Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sam Winchester was convinced he had walked into the wrong kitchen. In the wrong bunker. Possibly in the wrong universe.

He heard Dean curse when he came to a sudden stop in front of the older hunter, but the stunning sight kept him in place. “Damn it, Sammy! You trying to kill me down there? What...the fuck happened in here?!” His brother's voice trailed off in wonder.

Dozens of colorful dishes were spread across the table and spilling out onto the island like some kind of holiday feast. All of Dean's favorites were present in multiple forms including several different pies ranging from a meat/cheese/egg combo to sweet fruits. Sam recognized several as coming from different world regions, and a few he couldn't even name a single ingredient. It smelled like he'd stepped into an Old World bakery where wood burning stoves were at full blaze and fresh breads baked in hints of smoke and fresh herbs.

The kitchen was sparkling clean and lit with countless tealight candles. Soft music played from a new radio. Scratch that—new sound system, high quality and flawlessly installed inside the bunker walls. The only remaining sign of mishap was Castiel, the walking evidence of disaster. The flour and egg from earlier was almost covered by bright fruit preserves, batter splatter, and what looked like curry. Clearly, much more had happened in the cooking extravaganza since seeing the angel ten minutes ago.

“Did you have this much food to cook with in the bunker?” Mary asked from Sam's left and he turned to see she was as astonished as he and Dean. He just shook his head no and looked back at the spectacle.

“Do you think Sully teamed up with Gabe on this?” Dean whispered.

“Oh God,” Sam gulped at the idea. Those two would probably try to build him a fort on the moon if they thought he'd find it fun.

“Where did he get the food? When did he get the food?” Mary kept asking.

That made Dean's head jerk back up, “Gabriel, did you bend space-time in my kitchen?”

The archangel popped into existence in the middle of the room carrying two more dishes of fresh fruits. “What? Of course I bent space-time. How else was I going to get all this done under such limited conditions?” He set the platters on the counter top and Sam could see he was wearing a spotless knit sweater that said “I'm the Cook” in big block letters. Golden eyes lit on Castiel and his jaw dropped in a flare of panic, “Castiel! Did you clean the kitchen with your face and shirt? Do not move, you'll just smear it on everything.” He snapped and Castiel jumped as all the evidence of food disappeared revealing the clean apron with the order to “Kiss the Cook.”

Sam's eyes darted back to Gabriel's sweater and he groaned at the joke.

“Like it, mini-moose? I can make your pajama-things match us.” It was all Trickster-teasing staring back at Sam, running his thumb over the tips of his other fingers like he was deciding which one to snap.

Sam tried to step back but he ran into Dean's knees and wouldn't risk losing eye-contact with the menace. “My mom bought these—don't you dare touch them!” he shot back. Mary snorted and he suddenly realized she'd probably heard him and Dean's plot to get rid of the embarrassing clothing. He wanted to look at her but Gabriel was walking toward him. Sam pressed his back as hard as he could against his brother but the man's legs were unmovable. This is the signal to retreat, Dean, so retreat already!

“See, this is why you kids are such easy, delicious targets to everything in the universe.” Gabriel stood in front of Sam, staring down at him with his thumbs casually hooked in his jean pockets.

“Oh, yeah? And why is that?” Sam scoffed, trying to conceal how nervous the whole Trickster-side was making him.

They studied each other for a minute, looking for accidental tells hidden behind an expression. Gradually, warmth seeped back into the golden eyes and his sharp smile softened. Sam felt something loosen in his chest at the sight, although he still didn't fully trust the archangel aspect of Gabriel. “Because you are so fun to rile up, Samshine. Honestly, you two are like comedy gold. And now that I've made at least nine different dishes with bacon, permanently ingratiating myself to your older brother, I know I'll have a front-seat to the best entertainment in my Father's creation.”

“How can you even make bacon in nine different ways?” Dean blurted.

“One involves doughnuts,” Gabriel beamed proudly.

“Way to focus on the important issues, Dean,” muttered Sam.

“Bacon doughnuts are very important right now. So is coffee,” his brother said, nudging Sam with his knees, “Move it, short-stuff. We can discuss all the angel house rules while we eat.” Dean stepped around him, and Sam almost fell at the sudden loss of physical support.

“Just remember,” Gabriel's hand shot to the passing hunter's shoulder, making Dean pause, “as you eat the most amazing food ever to grace your presence, that you'd have waited for three days to even smell it if I'd cooked without a little reality-bending.”

Dean just pushed past the shorter man and started inspecting dishes. Mary trailed behind him looking every bit the out-of-place-time-traveler being confronted with yet another mind-blowing aspect of the future. Then Sam wondered what it said about he and Dean's life that magically created feasts were harder to accept than a resurrected family member.

Sweeping his gaze over the glowing kitchen, Sam was let himself consider the vast amounts of energy and effort this kind of endeavor took. “This...is a lot,” he said in a low voice.

“Well, I've seen how Dean eats,” Gabriel said wryly.

Sam shook his head and looked him in the eye, “This is a lot,” he repeated.

The archangel winced, “Too much?”

“No. No. Well, yes, but I'm just...” he struggled for the right words, “People don't cook for us. You didn't have to do all this.”

Gabriel shrugged, “Meh, I like cooking. It lets me work off nervous energy and gives me time to think.”

“Three days worth of thinking?” Sam asked pointedly.

“Hey, I woke up to a world where my Aunt and my Dad share drinks. That alone qualifies for a mini-cooking marathon,” his face broke in a grin, “Plus, best breakfast ever. A solid win for all involved.”

“Okay,” Sam said, still unsure, “Just...regardless of any promises and threats Dean makes mid-meal, we really don't need this much on a regular basis. And should you be wasting your grace on bending time or space or making pocket-universe kitchens or whatever? We could potentially be dealing with all three of your older brothers...”

“Sam,” Gabriel stopped him as he crouched down on one knee, and Sam shuffled back a step when he was suddenly face-to-face with confused and concerned eyes, “what is going on in that head of yours? 'Wasting my grace?' That's not how grace works, kiddo. It's not a limited pool that goes down with each use. Believe me, I'll teach you all about it, but in the meantime, you don't need to worry that cooking breakfast will leave me under-powered against a threat. Nothing will get close enough to sneeze on you while I'm around. What you need to focus on is enjoying my culinary genius. When's the last time you ate?”

Pushing aside his instinctive need to ask questions and demand a plan-of-action for worst-case scenarios, Sam struggled to recall the last time anyone had ever told him and Dean to not worry because they were being protected. Not their Dad—he gave them guns as children and expected them to defend themselves against monsters and strangers. Not even Chuck, who had relied on the brothers to save Him and the world. Sam wasn't sure he knew how to trust someone besides Dean or Castiel to have his back in battle. He didn't think he could trust anyone to exclusively oversee his safety.

Gabriel's voice cut through his thoughts, “If it's taking you this long to remember, then chances are it's been too long. Come on. Eat now, angst later.” He mussed Sam's hair as he stood, then nudged the back of his head to move him toward the table.

It took a couple seconds of steady pressure for Sam to get his feet to move. He walked—an awkward endeavor when wearing clothes that constantly shifted. There were only two chairs left, and Sam hoisted himself into the one on the end of the table next to Dean. The other was to his right and next to Castiel, and while Sam didn't mind sitting next to his friend, he didn't think he could take being wedged between the two angels.

His height made sitting at the table uncomfortable because it put him barely eye-level with his plate. Dean had tried to get a booster seat at the store, but Sam was adamantly against it, saying he'd sit on a book if it was necessary. Now, though, it was isolating to not clearly see the people he could hear talking across the table.

A soft chuckle behind him was the only warning Sam got before he felt a hand grasp the chair back. The chair resonated and rose, growing upwards until he was at the perfect height. The hand ruffled his hair again, then Gabriel sat beside him. “Much better. Now it won't feel like I'm sneaking food to the sad puppy under the table. Why isn't everyone eating?”

“We all thought we should wait for you two,” Mary said, but Sam caught Dean's eye-roll and guessed that it hadn't originally been a unanimous decision.

“What took you two so long? Swapping recipes while the rest of us starved?” Dean grumbled while grabbing his plate. The others followed him, Mary asking Gabriel questions about what he'd made.

Sam ignored him as he contemplated his newest dilemma. The food was spread throughout the kitchen on surfaces too high to reach, and while he could jump off the higher-chair, he would have to drag a stool and his food to get back up. That didn't factor in the full-cup of coffee he'd been guaranteed that morning.

Before he could consider his situation any further, a hand reached down and took his empty plate only to replace it with one piled high with food. There was fresh fruit, and sauteed vegetables, and a spicy smoked meat, and the curry he'd seen splashed across Castiel's apron. He looked up in time to see Dean take his empty plate and demand Gabriel point out the dishes with bacon.

When the others returned, Sam tapped Dean's knee with his foot. “Thanks,” he said when the hunter looked up.

His brother grinned, “I got you the things that smelled weird and didn't look like breakfast. Figured that's what you'd want.”

“Well, thanks for not giving me your Nine Course Heart Attack,” he said, frowning at Dean's overflowing plate with a large doughnut balanced precariously at the top.

“Whatever, if I get to choose my next death, it's gonna involve this right here,” Dean waved the maple frosting with bacon sprinkles doughnut in front of Sam's nose before taking a large bite. The man's whole body froze, and for a split second Sam feared something was wrong. The image of Dean sitting at a motel table eating tacos on a Tuesday flashed in Sam's mind. Then, the hunter held one hand up to get Gabriel's attention, “This. Is. Awesome.”

“Told ya!” Gabriel said, leaning back in his chair with a cocky confidence and turning to Sam, “What about you? Ready to express adoration?” The archangel's eyes glanced down to his untouched plate, and looked back up with an expression that clearly said 'start eating or suffer the airplane impressions as I feed you.'

Sam grabbed a piece of fruit with his fingers and shoved it in his mouth. The absolute freshness almost made him gasp, but he stopped before he could choke. The taste was unbelievable and unlike anything he'd gotten in diners or the store.

“Figures you'd go for the only thing I didn't cook. Although, I did have to go to the best individual year for each type of fruit and pick the best of each crop. So I guess that still counts,” Gabriel shrugged nonchalantly.

Looking from his plate to the platter of fruit in the kitchen, Sam counted what all he could identify then leveled his gaze back on the archangel. “Gabriel, there are at least a dozen different kinds of berries and melons and fruits here.”

“Yeah, so?” the gold in his eyes was bright.

“So, you time hopped over a dozen times to get fresh groceries?” Sam asked, exasperated. Gabriel could brag all he wanted about how his grace was unending, but time travel used an enormous amount of power and always drained the angels who had done it around Sam. Even Lucifer...

“Yes,” Gabriel drew the word out slowly like he'd been asked a trick question.

