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The bed beneath him was soft, actually, it felt like it was made of clouds. He wasn't sure what was around him other than that, feeling the thick red sheets that were draped on it slide over his body as he shifted. There was a classic dream blurriness to the rest of the world, making it impossible to point out details. Sam had long ago gotten used to strange dreams, and he was always a little more aware than most while in them. Having been a psychic after all, there were still remnants of his powers that had been 'gifted' to him by the demon blood in his veins. Lucid dreaming was at least a good perk.
When it wasn't a nightmare.
He smiles softly. It's odd he is dreaming of sleeping in a soft bed. Sam fell asleep in the car, and while he adores the Impala, her leather seats holding so many timeless memories (and blood): it wasn't that comfy of a sleeping spot. He would prefer a motel bed. Sometimes. Depends on how many weird stains he can count on the sheets. He slowly becomes more aware as the dream starts to take root.
He feels a soft warmth buried into his front, it's the familiar sensation of someone being against him. Their body slotted perfectly into his, seeming to be just the right height to bury their head into his chest. He finds that his arms are wrapped around them tightly, their legs tangled neatly together. One of his legs though seems to tingle with numbness, meaning he had been here for a while. He slides one of his hands up the slim, but toned body lying against him, finding his hand on their chest. His eyes flicker open as he realizes there is no heartbeat beneath his fingertips. Yet, there is warmth in the body. No. Actually, with a shudder, he realizes the creature with him is lukewarm at best. His pupils dilate with mild fear as he takes in fluffy, but well-combed back brown-blonde hair. The strands were like golden rays of sunlight, a few of them sticking up unnaturally due to the pillows beneath them.
His fear melts into pure confusion, that fuzzy feeling inside of his chest not dissipating despite his realization that this thing isn't human. What the hell is he lying with? It wouldn't be the first time he had shared a bed with a non-human. But at least Madison had a heartbeat. He doesn't pull away, his eyes threatening to close and drag him into a peaceful slumber. The lukewarm is actually pretty nice. Keeps him from getting to or beneath the already thick silk sheets. Which are honestly, such a strange bright red. It reminds him of lipstick, the kind that ladies of the night wear in movies and such to entice men.
That's another thing.
As he processes that beneath his hand, placed upon the creature's chest, there is no soft breast. Instead, he can feel firm pectorals. So it's masculine in presentation. Sam feels his heart leap into his throat. He hasn't completely come to terms with his sexuality yet. Having gotten away from small-town Kansas and John had certainly helped, being around Dean had brought back all kinds of insecurities and screeching self-loathing about it. He knows Dean doesn't have any true hatred towards people like him, but sometimes his jokes just don't land right. Or at all. Those jokes have never landed. It was getting better though. Maybe one day he would feel comfortable enough to tell him. He is sure Dean would be shocked: he is oblivious to any feelings he doesn't want to deal with. Ignoring them. Always the type to bottle it up and toss that bottle into an ocean, never to be seen again, as he had put rocks in them. Sam wished he could do that.
His bottles simply bobbed along the surface of the water. His sexuality? That was one of those bottles. So, not only was he cuddling something that wasn't human, but likely was taking the form of a man too. Quite the jumpscare. And yet, he didn't feel unsafe. Hell. He didn't feel like moving from this spot at all.
The being mumbled against his chest, and his eyes opened again. He watched as the golden hair shifted, as the creature opened its eyes. Sam's pupils blew wide with pure bewilderment, as melting into panic hazel - met gleaming mischievous amber. That was glowing gold, as a smirk spread across the Trickster's face. His voice was groggy with sleep, sounding a bit deeper. Sam wished he could deny the shiver it sent through him.
"Morning, Samalam."
He woke up with a start, banging his head on the top of the car. He groaned and touched the top of his head, pressing his face against the cool window and staring at the rolling fields. He has no idea where they are, it doesn’t matter that much. Everyday that they spend hunting, it is a day they waste trying to break Dean’s deal. But the man was determined to die. Trying to get his older brother to accept help was like pulling teeth. Sams could guess a million reasons why he was so accepting about just, leaving Sam and the world behind. Most likely, he felt like he didn't deserve to be saved. That he should be dead instead of Dad, instead of that person the faith healer took. Dean eyes him with a soft smirk.
“Morning sleeping beauty.” Sam rolls his eyes at his head spinning. Why the hell was he dreaming about the Trickster? It has only been a few weeks since he had managed to escape the worst: how many times did he even go through that time loop? He had started to lose count after a while. He swallows a bit. Those six months that had followed the time-loop, had somehow been worse. Believing that Dean was dead, lost to him forever. So: he became obsessed. Sam knew that inside of his heart, he has quite an addictive personality. Always doing everything in too much. He found something and he clung to it until it burned him or it lost its value. Especially when stressed. It's why he would spend hours with his nose in a book, escaping the realities around him. He had hunted and hunted, teaching himself to do all the things Dean had done. He had become him. Including drinking habits. He took on nests of vampires all by himself and hacked through werewolf packs. All the while he was keeping tabs on the Trickster. He had dug up every inch of lore. Very crumb of knowledge on the being.
He had become so blind with revenge and anger, that he had been willing to murder an innocent man to get to the beast. To bring the god of mischief, Loki to his feet. All so he could beg for Dean back. Not to kill it. Not to make sure it never hurts anyone again. All for Dean. As much as it sucked ass, a lesson had stuck. But not the lesson he wanted to teach him. Sam found out that without Dean he was nothing but a mess. He also has begun to realize that this rage, hot, ugly, and fiery, is always burning in the back of his mind. In his stomach and in his soul. Able to get its kicks as they slaughtered monsters. Saved people. If he stopped hunting, what would become of him? Where would that rage go? He could see it on his face. Looking just like his father as he stared at himself in mirrors, splashing cold water on his face.
