Boy King of a Lot of Things | Part 5
Part 4
For the first time in days, Sam woke up without pain somewhere in his body. It was nice, he figured, to realize that you were healthy. To be healthy.
Admittedly, he’d practically done it to himself. He’d walked into that trap headfirst. He should’ve practiced messing with his powers before he tried to take on the Darkness herself.
But then again, he hadn’t had a handle on his powers until almost literally that point in time. So it wasn’t like he’d had an opportunity to practice.
That argument wouldn’t hold water, unfortunately.
He blinked and sat up when Crowley popped in. He waited for pain to set in, and sighed deeply when he didn’t. Thank God. He really was healed.
Crowley didn’t bother waiting for him to glance over. He just starting ranting: “Sam, you bloody idiot, what were you thinking going after Amara blind? She could have actually found a way to kill you, and then where would I be? Where would the world be? Oh, that’s right! Burned to the bloody ground!”
Sam winced. Unfortunately, it was all true, or he’d be arguing. Crowley was just putting in words what he’d been thinking.
Crowley continued, “If you insist on going after Amara like a bloodhound after a serial killer, at least practice severing ties on a soul! For God’s sake.”
Sam replied sardonically, “Oh yeah? On who?” Crowley’d never let him practice on him. He was far to possessive of that vessel to-
Crowley sighed. “On me, I suppose.”
Sam blinked. What? “What?”
“Look, Moose,” Crowley said, “I don’t have to like it, but you need to practice on someone that won’t bite back. And I’m your best shot. So…I suppose you’ll have to practice on me. Unfortunately.”
Sam held back a smirk. “Um, okay. When do we start?”
“Whenever you’re ready and awake.”
Sam stretched and realized that it had really been a while since he’d pissed and showered. “Uh, how about after I take care of some…business?” he asked.
Crowley sniffed and screwed up his nose. “Admittedly a good idea. I’ll return in an hour or so, Moose. Please have clothes on.”
Sam nodded, dancing in place now that his bladder had woken up. As soon as Crowley vanished, he ran for the bathroom. Pissing felt even better than realizing that he wasn’t hurt any more.
When he’d finished his business, he stripped and started the shower, putting the water to just above lukewarm. Too hot, and he had a feeling that he’d start getting flashbacks of his time in Hell. But too cold and he’d remember how cold Lucifer’s Grace felt inside of his when he-
He cut that train of thought off and focused on letting his muscles relax one muscle group at a time under the rush of the water. Taking a shower felt heavenly, and he wished he could actually stay under the spray until the water went cold.
Unfortunately, Crowley’s time frame was ambiguous enough that he couldn’t. As soon as he’d shampooed and scrubbed the sweat and dust off of himself (and luxuriated for just a few minutes - just a few! - under the warn water), he jumped out and scrubbed himself dry, wrapping the towel around his waist. (It was actually wide enough to be decent: another plus to the non-skeevy hotel.) He peeked out of the bathroom and, not seeing Crowley, poked around with his power as well, just to be certain. When even that turned up nothing, he stepped out, dropped the towel, and pulled on a pair of boxers.
Crowley popped in as he was tugging on a t-shirt. Sam realized that, now that he and his power were actually cooperating, he could feel Crowley coming. It was a strange feeling, like feeling an approaching thunderstorm in your bones.
Crowley hummed, “Well, at least you have pants on, Moose.”
Sam rolled his eyes and finished tugging on his t-shirt, picking up a flannel to wear over it. “Keep joking, Crowley,” he fired back, “Now when are we doing this?”
Crowley sighed and braced himself. “Right now,” he said, screwing up his face.
Sam tensed and wished he didn’t have to do this. But he reached his power forward and felt for where Crowley attached to vessel. He felt out each of the connecting points, noting their relative strength and location. (Interestingly, Crowley was holding on strongest to his vessel’s…chest? Almost like he wanted to stay in the vessel’s heart.)
