Fret
"You can't have him."
Sam hears from someplace far beyond the room he's shut in.
"Morael, please listen-"
"I'm here to fix him. I'm making him better."
"Listen, you son of a bitch, if you don't hand him over right now-"
"What do you care?" Snarling. "He's no longer your charge, Winchester."
Sam hears this, all of this, sitting hunched in a kennel of some sorts, covered with a tarp, in the back corner of the basement. He's unseen by the view from the door at the top of the stairs by several crates and other junk. However, he's certain that he's invisible to others regardless, if only at least humans.
That's Morael's expertise, after all. That's why he's been without Dean for at least a month.
The timeline between with Dean and without has chunks missing, days of fuzzy pictures full of static, but most of it Sam remembers. One of the parts he can't remember is how he attained a fear of being found again, irrational as it is. He's tried to get rid of it, but every time he thinks of escape or without Morael, his heart starts beating fast and he breaks out into sweats and shivers.
Even now he trembles, which makes him sick because he's afraid of Dean, and that doesn't make sense.
He hopes Morael is okay.
Right now there's thumping at the door like someone's being thrown against it, and then a screeching sound like rocks slipping together- Morael- then abrupt yells that sound much like an indignant, scared hunter and his angel companion. The house shakes like Sam, then a moment's silence before his cage is being assaulted and the tarp thrown off. He panics for a second previous to seeing long brown hair and facial piercings.
"They're gone," Morael informs him, out of breath but still in that stoic fashion of his. "We need to go fast."
He then opens the cage and holds out his hand. Sam takes it without hesitation and then they're simply away.
***
"Sam, look, just come back inside and we can- Sam? -Sam!"
***
Sam was taken on a cold day after a mostly successful hunt and a daunting fight between him and his brother.
It wasn't anything new, just the regular issues that fester like a staff infection. Castiel had been with them but left before the dispute for reasons unexplained.
Sam went out to sit on the hood of the Impala, staring up at an overcast sky. A man with angel bites and several eyebrow piercings walked to the car next to his. The man's hair was long, past his shoulders, but it was styled in neat layers to make it look clean. It almost reminded Sam of an old 80's rocker but the man didn't look older than Dean.
Sam didn't pay him too much attention until the guy turned to stare at him, a cold and hard gaze that completely started the young hunter. His eyes were gray, and looked almost frightening though Sam wouldn't be able to explain how.
"Samuel Winchester," the man said, and before Sam had a chance to pull his gun a finger was pressed to his forehead and he was no longer on the Impala.
***
"...Pick up, damnit." Silence, voicemail. "Fuck!" Dialing.
"What is it, Dean."
"Sam's gone."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, he was here and now he's not. He just-"
"You two separated again?"
"No. He just disappeared. After you left, we fought and he walked out and he's not anywhere near the motel, I looked. His things are still here."
"Maybe he went for a walk."
"He's not answering his phone, Cas. And he doesn't just go for a walk anymore."
A sigh. "Hold on."
"-Jesus, Cas, space."
***
No, next he knew, he was in some back alley, perhaps not far from the motel because it was sprinkling lightly. And in front of him was the man- angel, he now knew- that had taken him.
"Samuel Winchester," he repeated, and his voice was deep and rough and quiet but loud in Sam's head, and when he said it he seemed to grow five times larger, his eyes becoming shadows and his piercings gleaming.
Sam saw shadows of wings behind him, so much darker than Castiel's, and a powerful essence oozing off of him- it reminded Sam of an angel's grace, but it was so much darker and menacing.
Sam's heart sped up, and he froze.
Instinct was urging him to get the gun in his waistband or the knife in his jacket, but he couldn't move. If felt like someone was squeezing the organs inside his body.
The angel suddenly held out his hands and made a gesture of pushing in Sam's direction, a small but deliberate motion, and instantly a force overpowered Sam and all his bones became weak as dust. He crumpled to the ground, managing to catch himself on his elbows, then started to retch the nausea away. His heart kept pumping faster and faster and he couldn't calm down, couldn't throw off the suffocating panic. I'm not doing this, he thought vaguely. It's the angel.
The angel who was crouching next to him, and when he looked up he met sharp gray eyes that seemed to catch light from an unknown source.
"Wh- what d-d-do you want," Sam managed out, finding his shaky and thready voice betraying him.
"I have been assigned to you, Samuel." He leaned ever closer, and Sam's heart fluttered, close to faint. His voice was almost completely devoid of emotion. "I want your compliance and cooperation." Then he stood up, taking some of the dread with him.
Fuck that, Sam thought, and pulled out his gun. It was useless, but he couldn't do nothing.
He succeeded in firing off a few shots before his vision faltered and flashes of something dark pervaded his senses, some monster he'd never seen before. It could have been a type of demon or the angel himself, Sam wasn't sure. It made him jump and drop the gun out of shock but didn't last long enough to incur real fear in the hunter.
In the distance he heard shouts that sounded all too human, people who had no doubt heard the gunshots. Good.
The angel didn't seem to bothered, on the other hand, casually picking up the gun and studying it.
Not too long later, Sam heard here, here and he turned to see two police officers run into the alleyway.
"Help," Sam called, but couldn't get his voice past a whining exhale.
It didn't matter; the cops didn't seem to notice him or the angel at all. They came dangerously close to them, though not close enough to where Sam could reach out and grab them, and his legs were still jelly.
The angel aimed the gun at the closer officer.
"No," Sam sputtered, "No. Don't."
He seemed to ignore Sam but didn't shoot, instead holding out his empty hand and facing his palm towards the second cop. Sam saw what looked like an almost invisible cloud of smoke billowing towards the two men and hitting each with agility. They both startled, almost dropping their guns, one of the men letting loose a weak shout. Promptly they backed up, stumbling over trash cans whose loud crashes spooked them even more, and they turned and ran out of the alley, gasping.
Sam stared at the scene in shock.
"They cannot see you," the angel said after a moment, causing Sam to jump again. He was back to studying the gun shortly before casting it aside. "Guns are ineffective," he seemed to add as an afterthought.
Both of their heads were now soaked, but somehow it didn't take anything away from the angel. He straightened his leather jacket before staring at Sam again. And, he stated with an invisible force, a power only gained through authority, something Sam already knew.
"Samuel Winchester. I am an angel of the Lord."
***
"What did you find? I checked, and there have been accounts of vague, mild hysteria and a few admittances into the sanitarium a town over this past week, but neither of these fit the MO of anything we've been up against."
"I believe it is an angel."
"The hell? Angels can do this?"
"Some. Certain angels specialize in specific areas of expertise. Angels of Fear were prominent generals in Heaven, though most have been executed for their betrayal in stating allegiance with Lucifer."
"So you're saying that Sam's likely at the Devil's doorstep right now? Jesus Christ."
"Not necessarily. Some Angels of Fear did not commit blasphemy, but had turned their backs to the Host and chose to operate autonomously on Earth. I believe one took Sam."
"Why would it want Sam?"
"As I said, some operate autonomously. Their actions would be constructed from their own agenda. But generally, Angels of Fear work to- as you would say- put the fear of God into man, though they have many objectives. They use fear in this respect to accomplish them."
"Okay. Do you have any idea who this angel is, where to find it?"
"I have a... hunch, as to who it is. One angel is rumored to have been corrupted as he left, abandoning the standard laws and acting outside of what was permitted. He isn't exactly working in rebellion, but his views and actions have become distorted and aberrant."
"Anything else?"
"If it is this angel, his name is Morael."
***
Morael isn't cruel to him. Or, at least, not anymore.
He says Sam's learned and improved and Sam is happy to hear that, he really is. But the feeling is only fleeting, and it soon tumbles into confusion. He shouldn't be feeling happiness over Morael's statement. But he doesn't dwell on either emotion too long because Morael doesn't let him sit in silence for too long. There's always something the angel is doing. Fear pulses in his veins as an ever-constant reminder.
As soon as they're settled in whatever new abode Morael's flicked them to, they start the exercises again. Morael pushes something onto him and he's sent into another practice trial. This time, he's in a bathroom, probably a motel one judging by the size. He's cramped in between the toilet and sink, handcuffed to the pipes. And what he's rarely experienced in other trials is that this time, he's really hungry.
The lust for demon blood overpowers him momentarily, along with it a strong undercurrent of that darkness, that raw terror. Sam pushes back against the cravings before that terror takes over completely again; his eyes and jaw clamp shut tightly in protest. Before much else happens, a loud and low groaning seeps through outside the door, accompanied with a few crashes. He sits up as much as he can with his wrists chained, but isn't able to stand up against the two demons that come in wearing suits and black eyes.
Sam can smell them, smell the sulfur and blood that used to be disgusting and used to be alluring and is now revolutionizing and inciting fear into him twofold, on top of the unrefined tinge already there. His heart skips a beat and he begins to struggle against his metal bonds. The demons smirk down at him.
