sam girls have a chokehold on ethel cain which pushed me to try her music a while ago..I wasn't a fan of the songs I listened to though. I'm gonna try again because I love her lyrics even though I don't love her sound. we'll see if my opinion changes. I'll be posting my thoughts when I'm finished with my first listen
I am so sorry I am so sorry. I want to like ethel cain so badly. I love her themes and her lyrics but I just can’t get through preacher’s daughter.
I paused the album because the sound was driving me crazy. I’m not a music critic but I wish I were because I don’t know how to describe what I don’t like about this album. the autotuned, echoey vocals are my least favorite part. I think if they were different, I’d have a much easier time getting through this album.
sam girls have a chokehold on ethel cain which pushed me to try her music a while ago..I wasn't a fan of the songs I listened to though. I'm gonna try again because I love her lyrics even though I don't love her sound. we'll see if my opinion changes. I'll be posting my thoughts when I'm finished with my first listen
was really big on here once. I have decided that, at least from my very small corner of the Internet, he is going to be again. This may take awhile, as I'll have to slightly overcome my OMFD obsession, make sure any fic requests I get are finished in a reasonable amount of time, and not completely abandon my longfics. But it's coming.
author's note: thank you to my mutuals @noelismi and @piexperiment for hyping me up. they/them pronouns for castiel in the text, he/him in the dialogue. also posted to ao3.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
As the warmth of the sun started to slip away from his back, Sam gripped his throbbing wrist in a chokehold against his chest. Clouds were making their way across the morning sky and tears were pooling in his eyes. His knees ached against the pebbled path leading to the garden. He’d been kneeling there for several minutes, the same thought rewinding in spirals again and again in his mind: why can’t he have just one thing go right?
His rational self observed the storm within, making silent judgement. On the one hand, a bee sting was not something that anyone of his age and stature, who’d gone through all he’d gone through, should shut down over. And yet with everything fizzing inside him, he felt as if he should explode. Cry out, shake, get angry—anything more than sit hunched on the ground like a wounded animal. His rational and spiraling self both watched, but neither could cut away the invisible ropes binding his body. The only part of him that moved were his eyelids as they blinked away the tears.
When Sam grew up dangerously, his responses to trivial problems were simple. That was because there were few trivial problems. His body was used to handling extreme highs and lows. Death was always one wrong step away, whether he was was on the run with a gun in his hand or alone, waiting, and hungry. Even though those days were behind him, and had been for a long time, all but his rational self didn't seem to get the memo. It didn't matter how good of a life he'd built for himself--and he'd built one damn good life in just a year. The steady job, the house he rented, and the quiet town he lived in couldn't make the body forget.
They couldn't make the mind forget, either, apparently. Why can't I have just one thing go right? Even when things were good, they could never be good all the way. A stupid pepper made him remember all the things he'd had to deal with ever since he got here: the shitty plumbing, the cracks in the drywall, the demands at the office. He grit his teeth and pulled up his bootstraps and came out on the other side, but there was always something. Even the one thing that made him happy had to go wrong today.
It'd been the first ripe vegetable of the season. Gardening wasn't a hobby Sam had ever imagined himself doing, but he now stood in a modest container garden with tall, healthy plants that depended on him. All it'd taken was a trip to the hardware store and a pathetic basil plant. The poor thing had been wilted and drooping on a shaded corner of an empty shelf. Sam had taken pity, pity on it. When he got home and realized what he'd done, he was filled with dread at the thought of this plant dying because of his impulse. Some days it felt impossible to take care of himself, much less another life form.
But if someone else depended on him, Sam would do what he had to. So he learned. The basil lived. Then one plant became two, then three, then four, until he had a nicely sized vegetable and herb garden.
He'd been in disbelief seeing the ripe pepper hanging from the stem. Just yesterday it seemed it was still green and unripe, but now it was as red as a fire hydrant. It smelled fresh and sweet. He'd plucked it off the plant and held it in his palm, rubbing a thumb over the smooth surface. There were more white flowers blooming on the plant, promising more peppers to come.
