Fic: The Faces of Evil, SPN (2/3)
Fic: Faces of Evil (2/3)
Author: *bright
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Sam/Lucifer, Dean, Bobby and a cameo by Castiel.
Category: H/C
Warnings: Non-con (but without physical violence. This is all a psychological game for Lucifer.)
Disclaimer: Me own nada.
Words: 20.000 approx.
Author’s Note: I'll never write non-con, or so I thought. I'm appalled at having written this piece. I really am. My only defense is that Sam is so adorable when hurt and this is not a physical rape fic. But Sam is psychologically raped, and that is just as fricken bad. I am sorry. Not beta'd, because I am deeply ashamed. I admit, not my best fic.
Summary: Lucifer wants Sam and uses every dirty trick in the book. Dean faces hell all over and Bobby watches the brothers fall apart only to rise again, like true Winchesters.
Part I
Part II
This time there was no respite, no time to regroup. Lucifer was there the moment darkness descended. Standing before Sam, looking at him like if he saw straight through him, to that dark core that resided in him and was a part of him however much he wanted to deny it. The kernel of his eternal battle.
They didn't speak for a long time. Lucifer just looked at him, face calm and investigative. Sam was busy building up mental walls against whatever the Devil would choose to serve this time.
“I am sorry I scared you,” Lucifer spoke and Sam felt the walls crumble because there was honesty in Lucifer's words.
“I'm sorry you are losing your faith.”
Sam swallowed.
“Remember what your brother told you? That there are rotten apples in every case? He was right, Sam. Why do you think God abandoned the angels? Because God is too weak to fight them? Because God is cruel?” Lucifer cocked his head and took a step towards Sam, stepping up close enough to stand nose to nose with him. His soft smile was mesmerizing. It was a total contradiction to the evil Sam knew was standing in front of him. The smile expressed understanding and benevolence. Sam couldn't look away.
“And you know it, Samuel. You watched angels let Dean down, watched them ask your brother to torture and then turned their backs on him when he was in the demon's claws. You've watched angels fight each other, leaving their fallen brethren behind.”
Sam closed his eyes to escape the intensity of Lucifer's presence.
“God abandoned them, Sam. Just like your brother has abandoned you, Sam. He doesn't trust you, he feels obligated to keep you around and watch out for you. You can free him from that plight. You can join me in looking for our Father. The Father you've believed in all your life. He does love you, I know he does. He won't turn his back on you like your earthly father and the angels did. God is grander than that, God is all about love for sinners. You and me, Samuel, are sinners. Don't we deserve forgiveness? Understanding? Love? Come with me to find our heavenly Father, let me reside inside you while we sink to our knees and ask for absolution. Maybe then, we can finally forgive ourselves? Maybe then we are worthy of love?”
Lucifer was holding Sam tight now, arm wrapped around his waist, a hand on the nape of his neck, warm and soothing. Sam was trembling, feeling weak and Lucifer had to press only every so lightly to make Sam's forehead rest on the vessel's shoulder. There was no evil in the embrace, no threat. Only warmth and acceptance. An acceptance that Sam hadn't felt in anyone for far too long. Not even in himself. It would be so easy to invite Lucifer and become what his brother already thought he was. Become evil incarnate and not have to fight it any longer. Dean already believed Sam was a lost soul. Why was he even fighting?
“I too disobeyed, I too got castigated. But you freed me, let me free you. Come with me to find God, Samuel, we can be forgiven. I can see your soul Sam, and it is beautiful. It's passionate and burning bright, battling a silent battle in a world that's more evil than good. You are tired Sam, tired of the fight inside of you. I can help you, make you stronger, aid you in the war. It will be ugly and cruel, I won't lie to you, but the victory will be worth it.”
“No.” Sam said and tears ran down his cheek over his own weakness, his walls having crumbled and left him wide open.
Lucifer didn't let go, he held him despite Sam's refusal. Accepted him in spite of all. Held him close and whispered soothing words into his ear. Accepting him for what he was; a weak, torn shred of a man. Lucifer let him cry on his shoulder, let him be Sam, not the failure of a little brother, not the heavenly decried man, the misfit and the freak. It would be so easy to say yes and leave everything including himself behind. The Apocalypse was already underway thanks to him, he'd betrayed his brother and mankind. He'd betrayed the world and a fallen angel was embracing him. Maybe he couldn't fight his destiny after all? Maybe he needed to say yes and let it all be over with? Maybe Satan already already was inside of him?
“You're the one Sam, the one to end this world full of misery and I will give you everything when we restore it to its intended glory.” Lucifer kissed him. Meshed their lips together and Sam was paralyzed while his body reacted to the touch. Powerlessly he felt himself mold into Lucifer's hold; skin against skin, heat colliding and sparkling in the already electrified air. Pure raw lust invaded his senses and he had to gather all his strength to finally push free from the hold Lucifer had on him.
“No, no, no,” he whimpered, desperately pulling air into his lungs to clear his head and break free from the imprisonment of his mind. He felt utterly devastated, weaker than ever before since even his body was betraying him.
He felt hopelessly caged; not even death would free him.
This time Sam woke to an eerie stillness. Tears ran down his face as he looked to the ceiling and the dawn breaking with foggy pink light behind the still vent. He still felt hot and sweaty from Lucifer's embrace; the safety he had felt in the arms of evil was terrifying him. There was no doubt he was losing his mind, if he hadn't already and all that was left of him was just the darkness inside him, finally engulfing him entirely.
He turned his head to the side, trying to remember the layout of the room. The light was still on the in the spartan bathroom, it trickled into the room from the crack under the door. His mouth was dry like sandpaper, his t-shirt was stuck to his skin and his mind felt just as foggy as the dawn outside.
It was dark enough that he barely made out Dean sleeping on a foldable bed to his right. The kind people kept for surprise guests and hoped they'd never have to use. Bobby's bed was by the door where the dim light from the ceiling barely reached. The man was totally covered in a blanket; an unidentifiable lump, it was just the light snores that gave his position in. Sam wished more than anything that he hadn't imposed on either of their comfort, but he had and was still doing it.
He pulled himself up to a sitting position by grabbing the sides of the bed, swaying just a little when he finally got his legs off and placed on the floor. His fingers trembled so much that he had difficulties loosening the tube from the IV needle inserted into a vein on his hand. He ended up pulling the entire plastic gadget out. Bobby would wring his neck. Messing everything up seemed to be his patented MO.
Holding on to the edge of the bed, he rose to his feet and waited until the room stopped spinning. Six steps, maybe seven, it'd be ridiculous if he didn't make it without landing on his face. How would Dean ever be able to trust him in a fight if he wasn't even able to drag his own sorry ass to the bathroom? If he again caved to his own weakness? .
He fixated on the light from under the door, held his breath and walked with legs feeling like overcooked spaghetti, head drumming the beat of every step and the light dancing crazily before his eyes. He'd never felt this physically weak when he'd amped up on demon blood. Never this helpless. The room grayed out for a moment and he crashed to his knees just inside the door. Biting his lip, he silenced the groan before he pulled himself up onto the toilet-seat, resting his head on the sink beside it.
The water tasted like heaven when he finally got the faucet open and drank from his cupped hand. A small sense of victory made him realize how much of a burden he really was. Here he sat, stupidly propped up against the sink not to face plant and he congratulated himself? Was Lucifer out of his mind to want him as a vessel? Maybe he should just offer himself? Because like this, Michael would just have to look at him and he'd be a pitiful pool on the floor.
