Chapter Text
There was no sound for a long time. No smell. Nothing to see. Sam thought perhaps he should be frightened, but he wasn't. His only perception was peace.
He had never felt anything like it. Nonetheless, it didn't surprise him at all that it didn't last long. That's how life went. If a Winchester was too content for too long, clearly something was very wrong.
“Where the hell is he?”
Ah. Dean was angry and panicking. That sounded about right.
“Sam? Can you hear us?”
“Sammy!”
“I hear you,” he muttered.
The angel and the hunter looked at one another. “You feel that?”
Castiel nodded with a frown. “I felt something. What did you experience?”
“Guys, I'm here.”
Dean shook his head. “I don't know. Like a weird breeze. Like…like a warm cold spot.”
Sam's vision was clearing, and he stared at Dean.
Castiel narrowed his eyes.
“You know what I mean!” Dean snapped. “Like a cold spot, a ghost, except...warm.”
A twinge of fear sparked in Sam's heart. “Guys? I didn't...Can you hear me?”
“There it is again, but it's-”
“Sharpening,” Castiel finished.
The hunter was beginning to breathe shallowly. “Yeah. That's-What does that even mean? That's the right word. The air is getting sharp. I can't-How can air be sharp?”
“Dean, I suggest we move out of this space. Now.”
“Not gonna happen. My brother is here someplace, and I'm going to-”
“Now!” Castiel snapped, and grabbed Dean's arm to force him out the door.
Sam hurried behind them, and got out just before the door slammed. He turned in time to see an explosion of light, like a demon dying on Ruby’s blade, but purple. “What the crap was that?” he shouted.
“What the crap was that?” Dean shrieked.
Castiel shook his head. “I'm not certain. But I think we have narrowly escaped a squall.”
“A what?” the brothers shouted together.
Castiel looked directly at Sam, frowned deeper, then turned back to Dean. “A squall. It is a type of nymph. A quite dangerous one.”
Dean shook his head. “Whatever. What'd it do to my brother?”
“Dude, I'm right here. I got knocked on my ass for a minute, got the wind knocked out of me. But I'm fine-”
“Squalls have a volatile nature. They are sentient storms, essentially. If we've managed to anger one...It is powerful enough to have literally blown him out of existence.”
Dean's eyes widened. He shoved past the angel, and threw himself at the door. Castiel grabbed him just in time to prevent him from falling into the pit which had been a second story bedroom just a moment ago. Sam also tried to grab his brother, and found himself flying right through him instead. Dean screamed in pain as Sam passed directly through his body to fall into the destroyed room himself.
He did not feel the impact of the ground.
“What the hell was that?” Dean roared.
“Sam,” Castiel said in a whisper. “Sam? Sam, are you here?”
The hunter tried to stand, and realized he wasn't even touching the ground. “Oh holy crap,” he wheezed. “Cas! Castiel, can you hear me? Are you seeing this?”
His friends were talking above him, as he stared up from the hole in the construction. But he couldn't make out what they were saying, and just before he gave in to his own panic, a figure appeared beside him. It was like seeing someone through a concussion. Sam wished he didn't know what that was like, but tried to focus his eyes and brain on the problem at hand.
“Sam,” it said in a hollow voice.
“Who the hell are you?”
“I'm Oiteag. And your angel companion is partially correct. I'm a squall. But a nymph! That piece of rubbish has been floated about since the Greeks were slandering my kind. Nymph. Poseidon started that rumor.”
Sam put his hands up. “Okay. Okay. I'm sorry. We don't have much experience with...whatever you are.”
“Whatever we are.”
“Yeah. You and your buddy who just freaking exploded all over the damn place.”
Oiteag seemed to sigh. “That squall was born angry, and died angry. I'm simply here to help blow away the remains.”
Sam squinted at him. “So...you're a squall reaper?”
“No. But you can think of it that way if your small mind needs a metaphor.”
“What the hell happened to me? What's with the floating and my friends not hearing me?”
The figure’s face seemed to be coming into focus, and Sam was getting the impression that he was boring the thing. “Look. Smùide had come to the end of his long, miserable life, and he had become somewhat obsessed with procreation in the past few decades.”
“Pro...procreation…”
Oiteag blinked at him with exasperation. “Procreation. It means having offspring.”
Sam clenched his jaw. He couldn't feel it, which was strange. “I know what the word means.”
“Good. Then we’re done here? You're oriented and all that? Blowing remains is one thing. Education of infant squalls is really not my forte.”
Now his jaw loosened until Sam's mouth hung agape. “You think...you think I'm the offspring? No! I'm a freaking hunter! A human!”
“And that may be exactly what you were before Smùide, the most obnoxiously fuming squall since Monsoon Herself blew up your skirt, then blew himself up. But now you're one of us. Congrats, or...whatever.”
“Dean! Cas?”
