It was a cold and quiet night; the kind of night that most
people shut themselves up inside and stayed where it was warm. Heaters were
turned up, movies put on, and people snuggled down underneath their blankets as
they watched the threat of more snow loom on the horizon. The only people out were
those that were on their way home â and one lone figure walking down the side
of the street.
The man walking wasnât one that would typically draw the
eye. Golden-brown hair was left loose, blowing around his face in the breeze.
He wasnât tall, or wide, or particularly noteworthy. Which was fine. That was
exactly how he wanted it. The last thing he wanted was to draw eyes his way.
Silent feet left no prints in the already fallen snow as the
man turned at the street corner. Up in the distance, the sign for a motel
became clear. That was their destination.
There was no one around to see as the man walked up to the motel,
or as he bypassed almost every single door until heâd made his way to the one
on the very end. For a brief moment, if someone had looked out their window,
they mightâve seen the figure pause in front of the door with a hand on the
doorknob. Then the wind blew, the first bit of snow started to swirl through
the air, and the figure was gone.
The man hadnât simply vanished, though. He appeared on the
other side of the door inside of the darkened motel room. A quick sweep with
golden eyes showed the whole room locked down tight. On one bed lay an adult
male, sound asleep, with a young boy curled up against him. A shotgun sat half
under the edge of the bed in easy reach of the manâs hand. Salt marked the
front door and the windows. It clearly marked this as the room of a hunter. A
new one, judging by the lack of some wards, but a hunter nonetheless. It made
the man â being â smirk.
The two on the bed werenât the ones that he was here for,
though. No, it was the other figure in the room. The tiny little boy lying
inside the motel issued crib.
There wasnât a sound in the room as he strolled right up to
the crib side. There, he paused, hands stuffed down into his pockets as the
being once known as the archangel Gabriel stared down at the boy whose call heâd
felt from the moment of his birth â the one who was supposed to be his charge.
Inside of his head, he felt a soft hum, the sound of the
other occupant of his vessel waking up enough to stare down through his eyes
with him. Heâs tiny. But that soul! I
donât think Iâve ever seen one so bright!
Loki, the being with which Gabriel shared this vessel, the
one heâd made a deal with that kept them both safe, wasnât lying. The soul of
Samuel Winchester shone brighter than any other soul that Gabriel could
remember seeing. Even at just shy of a year old, the little boy was so bright.
Not even the hint of demon blood staining the edges could mar him completely. But
it made sense, didnât it, that his soul would be this bright? Samuel Winchester
wasnât just any boy. No â he had a
destiny. One that had marked him long before his birth.
Dad must be playing some
kind of cruel joke here. Why the hell would he give me a Charge meant to be
Luciferâs VESSEL?
He felt the mental equivalent of a shrug. Who
knows. Iâve always said the guyâs even crazier than Odin â and thatâs saying something.
Whatâre you going to do?
I donât know.
Right. This time, Loki scoffed at him. Sure you donât. Thatâs why weâre
here, because youâre unsure about what you want to do. You wish to claim the
boy.
Gabriel wanted to be the one to scoff this time. He really
did. He just⌠he found that he couldnât quite manage it. Instead, he was
leaning forward, arms coming to rest folded over the edge of the crib. Never
once did he take his eyes off the boy sleeping peacefully in front of him. What would be the point? I canât save him.
Not with that attitude.
Not with any attitude. Heâs got a destiny bigger than
us, Loki. Thereâs no point in this. Why did that thought hurt so much?
Gabrielâs grace ached to reach out and mark the boy that was meant to be his.
His to care for, his to protect, his to guide. Very rarely were archangels
given Charges. Those were usually left to seraphs â the Guardians. For a soul
to be given to the care of an archangel was something much bigger. It meant
that soul was important. Those souls required much more care.
That was what Samuel was supposed to be â and what Gabriel couldnât
give him.
He felt pagan power push up and pulse inside of him. Loki
made unhappy noises at him. So your damning him because youâre afraid of
what his future holds?
He has no future,
Gabriel shot back fiercely. Except to die
holding my brother.
Well, to borrow a human saying â fuck that!
The pagan power pushed up inside of them and Gabriel was too
stunned to do anything to stop it as Loki took control of their vessel. He shoved
the archangel backwards just long enough to reach out with their hand, with his
power, and press his fingers against Samuelâs bicep. There was a flare of dark,
golden light, and for one brief moment the image of a snake appeared to move
around it until it coiled there perfectly and sank down into his skin.
