Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You ever thought about magic? I know, I know, most witches are a bunch of people waving their hands and gambling in years.

The amount of witches that naturally have real power can be counted on one hand per millenium, but even they rarely see past their own immediate self-centered goals.

But, even normal people can cast spells. Hunters use them to fight the beings in the dark, and small-time occultists mix ingredients that have, if not energy in themselves, then symbolic significance that gives the energy needed.

That energy is drawn from many different places, from the planet we stand on, to natural phenomena, to the human soul.

Of course, one soul has around the energy of a hundred suns, so most witches will only ever exhaust themselves physically rather than spiritually. Besides, the soul refills itself eventually and heals back to full strength, so there's virtually no harm done.

That brings us back to spells, and a certain category of beings. You've seen those lowercase-g gods before, the ones that somehow exist despite capital-G God and His angels also existing since before time. Zeus, Prometheus, Odin, etc., right?

How did they form? Why aren't there modern gods?

Well, my friend, think about those spells, hmm?

Spells work on both the Ritual and belief of the caster, as well as the energy expended. The more powerful and magically able one becomes, the more easily the power is drawn out and used without all those pesky processes. They are imprinting their beliefs and will on the power at one's disposal, and enforcing the effect.

But what happens when one becomes the center of that belief, hmm? When you are seen as something more, something beyond humans?

Such are the cases of Sam and Dean Winchester, modern gods.

Chapter Text

It was a fairly routine hunt by this point, a vampire that was causing problems. That wasn't too out of the ordinary, if the boys were being honest with themselves.

What made it difficult was the family that it had tied up and was making into his personal blood supply. Not fun, and also very difficult to kill the monster that had hostages.

But, like they always did, they managed. They'd survived Yellow Eyes, they'd survived hordes of demons, and they'd finally, finally managed to kill the demon that murdered their parents. A vampire shouldn't have been difficult.

But it was. This vamp was old, and though they'd managed to get the hostages out of there, it had Dean pinned against the wall. Sam was trying and failing to grab hold of a weapon (thanks a lot concussion!), and his vision was spinning on the verge of unconsciousness, so Dean was in trouble.

That Crossroads deal was weighing on the older (though shorter) Winchester's mind, and he wasn't exactly eager to take a trip downward juuust yet.

He wanted to live, more than ever. So he willed, desperately, his right arm to somehow overpower the centuries old monster holding it against the wall.

Thankfully (and strangely), it did just that. Maybe the monster got cocky and loosened his grip, just enough (or so Dean would tell himself later), but Dean's blade sliced through the neck smoothly. The body, now in two pieces, fell, and Dean breathed easy, though still panting.

Almost immediately, he went to Sam, making sure he would be alright. Of course, the younger Hunter was already feeling slightly steadier, able to stagger to his feet, though he leaned against his brother for support. "Thanks," Sam breathed out, and Dean could almost smell the relief in Sam's voice.

"No problem Sammy." He firmly said, accepting the prayer of thanks - wait, what!? 

Vamp must've hit me harder than I thought, Dean mused to himself, as he helped his brother (equal and opposite yet so similar) to Baby, then went to dispose of the monster corpse.

Chapter Text

For a little while after the Gordon fiasco, the brothers decided to just take it easy for a few days. They had taken the Impala, drove through a few states after burning the hunter-turned-vampire's body, and had found a nice quiet hotel to stay at. Dean's whole body was aching, and so was Sam's.

Especially his hands. Sure, Sam's got a great pain tolerance, even having died before, but razor wire digging into the hands, into the muscles even, hurts quite a lot. Or at least, it did, for a while. The pain had dulled over the past few days of having his hands and fingers bandaged. This was odd, and it wasn't the only thing that was weird.

Dean is no fool, make no mistake. He's good at reading people, and makes connections quickly. However, he's been pointedly trying to ignore the weirdness and coincidences that have been happening around them. 

Sam is a researcher, a scholar, though he is no less talented in hunting than his older brother. So when he notices changes, he takes note.

For instance, there is no damn way he should've been able to kill Gordon. Wire or no, Gordon had lured them into a trap, and even freshly turned vampires were strong enough to tear through humans like they were tissue paper. He'd had Sam right where he wanted him, and yet…

Sam had put everything he had into not only holding off the monster, but cutting through him. After the deed was done, he and Dean had been able to walk away with relatively minor injuries, despite being tossed into walls, doors, and tables. Even now, he could feel his skin knitting together under the bandages. He wasn't a monster, he'd already nicked himself with a silver knife, so what was happening?

It wasn't just that, either. There were times when a magazine of silver bullets would be emptied, yet when they really needed there to be, there'd be one more loaded. Or how silent their steps were in the woods despite leaves being all around them.

What is happening to us?

