Title: Demons and Lies
Fandom: Reaper
Rating: PG/K+
Summary: Set immediately following 1x18 Cancun. Sam learns a surprising truth.
Word Count: 3,622
Disclaimer: The Devil owns Sam, not me.
The dirt was everywhere. Sam shook it from his hair but he still felt it under his shirt and in his pants, dry and gritty. He felt his knees quivering as soon as Tony set him on the ground and wondered whether the demon was still holding him up, because he couldn't imagine he had the strength to stand. There was dirt in his mouth and lungs and he coughed but it wouldn't clear.
"Are you okay Sam?" Tony was asking.
Now Sam could feel it. There was a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. The demon had changed back and resembled Tony again. Still the voice sounded so distant, or maybe that was because Sam was barely paying attention.
He was focused on the pit, the one his father was still in.
He tried to form words but none would come. He wanted to run back, to jump in and start digging with his bare hands but he knew it would be no use. The pit was too deep and his father had been unconscious even before he was buried, but that wasn't the real reason he held back. Sam held back because of what surrounded the pit -- demons with 'shovels and rakes and implements of destruction' as Arlo Guthrie had once put it. They were glaring at Sam and his new protector over the mouth of the chasm, preventing them from taking a step closer. It was at that moment that Sam knew. The danger wasn't over.
It was just beginning.
Tony turned Sam around to face him, and put his hands on both of his shoulders now.
"Sam, listen to me," he said, "you may not realize it but you have tremendous power. You just need to learn how to control it."
Sam shook his head. He had no power. Everyone he trusted had been lying to him. Lies on top of lies. He just watched his own father die, helpless to save him. If Tony believed that Sam had power, it was nothing the Devil didn't give to him.
And what the Devil giveth, the Devil taketh away.
"No, I don't," said Sam, wearily. "I already told you. The Devil isn't my father. Whatever I can do, it's just for my job. I can do things sometimes so I can catch escaped souls. I don't have power, Tony. I'm a slave."
"Are you so sure about that Sam?" asked Tony, "Because a short while ago I would have believed that a demon stood no chance of redemption, and now I know different. You did that for me. And now I want to do something for you. I can help you harness and use this power to your advantage."
There were a million and one questions floating through his brain, but the only one that seemed to find its way to the exit was, "Why?"
Tony looked confused. "Why what?"
"Why would you help me like this?" said Sam. "You blamed me for Steve's death. You think I betrayed you. Hell, you tried to kill me!"
"All true, and I'm sorry," Tony acknowledged, nodding. "But since seeing Steve I just get the feeling that this is something I'm supposed to do. I know that's hardly good enough to make up for what I've done. Your father…"
"Don't," Sam stopped him, raising his hand as if he could physically block the words. He didn't want to hear about his father right now, he couldn't handle it. "Not another rebellion. It's a waste of time."
"This has nothing to do with the Devil," explained Tony, pointing in the direction of the demons that were still circled around the underground cage. "Sam you may not want to hear this but you've got a legion of demons after you now. They think you're the spawn of Satan and they don't have guardian angels to tell them differently. Whether they're right or wrong you need to learn to defend yourself and those you love. I can help you do that. Please let me. For Steve."
Sam tried to muster up the energy to be concerned about this new threat but he found he didn't care about anything at the moment. All he could think about was that in a few moments he was going home to tell his mother that his father was dead. Still, he looked at his demon friend, separated from his partner, alone like Sam was. He couldn't deny Tony his own personal redemption, even if he thought the demon was wasting his time.
"Okay," he said.
His mother decided on a graveside funeral. Sam was amazed at first at how efficiently she handled all the difficult details. She even had his father's body recovered all on her own. Okay, Sam had to admit he was a little upset about that. She had said they would go together, but instead she had somehow gone out in the middle of the night and got it done. Sam had asked her why, and she had said that she didn't want to leave him out there any longer than was necessary, but still Sam had wished he had been included.
He became even more upset when he arrived at the funeral parlor to find that his mother had requested a closed casket.
