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The Angel on Your Shoulder

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In heavens the small cries were heard. A new human was born.

Dean, the archangel known to humans as Barachiel, had the job of protecting humans. Assigned by God himself, he held the holy mission of leading the guardian angels and protecting The Book of Fate. He witnessed the birth of each human, and today was no different.

353,000 babies were born every day. Helpless little screaming bundles, accident prone and weak.

This one wasn't the same.

Not in that it was stronger; as far as things went, the small human was as frail as they got. But Dean had no angel assigned to watch out for him.

Humans always, always had angels to protect them. To help them make it to their destined age.

Samuel Winchester, born on the 2nd of May, 1983 was the first human ever to not have an angel's name attached to his.

Dean stared at Sam's Book of Fate, and wondered: How would this human survive all the disasters written for him?


The air was thick with smoke and the scent of burning flesh. Fire eating everything in its wake. Dean spared time to consider how unnatural the flames were, how fast they swallowed the furniture and the walls.

He followed the sound of crying, and it led him to a small body, carelessly placed on the stairs. John must've removed his son from inside the room and went back to try and save his wife. The small creature was screaming, halting to choke on the polluted air. Once he caught sight of Dean, he stopped. Wet, hazel eyes stared up at Dean.

Two things happened: Dean's world stopped turning, something in his chest fell to his feet. The child extended his arms up, a smile brightening his face.

Dean's hands trembled, afraid of touching for the first time. The baby weighed more than it possibly could, especially to an archangel. Heavy, the small human in Dean's arms was so heavy.

Despite his lack of need to breathe, Dean's lungs were on fire, like the house he was standing in, his insides burned and crumbled, piece by piece falling somewhere in his wake as he made his hasty way out.

The gasp outside was his surprise at having ran, he could've easily teleported.

Sam cooed in his arms, toothless grin making Dean dizzy. He glowed, felt warm; pure. Dean's hold tightened, right before he heard John's voice and had to let Sam go. He placed him on the grass and disappeared.


The concept of being attached was foreign, something angels didn't experience. He thought the humans called it ''clinging'' but he couldn't possibly be clinging to Samuel. He assigned himself as Sam's guardian, and watching Sam constantly  was a part of his job. Nothing more.

He didn't neglect his other duties, still kept The Book safe, saw it followed and guided the angel's under his rule to their supposed jobs. He added watching Sam to the list, that was the only change.  

Worrying about Sam was part of his work, after all. Doing it all the time, however, might prove to be a problem later.  

There were rules about being someone's Guardian Angel; one of them was to never let the human see you. The first rule Dean broke. Sam was eleven months, five days, and seven hours old. He was trying to walk, John wasn't in the room with him.

Sam stood up on shaky legs and looked around, stained tee too big for him and no shoes. He stumbled on the first step, and Dean found himself in the old motel room with the child in his lap before he could think about it. He blinked down at Sam, who gave him a bright smile that was so similar to the one Dean remembered from a little less than six months ago.

Lips pursed into a thin line, Dean helped the child up, and against his better judgement took the small hands in his and walked Sam backward. Sam giggled, and Dean felt lighter, like Sam's happiness was what enabled him to fly, not the wings on his back.

Hours and many fall downs later, Sam took his first steps towards Dean. Arms outstretched and eyes wide, as if surprised at his own ability to walk. He didn't make it far, Dean had to catch him again. By the time John came back to the room, Sam was asleep on the bed, covered with the worn out blanket.

One time turned into two and two times turned into hundreds. Now that Dean dared to touch and interfere in Sam's life beyond saving him, he couldn't stop. From teaching Sam to walk, to reading him stories and keeping him company, Dean was almost always there with Sam. Right behind John and just out of the periphery of whoever was supposed to look out for Sam that week.

Sam talked about Dean to John, John thought nothing of it. An imaginary friend, he called Dean.

