Ch4: Road to Revelation

Summary: Sam Seeks Revelation

Hitchhiking was always a hit or miss sort of game. The person who picked you up could be anyone. Or anything.

The person that happened to pick Sam up was human, thankfully. A kindly old man in a beat up Honda civic who smelled like handmade soap and cigarette ash. There was a "Jesus loves me" bumper sticker on the back and a rosary hanging from the rearview mirror.

Sam wondered what the man would have done, had he known just who he was letting in his car, and admitted the risk of hitchhiking went both ways. Never knew what monster you could pick up.

The burn still hummed under his skin, pulsing in the space between his ears. And the information, the new senses that the burn brought, it was overwhelming. Sam had some experience with senses outside the normal 5 when he was full of demon blood, but this was something else. It was too much.

Information about everything and everyone flowed into his head like a stream of water, and he had to fight against the flow. It was like stuffing a burst pipe with a spare shirt: difficult and only partially effective. Things still leaked in.

Like how Sam didn't know the man's last name or age, but he knew about the stage three lung cancer and he grew up in Pennsylvania.

The man, Elliot Cage, spoke animatedly about his grandchildren, and how he had one 'about your age'. Which, apparently, was the reason Elliot had stopped. Couldn't stand the thought of leaving him there, in the middle of nowhere.

"What if it had been my grandson, standin' there in the cold? I'd want someone to help him." was what Elliot said when he'd asked. Sam didn't argue or reprimand the man, too grateful to be off his feet for a bit after walking all day.

Elliot had dropped him off at the bus station in town, handing over twenty and a few dollar bills to a flustered Sam, who was trying to refuse the offering.

"Take it for the bus, son, it'd make this ol' man feel mighty better if you did." Elliot had urged, practically shoving the bills in his hands with a surprising amount of force for a man well into his 70s. Sam had taken them with a grateful smile, both humbled and uncomfortable with the man's generosity. He wished he could do something in return, but he had nothing on him he could offer.

The idea flitted into his head quickly, and before he could talk himself out of it, Sam laid a hand on Elliot's shoulder.

"Thank you, Elliot, may you live a long and happy life. You deserve it." Sam said earnestly, focusing inwards towards the burn, calling it forward and into his hand.

It wasn't too different than when he was on demon blood, if anything, calling it forward was easier. The powers leaping to do his bidding.

Elliot smiled to Sam as he concentrated, pooling the heat into his fingertips and sinking it into the older man.

"I've lived a good life, happy as it should. I got to see my grandkids grow up and graduate, and who knows? Maybe i'll still be around when they like lil' ones runnin' around." Elliot said, patting Sam's hand with his own, the sun-spotted, wrinkled hand contrasting Sam's youthful one greatly. There was a soft sadness to the older man, the words said almost in comfort to himself than an explanation to Sam.

Sam realized that Elliot must know of the cancer, and expected his odds of surviving to be null.

"You will," Sam said, certainty in his voice. He pulled his hand away, taking the heat with it. Elliot gave him a smile as Sam slid from the car. Waving off the older man, he walked over to the ticket station and got a one way trip to the farthest town he could.

Not a few weeks later, doctors would be baffled as 76 year old Elliot Cage was completely cancer free, no sign of cell mutation within him. Elliot would reverently claim whilst clutching and kissing his rosary, that the Lord sent an angel to test him, and when had passed, had healed him. His children and grandchildren would give thanks to this angel in their prayers for years to come. Elliot would give thanks until the day he died, at the ripe old age of 102, surrounded by family, from his children to his great great grandchildren there in the end.

Back in the present, just a few days after Sam had taken a bus to Norman, Oklahoma. It wasn't as reclusive of a town Sam would normally prefer, but it's where he decided to start his journey. And it was here he found out some startling new things about the warmth within him.

It was while he was out, diving at some seedy bars and looking for quick cash to pay for a night at a hotel. Hustling pool and cards was easier than ever. He'd let the warmth trickle in, directed to certain players. He was expecting to just… know what they had. Like how he knew of Elliot's cancer, or the ticket master's son's graduate degree in physics, or even the bartenders middle name was Juliet. Random things at random times.

