Humans, as the dormant angel realizes, are incredibly fragile. Watching his human body grow and turn into what it was. The host’s memory of angels and war faded within the first fifteen years, instead clotted with worldly worries. All had faded, grace seemingly gone, all strains replaced with human memories. The fallen angel didn’t seem to realize their own soul had yet to be unlocked, grace all trapped. It was all a matter of time.
Years changed the manipulative fallen angel into a scarred human, one whose grace was locked so deep in their soul that they didn’t even know if it was possible to get back. So many worldly worries buried their mind, even their body becoming a worry once it began sporting a larger chest and wider hips. The oldest caretaker didn’t seem to like the idea that they didn’t like it until the fallen angel argued that keeping him masculine would help out much more during hunts and such, though that took seventeen years and countless nights of sleep lost from both crying and fighting with the caretaker.
Samael believed it to be ironic to be born human, especially one cursed as a Winchester, as a vessel to one of the oldest angels. It only helped their case thrive as the male soul was given to a female body that consumed demons blood, warm against warmer lips. The baby still cried, but that didn’t stop them from sending their best regards to the blonde caretaker that laid on the ceiling, dripping blood onto the child.
The world shifted beneath their feet, changing and changing more and more until their soul couldn’t even grasp at the straws. Every single thing was locked so deep down that the boy believed the lies the humans and caretakers had planted in his brain. Even after death, after the cage, after the trials went unfinished, after the birth of a Nephilim, after it all, Samael still remained to believe that his name was Samuel, that he was simply a human-demon hybrid with dormant powers. He knew if he consumed another drop of blood, things would shift once again.
He finds himself attaching to humans, to angels, to beings. He finds a blonde attractive and houses with her, even planning to marry before everything goes to absolute shit. He finds his true caretaker, an older brother, to be one of the most helpful during all of their adventures, even if they have countless painful experiences. More and more attachments happen, more and more stress that the soul knows it shouldn’t happen but happens anyway. He becomes a caretaker, taking in hunters and such. He takes in as many as he can, becoming what his caretakers couldn’t in both lives
Unlocking the grace, however, comes on accident, after a fight with Michael. It doesn’t make sense in his mind as to why that, of all things, was righteous enough to do so. The human stands with a blade to the archangel’s chest, eyes glaring forcefully. Michael smirks, scoffing at the hunter.
“Go ahead, Winchester. Kill both of the archangels that could have saved this world. Lucifer, me, it’s all the same. Heaven is going to fall and you’re going to be its ruin.”
“That a prophecy they told you in Heaven,” he asks, blade pressing deeper. The angel is powerless, anyway, thanks to hours upon hours of research and sigil drawings.
Michael smirks. “It’s a hunch. But, please, go ahead. My vessel, she was such a nice girl. Too bad she died of suffocation the second night of me being in her, though.”
Sam finds no reason to continue keeping the angel with them, thrusting the blade forward with a soft grunt. “I’ll pick up the pieces of Heaven if it falls,” Sam whispers to the glowing angel, “That’s a promise.”
He pulls back, watching the sputter of light before the body turned into nothing more than a corpse. Castiel smiles widely, proud of the other for finally finishing the angel that had given them all so much trouble. However, it drops as he watches Sam stumble back, groaning. His hands seize, dropping the knife as if all on instinct.
“Sam?” He presses forward, the angel doing his best to steady the hybrid. Sam leans against Cas for a moment before straightening up, a bright glow illuminating around him.
Jack stares, so much concern in the Nephilim, despite him holding Dean’s unconscious form. Mary and Bobby were both downstairs somewhere, cleaning up what they could from the fight. The human stands tall, eyes glowing brightly as the wings expand, unfolding and burning at the flesh that rips with it in order to display them. Three sets of wings, all healthy and glowing. They don’t take a physical form, not as Castiel pulls away to examine the one that seems so neutral. Grace radiates around him, burning brighter than the seventh sun.