He never even got to see the body, Sam thought to himself as he stood alone with the coffin in the small anteroom. But why should I be surprised, he thought bitterly, she's made every other decision about my life without my input. Truthfully, both his parents had, but it didn't feel right to be angry at his father right now when he had already paid the ultimate price for his deceit.
Sam heard the door creak open behind him but ignored it.
"Sam, are you all right?" asked his mother.
"Yeah," said Sam, still facing the casket. "I just wanted some alone time with him before anyone else got here. I wanted to say goodbye."
"I understand," she said, approaching closer. "But should you really be alone right now?"
Sam turned to face her. "I told you I'm fine, mom. You should probably be with Kyle. He's still pretty confused."
"You didn't tell him anything did you?" she asked.
"I did what you asked," Sam sighed. "I told him dad was out jogging, fell into an unprotected construction pit and broke his neck."
"Good," she replied, nodding. "He'd never believe the truth."
"I don't believe the truth," he said, "if it even is the truth."
Sam's mother glanced at the coffin and then back to Sam and offered her hand. "Sam, let's step outside. You need some fresh air."
"No, I want to say goodbye in private," he said, noticing how his mother kept stealing looks at the closed casket. "And why do you keep looking like that?"
"Like what?" she said, head snapping back to Sam.
"Like you're trying to get me out of here," he said.
"I'm not," she said, relaxing a bit. "I'm sorry. This has been hard on all of us. Take as much time as you need."
She turned to go and was halfway through the open door when Sam called out, "Why did you ask for a closed casket funeral?"
His mother paused but kept her back to him as she answered. "I recovered your father's body and when I saw it… I just didn't think you would want to remember him that way."
The door closed and Sam was alone again. He turned his attention back to his father, thinking about his mother's words. No, he thought, she was right about that. He wouldn't want to remember his father as he last saw him. He wanted to remember the father who had taught him to ride a bike, who came to his soccer games and took him on camping trips. He had been a devoted father and Sam loved him. And still, Sam found he just couldn't say goodbye to a wooden box. He needed to see him, one last time.
With two hands under the rim he gently tried to lift the lid. Then he pulled just a bit harder. It wouldn't budge. Sam tried again, thinking it was just stuck, but it was as though it were nailed shut. Suddenly, Sam wanted to open the casket more than ever, the resistance driving his determination.
He scanned the room for a tool of some kind, but he knew better than to expect a crowbar to be lying around. Sam also didn't want to do any visible damage to the casket in case he found he was all worried over nothing and that coffins were always nailed shut before a funeral. But something felt wrong. He stood there, staring at the rectangular wood case, stymied.
As his frustration grew Sam's fingers began to tingle. Then warmth spread through his chest like molten metal and he remembered. Tony had said he had powers and if he concentrated, he could harness and use them. Maybe he was right. But Sam had only done things before on impulse or when under threat. He had no training, no practice, would this even work?
Turning back to the casket Sam rested his hands on the smooth mahogany top. He closed his eyes and thought, Open.
Open.
Open Sesame? Please?
Nothing happened. Sam stepped back and took a breath. Just try again. Maybe you did it wrong. Sam approached the casket again but this time he used no words, but tried to go somewhere deeper inside himself. He focused on the face of his father, and his desire to see him again. Sam imagined the casket's lid slowly rising to reveal his father within dressed in his best suit, peaceful and calm, as though he were asleep on the couch on a Sunday afternoon.
Keeping the image in his mind and nothing else his hands hovered over the coffin. The familiar tingling sensation returned to his fingers, travelling up his arms like he had rapped his funny bone. He ignored the uncomfortable feeling as his hands started to shake. Fighting to hold onto the image, the fuzzy warmth returned and he imagined he was glowing. Something was happening but Sam was afraid to look. Peeking just a little, he spied the lid opening a crack, darkness within. Afraid to break his concentration Sam closed his eyes again and focused harder. It was working. He was doing it. Tony was right.
He was powerful.
"Sam! What are you doing?"
Sam's eyes shot open and the sensations immediately subsided. He spun around to see his mother behind him, ghostly pale. Then he spun back towards the coffin. The lid was fully raised.
And the casket was empty.
Sam stood shocked, trying to understand what it all meant.