Chapter Text

It was a quiet night at the bar. Granted, it wasn't a particularly popular place, just a cozy little spot on the corner where people could relax for a while. Just how Dean liked it when he was brooding.

It happened more often than people who knew him would imagine. Especially in recent months, with the Crossroads deal coming to collect in a little bit less than month. Dean, who would in other circumstances be drinking and trying to distract his mind with attractive women, had come to appreciate the peace and quiet moments in life. Especially since he knew he wouldn't be getting many of those soon enough.

So that's why he was startled as a man plopped down into the booth, sitting opposite him. When Dean whipped his head up, he knew two things immediately:

One, this guy wasn't human. Dean couldn't really explain it, but picking out not-humans from humans had become pretty easy, at least up close. Two, and arguably more important, this guy was young, and also very old. Dean looked to the man, mid-20s, dark brown short hair, slightly curled at the ends. There were no signs of age, and yet the way the Guy (as Dean mentally dubbed him) seemed to look at him like he'd seen this exact situation before gave the Guy an almost wise vibe.

Dean sat up straighter, feeling inexplicably nervous, "What do you want?"

The Guy gave a little lopsided smirk, the kind you give to someone you don't like but are fascinated by, and finally spoke up. "Oh, not too terribly much," he drawled, "just wanted a little chat with you, young Winchester."

Dean, already prepping for an ugly fight, threw out the formalities, hoping to figure out what the Hell this thing was so he could (hopefully) kill it, "What are you, and why me?"

The Guy gave a little huff, "I'm the patron of heroes, kid. Of course I'd wanna meet you. Well, one reason, anyway. I go by Hercules these days."

Hercules. His ears heard the name, but within that name that rung both false and true, his mind somehow translated that into Champion, Destroyer, Sky-Bearer . Dean blinked briefly, and the (demi?)god across from him looked somewhat vindicated.

"I'm not a hero." Dean stated flatly, and Hercules looked almost sad, but then shrugged.

"Perhaps, perhaps not, but you're becoming much more than that anyway. It'll suck, trust me, but I think you and your brother will be alright in the end."

He gave such an earnest look then that Dean stood up, not wanting to listen anymore. But Hercules reached over, gripping him by his wrist, with Dean feeling the ridiculous strength the god was choosing not to use. "Don't worry man, you're not turning into a monster."

With that, he let Dean go, and the hunter stalked off, footsteps oddly silent.

Hercules hummed to himself, thinking about the brothers, and the reactions of the pantheon once they, too, realized what was happening. But, for now at least, the boys still fell under his jurisdiction. 

They're heroes, after all.

Chapter Text

Sam woke up.

This was not, by itself, all that unusual. People do tend to wake up after sleeping, and dying in the Winchesters' cases. But it was really the feeling of alertness that got him going, and noticing the chair he was bound to. It was seemingly just wood, and the bindings were simple rope, but Sam just couldn't get out of them, no matter how hard he tried, nor could he make the chair tip or even move!

He looked around the room he'd found himself in, even as he rapidly made and discarded plans in his mind. Strangely enough, the word that came to mind when looking around was homely. It looked like the inside of a viking longhouse he'd seen when he went down a rabbit hole on the internet, just without any tables. He could see cooking pots and fires, with meat suspended just above the flame to cook it. Sam's nose flooded with the aroma, but he shoved it aside in favor of focusing on the situation.

This was no easy task, considering Sam had long since noticed his sense of smell getting sharper. He thought it had something to do with the demon blood he'd been drinking, along with him training his powers. 

The set of wooden doors closest to him opened, then closed loudly as a figure walked in. Sam studied the man in front of him, and was immediately intimidated. The man was wearing a suit, though without a tie and the shirt left unbuttoned at the top, and seemed to be fit, though lean. The man was shorter than Sam, and had dark hair and eyes.

But what got Sam, what really worried him, was the presence. The other man filled the room effortlessly, and Sam couldn't help the small spike of terror he felt when the older man's eyes met his.

"You're an interesting person, Sam Winchester," the man's voice rumbled gently in a British accent, "and I'm sure you have questions. Go ahead."

"Where's my brother?"

"Safe," the man firmly stated, "as much as you boys can be, anyway. However, you both are warded, and are in unique locations, so there's no point in praying to angels. Nor will your demon woman be coming to free you."

Damn. Praying would've been Sam's next move. Not to Uriel, after the Samhain mess just a week ago, but he did like Castiel. He seemed more genuine with the brothers. But the fact that this guy knew about them, and Ruby, was a massive problem. But he knew this guy wasn't a Demon or Angel at least, so there was that at least.

"Allow me to introduce myself," the man began as he gestured to himself, "I am Baldur, God of Light of the Aesir."

It was at this moment that Sam knew he was in serious trouble, and tried desperately to use his power to free himself, attack the god, anything! 

