Now this is almost completely K's story. It's his first solo into Supernatural and we hope you guys like it. Pre-slash in here :)

It was almost over. Just one final step, one last piece, and he would finally be done. The Trials would be over. Sam stood in the middle of that broken down church and he could feel the power of the Trials coursing in him. It grew stronger as he held the book in front of him and read the words, the very last words he would ever say. He had no illusions that this would end with anything other than his death. "Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, hanc animam redintegra, lustra."

The book was tossed to the side and he turned back to face Crowley once more. The one time demon, King of Hell, soon-to-be human didn't even lift his head. He stayed bowed, lips moving softly in what Sam thought might be prayer. He wasn't sure.

A soft hiss slid free as Sam sliced the knife across his palm. The blood welled up there and he took a step forward. It was time.

There was a sound outside, what he thought might be a voice that maybe he should know. He didn't let it stop him. With steady movements he stepped right up to Crowley's side. One last look down and a deep breath in and Sam was ready. There was no fear, no pain, no hesitance in that moment. Everything cleared out of him and he felt only peace. This was good. This was right. Finally, he was going to do something right. He was going to do the right thing for a just cause. With a smile on his face, he pressed his palm to Crowley's mouth, never hearing as his name was screamed into the night.

Then the whole world went white.

The world was torn apart in fire and ice and remade inside of him. It was light and dark, screaming and silence, terrifying and exhilarating. He was soaring, rising above, and the echo of a thousand million cries sang through him, songs of joy and welcome, of shock and awe at something that hadn't been done for so long. All of it filled him, poured into him, and he was lit with it, glowing with the newness and the power and the love until he cried out from it, the ringing sounds of his own Voice thrown into the mix.

Then everything went wrong. The pain came, straight to the core of this newfound him, and it was like he was on fire, only the fire wasn't pure and bright anymore. It was sharp and raw and so many things he didn't even have words for.

Voices screamed now and he was screaming with them.

He was falling.

Falling.

The world went white again—still?—blindingly bright and too much, too damn much.

The pain grew to levels he hadn't even known were possible and Sam gasped, actually gasped with his mouth, in his own body again, whole once more, just as it all became too much and the light faded away to the dark of unconsciousness.

He woke to a familiar rumble all around him. The impala. His brain told him. I'm in the impala.

He was stretched out in the backseat. After having ridden back here plenty of times through childhood, or when he was too injured to be up front as an adult, he knew the feel of the seat intimately. The way his legs pressed against him in the confined space. He knew the vibrations underneath him and how the light would slant across him as they raced past street lights. All of it was familiar and comforting to him and yet none of it was enough to keep him from arching and crying out as the voices in his head began to scream again.

From the front seat there was the sound of cursing and the impala swerved. "Jesus!" Dean spat out. Then, "Sammy? Sammy!"

There was no way he could answer. The pain! In his head he could hear them screaming, Falling, hurt and terrified and so, so alone. All of them, so afraid and alone!

"Dammit, Sammy, just hang on, you hear me? Hang on!"

The dark came again and Sam grabbed at it and sank into it gratefully.

Sam was alone when he woke up the next time. He knew before he woke that he was on a bed this time, no longer in the impala. But when he opened his eyes, what he saw wasn't at all what he expected. It was familiar and yet not all at the same time and he sucked in a sharp breath in shock. He was in a motel room; a regular motel room, like countless others he'd been in during his life. Yet it was nothing like he remembered seeing it. He'd never seen anything like this before.

Part of his brain was telling him that it wasn't the room that was different—it was him.

It wasn't just his eyes that were different, either. It was the rest of him, too. He could hear more, see more, smell more. Everything was just more.

Including him.

Even though he knew what had happened, logically, knowing prepared him not at all for experiencing. It didn't prepare him for the way his head felt. At least the screaming from before had stopped. He didn't know if it was gone or if he'd just muted it somehow but at least it was no longer there. He didn't think he could take hearing it again. Feeling it. That had been pain like he hadn't known was capable of existing. Just the memory of it, the memory of Falling, was enough to have him sucking in a breath—breath that he hadn't realized, until just then, that he'd been holding. Holding without any issue whatsoever for who knew how long.