His heart had bloomed with happiness. The grogginess and dull ache that came with mornings had been entirely gone when he held the proof of his accomplishments. "We made it," he'd whispered to the plant.
Not even a moment later, there'd been a buzz and a tickling sensation on his palm. He'd looked down to where he was holding the pepper, and felt the sudden sting before catching anything with his sight.
The pain wasn't strong, but it made him kneel anyway. The pepper was on the ground now alongside so was the bee who'd sacrificed her life. He didn't know what he'd done to offend the poor pollinator, but she was gone and left her mark. Of course, because God seemed to like toying with him, in came the rain.
Why can’t I have just one thing?
As the sky became dark, a new thought mingled. Get up. He tried with every part of him to move, but even as the rain droplets teased at his neck, he couldn't will any part of him to untense. His jeans darkened with sprinkles of water and his hand swelled as red as the pepper.
Get up, Sam. Get up. Get up.
“Get up.”
He rolled his head to the side languidly as he found movement coming back to him, slow like swimming underwater. Then, his whole body startled. There were shoes in front of him. He snapped his head up as he realized the raspy voice was an actual person.
He hadn't heard anyone walk his way, but with how in his head he'd been, it didn't surprise him. Though the houses were all far apart, neighbors tended to be friendly and stop by. There were no fences around his yard and anyone could enter.
“Hello, Sam,” the stranger spoke. He wore a long coat, presumably for the rain. Sam stumbled for words, feeling like he'd been caught doing something wrong, before settling on an awkward "Hello."
“You're going to get soaked from down there."
Sam was still on the ground. He rose shakily to his feet, dusting himself off with his unhurt hand. "Feels like I get in my own little world out here." He forced a chuckle, then cleared his throat. He extended a hand to shake, before the pain started again. He withdrew it. "Sorry. I got a nasty sting. Just my luck." He looked up at the dark sky.
"Pollinators are important for a thriving garden. And the rain will do some good," the stranger said. “I believe you dropped this."
In the stranger's palm was the red pepper. Sam didn't notice him grab it, but to be fair, he hadn't noticed him approach at all. The stranger held it out in offering. When Sam took it, the wings on the stranger's back extended.
Sam gasped aloud. The stranger that had looked entirely ordinary before was standing with wings outstretched.
It felt like a powerful gust of wind was blowing as the black feathers with their iridescent highlights cut through the air. They held a perfect, immaculate shape, both soft and strong and more beautiful than any bird feather he'd seen. The stranger had an ordinary face of a man, but his eyes were ancient. They were eyes that'd seen stars be born and die. A thin circle of light traced around his head.
Sam blinked, and in an instant, everything was gone. Before him was an ordinary man again--or at least a man-shaped being. He wasn’t sure if he should go back to kneeling. What were you supposed to do before an angel?
“Sam Winchester. Caretaker of the life in this garden,” the angel said with an open gaze. Their eyes were intense, but the power before had vanished. “We finally meet.”
“It’s an honor,” Sam said, breathless. He bowed his head slightly.
He’d always believed in angels. He prayed every day, even when he wasn’t sure if there would be an answer.
Many believed that angels worked on earth in mysterious ways, weaving their blessings and miracles into the mortal world without unveiling the curtain and being seen. He’d heard about angels coming to earth to serve as guardians, but those were practically myth by now. And yet there was no other explanation as to why there was a real angel before him.
“I am Castiel. I am an angel of the lord. I have been sent as the guardian of this garden. I am here to protect this garden through divine means.
So it was true. "Thank you for your blessings. I-I've prayed for a long time, but I never thought--" He paused, trying to say something deliberate, before blurting out anyway: “Why are you here?”
“I am here to protect this garden through divine means,” the angel restated. They didn't look offended, only confused.
“Yes, I understand,” said Sam. “But why...here? What have I done to bring an angel here?”