Thinking about it now, though, it seemed more likely Lucifer had merely been thrown by the sigils on the submarine. What Sam had read as Castiel's desperation to retrieve the friend he'd failed was really Lucifer's frustration at being denied his goal. Sam shuddered. The sick, cold panic of losing his brother to a war in the past battled with the burning hot fear of losing Castiel to a fool's errand. Neither situation was acceptable, and he did the only thing he could to prevent both by offering his soul's energy to his friend. Only to have Lucifer shove him against a pillar and thrust a hand into his chest.

He remembered the sensation of the fallen archangel's icy grace wrapped around his broken soul as being worse than the flashbacks, or even his recent physical altercation with the devil wearing Nick's face in the cage. It was a pain more familiar than home.

“Whoa there,” a voice said and Sam felt warmth cascade over him. Fingers landed light on his face until his vision was filled with grace-glowing eyes. “That didn't look like a fun place you just drifted to, kiddo. You back now?”

Sam blinked and the present returned around him. He felt the others watching him, but he kept his gaze on Gabriel. “What if something had happened?” his tone serious with only a slight tremor slipping past his control, “You could have run into anyone, including Lucifer! What if he'd found you after you'd just time-hopped a bunch of times?” They had no idea what all the devil had done while wearing Castiel so for all they knew he could have gone through the past looking for other weapons. There hadn't been time for that conversation yet.

“Sam, I know where my brother is at times and places,” Gabriel said with a quiet intensity and hint of desperation, “I've been on Earth for a very long time. It's almost impossible for anything to get the jump on me. As an archangel, I can tell you where every single one of my siblings are at this very moment, and I can name each one that has been lost since my death. If Lucifer leaves this timeline, I will know. I will be able to follow him, and he would know because he can feel me too. Which is why we are staying far away from each other. Now, please stop worrying about my grace, and eat before you hurt my feelings.” He ended his serious speech by fluttering his lashes dramatically.

“But...” Sam started, but was cut off by a voice to his left.

“Dude, we've lowered the threat level from nuclear to, like, green. We can afford to a meal or two before we have to spiral back into a crisis, okay?” Sam stared at his older brother, trying to determine if he was telling the truth or just trying to reassure him. But Dean wasn't coddling him, and there was no hint of mockery despite his words.

“Sam,” Castiel's voice drew everyone's attention, “I believe you are mistaken in how you perceive Gabriel's grace to work. Archangels are different from the other angels. Besides being much more powerful, they also do not require a connection with Heaven and the host to retain their grace. He has an infinite supply. So while time travel can drain most angels, it would have no measurable effect on him. Also, remember that he is 'fully-charged,'” the air-quotes caused a few fond smiles around the table, “while Lucifer was ejected from my vessel after fighting against Amara. Right now, he is weakened and vessel-less. We would possibly have the advantage even without Gabriel.”

Blue eyes patiently held his own until Sam released his breath and finally nodded in acceptance. He'd needed the explanation, and was grateful Castiel had seen and given it. “Okay,” he said to the others. Everyone relaxed again as he pushed his unanswered questions down and focused on his food. Steam still rose from the cooked portions and he immediately took a bite to distract himself from the thinking about whether Gabriel was using grace to continuously heat everything.

A full mug of coffee found its way next to his plate, perfectly fixed to his liking, and he made himself to relax. The food really was amazing, and it didn't take long for Sam to lose himself in the joy of sharing the meal with everyone. Gabriel kept making Castiel try different things and showed him how to use his grace to taste it. It took several tries, but the shocked look on the younger angel's face when he finally got the hang of it made Gabriel beam with pride.

“So, Deano,” the archangel started as he heaped slices of pie onto his and the hunter's plates, “who is this Sully person you thought I'd teamed up with? Sounds like an interesting character if your mind went straight to him at the sight of my masterpiece.”

“How did you even hear that?” Sam jumped in before Dean could answer.

“Hello, have you met me? And I'm not asking you so hush.”

Sam groaned and buried his face in his hands when he heard Dean chuckle, “Sully was Sammy's imaginary friend when he was little. Only we recently learned he's not so imaginary.”

“Really? Color me intrigued. What was he?” Gabriel leaned back in his chair.

“A short round guy with rainbow suspenders and an offensively yellow shirt.”

Mary put down her coffee, “You're telling me that some man hung around when you were children and neither you or John ever saw him? And he spent time with Sam?”

They could all see the possible scenarios she was sorting through plain on her face. Dean sat up a little realizing he'd freaked her out, but it was Sam who spoke. “It wasn't like that,” he promised her before shooting a glare at his brother, “Sully's a Zanna.”

The angels nodded in understanding, but Mary was not reassured. “And what are Zanna? I've never heard of them.”

“They're harmless beings who protect kids. Think of them as supernatural caseworkers who step in to help human children. I've never heard of them revealing themselves to adults—even those who used to be under their protection.” Gabriel studied the brothers like he'd been handed a puzzle piece and had no idea where it belonged in the big picture.

Sam shrugged and silently vowed revenge on his brother for ever uttering Sully's name. 'Supernatural caseworker' made it sound like their situation growing up had been so bad that even creatures felt the need to intercede on their behalf. “It was a special case. He came to us because someone was killing Zanna and he needed help.”

“How long had it been since you'd seen him?” Gabriel asked conversationally, but Sam still felt like he was under a spotlight.

“I was nine,” he swallowed, “I told him to leave because I didn't need him anymore. That I didn't know why I'd made him up in the first place. It..it was good to see him again even if it was a surprise to learn he wasn't imaginary.”

“How old were you when he first appeared to you?” Castiel asked.

“Um, I'm not sure. Six, maybe?” Sam grabbed his coffee to warm his hands and give them something to hold.

Dean cleared his throat, “It was right after I started kindergarten, so you'd have been about three.”

Sam's body jerked at his brother's words and coffee spilled over his hands. “What? No way was it that early!”

But Dean was nodding, “Yeah, dude. I remember it took me days to figure out this new word you kept saying. You dropped your L's all the time so it sounded like you were trying to say 'see.' Then you drew a picture of a yellow circle with colorful stripes and a head to show me.”

“Did John know?” Mary asked, calmer than before but still obviously disturbed.

“Yeah, dad was pretty freaked at first. He called around and read a bunch of lore trying to figure out what it could be. But then Sam started talking to his 'Suh-ee' when we were there. There was no EMF, and none of our wards were disturbed, so we just figured he'd made an imaginary friend.” Dean shuddered and looked at Sam, “You know, it is a bit creepy to realize that dude was there with us that whole time.”

“It's not like I knew he was real!” Sam exclaimed, still trying to wrap his head around the fact that Sully had been a part of his life for six years.

“He sounds like a fun guy,” Gabriel broke into the inevitable fight between brothers, “So why did you think he was partly responsible for all this?” He gestured toward the food.

Dean laughed and Sam saw Mary relax a little more at the easy display of humor. “Because when he showed up in the bunker a few months ago, he made a much smaller feast of Sam's favorite weirdo snacks. Like marshmallow nachos.”

“Marshmallow nachos? Really, Sasquash? Are you hiding a secret sweet-tooth from me?” Gabriel grinned.

"They weren't my favorite snack,” Sam muttered, “They were just something I wanted as a kid.”

“Well, I'll keep that in mind for future meals,” Gabriel said as he rose from the table. Everyone had finished eating, so he snapped and all the food and dirty dishes and candles disappeared.

“Hey! I wanted to save some of that for later.” Dean stared mournfully around at all the empty surfaces.

“Relax, it's in the fridge. I improved it's size capacity and nothing will spoil inside,” Gabriel waved off the outrage, “And I swear to my Dad, if you start again Sam, I will make you listen to a six hour lecture on how grace works.”

Sam shut his mouth and swallowed the desire to argue. Instead, he looked down to figure out how to get to the floor. A snapping sound almost made him pitch forward, but instead of anything dramatic happening, a small ladder formed on the side of his chair. It looked similar to the kind built into bunk beds—the rungs ran along the legs like they were designed to be there. With a grateful nod to Gabriel, he climbed down on his own. Relief filled him at being able to do the simple task himself.

“Come on, squirt,” Dean said as he stretched, “Let's get your new clothes to your room so you can change before you injure yourself trying to walk in those things.”

“Dress warm, kids,” Gabriel called to them, “It's chilly outside today.”

“And?” Dean paused at the hallway entrance.

"And I have plans that involve us not staying in the bunker.”

Dean shook his head and continued toward the war table that still held all their shopping bags, “Yeah, that's not ominous at all.”

Chapter Text

Gabriel watched the boys leave the kitchen, Mary close on their heels. He let out a long sigh and sank back into his chair next to his brother. The younger angel was sipping coffee like it was wine, swirling each mouthful around to taste it completely before swallowing.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Gabriel thought over the bits of information he'd gathered through the morning. He couldn't figure out if Sam was more scared of him or being left unprotected. The boy had been a skittish thing since he first saw him in the garage, swinging between anxiety and anger with brief reprieves of safety with Dean. Knowing his history with Lucifer had prepared Gabriel for the prospect of Sam not trusting another archangel, but the continuous argument against him 'wasting his grace' seemed contradictory.

Learning about the Zanna raised some red flags for Gabriel. Most of them were adorable creatures drawn to lonely children, but there were others higher up the chain who dealt with the more extreme cases. For Sully to have been with the kid for six years meant he was a long-term placement, and to have the authority to reveal their existence to two human adults showed how much authority Sam's Zanna friend held. The fact that he'd come to Sam when the boy's brother started school didn't escape him. How cared for had the toddler been without Dean around?

Brother? Castiel's voice broke into Gabriel's thoughts.

Yeah, Cassie.

Castiel's coffee cup clinked against the table as he set it down. I did not think the Zanna stayed with children so long.

They usually don't. He tried not to picture the baby alone in a dirty motel room long enough to draw the attention of the protector-race.

I've heard some have specialized abilities to deal with certain...repeated needs among the children they watch. There was a pause and Gabriel braced himself when he saw his brother reach a similar realization about their charges. I know the brothers struggled with having enough food at a young age, but I did not think it would have been so severe so early. To require intercession at the age of three...do you suppose that was Sully's specialty?

You mean, do I suppose John Winchester failed to care for and feed his toddler because Dean wasn't there to do it for him? Gabriel asked with a raised brow.

Castiel slowly nodded. I was reluctant to phrase it in such a way. I knew nothing of them until I pulled Dean's soul from Hell and reformed his body. They have always been warriors. I do not know how to imagine them as defenseless children. But now that Sam is so...small... his fingers traced the lip of his cup as he struggled for words. I am not sure if it is his size or his grace that makes me feel like I must protect him. There is a need to keep him close, to stay connected. To think of him even younger, fully innocent, and unguarded...

I'm right there with you, baby bro. Talk about wanting to time-hop to the past. Gabriel sat up a bit and faced Castiel. Hey, do you know why Sam is so hung up on my use of grace? He freaked out about me wasting it on making breakfast and the time traveling, worried that I won't have enough grace to fight. What am I missing here?

