Title: i saw a spark, but it was dark
Summary: "When I told Dad I was scared of the thing in my closet, he gave me a .45." What if Azazel got to Sam when he was a bit younger?
Pairing: none, I wrote gen! What is this fuckery? But you can consider it pre-Sam/Dean if that makes your slasher heart happy; if I keep writing in this 'verse I'll more than likely get there eventually.
Rating: PG-13 for language, creep factor
Word Count: dunno, VERY SHORT.
Disclaimer: Fake like a three-dollar bill, yo.
Author's Notes: Ideas shamelessly ganked from Gnarls Barkley's 'The Boogie Monster' and 'Storm Coming.' Both can be found on St. Elsewhere, which I highly recommend. Title from 'Necromancing,' same album. This is basically just me proving that I AM NOT DEAD AND I AM WRITING, LOOK LOOK SEE?
Sam could see the glowing eyes from between the louvers of the closet doors; two of them were broken, and the thing was looking at him through them.
No one else could ever see it, and Dad said the house was salted and warded within an inch of its' life and nothing could get in. He knew his brother and father thought it was just learning about what was really out there, causing nightmares.
He couldn't tell them that the reason he'd got suspicious in the first place was because of the things the yellow-eyed man whispered to him. "Go away," he hissed, rolling over in bed and pulling his pillow over his head. The barrier was comforting, even flimsy and useless as it was. "I've got a test tomorrow, I'm not having a staring contest with you all night. Forget it."
I'm not going anywhere, Sammy. I have plans for you.
"Do those plans include driving me nuts with the staring? Because I gotta tell you, it's working real great so far. Clearly you're an evil genius," he added with as much sarcasm as he could muster, which was quite a lot; he was a Winchester, after all.
I can help you. Teach you things you need to know. Things that will keep your family safe.
"Yeah, I'm taking monster-hunting lessons from one of the monsters, that's happening," Sam retorted despite his silent resolve to stop encouraging the thing by talking to it.
The closet door squeaked open, and a man came out. He looked normal enough, just wearing jeans and a tee under a really ugly pink floral button-down shirt. He had floppy brown hair, and he was huge, broader and taller even than Dad. The only odd thing about him was the yellow eyes.
Sam knew demons had black eyes. "Are you a werewolf?"
He smiled. He had dimples. "No. I'm human," he said, and his voice sounded different than it did when Sam heard it in his head. Sam thought maybe Dean would be able to see and hear him now.
"No you're not."
"How else would I get past the wards?" he pointed out.
Sam scowled. His father had given him a crash course in warding a house, both because it was necessary information for any hunter and in the hope that knowing how well-protected the house was would stop the nightmares. "Somehow," he retorted stubbornly. "The only reason for a grown man to be hiding in a nine-year-old's closet is if he's a child molester. And I will totally shoot your dick off if you are," he added, holding up the .45 that he'd snatched off the bedside table at the first squeak of the doors.
A sharp bark of laughter. "I'm not a child molester."
"Then you're a monster."
Sam scowled. He didn't like the thing calling him Sammy, he only liked for Dean to do that; but hearing his name said the way Dad said it when he was acting up wasn't really any better. "What?"
"Not everyone or everything that's different is a monster. There are witches out there that wouldn't touch some of the dark texts your Dad owns with someone else's severed hand."
"He has them for research, not to use them." Some of the books Dad kept gave him the heebies, the ones at Bobby's were worse. But he knew it was an important distinction; researching the enemy's arsenal versus actually doing any of the spells.
"Knowledge is just knowledge. It's all in how you use it. Your Dad uses it to save people. The knowledge I can give you is powerful. How you use it is up to you."
Sam brought his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, thinking. His Dad had come home from his latest hunt with clawmarks and bruises and a dislocated shoulder. From some of the things Dean had said he was pretty sure Dad had almost died. Dean was already talking about wanting to go on hunts, and it would probably happen soon. He didn't want Dean to die. He didn't even want Dean to almost die.
"Okay. Teach me."
He smiled. "Better get some sleep, kiddo, tomorrow's going to be a busy day."