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The bunker was quiet.
Not the peaceful quiet of sleep, but the strained stillness that settled in when everyone had reached the limits of what they could process. The lights hummed softly overhead, throwing pale reflections across the war table and the concrete walls. The air smelled faintly of old paper and the lingering residue of too many spells cast in too small a space. Somewhere deeper in the bunker, pipes clicked as the heating system adjusted, the sound sharp in the quiet. Sam registered it distantly, cataloguing it the way he always did. Every noise a potential threat, every silence a warning.
Dean and Castiel were gone.
They had left an hour earlier, boots on concrete, keys already in Dean’s hand. A beer run, Dean had said, like it was a joke, like they hadn’t been circling the same impossible research for days. Sam knew better. Dean had reached his limit. Castiel had too, though he’d only said he would accompany Dean to “assist with morale,” which Dean had scoffed at before clapping him on the shoulder and dragging him out the door.
Sam had not gone with them. Someone had needed to stay behind. Someone always did.
It was an old role, one he slipped into without thinking. Watcher. Researcher. The one who stayed sober while the others cracked jokes or ran from the weight of it all. He told himself it was practical. He didn’t let himself think about how easily Dean had left, or how hard it would be to walk back through that door without answers.
Now he sat at the table, books of lore spread out in uneven stacks before him. Ancient texts borrowed from Men of Letters archives sat beside spiral-bound notebooks filled with his own handwriting, margins crowded with annotations and half-formed theories. His fingers traced familiar symbols, movements automatic, mind elsewhere.
Rifts. Dimensions. Failed attempts.
Every solution collapsed the same way. Dead ends. Burned-out spellcasters. Power sources they didn’t have.
Mary and Jack were still out there. Still trapped.
The thought pressed against his chest, heavy and persistent, an ache he had learned to live with without acknowledging it too closely.
Behind him, Gabriel paced.
It was restless pacing, sharp turns and short strides, like the bunker itself was too confining for him. Every few steps the archangel snapped his fingers, a habit Sam had noticed since Gabriel’s return. Nothing ever came of it.
“Okay,” Gabriel muttered. He snapped again. A weak spark flared and died between his fingers. He stared at it for a moment, then snorted. “So that’s still a no. No grace, no wings, no interdimensional highway pass. Fantastic.”
Sam leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking faintly. His jaw tightened. “You sure there’s no way to juice you up? I mean, you’re an archangel. Or you were at least.”
Gabriel stopped.
“I’m still an archangel,” he spat defensively. Then, with a small, exasperated shrug: “Just… running on fumes, apparently. Don’t look at me like that.”
Ignoring his words, Sam turned in his chair to look directly at him instead. Gabriel looked smaller somehow. Not physically, but diminished, like too much of him had been left behind somewhere dark and unreachable.
“Your grace was drained in Hell,” Sam said. “But is there really no way to get it back? What about some kind of spell?”
Gabriel scoffed. “If there were, Sammy, don’t you think I’d have tried that?” He dragged a hand through his hair. “Right now I’m the celestial equivalent of a phone stuck at two percent.”
Silence settled again, and Sam’s hand stilled on the page in front of him. He stared down at the inked symbols without really seeing them. Over the years, he had learned a lot of things. Things he was never meant to know. About angels. About power. About what it looked like from the inside when something burned too bright for a human body to hold.
Desperation had always been the common denominator. It warped judgment. Lowered thresholds. Made the unthinkable start to look reasonable, even elegant. Sam knew that terrain too well. Knew how easy it was to mistake sacrifice for necessity.
When had he felt powerful?
The answer came unbidden, unwelcome.
Demon blood.
He pushed the thought away immediately. That had been a mistake. A violation. Whatever power it had given him had come at a cost he would never fully escape. And it had been uniquely his. A corruption, not a solution.
Still, the idea lingered. Not the blood itself, but the principle.
Power had to come from somewhere.
Angels didn’t create energy out of nothing. They borrowed it. Channeled it. Burned through it when they were desperate enough.
Sam’s gaze lifted slowly.
“What about a soul?”
Gabriel turned instantly. So fast Sam almost flinched.
“What.”
“A human soul,” Sam said. His voice was steady, even if his pulse was anything but. “We know it works. Cas used Bobby’s soul once before when he had to bring us back from the past. Angels have burned souls to power spells before. At least temporarily.”
Gabriel stared at him, eyes narrowed, calculating. His hands flexed at his sides, almost imperceptibly, as if ready to act or react. It was the instinctive response of a being who understood exactly what Sam was offering and how easily it could go wrong.
“You can’t be serious.”
“I’m not talking about burning it up,” Sam said quickly. “I’m talking about lending it. Anchoring to it. Just long enough to open up a rift.”
“That would be dangerous,” Gabriel said. Then, quietly he added, “Reckless.”
Sam nodded. “Yeah. I know.”
Gabriel’s mouth twisted. “And Dean? How are you planning to convince your brother of this insane idea of yours?”
