A/N: I apologize for the long wait. There's a certain mindspace I have to be in to write Lemuel and...took me a minute or a thousand to get into it. I'll try to update the next chapter sooner. ...I'll also try to add a little more meat to its bones than this one has.

Chapter title taken from the song "All These Things That I've Done" by The Killers.


Lemuel was angry. He was always angry. As far back as he could remember there was an underlying anger that had simmered in his heart. Though, at one time, it had been a little overpowered by fear. Fear of what the demons would do to him. When they would do it to him.

His fury had been the response to his terror. He couldn't show weakness around the demons. They loved knowing they got under his skin. He couldn't cry; couldn't feel sorry for himself. So, he defaulted to the only other option. And he used it to keep himself going.

Fear and anger. It'd been so long since he'd felt anything else.

Being with the Winchesters, Kevin, and Castiel hadn't really changed much in him. He wasn't afraid. That was a switch. He still had nightmares whenever he did get to sleep, but they came with only a muted sense of the terror he once felt. Nothing like the real thing. But the anger? It persisted. It weaseled its way out at random times and because of the smallest reasons.

Dean could look at him funny and he'd feel it. He'd let it lash out and burn, scathe, pierce. He'd let it be fueled by Dean's own, like tinder. Sam-Ezekiel-could come near him and he'd feel it. He'd let it show itself through tense stances, quiet glares, and dark schemes. Castiel could scold him and he'd feel it. He'd let it out with a disinterested air and a penchant for doing the opposite of what he'd been told. Kevin could talk to him and he'd feel it. He'd let it out with short words and a holier-than-thou attitude.

He'd see an angel in a book and he'd feel it. He'd hear the name Gabriel and he'd feel it. He'd see his wings, he'd see how his wounds had healed, he'd see how he didn't need to eat, or sleep, or even relieve himself as often as the others and he'd feel it. He'd let it out by trying to read, trying to research, trying to do anything that could make him understand why he had to be the one to be different. Why he had to be the one to suffer.

And if the only way for him to gain those answers was to use himself as bait for some dead archangel, then so be it. Let him be a tool. Let him be a weapon. Anything that would let him tear the wings off of Gabriel with his own bare hands. He'd hate reducing himself to that just like he hated his very existence, but it'd be worth it.

It wasn't like the others actually cared about him. Sure, Dean had allowed him to stay with them, and Castiel made sure his needs were met, and Sam and Kevin would try to talk to him. But, that was just manners, wasn't it? Keeping the useful kid satisfied because they needed him. They didn't want him. He wasn't about to let himself be fooled that they did. He wasn't entirely certain that he wanted them to want him, anyway.

He didn't like Dean, for one thing. As far as he was concerned, Dean was a disgusting human being. The proof always hovered around him. It shimmered faintly behind Sam's back.

What kind of man lets an angel trick his brother? Lets it defile him? Doesn't even tell his brother about what he's done to him?

But, that would all work out in the end. Lemuel would make sure of it. He'd already taken the first step by telling Castiel about Sam's 'condition.' Not that Castiel had figured it out, yet, but the once-angel was smart. He'd pick up on things eventually. Follow the breadcrumbs until he found the problem and thought of a solution. If he needed a little help along the way, Lemuel would gleefully assist him.

Lemuel hadn't lied when he'd told Castiel he trusted him. He did trust him. He caught himself liking the guy. Even if he couldn't show it right. Even if Castiel always seemed tired with him.

Every once in a while, he'd let himself acknowledge his internal struggle. That struggle of wanting to have friends, of wanting to let go of his old anger and feel something he hadn't allowed himself to for years. Didn't have the opportunity or reason to feel. But he'd always pull away from that chance. He'd always let his wrath resettle and make itself at home again in his chest.

Because they didn't want him.

So, when Sam and Dean, finally, returned from wherever they'd gone earlier that morning, and Kevin cornered them near the giant table at the end of the stairs with a short burst of, "We're going to resurrect Gabriel. Or try to, anyway," Lemuel kept his anger moderately in check, only letting it out in the form of a somewhat prideful smirk aimed at the Winchesters.

Dean, holding a small sack of groceries and a pack of beer, gave Kevin a perplexed look. Sam, unlike Dean, stared at Kevin thoughtfully.

