This is my first ever Spn fic, so I guess this is kind of an experiment at portraying the characters. It's probably really OOC, but I was super inspired by all the Medieval Spn fics around and thought I'd maybe have a go. The Stardust Prince, by TheTrickyOwl, was particularly an inspiration to me, and I promise I will try not to make this fic some sort of rip off of it.
To Sam Winchester, the day could not get any worse than it already was. Here he was, awake at an ungodly hour and trying to shovel up crops to put on the plate for the family. Bobby had woken him even earlier than usual to start the day, before the sun had even risen, and as Sam dug furiously into the ground he couldn't help but fantasise about his bed and the comfort of even a sliver of warmth. They were in the middle of winter, and a very harsh one at that, so without the sun's rays the soil was frozen solid, making the arduous task of farming at least a million times harder.
It was at times like these that Sam envied his elder brother, Dean, who was currently still asleep in the house. Dean had managed to break away from the family 'business' of farming, and had taken up the carpenter trade - becoming quite successful, as to be expected. Being a carpenter didn't mean crack-of-dawn rises and back-breaking work in the blistering cold, oh no, being a carpenter meant awaking at whatever time he liked and setting to work on his projects - and some days Dean didn't even have anything to construct, which meant a day of lazing around and visiting the local tavern. If anyone had life easy, it was Dean Winchester.
Without his brother's help, and considering Bobby was unable to move from the waist down, Sam spent most of his time farming alone - taking the brunt of the work unless Ellen was kind enough to send Jo and Ash to assist him. Dean's was a small business, and so Sam found that most of the bread on the table had to come from him, which didn't make his life any easier. And now, with this winter, Sam was finding it harder and harder to put enough food in his family's belly. While he was fast losing hope of surviving the next few months, Bobby remained optimistic. He told Sam of the cruel winter that he had been born into, at a time where the family could barely feed themselves, let alone a newborn baby. If it hadn't been for Dean, who was a young infant at the time, Sam probably would have been left to die in the cold to spare the poverty-stricken family the burden. As it was, however, Dean decided that an emptier stomach would be better than seeing his baby brother die, and so sacrificed half of his meal every day to feed their mother so that in turn she could better feed Sam. Sam wondered if that was why Dean was so much smaller than him.
Sam finally became aware that Bobby was calling him into the house, and his aching muscles relaxed as he finally lowered the heavy scythe in his hands. Considering it was only mid-day, Sam knew that Bobby wasn't calling him in for his meal, and he frowned in confusion, but nevertheless sprinted towards the house.
"Is everything alright?" He questioned, and Bobby sighed in exasperation.
"Ash just arrived, on Ellen's account," Bobby explained, "Jo's fallen sick from the cold and she's in need of medicine. I can help, but I don't have all the ingredients needed. Take this list," he passed Sam a slip of parchment, "to Crowley and make sure he charges fair for it. No negotiations, understood boy?"
Sam nodded obediently, sending his neighbour Ash a half-hearted wave of greeting before turning on his heels and jogging up the worn path towards the town. Sam had made runs like this more times than he could count, and despite the stinging of his legs he had no trouble finding Crowley's establishment in record time. Crowley had been an acquaintance of Bobby's for a long time, long enough for him to be considered almost a friend of the family - especially after his help in easing both his mother and father's passing peacefully. Though infamous for being cheap and often attempting to make deals in his favour, Crowley barely needed to take one glance at Sam before realising that the young adult was in no mood for bargaining. He made only one quip, telling Sam that "most people would sell their souls for this ingredient", to which Sam assured him that he could have his soul once hell froze over.
"It would hardly be surprising, considering this awful winter we're having," Crowley smiled, and managed to weasel a grin from Sam.
"Please, Crowley, this winter doesn't even compare to the last, and last I heard hell was in perfect condition."