Dean was constantly exploding, even when Sam knew he didn’t want to. When he knew that his older brother wanted nothing more than to say anything else. He couldn't help himself, he had burned his fuse down to nothing but a stump. It was expected, Predictable. His anger? His anger was a cold-boiling mass inside of his chest. Waiting for the spark that would force it out onto his tongue. That’s when their fights hit new heights. When he cut Dean down into nothing when he got himself punched in the face. When he would swing back. He had never noticed how the fire inside of his body had grown over the years, but it had always been there. When he fought with his Dad as a teenager. When he cut heads off. It had been there, waiting for the perfect time to strike. When he couldn’t place that rage on someone else, and more often than not it reflected in. Tearing himself to shreds. So, as he sat there in the car thoughts whirling as the dream replayed in his mind.
Wondering if it had been a normal dream, or if Loki had somehow invaded his mind. Why would he do that? It would have no reason to keep bothering the hunter, hell, it was putting himself at a lot of risk. If not the Trickster invading his mind, then why? The dream had been: oddly romantic. Comforting. He used to have dreams like that for months after Jess died. Just being able to hold her again, in the warmth and comfort of their bed. Maybe he should pick up a dream journal, look into what it could mean. It wouldn’t hurt.
And why, for God’s sake, does the dream not bother him that much? He is mostly curious and startled. No disgust. No anger.
“Yo, Sammy, why the hell is there smoke coming out your ears?” Dean piped up, shattering the man’s zoned-out state. He jolted a bit realizing that he had just been sitting against the window in heavy silence, nothing but the soft rock playing through the radio and the sound of the Impala’s engine breaking it. He can feel his brother’s green eyes eyeing him with concern, trying to read him. Trying to see into his head. Sam shakes his head and waves a hand through the air.
“Just had a weird dream…” he watches as Dean instantly stiffens in the driver's seat, gripping the steering wheel a bit tighter. Body coiling.
Dean sounds almost half accusatory as he speaks, “Weird how. Are we talking prophetic weird? Or just dream weird?”
Mischievous golden eyes flash in his vision, and he gives his brother one of his signature bitch faces. “Just dream weird, dude. I told you. All my powers are kinda-gone since we ganked Azazel.”
“I know, but, who knows how this whole demon blood thing works? Maybe they will just pop back up again, you know?” the man states slowly, talking in a way that tells Sam he doesn't want to start a fight. That he is just worried about his little brother. That he can’t trust him completely still. Worried that he will still become some kind of monster. That he has more in common with the creature they kill than him. Sam shakes his head and he combs a hand through his hair, pulling at the strands a bit.
“I’m fine. Seriously.” he looks around and he shifts the subject, not wanting to talk about the dream anymore. Mostly because the strange scent of candy has wafted over him as he recalls it. Had that been there when he was asleep? His eyes darted about the car. Questioning the source of it. “Where the hell are we going?”
Dean grins a bit, “Hollywood!”
Sam merely gives him a ‘ too tired for this ’ look and the shorter-haired man huffs indignantly. Having clearly thought that was a good one. “We’re going to Sterling, Colorado. Something seems to be haunting the suburbs there.”
“Simple salt and burn? Good, we need that…” he mumbles softly and he looks out the window again, watching as the world rolls by a little blurred from their speed.
He reaches over and he turns the music up a bit, to chase away the loudness in his mind. Focusing on the lyrics and the song. He hums it under his breath, and he feels Dean smile a bit. Feeling his eyes drift over to him. He is always watching Sam out of the corner of his eyes. Habit, the man is sure. Needing to keep him in sight and in mind, always. He wonders if the man will ever accept the fact that he has outgrown the need to be babysat like a child anymore. He sighs deeply. He appreciates Dean’s concern, his care, and his time: but it’s suffocating when he doesn't want it. Sam bets that Dean hardly even noticed how much he dotes on him, and how ‘chick-flick’ it is. Especially since the entire fiasco with his psychic powers. He acts as if his brother is a grenade, waiting to explode. Or perhaps that’s just how Sam feels about himself. He has felt almost out of control.
He reaches down between his feet and he pulls out a book he packed. He tends to pick one up at just about every place they go, leaving behind the one he has already read. It keeps him occupied and it is a good distraction. That’s just what he needs. Distractions. But the reality of their situation always comes back, the knowledge that his brother’s life is ticking to a bloody end isn’t lost on him, not truly. His brows furrow as his mind drifts, no longer focusing on the words on the page.
Could Loki break a demon deal? He thinks to himself, startled by the thought. As if he would ask that thing for help! He wouldn’t help him anyways. The god was likely laying low to try and escape the man’s radar. Even so, Sam couldn’t help but notice cases that looked a little too much like the Trickster’s work. He never told Dean about them. He could point them out simply by reading the newspaper, or blog article these days. He knew every tell-tale sign of his presence. It turns out, it wasn’t just strange and exceedingly bizarre deaths. There was also a strange storm a few days before. That blew in and out within minutes, nothing big and flashy like electrical storms. Just a sudden downpour of rain, and nothing. Currently, he believed Loki was hanging out in Lincoln, Illinois. Lilies would bloom all around as well, though this sign was harder to link to him. Even in the winter. And places where lilies most definitely shouldn’t grow. Sam couldn’t tell you why he was keeping tabs.
Because he had no intention of hunting the creature. No intention of killing him. He had for some reason, allowed him to have his brother back. He knows that the god was powerful enough to have simply snapped his neck. Snapped his heart from his chest. Made him choke on his own blood. He was far more powerful than all of the other pagan gods they had met, who went around like scavengers searching for scraps of power. He didn’t feel the need to risk Dean all over again. He knows Loki would do it too. Without a second thought should Sam step on his toes.
