Disclaimer: If I owned Supernatural, the fans would rise up and take me down in an epic display of pure, unadulterated rage and denial. Then I would have to spend the rest of my life being spoon-fed by my sister, who would later become President of the United States by sheer concentrated willpower and not a little desperation, leaving hired companions to take care of me until I died old and mean, cursing her stupidly presidential name.

In other words, I don't own Supernatural.

Summary: In which Gadreel makes a different choice and is all the better for it.

Gadreel felt the weight of the trust that Dean Winchester had placed in him.

It was not a burdensome heaviness. On the contrary, this was the first time he'd been given a duty, a responsibility, since . . . since the garden.

Dean Winchester was relying on him to keep his brother alive, to heal him. Keep safe the person dearest to him.

Gadreel would not let that trust be misplaced. Though he had lied to him about his identity ("I am not that angel that is said to be good and honorable, no") he would not prove his promise to protect Sam Winchester false.

He would not fail like he had with the garden. He was wiser now. Better. He would guard Sam with all the grace he had left in him.

(Father, forgive me, do not let me disappoint, I beg of you.)

"I can't let you go on like this." Dean sighed and sat down on the bed across from Sam. "Listen, it's not you."

Gadreel tensed, alarm growing.

He was going to tell him. He was going to tell Sam that he had an angel in him, and then he would be expelled and they would-

In a panic he thought about taking over again, talking him out of it (Just a little more time, I need just a little more time) and staying, maybe-

No. Be calm, Gadreel. Let them talk. What will happen will happen. You are different now. Let Sam choose. Taking someone's choice from them is not right.

Like I already have? What is one more?

Too many. Far too many.

"Hold on-I have an angel inside me?"

"Ezekiel. You were dying, Sam-"

"It was my choice, Dean! Wait, is he listening now?" Sam demanded.

Gadreel felt the urge to shrink away, but he did not. I am sorry. Should I not?

Sam blinked. "Did you-did you hear that?"

Dean sat up straighter. "What?"

"Ezekiel?" Sam asked cautiously.

Yes. It was strange. At the lie, he felt an odd mixture of shame and liberation.

"What-is he talking to you?" Dean asked.

"Yeah." Sam shook his head. "It's . . . weird."

Sam, I feel I must warn you. You are not yet healed. If I leave now you will likely feel . . . much worse. Gadreel hesitated then said softly, However, that is your choice. If you wish to be free of me I cannot argue.

Sam thought about it. He honestly did. But then a sudden thought came to him. "If I do choose that, then where will you go?"

Gadreel recalled his vessel before Sam, but the man had just gotten his life back. He could not-would not- take it again. I am . . . unsure, he finally answered.

"I don't-" Sam pushed his hands through his hair. "I don't know. Let me think."

You could . . . Gadreel paused, then said, I believe the saying is 'sleep on it'?

"What's he saying, Sam?"

"He said that I could sleep on it." Sam answered Dean, rubbing his eyes wearily. "Yeah, I think that's a good idea."

Dean hesitated before asking, "You're not . . . angry anymore?"

Sam shot him a look. "Oh, no. Don't get the wrong idea. I'm plenty mad. But I'm also tired. I'll deal with you-and Ezekiel-tomorrow."

"Alright. I'm good with that." Dean tried not to sound relieved.

I will wait for your decision. Good night, Sam, Gadreel said softly.

Sam lay back with one arm over his eyes, then he sighed. "Good night, Zeke."

Gadreel again felt that odd mixture of dishonor and liberty. As if the lie, the misperception allowed him to be someone completely different. Like being thought of as Ezekiel made him . . . better.

He thought that perhaps he wished he was not Gadreel.

Gadreel stayed quiet when Sam got up in the morning. When Sam paused as he was taking off his clothes to get into the shower and asked, "Ezekiel?" he didn't answer. He turned his awareness inward so as to give the young man some privacy.

He wondered what would happen if he told them who he really was. And then he thought of Abner and felt rush of both affection and grief.

Abner. He had been . . . such a good man. He hadn't deserved to be locked away like something disgraceful. Like Gadreel.

And then there had been Thaddeus. An uncaring, cruel angel who took pleasure in torturing.

Gadreel had always protected Abner. Sometimes Abner had talked of not wanting to be a burden, but he had been a burden like Dean's trust was a burden. It was a salubrious weight. He had been a good companion, a needed one, his best friend.

They had stayed together, protected each other in that cursed prison throughout the centuries, the millennia.

He would surely have gone mad if it hadn't been for Abner. All those years . . .

