Sometimes Sam's a little afraid of him. Or a lot afraid of him. It's in his eyes and the thin line of his angry mouth. A silent thunder promising death to those who cross him. He's seen it that first evening - ice so cold it's scalding, always held back by the bars in the cage that holds him.
There are other times, like now, when Sam knows he should fear him more, but doesn't. Instead he's caught in trembling awe, waiting to see what will happen.
Nick’s been in a bad mood all day. In the car he doesn't speak. He stares out the window of the passenger side with pinched lips. The air is quaking with the caustic power he exudes. Sam's not sure if he's the cause of Nick’s bad mood so he says nothing, waiting for a hint. They're almost at home when Nick turns his head to look at him coldly. “If you want prep you’ve got five minutes to do it yourself. After that, I want you naked in the bedroom. Understood?”
Sam swallows. “Yes, Sir.” When Nick’s like this, it isn’t a game. The ‘Sir’ hops out of Sam’s mouth reflexively. It’s an anomaly for Sam. But he sees Nick for what he really is. The red right hand. The wrath of God. Shivers run up Sam’s spine. He’s afraid but pretends to himself that he isn’t. That he’s immune to the cold death in Nick’s eyes because they’re soulmates. He doesn’t dare to tempt fate. Deference is the only option.
“Good.” Nick nods curtly and goes back to looking out the side window.
It's not really enough. Sam's staring at the clock on his phone where it's lying on the bathroom sink. He's got three fingers inside of himself and there are only two minutes left. His clothes are strewn around him on the floor. He’s too stressed to relax. Shit. Nick would have known that. It means he’s angry at Sam. Definitely angry at Sam. Fuck.
Sam smears more lube on his hand and pries himself open as best he can, then puts the lube nozzle into his hole and squirts an amount directly inside to make sure there will be enough lube if Nick doesn’t grant him any.
Nick’s naked, stroking his erection in the middle of the floor when Sam gets to the bedroom. His eyes are cast in shadow, dark burning holes in an unforgiving face. He snaps his fingers demandingly and points to the floor in front of him. Sam swallows his heart back into his chest, choking on anticipation, and goes to him. Nick grabs him by the neck and pulls him in for a kiss, turning him and backing him towards the bed while kissing his demand for submission. A hand in the middle of the chest and Sam's pushed down onto it, crawling backwards with Nick advancing over him.
His head reaches the pillows so he stops before he hits the headboard. He pulls up his knees in a reaction to his pulse racing triple digits. Nick elbows them out of the way, seats himself between them and holds Sam down with a merciless hand on his chest just below the collarbone. He grabs his cock in hand and starts pushing in, slowly but unforgivingly. It hurts, but not too bad since he prepped. Sam does his best to relax to admit this ethereal being of power to enter and overtake him.
Sam admires Nick. Sam's always prided himself in his ability to fool people that he's one of them. He learned that in the psych ward. How to lie, charm, and fake humility to make them think he's not better than them. To make them think he's normal. But Nick? Nick has taken it to another level.
It's astounding how he manages to hide the true nature of his exalted identity. Sam had known he was special that first night. Seen beyond the mask of ordinarity. But even he hadn't been prepared for the truth. When he found out, looking for Nick’s home address and stumbling across his full name, he'd freaked out. Paced back and forth muttering ‘Shit, shit, shit!’ Like a caged tiger in the middle of a burning building. His soulmate is a celestial being more powerful than most of the known existence. Sam feared he’d bitten off more than he could chew.
Lucifer ‘Nicholas’ Shurley.
Nick’s bold beyond belief to have his name right there in the open for all to see, just tagging on an alias behind without a care in the world. And still he manages to fool the world he’s nothing but a simple lawyer down on his luck. Sam can never aspire to be that good at hiding what’s inside of him.
Nick approves of Sam and Dean’s love, which adds a divine blessing Sam could never have hoped for. Sam’s never told Dean about the true nature of his soulmate’s identity. He can’t stand the pain in his brother’s eyes and the careful, broken ‘Sam…’ Dean will speak, non-believing and desperate. Dean gets distressed when Sam is honest with him, so Sam keeps most of his truths inside. It’s okay. He’ll always forgive Dean.
Nick leans forward, holding Sam down with his weight on his hand and starts fucking him. A couple of slow ins and outs before amping up the tempo. His other hand closes around Sam's throat. Air turns scarce. Nick shifts the hand, pries Sam's mouth open with two fingers and Sam tongues at them, looking up at Nick with fervent worship. He sees Nick gather saliva in his mouth and opens his own mouth wider in anticipation of the oncoming, divine favour. Nick spits, more of a bountiful dribble than anything, saliva landing straight in Sam's mouth.
Sam's ecstatic. He swallows the powerful grace in the form of body fluid from the vessel that binds Nick’s trueform, further cementing their union.
