SPN fic: "illumine our tempestuous day" (5.22+)
title: "illumine our tempestuous day"
author: fannishliss
rated: PG, mild language
warnings: none, spoilers for 5.22.
words: 3000
disclaimer: Thanks be to Kripke! thanks to Jim Beaver and Misha Collins, for their fantastic work bringing Bobby and Castiel to life. And thanks, of course, to Jared, for his beautiful portrayal of Sam.
Summary: Sam stood panting on the porch of Bobby's house, a rumbling crack of thunder rolling away into the distance.
Master List for the Promise 'verse (5.22+)
It's important to read at least the Lucifer and Sam pov stories before reading this one.
" not the burnt and broken" (Dean pov)
" blind, without a blow" (Lucifer pov)
" Ground Rules" (Lisa pov)
" two-edged, golden, sanguine" (Sam in Hell)
" Keeping the Promise" (Dean pov)
~*o*~
Sam stood panting on the porch of Bobby's house, Adam sprawled at his feet.
A rumbling crack of thunder rolled away into the distance, a Winchester (like the rifle) shocky at its epicenter.
The demon blood, held at bay by the archangels' glory in their pocket of peace at the heart of Hell, roiled and sang in his veins. Sam felt a little crazy. The smell of South Dakota evening, full of wind and tall grass, filled his nostrils. Inside, Bobby was cautiously approaching the front door, cocking his shotgun.
Without conscious thought, Sam disarmed Bobby and flung wide the front door.
The old Hunter stood there, eyes wide and wary, riven from his weapon ---afraid of Sam, afraid of whatever stood there wearing Sam's shape -- desperate to know what it was that looked like Sam but had such power.
Sam wished he knew, too.
"Bobby," he said, helplessly, "it's me."
"That don't cut it," Bobby spat.
Sam thought about it for a second, then suggested, "Why don't I just walk in. There's a devil's trap right there. Let's see what happens."
Adam watched from the floor of the porch, not moving a muscle nor making a sound, but his mouth hung open and his eyes were wide.
Bobby peered at Sam from under his ballcap and stood aside from the door. Sam strode in.
The traces of demon in his blood registered the trap as he entered it. He looked up at the ceiling, and as if he were on acid, Sam could see the traces of power woven into the design, glowing white and silver and cold blue, the lines of light strong and unbroken.
He paused for a moment inside the trap as Bobby sized him up.
He lifted a hand, reached forward. The power of the trap hung down like a curtain, lighting up like witch's fire as he stroked it, fascinated. The curtain felt soft and sinuous beneath his fingers, but the demon blood inside him recoiled, singed.
The night before he invited Lucifer in, Sam had drunk four gallons of demon blood. During the time he was possessed, Lucifer had revelled in draining five more demons, leaving Sam's body more saturated with the blood and its demonic influence than ever before.
But the archangels had kept their promise, flipping the switch inside Sam's brain. He could easily feel the difference between his own power -- immense, innate, and implacable -- and the blood, thready, needy, and alive to the threats and seductions of the sensual world.
Sam pressed his hand through the curtain, watching curiously as the blood hastily withdrew up his arm, as though in a panic, driven back by the ancient mathematical purity of the trap. It wasn't as though his hand was drained of blood -- rather, the demonic essence flowed up his arm like the particles of a wave.
Sam eased his arm outside the trap, and the demon blood pulsed into his torso.
Bobby stood watching. He had gathered up the shotgun, it was ready, but he hadn't even aimed it. Adam, too, stood watching from the porch, limp, agape and witless, still on the Winchester roller coaster after being killed by a ghoul, ripped from his Heaven, ridden by an archangel, shucked out again by the cage, and transported back to earth by his brother's inhuman powers, with a little help from two archangels uncannily combined.
Sam imagined a gateway -- not a wound, or an open orifice -- merely a metaphysical gateway in the palm of his left hand, something like an iris opening. Once he had fully envisioned it, he carefully stepped out of the trap, leading with the right side of his body, letting the demonic energy flow to the sinister hand.
Standing outside the trap, he pulled his left hand slowly free, and what was left of the demon blood poured out of the iris like a cloud of dust. No longer fed by living human blood, it disintegrated into harmless motes, with barely a sparkle to Sam's observant eye.