“This has little to do with you, Sam Winchester. I do not choose where I am summoned to. I feel the pull and I am guided by it. Perhaps the Universe believed this garden needed a responsible caretaker,” they said. The idea of him being an insufficient caretaker struck a nerve, but Sam pushed the feeling down. The angel hadn’t said it accusingly. They were just a divine being making observations.
“There are other places you could go,” Sam said. He was unbelievably lucky to have an angel in front of him, one in a million chances lucky. But it didn't feel right. “I’m incredibly grateful for your presence,” he added hurriedly. “Beyond grateful. But there are homeless shelters, hospitals...rehab centers.” He paused. “Hell, even an actual community garden. Not my...passion project that isn’t helping anyone.”
“As I’ve said, you are not a part of this decision. The life here is still life and belongs to no one but nature itself. It does not matter what human purpose it has. It needs my protection. Now I’d advise you stop trying to test me.”
Sam shivered a little at that. He didn't know what he was doing trying to offend an angel. The being's voice was still even, but he could sense the power behind it. He made the smart decision to shut his open mouth.
“Of course. Well...welcome. And thank you."
***
Sam staggered inside. He had a million questions he wanted answers to, but Castiel was not much of a talker. He'd pushed their buttons already, so he gave up what was probably pestering.
In the kitchen, it took everything inside him to not scream. He turned on the faucet and waited for the water to get freezing cold, then jolted his hands underneath. It felt relieving under his sting, which was now starting to itch, and shocked his other hand numb. There was angel outside his house. He’d spoken to an angel. He’d nearly offended an angel.
He peeked through the window over the sink to find the angel still standing there in the rain. The raindrops hit them, but they never appeared to get wet. What did divine protection even look like? There hadn't been actual records of guardian angels in centuries.
Sam looked at the cell phone on the table. He had the need to call up Dean and tell him everything that just happened. He probably wouldn’t believe him unless he came to see it for himself. The sinking feeling returned. The one that came every time he thought of this brother.
Dean wouldn’t be picking up the phone and wouldn’t be coming over. Dean was in god knows how many states over with Sam’s number blocked. Maybe on the road. Maybe dead in a ditch. Not in jail, though, as far as his internet research was concerned, but that was a miracle. Wherever Dean was, their father was right along with him, keeping him away.
It was fine. If Sam’s brother did answer that phone, it would mean the life he’d built was over. He'd cut ties not because they restrained him, but because he couldn't even breathe.
He shook his head, turning back to the pepper on the counter. Divinely touched, apparently.
A steady job, a house he rented, a hobby, and an angel. It really was the most backwards life he'd ever lived.
***
Sam thought about calling in sick, but an angel in your backyard was not a good enough excuse to skip work. And Sam liked his job.
Being a legal assistant was the closest thing Sam would get to being a lawyer. School just hadn't been an option for him, no matter how hard he’d tried in the past. The job opportunity was why he’d landed in this small town in the first place. It was nice to break out of the years of bar tending and settle in something he really loved doing. Even if part of his job was watching his real dream job from afar.
He pulled into the driveway of the small firm building. His hair was gelled awkwardly with his left hand that hadn't stopped shaking, and from the mirror he could see just how wild his eyes were, but it would be fine.
He stepped through the glass doors. He could already hear obnoxious chewing and the clacking of keys. It seemed 24-year-olds with past questionable habits made for good employees around here, between him and Ava Wilson. Ava worked the front desk and was Sam’s one friend in the firm. She wore nice business clothes and a professional smile, but the more discerning eye could tell there was a history. She was good, though, and a nice friend to get a drink with or talk to in the break room.
"Nice hair," she said. Sam felt a strand sticking straight up. He pressed it down ferociously. "Rough morning?"
"Strange morning," he said.
"Tell me about it!" She took a bite of her bacon egg and cheese. "Everybody's just off today. I stand in line at Jeremy's for ten minutes to get my coffee 'cause the manager doesn't have his act together, and then I'm caught in the rain without my umbrella 'cause the clouds came out of nowhere!"
"I'm sorry about all that."
"Don't sweat it. I'm here and it's dry. What happened with you?"