In short. Asking him for help was out of the question. He reaches to turn the music up even louder and Dean shakes his head, slapping his hand away.
“Dude, I want my eardrums intact today, thank you.”
Sam sighs deeply and turns back to his book. After a few minutes, he manages to refocus on the pages. Every so often though, a wicked grin flashes in his mind, and the sound of a snap echoes in his head. The sound is heartstopping but yet, familiar. It’s going to be a long, long salt-and-burn hunt.
Guess knowing thy enemy has consequences.
—
He and Dean had gotten into it, it had been the usual fight. Though, it was certainly more charged than some of their others. It quickly turned into a screaming match, and then Dean shoved him. Sam hadn’t been able to stop himself as he had swung hard, likely wrecking his brother's nose as he struck him across the face. That had been unusual. He could still see the shock on his face, as blood dripped down from his nose. His hand was still throbbing from the hit, even though it had been an hour afterward. Or so. He couldn't tell what time it was. The stench of the alleyway made him gag as he slumped against the brick wall behind him, blood was pooling out beneath him and he slowly began to realize that it was his. And not the dead shifter disguised as the bartender who had been serving him all night. His head was swimming from the liquor. Sam presses a hand to his side, feeling warmth slide along and through his fingers. Blood leaking out of him like a faucet. He is regretting hitting Dean. Regretting every bitter and hurtful word that had flown from his mouth. He can feel blood clinging to his forehead as a bit of it drips down, from where the shifter had bashed his head against a trash can. It clung to his hair too, drying in the chilly wind that blew through.
He tries his best to apply pressure to the wound in his side, but he hisses with agony, it's a gaping wound, muscle had been exposed and through his torn shirt and jacket, he can see how his heavy breathing is making the sides of the claw-mark weep. His vision swims with black spots and he feels nauseous but manages to hold down his granola bar. The only thing he had managed to stomach before drinking himself into a little stupor. Sam hadn’t realized the monster had gotten him so good until he had already been losing strength in his legs. He fumbled with his hand that wasn’t holding his side. He digs out his phone from his pocket, and he attempts to call Dean. Desperate, recognizes that he is losing blood too fast. That he will soon fall unconscious, and from there, he is doomed. His fingers stain the screen and buttons with his own blood smearing it around. He presses the speed dial.
The phone rings, and rings. And rings. It goes to voicemail.
“Fuck! Dammit, Dean!” he groans, feeling a few tears slip down his face mixing grossly with the blood on it. As his adrenaline cools off he is starting to feel the hot pins and needles slicing through his side. He hears the tone go off. “Dean, please, answer your phone. Listen. I’m sorry, so sorry about hitting you. I - I’m going to die if you don't call me back. You were right. It was a shifter… I took care of it. But, not before it - it got me, Dean. This is it. I love you, you fucking jerk.”
His voice trails off and he can feel the strength leaving his body, the phone slipping from his hand as he manages to end the recording. It gets soaked with blood as it hits the ground beneath him. Sam feels like his head is spinning on top of his shoulders as he tilts his head up to the sky, a strange delirious grin forming. He can see a few stars peeking out despite the streetlight down the way. This is it. There will be no demon deals to bring him back either, Dean is doomed. Maybe they’ll see each other in Hell. Sam sees flashes of all the things he has done. The people who have died on his account, on his watch. The people he should have saved. Jess. Madison. Every damn one of the other psychics. So many people, are dead and gone. Because they knew him. Because they were around him. No, he doesn’t deserve Heaven. The demon blood in him surely must mean the gates will be locked for him regardless.
Panic starts to slowly settle into his body as he feels blood bubble over his lips, coming up his throat as he coughs. Oh. The wound is deeper than he thought. His eyes flutter closed. He hopes Bobby can convince Dean to burn him; he wants a hunter’s funeral. Sam takes in a shakey, weak breath face pale and his hand slips from his side, unable to hold it against the slick wound any longer. He prays for the first time in a while, too well, nothing in particular. Not to God. Just - anything. His mother had believed that angels were watching over him, and now, he was hoping that was true.
If anything, anyone can hear me. Please…send help. Then light is fading from his gaze, as he manages to look back up at the sky again. Wanting to see as little of the stars as he can. Some of his best memories are stargazing on the Impala’s hood for hours. Until he fell asleep and woke up with a blanket wrapped over him, Dean snoring beside him wrapped in nothing but his leather jacket. Sam chokes on blood and vomits that come up in his sudden panic. I don’t want to die! I’m not ready! Please, if there is anything out there!
There is a strange sound that rattles in his head, a sound akin to the flutter of wings. He can hear them, fluttering all around him. His gaze searches for a reaper of some kind, but he sees nothing. Sam feels his body being lifted from the ground, as the world finally swirls into darkness. A strange warmth fills his body, accompanied by a soft stinging almost akin to hydrogen peroxide. He flares a bit as he can feel that he is being carried by somebody, half-conscious now. Which he doesn’t understand. He feels his body being dropped rather roughly against a mattress. He swallows and realizes that the blood that was in his mouth is gone, the bitter coppery taste gone. His eyes flutter open and he hisses out as he feels a prick slide against his skin. A needle. The familiar sensation of being given stitches registers with him. It had to have been Dean who found and picked him up then. No. Dean couldn’t just lift him like he weighed nothing. He would have also said something. Sam watches the spots in his vision slowly clear up, and a popcorn ceiling comes into view. But it’s blurry. He blinks a few times but nothing gets any clearer. His eyes narrow.
He turns his head, and whoever is sitting beside him., is also blurred dramatically. The walls behind them are too. He catches sight of blonde hair. Whoever it is has extremely steady hands, even as they get coated with his blood, he watches with awe as they delicately stitch up his wound. He is hardly feeling the needle go in too, that same fuzzy warmth and stinging going up his sides. Sam sighs with relief as he watches the blurry stranger cut the thread. Everything begins to become clear.
