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"So show me Family, all the blood that I would bleed. I don't know where I belong. I don't know where I went wrong." Ho Hey, The Lumineers

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"What do you want to do, Sam?"

"Huh? I thought we could start on these Enochian tracts from Bobby's stash. You can read the Enochian ones and I'll do the translations. That should keep us occupied until Cas arrives."

They were in a temperature and humidity controlled storage room. Sam had to give the Men of Letters credit where it was due. They knew how to take care of their toys. A simple copperplate on the door "Nam Libris" had set Sam's heart racing when he had discovered the room. It contained many ancient tomes, but its shelves were half empty as if the compilation of this sub-library was a work in progress. It was perfect for storing Bobby's legacy, retrieved from storage units and Jody's safekeeping.

"You misunderstand me." Gadreel bent to take slim leather bound volumes from the packing crate Sam gestured towards. "I wish to enquire about your plans."

Mouth set in a grim line, Sam stated. "Plan is to get that vile thing off Dean's arm."

Gadreel reached forward, hand grazing the pale white-blue plaid of the other's sleeve, "Sam."

"What?"

"Loathe though I am to remind you of my wrongs. What of your plans to make this place a bastion for young hunters? What of your thoughts of taking a step back, of studying by distance or part-time at a university?"

Sam balked. Not at the reference to his inner secrets, or that Gadreel was privy to them, but at the reminder of his foolishness. He hissed painfully, "Pipe dreams, burned up by reality."

"They do not have to be. You are allowed to be happy, Sam."

Gadreel's sincerity cut like a knife reopening an old wound. Sam shook his head.

"Listen, Man. I've gone down that road before and more times than not it's ended bloody. I grew up. I shoulder my responsibilities. I know what is important, what my priorities are, and I'll take happy when I can get it, but…"

Gadreel interrupted. "It is possible to modify your dreams and expectations, to shoulder great responsibilities, to travel a different path, and to have happiness. They are not mutually exclusive."

"A wise person once told me that I could choose the life I wanted to live. He helped me strive for my dreams. Years later, despite all that had happened, I got a chance to thank him." Sam huffed wryly, remembering he was hopped up on demon blood and enmeshed in Ruby's lies at the time. "The tables had turned. My eyes had been opened. He was the naive one asking about happiness."

"I have seen you doing what you love. How you enjoy delving into the archives here. It is not wrong to take such enjoyment."

"That's not what I meant, and not what you asked." Sam clicked his tongue and attempted to end the discussion. "Dean is more pressing."

"Hope is a beacon. What hopes we hold dear, they are what sustain us with strength to carry on."

"That is a lovely sentiment, Gadreel."

The angel glared. "It is not sentiment. It is truth."

Startled by the passionate statement, Sam focused all his attention on the angel.

"I hear you. Without my hope, my faith in Dean, the struggle, this fight would be unbearable. I believe in the power of trying. We have beaten unbeatable odds before."

"Yet, Sam, even the hardiest solider must take his rest, must have his sanctuary, and a beacon to aim towards."

"And what's yours? What keeps you going?" Sam swung the conversation around, challenging as a form of defense.

Gadreel sank down to sit on the lid of a tall wooden crate. With a sigh he spoke softly, "You would not find it of interest."

"Why do you say that?" Sam blinked. His rush of ire dissipated as fast as it had surged. "I asked, didn't I?"

"It is a dark tale."

"And you think I got rainbows and puppies up here?" Sam jested, tapping his temple.

"Yes," Gadreel smiled kindly, "You do. So many memories of good times with your brother. Your achievements, friends you made on life's journey, memories of Jessica."

Sam gulped, sucker punched. Before his eyes appeared an image of Jess in Stanford Library, flicking back her curls, illicitly laughing out loud at some lame joke he had made. Internally he cried a protest not to mention her name, but what passed his lips was a bitter whisper.

"A lot of those memories turn sour."

"Yes. You understand." Gadreel intoned.

"I'm not sure that I do." Sam planted his butt on the free edge of the crate, shuffling sideways so that his companion had to make room. "Explain it to me."

Gadreel turned his face to meet Sam's inquiring gaze. He took a breath, turned his palms up open on his lap, and began.

"Hope can be pressed. It can be shrunk until infinitivally tiny. A seed inside your core until at last it is the final line before despair. A gossamer thread so thin dividing existence from permanent darkness. Hoarded and hidden a speck of faith that one day I would find the opportunity for some measure of redemption. That I would find a situation, other than my eternal punishment, where I would be able to do good, to demonstrate that I was not the nefarious creature they called me, not the evil they accused me of."

Sam bit down hard on his lip. Words spilled forth, unsaid, silent, but wanting to be spoken, of acts committed using Sam's hands, of the murder of Kevin Tran. Gadreel was lost in his telling. Sam curbed his instinct to lash out.

"There were times when my grip slipped. My wings broken and useless, stripped bare to the bone, those bones smashed, my grace in shards, never-ending discordant wavelengths…"

Sam could not fathom the horror of existing like that for eternities.

"For eons I was alone. Siblings came and went from the cells next to me, all there for their own crimes and disobediences, all believing my crime to be more heinous than theirs. Then Abner was condemned. He would speak through the cell wall. Are you well, Brother? And I would find from somewhere impossible inside, the strength to form a response. Yes, I have survived. For centuries we shared imprisonment and torture. We comforted one another with words, but also, Sam, by deeds, by the joining of our graces in acts forbidden, but we were already damned."

The look Gadreel gave Sam was one of a cowed man, prepared to be struck. Did he think Sam would hate due to his confession of his relationship with Abner, or was the angel caught in a flashback to Heaven's jail?

