Sabriel at Heart
Sam sat at his desk – well, the little table inside their dingy hotel room – and pulled out his laptop. It took forever to turn on, and when it did, it froze within seconds, the tell-tale sign that Dean had been using it again for 'research'.
"God-dammit!" he grunted, shutting the lid and pushing it away from him, leaning back in his creaky chair. His huge frame struggled to be confined on such a small piece of furniture, but he groaned and bore it. This was the norm for him.
"Sammy?" his brother voiced from the bathroom, peeking his head around the door, his wet hair straggling across his forehead. Dean's eyes lit with unneeded amusement as Sam looked away from him, knowing he had just stepped out of the shower and was probably naked. "Go gets a bite to eat, will ya? I'm starving!"
"Dean… there is no way I am leaving you alone with my laptop. Not again."
"But – C'mon, Sam, don't be a bitch!"
"We'll get something to eat then we can hit the road," Sam growled, ending the conversation. Dean disappeared behind the closing door again and Sam set to packing what little things they had.
Living on the road had taught them a lot - like pack light and never hit the same town twice. Everything they had could be packed into a few small bags which easily fit in the back of their car; the Impala. Sam threw Deans old duffel onto the other hunters bed and lay down on his, staring at the pale cracked ceiling.
He missed the stable life, only a little bit but it was times like these when the silence fell he remembered it and yearned for it. His apple pie life; with a free ride to Standford and one of the best scores in his testing than anyone had ever gotten and Jess. God, Jess…
He closed his eyes as old tears pushed themselves behind his eyelids and hid there. He missed Jess more than anything, but recently he had realized he was forgetting her. The soft smell of her perfume and her little habits had long since drifted from his memory. All he had left, was a picture seared into his brain; Jess in her nightgown, eyes terrified as her stomach bled and the ceiling she was stuck to catching fire, burning her alive-
"Sammy?" Dean asked, giving his brother a light slap across the cheek to wake him from his reverie. "You okay?"
He nodded once at his now fully clad brother and rolled off the bed, grabbing his things and heading out the open motel door to the car. He dropped the bags in the nearly full-of-weapons trunk and slammed it shut, which received him a glare from Dean.
"Hey-hey-hey! Careful of Baby!"
They got in and drove off, Dean having already paid the bill, to the hard beat of an ACDC track blaring out of the speakers.
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With the wendigo case over with, Sam and Dean felt free to park the car that night, simply to lie on the hood and watch the sky. As Dean sat there, a little smile pulling on his cheeks, he took a swig of his beer and glanced at his baby brother. Sam was sprawled on the hood, leaning against the glass so he was at the perfect angle to watch the world go by, while Dean sat at the furthest corner of the Chevy watching anything but.
There was no need for talking at times like these. These were the moments which made their tormented lives bearable. Just.
Dean finished off his bottle and threw it to the ground, getting into the back seat of his car and lying down to rest without a word, leaving Sammy to his peace.
Sam loved the stars – he remembered Cas telling him of how they looked close up - the real stars through clear eyes, not which the 'feeble human eye' could see. Stars were not small and white like they appeared, they were enormous, some bigger than the planet they were stood on itself and full of life and colour, and alive.
As if on cue, a stream of light fell across the black night, illuminating the darkness for a moment of sheer joy and then disappearing, like nothing had happened. Everything was silent again.
"Sam? Sam Winchester?"
Sam turned to see a young woman stood beside him with pale grey eyes and auburn hair. "Are you Sam Winchester?" she asked again, her soft voice hard to pick up as she took a step back and lowered her tone.
"Yes. Who are you?"
"I am Valoel, Angel of the Lord and of peace."
Sam jumped off the car and strode towards her, unable to stop himself, anger burning from his eyes. "Haven't you had enough? What do you want now?"
"I am an Angel of the Lord and peace," she repeated, her head dropping to face the ground. "I do not like conflict."
Sam stopped and looked at her – really looked at her. She had a small cut along her cheekbone which was still bleeding and her eyes were beyond that of innocence that a child bears. Just like Castiel's. "You haven't been around long, have you?" he realised.
"This is my first time on Earth, yes."
"So why are you here?"
"Curiosity, and a vow," she answered, looking into his eyes and giving a small smile. "I told a friend I would give something to you when the skies settled. Then I should fall and find you."
"F-fall? As in, from grace?"
"I removed my grace, yes; as part of my promise to my best friend, my brother."