Sam was certain that, if he got ahold of his newer abilities, he could direct them to specific pieces of information.

Where better to practice than a seedy bar on the outskirts of town?

So it was as he was sitting at a poker table, peeking at his cards, that Sam fucked up.

Sam had been wearing his best poker face, cards in hand as he observed the players around him. All men, four older, two around his age. Two of the older men couldn't hold a straight face if they were paralyzed, and one of the younger's faces was so smug Sam was certain it was stuck that way. The rest of the players were decent enough. But only one of the older men showed a decent threat.

Sam had grasped the warmth within him and pushed it through his eyes, willing himself to see the cards, to know their placements in each of the hands. He didn't expect to see.

It was like a full out of body experience, like in the medical movies where the person is floating above their comatose body. But Sam was aware of both, could move his body and his… spirit self? Projection? Astral form?

It was the strangest feeling, being aware of two things like that at once. But it was a shared consciousness, one mind in two bodies. Like he hand spontaneously grown five extra limbs. And with the five extra limbs came the sensations: sight, sound, hearing, taste and touch. But the taste and touch were far more muted than the other three. Sam chalked this up to the second him(?) being intangible. The other patrons sure didn't seem to see him.

Sam tested the waters, moving around his second self as he also paid attention to himself and the game. He moved around the table, glancing at the cards in each person's hands as he went. The smug younger one had a decent hand, and so did a few of the others. But the challenging older one (who Sam suddenly knew as Thomas Jones) had a royal flush and would stamp the shit out of every other hand.

Sam folded for the round and kept his money. The others that bet in were soundly thrashed by Jones.

The game went on. Sam #2 kept an eye on Jones' cards. Sam made sure to lose as much as he won, to keep suspicion off him. It wasn't until the last round that things went sideways.

Sam #2 was standing behind Jones, giving sam double vision to his cards when one of the onlookers stepped up.

And into Sam #2.

And suddenly Sam was him.

James McClellan was a 30 year old man with a drab job at the local dentist office. He hated it there, but what he hated more was going home to his awful wife and his awful kids. He was certain they weren't even his, if catching his whore wife in bed with the neighbor was anything to go by. They didn't have his eyes or his hair. Not like him, they looked like that fucker Todd from next door. It filled him with so much anger, so much hatred. Tonight, he was going to do it. Tonight he would kill them, all them, make kids-watch-go-first-knife-fist-

Sam flung himself out of the man, the chaotic thoughts that were jumbled around and squishing together, mixed with hatred, glee and excitement.

God, the man was aroused at the thought of killing his kids, in front of his wife and neighbor before killing them. He was positively brimming with it. Hard in his pants, shaking in his shoes at the plans and ideas in his head.

Sam felt sick to his stomach, revulsion for what he just experienced and saw. The warmth began to burn again, pushing against the inside of his body outward, trying to escape. And Sam let it.

It was like a dream, one he could only faintly remember when he woke up in the hospital two days later, news that the bar he had been in had leveled to the ground with only one casualty.

That moment he let the burn through his skin. He had moved outwards, his consciousness expanding to such a vast size that Sam had to force himself not to focus on it. He moved his Will with purpose, towards the man. The soul within him flickered, a weak light with darkness that wriggled within it like parasites.

The soul was removed from the man's body with a thought from Him, his Will grabbing the tainted soul unhappily, like someone pinching a dirty sock between two fingertips. He rose up, his being moving upwards and outwards as he looked around for a solution.

Burning, screaming below; Sam looked into the darkness and saw Hell. For that is what it surely was; it stank of sulfur and rang with the chorus of tortured souls.

Sam threw the soul into the pit where it let out a shriek as demons rose up, sinking their claws and teeth into it, dragging it down into the deep.

Sam hovered there, feeling everything around him. Now that he had done his initial goal, his focus wavered and things began to slip in. The trickle slowly turning up into a roaring flood of information that ripped into him, knocking him off kitler.

Sam lost his grasp on something he didn't even know he had been holding and that was when the earth itself shook where his body laid. His consciousness bloomed out further than before, brushing against the layers of Creation before stopping against one. It was bright and full of love, pure and unconditional love.

