Thus I Refute Thy Beelzy Verse I

by Lassroyale

When I was a child, I spake as a child. I understood like a child. I thought like a child. But when I became a man, I put away childish things." Corinthians 13:11

Title: Thus I Refute Thy Beelzy - Verse I
Author: Lassroyale
Characters/Pairing(s): None so far
Rating: PG for now
Warnings: Up to and including all of season 4 to be safe.
Disclaimer: Not mine, at least for now. ;) I just like to play.

Summary: "When I was a child, I spake as a child. I understood like a child. I thought like a child. But when I became a man, I put away childish things." Corinthians 13:11

A/N: This is a fic I started quite some time ago but it refuses to be written in one chunk...(read: I got stuck at some point and wanted to move it off of my plate.) I think I've decided that this will be written as three Verse, touching in important events in Sam's life. This is Verse I.

Oh, Mr. Beelzy is taken from John Collier's short story, "Thus I Refute Beelzy". Go read it, it's creepy.

***

"The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle."

- William Butler Yeats, the Second Coming

Verse I

Sam has talked Mr. Beelzy since he was the age of eight.

He first met him when he was playing in the dirt of a deserted lot behind the Ashwore Inn in the small town of Lubbock, Texas.

Sam had found a dip in the earth like a shallow pit that was partially hidden by a tangle of weeds. At eight years old he was short for his age and could almost disappear from view completely if he sat directly in the middle of the dip. Only the very top of his head was visible over the tallest of the overgrowth. If he hunched over he disappeared entirely.

For a little boy who knew too much about the reality of the world already, it was a perfect hideaway. Sam could go and play and pretend for awhile longer that monsters weren't real and that he was just a normal boy with a normal family. He could pretend that he and Dean lived in a house and not a motel. He could pretend that his father had simply gone on a business trip to conduct legitimate business and not to hunt creatures that for most people, were imaginary.

More importantly, by doing this he could escape from his brother for a few hours each day and avoid the perpetual surliness that had seemed to cling to Dean lately. His brother had suddenly noticed that girls had different parts than boys, and that these parts were intensely interesting for reasons Sam couldn't fathom. Dean preferred to spend his time chatting with the motel owner's 17 year old daughter and follow her around like a puppy rather than sit and play with him. Sam found it utterly ridiculous only because he didn't understand it.

Moreover, he missed his brother's attention.

Mr. Beelzy filled that void.

He had been drawing in the dirt with a stick when Mr. Beelzy first came to him.

To Sam, he appeared as a young boy closer to his brother's age than his own. He wore a pair of tan shorts that were a size too large and a grey t-shirt with that bore the faded imprint of the Batman logo. He had a shock of unruly hair that was so blonde it was almost white and a triangular face with a delicately pointed chin. His features were small and pixie-liked except for his eyes which seemed unnaturally large and wide. They were a peculiar shade of gray and bore a noticeable and eerie aberration; the absence of a pupil. In its place was a concentration of golden flecks where the pupils should have been.

Despite what Sam knew about the dangers of the supernatural, he was unafraid. To him Mr. Beelzy was someone with whom he could play games with and pass the time. To him, Mr. Beelzy was simply his imaginary friend - every kid had one, right?

"Hello," Sam said in his high child's voice, "you're not gonna hurt me are you?"

Mr. Beelzy shook his head.

"I'm Sam," he offered, thrusting out a hand like his dad taught him to. His dad also taught him to keep a weapon in the other, but he thinks the stick in his left hand is more useful for drawing pictures in the dirt than as a weapon. Dean of course, would probably beg to differ.

The other clasped his hand briefly and told him his name. His palm was cold and hard but not unpleasant to touch.

"Would you like to play?" he asked. Mr. Beelzy nodded his head.

So Sam and Mr. Beelzy played all afternoon, pretending they were spies who were deep in enemy territory. They spied on birds and squirrels and led raids on anthills with the brutal remorselessness of children. For an afternoon Sam felt like a normal child.

It was late in the day as the sun had begun to sink below the horizon, when his brother came looking for him.

"SAMMY!" Dean called, his voice tinged with annoyance and concern. "YOU IN THAT STUPID HOLE AGAIN?" His brother's voice was drawing closer as were his footsteps. A moment later Dean's head came into view and he peered down at Sam with a sulky look.