Nick’s hands move again, his lips a thin line, eyes burning brutal glacial blue, closing Sam's airways encircling his throat with both hands, jarring Sam with thrusts coming hard and fast.
Sam's not stupid. He knows this might kill him. He's at the mercy of a displeased archangel. He'd fight it but if he does he doesn't get to experience the rapture of seeing the glimpse of Nick’s trueform Nick only grants him at the brink of death if he submits willingly. It's hard not to struggle.
He feels the awesomeness of Nick’s power starting to take hold in him, too great for Sam to hold, pounding in his skull with each frantic heartbeat, pressing behind his eyes and skin. Nick’s essence starts to show, bright flashes of white dancing in Sam’s view, huge, dark wings spreading, large enough to completely blot out Sam’s peripheral vision, shrinking it until all that remains is the dancing sparks of force with Nick in the middle, Nick―tinted in black, and shining blue at the edges like when you’ve stared too long at something bright and see the image fried in negative wherever you turn your gaze―eyes glowing white and terrifying. Everything spins out of control.
Sam comes, unable to cry out for the lack of air.
Suddenly air comes rushing back and Nick hides his true self again, hands on Sam’s shoulders and an expression that Sam can’t interpret from a being such as Nick, but in anyone else would have been ‘Woah, what the hell just happened?’
Nick lies down on top of Sam and fucks him faster, forcing his tongue into Sam’s grateful mouth until he muffles a cry into it and stills, only milking himself with jerky movements as he floods Sam with his blessed seed.
Afterwards they lie side by side in silence for an eternity while their hearts slow down, their breathing turns less desperate and their bodies cool. Sam’s still waiting. Nick’s still not happy with him and he’s waiting to find out why.
“So. You ever thought about why the universe chose a lawyer as your soulmate?” Nick asks rhetorically, lying on his back with one hand under his head and studying his nails on the other. “Because I have. And I’ve been stupid enough to think someone as intelligent as you understood the reason. All this time, I’ve been thinking you respected me. That you have respect for my skill at my profession.”
Sam’s snuck in to watch him at work in trials many times. Nick’s amazing. Leading judge and jury by their noses, telling them what he wants and making them dance like the piper from Hamelin. “I do! I―”
“A PUBLIC DEFENDER, SAM!” Nick roars, cutting him off and showing the true face of the rage boiling underneath. He takes a deep breath and collects himself, voice once again going mild, nails once again turning to be the most interesting thing in the room. Sam wants to curl into a shameful ball and cry. “Am I so bad at what I do, that you’d rather go with a public fucking defender who doesn’t give a shit about the outcome of a ruling?”
Sam shakes his head, not trusting his voice should he speak.
“No? Then why didn’t you come to me, Sam? Why this sneaking behind my back like a child behind their parents’ backs after getting an F on their test? Hmm? Shut up, I’m not done talking,” Nick’s voice is a sharp knife when Sam draws breath to answer him. Sam closes his mouth and listens. “I read the transcripts of the trial and I know the court’s ruling. You’ll be going away for another month in jail. And what am I to do when you’re away? Nu-uh-uh, still talking. Who’s going to keep my bed warm, Sammy? You think I’ll keep it empty? You think I’ll still be here after the ignominy you dismissed me with? Huh? Is this your definition of soulmates?”
Ice grips every cell of Sam’s body, dread coursing through his veins. Nick can’t leave him. He can’t. What will Sam do without him? “Nick…” His voice is broken and small.
“Ssshh. I know. But here it is, Sammy. You’ll be going away for a month, for a crime you don’t deserve punishment for. However, you deserve to be sent away for a month for the insult and injury you caused me. I will not help you with an appeal this time. You’ll do the time and think things over. You’ll figure out why you did wrong and you will never, ever make the same mistake again. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Sir.” The inch-wide gap between them is a vast abyss.
Nick flips to lie half on top of him, thawing him with his touch, looking down at him and stroking sweat-soaked hair out of his face. Sam wants to cling and cry, but lies still, afraid moving would shatter the closeness he’s granted. “Baby, listen to me. I’ve seen you working at the bar. Seen you talk and smile, winning the love and trust of the patrons. Seen you interact with people in daily life, seen you with your co-workers at the building site. They all like you. You’re a kind, empathic, charming man in their eyes. You spellbind most people you meet. But when you deal with law enforcement and the justice system you fail at this. The cops, attorneys, judges and jury all know you’re insane―”
“I’m not insane!” Hot anger flares in his core, instantly tampered by Nick.
“I know you’re not. And you know you’re not. But you’re not like them and the way you behave when dealing with them makes them distrust you, unlike the rest of the world. In their warped reality, you are insane. We need to change that. I will coach you. Teach you how to behave and what to say to fool them into thinking you’re rehabilitated. If you take my cues and do as I say, this will be the last time you go to jail or are punished for a crime whether you’re guilty or not. Is that something you want?”