Oiteag stared at him as though he were stupid. “I think we covered that they are unable to perceive your vocals. Not the way you want them to. You're just moving air.”
“Look, I'm not...whatever you think I am! I wasn't bitten; I wasn't slimed.”
“You were blown.”
He could practically hear Dean's voice in his head, responding to that. “Okay! So how do I undo it?”
“Return to a fleshform?” He blinked again. “Not sure why you'd want to. I mean, you're not an angry tempest, or even a gale. You're definitely not a moronic iomghaoth. You're a zephyr. First time I think I ever saw a zephyr borne of a dying tempest, but I guess there are stranger things.”
“You're using words I don't…”
The thing was beginning to seem impatient, and that's when Sam finally realized that his own vision was not blurred; the figure itself was a blur. The air around them was being affected by the squall’s level of agitation.
“Listen. When a fleshform is turned, its nature is determined by its truest desires and character. Most of us are created by the Tuath Dé, the gods, but some, like you, are blown into existence by the death of a squall. And as far as life goes? This is an upgrade. You'll learn in a cycle or two to let the last of your worries and fears and insecurities go. Those are flesh things. Your true nature is a zephyr, friend. That's about as good as it gets.”
“Is that what you are?”
Oiteag snorted. “No. I was born a crosswind. Fated to cross paths with travelers all my days.”
“Then what's a zephyr?”
“You're a zephyr, a gentle breeze, warm and calming. Your true nature, as it turns out, is quite pleasant, once it's rid of the last of the flesh sensations. A friend of mine so long ago, she was quite continental, you know, but she was a sweet thing. Some say she was cold and dry, but Mistral was a sort of zephyr, and she used to tell me stories about the humans who loved her. Zephyrs are the best loved among the winds. Storms are often feared and respected. But zephyrs are truly loved. As they should be. They are the best among us.”
“Why would I be…”
Oiteag gave a strange little shrug. “You must have been a good human. I can see wisps of anger and grief, a few of resentment, which all might have become aggression in a fleshform. But beneath all that, you're gentle and selfless. You're warm. You're a healing wind, not a destructive one. Now, if you're done with questions, I'd like to get back to business discarding of the angry old blowhard and the mess he left behind.”
Sam didn't see any mess, other than the destruction of the building, but he knew that wasn't what Oiteag was referring to. “Wait! You never told me how to reverse this!”
The crosswind frowned at him. “It's Sam, right? That's what they keep saying up there.”
He startled, and when he did, he realized a shuddering breeze was emanating from him. He had forgotten his brother and Castiel. Only for a moment, but he had. His mind had drifted…
“Sam, the old squall blew your soul from your flesh and destroyed the flesh itself. This is you now. And like I said, consider it an upgrade. Those wisps of residual anger and negativity? They'll die down over time, and all you'll feel is peace. You're a zephyr. This is your reward for having a good heart and a steadfast soul. Don't fight against it.”
“But my family…”
“Be with them if you like. They'll perceive you, even if they don't know it's you. And you'll bring them peace too. But in time, your attachments will fade. And that's all right.”
Sam wanted to cry. He wanted to fight. But something was holding him back, whispering gentle breaths in his ear, telling him this was the best case scenario. For a Winchester to become this ethereal thing, to know peace and bring comfort to others...This was the best offer he was going to get. Not only that, but it seemed incurable anyway. Maybe this was it. His retirement. Not dead, so impossible to bring back. Not in Heaven or Purgatory or Hell. Just breathing through life on a peaceful wind.
And what about Dean?
Sam's gaze lowered to find that his feet and legs were no longer as he remembered, but simple wisps of air floating about him.
What about Dean?
He looked up to see the squall watching him without his earlier irritation. He tried a smile, and could feel the air warm around him. Oiteag seemed to smile back. Sam took a breath. “For a crosswind who thinks teaching isn't his forte, you've been very helpful to me,” he murmured kindly.
Surprised pleasure lit Oiteag’s aura, giving it a mild, nearly imperceptible blue hue. “I'm glad I have. Good luck, Zephyr Sam.”
“Thank you.” He watched Oiteag spin and blow through the destruction, and at last he could see the different, nearly malignant remains of his sire being collected and neutralized, becoming a part of the thing that was Oiteag. Something struck him about this, and a blooming new set of instincts whispered to him that Oiteag must be extremely strong to absorb these remaining, broken winds without allowing them to taint his own spirit. He was pleased by that. Perhaps Smùide was his creator, but Oiteag was his teacher, and something about him reminded him of an old mentor of his, one of the smartest men Sam had ever known, who had been gruff in his administration of love, but loved with all his heart nevertheless.
What would Bobby say about this whole thing?
A voice filled his mind, swirling in the air around him. “When it's your time to go...go.”
Sam closed his eyes and felt contentment fill him. Permission. He was being given permission to stand down. It was his time to go.
But what about Dean?