Sinner's Angel
Sam was at the shooting range when Kevin took the call.
Gadreel had spent the last few days buried so deep in the library books that Sam had barely seen him long enough to exchange a few words. According to Kevin, Gadreel was helping with research. Which was great, really. It stopped Dean’s annoying little hints that the angel should be on his way soon, and Kevin definitely needed the help.
It was all great.
Except that Sam didn’t feel great. He felt lonely and curiously abandoned. He’d gotten used to seeing Gadreel multiple times a day, sometimes spending hours with him. It was curious, how quickly he’d adjusted to the angel always being there, knowing that each time he turned around, no matter where he was or what he was doing, Gadreel would be near. Of course, he knew it wouldn’t last forever. Eventually, once they succeeded in reopening the gates of Heaven, Gadreel would return home. It wasn’t like the relationship Castiel had with Dean, the ‘more profound bond’ or whatever Castiel had called it. Castiel had pretty much assigned himself as Dean’s guardian angel, and that was a good thing too. Sam understood, he really did. After all, Dean was the Righteous Man, he was to have been Michael’s vessel, he wasn’t just some... abomination. And, if he was to be honest, Dean needed a guardian angel more than Sam did. Considering he spent so much time trying to protect Sam, it was only fair that someone did the same for him. But...
Gadreel had been such good company. He was smart and attentive and even funny, although most of the time he didn’t mean to be. He never took offense at anything, never got upset when he didn’t understand things. It had been so easy, talking to him. For Sam, who was used to treading carefully with most everyone he’d ever met, it was such a relief to be completely unguarded. Even Dean took offense to certain things if Sam didn’t word them right.
Maybe it was all kind of silly, but Sam had been pretty sure that they were becoming good friends. And that was definitely where most of this abandoned feeling was coming from. The fact that he’d thought he’d made a friend.
He emptied another clip too fast, missing the center by an inch and a half.
It had nothing to do with the way Gadreel had looked at him that first week or so, like he couldn’t see anything but Sam. Castiel did that too. So maybe Castiel only did it with Dean, but it was an angel thing, not a sign of something... else. And then that night on the steps, with Dean gone, that was just-- nothing really. Sam had been tired, and Gadreel had looked all upset and lost for some reason and Sam had just-- he hadn’t even done anything. He’d kissed Charlie on the cheek before. And Jody. It was just a friend thing.
He reloaded the gun and rubbed a hand over his cheeks, feeling them burn. It would suck if Gadreel had misinterpreted the gesture as something more. Because that hadn’t been Sam’s intention. At all.
Well maybe it was a tiny bit more than just a friend thing, but only because Gadreel had tucked a blanket around Kevin and he’d had this look on his face, all soft and concerned, and it was-- well, Sam didn’t know what it was.
Sweet. It was sweet. And then he’d sat down next to him and looked at him like nothing else existed in the world, and listened to Sam the way he always does, so focused, so serious, as if Sam’s words were priceless. It was just-- what was he supposed to do?
Not kissing the poor confused angel would’ve probably been a good idea.
He emptied another clip, his aim even worse the second time.
And what was with the blanket? How was Sam even supposed to feel about that? Who did something like that? Dean was the only other person in the world who know how much Sam had loved that damn thing, and he would’ve never, ever, done something so crazy as tracking down an identical blanket just because Sam was feeling sentimental. Sam couldn’t imagine how many stores Gadreel had had to comb through in order to find it. It had just seemed like a thing that was not necessarily-- friend like.
He remembered the way Gadreel’s hands had felt on his waist and shivered slightly.
He most certainly did not throw himself at the angel like some teenage girl. Gadreel had done a sweet thing and Sam had given him a hug. That was all. A hug.
He reloaded the gun again and noticed his hands were trembling.
It was just ridiculous. This whole thing. Gadreel was an angel. Sure, for a while there, he’d spent a lot of time with Sam, but he had also promised to keep an eye on him just in case Sam wasn’t completely healed. Which Sam clearly was. Healed, fine, ready to hit the road again. Now that there was no reason for Gadreel to hover over Sam all the time, the angel had found something else to occupy him. Sam was just reading too much into it. It’s not like he needed Gadreel for anything. Sam was fine. Great, actually. He felt stronger than he had in weeks, his muscles were finally starting to listen to him, and he was looking forward to hunting again. He wasn’t spending every moment of every goddamned day wondering what Gadreel was doing because that would be stupid. Getting attached to an angel would probably be one of the dumbest things he’s ever done, and boy, that was a long list to top.
So he was gonna stop thinking about it.
And he did. For a total of eleven minutes, he didn’t think about Gadreel or much of anything. Then Kevin showed up, clutching one of Dean’s cell phones.
--
“No, Sam.”
