Lost Soul

Chapter 2

S s S s S

I was wrong, you know, about Sam Winchester. I thought he'd never pull it off, that he didn't have it in him. It seems he had enough. I heard all about his thirst for demon blood and I thought that was it. Sam Winchester reverting to type, becoming what he truly was; a mostly soulless creature caught in the treacherous world somewhere between human-imagined reality and the uncontained infinity of the other side.

I don't think there was anyone or anything that really believed that he could do it; defeat Lucifer and send him back to his cage. Not even Dean. For all his love for his little brother Dean never had much faith in the kid, but then again neither did I. Now he's back. I knew about it not long after it happened, I knew we'd cross paths eventually and I admit I was curious. I'd been working on a few projects, trying to tidy up some loose ends; all those demonic shenanigans disrupted some long-term business ventures. Mopping up after a near miss apocalypse can be a real bitch, I tell ya.

Oh, that Crowley, he's a real player. He likes to think of himself as a cut above the rest and while it's true he's certainly smarter than the average bear he doesn't know everything. Makes my job a whole lot easier. King of Hell, I choked on my latte when I heard that one. Apparently, he had some help from a most unlikely source, asking for trouble both of them. I gotta say angels really get my goat.

Then one day, not so long ago, Sam Winchester shows up on my doorstep. Just passing through, he says. I let him in and make him a nice cup of tea.

There's something different about the lad. He drinks his tea in silence, clear eyes staring at me over the rim of his teacup. I stare back. I have some questions. Information is power, as they say. He'll probably lie, but I've been around far too long to be fooled by anything this little human hybrid has to say and if the way he's eyeing me is anything to go by I think that he's beginning to understand that. It's one of the reasons I've kept my distance, it's always been in his nature, that strong invisible thread entwining him with the supernatural. If he'd ever thought to look, he'd have seen it. I suppose I should be grateful for Dean's influence, his expectations of Sam's inherent humanity kept his brother on the straight and narrow. I wonder how their lives would have turned out if they'd known, if Dean had known what Sam had always been.

We take our seats at the kitchen table. There is certainly no need to stand on ceremony and maybe manners maketh man but nobody under my roof falls into that category. I get the ball rolling.

"So you made a deal?" I put it bluntly. He cocks his head as if considering his answer.

"I don't remember anything," he lies and sips his tea.

"That so?" I say, "Don't kid a kidder, sonny boy. Although I'd like to know what you had to trade. I can't imagine your scrap of a soul was worth much to anyone."

Sam doesn't miss a beat. He carefully places his teacup in the saucer and reaches for the pot. "Good tea." He nods, refilling his cup. "Milk please." I pass it over.

"Cookie?" I offer. Homemade chocolate chip, I'm a dab hand in the kitchen. He takes two and munches on one, smiling contentedly for a minute.

"Good," he swallows. "You're looking at it from the wrong perspective. If I did indeed make a deal, as you suggest, what would I gain from it?"

"They let you out. Hmm." I ponder the problem. "Yes, I see what you mean. Being topside and soulless isn't much of an advantage in of itself. Have you seen Dean yet?" I interrupt my train of thought. A quick shake of his head is his only reply. "Probably for the best, He'll most likely try and kill you if he finds out." Sam inclines his head in agreement and stuffs another cookie into his mouth.

"But they took what was left anyway." I look at Sam across the table. "You know, Sammy, you shouldn't exist. Unless somebody powerful is pulling your strings." I have a cookie myself. "They found the pieces, didn't they? Someone has your soul, all of it." I have a good idea who that might be. "What do you have to do to get it back?"

Sam smiles, "Sorry, bound to secrecy. You know how it is." He gives a little sigh of regret and blinks at me. There's something reflected in his eyes that reminds me of someone I met once, a long, long time ago. There aren't many beings that can give breath and warmth to human clay, fewer still that can keep it separate from its soul and yet still have it talk the talk and walk the walk. Let's just say you need a big wallop of grace for that little conjuring trick.

"Be careful, Sam" I don't why I suddenly feel the urge to warn him, pity is not an emotion I waste time on, that said whatever he was or is it's never been his choice. "The way I remember it, he's an arrogant bastard whose mercy has always been strained. It's only a deal until he decides differently."

His eyes flare suddenly, the air crackles for a split second and then Sam laughs quietly.

"I know," he gazes blankly at me, "I know."

I watch him leave and wonder if I'll ever get to meet the Sam Winchester who died that day in a small house in Kansas.