"Your eyes are black," the pagan god pointed out almost casually, and the sheer horror of that shattered Sam's concentration because he wasn't a monster or a Demon, he was human-

"Mostly, yes," Baldur assured him as the God of Light placed his hands on the hunter, the left on Sam's shoulder and the right on his chest, "but not for much longer, I'm afraid."

It was then that Sam realized, with startling clarity, just what was about to happen to him, and what was happening wherever Dean was. He didn't want to be a god, he wanted to stay human! Although, his conscience chose to pipe up, he'd already been throwing his humanity away with the blood.

"Stop struggling Sam Winchester," Baldur snarled, the British accent draining from his voice and replaced with one that sounded much more natural, "I'm trying to help you, you idiot."

The words rang with truth, a truth that Sam had no choice but to believe as Baldur's eyes glowed a bright golden-white and his body shimmered with the same power. Sam felt something enter his body, and inexplicably attack the Demon blood in his system. His veins burned, and Sam finally blacked out.

Baldur finally stepped back, clasping his hands as he watched the would-be-vessel change, becoming more than human. He breathed slightly hard, though he then righted himself. He had sacrificed a piece of his own divinity to grant this child apotheosis, something he thought he'd never do. Permanently weakening oneself seemed so foolish before, when the Angels hadn't been seen in centuries and Demons had been manageable. 

Then again, desperate times called for drastic measures, and these were desperate times. He could already tell that Sam would grow into something special and felt a twinge of pride, that he had a hand in the making of these gods.

Chapter Text

Dean woke up, and it was weird. Usually, he would sort of just groggily force himself into wakefulness, and even then his body would normally protest the transition, at least initially. 

This was very different. The memory of being held in strong rope flooded into his mind almost immediately, culminating in the man who held him down and did…something to him. So, Dean immediately shot awake.

“Ah, you’ve acclimated. This is good.”

Dean took a second to realize where the voice was coming from, before whipping his head to the right as he looked at his kidnapper. The man was surprisingly ordinary, having long brown hair, which stopped just above the shoulder area. He had a tan, the kind you get from spending hours each day baking in the sun. The man wore a simple, white sleeveless shirt, along with baggy brown pants that had several pockets. The kidnapper also wore simple black boots.

Before Dean could open his mouth, the stranger raised his hand and fixed him with a stare. “I know you’re furious, but you’ll just have to deal with what has happened,” he began, hazel eyes still boring into him, “I am Njord, king of the Vanir. Now, are you just going to sit there, or will you break those bonds and stand up ?”

It came off as taunting, and Dean only realized that he had been truly and irrevocably changed when the once-unyielding ropes snapped with the ease of twigs. He shook briefly, before standing up and looking toward the being, his voice trembling, “You’re a god.”

He still remembered the Vanir scarecrow he and Sam had encountered, remembered burning its sacred tree or whatever. Remembered how it had single-handedly ensured a good harvest for the town that sacrificed to it. Now he was face-to-face with the king of them. He didn’t show the not-insignificant amount of terror he was feeling.

Njord simply gave a grim smile, “Don’t worry about the minor spirit you dealt with before, he had been a rogue for centuries. But yes, Dean, I am a god, and you are too now, imbued with some of my own divinity.”

Before Dean could freak out over the loss of his humanity (and yes, the panic was building), Njord spoke again, “Or rather, you will be, soon enough. You're a godling right now, though I'm afraid you can't go back to being mortal."

Dean took a deep breath, noting the smell of the room, somewhat salty, and exhaled. He took the panic, and just let it go. It was what he did in almost every impossible situation he found himself in, just focus and keep moving. He noticed the term godling , though. 

"What's the difference?" He asked, his voice only shaking slightly before returning to an even tone. 

A pleased look flashed across Njord's face, and he gave the hunter a small nod of what might have been respect. "Well, you may have the base body of us pagan gods, but you don't have a province, and so-" the god cut off as he noticed Dean's confusion, "I'm talking about a domain, a realm, a sphere of influence, what you are god of. You get a lot of your titles along with your provinces. But, hey, at least you won't have to go back to Hell again."

Njord made a beckoning gesture, and Dean just followed, emotions roiling. He wouldn't have to go back to Hell .

Honestly, though he was still conflicted about his forced change, that fact alone lit a spark of gratitude in him. However, "What about Sam?"

The Vanir king simply smiled gently, "He's also been deified, though by the Aesir. Don't worry, the pesky Demon blood will have been cleansed from him by the ascension. You will be reunited at the meeting of the Norse pantheon."

Dean visibly relaxed at that. The blood, the psychic powers, they had all been a shadow hanging over both brothers since Dean's resurrection by Castiel. He'd already guessed that he probably shouldn't tell the Angels about this. 

Not right now, at least.

“Okay.”