He could feel others there, singing in shock and excitement as he reached into the light layer, brushing over something he would swear were feathers. Emotions trickled up fingertips, hope and love scorching through him, directed at him. So much of it, it was overwhelming. It was frightening.

Sam yanked himself away, self-loathing winning out in the face of such impossible love. He didn't deserve it, it wasn't for him.

So he pulled himself back, far back, back to his body. The thing that had bloomed within him withered and shriveled up, sinking back within his being as his whole self shrunk back, folding in and over itself in impossible ways until he slammed back into his body at full velocity.

And everything went dark.

Sam woke in the hospital, those two days later. He was groggy and disoriented, his skin felt too tight and his head pounded like a thousand drums. He burned through the pain medicine faster than the nurses could administer it.

He could barely think of what had happened, every time he did it was like his hold slipped on something within him and caused the furniture around him to shake and the lights to flicker. The heat would burn behind his eyes and down his arms, scorching the blankets and sheets.

Sam was let out after a few days, the police still lingering around too much, their eyes trained on his every movement. They believed he started the fire, and while they weren't wrong, they were not correct either. But with no proof and a whole bar full of witnesses willing to talk about the intense poker game he was in, they were forced to let up.

He booked it out of town shortly after and ended up only about an hour away, in Garber, Oklahoma. Far enough to be out of that police district, but close enough to monitor the situation. Sam was still freaked out over what had happened, and he wanted to keep an eye on the bar's location and who showed up after. Maybe some things would fall into place after, and he could understand just what was going on with him.

The heat, the Grace within him. It was strong, and Sam didn't know why he had gotten it, and he didn't know how to control it.

It was very different than his demonic powers, in feeling and strength. It was so much more. Sam had to struggle to rein it in, the smallest of thoughts sending the burn out and changing something.

The walls of his hotel room going from and ugly yellow to a soft coral pink, holes in his cloths mended instantly, things disappearing when he was done with them, only to reappear as soon as he needed it again. It was alarming and Sam decided staying in his room was the best course of action. It would not bode well to have another outburst. Maybe he'd level the town next time he crossed someone with less than stellar intentions.

Sam was glad he stayed in instead of going out, or else he would have been at ground zero for the horde of angels that came down to the bar's location. Hundreds of them, all in vessels, standing around the burnt remains of the building. The news broadcasted it, selling it as some sort of protest or homage gathering, but Sam, who had been watching, knew who and what they were as soon as he laid eyes on them.

Sam panicked as he connected a few dots together, what he had felt during his outburst, the feathers... it was an angel he had touched.

Sam fled the state before the horde got lucky and spotted him.

He carved his way through central America, heading west to Oregon, hoping to disappear in the woods somewhere.

He ran into trouble, of course. Demons spotted him in some little town and tailed him to the next. The resulting confrontation was enlightening and catastrophic at the same time.

"Sam Winchester," one black-eyes asshole hissed, "we've been looking for you."

Shit.

He barely had a moment to move away and the demons were on him, dozens of them sneering and grinning with glee as they no doubt thought of the praise they would receive for bringing him in. He was the one who killed Lilith and dozens of other demons with his mind, the boy with the demon blood, and Lucifer's vessel. He didn't doubt that whoever brought him in would be sitting pretty for the rest of their existence. In Hell at least. Maybe with a nice pat on the back from the pro-apocalypse angels.

So he fought hard, like the hounds of Hell were nipping at his heels as he did. Which they were, literally.

It was when he was decking some chump demon in the face that it happened.

He threw the punch, same as always. But this time, the warmth surged up his arm and pulsed through his hand.

Next thing he knew, the demon was crumpled to the ground dead 15 feet away, a smoking, melted mess where his face once was. Sam, and the other demons, stared for a hot second. Then everything burst back into action, some demons running at him and some away from him. Sam knew he couldn't let word of whatever was going on with him hit Hell, he had to keep this contained until he could figure it out himself.

Sam let the burn course through his body, the ground shaking under his feet as it traveled from where it was nestled in his chest to his feet and spreading up to his head, heating the space behind his eyes.

He threw himself at the demons, throwing hits left and right, sending them through walls and -at one memorable point- through the actual fucking ceiling.