After he’d noted every location and rechecked for any that Crowley had tried to hide (he found three; Crowley was craftier than he’d thought), he began snipping at each of the connections. He could feel Crowley - not Crowley’s vessel but Crowley himself - flinch at each snip, but apparently the demon was committed to allowing him to learn on a demon that didn’t fight back. (Sam was glad; he wanted to figure how to do this before he had to figure out how to defend himself at the same time. That could come once he’d mastered this.) He fumbled a few of the connections, his power sliding off of them, and Sam took a second look. These were stronger than they first appeared, he realized. He applied more of his power - and more - and finally, they snapped, one by one.
Crowley streamed out of his vessel’s mouth, a reddish cloud that crackled and snapped. Sam pulled back, and Crowley reentered his vessel.
As soon as he had control back, Crowley wrinkled his nose. “Ugh,” he complained, “I hate this worse than I hate listening to minions recite statistics at me. And I do hate that.”
Sam wanted to apologize, almost. He felt…dirty, in a way. Not because he’d been practically soul-to-smoke with Crowley, though. More because he’d just done exactly what he told Dean to never do to him: gone into someone’s soul and fucked around.
He could hear what Crowley wasn’t saying. He wasn’t mentioning the violation that came with having your soul messed around with. He wasn’t mentioning the pain that even demons felt when connections were severed (or formed). He wasn’t mentioning the unease that started coming up every time the person that could do that to you was in your view.
(He remembered every second of Death building a wall in his head, and every second - no matter how short - of Castiel tearing it down. Sometimes he still couldn’t look straight at Cas, and he’d never again been as comfortable around Death. Sure, he was able to fake it, to act like he was okay with Death being within a mile of him, but he wasn’t. At all. He was almost glad that incarnation was gone.)
“C’mon, Moose, how long are you going to leave me on tenterhooks?” Crowley jibed.
Sam blinked and shook himself. He reached out again. This time, he tried to do it faster. Both to decrease the time he had to touch Crowley’s soul-smoke and to decrease the time that Crowley had to feel him poking around.
With every attempt, Sam could feel himself getting better, more precise, faster. He began to try and hide from Crowley, to sever as many bonds as he could without letting the demon know he was. He kept his eyes open, focusing on not letting them drift, focusing on looking like he wasn’t doing anything.
That was harder. After all, Sam was slicing at bonds in Crowley’s soul. Not only did it require more focus to try and nullify the pain before he could feel it, it required more focus to find the points of contact without alerting Crowley to his rummaging.
Crowley clued in on the second or third time he’d gotten halfway through the process without tripping his senses. “Oh, good job, Sam,” he praised, panting. “That’s a good idea. The more you can do without them noticing you, the more ahead of them you are.” He drew in a breath, face red. “But next time, inform me, would you? It’s rather…distressing to realize that you’re halfway out of your vessel already. Next time I could lash out on instinct.”
Sam almost said, “Please do,” but he realized before he could that he should probably master doing it all under the radar before he tried to contend against an aggressor.
Just then, his stomach growled. Right. He had forgone breakfast. He glanced at the clock. And lunch, too, at this point. Crowley rolled his eyes. “What do you want?” he asked.
“Um…that Indian food you brought back a couple of days ago?” he asked sheepishly. It had been delicious and filling, and it had actually been vegetarian. He only got to eat like this when Dean wasn’t around and he wasn’t on the road and scamming credit cards.
Crowley sighed, “Oh, all right. Only because you’re doing so well.” He popped out. While he was gone, Sam made himself a cup of coffee in the hotel’s coffee maker. It wasn’t bad, but it certainly wasn’t what he was used to at the Bunker. Man, he thought, I wish I was in the Bunker. Where there’s actually decent coffee.
He blinked and felt a pulling sensation. He opened his eyes and he was standing, holding the hotel’s shitty disposable cup full of passable coffee, in the Bunker’s kitchen. Directly in front of the coffeemaker.
“What. The. Fuck,” he wheezed. He realized he’d dropped the coffee cup and that hot coffee was soaking through his socks. “Fuck!”
He bounced around on one foot, trying to take off his now-soaked socks while also trying to keep out of the growing puddle of coffee. When he’d managed to get the socks off, he collapsed onto a chair. “How the fuck did I get here?” he asked himself. “There’s no way I can…teleport.” No. Way.