The man bends and unlocks the cuffs while Sam sways full of craving and panic, barely coherent as usual in these trials and only acting off of instinct. Like the angel trained him to.
Next thing he knows, they're grabbing him, intent on dragging him out into the main room. Sam suddenly is flooded with the urge to grab back and just bite, rip at the throat and hold the woman at bay while he sucks the man dry-- then the dark takes over and he's attacked by images of what he knows is Morael, then Sam himself in what he can only guess is the future, several apocalyptic scenes following suit as simple evil overrides the world. Flashes of things Sam still can't describe wreck through each scene, tearing Sam apart and stamping his heart into overtime.
He knows, he knows what to do when this happens, but it's so hard to react when he's so fucking scared shitless of these flashes and at the same time nothing at all, like fear is being injected into him. He gets that, how irrational fear can be. That way it can't be stopped, and like the other times, Sam is paralyzed and unaware of the events unfolding around him.
He wants so badly to push back at everything, send the demons and images flying with a single thought, and he thinks he can but he knows he shouldn't because it's wrong. He's barely breathing but he chokes out an exorcism at record speed because that's the only way to get rid of the flashes without giving up entirely and subjecting himself to torture or death. There's a lesson that he needs to learn, he knows more than anything that none of this will stop until he learns it.
He spits out the rest of the Latin, although not before the demons let out a few blows of their own, Sam thinks maybe one with a knife. He's just now starting to get his vision of the room back, flashes slowing from his success, and the demons curdle in their hosts before spilling out and through imaginary cracks in the ground. The bodies crumple. Sam isn't sure whether the ritual kills the demons or sends them back to Hell, he doesn't remember Morael clarifying, Sam just knows that it's one Bobby doesn't know about.
Either way, Sam is left in spasms on the floor wondering if this is the time he's learned his lesson or if this is the time his heart will give out.
The thudding fades slowly, way after Sam is back in what he supposes is reality and Morael is sitting on a dusty chair. The lights are always off, it's always dark, so that doesn't do much to help Sam transition. Still, he spots Morael, drops his head and rises to his hands and knees.
He sees both the vessel and angel's shadow now, and that does nothing to help him either, leaving him constantly disoriented. It's hard to catch his breath.
"What is your lesson," Morael deadpans.
"T-to g-g-get rid-d of- f'all d-d-dem- monic ent-t-t-t-tities inside a-and out-t-side of m-myself- s-s-sir."
"What do you think of demon blood?"
"Oh g-god," Sam gasps out, his body automatically hunching into itself and rebelling, forcing him to tuck his head and retch. "P-please, n-n-no more. Please. P-please."
Morael seems satisfied with that answer, as he stands and gives Sam the mercy of not being in his presence so the hunter can make an effort to calm down and not fall into another panic attack or come closer to a heart attack.
His body's reactions are no more than that: reactions, trained into him; he has nothing in his stomach to bring up yet it acts as if in revolt.
Even though simply thinking about Morael incites more panic than Sam knows what to do with, he tries to use as much of his break figuring out the angel and both of their situations. He's not sure why, because he won't think of trying to run- he shouldn't. It's just something he should not do.
But part of Sam that had lived with Dean and without Morael knows what he should think about- even though he shouldn't.
God, but if he only weren't so fucking terrified all the time, something, anything, might make sense.
He shouldn't be thinking about it.
It's only after more than an hour of silence and heartbeats does Sam get up and explore the new house, half-looking for the angel. He must have gone out. That's not unusual anymore, so Sam basks in loneliness and eats from a tray left on the ground and stays away from the closed doors and all windows- because he shouldn't be near them, not at all. The lights should also always be off, so he stays away from the switches as well.
***
"I have some more information."
"I'm waiting."
"-Dean, we aren't going to get anywhere with your impatience."
"Save it, Cas."
Hesitation. "I realize you are worried for your brother."
"Do you? It's been a goddamn week already."
"You have to acknowledge that this may take a while, Dean. Angels are hard to track when they don't want to be found, especially ones cut off from Heaven. Do not fool yourself into thinking Sam is simply being kept in some storage facility."
"Okay, Cas, okay. I get it. What do you have for me?"
"I am fairly convinced it's Morael. The angel worked under Beleth, who sided with Lucifer during the Rebellion. Morael went to Earth to perform what he believed was the work of the Lord but over time lost sight of his righteous purpose and began to act on his own delusions. For his type, the guidelines stated not to create new fear into humans, but to use preexisting fears to threaten or help people overcome something. Angels also should not mentally damage a human unless they are granted permission to inhabit the vessel, though as you've learned from the events of this town he seems to ignore both decrees. Thankfully, angels are immune to the bulk of his power, as is natural, but that will not stop Morael from attacking fellow brethren if provoked. He seems to be easily provoked as it turns out."
"Great. Any good news?"
"Well, I believe the first location Morael took Sam was an alleyway a few blocks from here. Two police officers investigated but didn't stay around more than two minutes before they ran back to their vehicle. That leads to the assumption that Morael wants to stay close to this area, perhaps as he has a headquarters of some sort here, or he will gradually remove Sam from this area."
"Where do we start looking?"
"Abandoned houses, most likely. Morael seems to like space."
***
The first thing Sam noticed after he woke up was the light absentmindedly pouring in behind a thin curtain from a window positioned across the room. It was a big window, taking up a little over half of the wall, and aside from it there was nothing else in the room. Sam's limbs ached from laying on the wooden floor.
He got up, slowly, cautiously.
What he noticed next was less of a tangible thing. It was a small, raw fear placed just under his skin. A fear of what, he wasn't sure. It felt alien, an emotion not belonging to him. Sam wasn't one to brag, but people in his profession weren't easy to scare. The feeling in question was one Sam hadn't felt in a long, long time. It was a type he felt before he had discovered what was out there, as well as a short while after making that discovery too. The type of fear that could easily become fatal and overriding any rational thought.
At a young age, he had had that fear removed from him. Sure he still got scared, but he could work with it easily.
When the Trickster had cornered him at the infamous Mystery Spot, or when the witches had hexed Dean, or even when he was pinned to the wall while Dean was ripped to shreds by hellhounds, Sam never let fear take over- and even so, it was a different type of fear then.
This fear now, it wasn't a fear of the inevitable, or of helplessness. It wasn't a sense of doom. It was the simple, vague, childish fear of the unknown and the impossible.
Sam knew this when he found himself jumping at every creak in the house, startling at a shadow passing the window. 'What-if' scenarios filled his head, the like of which only ever occurring when he had been six years old.
What if something comes through the door? What if it comes through the window? What if it's dark and big and slow and I can't run or fight?
So it was partly due to his hijacked mind when he startled badly and practically gasped as he noticed a figure right by the doorframe, sending him backwards until he was wedged into a corner facing the door and window. The doorknob hadn't made a sound. The figured had simply appeared there without using the door or window. Shit, I hadn't thought of that. He chastised himself for being frightened, though, when he saw it was the angel that had taken him earlier. Anger covered up the alarm, though it didn't demolish it.
He blinked and the angel was right in front of him, causing him to jump a second time, but he straightened up as much as he could and put on what he thought might be an intimidating expression.
"What do you want?"
The angel didn't answer, just stared at Sam with a mix of apathetic scrutiny and cold detachment. Sam refused to back up. His eyes flickered to the door, the window, judging the distance and time it would take to run to either one. He felt the icy weight of his knife tucked in his jacket and pressed against his ribcage.
"I want your compliance and cooperation," the angel repeated itself from earlier, his voice haunting, sending shivers down Sam's spine.
"Why?"
"I have been assigned to you."
Sam considered that for a moment before bolting towards the window. It was a long shot, and before he had touched the sill the angel was bearing down on him, grabbing Sam's neck and shoulder.
Trepidation was injected into his flesh, he thought, and instinct had him reacting instantly and pulling the knife from his jacket, jamming it into the vessel's stomach. Another long shot.
The stab had seemed to warrant only a simple grunt, the angel not giving any other response of pain or surprise. Instead, his grip only became stronger, and Sam was slammed against the wall just as images flooded into his mind totally against his will.
They changed too fast for Sam to make out what they were, but each flash looked like a demon, a monster, things he'd never seen before. Some bore a resemblance to himself, goading more fear to enter through each gasping inhale. The longer-lasting images reminded him vaguely of the vessel in front of him, though not in any corporeal way. They all contained a sort of coldness, a sort of dark, something tangible but had power beyond what could be seen. It was somewhat similar to demon smoke, something almost mundane as an idea but could corrupt and terrorize upon impact. It did just that.
Sam recoiled as much as he could, shrinking against the peeling wallpaper and flinching with each wave of fleeting phantasm. He noticed the lungs surrounding his pounding heart were weakly rejecting each breath he shakily pulled in around the squeezing hand.
