do you ever dream of me? (1x1 w/ Dean)
THE DESSERT, JUST OUTSIDE OF ARIZONA
TIME: 08:36 PM
ATTN: DEAN / feat. SAM
Az had waited a very long time for this day. The sun was just beginning to set in the west, casting a glorious hue over the horizon as he stared from the hood of his 1987 Aston Martin. The smooth chrome of the car’s exterior was a perfect perching point for what he was waiting on.
His arrival was late, but after waiting, roughly 35 years, Az was willingly to wait another 15 minutes.
The air was stale in the countryside of the armpit of the United States. At least it wasn’t humid -- that would have been a buzzkill. Looking down at himself, he noticed the dirt and soot that covered the toe of his leather boots. He had on dark jeans with a loose, white button up. He had chains hanging to and fro from pockets, enjoying the ability to strangle anyone with it without a moment’s notice.
The dirt under his nails reminded him of the waiter that he’d killed about 3 towns back, soaking in the blood of the victim before sucking the marrow from the bones. A perfect way to end this long and exhausting mission.
A vibration in his pocket broke him of his reverie. Pulling the phone out, Azrael stared at the text that had arrived: 5 minutes.
Now he had to wait another 5 minutes on his son, Sam.
”I’m ready,” said Sam, his face stern, unbreaking.
Azrael was surprised by his statement as he furrowed his brows and leaned back. He thought that it would have taken much longer than just a few years to break Sam, but he’d done it. “Are you sure?” questioned Azrael as he began to fiddle with something in his bag, trying not to show his excitement -- or allow Sam to notice.
With Azrael’s back to the boy, Sam nodded, but then continued, “I’ve been waiting a long time to finally feel like I belong.” As Azrael turned to face his son, Sam continued, “I’ve always felt like an outsider to everyone in my life: Dad, Dean, Jess --”
The mention of Jess sent Sam’s eyes to flicker to Azrael with a hint of hurt behind that. Yes, yes. He’d killed his girlfriend, but that was like 15 years ago. Azrael thought Sam would have been over that by now.
Azrael opened his mouth to apologize, AGAIN, but Sam continued, “but since I’ve met you and you’ve showed me the real way -- the man I was born to be, I don’t know..” He trailed off for a moment, raking his fingers against the long, brown waves that sat atop his head, “I feel almost free.”
A warming smile spread across Azrael’s face as his eyes began to glow in the dim hotel room that they both sat in. A hesitant step brought Azrael closer to his son before placing a hand on his shoulder. Sam towered over the elder demon, but the feeling was there -- the boy had become a man and he had grown into the man that Azrael had birthed him to be.
He was the Boy King, as the demons in Hell had called him when he was just a lad. “You are my son,” said Azrael after moments of silence. His voice was soft in the room, weak even, with the overwhelming emotion that he’d finally finished his first and most important goal: Samuel.
The loud vibration of an approaching engine broke Azrael of his memories, bringing him back to the present. The Impala, infamous by design and by reputation, sat in front of him.
The Aston nose to nose with a Chevy and behind the wheel was his son, Sam. His hair was a mop from the wind that had blown through the open windows of the car on the drive up. “The prodigal son returns,” said Azrael with sarcasm dripping from each syllable.
“I know -- it wasn’t as easy as I thought it would have been,” said Sam as he pushed open the heavy door of the Impala before slamming it behind him.
The car jolted to and fro from the commotion in the trunk.
“I see you’ve started the process on our little problem,” Azrael said as he squinted his eyes, looking toward the trunk of the car.
The sun continued to set as the earth around them became dimmer and dimmer, but that did nothing for their demonic eyes. Azrael’s a bright, gleaming yellow, and Sam’s a black cloudy presence with specks of glow throughout -- a mixture of his mother and father.
As they rounded the car, Azrael ran his dirty fingertips along the cool paint. He’d been near this car so many times, but never close enough to touch it. Dean had done a marvelous job fixing this hunk of sh*t after Az had sent that lower level demon to finish Dean and John off all those years ago.
Felt like a lifetime to Sam or so Azrael thought. He was still so young and so much to learn as he gave into his demonic self -- into becoming the vessel for the next ruler of Hell, after his Azrael’s reign, of course.
This had been the moment that Az had waited 35 long years for: to rule with his son by his side until he was ready to step away and fade into nothing, staring off into the sunset, alone. “Father, he’s back here,” said Sam as he stood at the trunk.
Azrael pulled his fingertips away from the cool paint and rounded the car, standing next to his boy as Sam placed the key in the lock and popped the trunk.
Inside the dark, dusty trunk, atop the fake bottom of the Impala trunk bed laid Dean. He had a gag in his mouth, wrapped around his head. His nose was bloodied and a scratch across his left cheek.
It appeared inflamed; whether or not that was from Sam, Azrael didn’t know.
Placing his hand above his head and onto the roof of the trunk, Azrael smiled down at the eldest Winchester, finally in his grasp.
35 long years of this mother f***er standing in his way and now, Azrael had him all to himself. “This has been a long time coming, Samuel.”
Azrael could feel the nod of his son next to him as he smirked toward the man in the trunk. Blue/green eyes stared up into black and yellow.
“Hello Dean. Remember me?” said Azrael before allowing a bright, wide smile to overtake his face. This was going to be one hell of a ride.
With that, Azrael slammed the trunk closed.