Crowley would have mentioned something like this. Surely.
He stared at the wall, wondering if he should try it again. He didn’t want to end up lost…but he also really wanted that Indian food. Anything in the Bunker refrigerator had gone bad days ago.
He huffed and imagined himself back in the hotel room where Crowley had left him.
He felt that pulling sensation again.
He landed smack on top of Crowley. Indian food almost went everywhere, but Crowley managed to grab it and hold it aloft.
“Goddammit, Sam, where the hell have you bloody been?” he yelled.
Sam laughed nervously. “Um, so…I can teleport,” he said.
He laughed harder at the incredulous look on Crowley’s face. He snagged the Indian food and sat down, taking a bite. He was hungry, and the aroma of curry and actual vegetables had filled the room when Crowley had arrived.
He’d let the demon process.
---------------
Lucifer blinked. There it was again, much stronger this time: the power of his Boy King being used. He shifted on his “throne,” thankful that his (much) younger siblings had left him alone for a while.
He reached out with his Grace, following the threads of the power. Each time the user stopped, he had to start over, losing the thread. It was getting frustrating, he’d admit.
But then the power flared like a firework. He could follow a use that large even without continuous use. He traced the power back to its source.
He wondered why he should be surprised that it was Sam Winchester. After all, no other human in recent times had been so lovingly “endorsed” by him. No, Sam Winchester had most definitely received his endorsement. Many times, in so many lovely iterations.
Lucifer smiled at the memories, and squashed Castiel down when he protested.
Now that the Boy King had arrived, he figured, he should stop watching the Darkness wreak havoc. After all, he could drain Sam and receive a huge, if short-lived, power-up.
Yes, now he could take on the Darkness and show his Parent that he was a good Child. He could prove himself again.
He took flight from the Heavenly throne room, aiming for the room where Sam sat with a demon nearby. (Crowley, that weasel-y bastard, he’d get what was coming to him.)
---------------
Sam started, nearly choking on a slice of potato, when his powers suddenly freaked out. He couldn’t tell why until he felt it: a cloud like an ice storm, accompanied by the sound of too-many, too-loud wings. Crowley cursed and vanished as Sam stood, the chair falling behind him with a clatter. Lucifer was heading right for him.
Looked like his powers were going for a test drive whether he wanted them to or not. He had to free Castiel. He didn’t want him subjected to another second of possession by Lucifer.
Lucifer landed with a clatter of wings, twisting Castiel’s face into a frown. “Oh, did the demon get away?” he asked lightly. “Pity. I’ll have to hunt him down once I drain you of all that lovely power I gave you.”
“W-what?” Sam stuttered, barely able to force words out around the cold that had sunken into the room with Lucifer’s arrival. His Grace blanketed everything, and it felt like Sam had a coating of frost over every inch of himself. He checked, glancing down at his chest.
No ice. This is real. This is real. This is real. This is real.
He took a deep breath, and Lucifer continued, “I don’t suppose you know where he went? I mean, this process will be painful either way, but I can always shield you from the worst of it.” He smiled softly, and Sam wished it was Castiel behind the smile. But he knew that smile, knew the deadness in those eyes, even if it was a different mouth and different eyes.
“Please, don’t,” he breathed, pulling his power deep into himself, trying to hide it from Lucifer. Trying to hide what he was about to do.
Lucifer hummed. “Oh, you remembered how much I love it when you beg,” he mused, smirk widening. “How sweet.”
Sam let himself collapse backwards into the chair that remained upright. He wouldn’t be able to concentrate on keeping himself upright when he dove in. He’d be fighting for his life, and hoping that Lucifer was focused enough on his internal attack that he wouldn’t try and eviscerate him. “Please,” he breathed again, hoping to distract Lucifer.
Lucifer stepped closer, face softening (falsely, his memories reminded him). Sam dove into the mess that was his ties around Castiel.
Lucifer noticed his presence almost immediately. Sam wondered for a few seconds why he didn’t attack, but didn’t let that slow him down. He dove through the tangled web that was Lucifer’s Grace wrapped around Castiel, and found the weakest points.
