Convincing Selaphiel to wear shoes was far less of a challenge than Sam had expected; given, she wore a simple pair of sandals, but at least it was better than nothing. They were certainly not wearing their "Sunday Best" as would be expected when attending church, but when it came to the congregation of Grace Cathedral, such a detail was considered minor and held no bearing on the message of the day.

Not to mention, the archangel seemed content enough simply to be there, to listen and observe; she did not seem to mind sitting in the back in the slightest. Sam did not explain his reasons for choosing this particular church in this particular city; perhaps it did seem odd they would travel nearly 4 hours simply to attend a service because Grace Cathedral had "a good choir" … but Selaphiel never asked; in fact, no one did. Sam seemed more pleased with himself when he saw how content the angel seemed, listening to the Very Reverend speak, to the choirs sing. She never said a word; she didn't sing along; she only held an expression of serenity as she sat quietly on the back pew.

When all was said and done, when the patrons were filing out and saying their goodbyes, lingering behind for socializing and the likes, Selaphiel wandered along the edges of the sanctuary and looked to the beautiful stained glass Windows of Grace … it was moments like that, seeing the child-like wonder on her face as she stepped into a tinted beam of light and paused-lifting her hand to slowly turn it within the colors of red and blue, green and purple-that Sam was reminded the archangel had never seen such things through mortal eyes, that Selaphiel had never perceived the world visually as he and Dean had, and such a thought made his head spin. Just how did Selaphiel and Castiel (and all other angels for that matter) experience the Earth when in their true forms?

He let the Angel of Prayer have her space, lingering behind as he witnessed the very regal posture with which Selaphiel walked; it was a graceful, elegant glide that also exuded strength; it wasn't quite the gait of a soldier, there was something different about it, something noble. Lost in an inner debate as to just what it might be, he heard his name chimed by a warm tone nearby.

The hunter turned to see the smiling face of the Very Reverend approaching him, and could not help but return the welcome. "Great to see you again, Dean Lipscomb."

"Oh, please. Call me Steve."

Sam chuckled as the two shook hands. "Great service."

"Well, thank you, Sam," the reverend spoke, his eyes kind. "It's been, what? Two? Three years since we've seen you last? What brings you back to our neck of the woods?"

"Oh, you know. Just passing through. Thought I'd stop by."

Steve was quiet a beat, giving Sam a knowing look. "Sam," he voices like a man who knew when another was holding back. "It's rare for men like you to stop by while 'just passing through' … unless something is going on. Are you all right? Is something wrong?"

With a nod, Sam knew better than to hide from the holy man, so he turned his gaze toward the woman in flannel and sandals. "It's my friend over there," he began. "He's … uhm, she's kind of … ah … going through a sort of tough time and I thought this would be, y'know, good for her. Kind of a nice … positive … safe space to be for a couple hours, you know."

Dean Lipscomb lifted his brows curiously. "Is your friend in the sort of trouble that is the usual sort of trouble, or is this a different sort of trouble?"

"The, ah, complicated sort of trouble," he confessed.

"I see," the reverend nodded. "Then this is a good place to be."

"Oh yeah. This is actually the happiest I've ever seen her, honestly," Sam smiled, watching the angel move toward a boy who could have been no older than twelve. The boy stood alone at the end of one of the front pews, appearing forlorn and blanketed with melancholy as he watched the choir setting up for the next service. Selaphiel paused at the end of his row, tilting her head slightly as she watched him curiously, perfectly still.

"Who's that kid?" Sam asked.

"Hm?" the Very Reverend turned his attention to the boy in question, then smiled sadly. "That's Anthony Wieland. He was in the children's choir, but his father died last month. Car wreck. It was tragic. Anthony was the only survivor and, honestly, it's a miracle he pulled through himself. His father was a good man. Just the two of them for a long time, but now … well, he has his grandfather, but … they just haven't clicked yet."

Anthony had finally noticed the woman standing beside him, suddenly jerking his head to look to her with wide eyes, staring for several beats with an expression that seemed near tears … when he suddenly reached forward and wrapped his arms around her waist, burying his face within her shoulder. Careful and calm, Selaphiel's arms folded over the boy's shoulders, holding him close and safe.