A wicked, lopsided grin greets him as the blur fades. “You need to be more careful about just praying into the night sky, Moose.”
Sam leaps upwards as he processes the sight of the Trickster, pushing himself flush with the headboard behind him, wincing as the movement sends a searing pain through his side, and his head throbs. He fumbles for a knife but discovers that he has nothing on him. Loki rolls his eyes at the hunter’s reaction to him, crossing his legs in the chair he sits in.
“What, no thank you?” he pouts a bit, his bright gaze melting into a honey-like color. “You humans are always so ungrateful.”
“What the hell are you doing here?” Sam demands, and Loki gestures to the man’s side, where his shirt had been cut open to clear away enough room for him to work.
His hazel eyes drop down to the stitches, noting how inhumanly even and neat they are. He trails a hand down them. He realizes that despite his throbbing head, there is little pain anywhere else. He swallows and eyes the pagan god with suspicion, curling his body in on itself naturally, to put distance between him and the creature. While Loki appears to be several inches shorter than the hunter, and a hell of a lot leaner: Sam knows just how much power he has. One snap of his fingers and he would be done for. He swallows, his mind whirling.
He just saved my life. Realization fully settles in.
“As I said, praying up to anything at all allows a whole host of beings to answer, you know? You’re lucky it was me.” the god weaves his hand and a chocolate bar, already halfway unwrapped appears in his hand. He takes a bite from it and with a strangely soft smile offers it to the hunter, who sneers at the offering in disgust. Loki shrugs his shoulders and takes another large bite from the treat.
Sam swallows, “I thought you were in Illinois. How could you have heard it from there?”
Loki merely rolls his eyes, “You know, Sam-I-Am there is a shit ton you and your dingbat of a brother don't know about pagan gods. It might do you both some good to actually read up on a little myth, and the actual practices of modern pagans. While many of my kin are barbaric and have refused to adjust to the times, “he grins smugly. “Leading them to get ganked by hunters like you, I have adjusted to the modern world. Prayers are weaker than a good ol’ sacrifice, but far safer and low-key. I have hundreds of people who worship me all over the world. They burn a little incense, put some good energy into crystals, and pray to me. In return, I send them some good luck!”
He waggles his fingers at Sam, “Not to mention my little sweet desserts count as sacrifices to me. Why do you think I got so much more juice than my regular ol’ kin? I’m self-sustaining!”
Sam merely stares. He had never really thought about how Loki was so much more powerful than his other pagan gods. He and Dean had taken out a few in their time since hunting again. None of them had held a candle to him. He guesses that makes sense. Loki was always a slippery and clever bastard. Of course, he would do anything he could to outlive his fellow Norse gods and even the other pantheons.
“So, answering my vague prayer gave you a little bit of power?” The human felt a bit sick thinking about giving Loki anything, especially more power. The blonde god shook his head.
“No, no. You didn’t pray to me directly, I got nothing but eye candy helping you out.” he winked at the hunter, gesturing to his exposed lower abdomen, abs stained with blood.
Sam’s lips press into a fine line, and his hazel eyes flood with distrust. “Right. Why did you save me then? If you truly got nothing from it?”
There is an odd pause, and the brunette watches a strange look pass across Loki’s face. His once smug smile had fallen into a more pensive look. The seriousness that filled his features took him by surprise. He could see his honey-colored eyes drip into a deeper brown, his eyes were enchanting always shifting colors. The sharp-plastered grin fell into something far softer, and more genuine though his words felt like they didn’t quite match the emotion Sam couldn’t identify in his features.
“Well, I can’t have my favorite hunter dying on me, now can I?” Loki hums. “After all, I’ve made quite a few bets on you, Sammykins. And I don't plan on losing them.”
Sam raises an eyebrow, and his body is starting to uncurl, as he extends his legs on the bed. He feels himself relaxing, despite his better judgment. After all, there wasn’t much he could do anyways if Loki decided to attack him. “Bets? With who - about what?”
A sultry wink is tossed his way, that startlingly soft smile was gone. “Give me a kiss and I might tell you!”
Sam groans and he rolls his eyes, turning his head away hoping that the strange warmth in his cheeks isn’t visible. He had never understood the god’s insistence on making strange flirtatious comments with him. It seemed he wasn’t so fond of tossing these things at Dean. He leans back against the headboard, feeling the soft pillows behind him melt against his body. He lets out a soft sigh at the feeling, eyes closing briefly before he opens them again. His gaze darts to Loki’s lips, as he watches his tongue swipe out from between his lips, licking off the chocolate that was there. The warmth in his face builds and he is mildly startled by the action. Hazel which is swirling with blue and green bewilderment, meets heated amber. The air feels thick as the hunter takes in a sharp inhale.
He shakes his head and looks around breaking the staring contest, unable to hold Loki’s gaze. He could see eons swirling in them, and he had started to drown in the lake of melted gold and oranges. He finally takes in the room with more detail. He recognizes the red sheet beneath him. The feeling of the bed, that was supporting his weight. Hell, even the size of the modest room felt familiar. Everything around him was sleek and modern, most of it was off-white, but there were splatterings of deep green accents around. The bed clashed against it. This is the room from his dream. He spots a few rather beautiful paintings hanging on the walls as well, they look - old. Behind the bed was a massive stain-glass window touching the ceiling. His brows furrowed at the angel that was depicted, holding a lily to his chest. Golden hair slid down to the back of his neck. His eyes, seeming to have been lined in actual gold, matched the halo above his head. Six wings were spread magnificently behind him, matching in color with the halo and eyes. He swore he saw them move.
Sam points to it, “Why do you have a saint above your pron-star red bed?”
Loki lifts his head and he barks out a laugh. “It usually isn’t a saint. It sometimes has a mind of its own though.”