“Is that a yes, Samuel?”
Lucifer's face appeared before him and he scrambled backwards and off the seat, flailing for support. He was wide awake, this couldn't be happening! The faint light from the bulb above the mirror was enough to sharpen the image. Making it so very real..
“Didn't you just invite me?” Lucifer asked perplexed, advancing on him.
“No,” Sam gasped, shaking his head, trying to get as far away as possible. “No, no, no! No tricks, you promised.”
The shower cubicle stopped his retreat and the ratty old plastic walls gave in to the force and he felt himself falling, flailing for some kind of support to regain balance.
Lucifer looked genuinely worried before the back of Sam's head connected with the tiled wall and everything vanished.
The crash had Dean go for the knife before he was even fully awake. A taste of cheap whiskey still lingered on his tongue and the price of temporary reprieve weighed heavily in his head. He was pissed even before he got out of bed. The bathroom door being open and Sam's bedding empty told him enough.
“Sam?”
“Wha-?” Bobby asked groggily from his place at the door.
There was no reply from his pain in the ass brother and Dean had to grit his teeth to hold back the worry that mingled with his anger. What the fuck was the bitch up to now? He walked over to the open bathroom door and the moment he saw Sam crashed into the cubicle, covered in plastic parts from the broken walls, fear took over the anger and he had to consciously push it back.
“What the hell, Sam?” He growled when he hunched beside the remnant of the cubicle and reached out to shake his brother awake. “'C'mon, wake up already. I've only had a couple of hours of sleep and I'm so good damned tired of y - this.”
Sam groaned and tried yo shield his face with his arms. His eyes weren't even open yet and still he struggled to crawl away from Dean.
“Ge'way fro'me,” he mumbled.
And Dean noticed the blood on Sam's hand, the missing IV-port and the cuts on his arms from the plastic he'd fallen through. He noted that Sam was not entirely there, not entirely awake and groggy and hurt as hell and still those words cut like a knife. For reasons Sam couldn't know about.
But it was enough for Dean to lose it. Enough for him to lash out at Sam, again.
“Why the fuck to you keep doing this, Sam?” He barked, grabbing the front of Sam's soaked T-shirt and shaking him hard.
“Dean,” Bobby warned while screeches from the foldable bed's metal frame against the floor pushed another of Dean's buttons. He rose to loom above his brother's fallen frame and dug his fingers into Sam's shoulders to pull him up.
Sam opened his eyes and Dean froze mid-pull.
There was the same terrified look, that unique hazel that shifted color according to the light. The hazel that had seemed muted from pain, incomprehension, dejection and unspeakable fear in hell. The hazel that seemed to glow golden, like the eyes of a panther, when reflecting the fires of hell. Whatever color they had been, Dean had always known it was Sam's eyes, watching him.
Dean let go and stumbled backwards. He let Sam fall to the wall with a thud, let his little brother's head knock into the wall; watched Sam's eyes blink, then look at him with terror before they slowly slid shut. The whiskey revolted and rose up to burn in Dean's throat.
He turned and ran, almost toppling over Bobby that was struggling to pull himself into the wheelchair, and scrambled up the stairs. Arriving to the upstairs bathroom, he did exactly what Sam had done before; fell to his knees in front of the throne and puked.
When he was done, he noted Cas standing in the doorway, watching him with a face of total fascination over the train-wreck Dean felt like.
“It's not polite to stare, Cas!” Did it really have to be him to clue an angel in on the common niceties? That really was a job more suited for Sam. “Where have you been?”
Cas was his usual self, face blank and unreadable while he informed that he'd been on a mission, following a lead. He didn't need to say it had lead nowhere, he wouldn't be back here if it had.
“Yeah? Well, follow this lead and get down and help Sam and Bobby!” Dean pointed in the direction of the stairs and it took Cas a whole minute before he had traduced human speech into angel lingo and turned to leave.
Dean splashed cold water on his face, rinsed his mouth and washed his teeth before he dared look at himself in the mirror. Yes, just as he thought, he looked just peachy. No wonder he'd scared the crap outta Sammy. Dean wondered why his brother hadn't burst out in an exorcism at the mere sight of the bloodshot eyes? Probably too out of it. Dean didn't even want to know what Sam saw in him right now, kid was already dating Lucifer, no wonder he was short-circuiting at having more crap to cope with. Dean knew he wasn't exactly helping right now.
Everything was coming back to him, things he's managed to push so far back they barely existed came floating up to the surface. Wouldn't even stay down with liquor! The fuckers knew how to swim! Damned Zach to take him to a place where he'd had to face how easy it was to step over the line, and damned Sam to remind him that when the line was crossed, no-one was safe. He'd hoped he'd never have to tell Sam, he truly thought he'd be able to handle it without taking it out on Sam. But he felt himself slipping into uncontrollable anger when it came to Sam. And it wasn't Sam's fault. He'd have to come clean to make his brother understand. As messed-up and ugly as it was, he'd have to explain.
He just wasn't sure his brother would ever look at him the same again.
Bobby was pondering on getting the chainsaw and cutting off the useless wooden bulks he had to fight to get seated in the wheelchair. They were just in the way right now. His upper body strength was still not what he wished for. Pulling himself up and into the chair had sweat dripping into his eyes and just turning enough to place his ass straight had the legs, which he really refused to consider his right now, turn out to be a major obstacle. The darned thing was that he had no time to bleed out right now. He called for Dean, just to know what the fuck was up with the ghostly white faced son of a gun that rushed past him like the devil was on his track? But Dean was long gone when Bobby got his bearing back and his attention was on the all too quiet bathroom. If he'd ever needed an angel, it was right now, so where was the feathery abomination?
Halfway over the floor he noted that Sam's bare feet were placed in a position that boded no good.
And he was right; Sam had managed to find the exact position that made it impossible for Bobby to get to him without causing more damage. What the hell the kid was doing in the ex-shower cabinet, obviously out cold again and with some added cuts on his arms was not the most important question right now. How to get him out, check that the idjit had not managed to break something vital and getting him back to bed was on top of Bobby's list at the moment.
Which, under current circumstances, was as easy as taking a sprint up the stairs to check on Dean. He'd have to tie both of them down at some point, just to get them to spill what the hell exactly, was going on.
He pinched the sole of Sam's right foot hard and got a twitch. “Sam?”
There was some movement, not much but enough for Bobby to repeat the ministration. “Hey kiddo, I so don't condone sleeping in the only bathroom on this floor. It's gonna make visits embarrassing.”
Sam peeled first one eye open and then the other. Then he arranged his bruised mug into a trademark bitchface and mumbled: “Ouch”.
Or at least that' what Bobby figured he meant.
“What the hell happened, you idjit?” Bobby inquired.
Sam looked at him, trying to focus and damned if his pupils still weren't a bit off in the lining up department. The slightly cross-eyed look made Bobby realize that dragging Sam to his feet and expect him to walk out was asking for more trouble.
“I dunno,” Sam pouted like a five year old. “I piss'd 'im off.”
“Huh? No, stay still before you take the house down. Who you talking about?” Bobby tried to stop Sam from getting to his feet, which would have been an easier task if he wasn't off his while trying to handle a 10 feet tall, wobbly Winchester.
