Claiming Sammy Chapter 2/15 - Brotherly Love
Previous chapter.
Sam expected to see Lucifer waiting when he woke up, but instead he found himself on the floor of the cage. He sat up and peered out through the cracks in the iron bars, but there was nothing to see in the darkness except the cracks of lightning illuminating the chains that held the cage in place. Time in the cage without a torture prepared usually meant that Lucifer was off with Michael. Or at least, that’s where Sam assumed Lucifer went. For all he knew, Lucifer could’ve been leaving the cage entirely.
Sighing, Sam stretched out his limbs as best he could, curling his fingers around the bars as he adjusted his position to a more comfortable one. As comfortable as he could get in a cage made of iron and barely bigger than the Impala. Idly, he wondered what Lucifer and Michael were arguing about now. Hopefully, they’d find a way to patch it up, and Lucifer’s mood would lighten.
Sometimes, when Lucifer was bored, he told Sam about his arguments with Michael. Sam wasn’t allowed to say Michael’s name or refer to him in any way. He’d learned a long time ago not to offer any comments when Lucifer griped about his brother. If Sam took Michael’s side, he’d be punished for supporting Michael. If Sam defended Lucifer, he’d be punished for disrespecting Michael. Instead, Sam was expected to listen intently and not offer his own opinion. That, he’d gotten quite good at. He’d never admit it to Lucifer, but he rather liked it when Lucifer just talked to - or rather at - him. It was always at the tail end of one of his reward sessions. He pretended to be annoyed that Lucifer was taking attention away from his book or movie and that he was tolerating it out of fear of punishment rather than actual interest. As always, he suspected that Lucifer knew the truth, but if so, Lucifer didn’t seem to mind the deception.
Thinking of those sessions made Sam’s stomach flop and his pyrrhic victory the night before much more sour. He’d been sure he could beat his previous record and had already picked out his reward - a book. He didn’t get to pick the titles. He could chose a book or movie and Lucifer would either conjure a book or create a movie theater. Sam wasn’t sure exactly how that worked. At first, he thought that Lucifer could only give him works he’d seen and memorized. But a year or so back, Lucifer had thrown a copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray at him and said, “Read it and tell me what it’s about.” Sam had thought Lucifer meant to discuss it with him, the way they’d discussed the other books. But when he tried to talk to Lucifer about it, it was clear Lucifer had never read it. He didn't pay much attention to Sam’s summary, and the only interest in the story he seemed to take was that, for a month or so afterwards, he put a mirror in front of Sam for every torture session.
Choosing a movie was a roll of the dice. Lucifer handled series as one reward, so one session they watched through the Rocky series, while another session they saw all the Star Trek movies. Other times, he’d put on something like Apocalypse now and have inspiration for the next rounds of torture.
He should’ve awoken to a reward session but with the gleam in Lucifer’s eyes the night before, he doubted a reward was on Lucifer’s mind. Especially since Sam hadn’t beaten his old record. He should’ve been waking with the expectation of a book and instead, Lucifer would rape him. It was only a matter of time now. Sam took a deep breath and tried to steel himself. He knew resistance would be met with torture, but he wasn’t just going to roll over and be Lucifer’s bitch. He couldn’t.
He closed his eyes and set up the vampire hunt. This time, he gave Dean a topless, big-breasted girl, already gyrating in his lap at the start of the scene. He counted out the minutes on his fingers as he went, so he could adjust it as necessary, to Lucifer’s favorite scenarios. The average roasting took fifteen minutes, although if he used coals it could take as long as five hours. Drowning took less than five minutes if he was completely submerged; not long enough for a good fantasy - only one scene.
Sam had run through his vampire hunt three times, tweaking it as he went, giving Dean identical twins in the last version, when everything shifted. He felt the bars of the cage floor give way to carpet and the lighting brightened. He kept his eyes closed until he finished the scene with Dean laughing, so the last image he saw before he opened his eyes was Dean’s happy face.
He found himself in a motel room. It could’ve been any of the dumps he stayed in with Dean on a hunt. Two beds, a mini fridge, a small table, and two chairs. Lucifer sat in one of the chairs, a huge smile on his face. “Morning, Sam!”
Lucifer had never conjured a motel room as a stage before. Was this a memory then? They were the only ones in the room, so it didn't seem likely. Sam kept his eyes on Lucifer, unwilling to even look at the beds, much less consider their significance.
“Does this feel like home?” Lucifer waved a hand around the room. “So many of these in your noggin. Do you remember this one?”
Sam pretended to think on it. He stared at the beds, at the grime on the walls and the stains on the carpet while he stalled. He had no interest in playing this game. He waited as long as he thought he could get away with before he flatly said, “I don't recognize it.”
