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Gadreel remembered falling.
Or at least, he remembered that he had remembered it at one point. All he remembered now was running, adrenaline and fear coursing through him as he stumbled through a stony hallway he could no longer remember the location of. Fighting to get away from something he had long since forgotten.
He vaguely remembered his first week of freedom. Running, hiding, more running... fear. They were coming. He couldn't remember who 'they' were, just that he had been terrified of them. Terrified that they would find him, and that when they did they would put him back in the Room.
The Room was another thing he couldn't truly remember. Almost every night he would have nightmares about it. Sometimes it was dark, the bloodstains on the walls barely visible on the dark grey stone. Other times it was bright, so bright that it shone through his very soul to illuminate all his deepest, darkest fears. Picking out each tiny vulnerability so it could twist them and use them against him. He remembered that the Room came with pain and isolation. The Room was even worse than the worst place imaginable. And that 'they' wanted to put him back there.
He remembered that he did something to stop them from finding him. Something was inside him, and he'd taken it out. The doctors he'd spoken to about it later guessed it was a tracking device of some sort, but he wasn't so sure. Because he remembered what happened when he'd torn it out too.
He remembered breaking.
He didn't remember why, just that there was a wave of overwhelming everything and suddenly he was on the ground crying, clutching himself and muttering words he could no longer remember.
That was when the first hallucination appeared.
It called itself Thaddeus and it had sneered at him, mocking him for his pain and pushing him further over the edge. Thaddeus was like his own sadistic personal trainer from hell, cruelly teaching him just how much pain he could feel.
Someone had found him crying and talking to Thaddeus while blood spilled from his throat-- an injury he'd explained as "I had to get it out" when asked. An explanation he could no longer remember the meaning of.
He wasn't allowed to know the identity of the woman who had called and saved his life. They said it was a necessary precaution. They didn't want to risk that he would hunt her down as revenge for bringing the large white truck that had wailed and flashed bright lights that made his already overwhelmed senses scream in agony, the truck that had come to take him away.
The men in white had climbed out of it and pulled him inside, an act he seemed to be strongly against but didn't exactly know why. He had struggled, fought with every ounce of his dwindling strength against being put inside the strange white box until they had been forced to inject him with a tranquilizer.
When he woke up, the only memories he had were fuzzy and fragmented. He answered their questions best he could, but his responses didn't help much.
"Can you tell me who you are and what happened to you?"
"I am Gadreel. I escaped."
"Escaped from what?"
"I... I don't know."
At first they'd thought he was intentionally withholding information, but it had quickly become clear that the young man knew no more than what he'd said. He was Gadreel. That was all.
He was given a room-- another thing he had greatly protested without quite knowing why. The second they had closed the door he had broken again, sweating and gasping for air. When they'd found him he was curled up on the ground, shaking in a corner. "Why?" he'd asked, his voice trembling. "Why is this happening to me?"
They'd explained their theory. They said he had something called PTSD as well as acute anxiety, and explained that whenever he faced something that triggered him he seemed to have intense panic attacks. They'd told him that small rooms were a trigger for him somehow, and asked if he had any idea why. At the time, he hadn't.
It wasn't until a few weeks later that he'd started dreaming of the Room. The dreams were never clear about where the Room was or what happened in it, only that it was a terrible, horrible place, and that Gadreel often woke up from these nightmares screaming and begging for someone to stop, not to hurt him, to let him out, please.
Once he figured out his problem with his room in the mental institute were the similarities between it and the other Room, they had focused on showing him how to tell reality from nightmares. Teaching him to spot minor difference between the two rooms; the lighting, colours, the placement of the window...
He learned the best way to quell panic about the Room was to open the door. The door to the Room hadn't opened, not for him. He had been much more cooperative when they put him in his room after that.
He wasn't alone in the room. At first he had thought Lucifer was an actual person, but it didn't take long to realize that the being who tormented him was little more than a ghost. No one else could see him. The doctors called it a hallucination, said that these people-- Lucifer, Thaddeus, and another named Michael-- were likely pieces of the past he couldn't yet remember.
He didn't think he wanted to remember, if the hallucinations were anything to go by.
Lucifer was beautiful in every way and had a smooth, almost cat-like grace to him that Gadreel was instinctively drawn to, as though they had been friends once. But he was manipulative and cruel. Michael was apathetic and continuously berated him coldly for some sort of mistake he'd apparently made, long ago.