He touched the connection and found himself in the Bunker - or a very accurate facsimile of one, he realized - standing in front of a huge web of ice stuck to the wall. Sam shrugged, figuring, what the hell. Sure, it didn’t happen with Crowley, but Lucifer was a whole ‘nother weight class. He slammed his power into the ice web and it shattered. The point disappeared, and Lucifer howled in rage around him. Ignoring that, Sam sprinted for the next connection he could feel.
He managed to sever six before Lucifer caught up to him in what he assumed was Castiel’s mind. He’d just turned away from the mess of shattered ice shards when Lucifer appeared in front of him, arms crossed and huge wings of ice framing his shoulders.
“Now, now, Sammy my boy, that’s not nice,” he chided, walking forward.
Sam gathered up all of his courage. “I’m the King of Hell now, you bastard,” he hissed. “So you can get the fuck out of Cas’ head.” With that, he gathered his power around him and tested if he could teleport within Cas’ mind.
He thanked God when he could, because his last glimpse of Lucifer’s face had shown him rage laid over a grudging respect.
Lucifer stared in shock and rage when his quarry vanished from in front of him. That shouldn’t be possible. Even he couldn’t teleport within a mind like that. How could Sam Winchester do it when he, the angel who bequeathed the power to him, couldn’t?
He stormed down the hallways, letting his wings drag the walls. He tracked Sam by the bursts of power he released.
Unfortunately, the Winchester had gotten smart. He was teleporting all over the place now, and Lucifer couldn’t track a pattern.
He decided to wait near the strongest point of his connection. Sam would eventually have to come, and when he did, Lucifer would destroy him.
Sam teleported around Cas’ head, thankful that he could. It was keeping him ahead of Lucifer and his tangible rage.
He destroyed every point of connection that he found. At first, he slammed his power into them, but he realized that using his fists worked just as well, so he conserved his power. (He didn’t know if he had a reserve of a specific size, and if he did, he definitely didn’t want to discover that now.)
When he popped into what seemed to be the Bunker’s kitchen, the last thing he expected was to find Castiel watching some TV sitcom on an old antenna TV.
“Cas?” he asked. “Is that…you?”
Cas jumped and spun around, his eyes wide. “Sam?” he asked. “What are you doing here?” He hurried over, shoving Sam away. “You must leave now! Before he finds you. Please, Sam, I don’t want him to hurt you.”
Sam gently pushed Cas’ hands away. “Hey, Cas, it’s okay,” he soothed. “Look, I’m here to help you, okay? I’m trying to cast Lucifer out.”
Sam was surprised when Cas scoffed. “Oh, right,” he muttered, “You and what army?”
Sometimes Sam was still surprised at the lingo Cas had picked up when Metatron shoved pop culture into his brain. This was one of those times.
Thus why it took him a couple of seconds to figure out how to answer.
“Um, right, uh…” he stuttered. “Well, you see, Cas, I have these…powers.”
Cas nodded. “Yes, you are the Boy King. But even if you accepted those powers fully, you would not be strong enough to best Lucifer.”
Sam shrugged. “I mean, I’m doing okay so far,” he said. “I’ve taken out, I dunno, half of his ties to you? Maybe a little more?”
“What?” Cas asked. “That’s impossible.”
Sam almost wanted to be offended at the lack of trust, but he got it. He wouldn’t have trusted someone (even Dean) popping into his head and telling him that he was here to rescue him when he was possessed by Lucifer, either. “Trust me, Cas,” he said, “It’s possible. In fact…” he paused, feeling around for what had brought him here.
The TV was abnormally cold to the touch. He slammed his power into it, and it dissolved into shards of ice. Cas made to protest, but paused. “I…know that power,” he said uncertainly. “You said you are the Boy King?”
Sam nodded quickly. Now that he’d destroyed the TV, Lucifer could come find him any minute. “Look, Cas,” he said, “I can do this on my own, but it’ll go quicker with your help. Just…find the places Lucifer connected himself to you and slam a fist into them. If it doesn’t shatter, leave it and find another. I’ll come and get it.”
