prompt:
Stanford era, Brady's POV as the demon inside him controls his body, takes over his life and tries to manipulate Sam
warnings: mention of Lucifer, mass demon death
Sam Winchester was possibly the scariest person Mekhi had ever met, and Mekhi commanded legions of demons in Hell's army.
He knew that Sam was a damn good hunter; the stories went around in Hell, in Heaven, and on Earth, of the Winchester brothers. Two of the best hunters in the country - the world, possibly, though the American hunters didn't know much of the rest of the world's hunters. The brothers were something close to a myth, if the world hadn't almost ended enough times for the hunters, and enough demons exorcised for Hell, to know they were very real. Mekhi wasn't afraid of Sam Winchester.
He should have been.
Mekhi stares up into Sam's hazel-green eyes, which are soft and kind and which Mekhi really wishes were hard and unforgiving like they should be. He would admire the colors that shifted in his eyes - really, it was rare that humans had such changing eye colors - if they weren't focused so unerringly on him and if Sam wasn't wearing that easy smile that reminded Mekhi of a knife.
"Your Majesty," he says, and swallows down the fear, "I didn't expect to see you here." He keeps his composure, keeps his posture, because after centuries of commanding demons, you learn that you never show fear in either your voice or your body. In your mind, too, if you could swing it, but that isn't really working for Mekhi right now.
"Hello, Mekhi," Sam says, voice calm, and Mekhi feels ice run down his vessel's spine. He'd seen Sam execute other demons that had betrayed him, seen them light up red and gold and their screams echo through the hall. He'd also seen this same light smile on Sam's face, same gentle voice, at those execution ceremonies. This only ended one way, unless Mekhi could talk himself out of it, and he didn't feel very capable of that at the moment.
Not when he'd hidden so well, not when he has a legion of demons waiting to march on Sam's army outside at this very moment, and here Sam is. Here Sam is, delaying his plans (maybe he knew) and leaving his troops waiting (he couldn't know, that would be the end of him and his army) and Mekhi is unable to do anything but wait until he thought it was fit for him to leave. Wait, and shove down the fear and anxiety, and somehow entertain the King he had been planning to overthrow in a few hours.
Sam's smile is still there as he picks up one of the statuettes on Mekhi's map - a map table he'd laid out according to Sam's orders, a small piece of the curtain he'd made to hide what he'd been doing. Sam looks up at him, twirling the statuette in his fingers.
"How can I help you, Your Majesty?" Mekhi says, voice steady from years of practice. Sam puts the statuette down and turns fully to him.
"I only came to see how your troops are doing," Sam says, and Mekhi both lets out a breath and can't get another one in, because that's such an innocent question but Mekhi has the wrong answer for it. The truthful answer is wrong, he knows, and it's too late now. Sam came at the wrong time; any other time, his troops would have been in Sam's army where they were supposed to be, but now they're camped out across from it waiting to march and Mekhi has no time to move them.
Funny that a demon should be running out of time, Mekhi thinks bitterly and a little hysterically as Sam smiles and walks toward the door. He thinks that Sam is going to leave, but he knows better than that, knows Sam never leaves loose ends. Not as a hunter, not as the King of Hell.
"Take a walk with me," Sam offers, deceptively innocent. Mekhi nods and walks beside Sam. He has the feeling he's walking to his death, but Sam hasn't given any indication that he knows what Mekhi has been up to and he hasn't asked any questions that would suggest that either.
Somehow, that only makes the feeling grow worse, the air grow heavier and Mekhi grow colder.
"How have you been doing?" Sam asks. Mekhi relaxes slightly - only slightly, because the air is too tense for a how are you feeling and a hope you're doing well kind of conversation.
"I've been doing well, Your Majesty. Nothing much has been happening," Mekhi replies.
"That's good," Sam says. "Any complications with your troops?"
Now Mekhi's breath doesn't catch, because he can't show that he's afraid of being found out, and his voice doesn't shake as he answers no, Your Majesty, but he wishes it could, wishes he didn't have to hide from someone as terrifying as Sam.
Sam nods, and Mekhi doesn't notice as they take a left and then a right, meandering over all-too-familiar hills in Hell's cracked-earth landscape, because he's focused on his thoughts and the ground and Sam.
Sam is silent, they're just walking, and Mekhi doesn't notice how wrong this is. He's glad that he isn't being asked any more questions, he's relaxing more. He doesn't notice the purpose to Sam's steps, or why they were still taking a walk if Sam had nothing more to say to him.
He lifts his head to ask Sam how he's been doing, but the words catch in his throat. They get twisted into a shocked breath as he sees troops - his troops - scattered in front of him. Scattered across the ground, all dead, and some part of Mekhi says that their vessels are dead, not the demons, but another, larger part (and Sam's smile has turned sharp now, he notices out of the corner of his eye) says that Sam is more thorough than that. The demons are dead, Mekhi knows with a sinking feeling, and soon he will be too, as Sam turns to him, that smile still on his face.
"You're very good at hiding, Mekhi," Sam says conversationally. "Even my resources as King were stretched trying to find out what you have been up to. You almost forced me to consult my brother for this, because he's the only hunter I would trust with this. A very, very small amount of trust, because his track record with me being King of Hell is not all that impressive, but still more trust than I give most hunters. More trust than I give most anyone, really. Even if Dean may have needed a bit of persuading."
Mekhi stays still. Lets Sam start a slow circle around him. Waits for the feeling of a blade through his abdomen. Or maybe Sam will slowly pull on his essence, tear it out of the vessel over the course of a few minutes, Mekhi thinks. He doesn't shiver at the word persuading, doesn't think of Sam's extensive knowledge on that (courtesy of Lucifer, he thinks, and the thought of the archangel being angry at him doesn't scare him quite as much as the thought - or, rather, the feeling right now - of Sam being angry at him).
"Have you ever read about Machiavelli's Prince?" Sam asks, and the question is so innocent that it almost startles Mekhi into replying instantly, before he realizes that he's dancing on a knife's edge here and Sam has the power to push him over. He shakes his head, and Sam smiles.
"Didn't think you would," he says, voice somewhere behind Mekhi and off to his right. "The essentials of it are that a Prince, or a King in this case, must be firm but fair. If you cannot be loved by your people, then you must be feared, but feared in such a way that you don't inspire hate." Sam gives a small laugh as he circles around to Mekhi's front and stops, turning to face him. "I didn't know in the Stanford university library how much that book would be useful in my future."
His eyes flick to Mekhi's, and Mekhi has the thought that this is a villain monologue. Except it isn't, because villain monologues allow the side characters to come in and rescue the hero, and Mekhi isn't a hero nor is he being rescued. Sam would not allow that; if he knew that there was a flaw in his plan that allowed for it, he wouldn't be monologuing. Mekhi would be on the ground already, in wherever demons go in the afterlife.
The thought reinforces the sick feeling in Mekhi's stomach, the certainty that here is where he dies.
"I consider this fair," Sam says, meeting Mekhi's eyes. "Don't you?" he asks, and the words are edged with a question. How long do you want your death to be, Sam asks silently.
Mekhi nods, his voice gone. Sam continues anyway. "I can't leave exceptions, Mekhi. This is what happens when you defy me. I'm not being cruel, I'm not being unfair. I'm simply doing what has to be done, and that is securing my throne."
Mekhi nods again. He almost believes it, but Sam looks almost remorseful and Mekhi catches on the word almost. Almost believes, almost remorseful. He was almost successful.
Sam's eyes start burning an unholy gold.