And then there was Thaddeus. Gadreel shuddered to remember him. He was barely human, if he was at all, with the way he would corner Gadreel and alternate between shouting at him and whispering softly in his ear, all cruel words and reminders of things he couldn't remember and such graphic descriptions of pain and torture that his entire body shuddered violently. Thaddeus was definitely the worst.
One day when he'd been alone in his cell-- no, room. Why would it be a cell?-- he had met a fourth hallucination: Abner. Abner was a kind and gentle soul, the complete opposite of the others. Not to say that he was soft or weak. No, Abner had the strength of a warrior and the compassion of an angel. He'd told him that he'd learned that kindness from Gadreel himself, a long time ago. He liked Abner.
The doctors held sessions with him to try and help him control the hallucinations. "Find something real," they'd said, "and focus on that. Use reality as an anchor."
Strangely enough, his first anchor was Abner. Despite not being real, Abner helped to keep the pain away. Focusing on him and him alone was the best way to will the other hallucinations away, and for a long time Abner was the only thing that could pull him back from what the doctors called panic attacks.
Eventually he'd had to get rid of Abner too. He wasn't real, after all. Just an anchor his mind had created to help him stay sane.
Not that it had done a very good job of that.
No matter how long he stayed there neither his PTSD or anxiety attacks seemed to improve, nor did any of his memories return. After ten years, hey had all but given up on curing him. But they did all they could do to help him cope with the problems he had, and would likely have forever.
He was fine with that. With no memories or identification, he couldn't exactly go anywhere else. Here he was safe. From 'them' and, more importantly, from the Room. There was no place worse than that.
-----
Sam didn't remember much at the beginning. Which, he thought, must have been the plan considering all the sedatives they'd shoved into him. He remembered being tired, really tired, and he remembered Lucifer. The archangel had been haunting him for so long it would be hard to forget him.
That's when things got blurry. He remembered being hit by a car, and he remembered flashing lights and wailing sirens. He remembered IVs and doctors in white lab coats and words like delusional and schizophrenia being tossed around over his head.
Then he remembered waking up and finding out where he was. A mental institute. They thought he was crazy.
"Aren't you?"
The archangel in his mind asked. A valid point, he guessed. But this wasn't the type of crazy they could just fix with meds and therapy.
He remembered trying to contact Dean to get him out of there. He remembered finding out Dean had been the one to sign the papers checking him into the hospital. He'd immediately called Dean up to argue about it, but Dean insisted it was the best, and safest, place for him.
So now he was officially a mental patient.
Sam tried not to be too hypocritical, but he couldn't help but feel anxious around the other patients. Dean always said that demons made sense, people were crazy. And now he was here surrounded by literal crazy people.
"Which means you should feel right at home," Lucifer commented with a smirk.
He ignored it, brushing past the archangel as though he didn't exist. Which he didn't, Sam reminded himself, hands instinctively meeting in front of him so he could press against the wound on his palm. Lucifer flickered and vanished, and Sam heaved a sigh of relief. He looked around, double checking to make sure the irritating devil hadn't just moved out of sight.
As his eyes scanned the room, they met with another pair of eyes staring at him from across the way. Instantly Sam checked behind him to see what the other patient was looking at, but there was nothing there. Just him.
Even when Sam turned back and met the man's gaze, those green eyes didn't move away. The stranger wasn't embarrassed to be caught staring, and he made no attempts to hide it. So Sam made no attempts to hide when he stared back, examining the man with suspicious curiosity.
Where most of the other patients had board games or at least a pad of paper in front of them, the table before the stranger was bare. As were the chairs around it, he noted. The only thing at the table was the man, sitting quietly in his corner and staring out at the crowd.
People watching wasn't that strange a hobby, Sam told himself as the green eyes finally slid away from him to observe a group playing cards on his left. But there was something about the man, about the way he looked at them. His table may have been empty but his eyes were not. Sam couldn't quite tell what it was he saw in them though...
"Maybe he's a serial killer and you're his next victim? People like that usually target the pretty ones."
The comment snapped Sam out of his thoughts with a jolt. Lucifer was back. Great. He ignored the way the green eyes darted back to him when he jumped, turning away from the strange man to scan the rest of the room. He had been standing there long enough, and he should probably move before he was labelled 'the crazy guy who wouldn't get out of the doorway'.