“Deeeen,” Sam whined, slid and rolled over to his side. Right onto the freshly patched up surgical incision. Bobby grabbed the soaked t-shirt and pulled hard enough to roll him off the cabinet's bottom part to the floor.
“You and your freakin' brother are gonna kill me,” Bobby grunted. “Son, if I say stay still, you stay still you bone-headed, stubborn, son of a - Sam?”
The kid was curled up on his side, eyes clammed shut, breaths sounding harsh and raspy.
“Is he resting?” Castiel asked and Bobby had another minor heart attack. He had stopped counting them by now. The angel was standing right there, peering down at Sam.
“No, he's counting the stars,” Bobby grumbled and Castiel merely raised his eyebrows in surprise.
“I do not think -.”
“Yeah, yeah, just zap him back to bed, will ya?”
Castiel looked doubtful. “I do not think I can accomplish that right now. I just zapped, as you say, myself from Rio.”
“You're useless, you know that?” Bobby glared.
“I think we need to get Sam to bed the traditional way,” Castiel said and stepped to stand behind Sam's shoulders.
“Now that just sounds downright dirty,” Bobby remarked as the angel pulled Sam up to stand as if he weighed nothing.
Sam looked terrified where he stood, arm pulled over the angel's shoulder.
“Would you accompany us?” Castiel asked. “Sam feels rather unsteady and I think it would be opportunistic to take him to bed without both of us as aids.”
Bobby waited until Castiel had walked Sam through the doorway before he rolled up to the left side of the wobbling Winchester. “Grip the handle,” he ordered with a nod to the wheelchair's back.
Getting Sam back was easier than Bobby had expected. Sam just seemed to grit his teeth and walk. He was a Winchester after all. And watching his closed off face, Bobby wondered if he'd ever get the full picture from either one of them about the cracks between the two? Because even if they had hooked back up, things had changed drastically.
After settling Sam down and pulling up the covers, Bobby sent Castiel to check on Dean and went for a new IV-port. He waved the plastic contraction with the impressive needle in front of Sam's face and leered.
“If you ever tell anyone about that particularly sinister conversation, son - .”
It was a moot threat because Sam had already closed his eyes. Bobby decided it was just as good.
Sam just wished himself away from everything. He was just too tired for all this crap. Bone tired and fed up. With not really belonging anywhere, with never being good enough. Dean was pissed at him and rightfully so, Bobby was just, well Bobby and Sam knew he was complicating the situation for him. He should be helping Bobby out, not trashing his house. The sound of a plastic wrapping being torn open before the tugging on the newly inserted IV-port in his hand barely registered. Every part of his body felt like it had declared a full-scale war on him. He'd protest, but he knew it was futile; Bobby would pump him full of painkillers again, leaving him wide open to Lucifer. Not that it seemed to matter anyhow; Lucifer was with him even when he was awake at this point. There seemed to be no escape. Maybe he should just say yes and fight from the inside? Weaken the Devil so Dean got a shot at killing him?
Dean would not hesitate this time; Sam had seen the rage in his brother's eyes.
When the drugs clawed at his mind, distorting his rationale, Sam didn't even fight. He stepped into the velvety darkness and let everything go. He was tired of fighting.
Dean didn't dare look at Bobby when he got back down with the coffee mugs in hand. Didn't want to see the reprimand on the older man's face. Didn't want to get into explanations of any kind.
He'd already grilled Cas about Sam and Cas was as informative as a clinical chart. He referred that Sam looked the same, just felt wobbly and feverish but not what Dean wanted to know. Did Sam still act like a kicked puppy? Did he still have that fear in his eyes? That terror that had hit Dean like the fires of hell?
That was something Dean had to check for himself.
He hesitated at the doorway, noting Bobby still being occupied with stitching a new scratch on Sam's forearm. Which really should be Dean's job. Resting the mugs on the table with the medical equipment, he finally glanced briefly in the general direction of his brother's face. Sam's stillness was downright comforting.
“Bitch out cold, huh?” he quipped, stepping back to a safe distance from actually having Sam in his field of vision. A table-lamp was strategically placed and cast a pool of light on the area of interest. “Got some nuked coffee from yesterday, want me to take over?”
Bobby eyed him briefly. “No.”
Something in Bobby's tone felt like a slap.
“What? You don't trust me to make pretty stitches?”
This time Bobby looked him dead in the eyes. “Don't trust Johnny Walker.”
Dean had no suitable come back and he looked up to the vent in the ceiling. The dawn had broken, but there was nothing but gray clouds hovering over them. The silence grew too long and too uncomfortable.
“I'm gonna fix the elevator for you today. I figured out a way for you to get your ass up and down in a black-out, y'know, with the apocalypse and all.”
“An' when are you goin' to start fixin' yourself? Or letting your brother in on what's eatin' you?” Bobby pulled the sterile gloves off with a snap.
Dean took the only way out of the road-block he knew wouldn't sell him out totally; diversion. Snatching the cup off the table, he downed half of it in one sip. “He still cross-eyed when you got him here?”
“You sure you being on the road together is a good thing right now? Wasn't thrilled when I heard you'd split up but now I wonder if it wasn't the right thing to do after all? Sam can fix the elevator up as long as you leave him a note of what to do with it, and the freaking shower, when he gets back on his feet. Maybe you should take your bud and leave for a while? Let me put those angel repellents on the house and hope it keeps Lucifer out?”
Dean had been expecting this. “You don't get it, Bobby.”
“Damned straight, I don't,” Bobby replied. “Maybe you've been hanging out with angels too much but I'm fairly sure Sam's as bad on reading minds as I am. But what I do know is that Sam's your brother and he's been drowning for a long while. Even before you went to the pit he was falling apart. And you can't fault him for wanting to sell his soul to save you. You can fault him for being a stupid ass and a pigheaded moron, but not for wanting to kill Lilith. Because last I remember we were all ready to gank her. It was just that Sam had the means. Your new buds could have told him that it was kind of a monumentally stupid move. They didn't tell either of you, they were just hauling you both down the line to this point, for very shady reasons. You figured that out yet?”
“You're so off the mark, Bobby!” Dean shook his head and turned his head to look at Sam. Yeah, his brother had been a moron, for wanting to sacrifice his soul and life in the unholy revenge he was dead set on. But he was just a Winchester, it kind of ran in their blood. Being stupid bitches for family ties, tradition or whatever, was stamped on their asses. He'd just thought Sam would be different; he'd been unfair in his expectations. Sam had just lingered longer in the hopelessness that Dean knew like he knew his baby's engine. Sam had had months to face what Dean had caved in to after three days in Cold Oak.
He watched Sam's face; gaunt in the grayish light, hair damp from sweat, lips crackled from fever and
exhaustion. Beaten, his brother looked so beaten.
Dean reached to tuck the escaped corner of the blanket in under the feet that looked too bare for comfort and glanced back at Bobby. “You just got it all wrong, Bobby.”
Bobby leaned back in his chair and wiggled his finger in the direction of the rapidly cooling coffee. When Dean passed the cup over, Bobby held his gaze.
“Then set me straight.”
“Got nothing to do with angels, it's between me and Sammy.”
“Oh, hand me a tissue, I think I need to have a good cry,” Bobby jeered.