Gadreel shrank further down in his seat. He knew the expression on Sam’s face and Sam was angry. He’d started off just frustrated, the faint wrinkle in between his eyes giving him away. But now the wrinkle was gone, Sam’s face uncommonly smooth, slight tightness forming around his lips. Dean was making him angry, and while Gadreel could understand why, he still wished he could somehow stop it. An angry Sam was an unhappy Sam, and for some unexplainable reason, whenever Sam was unhappy, Gadreel found himself upset as well.
“You’re being ridiculous,” Sam said.
He never raised his voice when he was angry; instead, he gave off every appearance of being even calmer than before. That was another main difference between his frustration and his anger. When frustrated, Sam was not above raising his voice to make his point. But when he was angry, his tone lowered, became deeper, colder. An angry Sam Winchester was a dangerous Sam Winchester.
“You’re barely out of sick bed. You’re not gonna go chasing Abaddon with us.”
“I’ve been out of ‘sick bed’ for a week now. Actually, I’m probably in better shape than you are.”
“Right,” Dean said, “sure you are.”
“I am. And what the hell are you gonna do by yourself?”
“I’ll have Cas with me.”
Sam shook his head.
“No offense, Cas, but that’s not comforting at all.”
“None taken,” Castiel said lightly, hands wrapped around a coffee mug.
Gadreel could not understand how Castiel could be so unaffected by this argument. He must have witnessed a great many of them to be so nonchalant.
“Cas and I can watch each other’s backs. I can’t be looking out for both of you.”
“So leave Cas here and take me instead.”
“No, Sam.”
“Are you really gonna sit there and pretend that you can stop me?”
“I could--“ Gadreel paused, three sets of eyes turning his way at once.
He swallowed heavily and went on,
“I could come too? I can... watch Sam’s back? If that would help.”
Sam smiled at him, a smile so wide Gadreel nearly swallowed his tongue.
Dean did not smile.
“There’s no need for you to come. Either one of you, that’s what I’ve been fucking saying! Me and Cas can handle it.”
Castiel leaned back in the chair.
“It’s not a bad idea. All four of us? If those three military vessels are all the demons she has with her, then we’re bound to come out on top.”
Dean gaped at him.
“Dude, what the fuck? We had a plan.”
“I’m sorry, but this makes more sense. I would rather have a-- an angel with us than not. We’ve gotten no closer to figuring out how to kill Abaddon. It would be safer for all of us if we hit her with force and numbers instead of counting on the element of surprise. Which, in all honesty, may not work.”
“That’s settled then,” Sam said, getting up. “I’m gonna go load up on weapons.”
Sensing that the last thing he should be doing is waiting for Dean Winchester to find words to express his fury, Gadreel stood up too.
“I will go... meditate. To prepare. Excuse me.”
--
It all went wrong so quickly.
Dean had cornered him outside the car, one finger forcefully digging into Gadreel’s chest, a gesture that was no doubt meant to be threatening.
“If Sammy gets hurt, you’re dead. Understand? I’m trusting you to keep an eye on him. Don’t fuck it up.”
“I will not fuck it up.”
But then of course, he fucked it up.
--
So maybe Sam had been a little distracted to start with.
Just a little.
After all, he hadn’t really seen Gadreel properly in a couple of days. Sharing the back seat with him, their knees almost touching, it was just... distracting.
There was his proximity as they explored the abandoned town. Gadreel’s hand on his elbow when his foot caught on a loose board in the diner. Sam didn’t even technically trip, he’d only stumbled. Slightly. Gadreel’s almost casual shift to stand in front of Sam when the gunfire caught them off guard.
It was familiar but at the same time, it wasn’t. Him and Dean, they had this rhythm when they hunted together, a rhythm perfected over years of watching each other, moving around each other. Sam had always looked at it as sort of a magnetic pull and push, not that he’d ever say it to Dean. But he’d always known which way Dean would go and vice versa. Knowing this has saved them both multiple times.
With Gadreel, Sam was the focus. He was the magnet that Gadreel seemed to rotate around. His body moved with Sam’s, angled with Sam’s, becoming both a personal weapon and a shield. It didn’t matter that this was why he’d come, to ‘watch Sam’s back.’ It was strange and different and it continuously threw Sam off balance, made him feel clumsy and out of place. When Dean sent the angel off with Tracy, Sam found himself faintly relieved.
It should’ve been easy, taking out three demons. With or without an angel. But one of them had gotten himself a sniper rifle and settled on one the upper floors, effectively blocking them from all escape routes. Somewhere between the two alleys, they had lost Cas. Sam couldn’t see where Dean was trapped, but he could hear him shooting back, as if the bullets would make a difference.
Next to him, Irv clutched the useless rifle, breathing hard.
“Hand me that toothpick, and you and Dean and Cas, you beat feet outta here.”
“What?”
“I’m going out there alone. I’ll buy you as much time as I can.”
“Irv, that’s death.”
“Yeah, well, it's what I've got coming. It's my fault, Sam. I was... in some dive and I was sloppy, and lonely, and I met some girl. And next thing I know, I'm strapped to some bed, and she's twisting things that ain't supposed to be twisted...”