"Do not try my patience," the creature in front of him hissed out low and deep. Sam wasn't so sure anymore that it was an angel; angels weren't dark, they were blindingly bright. "Rebel and there will be consequences. Attempts at escape will be met with punishment."
There was something else behind those words, something that deviated with what Sam knew. He wheezed as he was released, mulling over it. It seemed to say, attempts at escape will be met with reformation, and not all punishment will be physical.
***
"Cas?"
"I've found where Sam is being kept. We must hurry."
***
It's a few days later when Morael makes a mistake.
The angel has always had a temper, Sam had found out, and it had come out often enough in the early weeks when Sam tried to escape or kill him. He also lost his temper whenever Dean, Castiel, or another angel caught up with him. Morael is easily frustrated when something interferes with his plans; Sam guesses he's always been very solitary.
But the angel is strong, stronger than maybe even Zachariah, and confrontations have always resulted in just a few ruffled clothes and a new location. With the few quarrels Sam has had the misfortune of witnessing, the angel grows colder, darker, and louder, almost pushing his intimidation onto the opponent, and affecting anyone in a near enough proximity.
Sam doesn't witness it this time, but the aftermath is different.
Sam feels the very moment Morael enters the house. His heart picks up its racehorse speed almost instantly, and he's abruptly paralyzed, dropping the food Morael had left him. A pulse of power suddenly wracks through the entire house, sending cracks fettering along the walls and the sounds of things shattering and crashing to the ground spontaneously echoing across the premises. It pushes Sam down just as a painstakingly loud shrilling emits from some not-so-faraway source, like a dog whistle. Anything that hadn't broken before trembles and bursts while Sam clutches his hands to his ears, hyperventilating.
Three sharp seconds and then the door all but tears down and inky darkness fills the room like smoke and oil and horrifying sensations. Between flashes of those unspeakable things beginning to filter through his head, Sam wrenches his eyes open and sees, amidst possibly hundreds of tortured souls and demons alien to those he's fought, the massive sprawling form of Morael, the vessel just a puppet hidden behind the shadows of nightmares. Sam's mottled mind misses it, but one of the man's shoulders is seeped with dark and blood.
Another crashing pulse from Morael sends Sam flying against the wall, and the severe shriek sounds up again. Sam is filled with Morael's terror and anger, so much anger and rage and wrath.
His heart buckles and pounds and skips one beat, then two, lungs no longer cooperating, and just as Morael's form impossibly grows and becomes something else, Sam's eyesight is flooded with black- like a demon forcing itself into each pupil- and he is overtaken by a mix of panic and pain.
***
"Dean, calm down. Dean!"
"J-J-Jesus, Cas, g-get away from me! What the fuck."
"Dean, you need to put down the gun and calm yourself."
"Don't you think I'm trying?! I c-can't control this!"
"Dean!"
"Don't yell! You're scaring the crap out of me!" Clattering. "Okay, okay. Ju- ...Just hold on. Just... God, that was Morael?"
"Yes. I underestimated his influence over humans. I am sorry, Dean."
"No shit, Sherlock. Ugh." Some deep breaths.
"I will find a way to block out the worst of it for you."
A long pause.
"...Oh God, Sammy."
***
"I apologize," Morael says some time later. (It's hard now for Sam to keep track of the time.) He startles at the angel's voice, but not by much, because Sam can usually sense his presence beforehand.
He thumbs the skinny metal bars of his kennel- which he notices he's in again, wonders if Morael went back to one of their previous locations to retrieve it. It reeks of his piss and blood.
"My intentions were not to show my true form. It..." Not often is Morael not completely articulate. "I was wounded and careless. Someone had caught on to our coordinates and had wished to interfere."
He straightens, Sam hears the rustling of clothes tightening and then falling slack. "It is not in my expertise to heal humans beyond superficial injuries, so I am afraid your eyesight will be damaged here forth." I am afraid. Sam can barely understand, but he's learning to communicate past the knocking fright that never leaves.
He swears (to who?) that he can still see the angel, at least a shadow of its true form, which scares him more than anything and so he tends to keep his head down at all times.
Luckily, the trials still allow Sam to see as they're in his head, so now he looks forward to them.
***
"Cas, that's your phone."
"Yes." Shuffling. "They did not persist in calling."
"Who was it?"
"I'm not familiar with this number."
"Let me see- looks like a payphone."
"Is it significant?"
"How should I know? Let me look it up."
"What do you want me to do with the knowledge?"
"Check it out, for God sakes. It could be Sam. Look, see this location here? That's where the phone booth is."
"Fine. I will return shortly."
A long silence, lasting for what feels like an eternity.
Ruffles. Dialing, and rings.
"What the fuck, Cas!"
More silence.
Then, "Dean."
"What took you- oh my god."
"...It's not mine."
***
The first trial wasn't as bad as future ones would be.
In fact, it was familiar. Sam would think later he'd have done better if he knew what was going on, what the angel had wanted him to do.
As it was, his instructions were vague and ominous.
"Resist and endure."
He left those words before sending Sam into some sort of time loop, as he recognized where he was as the bar he'd worked in during his break with Dean. Memories of his own assaulted him, especially the dreams of Lucifer, but the Devil seemed so far away now. He remembered his last fight with Dean; they had argued over seemingly trivial things.
Suddenly time was fast-forwarded, and Sam was no longer alone in the bar but with Tim, Reggie, and Lindsey. Something seemed- off.
"What do you think it is?" Tim said, though his eyes were colder than Sam remembered, more distant. "It's go juice, Sammy boy."
"Get that away from me," Sam snarled, repeating the words he had said that night. It wasn't hard to recall them, and the tainted red glinting at him from the small glass tube held in grubby fingers.
"Away from you? This is- for- you-" Tim's speech began to distort at the end, and suddenly a disturbing feeling washed over the area. Sam's vision faltered a few times and then Tim and Reggie were in front of him. The lights seemed to dim, and Lindsey stilled and stared at Sam with a face devoid of emotion.
"Come on, you know- you- want- it- Saaaam." The two older hunters stared at him, pressing into him with an empowering slowness that only frightened the younger man. It hadn't been anything like this. He started to sweat, cold.
"N-no," he stammered out a weak protest. He was afraid to speak loud, afraid to trigger something. But that seemed to do it. Their movements sped up abruptly, and soon they had Sam pinned and restrained, dragging him down.
"Reach- out and take it." They forced the vial of demon blood into his mouth, like last time, but now they were holding Sam's mouth closed with bruising strength and clamping his nose shut and slowing down again, slower and slower...
The blood wrapped around his tongue. It tasted like it always had, rotten and gag-inducing, but had a promising allure in its aftertaste that had Sam restraining and tempted.
Then, something else came up with the metallic tang: fear.
It washed over him, making him buck and panic anew between the taint in his mouth and the denial of air. The room twisted even more, everything becoming darker and morbid. Nightmare flashes kicked against his vision again, and he saw things the angel had shown him before along with new pictures, scenes. They sparked his nerves like making contact with a split power line, controlling his panicked actions.
All the while Tim and Reggie forbade him to continue on living, stealing his breath and sight, the latter spiraling into that new sort of dark that was tangible and dooming.
Agony caused him to fight and caused him to fall, whole body shrieking as he went.
He almost blacked out before the hands lifted off of him, unnoticed at first. His nostrils flared; he had remembered to focus on the blood still pooling in his mouth, taking care not to swallow it in his haste for air. His head pounded and his eyesight was still unstable.
"There," Tim drawled, "was that really so bad?" How does he escape this?
He got up shakily, then spit it at Tim in defiance. Their faces only twisted unnaturally, and Lindsey was still stock-still and staring. Sam was too weak to fight them, not able to repeat what had originally occurred. He eyed Reggie's knife.
"Don't think we won't- be- back-" Tim droned out. Sam shuddered but didn't respond.
A flurry of skirmish passed, until Sam fell onto a rug and dirt with a dull sound. He noted halfheartedly that he was clad in only his t-shirt and jeans, missing his jacket and flannel and socks and shoes and weapons. The feel of blood on his hands and in his mouth was still there.
"You did well," a voice spoke near him. Sam jerked. It was the angel.
He was being stared down at, the thing's gaze unblinking and unnerving.
"What is your lesson," he barely asked. Sam didn't know, so he stayed quiet, trying to settle his breathing.
"What do you think of demon blood?"
"What are you trying to g-get at?" Sam's voice betrayed him, his feelings betrayed him. "Who the hell are you?"
"You're not getting it," the man said, his eyes narrowing in what looked like disappointment. Without warning he was pushing Sam, leaning down onto him, and a cold and murky energy soaked into him and spurred his heart to pound fast. "What is your lesson."
Sam was gone, though, panicking too much to form words. Tears pooled up in his eyes and he screamed to himself why? but it was all too much. The angel pushed one last time, sending another wave of his aura crashing into the hunter, then moved back.