Chapter Text

Sam followed Baldur, even as the environment itself changed as they walked through a door and into a gigantic longhouse. The tables were long, and the benches were noticeably smooth. There were all kinds of foods laid out on the tables. There was a large fire to one end of the room, with a large pot that, to Sam’s now-enhanced senses, smelled absolutely fantastic. The center of the room was largely cleared, and the other end of the area had a slightly raised platform with a throne. The throne itself was actually fairly simple, being a wooden armchair with a very tall back, but Sam knew in his bones that this chair was powerful . 

He took a glance around the room, noting with some amount of apprehension that there were a few dozen people in the room, all chatting, and yet glancing toward him every few moments. Were these all gods and godlings? Welp, he knew there was a slim chance of getting out of here, but those chances quickly dropped from slim to none. He heard the heavy sound of wooden doors opening, and he whipped around to a sight that made breathe a huge sigh of relief:

Dean.

He was being led by what could only be another god, and had a look that was somewhere between determination and resignation. Fair enough, considering they’d had their human cards taken from them. The second Dean saw him, he bolted toward Sam, and the two hugged. Somewhere in the back of his thoughts, he was acutely aware of the eyes on them, but he just gave a little sob of relief, and his brother did the same. 

"We're not goin' t' Hell, Sammy," his brother seemed to reassure him, "neither of us."

Now, Sam was admittedly confused by this for a brief moment, but caught on soon enough.

They were gonna be gods (small 'g'), and immortal now. Even if they did get killed one day, no one knew where the pagan deities went.

Not Hell.

He was relieved, both for his brother and himself.

Then, the light bulb went off in his head.

Dean had been lying to him.

He remembered Hell.

He remembered all of it.

They were gonna have a long talk after this meeting.

A man clearing his throat echoed across the entire longhouse, and Dean, always having to put up the tough guy act, collected himself, wiped his tears, and the two brothers looked to the throne.

There, where there was once no one, was now someone. An old man, with blue eyes, and white hair, and for some reason a fur coat, was slouched on the throne.

Wait.

That's not right.

Sam stared hard at the man, and the man gave a little huff of laughter. The illusion fell away with barely a shimmer, and the fur coat disappeared, replaced with a black shirt with a gray trench coat worn over it. The right eye faded away, and a black leather eyepatch, complete with a dark brown strap, covered the empty socket. The white hair became gray, and the heavy wrinkles smoothed out, leaving an older, yet still youthful man. 

The posture was the greatest change, however. He went from slouching from tiredness to casually reclining on the throne.

The hall was silent.

Finally, the god spoke. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you. I go by Odin these days, and I won't bother listing all of the titles and kennings. We'd be here for days."

Sam, being the diplomatic brother (usually), took the lead, “Same to you. Um, excuse me, but, uh, what are we doing here, and why did you do this? Not that we aren’t grateful,” he added as Odin’s smirk widened slightly, “but why us?”

Odin hummed, fingers tapping against the arms of his throne. “We’re on the verge of the biblical end of the world. We pantheons don’t know all of the facts, due to our scrying being blocked by both Heaven and Hell. We know that you two are important to both Angels and Demons, and so the leading figures of the pantheon, Aesir, Vanir, and even Jötnar have decided to step in, and give you the power needed to do what is necessary. You’ve already shown your tenacity in dealing with a rogue Vanir godling, and the many other beings that go bump in the night.”

“Power?” Dean asked simply, cutting straight to the point.

Odin lifted his left hand, showing a small leaf, light green. “Before Dean walked in, this was leaning more toward brown, and I’d been poking at Sam’s mind for a while now. Not only are you two physically superior to humans, but Dean shows power over fertility, and Sam has shown the power of mental defense that Baldur’s province of Purity provides. That is without being given provinces of your own, which will commence right about now.”

For once, both Sam and Dean were quiet at this. Sam was pondering over this newfound ability to resist mind magic, and wondered how his brother felt. Actually, considering their newfound status, couldn’t he find out? He looked over briefly, and in his mind, prayed to his brother.

You okay, Dean?

He was close enough to feel Dean, tense slightly, then relax again. He heard Dean, then.

Yeah, Sammy. Just, just feeling good about actually giving life for once instead of taking it. Call me crazy, but I think we should take the deal.

Yeah .

The two brothers nodded, and Odin smiled, then gestured to a table over to the brothers’ left. A redheaded man who must have been 6 ½ feet tall, and was very muscular, along with a fairly large stomach, like those strongmen on TV who eat a ton and then pull buses.

The hammer that was hanging off a belt loop tipped both brothers off about who this was. Thor looked down at them, and smiled, though he looked somewhat sad as well. "My mother was killed when the Demons spilled from the cemetery a couple years ago," Sam and Dean straightened further, remembering finally dealing with Azazel, "but before she succumbed to her wounds, she was able to bequeath her remaining provinces to me. Now, I'll be giving them up, along with one of my own."