''Dean? What are you, really?,'' Sam asked. He was eight, alone for Christmas, and had just known that the world was a scary place. With tears in his eyes, he had called for Dean, and like the fool he was, Dean had come to him. This question was long due, but Dean hoped he wouldn't have to answer.

''I'm here to take care of you, Sammy.'' His voice was too weak. The words reminded him that he shouldn't be here.

''Dad says you're not real,'' Sam's nose scrunched up, not scared but appalled by the notion.

Dean's fingers moved along the edge of Sam's cheekbone, wiping tears away.

''I'm real.” He wasn't sure if he was doing this for Sam or for him. A part of him knew that this was his last chance to leave. Sam wouldn't remember, or he would and chalk it up as Dean being a trick of his childish brain. But another part, one more selfish and greedy, wanted Sam to believe, to need him and call for him. Miss him. Miss him bad enough to pray, bad enough to cry and scream and demand.

Dean never allowed himself to test how long it would take Sam to reach that, he always came on the first call, too eager to see Sam. Too afraid Sam wouldn't call again.

''I know you are,'' Sam huffed. ''But what are you?''

Dean shrugged his shoulders, ''I'm your guardian angel,''

Sam's smile was brighter than the sun. Dangerous, made Dean's heart leap in his chest. Soft, and what remained of Dean's will melted.

That night he stayed, held Sam ‘till morning light sneaked through the stained glass. Left with Sam's warmth clinging to his chest.


It had been over a year since Sam had called for Dean last, Dean wasn't worried about it. Not at all.

Sam grew up. He was almost thirteen, and thirteen year olds did not believe in guardian angels or imaginary friends. Not when they killed supernatural beings as a side job.

The days crammed into each other, time bleeding away without floppy hair, or multicolored irises. Dean never counted before. He used to think that a decade went in the blink of an eye, with the longing in his bones he learnt that a day could be a long time, too. Only when you wait does the time lengthen, and wait Dean did.

Days cramming into days ‘till Sam prayed again.

On a cold night in the beginning of March, Sam's voice echoed in Dean's body. His cells vibrating with happiness at hearing the beloved boy for the first time in so long.

''Dean?'' Hesitant as the call was, Dean couldn't turn a deaf ear. He fluttered his wings and left heaven. Flying towards Sam as fast as the wind could carry him.

''Sam,'' He didn't know his words could come out like this; choked up and weak. Unbelieving.

''Dean!'' Sam sprinted, jumping and hooking his arms around Dean's neck. Too small he was, his feet didn't reach the ground, Dean caught him and held him there. Hugging him tight, warm breath on his neck, Sam's feet dangling near his knees.

Sam smelled like the heaven Dean was never meant to have, like the apple Adam wasn't supposed to sample. Dean's embrace tightened, his nose buried into Sam's hair.

Sam pulled back, crossing his eyes to look at Dean. He didn't try to get down, and Dean wasn't strong enough to be the one to let go.

''I forgot how green your eyes are.'' Hot air touched Dean's cheek, Sam's words caressing him.

''Is this... Do you always look like this?''

Dean tilted his head to the side, trying to catalogue all the changes in Sam's features since he saw him last. His heart jumped, squeezed tight. Tear tracks were visible on Sam's cheeks.

''You were crying. What's wrong?''

Sam shook his head, hiding behind his bangs like he often did when afraid or embarrassed. He burrowed his head into Dean's shoulder, his body shaking.


''I just...had a crappy day at school. My head kinda hurts.''

Dean sat down on the squeaky mattress, positioning Sam so he was draped on his lap. He planted a soft kiss on the crown of his head. Sam drew away.

'' head, it's not pounding anymore.''

Dean smiled at the wonder in Sam's tone. ''Now, wanna tell me about school?''

It wasn't like Dean didn't know about Sam being bullied. Sam was strong, could stand up to them if he wanted, he just felt like he deserved it somehow. Being a freak, wanting to be normal. Words Sam had repeated over and over.

