A Touch of Providence 4/4
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Chapter 4
Ends and Beginnings
Next morning, an exhausted Cooper sat in the coffee shop on the square guzzling mocha espresso. His cousin ordered tea and joined him.
“Is he well?” she asked without preamble.
“You felt that, then.”
“How could I not?”
“It got intense, all right.”
“You haven’t answered my question.”
“He’s still asleep.”
She nodded. “Let us hope for no worse from that front, then.”
“We checked him out last night and found something interesting.”
“Oh?”
“The... impurity? ... in his blood is all gone.”
She blinked. “All?”
“Not even a trace. Last night seemed to be the tipping point.”
“How soon will he recover?”
“That’s up to him.” Cooper ran his fingertips along the bottom of his eyes, frowning at them when they came away damp. “Huh.”
Kali smiled gently at him. “Go and rest, Bill. And I’ll get back to work. Victory in Europe does not mean victory in Japan, if you take my meaning.”
“I do.” He stood, swaying slightly. “Thanks, Carol.”
She stood also, kissed his cheek, and guided him outside and around the corner before teleporting him back to his house. He was asleep before they got into the bedroom.
She shook her head and gathered him in all four arms to carry him the rest of the way. Once she had deposited him on the bed, she used two hands to pull the sheet over him while the other two caressed his face and hair. “Rest well, my angel, whoever you are.”
Dean wasn’t sure how Mr. Cooper and Pastor Jim were able to tell that the demon blood was all gone, but he trusted their judgment. Even so, Sam’s fever came down only to 102° and stayed there for days. Dean was worried enough to finally call Pastor Tim and have Sam put on the church prayer list.
The visions also seemed to quiet down to a flash or two now and then. But Dean was startled one night when Sam, who had been sound asleep, suddenly started screaming.
Dean was in his room in a flash, cursing the fact that he’d moved into his own bedroom once Sammy had hit sixteen. He gripped his shoulders. “Hey... what is it? What is it?”
Ash, Sam signed. Hurry, call now!
Dean lurched for the phone, dialing the number from memory.
“Harvelle’s Roadhouse,” came the familiar drawl.
“Ash, it’s Dean. Sammy...” Sam started signing, and Dean repeated for Ash, “Sammy says there’s a big biker at the pool table with a snake tattoo?”
“Yeah, just came in a half hour ago. How the hell does he-”
“Says it’s a demon-and it’s after you, dude.”
“Okay, hold on.” Dean heard the creak of the brake on Ash’s wheelchair and the soft ‘shuff’ of wheels on hardwood as Ash got on the move. “Mama-Ellen,” he heard him hiss, low. “Sammy’s havin’ visions and pegged Biker Bob over there as a demon.”
There was a murmur of conversation in the background, followed by the unmistakable sound of a shotgun slide being racked. Two shots and a roar of pain. Two more shots and Ellen yelling “OUT!”
“THIS ISN’T OVER!” a strange voice roaring.
“OUT!” followed by two more shots. Then silence.
“Ash?” Dean finally asked, worried.
“Here, dude. Whoa, that was intense.”
“Y’all okay?”
“Yeah... thanks to little bro.”
“I heard shots.”
“Yeah, Ellen’s shotgun.”
“Rock salt?”
“No... silver dipped in holy water.”
Dean sighed and signed Okay to Sam, whose wide hazel eyes were as concerned as the fever-glaze would let them be.
Sam nodded and relaxed against the pillows.
“Guess you’d better tell Ellen to double up the wards, in case that thing comes back,” Dean said into the phone.
“Will do, hotshot.”
“I don’t know if we’ll get up there this summer after all. Sammy’s pretty sick.”
“Keep me posted, okay?”
We will, Sam signed.
Dean chuckled. “We will.”
Ash hung up.
We will, Sam repeated.
“We will what, Sammy?”
Roadhouse. Summer. We will.
Dean smoothed Sam’s hair back from his forehead. “Soon as you’re well enough. Wanna take the girls?”
