Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or its characters - these were created by Eric Kripke. Other characters created by HP Lovecraft. I'm just borrowing them. I'm not making any commercial gain from this. No harm or infringement intended.

Castiel has breached the terms of the lease for this reality and the Outer Gods are NOT happy. Their emissary takes care of it, but then seems strangely smitten with Sam. So that's lucky, isn't it?


Sam/smitten!OG, Spoilers for S6, crackfic/existential angst/crawling horror/death.

Let this be a lesson to you - this is what you get from listening to Metallica's "No Leaf Clover" and "The Call of Ktulhu" on repeat.

I think this may be like that fictional book that drives the reader mad, so consider yourself warned. I've certainly laughed hysterically the whole time I was writing this monstrosity.

No Leaf Clover

"I am your new God, you will bow down and worship me," said Castiel.

Sam, Dean and Bobby looked on aghast. Sam's instinct was to turn to his brother for guidance, but instead he saw the swift flicker of emotions flash across Dean's face, betrayal, love, loss, then finally fear.

There was a crackle of energy behind the god-angel, Oh, no, here goes, thought Sam, expecting some sort of angelic smiting.

There was a dreadful shattering noise that sounded like someone had broken something... big. Like the world, big. What could only be described as cracks appeared in the air, spreading out in all directions, and an unearthly energy that was almost, but not quite, like a color shone through. It was all beyond comprehension and description and it made Sam's head and eyes hurt just to look at it.

Castiel turned to stare at the spectacle, confusion soon followed by a look of absolute terror, evident on his face.

A tall figure dressed in a long, black coat stepped through the largest of the vertical cracks, like someone stepping from behind the curtain on a stage. In an instant the cracks shrank back in on themselves and disappeared.

He was very tall, taller even than Sam; a rugged, handsome man with a mocha complexion, high angular cheekbones, and long black shoulder-length hair, who looked to be in his late thirties.

He walked forward with a calm self-assurance, and the regal air of a man long used to command and having his slightest order obeyed without question. For some reason he made Sam think of an Egyptian king, and Sam mentally christened him 'the Pharaoh'.

The Pharaoh's raptor-like gaze swept over the room seeming to take in every aspect of his surroundings, before his attention turned and focused in on Sam to the exclusion of all else. His eyes were dark, almost black, and flashed with wild humor and a fierce intelligence that seemed to see right down into Sam's core.

Sam felt himself sucked into those deep, dark pools and he found himself unable to tear his eyes away. His heart pounded in his chest and he struggled to breathe, as if all the air had been sucked from the room. It was in that moment that he understood and appreciated the attraction of the long, intense staring matches his brother had so often shared with Castiel.

The Pharaoh gave a beaming smile worthy of any film star - all gleaming white, even teeth, dimples and crinkled eyes. Sam could have sworn that something melted to a puddle inside his own chest in response.

"Samuel Winchester," the man purred with a deep, husky voice like velvet.

Sam stood frozen like a rabbit in headlights and nodded in dumb in agreement.

"I've come a very long way to meet you," smiled the Pharaoh.

Sam realized with a sick fascination that he actually felt vaguely aroused.


"This little universe has been locked away from the inside for longer than you could possibly imagine. The lease on this reality has always been contentious and is well overdue," the Pharaoh said in gentle tone to Sam, as if expecting him to understand.

He turned to Castiel with a look of extreme annoyance, "This sort of behavior most certainly isn't what had been agreed to. What you get up to in your own backwater reality is entirely your own business, but the Purgatory souls were quite clearly designated as tribute to the Outer Gods."

Castiel stood frozen in place, the look of fear on his face even greater than before, if that was possible. The man walked up to him and poked him in the chest, "They are most definitely not for the consumption of minor deities," the Pharaoh said in a visible rage.

"Where's the intermediary? Custodian!" he bellowed.

In an instant between blinks, Death appeared. He inclined his head in respect to the dark Pharaoh, before noticing and acknowledging the older Winchester with a small smile.

"Ah, Dean, we really must stop running into one another like this - if it's not this plane of reality it's some other parallel dimension. You do realize that I don't offer a bulk discount?" he laughed, seeming to be much amused by his own obscure in-joke.

Death clicked his fingers and behind him Castiel suddenly dropped to a loose, lifeless heap on the floor. Dean made a small noise of alarm, but some unthinking instinct of self-preservation kept him rooted to the spot.

"Didn't I mention that it was always my destiny to reap God?" Death said to Dean in a low voice, little more than a whisper, almost sounding sympathetic.

"Oh, but I do so hate small print in contracts, don't you?" added Death, sounding like he meant the exact opposite of what he'd just said.

Death handed Dean a small, tattered, but glowing rag, "It seems I have something for you. Do look after it, it's quite determinedly tied to you, you know," he said, giving the shocked hunter a meaningful look.

Without really thinking about it, Dean found himself stroking the rag like a child with a comforter, when he realized with embarrassment what he was doing he slipped it into his jacket pocket, but he kept his hand resting on it.

The Pharaoh seemed too busy giving a Sam a full-on smoldering look to follow the ongoing exchange between Death and Dean.

"This might be a minor backwater, but it does contain something that both fascinates and terrifies the Outer Gods. Life. It's completely alien to the rest of existence and totally toxic to them. That's what I was created for, to ensure that you don't spread and contaminate the other planes of existence. When they think of you, which luckily for this reality is almost never, they merely consider you vermin. Most of them are too apathetic to even think to destroy you. And that would only take a snap of the fingers. Assuming they had fingers," said Death, still in a quiet tone, to a bewildered Dean who hadn't managed to take in a single word.

