A/N This is a work of fiction. The tone of this fic is much darker than Part One - A Spoonful of Sugar. There are many dark and disturbing themes in here and more graphic depictions of sex and violence. Consider this fair warning, it's always darkest before the dawn.
It had been three days.
Time had passed in a sort of alcoholic haze. Dean had wanted to keep it together, Cas would call and need his help from wherever he'd ended up banished to. But it was too hard, too unbearable, too overwhelming once the sun went down that first day and the bourbon flowed.
Sam was gone, Cas was gone and despite all their efforts, it was as if they had disappeared into thin air. Dean knew that Gabriel believed that Sam had been responsible for both his own vanishing and Cas' banishment. The thought was bitter black and biting, they'd had all the pieces of the puzzle but just hadn't put them together until it was too late. And yet, Dean still wanted to believe that Sam had not truly been responsible, because the alternative, that his brother had willingly capitulated to Lucifer's will and desire was too much to endure.
And so he waited. The ticking clock in the library gradually measured out the seconds of his life in whiskey and hopelessness. He couldn't remember the last time he'd truly slept, in his bed, not just passed out at the table or on the floor.
It had been three days.
It felt like forever.
On the fourth day, Martin Delaval called.
"Yeah," Dean had answered the phone, barely conscious.
"Dean." Martin had greeted him. "You need my help."
"Uh", Dean had responded intelligently. "What?"
"Get your ass down here." Martin commanded and hung up.
Dean was reminded of Bobby, and how the grizzled hunter would kick his ass if he saw him right now. He dragged himself upright, and wobbled towards the door. He'd have to clean up a little first. He slouched out into the hall and staggered to Sam's room, where Gabriel had barricaded himself in. Dean hammered on the door and bellowed Gabriel's name. After a few minutes, the archangel appeared, looking ready to smite him.
"Martin called. We're going to Little Rock." Dean told him. Gabriel teetered towards him, and only caught himself against the door at the last second.
"Who's Martin?" he slurred. Shit, Gabriel was fucked up. But then so was he.
"Delaval. Friend. Hunter. Said he could help." Dean said, unsure if he was capable of making sense. Gabriel nodded.
"Gimme five."
The first few miles were quiet, Dean concentrating on the road and Gabriel staring sightlessly out of the window. When he did break the silence, Dean jumped.
"So, this Martin. Delaval?" Gabriel asked.
"Yeah, uh, Cas seemed to think it was important, his family I mean." Dean said unintelligibly.
"Delaval. That's a name I've not heard in a long time." Gabriel said. Dean blinked.
"You know the family too?" Gabriel let out a short humorless laugh.
"You could say that. You could also say I was responsible for their curse." The archangel seemed to shrink in his seat. Dean stared at him for longer than was probably safe given that he was driving.
"You wanna explain that?"
"Not really." Gabriel said shortly. Dean gritted his teeth.
"Martin has some artifacts from the family. Including a gambanteinn," Dean faltered as he pronounced the unfamiliar word. Gabriel's eyebrows rose in surprise.
"I thought they had all been destroyed!" he exclaimed.
"Yeah, that's what Cas said too. But Martin has one. Maybe he has other powerful things as well, and he knows something's going on. So maybe he really can help."
When they arrived at Martin's Auto Parts and Salvage it was after dark, the gate was locked and the yard was unlit. Dean pulled out his phone and called Martin but it went straight to voicemail. He cursed, looking back towards the Impala. Gabriel was listless in the passenger seat. They'd have to find a motel and come back in the morning. Suddenly a voice came over the gate.
"Dean?"
"Martin? Let us in, man!" The gate swung open and Martin was stood there, leaning on his cane which was glimmering so brightly it was hard to look at.
"Come in boy. Who's the angel?" Martin said tersely.
"Uh, can we discuss this indoors?" Dean hedged. The older man hesitated, then beckoned them both inside.
The small office was cramped but somehow Martin had managed to squeeze in three surprisingly comfortable chairs. The old hunter sloshed Irish whiskey into plastic cups and thrust them at Dean and Gabriel rather abruptly.
"So, you want to fill me in, boy?" Martin asked.
"Uh, it's a long story." Dean mumbled.
"Then shorten it. I ain't gettin' any younger." the older man grumped.
"OK, uh, this is Gabriel." Martin held up a hand.
"Back up a second. The archangel Gabriel?"
"Guilty." Gabriel shrugged.
"Of course." Martin said with a roll of his eyes. "Go on, kid."
"So uh, Sam… well Lucifer.. and uh the lapsit wotsit, umm…" Gabriel put one hand on Dean's shoulder.
"Long story, very, very short; you know Sam is Lucifer's True Vessel?" he asked. Martin nodded. "He has a piece of Luci's Grace in his soul. We found the lapsit exillis, Sam disappeared with it, after banishing Castiel, Dean's uh, angel friend." Gabriel explained. Martin looked like someone had set fire to his shoes and then told him the floor was covered in gasoline.