Lemuel got the impression that Sam was smart. Dumb enough to not realize he was possessed, but smart enough to figure out problems like Castiel was. Maybe, one day, he'd catch on to his special visitor. Notice that he was missing time.

Lemuel knew that Ezekiel was using Sam's body. He'd seen the angel, again, days before. When everyone had stormed in on him while he was showering. Ezekiel had tried to run away, but Lemuel'd seen the glowing, broken wings and dim halo. There was no escaping his eyes. If Ezekiel was running around doing who-knew-what, then Sam was unconscious, trapped in his own mind, and time was just passing around him. Surely, he'd notice a clock and wonder why so many minutes magically went by?

"Resurrect Gabriel?" Dean asked as he placed the sack of groceries and the beer on the table.

"Yes," Kevin replied.

The other young man seemed excited at the prospect. Genuinely happy at the idea of bringing the archangel back so that Gabriel could wave his hand and fix all their problems. Though Lemuel was excited, too, for more malicious reasons, he doubted the archangel could or would help them. He believed the only thing Gabriel was good for was screwing up anything he touched.

"Resurrect Gabriel?" Dean stressed. His tone of voice clearly showed he didn't seem to like this idea. "The guy was a douche bag, Kev. You can't pick someone else? Someone we like?"

Kevin frowned, "No. Because we're trying to get an archangel under our control. The only other option is Raphael. And we don't have a chunk of his Grace standing in the same room as us, now do we? So, yes, Dean. I'm positive that we can't magic any other archangel back to life."

"Jeez. Snippy. I was just askin'. "

"Grace?" Sam questioned. "What do you need with Gabriel's Grace? Didn't it, like, die with him?"

"Not all of it," Lemuel murmured.

He loathed that fact. He loathed that he reminded everybody of the archangel responsible for making his life a living Hell. Oh, well. He'd repay that debt in full. Hopefully.

Kevin gave him a slightly worried look before facing Sam, "Like I said, Lemuel's got a piece in him. We came up with a theory that… It's a long story. Look, basically, Gabriel's Grace exploded and we're going to try to bring it back together using Lemuel as a magnet. And, with Gabriel's Grace whole, maybe we can bring all of him back."

"I don't know…" Dean hesitated, pulling a beer from the case. "Cas? What do you think?"

The once-angel was awkwardly standing off to the side, seemingly half in his own little world and half in theirs. At Dean's question, Castiel's eyes refocused and drew themselves to the Winchester's.

"What?" he asked.

Dean's brow furrowed as he opened his drink. "The whole mojoing-Gabriel-back-to-life thing?"

"Oh. Um. I…" He paused, sighed, and then continued. "I don't think we have many other options."

"Sure we do!" Dean exclaimed. "We could have Kevin keep translating the Tablets for a way to shove the angels back into Heaven. Or we could have him-"

"There is only one way to kill Metatron," Castiel interrupted, his tone bordering on harsh. When Dean shut up, Castiel continued. "As an archangel, the only thing that can kill him is another archangel. Even if Kevin finds a way to reverse the spell, Metatron still poses a threat. He can just as easily cast all the angels out again. Or bend them to his will. As the Scribe, he'd have enough sway over them to do so. Metatron has to die, Dean. And to do that we need Gabriel."

Lemuel refused to let his confusion show on his face. He may have heard bits and pieces of what was going on with the 'cosmic battle' raging outside the Bunker and he may have gleaned a few things from Kevin's notes, but, for the most part, he had no idea what was going on. He could listen in on the angels and try to find out. But, as he'd told Castiel, their voices wound up being too much for him.

Instead, he decided to pick apart the clues Castiel was unwittingly giving him. For one, all of the angels had been 'cast' out of Heaven. He would have laughed at them, if he didn't know what that meant for the humans. The angels would need bodies. His jaw clenched.

This Metatron person-archangel-was responsible for that. If what Castiel said was true… Then, yes, he would have to be killed, wouldn't he? But what was this about a 'scribe?' Biting on his bottom lip, Lemuel decided he'd have to research more about the other archangel. He wasn't going to look forward to that. The books the Bunker had contained such big words he didn't know how to read.