"My name is Morael," the angel said almost belatedly, as if toying with the idea of speaking. "We will try again."
The first trial had been one of the easier ones. He had fared way better than the next ones, in which he was required to fend off demons but had yet to learn Morael's exorcism.
***
"Jesus, this is taking too damn long."
"Patience, Dean. Morael is powerful."
"I don't give a shit if Morael is codename for fucking Lucifer. I want my brother back."
"...Morael is doing this for a reason, however delusional."
"Christ, Cas, I don't want to hear your sympathies for this dick."
"I'm only stating we should be familiar with his motives. Angels of Fear can sense demons and those in allegiance with Lucifer, but they usually lack the power to detect those influenced by the Hell-sworn."
"So you're saying Sam's a fucking demon?"
"No." Sigh. "I'm saying that Morael must have had a strong objective concerning your brother to be able to find him in the first place. As he stated all but an hour ago, his goal was to fix him, make him better. He, perhaps, sensed a wrongness in Sam he wished to correct."
"Like Sam's demon blood addiction."
"It's a possibility."
"Okay. So."
"We cannot yet halt his instructions on Sam, as you've witnessed in our few confrontations with Morael. He is obviously practiced in cloaking; Sam remained hidden every time."
"Mhm."
"So we'll have to wear him out first. It'll be difficult, but I'm convinced we're not the only ones going after him at the moment. For whatever reason, he's constantly being attacked, which is why he has to move locations so often."
"For whatever reason?"
"Revenge, most likely. Or attempts to immobilize him and bring him back to Heaven. Michael is trying to round up as many rogue angels as he can."
"Alright. So all we need to do is keep chasing his tail, throw a few punches, and wait."
"Essentially, yes."
"Great. I might as well just sit here and let Sam do all the work."
"Dean, this may be our best, if only, chance. He is already slowing down. I have his trace, so I can better track him. It may be a few days, maybe even another month, for Morael to fall. You just need to be patient, and strong, for Sam, because he is likely holding on for only one thing."
***
They run into some trouble again. Another time Sam isn't present during the actual confrontation, is glad of that, but the aftermath is just as bad.
Morael busts in much like last time and the hunter guesses he's hurt, but there's no glass breaking, no unseen pulses of energy throwing Sam against cracking walls. But then the angel touches him, and all the horror he's experienced in the past weeks floods into him again and he think he's having (another) heart attack, and weakly he notes that now he's somewhere else.
It's raining again and the angel is dragging him to his feet. Sam vaguely registers the sound of his own voice begging, wracked with half-sobs, but Sam himself is so far gone in his delirium he doesn't really give a fuck about what's coming out of his mouth. He just wants to stop, but the angel clearly wants him to keep moving.
There are a few gaps of dryness, and then Sam's falling, he doesn't- doesn't know what's going on. He hears human voices, feels the angel practically pick him up and carry him and other hands grabbing him. He doesn't know. There are a few screams around him, some close and some far, and his ears register a lot of running. Then he's shoved unceremoniously onto the ground, his palms scraping from the concrete, and Morael's energy cloaks are driven onto him.
"Don't move," he hears Morael command, and thinks it ridiculous seeing as he's frozen as always. And Morael, his essence, is gone. Sam hears a subway train stop briefly and open its doors with a spilling of air.
He doesn't know how long he stays there, silently willing himself to calm down, but he knows Morael never moves too far away. Tiny pulses of energy hit him occasionally but nothing as big as the first time. He hears a shout, a No, that sounds a lot like Castiel. Then silence, although he still feels his abductor.
The fear gradually increases until Morael's hands are on him again, and Sam can tell he's badly wounded from the way uncontained amounts of his power flow from his vessel like a broken levee. Sam isn't at all coordinated with his new blindness so he finds himself dragged and carried by the angel again.
Gravity leaves them for a split second as they trip off the platform and onto the tracks. Morael starts to walk, Sam being hauled at his side.
"I cannot teleport us out," the angel grates next to him, "Not until I regenerate more. We will stay in the tunnels and veil ourselves from the enemy until I regain some strength."
Flecks of wet land on Sam as the angel speaks. He thinks it's blood.
Minutes pass. Sam begins to shut down his mind, chanting an exorcism in his head to relax. Their pace is leisurely at first at first, then speeds up and becomes hurried and clumsy as a rumbling groan gets nearer. The subway train, Sam knows.
Soon the squealing gets too loud for Sam to think of how to avoid it and his legs do him the favor of liquefying, and he just wants to huddle down and wait for the end. But Morael is yanking him up sharply as his gate increases in speed, and before Sam knows it he's flung into a wall of concrete and pinned there by a massively tangible terror and the shrieking turns into a deafening scream that threatens to burst his eardrums. His arms jerk up on their own accord, his fingers twisting without an objective, fear canceling any self preservation instincts left in him.
It's like that for an age. Then the screech passes and quiets and he's not so limited in movement, Morael moving away a short distance.
The respite remains even as Morael stalks back and grabs Sam's arm, stony fingers clasping his goosebumped flesh desperately, and dark sweeps over him but not enough to renew his lost panic- Morael must be healing already, better containing his power. A slick warmth paints his forehead and he's falling back into mud and puddles, no longer any wall behind him. No longer any subway. He hears thunder rolling above him, in harmony with a different thunder much closer and more temporary. Wind whips his hair and shirt to and fro, ruddy vibrations pulse through him. Morael is quiet, but Sam can still feel him. He tries to place where he is. Under a bridge, he guesses.
"We sha-" Morael starts, but stops abruptly when a brush of feathers echoes around their location. The calm dissipates faster than it had come, and soon a chaos of energy crackles around and into him, like shards in his pores. There's splashes and shuffling of weight to one side of him and the tension pops and sparkles and he starts breathing fast.
Castiel's voice comes into conception, making Sam's lungs even smaller. "Where's Sam?"
***
Sam thought this might be his last attempt at escaping.
His nerves, quite frankly, couldn't take much anymore, and were holding him back and protesting no, no. They knew from experience what happened if he tried to run, to fight. So did Sam's heart, and lungs, and mind. But some part of him still believed he should leave, even though he wasn't entirely sure why anymore.
Turns out, his last try was likely the worst.
It was dark, like always, and had Sam flinching and trying not to acknowledge the prickling on his back of something behind him watching. Morael was gone but that didn't mean much anymore.
Sam had managed to run, before, maybe five miles, before he had had a panic attack that left him defenseless in the face of a wrathful angel who's temper had snapped. His ribs still ached from that.
No, he knew now (not to run) to try and immobilize Morael so he wouldn't be able to retrieve Sam.
He also knew that Morael was weakest after an absence, likely from fighting.
Never hurt, nowhere Sam could see, but his abilities more exhausted.
Sam himself was weak from preparation, but he gathered up his last reserves of strength. He tried to ignore the hammering in his chest, the shallowness of his inhales. He didn't have time to worry past what was already there-
Morael had arrived.
Sam felt it, the strength with which the angel asserted himself whenever he flew into the house. The overwhelming power concerned Sam, yet although he was no longer capable of pushing his fear aside, he steeled himself and thanked the darkness that Morael had chosen to teleport straight into the basement instead of another room first.
Sam waited, trembling, at the top of the stairs, only seconds before Morael was on a step below him. The glint of several metal studs winked from the angel's face.
"Sa-"
Sam allowed him no time to say anything, bringing up a fist and slamming the angel in the neck while simultaneously kicking out at his stomach. Morael went tumbling down the stairs and the hunter wasted no time in opening the door (despite the terror that assailed him due to touching the knob) and pushing himself through the frame and onto the other side. He slammed the door shut, waited another second before the angel appeared in front of him, fury emanating off his vessel and causing the room to darken and distort. Sam could barely breathe, but he kept going.
"What are you-" Morael burst out, as pissed as Sam had ever seen him, and Sam retaliated by slamming his hand against the back of the door, which had been coated in bloody sigils.
There was a blinding light, light, for once, and it faded, taking Morael along with it.
Sam almost collapsed on the spot. He actually did it. His chest was close to bursting but he wouldn't stop now.
He looked around, not having been outside of the basement during their stay in this house. The rooms no longer disturbed by the angel's presence, Sam found them dilapidated and messy. His heart skipped and stopped each time he opened a door, and he was terrifyingly aware of how little time he had before he broke.
The last door he opened startled him more than anything, because it was the door to outside. He was alarmed and terrified while he burst out into the evening. A phone, he had to find a phone. He wasn't stupid enough to think Morael had left his cellphone in the house, more likely to have destroyed it.
Luckily, the house they were staying in was close to the town it was affiliated with, unlike many of the others he had ran from. He found his way to the outskirts of it in less than an hour, choking and tripping every other step. He found a phone kiosk and viewed it with aversion. There was no one in sight.