Before the two could form a proper comment, the Aesir god placed a hand on each brother's chest, then took a deep breath. It took a moment for something to happen, but when it did, it was something special.

For Sam, it was as if he had a new connection with wood. He looked at each plank and carved section and knew the type of wood, from oak to elm and many others. Not only that, but for whatever reason, both Bobby's house and Jess' grave flashed in his mind.

He had no idea what Dean was feeling, but he was feeling more than a little weak in the knees as Thor stepped back. A cheer rang out, and Odin’s deep voice echoed through the area, "Hail Sam Winchester, God of Trees and Hallowing. Hail Dean Winchester, God of Agriculture and Horticulture."

A servant came up, bearing a tray with two golden apples. 

Sam looked at Dean.

Dean looked at Sam.

They took the apples, and ate.

Thor grinned.

"Welcome to the club, boys."

Chapter Text

It was really no surprise that after they were sent back to their hotel room, they booked it back to the Impala, and Dean was almost in tears when he saw that Baby had, thankfully, been untouched. After they were given their provinces, he was feeling real good, and better connected with plant life than he had ever been in his life.

But, they still needed to get a second opinion, preferably from someone who wouldn’t stab them immediately after realizing they weren’t human anymore. So, they drove on, looking forward to seeing Bobby.

No map was needed, since Sam seemed to know every single twist and turn needed to get to their father figure’s house.

Dean found that pretty damn cool, and useful.

As for himself, every time they drove by a field or orchard, he had the urge to command the plants, to make them grow stronger and faster. But he didn’t. He just kept driving.

It was only when they were having lunch at a small diner that Dean really registered what it meant to be a fertility and nature god. He was digging into his sandwich, when he happened to look out the window of their booth, and saw someone throwing a burger wrapper into the ditch right next to the field. He felt a white-hot rage boil in his chest, and made to stand up, when he felt Sam’s iron grip around his arm. It grounded him, though he still wanted to teach that guy a lesson. 

He sat back down, taking deep breaths. He couldn’t go after that guy, not now. With his new strength, he’d accidentally put the guy in the hospital, if not worse.

They left pretty soon, though they grabbed and threw away the wrapper.

Dean felt better after that.

Eventually, they made it back to Bobby’s, and Sam visibly relaxed when they made their way through the yard and to the house. When Dean opened the door, they were greeted with the barrel of a shotgun.

He couldn’t really blame the man, considering dying flowers were regaining their colors even as Dean was getting questioned.

In the end, he just came out and said it.

“We got kidnapped and turned into gods.”

It was so ridiculous, and yet so Winchester , that Bobby just gave a sigh that made Dean feel small, lowered the shotgun, and let them in.

One long story later, helped along by beer, and Bobby was looking at them thoughtfully. They waited.

“Well, you boys seem to have gotten lucky.”

Dean perked up. “Really?”

“Well, you’re not dead. You’re also not forced to eat people, which is pretty nice. You idjits, despite having both Hell, and now Heaven on your backs, have superpowers and basically the backing of an entire pantheon. You said Dean’s a fertility god now, right? Like the harvest god you boys dealt with?”

Dean swallowed, then cleared his throat, “Nah, that guy wasn’t a god. He just inherited some fertility power from his father, but he never had a specific province or title. He was stronger thanks to the constant worship and sacrifices. The actual Goddess of the Harvest is Sif.”

Sif, who was technically his superior now, which he still wasn’t entirely sure about. As the Goddess of the Harvest, her power over plants would always be greater than his, both in power and in scale. He was allowed to have his own small cults and be largely independent, but anything like being the patron of a town had to have Sif’s permission. That was the main crime of the Vanir spirit they’d killed, hoarding the worship of a whole town and demanding constant blood sacrifices.

Bobby actually raised an eyebrow at that. “Well, who was the father?”

Dean made a little grumble, the kind that said he didn’t really know nor care. “Honestly, there’s a lot of gods and godlings with fertility powers. Could be a lot of ‘em.”

Bobby, to his credit, took that little tidbit of information in stride, but he still gave a little sigh that made Dean wanna shuffle his feet like a little kid. Then, the older man (thankfully) turned his gaze over to Sam, and Dean watched, only a little amused, as Sam straightened slightly.

“Well, the God of Trees part is pretty self-explanatory,” Bobby began dryly, causing Dean to chuckle and Sam to huff out a laugh, “but what’s God of Hallowing mean, exactly?”

Sam cleared his throat. “Well, I can tell where places important to me are, and how to get to them. I’m pretty sure I could do other things, but I haven’t figured out exactly what else I can-”

He stopped.

His eyes lost focus.

Dean glanced at Bobby, and was about to reach over.

But Sam stood up, and was suddenly gone .

