Sam Witch Bingo

“Dean! Look!”

Dean looked up from his comic book. Sammy was standing in front of him, wearing an odd assortment of clothes that he seemed to have pulled from the donation bins at Goodwill. Which he probably had, the last time they went foraging. It was supposed to be for school clothes, but they had been working fast and Dean wasn’t paying that much attention to what Sammy was taking.

Sammy was wearing a pair of black shoes with buckles that were a size too big, a pair of red and black striped tights that were a size too small, an orange tutu, and a purple turtleneck clearly meant for a grown man. Adorning it all was a floppy, pointed hat with a big blue flower pasted on the side.

“Sammy, what…”

“I’m a witch!” Sammy grinned. Dean couldn’t help but grin back; Sammy was only five, he didn’t know anything about what most people found acceptable. “For Hallween!”

“You sure are,” Dean said. “That what you wanna wear trick or treating?”

“Yeah!” Sammy’s eyes were huge. “You promised we’d go this year!”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “I’ll take you...Dad’s not going to be back for a few more days anyway.”

Sammy trotted over to Dean, slipping in his too-big shoes. “What’re you gonna be?” he asked.

“I dunno, Sammy,” Dean said. “I’m too old to dress up.”

“Are not! Come on, Dean!”

Dean shrugged. “I guess I’ll just cut some holes out of a bedsheet and be a ghost or something.”

Sammy pouted. “That’s boring.” He cocked his head slightly. “What about a vampire?”

“I don’t have the stuff for that.” Dean patted Sammy on the shoulder. “But don’t worry...you’re the best little witch there is. No one will care about me.”

Sam loves crafting hex bags. Not the ones that cause pain and suffering, filled with baby teeth and bits of bone, but the ones that do good.

A hex bag for good fortune, tucked in the glove compartment of the Impala, dried hydrangea and orchid petals, small chunks of amethyst and clear quartz.

Protection charms, crafted with more exotic ingredients, against ghosts and hostile witch craft, curses, hoodoo. Sam spends a lot of time experimenting on those, combining herbs and talismans and sigils, passing them to Dean or Cas or Eileen on hunts.

Warding hex bags, with the hardest to find bits, rare flowers to block demons, seeds from extinct fruits to sneak past archangels, sanctified finger bones of righteous men to duck gods.

He is excellent at this and what he wants to achieve he will. Persistence, knowledge, and a dash of wild intuition that allows him to make something entirely new from known parts.

The thing about transformations is they happen slowly.

One day, it’s just a few sips of demon blood. It makes him stronger, makes him better at his job. It’s not a big deal, no matter what his brother says.

Then he starts learning the spells. They go with the blood, enhance it, give him more power. He exorcizes the demons easier, he’s stronger, faster, his visions are more accurate and come when he wants them. Dean is suspicious, but Sam is just becoming a better Hunter. No one can object to that.

And then he hears the question. Do you want to save the world? Do you want to save all of them? Do you want to see your brother happy?

Of course he says yes. There was never any other option. Just to see the world be saved, to see Dean get to live a happy life...that was worth everything. Blood, spells, letting the devil himself in...it would all be worth it.

Lucifer doesn’t count on Sam’s power, though. He doesn’t realize that much demon blood, that many spells...almost nothing could withstand it. The struggle is brief, bloody, but in the end the devil is subdued, though Sam lets him out now and then when he needs a little more power.

He starts with Hell, bringing the demons under his rule. Most of them are happy to serve, happy to follow him. They had been preparing for it from the start. And with an army of demons, and all the knowledge of the Hunters, he moves on to Earth. Any demon can take a vessel, anyone who tries to fight is crushed. Sam keeps drinking blood, keeps finding bigger and darker spells. Soon, he can destroy angels as easily as demons, can pull them from their vessels and absorb their grace into his own. He takes the Earth, and Hell, and soon he will take Heaven.

The Boy King sits on his throne, the devil screaming in his mind, as the demons drag the sword before him. Sam looks down, sneering at the man. This is Michael’s vessel? This is the one who’s supposed to defeat him?

Dean looks up, his face bruised and bloody, his eyes still gentle. “Sammy,” he whispers.

Sam should kill him now. Destroy the vessel, take the soul inside to Hell to rot.

“Sammy.” Dean looks at him, gaze steady, and there’s so much in that one word, that one look.

“Your Majesty,” one of the demons says. “Should we…?”

“Lock him in the Pit,” Sam orders. “If we destroy him, the angels will bring him back...but if they want him, they’ll have to fight for him again. And I’m stronger than all of them.”

The demon nods and drags Dean down. Dean looks back, eyes full of tears. Sam watches him go, knowing what Dean wants to say, what he wants to say in return.

I love you.

I’m sorry.

The narrative is crafted too perfectly. Sam is the angel, the well-intentioned, the little brother. Sam is the King. Sam will take everything, because he was written to be the devil.