The first thing he felt was cold.
Not air. Not pain.
Cold—absolute, suffocating, all-consuming.
It swallowed him whole, wrapped around him as if he had been dropped into something vast and bottomless, something without surface or edge—only endless, crushing depth. It seeped into him, through him, biting deeper the longer he existed within it, until it no longer felt like something outside of him.
It felt like it was becoming him.
Sam couldn't tell if he was sinking or floating, or if those words had already lost their meaning. There was no up, no down—only darkness stretching in every direction, and that unbearable, creeping cold that hollowed him out from the inside.
And silence—
…no.
Not silence.
Something flickered.
Faint at first, barely noticeable, then again—small drifting lights scattered through the void, fragile and uncertain, like dying embers suspended in endless night.
Gray.
Soft.
Like ash.
Like snow that had forgotten how to be white.
They fell slowly, endlessly, flickering in and out as if existence itself couldn't quite hold onto them. And somewhere in that endless nothing, Sam felt it.
He was flickering too.
Not his body—something deeper.
Something smaller.
Unstable.
Slipping.
Fading.
The cold tightened around him, and something inside him trembled—not muscle, not bone, but something rawer, something closer to whatever he truly was.
Fear.
Pure, instinctive fear.
And then, through the darkness, something moved—not shape, not form, but sound. Distant at first, like whispers carried across an ocean.
"I don't wanna die…"
The words trembled.
Broken.
"Please… I don't wanna die…"
More followed.
Then more.
Until it wasn't whispers anymore.
It was a chorus.
Thousands of voices, overlapping, collapsing into each other, rising and falling like a wave that never stopped breaking.
"I don't wanna die."
"I don't wanna die."
"I don't wanna die."
It surrounded him, pressed into him, seeped into his awareness until it felt like it was coming from everywhere at once—like the darkness itself was speaking.
Sam's thoughts stuttered.
What… is this?
Am I… dead?
"No… that's not—"
His voice came out wrong.
Thin.
Distant.
Like it didn't fully belong to him anymore.
"I don't wanna die…"
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
Echoing.
Blending into the chorus.
"No—wait—"
But the feeling was already there, rising up from somewhere deep and instinctive.
Not yet.
Not like this.
"I don't wanna die—"
The voices pulled at him, dragged at him, tempting him to give in, to sink, to become just another whisper in the endless noise. For a moment—just a moment—it felt easier to let go. To stop fighting. To disappear into it.
No.
Something pushed back.
Hard.
Wake up.
The thought cut through everything, sharp and stubborn.
Wake up, Sam.
You don't get to stop here.
Images burst through the dark.
Cold mornings before sunrise. Eyes heavy, refusing to open, every part of him begging to stay down—
—and still, he got up.
A hoodie pulled over his head. Breath fogging in the freezing air as he stepped outside and moved, one step after another, because stopping was never an option.
Running.
Working.
Pushing.
Always pushing.
His heart hammering in his chest, lungs burning, muscles screaming for him to stop—
—and he didn't.
His hands striking the bag, again and again, until the skin split, until knuckles tore and blood mixed with sweat. Lifting, straining, pushing past limits that didn't care if he was ready or not.
Because it had to mean something.
All of it.
It had to.
The vision shifted.
The mat.
The lights.
His body hitting the ground.
Again.
Breath gone. Vision blurring.
His hands in front of him—raw, trembling, bloodied.
And above him—
Eric.
Standing tall.
Hands raised.
The crowd roaring.
Always for him.
Sam's jaw tightened.
"I'll beat you," he heard himself say, voice rough but unyielding. "Just wait. I'll get there."
Eric smiled, that same easy, confident smile, and reached down.
"Yeah," he said. "I'm looking forward to it, hobbit. Now come on—get up."
For a second, Sam just stared at the hand.
Then he took it.
That big, stupid hand that nearly swallowed his own.
And Eric pulled him up like he weighed nothing.
Up—
toward the light.
It flared, bright and blinding, swallowing everything—
And then—
warmth.
