Night Of The Boy King, Prologue (1/6)
Art Title:
Prompt Number: S1025
Artist: expectative
Fic Title: Night of the Boy King
Author: safiyabat
Beta: elwarre
Fandom/Genre: SPN, angst, Wincest,
Pairing(s): Sam/Dean, past Sam/OCs
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 32,157 (entire fic), 2,565 (this chapter)
Warnings: Some explicit sexual content, show-level violence, demonic possession, using the "big boy words." Wincest.
Summary: John Winchester realized that something was "off" about Sammy when the boy was about seven. He abandoned him with the best demonologist he knew, Pastor Jim Murphy in Blue Earth, Minnesota. A little over ten years later, his older son Dean is ready to take on the demon that destroyed his family. All signs point to Blue Earth.
Jim Murphy heard the Impala’s low, rumbling engine before he saw her headlights. In all the time he’d known the man - seven years, give or take a week or two - the guy hadn’t even considered trading the thing in or ditching it altogether. It seemed shortsighted to the priest. A hunter needed to be very circumspect in his activities and the Impala was memorable. It stood out to the eye, to the ear. It also guzzled gas like the stuff cost a nickel a gallon and that hadn’t been the case in well over two decades. It wasn’t like John had deep pockets. But neither John nor Dean, when the subject was brought up with the boy, would hear of unloading the thing and driving something that blended in a little bit better. Jim shrugged. It was their funeral, he supposed.
He opened the door to the rectory and went to wait out front. Much to his surprise, John didn’t stop in front of the parish residence. Tonight he followed the driveway around to the back of the church instead, parking in the lot behind the small sanctuary where he couldn’t be seen from the street. Jim felt his palms get sweaty as he trotted around the building. This wasn’t typical, not of John. He wasn’t a back-door kind of guy when it came to Jim and his house. Neither was the marked lack of a boy with dirty blond hair and a cocky smirk in the shotgun seat. Now, he was all for hunters changing things up from time to time, it kept them from getting tracked down by whatever nasty critter of the week might be looking for them, but when it came to something this basic and familiar a change like this couldn’t bode well for anyone.
John killed the engine just as he saw Jim turn the corner, opening the car door and sliding out with a grace that shouldn’t be possible in such a large man. “Jim,” he greeted in his quiet, growling voice. “Thanks for agreeing to see us.”
“It’s never a problem to see you, John,” the priest replied. “You know that.” He hated himself, just for a moment, for lowering his voice just because John felt the need to whisper. There was plenty of space around them; it was eleven o’clock at night for crying out loud, and the only businesses near the church were all closed. “What’s going on? Where’s Dean? Is he okay?” Deep inside the car, Jim could just make out tiny little Sammy, seven years old but sized like he was four or five. The kid was all hair and eyes, he thought, as the boy shrunk into the seat.
“Dean’s fine. Let’s go inside, out of the open.” The patriarch glanced around himself before opening the back door. “Come on, boy. Don’t dally.”
John wouldn’t even look at his youngest son, Jim realized as the child scrambled across the bench seat. He helped the boy emerge onto the pavement while John circled around and grabbed a pair of very small bags from the trunk. With confusion, Jim recognized them as a duffel and a small backpack. “You carry your own crap, boy,” John snarled at the child, almost knocking the boy over as he shoved them into his arms. The overhead light in the parking lot, activated by their motion, went out. Jim didn’t think anything of it - they probably needed their bulbs replaced - but John’s jaw clenched.
Sammy didn’t complain or cry out. He just blinked and staggered a little as he accepted the burden, following his father as the man stormed into the house. Jim folded his lips together and put a hand on the boy’s head, following along behind him.
They entered the rectory by the rear door. “Can I offer you something to eat?” Jim asked. “I don’t have much but I can probably manage a peanut butter sandwich.”
“No thanks, padre,” John said. “I won’t be staying.”
“John, what’s going on?” Jim demanded as his guest sat heavily in his chair. “I’m not… where’s Dean? Is he hurt? What’s happening here, John?” He met John’s eyes squarely. Out of all of their mutual acquaintances he was one of the few who wasn’t intimidated by the frankly single-minded hunter. “I can’t help you if I don’t know what you’re running from.”
John glanced at Sammy. “Boy? Go play in the sanctuary.”