“Shut up!” Dean turned to rush back up the stairs. “I'll go get Cas to sit with Sam while I fix the elevator and you do your toiletry things or whatever, upstairs And maybe, some breakfast? Right? Since Cas ain't exactly a wiz in that department. I think he lacks your feminine touch to stuff.”
“Bite me!”
Dean grinned to himself. It felt good to be back on Bobby's good side. Bobby did not beat around the bush, even if it was the wrong bush. Yeah, he needed to have a freaking talk with Sammy. Tissue alert and all. And Sam was, well - Sam. Bitch had an uncanny capacity to get under his skin. So fucking good at getting a lot of stuff without even being told. Actually, he was better at getting untold stuff than than actually listening to perfectly good reasons. Sometimes Dean understood how crazy that must have driven Dad. Just their fucking luck to end up with a psychic emo with puppy eyes of doom in the family.
This time, Sam didn't jump at the hand on his shoulder. He'd known Lucifer was coming thanks to the spectacular light that preceded his arrival at the shore on which Sam found himself. Sitting on the warm sand, watching the peaceful lapping of the waves at the shore, he didn't even steel himself for the seduction of evil.
He was so tired.
This time Lucifer didn't show his face; he just laid his hand on Sam's shoulder and sat there in silence. Sam watched the waves come to shore, reminding him of the circle of life. Somewhere out there, a wave was formed by the undercurrent, rose to break the surface and sailed over the vast expanse until it hit the sand and died in order to join the riptide again. It was its destiny. It had no say if it was going to sail a stormy or a calm sea, no say in its own magnitude. It just followed the laws of physics until it died and was reborn in the tow that drew it back out into the depths. It was easy and natural, no questions asked, no moral dilemmas involved. No rights or wrongs, just an eternal flow.
“I ask forgiveness for scaring you earlier, Samuel. I wanted to help you, keep you from hurting yourself.” Lucifer's voice suddenly broke trough Sam's ruminations. He didn't bother to answer.
“You are beautiful like this, watching the ocean. Did anybody ever tell you how stunning you are? How stunning God made you for me?”
Sam moved away from the hand on his shoulder.
“Yes, Sam, you were made for me. There's a reason you're strong and beautiful. You have to know that, deep inside.” Lucifer cupped Sam's chin and turned him gently to meet with the mellow blue of his vessel's eyes. The face of evil. that held no characteristics that Sam wold recognize right away. No yellow or black eyes, no horns, no snake tongue. Just an earnest human face.
“Uhm, missed the entire genetic part of the equation, did you? The procreation part of religion has changed while you were in the pit. We actually do it on our own now.” Sam almost rolled his eyes.
“And you have so much fun doing it too,” Lucifer laughed, delighted and moved closer. “I like it when you get sarcastic. It's very becoming and still seems so utterly -." Lucifer paused, watching Sam intently. "ingenuous." The pad of his thumb gently followed the line over Sam's cheekbone and down his jawline. "You really think your genes were what made you the perfect vessel? The genes only facilitated the process, I sent my son to make you what you are today. I helped create you. I helped form your tall figure, your lean, muscled body, all that explosive strength you keep tied up most of the time. Your genes may have given you the perfect bone structure and the, may I say so, very endearing mop of hair and tender heart, but I gave you what it takes.”
“You will never have me,” Sam seethed.
“No?” Lucifer inched in, gripping Sam's face in both of his hands.
When the Devil's eyes captivated his, Sam felt himself go limp and powerless. He was utterly stunned by the turn of events when he found himself on his back, arms and legs splayed. It felt like being tied up all over, without any visible strings, just Lucifer's power over his mind and it was enough of a shock to leave Sam reeling.
“Right now I do have you, Samuel. And I want to touch you. Feel what you feel because it intrigues me, the blissfulness I've heard spoken about, what angels really do envy; human physicality."
Lucifer's hand ran languidly down Sam's flank. “What did Jessica use to do to you Sunday mornings? Remember how she'd wake you up with kisses?" Lucifer bent over Sam to kiss a trail along his collarbone, stopping to lap at the hollow between them. "Remember how she'd tie you to the bed frame and you just let her. You had enough power to break the ties with just a flick of your wrists and you still let her have her way with you. Do whatever she wanted to, because you trusted her. You enjoyed the powerlessness as she played your every string. You'd gruff protests just to make her happy. You enjoyed total submission to her because you loved and trusted her. And she did things to you you'd never let anyone else do, you begged her and you rejoiced in the power she had over you. And that Sam, is something you usually rebel against. ”
Lucifer teeth nipped at Sam's nipples, causing him to let out a deep growl. Lips trailed a path over his abdomen, hand sliding downward, blunt nails scraping over heated skin that formed goosebumps in the wake of the caress.
Sam clammed his eyes shut. No, not Jessica, leave Jessica out of this, please! He wanted to scream the words, but they only echoed in his mind while his body betrayed him by reacting to the hands expertly manipulating his body. Tears sprang to his eyes, he was just so shocked, at his body's reactions, Lucifer's new, very hands on seduction and the fact that he wasn't able to fight it. That his own mind had folded at the assault. His own mind was doing this to him; mixing memories with a living nightmare. A lust and fear that involved every fiber in his invisibly tied up body.
Lucifer's touch was just right; steady hand moving on his erection, almost playful, toothy nips at his collar bone, licks up his neck to his earlobe. The sting when teeth pulled at the lobe of his ear, warm breath and the tip of a tongue soothing the pain. Lucifer played him just right, touched every strategic point, knew every dirty fantasy. Hand cupping his balls, heat coursing though him at the sensation. The tip of a tongue defining the length of his swollen member, circling the head with precision to then lap at it, hungrily and wetly. The moment he felt lips stretch out around his erection, taking him in to the hilt, he fell apart from the familiar tingling and it was all over before Sam's mind had caught up. Lucifer's hand was splayed on Sam's abdomen when the world exploded in white light and left him gasping.
“No, no, no, no!” Sam back arched and he opened his eyes to the fan's dizzying movements and Castiel's slightly raised eyebrows.
“Oh, God no, please!” Sam turned to his side, curling up around himself in a fetal position. He trembled uncontrollably, from the aftermath and the disbelief that his body would react so readily to physical stimuli. His body had been possessed against his will and it had reacted with pleasure while his mind was screaming no.
“You all right, Sam?” Castiel asked.
Sam fought the sickness creeping up on him, invading him as the full realization hit. The smell of sweat, sex and panic filled his nostrils and he had to swallow convulsively to keep the self-loathe from manifesting itself physically.
“Cas? He awake?” Dean asked from somewhere further away.
Sam shuddered when he heard the two of them engaged in a mumbled discussion; the mortification was now complete. His hand gripped the edge of the bed so hard his fingers ached when he started to register the pain returning to his limbs. His heart still worked overtime, making the blood rush through his veins and now it was flooding him with the pain he'd escaped earlier. Sweat ran down his front, burned in his eyes and had him gasp for air while fighting the nausea.
Dean's hand gripped Sam's shoulder, trying to turn him to his back. Sam just curled up tighter on himself.
“Lucifer?” Dean asked with trepidation.
Tears of humiliation brimmed in the corners Sam's closed eyes and all he wanted was to disappear when Dean cursed low in his throat and kicked the table by the beside hard enough to send it crashing to the floor.