Part 2
Sam hears from someplace far beyond the room he's shut in.
"Morael, please listen-"
"I'm here to fix him. I'm making him better."
"Listen, you son of a bitch, if you don't hand him over right now-"
"What do you care?" Snarling. "He's no longer your charge, Winchester."
Sam hears this, all of this, sitting hunched in a kennel of some sorts, covered with a tarp, in the back corner of the basement. He's unseen by the view from the door at the top of the stairs by several crates and other junk. However, he's certain that he's invisible to others regardless, if only at least humans.
That's Morael's expertise, after all. That's why he's been without Dean for at least a month.
The timeline between with Dean and without has chunks missing, days of fuzzy pictures full of static, but most of it Sam remembers. One of the parts he can't remember is how he attained a fear of being found again, irrational as it is. He's tried to get rid of it, but every time he thinks of escape or without Morael, his heart starts beating fast and he breaks out into sweats and shivers.
Even now he trembles, which makes him sick because he's afraid of Dean, and that doesn't make sense.
He hopes Morael is okay.
Right now there's thumping at the door like someone's being thrown against it, and then a screeching sound like rocks slipping together- Morael- then abrupt yells that sound much like an indignant, scared hunter and his angel companion. The house shakes like Sam, then a moment's silence before his cage is being assaulted and the tarp thrown off. He panics for a second previous to seeing long brown hair and facial piercings.
"They're gone," Morael informs him, out of breath but still in that stoic fashion of his. "We need to go fast."
He then opens the cage and holds out his hand. Sam takes it without hesitation and then they're simply away.
***
"Sam, look, just come back inside and we can- Sam? -Sam!"
***
Sam was taken on a cold day after a mostly successful hunt and a daunting fight between him and his brother.
It wasn't anything new, just the regular issues that fester like a staff infection. Castiel had been with them but left before the dispute for reasons unexplained.
Sam went out to sit on the hood of the Impala, staring up at an overcast sky. A man with angel bites and several eyebrow piercings walked to the car next to his. The man's hair was long, past his shoulders, but it was styled in neat layers to make it look clean. It almost reminded Sam of an old 80's rocker but the man didn't look older than Dean.
Sam didn't pay him too much attention until the guy turned to stare at him, a cold and hard gaze that completely started the young hunter. His eyes were gray, and looked almost frightening though Sam wouldn't be able to explain how.
"Samuel Winchester," the man said, and before Sam had a chance to pull his gun a finger was pressed to his forehead and he was no longer on the Impala.
***
"...Pick up, damnit." Silence, voicemail. "Fuck!" Dialing.
"What is it, Dean."
"Sam's gone."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, he was here and now he's not. He just-"
"You two separated again?"
"No. He just disappeared. After you left, we fought and he walked out and he's not anywhere near the motel, I looked. His things are still here."
"Maybe he went for a walk."
"He's not answering his phone, Cas. And he doesn't just go for a walk anymore."
A sigh. "Hold on."
"-Jesus, Cas, space."
***
No, next he knew, he was in some back alley, perhaps not far from the motel because it was sprinkling lightly. And in front of him was the man- angel, he now knew- that had taken him.
"Samuel Winchester," he repeated, and his voice was deep and rough and quiet but loud in Sam's head, and when he said it he seemed to grow five times larger, his eyes becoming shadows and his piercings gleaming.
Sam saw shadows of wings behind him, so much darker than Castiel's, and a powerful essence oozing off of him- it reminded Sam of an angel's grace, but it was so much darker and menacing.
Sam's heart sped up, and he froze.
Instinct was urging him to get the gun in his waistband or the knife in his jacket, but he couldn't move. If felt like someone was squeezing the organs inside his body.
The angel suddenly held out his hands and made a gesture of pushing in Sam's direction, a small but deliberate motion, and instantly a force overpowered Sam and all his bones became weak as dust. He crumpled to the ground, managing to catch himself on his elbows, then started to retch the nausea away. His heart kept pumping faster and faster and he couldn't calm down, couldn't throw off the suffocating panic. I'm not doing this, he thought vaguely. It's the angel.
The angel who was crouching next to him, and when he looked up he met sharp gray eyes that seemed to catch light from an unknown source.
"Wh- what d-d-do you want," Sam managed out, finding his shaky and thready voice betraying him.
"I have been assigned to you, Samuel." He leaned ever closer, and Sam's heart fluttered, close to faint. His voice was almost completely devoid of emotion. "I want your compliance and cooperation." Then he stood up, taking some of the dread with him.
Fuck that, Sam thought, and pulled out his gun. It was useless, but he couldn't do nothing.
He succeeded in firing off a few shots before his vision faltered and flashes of something dark pervaded his senses, some monster he'd never seen before. It could have been a type of demon or the angel himself, Sam wasn't sure. It made him jump and drop the gun out of shock but didn't last long enough to incur real fear in the hunter.
In the distance he heard shouts that sounded all too human, people who had no doubt heard the gunshots. Good.
The angel didn't seem to bothered, on the other hand, casually picking up the gun and studying it.
Not too long later, Sam heard here, here and he turned to see two police officers run into the alleyway.
"Help," Sam called, but couldn't get his voice past a whining exhale.
It didn't matter; the cops didn't seem to notice him or the angel at all. They came dangerously close to them, though not close enough to where Sam could reach out and grab them, and his legs were still jelly.
The angel aimed the gun at the closer officer.
"No," Sam sputtered, "No. Don't."
He seemed to ignore Sam but didn't shoot, instead holding out his empty hand and facing his palm towards the second cop. Sam saw what looked like an almost invisible cloud of smoke billowing towards the two men and hitting each with agility. They both startled, almost dropping their guns, one of the men letting loose a weak shout. Promptly they backed up, stumbling over trash cans whose loud crashes spooked them even more, and they turned and ran out of the alley, gasping.
Sam stared at the scene in shock.
"They cannot see you," the angel said after a moment, causing Sam to jump again. He was back to studying the gun shortly before casting it aside. "Guns are ineffective," he seemed to add as an afterthought.
Both of their heads were now soaked, but somehow it didn't take anything away from the angel. He straightened his leather jacket before staring at Sam again. And, he stated with an invisible force, a power only gained through authority, something Sam already knew.
"Samuel Winchester. I am an angel of the Lord."
***
"What did you find? I checked, and there have been accounts of vague, mild hysteria and a few admittances into the sanitarium a town over this past week, but neither of these fit the MO of anything we've been up against."
"I believe it is an angel."
"The hell? Angels can do this?"
"Some. Certain angels specialize in specific areas of expertise. Angels of Fear were prominent generals in Heaven, though most have been executed for their betrayal in stating allegiance with Lucifer."
"So you're saying that Sam's likely at the Devil's doorstep right now? Jesus Christ."
"Not necessarily. Some Angels of Fear did not commit blasphemy, but had turned their backs to the Host and chose to operate autonomously on Earth. I believe one took Sam."
"Why would it want Sam?"
"As I said, some operate autonomously. Their actions would be constructed from their own agenda. But generally, Angels of Fear work to- as you would say- put the fear of God into man, though they have many objectives. They use fear in this respect to accomplish them."
"Okay. Do you have any idea who this angel is, where to find it?"
"I have a... hunch, as to who it is. One angel is rumored to have been corrupted as he left, abandoning the standard laws and acting outside of what was permitted. He isn't exactly working in rebellion, but his views and actions have become distorted and aberrant."
"Anything else?"
"If it is this angel, his name is Morael."
***
Morael isn't cruel to him. Or, at least, not anymore.
He says Sam's learned and improved and Sam is happy to hear that, he really is. But the feeling is only fleeting, and it soon tumbles into confusion. He shouldn't be feeling happiness over Morael's statement. But he doesn't dwell on either emotion too long because Morael doesn't let him sit in silence for too long. There's always something the angel is doing. Fear pulses in his veins as an ever-constant reminder.
As soon as they're settled in whatever new abode Morael's flicked them to, they start the exercises again. Morael pushes something onto him and he's sent into another practice trial. This time, he's in a bathroom, probably a motel one judging by the size. He's cramped in between the toilet and sink, handcuffed to the pipes. And what he's rarely experienced in other trials is that this time, he's really hungry.
The lust for demon blood overpowers him momentarily, along with it a strong undercurrent of that darkness, that raw terror. Sam pushes back against the cravings before that terror takes over completely again; his eyes and jaw clamp shut tightly in protest. Before much else happens, a loud and low groaning seeps through outside the door, accompanied with a few crashes. He sits up as much as he can with his wrists chained, but isn't able to stand up against the two demons that come in wearing suits and black eyes.
Sam can smell them, smell the sulfur and blood that used to be disgusting and used to be alluring and is now revolutionizing and inciting fear into him twofold, on top of the unrefined tinge already there. His heart skips a beat and he begins to struggle against his metal bonds. The demons smirk down at him.