"Need a place to sit?"
At first he thought the voice was Lucifer. The angel who plagued his every waking moment seemed to be the only one who actually spoke to him nowadays. But Lucifer wasn't a girl, and the voice had clearly been female.
Looking around he saw a small woman with auburn hair waving to him from behind a book. She looked just as nervous and awkward as he did, and even more lonely, so he made his way over to her.
"I'm Marin, by the way," she said with an awkward wave. "Marin Kane."
"Sam. Sam W-- uh, Smith," he corrected, remembering the fake name he had been checked in with. Real creative, Dean.
"So... what's your thing?" she asked. When Sam clearly didn't get where she was going she continued. "I'm psychotically depressed with suicidal ideation. Apparently," she tacked on at the end in a mutter.
"I--"
"He can't concentrate because I'm too distracting," Lucifer interrupted proudly. "They put him here because he apparently needed to sleep." The angel scoffed. "Humanity, am I right? So weak."
"I don't know," Sam said loudly, drowning out the archangel. "They, uh... haven't diagnosed me yet."
"That sucks."
Conversation fell flat after that, neither one of them having much to say to each other. Marin returned to her book and Sam returned to scanning the crowd and ignoring Lucifer.
His eyes found their way back to the man, still watching the others like a supervisor making sure everything remained as it should be.
"What's his story?" he asked, leaning across the table to talk to Marin. His eyes never once left the stranger. "Who is he?"
"Him? That's Gadreel," she explained, following his gaze. "PTSD and acute anxiety."
"Is that it? You don't know where he came from or anything?" Sam asked, unable to tear his attention away from the man.
"Not really. He doesn't really talk to anyone."
The thought was depressing, that the man's entire known identity was just the label he had based on his mental health. But Marin clearly didn't know any more, so he stopped asking.
When he and Marin entered the main room and the seat usually reserved for Gadreel was empty, Sam was almost worried. But Marin assured him that it was fine, this happened sometimes.
"He likes to go outside, when he's not watching everyone," she explained. "Apparently he just likes sitting out there."
"Must be a nature lover," Sam noted, craning his neck to see if he could catch a glimpse of the man through the windows.
"Must be."
That was the end of that conversation.
After a few more days of sitting with Marin, she stopped coming to the day room. She was getting worse, they said. She had to be moved to a more isolated section of the building.
Without Marin to distract and keep him company, all of Sam's attention was focused on Gadreel. No matter what he did, he couldn't seem to stop thinking about him and wanting to know more.
Gadreel didn't look crazy. Aside from his seeming lack of desire to communicate with the people he so carefully watched, he seemed completely normal. Most of them did, actually. Marin, Gadreel, the schizophrenic woman playing chess with the bipolar man... Sam found himself feeling guilty for every time he or Dean had made an offhanded comment about crazy people and mental hospitals. They weren't crazy, no more than he was. They all had backstories and reasons and they all had tales of the struggles they'd been through.
Except Gadreel. The antisocial anxiety and PTSD ridden man didn't participate in any group conversations.
It wasn't even that he was rude or even that he didn't like the others. He would always answer when spoken to, and he always thanked the nurses whenever they brought him a glass of water or offered him a book. If one of the other patients ventured into his corner to ask if he had a spare spoon or extra carrots from dinner he would offer them his, or go out of his way to find some if he had none. Gadreel was so polite and kind it was almost inhuman.
"It's always the quiet ones you have to look out for," Lucifer sang, head practically resting on Sam's shoulder as they watched the man in the corner.
Finally, Sam couldn't take it anymore. Without fully realizing what he was doing he had made his way over to Gadreel's table.
"May I?" he asked, indicating the open chair across from him.
The man was surprised, but quickly wiped it away. "Of course," he said with a nod.
For the longest time, neither man spoke. Gadreel kept at his usual routine with his eyes scanning the crowd, only occasionally flickering back towards Sam. And Sam watched him, trying to figure out what it was that made it so impossible to stop wondering about him.
"Why do you do that?" Sam asked at last, the question bursting from his lips without his permission. Though now that he had thrown it out there, he wasn't going to take it back. "Watch people, I mean."
Gadreel was silent. Sam almost regretted asking, almost apologized. But his apologies fell silent when Gadreel's mouth opened.