Castiel winced. There are many valid reasons. Sam witnessed several periods where my power was greatly diminished—including both my gradual fall from the host when I became cut off from Heaven, and the literal fall of all the angels when Metatron cast us from Heaven which burnt our wings and left us mostly human. When I had any grace, I was forced to ration it. We have lost many friends and battles due to my weakened state over the years.

Gabriel felt sick. Your wings burned?

His brother looked away. When we fell through the Earth's atmosphere. It killed some of us. Others couldn't find compatible vessels. Most had never set foot on Earth and had no idea what to make of human cultures.

Our Father, who art in a bar, I had no idea. When you said the Scribe took over Heaven, I never imagined...

Yes, well, my wings and grace have been restored. God healed Lucifer when we were co-inhabiting my vessel. Castiel shifted in his seat. In fact, I think I may know what specific incident set off this particular 'hang-up.'

By all means, share with the class. Gabriel huffed an empty laugh, too upset over all the siblings he'd been too dead to save.

Instead of speaking, Castiel reached over with two fingers and lightly pressed them to the back of Gabriel's hand. Images instantly flooded his mind, layered with sounds and smells and emotion. The archangel had no problem sorting between the dual-perspectives of Castiel and Lucifer as they experienced the scene.

It was the same event Sam had flashed back to during breakfast—the moment Lucifer, wearing Castiel's face, showed himself to the youngest Winchester. Only now, Gabriel sensed everything through the grace of two angels instead of a limited human mind. He felt Lucifer's twisted glee at being able to finally do the big reveal and the rush of violating his true-vessel's soul. He felt Castiel's despair as he fought against the archangel's control, pushing through the agony of burnt grace to save his friend.

Mostly, he saw Sam as the adult he was right before being transformed. The man looked exhausted—gaunt cheeks framed by sharp bone, dirty hair, dark and desperate eyes. The weight of the world was heavy on his shoulders, and Gabriel could see the hunter breaking at the possibility of losing both Dean and Castiel. But all that was secondary to the dying shards of light flickering within Sam's chest. No wonder the kid was so powerful—his Father would have used a great deal of grace to heal so little soul.

Shuddering, Gabriel snapped up a tall mug of his special hot chocolate. For a minute, he sipped the sweet drink and shook off the echos of his older brother's hollow laugh. I don't know what I'll do when I see him again, he growled to Castiel.

Who? Sam? Castiel jerked in surprise, anxiety clear in his expression.

No, Cassie. I meant Lucifer. Gabriel frowned, wondering if Sam's constant fear of rejection was well founded if Castiel was expressing the same concern on the boy's behalf. I don't even recognize him now. He's gotten worse since he killed me.

Castiel ducked his head back over his coffee. To be fair, what I showed you was before he and God...talked.

Oh, to be a fly on that wall! he smirked, but his brother didn't look up.

Father apologized to him. Castiel's true-voice was barely a whisper.

Gabriel froze, speechless. Shock at the unbelievable words and relief at knowing they'd finally been said warred with the hot white anger that screamed “too little too late!” Why had it taken so much devastation and pain for Him to even return to His family? How much could have been avoided had He simply talked to them sooner?

His vision blurred as he stared at the hunched form of his little brother. The seraph was one of the most amazing creatures Gabriel had ever known. How he had survived everything was a miracle. And he suspected Castiel's miracle was intertwined with the Winchesters. The three were a wayward family of orphans who kept each other together—and knowing how volatile all three were, they probably did it even when they tore each other apart.

Using his foot against the angel's chair, Gabriel spun Castiel around to face him. Not giving his startled brother a chance to speak, the archangel leaned forward and pulled him into a hug. Held him just to remind himself that they had a second chance. That Gabriel had a second chance.

Gabriel? Castiel sounded unsure.

“You know, I'm glad Dad didn't let me go back to Heaven like I wanted,” Gabriel laughed through his tears and tightened his grip.

“What?” Castiel's voice was rougher than usual.

“I was so ready to rush back home and jump straight into being the big brother again. I missed my family, especially you younger ones,” he pulled back, bringing his hands up to rest on Castiel's shoulders, “When Dad first sent me to this abandoned building in nowhere-Kansas, I thought I was being punished. Or that this was a test because He didn't trust me with taking care of everyone so He would try me out with the little angel and his human friends,” he laughed, “Boy, have I got a lot to learn. How useless would I be in Heaven when I know so little about what's happened since I left?”

Castiel gave him a rare smile, “I fear you will not learn much staying with us. We frequently rush into situations with faulty assumptions and a lack of information.”

It made Gabriel's smile turn from forced to fond. “Yeah, that sounds like you guys. Well, I should say it definitely sounds like Dean, and I could see you following that lemming off the cliff. I'm guessing Sam is usually the one who ends up doing the research and jumping to the wrong conclusion.”

Castiel tilted his head in thought, “It varies from case to case, but I would say that is an accurate assessment of our weaker tendencies.”

“How did Metatron give you every pop-culture reference and piece of human literature, but you still talk like you learned English from legal documents?”

Blue eyes blinked in confusion as Gabriel chuckled and mussed the already messy hair. He stood, but instead of walking away, he dropped his hand from his brother's hair to his shoulder blades. Reaching with his grace, he felt along the strong wings. There was no sign of past damage, but his brother's grace was a mess. Like his hair.

“Castiel, when is the last time you saw the healers in Heaven?” It was a necessary task to keeping their grace cleansed and unfettered by the muck of the world. Many angels simply groomed each other in close-knit groups as a means of communal care. Some were not naturally drawn to those types of bonds, preferring solitary meditation. But in Heaven, even the lone wanderers would be connected enough for others to intervene.

Some of Gabriel's fondest memories of life prior to running away involved the frequent interventions his older brothers staged whenever he became too distracted to care for himself. Lucifer or Michael would usually be the one to catch him—exhausted from playing with their youngest siblings or wrung out from an obsession to right some wrong on Earth. They'd haul his ass to Raphael and he would sit through all their lectures while the Healer hummed the Father's song for creation and sorted through his grace.

Castiel's wings alone needed a lot of work. Gabriel ran his grace along the feathery edges and took note of all the places in disorder. He felt the muscles twitch under his hand as his brother squirmed away from the sensation.

Castiel turned and scowled when he saw Gabriel's grin. “The healers have not wasted their efforts on something as menial as wing-grooming in a very long time, brother. Not since so many wars decimated our numbers and left us short on healers. My grace is probably in a better condition than most in Heaven.”

Gabriel winced as yet another new piece of information gave him a clearer picture of the Heaven's current state. “Well, I can't imagine Raphael will allow that to continue when he returns. It will be like mandatory spay day for years up there.”

“That is...a comforting thought. Heaven needs a chance to heal and renew itself. Good leadership will go a long way in restoring hope and order.”

“And while they're getting sorted out up there, I'm going to teach you everything I know about angel child care. Because if there's one thing I've learned about fledglings and Winchesters it's that they are a handful. And now that we have a two-for-one special it is gonna be all hands on deck.”

Castiel frowned, but looked determined. “I have no experience with children—human or angel. As a soldier, I can protect him, but I do not know how good I will be as a caregiver.”

“Well, that's a load of horseshit,” Gabriel gave his brother's shoulder a shove, “I've seen you with the kid. You are a natural! Seriously, you should have been a guardian at the very least. A lot of it is instinct once I point a few things out to you. Besides,” his tone turned serious and slightly pleading, “Sam trusts you. Learning control requires trust and, while I can intervene when his grace goes crazy, it may be awhile before he feels comfortable working with me alone. So I was thinking we'd do some group lessons.”

“That sounds...very interesting,” his frown smoothed as he considered Gabriel's plan, “It is wise to be wary of Sam's reaction. He's been amenable to your presence so far, but there is a deep seated fear of archangels and he tends to avoid any angel's grace. It was only at Dean's insistence that Sam even allows me to heal him most times. Now, his sensitivity is greater. Be careful you do not touch him with your grace without talking about it first. He can be...explosive.”

“Yikes. I can imagine,” Gabriel sucked in a breath, “Alright, no surprise grace-poking. Not a problem. I need the kid to relax, anyway. He's starting to make me nervous with this incessant worrying. That little angel brain is going to short-circuit if he doesn't calm it down soon.”

“There has been very little opportunity for relaxation free of stress in recent years.” Castiel pointed out.

“I'm starting to get that,” Gabriel shook his head, wondering if he may have ended up with the larger task among the archangels. He ran his hand one last time through Castiel's wild hair and tugged on it gently, “Come on, Cassie. We got some stuff to set up for today outside.”

With a snap, both angels vanished from the kitchen.

Mary sat on the edge of the bed in Sam's room. Piles of new clothes sat in a mound between her and where Dean perched on the other side of the bed. They had a system where Dean got rid of all the tags (including the kind sewn into items because they irritated Sam's skin the first time around) and Mary would fold them. Sam was supposed to be cleaning out the dresser drawers he could reach, but they were already mostly empty. Adult Sam had been too tall to bother storing things in the bottom drawers.

“What do you think he's planning?” Sam asked for the third time since they'd left the kitchen.

Dean shrugged and pulled another price tag off a pair of jeans.

“Dean...” Sam tried again.

“Sam...” Dean mimicked his brother's tone but threw a pair of socks at Sam's head to let him know he was joking.

Sam picked them up off the floor and set them in a drawer beside the other four pairs he'd had thrown at him so far. “I just...you don't think it's something elaborate, do you? Like, Trickster-elaborate?” Another pair of socks beamed him in the face and he added them to the pile.

“I promise that I have no idea what Gabriel's planning. I'm working off the same amount of information as you are, dude.” Dean answered as he tossed a whole package of underwear to his brother. Sam managed to catch these and he put them away with the same level of seriousness as the socks.

“I know you guys mentioned having a history with Gabriel. I take it he hasn't just cooked you two breakfast feasts in the past?” Mary asked. So far, the archangel was like nothing she'd imagined, but she definitely knew that there was tension between her sons and the powerful being.

“That's one way of putting it,” Sam muttered.

Dean laughed, but it was edged with anger, “Oh yeah, nothing like trapping us in time-loops and alternative universes to teach us a lesson.”

“Castiel mentioned the part about lessons, but not what Gabriel wanted you to learn,” she folded a sweater and watched the boys' very different reactions to the conversation. “Just tried to reassure me that he never tried to kill you, which honestly didn't set the bar very high in expectation.”

Mary saw Dean's hands nervously pick over a small sweater, his attention hyper-focused on the object. Sam, though...she heard him make a choked sound and turned in time to see his eyes glaze as he stared unseeing at the wall. “Sam?” she gently called, not wanting her son to get stuck in another memory. She wondered if he had always struggled with flash backs, or if it was a recent development tied to his angel abilities.