Sam knew his failure was evident.
Author: *bright
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Sam/Lucifer, Dean, Bobby and a cameo by Castiel.
Category: H/C
Warnings: Non-con (but without physical violence. This is all a psychological game for Lucifer.)
Disclaimer: Me own nada.
Words: 20.000 approx.
Author’s Note: I'll never write non-con, or so I thought. I'm appalled at having written this piece. I really am. My only defense is that Sam is so adorable when hurt and this is not a physical rape fic. But Sam is psychologically raped, and that is just as fricken bad. I am sorry. Not beta'd, because I am deeply ashamed. I admit, not my best fic.
Summary: Lucifer wants Sam and uses every dirty trick in the book. Dean faces hell all over and Bobby watches the brothers fall apart only to rise again, like true Winchesters.
Part I
Part II
This time there was no respite, no time to regroup. Lucifer was there the moment darkness descended. Standing before Sam, looking at him like if he saw straight through him, to that dark core that resided in him and was a part of him however much he wanted to deny it. The kernel of his eternal battle.
They didn't speak for a long time. Lucifer just looked at him, face calm and investigative. Sam was busy building up mental walls against whatever the Devil would choose to serve this time.
“I am sorry I scared you,” Lucifer spoke and Sam felt the walls crumble because there was honesty in Lucifer's words.
“I'm sorry you are losing your faith.”
Sam swallowed.
“Remember what your brother told you? That there are rotten apples in every case? He was right, Sam. Why do you think God abandoned the angels? Because God is too weak to fight them? Because God is cruel?” Lucifer cocked his head and took a step towards Sam, stepping up close enough to stand nose to nose with him. His soft smile was mesmerizing. It was a total contradiction to the evil Sam knew was standing in front of him. The smile expressed understanding and benevolence. Sam couldn't look away.
“And you know it, Samuel. You watched angels let Dean down, watched them ask your brother to torture and then turned their backs on him when he was in the demon's claws. You've watched angels fight each other, leaving their fallen brethren behind.”
Sam closed his eyes to escape the intensity of Lucifer's presence.
“God abandoned them, Sam. Just like your brother has abandoned you, Sam. He doesn't trust you, he feels obligated to keep you around and watch out for you. You can free him from that plight. You can join me in looking for our Father. The Father you've believed in all your life. He does love you, I know he does. He won't turn his back on you like your earthly father and the angels did. God is grander than that, God is all about love for sinners. You and me, Samuel, are sinners. Don't we deserve forgiveness? Understanding? Love? Come with me to find our heavenly Father, let me reside inside you while we sink to our knees and ask for absolution. Maybe then, we can finally forgive ourselves? Maybe then we are worthy of love?”
Lucifer was holding Sam tight now, arm wrapped around his waist, a hand on the nape of his neck, warm and soothing. Sam was trembling, feeling weak and Lucifer had to press only every so lightly to make Sam's forehead rest on the vessel's shoulder. There was no evil in the embrace, no threat. Only warmth and acceptance. An acceptance that Sam hadn't felt in anyone for far too long. Not even in himself. It would be so easy to invite Lucifer and become what his brother already thought he was. Become evil incarnate and not have to fight it any longer. Dean already believed Sam was a lost soul. Why was he even fighting?
“I too disobeyed, I too got castigated. But you freed me, let me free you. Come with me to find God, Samuel, we can be forgiven. I can see your soul Sam, and it is beautiful. It's passionate and burning bright, battling a silent battle in a world that's more evil than good. You are tired Sam, tired of the fight inside of you. I can help you, make you stronger, aid you in the war. It will be ugly and cruel, I won't lie to you, but the victory will be worth it.”
“No.” Sam said and tears ran down his cheek over his own weakness, his walls having crumbled and left him wide open.
Lucifer didn't let go, he held him despite Sam's refusal. Accepted him in spite of all. Held him close and whispered soothing words into his ear. Accepting him for what he was; a weak, torn shred of a man. Lucifer let him cry on his shoulder, let him be Sam, not the failure of a little brother, not the heavenly decried man, the misfit and the freak. It would be so easy to say yes and leave everything including himself behind. The Apocalypse was already underway thanks to him, he'd betrayed his brother and mankind. He'd betrayed the world and a fallen angel was embracing him. Maybe he couldn't fight his destiny after all? Maybe he needed to say yes and let it all be over with? Maybe Satan already already was inside of him?
“You're the one Sam, the one to end this world full of misery and I will give you everything when we restore it to its intended glory.” Lucifer kissed him. Meshed their lips together and Sam was paralyzed while his body reacted to the touch. Powerlessly he felt himself mold into Lucifer's hold; skin against skin, heat colliding and sparkling in the already electrified air. Pure raw lust invaded his senses and he had to gather all his strength to finally push free from the hold Lucifer had on him.
“No, no, no,” he whimpered, desperately pulling air into his lungs to clear his head and break free from the imprisonment of his mind. He felt utterly devastated, weaker than ever before since even his body was betraying him.
He felt hopelessly caged; not even death would free him.
This time Sam woke to an eerie stillness. Tears ran down his face as he looked to the ceiling and the dawn breaking with foggy pink light behind the still vent. He still felt hot and sweaty from Lucifer's embrace; the safety he had felt in the arms of evil was terrifying him. There was no doubt he was losing his mind, if he hadn't already and all that was left of him was just the darkness inside him, finally engulfing him entirely.
He turned his head to the side, trying to remember the layout of the room. The light was still on the in the spartan bathroom, it trickled into the room from the crack under the door. His mouth was dry like sandpaper, his t-shirt was stuck to his skin and his mind felt just as foggy as the dawn outside.
It was dark enough that he barely made out Dean sleeping on a foldable bed to his right. The kind people kept for surprise guests and hoped they'd never have to use. Bobby's bed was by the door where the dim light from the ceiling barely reached. The man was totally covered in a blanket; an unidentifiable lump, it was just the light snores that gave his position in. Sam wished more than anything that he hadn't imposed on either of their comfort, but he had and was still doing it.
He pulled himself up to a sitting position by grabbing the sides of the bed, swaying just a little when he finally got his legs off and placed on the floor. His fingers trembled so much that he had difficulties loosening the tube from the IV needle inserted into a vein on his hand. He ended up pulling the entire plastic gadget out. Bobby would wring his neck. Messing everything up seemed to be his patented MO.
Holding on to the edge of the bed, he rose to his feet and waited until the room stopped spinning. Six steps, maybe seven, it'd be ridiculous if he didn't make it without landing on his face. How would Dean ever be able to trust him in a fight if he wasn't even able to drag his own sorry ass to the bathroom? If he again caved to his own weakness? .
He fixated on the light from under the door, held his breath and walked with legs feeling like overcooked spaghetti, head drumming the beat of every step and the light dancing crazily before his eyes. He'd never felt this physically weak when he'd amped up on demon blood. Never this helpless. The room grayed out for a moment and he crashed to his knees just inside the door. Biting his lip, he silenced the groan before he pulled himself up onto the toilet-seat, resting his head on the sink beside it.
The water tasted like heaven when he finally got the faucet open and drank from his cupped hand. A small sense of victory made him realize how much of a burden he really was. Here he sat, stupidly propped up against the sink not to face plant and he congratulated himself? Was Lucifer out of his mind to want him as a vessel? Maybe he should just offer himself? Because like this, Michael would just have to look at him and he'd be a pitiful pool on the floor.
