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I'm craving an Spn s8 AU that Sam finishes the trials and is rewarded by becoming an angel. I read a fic with that premise once on ff.net and I can't remember what it's called.
Does anyone know of any fics with a premise like that?
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SAMUEL WAS DIFFERENT from the other Seraphim, Raphael thought. Some angels had more of a specific gender identity than others, and Samuel was unquestionably male in his energy patterns, yet he was quiet and thoughtful, seeking the company of books from Heaven's Library more than the boisterous games of his fellows. That was not to say he was weak, for he was as skilled at combat as even Michael could ask, but time and time again his response to conflict was calm speech and reason over reaching for a weapon.
Raphael was smitten in the decidedly not usual sense for an angel. Xi found xir'sa making excuses to visit the Library, research on this malady or that healing technique, flimsy excuses that could not possibly hold up under scrutiny from the Archangelic Healer of Heaven, but Samuel never questioned xiri excuses or presence, merely welcomed xir with a gentle smile and a deferential fanning tilt to his green and golden wings. The excuses and inquiries for books eventually became friendly conversations about those books, and once or twice Raphael betrayed xir'sa with having more knowledge on a subject than xir needing a book would suggest, but Samuel never called xir on that either. As time went on and Michael became more and more closed off and focused on the End, these conversations and stumbling flirtations with Samuel became more and more the only true source of joy the Healer had.
It was a shock, therefore, when xi came to the Library to find Samuel sitting by the Great Orrey, staring at the model of the Earth with a pensive expression, wings rumpled from agitation, and not a single book in sight.
"Samuel?"
"Oh! Archangel Raphael, welcome...." Samuel started up and clearly tried to muster a smile for xir.
"Please, Samuel," Raphael gestured him down again and, in a move that no doubt would have stunned the Rit Zien had they observed it, folded xir'sa down to the floor beside the Seraph. "Will you tell me what troubles you?"
"I..." Samuel's wide eyes dropped away and his wings drew inwards. "Forgive me, Archangel Raphael... I know it is not for me to question the orders given me. I just... I don't understand why I have been given this mission. I'm far more scholar than warrior, despite Archangel Michael declaring me competant enough."
"High praise from our Eldest Brother," Raphael murmured, xiri mind racing. A mission? One that would be better suited to a soldier but was being given to Heaven's Librarian? Why was xi only just now hearing of it?
"I will take your word for it," Samuel was saying with a soft chuckle that held precious little humor. He was silent for a moment, a heavy silence the weight of which Raphael could only guess at, then murmured just loud enough for xir to hear, "I will miss you, while I am away. I have deeply enjoyed our time in conversation, now that we are past the need for ridiculous excuses to speak."
"Oh," Raphael felt xiri Grace burn with embarrassment as xiri wings flinched. "You never indicated that you knew they were excuses...."
"You seemed to require the pretense," Samuel shrugged. "I was content to wait for you to be ready to speak to me as you wished. We had... time." His head bowed as his wings lowered. "I thought we would have more time...."
"Will you be gone on this mission very long?" Raphael could not help but ask, more plaintively than xi wished.
"The span of a human's lifetime, however long that ends up being," Samuel answered with a sigh. "Barely a moment, despite how long it will feel. Will you... I should not ask..."
"I will wait for your return," Raphael promised, finding the strength to speak plainly and cursing that xi could not have managed to do so sooner. Greatly daring, xi stretched out a wing and brushed the secondaries against Samuel's alula, shivering as Samuel did from the contact, the spark of xiri Grace against his as Samuel's wing lifted to chase that contact. "And I will miss you, too, while you are away."
They sat together for long moments, silent and contemplative and quietly longing, wings brushing and Grace brushing fleeting caresses until Raphael was called away and they parted with a last lingering touch of wingtips.
Samuel Fell from Heaven the next day.
The day after, Michael announced the birth of the younger Vessel of the Apocalypse, and Raphael was soon too busy to wonder at the coincidence of it all.
Sam sipped his whiskey while Bobby watched him warily though he’d been sufficiently convinced Sam was who he said he was. Neither of them had an explanation for why Sam had reacted to the banishing sigil though, and Bobby was trying to insist they call Dean.
“Please, no. I can’t drag him into this. Especially not now. You and I can figure this out, fix me. He never needs to know. I’ll call him after we fix this. Please.”