"Serious? You… for a friend?"
"Not all Angels are entirely devout. Even Angels are allowed alliances and the option of choice. Team free-will, he told me!"
The mentioning of those words had Sam's eyebrows shooting up, hiding beneath his shaggy, dark hair. "Cas sent you? You must want Dean-"
"No. To both. Not Cas and most surely not Dean." Her head flicked back and she watched the sky as three more shooting stars soared across. "My brothers and sisters are falling, too. I had hoped this would not happen… Listen, Sam, time is running short. More Angels fall daily and the peace in Heaven is failing. I was brought here to bring peace to this planet as my home cannot. I am to give you your gift and leave to die."
"Die?"
"Yes, Sam. Everyone dies. Now is simply my time. My death shall bring peace to this Earth and shall hopefully keep it as such. I am trusting you two," she concluded, nodding her head in the direction of the sleeping Dean, "to keep hell fire from burning up top, again. Can you do that?" Sam nodded and she held out her hand to him in farewell. "Then, I bid you adieu. Your message will arrive in the morning. Keep driving until you reach the Starboard Port and stay there tonight. I know the room. Farewell, Sam Winchester." And she turned and ran off, very un-lady-and-angel-like but effective. She was very fast and soon disappeared into the shrubbery lining the road.
Sam was shaken, his body feeling numb as he watched her vanish from sight. Without thinking about it, he stepped inside the Impala and began driving in the direction she had indicated.
As she had predicted, a few miles down the road the soft glare of lights put an end to the darkness and he immediately pulled over. Under the large neon sign reading "Captain's Cabin Motel", he parked the car and leaned into the back seat to shake his brother awake. Dean sat up groggily, a look of malice in his eyes as he got out of the car and headed in the direction of the check in without a word.
Sam stood at the door, waiting for his brother to return and when he did they went straight to their assigned room in silence, both craving sleep and a moment of relaxation before the next case arrived. Neither man could remember the room number they were staying in, only that they were placed in the 'starboard port', and simply fell onto the separate beds and drifting into a peaceful sleep.
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Morning came and Sam felt like he was barely human – in the sense that he had slept little and not at all well, not like the demonic, possessed sort of not human. He growled to his aching body as he slumped into a sitting position and checked the bedside clock for the time. Three hours was enough sleep for him.
He prepared for the day before his brother had even awoken, going over his conversation with the angel Valoel from the previous night. Who else would say Team Free-will apart from Cas?
As if on cue, the rat-a-tat of knocking sounded at the door, bringing Dean to his feet, startled into consciousness and Sam practically ran to answer it. "I've got it, Dean… I was expecting someone."
His brother, forever the idiot, gave him a childish yet creepy smile which said he knew his brother was doing something wrong. "Could've got rid of me first, Sammy," he grinned, shoving his boots on and grabbing his jacket before pushing past Sam and opening the door. He gave a hurried "hey" to the woman before taking off in the direction of the impala and leaving a stunned angel and Sam on the doorstep.
"May I come in?" she asked after a moment, gaining ground on reality again. Sam stepped back to let he through and shut the door behind her, keeping his hunters eyes trained on her, expecting something that could only be described as wrong.
Her auburn hair hid most of her face as she kept it downcast. She sat straight onto the edge of Sam's bed and began twiddling her thumbs like a child waiting for punishment. Her white dress was ruined, covered in mud spatters and ripped in so many places it was now impossible to tell the original design of it, and her bare feet were cut and grimy, too.
"What happened?" he asked, taking seat on Deans bed and leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees and trying to assess her without seeing her face which was proving exceptionally hard.
After what felt like forever, she finally looked up and Sam had to contain a disgusted gasp at what he saw. One of her eyes was gone. Completely removed from the socket, and the other was barely closed up that it had swollen so much, barely the glimpse of grey sparkling through. The left side of her face (the side also missing the eye) had the skin burned off and the right had been slashed so many times it was nearly impossible to tell where the skin remained. "Sam, it was worse than I predicted," she sighed, not a hint of pain in her voice. "I was going to just drop off the message but I needed to rest, and I had hoped… well, I had hoped you would let me lie here for a while."
Sam could not speak. Instead he rushed to the bathroom and began running some warm water. Finding a small bowl in the main part of the motel room, he filled it and grabbed a cloth. Sitting beside her, he began tending to her wounds like he would with his brother. She tried to push him away, but he didn't let her.
