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He was warm and content.
"Sam," a voice called. He turned over in his bed, lethargic in ways so peaceful and unfamiliar to him.
A hand touched his shoulder. "Sam."
Sam sat up in the bed with a gasp. He moved to get away, but the man held up his hands in signal of no harm and Sam hesitated, uncertain, as he stayed sitting on the mattress. "Who are you?" He asked as he wondered, should it come done to it, which would be better: the distance between Sam and the gun in his duffel under the bed or to take the man on unarmed. He swallowed. "Why are you here?"
The man had sitting on the bed, next to him enough to make him uneasy but far enough to not be an urgent threat, but now retreated to standing to give him space. "You're dreaming, Sam."
"I - what?" His eyebrows scrunched in confusion. He mentally took stock of himself, eyes flickering about the room. It... was the same motel room where Sam had been staying. He tested the theory out. "I'm dreaming?" It felt real. Or, rather, it felt adjacent to real; something was just off enough to discern. The man watched him patiently as he came to terms with this truth. "Okay. Sure, I'm dreaming. But who are you?"
"I'm an angel, Sam." He answered, and Sam's heart leapt despite himself even while he knew there would be no good reason for an angel to visit him, only a bad one. Still, even knowing so, he felt the awe flood him, just as it had done every time the angel Castiel had deigned to speak to him.
"What do you want from me?" He asked quietly and shook his head with a dark laugh that contrasted to the way his body relaxed into the bed, hands limp in his lap. There wasn't anything that an angel should want from him of all people except perhaps to put him down now that he'd done exactly what they had wanted and started the apocalypse. He was too rotten for a benevolent visit from an angel. Whatever he wanted, it must be bad.
The angel sighed. "Oh, Sam. My siblings have not treated you as you deserve."
That wasn't true. "No, they treated me exactly like I ought to be treated. Probably deserved a lot worse." The past tense felt like a lie. He deserves worse.
The angel looked to him with saddened eyes. "Sam... They have wronged you, and I apologize for that. I wish I could right those wrongs, for your sake. But I'm sorrier that you can't seem to see your own worth. When you are worth so very much."
It was a lie. Sam shook his head. No, that wasn't true. He didn't know anybody that still thought Sam was worth anything. "Who are you?" He asked again.
"I'm an angel, Sam; I'm your angel."
That surprised him. "What do you mean?"
The angel gazed at him like a parent glimpsing their newborn. Devoted. Loving. Protective. Awed. "I was meant for you, Sam Winchester. I am meant for you still."
"That doesn't make sense."
"I have always been intended to come to you, Sam. It's only now that I am able to, but it has always meant to be this way. My siblings' plots and manipulations have prevented me from coming to you before now." If there was an angel who was meant to look out for him, then the other angels would have wanted to keep him away so as to keep Sam exactly where they wanted him, primed and prepped to start the apocalypse, with no interference other than their own. "But I've persevered and finally, Sam, here we are. It makes perfect sense. In time, you will see that."
The concept of a guardian angel was something out of a fantasy, not real life. Not for Sam, especially. Why would he have a guardian angel? But the angel seemed insistent. "What's your name?"
He smiled. "Could I do so, I would tell you."
Sam frowned. None of the other angels had kept their name from them. "Why can't you tell me?"
"Being a higher level of angel, I am not like the ones you've met before. Humans are not equipped to hear my name spoken. Not without damage. Sam, I will not harm you, given the choice. Do not ask me to tell you my name. I would see you well, instead."
He thought of Castiel. Of Uriel, of Zachariah. "There's nothing I can call you?"
The angel smiled. "You may call me yours."
Sam reared backwards. "Wha - " He cleared his throat, flustered despite knowing that he had misinterpreted the angel's intention due to how the words sounded. Sullying the true meaning. He lowered his eyes.
The angel's voice gentled. "Just as I wish to call you mine. My own."
At that, Sam looked back up at him. The angel's eyes were full of gravity but no jest. "I don't understand."
His angel - the angel - smiled. "There are people in your world that are special. That are born special."