Dean frowned then shrugged, "Man, this sucks. How many assholes we gotta put up with before this is through?"

"How, exactly, are we supposed to bring him back? You mentioned the pieces of Grace. That sounds like looking for a needle in haystack. Or a needle in a stack of needles, considering how many dead angels could be floating around." Sam asked.

"Well," Kevin stressed. "Cas mentioned that if we found, like, bigger chunks of it and brought them together that we could use a spell, and Lemuel, to draw all the parts together."

"Cas?" Dean prompted.

"Find something that was once bathed in Gabriel's Grace. That would hold enough of…a charge, if you want to call it that. You'll probably need more than one artifact, however. Archangel Grace is far greater than a normal angel's, meaning you'd need more residual energy in one place to jumpstart the resurrection process. Then simply call Gabriel. The stronger the spell, the more exact the spell, the better. There's still no guarantee this will work, but it won't hurt if it doesn't, I guess."

"So, what?" Sam began slowly. "Like…Gabriel's Horn?"

All heads turned to face him.


Lemuel had read about that. Gabriel was supposed to have a horn that would usher the Apocalypse when blown. Other books called it a 'Horn of Truth.' He didn't know what that meant. Maybe it made people tell the truth, or it revealed the truth in some other fashion. Holy things seemed to be really cryptic sometimes. Relying on vague messages to get a point across. Lemuel wasn't a big fan. Though…if the horn really could expose the truth and also get them one step closer to bringing Gabriel back.

He let his eyes flicker to the mirage of Ezekiel's wings floating behind Sam. Yeah. Yeah, he could get behind finding the item.

"Wasn't that thing stolen, though? From that horn shop, or whatever?" Dean asked. "Besides. Cas, didn't you retrieve all of Heaven's weapons? When we came back from that bizarre TV land alternate reality place?"

"No," Castiel replied. "I only managed to retrieve the weapons that Balthazar had stolen from Heaven. Gabriel's Horn, among others, was taken before that. In the case of the Horn, way before."

"Oh, well, that's lovely." Dean smiled sardonically. "There's more of Heaven's mojo out there just waiting to accidentally fuck up the place."

"Anyways," Sam stressed. "So, gathering up the Horn is considered retrieving one of those sources of a lot of Grace?"

"Yes," Castiel said.

"Well, that's one thing we can look for. What else? Is there anything you can think of? I mean, you probably know more about what Gabriel touched than we do."

Castiel frowned thoughtfully. His gaze traveled to the desk in-between them. They waited in awkward silence. Dean's full attention was on Castiel as he sipped away at his beer. Sam's eyes tended to dart between the two of them. As if he were seeking confirmation from his brother the same as he sought information from Castiel. Lemuel found that amusing, really. Dean didn't appear to know anything, but Sam still defaulted to him. Considering his circumstances, that was also depressing. Kevin bounced on the balls of his feet. He was entirely too wound up sometimes. Lemuel chalked it up to his caffeine intake.

Eventually, Castiel looked up from the table, his eyes meeting Sam's.

"I'm not sure. We didn't really hang out. However, there are stories. Some that humans came up with based on encounters with him, some, of course, are false. Others may not be. I do remember something about a chalice. Sort of like your Holy Grail, but not the same artifact. And…I faintly remember something about a scythe but that could have been a metaphor? I'm sorry. I'm not a good source of information for this."

"Hey, no problem, Cas," Dean reassured. "At least you helped us get this far."

Sam fidgeted a little before saying, "What about the computer?"

"What like Google?" Dean asked.

"No, not like-" Sam trailed off to scowl at his brother.

"I think he means the big computer thing with the map on it that, y'know, right in front of us," Kevin suggested helpfully. "It lit up when the angels fell and there were alarms sort of going off. Like a warning system. I…don't know how it works, really."

Tearing his gaze from a slightly offended Dean, Sam looked at Kevin, "There's a room that has the actual computer in it. I can show it to you. It's old as hell and, from what I can tell, runs on some form of magic. It's completely too complicated for me to figure out. But, I'm thinking it can track angels if we, y'know, figure out how to use it… I was going to call Charlie to work it out. Maybe it can track down Gabriel's Grace, too? Or, the biggest clumps of it?"

