They call me the Anti-Christ

ooc: this is the picture for the prompt

It was a simple ceremony on Angeline's property. The winds from the bayou were light as the sun was starting to set. There was a small archway that had been put just past the gardens, and two men stood there. One man was dressed in black - not a priest but a friend of the mother's who was able to perform civil ceremonies.

The other man was Sam Winchester. He was thirty two, and as he stood in his bare feet, he looked to finally be at peace with his life. The white peasant shirt blew in the breeze, and his khaki pants went down just to his ankles. He was happy and nervous, a ball of energy that was barely able to contain himself while he tried not to bounce on the balls of his feet.

There were a few blankets set up with people sitting in groups. Friends that Sam had made over the last few years. Friends of Desiree that had little drums and flutes on their blankets and they all started to play as the doors of the plantation house opened. Angeline and Desiree's mother, Paulina, walked arm in arm towards Sam. They stopped and Angeline ran a hand along Sam's face, smiling.

"The life of my daughter has brought me many things, and in her death she gave me not only a grandson, but you. You were a broken child when I found you, Samuel, and now you are a strong man. You have become a son to me, and I am overjoyed that I get to be the one to share this moment with you and bless you into the next part of your life."

( . . . )

All elephants are gray, but not all gray things are elephants. -Bones, Lance Sweets


Sam was quiet, waiting in the lobby with his hands in the huge pocket in front of the hoodie. A starved puppy in huge clothes, as one of the nurses had described him as they passed by. He tilted his head just enough so that he could hide behind his bangs and not have to see their faces.

He knew what they thought of him. Just another addict who threw his life away for a quick high. He had seen those looks for the past five years, and he was sick of them - because they were right. He had thrown everything away, and now his brother was somewhere paying for it all. It wasn't fair, and Sam wished to God he could change it all.

Boney fingers played with a pill bottle, the first month of a six month regiment. They said he had been lucky; caught it early on and can be fixed. Nothing major or irreversible. But still, it was a serious disease and he should have known better. He did know better and how this had happened he could only blame on the things he did while he was high.

Just thinking about it made him twitch and his foot start to bounce as he looked again at the clock, then the door. He needed to get out of this place. They were trying to help him but it was over two weeks now and he was going crazy just sitting there doing nothing but being told to talk about his feelings and not to puke back up his breakfast because he needed to put some meat on his bones.

( . . . )

The silence was torture.

"Why do you keep bringing it up?" Dean asked and Sam shut himself back down because he didn't want to make his brother mad. After everything he had done, making Dean mad was the last thing Sam wanted.

Sam wanted to apologize. But how does someone say they are sorry for the apocalypse? Especially when he could have stopped it long ago by just listening to his brother. Dean - the one who had always taken care of him and Sam had turned a deaf ear to him.

For what? Thinking he could be the hero all because a demonic whore with false promises whispered in his ear while he fucked her to forget about the pain of life?

When did you fall from heaven, Sammy? When did you lose your faith in yourself?

Not talking was going to drive him mad. He needed to say something - anything! He needed Dean to scream at him, throw down and beat the crap out of him. SOMETHING that was among the Winchester line of communication.

But no. Dean didn't want to talk.

( . . . )

ooc: inspired by this picture. Takes place the morning after this.

Sam turned over in his bed, unable to sleep. He was shaking and covered in sweat, having woken up with the nurse's screams in his ears. It had been a few days now since he had that nightmare, and he had hoped that they were gone.

Please no! PLEASE!

He tried to fake sleeping, but his brother was too good. "You ok, Sammy?"

"Yeah." Sam sat up, rubbing his eyes with a hand. "Just not tired."

"Uh huh."

Sam looked over at the clock. "It's almost morning anyway. I'll go get us breakfast."

Dean rolled over to watch Sam a moment. "Sam... take a gun with you."


( . . . )

ooc: in response to this. Michael and Bela (enjoythe_ride) are used with love and permission.

Sam couldn't believe it. He had seen it with his own eyes, but still it was too amazing to have happened.