The man bends and unlocks the cuffs while Sam sways full of craving and panic, barely coherent as usual in these trials and only acting off of instinct. Like the angel trained him to.
Next thing he knows, they're grabbing him, intent on dragging him out into the main room. Sam suddenly is flooded with the urge to grab back and just bite, rip at the throat and hold the woman at bay while he sucks the man dry-- then the dark takes over and he's attacked by images of what he knows is Morael, then Sam himself in what he can only guess is the future, several apocalyptic scenes following suit as simple evil overrides the world. Flashes of things Sam still can't describe wreck through each scene, tearing Sam apart and stamping his heart into overtime.
He knows, he knows what to do when this happens, but it's so hard to react when he's so fucking scared shitless of these flashes and at the same time nothing at all, like fear is being injected into him. He gets that, how irrational fear can be. That way it can't be stopped, and like the other times, Sam is paralyzed and unaware of the events unfolding around him.
He wants so badly to push back at everything, send the demons and images flying with a single thought, and he thinks he can but he knows he shouldn't because it's wrong. He's barely breathing but he chokes out an exorcism at record speed because that's the only way to get rid of the flashes without giving up entirely and subjecting himself to torture or death. There's a lesson that he needs to learn, he knows more than anything that none of this will stop until he learns it.
He spits out the rest of the Latin, although not before the demons let out a few blows of their own, Sam thinks maybe one with a knife. He's just now starting to get his vision of the room back, flashes slowing from his success, and the demons curdle in their hosts before spilling out and through imaginary cracks in the ground. The bodies crumple. Sam isn't sure whether the ritual kills the demons or sends them back to Hell, he doesn't remember Morael clarifying, Sam just knows that it's one Bobby doesn't know about.
Either way, Sam is left in spasms on the floor wondering if this is the time he's learned his lesson or if this is the time his heart will give out.
The thudding fades slowly, way after Sam is back in what he supposes is reality and Morael is sitting on a dusty chair. The lights are always off, it's always dark, so that doesn't do much to help Sam transition. Still, he spots Morael, drops his head and rises to his hands and knees.
He sees both the vessel and angel's shadow now, and that does nothing to help him either, leaving him constantly disoriented. It's hard to catch his breath.
"What is your lesson," Morael deadpans.
"T-to g-g-get rid-d of- f'all d-d-dem- monic ent-t-t-t-tities inside a-and out-t-side of m-myself- s-s-sir."
"What do you think of demon blood?"
"Oh g-god," Sam gasps out, his body automatically hunching into itself and rebelling, forcing him to tuck his head and retch. "P-please, n-n-no more. Please. P-please."
Morael seems satisfied with that answer, as he stands and gives Sam the mercy of not being in his presence so the hunter can make an effort to calm down and not fall into another panic attack or come closer to a heart attack.
His body's reactions are no more than that: reactions, trained into him; he has nothing in his stomach to bring up yet it acts as if in revolt.
Even though simply thinking about Morael incites more panic than Sam knows what to do with, he tries to use as much of his break figuring out the angel and both of their situations. He's not sure why, because he won't think of trying to run- he shouldn't. It's just something he should not do.
But part of Sam that had lived with Dean and without Morael knows what he should think about- even though he shouldn't.
God, but if he only weren't so fucking terrified all the time, something, anything, might make sense.
He shouldn't be thinking about it.
It's only after more than an hour of silence and heartbeats does Sam get up and explore the new house, half-looking for the angel. He must have gone out. That's not unusual anymore, so Sam basks in loneliness and eats from a tray left on the ground and stays away from the closed doors and all windows- because he shouldn't be near them, not at all. The lights should also always be off, so he stays away from the switches as well.
***
"I have some more information."
"I'm waiting."
"-Dean, we aren't going to get anywhere with your impatience."
"Save it, Cas."
Hesitation. "I realize you are worried for your brother."
"Do you? It's been a goddamn week already."
"You have to acknowledge that this may take a while, Dean. Angels are hard to track when they don't want to be found, especially ones cut off from Heaven. Do not fool yourself into thinking Sam is simply being kept in some storage facility."
"Okay, Cas, okay. I get it. What do you have for me?"
"I am fairly convinced it's Morael. The angel worked under Beleth, who sided with Lucifer during the Rebellion. Morael went to Earth to perform what he believed was the work of the Lord but over time lost sight of his righteous purpose and began to act on his own delusions. For his type, the guidelines stated not to create new fear into humans, but to use preexisting fears to threaten or help people overcome something. Angels also should not mentally damage a human unless they are granted permission to inhabit the vessel, though as you've learned from the events of this town he seems to ignore both decrees. Thankfully, angels are immune to the bulk of his power, as is natural, but that will not stop Morael from attacking fellow brethren if provoked. He seems to be easily provoked as it turns out."
"Great. Any good news?"
"Well, I believe the first location Morael took Sam was an alleyway a few blocks from here. Two police officers investigated but didn't stay around more than two minutes before they ran back to their vehicle. That leads to the assumption that Morael wants to stay close to this area, perhaps as he has a headquarters of some sort here, or he will gradually remove Sam from this area."
"Where do we start looking?"
"Abandoned houses, most likely. Morael seems to like space."
***
The first thing Sam noticed after he woke up was the light absentmindedly pouring in behind a thin curtain from a window positioned across the room. It was a big window, taking up a little over half of the wall, and aside from it there was nothing else in the room. Sam's limbs ached from laying on the wooden floor.
He got up, slowly, cautiously.
What he noticed next was less of a tangible thing. It was a small, raw fear placed just under his skin. A fear of what, he wasn't sure. It felt alien, an emotion not belonging to him. Sam wasn't one to brag, but people in his profession weren't easy to scare. The feeling in question was one Sam hadn't felt in a long, long time. It was a type he felt before he had discovered what was out there, as well as a short while after making that discovery too. The type of fear that could easily become fatal and overriding any rational thought.
At a young age, he had had that fear removed from him. Sure he still got scared, but he could work with it easily.
When the Trickster had cornered him at the infamous Mystery Spot, or when the witches had hexed Dean, or even when he was pinned to the wall while Dean was ripped to shreds by hellhounds, Sam never let fear take over- and even so, it was a different type of fear then.
This fear now, it wasn't a fear of the inevitable, or of helplessness. It wasn't a sense of doom. It was the simple, vague, childish fear of the unknown and the impossible.
Sam knew this when he found himself jumping at every creak in the house, startling at a shadow passing the window. 'What-if' scenarios filled his head, the like of which only ever occurring when he had been six years old.
What if something comes through the door? What if it comes through the window? What if it's dark and big and slow and I can't run or fight?
So it was partly due to his hijacked mind when he startled badly and practically gasped as he noticed a figure right by the doorframe, sending him backwards until he was wedged into a corner facing the door and window. The doorknob hadn't made a sound. The figured had simply appeared there without using the door or window. Shit, I hadn't thought of that. He chastised himself for being frightened, though, when he saw it was the angel that had taken him earlier. Anger covered up the alarm, though it didn't demolish it.
He blinked and the angel was right in front of him, causing him to jump a second time, but he straightened up as much as he could and put on what he thought might be an intimidating expression.
"What do you want?"
The angel didn't answer, just stared at Sam with a mix of apathetic scrutiny and cold detachment. Sam refused to back up. His eyes flickered to the door, the window, judging the distance and time it would take to run to either one. He felt the icy weight of his knife tucked in his jacket and pressed against his ribcage.
"I want your compliance and cooperation," the angel repeated itself from earlier, his voice haunting, sending shivers down Sam's spine.
"Why?"
"I have been assigned to you."
Sam considered that for a moment before bolting towards the window. It was a long shot, and before he had touched the sill the angel was bearing down on him, grabbing Sam's neck and shoulder.
Trepidation was injected into his flesh, he thought, and instinct had him reacting instantly and pulling the knife from his jacket, jamming it into the vessel's stomach. Another long shot.
The stab had seemed to warrant only a simple grunt, the angel not giving any other response of pain or surprise. Instead, his grip only became stronger, and Sam was slammed against the wall just as images flooded into his mind totally against his will.
They changed too fast for Sam to make out what they were, but each flash looked like a demon, a monster, things he'd never seen before. Some bore a resemblance to himself, goading more fear to enter through each gasping inhale. The longer-lasting images reminded him vaguely of the vessel in front of him, though not in any corporeal way. They all contained a sort of coldness, a sort of dark, something tangible but had power beyond what could be seen. It was somewhat similar to demon smoke, something almost mundane as an idea but could corrupt and terrorize upon impact. It did just that.
Sam recoiled as much as he could, shrinking against the peeling wallpaper and flinching with each wave of fleeting phantasm. He noticed the lungs surrounding his pounding heart were weakly rejecting each breath he shakily pulled in around the squeezing hand.
