#samessiah

No one can figure out what it all means so they grow bored and trickle away in ones and pairs. “They’ll dry out soon anyway”, a woman says to her husband as they walk away, “they can’t last in this heat.”

But as the summer days wind down into fall, the lilies neither wither nor grow and the car remains sleek as always, not a single spot of rust chipping the black paint away, even after days of summer rain.

Some proclaim it’s downright biblical and tell all who will listen that it’s god’s gift to Lawrence and others, others are just happy to call it a miracle and move on.

It’s not until the third year that anything changes about this quiet miracle or it’s not until then that anyone notices a change anyway. It’s only on the third year that a man happens to be walking by to see it happen.

Everyone knows by then that no one goes into the lily field. It’s not that no one can per say, they could physically; anyone could climb over that fence. But when they try, they simply get distracted by something else or lose their will or forget what they were doing for a moment until they turn right back around and shake their heads for having thought of such a ridiculous idea. The lily field it seems, only exists to be seen.

So when the man sees a figure in a trenchcoat standing next to the Impala(as the town had affectionately though mistaken in the name's uniqueness, began calling the car), he figures he’s just seeing things. His doubts are confirmed when he looks up again and the figure isn’t there. If he had looked closer he might have seen that the Impala was now occupied but he has no reason to, so he continues on his jog, shaking his head a little.

It’s January 24th of the third year, and that year, like every other, a weary angel has come to visit Dean Winchester’s last resting place.

  ——————————————————————————————

He almost asks Sam to come with him that first time, staring down at the phone in his hand and considering, but in the end he goes alone. There are a lot of things they both want to whisper to the absence of Dean, but he thinks most of them are their own to keep. And he feels too guilty to contact Sam. He has been keeping an eye on him over the past year, but has been too much of a coward to come out of the shadows and talk to him. So he goes alone.

It's a shock, no matter how much he tried to prepare himself, seeing the Impala again, looking exactly as Dean had kept it. Surrounded by lilies instead of the road but it's still much too familiar. He smiles sadly as he looks around at the sea of flowers being gently rocked to and fro by the wind. They're beautiful, he thinks absentmindedly as he slides into the passenger seat of the Impala. It's almost on a whim, the decision. He had wanted to drop in and see the place and the Impala again, maybe say a few words but now that he's here, the pull of the familiarity is too much to resist.

The moment he closes the door he knows it's a mistake. It still smells like Dean and when he looks at the driver's seat, he sees the man in flashes. He had heard that humans see or claim to, see their life flash before their eyes as they're dying and he thinks maybe he's dying a little in there because he sees it all. Every moment they spent together, right here, side by side on the open road. And he sees the worn wooden box that sits on the seat too, the reality of it bleeding through. A box of ashes.

He takes a deep, steadying breathe and wills his hands to stop shaking. An angel with shaky hands, he thinks bitterly, how pathetic. He should say something, he realizes.

"Dean..." It comes out hoarse and twisted up and he hates it, hates this, with a ferocity, a sudden flare of anger rising him at the unfairness of it all.

"You would've wanted something more inconspicuous I think but fuck you, Dean, you died on me so you don't get a say." He hates the words even more as soon as he says it. They leave a foul taste in his mouth, and echo too loudly in the small space. A tired sigh escapes his lips.

"It's peaceful. I thought you needed some peace in death at least so I asked an old friend for a favor. You would like the location at least. Sam said it wouldn't have felt right to drive her so we decided to lay her to rest with you. Sam is doing alright, he has Amelia to help him, in case you're worrying about him up there. You're always worrying about Sam." He laughs desperately, a broken sound that leaves him feeling more hollow.

"It's tough on him, you know it would be. I can see how you haunt him, appearing when he least expects it but he's adjusting slowly." His voice is barely a whisper now, as if the words are weighing his voice down with every syllable.

"You haunt me too, Dean. I don't come down to Earth as often anymore, unless it's necessary. You hunters want to be burned so you won't haunt the earth but I don't think it's working, Dean because you are everywhere. On Earth. In Heaven. At least in Heaven I can hope to trace your ghost to something real. I've been searching for your Heaven but there are so many. I think I hear you calling to me sometimes and I follow your voice."

Castiel takes a few deep breathes, reaching down to place a single lily that he had plucked upon the wooden box. He wipes at his damp eyes and clears his throat.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry for leaving again. Maybe if I had been here to protect you...I don't know. I was coming home, I was coming back. Why did you have to be so utterly, imperfectly human, Dean? I wanted.... I wanted to grown old with you, if you would let me. But that's... I expected too much of this life. I want to thank you though. For freedom and choice. I have a lot of regrets but you, pulling you from hell, every moment with you, none of those memories are anything close to regrettable."

He doesn't look down at the box of ashes as he whispers the last words, but out into the field of white, swallowing around the tears that don't fall.

"Happy birthday, Dean Winchester. You were incredible, incredibly frustrating at times but always breathtakingly incredible. But I don't...This is not a goodbye. I will find you again, as I did in Hell. I will."

He presses his forehead to the cool surface of the window, closing his eyes, a litle stunned by all the words that poured out of him. He doesn't bother to walk out again, staring down the box for a beat before disappearing.

      -----------------------------------------------------------------------------

It's only on the third year that someone notices Castiel and it takes a few more years and a few more sightings before he too is tucked away into the myth that develops around the lily field.

A field of lilies that neither grow nor wither, a 1967 Chevy Impala parked right in the middle and a man in a trenchcoat who appears every year on January 24th.