Bobby grumbled but gave in for the moment. “You try calling Feathers yet? Betcha he can shed some light on this.”
Sam wasn’t sure exactly what to call his reaction to that casual revelation. Shock, mostly, but also relief, joy, maybe even regret. He hadn’t even asked yet how Bobby was alive, but if Cas was too, then he supposed he had his answer. Mutely he shook his head, then closed his eyes to pray. He heard one of Bobby’s phones ringing and the scrape of the chair as he got up to answer it. Sam took a deep breath and refocused himself.
Castiel’s first reaction to hearing a prayer directed at him was annoyance. The humans had been quiet lately—a good thing which had left him plenty of time to focus on the war efforts. Receiving a prayer in the middle of a staff meeting was less than ideal. However, he quickly realized it was Sam calling for him. He couldn’t go immediately, though he wanted to, but he would leave as soon as the meeting was over.
“Do we have any further reports on how Raphael intends to restart the Apocalypse?” he asked.
His lieutenants shook their heads. Fantastic. They knew what Raphael wanted, but they had precious little information on how he intended to make it happen. “That remains our first priority, then. We cannot prevent the Apocalypse if we do not know what events will lead to it. Rachel, where are we in recruitment?”
Rachel cleared her throat. “Largely stalled, sir. The angels that have not chosen a side seem to be waiting to see how the first skirmishes play out.”
Castiel closed his eyes. They would not win without vastly superior numbers, not against an archangel. “Thank you.”
“Sir?” she continued. “When are we going to strike? It is a question I have heard many times among the flights of angels on our side.”
“I do not want this war, and we will not strike first. We will not be responsible for the death of angels if at all possible.”
“You still hope to be able to negotiate?”
Castiel shook his head, annoyed that he needed to answer this question again and wanting to go to Sam. “Raphael will not back down. War is inevitable, but we will not draw first blood. Our goal remains the same: prevent the Apocalypse. Get me information on how to do that. Dismissed.” With that, he flew to Earth.
Dean stared at the phone in his hand. His alcohol induced sleep had carried him through lunch, and his hangover was pounding behind his eyes. He didn’t want to call, but it was Sam’s birthday and he wanted to hear a friendly voice. For once he wanted to talk to someone who’d known his brother.
Before he could rethink it, he dialed and pressed the phone to his ear. It rang long enough that he thought Bobby wasn’t going to answer, but finally he picked up and a gruff voiced said, “Hello?”
“Bobby.”
“Dean? Been a long time. You doing ok?”
Dean’s eyes burned. It was so good to hear his voice. “Yeah. Just thought I’d check in.”
He waited for Bobby to call him out for the obvious lie. Even he could hear how alcohol-rough his voice was, and they both knew what day it was. “Not much going on around here. Just the usual. Things quiet in your neck of the woods?”
He couldn’t decide if he was grateful Bobby hadn’t mentioned hunting explicitly or not, but the guilt of sitting at home while others went out and fought punched him in the gut. “Yeah. Ben’s just finishing up the school year, then Lisa wants to go on some sort of vacation. Not sure how I feel about that.”
“Sounds like you got a good thing there, boy. I’m happy for you.” He paused, and Dean braced himself for what was coming next. “Sam would be too.”
He closed his eyes and felt a tear break free, streaming down his face in a burning line. “I know.” He could hear the sincerity in Bobby’s voice, and he wasn’t sure how to tell him that sometimes he still wanted to commit suicide by monster. It was only his promise to Sam that kept him where he was. If he ever managed to spring Sam from the Cage, he wasn’t sure where they would end up. Probably wherever Sam wanted.
He and Bobby made awkward small talk for a while longer, before the hunter had to go. Dean hung up the phone and reached for the bottle of whiskey.
“Sam.” The deep voice cut the air, and Sam’s eyes flew open. A glowing ball of light with wings stood in front of him, though he would have sworn he’d heard Cas’s voice. After a second his eyes adjusted, and he could see Castiel’s vessel around his grace.
“Cas.” He beamed. “I’m glad you’re ok.”
Cas’s eyes were narrowed, though, studying Sam.
Sam squirmed under the angel’s stare. He stood, busying himself with the books on Bobby’s desk. “There’s, uh, something I wanted to talk to you about. Bobby thought you might be able to help.”
