Christopher Alder has been taking a lot of Nyquil lately. He doesn't have a cold. To make sure he falls asleep he's stopped using the little measuring cup and started drinking straight from the bottle. He doubts he drinks enough to accidentally overdose, but if he's wrong and one of these days he doesn't wake up, would it be such a tragedy? No one would miss him.
The Nyquil messes with his dreams, turns them vivid and feverish. The past few nights plopped him into the movies he used to watch on TV when insomnia struck. That might be kinda fun, except his brain never gets the movies all the way right. He'll be John McClane crawling through the air ducts but never getting to the part where he pops out, instead doomed to wriggle through that dark, narrow space forever. He'll be Batman facing off with the Scarecrow only for the Scarecrow to disappear into the crowd that wasn't there a second ago, and as he frantically pushes through the crowd to find him, he realizes he's Jason Bourne now and he needs to move faster because there's someone chasing him…
Tonight's dream isn't like those dreams, though. He's not running from anyone or fighting anything. He's standing on a bridge, staring down into an icy river. He knows what he wants to do. God, he knows what he wants to do, but does he have the guts?
"Are you sure that's a good idea?"
The voice startles Chris, and he turns to see a man standing nearby wearing some kind of old-fashioned nightgown.
"Who are you?" Chris asks. There's something familiar about him, but he can't quite work out where he's seen him before.
The man frowns and looks down at himself, his grimace deepening as he examines the nightgown.
"You tell me," he says, "Apparently this is what you think an angel looks like."
"Oh! Clarence." He didn't recognize him in color. To be fair, this isn't quite the way It's a Wonderful Life goes. Chris knows; he must've watched that film fifty times over the holidays last year. Why can't any of these scenes play out like they're supposed to?
"Clarence, huh?" says the angel, "Think I've heard of that one."
"So does this mean you're gonna show me what the world would be like without me?"
"You know, Christopher, I would really like to do that."
Zachariah would not really like to do that. Now he knows who Christopher cast him as, though, he thinks he sees his path to the yes, and he would really like to get this whole gaining consent thing out of the way so he can get back to doing real work. The seals are breaking left and right and the Apocalypse is coming, but according to Michael his future vessel is having a little trouble getting with the program. Zachariah has his orders from Michael on how to deal with it, and the archangel told him not to interact with the Winchesters—particularly Dean—without putting on a meatsuit first. Can't risk frying their precious little minds, after all.
Christopher is watching him expectantly. Right.
"You are a very important human, Christopher Alder," he says, watching Christopher's face for signs of mistrust, "And I could show you how important. I could show you how much the world needs you—and I hope you let me do just that—but the thing is, I can't unless you do a little favor for me first."
"Need help earning your wings?" Christopher jokes, his smile so very strained. Zachariah sees the agonizing hope in his eyes, how much he needs this crazy Nyquil dream to give him a reason not to jump off a bridge for real when he wakes up.
"Not exactly."
Chris doesn't love the idea when Zachariah finishes explaining, but with his self-esteem in the gutter he can't think of a good reason why someone else shouldn't take the wheel for a while.
"So once you're done helping this Dean guy 'find himself' or whatever you're talking about, you're going to bring me back home and show me why I matter?"
"I'm going to show you why you matter," Zachariah confirms.
"Then… yes."
The first thing Zachariah does with his new vessel is change him out of his pajamas and into a crisp business suit, admiring the fit in his bathroom mirror. He's still not a fan of playing dress-up with flesh, but he has to admit, he could do worse.
After his little identity exercise with Dean Winchester he does in fact keep his promise to Christopher. He'll never get to go home, no, but Zachariah never misses an opportunity to show him how much he matters.
Every time he watches a seal break, every time they come one step closer to the Apocalypse, to the war between Heaven and Hell where Heaven will claim glorious triumph, he takes a moment to turn inward and say, See? We never could've done that without humans like you. You let us walk the earth, and now we're going to claim it.
Chris doesn't have the power to talk back, but from time to time Zachariah allows him to detach from cruel consciousness and dream again. He dreams of jumping off bridges.