FILLED: all the perfumes of arabia (1/2)hollyhobbit44November 17 2018, 20:23:29 UTC
"Hey Sam!" Lucifer says cheerily, startling Sam out of the doze he'd been about to fall into.
Sam sighs and closes his eyes wearily, forcing back the gathering tears. He doesn't know how long he's been awake for; he lost count of the days a long time ago. His entire body feel heavy, his limbs chained to the bed with weariness. He just wants some rest.
He rolls over, facing towards Dean where he's snoring softly in his own bed. Must be nice. He curls up and pulls the covers tight, trying to ignore the lingering presence at his back, but he can still feel him there, watching, enjoying. The bed dips a little as Lucifer sinks down, Sam stifling a flinch when his hand lands on his shoulder. The touch is almost gentle, but for the nearly painful chill that runs through Sam's entire body in that moment.
Lucifer sighs. "Come on, Sam," he whines. "I need talking, I need interaction, you know, just like old times. We used to have so much fun, remember? Let's see... ooh! Like when we started the apocalypse together! That was good, right?"
Sam shifts and presses his hands over his ears - not that it does much good. He almost laughs at his own stupidity; Lucifer is inside his head, there's no way for Sam to block him out.
"Have you ever thought about it?" Lucifer muses. "Like, ever, really thought about it? Oh, Sam, you didn't see the half of it; all those people, all over the world, thousands - maybe even millions - dead, because of you and me. Mostly you, of course - I wouldn't have been able to do any of it without you tripping the switch on my cage."
He sounds so casual as he talks, which Sam knows is the point. Lucifer is cruel, but he's also smart; he knows how Sam will react to what he's saying. He knows everything about Sam, really.
"It was so beautiful. Just imagine it, Sam, the world we could have built. A world without all those people, without so many... imperfections. We could have done it, Sam, we were so close. And then you had to go and screw it all up, as usual. And for what? An eternity in the Cage with me." He laughs harshly. "Guess I shouldn't complain."
Sam curls up tighter, but suddenly there is something hot and sticky coating his fingers. He pulls his hands away from his ears and stares in horror as thick rivulets of blood drip down his wrists and onto the bedsheets. "No," he whispers desperately, closing his eyes and shaking his head. "No, no, no, no, this isn't real, this isn't happening." When he opens his eyes again, the blood is still there, but there's more of it now, more of it every second.
"Oh, it's real alright," Lucifer says conversationally. "I mean, okay, technically, it's not real, but you and I both know you have all that blood on your hands, and it just keeps coming, doesn't it Sam? How many people have you failed to save? How many people have died because of what you've done?"
Sam lurches out of bed, holding his hands out in front of him. He scrabbles with the bathroom door, finally managing to get it open, leaving a large, bloody stain on the handle. He leaves the light off - he doesn't think he'd be able to stand it if it was on - and turns on the tap, frantically trying to wash the blood away. The water turns pink and there's blood all over the sink, but it still won't come off his hands, no matter how much he tries. He sobs in despair, but continues washing, hoping the noises won't wake Dean.
"Well, look at you, Lady Macbeth," Lucifer quips, making Sam jump. He's lounging in the doorway, watching with something akin to amusement on his face. "Gotta say, I'm a little disappointed. I mean, you used to be so tough, and now... Startled at the sight of a little blood? Really, Sam?"
Sam turns away from him, still holding his hands lifelessly under the now-freezing water. He breathes heavily, feeling the cold numbness spread through his body.
"Sam?" Lucifer says, though his voice sounds different now. Sam's too tired to figure out why.
"Shut up," he replies weakly, refusing to give him the satisfaction of breaking down completely.
Then again, "Sam?" And his voice is definitely not Lucifer's now, it's Dean's, and shit he's woken up, which means Sam's going to need a good cover story for why he's standing in a dark bathroom -
RE: FILLED: all the perfumes of arabia (2/2)hollyhobbit44November 17 2018, 20:27:32 UTC
The light clicks on, and there's no blood on his hands. The sink is the same suspiciously-stained off-white it's been since they got here and there are no red marks on the taps. If he looks behind Dean, his bedclothes are clean, and there's no Lucifer in sight. Sam feels heat rise on his cheeks in shame - how could he have been so stupid?
Dean comes into the bathroom, looking around like he's expecting a threat. "What the hell are you doing?" he asks, turning a concerned gaze on Sam. Sam looks away, not able to meet Dean's eyes.
"I - I, um - I thought -" He trails off, unable to think of the words. He squeezes his eyes closed instead, trying to banish the memory of all that blood. It's gone now, but he can still feel it, staining him, marking him as unclean.
"Alright," Dean says, resigned. "Whatever you were - or are - seeing? It's not real. Okay?"
"I'm fine, Dean."
"Bullshit." He marches over to where Sam is standing and turns the tap off, yanking Sam's hands away. Sam watches with surprise; he hadn't realised he hadn't done that yet. Come to think of it, he can't actually feel his hands anymore.
"Tell me, Sam," Dean starts, challenging. "If you're so fine, I'm sure there's a perfectly rational explanation for why you were standing in the dark, apparently trying to freeze your own hands off."
Sam looks at the floor and shuffles uncomfortably. There's no way he's going to be able to convincingly explain this away, and both of them know it.
"Yeah, that's what I thought," Dean says, which only makes Sam flush harder. Dean apparently takes pity on him, because he backs away, adopting a casual, non-threatening stance. "Look, we'll figure this out, okay? We will. But we can't do that if you're not focused. So get your ass back in bed, and we'll work on it in the morning."
Sam rolls his eyes at his brother, but goes anyway, heading past Dean back into his blood-free bed. He pulls the covers up and closes his eyes, trying to breathe normally as he feels Dean's eyes on him. He knows sleep isn't going to come tonight, but the least he can do is try, for Dean's sake if nothing else.