At last, Sam was free of the evil presence he had carried almost his entire life.
As the gray dust drifted lightly to the floor, Sam's relief and release were near euphoria. Bliss! The nameless rage, the cursing carried so long in his heart of hearts, had finally let go. He was free, at long last, free.
Sam didn't know whether he was laughing or crying as he turned to face Bobby and his half-brother.
"Bobby, Adam," Sam said, full of joy, his voice breaking -- he hardly knew what he was saying, only that he wanted to touch someone, to make contact, to transmit the incredible joy he could feel permeating his body and soul for the first time ever.
The soft settling of wings announced another arrival, and Castiel alit on Bobby's front porch, still clad in his scruffy trenchcoat and cheap suit, at least to Adam and Bobby's eyes.
Sam, however, could see Castiel's true form.
The vast wings, flowing out like living light, the faces of lions and eagles and men, the thousand thousand eyes -- Castiel had become an archangel, the most powerful servant of the rumor he knew as the Living God, godlike almost in his own right, the full arrayed powers of Heaven at his bidding.
Castiel lowered his chin slightly to Sam, his hands lifted open at his sides.
The archangel's wings mantled, eyes deflecting, and the shining faces smiled on Sam, radiant in their regard.
"Sam," Castiel smiled. "It's good to see you, my brother."
Bobby swung around to glare at Castiel, speechless. He had no idea of the change in Castiel, and had only barely glimpsed Sam's transformations.
Sam stepped forward, remembering another life, a moment long ago when the boy with the demon blood had longed to shake hands with an Angel.
Risking it, unsure of his new aura, Sam stepped into the archangel, pressing the vessel close, enveloping him in a hug, seeking the physical and soul-deep contact that he craved.
If stepping into Bobby's devil's trap had been like brushing against a gauzy veil of holy power, embracing Castiel was like hitting the water at the bottom of the Acapulco cliffs.
Living fire, a lightning storm the size of a planet. The thrumming beat of powerful wings. A resounding song like the symphony of suns. A regard so intense it saw beyond his soul, to the original dream of his creation, and forward to the end of all he would become.
Sam Winchester embraced the archangel Castiel.
Like a dance, their energies touched and rebounded, passing through and circling each other in graceful, measured forays. A rising flood of power surged forth inside him to meet the Archangel, to flow around and against and into him, to know him through and through.
Sam lost track of how long they embraced, but his energies crested with Castiel's and finally fell back, satisfied. Drawing back into his human awareness, Sam stepped back, still grasping Castiel around the upper arms, staring into his unblinking blue eyes.
They knew each other now, the Archangel and Sam, but Sam still wasn't sure he knew himself.
The one thing he knew was how much he longed for Dean -- his other half, the soulmate even Heaven had had to acknowledge. Dean, his suffering, righteous, faithless brother, who even now believed Sam was still in Hell.
"Not yet, Sam," Castiel said.
"What?" Sam said. The rage he expected to feel at being even temporarily challenged, simply failed to rise. Azazel's blood had been completely purged, and Sam was utterly changed.
"Dean loves you and misses you so much, Sam, but it's still too soon," Castiel said.
"What in the blazes..." Bobby muttered. "You want Sam to just let Dean suffer? It's been four months already!"
Four months? Sam was astonished. The time he'd spent in Hell had felt like a matter of hours -- and for Dean, days in Hell had felt like years, not the other way around.
Castiel now knew all that had happened in Hell -- message delivered. He answered Sam's questioning thought. "Lucifer put quite a bit of effort into making you comfortable. Outside his and Michael's influence, your time in Hell would have felt like decades."
"How is Dean doing?" Sam asked. The joy inside him shivered, uneasily awaiting the answer, but at least Castiel had kept Dean under his wing.
"He grieves for you, terribly. You did well to send him to Lisa. She makes appropriate demands of him, and he feels compelled to respond because of the promise you asked him to make. He's not free of pain, but he is healing. I don't think you should contact him yet," Castiel said.
"Listen, you two chuckleheads," Bobby said. Sam didn't know if Bobby realized just how powerful he and Castiel were now, but he probably wouldn't have cared if he did. "You can't just let Dean go on thinking that Sam is in Hell! You have to go to him!"