Special had been a curse Sam had been forced to bear. From Azazel, from Ruby, from Lilith. Special was the foothold in the path to abomination, a path well trodden by Sam's feet. Special was just another way of saying 'freak.'
"There are such humans who are... compatible with angels."
"Compatible?" Upon realization after asking, Sam's eyebrows unscrunched as quickly as they had gathered. "You're talking about vessels." Dean came to mind and he pushed aside the instinctive hurt and yearning for a brother he was no longer with.
"Such a smart boy." The way it was spoken somehow held no condensation, and Sam felt himself bashfully looking away before he forced himself to turn back to the angel's gentle eyes and smile. "Yes. I am talking about vessels."
Well if that was all. "So I'm... your vessel?"
"That's right."
Ah. Sam's smile was wry. This was going to be simple then. "Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not interested."
"You could never disappoint me," The angel insisted with earnestness and solemnness as equals. Like the possibility of Sam being disappointing was impossible rather than the norm. Sam's heart beat faster in his chest as he was viewed by this divine creature - this good being - and was seen in this way. He'd disappointed everyone lately. Angels, hunters, his brother, himself. The only ones who seemed pleased with him nowadays were demons. Sam would say that this angel had to be mistaken but - but it was an angel. Surely, surely some of them had to believe he could be saved. Surely not every angel thought him to be damned. "Sam." The sound of his name coming from an angel's lips without any disapproval in it wasn't solely balm to a wound; it was also quite a heady thing.
Sam Winchester, the boy with demon blood. The angels disliked him enough that Anna had heard and known it to be true.
But here? This angel spoke his name with kindness and with such reverence that Sam yearned to know the being's name so he could return the favor.
"Sam, you are so good. You are so, so good. It wounds me to see you suffering so. Truly, it does."
Sam's lower lip trembled, and he pulled it into his mouth in order to contain it but then released it in an attempt to not look like he was two seconds away from crying. He wasn't good, not at all. But hearing it said, he almost could believe it. And that cracked him open inside, left him bleeding and tender bellied.
"Whether or not you allow me to share in you, Sam, I want you to know that I will always be here. For you. With you. I'm sorry it took so long for us to be together, Sam. Aside from my siblings even, you are a hard one to find - and I still don't know quite where you are, just know enough to meet you here, now, in your dreams. I'm sorry you had to wait so long for me, I am. I can only hope to make it up to you in the coming future. And I promise: I will no longer allow my siblings to keep us apart."
The promise of a future, of not being alone - that was too much. His tears bloomed and then spilled over. Sam was so lonely. He'd wanted out, yes, but more than anything he'd wanted some way to litigate the harm he was inflicting upon the world. That is why he'd had to get out. Sam had screwed up too much, and he'd only screw up more. For the entire world's sake, he'd had to leave. Leaving was the only choice. He'd had to take himself out of the equation before he ruined everything - well, ruined it even more. Knowing that, however, didn't cause it to be any less lonely for doing so.
He wanted to believe in this, he did. But how could he? Knowing that he corrupted everything he touched? His being so vile, so evil, that even his best intentions dragged the world straight towards the devil and the apocalypse.
"Sam?" The coaxing voice drew his attention. "There is no part of you that I do not desire to know, to cherish. There is no expectation - no change - I would demand of you. Know this: only that I wish to be with you. Do you understand?"
It was too good to be true. Sam shook his head. "I'm sorry. I'm not going to be your vessel. You need to find someone else."
The angel's smile turned sad. "There is no other. It's you, Sam. It's only you. It has to be you."
As expected, he'd end up disappointing the angel too. That was all Sam ever did, really. Disappoint everyone. "I can't."
"Shh. Don't worry about that. There will be time for that yet." The angel reached for him and wrapped Sam in his arms. He inhaled, surprised, and allowed the being to lead Sam's head to rest on his shoulder. The angel cupped the back of his head and held it - held him - like he was precious. "You don't have to worry about a thing, Sam. Not now that I am here."
He didn't understand why the angel wasn't angry. He had turned him down. Had rejected being his vessel. Had told him no.
