He was enthralled with the straw caught in the angel's hair.

It was the edge, he was distantly aware of that. A cliff he was walking towards and the chilling of the night nesting in the open spaces around him couldn't even bring him back. Hell, Lucifer, resurrection, a hitched ride in a truck bed slipped together as a babbling mass. This congealed mess identifying itself as his mind slowly cascading to liquid lunacy and maybe he'd wake up soon. Dean would be snoring and dad mad that they overslept again and –

"Sam."

Michael's voice was some sort of grounding force. Or rather maybe it was the ground with its firmness. Hands that were warm, too warm, heat seeping through thin cotton and into his cold flesh that was still off in its new familiarity. Fingers arching and framing his shoulders and that edge finally backed off a little bit.

Slowly, the world of blaring traffic, streaky lights and the thick scent of life came trickling in. The asphalt of the parking lot was unyielding against the soles of his boots, rain soaked ground reflecting neon lights of the storefront back up in scattered puddles. One of those places that sold the same things as its thousand replica stores across the country.

"Sorry," he muttered running a hand down his face. He tried to make himself not pluck out that bit of straw that clung like a radiant beam against Michael's dark hair. "I don't know what that was."

"You are safe, simply readjusting," Michael said, all stiff, the eternal solider still. "The driver said they had a phone here."

A glance at the store front revealed an old battered blue booth, a resilient relic not yet stripped away. "Yeah, but we need money."

On reflex, before his brain had caught up with his situation he checked his pockets. While he came up empty the archangel was rewarded with what seemed like a decent pile of cash. Sam wondered if that was because God viewed the archangel as the more responsible one, some bit of jealously since he was the original human here.

Then he promptly remembered his little episode from two minutes ago and thought that a sound decision.

"I assume this will do."

They bought a card without problems. Of course, he still felt like a half stunned fish trying to recite the Odyssey when attempting to talk. Michael though kept to the explanation that they had given to their truck driving rescuer. Car accident, went off the road and they, while alright, needed to contact family and help. That Sam was still all rattled and a bit battered but good.

"Poor thing," the clerk had said with a pity fueled look. "You should really have him checked for a concussion. Those sneak up on you."

Her head had bobbed at this like she had personal experience with concussion and their terribly sneaky ways.

"I will. He just needs to hear his brother's voice first."

They stood outside now, card clutched in his hand as instructions were followed with long strings of numbers punched in. He slunk further into the glass booth hoping to gain a little more shelter from the wind that was steadily rising.

Of course Dean didn't pick up and he'd have to use his words.

"Don't freak. It's me. Really me. I'm not quite sure where I am but I'm okay. I – I'll try other phones." The receiver clicked into place under his hand and he knew immediately that Dean would be instantly triggered into freak out mode. "Going to try Bobby's old number and then other phones."

"Alright, Sam," that voice still soft, eyes sharp on him. "Are you hungry?"

He was a mile past ravenous. An angry twist of his stomach at that moment to remind him that it existed and currently was attempting to feed on itself. "Yeah."

"I will go get you something to eat and see if there is a place close by to take you. Promise me, Sam, that you will stay right here." Michael had a grip on his arm, quick and tight.

"I promise," he said, terrified by the thought of being separated. Of not touching. "Just calling till someone picks up or I run out of numbers."

"Good."

He cycled through numbers that felt like a thousand lifetimes ago. All of Dean's went to voicemail after the first ring. But Bobby's – his were different. There was nothing but a service message politely telling him who he was calling didn't exist there anymore. Images of Lucifer inside him, that sickening crack of the old hunter's neck in that field before he fell to hell and that edge was looming again.

Then there was Michael, plastic bag swinging loosely from his fingers. A hand on his own, thumb brushing the skin as if keeping some hidden beat that was comforting and commanding all at once. He managed to pull himself back together, at least stable enough to impede the internal collapse that had been threatening.

"Dean's phones are active. Feels like he might have ditched them. Bobby's are –" he can't finish because he should have known the reality. Yet the words won't come because he's terrified that he'd be making something real that up to this moment wasn't.

"They said there is a place down the way. Apparently unsavory but you will be inside. Come with me, Sam."

He nodded, letting the angel lead him on.

XX

Some distant memory told him he had stayed in places worse than this with Dean. As soon as his mind untangled itself thing would be clear, he was sure of it.

So he sat on the edge of a rundown bed whose comforter had long ago lost the concept of clean, melding it with the rest of the grimy room, as he ate what seemed like the best sandwich in all his life. Wilty lettuce, tomatoes, chicken, bacon and some sort of heavy dressing yet it bloomed luxurious across his tongue. Michael's hand rested on his knee, that thumb was still making its measured movements as the angel was otherwise still beside him.

"We will find him, Sam."

"But –"

"It does not matter, where ever he may be," the angel cut him off so the words he feared the most wouldn't form. "It will be better in the morning."

"Are you disappointed?" He can't stop the question from spilling out messy and that movement on him stopped for a second.

"No, Sam."

It's coming now, some sort of rush from fried nerves and relief and just pure shock and he's trying to push it back. He can't look up, can't get his head over enough and the empty wrapper falls from his lap to the floor. Somehow, it's so loud and rude that he can't image it not waking up an entire block.

