Everywhere At Once, And Nowhere To Go
Hi, my name is sailoreyes67 and I like to write about Hell. I also have no idea where most of this came from. One minute I was writing a 7.6 coda, and then I was writing this.
Summary: Sam is in the cage and it's awful. Except for (or maybe especially) that little part of him that feels like it's somewhere else.
Wordcount: 919
Warnings: major spoilers through the end of season 5, plus extremely vague spoilers through 6.07. Non-con (with the devil), creepy, wrong, descriptions of the cage. R!
Disclaimer: none of this is mine, not even the title, which belongs to Sparta Philharmonic.
A/N: I no longer really think what happened was this simple, but at least I got it out of my system!
In the cage, everything was white. Blinding. Sometimes, a lot of the time, he couldn’t see anything else but that light. It came from the walls, and it came from Lucifer, and it came from Michael. He and Adam would hide their eyes as best they could, but the light always found its way through. Scorching like fire. Itself, enough to make them scream, even without the addition of torture and claustrophobia.
Sometimes, the light was dimmer. Still painful, but dim enough to see through. To see the chains, and the hunks of flesh hanging from the metal-linked ceiling. Lucifer made the place as gruesome as he could, which wasn’t as much as one would think, considering the place was made of nothing but iron and light, and the four of them.
Sometimes the light was fire. Red instead of white, crackling and moving, never-ending sheets of blistering flame. When it was like that, Sam could occasionally get a glimpse through it, and on the other side would be a riot of chaos and darkness and blood, the black smoke of demons moving to and forth in a writhing mass. Apparently even Crowley didn’t venture this close to cage, so it’s utter chaos. Once he glimpsed a demon he remembered from his time with Ruby, one he thought he remembered killing. Maybe not.
Sometimes it was dark. Completely dark. Those were the worst times.
Sam thought they happened because his capacity for sight had given out, not because it actually was dark. But it was pitch black, and it felt like he was in a void, and there was no way of telling if the space went on forever or if it was small enough to crush him. These were the times that were most like the fall, a hundred years ago when he first jumped into the Cage, full of triumph and self-rightfulness and self-sacrifice and stupid dark acceptance. But then, Lucifer had been screaming and cursing him inside his head, enumerating in exact detail what he was going to do to Sam; and Sam had embraced the darkness, longed for it after Lucifer burst out of him in an explosion of white light. When Lucifer started to make good on his threats.
In the darkness, it was easy to forget he wasn’t alone here.
Until, of course, Lucifer turned out to have been right behind him the whole time, giving Sam no warning at all before stringing him up against the suddenly blinding-white ceiling.
Yeah, the darkness was definitely the worst.
***
The pain was simplest in the first few years. It was having his flesh pulled open and watching his organs spill out onto the cold metal floor, when he could see. It was his bones snapping and Lucifer curling up around him in a sick, sick fascimile of affection, thrusting his humongous angel dick into Sam’s ass.
it wasn’t long before Lucifer turned more to things like, ripping into his memory and tearing up the stuffed orangutan Dean had found for him when he was three. Pointing out all the things Sam knew were wrong, like the shotgun on the table and the whispered conversations between Dad and Dean about death when they thought Sam was asleep. (he wasn’t.)
Shitting all over all the memories Sam tried to keep tucked away because they were precious.
Then he’d pretend it had all been just nice and run flame-hot kinves over Sam’s balls, bringing little pinpricks of blood from them just gently enough that it somehow managed to turn him on, like that was a nice thing too.
But things like that didn’t hurt as much as they used to. Sam figured he was just going numb.
***
He was also going crazy, because when it was quiet, (when it was dark,) sometimes, he thought he could almost hear voices. Voices of people who weren’t in the cage, voices he didn’t recognize. For incredibly fleeting instants, he could smell gunpowder, could taste salt on his tongue. It was all familiar things, things from his life before this, things like traffic noises and the normal kind of injury that came with being thrown against a tombstone or something rather than torn apart like an unwanted toy. It was stuff from the hunting life, and it was rare, and it was far away, but it was. Never Dean though. Everything but him.
The first time it was Dean, Sam was sitting in the darkness again. Lucifer was laughing about something to Michael, but they sounded far away, like he was in some in-between space, falling again, and then for a second he could have almost sworn he was sitting in the Impala, with the sharp, stale, and musty scents of Dean and leather and home all around him.
He jerked, his only thought to find his brother’s chest and bury his face in it, and he thought he heard Dean say, confused, “Sam?”---but then he was gone, all of it was gone, and Sam wept harder than he ever had until Lucifer tucked himself over him, knees squeezing his ass, and shoved white-hot needles into his eyes until Sam’s lower lip started bleeding from being bitten down on so hard, and Lucifer stopped with the needles and kissed him, rough and strangely tender (like the one time he kissed Dean, oh God.), licking at the blood, bent him over and kept him too distracted to think about the---memory? It had to have been a memory---for hours.
