Victor Henrikson hated serial killers. And Sam Winchester had been a thorn in his side for far too long. It had all started three years ago, when the boy was only seventeen. As far as he could tell, Sam had been a model student for his whole school career, with only a few minor infractions tainting his otherwise perfect record. This had made it all the more shocking when he had gone on the run with the infamous serial killer five years his senior who was known only as Lucifer.
Victor sighed into what must have been his fifth mug of coffee that evening as he pored over Winchester's extensive file. The last known surveillance footage of the man was from three months ago. He supposed that the boy killer and his accomplice must have found a place to lie low for a little while following their almost-arrest just days before the footage was filmed.
He scanned the grainy stills from the security camera footage and sighed defeatedly. The picture was unfocused and contained no incriminating evidence whatsoever. It was from a small, independently run gas station in a town just outside of Dallas. Sam was alone and seemed to be doing nothing out of the ordinary. After all, protein bars and Pepsi could never be used as murder weapons even by killers as creative as Sam and Lucifer. And they were very creative when it came to killing. Just four months ago, they had murdered a high school chemistry teacher and sent the FBI on some kind of sick scavenger hunt to find various body parts belonging to the victim. The game had ended when Henrikson opened a parcel he had received in the post one morning to find the man's severed head. The image of the blank, staring eyes and congealing blood that still seeped out of the place where his neck was once attached haunted his dreams for weeks.
He put aside the most recent images of Sam and delved deeper into the file. He finally found what he was looking for right at the back, behind the details of Sam's original missing persons report that his brother Dean had filed just 24 hours after he 'disappeared'. It was his school photo from his junior year. Sam looked bright eyed and innocent, his floppy brown hair gleaming in the camera flash. He looked healthy, whole and happy. Not like a serial killer at all.
He sighed, rubbing his eyes and sighing deeply. There had been a killing down in Pontiac, Illinois only a week ago that sounded very much like your typical Lucifer-Sam murder; a slit throat and mysterious, arcane looking symbols carved all over the body. There was nothing he wanted more than to go home, put his feet up and watch Judge Judy with a bowl of potato chips and maybe a beer or two, but unless he found at least one solid lead on this case within the next few hours, he wouldn't allow himself to do so.
Henrikson stood up, stretching his arms behind his head and yawning deeply. Man, it was going to be a long night. Just as he was about to sit back down, he felt an odd shiver down his spine. His instincts were hardly ever wrong. He knew there was someone behind him and he knew that they didn't mean well. He turned around cautiously, the photo of a teenage Sam still clutched in his hand.
Lucifer was standing there. The Lucifer. The Lucifer who had murdered over sixty people in cold blood just for kicks.
"Well, hi there Vicky. Heard you were in town."
Victor immediately reached for his gun, but it wasn't there. His eyes darted around the room, trying to find an escape route. Lucifer chuckled. "Don't bother trying to get away. You're not leaving this building alive."
"I'm gonna lock you up for life, you evil piece of shit."
"No, you're not. Is he, Sammy?"
Suddenly he felt a pair of impossibly strong hands grab both his arms and secure them behind his back with his own pair of handcuffs. Sam pulled the photo of his younger self out of Victor's hands and chuckled amusedly at it.
"Nope."
"What did you do to my men? Did you kill them, you son of a bitch?"
"I'm a serial killer, Henrikson. Of course I did, it's what I do."
"Sammy here is very good at killing quietly, you see. Nice quick slit of the throat with that silver knife of his and they're dead before they know what hit 'em."
Sam sauntered over to Lucifer, pressing a strangely tender kiss to his temple before turning back to face the FBI agent.
"I'm gonna take my time with you, though. You have no idea the amount of trouble you've caused us over the past few years."
Before Henrikson could move, Sam and Lucifer had each taken one of his arms and were dragging him outside into the cold, the rough tarmac of the parking lot scuffing his expensive leather shoes. He began to thrash around violently, kicking and crying out for help in a voice so desperate that it made the killers laugh.
They took him round behind the building, where Sam proceeded to gag him and tie his feet together, not even bothering to check for CCTV cameras. He liked it better when he knew that in just a few short hours, police all over the country would be forced to watch the murder over and over again.
He did indeed take his time killing Henrikson. Sam had always been the more delicate killer, preferring to let the victims bleed to death, either from the cuts he inflicted on their chest, arms and legs or from the inevitable slitting of the throat that had become his trademark, a calling card if you will. Lucifer, on the other hand, was a more violent murderer. He took pleasure from decapitating them or cutting their limbs off one by one or making holes in their skulls with power drills while Sam held them still.
He began with the chest, tearing open the agent's shirt with his silver knife as if it were made of paper and dragging the blade across his skin until dark red blood began to form along the incisions. After about fifteen minutes of carving, Sam stepped back to admire his handiwork, sticking out his tongue and licking some blood off the knife as Henrickson watched with terror and disgust. He felt warm, strong arms envelop him from behind and leant into the touch as Lucifer brought a hand up to card his fingers through Sam's hair.
"Mmm, watching you kill is so fucking hot, Sammy" he murmured into Sam's neck, smiling amusedly as Victor writhed in another fruitless attempt at escape. Sam turned around and pressed his lips to Lucifer's, the coppery taste of blood now strong in both their mouths. He deepened the kiss, and it became dirty and desperate as Lucifer pushed him up against the side of the building, pushing his hips forwards and pinning Sam to the wall. Finally he pulled away and wiped some of the blood off his chin, grinning.
"Let's finish this one off together, huh?"
Sam nodded as Lucifer wrapped his hands around his and helped him to guide the knife down to Henrikson's throat. Pressing hard into the FBI agent's skin, together they dragged the blade slowly across his throat. The crimson liquid ran down both sides of the dying man's neck and onto the yellowed grass of the tiny courtyard of the police station.
"You're fucked up, Sammy, you know that?"
"So are you. I guess that's why we love each other so much. We're made for each other."
Lucifer smiled as he put an arm around Sam's waist and led him back to the car. "MFEO, Sammy. You're mine. All mine."
Sam leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his soulmate's still bloody lips. "I'm all yours, Lucifer."