When he got close enough to some of the demons he could see a bright glow of light reflecting off their skin and he knew the source of the light was from his own eyes. Which was freaky, because he could see fine, better than fine. Everything was: his sight, hearing, smell, etc. It was like he filled up his senses to one hundred on the one to ten scale.

But he filed that information away for later unpacking, focusing on the demons.

He killed six more before the others started making a break for it. Sam knew he couldn't let any escape, so he let the burn shine through his skin, keeping a careful lock on it so there wouldn't be a repeat of the bar incident.

Reaching out with his Grace, Sam grabbed hold of the fleeing demons and crushed them within his metaphysical fists. It was easy, like crushing grapes in his hands, and it floored Sam how weak these beings were to him now. Creatures he had once struggled desperately to fight against, lay wasted at his feet with just a thought. It spooked him, reminding him of his time addicted to demon blood.

Sam left quickly, his mind in a tizzy from his racing thoughts.

God, everything was so messed up.

Four days later, Sam was in Oregon, walking along a dirt back road as it drizzled around him. He didn't feel cold, even though the temperature had dropped dramatically. The Grace under his skin kept him from feeling the cold.

Sam took stock at he walked for hours alone.

His powers, the Grace, the burn beneath his skin. What could he do with it?

For one, he could smite now. Which was handy with dealing with demons. Sam had to shake off more than one tailing him after he killed all those demons. Now that he was paying attention, Sam could tell when demons were near. His demon detection spanded the whole state. Also handy, but kept him anxious. There were always a few demons on his radar, but as long as they stayed far far away, Sam was safe.

Secondly, he could push himself out of his body, like in the bar. And split his consciousness into two while keeping himself whole. Advanced multitasking, as he liked to joke about it.

He could feel souls, beings or essences. He could read them, look into the person in front of him and see their whole life flash before his eyes. He'd know them, every part of them. It horrifyingly intimate and invasive. So Sam held the reigns on that as tight as he could, especially after the bar incident.

Healing was another, like in River Pass, with Ellen and the others. Healing them, not only of their injuries, but from the spell that was placed over them. Pulling it away like a sticky film.

The thought had Sam touching the golden ring that hung on a chain on his neck.

Sam had kept it, knowing it would be safe with him. The gold band still had that slimy, oily feeling along the edges of it, and Sam felt weird just touching it. But the feeling went away as soon as he thought about it. The burn eating away at the bad feeling in his fingertips when he pulled away.

Sam's mind traveled to Dean, which sent a sharp burst of pain in his chest.

He had tried calling Dean many times over the time he had been gone. After the first growled conversation, where Dean threatened him over and over. He still believed that he had said yes to Lucifer, and nothing Sam said would convince him otherwise. Dean hung up the second time, and the third and fourth. After that, Dean didn't pick up.

Sam understood where Dean was coming from, he understood his hesitance and why he was doing this. Sam would probably be freaking out just as much had Dean said yes to Michael.

But Sam hadn't said yes. He was still Sam, or, at least, being Sam was all he could remember.

He pushed that thought away quickly, it was too confusing and alarming to think about. Being someone else and not knowing it? Like a severe case of amnesia with a car full of baggage.

But Sam also knew he wasn't Lucifer. Sam had felt him coming out of the cage, screaming in freedom and relief. His heart ached at the sounds he had heard, and Sam had to shove that away quickly, too. Sympathy for the Devil got you nothing but trouble, and Sam was already neck deep in enough of that.

The soft pat-pat-pat behind him had Sam turning on his heel, gun raised and body tense, ready for a fight.

It was a dog. A black dog with a dusty gray spotting along his face.

Sam lowered his gun, a sheepish look on his face.

He moved forward slowly, hand reaching out to the dog.

"Hey there, buddy. What are you doing out here?" He called to him, kneeling down on the dirt road. The dog patted over, sniffing his hand before licking it, his butt wiggling the whole time from the force of his tail wagging.

Sam didn't care about the abundance of dog drool on his hands as he moved to pet the dog, fingers brushing through his fur and scratching behind his ears. He made ridiculous baby talk to the dog while he did. Plenty of 'good boys' and 'sweet boy's in there.

"You are so handsome, you know that?" he told the dog. A woof was given back to him.

