Sam prayed to you for hours. Four, to be exact. Stuck in a motel room for himself without Dean, he clutched the rosary between tight fingers and screwed his eyes shut, the same prayer falling from his lips like a mantra. Though, you never showed.

Until you did. He felt your presence, the sound of your wings flapping. Then you were in front of him, shadowed in the corner of the dank room. “Samuel.” you rasped, stepping into the dim lamp light.

“You came.” Sam said, voice hoarse, staring.