By the time Gabriel regained control enough to push Loki
back once more, it was too late.
The mark showed bright to any who had the power to see on
the young boyâs arm. In their shared mind, Gabriel could feel Lokiâs smugness. What have you done? Gabriel demanded. Dammit, Loki! You have no idea what youâve
done!
I took what you were too afraid to. Loki replied without any
fear or hesitance.
And marked him for
everyone to see!
Mm. Too bad thereâs not a way to hide my mark or anything like that. I
guess heâll just have to go around bearing the mark of a pagan on his arm. Poor
kid.
A growl slipped past Gabrielâs lips. He felt the others in
the room stir in response and waved a hand absently their way to keep them
asleep. He wasnât an idiot â he knew exactly what Loki was trying to do here.
The bastard had left Gabriel with only one choice; his grace was screaming at
him to keep the boy safe, and what Loki had done had protected him in some ways
while damning him in others. There was no way that Gabriel could hold out. No
way he could resist.
I hate you,
Gabriel thought loudly. Then he reached his hand out, once more in control, and
laid it over the boyâs arm.
This time the light that flared was bright. The light of an
archangel.
When Gabriel drew his hand away there showed, for one brief
moment, the burn of a golden feather twined round the snake. Then their power
combined and drew under his skin out of sight of humans and magical beings
alike.
There was no turning back now. For better or worse, they had
claimed this boy with all parts of them. So
be it.
Hereâs another snippet thatâs really a whole chapter. And yet ANOTHER that was spawned by talking with @theriverscribe This was the start to the DID fic we talked about. I got so damn nervous, I have a good chunk of the thing plotted out and never ended up writing more than a few chapters and chunks before I got scared I was screwing up and buried it in my files. This here is a very rough – unedited – first chapter
Sam couldnât help how he stared at the man standing there in
front of them. Theyâd seen so much over the years, been through so many things.
Deaths and resurrections and everything in between the two. Yet still none of
it had prepared him for seeing his father standing there in the middle of
Bobbyâs kitchen looking just the same as he had all those years ago before
theyâd lost him. Somehow even though Sam was older his Dad still looked just as
big and just as powerful as he always had. Sam had seen true power since then â
heâd seen archangels who could smite him with just a thought. Heâd been to hell
and suffered torture beyond imagining. Heâd been soulless and had been resouled
by Death himself, had been crazy and
broken and healed again by an archangel theyâd all thought was dead and gone.
Sam had faced so much in his life since the last time heâd seen their father.
Yet still, he stood at Deanâs side and fought not to lean into his big brother,
to duck back and hide from this giant of a man who would always seem larger
than life in Samâs eyes.
The smile that curved Johnâs lips was familiar and painful
and just a bit wonderful. âHey, boys. Long time no see.â
âDad.â Deanâs voice was low, the single word a croak that
Sam wasnât sure heâd meant to pass his lips.
Off to the side, Bobby watched their reunion with a smile on
his lips and worry showing in his eyes. He anticipated their first question and
answered it before they had the chance to give it voice. âItâs really him. I
did all the tests â itâs him.â
It seemed too good to be true. How on earth had their Dad
been resurrected? How was he here?
When John took a step forward, Sam moved instinctively,
pressing himself just the tiniest bit closer to Dean. It was a move heâd done
countless times before when faced with something bigger and stronger than him.
Not even Lucifer had been able to destroy that belief in Sam that Dean was his
one safe place. Nothing the devil had done had been able to get rid of that
sense of safety in Deanâs presence.
Dean responded to it the same way that he always had. He
shifted his weight on his feet in a subtle move that slid him more in front of
Sam than behind him. He sheltered Sam without even having to think about it.
âDad.â He repeated, this time a little steadier, a little more awed, like it
was finally sinking in.
When Dean moved forward to hug their father, to wrap him up
and cling in a way the Winchesters had only ever done when things were serious,
when emotions were too high and they couldnât give in to the words because that
wasnât who they were, Sam took a small step back.
Was this⌠was this real? Was that actually John standing
there? Sam curled his one hand in tight and dug his fingernails into his palm
over top of the scar that had helped him to keep as sane for as long as he had
once the wall had been broken in his mind. But not even the pain of his nails
cutting into his skin broke through the image of John and Dean hugging. That
meant â did that mean he was real? He was really here?