"I just... I feel like I am supposed to do this," he explained, looking away again. "It feels... right."
"If you're so interested, why don't you talk to anyone?" Sam asked, pushing for answers.
"That isn't how it's supposed to be," Gadreel replied simply. Sam thought he would shrug, if shrugging was the type of thing the strangely formal man would do. "As I said. It just feels right."
A few months ago Sam might have written Gadreel off as crazy. Now, he just nodded and took another scoop of his cereal.
"So where are you from?" he asked, not willing to stop talking now that he was finally interacting with the biggest mystery in the building.
Gadreel smiled, though he managed to make the action one of sadness rather than joy. "I have no idea."
That threw Sam off. "Amnesia?" he guessed, and was met with a nod.
"That's what they called it, yes."
That would explain the feeling of thing just being 'right'. Amnesiacs often felt more comfortable in the lives they'd led before, even if they couldn't remember them. He remembered Marin saying that he had PTSD and he found himself wondering what had been so traumatic that it had wiped his memory and still left him messed up. He wanted to ask, but he figured he had been nosy enough for one day.
"And you?"
The question caught Sam off guard again. "Me?"
"Where are you from?" Gadreel elaborated in that tone of infinite patience.
"Probably wants to know so he can hunt you down once you're out," Lucifer noted, picking at his nails. "Either that or he's taking pity on you." The angel snorted, making Sam flinch. "You know it's bad when even the crazy people think you're crazy."
If Gadreel noticed Sam's jumpiness, he didn't say anything. Just waited patiently for an answer to his question.
"I've moved around a lot," he answered truthfully. This was probably the most truthful he'd been since he'd arrived, actually. "I'm originally from Kansas. Lawrence, actually."
Gadreel smiled and nodded. It was strange, how interested the other man looked. As if what Sam was telling him actually mattered and wasn't just small talk. But at the same time, Gadreel looked like he didn't really care where he was from. He was mildly curious but not nosy, he was interested but not judgemental... He was actually a pretty perfect conversation partner, if you asked Sam.
And so that's what he became. He still visited Marin, of course, when they let him. But he spent his days at Gadreel's table. Sometimes talking, sometimes in silence. Enjoying each other's company and trying to unravel the mystery that was Gadreel.
"You think maybe you were a security guard or something?" Sam suggested one day, looking over his lunch at Gadreel. "Maybe that's why you feel like you're supposed to watch people."
Neither man knew just how accurate Sam's guess was.
"Perhaps," Gadreel agreed, though he didn't seem very troubled by the uncertainty. He wasn't plagued by curiosity the way Sam was.
"Why don't you go looking for your identity?" he asked. "Don't you want to know who you are?"
"I am Gadreel," he answered in that calm, simple tone that made Sam wish things made as much sense to him as they did to Gadreel.
"What about your past?" Sam continued.
That got a reaction. Gadreel looked hesitant, unsure. Almost afraid. "I am not so sure I want to know my past," was his reply before returning his attention to his food.
Sam didn't push him on the subject, though he felt a familiar flare of curiosity at the man's words.
"Definitely a serial killer," Lucifer whispered, and Sam jumped. He tried to cover it up as just adjusting his position in his chair, but Gadreel's careful gaze had already flickered over to him, eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
Sam waited for the questions. Surely Gadreel was at least curious what Sam was in here for, if he hadn't guessed already. But Gadreel said nothing, turning back to his food without another word.
That became their relationship. Sam would ask questions, Gadreel would give usually vague answers and respond with non-prying questions of his own. What was Kansas like, what's your favourite music, do you like sugar in your tea? Nothing too personal, nothing that would make Sam uncomfortable. Gadreel was always very careful about that.
Sam tried to return the favour, keeping the prying questions to a minimum. But while Gadreel never went into detail about his forgotten past, but he didn't seem to mind Sam asking about it. Although that could just be because he was so polite...
"Do you remember anything at all?" Sam asked one day over shepherd's pie. "About your past, I mean."
Gadreel's long silence could have been just because he was chewing, but Sam was pretty sure he was avoiding the question. He did that a lot.
"I remember a flash of images here and there." He waved it off, taking another bite of his food. "Nothing worth noting."
Sam could sense that there was more to it than that but, as usual, he didn't question it. He plenty of secrets of his own, Gadreel could have his.