"It probably wouldn't be able to track down Gabriel's Grace," Castiel broke in. "The pieces will be too small, even if, overall, they're bigger than others of his Grace. However, being able to track down fallen angels with the device does sound like a good, strategic thing to have."

Lemuel's mind churned. An angel tracking device. That could solve a lot of their problems, right? Tell them exactly where the bastards went? He smiled.

"So we can hunt them down and kill them?" He asked innocently.

Everyone looked at him. Dean was glaring, Castiel merely disapproving, while Sam and Kevin looked so shocked and appalled one would think he'd murdered a baby. Lemuel didn't like the looks they were giving him. He thought his question was completely valid. Why else would they need to go looking for angels? How dare they judge him for it.

"What?" He barked.

"We don't want to kill them," Sam replied gently.

"Why not?! They've possessed people! They're running around when they have no right to be! Why shouldn't we get rid of them?"

"Uh, because not all of them are bad guys." Dean explained.

Lemuel opened his mouth to yell back at the man. Explain how good guys wouldn't just take over a human and make them do bad things against their will. He could feel his feathers bristling on his wings. But, before he could get a word out, Sam had drawn his attention with a shushing motion of his hands that was meant to calm him. It didn't work.

"Lemuel," Sam said in that tone he used when trying to be nice. "I understand where you're coming from, I really do. But, a majority of these angels didn't come to Earth because they wanted to and they have no way to get back home. Their only option is to take a Vessel. Not all of them are making the human hosts act badly. We can't just go up to them and kill them without knowing their intentions. That would be wrong."

His teeth ground together. He didn't like being talked down to. He didn't like thinking that some of the angels weren't like Lucifer or Gabriel or Ezekiel. He wanted them gone. If Heaven wouldn't open for them, then there was only one other way to do that.

Lemuel heard Dean snicker.

"What'd you expect, Sam? The boy was raised by demons."

Lemuel knew what he was feeling as it burst free from his chest and down his arms to his fists. It was rage. Pure, unadulterated rage. And it was focused on Dean Winchester. He raised his wings high over his head, letting the feathers spread as much as he could.

How dare he? How dare this man joke about what he'd went through? He didn't know anything! Lemuel would show him. He'd show him just what the demons had taught him.

Before he could move towards the man, who was staring at him in mute horror, he felt something collide with his back. Arms wrapped around him, pulling as hard as the could downward on his wings. He tried to fight back, tried to shove off whomever it was with a few jerks of his wings. But they wouldn't let go and his wing muscles were sore from disuse. They gave, slowly, under the pressure. He roared in frustration.

"Stand down," Castiel's voice said quietly in his ear.

It was only because it was Castiel that Lemuel didn't start kicking his attacker. He seethed, though. He seethed and he hissed and he glared heatedly at the older Winchester. Dean had carefully maneuvered himself closer to Sam, as if that would save him.

"Lower your wings and stand down," Castiel whispered. "Go to your room if you have to, but find some place to calm down. I'll handle Dean. But you can't attack him. You can't hurt him. You'll be forced to leave and that won't do anyone any good. Go."

He didn't want to. He really didn't. But Castiel had a point. He couldn't afford to be kicked out of the Bunker. And Dean wouldn't think twice about doing so. Reluctantly, he pulled his wings back behind his back. When Castiel seemed sure that he wouldn't rip Dean's face off first chance he got, he removed his arms from around Lemuel's shoulders.

Lemuel bolted, not even caring that his wing knocked into Castiel as he did so. He walked swiftly and angrily back to his room, his long nails digging into the palms of his hands. Once inside, he let his rage loose.

He let it loose on the lamp. He let it loose on the bed sheets and the mattress. He let it loose on the nightstand. Anything he could get his hands on and throw, he did just that. Until, eventually, all he was left with was his self to tear apart. But that would be stupid, wouldn't it? Because he was already torn to shreds; he was already broken. So, all he did was slide his hands into his hair and sink to the floor.

Castiel eventually came to check on him. Lemuel wasn't sure how much time had passed, but it was long enough for him to feel numb instead of angry. The fallen angel took a cursory look around his room and said nothing. Though a look of understanding seemed to flit across his features for a moment.

