Chapter 6: A Man Reaps What he Sows

(WARNING: CHILD DEATH, SENSITIVE RELIGIOUS THEMES)

Sam found a town. It was a small, personal town with barely 500 people in it. There wasn't even a McDonalds there.

It was more like a village now that he thought about it.

Everyone knew everyone, there were block parties once a month that were more like family gatherings, local gardens that anyone could pick from, a small grocery store and maybe 3 gas stations total.

Due to how small the place was, Sam was spotted as an outsider almost immediately. The small herd of dogs following him was certainly an eye catcher as well. As Sam moved through town, headed towards the Dinner, he spoke quietly to Rush, instructing him to lead the dogs off until he called for them. Rush was not pleased with this and bartered that at least one of them stayed with Sam just to be safe. Sam, who was feeling rather amused but pleased with the K9's protectiveness, conceded. Whomever accompanied him would have to sit outside the Dinner, though, since animals were not allowed in restaurants.

Sam treated himself to a hearty breakfast, after days on the road chowing down on small game and whatever he could forage from the brush, he was famished. He was quick to eat and leave though, not liking the stares from the locals.

He walked through the town, no destination really in mind. Rush walked closely at his heels, head tipped back and sniffing the air. His feet took him around the town, only stopping when he came to a small, worn church.

The church was dingy. Some windows were boarded up, the sign outside said 'cum and b dlvrd bitch,' no doubt the handiwork of the local youth. One side was covered in graffiti, and on the other side was a small fenced area with a small, barren garden.

He climbed the steps and entered the place.

It wasn't as dingy as the outside. The whole building consisted of the worship hall, with privacy screens along the back that the Priest could dip behind. The place was worn, but held a well-loved feeling to it rather than a lack of upkeep. The pews were dark and the cushions on them threadbare and patched in places with careful stitches. The carpet was faded off-red, worn down to the barest of threads from years of dress shoe-covered feet shuffling over it. The altar at the head of the church was obviously the prized possession.

It was covered in a sheet, so Sam pulled it off. A pleased humm left him when he saw the polished hardwood altar. It was a little busted up: wear marks from candelabras, remnants of wax spattered across the wood, and divots along one edge where a bug must have chewed through it . A large, copper basin sat in the center for baptism, the metal rusted along the bottom.

Sam reached out with warm fingers, gliding the tips along the edge of the bowl and altar. Wood and metal mended themselves before his eyes until a sturdy, gleaming altar was left like new.

A deep-seated pleasure hummed its way through Sam's core as he observed the place of worship around him. He could feel the imprints of the souls that had once praised here, could hear phantom echoes of hymns and prayers from years upon years of worship. They had sunk into the floors, into the walls and rafters, saturating the whole building with the energy of their faith and love.

Sam settled down on the floor and soaked it all in.

Over the next few weeks, Sam worked on the little church. Other than the altar, Sam didn't use his Grace to fix anything. He worked with his hands, repairing and tending to the little building. He washed the paint off the outside walls with a home mix of borax and dish soap he had gotten at the town's grocery store. He fixed the shingles on the roof, tore out the rotted wood off the sidings and replaced it. Having Grace meant he could work for hours and hours without getting tired.

The dogs helped along the way, bringing him things that he needed, pulling up weeds out of the garden with their jaws, pushing out the rotting siding with their paws and more. He kind of felt like a disney princess about it all, which brought a humored smile on his face whenever the thought came.

Things got even more princess-like when he started working on the garden more actively.

Birds brought him seeds.

Fucking. Birds. Brought. Him. Seeds.

For the first few days it happened, he had been so confused. Waking up outside with small piles of grain sitting innocently on his work table.

He laughed himself silly when he figured out where all the seeds were coming from. And after that, the birds started hanging out even more regularly. They'd hop along the repaired fences, ride along on his shoulders or in his hair, some even road on the dogs backs.

The crows and ravens in the groups were little trouble makers, pinching at the dogs tails and flying off when they'd snap back at them.

