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The symbols, or tattoos, if you will, that marked the Winchester Bros™ are as follow: Dean has a handprint (no small amount of confusion had followed him his entire life, his soulmate was going to give him a hand? Like…a hand? To add to the perplexity, it wasn’t even a whole hand, it looked more like a handprint, weird but for the arrival of Castiel and the whole pulling him outta ‘perdition’ thing- seriously, who said perdition? Cas did. Cas said perdition and Dean wanted him to change exactly never so it all worked out.)
Sam had a sword. Kinda. Maybe a really old blade.
Growing up, people had squinted at it, asked, “is that a sword?” Because while the shape resembled a sword (possibly a blade), it didn’t look like a normal sword. For starters, there were an abnormal amount of sides to it. It appeared almost 3-D, seeming to rise out of his very skin, his very own holograph. It was odd and he had enough odd in his life. He kept it covered.
Then, there was the colour. Where Dean’s handprint was red, because of how Cas imprint left his skin, Sam’s almost melded into his skin. It was, for lack of a better descriptor, gold. It almost seemed like a trick of the light. It shone, shimmered, reflected. Soul marks weren’t supposed to reflect.
Even at night there was a glow to it, like it was bioluminescent. Dean always said considering their lives, it almost made sense. Of course, because it was Dean, he always followed that up with a crass remark of all the things Sam had already been- namely demon, although he'd pretty much retired that one since his own experience with The Mark. Hooray for silver linings.
Even so, Sam couldn’t argue with that. Their lives were, indeed, peculiar, right down to their (alleged, because Sam isn't always all that sure that he's really out of the cage) existence.
Way back in the day, when they’d first seen angel blades, Dean had waved it around at Sam, “look Sammy, kinda looks like your mark. ‘Cept these are silver. Not- not whatever yours is.” He’d almost dropped it in his attempt to flip it; Cas squint-glared at him before turning to look at Sam curiously, like he was something Cas would very much like to dissect. "You have an angel blade as your mark, Sam?"
Sam had shrugged, not really giving an answer. He was long accustom to his mark and Dean’s perpetual guessing game of what it could be but that didn't mean he wanted people looking at it, potentially touching it. He'd had enough of that growing up, thank you very much.
Either way, Dean wasn’t wrong, Sam thought, stealthily moving out of Cas's reach, it did kinda look like his mark but it didn’t shine the way his did, it didn’t have the same…dimension to it. Like it was the base level of what it could be. Sam had the upgraded version. The one that costs loads of money because it's completely decked out.
“Imagine Sammy, maybe you have an angel soulmate too.”
Sam had scoffed at the time, not even entertaining the notion. All the angels hated him. Even if Cas no longer thought of him as an abomination (and if he did, he kept that thought private), there was still not much love lost between him and the other angels, whether it was because his last name was Winchester and they seemed to carry a perpetual hard on for his blood line or because he had been the Boy King, the one who jumpstarted the apocalypse, he couldn't say.
What he was confident about was Dean's statement being grossly erroneous. Soul marks only activated when someone gave you whatever the picture of your mark was, with intent. Most of the time they were given accidentally, much like Dean's handprint. Cas hadn't intended to do that but by doing so, he'd been giving Dean a piece of himself. The matching items were symbolic of the givers heart. By giving you the thing that was marked on your body, they were giving you their heart.
Or something like that. Sam had read the little research there existed on soul-marks. Most of what he "knew" was hearsay, just whatever Dean remembered their mom telling him. Either way, he couldn’t feasibly see a moment in time where an angel would not only willingly give him their sword but intend for him to have it as well.
“Sure, Dean. Forget how astronomical the odds are, an angel for each of us.”
“Whatever, bitch. It could happen. Our lives are astronomically odd. You’re astronomically odd.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “You never grew past twelve, did you?” He asked, idly flipping through his journal. He was looking for- ah, there it was.
“Ok, I’ve got it." He skimmed the ingredients. "Damn."
"What is it?"
"Looks like it has to be an archangel blade." Sam said, scooting closer to his brother to show him the proof.
Dean waved him off, not even remotely interested in a book that wasn't by Kerouac or Vonnegut (although, to be fair, since Charlie had headed to Oz, Sam had found different versions of that book lying around).
“So? Call short-stuff. He owes us.”
“Owe you what?” Gabriel asked, popping in before Sam could stop Dean from saying his name. If Sam didn’t know better, he’d say Gabriel was always with them, albeit invisible. He seemed to always know when they so much as thought about him.
“A favour.”
“I died for you. How do I still owe you?” Gabriel stuck his hand in his pocket, pulling out one of his obnoxious and ever-present lolli’s. This one was neon green. Sam shuddered internally, nothing that made that colour could possibly be good for you.
Gabriel rolled his eyes in his direction. “Archangel, Sammy. Nothing can hurt me… unless I want it to.” He waggled his eyebrows in Sam’s direction and Sam took a step back, glancing at Dean, pleading at him to take over, not even pausing to remind Gabriel not to call him that. Desperate measures and all that.
Dean snorted. “It was a fake death, doesn’t count. Now, come on, pony up, short cake. Cas and I have plans to go visit the birthplace of pie.”
“Of course you do.” Gabriel snarked, not moving an inch. “For two people getting laid on the regular how are you both still so damn cheesy?”
Dean glared at him.
“Alright fine,” Gabriel ceded. “But you still haven’t told me what it is.”
“Your blade.” Dean's hand outstretched, palm open and expectant.
“Hell no.” Gabriel said, tongue already snaking out to swipe another lick of his lolli. “I told you kids once before, that thing can kill me. Besides, it’s not even on this dimension.”
“Come on, Mary Poppins, pull it outta your pocket.” Dean waggled his fingers, a gimme motion.
“Never.” Gabriel said, taking half a step back. It made a small laugh escaped out of Sam. It never failed to amuse him how much more wary of them angels were now, almost a dozen years later. Cupid, arch, or otherwise, they all steered clear. Except for Cas because Cas was a Winchester that didn't know how to leave well enough alone. Still. Their reputation definitely preceded them.
Dean shrugged in Sam’s direction, like the absolute asshole that he was. “Well. I tried. He’s all yours, Sammy.”
“Dean, you jerk, you know that I-“
“Wait, it’s for you, Sammich? Well, why didn’t you say so?” Gabriel asked, his blade already materialized in his hand.
Sam knew instantly that this one wasn’t made out of a Fanta Orange can. The colours of the room, previously dimmed if at all visible, they were in the dungeon for someone’s sake- somehow the blade managed to pull them out of their hiding spots, made them dance on its many sides, made it kaleidoscopic, like if Sam were staring at the milky way on the archangel blade.
And then Gabriel was handing it over, like it was nothing. Like he trusted Sam with it, this thing that could kill him, like he was personally eschewing every declaration made by everyone who’d ever said he was nothing more than Lucifer’s vessel, like he didn’t think of him as a thing to be used and subsequently discarded.
He handed it over like he hadn’t just personally given Sam a renewed purpose in life, like he hadn't just given him a reason to want to live. Like he hadn’t just given him the validation that he was worth something. Like he hadn’t just made his existence worth everything that led to this moment.
And his soulmate, being the little shit head that he was, kept on licking that stupid god forsaken lollipop, talking his fool head off, and then it was in Sam’s hand and the warmth that reverberated through his body, warming him from the tips of his toes to his scalp, helped him anchor himself and he managed to hear the last bit of Gabriel’s lame and lengthy come-on.
“I’m just saying, Sam-a-licious, this thing can kill me but if it’s by you, boy, what a way to go.”