“Is that a yes, Samuel?”
Lucifer's face appeared before him and he scrambled backwards and off the seat, flailing for support. He was wide awake, this couldn't be happening! The faint light from the bulb above the mirror was enough to sharpen the image. Making it so very real..
“Didn't you just invite me?” Lucifer asked perplexed, advancing on him.
“No,” Sam gasped, shaking his head, trying to get as far away as possible. “No, no, no! No tricks, you promised.”
The shower cubicle stopped his retreat and the ratty old plastic walls gave in to the force and he felt himself falling, flailing for some kind of support to regain balance.
Lucifer looked genuinely worried before the back of Sam's head connected with the tiled wall and everything vanished.
The crash had Dean go for the knife before he was even fully awake. A taste of cheap whiskey still lingered on his tongue and the price of temporary reprieve weighed heavily in his head. He was pissed even before he got out of bed. The bathroom door being open and Sam's bedding empty told him enough.
“Sam?”
“Wha-?” Bobby asked groggily from his place at the door.
There was no reply from his pain in the ass brother and Dean had to grit his teeth to hold back the worry that mingled with his anger. What the fuck was the bitch up to now? He walked over to the open bathroom door and the moment he saw Sam crashed into the cubicle, covered in plastic parts from the broken walls, fear took over the anger and he had to consciously push it back.
“What the hell, Sam?” He growled when he hunched beside the remnant of the cubicle and reached out to shake his brother awake. “'C'mon, wake up already. I've only had a couple of hours of sleep and I'm so good damned tired of y - this.”
Sam groaned and tried yo shield his face with his arms. His eyes weren't even open yet and still he struggled to crawl away from Dean.
“Ge'way fro'me,” he mumbled.
And Dean noticed the blood on Sam's hand, the missing IV-port and the cuts on his arms from the plastic he'd fallen through. He noted that Sam was not entirely there, not entirely awake and groggy and hurt as hell and still those words cut like a knife. For reasons Sam couldn't know about.
But it was enough for Dean to lose it. Enough for him to lash out at Sam, again.
“Why the fuck to you keep doing this, Sam?” He barked, grabbing the front of Sam's soaked T-shirt and shaking him hard.
“Dean,” Bobby warned while screeches from the foldable bed's metal frame against the floor pushed another of Dean's buttons. He rose to loom above his brother's fallen frame and dug his fingers into Sam's shoulders to pull him up.
Sam opened his eyes and Dean froze mid-pull.
There was the same terrified look, that unique hazel that shifted color according to the light. The hazel that had seemed muted from pain, incomprehension, dejection and unspeakable fear in hell. The hazel that seemed to glow golden, like the eyes of a panther, when reflecting the fires of hell. Whatever color they had been, Dean had always known it was Sam's eyes, watching him.
Dean let go and stumbled backwards. He let Sam fall to the wall with a thud, let his little brother's head knock into the wall; watched Sam's eyes blink, then look at him with terror before they slowly slid shut. The whiskey revolted and rose up to burn in Dean's throat.
He turned and ran, almost toppling over Bobby that was struggling to pull himself into the wheelchair, and scrambled up the stairs. Arriving to the upstairs bathroom, he did exactly what Sam had done before; fell to his knees in front of the throne and puked.
When he was done, he noted Cas standing in the doorway, watching him with a face of total fascination over the train-wreck Dean felt like.
“It's not polite to stare, Cas!” Did it really have to be him to clue an angel in on the common niceties? That really was a job more suited for Sam. “Where have you been?”
Cas was his usual self, face blank and unreadable while he informed that he'd been on a mission, following a lead. He didn't need to say it had lead nowhere, he wouldn't be back here if it had.
“Yeah? Well, follow this lead and get down and help Sam and Bobby!” Dean pointed in the direction of the stairs and it took Cas a whole minute before he had traduced human speech into angel lingo and turned to leave.
Dean splashed cold water on his face, rinsed his mouth and washed his teeth before he dared look at himself in the mirror. Yes, just as he thought, he looked just peachy. No wonder he'd scared the crap outta Sammy. Dean wondered why his brother hadn't burst out in an exorcism at the mere sight of the bloodshot eyes? Probably too out of it. Dean didn't even want to know what Sam saw in him right now, kid was already dating Lucifer, no wonder he was short-circuiting at having more crap to cope with. Dean knew he wasn't exactly helping right now.
Everything was coming back to him, things he's managed to push so far back they barely existed came floating up to the surface. Wouldn't even stay down with liquor! The fuckers knew how to swim! Damned Zach to take him to a place where he'd had to face how easy it was to step over the line, and damned Sam to remind him that when the line was crossed, no-one was safe. He'd hoped he'd never have to tell Sam, he truly thought he'd be able to handle it without taking it out on Sam. But he felt himself slipping into uncontrollable anger when it came to Sam. And it wasn't Sam's fault. He'd have to come clean to make his brother understand. As messed-up and ugly as it was, he'd have to explain.
He just wasn't sure his brother would ever look at him the same again.
Bobby was pondering on getting the chainsaw and cutting off the useless wooden bulks he had to fight to get seated in the wheelchair. They were just in the way right now. His upper body strength was still not what he wished for. Pulling himself up and into the chair had sweat dripping into his eyes and just turning enough to place his ass straight had the legs, which he really refused to consider his right now, turn out to be a major obstacle. The darned thing was that he had no time to bleed out right now. He called for Dean, just to know what the fuck was up with the ghostly white faced son of a gun that rushed past him like the devil was on his track? But Dean was long gone when Bobby got his bearing back and his attention was on the all too quiet bathroom. If he'd ever needed an angel, it was right now, so where was the feathery abomination?
Halfway over the floor he noted that Sam's bare feet were placed in a position that boded no good.
And he was right; Sam had managed to find the exact position that made it impossible for Bobby to get to him without causing more damage. What the hell the kid was doing in the ex-shower cabinet, obviously out cold again and with some added cuts on his arms was not the most important question right now. How to get him out, check that the idjit had not managed to break something vital and getting him back to bed was on top of Bobby's list at the moment.
Which, under current circumstances, was as easy as taking a sprint up the stairs to check on Dean. He'd have to tie both of them down at some point, just to get them to spill what the hell exactly, was going on.
He pinched the sole of Sam's right foot hard and got a twitch. “Sam?”
There was some movement, not much but enough for Bobby to repeat the ministration. “Hey kiddo, I so don't condone sleeping in the only bathroom on this floor. It's gonna make visits embarrassing.”
Sam peeled first one eye open and then the other. Then he arranged his bruised mug into a trademark bitchface and mumbled: “Ouch”.
Or at least that' what Bobby figured he meant.
“What the hell happened, you idjit?” Bobby inquired.
Sam looked at him, trying to focus and damned if his pupils still weren't a bit off in the lining up department. The slightly cross-eyed look made Bobby realize that dragging Sam to his feet and expect him to walk out was asking for more trouble.
“I dunno,” Sam pouted like a five year old. “I piss'd 'im off.”
“Huh? No, stay still before you take the house down. Who you talking about?” Bobby tried to stop Sam from getting to his feet, which would have been an easier task if he wasn't off his while trying to handle a 10 feet tall, wobbly Winchester.