"What did you do?" he asked his mother who looked back at him terrified. "Where is he?"
"Please Sam. I can explain," she started.
"With the truth or more lies?" Sam shouted, feeling rage burn inside him, his glowing center turning white hot. "Where is my father? Tell me!"
His words sprang forth like an animal from his chest, a fiery ball of light that charged at Sam's mother and knocked her back against the door. At the same time she raised her hands and a second pulse of energy shot out towards Sam, lifting him off the ground and throwing him into the opposite wall with a force that cracked the plaster. Sam fell hard to the floor and felt cold again, his head throbbing.
Before he could regain his senses his mother was beside him.
"Mom, are you okay?" Sam asked her, not quite believing what he had done.
"I'm sorry Sam," she said. "I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault," he replied, "I can't control it yet, and I was just so mad."
He reached back and felt the bump on his head as he tried to figure out what had just happened. It was as though his own power had ricocheted back onto him. Or did it? Was that his power that threw him back or did his mother do that? Was this sort of thing hereditary?
"No Sam," she said, "you have every right to be mad. And you have the right to know the truth. But for now there are a roomful of people out there who came to pay their respects. We're going to close the casket again and give them the funeral they came for."
"Where's dad?" Sam asked.
"After the service I'll explain everything. I promise."
His mother helped him to his feet, and then she closed the empty casket and straightened out her dress and hair. When she was done she appeared fully composed and fiercely determined.
"Try and look sad," she instructed him before exiting the room and leaving Sam alone once again.
Sam's friends were all there at the graveside service -- Sock, Ben, Andi and Josie. He felt guilty accepting their sympathy and support knowing that they were mourning with him over an empty grave, but Sam didn't want to say anything until he knew what it all meant. He watched his mother on the opposite side of the grave, wearing a black hat with a small veil, tearful, accepting the words of sympathetic well wishers with dignity, a regular Katherine Hepburn. He had never realized his mother could be so convincing while perpetrating a deception and it bothered him a little.
As the service ended Sam looked up to find Tony standing a short distance away, dressed in a black suit, leaning against a tree. He looked so much like the Devil dressed like that that Sam had to do a double take and repress the instant revulsion he felt. Excusing himself from his friends, Sam went over to him.
"Sam, I wanted to come," said Tony. "But considering the circumstances I didn't know if I would be welcome…"
"It's okay," said Sam. "I'm glad you're here. There's something I need to tell you."
Sam explained about opening the casket and the bizarre rebound effect that happened when he unintentionally attacked his mother. Then he told Tony the most surprising discovery of all.
"Tony I need to ask you something," said Sam.
"Anything."
"When you pulled me from the pit," he asked, "why didn't you save my father too?"
Tony's face fell, repentant, "Sam, I'm sorry. It all happened so fast…"
"It's okay Tony, that's not what I mean," said Sam, "I mean was there some reason, some decision you made?"
Tony thought hard. "I don't remember, but it was like instinct."
"What do you mean instinct?"
"I felt like I was only meant to save you," he explained. "I can't describe it, but when I saw Steve, it was like I was flooded with this knowledge that only lasted for a few seconds. But in those few seconds I understood everything, and it told me that I was only supposed to save you from the pit and that's what I did. It was as though I knew that somehow your father would be all right."
"I think you were right," said Sam. "I think my father's alive, Tony."
"Mom, where are we going?" Sam asked.
He was sitting in the passenger seat of his mother's Ford Taurus. As soon as the funeral ended she insisted on taking him for a drive. They had been driving for over an hour now and Sam had no idea where he was.
"I told you I would explain, Sam. Just bear with me," she said as she drove.
"Why didn't we bring Kyle?" he asked.
"Your brother wouldn't understand," she said. "It's best this way."
"Best for him to believe his father is dead?"
"Yes," she stated. "You'll just have to trust me on that one."
"There's that word again," Sam muttered, cringing as it rolled distastefully off his tongue like something that died, "Trust."