“Do you trust me?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Good. I love you, Sam, but don’t test my patience by going behind my back to use another lawyer ever again. That’s not what destiny has in mind for us. If you don’t care for being my soulmate, I won’t waste my time on you either.”
“Please, Nick. I didn’t bring this to you because I didn’t want you to be disappointed in me.”
“Sweetheart, if you give what’s mine to someone else, I’m going to be disappointed.”
“I know.” Nick kisses him, releasing tension. “I know, baby.” This time when he kisses Sam, it’s sweet, the ambrosia of forgiveness. It turns into soft lovemaking and Sam exhales. Sometimes Sam’s afraid of Nick. How could he not be, when he’s soulmate with one of the most powerful beings in existence?
Sometimes Sam forgets to be afraid. Forgets that Nick is an archangel shackled in flesh. Sometimes Sam screams at him, yells terrible words that he thinks are true when he yells them, before he remembers that they aren’t. Moments when indignant anger takes over. Nick always remains calm and firm in his point of view, patiently waiting for Sam to remember. He never cowers, no fear ever leaks out of his eyes. Even Dean cowers before Sam’s rage, but never Nick. It’s what reminds Sam who he’s dealing with. It’s like that expression; “No matter how much the wind howls, the mountain can’t bow to it.”
Nick accepts Sam for who he is. Every little secret Sam unveils Nick takes in stride. Even the visions. Like the time one comes so strongly it gives Sam a nosebleed along with a headache. He has to tell Nick then, since Nick is insisting they go to a hospital. Nick listens, asks questions, makes Sam detail the bludgeoning of the woman he saw. Draws out every little detail Sam can remember. And Sam always remembers everything. The clock on the wall, the date on the newspaper of the kitchen table, the nail polish on the woman’s nails, the name on the envelope lying unopened on the kitchen table.
“Do you think we should tell anybody?”
“No. You’ve tried that already. They didn’t believe you then. If they don’t want the warning, they deserve what’s coming to them.”
Sam agrees, elated at the lack of horror, feeling vindicated for all the times he’s told people, trying to save them, and gotten punished for it.
Sam had been terrified of the reaction when he let Nick have his psych journals. He’d talked a mile a minute, explaining the truth―his side―while Nick read. Nick nodded along, agreed with him that their side was bullshit. That’s when Nick first got to know about his visions. “Yo-you believe me?” Sam almost couldn’t keep incredulity out of his voice when he asked.
After that, Sam step by step stopped hiding when he got them. They always brought headaches if they didn’t come in dreams. Nick would just smirk and remind Sam that sex cures headache. Nick’s right. Sam discovers that the more times he tells Nick, because Nick gets physical with him while interrogating him. Jerks him off at first, then goes to blowjobs, jerking himself off while Sam talks, until it’s escalated into real sex, Nick either riding him or fucking him. It gets to a point where Sam, for the first time in his life, starts looking forward to the visions, longing for them. Sadly they don’t come more often than before.
A particularly fond memory is the third vision he tells Nick about, when Nick gets that spark in his eyes that Sam lives for. It’s a rape/murder. This is also when Sam for the first time gets to talk from the point of view he sees things from. Otherwise, he’s learned that it’s something that freaks everybody out when he does, so he translates it to third person. But this time it changes. Nick asks the questions as usual, and Sam describes. “He can see the nametag from her work lying on the nightstand, but he’s more interested in the gold watch lying beside it.”
“What does the nametag say?”
“Lisa Colton. He’s used her nylon socks to tie her ha―”
“Whoa, whoa. Go back. Lisa Colton? 5’3? Blond hair? Has a boob job done? Slim waist, expensive brand clothes? Wears a huge diamond ring?” Nick suddenly trembles with held back excitement.
“Yeah. That’s her.”
Nick licks his lips and swallows, eyes hyper-focused on Sam, leaning forward on the chair he’s sitting on. “Sam… you see this out of the eyes of the perpetrator, right? That’s why you can’t identify them if they don’t pass a mirror?”
“Do you catch their feelings too, or do you only see what they see?”
“I feel what they feel too.”
Nick’s lips twitch as if he’s holding back a gleeful grin. “Can you go back from the beginning, but this time tell it from his point of view, as if he was you?”
“Sure, uh. He knows where―”
“‘I’, Sam. ‘I know where’.”
“Right. Um, sorry. I know where the spare key to the house is kept. It’s in a fake rock at the back entrance. I’m pissed the hell off and set on revenge on that fucking bitch.”
“Why are you pissed off at her?”
Sam shakes his head. “I don’t know. I don’t think about the why, while I do this, only about what I’m doing.”