His smile said it all. Sweet and loving and affirmative.
And his forehead suddenly went clammy under Dean’s hand.
“Sam?”
“Hmm?”
“You okay?”
“M-hm.” Tired suddenly.
Dean rubbed his head gently. “Get some sleep. Sooner you beat this, sooner you can beat Ash at pool.”
Sam actually laughed out loud at that.
Dean grinned and planted a good-night kiss on Sam’s forehead before heading back to his own room.
Zachariah normally had no problems ignoring the prayers of the Winchesters. The fact that Dean had decided to put his faith in an absent God wasn’t too troubling; he could still be manipulated into selling his soul when the time came. And Sam’s faith was downright laughable, given the givens. Granted, he’d become less vulnerable to Azazel’s blandishments during his time in Cazadore, but killing Dean would push all the right buttons and get the brothers’ destiny back on track.
But something was going badly wrong at the moment. Not only was half of Cazadore praying for Sam-and even Azazel got nervous when some of those women prayed-but Sam himself kept praying something that had almost never failed to get Father’s attention in ages past:
“Please... I want to see You.”
And the little snot was backing it up with verses from the Psalms!
Castiel was worse than useless, responding only that everything was under control if he ever responded at all. And there were a couple of unusual energy signatures near Cazadore as well, not to mention whatever had caused that energy spike a few days back. Zachariah decided he needed to check out the situation personally before it caught the attention of someone like Michael, or worse still, Father Himself.
But he was still about a mile out when holy fire flared in front of him, stopping him short and forcing him to land. On closer inspection, however, the line of flame curved away, encircling the town-not penning him in... keeping him out.
The sound of a throat clearing behind him made him turn. And the four-faced, six-winged seraph found himself glaring at the ten-faced, twenty-limbed Mahakali, whose hands were all holding weapons.
“You will not pass,” said all ten of Kali’s mouths at the same time.
Zachariah snorted. “Very melodramatic, Kali. Get out of my way, and put out the fire; I have business in Cazadore.”
Nine tongues stuck out at him. The center face said, “Forget it, angel. You will find nothing in Cazadore but death.”
Snarling, Zachariah drew his own sword. “You arrogant pagan! You’re a lesser god; your powers are no match for my Lord!”
Kali smirked with all ten faces. “Who do you think stationed me here-traitor?”
The earth shook with her last word, and Zachariah’s eyes went wide in shock. Before he could retort, she attacked, and though her weapons were not capable of wounding him to the grace, she drove him backward toward the fire until his wings were nearly singed. He flew behind her to try to force her into the holy fire, but no matter which way he tried to go, she seemed to have the advantage.
And then somehow-he never quite figured out how it happened-his sword went flying, and Kali caught it in midair, reversed it, and dove at him with a wild yell. He dodged, but she drove the sword deep into his side. He screamed and jerked away before she could pull it out again, then fled, clutching the sword to prevent his grace from bleeding away.
Her taunts echoed in his ears until he reached the threshold of Heaven.
Zachariah paused outside Heaven and caught his breath. Traitor? The pagan bitch had called him a traitor? And had insinuated that someone working for God had stationed her there?
He nearly laughed at the absurdity of it all. No, she was a pagan god. A false deity pretending to wear the name of something more powerful than she could ever hope to be. Nobody to be believed or even noticed.
He’d find a way into Cazadore and around that fire. Even if he had to cut off all ten of her heads to do it.
He was so wrapped up in his revenge plans that he failed to notice that Sam Winchester’s prayers were still going on.
And that they were being heard.
Sam had been dozing fitfully all afternoon and praying when he was awake. Visions of others in need were well and good, but if they were going to cause him this much pain and suffering, he’d rather have visions of something on a slightly higher plane.
Suddenly he didn’t know if he was awake or asleep; the room was bright, almost filled with sunlight, in a way he didn’t remember it ever being since they’d lived there. A hush crept over the room... and then a man with kind eyes and a scruffy beard was walking through the door and sitting down on the edge of the bed.