Cas made to object, but Sam held up a hand, stating, “I don’t have much time. Lucifer is probably already on his way. Either you’re in or you’re not, Cas,” he said, hating the ultimatum but needing the help.
Sam hated the way Cas’ face crumpled in distress, but when it hardened and Cas answered, “I’ll help you,” he wanted to cheer. Thank God.
“Okay,” he said quickly. “Just head down that hallway. If you see any ice, hit it hard.” He popped out of the room as Cas headed out of the kitchen.
In the end, with Cas’ help, it took probably half the time. Lucifer didn’t show up at all, which at first Sam was happy for - until he realized Lucifer’s strategy.
He appeared at the place that Lucifer’s connection was strongest - the last connection present, he’d made sure - to find Lucifer lounging on a chair in the library.
“Why, hello, Sam,” Lucifer purred. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“Lucifer,” Sam stated, seeing Cas enter through the arch opposite. Lucifer’s back was to Cas, and Sam wanted to keep it that way. If Cas could sever the final bond…well, he knew how liberating it was to strike the final blow, even if you needed help getting there.
“You’ve been very rude, Sam,” Lucifer mused, standing and walking closer. His back was still to Cas.
“Have I?” Sam asked, deliberately needling the archangel. “I thought I was freeing a friend.”
Lucifer tutted, shaking his head mock-disappointedly. “Sammy, Sammy, Sammy,” he hummed, “You just don’t understand.” He looked up, eyes hard. “Castiel is mine now.”
“Why?” Sam asked, watching Cas approach the huge web of ice with caution. He began feeding his power into Cas. He watched Cas pause and glance back before nodding his thanks.
Lucifer laughed. “Why, God’s resurrected this little angel so many times it’s ridiculous!” he jeered. “I thought that, perhaps, if I took him for my own, I’d finally get his attention!” His voice dropped, and his head fell. Sam watched Lucifer put on a pout. “But no dice,” he said. “God hasn’t shown. I guess little Castiel isn’t so important after all.”
Sam watched Cas’ back stiffen. No, please, he thought, please hit it, I’ve given you the power, you can do it. He almost breathed a sigh of relief when Cas threw a wild punch at the center of the enormous patch of ice that spread between two bookshelves.
As the ice shattered, Lucifer spun and screamed, “No!” Light began to fill the room, and Sam closed his eyes and covered his ears, making sure to do it in the real world, too. He didn’t want to find out how his immortality fared against pure Grace right now.
Then, just like that, Lucifer was gone. “Cas?” Sam asked.
He ran forward as Cas crumpled to the ground and curled into a ball.
Lucifer screamed the whole way out of Castiel. His plan was spotless! How did this happen?
He streaked away from Earth, deciding to leave it for dead. He couldn’t fight the Darkness as he was, and Sam was (somehow, he seethed, his Boy King should not be able to overpower him) too powerful to overcome in a fair fight. And from what he’d seen, he’d never be able to sneak up on him, so it would always (unfortunately) be a fair fight.
He hovered around Alpha Centauri to wait for the Darkness to consume the Earth.
If God returned, he’d make his way back. But if not, at least he’d have died among the stars that he hadn’t truly seen in eons.
---------------
“Cas?” Sam asked frantically, not sure if he should grab his shoulders and shake him or if that would make it worse. From personal experience, it wasn’t what Cas needed, but Sam also needed him to get up.
From personal experience, Cas was going to be out of commission for a long while. Sam just hoped that he’d managed to miss the hallucinations, because both of them had already undergone that once (even if his had been Cas’ fault and Cas had taken his into himself to try and make amends).
Sam looked down when Cas groaned. “Hey, hey, Cas, you doing okay?”
Cas rolled onto his back and pushed feebly at the floor. Sam helped him sit up. Cas’s voice was rough when he said, “I’m fine.”
He almost fell over when he tried to stand, and Sam had to grab for his arm to keep him from overbalancing. “Hey, whoa, easy. Easy, Cas.” Cas swayed in his grip and Sam focused on the Bunker. Maybe familiar surroundings would be helpful in getting Cas back in equilibrium.