“Your grace,” Castiel said, too fast.
Sam’s head jerked around to face the angel. “What grace?” Cold fear washed over Sam as he thought about where he could have picked up grace. He clenched his jaw. “Him?”
Castiel looked confused for a moment, then understanding seemed to dawn and he replied, “No, Sam, Lucifer has not escaped the Cage, to my knowledge. You are carrying some of his grace, but you seem to also have some of Michael’s as well.”
“What? How?” Sam was trying to make sense of it, trying to wrap his brain around the idea that part of Lucifer was inside him still, and perhaps worse, so was part of Michael.
Cas shook his head minutely. “I don’t know. This sort of phenomenon is without precedent, but it seems unlikely to harm you.” He tilted his head, gaze suddenly distant as though he was listening to something out of Sam’s hearing. “I’m sorry, Sam. I have to go.”
“Wait!” Sam yelled. “What does this mean? Do I have angel powers now or something?”
Cas frowned. “I have no idea. It is certainly a possibility.” He turned away and closed his eyes. “I apologize for being unable to stay. I just received word that Raphael is attacking.” With that, he vanished.
Anxiety sat like a stone in Sam’s stomach. Nothing Cas said had been reassuring. He sighed and headed out into the junkyard. Better try to find out if he had any powers out where he couldn’t hurt anyone.
Sam found an isolated area of the junkyard that he and Dean had used for target practice in the past. There were still plenty of empty beer bottles and detritus that he could mess with. He just wasn’t sure where to start. When he’d been on demon blood, the power thrumming through him had felt so obvious. Reaching for it had been easy. This felt more slippery, like trying to grab onto his own soul somehow.
He reached, directing it to a small pile of garbage. A tin can rolled over, and nothing else happened. Frowning, he tried again, pulling harder at the electricity that had been building under his skin for days. Still nothing. His body tingled and thrummed, but he couldn’t figure out how to use the power. He tried levitation, flying, and flinging more power at random piles of garbage, and came up with a lot of nothing to show for his effort.
Annoyed, he slouched on a tree stump and yelled his frustration. All around him glass shattered. He covered his head instinctively and cursed as he realized he had done that. This was exactly what he’d feared. Unpredictable powers that he couldn’t control.
That night in bed, he reasoned with himself. He didn’t want this power, couldn’t effectively use it. All he really needed to do was find a way to suppress it, or at least gain enough control that he didn’t start breaking things on accident.
He and Bobby dug through books for weeks following Cas’s revelation, but they couldn’t find anything about suppressing grace. For all the lore Bobby had on angels, they found that most of it was either inaccurate compared to their personal experiences or just plain unhelpful. Meanwhile, Sam kept having burps of power that always had an unexpected effect. One day he’d blown out all the windows in the kitchen, miraculously leaving the glasses and plates intact. Another day had seen him tossing a book in frustration and accidentally knocking over three chairs with his mind. The hiccups seemed to happen most when he was angry or frustrated, so he took a lesson from the Incredible Hulk and took up meditation.
More time passed before Sam finally felt like he was getting a handle on things. The research was going as badly as ever, and Cas hadn’t responded to any more of his prayers, but there hadn’t been an accident in two weeks. If he couldn’t lose the grace entirely, then dormancy was the next best option. They had no answers on how Sam got out of Hell, but other than Castiel’s hint that things might not be completely calm in Heaven nothing had popped out of the woodwork with demands of Sam. Summer was bleeding into fall, and Sam thought he was finally ready to see Dean.
Dean blinked awake and wondered for a minute where he was. Even after more than a year of waking up in the same bed, more often than not he woke up disoriented. It struck him as strange, when he bothered to think about it, because he had so rarely forgotten where they were when he’d been on the road with Sam.
Slowly, Dean levered himself upright. It was Saturday, so no work. Lisa’s side of the bed was cool and empty. She must be downstairs making breakfast already. Just another week or two until Ben started school again, so she had informed them both at dinner last night that Saturday was reserved for school shopping. Dean quietly groaned. He barely even had a concept of what school shopping was. This time last year he’d been existing in a drunken haze, and there had never been much shopping done when they were kids. Not for school, anyway. A notebook or two lifted from a grocery store or K-Mart, stolen motel pens and Sam had been good to go. He swallowed past the lump in his throat. Christ. Was thinking about him ever going to get easier?