Sammy didn’t say a word. He stared his father down for a while, too long for it to be just fatigue or incomprehension. Then he walked down the narrow passageway between the rectory and the church itself, taking only a book from his backpack.
John visibly relaxed when the door closed behind the boy. “I… Jim, it’s a lot to ask, but I need your help.”
Jim frowned. “Anything, John. You know that.”
“I don’t know that when you hear what I need from you.”
His sigh now was more one of aggravation than anything else. “Just spit it out.”
“I’ve… well, you know I’ve had some concerns about Sam for a while. He’s not like Dean, Jim.”
“Well, no. That’s because he’s Sam. A separate person. His entire experience has been different from Dean’s. He didn’t have the stability Dean had for the first five years of his life for one thing.” He also hadn’t had the nurturing presence of two loving parents that Dean had - Mary had died and John could hardly be described as affectionate or even interested. Not in Sam, anyway. But John didn’t seem to be in the right headspace to hear that right now.
“He’s been reading since he was what, three? That ain’t right. I didn’t teach him that,” the bulky hunter pressed.
“No. I did,” Jim shot back. “Taught him Latin when you left him here that time that Dean had chicken pox, too. Which you didn’t seem to object much to at the time, if I recall. What’s this about, John?” He couldn’t shake the cold pit in his stomach, the one belying the sweat at his temples.
“Something killed my Mary, Jim.”
“And you think it was Sam.”
“What? No. He was six months old! But… I don’t think that whatever it was… I don’t think that it was going after Mary. I think that Mary died trying to defend him from whatever it was.” He swallowed and looked back up at Jim. “I think it might have… wanted him for something.”
“What the hell does a demon want with an infant, John? I mean, I’ve heard of some demons that eat babies - Lilith, for example. But not… if it had wanted to eat Sammy it would have just eaten him. Not left him there.”
“The boy ain’t right, Jim! A few weeks ago…” He took a deep breath and let it out. “A few weeks ago he entered the science fair at school. I don’t know how he managed that because I sure as hell didn’t allow it. But he entered, and he won even though older kids were in it, and his teacher wanted to bring him to some states thing.” His face colored up. “She was a succubus, Jim.”
The priest opened his mouth and closed it again. “Did she….”
“With Sam? God, no. He’s only seven.” He reddened even more. “I’m… I’ve been lonely.”
“A succubus can be very hard to resist, John. I’ve known men of the cloth who couldn’t resist their seductions. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” He put a comforting hand on the man’s arm.
John shook it off. “Damn it man, I’m supposed to be better than that! But apparently I’m not.” He buried his face in his hands. “Anyway. She was very insistent. Kept saying Sammy was ‘special.’” He spat out the word like an olive pit. “Said it was her job to make sure he reached his full potential. After Dean rescued us -”
“Dean got involved?”
“Yeah. He, uh, he saved both of us. Anyway, after he saved us both I did some research over at Bobby Singer’s, and you know what? I found some lore that says that succubae are sometimes sent to collect…” He choked up. “Sent to collect the children sired by… by incubi. Or by other demons, Jim.”
“I see,” the priest said after a moment. Hatred, tinged with rage, welled up in him; he automatically assigned himself all of the Sorrowful Mysteries of the Rosary as penance. “John, demons lie. And just because that’s one function they perform doesn’t mean it’s something they always do. Maybe she just saw an opportunity and took it. Sammy’s not…” He sighed. “Sure he’s precocious. He’s a genius -”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” John sneered.
“I would. He’s smarter than any other kid that age that I’ve met. But Dean’s smart too. So are you, for that matter. And since you don’t have time for fools, I’m guessing that neither was Mary. The fact that he’s brilliant doesn’t mean that he’s… unclean.”
John gave him the bitterest laugh he’d ever heard. “How about moving things around the motel room? Or affecting the electronics?”
Jim froze. “You’re joking.”
“I hadn’t noticed before. I mean sure, the electronics were always getting screwed up in the motels we stayed in, but they were crap motels. What were we expecting, state of the art? But after his seventh birthday he stopped asking for me to reach things for him. I figured he’d just been asking Dean to do it - I mean, I’m a busy guy, I work hard. When I get home the last thing I need is some whiny kid wanting cereal off the top shelf, you know? But then I saw him actually do something.”