Sam could feel Bobby's love and concern for Dean flowing off him in waves. It made Sam love the old man even more than he already did.
"Dean has to be ready," Castiel said, again, softly but firmly.
"Soon?" Sam said.
"Yes. You know I'm watching over him. I ... visit him from time to time," Castiel said.
Sam watched in fascination as the archangel's aura swirled to pink and purple. He was blushing.
"You're helping him along. Why can't I go too?" Sam asked.
Bobby looked back and forth between them, knowing he was missing something. "Dean hasn't mentioned any visits!"
"He... may not remember them when he is awake," Castiel muttered.
"Oh, you junkless bastard!" Bobby cursed. "You don't even have the balls to drop in and say hi, you have to stalk him in his dreams?"
Castiel lifted his chin and stood his ground. Sam could see the huge wings flaring backward and out, and he was glad that Bobby had no idea what kind of thing he was confronting.
"Dean has gone a lifetime denying himself. This is his only chance to put his own needs first. If Sam returns now, Dean will throw himself back into Hunting because he thinks it's his duty, and his one chance at a family of his own will be forsaken. Is that really what you wish for him?"
Bobby softened. He acknowledged the truth in Castiel's message, even though he didn't like it.
"You all are playing with fire. It's on you when he finds out that Sam's alive."
Then Bobby rounded on Sam. "Oh, and by the way! How the hell are you even here?"
"I love you, Bobby," Sam said, and grabbed the old Hunter before he could get away, hugging him with all the joy of his newly cleansed humanity, and Castiel watched over them with his myriad eyes.
***
The excitement of Sam and Adam's escape from Hell died down as Castiel abruptly departed, for Heaven they supposed. Sam came down a little from his elation over being cleansed of the demon blood. It was as though a weight had lifted he had never realized he was carrying. His problems weren't over, but those that remained seemed small in comparison.
Adam, looking peaked, asked Bobby for something to eat. Bobby, as usual, had burgers ready to fry.
Sam wrinkled his nose at the smell of meat, and declined to take part.
Bobby shrugged his shoulders and put together burgers for himself and Adam, cutting in half some fresh whole wheat rolls and slathering on mayo and pickles and slices of tomato, with big pieces of velveeta melted across the tops of the burgers.
Sam's eyes tracked the steam wafting up from the burgers, and in the distance he seemed to hear the lowing of cattle.
With a shake of his head the sound was gone. He sat up straight, then stood and pulled some beers out of the fridge, and a cherry soda for Adam, who loved the stuff.
"Cheerwine! Dude, how did you find this in South Dakota!" Adam happily drank straight from the bottle.
"Just lucky, I guess," Bobby said, shooting a dark glance at Sam, who frowned. What?
Sam picked at one of the wheat rolls and drank his beer. As he sat, relaxed, hands flat against the table, he heard the sound of a woman singing in the next room. Astonished, he asked, "Bobby, is Karen back?"
Bobby glared, shocked and hurt. "No, my wife I had to shoot, again, isn't back from the dead, again."
Sam was confused -- he could still hear the singing, but the pain and anger pouring off of Bobby was enough to convince him to keep quiet about it. As he stood to get Bobby another beer it faded away.
This time when he sat down, it was the faint scent of pie, but Sam knew better than to ask.
Bobby caught him up before he followed Adam up to bed.
"What's going on with you, Sam? There wasn't any god damned Cheerwine in my fridge! Where'd it come from? and how'd you know it was Adam's favorite?"
Sam couldn't answer.
"You better call your pal the new archangel and get some answers, boy," Bobby said, but the harshness left his tone. "It's good to have you back, son," Bobby said. "Weird as all hell, but good."
Bobby clapped him on the shoulder and Sam struggled not to burst into happy tears again, basking in the love Bobby felt for him.
Sam went on out into the yard. Calling down an archangel seemed more appropriate outdoors, where the vast wings had room to spread -- even though walls couldn't hold them.
Castiel arrived with the old familiar flapping.
"You aren't hallucinating, Sam," he said, without being asked.