“Hi, Sam,” the visitor said gently.
“Hi,” Sam breathed.
The visitor took his hand. “I’m proud of you. You’ve fought bravely so far, and although you’ve got a long way to go still, the worst is over.”
“I’ve... been waiting for you.”
“I know you have. ‘You will seek Me, and you will find Me when you seek Me with your whole heart’-that’s what I promised, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” A tear escaped from Sam’s eye. “I don’t deserve....”
“Shh. Azazel had no right to do what he did-but what he intended for evil, I will use for good. You’re already doing exactly what I wanted you to do with those visions. He’ll use them to try to get to you; don’t let him succeed.”
“I don’t want to go darkside. I don’t wanna....”
“Sam, you gave your soul to Me. Nothing anyone can do to you will change that, not even if someone reinfects you. And I’m not through with you yet.”
Sam sniffled. “Why... um....”
“Why the long haul?”
“Yeah.”
“Not every healing is immediate, Sam. And the reasons differ in every case. To give you one reason in your case, we couldn’t let Azazel know what was happening. This way got you out of his control well before he could decide to stop sending the minor leagues to force you out of Cazadore. Now all that remains is for your body to stop fighting itself.”
Sam nodded. “Yeah. Makes sense. It just....”
“It hurts. I know. It’ll get better soon.” The visitor bent and kissed Sam’s brow, and Sam instantly felt the fever leave him. “I love you, Sam. You don’t ever have to doubt that.”
Sam couldn’t answer; he could only smile and let the tears fall.
Dean crept into Sam’s room to check on his sleeping brother. He found Sam drenched in a fine sweat, and tears were running down his face. Hardly daring to hope, Dean grabbed a damp rag to wash Sam’s face; Sam’s forehead still felt a little warm, but the fever had definitely broken.
And when Sam opened his eyes, they were clear... and shining with joy.
“Hey,” Dean smiled.
Hi, Sam signed.
Dean answered in kind. How you feel?
Better. Weak still, head hurts a little, but better.
You have vision?
Sam nodded.
What you see?
Sam raised his splayed-out hands and struck the center of each palm with the middle finger of the opposite hand-Jesus.
Dean’s eyes went huge. Yeah? What did He say?
All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.
So you’re going to be fine.
Sam nodded happily.
Dean hugged him tight.
Kali put down her cup of tea and said, “I have to admit, Bill, it was very clever of you.”
“What was?” Cooper asked, frowning over his fruit salad - a compromise with her. Still very sweet, but something that would help her relax other than watching him inhale straight sweets.
“Giving me this identity so that I could do as you asked without raising suspicion.” At his smile, she went on, “But that’s what you do, isn’t it?”
He frowned, studying her. “What are you talking about?”
“Giving people new identities. New chances. You took two young men under your wings and grew them into fine men. Even I think they are fine men, and that says much.”
“Yes,” he said slowly. “It does.”
“You rename me so that these... people... would see me as one of them and I may do my task openly. Walking among them for the first time in... a while.” She smiled and raised her teacup to her lips again. “And then... there’s you.”
He set his fork down. “I don’t know what you’re talking about... Carol.”
She set the empty cup upside-down in its saucer. “You do. I need to get back to work.” She stood and crossed the table, bending down as if to kiss his cheek. Her breath tickled his ear instead. “No need to worry... angel. It is merely one of your many secrets I hold in my hands.”
Then she did kiss his cheek and left him gaping openly after her, naked shock written all over his face.
All was silent in the Winchesters’ kitchen, but that didn’t mean nobody was talking. Words flew fast from hands as breakfast was being crafted and a tray for Sam was slowly being assembled.
Oatmeal. Toast. Orange juice. All that had been put on to cook when all three froze at a noise from upstairs.
The shower had turned on.
Daphne and Tricia looked wide-eyed at Dean, who looked wide-eyed toward the stairs. Then he bolted up them, gesturing for the girls to remain in the kitchen.
Sam wasn’t in his bed, but the bathroom door was closed.