He sat up slowly, conscious of the aches that ran through every inch of his body. That was nothing compared to how his head felt, though. Everything felt so big and mixed up and confusing. Like someone had opened up his head and dumped in all this crap. He couldn't sift through it, couldn't figure it all out with it tripping around in there with no real sense of order. He hadn't expected this all to be so confusing.

The door to the motel room opened and Sam looked over to see not just Dean, but Castiel come walking in, bags of food in their hands.

Dean practically dropped the food when he saw Sam sitting up in bed. Tossing the bags onto the table, he quickly strode over towards him. "Sammy! Oh, man, am I glad to see you awake." He dropped down onto the edge of the bed and reached up in a gesture that he'd used for as long as Sam could remember, smoothing hair back from his face and discreetly palming his forehead, his subtle way of checking Sam's temperature. His eyes ran over the rest of him in a visual inventory as well. "How're you feeling, man?"

Licking his lips, Sam carefully contemplated his options before settling on "Sore." His voice sounded strange in his ears.

"That's it, just sore? No headache, nausea, nothing?"

Sam shook his head carefully. No, nothing. Except, well… "My back itches."

That set Dean back for a second. He looked at Sam, eyebrows raised. "Your…back itches."

"Yeah." Sam nodded, then shrugged a little.

The soft sound of movement reminded him that Castiel was in the room as well. He looked up as Castiel moved to sit on the bed beside theirs. His eyes were watching Sam with the same intensity that he'd seen turned on Dean countless times. It was strange to have it turned his direction. Only, it didn't seem to have the same depth as it once had, and as Sam looked at him, he knew why and he ached inside. Ached so strongly he had to clench his hands to keep from reaching out to hug his friend; his human friend.

Huffing, Dean shook his head. He looked relieved and worried all at the same time and Sam hadn't even known that was possible. His brother didn't leave him wondering why for long, though. "Dude, you've ben comatose for two days straight. Ever since your screaming fit in the car, you've been unconscious. I was almost ready to take you to a doctor, but I didn't think…" Pausing, Dean hesitated only a moment before he looked up at Sam and caught his younger brother's gaze with his sharp one. "What the hell happened back there, Sammy? I barely got my eyes closed in enough time before the whole church was lit up with the brightest freaking angel bomb I've ever seen. It blinded Crowley. Then it went away and you were just laying there, but when I tried to go to you it lit up all over again and then, Jesus, you were screaming." Unbidden, Sam heard the rest of that, the words that Dean didn't say. I've never heard you scream like that. What happened to you? What'd those Trials do to you?

Sam's thoughts from the church were still sort of mixed up with everything else inside of his head. He was having trouble putting it all together and trying had him scrunching his forehead up in what Dean would've called a bitchface. "I don't…" He paused, canting his head to the side while he tried to draw his thoughts out. "I finished the trial and I…I died."

"It was always God's intention. The ultimate sacrifice." Dean said lowly. "That's what Naomi told us."

"Sam, what happened when you died?" Castiel asked him. There was something serious in his tone, something hesitant and just on the edge of awed, like he knew where this was going, knew what Sam was going to say next.

Lifting his gaze, Sam looked at his big brother and at his new brother. "I saw God."

"You saw…God." Dean repeated. He looked dumbstruck.

Sam nodded. "Yeah. Or, well, Chuck-as-God." And hadn't that been just the strangest thing he'd ever seen and not at all what he'd expected. "He told me…He said that I'd sacrificed so much. That we both had." He'd said more, so much more, about what the brothers had given up, the things in their life that they'd sacrificed for each other, for the greater good, for humanity.

"Yeah, well, damn straight we have."

"Dean." Castiel chided him. He never took his eyes off of Sam, though. "What else did He say, Sam?"

"He said that I'd earned a sort of reward. The right to make a choice. I could go up to Heaven, or…"

"Or what?" Dean asked.

Blinking his eyes, Sam looked at his brother. "Or I could be an angel."

Stunned silence fell over the room. Castiel was frozen in place on the motel bed. He was barely even blinking. Dean, however, was up and pacing the room. "An angel?" The older Winchester repeated for what had to be at least the tenth time. "Are you telling me God made you an angel? Like, wings, grace, the whole shebang?"

"Yeah."

"You're an angel."

"Yeah, Dean."

