Rain battered against the windows of Sam's cabin, a steady rhythm punctuated by occasional thunder.
The structure stood alone among towering redwoods, twenty minutes from Stanford's campus but worlds away from academic life.
In the study, Sam sat cross-legged on the hardwood floor, his long hair falling forward as he concentrated.
Between his outstretched palms, blue-white energy crackled - Force Lightning, though he never called it that aloud.
The jagged bolts illuminated his face in harsh relief, casting shadows that emphasized the changes five years had carved into his features.
A leather-bound journal lay open beside him, filled with meticulous notes tracking his progress. Each page documented exercises, limitations, and improvements in his handwriting that had grown increasingly precise over the years.
"More control than last week," he murmured to himself, directing the energy into more complex patterns. "Still not enough."
Sam closed his eyes, focusing on maintaining the lightning while extending his senses outward.
The protective sigils around his property hummed with quiet energy - undisturbed for now.
He'd become adept at detecting supernatural presences, particularly the demons that occasionally lingered near campus, watching him with what they believed was subtlety.
His concentration broke at the distant sound of an engine - a familiar purr he'd recognize anywhere. The lightning between his palms dissipated as he rose to his feet in a single fluid motion.
Sam moved to the window, pushing aside the curtain just enough to confirm his visitor. A sleek black Aston Martin navigated the narrow dirt road leading to his cabin, headlights cutting through the rain and mist.
A small smile touched his lips briefly before disappearing. He closed the journal and slid it onto a shelf between law textbooks, then moved efficiently through the cabin, checking that certain items remained hidden while others were strategically visible.
By the time the car door slammed outside, Sam had composed himself, standing in the center of the room with casual stillness that belied his alertness.
Three precise knocks, followed by two quick taps - their signal. He opened the door.
Bela Talbot stood on his porch, rain dripping from her expensive coat. Her honey-brown hair was pulled back in a practical style, though a few damp strands had escaped to frame her face. In her arms, she carried a long, weathered case wrapped in oilcloth.
"Hello, love," she greeted, her British accent crisp against the sound of rainfall. "Dreadful weather, isn't it?"
Sam stepped aside to let her in, his eyes immediately drawn to the case. "You found it."
It wasn't a question, but Bela nodded anyway, a smile of triumph curving her lips as she set the case carefully on his dining table. "I said I would, didn't I?"
Sam closed the door and crossed to her in two long strides. His hands framed her face as he kissed her - brief but intense.
"You're soaked," he observed, stepping back to help her remove her coat.
"Your concern is touching," she replied dryly, but her eyes softened as she watched him hang her coat by the door with careful precision. "New sigils?" she asked, nodding toward barely visible markings etched into the doorframe.
"Arabic," Sam confirmed. "More effective against higher-level demons."
Bela's eyebrow arched. "They're getting closer?"
"More persistent." Sam moved to the kitchen area, filling a kettle with practiced efficiency. "Tea?"
"God, yes." Bela ran her fingers through her damp hair, loosening it from its restraint.
She glanced around the cabin, noting the subtle changes since her last visit - more books, different protective symbols, a new map on the wall marked with red pins.
As Sam prepared tea, Bela slipped into the adjoining bedroom, emerging moments later wearing one of his Stanford sweatshirts over her own clothes.
The garment hung large on her frame but seemed to comfort her in a way she'd never verbally acknowledge.
"So," she said, approaching the table where the case lay. "Shall we?"
Sam set two mugs of tea on the table and pulled out a chair for her before taking his own seat.
"Tell me," he said simply.
Bela wrapped her hands around the warm mug, her expression shifting to business-like precision. "It wasn't easy to track. After Thor's death, most Asgardian artifacts disappeared from circulation - either claimed by other Norse deities or hidden by collectors."
"But not this one," Sam prompted.
"Not this one," she confirmed. "It appeared briefly in an underground auction in Prague, then vanished again. I followed the trail through three continents." She took a sip of tea. "Lost two contacts in the process."