The two spent more and more time together until eventually the only time they were apart was when they were with their respective doctors, or when they were sleeping. When Sam was with his counsellors Gadreel went on as usual, sitting and watching. And when Gadreel was busy, Sam would visit Marin.
But soon that changed too.
Gadreel was at his scheduled appointment with his nurse and Sam was headed to his scheduled meeting with Marin. Except Marin wasn't in her room.
At first Sam just assumed Marin was with one of the doctors somewhere else. So he walked up to the main desk where a man in a white coat sat, sorting through files.
"I'm here to visit Marin." He paused. "Marin Kane?" he asked when the man's expression showed no signs of recognition. "I'm Sam Smith, I'm a friend of hers. Just wanted to check up on her, make sure she's alright."
"Right, her. Marin Kane isn't here anymore," the man in the coat explained after a quick search on his computer. "Apparently there was a misunderstanding about what happened in the incident with the fire, or something like that. An Agent Hammett came by to inform us, and further evaluation revealed that she's healthier than we thought. She's been released."
Sam froze. Hammett. As in Kirk Hammett, the guitarist from Metallica?
"Did this agent have short brown hair, green eyes, about this tall?" Sam asked, holding up a hand around the place Dean's head would have reached.
"Yeah, that's him. You know him?"
Sam didn't answer. Just stormed away down the hallway, an archangel almost hysterical with laughter trailing after him.
"You picked up on that too, right?" he asked between snorts of laughter. "Because I only know one person stupid enough to use Metallica band members as an FBI alias."
Neither of them needed to say the name out loud. Sam knew exactly who it had been.
"So he was here and he didn't even stop in to say hello to his crazy little brother," Lucifer sneered. "I always wondered how long that supportive, unconditional love crap could last."
"Stop it," Sam hissed, his pace increasing to almost a run.
"You know he's just been looking for an excuse to dump you, right?" he continued, ignoring Sam's request. "He hates you. Always has, probably. I mean, even before he found out you were a monster and a freak, you've always been just his pain in the ass little brother, haven't you? You're no more than a burden to him." A gleeful look crossed his face. "Now you're more than just a monster. You're a psycho too!"
"Stop," he repeated louder, whipping around to glare at the archangel. "Just shut up, and leave me alone!"
He stumbled as he turned back, rouning the corner with such momentum that he couldn't stop himself from barrelling forward right into the person standing in front of him.
Gadreel.
Sam was already apologizing when Gadreel's hands came up to steady him, warm hands placed firmly on both arms.
"Are you alright?"
Sam almost laughed. Lucifer did. A loud, sharp laugh that made Sam cringe.
"I'm fine," he said, almost shouting to drown out the cackling archangel. He caught himself quickly, lowering his voice. "It's fine. Don't worry about me."
"Too late," the older man commented, his hands not moving from their place on Sam's arms. Despite his words he didn't push the subject, nor did he question Sam's red eyes or heavy, uneven breathing. Just gave one last worried glance before dropping his hands back to his sides.
"Would you come walk with me?" he asked instead. "The doctors give me permission to visit the gardens on occasion. You have been inside for far too long. Fresh air might be good for you."
Sam didn't say anything for fear that he would snap, just nodded silently and followed the other man's lead. Neither said a word as Gadreel brought him to the doctor to get his own note of consent for the outing. He got it easily enough. Sam hadn't caused much trouble during his stay, after all, and none of them had seen his breakdown just a few moments ago.
Sam watched Gadreel walk into the sunlight. It suited him, he noted. The browns of his hair, the greens of his eyes... the man's entire being seemed to shine out here.
For a long time neither said anything. Sam had to admit, the fresh air was pretty calming. Walking along the path next to Gadreel, surrounded by bushes and trees. Feeling the wind blow through his hair. Listening to the birds chirping and-- Lucifer throwing cherry bombs. Lovely.
"Who is it, if you don't mind my asking?" Gadreel asked when Sam flinched. "The person you see."
Sam should have known the question was coming. No one could spend this much time with him and not notice that there was something wrong with him. He was surprised Gadreel had held out this long.
Still, Sam laughed. A sad, tired huff of a breath that was anything but jovial. "I thought I was doing a pretty good job hiding that," he admitted, eyebrows furrowing slightly before he turned his head away.
He didn't answer the question. And, to Sam's surprise, Gadreel didn't ask again.