“‘She’ who?”
But he didn’t have to ask. He knew before Irv said it, he could see it.
“Abaddon. I gave 'em up. Pete, Tracy, I gave 'em all up. So you hand me that blade, and you let me do what I gotta do, or so help me-“
The bullet hit him right below the collar bone, blood spraying over dirt and brick.
Sam acted on instinct, emptying a clip in the direction of the sniper to buy himself a few moments. He rushed across the road and back to the diner, the only stable cover within a running distance. Promptly, he tripped over the same loose board and crashed through the door, landing on his knees and elbows with force he would definitely feel later. He had a moment to be grateful that the demon knife was still in his hand before an army boot landed on his wrist, snapping all the small bones.
--
There were three bullets, three hot chunks of steel, embedded deep in the right side of his chest. The dull roar in his ears was just his vessel reacting to being wounded, the complicated suit of flesh and bone attempting to knit itself without his help. In passing, he saw the older hunter whose name he had already dismissed, lying still in a puddle of blood. Beyond the next alley was Abaddon. He could smell her, the rot and filth of her presence coating his mouth.
He would be lying if he said that he did not feel drawn to it. His Father might have intended him as a protector, but Gadreel had been built a warrior. This was a battle and she was the enemy. Still, the frantic beating of his borrowed heart, the shivering fear so unfamiliar to his kind, it had nothing to do with the Knight of Hell. Even Dean’s cry of pain, echoing down the abandoned street, did not affect him. His grace was vibrating, pulsing. He wondered if this is what it felt like, to be inside Dean Winchester when Sam was in danger. This shrill and furious earthquake of thoughts and feelings he could not control. If yes, then he owed the man an apology.
The diner door shattered in front of him. It would have been easy to let his grace loose, a quick death for any demon. Except Sam was there, slumped in a corner, the scent of his blood thick and strong. His pulse weak, his wrist bent in an unnatural angle, legs folded under him, as if he had been trying to make himself smaller. It would have been easy to let his grace loose. Instead, he tore through the demon vessels, snapping bones like ocean shells. Trapped them inside their meat suits so they could feel the pain, and burned them slowly, as slowly as he dared, straining to hear Sam’s heartbeat over their death throes.
He abandoned their scorched shells, wondering why it did not feel satisfying. Why the smell of burnt flesh did not taste like justice.
Behind Sam’s head, blood dripped down the wall. His hair was matted in it. It saturated the back of his brown jacket, turning it black. His face was surprisingly cool under Gadreel’s fingers as he let his grace loose for the second time, a soft touch instead of the hammer. He could heal Sam and Sam would recover, but knowing this brought him no relief. Because he would never forget Sam’s blood on the dusty floor, Sam being hurt when Gadreel had promised to protect him.
--
The ride back was silent.
Dean’s initial burst of fury was quickly tempered by Castiel, who did not hesitate to remind him that he had been the one to send Gadreel away. After detailed reassurance that Sam would be fine, despite the blood loss, Dean turned on the radio and blocked all possibilities of further discussion. They were both hurt. Dean’s shoulder looked to be dislocated and Castiel’s nose was bleeding. Neither one asked to be healed and Gadreel did not offer.
Sam’s blood-matted head rested in his lap. Hidden from the view, Gadreel’s hand clutched the saturated brown coat until it was dry and permanently wrinkled, and still, he could not convince himself to let go.
Dean had told him to protect Sam. Then Dean had sent him away. He had come along to watch out for Sam but he had also been charged with protecting someone else. Perhaps there had been a way to accomplish both, but his mind would not supply it. He had abandoned Sam to protect the girl and Sam had gotten hurt. If he had stayed behind to protect Sam, the girl would have gotten hurt.
He imagined walking into the diner, seeing her crumpled in the corner, black hair matted with blood, and with cool certainty understood that he would have rather seen her hurt. He would have rather seen her dead. Not just her but Dean, Castiel, every human and every angel, every creature that walks or crawls the earth. This world his Father had created could shrivel up and die. Gadreel would rather see the planet crack like an egg. There had been no true beauty in it until Sam had taught him where to look. He had known no such thing as true kindness, joy or peace, until Sam had shown it to him. And nothing, not his mission or his Father’s fury or the contempt of his Brothers and Sisters, nothing mattered when Sam Winchester existed.
He had always thought that the love he felt for Heaven, for his Father, was the only love that existed. All the love he was capable of. But how pale and lifeless it seemed now, when compared to this. To Sam’s fragile cheek resting on his thigh. The faint cobweb of blue veins against the pale eyelid. Was this the love Castiel felt when he had rebelled against Heaven? This overwhelming fear and joy, wrapped up so tightly in something so fragile?
For the first time, Gadreel considered that this may not be redemption. That this may be the last consequence of his fall, the final sin, the step from which there is no return. And then he realized that it did not matter.