'Yes'

Sam paused, looking down at the dog with wide, startled eyes.

"Did… did you just talk?" he choked out, hoping he was wrong.

'Always talk, need listen' the dog's mouth did not move, but he wuffled in his throat.

"Oh God, i'm going crazy." Sam muttered to himself, thoroughly freaked out. He stood quickly, hands gripping tightly into his hair as he paced back and forth. He stopped after a bit in front of the dog, who had not moved from where he sat or had stopped wagging his tail.

"What are you? Some sort of supernatural creature?"

'Am dog, Father.'

"No, I mean, what kind of dog?"

'Dog.'

Either the dog was messing with him (in which, what the hell was his life coming to?) or the dog didn't possess the mental fallacies to fully understand what he was asking.

Sam watched the dog warilly, contemplating for a moment before heaving a sigh and reaching out with a hand with warm fingers to the dog.

The dog moved forward excitedly, butting his head right into Sam's hand.

The Grace within his hand slid forward and touched the dog, gleaning information about him for Sam.

He was a Boxer mix, with a bit of German shepherd in there. He came from a long line of stray and wild dogs who lived in the area. And he was a distance descendant of a German shepherd that had been blessed by the pagan triple goddess, which gave this dog a bit more of an understanding of things than a normal dog would. He also felt overwhelming love and excitement from the Boxer, directed towards him.

Sam healed a few things within the dog without much thought as he pulled his hand back. Arthritis creeping into the back legs and heartworms.

He stared down at the dog for a long time.

"So I can talk to dogs now?" he asked rhetorically.

'Talk to all, Father.` the dog wuffled.

"Why do you call me that? Father?"

'Are you, Father.'

"What do you mean?" the dog looked confused at his questions, like he couldn't understand why Sam wasn't getting it. "Nevermind." Sam ran another hand through his hair.

"What's your name?"

'Am One who Runs' the Boxer informed him.

"One who Runs?" the Boxer barked in confirmation. Sam paused for a moment. "Mind if I call you Rush?" the dog wagged his tail faster, moving forward to butt his head against Sam's knees. "Ill take that as a yes." Sam chuckled.

After that, Sam continued on, Rush following close even after Sam told him he didn't need to follow.

'I follow, Father.' was all Rush had said and that was that.

Sam didn't mind the company, and he loved dogs.

What he did mind was how many started showing up.

It seemed like, when Sam went to sleep that night, camping just within the woods, Rush had went back to the other dogs he had been living around and told them about Sam.

The next morning, Sam had three dogs. The morning after that, 7.

After than 10.

After that 14.

Sam finally put his foot down when 17 dogs started following him.

"Guys, I love all of you. But it's getting crowded." Sam had finally said. The dogs varied in size, shape, color and breed. Even in age. There were some puppies trailing along, and Sam often found himself carrying a few while he walked.

The dogs all boofed at him in different pitches. Some had voices like Rush, others had more of a presence to them, thoughts that didn't morph into words for him but emotions that he could pick up on.

Rush was by far the most cognitive, which was probably why he found Sam first.

'We follow, Father.' Rush woofed.

"I know, but at this rate we're going to get overcrowded and possibly over hunt the area. I dont have enough to feed you all." Sam said. The dogs all whined sadly at him, their tails drooping.

Sam would never admit to anyone just how fast he broke under the onslaught of puppy eyes they gave him.

"Ok ok, fine. You can stay, but we need to set up some sort of routine or turn-taking so things don't get crazy." the dogs all perked up, tails and butts wiggling happily.

After that it stayed around 15 to 17 dogs with him at any given time, but what dogs were with him changed out. Rush was the only constant, staying next to his side and helping keep the other dogs in check.

Sam would curl up at night, surrounded by dogs and admittedly happier that he'd been in a long time. There was something about being surrounded by the dogs unconditional, free love that soothed something within Sam.

During the day they all trailed along next to him, him leading the front of the group. Sometimes one or two would run ahead, then run back, rabbits or birds in their mouths that they would then share with the rest. Some would sniff around the woods, woofing if they smelled something strange.

The one time a singular demon came upon them, one that Sam had felt miles off, the dogs reacted strongly, circling around Sam and pouncing on the surprised hell spawn. They kept it distracted long enough for him to burn the demon out of the host. After healing up the woman the demon had inhabited he tested something out.

