AN: Okay, first off, I just want to say that the review CallMeAnonymous9 gave me was absolutely moving. No joke. I was seriously touched. It was so nice of you, so I want to say thank you and if I could, I would take that review and embrace it like a beloved teddy bear until it died from my hug of love.

Warnings: Language, mostly. And if the feels attack, duck and run. Because they will inevitably be filled with feelings.

Summary: Gadreel was stricken by the state of Sam's Winchester's soul.

Gadreel was stricken by the state of Sam Winchester's soul.

It was sliced and flayed, burned in a way that no soul should ever be. There was no healing that. Not the way he was right then. It was unconscionable, to allow any persons' essence, their very being, to become so tragically tortured, much less to cause it.

Lucifer and Michael. His brothers were supposed to be better. Merciful. They were supposed to show compassion for humanity, not malice, nor disdain, nor indifference.

What had become of the angels? What had become of their purpose? Their Father had given them all a task, and many had failed to recognize it, or even to understand it. They were merely puppets on gilded strings, corrupted with greed and the temptation of greater power. One of the worst parts of it, perhaps, was that they neglected to realize just how very human they had become.

How the Mighty had Fallen.

Because Sam's wounded soul, it was close to the condition of the elder of the two, marred by hurt and betrayal, lies and desperation.

But both scarred over with love.

Gadreel felt it. The bond between the Winchester brothers, a great tide that had washed over demons and angels alike, and shown them to be unworthy of its sheer strength. The power that would have closed the Gates of Hell, that had changed Destiny and pulled Lucifer back down into his Cage. It was overwhelming.

And he . . . wanted it.

Longed for it with a strength that surprised even him.

And yet . . . he did not deserve it.

"I cannot allow you to do this," he had told Lucifer at the Gates of Eden.

"Then stop me," Lucifer had said. And Gadreel tried. He tried so, so hard.

But Lucifer was strong, more so than most of their brethren. More than that, he was Gadreel's brother. Who kills their own brother simply because he is making a mistake?

"I am sworn to protect this sacred place, and if that means that I will die, then so be it," Gadreel had said, Lucifer's sword at his neck, his Grace bleeding slowly.

His brother had looked him in the eye, and smiled, ever so gently. "I think not."

And then he was gone. Eden was desecrated, and Gadreel's vow was broken.

More than broken, it was destroyed, along with any reason why Gadreel had ever been trusted with something so precious in the first place.

Never again.

Oh, Gadreel had lain useless in that cell, his worth forever tainted. The only one who had found any value in him was Abner. His friend, his beloved brother. Abner had deserved so much more than what had been meted out to him. He'd learned his lesson, and still no one would listen to his goodness.

Only Gadreel, and he could do nothing about it. They had tried to protect each other, had given as much peace to one another as they could in their pain.

He had loved Abner, as his friend had him. They were family, and family was everything. To them and to the Winchesters.

He understood. Of course he did. Dean Winchester would do anything for his brother . . . except, perhaps, let him die. Unless Sam Winchester asked for death and meant it, meant it with all that he held inside of him . . . unless he was so finished with life that there was nothing, no one left to fight for. Then Dean would let him go. No, not let him go, but possibly . . . allow him to slip away. And he, soon to follow.

It hurt, that love. It hurt when they hurt. It hurt to imagine them gone. It hurt so painfully.

There was nothing more frightening than being alone. Nothing more paralyzing, or excruciating. Nothing more hopeless. And the Winchesters really were quite familiar with hopelessness.

As were Gadreel and Abner.

They had tried not to think about it, but they'd both known, despairingly, that they would never escape. They would never be free. No one would get them out, because no one cared to. Hatred was one emotion angels had mastered. Perhaps because most of them had no real concept of compassion, nor tenderness.

No, that was harsh. Quite a few of them really were quite noble. Angels of love and mercy. He hadn't known many angels personally, and naturally there were far more by now, but he knew they were out there.

One of them was Abner. There was no way to speak of it and not come back to him. What he felt for Abner was close to what Dean Winchester felt for Sam. It was protectiveness, pride, a deep ocean of affection. It was much like the sky, actually.

"It's blue?"

The question was faint, as if asked from far-off, and it made Gadreel smile quietly, softly. It was a question in Dean Winchester's voice, because Sam could just imagine it was what he would say. He wasn't Sam, not at all, but sometimes Gadreel had questions, or a certain thought, and there was an answer or remark in reply, from either of the brothers, that only he could hear. One that oftentimes, when it was Dean, he did not understand.

Sam's mind was fascinating, and sad. He held no self-worth, no value of himself. Much like his brother. By now, that belief of their own unimportance was so deeply ingrained, they wouldn't believe it no matter how many times they were told "You are worth it."

It broke an angel's heart. Two of them.

There was no wonder why Castiel followed them, no wonder where his loyalty came from. The reason was clear to anyone who would care enough to see it.

But the lies. They had to stop. It was wearing them down, these secrets they kept. How many times had they lied to one another? To themselves? They had to see what it was doing to them.