Dean froze to stare at him for a beat longer before spinning away. "Son of a bitch." He stalked over to the table where their bags of dinner sat and pulled up the one store bag, yanking out a beer. He popped the cap off and drank half of it down in one go. Only then did he spin back to face Sam. "And what's the catch? Huh? Shit like this always comes with some kind of string attached."

There was no denying it. That was a lesson that they'd all learned the hard way. Each one of them in this room knew it. So Sam didn't even try to pretend there wasn't. "He wants me to help."

Understanding lit Castiel's face. "With those that Fell." There was guilt and regret and so much pain in his voice. This time Sam couldn't stop himself. He reached out with his hand and with the light of his new grace inside of him. He didn't know how he did that second part, only that he was doing it, brushing his grace against him even as he closed his hand over Castiel's knee. "This wasn't your fault, Cas. He knows that's. You were trying to do the right thing and you were tricked. We've all been there. And we'll fix it, just like we always do, all right?"

His words carried a weight with the ex-angel that they wouldn't have before. He could actually see it as some of the tension left Castiel's shoulders and he smiled over at him.

Dean, however, wasn't looking any more relaxed. If anything, he looked even more pissed. "So yet again, God's bailing on cleaning up the mess his family makes, huh? We gotta do it for him. Again."

"He said he'd send help." Sam offered, knowing that it wouldn't ease his brother. Would, in fact, probably agitate him more. Before Dean could ask, he added "And no, he didn't say who. He just said he'd send us some help, that's all."

"Great. That's just great. We've got a human who doesn't know how to be an angel that's supposed to go around helping the angels that don't know how to be human. That just sounds great."

Sam fought back the urge to sigh. Drawing his hand back from Castiel, he rubbed his hand over his chest, trying to ease the ache that still hadn't faded. The other two in the room caught the gesture but whereas Dean's worry came back, understanding and sympathy was in Castiel's eyes. "You rose right as we Fell. You've been through much. You should rest, Sam. The Fall hurt angels much older and stronger than you. You're young and new and your grace is going to need time to recover." He smiled a little at him then. "I guess this is what you would call a blessing. With your grace healing, it'll grow in power slowly and should give you some small measure of time to adjust to it as it does, instead of having it all come to you at once."

Rest sounded like a damn good idea. Sam could admit that he still felt exhausted in some ways. He laid himself back down and indulged Dean's need to actually come tuck him in and make sure he was all set up.

With the soft sound of his brothers in the background, Sam drifted to sleep.

They went to the bunker when Sam woke. It was the only place they could think to go. Sam was surprised to find that Crowley was already there, and that they'd actually left him alone with Kevin. Kevin who, last Sam knew, wanted Crowley dead. But both were quite alive when they arrived.

The first time that Sam saw Kevin inside of the bunker was a bit of a learning experience for him. He was still healing slowly, still learning about himself and these extra senses that he seemed to have, but every sense in him sang out in the presence of the prophet. Suddenly he understood how angels had always seemed to know who Kevin was and why they'd sought to protect him. There was a part of Sam's grace that called to him and told him protect, prophet, protect. Something of it must've showed on his face because Castiel had put a hand on his shoulder and gave him a small nod.

That was something that was happening more and more often. Ever since Sam had woken up again and they'd started to make their way back to the bunker, the younger Winchester had found Castiel a lot more hands on. The once angel would often reach out and ground Sam in a touch when he noticed him having a hard time. He patiently answered Sam's questions, too, as well as Dean's, and though it had to hurt him to try and do this all without his own grace, he tried to help Sam prepare and deal with his as he slowly began the painstaking process of learning.

It was Castiel who explained the itching on Sam's back, their second night at the bunker, when Sam finally got annoyed with it enough to complain. "It is your wings." He told him, watching him across the large table in the main room as Sam squirmed a little in his seat. "Containing them inside of a vessel is not always comfortable."

"Vessel?" Dean repeated. "Are you telling me that Sam's body is just a, a meatsuit now?"

Castiel thought carefully before he spoke. "I can't be sure, but I believe it would be like when my Father brought me back. Jimmy's soul had moved on and so I was granted this empty vessel. Mine, but, still a vessel. Father made Sam into an angel now. Were Heaven open, he wouldn't need this body, but he's on earth the same as the rest of us and so I imagine Father gave him his old body as his vessel."

"Does that mean he could go possessing someone?"

"Again, I can't be sure, but…yes. I would assume so."