“Deeeen,” Sam whined, slid and rolled over to his side. Right onto the freshly patched up surgical incision. Bobby grabbed the soaked t-shirt and pulled hard enough to roll him off the cabinet's bottom part to the floor.
“You and your freakin' brother are gonna kill me,” Bobby grunted. “Son, if I say stay still, you stay still you bone-headed, stubborn, son of a - Sam?”
The kid was curled up on his side, eyes clammed shut, breaths sounding harsh and raspy.
“Is he resting?” Castiel asked and Bobby had another minor heart attack. He had stopped counting them by now. The angel was standing right there, peering down at Sam.
“No, he's counting the stars,” Bobby grumbled and Castiel merely raised his eyebrows in surprise.
“I do not think -.”
“Yeah, yeah, just zap him back to bed, will ya?”
Castiel looked doubtful. “I do not think I can accomplish that right now. I just zapped, as you say, myself from Rio.”
“You're useless, you know that?” Bobby glared.
“I think we need to get Sam to bed the traditional way,” Castiel said and stepped to stand behind Sam's shoulders.
“Now that just sounds downright dirty,” Bobby remarked as the angel pulled Sam up to stand as if he weighed nothing.
Sam looked terrified where he stood, arm pulled over the angel's shoulder.
“Would you accompany us?” Castiel asked. “Sam feels rather unsteady and I think it would be opportunistic to take him to bed without both of us as aids.”
Bobby waited until Castiel had walked Sam through the doorway before he rolled up to the left side of the wobbling Winchester. “Grip the handle,” he ordered with a nod to the wheelchair's back.
Getting Sam back was easier than Bobby had expected. Sam just seemed to grit his teeth and walk. He was a Winchester after all. And watching his closed off face, Bobby wondered if he'd ever get the full picture from either one of them about the cracks between the two? Because even if they had hooked back up, things had changed drastically.
After settling Sam down and pulling up the covers, Bobby sent Castiel to check on Dean and went for a new IV-port. He waved the plastic contraction with the impressive needle in front of Sam's face and leered.
“If you ever tell anyone about that particularly sinister conversation, son - .”
It was a moot threat because Sam had already closed his eyes. Bobby decided it was just as good.
Sam just wished himself away from everything. He was just too tired for all this crap. Bone tired and fed up. With not really belonging anywhere, with never being good enough. Dean was pissed at him and rightfully so, Bobby was just, well Bobby and Sam knew he was complicating the situation for him. He should be helping Bobby out, not trashing his house. The sound of a plastic wrapping being torn open before the tugging on the newly inserted IV-port in his hand barely registered. Every part of his body felt like it had declared a full-scale war on him. He'd protest, but he knew it was futile; Bobby would pump him full of painkillers again, leaving him wide open to Lucifer. Not that it seemed to matter anyhow; Lucifer was with him even when he was awake at this point. There seemed to be no escape. Maybe he should just say yes and fight from the inside? Weaken the Devil so Dean got a shot at killing him?
Dean would not hesitate this time; Sam had seen the rage in his brother's eyes.
When the drugs clawed at his mind, distorting his rationale, Sam didn't even fight. He stepped into the velvety darkness and let everything go. He was tired of fighting.
Dean didn't dare look at Bobby when he got back down with the coffee mugs in hand. Didn't want to see the reprimand on the older man's face. Didn't want to get into explanations of any kind.
He'd already grilled Cas about Sam and Cas was as informative as a clinical chart. He referred that Sam looked the same, just felt wobbly and feverish but not what Dean wanted to know. Did Sam still act like a kicked puppy? Did he still have that fear in his eyes? That terror that had hit Dean like the fires of hell?
That was something Dean had to check for himself.
He hesitated at the doorway, noting Bobby still being occupied with stitching a new scratch on Sam's forearm. Which really should be Dean's job. Resting the mugs on the table with the medical equipment, he finally glanced briefly in the general direction of his brother's face. Sam's stillness was downright comforting.
“Bitch out cold, huh?” he quipped, stepping back to a safe distance from actually having Sam in his field of vision. A table-lamp was strategically placed and cast a pool of light on the area of interest. “Got some nuked coffee from yesterday, want me to take over?”
Bobby eyed him briefly. “No.”
Something in Bobby's tone felt like a slap.
“What? You don't trust me to make pretty stitches?”
This time Bobby looked him dead in the eyes. “Don't trust Johnny Walker.”
Dean had no suitable come back and he looked up to the vent in the ceiling. The dawn had broken, but there was nothing but gray clouds hovering over them. The silence grew too long and too uncomfortable.
“I'm gonna fix the elevator for you today. I figured out a way for you to get your ass up and down in a black-out, y'know, with the apocalypse and all.”
“An' when are you goin' to start fixin' yourself? Or letting your brother in on what's eatin' you?” Bobby pulled the sterile gloves off with a snap.
Dean took the only way out of the road-block he knew wouldn't sell him out totally; diversion. Snatching the cup off the table, he downed half of it in one sip. “He still cross-eyed when you got him here?”
“You sure you being on the road together is a good thing right now? Wasn't thrilled when I heard you'd split up but now I wonder if it wasn't the right thing to do after all? Sam can fix the elevator up as long as you leave him a note of what to do with it, and the freaking shower, when he gets back on his feet. Maybe you should take your bud and leave for a while? Let me put those angel repellents on the house and hope it keeps Lucifer out?”
Dean had been expecting this. “You don't get it, Bobby.”
“Damned straight, I don't,” Bobby replied. “Maybe you've been hanging out with angels too much but I'm fairly sure Sam's as bad on reading minds as I am. But what I do know is that Sam's your brother and he's been drowning for a long while. Even before you went to the pit he was falling apart. And you can't fault him for wanting to sell his soul to save you. You can fault him for being a stupid ass and a pigheaded moron, but not for wanting to kill Lilith. Because last I remember we were all ready to gank her. It was just that Sam had the means. Your new buds could have told him that it was kind of a monumentally stupid move. They didn't tell either of you, they were just hauling you both down the line to this point, for very shady reasons. You figured that out yet?”
“You're so off the mark, Bobby!” Dean shook his head and turned his head to look at Sam. Yeah, his brother had been a moron, for wanting to sacrifice his soul and life in the unholy revenge he was dead set on. But he was just a Winchester, it kind of ran in their blood. Being stupid bitches for family ties, tradition or whatever, was stamped on their asses. He'd just thought Sam would be different; he'd been unfair in his expectations. Sam had just lingered longer in the hopelessness that Dean knew like he knew his baby's engine. Sam had had months to face what Dean had caved in to after three days in Cold Oak.
He watched Sam's face; gaunt in the grayish light, hair damp from sweat, lips crackled from fever and
exhaustion. Beaten, his brother looked so beaten.
Dean reached to tuck the escaped corner of the blanket in under the feet that looked too bare for comfort and glanced back at Bobby. “You just got it all wrong, Bobby.”
Bobby leaned back in his chair and wiggled his finger in the direction of the rapidly cooling coffee. When Dean passed the cup over, Bobby held his gaze.
“Then set me straight.”
“Got nothing to do with angels, it's between me and Sammy.”
“Oh, hand me a tissue, I think I need to have a good cry,” Bobby jeered.