Dean looked up at her tone and saw his brother. Grabbing another pair of socks, he said, “Heads up, Sammy,” and tossed them. Sam didn't catch them, but the perfect strike was enough to jolt him from his daze. He frowned at the offending item before placing it in the drawer. Dean cleared his throat, and glanced over at Mary without turning, “It's complicated. Our past with Gabriel...it's complicated. He's an asshole and he did a lot of stupid, awful things in those 'lessons.' None of it was permanent except the memories. But he did come through for us in the end—after we bitched him out for not standing up to his family,” he forced a smile while he kept watch of Sam, “And he made a hell of a breakfast. So, who knows? Maybe Chuck talked some sense into him.”

Sam gave a dry laugh that sounded far too cynical coming from such a young voice, “You realize you're practically Heaven's therapist at this point, right? You saw right through Gabriel's act and knew he was an angel just by how he talked about his brothers. And you changed his mind enough that he helped us. You facilitated a whole conversation between God and Lucifer that allowed for an alliance. And to top it all off, you convinced Amara not to destroy the universe and reunited her with Chuck.”

“Think I should send them a bill?” Dean smirked, clearly latching on to Sam's teasing with relief.

Sam stood up, “Nah, I don't think Heaven cares enough about currency to pay,” he adjusted the pajamas he still wore so he could walk to Mary's side. He carefully gathered the pile of folded clothes, and said a quiet thank you before returning to put them away.

They finished the rest pretty quickly. All the clothes fit into three drawers now that his new shirts folded down to the size of his old socks. Sam picked out an outfit and assured her and Dean that he was fully capable of dressing himself, then proceeded to push them both from the room. His door closed with a soft 'click' and Mary worried he'd have trouble opening it again.

“Are you sure he's about six physically? I feel like he's too small for six. Some of his clothes were meant for toddlers, and I swear he's smaller than you were a week ago,” she whispered to him as they walked back toward the war table to retrieve her own bags of clothes.

Dean scoffed, “I'm telling you, it's all about the hair. I'd know Sam's age at any point in time based on his hair alone, and those curls narrow it down to a six month period. But you're right—Sam was small for his age. It wasn't until he hit his teens that he caught up to his age group. By the time he was sixteen I think he mutated because he blew right past me in height. He stayed scrawny until Stanford and he's been putting on bulk since then. I'll have to find you some photos—he was given the nickname 'moose' for a reason.”

Mary shook her head in disbelief. She still struggled to see her Dean in the man before her. It was getting easier, but there were moments where he slipped away and she'd panic a little at the sudden stranger. Sam was an even harder adjustment. She saw none of the infant in the child's face. To imagine him as a man larger than Dean was a stretch too far for her. “Photo's would help. Everything helps at this point. I feel like I'll never get caught up on what I've missed.”

“Are you...” he coughed and scratched the back of his neck—so like John, “are you doing okay? I know this has to be awful for you. To lose your little kids and husband. To suddenly find yourself with two mostly grown sons who are hunters at the center of every apocalypse that decides to start. That's gotta be hard.”

She shook her head again, but this time it was an attempt to stave off the crushing grief that bloomed in her chest. Tears blinded her, so she jumped when she felt strong arms wrap her into an embrace. For a minute, she let herself cry quietly and acknowledge that she would never see her baby and little boy again.

“Don't worry, Mom. It'll be okay. We'll look after you.”

Mary heard her little boy speaking to her, and just like that breathing became easier. It didn't change what she'd lost, but she remembered dying. Remembered the despair of not knowing if her family would survive the fire, let alone the demon. Remembered wishing there was something she could do to keep everyone safe. Saw her blood drip onto her baby's face...

That memory made this second chance real. It allowed her to recognize how much she had gained by having the opportunity to return to her children's lives. She smiled at her son's words, wondering if he recalled saying something similar to her as a little boy. “That's still my job.”

Dean grunted and tightened his hold, “Well, how about we just look after each other and call it a draw.”

“Sounds good. Sounds like something families do.”

Castiel was confused. “Why are we putting food in a basket to carry outside when we have a kitchen and table right here?”

“Because this is a picnic basket. Made for picnics. A meal traditionally eaten outside over a blanket on the ground. In sunlight and fresh air.” Gabriel rambled as he continued transferring food from the enhanced refrigerator to the never-ending space inside a custom-made basket, “It's a thing humans do to relax with other people. There were whole cultures and traditions surrounding the art of the picnic,” he laughed, “The pagans were, of course, my favorite. Live music and rampant nudity. And this whole wooded area is wasted on these boys. I doubt they've spent any time at all outside of this bunker except to get from the door to the car or vice versa.”

“Sam usually goes for runs in the mornings. He says the air tastes better at dawn and he likes the quiet.” Castiel didn't understand how air could taste better at different times, but he identified with the need for peaceful silence.

“Does he?” Gabriel sounded surprised, “Well maybe this won't be such a culture shock for the kid after all. I'm sure Mary will be fine. I think picnics are part of maternal instincts—unless it's a learned behavior for any parent cooped up with a small child in an enclosed space too long. You and Dean are the two who will probably stand around like a couple of space aliens trying to figure out why we're roasting white puffy sacrifices on sticks over the fire.”

Castiel stared at his brother in mild horror at the casual mention that picnics involve sacrifice. “Gabriel, none of the Winchesters will participate in burning sacrifices no matter how relaxing the experience.” He could only watch Gabriel laid his head on his arms against the counter and laughed uncontrollably.

“Cas, did you break the archangel?” Dean's voice cut through the echoing cackle.

“This was not my idea, Dean,” Castiel turned to his friend, suddenly worried that he'd misplaced his trust in Gabriel, “I did not know what a picnic involved!”

Dean stared at him in bewilderment, “What the hell are you talking about, Cas?”

“Don't worry, I will not allow him to perform any sacrifices.”

“Whoa! Okay, Gabriel, what the hell is he talking about?” Dean stalked over to the shorter being and pulled him up by the jacket collar.

It took several tries before the archangel could speak, “Y-you know, Dean! The little white puffy round things you pierce with a stick and roast over a fire, usually while sitting in a circle at night.”

Dean did his best impersonation of Sam's bitch-face. “You mean marshmallows?” he smacked Gabriel upside the head, “Quit scaring Cas! He'll never try new things if you freak him out too much.” He went over to a pantry shelf and grabbed a bag that had one side rolled down and sealed with a clip. Tossing it to the confused angel, Dean explained, “Here. These are marshmallows. You put them on a stick, and when you cook them in fire they melt and puff up.”

Castiel studied the bag. It weighed almost nothing, and the round white things were soft when he squeezed them. He ignored Gabriel's renewed laughter by keeping his attention on Dean. “You use them to make nachos?”

“Ha! Not unless you're my weirdo brother,” Dean clapped him on the shoulder and strolled to the coffee pot to get a fresh cup.

“I'm not a weirdo,” Sam said from the doorway in a soft brown sweater and a knit cap that pushed his curls down to frame his face. Mary stepped around him to join Dean by the coffee. “What is going on in here? Gabriel sounds like a dying hyena. You can hear him throughout the bunker.”

“Nothing,” Dean answered him with a smirk, “Gabe just convinced Cas that roasting marshmallows was a sacrifice performed at picnics. Cas tried to save our honor.”

Castiel watched Sam's expression waver between pity and humor, and the sight of the boy fighting to not laugh at him made the angel appreciate the joke a little more. “What honor?” Sam asked.

“I didn't even get to the other ingredients used in the ritual!” Gabriel chimed back in, “You know, the dark substance first utilized by the Aztecs that liquefies when placed between the sacrifice and a the delicate baked square.”

Sam rolled his eyes, “That is the least appetizing description on how to make s'mores I've ever heard.”

“Yeah, but his face...” Gabriel wiped away tears, “It was worth it.”

“So, what's the plan for today?” Mary asked, leaning against the counter and blowing on her coffee.

“Well, I need to start working with Sam on his grace-control. It will be easier to do outside, so I figured we'd all make a day of it and enjoy the sunshine before winter.” Gabriel took the half-filled bag from Castiel and placed it in the basket.

The angels had discussed how to approach the lessons, and agreed that an open space with Sam's other family members present would be the best environment. While the others sorted clothing, they spent time setting up the space outside the bunker with lounge chairs, hammocks, an over-sized picnic table, and a stone-lined fire pit. Gabriel wanted to add a whole indoor heated pool onto the side of the bunker, but Castiel had insisted his brother discuss it with the Winchesters first.

As Gabriel finalized the food packing, Castiel kept an eye on Sam. The boy looked nervous at the prospect of lessons, but not panicked. Hazel eyes met his, and he saw the brave mask cover the anxiety, “Should I get a notebook or anything?”

Castiel glanced at Gabriel for the answer. “No, no notebooks. This will be all practice and no studying,” the archangel told them as he hoisted the basket and turned to them, “Everyone ready? Good, let's go.”

Sam followed the others out of the bunker and around to the back part away where they couldn't be seen from the road. It was a familiar route that he usually took on his morning runs. He kicked through the leaves as he walked and wondered how long it would be before he'd be able to go running again.

So far, he hadn't had a chance to really explore this new body's limits. He knew his strength was completely gone, but he wasn't sure about his endurance. Young kids were known for their abundance of energy. Maybe his stamina would make up for the lack of muscle until he got this body trained.

He was pulled from his musings when everyone stopped in front of him. Unable to see around the wall of legs, Sam moved to the side and stared at the new additions. The sky blue cushions of the lounge chairs reflected brightly in the sun, and it took him a second to see everything else. The fire pit was perfect and something he'd always secretly wanted.

Gabriel broke off from the group and set the large basket on the wooden picnic table. With a snap, a pile of brightly colored items appeared beside it. Squinting, Sam could make out sports gear and frisbees and Nerf guns.

Dean gave a low whistle, “Dude, someone has watched way too many kids' movies on Netflix.” They never had these types of things growing up. Occasionally, they'd find a stray tennis ball or frisbee left behind in a park or motel playground and they'd pack it with them until it got lost or broken.

“It's not like I snapped up a toy store, Deano. This is a normal amount of stuff most families have on hand for get-togethers.” Gabriel gave him a knowing look that told Sam the archangel was probably aware the brothers had grown up playing with guns and knives more than toys. He watched Gabriel grab up an orange frisbee and spun it toward them, “Go long, Cassie!”

The younger angel stood still and passively watched the disc soar past. He turned and looked at Sam in confusion, “What was I supposed to do with it?”

“Catch it,” Sam said smiling as he went to retrieve it. The toy was heavy in his hand, and it took some adjusting to get a proper hold on it. Turning, he tried to throw it back but it curved mid-air and landed in the fire pit. “Oops,” he winced, glad there was no fire.

“That's why we can't have nice things, Sam,” Dean said in a low voice as he picked through the gear. He chose a fuzzy yellow tennis ball and tossed it underhand to Sam. “Try this one.”