And for a moment, Sam could have sworn that he saw a shift in the sunbeams, movement of the dust specks fluttering through the air above and behind the angel; for a moment, he was reminded of the clouds when they first met, how they seemed to emulate wings … much like Castiel's had been shadows … but these? There almost seemed to be six of them.

The Very Reverend didn't seem to notice that, focusing more on the fact that the boy was hugging someone who seemed to be little more than a stranger to him. "Well … that's a pleasant surprise."

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "She's full of them."

And perhaps the most fascinating surprise to Sam came as Selaphiel's lips parted, when she sang. Her voice was … he wasn't sure how to describe it; it was warm, soothing, gentle … and if he had ever known his mother as a child, he imagined that voice was what all mothers singing a lullaby must sound like …

"When the night has come … and the land is dark … and the moon is the only light we'll see," she sang softly, lightly tracing her fingers along the back of his hair. "No, I won't be afraid. No, I won't be afraid," she continued as he lifted his head to look to look to her, "just as long as you stand, stand by me. So darlin', darlin' stand by me."

An older gentleman moved closer to them; one might have correctly assumed this to be the boy's grandfather, joining in to sing along. "Oh, stand … by me. Stand, stand by me. Stand by me." As if on cue, those lingering with the choir joined in with harmonious "ooh's" as they continued, "If the sky that we look upon should tumble and fall. And the mountain should crumble to the sea."

Anthony took a step back, breaking away from Selaphiel to have his shoulders embraced by his grandfather as three boys joined in to the song, swaying together. "I won't cry, I won't cry. No I won't shed a tear. Just as long as you stand, stand by me."

Selaphiel had ceased to sing; instead, her hand moved fluidly through the air, easily conducting the others as they continued to gather, to sing along, to move and clap in time … and Anthony, clinging to his grandfather and finally joining in as the chorus continued. A symphony of voices filled the sanctuary and the angel simply took careful steps backward, lightly brushing her fingertips along the shoulder of a man who continued to conduct in her place.

"This is … beautiful," the Very Reverend murmured to his guest.

"Yeah," Sam whispered in awe.

Selaphiel glanced back toward the group only once as she approached the hunter. "I like Episcopalians," she confessed softly to Sam, a gentle smile upon her features. "Hello," she greeted the holy man at his side, and Steve Lipscomb held a look of distant recognition within his own eyes, just for a moment. The reverend was about to speak when Sam took the angel by the shoulders and guided her toward the doors.

"Right. So. We should be going. Dean Lipscomb, always a pleasure. Thank you again," he insisted as he led Selaphiel away.

"Come back to visit anytime," the man insisted.

"I love your work," Selaphiel whispered as they passed.

…

…

…

The Lincoln was again stationary; this time, it had made a temporary stop in the somewhat sunny and mostly barren parking lot of a craft store. And this time, when Sam re-entered the car, he immediately passed the plastic bag to his celestial passenger. "I read somewhere that red was your color on the spectrum, so … there ya go," he explained as she removed a skein of brick red yarn from the bag.

"Thank you, Sam," Selaphiel replied with a genuine smile. Immediately, she pulled the knitting needles from the bun on her head, her hair falling down her back as she wasted no time focusing on casting on a row.

"You … really like knitting, huh?" Sam asked as he started the car, backing out of their spot and starting toward the road once more.

"Yes. It was a good idea, thank you."

"You're welcome."

Selaphiel's hands paused a moment, gaze distant; she swallowed as her smile faded slightly; though it was tinged with sadness, the gesture did not lose the sincerity. "And … today was a good day. Thank you for that," she confessed quietly, honestly.

Sam took his eyes from the traffic only briefly, casting her a quick and empathetic glance. Nevertheless, he just nodded. She was, of course, welcome; though what he had experienced in Grace Cathedral was without a doubt Heavenly, he could not keep the conversation so light; it was a long drive back to Lebanon, and if he didn't talk about it …

"Y'know," he began, "I've … I've seen my share of angels in action before and I've gotta be honest. I've … never seen anything like that. What happened back at that church, I mean, that's … that feeling, y'know. Seeing you in there, with Anthony and the choir and just … that was … something."

Selaphiel pressed her lips together tightly, suppressing a timid smile as she attempted to remain focused on her knitting.

Shaking his head, Sam recognize the modesty when he witnessed it. "You know it's okay to recognize the fact that you were at least partially responsible for what happened back there."