His parents had sold his soul, enslaved him to Satan, lied to him about it his whole life and now this. Sam didn't know if he could ever trust them again. He didn't say another word for the entire trip. The sun began to set and Sam leaned against the window and closed his eyes, realizing for the first time in two days how tired he was. He must have fallen asleep because when he opened his eyes again they were pulling into the parking lot of a shabby motel on an old two-lane highway.
Sam followed his mother as she exited the car and walked straight to one of the guest rooms as though she had done this before. She knocked on the door and waited until it opened and a surprised sandy haired man stared back at them.
"Dad!?" said Sam.
Sam's father ignored his son, turning instead to his wife. "You told him?"
"I had to," she said.
"I don't know anything yet," argued Sam. "But I want to know now. Everything."
His father smiled. Sam thought he looked tired but well. Stepping back from the door, the older man welcomed the weary travelers.
"Come in," he said.
After hugs were exchanged and curtains were drawn they sat in a circle drawn on the floor – Sam, his mother and father.
"Sam," said his father. "What I'm about to tell you is going to change everything you thought you knew about your family."
"Please tell me my soul wasn't sold to the Devil," Sam pleaded in mock seriousness.
"Not exactly," he replied, "but I'm not sure if you'll find that comforting. Sam, your mother and I were sort of an experiment. We were the first demons to seek redemption."
Sam thought of Steve, the only other redeemed demon that he knew. He performed good deeds, died and became an angel once more. But angel or demon, Steve stayed dead and yet somehow his father was here, looking very much alive.
"But you're not dead," Sam asked his father. "Are you?"
"No," he replied. "Years ago, we were given life as part of our redemption quest, sent to earth with a task to fulfill in order to attain it. That task was you."
"Me? Am I a demon?"
"No, you're not," said his mother. "We didn't want that for you. We wanted you to have a normal life, a human life with a chance to reach Heaven someday, so when we conceived we made a deal, but not the deal we told you about."
"What was the deal?"
"We would be given the opportunity to raise you on earth," his father continued, "with no knowledge of your origins but as of your twenty-first birthday, the Devil would have the opportunity to try and claim you through tricks and temptation. If you managed to resist you would soon develop powers capable of overthrowing him and bringing about our redemption."
"What about Kyle?" asked Sam, "Can he do this too?"
"Kyle has no control over this," said his mother. "He's at your mercy just as we are. If you succeed it will save us all."
"So the Devil doesn't own my soul," said Sam.
"Not as of today, but that could change anytime, Sam," said his father. "That's up to you."
Sam looked down again at the circle they sat in. The Devil wasn't supposed to know that Sam knew any of this.
"What would happen if the Devil were to find out you told me this?" Sam asked.
Sam's mother and father exchanged worried glances. "He can't know Sam," said his father. "We couldn't tell you before for the same reason we shouldn't be telling you now. If it becomes known our redemption fails by default and we return to the underworld. You would be forfeit, and your soul would become the property of the Devil. Everything that you believed had already happened will happen if the truth is known. You need to carry on as if you didn't know any of this, and no one can know the truth, not even your closest friends."
"So none of this really changes anything," Sam said, looking for the silver lining. "I'm still the Devil's bounty hunter, except I thought I'd lost you and now you're back."
"It changes everything Sam," his mother corrected him. "Before, you had your friends for support. Now you are truly alone in this as we are. No one can know, for all of our sakes."
Sam suddenly was reminded of Andi, whom he had just brought into his circle when he told her the truth as he thought he knew it. Now he was back to square one, telling more lies with more to lose. They were right, he was alone again. He thought of Tony's rebellion, and how quickly the Devil had found out despite their precautions and suddenly he felt his blood chill.
He stood up. "I have to go. I need some time to think about this."
Sam's father reached out and grabbed Sam's arm before he could step outside the circle. "I'm going to need to lay low for a while, considering that so many people think I'm dead. If you want to talk some more, I'll be here."
Sam nodded and left his parents behind in the motel room. Out in the parking lot he took out his cell and called Tony. He knew he couldn't tell Tony about this, but he was the first person Sam thought of that could help him. He spotted a diner down the road and began walking towards it.
"Tony," Sam said as the voice answered, "Could I ask you to come and meet me somewhere? I thought about what you said and I'm anxious to start training right away."