Downstairs, he grunted his way though his first cup of coffee and made small talk with Ben. “You excited about school?” Dean asked. Dumb question, and he knew it. Kids were never excited about school. Well, kids that weren’t Sam.
Ben shook his head, mouth full of eggs. “It’s ok, I guess, but I wish it could be summer forever. I mean, who’s ever going to need to know about the Revolutionary War anyhow?”
Dean smirked. “I hear you, kid. School was never really my thing either. But, uh, keep at it. Never know when it’ll come in handy. I can’t count the number—”
“Yeah, yeah. Sam was a genius, and history saved your asses.” Ben rolled his eyes.
“Ben, language,” Lisa chastised.
“Sorry. Saved your butts.” Sarcasm dripped from his words.
Dean clenched his jaw. He felt Lisa watching him, trusting him to handle this without losing his cool, but he snapped, “Show some respect. Sam was a damn hero.” He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. Ben wasn’t a bad kid, and he didn’t usually mouth off. Compared to Sam and Dean at his age, Ben was practically perfect. Still, it took all of Dean’s self-control to not lay into the kid. Feeling calmer, he said, “And yeah, he was, and it did. He always managed to pull some weird fact out of his giant head that happened to be relevant to the hunt we were on. Saved us more than once.”
Ben looked ready to continue sniping—Dean wondered what had crawled up his ass that morning—but he stopped short at a glance from his mom.
“Ben, go outside for a while. We’ll go shopping after lunch, and I expect you to stow that attitude by then.” Dean had to hand it to her, her voice was calm, but even he recognized that her tone brooked no argument.
After Ben disappeared out the back door, Dean slowly released the death grip he’d had on his coffee cup. He hadn’t even realized he was white-knuckling the thing.
“You know he doesn’t mean it,” she said, softly.
“I know.”
She smiled, quirking an eyebrow suggestively. “Come on, let’s go enjoy our morning off.” It didn’t take much convincing to get Dean to follow her back to bed.
Shopping went badly. Ben had not lost the snarky attitude, and Dean had rapidly lost patience. After the fifth time Ben made a snide comment about Sam, a screaming match was inevitable. Luckily, they had made it back to the house before they let words fly. After Ben stormed off to his room, Dean looked helplessly at Lisa. “What the hell is going on with him today?”
She shook her head. “Give him a few minutes, then go talk to him. And when you do, try to go easy on him. I think he’s just feeling overshadowed by Sam lately.”
Dean shot her a puzzled look, but she wouldn’t elaborate.
Half an hour later, he knocked on Ben’s door.
“Go away.”
Dean winced. “Can’t do that. Can I come in? Less awkward than talking through the door.”
No answer. Dean was about to settle himself in the hallway when the door opened a crack. He took it for the invitation it was and went in. Sitting beside Ben on the bed, he began. “I’m sorry.”
Ben looked up, startled. “Why are you sorry?”
Dean took a deep breath. “Your mom may have pointed out that I’ve been talking about Sam a lot lately, today in particular.”
Ben shrugged one shoulder. “So? You’re allowed to talk about him.”
Dean nodded slowly. “Ok. But how does it make you feel when I talk about him?” He tried not to stare at Ben while he waited for an answer.
Ben ducked his head and started picking at his nails. “Dunno. Fine, I guess.”
Dean huffed. “Yeah, that’s convincing. Try again.”
Ben squirmed. “Like I’m never gonna be as good as him. Like… you wish he was here instead of me. Like I’m just some crappy replacement.”
“Ouch. Ok, first, you aren’t replacing Sam, so you can’t be a crappy replacement. Second, you are awesome. He was awesome too, and yeah, sometimes you remind me of him so much it hurts. But it’s not a competition. I like you because you’re Ben, not because you’re Sammy 2.0. And third,” Dean took a deep breath, “I do wish he was here. Every single day. Sometimes talking about him makes me feel like he is, a little. And sometimes I talk about him because I’m scared I’ll forget him if I don’t. But, Ben, this part is important, ok? I don’t wish he was here instead of you and your mom.”
Before Ben could answer, Lisa threw open the door, panting from running up the stairs at breakneck speed. “Dean, we have a problem,” she said, eyes wide with fear. She explained, and Dean felt himself slide effortlessly back into hunter mode.