"You look so tired," The angel observed, sounding desolate at the thought. "You look so sad."
Sam was. Usually no one commented upon it.
He didn't say anything in reply but the angel nodded knowingly as if he had. "Just say the word, Sam. Tell me where you are, and I shall join you. You don't have to suffer on your own."
It was a bit tempting.
But nothing good would come from it. "I'm sorry," he said again. He looked down at his hands as he clasped them together. When he looked back up, the angel was gone.
Sam stared at the empty air, the empty room, and he sighed.
Yeah. That tracked. He was only as good as he was useful - the only way he ever could be considered good - and he'd denied the angel's wishes.
When he woke up, he realized how utterly pathetic it was for him to have dreamed something like that. An angel. Worse, an angel just for him and offering him benevolence, understanding, grace. All things Sam didn't deserve but craved anyways.
He knew it hadn't been real - couldn't be - and he tried to leave it behind him. Just like everything else, he didn't want to have to think about it.
The angel came again to him in his dreams that night.
Now that Sam had the lucid awareness that the angel was a figure of his imagination, it was both better and worse.
Worse because it became truly obvious to himself how pathetic he was to invent this in his subconscious.
Better because he knew it wasn't real and could - shamefully - indulge in these stolen moments of thinking someone out there might speak to him with this level of tenderness, of care.
Sure he didn't believe in it, not like he had in those precious, ridiculous moments of his first dream when he'd deluded himself that forgiveness and understanding could be achievable for something as wretched as himself. No, now Sam knew better. His brief lapse of reality was over. But that didn't mean the false lies of his dreaming didn't make him want. And so even though he didn't believe them, he still thought it to be a reprieve of sorts where he could pretend to believe in them - which was better than nothing.
Then there were omens on the bar's television - which were all Sam's fault - and Sam called Bobby to send someone on the job.
And, boy, did someone come.
"Your mind feels... uneasy. Tell me, my Sam: what troubles you so?"
Shame flooded through him even though, logically, Sam knew that any angel must already know of Sam's consumption and addiction to demon blood. Everyone did. The fact that this particular angel was only a figment of his dreaming self only occurred to him after that, second to the infamous stain upon his name and soul.
His angel placed his palm on top of Sam's hand. "If you do not wish to speak of it, do not trouble yourself. I did not intend to upset you."
"No," Sam hastened to assure him, "It's alright, I'm okay." He turned his head in the angel's grip and the angel obligingly held onto his hand instead, rubbing his fingers in soothing patterns along the back of it.
His earlier anger had burned itself into shamed smoke. He'd thought - what - that he could start the apocalypse and that nobody would find out? Yeah right. So, really, it was own damn fault. What happened tonight in the bar. What happened to him, what happened to Lindsey, what happened to Steve. God, what had happened to the world. It was all Sam's fault. So what right did he have to be angry at the hunters? If he hadn't started the damn apocalypse, if he had never trusted Ruby, then they never would have shoved demon blood into his mouth if he hadn't started drinking it in the first place.
In this dream, he licked the backs of his incisors and took a moment to ground himself with the bloodless, toothy taste.
"It's just..." Sam sighed, looked away. "Do you think that there are some things that can never be forgiven? That should never be?"
The conversation he and Lindsey had shared - he couldn't stop thinking about it. She didn't know him, so it didn't mean much that she thought he could be forgiven; conversely she didn't know him, so it meant everything that she thought he could be forgiven. His head and heart wound and wound in loops as both truths spun in his mind. He wanted to have hope. He wanted that to be true.
"Hm." The angel mulled it over. "I'd like to say that there aren't." Of course a figment of Sam's subconscious would say that; he desperately wanted to believe that to be true, after all. His angel lifted his chin with a gentle touch and met his gaze with a low burning intensity that grew with each word spoken. "But unfortunately I know all too well that there are things, Sam, that won't be forgiven. Things that should be - that deserve to be - aren't, through no fault of our own. But instead are left with no salvation or redemption. And it isn't right. It isn't just. But know this, Sam: there is nothing you have done that ought not to be forgiven. I promise you that."
