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Kali breathes the word to life in his dreams: Tmerat. She breathes smoke through his brain and paints the world in chaos, but he’s so limited. She cannot keep him to task in the way she once commanded servants, thousands of lifetimes ago when her every exhale inspired awe and fear. Samuel can hardly keep her instructions in mind when he wakes, even one so simple as pay attention.
At the rate she’s dropping hints, she may as well handle this herself. She slips from his mind so easily, and he doesn’t see when he looks at the world. Instead she watches as he reads the book she sent, the way he steels his shoulders and continues on even as the blood drains from his face. He thinks so loudly: I’m tired of these vague doomsday prophecies.
Does he want her to serve the demon up on a platter? If she could, she never would have reached out to him.
The problem is that Samuel is something she must protect -- he becomes a second problem. So she shadows him, careful and quiet and under the radar lest those who wish to steal her away discover where she’s pinned all her hopes. She shapes his world and brings hints to his attention: a subtle turn of his head, emphasis on a word that’s fresh in his mind.
Not that it helps attune him to her purpose. He so often runs into situations without considering the consequences, like exactly how they led him to that hotel. He sheds blood so readily and so carelessly. Kali cannot abide that. Samuel has never respected the power of blood.
In the space of blink he’s gone from looking in the shop window (once owned by a grandfather with four children, now dead with a demon in his flesh) to pressed against a wall with a wicked blade to his throat. Kali sighs -- Kali exhales and exists in the world.
The demon stares at her in awe when she appears; he offers adulation. Samuel offers only impudence. For a fragile thing with a knife to his throat, he looks almost amused. Without looking away from his eyes she makes one motion, a flick that rends the demon from being to nothingness. The dust of its remains makes Samuel sneeze, such a ridiculous and human response that Kali considers destroying him in response.
But instead acting on her anger, she listens and finds his words endearingly, ridiculously human: I can charge off into probable danger for you, if you want. Because yes, she wanted protection and she wanted Samuel to provide it. Instead, he bleeds and presents bravado. She brushes her fingers against the cut on his neck and admires the dark red staining the facade of her fingertips. It tastes of power and lightning and the world quaking on her tongue. Samuel’s blood was always special.
Wanting more, wanting to know if the power is within him or only that which keeps his life moving, she kisses him and feels him unravel under her touch. She could touch the very core of Samuel Winchester, the boy the silly Judeo-Christian angels think could destroy the world, and knows that the blood does not influence the thing that he is.
He whimpers. She smirks.