But they were good for finding things, like bringing him nails that he had dropped in the grass. They'd also bring him little random trinkets. The larger birds would bring him shiny things, like coins and metallic wrappers. The smaller ones would bring him other things, like bottle caps and hair pins. He had quite the collection going.

Sam grew very fond of his flock of birds and dogs, taking a week out of repairing the church to build bird and dog houses. They all seemed very pleased by this, especially after he was able to use his Grace to conjure up some cloth and soft straw for them.

It was very peaceful. Sam felt something settle into his heart when he watched the animals play and live happily around him. But a deep rooted sadness and longing lingered along the edges of it, and Sam couldn't pinpoint where it came from. Why did the site of this flock bring forth such a feeling of melancholy? Why did the harmony bring him turmoil?

Sam tried his best to shake it off, but it lingered around the edges of his emotions like sage smoke: ignorable, but unquestionably there.

So he tilled the garden with some MacGyvered tools, pulled weeds and stones, and mixed in mulch to soften the hardened earth. The dogs and birds helped. Birds pulled out weeds and glass from broken beer bottles, and the dogs dug up the ground after in large chunks, using their claws to break up the larger clumps.

Knowledge of agriculture and botany was whispered into his ears, carried by the winds that rustled between trees and over fields and plains.

Plant here, Plant now,

Deep ground

Water Water r

Sunlight, warmth

This one, this seed, here, will grow

This one, this seed, wither decay, grow wrong

Plant plant plant deep ground-

Sam felt a little silly, listening to random whispers, but did it anyway. Sorting seeds into piles based on type and then on whether or not they were duds. He fed the duds to the birds before carefully sowing the good ones into the tilled ground. He hummed to himself as he worked, falling into an easy rhythm that kept a good pace. It was almost trance-like, the peace that fluttered over him as he worked with the earth between his fingers and toes, surrounded by a flock of birds and dogs who loved and listened.

In these moments, Sam would let his consciousness reach out a bit more than normal. Practicing his limits, he'd stretch out his mind like he did before, but less far. He could feel the worms wiggling in the soil, the ants burrowing, the bees humming in the air, the spiders crawling along the ground. His Grace brushed against them and a burst of happiness was felt. Sam would let them crawl to him. Scooping the worms and bugs in his hands, Sam would conjure sugar cubes and small fruits for them to munch on.

The ants and worms were very helpful, breaking up the harder parts of the ground by digging through them. Sam let the spiders web their way through his tomato patch, stringing intricate and beautiful webs between poles and plants.

There was one black and yellow garden spider he lovingly dubbed 'Charlotte', who was a little different than the rest of her kin. She didn't feel inclined to join them in the tomato patch, rather, he'd feel her dance along his scalp, stealing hair to weave into webs or single-strand braids.

Sam had no idea why he was so calm about it; while he was never scared of spiders or bugs in the past, he certainly never let them crawl on him. But now, it seemed, his view had changed and he was rather welcomed to it.

The locals knew Sam by now. He came closer into town once a week, trailing dogs and birds behind him, with spiders in his messy hair and dirt smudged along his clothes and face. Sometimes, he was even barefoot. The people would shy away still, cautious eyes peeking out of shutters and blinds as he and his troop passed.

Sam looked wild and he knew that. Embraced it even.

Going into the small store closest to the church, he'd leave the dogs and birds outside, moving through the doors and into the aisles to pick through canned food that would last. Rice in bulk, beans as well. Fuel for his lamps and lighters, some candles and jerky for the dogs.

On his way back, Sam would pick up discarded furniture and appliances from the end of people's driveways before trash day, taking them back to the church and either fixing or repurposing them. He found an old radio that only needed a few places rewired and was able to set it up, putting on an oldies station that he crooned along with while he worked.

It was one day, about a month and a half into his stay in the town that broke the ice between him and the people of the town.

An old gameboy that had definitely seen better days was found on the fencepost when he went out to tend to the garden, the plants having begun to fully sprout from the ground.

Sam picked up the game, turning it over in his hands as he inspected it. He looked around for the owner of the game, but found no one.

He looked curiously down at the gameboy, rubbing a finger along the surface, he let a trickle of his Grace go forward.

