“He had to. Had to make sure none of those nasty chompers got out. Would’ve worked too; if not for my little bro and you meddling kids. ‘Course, there’s still plenty’a hungry, snarling stuff in there to keep Dean company.” Words spoken like reassurance sticking in Sam’s chest like glass.
“I wonder how many times they’ve ripped him up already.” Voice quieter, considering, like he’s talking to himself. “Oh, he won’t die, not really. You remember what that’s like, don’t ya Sam?” Bile in his throat now, white knuckles on the steering wheel.
He swerves into the parking lot of the first motel he comes across, needs to be in a wider space if he’s gonna have to share it with the phantoms in his head. He gets a double room, Lucifer giving him a pitying look as he pays the clerk. He’s got no duffle, no extra clothes; Cas’d zapped them right into the building.
His hands are shaking when he fumbles with the key, Lucifer pressed to his back, hot breath on his neck. He misses the cut on his palm.
When he finally gets the door open, shoving through it so fast he almost trips, Lucifer laughs at him.
He showers, for no reason other than he can turn the water hot as it’ll go; ‘till his skin is red and it hurts and he doesn’t have to focus on Dean being shut away in some dimensional box where Sam can’t reach him - again.
Drying himself brutally rough with the coarse, thin towel, he drags his clothes back on and moves into the room, and promptly freezes; utterly still, skin tightening and breath hitching in his chest.
Both beds are occupied.
Lucifer is lounging on the one to his right; hands clasped beneath his head, legs crossed at the ankle as he smirks at Sam.
Michael is sitting cross-legged on the other bed, the one nearest the door; older-brother parody that his psyche apparently wants to bash him with.
“Hello, Sam.” Nod, and a face like stone; not Adam’s, but his Dad’s - circa 1978.
Sam ignores them both, sits on the flimsy chair at the beat-up Formica table and stares in any direction other than at the beds. He’ not talking to them, he just needs to think of a plan to break into Purgatory, or to break Dean and Cas out.
“You realise, Sam, that ignoring us is pointless.” Same teacher-voice Michael’d used in the Cage. “We’re here because you can’t deal with being alone, and you have no one else to turn to. We aren’t leaving.” No real emotion in the words; just superiority and cool arrogance.
“Exactly what I’ve been saying.” Lucifer weighing in, gesturing at Michael and fuck, his own hallucinations are ganging up on him. “C’mon, Sammy; talk to us, we’re here to help.” Sam almost snorts at that, but thinks it probably counts as acknowledgement.
“You won’t be able to rescue Dean.” Michael again, and fuck him for saying that with his father’s mouth. “Purgatory was designed to be impossible to find. There will be no convenient eclipses this time, no natives to drain for blood.” Still sitting totally impassive on the sheets, eyes boring into Sam the same way they had when he’d watched Lucifer slicing him open; assessing and ponderous.
On the next bed, the Devil‘s nodding at his brother‘s words. “Yeah Sam, just give it up already. You couldn’t save him from Hell, you can’t save him from Purgatory. Hey, at least time passes slower there; you’ll be dead and turned to dust, with your soul right back in the Pit where it belongs before Dean even gets through his first decade.”
FILLED: Delusional/Hallucinating Sam. 2/4
“He had to. Had to make sure none of those nasty chompers got out. Would’ve worked too; if not for my little bro and you meddling kids. ‘Course, there’s still plenty’a hungry, snarling stuff in there to keep Dean company.” Words spoken like reassurance sticking in Sam’s chest like glass.
“I wonder how many times they’ve ripped him up already.” Voice quieter, considering, like he’s talking to himself. “Oh, he won’t die, not really. You remember what that’s like, don’t ya Sam?” Bile in his throat now, white knuckles on the steering wheel.
He swerves into the parking lot of the first motel he comes across, needs to be in a wider space if he’s gonna have to share it with the phantoms in his head. He gets a double room, Lucifer giving him a pitying look as he pays the clerk. He’s got no duffle, no extra clothes; Cas’d zapped them right into the building.
His hands are shaking when he fumbles with the key, Lucifer pressed to his back, hot breath on his neck. He misses the cut on his palm.
When he finally gets the door open, shoving through it so fast he almost trips, Lucifer laughs at him.
He showers, for no reason other than he can turn the water hot as it’ll go; ‘till his skin is red and it hurts and he doesn’t have to focus on Dean being shut away in some dimensional box where Sam can’t reach him - again.
Drying himself brutally rough with the coarse, thin towel, he drags his clothes back on and moves into the room, and promptly freezes; utterly still, skin tightening and breath hitching in his chest.
Both beds are occupied.
Lucifer is lounging on the one to his right; hands clasped beneath his head, legs crossed at the ankle as he smirks at Sam.
Michael is sitting cross-legged on the other bed, the one nearest the door; older-brother parody that his psyche apparently wants to bash him with.
“Hello, Sam.” Nod, and a face like stone; not Adam’s, but his Dad’s - circa 1978.
Sam ignores them both, sits on the flimsy chair at the beat-up Formica table and stares in any direction other than at the beds. He’ not talking to them, he just needs to think of a plan to break into Purgatory, or to break Dean and Cas out.
“You realise, Sam, that ignoring us is pointless.” Same teacher-voice Michael’d used in the Cage. “We’re here because you can’t deal with being alone, and you have no one else to turn to. We aren’t leaving.” No real emotion in the words; just superiority and cool arrogance.
“Exactly what I’ve been saying.” Lucifer weighing in, gesturing at Michael and fuck, his own hallucinations are ganging up on him. “C’mon, Sammy; talk to us, we’re here to help.” Sam almost snorts at that, but thinks it probably counts as acknowledgement.
“You won’t be able to rescue Dean.” Michael again, and fuck him for saying that with his father’s mouth. “Purgatory was designed to be impossible to find. There will be no convenient eclipses this time, no natives to drain for blood.” Still sitting totally impassive on the sheets, eyes boring into Sam the same way they had when he’d watched Lucifer slicing him open; assessing and ponderous.
On the next bed, the Devil‘s nodding at his brother‘s words. “Yeah Sam, just give it up already. You couldn’t save him from Hell, you can’t save him from Purgatory. Hey, at least time passes slower there; you’ll be dead and turned to dust, with your soul right back in the Pit where it belongs before Dean even gets through his first decade.”