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The room wasn't really decorated to Sam's taste but he could appreciate the artistry of it. Lots of intricate scroll work covered the moldings and the muted colors were calming. It was, at least, a comfortable place to have been put in storage.
His body was too long for the sofa that he lounged back on, his legs dangling over one armrest at the knee. It was one of those fancy ones, with no back and curved ends. There was a name for those, but Sam didn't recall what it was and wasn't interested enough to try. He was letting his eyes lazily follow the paths of the etchings near the ceiling, baroque he was pretty sure while he tried to make some sense of everything he had been told.
His family hadn't been church goers, not even Christmas and Easter, but you can't grow up in modern America without picking up at least the gist of contemporary Christianity. Most of Zachariah's briefing hadn't really been news to him. God created the universe. Lucifer got jealous and got evicted from Heaven. Then there was something about a judgment day, some acid trip of a prophecy involving the dead rising and giant snakes that Sam had mainly seen depicted on his brother's album covers.
That was the part he wished he'd paid more attention to now. It hadn't seemed all that important while he'd been alive. Sure, he had pretty much always believed that there must be something, he didn't know what, just something bigger than humanity out there. The idea that humankind might have somehow figured out what IT was and what IT wanted just wasn't realistic thinking however. He'd just followed his father's advice and tried to be the best man he could be.
Simple, easy, and as it turned out, apparently dead wrong, because IT, or at least, one of IT's angels, had just told Sam what IT wanted in plain English.
That had been a lot to digest. Sam's head had been spinning from it all by the time he'd insisted on a break to sort through it all. They'd told him to take all the time he needed and deposited him here, in what could have been the Pope's fainting room.
Honestly though, Sam wasn't thinking about the crash course in theology, or the implications of the implausible having turned out to be true. He was considering the source from which the revelation had come.
He wasn't sure he trusted Zachariah. He came across a little too oily for Sam's taste, like the guys with bad pick up lines that tended to get a face full of some girl's drink. OK, granted, angels were supposed to be the good guys. On the other hand, how did Sam know for sure that he was an angel? He only had the guy's own word for that.
That thought had caused a bit of a nasty shock. If he couldn't be sure anything this "angel" said was true then what about his family? Zachariah had said they were fine, but what proof did he have? Since then, any effort to focus on the matters at hand kept falling victim to the nagging concern that he'd been fed a bad pick up line.
Sam sighed in frustration, his mind looping around to start another lap around the track of circular logic. He kept getting lost in his thoughts just like his eye getting lost in the intertwined tangle of lines of the etchings and loosing it's place.
The sound of the door latch saved him from mental exercise. He pulled himself sitting and looked over to the opening door. A man, if you could call him that, his appearance put him around that age where neither man nor boy seemed like accurate terms, entered the room.
"I hope I'm not disturbing you." the newcomer spoke tentatively.
"No, it's fine." Sam rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands. "I can actually use a break," he admitted. "Don't tell me, another angel?"
"My name is Samandriel," the being confirmed, "and you are Sam Winchester, the chosen one."
"That's what they tell me." Sam replied. As wrapped up as he was in his own problems, he couldn't really be blamed for missing the angel's slightly star struck expression and the awe in his voice.
"I've been sent to see if you require anything." the new angel explained himself. "We want you to be comfortable during your considerations."
"All I require," Sam said, his frustration driving him to stand and pace a bit, "is to understand what's going on. I don't think you can help me with that."
"You seem troubled." the angel observed, a hint of confusion in his voice.
Sam's first instinct was to snap back with a sarcastic quip about stating the obvious, but he bit it back. There was the possibility that this really was an angel and some level of respect did seem to be in order. Besides, unlike Zachariah, this guy did seem sort of, well, angelic. At very least, he was a decent guy that sounded sincere. He ended up saying, "Yeah, I guess I am. I mean, I know your boss said that my family's OK, but…" he floundered, not able to find a tactful way to say, "I just met the guy and I don't really trust him."
"Your parents are...OK." Samandriel fumbled over the term as if it were unfamiliar to him. "I can show you, if you like."
"You can?" Sam pounced on the offer. This was great. If he could just know for sure then he could think straight about everything else.
"Of course," the angel told him, "I was instructed to provide whatever you requested. We can go whenever you like."
"Is now…" Sam began. Samandriel touched his shoulder and the sound of beating wings. When Sam finished, "too soon?" he found he was standing in a place he knew very well. Dean had taught him how to block a punch not far from where they stood. It had been during the drama surrounding his first girlfriend. First year of law school, he and John had shared their first real man to man talk over by the outdoor grill on the porch.
Sam stared at the woman who stood there now, struck by how much she resembled Mary. The hair was the same color, and she even had Mary's sort of sad smile, but there were no wisps of gray. No creases at the corners of her eyes. This younger woman was so much the image of his mother he could have believed he'd traveled back in time. With a jolt he remembered that that could very well be the case.
He turned his attention to the dark haired man that stood near them on the grass, smiling happily, playing catch with a boy that looked to be around five years of age.
"Dad?" Sam asked uncertainly, taking a hesitant step forward, but the man just dodged to one side, moving to intercept the ball the boy had thrown.
"They can't see or hear us, Sam." his companion explained, "It's against the rules."