Something told Jim that Sam wasn’t going to burst into fits of telekinesis, even if he were capable of it, just for some food. He’d seen the boy forget to eat for days on end, until someone remembered to feed him. “What happened to Dean, John?”
He shook his head ruefully. “He left the motel room when I told him not to. I was about to punish him - the boy needs to learn to take orders, Jim - but… something pushed me away. I went flying into the wall on the other side of the room. This was about a week after the Mrs. Lyle incident. He got a bit of a nosebleed after that, and his head hurt him, but there’s no doubt in my mind that it was him.
“I took him and Dean and we moved to another motel - I told them that it was a spirit that we’d salted into the room with us. But I think the boy knows the truth. I mean, that’s demonic right there.” He shook his head. “I can’t… I can’t have him around Dean, Jim.”
“There are plenty of human psychics, John.” He couldn’t prevent the note of disapproval from entering his voice. “Missouri Mosely, for one. You know her; you’ve made use of her services.”
“That’s different. We don’t have demons calling her ‘special.’”
“We don’t know that. We just don’t have them saying that to us, because she’s not part of our family. Do you really believe, in your heart of hearts, that Mary was even remotely unfaithful to you?”
John looked pained. “I… uh… we were having a lot of problems, back then. I drank, probably more than I ought. If I’d been possessed and the thing blacked me out it might not have pinged either of us as being weird.” He hung his head and looked away. “I mean, I don’t know. I just don’t know. And there’s no way for me to know, except for what that bitch told me. That’s all I have to go on. That and a freak for a son. Even if he’s not half-demon -”
“You bite your tongue John Winchester!” Jim seethed.
“It’s a possibility, Jim!” he insisted. “Even if he isn’t, he’s a freak. You know he’s fair game now, Jim. If other hunters ever figure out that he’s telekinetic, it’s over for him. That’s even without hell-bitches stroking his ego and telling him he’s ‘special.’” John had an exceptional hatred for that word; he kept saying it like he had bitten into a dandelion head. “I just… I’m kind of at the end of my rope. I mean, I know what I should do. I should take him out to a field somewhere -”
“If you finish that sentence, John, I won’t bother bringing you out to a field somewhere. I’ll tell Sammy you were possessed. And they will never, ever find your body.”
John smiled grimly. “I knew I came to the right place. I don’t want to have to do that, Jim. See, no matter what Sammy is, no matter why he was left alive when Mary was killed, I have to think that there’s a reason. I have to think that the thing that killed Mary isn’t done with him - isn’t done with us yet. And even if he’s not my son he’s still Mary’s son. I was there. I saw it. I don’t want him to get killed. I don’t want to kill Mary’s son. But… I mean, who knows who’s pulling his strings here? Or who will be in the future?”
Jim closed his eyes and breathed out slowly. “So leave him here, John.”
Winchester’s eyes glittered. “Really?”
“I think he’ll be better off. And this parish is on holy ground. If there is a… demonic influence on the boy then the holy ground should counter it.” He wasn’t sure which he was fighting harder, an eye roll or a swallow of fear. In the end it didn’t matter; he fought it all the same. “I think I’m probably in the best possible position to help the boy.”
“I was hoping you’d say that. He can never see his brother again. It’s best if Sam Winchester just… disappears. I’ve got faked papers and everything in his backpack, everything you’ll need. You’ll never see or hear from me again, Jim.” He took the priest’s hand and shook it.
“John, wait!”
But John was already out the door. Jim sighed and turned to go find Sammy.
He found his charge in the sanctuary, curled up on the floor at the foot of the altar. His face was lax in sleep; he looked like an angel. Jim lifted the child effortlessly; he really needed to make sure that the child ate better if he was going to be caring for him for the rest of his life. There was no way that there was anything demonic about the boy. There probably wasn’t even anything remotely psychic about him. John had a history of drinking problems even by his own admission; no one who had spent any amount of time around him could possibly be blind to his temper or his drinking habits. He’d probably fallen over on his own and let the drink fill in the blanks for him.
It was only after he’d gotten the boy safely tucked away in the guest room, his room hereafter, that he realized that he hadn’t left any candles on in the sanctuary. They’d all been blazing brightly when he’d gone in to fetch Sam.