"Do not try my patience," the creature in front of him hissed out low and deep. Sam wasn't so sure anymore that it was an angel; angels weren't dark, they were blindingly bright. "Rebel and there will be consequences. Attempts at escape will be met with punishment."
There was something else behind those words, something that deviated with what Sam knew. He wheezed as he was released, mulling over it. It seemed to say, attempts at escape will be met with reformation, and not all punishment will be physical.
***
"Cas?"
"I've found where Sam is being kept. We must hurry."
***
It's a few days later when Morael makes a mistake.
The angel has always had a temper, Sam had found out, and it had come out often enough in the early weeks when Sam tried to escape or kill him. He also lost his temper whenever Dean, Castiel, or another angel caught up with him. Morael is easily frustrated when something interferes with his plans; Sam guesses he's always been very solitary.
But the angel is strong, stronger than maybe even Zachariah, and confrontations have always resulted in just a few ruffled clothes and a new location. With the few quarrels Sam has had the misfortune of witnessing, the angel grows colder, darker, and louder, almost pushing his intimidation onto the opponent, and affecting anyone in a near enough proximity.
Sam doesn't witness it this time, but the aftermath is different.
Sam feels the very moment Morael enters the house. His heart picks up its racehorse speed almost instantly, and he's abruptly paralyzed, dropping the food Morael had left him. A pulse of power suddenly wracks through the entire house, sending cracks fettering along the walls and the sounds of things shattering and crashing to the ground spontaneously echoing across the premises. It pushes Sam down just as a painstakingly loud shrilling emits from some not-so-faraway source, like a dog whistle. Anything that hadn't broken before trembles and bursts while Sam clutches his hands to his ears, hyperventilating.
Three sharp seconds and then the door all but tears down and inky darkness fills the room like smoke and oil and horrifying sensations. Between flashes of those unspeakable things beginning to filter through his head, Sam wrenches his eyes open and sees, amidst possibly hundreds of tortured souls and demons alien to those he's fought, the massive sprawling form of Morael, the vessel just a puppet hidden behind the shadows of nightmares. Sam's mottled mind misses it, but one of the man's shoulders is seeped with dark and blood.
Another crashing pulse from Morael sends Sam flying against the wall, and the severe shriek sounds up again. Sam is filled with Morael's terror and anger, so much anger and rage and wrath.
His heart buckles and pounds and skips one beat, then two, lungs no longer cooperating, and just as Morael's form impossibly grows and becomes something else, Sam's eyesight is flooded with black- like a demon forcing itself into each pupil- and he is overtaken by a mix of panic and pain.
***
"Dean, calm down. Dean!"
"J-J-Jesus, Cas, g-get away from me! What the fuck."
"Dean, you need to put down the gun and calm yourself."
"Don't you think I'm trying?! I c-can't control this!"
"Dean!"
"Don't yell! You're scaring the crap out of me!" Clattering. "Okay, okay. Ju- ...Just hold on. Just... God, that was Morael?"
"Yes. I underestimated his influence over humans. I am sorry, Dean."
"No shit, Sherlock. Ugh." Some deep breaths.
"I will find a way to block out the worst of it for you."
A long pause.
"...Oh God, Sammy."
***
"I apologize," Morael says some time later. (It's hard now for Sam to keep track of the time.) He startles at the angel's voice, but not by much, because Sam can usually sense his presence beforehand.
He thumbs the skinny metal bars of his kennel- which he notices he's in again, wonders if Morael went back to one of their previous locations to retrieve it. It reeks of his piss and blood.
"My intentions were not to show my true form. It..." Not often is Morael not completely articulate. "I was wounded and careless. Someone had caught on to our coordinates and had wished to interfere."
He straightens, Sam hears the rustling of clothes tightening and then falling slack. "It is not in my expertise to heal humans beyond superficial injuries, so I am afraid your eyesight will be damaged here forth." I am afraid. Sam can barely understand, but he's learning to communicate past the knocking fright that never leaves.
He swears (to who?) that he can still see the angel, at least a shadow of its true form, which scares him more than anything and so he tends to keep his head down at all times.
Luckily, the trials still allow Sam to see as they're in his head, so now he looks forward to them.
***
"Cas, that's your phone."
"Yes." Shuffling. "They did not persist in calling."
"Who was it?"
"I'm not familiar with this number."
"Let me see- looks like a payphone."
"Is it significant?"
"How should I know? Let me look it up."
"What do you want me to do with the knowledge?"
"Check it out, for God sakes. It could be Sam. Look, see this location here? That's where the phone booth is."
"Fine. I will return shortly."
A long silence, lasting for what feels like an eternity.
Ruffles. Dialing, and rings.
"What the fuck, Cas!"
More silence.
Then, "Dean."
"What took you- oh my god."
"...It's not mine."
***
The first trial wasn't as bad as future ones would be.
In fact, it was familiar. Sam would think later he'd have done better if he knew what was going on, what the angel had wanted him to do.
As it was, his instructions were vague and ominous.
"Resist and endure."
He left those words before sending Sam into some sort of time loop, as he recognized where he was as the bar he'd worked in during his break with Dean. Memories of his own assaulted him, especially the dreams of Lucifer, but the Devil seemed so far away now. He remembered his last fight with Dean; they had argued over seemingly trivial things.
Suddenly time was fast-forwarded, and Sam was no longer alone in the bar but with Tim, Reggie, and Lindsey. Something seemed- off.
"What do you think it is?" Tim said, though his eyes were colder than Sam remembered, more distant. "It's go juice, Sammy boy."
"Get that away from me," Sam snarled, repeating the words he had said that night. It wasn't hard to recall them, and the tainted red glinting at him from the small glass tube held in grubby fingers.
"Away from you? This is- for- you-" Tim's speech began to distort at the end, and suddenly a disturbing feeling washed over the area. Sam's vision faltered a few times and then Tim and Reggie were in front of him. The lights seemed to dim, and Lindsey stilled and stared at Sam with a face devoid of emotion.
"Come on, you know- you- want- it- Saaaam." The two older hunters stared at him, pressing into him with an empowering slowness that only frightened the younger man. It hadn't been anything like this. He started to sweat, cold.
"N-no," he stammered out a weak protest. He was afraid to speak loud, afraid to trigger something. But that seemed to do it. Their movements sped up abruptly, and soon they had Sam pinned and restrained, dragging him down.
"Reach- out and take it." They forced the vial of demon blood into his mouth, like last time, but now they were holding Sam's mouth closed with bruising strength and clamping his nose shut and slowing down again, slower and slower...
The blood wrapped around his tongue. It tasted like it always had, rotten and gag-inducing, but had a promising allure in its aftertaste that had Sam restraining and tempted.
Then, something else came up with the metallic tang: fear.
It washed over him, making him buck and panic anew between the taint in his mouth and the denial of air. The room twisted even more, everything becoming darker and morbid. Nightmare flashes kicked against his vision again, and he saw things the angel had shown him before along with new pictures, scenes. They sparked his nerves like making contact with a split power line, controlling his panicked actions.
All the while Tim and Reggie forbade him to continue on living, stealing his breath and sight, the latter spiraling into that new sort of dark that was tangible and dooming.
Agony caused him to fight and caused him to fall, whole body shrieking as he went.
He almost blacked out before the hands lifted off of him, unnoticed at first. His nostrils flared; he had remembered to focus on the blood still pooling in his mouth, taking care not to swallow it in his haste for air. His head pounded and his eyesight was still unstable.
"There," Tim drawled, "was that really so bad?" How does he escape this?
He got up shakily, then spit it at Tim in defiance. Their faces only twisted unnaturally, and Lindsey was still stock-still and staring. Sam was too weak to fight them, not able to repeat what had originally occurred. He eyed Reggie's knife.
"Don't think we won't- be- back-" Tim droned out. Sam shuddered but didn't respond.
A flurry of skirmish passed, until Sam fell onto a rug and dirt with a dull sound. He noted halfheartedly that he was clad in only his t-shirt and jeans, missing his jacket and flannel and socks and shoes and weapons. The feel of blood on his hands and in his mouth was still there.
"You did well," a voice spoke near him. Sam jerked. It was the angel.
He was being stared down at, the thing's gaze unblinking and unnerving.
"What is your lesson," he barely asked. Sam didn't know, so he stayed quiet, trying to settle his breathing.
"What do you think of demon blood?"
"What are you trying to g-get at?" Sam's voice betrayed him, his feelings betrayed him. "Who the hell are you?"
"You're not getting it," the man said, his eyes narrowing in what looked like disappointment. Without warning he was pushing Sam, leaning down onto him, and a cold and murky energy soaked into him and spurred his heart to pound fast. "What is your lesson."
Sam was gone, though, panicking too much to form words. Tears pooled up in his eyes and he screamed to himself why? but it was all too much. The angel pushed one last time, sending another wave of his aura crashing into the hunter, then moved back.