"What is it?" Sam asked. It was worse in the yard, as the wreckage of old cars piled all around them seemed to glimmer and twist, hints of when the cars were new and shining.
Castiel looked around.
"Touch that one," he said, a little twitch on his mouth.
Sam knew he was about to be the target of archangel humor, but he couldn't turn down a dare.
Gingerly he laid a hand on the warped and rusty metal, springing back as a horrible shriek of tires and the explosive crash of impact filled his ears.
The awful sound was gone as quickly as it had come, but Sam was stunned.
"You're hearing the echoes of the past, Sam. And you manifested that soda for your brother because you knew it would make him feel better," Castiel said.
"Castiel, what's going on? What am I?" Sam knew he'd had no other choice but to flip the switch on his powers, but what had he become?
"You're still human, in a sense," Castiel said, peering at Sam. "But as I have ... evolved, for lack of a better term, from angel to archangel, you have evolved from human to -- something more. All the secrets of angels have been unlocked to you, and as a vessel, you are capable of using them."
"But what does that mean?" Sam wondered.
"To all intents and purposes, you're human, but more powerful than any human has ever been -- maybe, ever will be again. The cupids' meddling selected for the ability to tolerate angelic levels of power -- otherwise you'd never survive using them without the influence of demon blood or some other supernatural buffer."
"So, I would have been like this, even without Azazel?"
"You had the potential. So did Dean -- and the other 'psychic kids' as you called them. But you alone have hosted an archangel, and you alone have gained control without the benefit of demon blood. You are unique."
"Freak," Sam said, but the bitterness he'd always felt had lost its power over him. "What do I do about it?" he asked.
"There is much to be done. The world has become lawless and chaotic-- angels and demons roam freely. Dean's not ready to Hunt again yet, but we can work on a a few things together --- Crowley's mark on Bobby -- I'm surprised you didn't notice it -- and the cambion boy, Jesse --"
"Whoa, there, Cas," Sam said. "Okay, first, what about Crowley?"
"He's hidden himself from Angels and demons," Castiel said, frustrated. "I've been looking, but... "
"How am I supposed to find him if you can't?" Sam scoffed.
"You have time. I have many duties in Heaven, many priorities competing for my attention. You can devote yourself to a fulltime search for Crowley. You'll find him."
"I'm glad you sound so sure," Sam said.
"The Winchester gospels..." Castiel said, still frowning. Sam saw lightning flash between Castiel's wings. Something was bothering him.
"What?" he asked.
"God is still missing. And so is Chuck -- but there is some sign that God and Chuck are the same."
"The same? what?" Apparently despite his new superhuman powers, Sam could still be completely confused.
Castiel stared into his eyes, and apparently archangels could still be annoyed by humans being dense.
"Chuck -- his recent writings -- they were written from God's point of view."
"Huh? Oh. Oh! Why, that sneaky, little, bastard!" Sam laughed, absurdly delighted. Everything delighted him today.
"I'm glad you find it amusing," Castiel huffed. "More prophecies appear. It is... annoying. But Chuck seems to think you will succeed at finding Crowley."
Sam remembered Chuck calling himself a cruel, capricious god, and apologizing for various things that had happened to them. Sam couldn't believe he had really been messing with them all along. But if the point was to let them follow their own free will, he couldn't tell them too much, or intervene... it made Sam's eyes cross trying to figure it out.
"Okay, first we find Crowley and clear Bobby's soul."
"Yes, and I will still be watching over Dean."
"He's really okay?" Sam asked wistfully, wanting nothing more than to rush to his brother for one of their traditional resurrection hugs.
"No... but every day he's a little better. He needs time, and we can give it to him."
The idea that Dean might really be healing from everything that destiny had unkindly thrown at him, convinced Sam to listen to Castiel's advice, at least for now.
###
Author's Note:
Thanks to the friends who answered my poll about how long it will be in canon before Sam and Dean reunite. In this timeline, Sam was in Hell over our summer, the same as Dean back in '08, but for Sam only a short period of time seemed to pass because he was sheltered in the reality Lucifer created for him there. The Dean stories so far have focused on the early part of Dean's summer, but time will pass more quickly for Dean from now on. We'll have to see what kind of progress they make -- Dean with putting himself back together, and Sam working with Cas on a few big problems -- before they reunite.
author: fannishliss
rated: PG, mild language
warnings: none, spoilers for 5.22.
words: 3000
disclaimer: Thanks be to Kripke! thanks to Jim Beaver and Misha Collins, for their fantastic work bringing Bobby and Castiel to life. And thanks, of course, to Jared, for his beautiful portrayal of Sam.