Barry Howardson was ten years old and lived with his mother in a small house a few blocks from the church on the route that he took to the store. They used to live in Seattle, but after his father had died overseas when he was eight, Barry's mother thought it best to settle somewhere new and quiet. His father had given him this gameboy on the first Christmas he could remember, and they'd play it together for hours. Barry had kept it in as best of condition as he could, but little boy hands were less than delicate and over time the game had broken. Barry had been heartbroken and tried to fix it himself, but he couldn't. So the game had sat within a small box under his bed for the last three months.

But then the Stranger came into town. He was followed by a hoard of dogs, galloping along behind him wherever he went. His mom told him to stay away from the Stranger and Barry had been confused. The dogs trusted him, and when dogs trusted someone, they were good. Just like when the neighbors dog Doxie had bitten a jogger that had passed by. The poor dog had been put down, but it was later found out that the jogger had been a pedophile, and was scouting out the area for their next victim.

After that, Barry trusted the dogs. Far more than he trusted people.

The dogs never left the Stranger, and soon birds followed. Sitting on his shoulders and lining the fences as he passed, putting twigs in his hair and singing songs that Barry could hear whistled back.

Barry knew he was holed up in the old church, repairing it from what it looked like. The local PD left him alone, not caring for the old church enough to try to stop him. Some of the older people in town thought the Stranger was odd, but were grateful to see the old church that they had gone to when they were younger brought back into better shape.

Didn't mean anyone talked to him, though.

After a bit, Barry noticed that the Stranger would pick up things that had been thrown out. Old microwaves, recliners, busted tvs and chairs. Barry had no idea what the Stranger was doing with them until he saw his neighbor Mrs Martha's old cherry red couch rebuilt as a large dog bed in the back of the churchyard.

Barry put out an old radio one day, one that had been busted for as long as he could remember. He placed it outside the day he knew the Stranger would come by and watched anxiously as he walked by and picked it up.

He only had to wait a day before he saw the old radio up in the church garden, working perfectly as it belted out an older tune.

So Barry grabbed the old gameboy and went to the church. He waited until the Stranger went inside for the night before placing the game on the fence post and leaving quickly.

Sam pulled back, touched by the story he had found. Using his Grace once again, Sam brushed against the gameboy, restoring completely until the plastic casing gleamed. However, he left one little thing on it before placing it back down.

Later that day, Barry came back. Seeing the game on the fence left him with a feeling of sadness, his hopes dashed. Feeling foolish, the young boy raced over and picked up the game. But it looked different.

He looked at the gameboy in wonder, running his hands over the smooth surface that had once been dirty and scratched. Barry hit the power button and was delighted as the Gameboy logo appeared on the screen. He then turned it over and saw something he had forgotten about, the sharpied words having been rubbed away by greasy fingers long ago.

' Always here for a rematch! - Love Dad'

After that day, Sam seemed to get things left on the fence daily. Barry seemed to have told his mom what he did, and she (after giving him a good scolding) told her friends about it as well. Word of mouth had people labeling him as quite the handyman. Sam would walk out of the church with anything from small kitchen appliances to chairs and tables sitting next to the fence.

He didn't mind. With the church nearly done and the garden only needing a few bits of care here and there, Sam had some free time on his hands.

Most he fixed by hand; the chairs and tables needing a little woodwork or screws. For the electrical stuff, he relied on Grace, not being overly handy with wires beyond basics.

He'd leave the items where they were before and most would be gone within the day or the next.

Sam didn't expect payment of any kind. So when food like pies and roasts were left on the church steps, he was a bit confused. Until he took the first bite that is.

Euphoria hit him like a wave when he did. No matter what he ate. The food was made and offered with him in mind and he could feel it. The thought behind each item filled him, his Grace hummed beneath his skin with every offering, singing out when he accepted them. He felt stronger, he could work longer and harder than before with every meal.

After that, he gladly accepted the food, splitting it with the flock around him.

Sam still never spoke with the locals. But things became… the best word he could pick would be odd. Things became odd when he was walking to the store one day. A tingle in his Grace made him walk a new route, just one street over from where he normally walked. He kept his eyes peeled, looking for the cause of the disturbance with great caution.