"Geez, I get it." Sam huffed sympathetically, "No condemnation here of taking comfort where it can be found."

Gadreel nodded slowly in appreciation of Sam's acceptance. "It was more than that. We kept each other alive." He paused briefly. "I loved him. When I had recovered, I thought of seeking him out. But I wanted to prove myself. I wanted to be worthy in his eyes. I took his vessel's name on a piece of paper. I went to that place unknowing. He was overjoyed to see me, and I him. My grace flared. He responded."

Sam filled the painful silence. "I don't know what to say."

"I killed him." Gadreel choked. "I put the greater good of Metatron's instructions above my heart, my instincts, my hope. I took the life of the one person who knew me and loved me. The person, who did not turn his back when I was at my lowest, trusted me and in return I extinguished his existence."

The tall straight backed angel crumpled in front of Sam. He hunched his shoulders, bodily wracked by all too human sobs.

Floundering, Sam placed his palm on the other's spine, stroking a slow tentative rhythm.

Gadreel buried his face in his hands. "I lost him and there is no one to blame but me. If I had not been released, if the angels had not fallen, then Abner, good kind Abner, would still be alive."

Taking initiative, Sam caught the round of Gadreel's shoulder, pulling him close. He felt Gadreel sorrow, guilt and loss.

"I killed him. Killing Abner was the worst thing I did, because I knew, deep down, I knew it was wrong. I trusted The Scribe and Abner paid the price." Gadreel stuttered through slackening sobs.

"Shush, shush," Sam crooned. He could not be sure when he had begun to rock the angel in his arms. The raw desperate grief made Sam hold on tighter. "You trusted the wrong side. Your mistake cost your friend, cost Kevin, their lives. Your regret won't bring them back, but I understand."

"Good people died." Gadreel spoke low.

"And you must live with that." Sam kept his voice even. "But you changed sides, Gadreel, and that counts for a lot."

"Seeing the error of my ways does not bring back Abner or the prophet."

"No." Sam sighed deeply in sorrow for Kevin.

"My Abner." Gadreel made a noise at the back of his throat, but his weeping had stopped. "I will bear the responsibility always."

Consoling Gadreel had thrown up a mess of emotional memories. Sam released the recovering angel from his cradling arms, but remained seated, sides pressed together.

"For a long time," the hunter cleared his throat, "and maybe part of me still… I believed that I was responsible. That my actions killed Jess."

Gadreel sucked air. He tilted his head to listen.

"For night after night I dreamed her death, foresaw it. I never warned her. I left her unprotected, undefended and unprepared." Sam snorted at his young naïve self. "Believing I was out from the hunting life, I did not test our friends with holy water, silver cutlery, or words of power. Our best friend was a demon."

Almost a decade old heartbreak ached inside.

"I was sure that if I had done things differently, she would be alive. I was forewarned and I ignored it, blundering on, not wanting to believe I was a psychic freak. I felt that her death was my fault. I hallucinated her on street corners. I was bereaved and wracked with guilt and anger."

"Sam, you did not kill her." Gadreel's hands covered Sam's.

"It felt like I had. It was a very long time before I could see that the responsibility for her death fell at the door of those who screwed with our lives to bring about the apocalypse. Fact remains that she died because of me and the plans for me. And I loved her, Gadreel." Sam stressed his words with the force of truth. "I loved her with every ounce of my being."

"I know you did."

"Everything, everybody, I touch, that I try to have a… dream of making a home with… a life… everyone I like… that I would cherish… they… it never ends well." Sam gulped hoping the angel understood his rambling references to other attempts from Amy to Amelia to beautiful special Sarah Blake. "I used to wonder if I am cursed. If being unclean… if I am a curse."

"Not cursed." Gadreel lifted Sam's hand to his lips, grazing touch between his knuckles.

Sam watched in fascination, feeling warm dry lips press softly to his skin.

"Changer of Destiny." Gadreel named the vulnerable hunter.

Sam smiled. He carefully withdrew his fingers from Gadreel's hold. "We make our own choices."

Gadreel's head dropped taking Sam's intended encouraging words to heart as reflecting on his grave mistakes rather than his more recent decisions.

Sam saw. He could not let Gadreel believe that interpretation. He cradled the clean shaven skin of the angel's cheek and jaw. Gadreel sank in to the affectionate touch. A gentle smile playing on his lips, Sam did not think beyond the moment. He leaned forward to caress.

Loud clashing pounding on the door made Sam jerk out of his reverie.

"Sam. What the freaking hell are you two doing in there? Writing the books?" Dean called with a note of cheer. "Cas is on his way. He'll be here by nightfall."

Muttering under his breath about bad timing, Sam rose to his feet. He extended a hand to Gadreel, who stood beside him for Dean's door flinging entrance. The older brother narrowed his eyes suspiciously but refrained from any comment on the different atmosphere, red eyes and weird posture of the other two.

"Well shake a leg!" Dean grinned. "I swear to God, anyone would think you'd been caught behind the bleachers."

Laughing at his own joke, Dean led the way down the corridor. Seeing Dean so looking forward to Cas's return, buoyed Sam's spirits. The cathartic talk with Gadreel did not leave him drained. In fact Sam felt better than he had in weeks. He risked a sideeye glance to the angel keeping pace at his side and was met with a mirrored expression of concern and understanding. His palm itched to find Gadreel's hand, to squeeze into being the embryonic feeling of affection that was growing between them. With Dean before them, Sam quelled his craving to focus on Cas's arrival and what it might presage for their quest to rid Dean of the Mark of Cain.