“Sam,” Castiel whispers, worry clear in his voice.
Billy stands clear next to the four, so sudden with her pop-in that even Cas flinches. The forming angel, however, only turns to look at Death.
“Do you understand your purpose now, Angel of Death,” she asks, calm as ever. If someone had told them that she would once be seeking out that the Winchesters were dead, there would have been scoffs, especially since she seemed to be protecting them now. She smiles softly as the wings fall dormant, light fading. The wings are tucked somewhere, though only Sam truly knows where. “We’ve waited a long time for this. With all the big baddies of Heaven out of the way, you’ve shown yourself to God himself that you never deserved the fall. We’ve missed you, Samael.” She bows, slow and comforting.
Sam stares as his grace powers down into nothing more than a brightly burning soul. “I… I’m not an angel?”
Billy shakes her head. “With time, you’ll find out who you really are. Once you do, come and find me.” Just as quickly as she had appeared, she was gone, leaving only the faint trace of her essence there.
That just confuses Sam even more as he falls to his knees, scanning around the room with dim eyes. Every single sigil seems to be faded or broken in some way, walls even cracked in some places. Sam graciously accepts as Cas offers support to the new-found angel.
Cas carefully pulls Sam up, helping him through the halls. He’s pale and clammy with sweat. He’s just barely standing. Jack follows behind them, careful with Dean’s body. They don’t speak, just moving in sync as Sam nears his limit more and more as they go on. By the time they get to the Impala, Sam passes out. Castiel commands Jack to watch the two hunters, though he clearly already had no intent on leaving them as Castiel went to find the two veteran hunters.
San’s head rings, words disembodied and screaming. He can’t place them, not even catching bits and pieces. It all just burns a painful migraine into his head. He presses his head to his temples, silently begging it to stop. His head buzzes and his back screams in agony, but he forces it all down in favor of holding himself together. Thankfully, the blue-eyed angel sees it fit to be there every step of the way, watching over him and acting as a guardian. It’s ironic, actually.
“You know, Sam,” Castiel pipes up, earning a hum from the sweaty hunter, “You’re actually guarded by an angel.”
Sam scoffs. “Kind of ironic now, huh? Who was it?”
“It is ironic,” he addresses first before shifting in his seat beside the younger. “Gabriel, actually.”
He nods at the angels' sudden interest. “Yes, Gabriel. I believe it all makes sense now, given that Samael and Gabriel were… Close, to say the least. While Gabriel was not too into tempting humans, he was still a man of many titles. Samael was the same way, as you can clearly see by all the other demons and your theoretical son being Cain. I was assigned to Dean, of course, and he chose you. He even fought with Lucifer over you. They both took the reigns on being your guardian.”
Sam watches silently, taking in the information bestowed upon him. Gabriel had once been his boyfriend? And he was his guardian angel? Did he even know what Sam was? Or, more importantly, who he had once been? Questions spin around his skull, begging for answers.
“He watched over you for years. He wasn’t the best guardian angel, but all of heaven be damned if he wasn’t proud of you.” Castiel smiles affectionately, knowing his focus was mostly on his archangel brother. “Samael held so many titles as well. Thanatos, a demon, an archangel-”
“Hold on, hold on, Thanatos,” Sam asks, backing pedaling the angel’s sentence. “What do you mean, he was Thanatos? That wouldn’t make sense? That would mean he’s the son of Nyx and Erebos? And Hypnos is his twin?”
Castiel sighs and shakes his head. “Mortal stories are twisted, Sam. The Bible itself is more fiction than fact, especially around Jesus. Gabriel told Joseph Mary was with child, yes, but not much more than that. Mary cheated and created a Nephilim in the process, but Jesus still faded out of existence in the end, as all Nephilims do in the end.” He adjusts himself in the seat, frowning deeply. “Thanatos was a name he took after the humans began calling him such when they couldn’t find a name to give him. He adapted to the personality and gained powers with their praise and dedication. I’m not sure if they still exist, but Samael is still the Angel of Death and Thanatos the god of such. Gabriel may not have fully been Loki, but he still held much of the gods' power and adapted to the role as well. It was all just a matter of who adopted what.”
