[Lucifer watches Dean's artwork in action from a nearby seat - nearly a throne, despite its simplicity because this is Lucifer's realm. Horrible things, nightmare things, and yet all of them a reality created by none other than Dear Old Daddy. These are His creatures, His monstrosities, and Lucifer barely even needed to give them a nudge to get them to tear each other apart. It's beautiful, and that cold, cruel smile on his face shows his amusement better than words ever could.]
How does it feel, Dean? To finally let yourself go.
I would have gotten my freedom regardless. [Defiant to the end. He takes a filleting knife and swirls it slowly across the bicep of his victim, separating muscle from bone.]
[Watching, amused.] A few more years and I think you would have. [Oh yes, he is definitely talking about Hell.]
So greedy, but at least you're honest. Finally honest to who you really are. [He places a hand against the poor victim's forehead, and for a second, it changes to Sam's form before melting back into the original person.] You'll have your toys, Dean. But for now, Sammy is mine.
How does it feel, Dean? To finally let yourself go.
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I still want my baby brother back, Jackass. Unharmed, untouched. Sammy is mine to play with. Not yours.
[Demon? Yes but there are things about Dean that won't ever change. Sam is one of them]
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Temper, Dean. Really. I give you freedom, and you're still not happy?
[A sigh, and then he's on the opposite side of the table from Dean, staring down at his newest victim.]
Sam is...special. But you know that. [Looking up at him now] But he's not a toy, Dean.
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He's not your toy. You need Sam. I want him.
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So greedy, but at least you're honest. Finally honest to who you really are. [He places a hand against the poor victim's forehead, and for a second, it changes to Sam's form before melting back into the original person.] You'll have your toys, Dean. But for now, Sammy is mine.
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Fine. I want him back whole. He's no use to me broken already. Breaking them is the fun part.
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[He frowns, nothing more than a farce, and his eyes wander to where Dean's tools lay methodically on a table.]
Simply more wounds for you to pour salt in, no?
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As long as there's still more to break.
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[Just like every second of this conversation is tearing him apart inside. Is this really what Dean wants?]
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You do have a point.
[No but then this isn't Dean's nightmare. It's Sam's]
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Well then. I'll leave you to your...toys. Don't worry about indulging. There are plenty more simply dying for a turn.
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