Placing two fingers on the woman's head, he sought a small scrap of information. Where she lived floated through his head and he focused on the images he saw there. With a tap of his fingers, she was gone. And Sam knew in his gut he had succeeded.

"Handy," he mumbled to himself, rubbing his fingers together. He remembered how Cas would fly them places, with a touch of his fingers they would be there. It was what inspired Sam to try it on the woman.

Castiel, now that the thought of him fluttered through Sam's head he couldn't shake him. For the next following days, Cas was all he could think of. The brave little angel that tried to stop the apocalypse and who defied heaven for them. Sure, he made mistakes, but he was learning and trying his best to make good decisions and that was something Sam appreciated.

One night, about a week after the demon, Sam had a strange dream.

He was drifting, bodiless, formless. He was the mist over the ground and the clouds in the sky, He was the turn of the Earth and the gravity of the stars. Holding it all together and able to unravel it all with a thought. He could feel each and every being there was, each life humming against the edge of His consciousness, each beautiful and precious to Him.

But He was looking for one in particular.

With that intent in mind, He dove in, scouring the universe for pieces of that flickering light, of a Grace that had been scattered across the stars.

He picked the pieces up, the atoms of them spread so thinly across space. He pulled them together and collected them in His many hands. The light starting as a tiny, atom sized speck, but growing and growing the more He found.

A kaleidoscope of light danced across His perception as He traveled, His precious cargo carried and protected within Himself as He did. He peered at Creation as He passed, noting some things He knew to be wrong. The threads that tied Creation together were withered and breaking, the bad areas patched by a power He knew but could not name at the moment.

He knew they would hold. But not for long.

Pushing the notice back within Himself, He refocused on the bundle of Grace in His hands.

It was all there, every speck of their Grace collected and put back together.

But it was empty, no thoughts or feelings flitted through the Grace. It was still and quiet. And He found it unnerving.

He moved carefully in His next step, thousands of hands reaching out and pressing against a veil only He could feel. He pressed gently, digging His fingers in and prying an opening to the space between everything.

The Empty.

Reaching through with many hands, He searched for them.

The consciousness He sought laid sleeping among their brothers and sisters, others who had fallen. He mourned for them all, vowing internally to mend what was broken. But not now. Not until all was ready.

He carefully picked them up, His power sliding over them and cradling them close as He pulled out of The Empty, smoothing His hands over the opening and closing it behind Him.

He poured them into the Grace He had collected, watching as they righted themself within and awoke soon after.

Feathers ruffled and resettled, hands and tail twitched, and, finally, a dozen eyes opened and looked up at Him.

'Father?'

PEACE, MY CHILD. ALL WILL BE WELL.

Sam woke with a gasp, sitting up sharply and startling off a few of the dogs. He looked around wildly from where he sat, searching for a threat as his head spinned. There was nothing but trees and dogs scampering about, barking at one another.

Sam pulled in deep breaths, willing his heart to stop racing in his chest.

It was just a dream, right? It felt so real but, as he tried to think on it more, bits and pieces slipped away, like they were sliding behind a glossimer curtain. A curtain he was afraid to pull back. Last time he did a bar was destroyed and he touched an angel's wings. He wasn't looking to see what he would do next.

'Father?' Rush nosed his hand, which was gripping the ground, dirt and twigs crunching beneath his white-knuckle grip. Sam forced his hands to unclench, reaching out to pet Rush.

"Im fine, just a bad dream," Sam said, taking another deep breath. He pushed down the dream, opting to forget it for the time being.

Knowing he wouldn't be getting back to sleep, Sam pushed up from the ground to stand. Brushing off his pants, he looked around at all of the dogs, who were all awake and looking at him expectantly. It was twilight now, the sun almost peeking from the horizon.

He breathed in the fresh air of the forest around him, pushing the grace within him down within himself.

Sam turned and headed back towards the road and onto the next town, grace a low humm just beneath his breastbone and over a dozen dogs trailing behind him.

Unbeknownst to Sam, thousands and thousands of miles away, bright blue eyes snapped open, a light shining brightly within.