"You found the lapsit exillis? And Sam, demon-blood addict, True Vessel of Lucifer and all-round abomination, stole it and fucked off?" Martin was livid.
"Uh, yeah. Maybe. It sounds worse when you say it like that," Dean said.
It had been three days.
Sam lay on the bed of the boutique hotel in Kansas City, MO and waited. The last few days had been a whirlwind. As soon as he'd laid eyes on the lapsit exillis it had started to whisper to him of truth and secrets, of the promise of peace and happiness. Just being in it's presence soothed him. He remembered the moment, when confusion and fear had given way to certainty and a sense of purpose. You opposed this purpose once… That sounded like Cas. He wasn't listening to Cas any more.
As the lapsit exillis had spoken to him, he had begun to feel the urge, although he hadn't known what it meant. Only that a yearning sensation had coiled and twisted in his gut. He needed… dammit he didn't know what he needed. But he did know that he had to get the stone away from the bunker. He'd almost gotten away unchallenged, if only Cas hadn't come into the kitchen at that moment… He dismissed the thought. Cas should not have interfered.
Having banished the angel, he'd abandoned his original plan to take a car from the garage and instead decided to hitch a ride. A battered old pickup had pulled over and the driver, an African American in his late fifties, had opened the door for him. He'd sat uncomfortably silent, letting the older man ramble on at him about how he'd been driving this route from Alma, NE to Wichita, KS every week for forty years. Sam could care less. All he could concentrate on was this thudding sound in his ears, loud and insistent. Unable to stand it any longer, he jumped out at a gas station in Salina.
It hadn't taken him long to find another ride, a trucker headed to Kansas City. Marc was an affable guy from New Mexico, maybe five years older than Sam. Sam eyed him as he drove, tapping his fingers to the beat of the music on the radio. He wasn't bad looking, carrying a few extra pounds maybe but still not in bad shape for someone who sat behind the wheel all day. The thudding sound was just as loud as in the pickup, like a heartbeat, slow and steady. The back of the cab had a makeshift bed and when Marc had pulled over at the truck stop to catch a few hours sleep, he made it clear that he'd noticed Sam's interest. That was when he first began to understand. Sam had easily pinned the smaller man down and Marc had gotten alarmed, he started to struggle and Sam had to clamp one hand over his mouth to stop him crying out. The truck driver had stilled then, his eyes wide then jackknifed his body suddenly and pulled free of Sam's grasp. Cursing he'd pinned the man down again and with a quick movement had brought the knife in his boot to his hand and he'd slit the unfortunate Marc from ear to ear before he could cry for help. The blood had pumped out vigorously, coating Sam's hands and spattering his face and body. He breathed, in and out as the most exquisite sense of release swept through him.
But there was another need as yet unanswered. He stared down at his blood-soaked hands, quivering and aroused before unfastening his jeans and fulfilling that need as well.
The lapsit exillis had sung to him, a soaring song that spoke to him of power and sex and violence. He'd lifted it out of the ebony box and watched in awe as Marc's soul rose up out of his body and into the stone, glowing greedily. After staring at it for a few moments, he returned it to the box and just sat there breathing heavily, his hands shaking. What the fuck had he just done?
He'd cleaned himself up as best he could with the sheets, then used the dingy truck stop bathroom to wash and change his clothes. His nerves were tingling and he was edgy, almost like he was coming down off a high. And he was going to have to find another ride to Kansas City.
After an hour, he finally convinced another trucker to offer him a ride. Brad was a local, younger than him and not especially chatty but that was fine with Sam. And so Sam had just stared out of the window, watching the other cars and trying not to think about the truck stop. The urge began to pulse within him again after a few hours, but he kept it locked down tight and gritted his teeth. Something was wrong, what the Hell was happening to him? Lucifer would know what was going on, would know what to do.
Finally, when Brad dropped Sam off in Kansas City, he'd picked up a new cellphone so he could check his email. There were a couple of messages from Dean and Gabriel which he ignored, and one cryptic text message telling him to check into a hotel and wait. So he waited.
It had been three days.
After his explosion of temper, Martin had sat heavily in his chair and sat silently, shaking his head.
"If Bobby were still alive, he'd kick both your asses, archangel or no," he told them. Dean rubbed his face with his hands.
"Bobby would have worked out what was going on before it was too late," he admitted. Gabriel kicked at his chair.
"Castiel knew something was up," the archangel told him. "But we thought he was over-reacting."
Dean sighed. "I couldn't believe Sam was in this much trouble, I thought he could resist Lucifer. He's done it before. I don't get it, Gabriel. What the Hell happened?"