He saw a man in a sharp black suit, standing just off to the side of the road. Sam's eyes sharpened when he saw his distorted face.

A Reaper.

Someone was going to die.

Sam's eye scanned the street in a craze, hunting instincts taking over as he surveyed the scene. Kids playing in the yards, people walking their dogs or going for a jog.

His Grace went from a hum to a buzz, lighting every nerve in his body. He whistled a sharp note to Rush, whose ears perked up. The pit mix turned, giving a few short barks to the group of dogs behind them. The group stopped moving about, going on alert and staying back from Sam.

It was just in time, too. The buzz in his Grace lit up like a firecracker, and Sam's eyes were drawn to a small child, who was running across the lawn and into the street without looking as a car drove by. A person shrieked the kids name as the car slammed on the brakes.

Sam dashed forward, bare feet kicking up dirt as he sprinted towards the child. Time slowed to a crawl, but Sam remained in motion. He didn't give thought to the silence, or still hanging birds and frozen people as he moved, scooping the child up and out of the way.

The world righted itself as soon as Sam knew the child was out of danger, the noise slamming back into his ears as it did. His breath came out short as the adrenaline shook through his body, his Grace adding fuel to the fire.

The car had come screeching to a stop, people were screaming and running towards him. It was overwhelming and his mind screamed for him to get out out out. But Sam collected himself for just a moment, looking down at the small child, he saw a slightly dazed, but unharmed little boy. Sam set him down just as an adult, who he assumed was the kid's parent, got there. The parent kneeled down in front of the boy, searching him over with frantic hands while screeching still.

By the time the parent looked up, Sam was gone.

Word spread fast, and by the end of the day, everyone in town knew what the Stranger had done.

If Sam thought back, that'd be the moment he'd put a red pin in.

The offerings kept coming, but now they were layered with more than just food. Blankets, tools, clothes, dog toys and more. Each item layered in that thing that made his Grace sing. The homemade things were better than any of the store bought gifts, and somehow, someway, people had caught onto this. Even when Sam had secluded himself into the church for longer, not going on his normal trips into town. Handknit blankets and shawls, mittens and hats. Sam would have worn the beanies, but Charlett still held a lease.

The things by his fence stayed somewhat the same. Fixing impossibly broken items seemed to fuel whatever fire had caught.

It wasn't until Sam was in his garden, once again letting his senses stretch out, that he caught onto what had happened.

Voices hummed in the wind, carried across streets and houses. People's voices, ringing clear in his ears even from far away. They whispered about him in reverent voices.

"-in the church-"

"-saved Wart's child-"

"-Appeared out of thin air."

"His eyes, his eyes were glowing."

Sam's eyes snapped open.

"Damn it!" He had blundered. Showing his power in public was one of the things on his 'Do Not Do' list and Sam had messed it up.

He thought for a long moment. Wondering what he should do. The thought of leaving made him upset, abandoning the church and garden he had worked so hard to repair set a hum of anger through him. No, he wouldn't leave. Not when he finally found a place that comforts him.

But what should he do? The townspeople were becoming aware of his oddities. After the initial awe fell away, this would lead to suspicion and fear, things he didn't want to deal with right now.

But the matter was taken from him when one morning a little over two weeks after the car incident, a knock came on his door. Sam had been eating at the time, a bite raised up to his mouth when the sound came. His eyebrows furrowed as he looked to the door from where he was seated before the altar. The dogs and birds around him hushed from their normal chatter, looking to him as he surveyed the door.

Sam stood and moved to the door, feeling with his Grace what lay past it.

Three souls hummed at him, lighting up when his Grace brushed across them. Sam sensed no ill will, and opened the door.

The caution did not leave his face when he saw the three people in front of him. One, he took note, was an older woman in a wheelchair. A flicker of Grace told him that the older woman was nearing her final days, old age wearing her heart down and softening her joints to the point she could no longer get around without considerable effort.

"Hello," the middle aged man pushing the wheelchair greeted warmly, looking at Sam with no small amount of awe. Sam shifted uncomfortably under his reverent gaze, feeling awkward.