"It's alright," and Michael was closer, humming a familiar song as something deep in him strained to listen to only that.

"Having problems at times with realness," he mumbled into the angel's shoulder.

"I know. Shock. I promise it is merely temporary."

"Did Dean –" he halted, hating himself more for what he had been, a quiet noise from the angel.

"Hell is hell, Sam, but the experiences are different. And when your brother was brought back, adjustments for him were made."

That alone brought up a fountain of questions in his addled brain before Michael mercifully suggested a shower.

It didn't occur to him to complain as the angel helped him from his clothing. A part of him felt small and stupid. Sam, the incapable man child who must always be saved. The angel whispering things to him as the water hit his body hot and real and really here. Of how they have each other's name upon them, that all these lines etched into them somehow told a story.

Sam stared at the vines of black that crept up Michael's arms, trying to see the words that he assumed his stupid human eyes couldn't see. The way they swept and flowed, some ending in curls other's carrying on until they met under the angel's collarbone in a complicated pattern that was both perfect and chaos. A laced dance of so much that he had no idea where even the first strand truly started to thread the rest.

"Because of how we are, what we are," the angel said, voice low but still there against the sound of water. "Rare and never seen like this."

When Michael turned Sam became aware that the map extended to his back, the same thin veins of black that centered around a large collection of symbols along his spine. Sam couldn't help it, couldn't stop himself as he reached out to touch.

"Your name. You bare mine." Before he can even get out some sort of half assed apology for what he had done Michael was close again. "I am not sorry for this."

Towels that had never shared a room with softness scratched at his skin and he craved the feel. Anything to keep him cemented in the now. There wasn't a way to get himself from not touching Michael, the furnace that he was. The point of an elbow, the curve of the throat. Knowing that his touch was truth in these minutes, that it was real and it was not hell.

Hell, where last he had known Michael was about to be attacked by Lucifer.

"Are you alright?" he asked, pissed at himself for not asking before as the archangel guided him to the bed, sheets over washed to roughness.

"Functional." The lights were off and he wanted to protest before feeling Michael curl up beside him. "We are safe here, the wards will hold. You will stop losing time soon. Rest."

His eyes finally did, refusing to open again. That thumb was still brushing against his skin, keeping that invisible beat as he drifted off to sleep.

XX

Things were truly clearer in the morning. Infinitely clearer to the point they were almost pristine.

The first being that he was waking up not knowing completely where he was. Or even with the best recollection of yesterday's events.

The second being that he was naked in bed with an angel. Strike that, an archangel.

"Sam," and the arm around him tightened. "I will let you up in a moment. I want the panic to pass first."

Oh yeah, like that didn't make the panic seep in a lot more.

So he made himself breath slow, drawn out breaths, trying to get himself to at least appear as though he wasn't going to run screaming, ass-naked, out the door. That he wasn't melting into a yipping pile of Sam goo at the reality of this. Since it really was reality, all neatly pressed up against him and almost suffocating in its lack of illusions.

That arm released him and he managed to free himself from the sheets without falling flat on his face. It was only when he was standing that he remembered he was sans clothes and any sort of remaining dignity.

"Sorry. It's not that I don't – I mean I just – " he trailed off, certain his face had not been redder in his whole life and that was saying a lot given who his brother was.

Michael merely blinked up at him but he was fairly certain there were some fine traces of amusement in those eyes. "Your clothes are in the chair."

He grabbed them on his way to the bathroom, feeling as though there wasn't enough readily available air in the galaxy to get in. That there was nothing that would help him process the complete insanity as he turned on the faucet to splash cold water on his face. Get a grip, he needed to get a grip on things.

Then he spied his hair and groaned, slicking all the wild feathery ends down with wet fingertips. Even if he was going mental he didn't have to look it.

Tending to that little issue though made him really take in the marks all over him. Celestial tattoos of the highest order, he thought as he looked at them winding their way across his body invoking a fascinated terror.

Don't think too much right now about it, he told himself.

Though getting the lowdown on angel marriages did skip up a few ranks on his to-do list as he got himself back into the clothes he came back with. They were just him, flannel, t-shirt, boots that were still in other room but everything was as though it was customized for him. Well, minus the bit of dirt that clung to them from their adventures so far but that was far from his top problem right now. They needed ID's, a car, supplies, weapons, to hunt down his family if any survived –

He made his palms ache against the sharp corner of the counter to slow his mind before opening the bathroom door.

"Sorry," he stupidly said again, taking in Michael's black slacks and blue button down shirt as the angel sat calmly waiting. "Didn't mean to freak. Just that we were naked."

Because as Dean would say, stating the obvious was his forte for times like these.

"There is no shame in that."

"You're an angel." Since he was on a roll with this and all.

"I have already stood naked before you, Sam, just in a different way." Michael tilted his head in that angelic way of theirs as Sam felt words fail him yet again. "I would like to see you eat again but after, since you know the affairs of humans better, we will follow your path."

"Okay," he got out thankful for the conversation shift. "Do you, uh know the specifics for where and when we are?"

"February 3rd, 2012. It is five forty-two in the morning just outside of Lawrence, Kansas."

It was then that Sam's still slightly fried brain decided he was married to Google Earth.