IC Contact.

[collegedropout]

 

 

"This is Sam -- just leave a message, I'll get back to you."

 

Comments

Voice.

[bureaucracy]

I'll be there. Go as slowly as you need to.

Action.

[collegedropout]

[He doesn't waste any time on moving, though he's still a little shaky on his legs; the healing is doing well, giving him a little more strength. He'll be there to meet her within one or two minutes. His anxiety levels aren't exactly normal, what with this mystery angel who apparently will try to heal him and now Naomi telling him to meet her.

This could be bad. Really bad.]

[bureaucracy]

[Naomi is standing at the edge of where she can go before hitting the warding when he gets there.]

Sam.

[The greetings and pleasantries over, she taps him on the forehead and transports them elsewhere- inside the Cathedral, where there's a desk and a chair that she gestures for him to sit in.]

Have a seat. [He'll want to be sitting for this.]

[collegedropout]

[He makes an unhappy face at the change in scenery. I didn't ask for this.

But eventually he sits.]

You teleport me, don't touch my head.

[He doesn't like when angels tap him on the face, of course. With good reason.

But at least he agreed to meet.]

[bureaucracy]

[It's actually the only way of teleporting him with the slight power nerfing in Adstring, but she doesn't argue. It's enough that he's here.

She sits down.]

I'll start at the beginning: Ezekiel is dead. He died falling from Heaven, as did many others, without ever meeting you or Dean.

[collegedropout]

[Sam's brow pinches, and it's clear that, even in his poor health, his mind is working quickly.]

Then that angel who healed me is using his name to hide himself. Why would he do that?

[bureaucracy]

Because he was the guard on duty when Lucifer accessed the Garden. He is hated and he knows it, so he took the name of a good, honorable soldier as shield.

[collegedropout]

Great.

[He rubs at his face.

Of course they end up getting the help of someone like that. Granted, while Sam want to impulsively stab the guy in the skull, he's also not sure what his story means. Did he let Lucifer in on purpose? Or did Lucifer slip through despite this guy's work? Sam can't fault him for everything if that's the case, and it's no unknown thing that angels are harsh on punishments.]

So, what's his name? What's his goal here, helping us?

[bureaucracy]

His name is Gadreel. His point is self-preservation.

[She folds her hands and rests them on the desk, eyebrows furrowing thoughtfully as she considers him. Dean was right- this news will wound him deeply.

And yet. It is hypocritical to her very depths, but Naomi thinks that perhaps he deserves to know. It's the natural order of things, that vessels know the destiny they are being called for. Tricking someone into it and hiding it from them- that isn't the way of things. And the news will destroy Gadreel's chance at interpersonal capitol here.]

Sam. You should know how I know this.

[collegedropout]

[Sam's expression isn't fond, to be sure.]

Took a drill to his eyes?

[bureaucracy]

[She breathes in and sighs heavily, looking down at the desk in thought. With a shake of her head she looks back up.]

I had good reason. But that isn't what started it.

It was after Castiel's ritual backfired. I found myself in the future of our world, after Heaven fell. I went looking for answers.

[collegedropout]

[His hazel eyes flash up finally, realization in them quickly enough.]

You went further into the future, then. Saw after the angels fell.

If his point is self-preservation, is that why he found us? Some alliance or something?

[bureaucracy]

Of a sort. He... desired protection. A hiding place from those who might look for him, and a way to quietly heal himself back to full strength after the trauma of the Fall.

[Something about her gaze takes a little more weight.]

He found it, Sam. He found his hiding place and his weapon.

[collegedropout]

In what - the bunker?

[Bless Sam's fuckin' heart, there's no way he even considers the truth.

Or maybe he just really doesn't want to imagine it.]

[bureaucracy]

Yes.

[She can see the denial working already. It is sad to see, really. It penetrates just a hair deeper than it would have once upon a time, where her callousness is being worked at by the humility and trials of this place.]

I found him in the bunker. He was wearing your body.

[collegedropout]

[There's a long silence that follows. Sam's not even able to get anymore pale than he is, god help him, but something blanches out of his face regardless. He just stares at her like she's lost her mind. Because clearly, she has to have.