Back to masterpost -- On to Part One
Prompt Number: S1025
Artist: expectative
Fic Title: Night of the Boy King
Author: safiyabat
Beta: elwarre
Fandom/Genre: SPN, angst, Wincest,
Pairing(s): Sam/Dean, past Sam/OCs
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 32,157 (entire fic), 2,565 (this chapter)
Warnings: Some explicit sexual content, show-level violence, demonic possession, using the "big boy words." Wincest.
Summary: John Winchester realized that something was "off" about Sammy when the boy was about seven. He abandoned him with the best demonologist he knew, Pastor Jim Murphy in Blue Earth, Minnesota. A little over ten years later, his older son Dean is ready to take on the demon that destroyed his family. All signs point to Blue Earth.
Jim Murphy heard the Impala’s low, rumbling engine before he saw her headlights. In all the time he’d known the man - seven years, give or take a week or two - the guy hadn’t even considered trading the thing in or ditching it altogether. It seemed shortsighted to the priest. A hunter needed to be very circumspect in his activities and the Impala was memorable. It stood out to the eye, to the ear. It also guzzled gas like the stuff cost a nickel a gallon and that hadn’t been the case in well over two decades. It wasn’t like John had deep pockets. But neither John nor Dean, when the subject was brought up with the boy, would hear of unloading the thing and driving something that blended in a little bit better. Jim shrugged. It was their funeral, he supposed.
He opened the door to the rectory and went to wait out front. Much to his surprise, John didn’t stop in front of the parish residence. Tonight he followed the driveway around to the back of the church instead, parking in the lot behind the small sanctuary where he couldn’t be seen from the street. Jim felt his palms get sweaty as he trotted around the building. This wasn’t typical, not of John. He wasn’t a back-door kind of guy when it came to Jim and his house. Neither was the marked lack of a boy with dirty blond hair and a cocky smirk in the shotgun seat. Now, he was all for hunters changing things up from time to time, it kept them from getting tracked down by whatever nasty critter of the week might be looking for them, but when it came to something this basic and familiar a change like this couldn’t bode well for anyone.
John killed the engine just as he saw Jim turn the corner, opening the car door and sliding out with a grace that shouldn’t be possible in such a large man. “Jim,” he greeted in his quiet, growling voice. “Thanks for agreeing to see us.”
“It’s never a problem to see you, John,” the priest replied. “You know that.” He hated himself, just for a moment, for lowering his voice just because John felt the need to whisper. There was plenty of space around them; it was eleven o’clock at night for crying out loud, and the only businesses near the church were all closed. “What’s going on? Where’s Dean? Is he okay?” Deep inside the car, Jim could just make out tiny little Sammy, seven years old but sized like he was four or five. The kid was all hair and eyes, he thought, as the boy shrunk into the seat.
“Dean’s fine. Let’s go inside, out of the open.” The patriarch glanced around himself before opening the back door. “Come on, boy. Don’t dally.”
John wouldn’t even look at his youngest son, Jim realized as the child scrambled across the bench seat. He helped the boy emerge onto the pavement while John circled around and grabbed a pair of very small bags from the trunk. With confusion, Jim recognized them as a duffel and a small backpack. “You carry your own crap, boy,” John snarled at the child, almost knocking the boy over as he shoved them into his arms. The overhead light in the parking lot, activated by their motion, went out. Jim didn’t think anything of it - they probably needed their bulbs replaced - but John’s jaw clenched.
Sammy didn’t complain or cry out. He just blinked and staggered a little as he accepted the burden, following his father as the man stormed into the house. Jim folded his lips together and put a hand on the boy’s head, following along behind him.
They entered the rectory by the rear door. “Can I offer you something to eat?” Jim asked. “I don’t have much but I can probably manage a peanut butter sandwich.”
“No thanks, padre,” John said. “I won’t be staying.”
“John, what’s going on?” Jim demanded as his guest sat heavily in his chair. “I’m not… where’s Dean? Is he hurt? What’s happening here, John?” He met John’s eyes squarely. Out of all of their mutual acquaintances he was one of the few who wasn’t intimidated by the frankly single-minded hunter. “I can’t help you if I don’t know what you’re running from.”
John glanced at Sammy. “Boy? Go play in the sanctuary.”