"I'm sorry," Sam said quietly.
Bela shrugged, though her eyes revealed more than her casual gesture. "Hazard of the trade. Thomas knew the risks. Adrienne..." she hesitated. "Adrienne should have been more careful."
Sam reached across the table, his large hand covering hers briefly. "You found it. That's what matters now."
A moment of silence stretched between them, comfortable in its familiarity. Outside, the storm intensified, rain hammering against the roof like impatient fingers.
"You've been sensing them more frequently," Bela finally said. Not a question.
"Near campus mostly," Sam confirmed. "They're careful - keeping their distance, watching. Yellow-Eyes is getting impatient."
"It's been twenty-five years," Bela observed. "Perhaps his legendary patience is wearing thin."
Sam's mouth tightened. "He's planning something. The timing isn't coincidental - your deal coming due, the demons increasing their surveillance."
Bela's fingers traced patterns on the wooden table. "Speaking of timing," she said, her tone deliberately light, "shall we see what I've brought you, or would you prefer to theorize all night?"
Sam's expression softened into something almost resembling a smile. "Show me."
With careful movements, Bela unwrapped the oilcloth from the case, revealing an ancient wooden box covered in Norse runes. She entered a complex combination into a modern lock that seemed incongruous against the aged wood, then lifted the lid.
Inside, nestled in dark fabric, lay Mjölnir - Thor's hammer.
Sam's breath caught. The weapon was smaller than popular depictions suggested, but its presence filled the room with palpable energy.
The metal head was etched with intricate patterns that seemed to shift when viewed from different angles. Its handle, wrapped in leather darkened by centuries of use, ended in a loop that had once hung from Thor's belt.
"It's real," he whispered, his voice uncharacteristically awed.
"Of course it's real," Bela replied, though her own voice had hushed in response to the artifact's presence. "You think I'd bring you a replica after all this time?"
Sam reached toward the hammer, then hesitated, looking at Bela.
"Go ahead," she encouraged. "I couldn't lift it, but perhaps you..."
Sam wrapped his hand around the handle and pulled. The hammer didn't budge.
"Worth a try," he said, unsurprised. "The enchantment remains intact."
"'Whosoever holds this hammer, if he be worthy, shall possess the power of Thor,'" Bela quoted. "Rather subjective criteria, don't you think?"
Sam studied the hammer thoughtfully. "Not subjective. Specific. Odin's definition of worthiness."
He stood suddenly, decision made. "Let's take it downstairs."
Bela carefully returned the hammer to its case before following Sam to a heavy door near the back of the cabin.
It opened to reveal a staircase leading down to a converted bunker - concrete walls reinforced with steel and covered in protective symbols from a dozen different traditions.
Unlike the cabin above, which maintained at least the appearance of normalcy, this space was purely functional.
Weapons lined one wall - conventional firearms alongside more exotic options. A training area occupied the center, with reinforced equipment that showed signs of frequent use.
Sam cleared a space in the middle of the room, then gestured for Bela to place the case down. She did so, then stepped back, watching as Sam removed the hammer and placed it on the concrete floor.
"You've been practicing," she observed, noting the scorch marks on one wall that hadn't been there during her last visit.
"Every day," Sam confirmed. He positioned himself before the hammer, rolling his shoulders to release tension. "Stand back."
Bela retreated to the far wall, her expression a mixture of anticipation and concern.
Sam extended his hand toward the hammer, concentrating. For a moment, nothing happened. Then blue-white energy began to crackle around his fingers - subtle at first, then intensifying. The veins in his forearm darkened visibly as the energy traveled up from his hand.
"Your special abilities have grown stronger," Bela observed quietly.
Sam didn't respond, focusing entirely on channeling the energy into the hammer. The lightning arced from his palm to Mjölnir's handle, dancing across the metal in erratic patterns. The hammer trembled slightly but remained firmly in place.