That, too, was unsurprising for his mind to proclaim.
The angel's face was the calm of a snowbank untouched by footprints. "Sam," He said, his voice powder soft as he scooped it into mitten covered hands, "Should you find yourself unforgiven, should you find yourself bereft of absolution - you need only come to me. I will forgive you, Sam. I will give you pardon and peace. Again and again, every time, until you finally believe yourself cleansed."
Sam inhaled softly.
It was... probably a good thing, he thought, if his inner self had begun to forgive himself to the extent that he'd imagine an angel saying such things to him. He must be healing something within himself that he'd thought impossible to restore. The conversation with Lindsey, it must have sparked hope within despite his trepidation.
"Do you think that people can change?" He asked with the hope Lindsey had fed him instead of the demon blood that the hunters had. "For the better?"
The angel nodded and a wave of relief washed through Sam. "Though I know you won't believe me, I want to tell you that you have no need to change - not in the way the you think - because you are already so good, Sam. But despite lacking a need, there is always a possibility for it. Even if you doubt yourself, then trust in me. I will help you strive for that change, Sam. I want to help you. And I can only do so much from afar, not knowing where you are. If you let me, I would do so much for you. I would do everything. Sam... let me help you. Say yes to me. Or at least tell me where you are."
"I can't." He'd trusted Ruby, had believed in her, when he should have realized what he was doing. He couldn't make the same mistake twice. He needed to change, to actually change, not just let some angel clean up his messes for him. Though of course this angel was symbolic, being that he wasn't real and all. What Sam needed to work on was himself in order to truly change, and he could not just shove that work off on some part of his subconscious that probably represented a desire to miraculously be pure. Pure enough to be valued by an angel. Pure enough to not need to work so hard at change - to let the angel take care of it instead - and that was a folly Sam could not afford to make.
Moroseness hung heavily upon the angel's face. "It pains me to be so helpless. I would do anything to be with you, Sam."
"Yeah. I know." He was starting to believe that. There was something with Sam that he dared to name with an inner strength, if it was being shown through this angel manifestation in his dreams.
Purity. Purity, Sam thought again, it had to represent purity. He was sure of it. Or at least, he hoped, a willingness to try for it despite all his stains and sins.
He went to work. Lindsey - God, Lindsey - spent the day torn between giving him a spacious berth full of fear and getting so close to him with her gentle touches and voicing her concerned worry for him.
"I'm fine," He said over and over again. It didn't seem to reassure her.
"Lindsey, I am so, so sorry," He said over and over again. And half of the time, she looked like she really needed that apology to soothe that frightened ache in her but the other half of the time the apology made her nearly cry as she assured him that it wasn't his fault, no really, Keith. Sam. Keith.
If anyone should have a guardian angel looking out for them, it should have been Lindsey. She actually deserved one.
Not that Sam had one. Not a real one. His was a figment of his imagination, after all.
He wasn't all that surprised to yet again be greeted by the angel in his dreams that night. But while he'd had repetitive dreams before, this seemed a strange coincidence to keep dreaming about the same thing days in a row. It wasn't like how his visions had been. It wasn't like any dreams that he'd had before. He'd never had such lucid dreaming before - and now he'd been experiencing it four days in a row? About the same being?
No.
He'd had reoccurring dreams - nightmares, usually - before, true, but never like this.
This time he sprung from the bed and stood with the being in his sights, not for a second letting his guard down.
"What are you?" Sam asked, eyes narrowed at nondescript man before him.
The question surprised him. "Sam?" He asked, worry and confusion in his voice and face. Then he relaxed into understanding. "Oh. Oh, my Sam. You never believed me."
Sam licked his lips. Lifted his chin. "So what are you?"
"Despite what you think, I am exactly whom I claim to be. I'm an angel. I'm your angel." He gestured helplessly. "And that's all there is to it."
"If you're an angel, then I say prove it. Except you can't. Because anything you do in this - " He gestured at large to the dream around them. " - won't prove a damn thing."
The creature pondered that for a moment. "You're right. I'd have to prove it in the waking world."