He told Lemuel that Dean wouldn't bother him again. Not about that. But that Lemuel should still be cautious on how he displays himself. Lemuel made a noncommittal grunt. When Castiel, cautiously, asked if he needed help with the room, Lemuel told him no. The fallen angel nodded once and left. While Lemuel thought about never leaving ever again.

It felt like an eternity since the Winchesters had come to visit him. Which was odd, considering he knew all that eternity entailed. This was definitely not eternity, but it felt like it. Crowley mused that maybe bloody and painful torturing really wasn't the way to go. That his eternal queue had held some weight, after all. Why did he ever let those fool demons convince him otherwise?

Oh, right, he'd been too focused on opening Purgatory and then killing Dick to really pay attention to the success or failures of the torturing going on in Hell. He'd have to do some trial runs whenever he got back to being King of Hell. Maybe start with the truly masochistic chumps and stick 'em in solitary confinement for a few centuries. Just to see how long it'd take them to lose their minds. The party-goers, too.

Those souls that were already introverts wouldn't be allowed in on the experiments, for obvious reasons. No, they'd probably be better off with the normal routine. Their souls would merely shine brighter if left alone for all eternity. Couldn't have that in Hell.

Crowley was drawn from his thoughts as Sam flung the doors to the dungeon open. The moose looked positively irate. It was a good look on him. Right beside the annoyingly endearing puppy dog eyes. Oh, but that made Crowley remember which of the brothers had slaughtered his dog. He took back that bit about the endearing thing.

He smiled pleasantly as Sam stormed towards him. Crowley was really looking forward to another one of their little games. Crowley always wound up the winner, after all. Gleaning more information from the boys than they ever received from him.

"What did you do to him?!" Sam snapped, thrusting his finger back the way he'd come.

Crowley looked from Sam's face, out the door, and then back, "To whom, Moose? There's no one there."

"To Lemuel!" Sam shouted. "He nearly ripped Dean's face off a minute ago because he brought demons. What. Did. You. Do?"

"Ah," Crowley gave an open-mouthed grin. "So you did pick up the little brat. How is he these days? Mind if I have a little look-see?"

Crowley was pretty sure the look he received in reply was called a "bitchface." He wasn't entirely sure why it'd been coined that, however. Quite crass, even for him.

"No," Sam growled. "You seriously think I'm going to drag him in here to see you? He'd tear into you with his damn teeth."

"Aw, Sammy. Didn't think you cared."

"Not about you, I don't. Now, answer me."

He sighed, "The same thing I do to all my friends. Well, he got the better end of the deal. Didn't fancy getting accidentally smote by him, so I didn't get too close. He did that, y'know? Ate one of my demons right up. Literally. Sort of like Famine. Hmm. Nephilim. Tricky little buggers."

Sam looked rightfully stunned by his confession. The lumbering giant probably didn't even know what they had in their hands. The nephilim was a very good weapon. Against demons and angels alike. Moreso against demons, of course. His divine powers would easily fry anything of demonic origin. Against angels he'd have a harder time. But, he was more immune to them than the average Joe, so. He could always be used as a distraction and be expected to come back only slightly damaged.

"There had to be more," Sam mumbled. "No one acts like that over simple torture."

Crowley laughed, "Simple? My dear, ol' Sam, I think your head's a bit fried. Too many trips through Hell. Torture is never simple and it's never fun, unless you're a masochist, that is."

The moose looked subdued by his words. Like he was an idiot for thinking what the nephilim had been through was easy compared to some of the other stuff Hell was known to dish out. Sam was probably wrongly under the assumption that nephilim had the tolerance of their angelic parents. They didn't. Their human souls made them far more fragile than the robots from Upstairs.

"How long?" Sam asked, his rage melting into pity.

Crowley shrugged. He contemplated remaining silent, but, well, Sam's heart was already bleeding over the poor, innocent fledgling so… Why not make it bleed more? Really give him something to think about when he looked at the twerp.

He hummed thoughtfully, "Not sure, though I did inherit him from Lucifer. It was his demons that found him. They kept him safe until Daddy could come check out the goods. He was a wee lad, back then. Very obedient, I hear. Until he figured out no one was coming to save him, of course."