"We're goin'. Dad just called and he's picking us up tonight. We gotta stay with Bobby for a while."

"Can Mr. Beelzy come?" asked Sam as he clambered out of the pit. Dean gave him a long-suffering glance, turned on his heel, and began lagging over the uneven ground back towards the motel.

"Imaginary friends are stupid, Sammy, especially 'cause ya know what's out there." Sam pouted and folded his arms across his chest in the manner of all petulant children around the world. He kicked at a stone and sent it skittering over the ground, startling a group of birds that squawked in surprise and angrily took to wing. He stuck his chin out in defiance.

"He's real," he said absolutely, refusing to look at his brother.

"No he ain't, Sammy. There's nobody there. If Dad catches you talkin' 'bout imaginary friends he'll be mad. He'll think you're possessed or something and make ya get an exorcism, like in that movie." Dean's voice had taken on a slightly teasing tone as he spoke and he prodded his younger brother in the shoulder.

Sam gave his brother a horrified look before he remembered that he was angry at him.

"Nah-uh. Dad would believe me," he replied stubbornly. He stuck out his tongue. Dean rolled his eyes.

"Fine, whatever. 'Mr. Beelzy' can come. Hurry up, Dad said we gotta be packed by the time he gets back."

Sam brightened immediately. After all, it generally isn't in an eight-year old's nature to stay angry very long, He punched his brother's arm as hard as he could, raced ahead of him, and yelled over his shoulder.

"Last one back to the room is a LOSER!"

"You're on!" cried Dean, giving chase. Sam laughed and pumped his small legs faster, glancing to his right and grinning widely.

Beside him, keeping perfect pace, Mr. Beelzy mirrored his happy smile.

***

By the age of eleven Mr. Beelzy had become a constant in Sam's life. It was the age when he learned how very real his "imaginary" friend was. It was also the age he learned to trust him.

By that time his older brother was spending more time with girls and going on the occasional hunt. If they were going to school - something their dad was fairly adamant about - Dean would leave him in the motel room after walking him back from campus. He usually left Sam alone for a few hours and went off to do whatever it was that somewhat jaded 15 year old boys did. Dean would tell him that he was just going to try and hustle some pool, but Sam knew he was really just going to meet some girl in the diner next door.

As he sat alone and worked on his schoolwork, Mr. Beelzy would visit him.

These days his friend seemed to favor the appearance of a lanky young teenager with the same unruly silvery-white hair and grey, gold-flecked eyes. He still had delicate, pixie-like features, but his jaw had become more squared than pointed and he seemed to hover in that ambiguous area between boy and man.

The change wasn't alarming to Sam in the least who had undergone some changes himself, beginning to lose some of the baby fat in his arms and roundness to his face. He envied Mr. Beelzy's height, however, and would lament about how short he was. Mr. Beelzy would only laugh whenever he did so and assure him that he would tower over his brother one day.

When he asked if it was true, his friend would wink and grin and say, "Trust me."

And Sam did.

Sometimes Mr. Beelzy would sit next to him and help him with his assignments. Other times he would show Sam how to draw the most interesting symbols on bits of paper which he always made him promise to hide from his father and brother. Some of the symbols reminded him of ones he had seen in Bobby's books, especially the books that he and Dean weren't supposed to look at. He told Mr. Beelzy this and his friend only chuckled and said, "Oh no, you've never seen symbols like these. They're very special, Sam, and I am showing them to you because you are also very special."

Sam preferred the times when Mr. Beelzy would sit and tell him stories.

He would draw close and tell him all about the great battles between angels and demons, and of genocide and conquests and the vile things people did to one another. He taught him that with a silver tongue and a silken smile, people could be manipulated and they would nibble from the palm of his hand. He told him things that frightened Sam, things about himself, and things about the world that his father would never tell him. It was taboo...and it tantalized him as much as it scared him.

These things were his secrets, something entirely for himself and freely given. For that, in his way, Sam loved Mr. Beelzy. For that he listened attentively and tried his best to believe the things he said.

"You," Mr. Beelzy would utter in the minutes before his brother walked through the door, "are destined for great things, Sam. If you want it the world can be yours for the taking."

And Sam listened, though silently he disagreed with his friend. He didn't want the world. He just wanted his brother and his father and routine. He just wanted to be normal.