He nodded. "But you won't."
The man frowned. "I've told you: I cannot discern your location. If you want me to prove it, then you need to tell me where you are."
Like hell if Sam thought that was the truth. If some creature had already invited itself into Sam's dreams, then odds were that it had met Sam in person, had gotten him in its sights for long enough to decide to go after him. "Uh huh," He said skeptically.
The creature held out placating hands. Those hands could deal him an untold damage, and Sam wasn't swayed. "I see," The creature said, lowering his hands. "We're at an impasse. Tell me, Sam: what can I do to prove it to you?"
"You could get out of my head, for starters," Sam said angrily.
The creature disappeared, and Sam immediately woke up instead of being left alone in his dreams like he usually was when the being left his dream. He got up from the motel bed and went straight to his laptop. He stayed there, scrolling, for hours as he read up on things it might be.
He didn't dream of anything, the next night. Incubus, dream demon, whatever it was - it stayed away.
Sam wasn't optimistic enough to think that it wouldn't come back to invading his dreams.
And he was right - but he was also oh so wrong.
"Sam," a voice called. The voice from his dreams.
He sat upright, alarmed, waking up. Waking up.
His eyes widened as the creature from his dreams stood before him in the motel room. He scrambled backwards, away, and cursed himself for not doing enough research before having verbally confronted it. He didn't know how to stop it, what its weakness was. Not that he had any helpful equipment on him since he'd tried to go straight as a civilian. He'd never expect it to actually show up outside of his dreams, shit.
His eyes flickered to the door, but the creature was closer to it. He thought about barricading in the bathroom - but then what? He could take the water tank's lid off the toilet to club it over the head, he supposed. Depending on the creature, physical harm might not even do it any damage. He didn't have a rosary but maybe he could fashion a cross out of the bar soap and make a sink full - hell, a tub full - of holy water. Though that too had no guarantee of even working. Maybe -
"Sam," The creature said, exasperated and fond. "I can see the little wheels working in your head as you're overthinking this."
"Sorry." The apology was blatantly insincere. "I guess I should just stand here and let you kill me."
The being sighed. "Sam, you thought if I proved myself in your dreams, that it would be untrustworthy. When I finally found you, I knew I'd be able to prove myself to you in the here and now."
"Yeah?" Sam narrowed his eyes, lifted his chin belligerently. "How did you find me anyways?"
The creature smiled. "It wasn't easy. Believe you me." He waited for a moment, like he really expected Sam to smile along with him in commiseration, and then looked disappointed when that didn't happen. "Okay, Sam. I'll prove myself to you, if that's what you need."
Sam's hands clenched into fists. That didn't sound good. He glanced around the room quickly but it again fell short of any helpful options, and he didn't want to take his eyes off the creature for longer than he had to.
The being closed his eyes and rolled his shoulders as if stretching and then he opened them. And when he did, when he did -
Sam's mouth fell open as he gaped at sight, the feeling, in the room. The presence bearing down on them - powerful and strong - like a mountain peak or a waterfall. The shadow of wings stretched out across motel wallpaper as they metaphysically were there and yet were not - too magnificent and otherworldly to transform in this realm into anything but an implication of their power. Sam shook his head, awed. The power around them made it feel like moving through molasses when he took a step forward, drawn to this angelic majesty. His eyes studied the splendor of that shadow, and he shivered underneath the near tangible overbearing in the room.
Slowly, those wings rescinded and Sam couldn't help but to feel relief and disappointment both.
"You're an angel," Sam said softly, after he regained the ability to speak. A fact made clear to him to be undeniable truth.
The angel nodded. "Yes, Sam." It was gentle, that confirmation.
But that meant... "You're my angel?" It felt nearly blasphemous to ask such an impudent question to angel.
Yet the angel smiled. "That's right." He took a step closer to Sam, and Sam felt no wariness. Only awe, wonder. "Sam, you were always destined for me. And I, always destined for you in return."
Destined. Like a plan. God's plan? Even when He couldn't be found yet by Castiel? Could it be possible that everything Sam had gone through was for a reason? That it was meant to be?