He kept supplies stashed around the house in case of emergencies, a precaution which made him glad now as he gathered a little bit of everything—salt rounds, holy water, silver. Sufficiently armed and his family hiding out upstairs, Dean padded silently to the front door. He glanced through one of the front windows and gulped. Lisa hadn’t been kidding. Standing at the door was a perfect likeness of his brother.
He braced himself, cocked his shotgun, and opened the door, leveling the gun at his brother’s doppelganger.
Sam was regretting his decision to come alone. He was nervous, and at the very least Bobby would have been someone to talk to. He also suspected there was a better than even chance Dean was going to shoot him on sight. Still, he stood on Lisa’s front porch, trying not to think about all the what ifs. What if Dean didn’t want to see him? What if he didn’t believe it was really Sam? Worse, what if he did believe Sam, and then found out about the grace? Sam took a calming breath. No. It was going to be fine. He hadn’t just ruined Dean’s life by ringing the doorbell.
He sensed Dean on the other side of the door a few minutes later, probably armed to the teeth. Maybe—hopefully—he had super healing abilities now, too.
The door opened, and Dean was aiming a shotgun at him. “Whatever the hell you are, you should know better than to come here wearing that face.”
Sam swallowed hard and slowly raised his hands. “Test me. Or call Bobby. He can vouch for me. It’s really me, Dean. I got out. I’m back.”
Dean’s jaw worked, and for a minute Sam was afraid he was going to get shot anyway. Finally, he ran Sam through the tests, ending with a brief phone call to Bobby for good measure. The old hunter cursed them both out for being idiots but confirmed that Sam was back and no, they didn’t know how.
Dean hung up the phone and stared at it for a second, trying to compose himself. He slowly lowered the shotgun to the floor, thumbing on the safety by instinct before dropping the gun completely. “Sammy,” he breathed. Taking a step forward, he pulled Sam into a tight hug. Sam closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of his big brother as he held on with everything he had. A breath, two, then Dean released him.
“How the hell are you here?” Dean asked.
Sam grinned. “No idea.” Sam explained briefly about waking up and finding out Bobby was alive and his futile search for answers, skirting the issue of his additional baggage.
They were moving toward the living room when Dean stopped, throwing an arm in front of Sam. “Wait, how long have you been back?”
Sam grimaced. “Not long. Couple months, maybe.”
Dean shook his head in disbelief. “A couple months? You’ve been back for months and you couldn’t even call?”
“I wanted to come. I did, Dean, right away, but I—I needed time.”
“Time. Right. Because how could I possibly understand what it’s like to mysteriously get out of Hell.” He rolled his eyes and turned away from Sam.
Sam closed his eyes. This was not how their reunion was supposed to go. “I couldn’t bring that here, Dean. I didn’t want to ruin what you’ve built with them.” He prayed this would be enough to convince Dean he hadn’t been avoiding him, not because he wanted to.
Dean chuckled darkly. “Yeah, well, I wanted you to be not dead.”
Sam shrugged and tried another smile. “I’m here now.”
Dean half-turned to look at him. “And you’re, what? Topside a couple weeks and you’re good now?”
It was Sam’s turn to avoid eye contact. He studied the pictures on the mantle—mostly of Lisa and Ben, but a smiling Dean featured in several. Once more he wondered if he was doing the right thing by coming here. “I don’t know that I’d say good, exactly. I’m dealing.”
Dean hesitated. “You want to talk about it?”
“I really don’t,” Sam said, hoping Dean would just let it go for now.
Dean looked at Sam for a long moment, and then, as if it had finally sunk in that Sam was there, and alive, and more or less ok, his face lit up like Christmas. “Holy shit, Sam. I can’t believe you’re really here. Let me show you around.”
Sam ended up spending the night in Lisa’s guest room. After Dean had confirmed for her that it was really him and not a monster, she’d insisted. Couldn’t make the guy who’d saved the world go stay at a motel after all. Then, he just never left. After a week, Dean broached the idea of hunting, but Sam shot it down. He didn’t miss the look of relief on Dean’s face when Sam said he wanted them both to retire. After that Dean helped him find work, pulled a few strings and called in some favors and got Sam working construction with him. Working together again felt good, even if it was a very different kind of work.
Everything was good, really good. The kind of good that the Winchesters had learned not to trust because it always ended bloody.