He waves his hand and the stained glass window now is presenting a naked man being showered beneath lily petals, all his bits out. Sam groans. He looks a bit too much like Loki for a comforter, and he much preferred the staring saint.
He pauses, “Which one was it?”
The god seems to get a bit uncomfortable at the question and he rolls his eyes, “Not caught up with your Bible lore, kiddo?”
“Not exactly one of my top books.” Sam retorts and he hears Loki snicker, his gaze gets a strange wistful look as he eyes the strain-glass window.
“Gabriel.”
Sam’s brows furrow. Gabriel? The messenger of God? Why would Loki want that one hanging in his room? He makes the mistake of glancing at the window again and his face definitely gets red. He shakes his head, as he looks away quickly, “Where the hell am I?”
“My personal little bubble! This is where I spend most of my time when I need to lay-low, or just wanna have some none-detectable fun.” his eyes locked onto Sam. “After all, I know you learned every one of my signs by now. You are one of the first hunters to even realize that I’m Loki.”
The pagan god stands from his chair and the hunter watches as it melts away. He wonders if anything around them is real. For all he knows Loki isn’t. This is just an elaborate trick. He chews on the inside of his lips and he pulls at his hair a bit, maybe he’s dead? No, that wouldn’t make sense. He should have met a reaper then, and they would have taken him to the other side. Or, more accurately, take him down.
Loki’s voice cuts through his thoughts and he feels the bed shift as the smaller man sits down in front of him. His legs are crisscrossed, and a strange frown is on his features. “Now, why in the world would you be going to Hell, Sammich?”
The hunter snarls, “Stay out of my damn head.”
The creature holds his hands up in surrender, “Apologies. Your thoughts are just so loud.”
Sma swallows and he combs a hand through his hair, realizing that there is no blood clotting the strands together. “So. What do I owe you for this? I’m sure you didn’t save my life out of the goodness of your heart. If you have a heart.”
“ Ouch.” the god presses a dramatic hand to his chest, faking hurt. The sight almost brings a chuckle out of the hunter and he chokes down on it. Surprised by his own reaction. “If you don’t remember, you thought you stabbed me through it. Twice.”
The hunter is simply staring, waiting for a real answer. Crossing his arms over his chest, eventually, the god can’t stand the strange silence between them and he groans.
“You don’t owe me anything, bucko. I’m serious.” he shrugs. “I already told you, I got bets placed on you. Can’t have you dying.”
The human's brows and disbelief only deepen. “Are you serious? You don't even want this to be a ‘cash in a favor whenever I want’ type deal? There’s nothing you want from me?”
“No-pe!” Loki pops the ‘p’ in the word and he flashes the man a wink. “Though, if you wanna give your savior head that would be appreciated.”
Sam chokes and he knows that he has now gone visibly red at that comment, and he stares incredulously at the pagan god. That had to be one of the most lewd, and direct statements she has ever said to the hunter. The man shifts on the bed, as the image bleeds into his mind and instead of stirring, disgust, contempt, or even anger - he feels his legs shift closure to one another a sliver of heat sliding down his spine. He unconsciously licks his lips. Great. That image will be burned into his mind for days. His eyes betray him and dart down to Loki’s crotch, and jolt back up to his face. He has to admit, while not necessarily the most model-perfect man: he is attractive in his own way. With his brushed-back hair that looked like it was just asking to be messed with. His thick brows were always so expressive and the way his lips curled into a grin looking at him. His soft-stubble lined his soft jawline. His mind is going down a dangerous rabbit hole, and he doesn’t find the strength or will in his body to stop it.
Loki raises an eyebrow, and Sam instantly realized that god caught his thoughts. “Oh?”
Sam shakes his head, glaring. “I will kill you.”
“I’d like to see you try, again , sweetheart. It's always fun when you get rough with me.” he merely smirks, and he gives Sam a little salute with two fingers. “See ya around, kiddo.”
Sam doesn't get another word out as the room around him melts away, and he finds himself stumbling forward trying to keep himself upright, He is back in the motel, where he had stormed out earlier that night. His eyes glanced at the clock, only two hours had passed. His eyes darted around wondering if the Trickster was still lingering around somewhere. His eyes landed on a pack of gummy worms, lying on the bed he had claimed as his own. A note is neatly attached to it. He slowly approaches it, as he hears the door swing open behind him: he picks it up.
You need more sugar in your blood, you rabbit - Loki
A smile flickers across his face before he is spun around, facing a worried Dean.
“What the fuck happened to you! You’re soaked with blood and -” his eyes darted to the stitches. “Seriously, what the hell Sammy! You smell like whiskey, dude. I thought you just went out on one of your moody walks after breaking my nose, thanks for that, by the way.” he angrily gestures to the bandaid across the bridge of his nose.
Sam tosses the packet of gummy worms to the side and he pulls away from Dean.
“I ran into the shifter. And it got me pretty good before I ganked it. I’m fine now,” he gestures to the stitches, the half-lie sliding off his tongue with ease. He is getting better at keeping things from Dean these days and while it made him feel pretty damn terrible - he knew it was necessary, he didn't need the man to flip his lid because he nearly died and Loki patched him up for some unknown reason. His brows furrow and he fumbles with his pockets, finding his knife and phone there again. Wondering why Loki had taken them away. He pulls out his phone and eyes Dean.
He chuckles a bit, “I also sent you a very drunk ‘I’m dying message’ but I’m fine now. Clearly. Just delete that from your inbox.”
Dean groans and rubs at his face, as he pulls his own phone out Sam watches him delete the message from him with relief. “Man, you’re gonna give me gray hairs before I even turn thirty.”
“You already got some, man!” He points out a random spot on the man’s head who seems to go pale, and bolts for the bathroom mirror. Sam laughs as Dean’s head pokes back out a moment later, a scowl across his face.