Air rushed into him, sharp and desperate, his lungs dragging it in like they'd been starved for it.
Sam's eyes snapped open, and he jolted upright, his body moving as if something had pulled him up by the chest.
For a moment, he just breathed.
Deep.
Unsteady.
Alive.
Golden wheat stretched endlessly around him, swaying in a slow, gentle rhythm under a soft summer wind. Above, the sky was impossibly blue, wide and open, sunlight spilling down in quiet warmth that settled into his skin without burning.
"…Oh Jesus…" he rasped, blinking against the light. "I can smell the summer breeze…"
His voice sounded… off. A little deeper than he remembered, rough around the edges in a way that didn't quite belong to him yet.
A brief smile tugged at his lips, reflexive, almost relieved and it died just as quickly when he looked down.
He was still short and robust.
Still just him.
But at least he was whole. The car hadn't fucked up his body or something.
No broken bones.
"…okay," he muttered slowly, exhaling through his nose. "So this definitely isn't heaven."
Then—
He blinked again.
"…no way."
He was wearing nothing but his pink bunny boxers.
Bright.
Ridiculous.
Cartoon rabbits stared up at him, smiling like they knew something he didn't. One had its thumb raised confidently.
You got this, champ.
Sam stared at it for a long second.
"…yeah," he said flatly. "Those are definitely my boxers."
Around him, the world breathed quietly. The wind moved through the wheat, brushing against his legs. The soil beneath him was dark, soft, almost warm.
It was… nice.
Too nice.
Something about it felt off.
"…just where the hell am I…?" he muttered, turning slowly, eyes scanning the endless horizon.
The wheat answered with a gentle sway.
Nothing else.
For a moment, he sat there, in utter loss.
Then from somewhere next to him came a small, baby like voice that broke the silence.
"Y-you ever wonder what's up there?"
Sam froze.
The voice was right beside him.
"Like… if someone up there is wondering if you're wondering about them?"
He turned his head slowly.
There, lying in the wheat as if it had always belonged there, was a toddler in diaper's, and on his back were angel wings.
Actual wings, with white feathers catching the sunlight in a soft glow, like they were made of something lighter than air, lighter than light itself. The child lay on his back, hands tucked behind his head, staring up at the sky with quiet fascination.
Like nothing about this was strange.
Sam stared.
"…okay," he said slowly, blinking once. "So either I'm dead… or I finally snapped."
He squinted.
"…are you… an angel baby?"
The toddler didn't even look at him.
"J-just answer the question," he said, pouting slightly, folding his arms with surprising seriousness. "I w-want to know."
Sam let out a small breath through his nose.
"…yeah," he said after a moment. "I mean—sure. Everyone wonders. What's out there, what's above, what's watching… gods, aliens, whatever. Kinda hard not to."
The toddler nodded slowly, as if that confirmed something important.
"This is why I like humans," he said softly. "You ask questions. That's how you grow."
He tilted his head slightly, like he was listening to something far away—something Sam couldn't hear.
Then he smiled.
"But you—Leonardo—you did more than ask. You helped. You tried. You made things better."
There was something almost… proud in his voice.
"So I decided you deserve another chance."
Sam frowned, pushing himself up onto his elbows.
"…okay, hold on," he said. "Who the hell is Leonardo? I'm Sam. You know—the guy who just got turned into roadkill like five minutes ago?"
A beat.
"The guy who tries to do the right thing and gets billed for it."
The toddler blinked.
Then his face scrunched slightly.
"…oh."
A pause.
A tiny sigh escaped him, full of dramatic disappointment.
"I s-slept too long again…"
Sam just stared.
"You—what?"
But just as quickly, the child perked up, like the mistake didn't matter at all.
"That's okay!" he said brightly, pushing himself up into a sitting position, wings fluttering lightly behind him. "I'll just pick you instead."
Sam blinked.
"…pick me for what?"
The toddler's smile widened, something playful slipping into it—something that didn't quite fit.
"You can be the one," he said. "The one who goes to the stars with them."
He nodded in satisfaction.