They fell into silence once more, though the silence was nothing like the easy calm they had sat in before. This silence was thick with tension, neither one wanting to be the first to speak and neither of them quite sure what needed to be said to break the silence.
"Is this pity?" Sam asked finally, crossing his arms as he glanced over at Gadreel. "Do you just feel bad for the new kid? Or is this one of those things you're just supposed to do?" He hadn't meant to sound so harsh, hadn't meant to sound like he was mocking Gadreel. But he was tired and he felt hurt and betrayed and Lucifer wouldn't shut the hell up.
"I do not pity you, Sam," Gadreel promised. He smiled to himself, taking a seat on a small stone bench. "If anything, I envy you."
He didn't elaborate, and Sam knew him well enough to know that asking would just get him another sad smile and possibly a shake of his head. So instead of pushing, he just took a seat on the stone bench next to his friend.
"I remember a room," Gadreel said at last, staring straight ahead at a pair of birds perched on a tree branch. No explanation, no lead up. It was how Gadreel worked, Sam had learned. "You asked if I remembered anything of my past," he explained, noting Sam's confusion. "I remember this. Subconsciously, at least. I still have nightmares about it," he explained. "That is all I know. There was a room, I was locked in it, and it was horrible."
Sam didn't say anything. He just nodded. He understood that the random personal fact was Gadreel's way of apologizing for prying.
It wasn't necessary, of course. Sam wasn't offended. How could he be mad at Gadreel for being curious about him when all he'd done since his arrival was obsess over and poke at the mysterious man?
"My brother was here," Sam said, matching Gadreel's abrupt openness. He followed Gadreel's gaze over to the birds. "He came by the hospital and he didn't even stop in to talk to me."
"I do not know your brother, and I apologize if I am being presumptuous," Gadreel started, his gaze shifting to watch Sam for any sign that he was overstepping his bounds. "But you have no way of knowing why your brother left without visiting. Perhaps he has a reason? One besides the ones you fear."
Sam turned his eyes back to Gadreel. The other man looked so cautious, so carefully optimistic, he couldn't help a small smile. It was the first time in a while he'd actually smiled at someone. It was little more than a tired twitch of his lips, but at least it was genuine.
They held each other's eyes for just a moment longer, but it was all it took for understanding to pass between them. Instantly the tension cleared. Gadreel returned Sam's smile with one of his own, even smaller than Sam's but just as bright.
They sat together on that bench, arms brushing against each other, until the sun finally set. Sam would have been content to stay there all night, and he had the feeling Gadreel would have been too, but they weren't allowed to stay outside of the facility past curfew.
The walk back to the hospital was calming too. It wasn't until Sam got back into his room that things started getting bad again.
"Well, well, well. Scandalous, aren't you Sammy? I wouldn't have pegged a mental hospital as a good place to pick up dudes, but hey," the blonde angel raised his arms in mock surrender. "I don't judge."
Sam fought back the instinctive urge to respond, to tell the archangel that wasn't what was happening and that he could get bent, but he forced himself to ignore the taunts and jeers.
Easier said than done.
As much as the outing with Gadreel had helped, he could still feel a dull ache in his chest when he thought of Dean. And it was a weakness that Lucifer was only too happy to jump on.
The archangel pushed and prodded and sneered and laughed. And it didn't stop at Dean. Talk of Dean's barely concealed feelings of resentment towards him led into talk of his own self-hatred, a recollection of every time he'd ever failed, every person he had ever let down. All night, Lucifer ranted and raved, laughed and screamed in his ears and banged against the walls, refusing to give Sam even a moment of peace.
He didn't know how much time passed. An hour, ten, a day or two, a week maybe. He didn't sleep a single second. Doctors came with various drugs and therapy to offer but nothing was strong enough to drown out the archangel. He barely noticed them come and go anymore, hearing nothing but whatever it was Lucifer wanted him to hear at any given moment.
"Sam?"
The voice was soft, a whisper, but the warm familiarity of it snapped him to attention instantly.
"Gadreel?" he asked, gaping at the man standing in his doorway. "How did you--?"
"I have been here a long time," he explained, taking Sam's words as an invitation into the room. "I know how to move around unseen."
"Why're you here?" he asked, brow still furrowed in tired confusion.
"I have not seen you in three days. I was worried," he explained as he took a seat on the bed. "What is troubling you?"