“Sam?” Dean called
“Yeah!” came the call from the shower.
“You okay?”
“I dunno, yet. I just felt like a shower!”
Dean’s eyes slid shut in relief. “Need help?”
“Nah, I’ve got - well, if you really WANT to help, you could lay out me some clothes! And tell Tricia when you go back down that I am really gonna HATE that hat she thinks she’s surprising me with! If I’ve gotta have a Nesmith hat, the LEAST she could do was make it GREEN!”
So he was still having visions.
Dean tried not to laugh out loud. “Yeah, okay, Papa Nez. Anything in particular you wanna wear?”
“Surprise me!” A laugh from the bathroom, the sweetest sound in a while. “IF you think you still CAN.”
Dean did laugh at that. “We’ll see, Carnack!” And he headed to his own closet to pick out a shirt.
A few minutes later, Dean was back in the kitchen. Was Sammy. Seems better. Teasing.
Both girls sighed in relief.
“Hey.” That was Sam, leaning against the doorway, in Dean’s shirt and his own jeans, smiling tiredly at them. But his cheeks were no longer flushed and his eyes were no longer glazed. “Tell me some of that food’s for me.”
“Nope,” Daphne replied. “You’ve been a naughty boy and don’t get aaanything.” But the twinkle in her eyes gave her away.
Laughter, long-missed in the household, rose to the rafters as Sam joined his family and kissed Tricia warmly, an arm sliding around her waist as they watched Daphne and Dean go back to cooking.
Unseen, their guardian angel sent wave after wave of prayers of sheer gratitude toward Heaven.
And he was suddenly surprised to feel his grace warm slightly and to hear a gentle whisper: I love you, too, My son. Well done.
Whoever said that angels can’t cry was strongly mistaken. They can - and out of pure joy, he did.
Daphne was startled the next day to suddenly find a strange shrub with big white trumpet-like flowers in the middle of the backyard hedge. A quick Google search identified it as Brugmansia suaveolens, commonly known as... angel’s tears.
Chapter 4
Ends and Beginnings
Next morning, an exhausted Cooper sat in the coffee shop on the square guzzling mocha espresso. His cousin ordered tea and joined him.
“Is he well?” she asked without preamble.
“You felt that, then.”
“How could I not?”
“It got intense, all right.”
“You haven’t answered my question.”
“He’s still asleep.”
She nodded. “Let us hope for no worse from that front, then.”
“We checked him out last night and found something interesting.”
“Oh?”
“The... impurity? ... in his blood is all gone.”
She blinked. “All?”
“Not even a trace. Last night seemed to be the tipping point.”
“How soon will he recover?”
“That’s up to him.” Cooper ran his fingertips along the bottom of his eyes, frowning at them when they came away damp. “Huh.”
Kali smiled gently at him. “Go and rest, Bill. And I’ll get back to work. Victory in Europe does not mean victory in Japan, if you take my meaning.”
“I do.” He stood, swaying slightly. “Thanks, Carol.”
She stood also, kissed his cheek, and guided him outside and around the corner before teleporting him back to his house. He was asleep before they got into the bedroom.
She shook her head and gathered him in all four arms to carry him the rest of the way. Once she had deposited him on the bed, she used two hands to pull the sheet over him while the other two caressed his face and hair. “Rest well, my angel, whoever you are.”
Dean wasn’t sure how Mr. Cooper and Pastor Jim were able to tell that the demon blood was all gone, but he trusted their judgment. Even so, Sam’s fever came down only to 102° and stayed there for days. Dean was worried enough to finally call Pastor Tim and have Sam put on the church prayer list.
The visions also seemed to quiet down to a flash or two now and then. But Dean was startled one night when Sam, who had been sound asleep, suddenly started screaming.
Dean was in his room in a flash, cursing the fact that he’d moved into his own bedroom once Sammy had hit sixteen. He gripped his shoulders. “Hey... what is it? What is it?”
Ash, Sam signed. Hurry, call now!