Summary: Sam stood panting on the porch of Bobby's house, a rumbling crack of thunder rolling away into the distance.
Master List for the Promise 'verse (5.22+)
It's important to read at least the Lucifer and Sam pov stories before reading this one.
" not the burnt and broken" (Dean pov)
" blind, without a blow" (Lucifer pov)
" Ground Rules" (Lisa pov)
" two-edged, golden, sanguine" (Sam in Hell)
" Keeping the Promise" (Dean pov)
~*o*~
Sam stood panting on the porch of Bobby's house, Adam sprawled at his feet.
A rumbling crack of thunder rolled away into the distance, a Winchester (like the rifle) shocky at its epicenter.
The demon blood, held at bay by the archangels' glory in their pocket of peace at the heart of Hell, roiled and sang in his veins. Sam felt a little crazy. The smell of South Dakota evening, full of wind and tall grass, filled his nostrils. Inside, Bobby was cautiously approaching the front door, cocking his shotgun.
Without conscious thought, Sam disarmed Bobby and flung wide the front door.
The old Hunter stood there, eyes wide and wary, riven from his weapon ---afraid of Sam, afraid of whatever stood there wearing Sam's shape -- desperate to know what it was that looked like Sam but had such power.
Sam wished he knew, too.
"Bobby," he said, helplessly, "it's me."
"That don't cut it," Bobby spat.
Sam thought about it for a second, then suggested, "Why don't I just walk in. There's a devil's trap right there. Let's see what happens."
Adam watched from the floor of the porch, not moving a muscle nor making a sound, but his mouth hung open and his eyes were wide.
Bobby peered at Sam from under his ballcap and stood aside from the door. Sam strode in.
The traces of demon in his blood registered the trap as he entered it. He looked up at the ceiling, and as if he were on acid, Sam could see the traces of power woven into the design, glowing white and silver and cold blue, the lines of light strong and unbroken.
He paused for a moment inside the trap as Bobby sized him up.
He lifted a hand, reached forward. The power of the trap hung down like a curtain, lighting up like witch's fire as he stroked it, fascinated. The curtain felt soft and sinuous beneath his fingers, but the demon blood inside him recoiled, singed.
The night before he invited Lucifer in, Sam had drunk four gallons of demon blood. During the time he was possessed, Lucifer had revelled in draining five more demons, leaving Sam's body more saturated with the blood and its demonic influence than ever before.
But the archangels had kept their promise, flipping the switch inside Sam's brain. He could easily feel the difference between his own power -- immense, innate, and implacable -- and the blood, thready, needy, and alive to the threats and seductions of the sensual world.
Sam pressed his hand through the curtain, watching curiously as the blood hastily withdrew up his arm, as though in a panic, driven back by the ancient mathematical purity of the trap. It wasn't as though his hand was drained of blood -- rather, the demonic essence flowed up his arm like the particles of a wave.
Sam eased his arm outside the trap, and the demon blood pulsed into his torso.
Bobby stood watching. He had gathered up the shotgun, it was ready, but he hadn't even aimed it. Adam, too, stood watching from the porch, limp, agape and witless, still on the Winchester roller coaster after being killed by a ghoul, ripped from his Heaven, ridden by an archangel, shucked out again by the cage, and transported back to earth by his brother's inhuman powers, with a little help from two archangels uncannily combined.
Sam imagined a gateway -- not a wound, or an open orifice -- merely a metaphysical gateway in the palm of his left hand, something like an iris opening. Once he had fully envisioned it, he carefully stepped out of the trap, leading with the right side of his body, letting the demonic energy flow to the sinister hand.
Standing outside the trap, he pulled his left hand slowly free, and what was left of the demon blood poured out of the iris like a cloud of dust. No longer fed by living human blood, it disintegrated into harmless motes, with barely a sparkle to Sam's observant eye.