"Sam, I came here with a purpose, other than rest," she managed after the man beside her had cleaned the blood from the right side of her face. He dare not attempt on the other side, afraid it would cause her too much pain. "Sam, I am here to give you a letter."
She seemed to pull it from thin air as it appeared in her hand as she held it out to him, to which he readily accepted it. The envelope was heavy and quite thick; it was dull red in colour, had been embossed throughout, and was sealed with a wax symbol of the letter A.
Sam opened it immediately, setting his previous possessions on the floor and lying back to read it. A thick parchment fell out into his hand and he opened it with childlike excitement. In the centre of the letter was a small pouch which he did not bother to examine before reading it first. Getting comfy, he slowly took in each word:
"My dearest Sam,
It has been such a long time, I am afraid, and it is NOT my fault before you lay blame. Nearly dying can take a long time to heal, not matter whether you are an angel or not.
I have heard from all of my brothers and sisters of how much of a wonderful job you have done – although they do not use those exact words – and have conquered over everything fate has thrown at you – congrats!
So, I guess you're wondering what the hell is going on, why this is all happening, etc. blah blah blah… And if you are anything like the Sam I used to know, by now you will have that weird little crease between your eyebrows and will be getting angrier the more suspense I pull. So I will continue with haste and continue to extract this torture upon you (always fun to do, my friend!).
Now Sam, I know what has happened recently (up to which point this letter was written, I mean). My brother, Zadkiel, has kept me informed of the local and recent news about you Winchesters and Co. so do not worry, I am up to date with everything.
Here is what I want to say about the situation at hand, then. I have been given a final chance from heaven, but only a human can fulfil it, and I believe you to be the human to do so. Encased along with this message in a small pouch, and I hope to our Father that you did not touch it first, otherwise you shall have no choice in the matter – in which case reading on from here should be redundant, so if you've done an idiotic Dean move, skip the next paragraph or two, okay? Just go grab yourself some pie and a beer if you wish to follow in your brothers' path!
If, on the other hand, you have been the good little Sammy-boy I know and have read this first, then well done! Not a true Winchester! Good for you! - then what I am about to say is quite important. Heavens Court has agreed to give me a pardon to all my crimes if I can fulfil a task, which like I said, needs a human. Unfortunately for me, I have to be able to trust them as well as have them trust me. Now, we both know that unlike how most people perceive angels, we are, in Deans words, just "junkless dicks," which is something I am certain any human would realise after a few moments in any of our presence.
If you agree to help me, for which I would forever be in your debt, then open the little pouch I sent along with this letter. Be VERY careful with it, though, as it is VERY rare and, in the wrong hands, VERY dangerous. What I need you to do is open it and pour the contents on your hand –I promise there is nothing sinister and strange inside – and blow onto it. That's it.
Now, I must rest. If you intend to partake in my little crusade, then I will owe you, and an angel indebt to you is something you could use greatly to your advantage, yes? I suppose I will find out shortly, then, Sam. I hope to see you soon. I have asked my sister, Valoel, to bring this to you – I hope you are nice to her, she is the sweetest angel in any garrison – in a years' time to this date, At which point, I know I will be dead – no, do not weep for me, boy, I will return soon! – so I shall not be able to reply instantly, but I will as soon as I am reincarnated, or reinstated or whatever term you hairless apes use nowadays.
Goodbye, Sam, and hopefully hello soon,
Waiting,
Your Angel in Heaven.
"Who sent this, Valoel?" Sam asked, folding the letter back up and picking up the small pouch and weighing it in his hand.
"A good man," she grumbled. She had fallen back onto Sam's bed and was now curled up in a ball with an arm beneath her head. She was nearly asleep.
The little pouch he held was made of a thin black material which felt rough, even against his calloused hands, and was around about the size of a peach, quite tiny compared to his gigantic palm. He undid the thin leather cord and emptied the contents on to his hand without thinking about it. He still had no idea who had sent the message, but there was only one way to find out, right?
Groaning to himself about how stupid he was, he examined the contents with an annoyed glare. The dust that came out was glittering and miniscule, creating a little heap upon his palm, a multitude of colours from pinks and silvers to blues and gold's that reflected off the light in the room.
Who the hell – or in this case, heaven – knew about team free will apart from Dean, Cas and himself? Unless the angels had been spying on them again, but he knew Castiel had used his angel mojo to hide them from prying eyes… So who could know?