Sammy didn’t say a word. He stared his father down for a while, too long for it to be just fatigue or incomprehension. Then he walked down the narrow passageway between the rectory and the church itself, taking only a book from his backpack.
John visibly relaxed when the door closed behind the boy. “I… Jim, it’s a lot to ask, but I need your help.”
Jim frowned. “Anything, John. You know that.”
“I don’t know that when you hear what I need from you.”
His sigh now was more one of aggravation than anything else. “Just spit it out.”
“I’ve… well, you know I’ve had some concerns about Sam for a while. He’s not like Dean, Jim.”
“Well, no. That’s because he’s Sam. A separate person. His entire experience has been different from Dean’s. He didn’t have the stability Dean had for the first five years of his life for one thing.” He also hadn’t had the nurturing presence of two loving parents that Dean had - Mary had died and John could hardly be described as affectionate or even interested. Not in Sam, anyway. But John didn’t seem to be in the right headspace to hear that right now.
“He’s been reading since he was what, three? That ain’t right. I didn’t teach him that,” the bulky hunter pressed.
“No. I did,” Jim shot back. “Taught him Latin when you left him here that time that Dean had chicken pox, too. Which you didn’t seem to object much to at the time, if I recall. What’s this about, John?” He couldn’t shake the cold pit in his stomach, the one belying the sweat at his temples.
“Something killed my Mary, Jim.”
“And you think it was Sam.”
“What? No. He was six months old! But… I don’t think that whatever it was… I don’t think that it was going after Mary. I think that Mary died trying to defend him from whatever it was.” He swallowed and looked back up at Jim. “I think it might have… wanted him for something.”
“What the hell does a demon want with an infant, John? I mean, I’ve heard of some demons that eat babies - Lilith, for example. But not… if it had wanted to eat Sammy it would have just eaten him. Not left him there.”
“The boy ain’t right, Jim! A few weeks ago…” He took a deep breath and let it out. “A few weeks ago he entered the science fair at school. I don’t know how he managed that because I sure as hell didn’t allow it. But he entered, and he won even though older kids were in it, and his teacher wanted to bring him to some states thing.” His face colored up. “She was a succubus, Jim.”
The priest opened his mouth and closed it again. “Did she….”
“With Sam? God, no. He’s only seven.” He reddened even more. “I’m… I’ve been lonely.”
“A succubus can be very hard to resist, John. I’ve known men of the cloth who couldn’t resist their seductions. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” He put a comforting hand on the man’s arm.
John shook it off. “Damn it man, I’m supposed to be better than that! But apparently I’m not.” He buried his face in his hands. “Anyway. She was very insistent. Kept saying Sammy was ‘special.’” He spat out the word like an olive pit. “Said it was her job to make sure he reached his full potential. After Dean rescued us -”
“Dean got involved?”
“Yeah. He, uh, he saved both of us. Anyway, after he saved us both I did some research over at Bobby Singer’s, and you know what? I found some lore that says that succubae are sometimes sent to collect…” He choked up. “Sent to collect the children sired by… by incubi. Or by other demons, Jim.”
“I see,” the priest said after a moment. Hatred, tinged with rage, welled up in him; he automatically assigned himself all of the Sorrowful Mysteries of the Rosary as penance. “John, demons lie. And just because that’s one function they perform doesn’t mean it’s something they always do. Maybe she just saw an opportunity and took it. Sammy’s not…” He sighed. “Sure he’s precocious. He’s a genius -”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” John sneered.
“I would. He’s smarter than any other kid that age that I’ve met. But Dean’s smart too. So are you, for that matter. And since you don’t have time for fools, I’m guessing that neither was Mary. The fact that he’s brilliant doesn’t mean that he’s… unclean.”
John gave him the bitterest laugh he’d ever heard. “How about moving things around the motel room? Or affecting the electronics?”
Jim froze. “You’re joking.”
“I hadn’t noticed before. I mean sure, the electronics were always getting screwed up in the motels we stayed in, but they were crap motels. What were we expecting, state of the art? But after his seventh birthday he stopped asking for me to reach things for him. I figured he’d just been asking Dean to do it - I mean, I’m a busy guy, I work hard. When I get home the last thing I need is some whiny kid wanting cereal off the top shelf, you know? But then I saw him actually do something.”