He had to fix this. Such anguish he felt from two so young, they could not go on as they were. They were killing themselves. It wasn't quick, and it wasn't painless. The distance between the brothers would have to break them sometime, because already it was cracking them apart. He had urged Dean to hide his presence, but this . . . their determination to do something right, their powerful regard for each other . . . it changed everything.

The church had done what it could, but the words Dean had given to Sam were not enough. Love could be spoken, or it could be demonstrated, or both. Just knowing was all very well, too, but the brothers had to find something more to fight for. They had to be shown that they were not alone.

"Don't you dare matchmake for us, Gadreel," Dean Winchester's voice warned. "Seriously."

Matchmake? What . . . ?

"Dude, really? Watch more TV, man."

I, ah . . .

"Oh, forget it."

Indeed.

". . . some tea. Don't complain, Dean, you're not the one who drinks it, and furthermore-"

"-You must tell him."

The eldest Winchester seemed taken aback. "Zeke? Dude, what the hell? I thought you wanted to wait for that. Y'know, keep yourself hidden or something."

"That is passed," Gadreel said. "You must tell him, for I cannot be certain that you will retain his trust once this is over."

There was a long beat of silence.

Gadreel looked at him directly in the eye. "Am I correct in assuming you would rather tell him a lie than the truth?"

"It's hard, sometimes," Dean said, somewhat awkwardly. "Lying's just . . . easier."

"His help is necessary. Essential, even."

"His help with what?"

"Metatron."

"What's he got to do with this?" Dean's eyes narrowed. "He planning something?"

"Yes."

"Well? What is it?"

"Godhood."

Dean whistled. "Aiming a bit high, isn't he?"

"He is assisted by the power of the Angel Tablet."

"Fuck."

"You must tell Sam, your friends Kevin Tran and Castiel of my presence."

"Yeah," Dean muttered. "We'll need all the help we can get."

Gadreel tilted his head slightly. "What are your qualms in telling your brother of me?"

There was a pause.

"He won't be happy," Dean admitted at last.

"Yes," Gadreel agreed. "But is his trust not more important than his anger?"

Dean sighed. "Of course it is." His brow furrowed. "But what if he throws you out?"

"He may do just that," Gadreel said, a small frown tugging at his lips in an unfamiliar expression of concern. "Nevertheless, we must brave his ire and convince him of my loyalty to you both."

Dean looked at him oddly. "Dude, can you at least try speaking like a normal person?"

"We'll tell 'im the hard truth and duck when shit hits the fan," he deadpanned.

Dean burst out laughing. "Where did you hear that?"

"I myself did not," Gadreel admitted. "It is an odd expression that I've heard in passing from your brothers' psyche."

"And we're back to Fancy Phrases Man."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I only like it when woman beg me for something."

Dean Winchester was quickly becoming the most perplexing person he'd ever spoken to.

"Alright, let's get this over with," Dean said resignedly.

Gadreel drew back, letting Sam's consciousness come to the fore.

"Listen, Sam," he heard Dean say, trepidation in his voice. "We gotta talk."

". . . you always do this, it's not even . . . what?"

"Don't be mad, okay?"

"About what?"

Then shit hit the fan.

"You tricked me into being possessed, Dean! By an angel!" Sam was shouting ten minutes later.

"I know, I'm sorry, but man, you were dying-"

"So what! I wanted to die, Dean, I wanted to . . . I'm kicking him out."

Gadreel surged forward. Do not!

It startled Sam enough for him to hesitate a moment. Gadreel quickly used what little time he had left.

You will die if you do this, Sam Winchester. Are you aware of the events that will follow your demise?

"Yes," Sam hissed. "I am."

You only imagine that you are. You do not realize that the world cannot survive Metatron's reign, and Dean cannot survive your death.

Sam paused. "Metatron?"

Yes. He is attempting to become God. He wants to rule over all, his selfishness and need for power overcoming any love he ever harbored towards my brothers and sisters, our Father and His creations.

"And you know of this . . . how?" Sam said slowly.

He has offered me an arrangement. I help him achieve his godhood, and I would be allowed to enter Heaven once more.

The truth was, he would not want to enter Heaven again, even if he could. He held no real family there, no brothers or sisters who would accept him. Not after what he had done.

He could feel Sam's mind raging.

Be calm, Sam Winchester. You have overcome an Apocalypse, Lucifer, your own memories, Leviathans, and your brother's death. You shall overcome this as well.

"How?"

I have accepted Metatron's offer.

"What?"

As I have said, be calm. I have no intention of truly becoming his soldier, he is not my God. He is not my Father.

"How are you going to do it?"

I will infiltrate his ranks, find the Angel Tablet, and break it. I must insist upon your help. I am not enough. No one man is. I cannot succeed in this alone. Will you aid me?

"How do I know you don't want the Angel Tablet for yourself?"

I have no use for it. I cannot return to Heaven, for it would not welcome me.

"Why not?"

Will you allow me to speak, Sam Winchester? Dean must hear me when I say this, as well as you yourself.

". . . Just until you finish whatever it is you want to tell us."

Very well.

And Gadreel was once again the foremost conscience.