That had been enough to send Dean down to the firing range for a few hours.

Dean wasn't taking all of this too well. Whether it was the new mission from God, or the fact that they were cleaning up yet another mess, or the idea that his baby brother was no longer human, Sam wasn't sure. Maybe it was all of those. Maybe it was something else entirely. He refused to read his brother's mind to find out. Shutting that out was one of the first things that Sam had begged Castiel to show him.

For his part, Sam was taking this all 'remarkably well', as Castiel told him. When he'd said that, Sam had just shrugged. "I made the choice, Cas. This wasn't forced on me. He asked me and I said yes. What would be the point of getting mad about it now?"

That wasn't to say that he wasn't freaked out. The first time 'angel radio' really started to work for him again and he could hear not just the angels, but the prayers, he had ended up curled into a whimpering ball in the corner of his room, trying to fight back the voices in his head.

Dean was the one to find him in there. Sam didn't hear him come in, didn't hear as his name was called, but he felt it when his brother dropped down in front of him and grabbed his hands around his wrists, trying to pull them away from his hair. Angelic strength kept Sam's hands firmly in place, though. When Dean realized he wasn't moving them, he just held on, grip firm around Sam's wrists. "Sammy, c'mon little brother, I need you to talk to me. What is it? What's going on?"

The prayers were getting louder and Sam could barely hear his brother beyond them. "Hurts"

"What hurts, Sam? What is it?" The hold on Sam's wrists shifted and he could feel Dean starting to move. "Let me go get Cas…"

Moving quicker than he'd intended, Sam sort of lunged forward, dropping a hand out of his hair to grab at Dean's shirt. "No!" The word ripped from him louder than he'd meant it to. Around him, the room trembled a little and he fought to remember what Castiel had told him, how to keep himself contained. He didn't let go of Dean's shirt, though. The last thing he wanted was for his brother to leave. Castiel was a great help, of course. He'd probably even know how to shut these voices off. But Sam didn't want his brother to leave. For all of his life it had been Dean that he'd leaned on when things went south. Dean was the rock that he'd anchored himself on so many times.

The big brother in Dean responded just as he always did to a Sammy in pain. Any of the worries or trouble that Dean had been having with this whole thing melted away. He moved forward, shifting out of his crouch and down onto his knees. "All right, all right. I'm not going anywhere. But you gotta talk to me, Sammy. I can't help you if I don't know what's up."

That was a tone of voice that Sam had been conditioned to obey. It didn't take thought anymore. He responded to it instinctively. "'S loud." His hand clenched down in his hair. "All the voices. 'S loud, Dean."

"All right, so we just gotta make it quiet then." Dean said it like it was the simplest thing in the world.

A short, pained laugh bubbled up in Sam. "Oh, is that all?"

The hand around his wrist squeezed briefly. "Yeah, smart ass, that's all. It sounds like you've got angel radio cranked up too damn loud in there. So, just find the volume button and turn it down. There's got to be one otherwise all the angels would go even crazier than they are. So just, I dunno, take a deep breath or something, do all that meditative crap you and Cas work on when you think I'm not looking, and then just turn it down."

It was a ridiculous description and so simplistic compared to what this whole thing involved and yet it was more effective than any of the instructions that Castiel had been given. Castiel was trying to teach him things that most angels apparently knew instinctively with a language that Sam still wasn't familiar with. But Sam had plenty of practice at speaking 'Dean'.

Sam drew in a deep breath and turned his focus inwards just as Dean had said to do. He listened to the sound of his brother's voice and used it to latch on to as he tried to focus beyond the voices. Dean kept up a steady stream of encouragement and praise as Sam finally found what he needed to 'turn down the volume'. The older Winchester knew as soon as Sam achieved it. His whole body relaxed and his grip on both his hair and Dean's shirt loosened. Dean let go of his wrist and patted his arm. "That's it. See, told you that you could do it."

Angel radio wasn't turned off, so to speak, or even muted, but it was turned down and he could push the white noise of it to the back of his mind. He'd sort of started to get used to the sense that he wasn't ever really quite alone. Before, he'd been able to feel something, a connection to something so much bigger and more than he was, and it was an amazing sensation. This was just like adding another layer to it. Later, Castiel would explain it as his connection to God and, through that shared love of Him, a connection to the Host. He'd explain how it was so much more when Heaven was open. How they were all so cut off from another now.