Sam caught it easily. It fit in his hands much better and the lighter weight made it easier to throw when he lugged it back to his brother. Not expecting it, the ball smacked Dean in the side of the head and bounced back onto the table. Dean jumped and tried to swat away the unexpected attack and Sam hooted with laughter, “That's payback for all the socks you pelted me with this morning, jerk!”

He only had a second to revel, however, as Dean turned with a look of revenge on his face. Sam gulped and backed away. His brother grinned wickedly at the reaction, “Well, I guess you've got one thing in common with payback.”

“Uh huh?” Sam hummed warily.

“You're both bitches,” Dean said. And then it was on.

Sam sprinted past Gabriel and rounded the fire pit. He saw Dean racing after him with a Nerf gun in hand. He glanced toward the trees and saw one with lower hanging branches. Knowing his brother would make him suffer some form of humiliation if he caught him, Sam grabbed hold of the closest branch and jumped.

The world shifted around him, and he had to blink a couple times to realize he was seeing a wide expanse of sky and tree tops. Gasping, he clung to the trunk and glanced down to the ground far below. A rustle of wings sounded next to him and he managed to turn his head enough to see Gabriel perched on a branch next to him. “What'cha doing up here, Sammy? Not that the view isn't fantastic, but I'm pretty sure you just gave everyone a heart attack.” The archangel had his wings fully extended and his arms already wrapped tightly around Sam's middle.

Sam felt his body start to shake with delayed adrenaline and he shook his head, “I d-don't know,” his spoke through chattering teeth.

Gabriel smiled, “I forgot how easy it was for you little guys to accidentally fling yourselves into hard-to-reach places. Let's get you back on the ground, okay?” His arms tightened and Sam felt his feet suddenly touch solid ground.

“What the hell, Sam!” Dean ran up, breathless with anxiety.

“I don't know,” he repeated as his mother and Castiel rushed over as well.

"Nothing to worry about, folks,” Gabriel reassured them, and Sam was grateful for the hands that kept him steady, “It's perfectly normal—kids slip past the baby gate all the time.”

“Yeah, except he didn't fall down some stairs. He flew up a tree!” Dean exclaimed, “Do we need to put a kid harness on him or something? What if he fell from five stories up?”

“You are not putting a leash on me!” Sam yelled, and Gabriel's hands squeezed his shoulder.

“Relax, kiddo, you don't need anything so dramatic. It's why we're going to teach you control—so this kind of thing doesn't happen. Or happens less often, anyway,” he explained calmly. Sam felt the shaking increase, and there was a flare of heat that prickled along his skin. “Okay, I was going to have you run around and work off some of that energy, but I don't think it'll help now that you're so wound up. Come on, let's settle down.”

Gabriel steered Sam toward the fire pit. Thick knit blankets and pillows sat in a neatly folded stack on the ground. With a snap, they were spread out in a comfortable pile. Sam felt himself be maneuvered into the center and pushed to sit on a pillow. Gabriel plopped down next to him and waved Castiel over to join them. The angel shed his trench coat, folding it carefully to place on the blanket, and sat cross-legged on a third pillow.

“Is he okay?” Mary asked quietly, unsure what the angels were preparing to do.

“Oh, yeah,” Gabriel grinned as he stretched his arms and grace, cracking knuckles in the process, “Sammy boy is just a bit more super-powered than I'd anticipated. His grace is already over-charged again since I drained it last night. So we are going to do some maintenance—the angelic equivalent to hair brushing, really. There are beers and snacks in the basket if you guys want anything.”

Dean studied them for a second, evaluating the risks of leaving them for the beer calling his name. “We'll stick close by in case you need us during your hair braiding, or whatever...” he said directly to his brother, “And stay on the damn ground!”

Sam nodded as the shakes tapered off leaving him tired. He watched Dean walk away with a worried looking Mary. They each got a beer and made their way to the lounge chairs, talking too low for Sam to make out words. The heat ran under his skin like sandpaper and static, and he wrapped his arms around his chest in an attempt to keep it from spreading. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gabriel shift to face him.

“You are alright, Samuel. Take some deep breaths and relax everything. I am going to explain how angels help each other maintain their grace, and then we will show you. Think of a self-generating pool. Sometimes the flow gets jammed up or the pH falls out of balance and it needs adjusting. And in your case, the generator is a little enthusiastic and flooding everything out. Now,” Gabriel held up his hands, palms facing out toward Sam, “I am the metaphoric pool boy with a net who can also balance the chemical levels and siphon off the over-flow. Would you like me to show you how on Castiel?”

The modern-day concepts described in the ancient tongue of angels took a second to translate in Sam's brain. He looked to his friend sitting in front of him. The angel was staring at Gabriel, completely fascinated by his words, and seemed startled to find their attention shift his way. Castiel nodded his willingness to Sam and held his arm out to Gabriel.

The archangel ran two fingers above Castiel's wrist to his shoulder without touching the skin or fabric. Soft gold light flowed in his fingers' wake and danced across the limb. Castiel gave a small gasp and Sam saw the tension melt from the arm. It started to fall but Gabriel caught his wrist with a laugh, “Oh, Castiel, imagine how mellowed out Heaven will be when everyone is forced to take a spa day.”

Castiel grinned, a little dopey. “In fairness, the healers I saw were not archangels. You may have gone overboard with your 'chemical adjustments.'” He did the finger-quotes with the hand not being supported by his brother.

Gabriel frowned at the arm he held, “No, this is where you should be. I think you have been unconsciously keeping your levels low because you learned to function with them there. I only did one sweep on one arm, you light weight.” Castiel giggled and Gabriel covered the seraph's mouth while glancing over toward Mary and Dean. “Cassie, you should not be buzzed out on grace!” he whispered, “You are being a terrible role model for a fledgling who's never been groomed.”

Castiel nodded somberly and Sam felt his muscles loosen at the angels' playful interaction. Gabriel removed his hands and turned back to Sam. “Alright, let me look at you,” his whiskey eyes flared gold, “Your grace is overflowing because it expects to be in constant use. Like if your body was breathing but instead of using the oxygen it just kept storing it. Now, do you trust me to help you?”

Fear flared at the thought of an archangel touching him with grace. The wings were one thing—they manifested as a physical extension he could touch like a moving stream. Draining his grace the night before had been different too. Sam had lost control, burning from the inside. He'd expected Gabriel to plunge his hand through his chest like all the others, but instead had drawn the fire out like poison from a wound. But to willingly submit to such an invasion?

“Samuel,” Castiel's voice was sober and soothing, “what Gabriel said is an accurate description for the mechanics of grace work, but not the experience. The sensation is not that of a net dragging through water, but of a brush gliding through hair. The hair itself is not punctured—merely sorted into place. It is similar to reiki energy work. It tingles in a pleasant way, and you may feel a tugging if there is a tangle or blockage in the flow.”

The heat was building again, and Castiel's words sounded so tempting. Sam stared at both angels, hoping any deception would show now before he caved. There was only honest sincerity reflected in pools of blue and gold. “I ask, you stop?”

They nodded in tandem, and Gabriel answered, “I will absolutely stop. I will not let you hurt yourself or others if you start to go nuclear, but if you are still capable of talking then I will listen. In fact, I will talk to you the whole time so you know what I am doing and so I know you are alright.”

“You try, first?” Sam held his arm up like Castiel.

“Sure, kiddo,” Gabriel smiled in gratitude that grew when his brother reached out and placed his palm under Sam's out-stretched hand, ready to offer support and connection. “Okay. Just this arm, and I'll be super light.” He held two fingers out over the small wrist

Gold shimmered along Sam's arm, and he instinctively jerked back. Castiel and Gabriel's hands followed his movements but never tried to stop him. He paused when the fire building under his skin was doused by the glow of Gabriel's grace. The relief was enough to make him push his arm back toward the archangel and allow him to continue. The fingers slowly moved along his arm and stopped at his shoulder.

Castiel was right—it did tingle in a nice way, and left behind a warmth that was comforting instead of consuming. His arm felt weightless and it dipped to rest in Castiel's hand. The glow dissipated almost immediately, but the sensation remained. Gabriel was watching him with an expression somewhere between eager and anxious when Sam looked up.

“Again?” Gabriel asked and Sam nodded. The brush of grace was repeated on the other arm and his eyes grew heavy. Castiel's hold on his wrists was the only thing keeping him upright until Gabriel put an arm around his back. “Let's get some pillows behind you and you can just lean back. There we go, that's better, right?” Sam felt himself sink into a plush bedding and he stared with half-closed eyes at the sky. Colors twinkled in the clouds as sunlight refracted through water and he was lost in the details. He heard a voice talking to him but didn't look away from the clouds. “Sam, you still with us? I need you to answer me before I keep going.”

“Here,” he whispered a little breathlessly. His focus was intense, and the lack of discomfort made him feel a little paranoid.

“Okay, I'm gonna dial it back more, but we're not done yet. Are you good?” Gabriel asked.

“Keep going, but slow,” Sam managed with a little more voice. He heard the angels shift around and when Gabriel spoke again, he was directly above his head.

“I am going to place my fingers on your temples so you know where I am. Castiel is still sitting by your feet. I will direct my grace from here and you tell me if I need to stop.” Fingertips rested on his head and Sam tried not to flinch. Gabriel must have felt the muscles tense because he stilled his movements without breaking the connection. “It's just me, Samuel, and I promise not to touch your mind. You focus on the sky and I am going to brush my grace from your head to your toes. It should feel like the sun cascading over you...”

Sam let the words drift over him as he floated on a sea of safety and contentment. This was almost identical to how it had been with Chuck, minus the life-threatening gunshot wound and crushing despair at losing Dean. Now, he could revel in the peace. The tingling in his arms spread through his whole body and he wondered if this is how animals felt being petted. Sam felt his own grace respond to Gabriel's gentle sweeps, reaching for the gold light from within. The archangel chuckled lightly as he continued his ministrations and steady stream of words.

After spending a few days confined and condensed in his new tiny body, Sam was unprepared for the sudden expansion of consciousness. Something inside shifted into place and he merged with his grace. It was like becoming consciously linked with your blood, and then realizing your blood was connected to the universe, and now you feel the universe like it's your own leg. The angels could describe themselves as multi-dimensional beings of celestial intent the size of skyscrapers all day, but the words had been meaningless.

Now, Sam felt larger in a way that went far beyond the physical parameters. He was burrowing below the soil with rodents and worms, in the sky with the clouds of color, in the next town over, in churches and streams and mountains. He stared around, images flickering in layers on top of each other like his vision was constantly changing filters. Only those filters allowed him to see into windows through time, and places, and dimensions.

Sam gasped when he saw Gabriel. The being hovering massively over him made him feel small again.

It truly was like laying at the feet of someone larger than the Statue of Liberty. His eyes traced the way the archangel's true-form folded into his vessel before returning to the faces. So many faces kept shifting—human, animal, and some for which Sam had no name. It would have been terrifying if not for the pure joy and instinctive recognition he felt at the sight of each one.

