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It started out with small, ordinary things. Inconsequential things that most people would pay little to no attention.
Things like a pencil slipping from his grasp and rolling across the table, only to stop right at the edge like it had hit an invisible wall.
His set of keys that appeared and disappeared at random points in time and space.
Milk cartons past their expiration point that slipped from his grasp and fell on the trash can like they had a will of their own.
The office chair that rolled a few inches to the side before Sam could trip over it.
That one time when Sam was sure he had forgotten to turn off the stove, raced back home like a lunatic to stop the whole place from turning into a bomb, only to find all the burners off, even if there was a distinct smell of gas in the air.
A full glass of water almost knocked over his laptop, only to see it wobble precariously before defying all known laws of physics before righting itself all on its own. That one had been enough for Sam to dig out his old EMF reader out of storage, just in case. No red lights flickered on, of course, making him feel kind of like an idiot for assuming his place was haunted just because a glass had wobbled. He had chuckled alone, in the quiet of the house, convincing himself that it was just him missing the hunting life.
Truth was, Sam didn’t miss it. The hunting life, that is. After all, how could he miss the one thing that had stolen everything from him?
His mom, his dad, his mom again, Cass…Dean.
Sam stopped paying attention to those little oddities after that. Moved on with his life, just like he had promised his big brother so many times.
He met Katie. Fell in love with her. Had a kid who he named after his big brother. Got married. Got a dog. Sam stopped short of getting the white picket fence, but it was a close call.
By the time little Dean II was four, Sam’s previous life had begun to feel like nothing more than a distant dream.
And then the little odd things started happening around his son.
A nasty fall down the stairs that resulted in nothing more than a scared toddler and Sam nearly having a heart attack.
Chubby little fingers wrapped around a red-hot pan, throwing his mother into a complete panic until she realized that Dean's skin wasn't even red.
A curious, stubborn kid who loved to climb every tree in the backyard, despite his parents' forbidding it –because he was simply too much like his namesake for Sam’s comfort- falling down from a broken branch several feet above the ground and having nothing more to show for it than a nasty tear in the back of his shirt.
After that, there was no way Sam could keep on ignoring the obvious: there was something or someone watching over him and his family.
The logical first guess was that it had to be Jack. Maybe the Nephilim-turn-God was still keeping an eye out for the remaining Winchesters in the world, making sure that they were safe. But that was nothing but wishful thinking.
Sam remembered all too well those first weeks after Dean's death. How he had cried and begged Jack to do something, to give him his brother back. Because his heart felt so heavy that Sam was sure he couldn’t go on living without Dean by his side.
Even though the older Winchester had never said a word about it, Sam knew Dean had done the exact same thing when they lost Cass. But Jack had been absent from their lives ever since he had taken over Chuck's place in the Universe and either way, Sam was sure that the former Nephilim had bigger, more important Universe-shattering things to do than stopping Sam’s kid from scrapping his knees...
Jack did answer his prayers, in a way. For a whole week, Sam dreamed of his brother, sun-kissed smiling face and a gentle breeze ruffling his hair as he drove the Impala down an empty road. Maybe it was nothing but a normal, Unconsequencional dream. Or maybe it was Jack reminding Sam that he was being selfish and that Dean was finally enjoying the peace and rest that he had seen denied his whole life.
Sam stopped praying after that, finding some measure of peace for himself in the knowledge that Jack would take good care of his brother.
Other than Jack, the remaining possibilities were no good. Because the Winchester would have no luck if it weren’t for bad luck, the former hunter’s mind had then turned to the next obvious explanation: there was something else watching over his son, much, in the same way, angels and demons had watched over him and Dean their whole lives. Like creepy stalkers, waiting for their apocalypse puppets.
For a moment, Sam panicked, thinking that this was perhaps the beginning of apocalypse number… whatever –he had lost count, really- and that, even under Jack's new managing style, Heaven was still trying to get its celebrity match-down between Lucifer and Michael. Only, other than the Winchester bloodline, there no longer was a Lucifer or Michael in their reality –and a couple of others too- and little Dean had no brothers.
Sam could not shake the idea. There was some thing watching over them. And the thought should have made Sam’s skin crawl, only it didn’t . It was not the disturbingly clinical way other angels –Castiel being the exception- had made him feel back in the day; and it certainly was not the overwhelming disgusting and invasive way demons had of doing everything. Whatever this thing was, it respected their will and only intervened when their safety was at risk.