Sam's brow knitted in confusion. Crowley smiled at him. It was a joy seeing him try to comprehend what his words had meant. How few years had passed since the Boy King had released Lucifer unto the world till now. But Moose was smart. He'd figure it out real soon.

"Wait, but- I- That was in '09. He's sixteen, seventeen tops. That's…" The Winchester sucked in a shaky breath, "He ages too fast. He's like-like the Amazons, or something. He-"

The rage came back. Sam whirled on him from where he'd been pacing the floor in front of the table. Crowley kept smiling at the boy.

"You tortured a child?!" He shouted. "A child? Really, Crowley?"

"Demon," he purred. "Please, I've done far worse to babes. And, before you ask, no. I don't regret it. I don't have the capacity to. Perhaps if you'd actually managed to complete the Trials and turned me human, I would be a sniveling mess on the floor, shouting my sins to the sky and begging for forgiveness. But, you didn't. And here we are. Bravo, Moose."

Sam's jaw muscles worked as he glared at him. Ah, but this was too much fun. Stripping away the youngest Winchester's pride. It must really eat him up inside to know that Hell was still running, even without its King, and that all his suffering had been for nothing. Demons were still out there doing deals and having fun. Tormenting humans and the like. If only he'd been able to ignore Dean's pleas back in that church.

"So," Crowley began, "are you just going to stand there and try to smite me with your eyes, or are you going to do something? I'd quite enjoy it if you brought me the little pipsqueak. I'd like to see if you're treating him well. Doing good by him, and all that. I put a lot of time and effort into not killing him as soon as I laid eyes on him, after all. Kept the angels off of him, too."

"No. I'm not putting him through that. And you can rot in here for all I care."

"Aw, Sammy. Cut me right to the quick! Too bad I still have some demon names to give you. Can't very well do that if I'm rotting away, now can I?"

Sam squinted at him, wondering what angle he was trying to play. Of course, Sam wouldn't figure it out. Crowley was too good at manipulation and conning for him to catch on to his little plan. All he had to do was make Sam believe he wanted one thing, while, the truth of the matter was, he wanted something completely unrelated. And Sam was going to give him what he wanted because he was none the wiser.

"You're just going to give me some demon names?" Sam questioned, unconvinced. "Let me guess, as a bartering tool for seeing Lemuel. Or Kevin. Or stretching your legs. Not going to happen. I don't know how many times I have to tell you that."

He shrugged, "I think I got what I wanted. Confirmation that you and Dean procured my weapon and are watching out for it. I would like to see him, yes. But, as you've stated, it doesn't appear that I'm going to be able to do that. So, I'll give you one demon name. Just the one. I would have given you more but, eh. You know how it is. I'll need an extra sheet of paper and another crayon, however. Care to fetch me those? I'm a little tied up at the moment."

Sam fidgeted in place for a moment before finally relenting to his wishes. He walked swiftly from the room, not even bothering to shut the doors, as he went to get something for Crowley to write with.

Crowley merely smiled. In his suit pocket rested another sheet of paper, a particular sigil drawn on it. Not in crayon but in blood. His own blood. The devil's trap under him may prevent him from using any of his Hell-inspired tricks, but they didn't prevent the spell he planned on using from working. Too bad Sam and Dean never thought to check if he'd been hoarding anything they gave him. Well, he did try to fluster them into forgetting, so… It wasn't entirely their fault for being so spastic.

When the moose returned and slammed the small sheet of paper and a black crayon on the desk for him, Crowley thanked him as sarcastically as he could manage. The Winchester, as per usual, stormed off to leave Crowley to himself. He smiled down at the paper, brought his forefinger to his teeth, and bit down hard enough to bring blood.

The boys were making this far too easy for him.

Sam felt at a loss. Which was normal for him. His life was pretty shitty sometimes. Some days he could forget about that. He could wake up, bright and early, go for a jog, and feel right as rain. Never once would the horrible things he'd done surface into his mind. Other days… Other days he had a poncy asshole remind him how much of a failure he was.

No matter how hard he tried to atone for his sins, he always seemed to scrounge up some more. It was one thing to know he'd let out Lucifer. It was another to be faced with how many lives the archangel had ruined. It was another to think that, if he'd just stayed away from Ruby, Tracy and Lemuel and others wouldn't have had to suffer.