“You bitch…”
“You deserve it, jerk.”
—
More candy kept coming. Dean didn’t seem to notice, but he did comment about how Sam kept cheating at whatever weird diet he was on, to which Sam would correct him about how he is merely counting calories. Then, it was the end of the conversation about the sugary snack that the brunette had found himself indulging in. He never bought any on his own. Every couple of days, it would simply appear somewhere around him. There was always a note. Usually it just had some quip about him needing it. Recently though, terrible jokes have been written on the little sticky notes that accompanied the gifts. Sam was a bit worried that Loki always seemed to know where he was, but he was sure the god had his tricks for tracking them. As much as he hates to admit it, the notes and candy became the highlight of his weeks, especially as Dean’s death day marched closer and closer.
And he would most certainly not admit that he had written a few sticky notes back. Leaving them tucked neatly underneath the visor in the Impala: they always disappeared after a few hours. He liked to think that Loki was receiving his little messages, but it was also possible Dean found them and tossed them out. He never seemed to get a response on the notes Loki sent with the candy, or at least it wasn’t obvious. But it was nice. Kinda likes having a secret little pen-pal. Sam knew this was good for him too. He felt like he had a friend: kinda sorta. Considering a pagan god who he has tried to murder, and who put him through a series of psychologically damaging events his friend had to be one of the weirder things in his life.
Outside of that, he hasn’t actually seen nor spoken to the god of mischief. He breathed in the fresh air that didn’t have the musk of the motel they were staying at as he marched his way to the Impala, a sticky-note tucked into his jacket pocket. They had just finished up a case with a few ghouls and it had been a wonderful surprise to return, covered in grave dirt, sore and bleeding a bit: to find a bag of sea salt caramels waiting for him. This is not different from the others. It seemed more conversational. Like an actual letter. It had asked how his day was. Sma hasn’t even taken a shower yet, Dean would be using it for an hour anyways. That man is high maintenance. He wasn't sure how Loki expected him to answer but he would try. Sam pauses as he goes to open the passenger door.
Beneath the tires of the Impala easter lilies are blooming all around. Straight through the concrete. His brows furrowed and he leaned down, touching one of them, they felt real. He couldn't quite wrap his head around why lilies, afterall they stand for purity. There was nothing pure about Loki. His gaze swept over them with hints of caution. He spotted that by the back tire, the white lilies had splatters of red coloring to them. No. They had blood on them. He slowly approached the back of the car, and the sight that waited for him sent a shock through his entire core.
Loki was leaning against the back of the Impala, blood dripping down all over his torso and onto the pavement of the motel parking lot. A thick-wooden stake was pierced straight through his chest, looking as if it was just below his heart, and Sam felt like his breath caught at the sight. It had to have been a narrow miss. He kneels down in front of the man, taking in the sight of him quickly cataloging things away. For a moment the stake in his chest flickered: seeming for a split second to look like a strange, all-silver blade Sam didn’t recognize and he saw a golden light leaking out around it. Then it was a stake again. One that was all too similar to what he himself had crafted to kill Loki, all those months ago.
“What the hell are you doing here!” the man hissed out, eyes darting around looking to see if anybody had noticed them. Or if Dean was looking for him.
Loki gives the hunter a pained smirk, “Bleeding out, Sammykins. I got a bit too cocky with a hunter, I hadn’t even killed any bastards this round of tricks…fuck! This hurtssss!” His voice is laced with pain, but there is a childish whine in it too.
Sam eyes the stake, and his mind leaps through a million scenarios. He pulled at his hair a bit, “What do you want me to do! Can’t you just heal yourself?”
“If I could heal it, I would have done that dipshit!” he snaps at the hunter, and Loki winced as he watched Sam flinch a bit at his tone. He groans, shifting his weight a bit - attempting to stand. “But this stake keeps me pinned like a bug almost. It’s a miracle the guy missed his mark…”
Sam stands to his feet and he wraps an arm underneath the pagan god, feeling his body melt into his side, and for the first time since he met him: he feels frail pressed into the taller man. Loki’s face is slick with sweat, and he is sickly pale. Startlingly most of all is that his eyes have a dullness to them. The hunter shakes his head, as he begins to half-drag the man towards their motel room. He is a lot heavier than he looks, surprising Sam. He wonders if that’s because this form he is in, might not be the real one. Just one that is taken for convenience's sake. Looking human would certainly help people trust you more.
“Do you at least have enough juice to at least cloak yourself?” Sam asks as he kicks the door open. He hears Loki groan, as he is jostled by the movement. “Because if Dean sees you he will put that stake right back in, and he won’t miss.”
Loki shakes his head, as he is dragged and gently dumped onto the nearest bed, there is a soft shake in his body. Once more Sam sees that strange silver blade instead. He doesn’t have it in himself to question it. If the god is simply pretending to be dying, then he is putting on one hell of an act. And what would that get him anyways? He digs for the first aid kit, sitting beside the man on the bed.
“I ain't got even enough juice to kill a fly right now, you’re gonna have to keep your murderous brother on a leash,” Loki comments softly, his voice uncharacteristically quiet and he throws his head back into the bed. “This sucks!”
Sam can’t help but let a chuckle slip from his lips, as he eyes the stake. What should he do? Take it out, stitch up the wound? Maybe he should bring the man to a hospital? His worried gaze sweeps over Loki’s form, and he realizes that he doesn’t have that kind of time. Wherever the god came from, to get here, it had taken a lot out of his already depleted energy. He bites into his lip. Here goes nothing.
“What did you think dying wasn’t painful?” he comments, trying to distract the blonde. Dull eyes fill with a hint of humor, warming Sam’s pounding heart. He tries his best to bury the feeling. He rips away at the man’s shirt, feeling how clammy Loki’s skin is beneath his fingers with the brief contact fully revealing half his chest.