Something told Jim that Sam wasn’t going to burst into fits of telekinesis, even if he were capable of it, just for some food. He’d seen the boy forget to eat for days on end, until someone remembered to feed him. “What happened to Dean, John?”
He shook his head ruefully. “He left the motel room when I told him not to. I was about to punish him - the boy needs to learn to take orders, Jim - but… something pushed me away. I went flying into the wall on the other side of the room. This was about a week after the Mrs. Lyle incident. He got a bit of a nosebleed after that, and his head hurt him, but there’s no doubt in my mind that it was him.
“I took him and Dean and we moved to another motel - I told them that it was a spirit that we’d salted into the room with us. But I think the boy knows the truth. I mean, that’s demonic right there.” He shook his head. “I can’t… I can’t have him around Dean, Jim.”
“There are plenty of human psychics, John.” He couldn’t prevent the note of disapproval from entering his voice. “Missouri Mosely, for one. You know her; you’ve made use of her services.”
“That’s different. We don’t have demons calling her ‘special.’”
“We don’t know that. We just don’t have them saying that to us, because she’s not part of our family. Do you really believe, in your heart of hearts, that Mary was even remotely unfaithful to you?”
John looked pained. “I… uh… we were having a lot of problems, back then. I drank, probably more than I ought. If I’d been possessed and the thing blacked me out it might not have pinged either of us as being weird.” He hung his head and looked away. “I mean, I don’t know. I just don’t know. And there’s no way for me to know, except for what that bitch told me. That’s all I have to go on. That and a freak for a son. Even if he’s not half-demon -”
“You bite your tongue John Winchester!” Jim seethed.
“It’s a possibility, Jim!” he insisted. “Even if he isn’t, he’s a freak. You know he’s fair game now, Jim. If other hunters ever figure out that he’s telekinetic, it’s over for him. That’s even without hell-bitches stroking his ego and telling him he’s ‘special.’” John had an exceptional hatred for that word; he kept saying it like he had bitten into a dandelion head. “I just… I’m kind of at the end of my rope. I mean, I know what I should do. I should take him out to a field somewhere -”
“If you finish that sentence, John, I won’t bother bringing you out to a field somewhere. I’ll tell Sammy you were possessed. And they will never, ever find your body.”
John smiled grimly. “I knew I came to the right place. I don’t want to have to do that, Jim. See, no matter what Sammy is, no matter why he was left alive when Mary was killed, I have to think that there’s a reason. I have to think that the thing that killed Mary isn’t done with him - isn’t done with us yet. And even if he’s not my son he’s still Mary’s son. I was there. I saw it. I don’t want him to get killed. I don’t want to kill Mary’s son. But… I mean, who knows who’s pulling his strings here? Or who will be in the future?”
Jim closed his eyes and breathed out slowly. “So leave him here, John.”
Winchester’s eyes glittered. “Really?”
“I think he’ll be better off. And this parish is on holy ground. If there is a… demonic influence on the boy then the holy ground should counter it.” He wasn’t sure which he was fighting harder, an eye roll or a swallow of fear. In the end it didn’t matter; he fought it all the same. “I think I’m probably in the best possible position to help the boy.”
“I was hoping you’d say that. He can never see his brother again. It’s best if Sam Winchester just… disappears. I’ve got faked papers and everything in his backpack, everything you’ll need. You’ll never see or hear from me again, Jim.” He took the priest’s hand and shook it.
“John, wait!”
But John was already out the door. Jim sighed and turned to go find Sammy.
He found his charge in the sanctuary, curled up on the floor at the foot of the altar. His face was lax in sleep; he looked like an angel. Jim lifted the child effortlessly; he really needed to make sure that the child ate better if he was going to be caring for him for the rest of his life. There was no way that there was anything demonic about the boy. There probably wasn’t even anything remotely psychic about him. John had a history of drinking problems even by his own admission; no one who had spent any amount of time around him could possibly be blind to his temper or his drinking habits. He’d probably fallen over on his own and let the drink fill in the blanks for him.
It was only after he’d gotten the boy safely tucked away in the guest room, his room hereafter, that he realized that he hadn’t left any candles on in the sanctuary. They’d all been blazing brightly when he’d gone in to fetch Sam.
Back to masterpost -- On to Part One