Laughter rumbled down over Sam's body, the noise like the resonating vibration of tribal drums. “Castiel, look. His eyes are open! He sees me! Hello, little one. Welcome to the world,” Gabriel spoke but there was very little of his vessel's voice in the sound. The fingers on Sam's temples moved to pull his hat off and run through his hair. It pulled Sam's awareness back to his body, grounding him, but it didn't diminish his senses.

Slowly, Sam tried to sit up. His limbs wouldn't cooperate and he huffed out a frustrated sigh. The hands on his hair slid down behind his shoulders and lifted him to sitting. He expected to be dizzy from the change in position, but once he was upright his body immediately adjusted. There was no fear of falling back again, but he felt one hand stay against his back.

Castiel filled his vision and he saw the angel lean forward, a being of grace as blue and varied as the ocean. “Hello, Samuel,” his voice like rolling thunder that Sam felt in his chest, “How are you doing? Can you distinguish what you are seeing? Do you recognize us?”

“Good grief, Cassie. Give the boy a second before you quiz him!” Gabriel admonished.

But Sam was already nodding, “Yes. Know you Castiel,” he hesitantly raised a hand toward his friend, but stopped when he lost track of Castiel's vessel and only saw his true-form. Not wanting to accidentally grope the angel in an inappropriate place, he just kept his hand out waiting for the vessel to come back into focus.

Blue-black feathers landed in his hand and Sam laughed at how familiar they felt even with his new senses. They still embodied warm summer rain but now he could see the grace that formed the wings. There was no shyness in Sam's movements as he ran his fingers through the feathers. He saw a few out that seemed out of place, so he turned them the right way and smoothed them down.

“Oh, look at you grooming Castiel without even being taught! See, that's all I'm doing. Just going over the areas that need some adjustments.” Gabriel's fingers traced patterns on Sam's back and the tingling shot up his spine, giving him a chill that shuddered through him. The hand flattened against the knit sweater and soothed the charged feeling away. “Yeah, that was a big one. Sorry if it pulled. I tried to go slow.”

“Is fine. No worries,” Sam said with a smile over his shoulder.

“'No worries.' That is exactly what I wanted to hear.” Soft laughter followed his words like a small reverberation of his previous drums. “Alright, Samuel. I think that is enough for now. We will need to do this every day to train and maintain your grace as you grow. But right now, your brother is walking toward us and he looks concerned.”

“We look not sober,” Sam offered as his eyesight mostly returned to normal human levels and he realized Dean had probably seen him pawing at the air in front of Castiel's face. The rest of his senses slowly lost their extreme sensitivity, but there was still an echo along those new connections. Castiel and Gabriel now held a shimmer of their respective graces' colors.

Footsteps approaching made Sam turn and see Dean. The concern was obvious on his face, but so was the amusement to anyone who knew how to read the hunter. “So, not to be judgmental,” Dean said as he came to a stop at the edge of the blanket and stared down at them, “but Mom and I were wondering if you all dropped acid. Because for over an hour, you three have sat here giggling and chasing lights or something. And for a 'hair-brushing' session, I gotta say Sam's hair is a disaster.”

“An hour?!” Sam exclaimed looking to Castiel for confirmation. The angel nodded and reached out to try and straighten Sam's curls where they went in disarray.

Gabriel stood and clapped Dean on the shoulder. “Why acid when I put mushrooms in a third of the dishes at breakfast!?”

Dean scowled and turned to Sam, “Is that why you're always eating veggies? Because they're drugs?”

“Mushrooms aren't vegetables,” Sam and Castiel said in unison.

“Thanks, wonder twins. It's so reassuring to hear you call out the vegetable mix-up and ignore the fact that you're all acting high as kites.”

“Sam did get stuck in a tree,” Castiel added, “Kites do that too, don't...”

“Not helping, Cas!” Sam reached up and tugged on the wing still in front of him. Castiel nearly toppled over from the unexpected pull and he caught himself with his hands.

“What are you two even doing?” Dean asked, then shook his head and put up a hand to stop anyone from answering, “No, never mind. Today is the day I just don't want to know. I'm getting another beer. Try to act like you're not tripping balls by the time mom sees you up close. Okay? Okay, good talk.”

Sam watched his brother walk away until his hat was shoved over his head and cut off his sight. “He's right,” Gabriel's voice was slightly muffled by the fabric, “We really did mess up your hair.”

Chapter Text

Fire crackled a few feet away—a pleasant heat that sank into his bones. A full moon dominated the clear night sky and cast the forest in a soft glow. On the cusp of winter, the trees echoed with insects serenading the final days of autumn before the cold and silence. His eyes tracked the fire's sparks and ash as they spiraled upward into the stars.

Dean sat back in their new lounge chair with a shaky gasp. “Oh...” he whispered, fighting the urge to either cry or laugh, “Gabriel, I hate to break it to you, but this is not the human equivalent of getting your hair brushed. The only things humans can do to feel like this on Earth are probably illegal...and dangerous.”

“Well, I can only replicate some of the physical side effects. You just don't have the neural pathways and I don't want to melt your brain.” Gabriel's answer was a shock-wave of sound cascading around Dean.

“Whoa, dude!” he jumped as it reverberated across his skin, “Inside voice! Turn it down to, like, a one.” He heard a chuckle in a distant earthquake.

“On a scale of what?” This time, the voice rumbled like an explosion muffled within a mountain. Dean supposed that was a whisper to the archangel.

“On a scale of one to 'Oh my God, I'm being vibrated to death between two mattresses with magic fingers set to overdrive!'”

“That is a very specific scale,” Gabriel cackled in his usual voice as he withdrew his fingers from Dean's forehead.

“Yeah, well it's a very specific volume,” he muttered, shaking his head to clear the ringing. The world shifted around the hunter until his senses resumed functioning at their normal levels. His muscles remained relaxed and nerve endings all tingled in a good way. Shaking his head, Dean gazed at the others around the fire.

Mary was watching with wide, sparkling eyes and an easy smile. He grinned back. It had taken awhile to overcome the revelations from the night before and that morning, but several hours in the sun with a few beers and lots of laughter had finally eased some of the grief. Even if it was only a temporary reprieve.

Castiel sat cross-legged on the blanket next to Sam who was sprawled on his stomach across a pillow, faces both turned toward the fire. The angel was tracing designs with his finger onto the kid's back. Periodically, he'd pause and Sam would say something unintelligible. Dean was pretty sure it was all Enochian, but he hadn't asked.

Since that moment in the hallway when he first heard Sam shrieking the strange language at Castiel, Dean knew to be on high alert whenever the kid's speech changed. He understood “little brother” well enough that he didn't need the words to make sense of what was being expressed. Fear seemed to be the primary reason for Sam to switch languages the past couple days. Fear and uncertainty—he heard it in his brother's tone when he'd start whispering to Castiel. And the angel would rumble back reassuringly in a voice softer than Dean had thought possible.

But there was no fear or uncertainty in Sam's voice as he lazily mumbled responses to whatever the angel drew with his fingers. Castiel would either shake his head and rattle off a stream of foreign words, or he would nod and repeat one certain string of syllables that Dean was starting to memorize.

He glanced at what he'd dubbed the “Mary Poppins” basket several paces away and gestured for Gabriel to follow him. They strolled away from the fire, and Dean tried to not show how much his legs felt like jelly. Damn, but grace was awesome! Digging out two beers, he handed one to the archangel and said in a low voice, “Care to tell me what our brothers are doing?”

Gabriel smiled fondly as he looked over at the two and answered in an even quieter tone, “Cassie's made a game of drawing the Enochian alphabet on Sam's back while Sam tries to guess each one.”

Nodding, Dean took a swig of his drink, “It's nice to hear him this calm while he...'talks angel.' Better than him screaming it in terror or whispering it like he thinks he's in trouble. Hell, I didn't know he could speak Enochian until a few days ago.”

The shorter being sighed and hoisted himself up onto the picnic table. “I doubt he could access enough of his memories from the cage to make sense of it before getting grace. Now, the centuries he spent surviving Lucifer are as clear as the measly few decades of life top-side, so he's reverting to using it on instinct. Grace gives us near-perfect recall, and Luci was a shit teacher—he used 'lessons' as an excuse to torment. He kept Sam's vocabulary limited, then punished him for saying the wrong word or using English.”

Dean felt his stomach drop. He remembered hearing Castiel tell Sam something about how no one would punish the kid, but there was too much happening to ask about it at the time. “He what?”

Gabriel faced him with a grim look on his face, “That's what Cas described seeing in one of Sam's dreams,” the whiskey-gold eyes drifted toward the fire and softened at the sight of Castiel practically cooing his pride at something Sam said. “This exercise was actually Cassie's idea after seeing how well Sam responded to the grooming.”

Dean would have spewed a mouthful of beer if it wasn't for the years he'd spent drinking around Castiel and his wacky one-liners. “I'm sorry, did you say 'grooming?'”

“What?!” Gabriel with a shrug, “That's what it is. It's the closest translation.”

“Oh, he is not living this down...” Dean muttered.

“Anyway,” Gabriel cut him off, “he really wants Sam to feel safe speaking it. We figured he needs a little positive reinforcement and better memories associated with Enochian to really break down that trigger.”

“Couldn't he just stick with English?” Dean asked.

“Old, Middle, Early Modern, or Modern?” Gabriel shot back.

“What?” Dean finished his beer and grabbed another from the never-ending basket. He had the feeling he was going to need it.

“Do you have any idea how quickly languages change on this planet?”

“Uh, no?”

“The answer is 'pretty damn fast,' bucko. English is a little bastard of a language that took fifteen hundred years to form by absorbing whatever it wanted from other nations. And it took about a decade for you people to abandon writing for emojis.”

“Your point?” Dean pushed before the ancient nerd could get too worked up.

“My point is Sam can't 'stick with English' because he will outlive the language. Once he's mastered his grace in a few centuries, he will be fluent in all forms of language from every era on Earth. But Enochian came first, and it has never changed. He shouldn't only use it when he's scared. Besides,” Gabriel gave a half-grin, “Sam needs to get used to hearing and speaking it. When he grows strong enough to connect his mind with 'angel radio,' he's going to be bombarded with thousands of voices'...and there's no English option. It will be part of every interaction he has with the angels. And he will meet them all.”

Dean grimaced at the idea of Sammy forced to mingle with the angels who had hunted the hunters. “But not soon, right? I mean, do we even know how they'll react to him? It's not like we've been best friends with them over the years. The few that were kinda cool like Cas either died or turned on us. Sam's got trust issues with angels—we both do.”

"Don't I know it,” Gabriel said as he drained his beer.

The hunter scowled and turned away to study the tiny figure by the fire, “I'm just saying, we've survived too much for me to just let him go off and get smote by some pissed off cupid. I don't want him meeting any other angels until he can defend himself.” As an adult, Sam had been plenty capable of using his enormous size to intimidate enemies or hostile witnesses, but Dean knew his brother. He knew Sam was a bad-ass because of the underlying desperation and self-doubt. The kid was a born worrier and it always brought out his darker, more aggressive side.