Sam didn't answer. Just fought to hide a flinch as Lucifer scraped his nails across the wall. Gadreel didn't seem to need further explanation.
Before Sam's lethargic senses could register what was going on he felt warm hands wrap around his own, pulling them up to rest on Gadreel's shoulders.
"Focus on me," he said softly, giving Sam's hands a reassuring squeeze before reaching over to hold Sam's face firmly in his hands. Warm palms pressed gently against his cheeks as Gadreel stilled his head and met his gaze evenly.
"Whatever you see, it does not matter. It's not really here, only I am here. Focus on that."
Sam did as he asked, closing his eyes as he soaked up the soft, gentle tones of his smooth, rich voice. His hands tightened slightly on the shoulders beneath them, his eyes squeezing shut when Lucifer spoke again:
"Oh, Sammy. You can't get rid of me, you know that. We're BFFs, emphasis on the forever."
Something soft and warm brushed against his forehead and his attention instantly switched back to Gadreel, whose lips were currently pressed against his temple.
"It's okay, Sam. Everything will be okay."
Gadreel shifted slowly, his hands moving away from Sam's face to wrap around his shoulders. He held him so securely, both firm and gentle at the same time, that Sam couldn't help but feel... safe. Protected. Gadreel slowly leaned back until they were lying down together, Sam's head resting on Gadreel's chest while warm arms held him close.
"Just focus on me. Listen to me, nothing else."
Sam did his best to do as he said, and was surprised to find it working. Lucifer was still ranting away, but if Sam focused on the steady beat of Gadreel's heart and the woosh of air whenever the chest under his head rose and fell as he breathed he could almost drown him out. The steady, rhythmic sounds became like his own personal lullaby, and before long he found himself drifting off to sleep.
When he woke, Gadreel was gone.
He felt oddly cold without him, and then anxious. People didn't just disappear, so where could he be? He jumped out of bed and tore out of the room. Or at least, he tried to. He was stopped instantly by a nurse, one of the few that was strong enough to actually stop him. The man explained that they still had to run a few tests, make sure everything was running smoothly.
"Where's Gadreel?" Sam asked, craning his neck to look down the hall, as though his friend would be waiting somewhere nearby.
"Patients aren't technically allowed to be in each other's rooms at night," he explained, shifting awkwardly. "They had to send him out."
Sam nodded, calming with the knowledge that Gadreel was safe in his room. With that thought in mind, he sat patiently through all their testing and questions. When they asked why he was able to finally sleep, he didn't answer. He didn't want to get Gadreel in trouble. But from the looks on their faces, they already knew.
The second they were done with their tests, Sam practically ran to the day room. When he got there he saw Gadreel at his usual post, watching over everyone diligently. Sam made his way to the table that had quickly become theirs.
"Hey, uh, thanks," Sam said awkwardly, sliding into the seat across from Gadreel.
"There is no need to thank me," he assured with a nod, though his eyes lit up at Sam's gratitude. "I was happy to help, and I am glad you're feeling better."
They fell back into their usual routine, with a hint of added Mother Hen behaviour from Gadreel. The hospital's self-proclaimed guard seemed to have taken Sam on as his personal charge, protecting him, watching him, comforting him, and anything else Sam could possibly have needed. And whenever Sam didn't show up at lunch, without fail, Gadreel would sneak into his room to check on him and would stay as long as necessary. It was a comfortable kind of relationship, built almost solely on Gadreel giving Sam everything he needed and taking nothing in return.
Until one day, it was Gadreel who didn't show up.
Sam had been starting to wonder why Gadreel was even in a mental hospital. Out of everyone he'd met in that place, Gadreel seemed the most together. He never had breakdowns, he always seemed fairly secure in reality... Aside from the amnesia it was like there was nothing wrong with him.
So when Gadreel missed lunch with no warning at all, Sam didn't know whether or not to be worried. Gadreel usually told him if he had a check up or a meeting with a doctor during the time they normally spent together. But what other reason could he possibly have for staying away?
In the end, paranoia got the better of him. Sam may not have known the place as well as Gadreel did, but twenty something years of being a hunter were certainly helpful for sneaking around without getting caught.
He made it to Gadreel's room with little trouble, glancing around the hallway before knocking lightly on the door.
"Hey, Gad? You in here?" he called in a loud whisper. No answer. He was almost going to leave when he heard a whimper from behind the door.