“Shut up!” Dean turned to rush back up the stairs. “I'll go get Cas to sit with Sam while I fix the elevator and you do your toiletry things or whatever, upstairs And maybe, some breakfast? Right? Since Cas ain't exactly a wiz in that department. I think he lacks your feminine touch to stuff.”
“Bite me!”
Dean grinned to himself. It felt good to be back on Bobby's good side. Bobby did not beat around the bush, even if it was the wrong bush. Yeah, he needed to have a freaking talk with Sammy. Tissue alert and all. And Sam was, well - Sam. Bitch had an uncanny capacity to get under his skin. So fucking good at getting a lot of stuff without even being told. Actually, he was better at getting untold stuff than than actually listening to perfectly good reasons. Sometimes Dean understood how crazy that must have driven Dad. Just their fucking luck to end up with a psychic emo with puppy eyes of doom in the family.
This time, Sam didn't jump at the hand on his shoulder. He'd known Lucifer was coming thanks to the spectacular light that preceded his arrival at the shore on which Sam found himself. Sitting on the warm sand, watching the peaceful lapping of the waves at the shore, he didn't even steel himself for the seduction of evil.
He was so tired.
This time Lucifer didn't show his face; he just laid his hand on Sam's shoulder and sat there in silence. Sam watched the waves come to shore, reminding him of the circle of life. Somewhere out there, a wave was formed by the undercurrent, rose to break the surface and sailed over the vast expanse until it hit the sand and died in order to join the riptide again. It was its destiny. It had no say if it was going to sail a stormy or a calm sea, no say in its own magnitude. It just followed the laws of physics until it died and was reborn in the tow that drew it back out into the depths. It was easy and natural, no questions asked, no moral dilemmas involved. No rights or wrongs, just an eternal flow.
“I ask forgiveness for scaring you earlier, Samuel. I wanted to help you, keep you from hurting yourself.” Lucifer's voice suddenly broke trough Sam's ruminations. He didn't bother to answer.
“You are beautiful like this, watching the ocean. Did anybody ever tell you how stunning you are? How stunning God made you for me?”
Sam moved away from the hand on his shoulder.
“Yes, Sam, you were made for me. There's a reason you're strong and beautiful. You have to know that, deep inside.” Lucifer cupped Sam's chin and turned him gently to meet with the mellow blue of his vessel's eyes. The face of evil. that held no characteristics that Sam wold recognize right away. No yellow or black eyes, no horns, no snake tongue. Just an earnest human face.
“Uhm, missed the entire genetic part of the equation, did you? The procreation part of religion has changed while you were in the pit. We actually do it on our own now.” Sam almost rolled his eyes.
“And you have so much fun doing it too,” Lucifer laughed, delighted and moved closer. “I like it when you get sarcastic. It's very becoming and still seems so utterly -." Lucifer paused, watching Sam intently. "ingenuous." The pad of his thumb gently followed the line over Sam's cheekbone and down his jawline. "You really think your genes were what made you the perfect vessel? The genes only facilitated the process, I sent my son to make you what you are today. I helped create you. I helped form your tall figure, your lean, muscled body, all that explosive strength you keep tied up most of the time. Your genes may have given you the perfect bone structure and the, may I say so, very endearing mop of hair and tender heart, but I gave you what it takes.”
“You will never have me,” Sam seethed.
“No?” Lucifer inched in, gripping Sam's face in both of his hands.
When the Devil's eyes captivated his, Sam felt himself go limp and powerless. He was utterly stunned by the turn of events when he found himself on his back, arms and legs splayed. It felt like being tied up all over, without any visible strings, just Lucifer's power over his mind and it was enough of a shock to leave Sam reeling.
“Right now I do have you, Samuel. And I want to touch you. Feel what you feel because it intrigues me, the blissfulness I've heard spoken about, what angels really do envy; human physicality."
Lucifer's hand ran languidly down Sam's flank. “What did Jessica use to do to you Sunday mornings? Remember how she'd wake you up with kisses?" Lucifer bent over Sam to kiss a trail along his collarbone, stopping to lap at the hollow between them. "Remember how she'd tie you to the bed frame and you just let her. You had enough power to break the ties with just a flick of your wrists and you still let her have her way with you. Do whatever she wanted to, because you trusted her. You enjoyed the powerlessness as she played your every string. You'd gruff protests just to make her happy. You enjoyed total submission to her because you loved and trusted her. And she did things to you you'd never let anyone else do, you begged her and you rejoiced in the power she had over you. And that Sam, is something you usually rebel against. ”
Lucifer teeth nipped at Sam's nipples, causing him to let out a deep growl. Lips trailed a path over his abdomen, hand sliding downward, blunt nails scraping over heated skin that formed goosebumps in the wake of the caress.
Sam clammed his eyes shut. No, not Jessica, leave Jessica out of this, please! He wanted to scream the words, but they only echoed in his mind while his body betrayed him by reacting to the hands expertly manipulating his body. Tears sprang to his eyes, he was just so shocked, at his body's reactions, Lucifer's new, very hands on seduction and the fact that he wasn't able to fight it. That his own mind had folded at the assault. His own mind was doing this to him; mixing memories with a living nightmare. A lust and fear that involved every fiber in his invisibly tied up body.
Lucifer's touch was just right; steady hand moving on his erection, almost playful, toothy nips at his collar bone, licks up his neck to his earlobe. The sting when teeth pulled at the lobe of his ear, warm breath and the tip of a tongue soothing the pain. Lucifer played him just right, touched every strategic point, knew every dirty fantasy. Hand cupping his balls, heat coursing though him at the sensation. The tip of a tongue defining the length of his swollen member, circling the head with precision to then lap at it, hungrily and wetly. The moment he felt lips stretch out around his erection, taking him in to the hilt, he fell apart from the familiar tingling and it was all over before Sam's mind had caught up. Lucifer's hand was splayed on Sam's abdomen when the world exploded in white light and left him gasping.
“No, no, no, no!” Sam back arched and he opened his eyes to the fan's dizzying movements and Castiel's slightly raised eyebrows.
“Oh, God no, please!” Sam turned to his side, curling up around himself in a fetal position. He trembled uncontrollably, from the aftermath and the disbelief that his body would react so readily to physical stimuli. His body had been possessed against his will and it had reacted with pleasure while his mind was screaming no.
“You all right, Sam?” Castiel asked.
Sam fought the sickness creeping up on him, invading him as the full realization hit. The smell of sweat, sex and panic filled his nostrils and he had to swallow convulsively to keep the self-loathe from manifesting itself physically.
“Cas? He awake?” Dean asked from somewhere further away.
Sam shuddered when he heard the two of them engaged in a mumbled discussion; the mortification was now complete. His hand gripped the edge of the bed so hard his fingers ached when he started to register the pain returning to his limbs. His heart still worked overtime, making the blood rush through his veins and now it was flooding him with the pain he'd escaped earlier. Sweat ran down his front, burned in his eyes and had him gasp for air while fighting the nausea.
Dean's hand gripped Sam's shoulder, trying to turn him to his back. Sam just curled up tighter on himself.
“Lucifer?” Dean asked with trepidation.
Tears of humiliation brimmed in the corners Sam's closed eyes and all he wanted was to disappear when Dean cursed low in his throat and kicked the table by the beside hard enough to send it crashing to the floor.
Sam knew his failure was evident.