Helpless and frustrated, Dean wished that he could find each creature who ever faulted Sam and smite them. He blinked at the violent urge. He was the angel of God's blessing, the one to carry goodwill. Thinking about ripping things apart should never happen to him, let alone thinking about killing children. Just because they made Sam sad.

Sammy was sad.

He forced himself to focus on that and how to fix it.

''I don't need to possess people.''

''Huh?'' Sam furrowed his brows at Dean, and Dean grinned.

''You asked me if this is how I look like, the answer is yes. But not exactly,''


''I have wings.''


Silence settled in as Dean waited for Sam to ask, it was inevitable. The human curiosity.

''Can I see them?'' Unsure and small, Sam stared at Dean from below his lashes. He appeared oddly seductive. A word Dean shouldn't associate with someone so innocent, but it was the one he used nonetheless.

Sam gasped as he noticed that they were no longer in the motel room, but far on a rocky edge that made its way down to the ocean. Dean wiggled his brows at Sam and jumped, causing Sam to cling to him harder.

''We're falling!''

A second before they hit the water, Dean released his wings, taking off and into the sky. Inhibitions and thoughts about forbidden and wrong falling down to the sea.

''Dean! You... we're flying!'' Sam's laughter filled the stillness, and Dean beat his wings with more strength, lifting them higher ‘till they touched the clouds.

''Oh my God! Dean! The clouds are below us!''

It was a breathtaking sight, dark night extending as far as the eye could reach and white cottony clouds below them. The stars twinkling like diamonds,  embroidered into velvet, navy sky.

Dean stopped his wings and let them roll down, Sam screaming with laughter as Dean abruptly took off again.  

They landed on white sands just as the sun made its appearance behind the horizon, coloring the sky in pink and purple.

Sam's feet were bare still, and he giggled at the sensation of wet sand between his toes.

''Where are we, Dean?'' They sat side by side facing the rising sun, Sam leaning his weight against Dean as sleep started to pull him under.

''California.'' Dean wasn't sure if Sam heard him, his light snore drew a smile on Dean's face, his heart growing bigger. He selfishly kept Sam in his arms, desperately ignoring the ticking seconds ‘till he no longer could and had to teleport them back to Sam's room. Planting a tender kiss on Sam's forehead after he settled him on his bed, Dean drew the blanket to his chin.

Sam curled into his side and fisted his hands in the covers, letting out a murmured ''Thank you.'' His sleepy lids made a last attempt at opening and he gifted Dean with a tired yet gorgeous smile before he drifted off.

Dean stayed for a long while, stroking Sam's hair and making sure his dreams remained pleasant. He pecked Sam's cheek before he went out.


''It's too hot,'' Sam complained. Dean smiled.

''It's only May, Sam.''

''Exactly! Why do we have to be in Texas of all places? It's always hot here.''

''It's hotter and more humid in Florida.''

''You're so annoying!''

Dean couldn't hold his laughter in, and Sam pouted at him. He continued to laugh ‘till Sam gave up on sulking and joined him. He crawled over to where Dean sat with his legs crossed on the floor and flopped down, head resting on Dean's thigh and arms circling his waist. Sam was too old for this. He was too young for this, too.

''Fly us to a cooler place?,'' He mumbled into Dean's jeans.

Ever since their trip over three years ago, Sam never stopped asking Dean to fly him around again. Dean refused, of course he did. He'd broken too many laws as it was and he couldn't keep repeating his mistakes. He didn't like disappointing Sam, but he also didn't want to burden him with how not okay their meetings were. Sam would suggest something smart, like never seeing each other again and Dean wasn't ready for that.

He would never be ready.

He pondered what excuse he'd give to Sam this time when warm, soft lips covered his own.

His arms moved without his will, gathering Sam close to him, pulling the sweet, willing boy into his lap. Sam moaned into his mouth as Dean kissed back with fervor, searching for Sam's taste behind the staleness of his saliva, licking into the welcoming heat.

Spring, sunshine, purity.