"Well, I got a bee sting that's gonna make writing fun," he said, extending a swollen hand. She hissed. "Yikes. Sure you're not allergic?"
"No, I'm not. The swelling should go down soon. Anyway, I met a neighbor today," he said vaguely.
"Yeah? Was he nice?"
"Sure."
"Handsome?"
Sam laughed. "Ava, you're engaged." The woman shrugged. "And curious," she said, holding up her hands in surrender. "Just asking questions."
“Sam,” his boss interrupted. He was walking through the doorway of the office and handed him a folder full of files. “I need you to get this to Jennie’s office. I have to take a call.”
Sam took the heavy pile and didn’t hesitate. He wanted to tell Ava more, but in the office, he was focused. He gave Ava an apologetic look to which she waved a hand dismissively. Tell me later, she winked.
They got lunch together that afternoon. She asked about his story, but he omitted all the important details. The more he thought about his story, the less he was sure she would’ve believed him. Not everyone believed in guardian angels. Like I said, I met a neighbor. He offered to help me in the garden. Yes, Ava, he was a handsome guy.
***
When Sam arrived home, Castiel was nowhere to be found. He didn't dwell on this fact. He sauteed his pepper with his dinner and ate under the porch light. He looked to see if there was any shape in the distance, but there was none. Maybe they really had gone somewhere more important than here.
He knew he hadn't imagined them, but sometimes, when there was no proof of a memory happening, that seemed the only explanation.
***
Under the starlight as the human slept, Castiel slipped away from their human form. Their fingers misted into particles of the wind and they stretched their wings so thin that the naked eye could not see them. In this state, they rooted themself into the soil and stretched their wings higher and higher. They were a thin veil covering the garden and protecting it from any harm. They could hear the frequencies of the plants as they communicated, the harmonic tones that humans could not hear. They sang a lullaby to them. Angels were fluent in all languages after all, including the language of every plant. They sang of the birth of the stars above and how they too would enter the afterlife. They sang and held the embrace until the morning star began to glow over the horizon.
a small vent. yesterday, I lost my tumblr best friend. she deleted her account for valid personal reasons, and I know it isn’t about me, but I miss her so much already. half of the fun of going on this platform was her. I know it’s just an online friendship, and that it’s not equivalent to something in real life, but this person whom I’d never met genuinely meant a lot to me.
especially because having someone so enthusiastic about what I make or reblog was so exciting. supernatural means so much to me and is a big part of my happiness. in real life, I don’t have that many to talk to about the show.
I have friends that watch it, but none of them have the same opinions as me (they’re all dean/anti-sam people) and, while they’re joking, some of them always squash down on my fanfiction and creative ideas and I’m not able to talk about all I love because I feel like I’m annoying.
there’s plenty more people in the sam community, and I love being with them, but it isn’t the same.
I’m so grateful for all my other mutuals, especially those who interact with my posts a lot. but I am going to miss that close connection that I don’t think I’d ever find again for a while.
people talk all the time about how soulless sam was creepy for letting dean turn into a vampire while completely ignoring the creepy look in dean's eyes when he tells freshly raped and violated sam that he would do it (violate sam) again. 'creep dean is not real' my ass.
and you know what makes this dean even creepier than soulless sam? he has his soul intact. say what you want, but to me, living with an abuser (and i say it lovingly because i love how insane dean is!), who knows he hurts you and keeps doing it is way scarier than being betrayed once by someone without a soul.
and it is also worth noting that soulless sam is punished through brutality! he gets beaten down, knocked unconscious, and fixed by force! sam is punished and feels guilty once he is re-souled. dean violates sam and feels no comparable guilt (and sam almost immediately forgives him anyway).
This show y'all, it's as if someone read my dream journal for how to make the perfect horror/mystery show. Comedy is 10/10, spookies 10/10, Matthew Rhys' facial expressions, 10289230/10 🏝
I have my qualms (ha) about Apple as a corporation, but between Patricia from Widow's Bay and Carol Sturka from Pluribus, they have the market cornered on off-putting middle aged women I adore.
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