Death turned, bowing to the Pharaoh - who either didn't notice or chose not to acknowledge him - before disappearing.

The Pharaoh looked down in disinterest at Castiel's body, then turned back to cast another loving look in Sam's direction. "Angels, pah," he laughed in distain, "Do they really look like higher beings to you, or merely adolescents running amok when their parents are away?

"My people, we created the conditions that led to the birth of your God. He's otherwise beneath our notice, and sadly lapsed in the conditions of use of this reality.

"This whole experiment in free will has gone on for far too long. This material universe simply isn't meant for the purpose it's being bent to. If I may use an analogy? It's like one of your greatest artists deciding to produce works expressing all that was in the human soul using only jello. You have a saying 'the medium is the message', you understand, yes? Everything is lessened and trivialized as a result."

Dean rolled his eyes at all the high-falutin' professor-speak, but he noticed that Sammy seemed to be lapping it up, his eye shining like he was in the throes of a full-on nerdgasm.

Sam felt so in awe of the man that he just stood there in passive obedience when the Pharaoh reached out and with a gentle, but firm touch, cupped Sam's face in his strong hands and he turned the hunter's face a little to the left and right as if conducting some sort of examination.

Whatever it was the Pharaoh was looking for was either absent or somehow lacking, because he tutted in a combination of disappointment and irritation. At the sound of this disapproval, Sam felt an overwhelming sense of crushing shame.

"You've been... sullied. It's the residue taint of demon blood," explained the Pharaoh, "it was powerful merely due to its origin, from the fallen one, the angel Lucifer, but like him it has been twisted and corrupted out of all recognition."

The Pharaoh laughed, "Ah, poor, poor Lucifer, he was like a human teenager! All that promise and beauty of youth and then to rebel against his parents he makes himself ugly with his strange clothes and piercings and tattoos."

At the last word he placed a tender hand on Sam's chest, just over his heart, and gave him a gentle pat. Sam felt a strange lurch in his stomach and a blush spread across his cheeks as his heart raced.

"We'll soon clear that up, here take this, it will help with the craving I know you still feel, and it is not like the filth you used to drink," the Pharaoh said, as Sam felt himself filled with a warm, radiant energy.

The hidden demonic hunger and rage in Sam's soul, which he never fully admitted to himself, was erased. Dean and Bobby looked on in amazement as a thin, black mist poured from Sam's mouth before exploding into flame.

Sam looked at the Pharaoh in utter adoration, "Who are you?" he asked, feeling like his heart was skipping every other beat in his chest.

"Oh, I go by many names. In this time and place you may call me Niall. Niall le Hotep," the man smiled as if to a private joke. Sam repeated the name to himself, almost in worship, liking the sound of it in his mouth; it was strange and exotic, to him sounded like a weird mix of Irish, French and Egyptian.

Niall stroked Sam's hair out of his face, "Now, doesn't it feel right like this, with my power inside you instead?

"This reality of yours has been cut off from our protection for such a long time, your local deity obviously needs guidance, I can sense demonic energy everywhere – you should take care of that before it's allowed to take root.

"I would do this myself, but although the opening of the portal to purgatory allowed me access to this world, it is a mere crack, not enough for me to access my full power. But you, as a vessel and a denizen of this realm, you have the ability to open that doorway for me," Niall explained.

Bobby had been keeping a low profile up until this point, after all he hadn't got to be an old hunter by drawing attention to himself, but he was worried where this was going. He cleared his throat, the noise sounding like thunder in the sudden silence, as Niall turned the full force of his gaze to look at him.

I should have kept my damn fool mouth shut, Bobby thought, while trying to hide his sudden attack of nerves, "Sam, are you sure this is such a good idea? We've already seen what opening one portal has done..."

Niall clasped Sam by the shoulders, one hand stroking up and down his arm, the younger Winchester quivering beneath his touch, "Know this; I have crossed whole realities to be here, so believe me when I say that I will never harm you, Samuel Winchester."

Bobby and Dean shuffled in place feeling awkward and uncomfortable, avoiding eye contact, but not quite knowing where to look, in what was such an intimate exchange.

Sam looked at the older man with wonder, "No, this feels… right. What do I need to do?"

"Here, let me guide you," whispered Niall, as he wrapped his arms around Sam, "Will you let me in?"

"Yes," answered Sam, his voice husky, giddy in adulation.

Niall gave a broad grin, and kissed Sam on the forehead, as all the pieces at last fell into place.

The room shook with a terrible rumbling that went on, and on, as the cracks from earlier re-appeared, this time they widened and deepened as the awful, mind bending color shone through again. The hunters all looked away from the insanity inducing, crawling chaos revealed by the tear in the universe.

Niall's eyes brightened at the sight of the legions of monstrous, tentacled things that were now writhing and swarming towards them, and he turned his imperious gaze once more to the men.

"Now, you will bow down and worship us as your new gods," the Outer God commanded.

As Sam started to kneel, Niall stopped him, "No, not you beloved, you're my favorite, I'm keeping you for myself," he said with a wink.



Author Notes:

A four leaf clover brings you good luck, a no-leaf clover brings only bad. I interpret the song as being about when the believed solution to your problems only makes things far, far worse.

I started writing this ages ago, and having seen a couple of teasers for the new season decided I needed to publish and move on.

The Outer Gods, including Nyarlathotep, are the creations of HP Lovecraft. Or is that the other way round?

The color that isn't a color is a reference to 'The Colour Out of Space' a short story by HP Lovecraft.

Death's greeting to Dean is a bit of an in-joke, because at the time of writing it felt like Death kept popping up in all my fanfics.