“I’m going to pull this out, okay? On three. One, two-” he grabs the stake and jerks it from the god’s body, who curses out in a language that Sam has never heard: but from how heated his tone is, it’s nothing good. Instantly as the stake was removed, blood gushed to the deep-round wound. The man worked quickly, pressed gauze to it, watching it get soaked in seconds. “Hold this. Pressure.”
He feels Loki’s hand press on top of his own, the man has closed his eyes tight. Breathing broken and looking haggard and shaky, the shower is still running in the background. Sam hardly hears it stop. Eyes focused on the bleeding god. He grabs a lighter from his duffel bag and brings out a silver knife. He has to stop the bleeding, and the wound is too massive for him to hope he can close it up with stitches before Loki bleeds to death on the motel bed. He tosses the stake aside, kicking it underneath the bed. He steals his nerves, appearing calm as no tremble turns through his hands. But inside he is unsteady as a baby deer.
One thought is burning inside his mind. I can’t let him die. Sam assures himself, it's just because he owes the god his life., Nothing more. Nothing less.
He runs the lighter beneath the blade, watching it heat up slowly: and he turns back to Loki, continuing to heat up the knife.
“Alright, move your hands and the gauze,” it has turned a deep red. “Now!”
Loki does as he is told and his entire body arches up as he howls in agony, feeling the hot knife press into his flesh. The bathroom door slams open at the sound, soaking wet, and with his pants on, holding a gun stands Dean. He stares in complete shock at the scene in front of him, frozen in place. A strong and calloused hand holds down the god as he writhes, skin hissing and burning. Sam pulls the knife back looking at the ugly, cauterized wound. The bleeding has slowed down significantly and as Sam wipes away at it gently with a cloth soaked in peroxide, he discovers it has stopped bleeding entirely. His hazel eyes dart to his brother who is gaping in shock, pleading with brows furrowed he doesn’t do anything stupid. Like shooting the man on the bed.
Loki lets out a pathetic whimper. As the peroxide tingles painfully along the seared and bloody wound. “I think I’m gonna pass out Samoose…”
The god’s eyes roll into the back of his head and he is gone.
Dean finally finds his voice, “The hell, Sammy!”
He stalks out of the bathroom quickly throwing a shirt over his head it's backward but Sam doesn't find it in himself to comment. “Care to explain why there is a bleeding Trickster in my motel bed!”
His green eyes blaze and he looks around, clearly searching for something to be used against the god. His younger brother stands up holding up his bloody hands.
“Let me explain! I went out to the Impala, and he was just there! Bleeding out.” he doesn't mention the stake.
“Good!” Dean snapped at him, “You should have left its ass there to die! It would have given me a good excuse to give Baby a bath! Now, you just wasted a whole lot of effort saving his ass. Cause I’ma end it!” He took a step forward cocking back his gun. He knew that wouldn’t do it, but it would hurt like a bitch. And give him enough time to get himself a stake. The table leg would do. He discovered the barrel of his gun pressing against Sam's chest. Sam’s face held a blank look, well, not blank. His eyes were blazing with a threat.
“No, you’re not, Dean. He saved my life. I’m returning the favor.” the younger Winchester states simply, as if he was talking about the weather, Dean seems to only get more confused. And frustrated.
"When did that happen? As far as I know, that thing on the bed is just another monster! Hell: one of the worst we have ever met! Who knows what kind of body count it has!" He gestures with his gun. "He put you through pure-psychological torture Sammy! Saving your life doesn't just erase that!"
Sam shakes his head grabbing the gun, Dean freezing. "He also happens to be one of the few people I know who aren't dead. I'm not going to let you do this. I owe him this. Feel free to track him down and kill him later."
Dean snarls, "Like you can stop me-" The older man takes a sudden step forward and he cries out as Sam twists his arm behind his back moving swiftly, wrestling the gun away from him. It chatters to the ground as Sam tosses it away. The short-haired brunette froze in his struggle against his brother, eyes going wide with shock. He was serious about this. He huffs and shakes his head.
"Fucking fine! Fine." He grumbles out through his teeth, wincing at the tight grip Sam has on him. He has never seen the man go that, well, hard against him. Even in their worst fights and tussle against one another. It reminds him that his younger brother was taller than him, and likely stronger too. "I won't kill the prick."
"Thank you." is the reply he gets but there is little actual gratitude. Dean storks off towards the little kitchen area, grabbing a beer. He slumps at the table, glaring, but silent. He is also not actively attempting to stake Loki, so that is a bonus. Sam sighs with relief and he chews on the inside of his cheek a bit. Did he really just fight Dean to keep him from killing Loki? He combs a hand through his hair and grabs a chair dragging it beside the bed, looking over the god. His chest rises and falls slowly, much slower than a human would. He hardly even notices the movement. Loki stirred slightly one of the few signs that he is alive. He shifts in the chair and glances towards the shower, recognizing that now he is not only covered in dirt but, blood too. He sighs eyeing Dean, who is nursing the beer he has glaring at Loki.
Yeah, a shower will have to wait.
—
Sam jumps a bit, as he hears the man lying in the bed groan, a cup of empty coffee sits on the nightstand beside him. Dean is out on the other, nondirty bed: claiming that he had a right to it since Sam dumped the god in his bed. It felt strange and, a bit wrong that he was going to be using the nearest to the door bed. Small changes in their routine always threw him for a loop, but, unlike when he was young a fit and bits of panic weren't on the horizon. Loki slowly sits up blinking away spots in his vision, and he begins to process what is around him, his eyes drift to a digital clock. It was around three o'clock in the morning and his brows furrowed, placed a hand against his chest.