"Yes, for real this time."
Sam stared at him.
Then up at the sky.
Then back at the child.
"…the one what?" he asked slowly. "I don't even have a car, dude. And I'm pretty sure the stars are… you know… far. Like what are you even talking about?"
The toddler giggled.
Soft.
Too soft.
"Oh I know. Since you have been chosen. I will now let you have the wish you made before death as a gift," he added, eyes suddenly sparkling. "About being your own g-girlfriend?"
Sam froze.
"…I—what?"
"Granted."
The word landed gently.
Too gently.
Sam shot upright.
"Wait, what, the fuck, are you talking about chubby cheeks?"
The child didn't answer.
Instead, he pushed himself up onto his chubby legs, wings rustling softly behind him—and smiled.
Wrong.
That soft, innocent expression twisted into something that didn't belong on a face that small. Not cruel, not kind—just… certain. Like whatever came next had already been decided.
He raised one tiny hand.
And light was born.
It blossomed from his palm like a breath made visible—a perfect sphere of white, soft at first, then steadily brighter. It wasn't wild. It wasn't chaotic.
It pulsed.
Slow.
Steady.
Like a heartbeat.
Sam's stomach dropped.
"Hey—hey, angel baby," he said quickly, taking a step back, hands coming up instinctively. "What are you doing? I didn't agree to anything yet, alright? Let's—let's not rush this. There are rules to this kind of thing, right? Contracts? Terms? We can talk—"
His voice cracked.
The world around him shifted.
The wheat bent.
The sky seemed to lean.
Only that light remained steady.
The child frowned slightly, wings fluttering once—not with anger, but with something closer to quiet excitement.
"Come meet y-your destiny… my chosen one."
"Nope," Sam said immediately, already backing away. "No, no—we're not doing that. Let's slow this down. You explain, I listen, we negotiate—hell, I'll even go to the stars if you throw in a million euros, we can make this work—"
"Stop whining, mortal."
The stutter vanished.
The voice dropped.
Heavy.
Commanding.
Wrong.
"Now come here."
Sam didn't.
Sam ran.
"Oh shit—oh shit—oh shit—"
His bare feet tore through the wheat, heart slamming against his ribs, instincts screaming at him to move, to get distance, to get anywhere that wasn't near that thing—
Behind him—
wings.
A single, violent beat.
The air exploded outward, flattening the wheat in a widening wave as something lifted, fast—too fast—his shadow stretching long and warped across Sam's back.
"Don't run!"
"Yeah, that's exactly when I run—!"
Too late.
Something caught him.
Not heavy.
Not forceful.
Just… inevitable.
Like gravity deciding he belonged somewhere else.
The child hit his back, small hands tangling into his hair, clinging with impossible weight.
"Don't defy me, mortal!"
"GET OFF—!"
Sam twisted, trying to throw him, to shake him loose—
—and then he felt it.
A hand.
Small.
Burning.
Pressing into his chest.
Not against it.
Through it.
Like there was nothing there to stop it.
Like there had never been.
"A—AH—!"
The light followed.
It didn't strike.
It slipped.
Smooth.
Precise.
Like a coin pressed into soft flesh.
Like a blade sliding clean between ribs.
Straight into his heart.
Sam dropped.
Screaming.
Not a shout.
Not a yell.
A raw, tearing sound ripped out of him as his body hit the ground, hands clawing at his chest as if he could dig it back out.
"WHAT—WHAT DID YOU—AH—FUCK—!"
It burned.
No—
It lived.
Inside him.
A pressure.
A heat.
Something foreign forcing itself into his core, wrapping around his heart—
And then—
it beat.
Once.
Twice.
Two rhythms.
Two pulses.
Not alone anymore.
The child stepped lightly off his back, wings settling behind him as he watched.
Smiling.
"Worry not, mortal," he said softly now, almost gentle. "The pain is temporary. Your soul… will be reforged."
Sam couldn't answer.
Could barely breathe.
The light inside him grew.
Expanded.
Consumed.
Until everything—
turned white.