His chest hurts, and he really can't grasp what those words mean.

His voice is rough and aches.]

Poss - that's not possible. No way.

[bureaucracy]

[She knew categorically that this was coming. Naomi has seen untold human suffering throughout the years, and caused so much of it: sobbing and screaming and horror and simple human desperation. But even though she knew it was coming, it takes something out of her to see it happen. The reaction that must happen, here in its initial stage of slow burn, as an avalanche on top of a mountain.

He doesn't deserve this. That much is known. He was the pure-hearted boy, as good as the so-called Righteous Man, who was sacrificed as a lamb to slaughter, but preempted his destiny through an honestly unforeseen capacity for love. The one who, while full of demon blood and destined for Hell, was admitted into Heaven openly. He went almost all the way through the Trials, embracing the cost. That counts as earning it. It counts.

It doesn't hurt her that he's suffering, but it does bother her.]

It is. I saw it for myself. When I- [Hm.] -interrogated him, I made sure you were asleep. But you were in there. And I learned the truth.

Sam. [She leans in, trying to hold his attention and make sure he's actually seeing her.] I know how it happened.

[collegedropout]

[He shakes his head, stomach turning to lead. He feels sicker than sick.

His attention waivers away from her, tired, wide eyes scanning the floor.]

I wouldn't. I wouldn't let an angel in.

[Naomi must be lying, trying to get her kicks off. But why? Why would she? He's too weak to be worth anything right now; he couldn't kill an angel she wanted dead. No, she loves the truth, doesn't she? She'd rub the truth into any wound (why is she telling him this, why would she tell him something like this). He looks up at her and clutches his hands into fists in his lap.]

How? How would I ever -

[bureaucracy]

SAM. Breathe. Now. Do it. Listen to me.

[She gets up and rounds the desk, putting a bracing hand on his shoulder.]

I can tell you nothing unless you breathe. Listen. He can't get to you here. You haven't said yes here. He cannot get you.

[Naomi understands enough from having been in Castiel's head, who was in Sam's head enough. She understands from having been in the minds of countless vessels over the centuries. She knows what the old fears are, what the old buttons are. It's like riding a bicycle.]

[collegedropout]

How? I wouldn't. I wouldn't make that mistake. I know what happens.

[He twitches at Naomi's hand on his shoulder, instinctively wanting to swing at her - but he swallows hard and looks up, torn between calling her a liar and denying it all and asking her as many questions as his lungs would allow. He is breathing - right? He's pretty sure he is. His face flushes red against his cheeks, biting out as angrily as he can:]

How? That's not possible.

[Only it's half angry and half desperate, more than anything.]

[bureaucracy]

I will tell you, but-

[She searches his eyes intently, looking for some indicator of what to do. Dealing with sobbing, blithering humans she's old hat at. Actually making them feel better? That's some uncharted territory.

Maybe something basic.]

Sit. Drink some water. Let me tell you the story.

[Suddenly there's an empty wine glass and a pitcher full of water on the desk. They're both suspiciously fancy and look like they might have some actual religious use - and the wine glass is, in fact, a glass chalice - but whatever, Naomi doesn't really care at this point.]

[collegedropout]

I don't want any goddamn water.

[He's not sure he can drink it without his hands shaking anyway, sickness and panic combined as it is. He's trying, though. He's trying really hard to be calm, if only for knowledge, more knowledge on home. On what's happening, how Naomi knows, what he needs to do next.]

Just tell me — whatever you know.

[bureaucracy]

[Okay, so calming humans down isn't her forte. Whatever. She backs off until she hits the desk and leans against it. What follows is the three worst possible words to ever lead in a story about the Winchesters:]

You were dying. [Then the other three worst.] Dean was desperate.

So he prayed. An open prayer to any angel, as Castiel was unable to come. The first to arrive were violent but Gadreel fought them off, posing as Ezekiel.

[collegedropout]

[Sam closes his eyes.

Of course. So stopping the Trials didn't save him. It was completely pointless.]

... So?

[His hands clench the chair's armrests, white-knuckled.]

[bureaucracy]

He convinced Dean that the only way to fully heal you was slowly, over time. From within.