FIC: "Luck is What You Make of It" (1/1, SPN, Nephilim'verse)
FIC: "Luck is What You Make of It"
PG-13, 600 words
Spoilers for all of Season 4 (especially 4.03 and 4.22)
Nephilim'verse vignette - during "I Bring Thee Words of Truth"
Summary: Azazel. Lawrence, Kansas. April 1973.
Azazel isn’t stupid: he knows what Lucifer means when he says to find him a special child. ‘Special’ can only mean one thing - angelic; a nephil, an oracle, a psychic child with Heaven’s blood in its veins. To take such a child and throw a little Hell juice in the mix - that’s his idea of a good time. He starts looking with the enthusiasm of a demon collecting its first contract.
Actual nephilim are thin on the ground - less than a handful in any given century, if any at all - but Earth is lousy with their descendants. It’s that ‘be fruitful and multiply’ chestnut: they’re human until they manifest and that’s not until after the usual age of fornication. They can churn out quite a few psychic mouths to feed before they up and disappear on their thirtieth birthdays. And from then on it’s rinse and repeat ad infinitum, psychic kids siring psychic kids across centuries and continents and bloodlines.
Oh, they don’t all have powers - these things like to lay dormant and skip generations and pop up just in time for witch hunts and mass hysteria and fun like that - but that hint of angel blood shines a little if you know where to look.
And Azazel knows where to look.
So when he’s in Lawrence, Kansas, in April of 1973, he can’t believe his run of good luck. The place is dripping with psychic bloodlines, full of idiots who don’t have a clue that Heaven’s got a hold on them. He scores three or four little breeders in quick succession -
And then his fun is ruined by a hunter. And not just any hunter - a hunter whose daughter glows more with Heaven’s proof of purchase than any other human he’s ever known. He can’t believe his good fortune: he’s found himself a gen-u-ine fallen angel, someone who could drop him a litter or two of special children to outpace all the others. He’s giddy at the thought: nephilim, with demon blood under their skin; the ultimate in special children. Mary Campbell is going to be the best broodmare of the lot, an instant favorite. He’s going to have fun with her.
The euphoria doesn’t last long. He isn’t exactly expecting a nephil, on the verge of manifestation, to join the party. It’s a hell of a coincidence, but he doesn’t have time to think about that. All he can think is that maybe he isn’t so lucky after all: glow-boy has Samuel Colt’s gun.
It’s time to cut his losses a little; this is more than he signed up for. Where there’s a manifesting nephil, there’s bound to be a real angel keeping an eye on it, and the last thing he wants to tangle with is one of Heaven’s foot soldiers. But he can’t disappoint his Father; he’s worked too hard to find Lucifer the perfect child and he’s not about to let Heaven steal his best shot from him. He escapes the body of the doctor but doesn’t go very far.
The fallen angel and the nephil might not be able to be possessed, but Daddy Campbell is as human as they come. And Mary Campbell is too tasty to give up on entirely. He smiles, getting a feel for Sam Campbell’s body and mannerisms. It’ll take some doing - oh, it’s going to take a hell of a lot of doing! - but it’ll pay off in the end.
He smiles again, snaps Liddy Walsh’s neck, and holds back the urge to start whistling as he exits the house. It’s time to start working on Plan B.
[end]
PG-13, 600 words
Spoilers for all of Season 4 (especially 4.03 and 4.22)
Nephilim'verse vignette - during "I Bring Thee Words of Truth"
Summary: Azazel. Lawrence, Kansas. April 1973.
Azazel isn’t stupid: he knows what Lucifer means when he says to find him a special child. ‘Special’ can only mean one thing - angelic; a nephil, an oracle, a psychic child with Heaven’s blood in its veins. To take such a child and throw a little Hell juice in the mix - that’s his idea of a good time. He starts looking with the enthusiasm of a demon collecting its first contract.
Actual nephilim are thin on the ground - less than a handful in any given century, if any at all - but Earth is lousy with their descendants. It’s that ‘be fruitful and multiply’ chestnut: they’re human until they manifest and that’s not until after the usual age of fornication. They can churn out quite a few psychic mouths to feed before they up and disappear on their thirtieth birthdays. And from then on it’s rinse and repeat ad infinitum, psychic kids siring psychic kids across centuries and continents and bloodlines.
Oh, they don’t all have powers - these things like to lay dormant and skip generations and pop up just in time for witch hunts and mass hysteria and fun like that - but that hint of angel blood shines a little if you know where to look.
And Azazel knows where to look.
So when he’s in Lawrence, Kansas, in April of 1973, he can’t believe his run of good luck. The place is dripping with psychic bloodlines, full of idiots who don’t have a clue that Heaven’s got a hold on them. He scores three or four little breeders in quick succession -
And then his fun is ruined by a hunter. And not just any hunter - a hunter whose daughter glows more with Heaven’s proof of purchase than any other human he’s ever known. He can’t believe his good fortune: he’s found himself a gen-u-ine fallen angel, someone who could drop him a litter or two of special children to outpace all the others. He’s giddy at the thought: nephilim, with demon blood under their skin; the ultimate in special children. Mary Campbell is going to be the best broodmare of the lot, an instant favorite. He’s going to have fun with her.
The euphoria doesn’t last long. He isn’t exactly expecting a nephil, on the verge of manifestation, to join the party. It’s a hell of a coincidence, but he doesn’t have time to think about that. All he can think is that maybe he isn’t so lucky after all: glow-boy has Samuel Colt’s gun.
It’s time to cut his losses a little; this is more than he signed up for. Where there’s a manifesting nephil, there’s bound to be a real angel keeping an eye on it, and the last thing he wants to tangle with is one of Heaven’s foot soldiers. But he can’t disappoint his Father; he’s worked too hard to find Lucifer the perfect child and he’s not about to let Heaven steal his best shot from him. He escapes the body of the doctor but doesn’t go very far.
The fallen angel and the nephil might not be able to be possessed, but Daddy Campbell is as human as they come. And Mary Campbell is too tasty to give up on entirely. He smiles, getting a feel for Sam Campbell’s body and mannerisms. It’ll take some doing - oh, it’s going to take a hell of a lot of doing! - but it’ll pay off in the end.
He smiles again, snaps Liddy Walsh’s neck, and holds back the urge to start whistling as he exits the house. It’s time to start working on Plan B.
[end]