Dean lurched for the phone, dialing the number from memory.
“Harvelle’s Roadhouse,” came the familiar drawl.
“Ash, it’s Dean. Sammy...” Sam started signing, and Dean repeated for Ash, “Sammy says there’s a big biker at the pool table with a snake tattoo?”
“Yeah, just came in a half hour ago. How the hell does he-”
“Says it’s a demon-and it’s after you, dude.”
“Okay, hold on.” Dean heard the creak of the brake on Ash’s wheelchair and the soft ‘shuff’ of wheels on hardwood as Ash got on the move. “Mama-Ellen,” he heard him hiss, low. “Sammy’s havin’ visions and pegged Biker Bob over there as a demon.”
There was a murmur of conversation in the background, followed by the unmistakable sound of a shotgun slide being racked. Two shots and a roar of pain. Two more shots and Ellen yelling “OUT!”
“THIS ISN’T OVER!” a strange voice roaring.
“OUT!” followed by two more shots. Then silence.
“Ash?” Dean finally asked, worried.
“Here, dude. Whoa, that was intense.”
“Y’all okay?”
“Yeah... thanks to little bro.”
“I heard shots.”
“Yeah, Ellen’s shotgun.”
“Rock salt?”
“No... silver dipped in holy water.”
Dean sighed and signed Okay to Sam, whose wide hazel eyes were as concerned as the fever-glaze would let them be.
Sam nodded and relaxed against the pillows.
“Guess you’d better tell Ellen to double up the wards, in case that thing comes back,” Dean said into the phone.
“Will do, hotshot.”
“I don’t know if we’ll get up there this summer after all. Sammy’s pretty sick.”
“Keep me posted, okay?”
We will, Sam signed.
Dean chuckled. “We will.”
Ash hung up.
We will, Sam repeated.
“We will what, Sammy?”
Roadhouse. Summer. We will.
Dean smoothed Sam’s hair back from his forehead. “Soon as you’re well enough. Wanna take the girls?”
His smile said it all. Sweet and loving and affirmative.
And his forehead suddenly went clammy under Dean’s hand.
“Sam?”
“Hmm?”
“You okay?”
“M-hm.” Tired suddenly.
Dean rubbed his head gently. “Get some sleep. Sooner you beat this, sooner you can beat Ash at pool.”
Sam actually laughed out loud at that.
Dean grinned and planted a good-night kiss on Sam’s forehead before heading back to his own room.
Zachariah normally had no problems ignoring the prayers of the Winchesters. The fact that Dean had decided to put his faith in an absent God wasn’t too troubling; he could still be manipulated into selling his soul when the time came. And Sam’s faith was downright laughable, given the givens. Granted, he’d become less vulnerable to Azazel’s blandishments during his time in Cazadore, but killing Dean would push all the right buttons and get the brothers’ destiny back on track.
But something was going badly wrong at the moment. Not only was half of Cazadore praying for Sam-and even Azazel got nervous when some of those women prayed-but Sam himself kept praying something that had almost never failed to get Father’s attention in ages past:
“Please... I want to see You.”
And the little snot was backing it up with verses from the Psalms!
Castiel was worse than useless, responding only that everything was under control if he ever responded at all. And there were a couple of unusual energy signatures near Cazadore as well, not to mention whatever had caused that energy spike a few days back. Zachariah decided he needed to check out the situation personally before it caught the attention of someone like Michael, or worse still, Father Himself.
But he was still about a mile out when holy fire flared in front of him, stopping him short and forcing him to land. On closer inspection, however, the line of flame curved away, encircling the town-not penning him in... keeping him out.
The sound of a throat clearing behind him made him turn. And the four-faced, six-winged seraph found himself glaring at the ten-faced, twenty-limbed Mahakali, whose hands were all holding weapons.
“You will not pass,” said all ten of Kali’s mouths at the same time.
Zachariah snorted. “Very melodramatic, Kali. Get out of my way, and put out the fire; I have business in Cazadore.”