Mr. Beelzy always seemed to sense his thoughts and would smile and wrap an arm around Sam's narrow shoulders, his fingers cool against his flesh.

"Take your time, Sam. The world isn't going anywhere and neither am I."

***

The first time Sam saw Mr. Beelzy kill was right before his twelfth birthday in a town called Swansea, Massachusetts. He did it to protect him but the guilt would remain with Sam for a long time thereafter.

It happened one day when Dean had left him halfway along their route from school to a motel called The Bluebell, which was at least a mile and half long walk. His brother, who always made friends no matter where they went, had loped down a side alley to meet up with a girl named Kimber and some of the boys from his class. He made Sam promise to go straight to the motel and threatened a nasty Indian burn if he told their dad what he was doing.

Sam had agreed, somewhat glumly, and watched his brother disappear around a corner before turning and trudging back to the motel.

The problem came when he tried to take a shortcut down an alley as he neared the motel.

It was a short alleyway, no more than 120 feet and narrow, that cut behind a row of slum housing and emptied into the back parking lot of the motel. He and Dean had used it a few times before so Sam thought nothing of it.

He gripped the butterfly knife that Dean forced him carry with him to school despite his protests and trotted down the alley, sweeping his gaze into every shadow and every corner like he had been taught to. He had made it a little less than halfway down the alley when there was a noise behind him. It was one that he had been taught to recognize - the careless misstep of an untrained person on loose gravel. A half-crushed soda can bounced past his feet and a loud peal of laughter drifted to his ears.

***

Later when Sam would think about it, he wondered if it were chance or fate that dictated the events of that afternoon.

"Heya Sammy boy," taunted a voice. It bore the resonate timber of a young man's voice, fresh out of boyhood but not yet fully an adult.

It belonged to Todd Janson, a large boy who was a senior in the high school Dean was enrolled in. He easily outweighed Sam and stood more than a head or so taller than he did. He was a notorious bully, picking on younger kids because they were easy prey and getting into fights with the anybody else who challenged him, just because he could.

"Only my brother calls me Sammy," he replied defiantly, glancing behind him and trying to gauge whether or not he could make it to the end of the alley before Todd caught him. His chances weren't good, any way he looked at it.

"I dun give a flying fuck what he calls you," said Todd, as he took his hands from his pockets and slunk forward menacingly, "your brother is real fuckin' punk. He ran his mouth in the lunchroom yesterday and was a fuckin' dick. He made me look bad in front of my girl, Kimber."

Sam must have made a face because Todd suddenly lurched towards him and grabbed him roughly by the arm, his face contorted into an ugly mask of anger.

"You think something's funny, shrimp? How about you bring a message to your asshole brother, for me?" He raised his hand, fingers curled into a tight fist, preparing to strike him.

Sam's eyes grew wide with pure, helpless terror and he screamed, "NO!" in a high, cracked voice.

It wasn't because of Todd Janson. He screamed because Mr. Beelzy had appeared over the bully's shoulder, uncoiling from a strip of velvet black shadow like a cobra poised to strike. He looked nothing like what Sam was used to; he had shifted into something with flame-colored fur and teeth and claws, with the shadows of mighty wings thrown against the walls of the crowded buildings. A sound, like dry leaves whispering to one another on an autumn day, filled the alley and Sam thought he saw a glimpse of a scaly tail undulating behind the creature.

Mr. Beelzy struck quickly and Sam was thrown aside several feet away. He hit the ground hard and screwed his eyes tightly shut as Todd's horrified scream cleaved the air, imprinting itself on Sam's brain forever. The scream was cut short and was followed by a horrible crunching noise, like somebody was chewing on gravel.

After that silence reigned and Sam remained folded upon himself with his hands over his ears and his eyes shut, his heart pounding with unnamed fear. He was ashamed to find himself crying but in his eleven years he had never seen something like that.

A strong pair of arms wrapped around him then and Sam choked back a sob and clung to the person, feeling a sense of safety radiating from whoever embraced him. The embrace was gentle yet firm - like his brother's.

"Dean!" he cried, burying his face into hi brother's shirt, tears staining the scratchy fabric. A hand stroked his head and he realized how cold the fingers were that combed through his hair.