As Dean's breathing returns to snores, Sam's thoughts shifts back to blood and death and yourfaultyourfaultyourfault. He squirms, but stays put, gritting his teeth when he once again feels blood coating his hands.
Sam sighs and closes his eyes wearily, forcing back the gathering tears. He doesn't know how long he's been awake for; he lost count of the days a long time ago. His entire body feel heavy, his limbs chained to the bed with weariness. He just wants some rest.
He rolls over, facing towards Dean where he's snoring softly in his own bed. Must be nice. He curls up and pulls the covers tight, trying to ignore the lingering presence at his back, but he can still feel him there, watching, enjoying. The bed dips a little as Lucifer sinks down, Sam stifling a flinch when his hand lands on his shoulder. The touch is almost gentle, but for the nearly painful chill that runs through Sam's entire body in that moment.
Lucifer sighs. "Come on, Sam," he whines. "I need talking, I need interaction, you know, just like old times. We used to have so much fun, remember? Let's see... ooh! Like when we started the apocalypse together! That was good, right?"
Sam shifts and presses his hands over his ears - not that it does much good. He almost laughs at his own stupidity; Lucifer is inside his head, there's no way for Sam to block him out.
"Have you ever thought about it?" Lucifer muses. "Like, ever, really thought about it? Oh, Sam, you didn't see the half of it; all those people, all over the world, thousands - maybe even millions - dead, because of you and me. Mostly you, of course - I wouldn't have been able to do any of it without you tripping the switch on my cage."
He sounds so casual as he talks, which Sam knows is the point. Lucifer is cruel, but he's also smart; he knows how Sam will react to what he's saying. He knows everything about Sam, really.
"It was so beautiful. Just imagine it, Sam, the world we could have built. A world without all those people, without so many... imperfections. We could have done it, Sam, we were so close. And then you had to go and screw it all up, as usual. And for what? An eternity in the Cage with me." He laughs harshly. "Guess I shouldn't complain."
Sam curls up tighter, but suddenly there is something hot and sticky coating his fingers. He pulls his hands away from his ears and stares in horror as thick rivulets of blood drip down his wrists and onto the bedsheets.
"No," he whispers desperately, closing his eyes and shaking his head. "No, no, no, no, this isn't real, this isn't happening." When he opens his eyes again, the blood is still there, but there's more of it now, more of it every second.
"Oh, it's real alright," Lucifer says conversationally. "I mean, okay, technically, it's not real, but you and I both know you have all that blood on your hands, and it just keeps coming, doesn't it Sam? How many people have you failed to save? How many people have died because of what you've done?"
Sam lurches out of bed, holding his hands out in front of him. He scrabbles with the bathroom door, finally managing to get it open, leaving a large, bloody stain on the handle. He leaves the light off - he doesn't think he'd be able to stand it if it was on - and turns on the tap, frantically trying to wash the blood away. The water turns pink and there's blood all over the sink, but it still won't come off his hands, no matter how much he tries. He sobs in despair, but continues washing, hoping the noises won't wake Dean.
"Well, look at you, Lady Macbeth," Lucifer quips, making Sam jump. He's lounging in the doorway, watching with something akin to amusement on his face. "Gotta say, I'm a little disappointed. I mean, you used to be so tough, and now... Startled at the sight of a little blood? Really, Sam?"
Sam turns away from him, still holding his hands lifelessly under the now-freezing water. He breathes heavily, feeling the cold numbness spread through his body.
"Sam?" Lucifer says, though his voice sounds different now. Sam's too tired to figure out why.
"Shut up," he replies weakly, refusing to give him the satisfaction of breaking down completely.
Then again, "Sam?" And his voice is definitely not Lucifer's now, it's Dean's, and shit he's woken up, which means Sam's going to need a good cover story for why he's standing in a dark bathroom -
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Dean comes into the bathroom, looking around like he's expecting a threat. "What the hell are you doing?" he asks, turning a concerned gaze on Sam. Sam looks away, not able to meet Dean's eyes.
"I - I, um - I thought -" He trails off, unable to think of the words. He squeezes his eyes closed instead, trying to banish the memory of all that blood. It's gone now, but he can still feel it, staining him, marking him as unclean.
"Alright," Dean says, resigned. "Whatever you were - or are - seeing? It's not real. Okay?"
"I'm fine, Dean."
"Bullshit." He marches over to where Sam is standing and turns the tap off, yanking Sam's hands away. Sam watches with surprise; he hadn't realised he hadn't done that yet. Come to think of it, he can't actually feel his hands anymore.
"Tell me, Sam," Dean starts, challenging. "If you're so fine, I'm sure there's a perfectly rational explanation for why you were standing in the dark, apparently trying to freeze your own hands off."
Sam looks at the floor and shuffles uncomfortably. There's no way he's going to be able to convincingly explain this away, and both of them know it.
"Yeah, that's what I thought," Dean says, which only makes Sam flush harder. Dean apparently takes pity on him, because he backs away, adopting a casual, non-threatening stance. "Look, we'll figure this out, okay? We will. But we can't do that if you're not focused. So get your ass back in bed, and we'll work on it in the morning."
Sam rolls his eyes at his brother, but goes anyway, heading past Dean back into his blood-free bed. He pulls the covers up and closes his eyes, trying to breathe normally as he feels Dean's eyes on him. He knows sleep isn't going to come tonight, but the least he can do is try, for Dean's sake if nothing else.
As Dean's breathing returns to snores, Sam's thoughts shifts back to blood and death and yourfaultyourfaultyourfault. He squirms, but stays put, gritting his teeth when he once again feels blood coating his hands.
Somewhere to his left, Lucifer begins to laugh.
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