Sam's kiss was everything Dean wanted and couldn't have, shouldn't have. Deliciously sinful, and sweetly wrong.

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

Dean panicked, pushed Sam back with more force than he meant to, and Sam fell to the floor.

''We can't.'' He shook his head, standing up and backing away. Desperately wishing he could pull Sam into his arms again. ''Sammy, we can't .''

''Yes we can.''

Dean took another step back. Tried to see the child in Sam and failed. Sam was sixteen years, three days, and eighteen hours old. His eyes looked ancient, deep like the sea, threatening to over flood and drown Dean. Sam was a human, and Dean was an angel and this shouldn't happen because Sam would die.

He'd grow old and die.

He'd grow old and stop thinking he needed Dean.

''We can't,'' he repeated before he disappeared.

Sam cried. Dean had wanted Sam to miss him and Sam did. He screamed and cussed at Dean, then he wept and begged. Tears running down his face and knees hurting from the hard ground.

Dean never went to him. He should stay away, save Sam only when needed. After all, Sam didn't have long to live.

It was one of those times Dean never expected to go through, feeling like he weighed tons and every second his age.

Thousands of years old and out of his mind with longing. For a human.

He strengthened his resolve, and never answered Sam again.


Sam made it to California without wings this time. On the same sand he stood, years later and the same expression on his face. Trusting, wide-eyed; hopeful. Dean missed him like he knew not how to say. Needed him like fish needed water.

Sam's hair was frizzy with salt and humidity, the skin under his eyes black and thin. Wasting away. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted to the ocean.

''Dean! I will never give up on you!''

Dean cried for the first time in his long life.

How could two decades undo millennia? Dean never got the answer, and as he beat his wings and flew away, Sam's screams of his name rang in his ears.


It was years later when Dean saw Sam in person again.

Sam's father had disappeared, leaving Sam with nothing but a vague message and a record of a case accompanying his journal in mail. Sam had wanted to ignore it, but his heart won against his pride and he kissed his blonde girl goodbye to go after John's trail.

Dean found him shouting, the spirit trying to rip his heart out of his chest. ''You will be,'' she had told him, right after he denied his betrayal.

You will be.

Dean extended his arm and allowed his power to pour out, the woman in white shrieked and evaporated.  He didn't have time before Sam drove his car through the wall of the run down building, successfully delivering the woman home.

Dean stood there, in the middle of the ruins. Trying to work up the courage to talk, or move, or run away again. Anything, but he was rooted to the spot. Staring at the kid he hadn't seen in so long. Eight years.

Sam had grown tall and beautiful. His eyes were the same, indecisive as ever, million colours swirling, casting a hypnotic spell on Dean.

His lashes were wet, and his eyes finally decided they wanted to be blue. It was appropriate, to have Dean choke on water. Drown in their depths.

The breath was knocked out of him, and Dean found himself holding a sobbing Sam.

God, Sammy.


Flesh and bone, burning hot and melting Dean to burrow inside. Dean pulled him closer, trying to get him into his ribcage where he can keep him forever. Right next to the heart Sam owned.

''Dean, Dean,'' Sam was repeating like a mantra, like he couldn't believe Dean was real.

''Thought I wouldn't see you again, thought you hated me. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.''

And because Dean was selfish and horrible, he tugged Sam's hair back and crashed their lips together. Sam whimpered into his mouth, jaw dropping wide open, giving Dean all the permission he was seeking.

They fell into a rhythm they never got the chance to play before, and yet it was perfectly toned as if they were dancing to it for ages. Sam's arms hooked around Dean's neck as Dean clutched onto Sam's hips, trying to mesh them into one.

Sam gasped as Dean broke the kiss, shaking his head and mumbling:

''No, no, Dean. Please, please don't leave. 'M sorry.''

Dean kissed him again because he couldn't not, tasting the only heaven he'll ever experience in salty tears and wet flesh.

''Sammy, Sammy. God, Sam.''