At last, Sam was free of the evil presence he had carried almost his entire life.
As the gray dust drifted lightly to the floor, Sam's relief and release were near euphoria. Bliss! The nameless rage, the cursing carried so long in his heart of hearts, had finally let go. He was free, at long last, free.
Sam didn't know whether he was laughing or crying as he turned to face Bobby and his half-brother.
"Bobby, Adam," Sam said, full of joy, his voice breaking -- he hardly knew what he was saying, only that he wanted to touch someone, to make contact, to transmit the incredible joy he could feel permeating his body and soul for the first time ever.
The soft settling of wings announced another arrival, and Castiel alit on Bobby's front porch, still clad in his scruffy trenchcoat and cheap suit, at least to Adam and Bobby's eyes.
Sam, however, could see Castiel's true form.
The vast wings, flowing out like living light, the faces of lions and eagles and men, the thousand thousand eyes -- Castiel had become an archangel, the most powerful servant of the rumor he knew as the Living God, godlike almost in his own right, the full arrayed powers of Heaven at his bidding.
Castiel lowered his chin slightly to Sam, his hands lifted open at his sides.
The archangel's wings mantled, eyes deflecting, and the shining faces smiled on Sam, radiant in their regard.
"Sam," Castiel smiled. "It's good to see you, my brother."
Bobby swung around to glare at Castiel, speechless. He had no idea of the change in Castiel, and had only barely glimpsed Sam's transformations.
Sam stepped forward, remembering another life, a moment long ago when the boy with the demon blood had longed to shake hands with an Angel.
Risking it, unsure of his new aura, Sam stepped into the archangel, pressing the vessel close, enveloping him in a hug, seeking the physical and soul-deep contact that he craved.
If stepping into Bobby's devil's trap had been like brushing against a gauzy veil of holy power, embracing Castiel was like hitting the water at the bottom of the Acapulco cliffs.
Living fire, a lightning storm the size of a planet. The thrumming beat of powerful wings. A resounding song like the symphony of suns. A regard so intense it saw beyond his soul, to the original dream of his creation, and forward to the end of all he would become.
Sam Winchester embraced the archangel Castiel.
Like a dance, their energies touched and rebounded, passing through and circling each other in graceful, measured forays. A rising flood of power surged forth inside him to meet the Archangel, to flow around and against and into him, to know him through and through.
Sam lost track of how long they embraced, but his energies crested with Castiel's and finally fell back, satisfied. Drawing back into his human awareness, Sam stepped back, still grasping Castiel around the upper arms, staring into his unblinking blue eyes.
They knew each other now, the Archangel and Sam, but Sam still wasn't sure he knew himself.
The one thing he knew was how much he longed for Dean -- his other half, the soulmate even Heaven had had to acknowledge. Dean, his suffering, righteous, faithless brother, who even now believed Sam was still in Hell.
"Not yet, Sam," Castiel said.
"What?" Sam said. The rage he expected to feel at being even temporarily challenged, simply failed to rise. Azazel's blood had been completely purged, and Sam was utterly changed.
"Dean loves you and misses you so much, Sam, but it's still too soon," Castiel said.
"What in the blazes..." Bobby muttered. "You want Sam to just let Dean suffer? It's been four months already!"
Four months? Sam was astonished. The time he'd spent in Hell had felt like a matter of hours -- and for Dean, days in Hell had felt like years, not the other way around.
Castiel now knew all that had happened in Hell -- message delivered. He answered Sam's questioning thought. "Lucifer put quite a bit of effort into making you comfortable. Outside his and Michael's influence, your time in Hell would have felt like decades."
"How is Dean doing?" Sam asked. The joy inside him shivered, uneasily awaiting the answer, but at least Castiel had kept Dean under his wing.
"He grieves for you, terribly. You did well to send him to Lisa. She makes appropriate demands of him, and he feels compelled to respond because of the promise you asked him to make. He's not free of pain, but he is healing. I don't think you should contact him yet," Castiel said.
"Listen, you two chuckleheads," Bobby said. Sam didn't know if Bobby realized just how powerful he and Castiel were now, but he probably wouldn't have cared if he did. "You can't just let Dean go on thinking that Sam is in Hell! You have to go to him!"