“No?” Lucifer looked entirely too pleased with himself for Sam's comfort. “Are you sure, Sam?” He stood and walked over to Sam, who scrambled back against the wall. He stretched out his hand and Sam, realizing what he wanted, let him touch his forehead and take him back into the memory.
Beer bottles and fast food wrappers were strewn around the room. On one of the beds, Sam fucked Ruby. Ruby lay on her back, her breasts bouncing as Sam pounded into her. From where Sam sat, he could see his cock pushing into her pussy. His own twitched in eager excitement, remembering how wet and hot she felt. She had a cut on her breast, just above the nipple, and he saw himself bend down to lap at the demon blood and suck at the nub.
Sam looked away, shame burning brightly in his chest. She was part of why he was in the cage.
“That's Dean's bed,” said Lucifer brightly. “Where was he again?”
Sam shut his eyes tightly and whispered, “At an interview.” How many times had he snuck Ruby in and fucked her behind Dean's back? How often had he lied to Dean’s face? Too often.
“Working on the case while you're fucking your demon whore in his bed.” Lucifer sounded pleased, as if he were recounting a favorite memory. “You had to wash the comforter, remember? What did you tell him?”
It was too painful to think about. He'd rather be burned alive than relive failing Dean. It wasn't as if this was the only one. Lucifer had a plethora of memories of Sam's betrayals and failures that he liked to force Sam to watch. He called it “Sammy's Greatest Hits” and one of his favorites was Sam beating up and walking out on Dean.
Sam hadn't seen this one before, hadn't really remembered it until now, with it live before him. That's how badly he'd fucked up; that he couldn't even remember all his betrayals clearly.
Ruby's moans filled the room and Sam wanted to die.
“Look at them, Sam,” said Lucifer, his tone making it clear that this wasn't a request. “What did you tell him?”
Sam didn't want to lose his eyelids, so he forced himself to look. Ruby shifted, throwing Sam on his back. She rode his cock with abandon. No other girl came close to her stamina or desire. She was always ready to go, to take whatever Sam wanted and take it eagerly. He found his voice and said “I told him I spilled beer on it.”
Lucifer kicked Sam's knee, spreading his legs. “You still want to fuck her. What would Dean say?”
Don't talk about my brother. Sam balled his fists and shifted away, closing his legs again. He knew it was stupid and reckless, but he couldn't stand to hear Dean's name on Lucifer’s lips. “He'd tell you to go fuck yourself.”
Lucifer laughed and waved his hand. Memory Ruby and Sam vanished. Lucifer transformed and for the first time in the cage, Sam saw Lucifer as Dean- in perfect detail, down to the necklace. The one Dean had thrown away and Sam had retrieved from the trash can and tucked into his pocket. Perfect, except that the smile on ‘Dean's’ face was all Lucifer.
'Dean’ undid his belt buckle. He jerked his head towards the bed where Sam had just been fucking Ruby a moment before. “Get on the bed, baby brother.”
Sam's blood ran cold. NO! He wouldn't let Lucifer taint his memories of Dean. His only hope was suicide. He pulled himself up to his full 6’4 height, knowing he had a few inches on 6’1 Dean. “Fuck you, bastard.”
He moved fast, his fists landing with a satisfying crunch of bone against ‘Dean's’ face. He still remembered how it felt to pummel Dean's face in the graveyard, and he channelled all his rage, fear and shame into his fists.
He must've caught Lucifer off guard because, for the first time in years (decades?), Lucifer stumbled back, his hands rising in defense. The surprise didn't last long though, and soon he hit back. He landed a blow on Sam's mouth and Sam felt his lip split open on his teeth. He didn't care. He could handle the memory of being beaten to death by Dean’s face. Hell, he already had memories of the real Dean beating the shit out of him.
“Pathetic!” Sam snarled, landing a heavy blow in ‘Dean's’ stomach that made Lucifer gasp for air. “You never could take me in a fair fight. I'm stronger and you know it.” Sam pressed his advantage, hitting so hard his knuckles tore open. The pain barely registered. He was a wild animal on a suicide run; the alternative was too unthinkable.
Chains appeared, wrapping around Sam's wrists and ankles, lifting him up off the ground, spreading him out, and pinning him in place. “FIGHT ME, YOU BASTARD!” He spit in Lucifer's face, pulling so hard on the chains, he could feel his shoulders popping.
“Nice try, Sammy.” The face and voice were Dean's, but the eyes and smile were all wrong. Even at his angriest, Dean had never looked at Sam like that. Like a toy. Like a small child looking at an insect and debating which leg to pull off first.
“COWARD!”
Calmly, Lucifer pulled off Dean's plaid outer shirt and, grabbing Sam by the chin, forced it into his mouth. To Sam's horror, it even smelled like Dean. Sam closed his eyes, frustrated at his own helplessness. That he could never win. That Lucifer always got what he wanted and always would.