"Well, you'll be the first to know of any changes, I promise," Crowley flashed him his trademark smirk, before ushering the young Winchester out of the door. Sam fondled with the items in his hands - double checking to see if all the ingredients had been handed over. In fact, Sam was so engrossed with checking everything was in order, he didn't even think to check where he was running. All he knew is, one moment he was sprinting down the road, the next he had slammed into a lean figure before him and both had fallen to the ground. Sam was about to hiss in outrage and let out a garble of obscenities to whoever had dared to get in his way and dirty the vital ingredients for Jo, when he opened his eyes and found several swords pointed right at his neck.
Oh dear Gods, he recognised the figure sprawled on the ground. The dark tuft of hair and emerald eyes were unmistakable, even when he was covered in dirt and mud.
Sam had just knocked Prince Michael to the ground.
Sam gasped out loud, clamping his hands to his mouth in order to stifle his horrified cries. Oh Gods, he had shoved down a Prince, the future King to be exact! That was an unspeakable offense, one which was never taken lightly - especially not when a commoner was involved. Sam could feel his whole body shake violently with the force of his terrified sobs, and he could barely breathe with panic. "My Prince, I did not see you in front of me! I beg your forgiveness, I am truly, truly sorry for this unspeakable act-"
"Oh save your mewling for someone who gives a damn, maggot," came the reply, but it did not come from Michael; who was still reeling from the force of the blow. Sam's head shot up, and he immediately wished that he could sink through the ground into hell, for standing above him - looking down at him with cold, unmerciful ice blue eyes - was Michael's brother, Prince Lucifer. Lucifer sneered down at him, delivering a swift but nonetheless powerful kick to Sam's abdomen. Sam cried out in pain, not daring to even give any semblance of bravery that might land him in even more trouble. Lucifer laughed, though it was without humour, "do you believe me now, brother? I told you that these cockroaches you are 'beloved' by were not to be trusted, and it's no wonder after this filth made an attempt on your life! It is time to put them in their places, I believe we are long overdue a public execution..."
"That is quite enough, Lucifer," Michael, who had finally been helped to his feet and brushed down of some of the dirt that stained his scarlet tunic, interrupted, holding up a hand to silence his younger brother. The Prince commanded away the swords that poked into Sam's flesh, and looked down at him for a moment - before his features softened. "Wipe away your tears, boy," he ordered, though it was with a gentle tone, "the offense was not intended, I am certain. Let the dirtied items you dropped be punishment enough, and learn to keep one eye on the path ahead of you."
Sam nodded frantically, manoeuvring to his knees and lowering his head in a sign of respect, "thank you, my Prince, I swear to the Gods it shall not happen again." He could hear Michael's deep chuckle, before the two brothers and their guards swept away without another word - at least not to Sam, for the whole town could hear Lucifer's outraged shrieks to Michael as they departed. Sam whimpered, trying to stifle the waterfall from his eyes, and he blindly took the hand outstretched before him. As he clambered to his feet, he looked down at the smaller man who had helped him up. It took a moment for Sam to recognise the whiskey-coloured eyes and honey curls, but when he did another breath forced itself out of his lungs and Sam started to fall to his knees.
"I swear to the Gods, boy, if you get back on that floor after I heaved your heavy ass up I will not hesitate to have your head served on a platter," the youngest of the four princes, Gabriel, growled with narrowed eyes. Sam nodded in understanding, but was still startled as Gabriel began to pick up his discarded ingredients and place them in his quivering arms.
"I apologise, my Prince, I am rather new to all of this," Sam whispered.
"Yes," Gabriel let out something close to a giggle, "that much is obvious. But either way, I very much appreciated you knocking over my brother as you did, I haven't had the pleasure of seeing Lucifer that angry in years."
"It was my mistake..." Sam mumbled, not sure how to respond. Gabriel appraised Sam for a moment, before giving him another dimpled grin, patting him on the shoulder and bustling after his two brothers without another word. Sam watched him with curiosity, staring until Gabriel disappeared into the distance and a new, deeper voice interrupted his trance.
"What the hell was that, Sammy?!" His brother, Dean, roared at him, before pulling him into a tight hug, "Gods, I thought you'd be killed for sure!"
"I... I have no idea what just happened," Sam murmured, looking down at his open palm and fixing his eyes on the small gingerbread man that had not been there before.