer, and truly wonders if he could help for the first time. The idea leaves him… open. Just a bit.
After a while, Sam excuses himself from the table because, really, Dean and Cas have gotten kind of distracted (Cas has gotten himself drunk and Dean's ogling him like he's the most adorable thing ever). He's pretty sure he brought a book on angel lore with him, though Gadreel chuckles at him, and tells him he could inform him on many things not in the book. But Sam's bored, so he goes to get the book anyway. He'll probably just end up sitting in the car, talking to the angel.
Neither Sam nor Gadreel expect Metatron to stroll up behind them and cluck his tongue.
Gadreel rushes to the forefront so quickly it takes Sam a second to register what's happening—and probably not for the better. He grips his angel blade tightly in his sleeve. Sam feels burning, righteous fury boiling now, and it's so encompassing Sam can only make out one clear directive: Protect.
"Well, I'm really looking forward to this," Metatron says, a smirk splitting his face.
