His Name Was God


November 1, 1979

Azazel looked down onto the soul of the little boy, the baby's blond hair shining in the light of the little glowing duck lamp, his hazel eyes blinking sleepily. And he knew what the boy was, who the child would ultimately become. The darkness swirled inside of him, filling him, and yet it was buried so deeply that it would take the human a lifetime to let it all out. This was not the child he wanted, though he was sure the boy would have served just fine. But he didn't want fine; he wanted soul-searing power, he wanted the end. This child… he cared nothing for it.

Watching as the child slipped into sleep, he vaguely wondered what the boy would become, how his path would play out. But the thought was brief and vanished without a hitch; in the end, he could not have been less concerned with the child's fate. Let the darkness take him, let him have a mediocre existence as yet another dark force; it took no effort to make darkness conform to evil. That was not what Azazel wanted. It was too easy; far too simple and not satisfying.

Dean… the name rang true. Amusement filled Azazel as he wondered if the boy's parents knew the name had been selected long before either of them had considered procreating. The little boy named Dean, the name that meant from the valley. A low chuckle slid out of him, and he watched as the baby's lashes flickered in surprise, wide eyes looking for the source of the noise and finding nothing but empty air.

"Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death," Azazel murmured, his yellow eyes still on the child.

Breathing speeding up, the baby began to frown, its little mouth pulled downward as its fists clenched and unclenched in anxiety. Sounds of unease made their way from the tiny human. Azazel fully expected it to live alone; his kind always did. No one could save them from that, and no one wanted to.

Finally bored with the brat, Azazel left the room, not to return for another four years. The next time he arrived, he would take what he wanted. Let the Winchesters keep the tiny little whelp; the boy would amount to nothing spectacular, not like the one who would come after him. No, Dean was no threat to him; he was nothing. Many were from the Valley; souls there were plentiful. No, it was something else, something better, that Azazel wanted. And there was no one to stop him.

x.x.x.x.

November 2, 1983

Ah, there he was. This was the soul that Azazel coveted, the one that would bring about the end. This one was the source of light that he had seen so clearly in the girl Mary. Yes, he already knew this child would be the favorite out of his horde of psychics. He would be so much more than the rabble that was thrown at Azazel century after century. Here was the child for whom he had waited and watched. Now, at last, after so many failed generations, he could begin.

Though Azazel did not much remember his previous visit, this baby was awake just like his brother had been before him. This one did not try to sleep. No, this one looked straight at the figure looming over his crib. The boy did not blink, even as the yellow eyes gazed at him with hunger and greed. And Azazel knew that this one would fight to the end, this one would give everything just to save others, no matter whom and no matter the cost. How amusing.

That would change.

Suddenly the infant's eyes welled with tears, its mouth opening to make a keening sound. For a moment Azazel was confused at the child's sudden reaction. Distress was etched on the little one's every feature, and a moment of confusion blotted Azazel's victory.

Then a sound behind him drew his attention. Soft, shuffling footsteps and the breathing of a tired human. An interruption. Mary. A twinge of regret pricked at him; such a shame to lose such a beautiful creature. If she didn't try to stop him, perhaps he'd let her live. He was in a charitable mood, after all.

"John?" asked her tired voice, "Is he hungry?"

"Sshhh," Azazel whispered, not moving his eyes from Mary's child.

"Okay," she murmured, turning to leave the room.

Perhaps little Sammy would grow to know his mother after all. Azazel had not expected the woman to live past this night. There was still time for that change, but it mattered little. Triumph dominated his mind as he stared at his little prize. All because of Mary and that husband, Azazel had what he'd waited millennia to possess. Like the other brat, this child had a preordained name: Samuel. His name is God. The meaning was perfect, deliciously and ironically perfect.

A grin slid across Azazel's face as he slit the skin across his wrist. Red blood welled from the wound, thick beads of the liquid rolling down and dropping into the air. They fell into the open mouth of the child, hitting his lip and sliding down his throat. Better than mother's milk…

Another drop or so and it was all but done. The boy was marked. Ascendency washed over Azazel. His being sung with the pleasure of what he had done. After all, there was no greater elation than to know one's enemy had suffered a loss. There was nothing like this taste of having taken something belonging to the Enemy, having turned something very precious to Heaven into an instrument of Hell. The irony that tainted Sam's name would forever fill Azazel with pride. And he felt it then, the end, as it drew closer. Finally.

The boy swallowed the last of the blood, his distress rising. The child's eyes moved to see Azazel, and the demon saw what he'd waited an eternity to see; yellow flashed in the irises of the little one before fading once again into brown. It was done. He saw his plan drawing to a triumphant close.

There were frantic footsteps and a bang behind him as Mary gracefully reentered the room. Her body stilled and fear rolled off of her in waves. "It's you."

Ah, this time she would not leave. A pity she would have to die. Did she know, he wondered with malicious content, that she had sold her son to a dark purpose before he had been born? And like all else but Sam, it mattered not at all. Azazel swung around to fix her with his blazing eyes; even her loss was acceptable now. Everything was now exactly according to plan. And he grinned.


I have never posted here before, so this is mostly a test to see how everything goes. However, it can be read as a regular story as well if you wish. I'm still working out how to use the limited formatting and such, so please point out any mistakes. I may repost it if I feel it's too riddled with errors, in content or otherwise.

Despite this being a test run, this is technically my first fanfiction, so I'd appreciate knowing how I did.

This was inspired when I recently watched All Hell Breaks Loose part I. I just noticed that baby Sam's eyes flashed yellow after drinking the demon blood. That, and I just realized what Sam and Dean's names meant. Very suspicious... You'd think it'd be the opposite, what with Sam's demon connections and Dean's heavenly buddies. So, I thought up a reason. Also, Azazel's indifference to Dean is ironic to me since Dean is ultimately his executioner.

Please let me know if this is confusing.