Lucifer snapped his fingers and Sam found himself on the bed face down and spread eagle. His legs were pinned wide enough to spread his ass cheeks and he'd never felt more vulnerable, more open to whatever abuse Lucifer planned for him. He would take a vivisection over this.
He heard the fall of Dean's heavy boots as Lucifer approached the bed.
It's not Dean. It's not Dean. It's not Dean.
He turned his face to the bed, pressing his nose hard into Dean's shirt and the mattress beneath it. He'd never been able to suffocate himself to death this way but at least he could pass out.
“Oh no, Sammy,” said Dean's voice in a playful tone that made Sam's heart jump with longing. A tendril of power turned Sam's face to the side, moving the shirt away from his nose. “You aren't dying until I'm ready for you to die. We're gonna have some fun first.”
Sam heard the wisp of leather against fabric as Lucifer pulled off his belt. Sam didn't have to open his eyes to picture the belt perfectly. It was brown and frayed and worn from years of use. With their different builds, they didn't share a lot of clothes, but Sam had stolen it a few times. He knew which notch was his and which was Dean's. He'd seen Dean put it on and take it off countless times as they dressed and undressed in various motel rooms. Dean sometimes passed out almost fully clothed but the boots and the belt usually came off, both carelessly tossed to the floor.
He had nowhere to go; no fantasy could possibly complete with what Lucifer planned. He couldn't go to Dean when it was Dean's body hurting him. And who else did he have? Ruby? She was part of why he was in the cage. Bobby? Castiel? Dead by his hand. Jo, Ellen, Rufus, Ash, Madison, Jess? All dead because of him. The only person left was his father, who'd died before Sam turned. Sam couldn't bear to think of his dad while Dean-
Sam retched, even though nothing had been in his stomach. It had all burned away when he died in the initial fall.
“You deserve this, Sammy.” To emphasize the word, Lucifer whipped the belt across Sam's ass, the buckle digging into his flesh.
Sam screamed into Dean's shirt. He'd learned to mask his pain, but all of his defenses had crumbled, and now he screamed like he did when pain could still surprise him.
The belt hit down again. This time the buckle hit the other cheek, and Sam felt his flesh tear. He knew his screaming was only encouraging Lucifer to hit him harder. But he couldn't hold back his howls, especially when Lucifer picked up the pace, pausing only long enough to raise the belt again.
Sam had been through enough whippings to know how to make it easier on himself. He knew he needed to relax his muscles as much as possible and not tense up in fear of the next blow. But during his last whippings, he'd been able to escape into the memory of a hunt. To Dean. He couldn't go there now, couldn't do anything, but feel the pain blossoming from his shoulders to his knees as the buckle hit without mercy. Tears burned hot in his eyes. It had taken months in the cage before Lucifer had managed to draw the first tears from Sam. He didn't cry easily, but this was more than pain. This was losing his last defence; his anchor that held him despite a hurricane of pain and terror.
Sam's voice gave out before his body did. At some point, Lucifer stopped pinning him, although between the blood loss and the pain, Sam couldn't move anyway.
Then, finally, after what seemed like hours, the belt dropped to the floor. Lucifer turned Sam over, an act which sent pain spiking through Sam's body so fast and so fierce that he nearly passed out.
“Look at me, Sammy.”
Sam blinked his eyes open. Lucifer still wore Dean's face. He had blood splattered across his body. Sam's blood. Instead of the taunting smile he'd worn earlier, his face was neutral and he looked exactly like the brother Sam remembered so vividly. The brother he clung to; his foothold in hell. Dean brushed stray strands of Sam's hair back from his face with a hand so gentle and familiar that Sam couldn't help but lean into it, remembering how it felt to be loved.
“Do you remember the song I sang to you to help you fall asleep?” asked Dean as he pulled his shirt out of Sam's mouth. Sam nodded weakly.
Sam rasped out, “Hey Jude.”
Dean sang, “Hey, Jude, don't make it bad,” as he climbed onto the bed, straddling Sam. The weight of his body pressed Sam's injured back against the bed and he couldn't help but cry out, even with his damaged throat. “Take a sad song and make it better.” With the sweat and tears in his eyes, Dean's face was blurry- no Lucifer visible in his eyes- so Sam fixed on it.
Dean closed his hands around Sam's neck. “Remember to let her into your heart.” He squeezed hard, cutting off Sam's airway. Sam kept his eyes open as long as he could, needing to remember Dean. “Then you can start, to make it better.”
Sam sank into the song as his vision blurred and he could no longer see Dean. He let himself go the same way he used to fall asleep to Dean's singing as a child.
“Hey, Jude, don't be afraid…”
He died before Dean hit the chorus.
Next chapter.