When Sam felt helpless after Dean's death, it was Ruby's promise of power and control that drove his decisions. And after the cage and apocalypses and countless cycles of death/resurrection, Sam's lack of 'good enough' pushed him past the point of exhaustion on a good day. Bad days led to his brother doing stupid shit like walking back into the cage to beg Satan for help.

Now, the kid seemed as fragile as a damn baby bird—all bones and tufts of fluff and unbelievably breakable. Dean couldn't imagine Sammy facing the entire host without even the illusion of strength he'd held as a gigantic Sasquatch. What he could picture was how those little arms had clung to him in the garage, and again in the woods, during Gabriel's dramatic entrance.

Turning back to the archangel, Dean was startled to find those golden eyes already watching him.

“I promise Sam will not set foot in Heaven until I can ensure his safety. We will vet each angel he meets beforehand. I may even be able to work out a way for you to come with us on visits to the old homestead. But right now, Sam isn't ready for Heaven,” he sighed and looked away, “and neither am I.”

Looking at their newest resident, Dean tried to think of what he would do if their situations were reversed. If he'd found himself stranded in Heaven, separated from family and responsibilities, he didn't think he'd be cooking breakfast for the angels. And he definitely wouldn't be going above and beyond in helping them figure out their own shit.

I didn't even help Cas when he became human. I left him homeless and starving on the street until he was killed by a reaper. My little brother becomes part-angel, and Gabriel appoints himself as personal guardian. Guilt ate away at the contentment he'd built through the day as his mind began listing other times he had failed Castiel.

“Holy angst-bomb, Batman,” Gabriel's voice cut through the deluge and he stumbled back a step when he was shot in the forehead by a Nerf dart, “I swear, you Winchesters are the moodiest sons-of-bitches this world has ever seen. Stop it!” The words were punctuated by a second dart to the chest. “I can feel you from here, and so help me Dad, I will drag your ass into our grooming sessions until you lighten up if you don't quit.”

Dean blinked in surprise. “I just...” his mind blanked on words for a second as he stared at the toy gun toting archangel and cleared his throat, “Thanks. For stuff...with Sam. And breakfast.”

Gabriel looked mildly suspicious, like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop, but gave a brief nod when Dean's gaze held steady. The Nerf gun lowered. “No problem, Deano.”

“It's only 'no problem' because you made it no problem,” Dean huffed with a strained smile and sat next to Gabriel on top of the table, “You could have come in here and done anything, demanded anything. Put us all in a world of your making until we gave in. Taken Sam and left us with an illusion. Hell, you could have shown up disguised as anyone or anything and stayed hidden among us forever. But you didn't. Instead, you agreed to our terms, answered our questions, jumped in when Sam needed help. You even carried in our groceries, dude.”

“That's because you wouldn't put down the angel blade to help and I didn't want Mary to carry everything herself. Time loops are one thing, but I'm not a barbarian!” Gabriel acted offended, but it was easy to see genuine fluster at the hunter's words.

Dean chuckled and drained his beer, “Such a mamma's boy...”

It had been eons since Castiel last felt this level of contentment. After only a day around his lost brother and the new fledgling, he had regained the long-forgotten connection that gets forged between grace-beings. That, combined with the thorough grooming session Gabriel had insisted on giving him after Sam was done, meant that Castiel's entire being positively buzzed with energy.

Grace flowed freely through his true-self and he reveled at remembering who he was outside his vessel. Using his fingertips, he wrote simple words infused with a hint of power across his young friend's back. Peace. That he rest without worry. Hope. That he learns to dream again. Love. That he knows he is cherished. Joy. That he laughs daily. Safe. That he feels secure. Love. That he accepts himself.

Each word was Castiel's personal prayer for Samuel in his new life.

The boy had fallen asleep while his mother hummed an unknown tune beside them. Castiel was pleased with how well Sam had taken to his “alphabet game.” There had been no fear or discomfort during the exercise—only the childlike wonder Sam always displayed when learning something new. It was easy to picture him as a young human meticulously devouring any available knowledge. Asking Dean to teach him the older boy's advanced homework when his own was too simple to feed his intellect. The angel smiled and traced a new word. Grow. That he flourishes in his new life and second childhood.

The humming tapered off, leaving the fire's crackling blaze to settle over them like a whisper. Castiel could hear his brother talking with Dean, but he kept them muffled out of respect. If he reached his grace out far enough, he would be able to make out the humans in town several miles away. Not that he wanted to do such a thing, but it was once again a possibility. His hands smoothed over the soft sweater, wiping the metaphoric slate clean for whatever word came next.

Castiel was starting to see that the restoration of his grace went far beyond the 'physical' effects. And while his abilities returning to their pre-apocalypse state was a reason to celebrate, it was his renewed sense of purpose and self that excited him. It wasn't just that he remembered how to be an angel—he remembered why he was an angel. What it meant to act from a place of love instead of duty. How it felt.

Love. That he feels God's love emanating from within their shared grace. Love. That he experiences the Heaven Castiel knows is possible. Love. That Heaven is reminded of how to be a family again when they meet their newest member. Love.

“What's that one mean?” Mary's whisper cut through Castiel's thoughts and his head snapped toward her, startled at the sound without really hearing her words.

“I'm sorry?”

She gestured to where his fingers remained suspended and forgotten over her sleeping son's back. “You keep repeating that one particular pattern,” Mary leaned forward and her blonde hair shifted and shimmered in the firelight. Reaching forward, she recreated the symbols in the dirt as she'd seen Castiel draw them.

Castiel smiled automatically at the sight. The shapes were a little off and one of the symbols was inverted, but he felt warmth bubble up from within at the sacred word written in the most ancient of tongues by the clumsy fingers of a human. “You are very observant, Mary Winchester. I was...” heat bloomed across his face—not from shame, but the fluster of trying to explain his new-found feelings of affection. He opened his mouth to try and explain, but was interrupted by the sound of footsteps.

“Oh, he is out!” Dean gave a low whistle as he crouched down next to his brother, “He's drooling all over the place. I haven't seen him do that in years.”

There was a sharp inhale from the archangel who had moved to stand behind Castiel. Tilting his head all the way back, he saw Gabriel gazing at the word written on the ground. The golden eyes shifted down to meet his, and he saw confusion there. “Did Sammy write that?”

“No, I did,” Mary answered quickly as she sat up a little, “Was I wrong? Is that something humans shouldn't do? I just wanted to know what it meant.”

“You? I...What?” Gabriel's bewilderment grew and it was clear to everyone that he had not expected her to answer. “No, no, nothing like that. It's just...how do you even know this word? Or was Cassie here teaching you? Maybe we should do Enochian classes for everyone...”

“Oh,” she looked relieved to not have committed some unknown angel taboo, “No, he wasn't teaching me. I was watching him... He was just...” she kept trailing off, unsure what she should say, and turned toward Castiel in hopes that he would finish his explanation.

He sighed. “I was writing words of prayer anointed with my grace. My prayers for Sam in his new life—things like safety and peace and happiness.” The heat was growing again on his neck and face. Was the fire getting warmer?

“Which was this one?” Mary asked, pointing at her drawing.

Gabriel knelt between Castiel and Mary. Reaching his hand across the ground, a golden light flowed down to ignite the traced lines. With a wave, the lines shifted to form the correct symbols. “It is our word for 'love.'”

Mary's eyes shined bright, “You...you wrote it more than once.”

“There is more than one kind of love. It has many forms and ways and expressions. I guess I wanted to make sure there was no room for doubt.” Castiel kept his tone calm, but he was certain Gabriel could feel the longing under the surface.

The seraph knew he had always committed himself to causes and tasks with a single-minded intensity that unnerved even some angels. That same drive was still present, but for once it was not guided by desperation. How long had he been recklessly rushing to fulfill some missing need, always questioning and seeking the answers to an unknown question? And now he had both the answer and the question.

Heaven was broken—not just as a system, but as a family. Each passing moment seemed to confirm that the memories of his youth were not an illusion of some previous lifetime. The bond between the archangel, seraph, and fledgling, and the way the humans fit seamlessly into their circle, was a clearest representation for they way things should be between Heaven and Earth. Not that they had perfect relationships, but there was a symbiosis occurring based on mutual affection. They all cared for each other in both feeling and deed.

Suddenly, an arm wrapped itself around Castiel's head. He heard his older brother's voice speak in his mind. And I wish for the rest of our siblings to have the same revelation. The arm unwound and a hand scratched through his hair, digging fantastically into his scalp for a moment.

Castiel turned and saw Dean giving him a familiar look—the same one he'd receive whenever he surprised the hunter by doing or saying something unexpected. It was a combination of shock, pride, humor...and jealousy that Dean hadn't been the one to cause the change in behavior. The first time Castiel saw this particular look was when he drank an entire liquor store.

“You're not even close to this dopey when you get drunk. This is more like that weird alternate future Zachariah sent me to where other-me was leading the resistance against zombies and Lucifer. And other-you was always stoned and planning orgies.” Dean leaned forward to stare searchingly into Castiel's eyes. “Or when you lost your mind and rambled about bees while trying to convince us to play Twister. It's kind of a toss up between those two...because you seem a little stoned and crazy.”

Gabriel just barked a laugh and clapped his brother on the back. He moved off his knees and plopped onto a pillow dramatically. “You think Cassie is fun? Wait until the rest of our siblings start getting this as a regular treatment. Can you imagine how differently the apocalypse would have played out if all the angels were too busy adoring each other and cherishing their human charges to plot the world's end?”

“Oh yeah,” Dean rolled his eyes, “Uriel seemed like he was just one massage and margarita away from being a great big teddy bear.”

The archangel groaned, “I think Dad made that one when He was grumpy. Probably right after breaking up another fight between the oldest two. Even Luci used to joke about Uriel's negativity—called him the 'funniest angel in the garrison' because the kid was a raging storm cloud as a baby.”

Castiel was about to comment about how he had not known that statement to be in jest when he felt muscles shift under his palm still resting on the boy's back. The louder voices seemed to rouse Sam slowly from sleep. He rubbed circles over the building tension, hoping to ease Sam into consciousness without it being a jarring transition.

Dean immediately noticed the change in his brother, and sat himself between Sam and the fire. Castiel thought it was an odd choice of place for the hunter to put himself—too close to the heat for comfort and too close to Sam to be outside the required distance of 'personal space.' But then Dean hunched over, blocking the flames completely, and ran his fingers through the boy's hair. “Come on, dude. You're gonna sleep through the s'more making ritual and marshmallow sacrifice.”

Sam's body stretched and rolled up onto his side enough that his face was toward his brother's voice. Hazel eyes blinked slowly before quickly locking onto Dean. “Wha...?”