Sam could feel Bobby's love and concern for Dean flowing off him in waves. It made Sam love the old man even more than he already did.
"Dean has to be ready," Castiel said, again, softly but firmly.
"Soon?" Sam said.
"Yes. You know I'm watching over him. I ... visit him from time to time," Castiel said.
Sam watched in fascination as the archangel's aura swirled to pink and purple. He was blushing.
"You're helping him along. Why can't I go too?" Sam asked.
Bobby looked back and forth between them, knowing he was missing something. "Dean hasn't mentioned any visits!"
"He... may not remember them when he is awake," Castiel muttered.
"Oh, you junkless bastard!" Bobby cursed. "You don't even have the balls to drop in and say hi, you have to stalk him in his dreams?"
Castiel lifted his chin and stood his ground. Sam could see the huge wings flaring backward and out, and he was glad that Bobby had no idea what kind of thing he was confronting.
"Dean has gone a lifetime denying himself. This is his only chance to put his own needs first. If Sam returns now, Dean will throw himself back into Hunting because he thinks it's his duty, and his one chance at a family of his own will be forsaken. Is that really what you wish for him?"
Bobby softened. He acknowledged the truth in Castiel's message, even though he didn't like it.
"You all are playing with fire. It's on you when he finds out that Sam's alive."
Then Bobby rounded on Sam. "Oh, and by the way! How the hell are you even here?"
"I love you, Bobby," Sam said, and grabbed the old Hunter before he could get away, hugging him with all the joy of his newly cleansed humanity, and Castiel watched over them with his myriad eyes.
***
The excitement of Sam and Adam's escape from Hell died down as Castiel abruptly departed, for Heaven they supposed. Sam came down a little from his elation over being cleansed of the demon blood. It was as though a weight had lifted he had never realized he was carrying. His problems weren't over, but those that remained seemed small in comparison.
Adam, looking peaked, asked Bobby for something to eat. Bobby, as usual, had burgers ready to fry.
Sam wrinkled his nose at the smell of meat, and declined to take part.
Bobby shrugged his shoulders and put together burgers for himself and Adam, cutting in half some fresh whole wheat rolls and slathering on mayo and pickles and slices of tomato, with big pieces of velveeta melted across the tops of the burgers.
Sam's eyes tracked the steam wafting up from the burgers, and in the distance he seemed to hear the lowing of cattle.
With a shake of his head the sound was gone. He sat up straight, then stood and pulled some beers out of the fridge, and a cherry soda for Adam, who loved the stuff.
"Cheerwine! Dude, how did you find this in South Dakota!" Adam happily drank straight from the bottle.
"Just lucky, I guess," Bobby said, shooting a dark glance at Sam, who frowned. What?
Sam picked at one of the wheat rolls and drank his beer. As he sat, relaxed, hands flat against the table, he heard the sound of a woman singing in the next room. Astonished, he asked, "Bobby, is Karen back?"
Bobby glared, shocked and hurt. "No, my wife I had to shoot, again, isn't back from the dead, again."
Sam was confused -- he could still hear the singing, but the pain and anger pouring off of Bobby was enough to convince him to keep quiet about it. As he stood to get Bobby another beer it faded away.
This time when he sat down, it was the faint scent of pie, but Sam knew better than to ask.
Bobby caught him up before he followed Adam up to bed.
"What's going on with you, Sam? There wasn't any god damned Cheerwine in my fridge! Where'd it come from? and how'd you know it was Adam's favorite?"
Sam couldn't answer.
"You better call your pal the new archangel and get some answers, boy," Bobby said, but the harshness left his tone. "It's good to have you back, son," Bobby said. "Weird as all hell, but good."
Bobby clapped him on the shoulder and Sam struggled not to burst into happy tears again, basking in the love Bobby felt for him.
Sam went on out into the yard. Calling down an archangel seemed more appropriate outdoors, where the vast wings had room to spread -- even though walls couldn't hold them.
Castiel arrived with the old familiar flapping.
"You aren't hallucinating, Sam," he said, without being asked.
"What is it?" Sam asked. It was worse in the yard, as the wreckage of old cars piled all around them seemed to glimmer and twist, hints of when the cars were new and shining.
