So ya’ll can go blame @thequeervet for putting this idea in my head. Here’s a snippet from an upcoming AU Spn fic where every year there is a life or death competition for the right to serve your chosen patron god. Sabriel because I breathe Sam/Gabe. Destiel because come on. And angst-ridden because... well, have you met me?
@theriverscribe @scrollingkingfisher @nathyfaith
It was called The Cage - an arena where the chosen competitors were released and expected to fight. Expected to win or die. A battle to the death for the right to stand beside the god or goddess you have chosen to give your life to. And you were expected to have a chosen god or goddess.
Sam remembered the day he’d needed to choose. He’d been sitting at his desk in school when the teacher handed out sheets of paper and they had been told to write down the name of their patron. He and Dean hadn’t talked about it much as kids. Dean wasn’t big into the gods or goddesses - hadn’t been since their mom had died. Sam was different, though. He had turned to faith, spent his whole life praying to gods and goddesses he had never seen, but to choose just one?
He had floundered, pencil poised over the piece of paper, nearly shaking with indecision until the teacher had called for them to pass their papers up. He’d scratched the first name he could think of across the page in hasty cursive, just barely managing to dot the i before the page had been pulled from beneath his pencil.
He’d barely been able to breathe the rest of the day.
Dean had laughed himself silly when Sam told him the god he’d chosen, giggling like a schoolgirl for days afterward.
Sam took little joy in knowing that his older brother wasn’t giggling today.
Because the Patron Games had been called. They'd been named.
And the combatants had been chosen.
Sam looked down at the letter he held in his hand. He'd been hoping for an acceptance letter from a university. Not this.
To Samuel Winchester, Servant of Loki, you have been chosen for this years Patron Games.
Dean had left, stormed out of the house in a fury of slamming doors and curse words. That had been hours ago and Sam hadn’t moved from where he sat on the best, the edge of the letter clutched in sweaty fingers that wouldn’t stop shaking.
He just couldn’t stop shaking.
God of Fires. God of Lies. Silvertongue.
Sam knew the lore. After that day, the day he’d been forced to choose, he’d taken his time to really study Loki, to know the god whose name he had put himself to. But he had never expected it to go anywhere. Had never expected to be chosen. He’d been too old, he thought.
*Too old for the regular games,* he told himself, *but not for tricksters.*
They did something unusual for this game - spread the ballots out, picked those who were older than the set age. A taunting game. Such a trickster thing to do.
Sam’s fingers spasmed and he nearly dropped the paper, though it seemed stuck to his fingers. He couldn’t let go. Couldn’t get rid of it. Couldn’t escape.
The door opened and Sam lifted his head to see his brother enter. Dean was calmer, shutting the door quietly behind him, but his face… the fury that Sam knew covered terror was gone. In its place was something relaxed. Something… peaceful.
Sam sat up straight, his spine cracking loudly, and stared at Dean.
Dean stared back. At ease.
His older brother shrugged, looking away. “What do you think I did? I pulled a Katniss.”
Something cold settled in Sam’s stomach and he felt his breath catch.
The papers they filled out were kept in a secure place but Dean had always been good at breaking into secure places. Locks didn’t pose a problem for someone with his experience. He could get to the pages easily and Sam… Sam had written Loki down with the stub of a pencil that he’d had shoved in one pocket. He remembered because he’d struggled to hold the damn thing in his too-large fingers and had cut himself on the sharp, broken-off edge. Dean wouldn’t have been able to change the name of the god he’d chosen. That would be too well-recorded. But he could easily erase part of the name scribbled at the top of the page. It wouldn’t be difficult, Sam knew, to erase Sam and replace it with
Dean met his eyes finally, and it was resignation that burned in that familiar gaze, like Dean had always known that this would happen and it was only a matter of when.
“You’re my little brother, Sam. And I’m not going to let you go in there and fight for your life. You’re gonna stay out here and stay safe.”
Dean grinned at him. “I’m gonna kick some ass.”
