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Gadreel doesn’t talk much.
It’s been months since Castiel brought him back to the bunker, embers of his burned-out Grace barely keeping him upright. He appeared shell-shocked then, withdrawn, and clearly expected the worst from Sam now that Metatron was in prison and his usefulness ran out.
Funny, that, because taking care of him that first week or so kept Sam sane after his brother’s death and subsequent disappearance. It gave him a reason to take a break every once in a while, to think about something else than the frantic search for Dean, and allowed him to come back to the research with a clearer head.
Sam likes to think that Gadreel dares to trust him now, at least a little, even though he still takes care not to startle either him or Dean, freshly returned and cured. He at least seems to tentatively start to consider the bunker his safe haven, if not outright home; stopped expecting to be turned out without warning or get a blade in his gut at the drop of a hat.
He still doesn’t talk much, though. That’s why it comes as a surprise when he returns one day from his usual morning walk in the surrounding woods, holding one hand carefully against his chest, and says without preamble:
“I will need some milk.“
Sam looks up. The request is more than unusual; Gadreel hasn’t needed to eat or drink for weeks now, his Grace replenished enough to sustain his vessel on its own. And there’s nothing of the sentry’s usual hesitancy at adressing either of the hunters in his voice, even though his tone remains soft.
"Um, are you… hurt?“
It doesn’t make any sense with the request, but it’s the only reason Sam can come up with why Gadreel would hold his arm like that.
"No.“ The sentry seems to deliberate for a moment, then carefully extends his hand, showing a small ball of soft grey fur curled up on his palm. "Yesterday’s wind felled one of the big oaks up on the hill. Out of all the nests in it, this was the only young one alive.“
Sam blinks.
"Is that a baby squirrel?“
"Yes. I will need that milk, Sam Winchester.“
He says it with all the gravity owed to a matter of utmost importance and Sam very nearly laughs. But there’s a tiny, fragile life in the angel’s hand and it’s the first time that Gadreel asked for anything without being painfully obviously ready to be denied, and in the end Sam just nods.
"Keep it warm for a moment longer. I’ll try to look up if it can even drink cow milk, and how to feed it.“
"Thank you.“
Which is how in the next few days Sam’s research time is divided between the supernatural and baby squirrels, and Gadreel doesn’t go anywhere without a slight bulge in his hoodie’s pocket.
Apparently, baby squirrels are very fragile things and saving one is a rare achievement.
Gadreel manages.
Two weeks later marks a coincidence of two notable events: it’s the first time the little thing ventures out of the pocket under its own powers and clumsily climbs the angel like a tree – and it’s also the first time Sam sees Gadreel smile.
He’d still rather get a dog, but at that moment he decides that squirrels are good, too.