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Hope Anchors the Soul

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His vessel starts to tremble. He's an archangel, he has no need for sustenance or rest like the pathetic humans that normally inhabit these fragile bodies, so why has it started to shake uncontrollably? He hears a single word from the dark corner where the vessel's original inhabitant is locked:

 

"Sam."

 

He brushes off the pathetic sentiment attached to that word and locks the annoying soul back down even tighter. He has no bonds to that other dirt monkey, Samuel Winchester, and has no intention of laying eyes on him again without destroying him.

 

The trembling gets worse, becomes visibly noticeable as he continues to gather his army on this Earth. It causes some of the fodder to give him odd glances, though none dare to question him. Again he hears that single word, a little louder even with the increased mental chains.

 

"Sam."

 

He shoves the thought aside and continues his mission.

 

The tremors start to become seizure-like, nearly paralyzing in sudden bursts, then fading back to the ridiculous shaking that is permanent now. With each wracking fit the word comes through, louder and louder each time.

 

"Sam."

"Sam!"

"Sam!"

 

No amount of mental force can keep the thoughts at bay.

 

"What is happening!" The angel finally screams at the soul trapped in its own head. "No vessel has ever behaved this way before and no power is stronger than mine!"

 

"SAM!" The soul screams back, still unable to break free, but fighting tooth and nail at any opportunity. "I. Need. Sam!"

 

"No." The archangel replies, knowing that if the soul sees its brother it would fight even harder to break free.

 

"Then it'll only get worse." The soul says and becomes quiet without encouragement.

 

The archangel knows about soul bonds, but had never seen any in his world. Is this what it felt like to have such a bond with another? That even with an archangel inhabiting the vessel, in control and with all of his power, it still craved the nearness of the other, to the point of physical suffering? This, he had never heard of.

 

He tries to put aside the physical shortcomings of the vessel, using a very few trusted beings to relay orders to his growing army so his power and authority are not questioned, but the vessel starts to weaken.

 

"You need to go to Sam, or we'll both die." The soul says matter-of-factly.

 

Sensing that this is not a trap, but merely a simple truth, the archangel begins to plan. He must not let the soul have any openings to try and retake control of its vessel, for the bond between the two is far stronger than he could have ever anticipated. He could simply kill the other, but with the way that they are joined, that may simply kill this vessel and himself as well. His only option is to trap the human Winchester, subjugate him, before either has a chance to make any attempts at freeing the soul. Turn him into a groveling mess, too afraid to try anything more than begging for death, and keep him close. This would cease the problematic weakness of the vessel and also serve as a warning to his growing army as to what would happen if they tried to go against him.

 

"It won't work. Sam's too smart for that. I bet he already has a plan in place for if you ever bring my adorable face anywhere near him again." The soul has the audacity to taunt him.

 

The angel ignores the soul in favor of setting his plan into motion.

 

He tracks his prey to a small diner, the stupid human sitting in plain sight next to one of the large windows. He walks in causing a small bell to jingle and his prey to look up, startled.

 

"Humans are so...weak. My sword, my perfect vessel, and it cannot handle my power. It weakens, and fails, and craves as it should not."

 

The human's face is horrified after hearing that its bonded mate is failing, but it tries to show courage.

 

"Michael. Get out of my brother, you giant winged dick." Sam says through gritted teeth, slowly standing from the table and facing off against him, like he is preparing for a fight.

 

"Even stuck in this weak piece of filth, you cannot hope to fight me and win." The angel begins to feel the tremors increase in severity and a low buzz begins in his ears. He must end this quickly.

 

The soul starts screaming, louder than ever, repeating its brother's name over and over, straining and thrashing against the mental restraints that lock it down. The buzzing gets louder, the shaking becoming debilitating, and the angel notices the human is chanting quietly, trying to complete a spell meant to expel him from this vessel.

 

He throws his power out at the nuisance, only to find that nothing happens. It's then he sees the sigils painted on the ends of each booth, at intervals on the counter, strategic points on the floor.

 

"I said. Get. Out. Of. My. BROTHER!" The human yells, then says the last word of the spell.

 

"Dean? Oh my god, Dean. Is it you in there? Hey. Dean, answer me, please! Oh god. Dean!"

 

The shaking pulls him out of the blackness.

 

"Sam? Hey. Sam. Quit shakin' me." He blinks his eyes open to see the most beautiful sight, his brother's face. Eyes that even after all these years he still can't name their color, but are more familiar to him than anything in the world, including his Baby. Tears streaming from them, unnoticed. "Hiya, Sammy." He says with what he can feel is a pale imitation of his signature smirk.

 

"Dean! Thank God. I wasn't sure you... if the spell would... is it just you or...?"

 

"S'just me in here. Finally. What the hell took you so long, little brother? Didn't have big bro to lead the way so you stalled out?" Dean says as he starts to try and stand up.

 

"It was Rowena. I had to track her down to get a spell that might work. Then I had find a way to combine it with other spells to make it strong enough for an archangel and knock out his powers, but hopefully without killing you in the process of expelling him. I'm just glad he was cocky enough to walk into the trap." Sam says, grabbing Dean's hand to help him stand, then steadying him when he starts to sway.

 

"Well, score one for the home team. I need some good grub and about four years of sleep before we try to fix what that bastard has done...And you need to shave. Jeez, Sammy, you look like a mountain man, and not just in size this time."

 

Sam gives Dean his patented Little Brother Bitchface, knowing he is waiting for it, and the part that always comes next:

 

"Jerk."

 

"Bitch."