"Have you ever asked Sam about his experience when Lucifer was possessing him?" Gabriel said tiredly. Dean looked at him, puzzled.
"No. I figured he'd tell me if he wanted to talk about it. But he never did." He scratched at his face in thought. "Why is it important?" Gabriel leaned his head back, exhaling slowly.
"Because you'd understand what's going on better if you knew. Luci and Sam had quite a lot of fun together before travelling to Stull Cemetery." Dean spluttered at the archangel's words.
"What are you talking about? Sam was fighting Lucifer!" He stood up and clenched his fists. Gabriel leveled a look at him.
"I've seen Sam's memories. It's not as black and white as you're making out. For example, one of the first things Luci did was to gift Sam with the opportunity for some payback against some of the demons Azazel had placed in his life to monitor and shape him. Sam drowned his fury and resentment in their blood. And he loved it, enjoyed every minute of it, even as he hated himself for it. There's a darkness in Sam, you know that, and it has nothing to do with demon-blood or being Luci's True Vessel." Gabriel's face was deathly serious as he handed Sam's phone to Dean, the screen showing a selfie Sam had apparently taken in Hastings. "You've seen it, that darkness, even if you try to ignore it." Dean stared at the photo, Sam splattered with blood and grinning like a kid at Disneyland, reflected crazily in the shattered remains of a mirror. He swallowed. Where the Hell had Sam taken that picture? He squinted at it, the sight of Sam touching off a memory. The farm in Hastings. They'd killed seven people that day. Humans. And Sam had killed six of them. Afterwards, he'd been so flippant and unrepentant he should have realized something was off. If only Dean hadn't been so concerned with his personal soap opera with Cas... dammit!
He shoved the phone back at Gabriel and downed his cup of whisky in one swallow. Martin refilled his cup silently.
"Sam's in the wind. We've had no luck tracking him down which means he's working really hard on covering his trail. I think we have to concentrate on finding Castiel and replenishing my Grace. Once we're up to full strength, then we have a much better chance of finding Sam." Gabriel suggested. Dean growled at him, but the archangel had a point.
"If Cas is still alive," he replied, his voice cracking. No, Cas had to still be alive. He had to be.
Sam heard a creak and opened his eyes. Lucifer was sat on the chair by the desk, an affectionate smile on his face.
"Sam," he said warmly. He got up and stalked over to the bed.
"It's good to see you," Sam told the archangel, relief flooding through him. He sat up and turned so that Lucifer could stand between his legs. Lucifer sought his mouth and kissed him with a gentle sensuality that stole his breath and made him shiver. Pulling back, Lucifer cupped Sam's face in his hands and gazed into his eyes.
"How are you doing, Sam? This can't have been easy for you." Sam swallowed, no it hadn't been easy walking out on Dean and Gabriel or banishing Cas to who knows where. He gave the archangel a brave smile.
"I'm OK," he said. "I missed you." The archangel leaned down and kissed him again, soft and gentle at first but then hard and savage when Sam tried to tug him closer. Sam cried out, burning with lust and arousal. Now, it had to be now, he couldn't wait another moment. Lucifer practically tore the clothes from his body, and buried himself in Sam, gasping and desperate. It was exactly what Sam needed, hard and fast and primitive. They'd stared into each other's eyes in the immediate aftermath, grinning crazily, before settling into a comfortable tangle of limbs.
"You've been having fun," Lucifer smirked, nibbling at Sam's ear. Sam frowned.
"I don't know what happened." he confessed. "I didn't mean to kill him. And after…" he turned his head away.
"Sam," Lucifer said softly. "You're OK, Sam."
"I'm not OK. I'm really not. Lucifer, what I did at that truck stop-" his breathing hitched and Lucifer tucked him closer into his body and stroked his hands down Sam's back.
"Easy there, Sammy. Just breathe. You're safe."
"No, no. You don't understand. I didn't want to kill that guy. I didn't want to sleep with him either. But...I'm freaking out here. What's happening to me?" Sam's voice wobbled and Lucifer leaned back to look him in the eyes.
"Sam, I know you're full of doubt and questions right now. And that's OK, unlike my father I welcome those things. So, I hate to have to ask you just to trust me. But I love you, and I swear things are going to be all right." Lucifer's voice was gentle and comforting, settling Sam's fraying nerves. Sam just breathed it all in.
After a while, Sam lifted his head once more. "So what's the plan?"
"Plan?" Lucifer said, sounding puzzled. He kissed a line down Sam's neck and splayed one hand across his chest.
"We're going to get you out of the Cage, right? This is nice but I want you here. Really here, not just in my head." He trailed a hand down Lucifer's back and heard the archangel's breath hitch, the muscles quivering. Lucifer looked up, then seized his face and kissed him fiercely.
"Yes, Sam. Oh, my love. Yes."