Someone high up, probably. Very high up if they had blocked their protection charms. God, maybe? Not 'Cas-God' but God-God. Why would he care now, after everything that had happened and he had hid from them?
Only one way to find out, right?
Taking a deep breath, and telling himself a thousand reasons of why what he was about to do was stupid, he released his breath and blew the dust off his palm watching it fly into the air and hover there. It seemed to float for a moment, defying gravity and mocking him as it swirled before him, before falling swiftly to the ground.
Nothing happened. But then again, the letter did say the 'reply would not be instantaneous,' so he didn't have to expect it right away. Looking back at Valoel on the bed, he smiled a little. Despite her horrendous exterior at this present moment, the small smile on her lips reminded him of the beauty he had seen the night before. No person should ever suffer like she had. Ever.
A bolt of pain ripped through his head, blinding his eyes as it shot across. He fell forwards, falling from the edge of the bed he was sat upon, and fell face first onto the floor, nose filling with the colourful glitter dust he had just blown upon. Gasping for breath as the dust attacked his nose, he opened his mouth to gulp down air, but the glitter swam into his mouth and drowned that, too.
Was he dying? Sam Winchester had gone against monsters most people could never even dream of; he had gone against heaven and hell and even the Devil himself! Yet, here he was, about to die on a pack of pixie dust? Really?
'C'mon, Sam!' he chided himself, trying to pull his weak arms to move to his sides but finding them immobile. 'This is pitiful! What would Dean think if he saw you now?' That got him moving, if only slightly. He forced his face to the side, draining every last ounce of energy he had left. It didn't work. The dust still attacked him, until with his last laboured breath he had inhaled all trace of the substance and his lungs ceased to work.
Sam Winchester, hunter in more senses than the word suggests, died, in a crappy motel room, next to an ex-angel who was dying, too, all because of an angel in heaven who told him to blow some dust away. His last thought before he departed the world was: 'Well done, Sammy. Now, are you going to heaven or hell?'
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Sam woke in a house. Yes, that's right. A house! Not a motel room that smelt of cheap alcohol and the stale scent of sex, but an honest to God house, with blue window shutters and a big white door. His head throbbed and his ass stung as he rolled off it, rubbing it idly with his hand.
He opened his eyes and gawped at his surroundings, like a child seeing their first rainbow. A wooden mantelpiece and an old log fire sat to the north of the room, taking up half the wall with how large it was. To the left of him sat a large oak dining table and accompanying chairs, and to his right were a thousand photographs, framed and nailed onto the wall, depicting whoever owned this houses' life. There were old women and young boys, babies the size of your hand and scenes from moments they couldn't let themselves forget. A true family house.
Sam sat up, pulling the thin blanket off of him and looked down to see he had been sleeping on a large red sofa. His large shape had been indented into the leather, showing him the exact position he had been in for the past however many hours.
Where the hell was he?
Standing up, he began to pace, wracking his memory for where he was last. He remembered the wendigo, and the motel and the angel-
The angel! Valoel! Everything began clicking into place and he found himself still in the centre of the room, dazing off into the unseen distance, unaware that he was no longer alone. 'The letter! It must be the angel. Well, that fudge monkey is gonna have a lot to make up for- Wait, didn't I die...'
"C'mon, Sammy-boy. Now's not the time for day-dreaming, eh?"
Sam's body swung around at a speed so fast even the angel struggled to track it. He looked over the being before him, taking in every inch of him, trying to remember him.
The man before Sam was tiny, even to Sam's standards, as he was barely over five foot. He had black hair and dark brown eyes that were too dull to be called anything but that. His clothes (a ruined, dark business suit) were scraggly and well worn, scuffed in more places than not. His feet were bare and he had what little was left of his overcoat draped over his miniscule shoulders. Sam had no idea who he was.
"I cannot thank you enough, Sam. Heaven does not think we will succeed, but I knew you would have faith in me – in us!" he continued, giving Sam a lazy, lopsided smirk to relieve some of the tension. "Those winged ass monkeys thought you would say no, but I told them my big ol' Moose would be there for me… You have no idea how good it is to see you, Sam."
Sam took a step back when the man tried to step towards him, arms outstretched as he was going in for a hug. "I only did it so I could find out who you were… So are you… God?"