He admitted that he made a mistake. But God, did the punishment fit the crime?

And now he was free, but without Abner. Without Heaven. Fallen.

Disgraced in the eyes of all angels. But most of all, disgraced in the eyes of himself.

"Ezekiel?"

Gadreel jolted alert. Sam? How long had he been lost in himself?

"Yeah, um. I've decided." Sam took a deep breath and said, "You can stay until we find you a new vessel. Is that okay?"

A beat. Elation. Yes, of course, that is . . . more than okay. Thank you, Sam.

"Yeah."

Gadreel could imagine Abner smiling warmly and telling him, "I am glad for you, Gadreel."

This is my second chance, Abner. Would you wish me luck?

"I would, but I do not think you need it. Just be yourself, Gadreel. That is enough."

After months of fruitless searching for a new vessel Gadreel was somewhat . . . lacking in excitement.

Sam let out a sigh. It seemed he was of the same spirits.

Do not worry, Sam, Gadreel said quietly. We will find someone.

"Yeah, I know. I'm just a bit tired." Sam would have given a reassuring smile if there had been another body to smile at.

As they passed a bar, Sam just happened to glance through the window. Gadreel felt a burst of surprise as he recognized his last vessel.

Sam stopped when he felt the angel startle. "What is it?"

The bartender. Before you, his was the body I used.

"Huh. That doesn't sound weird at all," Sam muttered.

Gadreel hesitated. May I . . . may we check on him? I merely wish to see how he is doing.

Might as well. "Sure. Why not."

They walked into the bar and sat on one of the seats at the counter.

"Hey." Sam smiled at the bartender. "I'll just have a beer."

"Sure."

May I?

Sam could feel the angel's tentativeness. 'Go ahead. But don't get used to it.'

A nearby customer who'd had several drinks and counting blinked when he saw the man a seat down stiffen and straighten after his eyes flashed a brilliant blue. The customer looked down at his gin and tonic and decided that he'd had way too much alcohol.

Ty Vincent slid the man across from him a beer. The man took it, looking at him with a surprisingly intense stare. "You are doing well?"

Ty blinked but answered readily enough. "Well enough. You?"

"Yes. Your life is . . . good?"

The people who came to the bar usually either wanted to be left alone or to talk. This man seemed different, however. His speech was very formal. He looked like he had a purpose, unlike many of the people there.

He was looking at Ty like his answer was important to him, so he decided to answer honestly. "Yeah. It's fine. But I do feel like . . . I should be doing some else. Something more." He smiled and shrugged. "I don't know what, though."

Gadreel felt a spark of hope. Perhaps . . .

'Hey, maybe he'll take you back,' Sam said.

Perhaps. However, he has a job now. He has his life back. I could not take that away again.

'Maybe you should ask him. Let him decide.'

Point. Yes. I shall.

He lingered until Ty Vincent got off work, which wasn't long.

Ty looked up as he was locking the place up and saw light.

Ty Vincent, a voice said gravely. You remember me, do you not?

"Yes," he breathed.

I thought that I would not ask this again, but here I am. I believe that I used you badly before. I got you injured, though I healed the wound, then I left you in the hospital without an explanation and without memories of how you got there. I am deeply sorry for that. But I need you again. If you would have me, I would do much better this time around. Now, you must think on this. If you would consent, do not do so simply because I am an angel, but because you want this.

"I do. This gives me purpose, and I truly want a purpose." Ty smiled. "It's alright. I give you permission."

Thank you, Ty Vincent, Gadreel breathed.

Ty was engulfed in light.

Yes, I know, it was too short, you scorn me, you despise me, you loathe my very existence . . . and you can't get enough. Too bad, suckers!

Next up: Sam's got an angel and a devil on his shoulders. Well, okay, Dean and Cas are a bit too big for that.

Weird Randomness!

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"What . . ." Ty squinted into the blinding glow.

"What do you have to say for yourself, Ty Vincent?" a great voice boomed.

"Quiet down, Bob. Jesus. I'm standing right next you," another, slightly less majestic voice complained.

"Sorry, Rodney," the great voice said meekly.

A hand reached out and turned the light away from Ty's face, revealing himself to be in an interrogation room with what looked to be two cops.

"Now," Slightly-Less-Majestic Rodney said slowly, fixing Ty with a piercing stare. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Yeah," Great Bob added. "Tripping old grannies, stealing prized pigs, flashing people in the streets. You should be ashamed of yourself."

"Shut up, Bob."

Ty stared at them. Gadreel . . . what are they talking about?

There was silence.

Gadreel?

. . . the Scribe of God made me do it.

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