Nine tongues stuck out at him. The center face said, “Forget it, angel. You will find nothing in Cazadore but death.”
Snarling, Zachariah drew his own sword. “You arrogant pagan! You’re a lesser god; your powers are no match for my Lord!”
Kali smirked with all ten faces. “Who do you think stationed me here-traitor?”
The earth shook with her last word, and Zachariah’s eyes went wide in shock. Before he could retort, she attacked, and though her weapons were not capable of wounding him to the grace, she drove him backward toward the fire until his wings were nearly singed. He flew behind her to try to force her into the holy fire, but no matter which way he tried to go, she seemed to have the advantage.
And then somehow-he never quite figured out how it happened-his sword went flying, and Kali caught it in midair, reversed it, and dove at him with a wild yell. He dodged, but she drove the sword deep into his side. He screamed and jerked away before she could pull it out again, then fled, clutching the sword to prevent his grace from bleeding away.
Her taunts echoed in his ears until he reached the threshold of Heaven.
Zachariah paused outside Heaven and caught his breath. Traitor? The pagan bitch had called him a traitor? And had insinuated that someone working for God had stationed her there?
He nearly laughed at the absurdity of it all. No, she was a pagan god. A false deity pretending to wear the name of something more powerful than she could ever hope to be. Nobody to be believed or even noticed.
He’d find a way into Cazadore and around that fire. Even if he had to cut off all ten of her heads to do it.
He was so wrapped up in his revenge plans that he failed to notice that Sam Winchester’s prayers were still going on.
And that they were being heard.
Sam had been dozing fitfully all afternoon and praying when he was awake. Visions of others in need were well and good, but if they were going to cause him this much pain and suffering, he’d rather have visions of something on a slightly higher plane.
Suddenly he didn’t know if he was awake or asleep; the room was bright, almost filled with sunlight, in a way he didn’t remember it ever being since they’d lived there. A hush crept over the room... and then a man with kind eyes and a scruffy beard was walking through the door and sitting down on the edge of the bed.
“Hi, Sam,” the visitor said gently.
“Hi,” Sam breathed.
The visitor took his hand. “I’m proud of you. You’ve fought bravely so far, and although you’ve got a long way to go still, the worst is over.”
“I’ve... been waiting for you.”
“I know you have. ‘You will seek Me, and you will find Me when you seek Me with your whole heart’-that’s what I promised, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” A tear escaped from Sam’s eye. “I don’t deserve....”
“Shh. Azazel had no right to do what he did-but what he intended for evil, I will use for good. You’re already doing exactly what I wanted you to do with those visions. He’ll use them to try to get to you; don’t let him succeed.”
“I don’t want to go darkside. I don’t wanna....”
“Sam, you gave your soul to Me. Nothing anyone can do to you will change that, not even if someone reinfects you. And I’m not through with you yet.”
Sam sniffled. “Why... um....”
“Why the long haul?”
“Yeah.”
“Not every healing is immediate, Sam. And the reasons differ in every case. To give you one reason in your case, we couldn’t let Azazel know what was happening. This way got you out of his control well before he could decide to stop sending the minor leagues to force you out of Cazadore. Now all that remains is for your body to stop fighting itself.”
Sam nodded. “Yeah. Makes sense. It just....”
“It hurts. I know. It’ll get better soon.” The visitor bent and kissed Sam’s brow, and Sam instantly felt the fever leave him. “I love you, Sam. You don’t ever have to doubt that.”
Sam couldn’t answer; he could only smile and let the tears fall.
Dean crept into Sam’s room to check on his sleeping brother. He found Sam drenched in a fine sweat, and tears were running down his face. Hardly daring to hope, Dean grabbed a damp rag to wash Sam’s face; Sam’s forehead still felt a little warm, but the fever had definitely broken.
And when Sam opened his eyes, they were clear... and shining with joy.
“Hey,” Dean smiled.
Hi, Sam signed.
Dean answered in kind. How you feel?
Better. Weak still, head hurts a little, but better.