The man dropped his arms, his cheeky grin turning into an incredulous frown. "Really? After everything I do for you and you don't even remember my name. Well, don't I feel a little used…"
"You didn't even sign your name," he excused himself, walking out of the room and into the kitchen to find himself a drink. The only thing this house seemed to have was tap water so he poured himself a tumbler of that and downed it in a single go, even though what he really wanted was something a lot stiffer than water.
"Well, I guess I had hoped you would just know. I mean, I've always been there for you and everything… Never mind, Chucklehead. All is fair in love and war, eh?" The angel came behind him, grabbing a hold of his forearm and leading him into the living room and towards the large table. Throwing Sam into a chair, he sat opposite him, waving a small hand over the space before them. As he lowered his hand to the table, just to the side of him, a large array of papers manifested before them, settling like snow. "So here's the job, Moosey. We gotta find three... people, and return them safely to heaven. Deal is, they know about angels, though, so they know we're coming for them. That's why I needed you, Sam. I need a human to draw them in, and then when they're nice and safe, we reel them in and give them to the guys upstairs. Comprende? "
"When you say people, what do you mean? Human, angel, demon? Creature of the night?" Sam asked, gazing over the photographs and essays, police reports and death certificates.
"Can't say. Not entirely sure myself. All I know is, the big guys want them, and if I wanna stay breathing, I'm the one who's gonna find 'em. So, my lovely, lovely Moose… are you in? Please?"
Groaning, Sam lifted one of his arms up, resting his elbow on the table and his forehead in his palm. "I don't even know your name… but yes. I'm in."
He barely had moment to breathe, as with a flap of wings the angel appeared beside him, placing a kiss on his forehead and wrapping his arms around Sam's tall frame, pulling him into a threateningly tight hug. "Sam, Sam, Sam… You have no idea…" He released the man and took a few steps back, lips pulled into a rather creepy looking grin and arms still slightly raised as if he were about to jump and hug him again. "Thank you, Sam."
"Yeah, yeah," the Sasquatch grumbled, standing and giving the tiny man a single nod before walking to the door and stepping out.
He sat on the front porch steps and watched the neighbourhood around him move, as if knowing nothing. All these people, here and all over this tiny world, were still alive because of him and his brother. They had stopped Lucifer from killing every last one of them and had saved them all from an eternity of hell fire and none of them knew it. The few that did were locked inside nut-houses or out hunting other monsters to get rid of their anger.
The garden before him was picturesque. It had a large tree off to the side and was lined with flowers and freshly cut grass. The pebbled path twirled its way through the greenery and ended at his feet, a too human white clashing against the colours of nature. The soft smell of roses and fresh air tickled his nose. He leant back onto his hands and tilted his head to the sky.
His throat still felt scratchy, but what else could you expect when you choked to death, and his hip and butt hurt, annoying him into shifting his position every few seconds to try and get comfy, but failing each time.
"Beauty ain't it?" the angel asked, sitting besides him and crossing his legs. His brown eyes kept flicking over Sam in a way that made him uncomfortable. Surely this was the other way around with angels – they were the uncomfortable ones all the damn time! "You have no idea how much it cost me, Sam, to get here."
"How did I get here, Angel?"
The black haired man chuckled and gave a sad sigh before answering. "I like that, Sam. Angel… Only if I can be your angel, though, hmm?" He chuckled again and turned to face the street, hiding his eyes from Sam so he could not see if he was being honest or joking. "You died. It had to happen, so your soul could come to heaven, as proof to the big guys that you had agreed. But… it doesn't matter. I'll tell you when you ask. I don't wanna ruin this moment, Chucklehead, so don't make me, okay?"
They sat in silence, watching as a group of young children ran out of the house opposite them and began chasing each other around the confinements of the garden with such glee that both men had to smile. It was a good moment. Unfortunately, it was quickly destroyed thanks for the angels' big mouth.
"I can't believe you don't remember me, Sammy," he sighed, turning his sad eyes towards him. "You really don't?"
"Give me your name and I'll let you know."
Like a switch had been flicked, his eyes began to glow with an inner joy as a plan began to twist its way inside his mind. "Nah, this is too much fun! I'm pulling a few feathers at the minute, and I am getting my old body fixed – it was my favourite of any I have had before! – and when I do, you are gonna be so upset you forgot me."
"So what am I to call you then? Angel, for the rest of this damned task?"
"No, Moosey; you can call me Candy Man," he grinned, snapping his fingers and having a cherry red lollipop appear in his grasp, which quickly went into his grinning mouth.