Cas blinked when Sam teleported into the Bunker’s kitchen. “Oh,” he said. “You can fly.”
Sam blinked. “Wait, what?” he said. “I thought it was closer to how demons get around.” Flying…that was angelic. That definitely wasn’t a quality that he could see the Boy King of Hell possessing.
Cas nodded his head back and forth. “Well, I suppose it’s a mix of both means, technically. I suppose flying is the word I am used to using. A more correct translation could be ‘dimension hopping,’ or possibly ‘trans-spatial instantaneous movement.’”
“So…teleporting,” Sam continued, a smile on his face. Trust the angel to come up with either an overly simplified term or a really, really overcomplicated one.
“Well…yes,” Cas said, “but that implies the usage of some kind of device, normally…”
Sam laughed. He couldn’t help it. Damn, he’d missed Cas. “Let’s just call it teleporting, Cas. Simplest, most correct term.”
“If you insist,” Cas replied, a small smile on his face. It only stayed for a few seconds before it fell away. “Sam?” Cas asked, and Sam had never heard him sound so small.
“Yeah?”
“Are you…are you certain that he is gone?”
Sam blew out a breath. He knew just how Cas felt, how strange it was to be alone in your own body again, how warm everything suddenly was. How it still felt like something was hiding behind your eyes. “Yeah, Cas, I’m sure. You struck the final blow, and he didn’t exactly go quietly.”
Cas shivered, and Sam made a mental note to turn the heat up. “But are you sure?”
“If you really want me to I could check,” Sam began, already hating this option. “But please be sure. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” He didn’t want to be another invader in Cas’ mind, where there had already been one too many.
“Can’t you…sense him?” Cas asked. Apparently he’d picked up on Sam’s readiness upon Lucifer’s arrival, even if Lucifer hadn’t.
That was a good point, actually. And it didn’t involve invading Cas’ mind again. “You’re right,” Sam agreed, “If he was here I’d be able to.” He paused, checking one more time to make sure, sweeping his power over Cas’ body to find any last traces of Lucifer. “I can’t sense him at all. You’re clean, Cas, I swear.”
Cas collapsed into a chair behind him. “Thank God,” he whispered.
Sam huffed a sardonic laugh. “Yeah,” he agreed. He looked around the kitchen, trying to find some way to move on from the frankly heavy conversation. “You, uh, you want me to make you a sandwich or something?” he asked. “I mean, it’s not gonna be anything like what…what Dean would make, but I don’t think it’d kill you.”
Cas looked over. “I would…I would like that. I don’t - I actually don’t know when I last ate. Angels don’t - I don’t need to eat, but I do like it.” Sam heard everything underneath that and let it go. Cas would deal with it in time.
“Two sandwiches, coming up,” he said, turning to the fridge. On second thought…how long had it been since he’d been in the Bunker? A week? More? The meat was probably bad. And who knew if the cheese was growing fuzz yet, but he didn’t want to find out. “On second thought,” he said out loud, “How about PB and J?”
Cas smiled. “That sounds very good, Sam. Thank you.”
Sam smiled back and went to find the bread. Here’s hoping it wasn’t growing fuzz, either.
---------------
Sam stayed in the Bunker with Cas for a day before he started getting antsy. Who knew what Amara was doing right now? He didn’t want to turn on the TV and check, because he didn’t want to disturb Cas.
And that was the thing: Cas. Sam completely understood his reasons, but he still acted like Lucifer hid around every corner. He would be useless in a confrontation with Amara. Sam worried, honestly, that something would happen and Cas would dissolve into a panic attack. He knew that he would have (but, then again, he also had to deal with memories of years of torture).
Sam needed to get back on Amara’s tail. Now that he’d accepted his powers fully, he could feel what Crowley felt: a massive blot on the world, somewhere far away. A writhing mess of Chaos and Nothing somewhere in the world. He didn’t have the accuracy Crowley had, but he figured that it probably came with practice.
Which meant that he should be practicing. He should be tailing Amara, doing his best to catch up so that he could free Dean.
Hell, he’d defeated Lucifer. Amara shouldn’t be too difficult.
Right?
Yeah, right. He could do this.
Part 6