Chapter Text
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NOW
~ Men of Letters Bunker, Outside Lebanon, Kansas ~
“I feel him there,” The devil’s son had said, minutes earlier. “Both of them. Older shards of grace and a newer angelic resonance.”
He’s alone. Dean’s gone for breakfast burritos and Jack’s taking a late morning shower. Leaning against his bedroom door, Sam curls the fingers of his right hand and lifts them to his breastbone. Precise and careful his knuckles press against his sternum exactly where Jack had laid his hand earlier.
At the tail end of an all-night research binge, Sam had found a possible lead in one of the bunker’s tomes. He asked Jack to check for any trace of Lucifer left in him, so they can use it as a sort of tether, or computer ping, for the nephelim to rediscover which multi-dimensional reality contains Mom. Jack reached out, his eyes taking a yellow hue and his body resonating with that speck of grace still present. It hadn’t been a pleasant experience. Sam wanted to shy away from knowing he maintained any connection to Lucifer but then Jack had dropped the bombshell ... A ‘newer angelic resonance’ …
He had been dreaming of Gadreel since the Super Max cell. Often those dreams took place under violet skies. In the morning Sam would wake, refreshed, whole and with a fading sensation of being held in someone’s arms.
He hasn’t said a word to anyone about his nightly sojourns. Maybe if Cas was still with them he might have confided eventually in his friend, but Cas is gone and it is only a few hours until the time the book recommends as best to make their attempt.
Pulling himself together and straightening his spine, Sam heads to the library to do some double checking and calculations.
Soon it’s almost time; true midday on the first day of the new moon. Not central daylight time, but the actual planetary hour based on their latitude and longitude. It’s now or wait another lunar cycle.
Dean balls up the last scattered breakfast burrito wrappers and rolls his eyes for the umpteenth time. It’s getting wearying watching him do that.
“I dunno, Sam. Don’t think some dusty Men of Letters spell’s gonna work here. We’re talking inter-freaking-dimensional shit.”
“It’s not a spell per se.” Sam replies with endless patience.
“Per se? Oh-la-la.” Dean mocks.
Sam sighs, tempted to roll his own eyes for divine witness to having to deal with an alternatively pessimistically angry and infantile brother.
“It’s a sort of Soul Magic. Souped up psychometry. Instead of finding who or what you’ve lost using an object they held or cherished, you use a soul they touched.”
Dean looks less pleased. “So ‘cause Luci wore you to the prom ...”
“Yes, Dean.” Sam can hear all the bitterness and worry hidden by Dean’s overtly flippant words and tries to soothe him. “It’ll be ok. My soul, as his vessel … “
“That’s just it, Man, your part in all of this. Don’t you got to want to reach the spell’s target? Want to reach … “
“Listen,” Sam interrupts. “It’s not perfect. I’m gonna concentrate on Mom being there, use wanting her back. And hope that’s enough to, I dunno, activate the grace. Then with Jack’s whatever… Celestial DNA? Inherited powers? Put the two together and I believe he can use the technique to reach where Mom is. And if he doesn’t at least we’ve tried, huh?”
“OK. OK. But I’m not fetching and carrying Tylenol and soup to y’both, if all you get is a world of migraines.”
“Duly noted.” Sam attempts to hide his victor’s smile. He hollers towards the kitchen, “Jack, we’re on.”
The nephelim slouches into the library like the teenager he resembles. It can be difficult to remember he is only a few weeks old, yet filled with ancient power. Sam takes a breath, preparing for the coming trial.
“We doing this or having an awkward gazing party?” Dean snaps looking from one to the other.
“’Kay.” Jack replies pulling a chair sideways so the book is at his elbow.
Sam pulls the next one, facing him, his knees almost touching the top of Jack’s knees.
“It says this will be painful.” Jack comments, leaning forward so his fingers touch Sam’s chest.
“Like you care.” Dean grumbles as he begins the impotent pacing of an observer.
Jack ignores the barb, closing his eyes before reciting the words to activate the magic. Once these are said it depends on both Jack being able direct his powers to follow the path revealed by the spell and Sam’s connection to his remnant of Lucifer’s grace.
“IOLCI OLLOG OL GAH.”
Bring me to its angel.
Sam shivers at the sound of Lucifer’s child intoning Enochian.
Then Jack latches on to the grace.
Sam feels it like a key being turned inside him, and he inhales pouring all his energy into wanting Mary back, wanting that feeling of home, craving a warm supportive hug, knowing he is wanted and loved.
“ZAMRAN OLLOG GAH HOMIL OALI LADNAH. ZAMRAN OLLOG DARSAR OIAD OI. ZAMRAM! ZAMRAN! ZAMRAN!”
Show me its true place now. Show me where he is. Show! Show! Show!
Sam’s memory doesn’t differentiate the pain of having his soul ripped from his body from the cruel torment he suffered in The Cage. He can’t recall the blinding agony of having Death reinsert his soul because he blacked out. When he offered to let Cas use his soul to pull Dean from a World War Two submarine, the intense agony blends with the horror of finding out it was Lucifer in Cas’s body. This now though … is Hell revisited … it is unbearable, excruciating, feeling like his brain will burst and heart will stop stone dead if Jack doesn’t remove his touch instantly … all that keeps him from breaking away, chair tumbling backwards, is some blind yearning for a beloved lost…
“Almost.” Jack crows.
Dean yelps.
Sam’s eyes fly open, meeting Jack’s yellow glowing pupils.
The Nephilim is vibrating with effort, quaking as the power flows through him, or maybe from him.
Sam feels a wrench, worse than using pliers to dig out a deep burrowed bullet.