Dean immediately shot to his feet, and was wondering if his brother had just been attacked, when the air just rippled, and Sam was there again, looking sheepish.

Dean stared.

Sam stared, then rubbed the back of his head. “I sort of felt someone touch Jess’ grave. I wasn’t sure who, but it was just one of our old friends cleaning off some dirt.”

Dean beamed. It was pretty cool that Sam could teleport.

Chapter Text

Sam was cleaning off Jess’s grave. He gently wiped the stone with the damp rag in his hand, taking the flecks of dirt and grime that had built up over the few years since he’d last seen it. 

He reached down, picking at the weeds that had grown up around the spot. He threw them away close to a tree, where the matter would go on to provide nourishment to the wood and roots.

Sam stopped.

Someone had just entered the area.

Not by walking, either.

That someone was now right behind him.

Sam stood up, and whirled around, his fist flying and not holding back whatsoever. The being he was aiming for, however, caught the blow in his own fist, not looking phased in the slightest. When Sam finally registered just who he was looking at, his stomach twisted with nervousness.

Those eyes, currently brown, seemed to be ablaze due to the amusement dancing within them. Problem was, Sam didn’t know if that amusement was genuine or malicious in nature.

“You.” The hunter breathed out.

“Hiya, Sam!” The Trickster greeted loudly. “Oh, old buddy, old pal, how ya doin’ these days? I hope there are no hard feelings for the old pranks, considering we’re now in the same pantheon. Not that it would stop me from annoying you if I wanted, but I’m feeling generous! Let’s catch up.”

Sam, who was now realizing that the god who’d tormented him and his brother was Loki, took a deep breath. He could, in theory, refuse, but he doubted that would go very well. So, he nodded.

Loki let out a high-pitched, cheery noise of what was hopefully approval, and in the next blink, they were in what looked like a coffee shop. However, it was completely empty, and the booth that Sam was being steered to, hand on his shoulder, had two cups of coffee on opposite sides, both topped with a tower of whipped cream that somehow stayed upright.

There was a spoon waiting for him, and he gently took it in hand, and ate some of the cream. Thankfully, and surprisingly, it wasn’t poisoned.

What scared him was the fact that Loki hadn’t touched his own drink.

He just stared at Sam, much like he had in the ending moments of the time loop. 

Uncharacteristically serious.

“What?” Sam finally blurted out, unable to take the silence any longer. It was really freaking him out.

“Sam, Sam, Sam. You and your bro really do make waves wherever you go, huh? I find myself reluctantly impressed, if I’m honest.” The God of Mischief clasped his hands together on the table, and gave a predatory grin that looked a bit lupine. “So, I bet you got a few questions, eh? Go for it, I won’t bite. Probably.”

Sam bit his lip, wondering how to begin, and mentally picking out what to ask. “So, we need worship to keep living?”

“Yup. I mean, right now, you’re riding the high of being freshly ascended. But, you’ll be needing prayers, worship, offerings soon enough.”

Okay. Now for a question that had been bugging him for a while now. “So, uh, how are there pagan gods if the capital-g God exists?”

“That’s classified. For now. Give it time, and you’ll find out. Worry about stopping the end of the world for now, kid.”

Sam rolled that around in his mind, then moved on to a slightly more testy topic. “Are the stories about your kids true?”

Because if they were, then he felt really bad for the kids. Not for the trickster himself, but definitely for the children.

Something vicious sparked in Loki’s eyes, a warning that Sam was treading on thin ice, and yet softened almost immediately. He sighed. “I can’t get angry with you when you’re asking with good intentions. Not many care enough.”

The trickster sat back in his seat, “Yes, Sam, a lot of those stories are true. Though not all of them. I’m very proud of my children, you understand. Jorm is the God of Floods, so I wouldn’t recommend annoying him too much. My daughter is the Goddess of the Dead, so she’s set for life, ha! As for Fen, well, I’ll let you figure that out. Last question.”

Sam considered for a moment, then spoke up, “Uh, how many provinces do you have?”

An impish grin spread over Loki’s face, which sparked a small amount of anxiety in Sam. The trickster god leaned over, eyes blazing. “Enough.” Then sat back, a satisfied look on his face at having freaked out the new god.

Sam figured that was fair.

Loki, standing up and stretching his limbs theatrically, turned to Sam, “Now then,” he very purposely put his hand up, ready to snap, “you should be getting back home. Check you later, Sam.”

The snap echoed through the pocket dimension, and Sam found himself back at the grave. The young god shook his head, he really needed to talk to Dean about this. He grabbed the cloth on the ground, and thought about the Impala. The air rippled, space folded, and Sam was gone.

Chapter Text

Dean was good and mad now.

No, scratch that.

He was so beyond angry that he had actually gone full circle and was now back to a sharp calm. These angels had just asked him to torture someone.

Granted, it was Alastair.

But still.