And weeks.
And years....
------
Comments save me.
Summary: Sam is in the cage and it's awful. Except for (or maybe especially) that little part of him that feels like it's somewhere else.
Wordcount: 919
Warnings: major spoilers through the end of season 5, plus extremely vague spoilers through 6.07. Non-con (with the devil), creepy, wrong, descriptions of the cage. R!
Disclaimer: none of this is mine, not even the title, which belongs to Sparta Philharmonic.
A/N: I no longer really think what happened was this simple, but at least I got it out of my system!
In the cage, everything was white. Blinding. Sometimes, a lot of the time, he couldn’t see anything else but that light. It came from the walls, and it came from Lucifer, and it came from Michael. He and Adam would hide their eyes as best they could, but the light always found its way through. Scorching like fire. Itself, enough to make them scream, even without the addition of torture and claustrophobia.
Sometimes, the light was dimmer. Still painful, but dim enough to see through. To see the chains, and the hunks of flesh hanging from the metal-linked ceiling. Lucifer made the place as gruesome as he could, which wasn’t as much as one would think, considering the place was made of nothing but iron and light, and the four of them.
Sometimes the light was fire. Red instead of white, crackling and moving, never-ending sheets of blistering flame. When it was like that, Sam could occasionally get a glimpse through it, and on the other side would be a riot of chaos and darkness and blood, the black smoke of demons moving to and forth in a writhing mass. Apparently even Crowley didn’t venture this close to cage, so it’s utter chaos. Once he glimpsed a demon he remembered from his time with Ruby, one he thought he remembered killing. Maybe not.
Sometimes it was dark. Completely dark. Those were the worst times.
Sam thought they happened because his capacity for sight had given out, not because it actually was dark. But it was pitch black, and it felt like he was in a void, and there was no way of telling if the space went on forever or if it was small enough to crush him. These were the times that were most like the fall, a hundred years ago when he first jumped into the Cage, full of triumph and self-rightfulness and self-sacrifice and stupid dark acceptance. But then, Lucifer had been screaming and cursing him inside his head, enumerating in exact detail what he was going to do to Sam; and Sam had embraced the darkness, longed for it after Lucifer burst out of him in an explosion of white light. When Lucifer started to make good on his threats.
In the darkness, it was easy to forget he wasn’t alone here.
Until, of course, Lucifer turned out to have been right behind him the whole time, giving Sam no warning at all before stringing him up against the suddenly blinding-white ceiling.
Yeah, the darkness was definitely the worst.
***
The pain was simplest in the first few years. It was having his flesh pulled open and watching his organs spill out onto the cold metal floor, when he could see. It was his bones snapping and Lucifer curling up around him in a sick, sick fascimile of affection, thrusting his humongous angel dick into Sam’s ass.
it wasn’t long before Lucifer turned more to things like, ripping into his memory and tearing up the stuffed orangutan Dean had found for him when he was three. Pointing out all the things Sam knew were wrong, like the shotgun on the table and the whispered conversations between Dad and Dean about death when they thought Sam was asleep. (he wasn’t.)
Shitting all over all the memories Sam tried to keep tucked away because they were precious.
Then he’d pretend it had all been just nice and run flame-hot kinves over Sam’s balls, bringing little pinpricks of blood from them just gently enough that it somehow managed to turn him on, like that was a nice thing too.
But things like that didn’t hurt as much as they used to. Sam figured he was just going numb.
***
He was also going crazy, because when it was quiet, (when it was dark,) sometimes, he thought he could almost hear voices. Voices of people who weren’t in the cage, voices he didn’t recognize. For incredibly fleeting instants, he could smell gunpowder, could taste salt on his tongue. It was all familiar things, things from his life before this, things like traffic noises and the normal kind of injury that came with being thrown against a tombstone or something rather than torn apart like an unwanted toy. It was stuff from the hunting life, and it was rare, and it was far away, but it was. Never Dean though. Everything but him.
The first time it was Dean, Sam was sitting in the darkness again. Lucifer was laughing about something to Michael, but they sounded far away, like he was in some in-between space, falling again, and then for a second he could have almost sworn he was sitting in the Impala, with the sharp, stale, and musty scents of Dean and leather and home all around him.
He jerked, his only thought to find his brother’s chest and bury his face in it, and he thought he heard Dean say, confused, “Sam?”---but then he was gone, all of it was gone, and Sam wept harder than he ever had until Lucifer tucked himself over him, knees squeezing his ass, and shoved white-hot needles into his eyes until Sam’s lower lip started bleeding from being bitten down on so hard, and Lucifer stopped with the needles and kissed him, rough and strangely tender (like the one time he kissed Dean, oh God.), licking at the blood, bent him over and kept him too distracted to think about the---memory? It had to have been a memory---for hours.
And weeks.
And years....
------
Comments save me.