You have vision?
Sam nodded.
What you see?
Sam raised his splayed-out hands and struck the center of each palm with the middle finger of the opposite hand-Jesus.
Dean’s eyes went huge. Yeah? What did He say?
All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.
So you’re going to be fine.
Sam nodded happily.
Dean hugged him tight.
Kali put down her cup of tea and said, “I have to admit, Bill, it was very clever of you.”
“What was?” Cooper asked, frowning over his fruit salad - a compromise with her. Still very sweet, but something that would help her relax other than watching him inhale straight sweets.
“Giving me this identity so that I could do as you asked without raising suspicion.” At his smile, she went on, “But that’s what you do, isn’t it?”
He frowned, studying her. “What are you talking about?”
“Giving people new identities. New chances. You took two young men under your wings and grew them into fine men. Even I think they are fine men, and that says much.”
“Yes,” he said slowly. “It does.”
“You rename me so that these... people... would see me as one of them and I may do my task openly. Walking among them for the first time in... a while.” She smiled and raised her teacup to her lips again. “And then... there’s you.”
He set his fork down. “I don’t know what you’re talking about... Carol.”
She set the empty cup upside-down in its saucer. “You do. I need to get back to work.” She stood and crossed the table, bending down as if to kiss his cheek. Her breath tickled his ear instead. “No need to worry... angel. It is merely one of your many secrets I hold in my hands.”
Then she did kiss his cheek and left him gaping openly after her, naked shock written all over his face.
All was silent in the Winchesters’ kitchen, but that didn’t mean nobody was talking. Words flew fast from hands as breakfast was being crafted and a tray for Sam was slowly being assembled.
Oatmeal. Toast. Orange juice. All that had been put on to cook when all three froze at a noise from upstairs.
The shower had turned on.
Daphne and Tricia looked wide-eyed at Dean, who looked wide-eyed toward the stairs. Then he bolted up them, gesturing for the girls to remain in the kitchen.
Sam wasn’t in his bed, but the bathroom door was closed.
“Sam?” Dean called
“Yeah!” came the call from the shower.
“You okay?”
“I dunno, yet. I just felt like a shower!”
Dean’s eyes slid shut in relief. “Need help?”
“Nah, I’ve got - well, if you really WANT to help, you could lay out me some clothes! And tell Tricia when you go back down that I am really gonna HATE that hat she thinks she’s surprising me with! If I’ve gotta have a Nesmith hat, the LEAST she could do was make it GREEN!”
So he was still having visions.
Dean tried not to laugh out loud. “Yeah, okay, Papa Nez. Anything in particular you wanna wear?”
“Surprise me!” A laugh from the bathroom, the sweetest sound in a while. “IF you think you still CAN.”
Dean did laugh at that. “We’ll see, Carnack!” And he headed to his own closet to pick out a shirt.
A few minutes later, Dean was back in the kitchen. Was Sammy. Seems better. Teasing.
Both girls sighed in relief.
“Hey.” That was Sam, leaning against the doorway, in Dean’s shirt and his own jeans, smiling tiredly at them. But his cheeks were no longer flushed and his eyes were no longer glazed. “Tell me some of that food’s for me.”
“Nope,” Daphne replied. “You’ve been a naughty boy and don’t get aaanything.” But the twinkle in her eyes gave her away.
Laughter, long-missed in the household, rose to the rafters as Sam joined his family and kissed Tricia warmly, an arm sliding around her waist as they watched Daphne and Dean go back to cooking.
Unseen, their guardian angel sent wave after wave of prayers of sheer gratitude toward Heaven.
And he was suddenly surprised to feel his grace warm slightly and to hear a gentle whisper: I love you, too, My son. Well done.
Whoever said that angels can’t cry was strongly mistaken. They can - and out of pure joy, he did.
Daphne was startled the next day to suddenly find a strange shrub with big white trumpet-like flowers in the middle of the backyard hedge. A quick Google search identified it as Brugmansia suaveolens, commonly known as... angel’s tears.