"Mr. Beelzy?" he sniffed, fear and gratitude mixing in a confusing jumble within his chest as he looked at his friend who had returned to his normal two-legged state. The other nodded, smiling slightly as he looked intently at Sam. For the moment, fear won and he lurched away from his friend, eyes wide with horror. "Y-You're like one of those creatures Dad hunts," he choked out.
Something in his expression became hurt and accusatory and he could feel fresh tears leak from the corners of his eyes. "You lied to me."

A somewhat wounded expression settled onto Mr. Beelzy's mein at Sam's words, but his friend did not try to move closer. He instead sat back on his heels and allowed the young boy to put some distance between them.

"I never lied to you, Samuel. I merely never voiced aloud what you already knew." Mr. Beelzy's words rang true but Sam shook his head in violent denial.

"No...NO! I didn't know...I didn't!" The lie was like bitter chocolate on his tongue and it coated his whole mouth with a foul taste. He had known, for awhile now, but he hadn't wanted to lose one of the few friends he had. He hadn't wanted to lose one of the few things in his life that was strictly his alone.

"W-why?" he asked without pretense as he gulped huge breaths of air trying to calm himself. Mr. Beelzy moved forward then, slowly like one might approach a wild animal. He tilted Sam's chin up and wiped away his tears, and made a soothing noise in the back of his throat.

"I will not let anything hurt you, Samuel," he replied, gathering the boy close to him until his sobs began to quiet, "when nobody else is here to protect you and you cannot protect yourself, I will."

"But Dean - " Sam began to protest.

"- was not here," finished Mr. Beezly. "You were put in harms way because of his actions - and it won't be the last time." Sam twisted away, glaring at his friend. Though he shared some of the same feelings and thoughts that he would never share with another soul, he didn't like hearing his brother badmouthed by another person. Mr. Beelzy ignored the reaction but sat back onto the hard ground, nevertheless. "You will eventually have to learn to protect yourself Sam. Even I can't always be there."

"My father says creatures like you should be shot, salted, and burned."

Mr. Beelzy tilted his head and looked seriously at him. "Do you believe that, Samuel? Do you believe that I should be destroyed like one of the things your family hunts?"

Sam was at odds within himself. Part of him knew that Mr. Beelzy was dangerous and that Todd Janson could have easily been Bobby, his dad, or even Dean. Still, his friend had never hurt him or made a move to hurt his family. Maybe...maybe if it was just this once...

"You didn't need to do that to Todd," said Sam quietly, guilt welling up inside of him. "He was just going to..." he fished around for a way to make it sound better, "he was just going to knock me around a bit."

"What would you have me do?" asked Mr. Beelzy in a sincere tone. He spread his hands wide in a placating gesture.

"Promise that you won't do it again. Promise you won't kill anyone. Dad and Dean say killin' humans is the ultimate sin."

Mr. Beelzy seem to consider it and stood and offered Sam his hand. "You will find that there are far greater sins in this world, Sam. However, I don't wish to make you upset or have you be afraid of me. I care for you too much. I promise I won't interfere again."

Sam, after a moment of hesitation, gathered his fallen backpack and took Mr. Beelzy's hand, his small thin fingers encompassed entirely by Mr. Beelzy's cold ones.

"You must promise me not to tell anybody of today, can you do that Sam?" asked Mr. Beelzy as they began to walk from the alley, hand in hand. Sam glanced up at his friend with a question in his big hazel eyes.

"Why?" he asked and wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve. He still felt uncertain and guilty about what had happened. When Mr. Beelzy was around, Sam usually feared very little...except he now feared him just a bit.

"Because if you told somebody about what happened I would be forced to leave you. Or worse, your family will kill me. Do you want that?"

It took Sam a moment, but he slowly shook his head. The thought of losing one of the few constants in his life was scary to him. Besides, Mr. Beelzy had promised not to hurt anyone again and he had never before lied to Sam. Sam wanted to believe him, he wanted to believe that Mr. Beelzy wasn't like the creatures that his dad hunted. He wanted to believe that he was different. After all, Mr. Beelzy had just been looking out for his well being, right? "I don't want that," he said, "I just don't want you to kill again...if my dad ever figured it out, he'd hunt you."

"I know," replied Mr. Beelzy and smiled down at the boy, "and I wouldn't want that either."

As they exited the alley, Sam glanced back. He saw nothing except for a single tennis shoe, lying in the middle of the corridor, discarded like a bit of lamb the wolf had found indigestible.

(To be continued...)