"...Gadreel?"
The sound that answered was so frightened, so small, there was no way it could possibly be Gadreel. But who else would be in his room? Sam found himself wishing he had his gun or at least some salt as he opened the door, not quite sure what to expect.
He stepped slowly into the room, slipping through the opening in the door, and almost tripped over a small bundle of clothing by the doorway.
The bundle gasped.
Sam watched with wide, almost disbelieving eyes as Gadreel stumbled away from him and curled up in the corner of the room. He pressed himself into the wall so tightly Sam was sure he would bruise himself. Gadreel didn't seem to notice, didn't seem to care.
"Hey, Gadreel," he started, taking a step towards him. A step that fell short when the man flinched back. "It's just me, there's nothing to be afraid of."
The words did nothing to soothe the obvious panic in the other man's eyes. Green eyes that were usually so calm and peaceful were now wide and filled with fear, a cold darkness that Sam had never seen swirling behind his gaze. Memories. Memories that Gadreel would never speak of nor elaborate on.
Sam tried to move forward again, to hold Gadreel as he had held him, but the pure terror in his eyes was so vastly overwhelming Sam was half afraid it would literally kill him. So he knelt down to Gadreel's level, staying a good ten feet back from him.
"Gadreel, please."
"I'm sorry," the man muttered, backing himself further into his corner. "I'm sorry, please don't hurt me, I'll leave you alone, I swear, just please don't hurt me."
The sight of the usually strong, almost saint-like man curled up in fear and rambling as though he were in a torture chamber tore Sam's heart in two and he knew that no matter what, he had to help Gadreel.
"It's okay, I won't," he promised quickly. "Gadreel, wherever you think you are this isn't it."
He remembered Gadreel telling him about a nightmare, a room. Gadreel had never told him any more than that, but it was enough to give him some idea what sort of memories he was dealing with.
"Look, you aren't trapped here," he told him, making his way to the door without rising above Gadreel's current eye level. He twisted the knob and pushed the door open. "See?"
The action seemed to confuse Gadreel, but confused was better than terrified.
"It's a nightmare. Whatever happened in your past, it's gone now," he promised in what he hoped was as reassuring a tone as Gadreel used with him. "You're here with me now. Just me, no one else."
"...Sam?"
Sam didn't think he'd ever been so happy to hear his name.
"Gadreel," he said, brightening instantly. He took a careful step towards his friend. When he wasn't met with a flinch or whimper, he continued. In just a few strides he was at Gadreel's side, his arms moving to gently encircle the other man.
Gadreel sat in his arms, barely moving. His eyes were clouded, as though part of him was still trying to figure out what was real and what wasn't.
"It's okay now, Gadreel," he promised, bringing a hand up to run through Gadreel's hair. "It's Sam. I'm here now, and everything's okay."
They were still in that position when the nurses found them, curled in the corner in each other's arms. No one questioned it, just waited for them to untangle themselves so they could ask Gadreel a few questions. Gadreel complied with his usual calm, explaining what had happened in an easy, polite tone before turning back to Sam.
"I am sorry you had to see that," he apologized, looking almost flustered at being caught.
"Dude, I freak out at least once a week," Sam pointed out, almost rolling his eyes. "You're allowed to have your moments too." He was about to let it drop when Gadreel's wording hit him. "Wait, how often does this happen?"
"Not often," Gadreel assured him quickly. "Mostly at night. When I first wake up."
When the nightmares were still fresh, Sam guessed, though he didn't say anything.
"You should've said something to me," he said instead, frowning.
"I did not wish to trouble you," was the man's simple explanation. "I--"
Sam cut him off, gripping his shoulders tightly.
"You're not trouble, Gadreel," he said softly, looking directly into the green eyes that had become almost as familiar to him as his own. "And you're not my own personal guard either. I appreciate everything you do for me, really, I do.
"But you're my friend," he said sternly, still holding Gadreel's gaze. The concept seemed to be foreign to him, and he wanted to make sure his words were understood. "If my friend is having nightmares that bad, I want to be there to help."
Gadreel agreed with a nod, though his eyes were still filled with a hint of confusion that told Sam it would take a while and a lot more convincing before he truly grasped the idea.
Which was just fine with Sam. Because at that moment, there was nothing he would rather do than show Gadreel just how much he'd come to care about him.