“Okay, go on.”
As Sam tells him in detail what happens, Nick starts stroking himself outside of his pants, getting hard, making Sam excited. He beckons Sam to stand in front of him and reaches out to stroke Sam’s dick too. Sam is having goddamn revelations, the vision coming back in 4D clarity superimposed on real-time events as he narrates it, Nick unbuttoning both their pants, jerking them off with slow strokes. Sam learns that the best questions in the world are ‘What are you feeling?’ and ‘How does that make you feel?’ At the moment of Lisa’s death Nick tips his head back and comes with a gaping smile on his face. But something is different this time as opposed to an hour ago when Sam had the vision. This time he hears ‘Freeze! This is the police!’ just before the vision reel in his head cuts off. An hour ago the reel continued a bit longer while he looted the house for valuables and left.
He doesn’t understand why until three days later when the actual deed takes place. He and Nick are at a restaurant having lunch when Nick looks at his watch, then interrupts Sam mid-story to make a phone call. “Hello, operator? You need to send someone to…” He rattles off an address, sounding and looking absolutely terrified. “I just saw a man with a gun go in the back door of Miss Colton’s house. I don’t recognise him. Then I heard her scream for help, but there was a loud crash and everything went silent. I’m scared for her. I think something terrible has happ―” He hangs up mid-sentence and grins at Sam with eyes sparkling with malevolent mischief.
“I thought you said we shouldn’t tell anyone?”
“I did, yes. But there’s a difference between warning people before it happens and calling the cops reporting a crime currently taking place. Maybe they act on it, maybe they don’t. Hopefully they get the bastard.”
“To confirm that the bitch is dead, of course. And as long as they catch the culprit, they can’t blame you.”
“You knew her?”
“A client of mine,” Nick purrs. “Hit a pedestrian with her car because she was Instagramming while driving. Too fucking stupid to be allowed to breathe. When asked what gear she was in when the accident took place, she answered Gucci sweats and Reeboks.”
Sam lets out a incredulous laughter. “You got her off?”
“Naturally,” Nick smirks self-satisfied.
It’s the first time Sam’s visions have been of any good, despite all the times he’d tried to warn people. It’s also the first time he learns that he can reignite a vision by retelling it in first person view, since the vision had changed after Nick had found out who the victim was. He’d tried to warn people beforehand, and when that didn’t work, he’d tried to go to the places to stop it from happening, only serving to get him arrested. But it had never occurred to him to make an anonymous phone call during the crime.
Sam could have started doing that once the confirmation came. The cops had been too late to save Lisa, but caught the perp, her gardener, red handed with his pants around his ankles. He could have started calling a few minutes before the crime took place, so the cops would arrive in time to stop it. It had never occurred to him to do that because it would mean trusting the police who had scorned, ridiculed, and harassed him. Psychiatrists had called him self-centered and maybe that was true to a tiny extent, since he’d never sought a solution outside of himself. Presented with this option, he could have changed things. But Nick had known how long the crime would take. He’d known when the danger began. He’d intentionally waited until it was too late. Nick’s the angel of death Sam saw that first evening and Sam’s caught up in the bliss of vindication on the world for treating the two of them unfairly. It serves them right, for not listening to him in the first place. Let them suffer. Let them all suffer! Sam never calls. Sometimes Nick does. Always a tad bit too late and wearing a dark smirk when he hangs up.
Sam's not dumb. He can figure things out. Do things. But Nick is a devious kind of smart Sam can never be. Nick is a puppeteer. He sees a much bigger picture than Sam and thinks in long-term. He steers people, then sits back and watches them play out the script he wrote for them. Sam sees it whenever he comes to watch Nick in court. Nick asks Sam for permission before he directs him. Like he'd need permission. It scares Sam, but he's fairly certain Nick could manipulate him the same way as all the others. But Nick respects him and asks before moving him around on the chessboard. Since they’re soulmates, Sam lets Nick instruct him, and magic happens. He doesn’t fully understand how much it changes things when he talks and acts like Nick tells him to, until one of the cops who has pulled him in for questioning countless of times, slaps a friendly hand on his shoulder and says “Winchester, I just wanted to say, it’s nice to see you’re finally getting better, turning your life around.”
Sam flusters a “Thank you,” pretending to be humble and embarrassed of his earlier ‘mental illness’. But on the inside he’s cackling. Not 24 hours earlier he’d strangled a woman with her own scarf (which wasn’t why he was brought in for questioning), brought the scarf home to let Nick fuck him while using the scarf like reins, wrapped around Sam’s throat. He’d burned the scarf afterwards. (He’s not dumb. You can’t keep the mementos.) So he’s getting better, alright.
Together he and Nick go beyond ‘better’, catapulting into extraordinary.
And they’re just getting started.