Dean's hungry lips trailed down Sam's throat, biting and kissing. Sucking harshly, ‘till blood rose to the surface and drew marks. Beautiful, angry bruises that would be here the next day, the next week. They would fade in ten days, and Dean would be there to leave new ones again.

Sam whined, Dean pushed him ‘till his back hit the ugly wall. The house they were in was dirty, falling apart, smell rancid and mold covering the floors. Neither cared.

Face buried in Sam's neck, Dean gulped in large, greedy breaths, trying to take Sam's scent in. Spring, sunshine, purity. Sam smelled like everything Dean's ever wanted. The choked off moans escaping Sam edged Dean on, he hooked his hands under Sam's knees and lifted. Dividing Sam's weight between him and the wall.

Sam was coming undone beneath him, whimpering and slurring pleas into Dean's mouth. Dean lost his jacket at some point,  Sam's hands below his t-shirt, scratching his back, getting them as close as they can be, as if any physical distance between them hurt.

Control slipped like fine grains of sand out of Dean's grasp, and his wings came out, ripping his clothes and spreading behind him. Sam's fingers found their way to the white feathers as if drawn by a special type of gravity. Eyes full of wonder and adoration.

''Dean,'' Sam gasped, voice gone hoarse with emotion. ''You're so beautiful, Dean.''

Dean had to laugh at the compliment, because Sam was the gorgeous one, and no angel in heaven held a candle to his brightness. Sam was perfectly cut edges and curved bones, petal lips and tanned skin. Legs miles long and hips swaying like a weapon. Illegal, sinful, prohibited.

''You're addictive,'' He sealed the words with a searing kiss that Sam opened up to, demanding, using his body to ask for more.

Dean used spit and patience to open Sam up, three fingers pumping in and out of Sam's asshole as he whimpered and begged to be fucked now. Dean shifted his arms, took a step back so he was carrying Sam. Gorgeous, denim clad legs wrapped around his waist, only Sam's rear was bare. Cheeks spread open and hole stretched and fluttering around Dean's digits.

''Dean, come on.''

''Yeah, Sammy. Yeah.''

Sam clung hard, and Dean freed his erection, spitting on his hand and slicking his dick. Placing both hands on the underside of Sam's thighs, he lifted him up and slowly slid him down and onto his cock.

Exquisite heat enveloped his rigid flesh and they both hissed at the sensation. Sam gritted his teeth and threw his head back,  moans getting caught in his throat.

Sam's legs were wrapped around Dean's waist, hands placed on Dean's shoulder as they stared at each other in wonder and awe at the feeling of being connected, joined together as one in the most intimate way possible.

Dean groaned as Sam used his hold on Dean's shoulder to level himself, and started to bounce on Dean's cock, setting up a rhythm that Dean soon took over. Dean lost control, thrusting into Sam with abandon, his wings coming around and surrounding them, dimming what little light they had in the old house. Sam raised his head and locked his eyes with Dean, moisture clinging to the corners of his eyes, thickening his lashes. His hazel irises swallowed almost entirely by his pupils, lips red and irresistible, and hair sticking to his sweaty skin.

Dean fucked into him harder, his chest burning up with an emotion he didn't want to admit to. Sam keened and bucked down, his teeth sinking into Dean's shoulder through his t-shirt, muffling his shout as he came.

Sam's walls clenched down on Dean's dick and he emptied himself deep into Sam's heat, his release making the slide all the more delicious.

''She was right,'' Sam whispered. There was wetness in his voice, and Dean instinctively tightened his hold, wings folding closer around Sam.

''Sammy, I'm sorry.'' He had nothing to offer but an empty apology that he would never mean. Not for this, never for this.

''I'm not.'' Sam's cheeks were wet with tears, but the gleam in his eyes was all determination. ''I'm not sorry. I would do it again, just...'' His breath shuddered and his eyelids fell shut. Sam buried his face in Dean's neck. ''Don't leave me.”'

Dean had only one answer to that.

''I will never leave you, Sammy.''