"Hi." he replied shortly, still holding the door.

"Don't mind this oaf, he's not good with words." The last person, another middle aged man, said brightly, smiling up at him. "My name is Lennon, and this is husband Jeffrey and his mother Gwen."

"Sam." He offered in return, his voice still stilted with confusion.

"Hello Sam," Lennon hummed, his eyes bright with curiosity and the same awe as his husband, just better hidden. "We were wondering, well…" Lennon cleared his throat and gestured to Gwen. "Granny Gwen grew up in this church, back when it was run by a parish. She was pretty upset that it fell into such a state of disrepair over the years."

Sam nodded, knowing where this was headed. He opened the door further, his posture relaxing.

"Would you like to come in?" Sam offered to Gwen, who beamed up at him with a hundred watt smile.

"Yes, I would like that very much." she said softly, her voice horse from age.

There was no handicap ramp into the church, so, after some fumbling from the two other men, Sam brushed them aside and easily hauled the chair in with a smooth hand.

Sam wheeled her down the main aisle. He had done a lot of work on the interior. The rugs had been pulled up and replaced with a new (conjured) one. The pews were newly sanded and polished to a gleam, their cushions fixed by him and embroidered by some surprisingly creative spiders. The walls had been gutted and replaced, widows and stairs to the altar as well.

Everything shined as if new, but was cozy, with a well loved and well worn feeling. Comfortable, soothing and peaceful.

Gwen gasped in the seat, a few tears sliding down her face as she looked around at the church.

"Oh my, it's as good as it can be. Better than I remember it being even." She breathed out, her voice coming out stronger in her passion. "I remember this altar," she said, rubbing a hand down the wood of its side. "Back when i was a child, every family that went here chipped in to get a good one. The copper shone so brightly I had thought it was gold then."

Sam sat there for hours, listening attentively as she told stories about what the church had been like, the hymns and prayers and holidays.

"I can only hope," she hummed, "that I'd been good in the Lord's eye. I know I haven't always been on the straight and narrow, but I've tried." she looked over to her son and his husband.

"You worry." Sam stated, head tilted to the side. Gwen sighed long and deep.

"I love my son, and I love his husband. I was raised in a way that I shouldn't, that I should cast him aside for what he is, but I could never. He's my son and I love him. But, should I go to Hell for lovin' him, husband an' all, I'll walk to those fiery gates myself." She huffed, head tilted up in stubbornness.

Sam broke out into a big smile, Grace humming beneath his skin.

"Then you have no need to worry." He said with absolute surety. Gwen looked at him, straight in the eye and gave him a shaky smile, relief relaxing her once tense posture.

"It does me good, to hear it from you. Not every day an angel gives an old gal like me his blessing." She said, giving him a cheeky look.

Alarm filled Sam, eyes going wide and mouth opening to protest.

"Don't go giving me none of that, boy." She waved him down. "I see the light of God in your eye, even now."

Sam shifted from where he sat, uncomfortable with where the conversation turned. He didn't know how to dissuade her that he was an angel. But he didn't know how to explain why he looked or felt like one either.

"Now, it ain't my place to be asking about why you're here or what you're doing. I'm just happy to have been here to see a part of it." she said, giving him a pat on the hand. Sam put forth a weak nod, unsure what to say.

"I see you've been using my blankets I made." Sam looked over to where she gestured, to a small knitted blanket strew along the back of one of the pews.

"You made that?"

"Yep, had some yarn and a lot of time on my hands." she smiled, looking over at the blanket as well.

"It well made and warm. Thank you." He offered genuinely. She hummed back at him, a smile pulling on her cheeks.

"No, thank you. For saving Wart's boy... and blessing this town."

Sam's plants were ready to harvest after three months of being in the town. Far faster than they should have been, but apparently plants grow quicker with Grace in proximity. He harvested tomatoes, wild corn, beans, herbs and spices, peppers, potatoes, onions and more. He filled baskets with them. He gave a lot to the animals, giving them only what he knew to be safe for them. More and more animals showed up every day now. Things like mice, possums, raccoons, deer, even a bear. Most didn't stick around, but a few of the smaller animals stayed, making nests for their young as spring was in full swing.