"I don't know what to say," Sam admitted breathlessly.
"Say 'yes'," The angel answered, sounding like a marriage proposal. "Say 'yes' to me, Sam. And I promise to protect you."
Sam shook his head. "No. No, I can't."
His angel wore a look of deep confusion and sadness. "Sam..."
"I can't," Sam continued. "I'm - I'm not involved anymore. I can't be involved anymore. I'm done. Besides, I wouldn't even be a good vessel anyways - "
"You," The angel interrupted, "Are a good vessel. My vessel. And you are nothing less than perfect for me." The declaration made Sam bashful, embarrassed. "We're perfect for each other, Sam."
"You keep saying that," Sam responded instead of any of the denials still prominent in his head.
The angel crossed that final step between them and reached to place a hand on Sam's shoulder. The touch was grounding and Sam closed his eyes to bask in it, just for a moment. "Sam, I know you feel guilty about releasing Lucifer." Sam's eyes opened and he tensed. The angel's fingers gripped him tighter, pulling the tense muscle below. "I know that you think by removing yourself that you can atone for it or prevent yourself from committing actions of the same degree of importance." It was the only way, really, that Sam could. "But I can help you," His angel insisted, providing the idea of another path. "I can help you, Sam. Together, we can prevent the apocalypse. Together we can stop it. We were made for each other. And there is nothing more that I want than to be with you. To help you. To protect you. Sam, I want to all that and more. Please. Please allow me to help you. You don't have to do this on your own, Sam."
And Sam? Sam yearned for this chance at redemption.
Still he shook his head. "I... I can't."
"You can." His angel's eyes were calm but piercing. So sure. "With my help, you can."
Sam paused, hesitating. If he was a vessel for an angel, he wouldn't struggle with not making the wrong choices and dooming the world further. If he was a vessel for an angel, he wouldn't relapse in his addiction; he couldn't imagine an angel drinking demon blood, and that was a relief to take that temptation out of Sam's reach. If he was a vessel for an angel, he wouldn't screw up everything and doom the world even more that he'd already wrecked it. And he could, he could help people. Like he used to do. Only this time with angelic powers rather than demonic ones. He could help people the right way. He could help Dean - could help keep Michael away from him, could help go after Lucifer, could try to clean up the mess Sam had created.
"You would really help me stop the apocalypse? You'd help me go after Lucifer?"
"I would help you do anything, Sam. I will stop the apocalypse and put an end to this once and for all. Together, no one would stand a chance against us. Lucifer himself could not compare against the two of us. I would stop any and all who get in our way. I promise you. We can do it."
Sam thought of Castiel, of all the good he had accomplished all because Jimmy had said yes to him. And this angel was more powerful than Castiel, could do more even.
At this rate, what did Sam even have to lose by trying at least? Even if they didn't succeed, there was a chance that they would. Plus the world would be better off without Sam in it making it worse, in all honesty. Giving up his body for an angel to make better choices - stronger ones, good ones - it seemed prudent, really. The hunters in the bar had proven that he couldn't escape the repercussions of what he'd done. Maybe now was time to own up to them, to atone in this manner.
Sam wondered if Dean would forgive him if he did this. If it'd make him less monstrous in his brother's eyes.
"Okay," He said quietly. His angel froze and then the grip on Sam's shoulder seized him tighter, painfully pressing into him. "I'll say 'yes' and we can - " The grip clenched tighter and then released completely. His angel took that hand and rested it against Sam's cheek instead, and Sam leaned into the soft touch. "Okay."
"Sam," His angel breathed, reverent. "We're going to be brilliant. Powerful. Beautiful." Then he lifted his other hands to oh so gently brush against Sam's eyelids in a downward motion. Sam obliged and closed his eyes. Kept them closed as his angel held him.
Even though his eyes were closed, the world dimmed into black regardless, as he felt the sensation of being more than himself. Full of something other and not him and there in him until that sensation too dimmed into a dark haze.
"Oh, Sam," His voice said like a lullaby that soothed him further into the black. "Thank you."