Writer's Note: This story is inspired by the following reddit comment from /r/fandomnatural by /u/honeko with regards to what Ezekiel's doing to Sam this season.

Sam opened his eyes to a warmly lit study. Worn book binds lining the walls inside polished, gleaming mahogany cases. A chandelier hung from the vaulted ceiling. He wasn't in the bunker though - the room was smaller, the furniture more comfortable...

Speaking of which... Sam looked down as he ran his hand across the smooth, brown leather of the recliner. His eyes traveled the length of the couch until he reached his feet: his shoes were off and, in their place, bright pink fluffy bunny slippers.

Sam made a face and wondered what the hell kind of dream this was.

He wriggled his feet and the ears on the slippers flopped around.

"Hello Sam."

Sam jumped and twisted around, landing his feet on the floor - no, it was a rug - an old, somehow familiar, woven rug.

Unable to place it at the moment, Sam had more pressing issues facing him as he stared at the man standing a few feet away from him.

"Do not be alarmed," the man said quietly. His voice gentle, his cadence calm, but appearances could be deceiving. Sam pursed his lips and eyed the man warily.

"Who are you?"

"My name is Ezekiel," he replied.

"What are you?" Sam shot back.

"I am an angel, Sam," Ezekiel replied, his eyes unblinking and his gaze already sinking into Sam's.

Sam's jaw set as he closed his eyes. He worked to gain composure; prepare himself for the burdens that were sure to come with this angel's presence in his dream.

He remembered pain slicing through him after rejecting the third trial and he remembered the angels falling. Dean had told him that he'd be just fine, little brother, and Sam had trusted that... but now? Now Sam was blacked out, blocked off from Dean's promises - from Dean, his stone number one and this angel... this angel that undoubtedly regarded him as an abomination... had him where he couldn't escape. Where he couldn't find his way back to his brother. Where Dean wouldn't be able to get to him. Not in time, anyway... Not like with the trials.

Sam blinked watery eyes and covered his face with a hand. He should have gone through with the trials. He would've rathered having gone through with the trials than to yet again become the unwilling instrument of yet another war between Heaven and Hell.

How many times can one soul be thrown, pushed, pulled by the forces of good and evil before one's only desire nothingness?

And at that moment, Sam realized that that, out of everything, was exactly what he wanted.

If he didn't exist, he couldn't be seen and if he couldn't be seen, he couldn't be used.

"Sam," Ezekiel interrupted Sam's tortured reverie. Sam twitched away from the angel: Ezekiel had silently come closer to him without his noticing.

"Sam, I will not harm you," Ezekiel assured, tilting his head, his expression compassionate. Sam relaxed marginally. Still, he gave a huff of skepticism and shook his head.

"What do you want?" He asked wearily, a murmur of threat in his tone. He raised his eyes up to Ezekiel after a few beats of silence. The angel was studying the rug he stood upon with slow - almost sore - movements.

"I visited a heaven once," the angel whispered, fascinated by the rug. Sam raised an eyebrow.

"Didn't you live in heaven once?" He quipped. It was a smartass too-soon comment.

Dean would've been proud.

Ezekiel ignored Sam's jibe and sighed heavily in wistful remembrance as he bent down to touch the rug. Sam watched, his eyes widening at the sight of the angel's sudden lack of balance and ungracious yet quiet fall to the floor.

Sam gulped, uncertain, now looking down at the angel from his spot on the recliner.

"What's wrong with you?" He asked hesitantly. The angel continued to stare at the rug, moving delicately to touch the rug's weathered, aged threads.

"I was injured in the fall, Sam," the angel explained. Sam nodded and swallowed, getting an idea of what the terms of their agreement would be.

"You need to heal-"

"So do you," Ezekiel interrupted absently. Sam smiled ruefully and rolled his eyes.

"What do you want, Ezekiel?" Sam repeated, impatient.

Ezekiel snapped his gaze up to Sam, then slowly tracked back down to Sam's ridiculous slippers.

"You're hilarious," Sam said dryly.

"They are not mine, Sam," Ezekiel replied seriously. "You don't remember, do you?"

"What?"

"Your childhood," Ezekiel replied, hitting a nerve.

"Dude, what... do you... want?!"

"You were nine."

"What?"

"And this," Ezekiel looked back down at the rug, "this was when you were nineteen."

Sam stared at Ezekiel, conflicted between curiosity and indignant anger. After a few moments without any prompting, Ezekiel sighed and looked up at Sam.

"Memories are fragile, Sam, but they inform the soul," Ezekiel explained softly and Sam found himself caught in Ezekiel's eyes. "You remember too much of hell," he said softly, staring straight into him.

Sam could registered embers of panic sparking his heart to beat faster as Ezekiel exposed this unspoken truth and yet... he couldn't move - couldn't physically break his eye contact with the angel. Sam squirmed in his seat, trying hard to break the connection.

"W-What do you want from me?" Sam choked out, desperate to put a lid on whatever Ezekiel had just pried open.

"I want your company, Sam. I need you to stay with me."

"Why?!"

"I need you to heal."

Sam accidentally let out a clipped sob, his heart jack-hammering, feeling caught & suffocated under the paralysis of the angel's now glowing blue-rimmed irises.

"Why?!" He gritted out.

Ezekiel let Sam go to look back down at the rug and Sam was left gasping in the connection's wake.

"Your brother did not like that game. The questions you had. Do you remember, Sam? Do you remember what your brother said?"

Unable to gain his bearings in time to barricade himself against Ezekiel's words, Sam felt a sharp memory tear its way through him. Guilt flooded his expression when he looked back to Ezekiel.

"He'd beg me to stop but I never did," Sam replied solemnly, his voice steady.

Ezekiel smiled sadly, then shook his head and squinted his eyes.

"No, Sam. What was the first thing he said?"

Sam looked around the elegant room, searching for the answer. Unable to find it, he turned back to Ezekiel, confusion written on his face. Ezekiel tilted forward, looking up to Sam from the floor, his brilliant eyes shining with sincerity.

"He would say, 'do not worry, little brother.'"

Writer's Note: Thank you so much for reading! Please comment/review if you can spare the time! ~ Alex