"My name is Morael," the angel said almost belatedly, as if toying with the idea of speaking. "We will try again."
The first trial had been one of the easier ones. He had fared way better than the next ones, in which he was required to fend off demons but had yet to learn Morael's exorcism.
***
"Jesus, this is taking too damn long."
"Patience, Dean. Morael is powerful."
"I don't give a shit if Morael is codename for fucking Lucifer. I want my brother back."
"...Morael is doing this for a reason, however delusional."
"Christ, Cas, I don't want to hear your sympathies for this dick."
"I'm only stating we should be familiar with his motives. Angels of Fear can sense demons and those in allegiance with Lucifer, but they usually lack the power to detect those influenced by the Hell-sworn."
"So you're saying Sam's a fucking demon?"
"No." Sigh. "I'm saying that Morael must have had a strong objective concerning your brother to be able to find him in the first place. As he stated all but an hour ago, his goal was to fix him, make him better. He, perhaps, sensed a wrongness in Sam he wished to correct."
"Like Sam's demon blood addiction."
"It's a possibility."
"Okay. So."
"We cannot yet halt his instructions on Sam, as you've witnessed in our few confrontations with Morael. He is obviously practiced in cloaking; Sam remained hidden every time."
"Mhm."
"So we'll have to wear him out first. It'll be difficult, but I'm convinced we're not the only ones going after him at the moment. For whatever reason, he's constantly being attacked, which is why he has to move locations so often."
"For whatever reason?"
"Revenge, most likely. Or attempts to immobilize him and bring him back to Heaven. Michael is trying to round up as many rogue angels as he can."
"Alright. So all we need to do is keep chasing his tail, throw a few punches, and wait."
"Essentially, yes."
"Great. I might as well just sit here and let Sam do all the work."
"Dean, this may be our best, if only, chance. He is already slowing down. I have his trace, so I can better track him. It may be a few days, maybe even another month, for Morael to fall. You just need to be patient, and strong, for Sam, because he is likely holding on for only one thing."
***
They run into some trouble again. Another time Sam isn't present during the actual confrontation, is glad of that, but the aftermath is just as bad.
Morael busts in much like last time and the hunter guesses he's hurt, but there's no glass breaking, no unseen pulses of energy throwing Sam against cracking walls. But then the angel touches him, and all the horror he's experienced in the past weeks floods into him again and he think he's having (another) heart attack, and weakly he notes that now he's somewhere else.
It's raining again and the angel is dragging him to his feet. Sam vaguely registers the sound of his own voice begging, wracked with half-sobs, but Sam himself is so far gone in his delirium he doesn't really give a fuck about what's coming out of his mouth. He just wants to stop, but the angel clearly wants him to keep moving.
There are a few gaps of dryness, and then Sam's falling, he doesn't- doesn't know what's going on. He hears human voices, feels the angel practically pick him up and carry him and other hands grabbing him. He doesn't know. There are a few screams around him, some close and some far, and his ears register a lot of running. Then he's shoved unceremoniously onto the ground, his palms scraping from the concrete, and Morael's energy cloaks are driven onto him.
"Don't move," he hears Morael command, and thinks it ridiculous seeing as he's frozen as always. And Morael, his essence, is gone. Sam hears a subway train stop briefly and open its doors with a spilling of air.
He doesn't know how long he stays there, silently willing himself to calm down, but he knows Morael never moves too far away. Tiny pulses of energy hit him occasionally but nothing as big as the first time. He hears a shout, a No, that sounds a lot like Castiel. Then silence, although he still feels his abductor.
The fear gradually increases until Morael's hands are on him again, and Sam can tell he's badly wounded from the way uncontained amounts of his power flow from his vessel like a broken levee. Sam isn't at all coordinated with his new blindness so he finds himself dragged and carried by the angel again.
Gravity leaves them for a split second as they trip off the platform and onto the tracks. Morael starts to walk, Sam being hauled at his side.
"I cannot teleport us out," the angel grates next to him, "Not until I regenerate more. We will stay in the tunnels and veil ourselves from the enemy until I regain some strength."
Flecks of wet land on Sam as the angel speaks. He thinks it's blood.
Minutes pass. Sam begins to shut down his mind, chanting an exorcism in his head to relax. Their pace is leisurely at first at first, then speeds up and becomes hurried and clumsy as a rumbling groan gets nearer. The subway train, Sam knows.
Soon the squealing gets too loud for Sam to think of how to avoid it and his legs do him the favor of liquefying, and he just wants to huddle down and wait for the end. But Morael is yanking him up sharply as his gate increases in speed, and before Sam knows it he's flung into a wall of concrete and pinned there by a massively tangible terror and the shrieking turns into a deafening scream that threatens to burst his eardrums. His arms jerk up on their own accord, his fingers twisting without an objective, fear canceling any self preservation instincts left in him.
It's like that for an age. Then the screech passes and quiets and he's not so limited in movement, Morael moving away a short distance.
The respite remains even as Morael stalks back and grabs Sam's arm, stony fingers clasping his goosebumped flesh desperately, and dark sweeps over him but not enough to renew his lost panic- Morael must be healing already, better containing his power. A slick warmth paints his forehead and he's falling back into mud and puddles, no longer any wall behind him. No longer any subway. He hears thunder rolling above him, in harmony with a different thunder much closer and more temporary. Wind whips his hair and shirt to and fro, ruddy vibrations pulse through him. Morael is quiet, but Sam can still feel him. He tries to place where he is. Under a bridge, he guesses.
"We sha-" Morael starts, but stops abruptly when a brush of feathers echoes around their location. The calm dissipates faster than it had come, and soon a chaos of energy crackles around and into him, like shards in his pores. There's splashes and shuffling of weight to one side of him and the tension pops and sparkles and he starts breathing fast.
Castiel's voice comes into conception, making Sam's lungs even smaller. "Where's Sam?"
***
Sam thought this might be his last attempt at escaping.
His nerves, quite frankly, couldn't take much anymore, and were holding him back and protesting no, no. They knew from experience what happened if he tried to run, to fight. So did Sam's heart, and lungs, and mind. But some part of him still believed he should leave, even though he wasn't entirely sure why anymore.
Turns out, his last try was likely the worst.
It was dark, like always, and had Sam flinching and trying not to acknowledge the prickling on his back of something behind him watching. Morael was gone but that didn't mean much anymore.
Sam had managed to run, before, maybe five miles, before he had had a panic attack that left him defenseless in the face of a wrathful angel who's temper had snapped. His ribs still ached from that.
No, he knew now (not to run) to try and immobilize Morael so he wouldn't be able to retrieve Sam.
He also knew that Morael was weakest after an absence, likely from fighting.
Never hurt, nowhere Sam could see, but his abilities more exhausted.
Sam himself was weak from preparation, but he gathered up his last reserves of strength. He tried to ignore the hammering in his chest, the shallowness of his inhales. He didn't have time to worry past what was already there-
Morael had arrived.
Sam felt it, the strength with which the angel asserted himself whenever he flew into the house. The overwhelming power concerned Sam, yet although he was no longer capable of pushing his fear aside, he steeled himself and thanked the darkness that Morael had chosen to teleport straight into the basement instead of another room first.
Sam waited, trembling, at the top of the stairs, only seconds before Morael was on a step below him. The glint of several metal studs winked from the angel's face.
"Sa-"
Sam allowed him no time to say anything, bringing up a fist and slamming the angel in the neck while simultaneously kicking out at his stomach. Morael went tumbling down the stairs and the hunter wasted no time in opening the door (despite the terror that assailed him due to touching the knob) and pushing himself through the frame and onto the other side. He slammed the door shut, waited another second before the angel appeared in front of him, fury emanating off his vessel and causing the room to darken and distort. Sam could barely breathe, but he kept going.
"What are you-" Morael burst out, as pissed as Sam had ever seen him, and Sam retaliated by slamming his hand against the back of the door, which had been coated in bloody sigils.
There was a blinding light, light, for once, and it faded, taking Morael along with it.
Sam almost collapsed on the spot. He actually did it. His chest was close to bursting but he wouldn't stop now.
He looked around, not having been outside of the basement during their stay in this house. The rooms no longer disturbed by the angel's presence, Sam found them dilapidated and messy. His heart skipped and stopped each time he opened a door, and he was terrifyingly aware of how little time he had before he broke.
The last door he opened startled him more than anything, because it was the door to outside. He was alarmed and terrified while he burst out into the evening. A phone, he had to find a phone. He wasn't stupid enough to think Morael had left his cellphone in the house, more likely to have destroyed it.
Luckily, the house they were staying in was close to the town it was affiliated with, unlike many of the others he had ran from. He found his way to the outskirts of it in less than an hour, choking and tripping every other step. He found a phone kiosk and viewed it with aversion. There was no one in sight.
Part 2