“So… I could not only be an angel, but also a God?”
“How did Hypnos, Nyx, and Erebos come in, though?”
“That’s who Thanatos was closest to, apparently. No one ever really got the chance to speak with him, since he was so reclusive.”
Sam sits silently, stirring in his own emotions and questions. If more stories were fiction than they were fact, as The Wizard of Oz was, then what did that mean for everything else? How much of the facts they had learned were actually fiction? Were any of the gods they thought they’d killed actually dead? Was he really a god, not just the Gabriel version of Loki? How much of everything he knew was actually just lies in the form of crafty letters?
Castiel senses the other’s burning questions, patting his shoulder lightly. He distracts him with the question, “Do you require more painkillers, Sam?”
He frowns, shaking his head. “No. I’m alright at the moment, thank you, though.”
Let it never be said doing commissions is easy. Drawing, that's easy, as long as you have some sort of vision in mind. however, when some asshole decides to be your first commission and pays you a tiny bit but makes you design that character, they can absolutely fuck off. I hate that I'm so fuckin' nice sometimes, because I'm not gonna say shit, since I'm so fuckin nice. Instead, I'm gonna bitch about it to the internet on the end of a story.
Dean sat across from Sam, frowning to his brother. After so long of being cooped up in his room, Sam was beyond excited to see his brother, even showering and dressing in actual clothing that wasn’t three days old and stinking of sweat. Not that Dean hadn’t seen his brother at his absolute worst before, but it was still a better memory to know his brother still tried to impress him.
Dean presses a beer to his brother, smiling. “How ya doin’, Sam?”
The other shrugs lightly. “I’m not sure, honestly. I’ve got wings, I’m an archangel, and apparently, I’m also a god. That’s a pretty big thing to get dropped on you, even after being possessed by Lucifer and Gadreel. I may have even been the reason Gadreel was imprisoned, too. It’s pretty chaotic, all in all. And you? I know being repossessed by a homicidal archangel isn’t exactly the most fun experience.”
The older Winchester scoffs at that. “It was a bitch, Sammy.” He admits tentatively. His eyes convey the same distant pain that they did when he had talked about it in the car with Sam. “I never should have said yes to him in the first place. If I would have just-”
“Dean,” the younger interrupts, “It’s not your fault. Michael is the one who dishonored the deal. If I would have just unlocked this angel power before-”
“If I’m not allowed to blame myself, neither are you,” Dean chides him before he can dwell on his emotions. That seems to be a Winchester favorite pass time. Their mother was standing as proof to that. How many lies were held between the Winchester family? Probably just as many as there were between the angels.
At that thought, Sam flinches, leaning up a little more than he had been beforehand. “I… I’ve killed my own family,” he realizes, staring at his hands. “I’ve murdered my own siblings? What the Hell kind of brother am I?”
Dean frowns. “Cas’ killed angels, too, Sam. He’s still considered good. Getting stabbed my Michael’s lance if proof of that. That doesn’t make you bad. You’ve just got to do what you’ve got to do in this world to get by. Killing monsters, people, it’s just got to be that way every once in a while.”
Sam frowns, looking away. He puts his hand between his thighs, pressing them together as he silently thinks that topic through. He can’t voice his thoughts, not to Dean, at least. Dean wouldn’t understand. Interfering with The Michael and Lucifer battle wouldn’t exactly count as killing Adam since none of them really had a connection. Adam was sent to heaven after being molotoved, anyway. Michael just assumed his vessel. Maybe he could speak to Cas? That might’ve been easier, considering the angel wasn’t all that different than he himself when it came to death.