He knew, of course, that he wasn't to blame for every bad thing that had happened because of Lucifer. That demons were just as responsible as he was. But, it still gnawed at him. It still bothered him. Guilt wasn't something a Winchester easily let go of.

He wasn't going to be able to look at the teen the same again. He couldn't. He'd understood why Lemuel had nearly jumped Dean. His brother had said something completely stupid and unsympathetic. He would have said something to him, but Lemuel had beaten him to the punch. Figuratively.

Lemuel probably had wanted to punch Dean, though. Or, rip him to shreds, more like. Sam wouldn't forget the way Lemuel's wings had towered above them, outstretched towards the ceiling. He wouldn't forget the glow coming from those eyes. He was amazed Dean hadn't pissed himself. Sam almost did. He was pretty sure his heart had stopped for a second. Angels could appear scary, but it was a whole other ballpark when the wings were visible.

Sam wanted to apologize to the teen. Not just for, like, the Lucifer thing, but also Dean. Crowley. A lot of things, really. But, Lemuel didn't seem to like him much. He didn't dislike him, at least. Plus, he'd been cooped up in his room ever since the standoff.

Castiel had calmly, yet sternly, laid into Dean over his behavior. Over the triggering words he'd said and how, basically, he was a major dick. Dean, amazingly, had admitted to that. He'd apologized to Cas, said he wouldn't bother Lemuel again. Not about the demons, anyway. He made no promises if the kid started something.

After Dean had stomped off to put away what few groceries they'd picked up from the local store, Castiel had pulled Sam aside. Cas had explained to him that they had to watch Lemuel. He hadn't wanted to bring it to the Winchesters' attention, but the creatures were known for their temperaments. Something about the wrath of angels going too far.

How, in the far past, fallen angels had begotten them and the nephilim had turned to destruction. That they had to be stopped by the archangels before they wrecked civilization. Of course, he'd added in that sorta-secretive tone Cas was known for, civilization hadn't been that big of advanced back then, but the point still remained. Lemuel was already showing signs of uncontrollable anger-even if justified-and they had to be careful.

Cas had walked away then. Sam had been left with his thoughts. Thoughts of the justification for Lemuel's wrath. He'd stewed over it so much that the only thing he could think to do was yell at Crowley. Demand answers. "What did you do and why did you do it?"

Naturally, he hadn't been too fond of the answers.

Now, Sam sat at the map table, as he liked to call it, trying to ignore the guilt running rampant inside his skull so that he could focus on more important things like figuring out where the angels went or how to resurrect Gabriel. He wasn't too fond of the decision to bring back the dead archangel.

Dean hadn't been wrong when he'd called him a douche. Sam still remembered every one of Dean's deaths in Broward Country like it was yesterday. He still kinda wanted to strangle the bastard that had put him through that hell. Unfortunately, they didn't really have a choice. According to Cas, Gabriel needed to come back to take out Metatron. Hell, he may be able to take Abaddon out, too. The archangel would be useful. So, whether he liked it or not, he was going to have to research how to get the guy walking the earth again.

Cas had given them some clues on where to look for Gabriel's Grace. A Chalice and a Scythe. His Horn. Naturally, he started looking for the Horn. He remembered it from a case they had years ago. They had, incorrectly, assumed it was the cause of people spouting off anything and everything they thought. Turned out to be the goddess Veritas, not the Heavenly Weapon. And, if Cas hadn't found it since then, then it had to be still out there.

So, technically, Sam was back at square one when it came to the Horn of Truth. However, he did remember the lore of it. He also, now, had access to the Men of Letters archives. Who knew, perhaps the Horn was buried somewhere in the Bunker?

He jotted down a small list of what to look out for in his search. What the artifact was, horn, what its origin would be, angelic/heavenly, how old it was, old as dirt, etc. The Men of Letters had many different filing systems. There was alphabetical, of course, but there were also things like purpose and location it was found. All of it weaved together nicely, but it took some learning to get used to it.