He left a lot outside as well, placing a sign that said "Free" above them so the locals would take them. They were gone in two days.

Sam kept this process going. The garden would bloom every few days, Sam would harvest and then share. It was a soothing task that he enjoyed.

But as the days passed, things became even more odd for Sam in the little town. The residents all came to the same conclusion Gwen had. And while no one had plucked up the courage as she had to visit him, he'd still come out to hordes of handmade gifts and food almost daily. He'd taken to sending most of them to the only homeless shelter in town after it had gotten too much. Thankfully, the gifts banked after that, people taking his lead and donating there instead. Sam was more than grateful.

Even his animals were not spared. Rush and the other dogs would come home from walks trailing flower necklaces and crowns, chewing big dog bones and new toys. The birds would weave hair into their nests from people leaving clippings out, perching in new birdhouses lined across the streets and hung in trees. There were birdbaths and dog bowls on every street corner, with little feeding stations as well.

Religious paraphernalia popped up everywhere, displaying verses from the bible or praises to God and angels.

Everything seemed almost euphoric for a long time. Peace settled over the town like a blanket, only broken when the first true disagreement came. A religious one.

Sam had felt restless all day, there was an inch under his feet that he couldn't scratch. So he walked. He walked around the town, viewing the changes that had been made in such a short time. It was later in the day, the late evening sun casting a warm orange glow over everything.

But the glow up ahead of him… that didn't seem like the setting sun…

Sam set into a jog, moving quicker as smoke peaked above the trees, growing in size at an alarming rate.

He raced to the scene to see a house on fire, a mob of people around it carrying torches and propane tanks.

"What the Hell is going on here?" he screamed, but his voice was lost over the jeers and hoots of the mob. His eyes scanned the crowd, noting some of the more prominent leaders of the town were here. He went up to one, drawing the eyes of many.

"What is going on?" he demanded. The human had the audacity to grin up at him.

"God's work," they crooned, "ridding the world of this scum so our Lord can take root."

Sam's head snapped to the building when he heard a scream. A window bowed and broke under the intense heat, fanning the flames with oxygen and burning it even hotter.

Sam did not waste a moment, sprinting into the burning house, despite the alarmed cries of the mob outside. He moved through the house, the flame not even touching Him. His Grace moved outward, feeling for the humans within. Two upstairs. He was there in a blink, pulling up a man and woman by their hands and covering them in Grace for protection. Sam then turned to the widow, a coat of flames in His wake. With a solid punch, the window was flung from its frame to shatter below. Gathering the two humans in His arms, He jumped and landed with a soft thump on the ground below.

The woman was screaming, words indecipherable for a long moment before Sam realized she was speaking another language. Like a switch flipped, He suddenly understood her.

"My baby! My baby is inside!" she screeched, arms flailing towards the burning building.

Sam released a pained breath.

He had only felt two souls in the house.

His eyes burned and his breath was choked as he understood what had happened.

He ran back in anyway, upstairs and to the other room which had been completely engulfed in flame. Pain not caused by any fire scorched its way through Him as He felt the imprint of pain in the room. He stepped through the flames and to the consumed crib, fire dying as He picked up what was there.

Sam's steps were heavy and hurting as he walked from the house, cradling the bundle in His arms.

The Mother and Father screamed when they saw him, rushing forward and falling to their knees in anguish. Sam hurt all over, tears streaming down his eyes as he held what he knew had once been a bouncing baby boy. He wept with them and for them.

His Grace burned.

His Grace did not accept this.

HE DID NOT ACCEPT THIS!

With burning, hateful eyes, Sam looked up at the gathered mob, who collectively took a step back.

"W H Y" The earth shook as He spoke, fury lacing his voice like a poison.

No spoke.

"W H Y?" He screamed, wind picking up. The house behind Him extinguished like a candle in hurricane winds, the sudden plunge of darkness rattling the mob.

"T-They pray to a false god!" a voice from the back said. "We must purge the world of the non-believers!"