The two broke apart and Johnâs smile turned Samâs direction.
It was open and warm in a way Sam couldnât remember seeing there all that
often. This was a happy John. One who was happy to see his boys. Who wasnât
angry or disappointed or any of the things that Sam knew he should be. âHey,
Sammy.â
That nickname was enough to have Sam actually flinching
backwards. They echoed in his head, a remembrance, a memory of a different
time. A time that, despite Gabrielâs healing, still burned around the edges of
Samâs mind sometimes. Johnâs face had been one that Lucifer liked to use a lot.
One that he knew hurt Sam quite a bit. Was that what this was now? Was this
just, was he going crazy again and this was Lucifer torturing him somehow?
Samâs flinch had worry flashing into Johnâs eyes. But it had
Dean reacting in a different way entirely. He cursed in a low voice and then
stepped right past John and firmly placed himself between the two. All of his
attention was fixed on Sam, though. âHey, Sammy, look at me. Look right here.â
His right hand lifted and he pointed at his face. His gaze was steady as it
locked on Sam. âThatâs it, little brother. Look right here at me. Youâre okay.
Youâre all right.â
Until then Sam hadnât realized that he was shaking. He
became abruptly aware of it when Dean took a step towards him and reached out,
closing one of his hands over Samâs shaking fist. He never held Samâs wrists,
not after the last time when Sam had almost had a panic attack because of it.
It felt like Samâs thoughts were all over the place. This, it
couldnât be real. It couldnât! This had to be some sort of torture. Which meant
that soon, things were going to get decidedly less nice. John or Dean or
someone was going to start doing the things that still haunted Samâs dreams at
night. Heâd thought that Gabriel had gotten rid of most of the crazy! This
shouldnât be happening!
âWhatâs going on?â John asked, looking even more worried
than before. He moved to step up beside Dean, stopping when Dean shot a hand
out to block him.
âStay back.â Dean warned. His eyes never broke away from
Samâs. When he spoke again, his voice gentled, turned to that softer tone that
only ever was directed at Sam. âFocus on me here, Sammy. You know Iâm real. Iâm
right here with you.â
âDean?â
Samâs voice was low and questioning. Pleading, really. He
knew and he couldnât seem to bring himself to care. Something was wrong here.
Something was so wrong. What was happening?
Another low curse sounded from Dean. He took another small
step forward and kept his hold on Samâs hand without any of the hesitation or
shame that mightâve been there around John years and years ago. A lifetime ago.
âYeah, all right, kid. Whatever you need.â Dean said, hearing the unasked
questions in just that one word, just the sound of his name. Heâd always been
able to read Sam better than anyone. The next second he proved that by calling
out âHey Gabriel, get your feathery butt on down to Bobbyâs. We got a situation
here and Sam needs you â now.â
It took only a second â during which Sam could hear John
demanding once more âWhatâs going on?â â and then there was the sound of wings
that Dean swore he never could hear, but Sam always could.
The archangel didnât even bother with any sort of pretenses
or any of his usual games. He landed right at Samâs side, the side opposite the
one that Dean was holding on to. One look around the room in what Sam knew was
a sweep for threats â a brief widening of his eyes as they passed over John â
and then those golden orbs were locked right on Samâs face. In the next instant
Gabriel was stepping right between Sam and Dean without ever breaking Deanâs
hold and he was reaching up to cup Samâs face in both his hands. The flow of
grace was instant and, as always, it washed away some of Samâs panic. âTake a
deep breath for me, kiddo. Focus here on me and take a deep breath.â
That was something he could do. Sam drew in a breath and
then let it back out, slowly. He did that twice, mimicking Gabrielâs breathing
almost unconsciously. When he spoke again, his voice was just a bit steadier,
but full of questions. âGabriel?â
âYeah, I know.â Gabriel said, just as good as Dean at
reading Sam. He stepped in closer so that their bodies pressed together and he
smiled sweetly up at him. A smile that was pure Gabriel, and that was just for
Sam. Only ever for him. âYouâre not there, all right? Just keep focusing on me.
You know the drill. This is just your brain trying to flashback and weâre not
gonna let it. Keep looking at me and focus on what you see. What you feel.
Youâre stronger than these memories, Samshine. Kick âem in the ass.â
Karate, SPN Demonic Octopus Guardian 