With visible effort, Sam intensified the energy flow. Sweat beaded on his forehead as the lightning grew brighter, more concentrated. The hammer shifted - just a fraction of an inch - then settled back.
Sam released the energy with a gasp, staggering slightly.
"Sam!" Bela moved toward him, but he held up a hand.
"I'm fine," he insisted, though his breathing was labored. "It responded. Did you see?"
"It moved," Bela confirmed. "Barely, but it moved."
Sam nodded, leaning against the wall to recover. "It's possible. The enchantment can be overridden."
Bela approached him, concern evident in her usually guarded expression. "At what cost?" she asked, reaching up to wipe sweat from his brow. "This is draining you significantly."
"I just need to build up my endurance," Sam replied. "The theory isn't wrong. It works."
They returned upstairs, Sam moving with deliberate care that betrayed his exhaustion. In the kitchen, he drank a full glass of water while Bela prepared a simple meal - bread, cheese, and fruit.
As they ate, a comfortable silence settled between them. Bela watched Sam, noting how quickly he recovered. Two years ago, such exertion would have left him incapacitated for hours.
"The demons," she finally said. "How close have they gotten?"
Sam set down his glass. "They've been probing the campus wards. Nothing direct yet - they're being careful. Yellow-Eyes doesn't want to spook me."
"But they're escalating," Bela pressed.
"Yes." Sam's expression darkened. "Something's changed in the last month. They're more... focused."
Before Bela could respond, Sam stiffened, his head turning sharply toward the windows.
"What is it?" Bela asked, instantly alert.
"We have company," he murmured, rising smoothly from his chair. "Three of them, approaching from the east. Testing the outer wards."
Bela moved with practiced efficiency, retrieving a small pouch from her bag and sprinkling its contents along the windowsills. "Demons?"
"Yes." Sam closed his eyes briefly, extending his senses. "Lower level. Scouts."
They positioned themselves strategically - Sam near the front door, Bela covering the rear entrance. No words were needed; they'd rehearsed this scenario countless times.
Sam reached out with his limited empathic abilities, monitoring the demons' movements. They circled the property, probing for weaknesses in his defenses but finding none.
"They can't get in," he said after several tense minutes. "But they're persistent."
"Can they sense the hammer?" Bela asked, her voice low.
"I don't think so. The case is warded." Sam frowned. "This feels routine - just regular surveillance that they think I don't know about."
After what seemed like an eternity, the presences retreated. Sam remained vigilant for several more minutes before relaxing slightly.
"They're gone," he confirmed. "For now."
Bela returned to the table, her movements betraying no anxiety despite the interruption. "They're getting bolder."
"Or more desperate," Sam suggested, joining her. "Yellow-Eyes has plans for me. Plans that require my cooperation."
"The Boy King," Bela said softly, using the title she'd discovered in ancient texts. "His chosen ruler."
Sam's expression remained neutral, but his eyes darkened momentarily. "A role I never asked for."
"And yet," Bela observed carefully, "one you're increasingly prepared for."
Their eyes met across the table - a moment of complete honesty between them. Sam didn't deny her assessment.
"I'll use whatever advantage I can," he said simply. "For Dean. For Lucien. For you."
Bela's expression softened. "I know, Sammy."
The use of the nickname - one she employed rarely and deliberately - shifted the atmosphere. Sam reached across the table, taking her hand in his.
"We're close," he said. "With the hammer, I can challenge the gods directly. Break Lucien's curse."
"And my deal?" Bela asked, her voice steady despite the underlying fear Sam could sense.
"One problem at a time," Sam replied, though his grip on her hand tightened. "Between Thor's power and Lucien's abilities, we'll find a solution."
Bela nodded, her practiced confidence masking the doubt Sam knew she felt. "Then let's try again. The hammer."
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They returned to the basement, where Mjölnir remained untouched on the concrete floor. Sam positioned himself before it once more, while Bela retreated to a safe distance.
"Different approach this time," Sam explained. "Lets be more direct about it."