His baby boy walked. Ran. Right to him.

The pride going through him just wasn't something he could even measure. Mikey was growing up so fast and Bela was the one who witnessed all of the firsts. Dean had told him that it was normal when Sam pouted after missing each one, but this memory was going to be his.

Dinner was forgotten as he spent the next hour putting Mikey on the ground, letting him explore the world now on two legs. He winced the few times his son took a bad fall, but watched him just pick himself up and keep trying.

He had learned months ago now that his son was smart and could figure a lot of things out for himself. But it was moments like this where Sam was reminded about that. However, when Michael was about to take a header into the television stand, Sam was up and grabbed him before anything was broken or bruised.

The sound of keys in the door got Sam's attention and he went into the hallway. Bela was just stepping in, tossing her keys on the table when Sam appeared a few feet away from her, Michael in his arms. "Hey."

"Hey." Bela looked towards the kitchen. "Something happen? I don't see dinner ready."

"You could say that." Leaning down, Sam put their son on the ground on his two feet. "Go to Mommy."

Michael smiled his chubby baby grin and started to walk to Bela with his arms out. Bela gasped, watching as their son made it about eight steps, then fell forward onto his hands and knees. He stayed there for a second, then kept crawling to get to her, laughing.

Sam leaned against the wall, arms crossed as he watched Bela pick Michael up and hug him, then kiss his baby belly. "He did it.. he really did it..." Bela walked over, and Sam pulled them both close, kissing Bela quickly.

"Yes, he did." Sam grinned.

"But that doesn't give you an excuse not to have made dinner."

Sam rolled his eyes, then looked at Michael and shook his head. "We can never win. Remember that."

Michael's only answer was a giggle and clapping his hands together happily.

ooc: takes place after this.

The mission over, Sam slept for a good four hours on the CONTROL jet that brought him back to the states. Partially it was from exhaustion, though the drugs to numb the pain from the bullet wound on his arm were helping nicely.

Once he got back to base, he was patched up better and spent a few hours in debriefing. Somewhere along the way he also managed to catch a quick shower, though he didn't have a shaving kit at work to get rid of the scruff.

After that, he sat and talked with the Chief. He needed advice about what to do, and he would be the only one who would know Sam and Beth well enough to give good advice.

( . . . )

What is something forbidden that you want to indulge in?

There are nights were Samael still wakes up and can taste her against his lips; closes his eyes and remembers the press of her body against his, Lilith's cries of ecstasy in his ears that keeps him coming back for more.

To please her. To pleasure her. To be her king to her Queen in Hell.

He had been powerful there. No demon dared to disobey him. He could still feel the hellfire in his veins as he remembered being able to rip demons apart with his bare hands, and then rewarded as her fingers laced through his hair and she pulled him down for a kiss.

( . . . )

December 2004

"Please?"

"No."

"Sam, stop being such a damn Grinch and just put the star on top of the tree already."

Sighing, Sam pushed his textbook aside and got up, taking the silver star from Jess and reaching up to put it on the top of the almost 7 foot tall tree. Jess stood back, arms crossed and smiling. "Perfect."

( Can I go back to studying now? )

ooc: following THIS. Future AU verse. Dean = jstliketherifle. Not binding on any other muse

What's the name of the game that we are playing
Boy whenever I think that we are winning
Then you roll the dice take a slide
Right back to the one from 99
-Snakes and Ladders by Joss Stone


The Following January...

Sam stood in a phone booth, his forehead pressed against the cold glass as he listened to the dial tone. Shakey fingers pressed a series of buttons and he paused before touching the last one. Smears of blood covered the numbers now as Sam slid to the ground, the phone cradled in his arms.

They were outside a motel somewhere. Ruby was working on acquiring them a room, and she told him to stay put. Not to leave the phone booth that was hidden because the streetlamp had burnt out. There was salt around the entire booth, protecting the boy king as he sank to the floor in a bloody, bruised mess.

( The battle wasn't one they had gone looking for )