Finally done with his little note, he ripped the paper from its pad and stood from his chair. When he turned around, he stopped short to notice Lemuel sort of peaking at him from around the corner as he stood in the library. He thought about speaking to him. He thought about moving, too. But Lemuel's eyes were narrowed at him and he didn't know what to do. It felt a bit like running into a wild animal and desperately trying not to startle it into attacking or fleeing.

Dean interrupted their little staring contest as he came through the library. Lemuel's immediate reaction was to scowl. Sam noticed how his wings started to rise and puff up. He prayed Dean wouldn't say anything to set the teen off again. Anything at all. Just keep walking.

Well, he kept walking…

"You need a shirt," his brother stated offhandedly.

Sam took a deep breath. He knew what his brother was doing. He was trying to joke his way out of an awkward situation and apology. Dean did it all the time with him and with Cas. But Lemuel wasn't them. Lemuel was a landmine. Dean was dancing way too close.

Much to Sam's surprise, the nephilim didn't smite his brother. In fact, his glower quickly morphed into a disinterested mask. Which…probably meant nothing good, either. Lemuel stepped out from behind the wall, putting all of his weight on one leg while he folded his arms.

"Why, Dean?" Lemuel asked innocently. "Do my nipples scare you?"

Sam somehow managed to not snort as his brother spun around to face the teen. He'd seen Dean's bewildered face just before he'd turned away from him. That had been priceless. Before Dean could ask just what the hell Lemuel was talking about, Lemuel continued.

"Are they staring at you? Do they make you uncomfortable?"

"Alright, look, smart ass."

Sam cleared his throat loudly. Best to diffuse the situation before it got any worse. Dean refused to tear his harsh stare away from Lemuel, however. And Lemuel? He didn't seem to care.

"Uh," he started cautiously. "I think what Dean's getting at, Lemuel, is that it's not really… Warm? In the Bunker. That, with you still mending, uh, it'd be- It'd probably be good for you to have something to put on your chest so you don't…get a cold?"

Lemuel's eyes darted from him to Dean and back again. He didn't looked convinced or any less offended.


Dean nodded back at him, "Yeah, what he said."

He was pretty sure Lemuel didn't buy a word of what he'd said. Probably because, if the nephilim was anything like angels, he couldn't get sick. But, the teen merely turned and walked away, further into the Bunker to do who knew what. Dean groaned as he faced him again.

"I'm telling you. That kid…"

"Well, you did kinda start that one, Dean. Again."

"I was just sayin'. He can't run around half-naked all the time. And his pants are held on by a wing and a prayer! He needs clothes."

Sam nodded slowly, "Did you mean to make that pun?"


"Right. So, get this."

He raised the small piece of paper that had his notes and then handed it to Dean.

"Cas gave us a lead on the Gabriel Grace stuff and, since he doesn't think the computer will track it down, I've started trying to find the stuff myself. Now, we already know of the Horn of Truth."

"Because of the Veritas case?"

"Right. Well, since the Horn wasn't the one stolen from that antique shop, or whatever, and Cas never found it, that means it's still out there."

"…yeah. We kinda established that earlier. What are you getting at?"

"I'm thinking the Men of Letters might have something about it in their archives. So, I wrote down a list of stuff to know for finding it. Because their-their filing system is wonky. Thorough but wonky."

Dean nodded, staring at the piece of paper in his hand.

"Hmph. Not a bad idea, Sam." His brother slapped him on the shoulder once, "I'll get right on that."

As Dean turned to leave he asked, "Wait, why you? I was gonna-"

"Because you are going to go shopping," was the reply as Dean looked at him over his shoulder. "I told you. That boy needs some clothes and, if I'm in charge of that, let's face it, I'll pick something completely stupid for him to wear out of spite. So, I'll look for the dick's musical instrument and you can go fetch something for Lemuel to wear."

Sam's mouth worked before he replied, "But I don't know what size he wears."

His brother shrugged, "He and Kevin are close to the same size, just take him with you. You know where the keys are."

And with those words, Dean left to go do the job Sam had set his mind to. Wasn't the first time Dean had opted out of doing something he didn't want to by thrusting it on him. Probably wouldn't be the last, either. Oh well. Guess he had to go inform Kevin he was going to be needed. At least this time it wasn't for his prophetic ability though, right?