Castiel looked around.
"Touch that one," he said, a little twitch on his mouth.
Sam knew he was about to be the target of archangel humor, but he couldn't turn down a dare.
Gingerly he laid a hand on the warped and rusty metal, springing back as a horrible shriek of tires and the explosive crash of impact filled his ears.
The awful sound was gone as quickly as it had come, but Sam was stunned.
"You're hearing the echoes of the past, Sam. And you manifested that soda for your brother because you knew it would make him feel better," Castiel said.
"Castiel, what's going on? What am I?" Sam knew he'd had no other choice but to flip the switch on his powers, but what had he become?
"You're still human, in a sense," Castiel said, peering at Sam. "But as I have ... evolved, for lack of a better term, from angel to archangel, you have evolved from human to -- something more. All the secrets of angels have been unlocked to you, and as a vessel, you are capable of using them."
"But what does that mean?" Sam wondered.
"To all intents and purposes, you're human, but more powerful than any human has ever been -- maybe, ever will be again. The cupids' meddling selected for the ability to tolerate angelic levels of power -- otherwise you'd never survive using them without the influence of demon blood or some other supernatural buffer."
"So, I would have been like this, even without Azazel?"
"You had the potential. So did Dean -- and the other 'psychic kids' as you called them. But you alone have hosted an archangel, and you alone have gained control without the benefit of demon blood. You are unique."
"Freak," Sam said, but the bitterness he'd always felt had lost its power over him. "What do I do about it?" he asked.
"There is much to be done. The world has become lawless and chaotic-- angels and demons roam freely. Dean's not ready to Hunt again yet, but we can work on a a few things together --- Crowley's mark on Bobby -- I'm surprised you didn't notice it -- and the cambion boy, Jesse --"
"Whoa, there, Cas," Sam said. "Okay, first, what about Crowley?"
"He's hidden himself from Angels and demons," Castiel said, frustrated. "I've been looking, but... "
"How am I supposed to find him if you can't?" Sam scoffed.
"You have time. I have many duties in Heaven, many priorities competing for my attention. You can devote yourself to a fulltime search for Crowley. You'll find him."
"I'm glad you sound so sure," Sam said.
"The Winchester gospels..." Castiel said, still frowning. Sam saw lightning flash between Castiel's wings. Something was bothering him.
"What?" he asked.
"God is still missing. And so is Chuck -- but there is some sign that God and Chuck are the same."
"The same? what?" Apparently despite his new superhuman powers, Sam could still be completely confused.
Castiel stared into his eyes, and apparently archangels could still be annoyed by humans being dense.
"Chuck -- his recent writings -- they were written from God's point of view."
"Huh? Oh. Oh! Why, that sneaky, little, bastard!" Sam laughed, absurdly delighted. Everything delighted him today.
"I'm glad you find it amusing," Castiel huffed. "More prophecies appear. It is... annoying. But Chuck seems to think you will succeed at finding Crowley."
Sam remembered Chuck calling himself a cruel, capricious god, and apologizing for various things that had happened to them. Sam couldn't believe he had really been messing with them all along. But if the point was to let them follow their own free will, he couldn't tell them too much, or intervene... it made Sam's eyes cross trying to figure it out.
"Okay, first we find Crowley and clear Bobby's soul."
"Yes, and I will still be watching over Dean."
"He's really okay?" Sam asked wistfully, wanting nothing more than to rush to his brother for one of their traditional resurrection hugs.
"No... but every day he's a little better. He needs time, and we can give it to him."
The idea that Dean might really be healing from everything that destiny had unkindly thrown at him, convinced Sam to listen to Castiel's advice, at least for now.
###
Author's Note:
Thanks to the friends who answered my poll about how long it will be in canon before Sam and Dean reunite. In this timeline, Sam was in Hell over our summer, the same as Dean back in '08, but for Sam only a short period of time seemed to pass because he was sheltered in the reality Lucifer created for him there. The Dean stories so far have focused on the early part of Dean's summer, but time will pass more quickly for Dean from now on. We'll have to see what kind of progress they make -- Dean with putting himself back together, and Sam working with Cas on a few big problems -- before they reunite.