Castiel, at least had the decency to be conflicted and ashamed about what he was being told to ask Dean to do.

Uriel couldn't even be bothered to pretend, and just kept this expectant look that someone would give a difficult child.

That was what really solidified his decision to one-up the idiot. He'd been hiding his godhood and connection with the Norse Pantheon, and so had Sam. It wasn't simple, but he just focused on tamping down the power he had, and things didn't grow as fast. 

Besides, the angels and demons were both expecting humans, one with psychic stuff anyway, so it wasn't exactly hard to play it off as Winchester weirdness. 

But he'd had enough.

So, he clasped his hands and prayed silently. Uriel, he was pleased to see, looked dumbfounded, while Cas at least looked relieved, probably thinking Dean was going up the chain of command. 

Technically, he wasn't wrong. It just happened to be a different chain. 

He briefly closed his eyes as light, bright white and blinding, flashed in the room between him and the angels. 

Baldur was here. Now, Dean didn't like the guy all that much, but he was a major god, and the young god imagined he'd be very willing to put his foot down. 

Baldur stared at the angels, looking very unimpressed. The God of Light was, as usual, dressed in a suit without bothering with a tie.

Cas just stared, wide-eyed at the turn of events, while Uriel (to Dean’s delight) looked like he’d just eaten something sour. Baldur, raising an eyebrow, looked to Dean. “ These are the angels you’ve been in contact with? It really is no wonder you two were working practically on your own.”

Uriel snarled, finally losing his temper in a way Dean found very satisfying, “We do not need the help of false gods. Leave. Now.”

Castiel, though he didn’t quite contradict Uriel, clearly didn’t agree with his assessment, either. Meanwhile, Baldur just chuckled, “Evidently you do need it, otherwise you wouldn’t be here.” He gestured meaningfully at Dean.

They connected the dots quickly, but while Uriel looked outraged, Cas just looked confused in a very genuine way that made Dean feel really bad for fooling him. He liked Cas, he really did, he just didn’t trust Cas’ superiors.

“When…” Cas trailed off, and Dean knew what he was asking.

“It was after Samhain,” Dean answered him, “Both Sam and I are part of the Norse Pantheon now.”

Cas went quiet as he thought it over, while Uriel stepped closer, looking ready to start something. Baldur moved in front of Dean, as little tongues of white light began to stream from his fingers. Dean was honestly really glad to have the backup, since it looked like it might turn violent any second.

“Take another step toward the new god,” Baldur began, “and you’ll find yourself permanently grounded.” Even as he spoke, the light he exuded became angrier somehow, pulsing like it was seething.

To Dean’s surprise, Uriel backed off.

Seemed the pagan god was scarier than the angel. Good to know. Now going for damage control, Dean stepped forward. “There is no way I’m gonna torture him for you. Either figure it out, or give Alastair to the gods to deal with.”

Uriel opened his mouth, ready to say something less than pleasant no doubt, when Cas cut him off. “We’ll consider this, and contact you again.”

“Castiel, just what-” Uriel started, only for Cas to talk over him.

“That is an ORDER, Uriel.” Castiel actually raised his voice at the other angel, and for a second, Dean saw past the vessel, and got a brief flash of something bright, folded up and many eyes, a being of pure temperance and yet immense power.

Uriel flinched, and even Baldur raised his eyebrows, looking impressed. “Well,” the Aesir god drawled, “we’ll give you some time to think it over. Come, Dean.”

Dean really wanted to say something about being ordered around, but kept his mouth shut when he remembered they were in the angels’ presence. 

Guess he doesn’t wanna look weak in front of the winged douchebag.

He nodded, ignoring Uriel’s scathing glare as he let Baldur grip his shoulder, his vision flaring white, and blinked his eyes when he noticed they were now at the top of a building. Dean looked to the older god, “Thanks for the assist.” He meant it, too.

Baldur blinked, looking over and giving a little huff of laughter. “Don’t worry, I had fun one-upping the angels, personally. You are welcome, nonetheless.” He paused for a moment, then sighed. “I think Nanna would have been happy to see me helping others again.”

There was a hint of sadness and longing in the man’s voice, one that would’ve told Dean who Nanna was even if he hadn’t cracked open a mythology book after becoming a god.

“Your wife would’ve wanted this?”

“Oh yes,” Baldur mused, “she was Goddess of Hope, and was always helping others. She died shortly after I did, and I was given her province upon my resurrection.”

A silence fell over them, though it wasn’t unpleasant. Dean wasn’t sure how long they just stood there on the building, but it felt like he and Baldur had found some common ground, both having lost the people they cared about.

At least in his case, Dean had gotten Sam back.

Chapter Text

Sam sat across from a king.

The king. Odin.

While Dean was out, Sam had been asked by Odin to join him for a chat. Normally, such a thing would make Sam very anxious and get ready for a fight, but it’d be pretty stupid to make someone a god only to turn right around and kill him.