Sam took a look at the couple at His feet, noted their darker complexions and covered hair. His eyes burned brighter, light bleeding from His mouth as He spoke.

" YOU THINK IT IS YOUR RIGHT TO JUDGE. THAT YOUR BELIEF IS RIGHTEOUS WHEN IT LEADS TO THIS." Sam's voice boomed across the yard, loud enough the whole town could hear.

"YOU ARE NOT RIGHTEOUS, YOU ARE FILTH WHO USE RELIGION TO JUSTIFY BIGOTRY. IF WHAT YOU BELIEVE IN LEADS YOU TO HATE AND MURDER, FIND SOMETHING ELSE TO BELIEVE IN. FOR I WOULD NOT WANT THE LIKES OF YOU BEFOULING HONEST FAITH!"

Rage!

ANGER!

That is all Sam felt now! How dare they! How dare these humans do this in His name!

!

A sob broke through His unending rage and He looked down, to the parents of the lost child. He felt His rage cool to a low boil, simmering under the surface.

He kneeled next to the couple, eyes still glowing.

"I'm so sorry." He whispered to them, voice still resonating with Grace. He looked down at the bundle in His arms, tears coming back into His eyes as He did.

He had to try. He had to.

Even if it gave Him away, He had to try.

Closing His eyes, Sam leaned forward and placed a kiss against the forehead of the child. He let His Grace pulse into them, hundreds of hands reaching outward, upward, up up up up.

A breath passed, a flash of crimson feathers and a kaleidoscope of colors danced across His perception, smooth metal under His many hands and something soft, warm and small scooped into one.

He felt someone's happiness and elation. Feathers under His fingers, blue electricity dancing up His palm. Crooned words of praise tickled Him, fluttering along past His perception like butterflies. Love, so much love sent to Him, for Him...

Back.

Back.

Time to go back.

Hands pulling inwards, pulling down; cradled, cocooned, carried, held.

Once again hidden.

Sam came back to himself with a gasp, eyes dimming as he did.

He looked down at the child in his arms, bright brown eyes staring up at him with a gummy smile. Chubby fingers reached out with a coo, and Sam kissed each one with happy tears in his eyes.

The area was silent as Sam gave the parents their revived son, the parents sobbing and praising him, bowing their heads to the ground where they knelt as they rocked their son between them.

He gave them a watery smile, "Your belief is not wrong. Live through love and you will see paradise." he spoke in their language, surprising even himself. They cried more, thanking him over and over. Sam was tired now, wishing to go back to his church and sleep the night and next day away. But he was not done. Not yet.

Sam turned to the mob, eyes sparking into light once again.

"BY MY POWER" His voice boomed once more, rattling windows and doors in their frame. "NONE OF YOU SHALL ENTER THE GATES OF HEAVEN."

Screams of anguish and despair settled over the crowd, but Sam felt no remorse. Many fell to their knees, begging for mercy and repentance, tears and snot covering their faces as they groveled.

Sam wondered how much the family behind Him had groveled just the same in the face of this mob. Forced to their knees to plead for their life and the life of their son and had been met with cruelty.

Sam made a small, tiny note that if they truly repented then perhaps they would be forgiven. But, in the face of no reward for their good deeds at the end, what good could He expect from them? To be truly selfless with no payout? He had doubts this group would be good for the sake of being good, but He had to have a little hope.

With a snap of His fingers, the house that had been burnt behind Him was once again whole and Sam was gone.

Sam did as he thought. Slept all night and well into the next day. He slept so deeply, his powers exhausted. He had definitely overdone it.

And that night, he dreamt once again.

Pale, soft hands held him from behind, hugging and caressing him like a lover would.

Sam turned over, looking at the vision of what once was. Smooth, soft skin, bright eyes and long, sweet smelling hair. Sam's heart ached in remembrance.

"Jess," he breathed out.

"Hello Sam."

WRONG

ALL WRONG!

Sam skittered backwards as fast as he could as his Grace screamed at him. He could hear the voices, the layered voices. Jess's and someone else's.

"Lucifer"

AN: WOOO only a month between updates, heeellll yea. new record for me XD

PS. I LOVE REVIEWS