Besides, he was pretty sure Jack was keeping everyone in its place: angels up in Heaven, demons down in Hell, and all the monsters in between.
Sam could almost feel its presence at some points. A warmth, a sense of love and light that flooded their house and made his family feel…safe.
Not a demon. Not an angel. But something...familiar. If he didn’t know better, Sam would think that it was Dean’s ghost, who had somehow managed to cling to this plane of existence and attached itself to his family. Sure, the presence didn’t behave in the same violent manner as most ghosts ended up acting, but then again Mary’s ghost had remained trapped in their old house without ever turning into a vengeful spirit, going against every bit of lore, beating all odds and conventions in typical Winchester fashion.
If it truly was Dean’s spirit, Sam knew there was no way he would find the willpower to send it away. Because if there was one thing that would keep his brother attached to this plane of existence, it was his car. And Sam wasn’t ready to simply set it on fire. Not yet. Not ever.
Sam stopped looking into it, for once accepting the mysterious presence as a good thing. And if one day it turned bad, then he would deal with it.
It wasn’t until years later that Sam caught his first glimpse of the thing that had kept his family safe for so many years. His wife had passed away a few years back and Dean II was off two towns over, in college. The lightning storm came out of nowhere, too fierce for the piece of junk he liked to drive and Sam’s reflexes were far from what they used to be. His car hit a stretched of flooded road and, in a matter of seconds, Sam had completely lost control of the car.
As the car spun around over and over again, Sam could catch glimpses of large trees lining the deserted road on both sides, short bursts of life as lightning flashed across the dark sky. In between thoughts of old regrets and worrying for the future of his son, Sam remembered thinking ‘Dean’s gonna make so much fun of me for dying in such a dumb way’.
And then he saw it.
White light flashed across the road and, for a split second, Sam saw a large set of wings spreading across the front of his car. And his heart stilled inside his chest.
For most people, the sight of wings as wide as a bus would be outwardly and frightening, but they were a somewhat familiar occurrence in the former hunter's life. Castiel, Lucifer, Jack and even Dean had supported impressive sets of wings at different points in time; hell, for a brief moment, even Sam had known what it felt like to have those gigantic limbs attached to his back, feathers light and powerful enough to support his weight across great distances at the speed of a thought.
They had all been, at the same time, beautiful and terrifying.
However, it wasn't the wings that had caused Sam's reaction. Nor the fact that his car stopped spinning as soon as the winged being pressed his hands against the hood. No, what made Sam's heart stop, his breath caught inside his chest like it had forgotten which way to go, was the face he saw looking at him through the windshield.
Dean.
Sam didn't tell anyone what he had seen. Who would believe him? Katie, his wife, who had been a former hunter like himself, was gone. The few hunters whom Sam still kept in touch with those days had never tangled with angels and, to them, Dean Winchester was more of a legend than an actual person. What would they do if Sam came out to say he thought he'd seen an angel who looked just like his dead brother?
Because t hat was what Sam was sure he had seen. An angel, only it looked exactly like Dean.
As far as everyone believed, human souls couldn't turn into angels. It was like trying to use a carrot to power a nuclear reactor. However, it wouldn't be the first time that their beliefs had been proven wrong.
In Sam's heart he knew, that if there ever was a human being who could become an angel, it was his brother. So, Sam didn't tell anyone about what he had seen, not even his own son, but that didn't mean he had forgotten about the stormy night when Dean had saved his life.
Every now and then, Sam would talk to his brother, hoping - knowing - that he would be listening. And even though Dean never answered him, Sam could feel his presence in the little things. The odd, inconsequential things.
The second time Sam saw his brother, it was more than a fleeting glimpse. Sam was old and sick his life had run its course. He knew it was time for him to go, he was just waiting to say goodbye to his son.
When he looked up, Dean, his brother, was sitting on the edge of his bed, a peaceful smile across his lips. The wings that Sam had barely had time to register before, were spread across the sheets behind him, a soft shade of bluish-grey that seemed to catch the light and make the very air shimmer around them.
Dean didn't say a word, content to watch as his namesake arrived and said his tearful goodbyes to his father. He looked proud, happy for the life Sam had lived, for the legacy he was leaving behind.
And then he opened his wings, their span filling the entire room like a warm blanket, stretching with ease before folding around Sam. “Time to go, bitch ,” he finally said.
Sam smiled. He was going home.