“I’ll talk to him.”
They both knew what Dean would say. Sam did not let himself dwell on it.
Gabriel looked at him again.
“You’d do that,” he said. “After everything my brothers have put you through? After everything I have put you through? Why?”
“This isn’t about angels, Gabe. Hell, it’s not even about you.” Sam said. “It’s about Jack. And Mom. Getting them back is all that matters.”
Gabriel laughed once, sharp and humorless. “You know it’ll be painful, right?”
Sam didn’t answer.
“It’ll be like nothing you’ve ever felt before.”
He stepped closer, closing the distance. “And you’re offering it anyway. Why?”
Sam straightened. “Because if it gets us there, it’s worth it.”
For a moment, the bunker felt charged. The air thickened, humming faintly, like something had been set in motion. Gabriel closed his eyes and exhaled slowly.
“You know what Sam? I spent a long time pretending none of this mattered,” he said quietly, gesturing toward the bunker walls as if seeing past them. “Running. Hiding. Letting the world burn while I stayed out of it, telling myself it wasn’t my problem.”
His hands trembled slightly before he curled his fingers and forced them to still.
“Hell took everything I was. Stripped me down. Left me weak. Drained. Afraid.” He let out a slow breath, like the words cost more than he expected them to. “And for a long time, that felt like proof I’d been right to run.”
He looked at Sam. Golden eyes meeting hazel ones. Not in passing this time. Not the quick, assessing glances he usually gave, but fully, like he was seeing Sam for the very first time.
“And then there’s you Sam,” Gabriel said, quieter now. “You just keep getting back up. Over and over and over again.” His mouth twisted, something between disbelief and admiration. “You’ve been twisted every way a person can be. Used by demons, angels, fate itself. Broken open and stitched back together wrong. I swear… I don’t know what you’re made of, kid.”
Sam shifted under his gaze, the chair beneath him creaking slightly as he did but Gabriel didn’t look away.
“Because somehow,” he continued, “you still care Sam. You still look at all this mess and see something worth fighting for.” He shook his head slightly, as if the idea still surprised him. “Most beings don’t come out of that with anything left. Not empathy. Not faith.”
He scoffed quietly. “Hell, I didn’t.”
Something flickered behind his ancient eyes.
“I think I get it now,” he said softly, more to himself than to Sam.
He caught himself then, blinking as if the moment had gone a little too far. He took a small step back, the familiar armor sliding into place. “I mean… you humans,” he amended, the corner of his mouth lifting faintly. “You’re something else.”
Sam looked at him, startled, caught somewhere between disbelief and recognition.
Gabriel huffed quietly, almost embarrassed. “Guess that makes me a slow learner.”
Sam didn’t speak. He didn’t trust himself to. Not without breaking whatever fragile understanding had just settled between them.
Gabriel let out a breath. “You’re kind of incredible, you know that?”
“Gabe—”
“I won’t take it,” Gabriel said, cutting him off.
Sam frowned. “Then—”
“But if you’re giving it,” Gabriel continued, voice firm now, resolved, “if this is your choice, then I’ll respect it.”
The tension in Sam’s chest eased, just a fraction. Enough that the weight of what he was offering settled properly. He wanted to talk more about whatever revelation Gabriel had just had about humanity. About him. But it would have to wait. There was something else weighing on his mind.
“There’s one thing,” he said, standing slowly from where he was seated at the table.
“I’ve had my soul messed with before,” Sam went on. “Pulled out. Shoved back in. Torn up and rewired.” His jaw tightened. “Every time someone’s touched it, it’s cost me something.”
He met Gabriel’s eyes again, steady but honest.
“And this isn’t some random angel brushing past it. What we’re talking about is anchoring you to my soul. You, an archangel, drawing power from it.” He shook his head slightly. “That kind of strain…” He trailed off, “I’m not an idiot Gabe. It could kill me.”
Gabriel shook his head. “It won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do,” Gabriel said. Certainty settled into his voice. “Because I won’t let it.”
He stepped closer again. “Relax. I’m not turning you into a… celestial phone battery,” he said, waving a hand. “Bad metaphor, I know. Point is, this is a partnership, Sam. You say stop, we stop. Capiche?”
Sam nodded, and Gabriel smiled faintly, his eyes crinkling slightly as he did.
“Alright then.”
Sam felt the decision settle into him like a weight he couldn't set down. Whatever happened next, whatever Gabriel said, there was no pretending this was purely theoretical. There was no backing out without consequences. He thought of Dean’s laugh, bright and impatient, whenever Cas referenced the things they had watched together. He thought of Jack’s earnest, unshakable questions, of Mary’s steady presence at his shoulder. And he thought of Gabriel, the ancient being before him, offering power, reassurance, and the faint promise that he might make it through this alive.
“Now,” Gabriel said, snapping his fingers once more, softer this time. “Let’s go get your family.”