"What rules?" Sam asked, confused. "No, you know what, never mind, this isn't what I meant. I want to see my parents now." His mind churned over the fact that, under the circumstances, those words didn't really convey his meaning very well. He tried again, "I mean, like, where they are, right now." That wasn't really any better. He searched for a way to explain.
"I don't understand." Samandriel said, sounding like he really was trying to. "This is where they are now. This is their Heaven. Souls are rarely allowed are allowed to share like this. They must have been a very special case."
"Their...Heaven?" Sam struggled to get the words out, tumblers clicking into place in his head, "You mean...they're...dead?" The wail of a small voice pierced the air, punctuating the question.
"Well, yes," Samandriel supplied haltingly, truly not understanding the human's reaction. This was what he had said he wanted after all, but Sam seemed upset for reasons that eluded him.
Sam whirled around to face the angel. "You said they were OK!" he bellowed. He'd believed Samandriel. The sharp stab of betrayal fueled his angry accusation.
"They are OK." the angel pointed out. How could Sam not see that when they were right there in front of him? "They're at peace." he tried to explain. "They'll never know pain or want again." Sam's state had the poor angel completely confounded.
Sam fumed, silently debating the merits of trying to explain what "OK" meant in human terms but decided against it. What would be the point? Samandriel understanding wouldn't change anything.
From across the yard, a small, earnest voice reached him, "Sammy, hey Sammy, it's all right. You're not hurt." The toddler's yells grew louder and something about them tugged at Sam's insides. It just wasn't fair.
"How did it happen?" he asked darkly.
Samandriel felt he was losing control of the situation. His orders had been to make sure the chosen had been satisfied and content. This outing didn't seem to be fulfilling either of those criteria, and he honestly couldn't fathom just where things had gone wrong. "Sam," he spoke soothingly, hoping to head things off before they got any worse.
"How did they die?" Sam barked, not interested in anything but an answer to his question.
The angel had to take a step back. The emotion radiating off the human soul was palatable. Samandriel could only feel the edge of it, just a fraction, and still the intensity weighed on him. It was all anger and fear and confusion twisted up into a writhing, pulsing mass. He had to wonder how a human soul, so small, so fragile, could bear the full force of it. It seemed there was more to humans than he had ever taken the time to consider.
He tried to regain his composure and control of the situation. Making decisions wasn't something he was used to and he wasn't certain what to do. He had been instructed to provide whatever Sam requested, and Sam was certainly making his wishes known. Refusing to answer would technically be a disobedience to his orders, but somehow, it felt like a mistake.
"Demons," he said reluctantly, feeling the knowledge would just make things worse. "Mary, well she was determined to avenge your death. She rushed into a battle that was beyond her skills. John was…" The angel hesitated, then decided it was permissible to err on the side of tact, "sleeping. A demon was looking for your br..."
"What are you two doing in here?" a voice demanded, interrupting. The pair turned to where Zachariah stood, his false smile replaced with a darker expression that Sam felt looked a lot more natural on him.
"He wanted to see his parents." Samandriel explained, "You said to…"
"Yes, I see what happened." Zachariah's voice was annoyed when he interrupted. "You can go, Samandriel. I'll clean this up myself." Without another word, the lesser angel was gone.
Sam was more than happy to turn his anger on a more deserving target. "You lied to me." he growled an accusation.
"I didn't lie." Zachariah defended himself, brushing aside Sam's anger as a matter of no consequence. "I just conveniently defined some key words in order to influence the implication."
"Sort of like you're doing now." Sam shot back.
"All right, all right, I tried to deal off the bottom and you caught me." the angel admitted, "That's all water under the bridge. The fact remains that Earth's clock is ticking and you're the one that can stop it, so let's not waste a bunch of time on a whole lot of he said/she said, all right?"
Sam had decided he's had enough double talk. "Put me back where you found me." he instructed, making it clear that no other option was up for consideration.
"Now, Sam," Zachariah tried.
"Put, me, back," Sam repeated. He didn't know what Zachariah's game was, or what he'd hoped to accomplish by dragging Sam into it and he didn't care. As far as he was concerned, the whole thing had been a pack of lies. Lucifer rising, world ending, yeah right, and the tooth fairy was real.
Zachariah's painted on smile melted into an annoyed scowl. He wished he could just force this little worm to comply but that was one of the few things beyond his abilities. The rules were clear, true consent, freely given. There was no real choice but to fall back, regroup, and think of a different approach.
"Yeah well, when I made that rule I assumed that I'd be the one driving my own car." Dean snapped.
Sam didn't respond.
"Hey, Sammy," Dean snapped his fingers in front of his brother's glazed over eyes, "you OK? You kinda checked out on me there."
Sam blinked, shaking off the strange daydream. "Uh, yeah," he murmured, not sounding convincing.
"OK, that's it," Dean announced shoving Sam as he slid across the seat, "Get out. No way you're driving my car while you're still rocking last night's drunk."
"What?" Sam asked, confused, "Oh, yeah, you're probably right." He opened the door and made way for Dean to reclaim his rightful place behind the wheel. Still a little blurry he swept his gaze around the parking lot, looking for he wasn't sure what and trying to remember what it was he'd just been thinking about.