But at the moment, Sam was only concerned with one connection, and it was to the man who was grinning down at him with the same pride he'd had the first time Sam had shot a bull's eye under Dean's tutelage. And damn if Sam didn't feel like his younger self, grinning right back at him.

Things eased a little between the two of them after that. Once Dean realized that his brother might've changed, but was still his brother, he lost a bit of the tension that this whole thing had built. They weren't perfect, but they were better.

Naturally, that was when the next hurdle came their way.

Sam had been feeling strange for hours now. He couldn't explain what it was, not to Castiel and not even to Dean. All he knew was that he felt—off. Different. He couldn't seem to settle down anywhere. Meditation didn't help, reading didn't distract him, and he didn't have the concentration to practice any of the things that Castiel had been trying to teach him the last four days since their arrival here. Not even the ache that he still slightly felt in his body was enough to keep him still. He found himself wandering from place to place inside the bunker.

Then, after hours of driving everyone around him just slightly insane, and worrying them to no end, the sensation changed and a new one was added in. One that Sam recognized somehow without quite knowing how he recognized it. There had been a few things lately that had been like that. Things he'd known without knowing how he knew them.

There was an angel nearby.

It was just a faint feeling. He wasn't quite sure how he was so positive that that's what it was, but he knew. When he said as much to the others, Dean had immediately looked worried and angry, his go-to emotions when it came to Sam and trouble. But Castiel looked surprised and then just slightly contemplative.

"What is it, Cas?" Sam asked when it was obvious that Castiel had become lost in thought.

Castiel furrowed his brow. "I'm not sure." He said slowly. "It sounds familiar. But…it doesn't make sense. You're too young."

"Too young for what?" Dean growled.

His question didn't get answered. Sam was already turning to look towards the front door seconds before the loud knock sounded. The odd beat of 'shave and a haircut' echoed through the bunker.

That sensation he'd felt before was stronger. Sam wasn't even aware of climbing up from his chair to head towards it. He didn't even really hear Dean's voice snapping at him to "Get back here, Sam!"

Sam could feel the other grace now. Even before he reached the door, he felt it, and the newborn grace inside of him responded to it with a sort of leaping joy. Sam's hand closed on the door handle at the same time that his grace pushed against his vessel, out of his vessel. It reached out in a way he hadn't even known was possible. There was nothing scary about it, though. None of the terror he'd felt at other things he just hadn't understood. This—this was joy. Pure, unadulterated joy, flowing through his grace, lighting it up with a sense of right and yes and perfect all wrapped up in a sense of home that was amazing and all encompassing. And the other grace reached back to him without hesitation. It sang to him.

He pulled the door open. Faintly, he heard a voice shouting behind him, Dean's maybe, cursing loudly at him, and then it sounded like Castiel screaming at Dean to go, to move, to shield his eyes, but Sam just couldn't care. He couldn't. All of his attention was focused on the angel he found on the other side of the door.

The two graces touched and Sam was lost underneath the absolute perfection of it all. This was good, it was right. This was home. The other grace wrapped around his, twining with him, cradling him, and it was joyously singing to him, promises of home and love all wrapped up in possessiveness that screamed mine to anyone and everyone. Sam fell into it and felt himself be caught, body and grace, by a being he knew now down to the depths of himself would always be there to catch him.

He blinked opened eyes he hadn't even realized he'd closed and there was no surprise in him when he found glowing golden eyes shining down at him from a familiar laughing face. "Gabriel."

Gabriel's laughter echoed around him and through him with a happiness that wasn't tainted by its usual mockery. It was just pure delight, and it warmed Sam. "Well hey there, Sammy."

"What…" He trailed off and ended up leaning in while little shivers of pleasure ran through him as large, beautiful wings wrapped around him, brushing over where his own were still kept hidden in a way that was immensely intimate. He forgot his questions. Hell, he almost forgot his own name.

The glow in Gabriel's eyes heated and one of his hands tangled in Sam's hair. "Mine." The word was breathed out against his lips and then his mouth was being claimed and he could only moan underneath the onslaught.

Over and over, two words repeated in his mind, thrummed through his grace, and he wasn't sure whether they came from him or Gabriel or both.

Mine. Mate. Mine. Mate. Mine.