So here they were, sat in a public diner with cups of coffee in front of them both. It would’ve been a strange meeting place if not for the fact that Odin had, with a mutter and gesture, cast a spell to keep them from being heard.

So there they were.

“So,” Odin began, “the new God of Trees and Hallowing. I see you’ve taken to your role a bit better than your brother. However, neither of you have begun to gather worshipers yet. So, I’ve taken the liberty and dropped a rumor, as well as conveniently dropped a couple summoning rituals. You’re welcome.”

“Well,” Sam started slowly after a moment to process, “I guess I can’t argue with you on that. Um, this is sort of a weird question, but what are your provinces? I-I mean, you’re considered a God of War in the old myths, but, if there’s only one God of War per pantheon, what about Tyr?”

Odin’s eye lit up with what Sam hoped was delight, and the king gave a small chuckle. He clasped his hands together on the table, “You’ve got some courage, boy, I’ll give you that. I kid, I kid, I’m always happy to teach the young ones.” He took a sip of coffee, then continued. “I was the God of War before my children were born. But I have an instinctive ability to use weapons inherited from my father, and can communicate with animals thanks to my mother. But, I had a lot of provinces, many of which were granted to family, friends, or as peace offerings. I’m not a weakling, make no mistake,” Sam froze as the god’s gaze met his own, “it’s no exaggeration to say I could kill most of the pantheon by myself. I am the God of Knowledge, Wisdom, Magic, the Hunt, and Madness.”

Sam took that in. Combined with his inherited power, Odin could physically, magically, and mentally overpower most of the pantheon. No wonder there aren’t any stories of people trying to overthrow him.

But what about other, foreign gods?

“What about people like the Olympians? Aren’t they really strong, with a ton of gods?” Sam questioned, wondering if he was gonna have a nasty run-in sometime. With his luck, probably.

Odin actually snorted at this, and just gulped down the rest of his coffee. “Listen, kid. The original six Olympians are stronger than most gods because their father was cursed to be overthrown by his child. Therefore, the original six were born with superior strength, and the three brothers were only amplified further due to their provinces. But, there are only so many provinces in one pantheon. There may be a ton of godlings, and they may have titles, but many minor gods don’t have true provinces. Aegir’s daughters have inherited lesser powers over water, but have no provinces. Catch my drift?”

Sam nodded. It made sense, and it’s not like normal humans would know the ins and outs of provinces. Hell, he and Dean were still getting the hang of theirs. He wouldn’t lie, he loved the feeling of just putting his hand on a dying sapling, willing it to grow, and seeing it return to life.

He also knew that Dean was enjoying being God of Agriculture and Horticulture, too. There was a spark in his older brother’s eyes whenever he snapped his fingers and made an old garden sprout new fruit and vegetable plants. 

It was nice to heal things, rather than just kill all the time. 

Sam. Help.

What? Sam straightened up. Odin noticed, furrowing his brows.

Oh. The voice was Castiel, but he needed help?

Uriel is a traitor, and I need help. Please.

Sam stood up, the chair sliding back, and he could feel his body reacting to the prayer. Odin must’ve noticed something was up, and when he asked, Sam told him. 

“I’ll deal with the rogue angel,” he reached over and grabbed Sam’s shoulder, “focus, breathe, and take us to where they are.”

Sam breathed in, then out.

Space folded, and opened up. He stepped through matter and into the room, only to see Uriel’s sword raised, poised to plunge into a bloodied Castiel. Sam was about to burst into action, only to see Odin stick out his right hand to the side. A spear materialized, one that had a dark wood for a shaft, but the actual head of the weapon was made of something like steel. Something like , because just looking at it made hairs on the back of Sam’s neck stand straight up. 

Odin made a throwing motion, and let go, launching the weapon with immense force in a perfect line. 

The God of the Hunt did indeed hit his mark, as Gungnir made its way through Uriel’s right ribcage, through the lungs, and sunk into the wall to Uriel’s left, pinning the angel. The rogue angel screamed as light spilled out, and the shadow of wings were left behind him. The corpse fell as Gungnir flew back to Odin, and then disappeared. The god then strode forward toward the wounded angel, and Sam sprinted past him. 

“Cas! Cas, you okay?” Sam questioned as he knelt down by the angel, and Cas nodded, even as he began forcing himself off the floor.

“Thank you, Sam. I appreciate you and your pantheon’s assistance,” Sam started slightly, realizing that Castiel knew about him being a pagan god, “but I must report-”

“Hold on there, little warrior.” Odin came over, resting a hand on Castiel’s shoulder. A blue-white light gently flowed from his hand, and Castiel’s vessel began to mend rapidly.

Cas looked perplexed, “You can’t heal angels.”

“ You can’t.”