Dean was looking at him questioningly, and also apprehensively. "What the hell was that?"

"I have lied to you, Dean Winchester," Gadreel admitted softly. "And for that I am sorry."

Dean's eyes narrowed on him. "What is it?"

"I am not Ezekiel, as I told you before."

"Who are you, then?"

"My name is Gadreel."

Dean's expression went blank. "Who?"

"I am the Angel who allowed Lucifer to enter the Garden of Eden."

His eyes were hard, staring into his own. "Why." It was not a question, but a command.

"I pleaded with him. I swear to you, I tried to stop it," Gadreel said, the words ripped from him in a wave of sudden emotion that he could not overcome. "I told him, anything, but not this. I told him he was my brother. I told him he was wrong to do this, to enter the Garden with those cruel intentions of his. It was not meant for such. But he would not listen, no matter how I beseeched him and grasped at reasons. We fought, my brother and I, but in the end I was overwhelmed. I ask not for absolution, for I am not repentant, nor ashamed. He was . . . he is my brother. I love him despite his terrible mistakes, despite his transgressions. I am only regretful I could not stop this one. I tried. Tried so hard. And I failed. I am so sorry," he said softly, bleakly, the quick pace of his words slowing down. "So, so sorry." Then he fell silent, at a loss for anything more to say. After a moment, he came back to himself enough to pull back and allow Sam complete consciousness.

The brothers both looked at each other, an unspoken communication of which Gadreel could not perceive.

Finally, Sam sighed. "It's just as well. I don't really want to die so much, anyway."

Gadreel felt relief wash over him. You will permit my continued presence?

"Only until I'm healed. You'll leave when I'm better, right?"

I vow it to you. I will alert you to your restored health once you're cured. Is this acceptable to you and Dean?

"Yeah, it's fine."

You have my gratitude, both of you. I apologize for my intrusion.

"Don't worry about it."

"Dudes, I'm standing right here," Dean interjected.

"Sorry, Dean."

"Yeah, right." He turned away, muttering, "We gotta get you a new vessel soon, this whole thing is creeping me out."

"Just think how I feel," Sam said, lips pressed together. Gadreel watched Dean cringe and turn back around, expression hunted. "You're, uh . . . still mad at me?"

"You lied to me, Dean. Again."

"And I'm sorry," he said deeply, meaning it. "I'm sorry I lied to you, I'm sorry I didn't listen to what you wanted. But you were dying, man, and I just . . . I couldn't let it happen. You know that if I can't save you, I'm gonna follow you. You know that."

"You could have gone on living without me," Sam said, voice softening.

"No, Sam. I couldn't. You don't get that. I can't do it without you, okay? I can't."

"Dean . . ."

He looked away, not meeting Sam's gaze. He cleared his throat. "How about we go and eat, huh? We can get Chinese and tofu or whatever health crap you're into."

"Yeah, Dean," Sam said softly. "That sounds good."

Gadreel settled back, sighing in silent relief at the knowledge that this, the ceasing of lies, the healing of new wounds, would only draw the brothers closer.

"You should do this full-time," Dean's voice said.

Pardon?

"Stop begging my pardon, man. It's just getting embarrassing."

I don't understand.

"Shocker."

Please cease mocking me, I do not appreciate it, Gadreel told the voice politely.

"No one appreciates being mocked. Do you see me complaining?"

Actually -

"Well, do you?"

I was going to say -

"Oh, shut up. I don't need your constant lowering attempts at getting my attention. You're even hearing my voice. That's not normal, dude. You pining for me or what?"

He had been tortured for millions upon thousands of years, but this could be the one thing that broke him.

"You are, aren't you? Well, I'm sorry, but my heart is taken."

By yourself, I assume.

"What do you take me for? A narcissist? Never mind, don't answer that. Her name is Baby, and she's a goddess. A pure, unadulterated thing of beauty."

Your vehicle, Gadreel said flatly. You are taken . . . by your vehicle.

"She not just a vehicle, Gads. She's a goddess. Get it right."

What did you just call me?

"Say it with me. Sixty-seven Chevrolet Impala."

I will not.

"Traitor. I thought you were pining for me."

I told you -

"Oops, sorry, gotta go, Gads." Pause. "I dare you to say that five times, fast."

Why would I -

"See ya."

Good riddance.

There was no reply.

All in all, Sam was growing on him.

Next Up: Something's missing.

Weird Randomness!

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Gadreel studied the beard that was developing on his vessel's chin. After a moment, he stated, "I think I shall name this mass of hair . . . Sam."

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Elsewhere, Sam Winchester suddenly got the urge to get a full-body shave.

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Becky shot upright, her Sam Senses going haywire. "Don't worry, Sam," she vowed, determination glowing in her fangirl eyes, "I'll save you!"

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Sam abruptly had an image of himself wearing a colorful dress, trapped in a tall tower, singing to the birds as he gazed longing out of the only window in the room and brushing his hair, from the top of his fuzzy head to the huge puddle at his dainty slippered feet.

He immediately went down to make a deal with Crowley for extra protection against demonic beings.

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Becky felt thwarted.

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