“You fell asleep during our picnic, party pooper. So get up before I feel obligated to stick a spoon in your mouth and take a picture.” Dean tousled Sam's hair a couple rough times, then stood up. He'd turned toward the picnic table with the basket, but before he could take a step there was a 'snap' and the basket appeared beside Gabriel. “Fireside service! We may let you stick around after all, Gabe,” Dean joked and joined the archangel next to Mary.

Castiel watched them on his periphery but kept his focus mainly on Sam. Without the older hunter there, the firelight flooded their little blanket area. The boy leaned back against Castiel and realization hit the angel. With a life defined by moments of fire, it was probably a bad thing for Sam to see upon first waking. Of course, Dean would not need the extra ninety seconds of analysis to reach the same conclusion when Sam was the cornerstone of his instincts.

He ran his fingers through the back of the boy's curly brown hair and gently scratched the neck and scalp. This need for physical interaction with Sam (and by extension, the others) was still new and surprising. Gabriel had assured him that it was built-in as part of their angel programming—a drive to nurture each fledgling generation. The archangel joked that their Father must have used him as the prototype since he'd been obsessed with the younger angels compared to the older three.

Sam tensed for a heartbeat, then relaxed when he remembered who was behind him. “Sorry I fell asleep while you were talking.”

“There is no need to apologize,” Castiel said reassuringly. It saddened him that Sam was always so quick to take on guilt. “Do you wish to make these 'sa-mores' Dean keeps mentioning? I believe Gabriel brought the necessary ingredients and tools out here.”

“Nah,” Sam said with a slight shake of his head—not enough to dislodge Castiel's hand, the angel noted. “They're too sweet for me. I'll probably snag some graham crackers though.”

“Too sweet!? Too...do mine ears deceive me, or are you denying the awesome deliciousness of sugar, Samsquatch?” Gabriel appeared next to them on the blanket with a whisper of wings. He looked like Sam had just declared his hatred of baby otters.

“Don't you think you should get better nicknames for me?” Sam scowled, “I'm not sure your old ones fit me anymore.”

“Oh no,” Gabriel waved off the idea, “I've seen adult human-you, so I know what you're capable of genetically. And while I have no idea what your grace-form will look like because there's never been an angel made from a human soul, I do know that you will at least be equal in size to us archangels. You'll have to be with so much power!”

“Really?” Sam asked, looking at his hands as though trying to imagine it.

“It's like looking at a puppy's feet to estimate how big it will be fully grown. Believe me, you won't stay mini-sized forever. But you should still eat something, just to stay on the safe side and not stunt your growth.”

“No thanks, Gabriel, I really don't...”

Gabriel rolled his eyes and stretched his foot out to nudge Dean. When he had the hunter's attention, he sat up and made grabby-hands toward the basket. “Dude, can I even lift this thing? It must have half the kitchen inside it.”

“Just the red bowl. And the graham crackers.” Gabriel kept his arm out until Dean passed him the requested items. He then placed the sealed bowl and crackers on the blanket next to Sam.

The boy studied them with a mix of curiosity and suspicion before deciding to investigate. There was a struggle with removing the lid, but Castiel secretly loosened the plastic's grip with his grace and the thing popped off. Inside was a mixture of the fruits from breakfast, all looking as fresh and perfect as when they'd first been cut.

Sam beamed, “Oh, thanks Gabe! This is perfect.” He grabbed a piece of melon and held it in his mouth for a second. Castiel wondered if the boy tasted things differently now. After he finished his bite, Sam raised the bowl to offer, “Thanks to you too, Cas. You should try some. Every single one has a totally different flavor and texture.”

Castiel reached into the bowl and took out a raspberry. The blend of tart and sweet tastes was sharp on his tongue. The seeds were very small and made for an interesting experience chewing. “I did not assist with the fruit preparation for breakfast. But thank you for sharing. That one was...much stronger than I anticipated. It made my eyes burn a little, but I liked it.”

Sam shot him a look over his shoulder and grinned. “No—thanks for getting the lid off. And yeah, berries tend to be that way. If you want subtle, you should try the melon. Or kiwi! That one's softer in flavor but really good.”

Castiel stared at him. “You felt me help with the lid?”

“Well, yeah. It made the whole bowl light up and kinda vibrate. Why? Were you trying to be sneaky?”

“No! I was...” he broke off with a small smile because Sam was right—he was trying to be sneaky, “I was just trying to help without you noticing.”

Sam turned so he was facing the two angels and gave him a look that meant 'you just said something stupid, but I'm patient.' “That's kinda what 'sneaky' means, Cas.”

“You are correct,” he nodded, “but my reaction was to you registering my use of grace, not at being caught using it.”

“He means that it was impressive for you to catch what he did—even though he was a total clutz and we will be working on that. No brother of mine will be that clumsy in stealth. You need some prank-training, bro.” Gabriel bounced a marshmallow off Castiel's cheek and it landed in the fruit bowl.

“Why is it impressive?” Sam asked, picking the offending puff of sugar out of his fruit and threw it over his shoulder into the fire.

“Because you are a wee babe with no training. And most angels really wouldn't have seen that. He used almost no power, but you saw and felt it. Which means you are super sensitive.” The archangel explained it while assembling a monstrosity of stacked graham crackers and chocolate bars. The metal stick he was wedging marshmallows onto had three prongs and held six at a time.

Castiel decided to stick with the fruit. “Have there been other times you've sensed us use our grace when it wasn't discussed beforehand?”

Sam frowned in concentration, “Umm, I guess so. I feel it pretty regularly. It's strongest whenever one of you flies in or out of the room. And Gabriel's snaps are like whips being cracked right next to me. But there's smaller things too. When you heat the blankets it's like you've run them straight from a dryer and they're crawling with static. Or when you heal us, everything glows blue and feels like water. It's always a mild temp—never extreme. Or when...” his voice broke and his eyes glazed for a second until he blinked and he dropped his gaze away from the others, “someone was explosively angry and locked himself in my room. That was intense. It took days before I could get warm again.”

“Sam,” Castiel glanced in alarm at a confused Gabriel, then leaned forward to better see the boy's face. It was turned downward as Sam picked through the bowl. He repeated himself until hazel eyes looked up, “Sam, that was before you had grace.”

“So?” The whisper was almost silent, but the angels easily heard the uncertain answer.

“So, how long have you been able to see and feel the grace of angels?” he asked gently, not wanting to spook the suddenly tense boy.

Sam shrugged. “It started when Death returned my soul from the cage. Well, I guess it started in the cage, but that was different.”

“How was it different?” Gabriel asked in a soft voice. He'd set his food-creation aside and was concentrating on Sam. Castiel could hear Mary telling Dean a story involving her hunting a poltergeist in a puppet workshop. The hunter laughed and Castiel let them fade into the background, satisfied that they would not interrupt and cause Sam to shut down.

“Umm,” the boy shifted in obvious discomfort, but the angels both knew he needed to talk about it, “well, grace formed my entire reality in the cage. It shaped my perception, even gave me a body when my soul got left behind. I was enveloped in it for, like, two centuries. It wasn't hard to sense grace because everything was grace. But topside is different. Maybe it was because I existed inside it for so long, but almost every time an angel used it I would feel or see something. Not always at first, but it got stronger through the years. Especially after Gadreel.”

Castiel felt the archangel's shock. No, Gabriel. Do not ask right now. He shot a stern look to his older brother, grateful Sam couldn't see it.

But what...!? Gabriel's eyes had widened and glowed with flaring specks of gold.

Castiel gave a sharp shake of his head. Later. If you ask, he will run. It was worse than you think.

Gabriel's nostrils flared briefly, but the gold light dimmed to normal levels as the archangel regained control. That was NOT reassuring.

It was not meant to be. Castiel ended their silent communication before Sam could grow suspicious. He reached out and pried the boy's white-knuckled fingers from the fruit bowl. Setting the food aside, he loosely held the small hand between his two palms. “That makes sense. I was unaware of your sensitivity as a human. I am sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

Sam shook his head which looked more like a full-body shudder, and then looked up with a strained smile. “It's cool, Cas. You never really did. Others, though...” he shrugged again, stalled on words.

Gabriel sat forward and held out a hand to Sam. Castiel felt the tiny fingers twitch against his own palm like they wanted to pull away. He didn't tighten his hold, but the boy didn't retreat. Instead, he hesitantly gave his other hand to Gabriel who took it and mirrored Castiel. “The very word 'grace' means the freely given favor of our Father—mercy and salvation and blessings. It was never meant to be used as a tool for punishment.”

Sweat began to build on the hand Castiel held and he felt the fingers twitch again. “It's not your fault, Gabriel. I mean, you did some dickish things for sure, but I get it now. You saw how destructive the path was that Dean and I were going down. We would sacrifice anything and everything for the other, no matter who got caught in the crossfire. It took us years to learn what you were trying to teach us back then. And I don't think the other angels ever really saw me as anything but an abomination. Probably even more so after I returned from the cage.”

“We were wrong,” Castiel cut in before Gabriel could respond, his voice rumbling with heavy conviction, “Heaven was wrong. Not just in our perceptions and judgment, but fundamentally. We lost our way long before you were born. Before they even started manipulating bloodlines to create you. You were never an abomination, Sam.”

The boy took a shuddering breath and blinked rapidly. He glanced up through curly bangs, eyes darting between the two angels. Self-doubt seeped through their growing bond and Castiel pushed back with a wave of affection and acceptance. Surprised hazel eyes fixed on him, and a smile tugged on the corner of Sam's mouth.

“Thanks, Cas,” he mumbled, blushing as he shyly gave in to a full dimple-making grin.

You may want to dial it back a bit there, little bro. I think even the humans felt that. Gabriel's true-voice rang through his head.

Good. Castiel shot back, fondly exasperated with absurd Winchester self-worth issues. They need to know it too.

Definitely missed your calling as a guardian or nurturer.

“You guys aren't gonna bust out singing 'Kumbaya' or anything, are you?” Dean's gruff voice broke through their silent discussion. Both he and Mary were staring them.

Sam yanked his hands out of the angels' grasps and grabbed the fruit bowl. “No, we're not going to sing, Dean.” Castiel had to admit that the 'bitchface' shot toward the hunter was quite impressive.

“Whatever, dude!” Dean held his hands up in surrender and laughed at them. “You're the ones sitting in a circle holding hands. Excuse me for being curious!”

“Admit it. You're just jealous because no one was holding your hand, Deano.” Gabriel sighed as though imparting some great knowledge and hoisted his marshmallow trident into the fire.

“Do you want me to hold your hand, Dean?” Castiel asked seriously, slightly worried his friend would feel left out or jealous over the attention he gave to Sam.

“Damn it, Cas! That's not...No!” Dean flailed in his fluster and hunched over the stick he was furiously shoving marshmallows onto.

Laughter rang out through the woods, momentarily silencing the nearby insects. Castiel was still contemplating the intricacies of human hand holding when the nightly chorus resumed.