Update for that one person that commented while I was going through what fanfic I was and was not finished with. While I don't see any of my angel Sam fics ending soon, this and one other that is currently 13,000 words long, I plan on keeping them going with much more elaborate storylines than my drafts/other fanfics. There was no flow to that and I, myself, as the author, do not even understand. I am tired and stuff, UwU
The first memory was painful. It was, unfortunately, spurred on by one of the softer conversations with his son. Samael even feels horrible. He hates the disgusting taste of blood, the painful creak of the stairs. It’s not Jack, no, instead just his head. He was already practically spinning after his wings solidified. They were too big for the bunker, awkwardly fitting. They’re painful and stiff, unlike Castiel’s. While the more experienced angel’s wings were worn, they were much better preened, still beautiful despite the feathers that took years to grow back to their original length.
The youngest Winchester pulls Sam out of his thoughts as he plops down on the tables only two seats away, though, between their books and computers, it was as close as they would be getting. Jack sports a wide smile. He seems to practically be vibrating with excitement and brimming with curiosity. “I’ve been doing research,” he declares without being prompted. He doesn’t need to be, though Sam’s silent question of About? only needs a certain look to convey it. “Oh! I mean, research about you, or more specifically Thanatos! Did you know that his Greek counterpart was actually Hades?”
It took the one name to send him spiraling. Sam’s airways all seemed to close up at the same time, leaving him gasping for breath. He dropped into a field, one that’s covered by the blanket of night, though the colors of the flowers glow. The other beside him looks similar to Dean when it comes to his body structure, as well as facial, though his hair is much longer and his skin is darker as well. Black hair has nothing on Dean’s dirty blonde, but Sam wasn’t going to say anything. White wings were attached to his forehead, just above his ears. Samael, no, Thanatos looked the same, a hand on his hip as his brother spoke out in loud huffs, a cheerier man than Dean.
“You were truly Hades, brother? What a tale!” He bellows out a laugh, though he knows his brother is being truthful. They may not have been blood brothers, no, but they were just as tight as Dean and Benny, knitted together since twins. They had been crafted at the same exact time. They each represented a sleeping state. While one took over genuine sleep, the other took over death itself. The shorter only sported the wings on his head, a pure white that glowed a soft blue beneath the moon’s light. The other, unfortunately, held the three sets of wings, all unfolded and carefully laid in the grass. They were built solid, but classy as could be. With the strength of obsidian and the look of diamonds, as Hypnos once declared to the other. “You must tell me about it one day!”
“What would be the point of it? You’ve already heard all the tales.” He laughs as the other lets out an indignant noise of feigned offense. He laughs when the other stands as well, holding a dramatic pose as he fell to the ground, the flowers holding him up at his yelp and fake dying. That was what Thanatos loved about his brother’s palace. While it may have seemed so incredibly indignant, it was fitted for his needs and wants, just like all the other gods had. His had been destroyed long ago, so he preferred his spot with his brother, away from everyone.
Thanatos scoots up Hypnos, wiping his face with the back of his hand. Hypnos only whines. “Dear brother, you offend me! You know I love your storytimes, no matter if I’ve already heard it before!” Thanatos laughs once again. The words were true, Hypnos did love hearing stories. They mean for wilder dreams for any human that dared upset him. Repetition just stood as a reminders and inspiration, the taller knew. “We have all the time in the world!”
“But we don’t,” Thanatos reminds softly, brows furrowing. Time was typically a passive thing, of course, but things were changing. Both could tell. “A storm is brewing, as well as a war. I hate to say it, brother, but we both must supervise this one. If things get too out of hand… We cannot see another human massacre. After the last to happen-”
“I understand, Thanatos, you musn’t explain,” the other provides softly, full of care. The older is so much more thankful for his words, for a reminder that things may turn out for the positive, even if it comes in the simplest of forms. Passive support should not have been as yearned for as it was, in his own humble opinion. ”Alas, I agree, we both must leave. This will, knowingly, get disgustingly ugly. I know you favor the humans, that you’d prefer more live, but this is how things must go. We will be left to rot, just as the angels and gods alike, a category you seem to fit both of.”