The angel suddenly sat up a bit straighter, but did not look away from her project as she changed the subject. "Eggs are symbols of new beginnings."

"What?" Sam said with a confused cough, casting her another quick look. "Beg pardon?"

"Your dream," the angel clarified. "You said you found an egg covered in stars. Eggs are symbols of new beginnings."

"Oh."

"Three hour drive back to your bunker, correct? Do you still wish to discuss your dream?"

"Oh, uhm … sure. Yeah, I guess. Now's as good a time as any," he agreed. Selaphiel nodded once as she continued with her project, listening as Sam began. "So, yeah, I uh … I was on Devils Tower, like, on top of it."

The moment Sam uttered the words 'Devils Tower', Selaphiel's fingers faltered just slightly … but then continued on, as though nothing had happened; she continued to listen. "And there were these … shadows, rising from the ground and surrounding it. And I found this egg."

"You found an egg covered in stars on top of the Tower. Then what happened?" she urged.

"The egg opened and this … light … came out. And it vaporized them. The shadows. All of them."

The angel said nothing, but one could tell she was listening; just a feeling.

"I don't get it, though," the hunter commented, perhaps thinking aloud to himself. "I mean, I haven't had visions like that in years. Why now? You're, like, the soothsayer or something, right? Do you have a theory?"

"Are you still afraid of the dark, Sam?" she asked softly.

To him, this seemed like a sudden and unexpected question, causing him to steal a few quick glances to his celestial companion. Perhaps with a slight bit of discomfort, he confessed. "Maybe. What does that have to do with-"

"Are you aware of the legends surrounding Devils Tower?" she interrupted quietly.

"Uh … yeah, kind of. I mean, there's a lot of them. Most of them involve bears or wolves or … chasing people; basically, people trying to get away from something that threatens them and then praying to the Great Spirit for help." As he spoke the words, the realization trickled into Sam's mind. Without a word, he pulled the car over to the side of the road and put it in park, turning to face Selaphiel who briefly shifted her gaze out the window, confused as to why they had stopped. "They prayed for help," Sam announced, looking to her knowingly. "From the Great Spirit. Prayers had to be delivered somehow, right? Seems like just the kind of job for an angel of prayer."

Selaphiel refocused her attention upon her project, not saying anything.

"Stars are celestial bodies," Sam continued, "and angels are celestial beings. Makes sense." Selaphiel only knitted, not replying. "And you're going through a new beginning of your own, right? So … you're the egg!"

"I am the egg," she echoed softly.

"You are the egg!" he said again.

"I am the walrus … goo goo g'joob."

There was a beat of silence as what the angel had just said settled into his mind, and then … Sam broke into a small fit of laughter. "Did … did you just make a Beatles reference?"

Shifting her gaze from the laughing man to her knitting again, Selaphiel answered meekly. "Maybe."

Incredulous, the hunter spoke and stared at her in disbelief. "You like the Beatles."

"Yes …?" Seriously, why was that so difficult to understand?

Shaking his head from awe, he admitted, "Unbelievable. You are just full of surprises, Sel."

But this time, she didn't respond. This time, the needles and yarn fell from her grasp as her entire body seized, every muscle rigid as a jagged breath rocked her frame. "Sel?" Sam started carefully, reaching out for her.

The radio squealed to life, frequencies squawling with static, whispers, voices, screams of all languages and entities, words and sounds, music, lost memories …

"Sel!" he shouted at her over the noise, adjusting himself in his seat to grasp her shoulders as she flung herself into the door, the force of the impact rocking the Lincoln dangerously, moving it several inches to the right.

Another broken inhale, her eyes rolled back, her back arched. "SELAPHIEL! STOP!" Sam screamed as her knees jerked upward, feet pressing into dashboard for a kick so forceful it propelled the car forward several feet. Instinctively, Sam braced himself with the frame the vehicle.

"WHOA! WHOA!"

Selaphiel shrieked, shrill and agonizing as she kicked again, the car once again moving forward despite its parked status. Her body jerked within the seat, back pressing into it, fingers clawing mercilessly into the roof of the car. The radio roared louder as the Lincoln shook.

"SEL!" Sam shouted as he gripped her shoulders tightly. "SEL, SNAP OUT OF IT! SEL!"

{{ To be continued in Chapter 13: Take These Sunken Eyes and Learn to See }}