He was out that long? It had been evening when he had shown up here. The Winchesters had been his first thought, specifically Sam after the stake had been buried into his body. Well, it wasn't a stake. He was sure that Sam had noticed the flickers in his illusion. Gabriel really needed to be more careful these days, Heaven was starting to get antsy, knowing that soon - the first seal would be broken. His eyes darted to the sleeping figure of Dean. He swallows. They were searching for him, wanting to drag him home for a 'rewire'. He had been taken by complete surprise when an angel showed up, and he was forced to fight. Of course, a simple angel blade couldn't have truly killed him. But bleeding out all of his grace wasn't fun either. He was sure the little fledgling had hoped to drag him to heaven while he was weakened. Too bad he snapped them into bloody dust. He swallows, Sam hasn't said a word yet, simply staring at him.
Gabriel swallows, get it together. And he plasters a sickly sweet smile on his features, raising a brow, as he trails his hand over his chest. Where nothing but a faint scar remains on his vessel. He takes a deep breath, and he's Loki again.
"Awe, did you sit there all night for little ol' me?" He swoons and he leans over, Sam noted that he looked a little pale still. But clearly, he was feeling better as he felt fingers make contact with his forearms, sending sparks up his body even through the cloth of his dirty flannel. Loki's brows furrow and he snickers. "Didn't even take a shower."
Sam rolls his eyes pulling away from the god's touch, trying to ignore and hide the pure relief on his features, he fails pretty miserably. "I had to guard you, else Dean might have tried to slit your throat, or worse."
Loki rolls his eyes, "Does saving someone's life mean nothing to people anymore?"
"I thought I didn't owe you anything?" The hunter quirks up an eyebrow. The blonde shrugs casually as he sits up completely swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Sam's eyes dart to where his torn shirt is hanging off his shoulder revealing smooth skin. There is a faint scar on his chest, and his collarbone is rather prominent catching his attention. Sam combs a hand through his hair, and Loki winks at him as he waves his hand. The clothing stitches itself back together. Silence descends as the god stands, stretching.
"I kind of heard what Dean-o said to me. I'll have you know, lately, I haven't been killing those I mess with. Trying to avoid being hunted down." He sighs dramatically and presses a hand against his head. "It's terribly difficult, some of those asshats deserve it."
Sam shakes his head and stands up. Reaching out to pat the shorter man's shoulder, "You should get going now that you're all patched up. Though, I do have a question…" he watches Loki tense. He tilts his head to the side, eyeing him. "Why in the world did you show up here for help?"
There is a moment of thought that crosses the god's features, and he shrugs. He reaches his hand out booking the hunter's nose watching Sam jolt back a bit in surprise, nose scrunching up adorably. "Cause you're my favorite hunter!"
"What does that even mean?" The man mumbles touching the tip of his nose. He swore he felt a little jolt of electricity that time, for a real. He shakes his head.
He gets a wink and a waggle of the man's eyebrows. "Whatever you want it to mean!"
He fakely swoons grabbing onto Sam's arm and he places the back of his head against the man's chest. "I do know that you're my hero~!"
Sam shakes his head and he has to put a hand over his mouth to keep down the laughter that bubbles up inside of his chest. He hasn't laughed like that in a while, but, Loki is just too much. He always somehow manages to make him laugh, or at least snicker. If neither of those a smile will grace his lips. He can't help it. Something about the man is simply infectious. The god tilts his head up at the hunter, eyes glowing in the darkness of the motel room. Bits of moonlight and the streetlights outside flicked through the curtains making his hair appear to have a halo bouncing on the top of it. Sam swallowed and he smirks a bit, not exactly knowing what came over him.
"Gonna give your savior a kiss?" He hums, and Loki grins at him. Sam instantly catches that look of trouble and realizes that he might just be in a bit of danger, as it becomes sharp. Then there is a hand on the back of his neck, and he is being dragged down with inhuman strength to the god's level. His first instinct should have been fear from how tight his neck was being gripped. This being likely could snap his neck without a thought. He should have pulled away. He should have pushed the man away. There are a lot of should haves that Sam thought of in that moment, and mostly after. But, all of that was trumped by the single thought of want. As lips that tasted like pure sugar, that was slightly soft with chapstick met his chapped and dry lips. Sam was sure that he likely tasted like dirt, but the god didn't seem to mind as he bit into his bottom lip: noticing that the hunter was leaning in. And not away.
Sam's eyes fluttered closed and he nodded his head though, he was sure Loki already knew what he wanted as a tongue slipped into his mouth. Filling his senses with the taste of sugar and he could smell it too, he wasn't sure if that was some kind of cologne or just a natural musk to the god. He felt the hand at the back of his neck threaded through his hair and he made an embracing noise as he felt a sharp tug. Heat pooled down his spine, and he reached to pull the smaller man flush to his body, feeling like every nerve was being set on fire. He has never experienced a kiss like this, and he could care less that Loki was a man. Careless that he was anything short of human. He feels teeth bite into his lips again and he groans as he feels a bit of blood dribble down.
He is panting as finally, the man allowed him to breathe again, lips feeling swollen, his eyes blown wide. He was trembling a bit as his mind finally caught up with what happened, what he just did. He kissed Loki. The Trickster. One of the most powerful and sadistic monsters he had ever met, handing out ironic and deadly justice. He makes himself judge, jury, and executioner. A righteous asshole. And he just let himself be kissed by him, well more like made out with him.
A husky voice purrs against his lips, as he stands there in shock, warm breath trailing goosebumps along his entire body.
"See you soon, Sam."
The name startled him to his core, and before his lips could say something, anything: Loki was gone. Leaving the hunter alone standing in the darkness of his room. He walks back towards the bed staring at the spot where the god had been out of commission for hours before. The blood was gone now. Leaving nothing but clean sheets, he groans and combs a hand through his hair and he marches for the shower.
That night, his dreams are filled with gold.