He extended both hands toward the hammer, summoning the Force Lightning more aggressively than before. The energy crackled violently between his fingers, casting harsh shadows across his determined face.
"Sam," Bela cautioned, but he was already beyond hearing.
The lightning struck the hammer directly, enveloping it in blue-white energy. The air in the basement grew charged, making Bela's hair stand on end. The concrete floor beneath the hammer began to crack as Sam intensified his efforts.
What neither Sam nor Bela could see - but what was actually happening - was the hammer reacting in a way... unique to Sam specifically.
The enchantment, designed to judge worthiness, was responding not just to Sam's character but to the blood that flowed in his veins.
Azazel's blood - the very being who had thoroughly overpowered, defeated and killed Thor - created a resonance that weakened the hammer's resistance, like a form of supernatural PTSD.
Sam felt the shift - a sudden giving way, as if a door had finally yielded to pressure. His hand closed around the hammer's handle, and this time, it moved.
'It- It's working!' Sam thought to himself as an excited grin began to form on his face.
Mjölnir rose from the ground, lightning now flowing from the weapon itself rather than just from Sam.
KRRAAAK-THA-BOOOOM!
A sound like thunder came from it- Sam protecting Bela and the basement with a Force Shield.
The electricity began traveling up his arm, across his body, materializing pieces of armor as it went - first vambraces appearing on his forearms, then a chest plate forming across his torso.
Above the cabin, the storm responded violently - thunder cracking so loudly it shook the foundation, lightning striking nearby trees in rapid succession.
Bela watched in awestruck silence, her lips forming words that were lost in the chaos: "My King."
Sam Winchester stood transformed - power radiating from him in palpable waves, Thor's armor partially manifested across his body, Mjölnir raised in triumph.
Then his strength failed.
The hammer crashed to the floor with devastating force, cracking the concrete in a spiderweb pattern. The armor vanished as quickly as it had appeared, and Sam collapsed to one knee, blood trickling from his nose and eyes.
"Sam!" Bela rushed forward, reaching him just as he slumped against the wall.
She knelt beside him, efficiently checking his pulse before retrieving a cloth from her pocket to wipe the blood from his face. Her movements were practiced but gentle, betraying more concern than she would typically allow herself to show.
"That was stupid," she scolded, though her voice lacked its usual edge.
Sam managed a weak smile. "But effective."
"For all of three seconds," Bela countered, helping him into a more comfortable position against the wall. "Hardly enough time to challenge five gods."
"It's possible," Sam insisted, his voice stronger than his appearance suggested. "With practice, I can hold it longer."
Bela sat beside him, her shoulder pressed against his in silent support. They both stared at the hammer, now embedded in the cracked concrete floor, occasional sparks of electricity still dancing across its surface.
"We're getting closer," Sam said after a long moment. "To everything."
Bela didn't need to ask what he meant. Lucien's freedom. Her salvation. The confrontation with Yellow-Eyes that had been brewing for decades.
Sam suddenly stiffened, his eyes unfocusing briefly.
"What is it?" Bela asked, instantly alert.
"I don't know," Sam replied, his voice distant. "Something... a disturbance. It feels like..." He hesitated, searching for words. "It feels like Lucien."
Bela watched his face carefully. "You think he sensed what just happened?"
"No-" Sam began, but caught himself. "Maybe. I... Don't know. But..."
He turned to meet her eyes, his expression a mixture of determination and uncertainty.
"I think our reunion is coming sooner than we planned."
(Bela Appearance Picture here for those who don't know her)
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(Author note: Hello everyone! Been a bit!
Yeah, I'm kinda busy with life, but I finally had the motivation to make this, so here it is.
So... Sammy hasn't been all too focused on a normal life has he? Been apparently trying to find a way to kill the Godhand during this time.
Also... Bela- yeah she and Sam are in a romantic relationship.
How do you think that happened?
Well, I hope to see you all later,
Bye!)