There is flash, as if some idiot let off a flare in their library. The resounding thunder shakes everything, decorating the table with flecks of shattered stained glass from their art deco lamps.
“What the fricking Hell?” Dean gasps.
There is somebody else in the library … with back turned, right next to their seats.
Sam looks up.
He can’t believe it.
This is not what was meant to happen. A flutter of anxiety for Mary is drowned by sheer awe.
“What the Hell, Sam?” Dean shouts, “He’s not Lucifer! Wait, were we magicing Lucifer’s ass here?
“No, this was not meant to happen. Why didn’t it work?” Jack sounds confused. “It felt like it was working. I don’t understand.”
“Y’don’t say.” Dean is equally nonplussed with a side of disbelief. “Y’fucked it up. Sammy?”
But Sam is holding his breath. All the blood in his body is rushing through his ears and his heart doesn’t know whether to pound faster or stop in shock. All Sam can manage to do is stare in wonder as Gadreel turns round, smile lighting him up, hand extended.
Sam double blinks before being pulled from his seat by a firm solid welcome grip, and they are racing into each other’s embrace, not caring who sees, what questions they may have, or what the future might hold.
“Felt like I was being torn apart, atom by atom,” Sam mutters into the angel’s neck, “but boy was it worth it. You’re alive.”
“I am. But is this real? Are you real, Sam?” Gadreel is almost breathless as he asks.
“I am real. This is real. You’re here with me.” As he confirms it, Sam can hardly believe his own words.
“You,” Gadreel’s hand carefully cradles Sam’s head, “brought me to you.”
“Guess I did.” Sam chuckles. “Musta really wanted you with me.”
“Thank you. You astound me, my Sam.”
Sam breaks apart, lovingly punches Gadreel’s bicep, and swings round to face their stunned audience. But Gadreel doesn’t consider their hug finished. He wraps his arms around Sam’s waist from behind. His body warmth envelopes Sam’s back and it is more appreciated than the hunter could have imagined. The luxury of being able to lean into his embrace is incredible.
“Jack,” Sam announces with a deep happiness, “This is Gadreel. You brought him home.”
“Home? Huh?” Dean squints before taking in the joy his little brother is radiating and the cherished way the angel has his back. “Sure kept that quiet, Jerk. Guess this place has room for one more.”
Confirmation that Dean also has his back in all things makes Sam brave enough to crane his neck and take a brief yet astonishingly wanted kiss from his angel’s lips.
“Home.” Gadreel declares.
“Damnright.” Sam grins before ignoring a chorus of TMI to deepen their first passionate extended caress of many to come.
He hears Dean loudly suggest, “Hey, Jack, how about I introduce you to the vintage automobiles in the bunker garage?”
“But I’ve been in the garage…” Jack protests. As Sam breaks from the kiss he can see a grinning Dean dragging a bewildered Jack out of the library.
“We got some alone time.” Sam smiles.
“A private moment. I wonder if you would care to sit.” Gadreel is unfailingly polite as ever.
Sam chuffs a laugh. “It’s really you.”
They take the two leather armchairs, sidling the heavy chairs close enough to intertwine fingers and knock knees.
“I cannot fathom the power required to pull me from that place, remake a stable version of my vessel, and to bring me here to you.”
“Jack’s a Nephilim. Lucifer’s kid.” Sam blurts to the truth in one Band-Aid ripping moment.
Gadreel flinches but recovers quickly. “The son shall not bear punishment for the iniquities of the father. Enough of Lucifer’s sins have been visited on others.”
Sam believes him, knowing the eternity of torture the other suffered as a consequence of Lucifer’s doing, but he needs to double check one thing. “You’re not all gung-ho because he is an abomination?”
“A Nephilim? Not at all, Sam. I remember when the very first Nephilim came into being, a creature created from love between a Grigori angel and a human woman. Who am I to condemn an innocent?”
“My hope’s that being here, learning what’s out there, seeing the way things are, will give him a steer towards choosing the right path.”
Gadreel nods, “You have my fulsome support.”
“Thanks.” Sam grins. A worrying thought occurs to him. “And what about you? Do you have somewhere to be? What do you wanna do now you’re back?”
“I would hope that I could stay, with you, if you wish.”
It’s the answer Sam wanted. “I do wish. I mean I’d like that. As Dean said, we got plenty of room.”
Gadreel’s lips quirk. He tightens his hold on Sam’s hand. “Do you still have the same room?”
Sam nods. “Uh-huh. You wanna room-share?”
“It would be my sincere pleasure.”
“Mine too.” Sam beams and doesn’t care if he sounds a little corny. “How’s about we check that out now… Your pleasure… My room?”
Sam doesn’t recall racing down the bunker corridor in record time, save for the thrill of the risk that Dean or Jack would spot them. Gadreel slams Door 21 shut with such force that Sam figures his brother has been alerted to their intentions.
Yet once they have the privacy of Sam’s room, they take things slow and tender. They caress with the angel’s back pressed against the door. Sam kisses Gadreel’s collarbones as they perch on the edge of the bed and has the same attention given to his hipbones once they make it fully onto the bed. Exploring each other, finding each other in this way, brings new levels of pleasure, moments of bliss, and a deeper connection that deserves to be cherished and treasured.
Wrapped in the harbor of Gadreel’s arms, sated, whole, content, Sam knows this crazy day has turned out to have the very best outcome, one he could never have dreamed of. He also knows that whatever challenges and trials are to come, finding Mary, guiding Jack, facing Lucifer again, he’ll have Gadreel in his corner. His angel regained, constant, serene and strong, by his side and at his back no matter Winchester Luck might throw their way.
He turns over, onto his side, so he can see his partner, steal a kiss, touch the line of his jaw, and simply be there in that moment, reunited.
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