A disease of the mind...

Darkness pulsed all around him, rocking him like a rhythm coming through night club speakers. It buzzed and hummed, vibrating him to his core. This darkness was the person who was deeply embedded in his mind. This darkness was the demon that was gripping him tight, thrusting inside him, making him scream, making him wail for more. The darkness clawed at his skin and licked at the open wounds on his flesh. The darkness filled every single one of his senses, taking over him. It was an all-consuming, unbearably confusing, and incredibly delectable feeling… To be so completely swallowed up by a darkness so much bigger than his own.

All the empty corners inside him were suddenly full to bursting, pleasurable tingles and tremors pressing against his senses as he succumbed and fell into this lips were parted with his heavy breathing, his head tipped back in ecstasy. The pure and vehement want that draped itself over him made every single inch of sweaty skin scream for more. His tongue lolled out of his mouth, his body feeling like it was floating in water, so light but so heavy, and so out of his control. The overpowering desire inside him was like a beast, clawing it's way up his chest and out of his throat, leaving his lips in loud and unintelligible one word demands. His demands were met with enthusiasm. The darkness was providing, touching, tasting, and claiming him. Sam felt something akin to a sob leave his throat. He belonged to the darkness…
He needed this. He was trapped inside this. There was nothing else. Just the darkness all over him, and the emptiness inside him.
He gave another heady out-cry, the name of his present darkness leaving his lips over and over.
Crowley, Crowley, Crowley.

Paradise...

There was no such thing as an awkward silence anymore. Every moment that passed seemed to be filled with screaming these days. Fighting, yelling, begging for mercy, for life, for divine intervention, for anything that wasn't a blood soaked battle field or the cold edge of a knife. Every waking moment was spent yelling, arguing, pacing and shouting. Sam had never known such exhaustion could exist in this sad and heavy world. He found that his breath was just leaving his lungs in shaky, heavily forced rasps. His body collapsed onto the floor of his motel room as soon as the door was shut. His weary legs could move no farther, and hold his body up any longer. He closed his eyes as the carpet rushed up to meet him and burned against his cheek. He couldn't bring himself to care.

He'd left Dean behind at the bar to celebrate what could hardly be called a win, favoring the idea of a warm shower and fresh crisp sheets… But he didn't make it that far. He was on the floor, soaking in the quiet. Quiet that was really not as quiet as he could have hoped for. There was still the din of the outside world. Cars rumbling noisily down the roads, the laughter of drunk friends stumbling down sidewalks, the bang of a headboard in the next room… Sam gave a feeble groan. This was so uncomfortable, unpleasant, and yet… He didn't have the strength to fight it. He merely let it all just wash over him.

"Just when I thought I'd seen the most pathetic thing in the world… I stumble across this…"
He barely heard the softness of that voice coming from the other side of the motel room. It was full of gentle and sad affection, gently soothing Sam with it's familiar English intonations. He moved his cheek across the carpet as he turned his head to look toward his bed. There perched on the end of the bed, looking just about as much a mess as Sam felt, was Crowley. His suit was mussed and torn, his face flushed with exertion from some kind of fight, and his body was slumping. Sam was used to seeing Crowley holding himself so aloofly, but in these times when everyone was out to get him, Sam didn't blame Crowley for slouching. He didn't blame him in the least. Crowley had put himself on the line in hopes of helping them defeat the devil, and had been paying for it every minute since. Sam, with intense struggle, pushed himself up from the carpet some, only to find himself being dragged up a split second later by the demon.

Crowley pulled him up, and with minimal struggled, carried him to the bed, like his hulking form was light as a feather. He smiled softly, at the careful way Crowley laid him in the bed. Despite his clear exhaustion, Crowley took the time to help Sam take off his shoes and belt and jeans, finally, with careful precision, Crowley even unbuttoned Sam's shirt and helped him wriggled out of that confining fabric. Sam watched as Crowley shucked off his ruined suit jacket and pulled his tie loose, tossing it to the floor. He took a seat, heavily, on the edge of the bed beside Sam and rubbed the back of his neck.

"I don't know why I keep doing things for you…" Crowley said quietly, giving a soft sigh as he felt Sam's hand run up his back, gently caressing his hunched spine. Sam pulled Crowley's shirt free of the waist band of his pants, untucking it completely so he could slide his fingers beneath the fabric and touch the demon's warm skin. Crowley opened his mouth, taking a breath.

"You know this is getting out of hand Sam…"

"Shut up." came Sam's hoarse reply. "Just stop… Stop talking…"

Crowley let the room fall silent, simply listening to the rustle of the fabric of his shirt as Sam's cool hand caressed his back soothingly, up and down, a very simply, yet very comforting motion. The silence was tense for a bit, but it didn't last. The awkward silence melted away into one of comfortableness. It was warm and familiar, and as Sam began to doze off, his hand slid down Crowley's back and dropped to the mattress, his eyes slipping shut. Crowley sighed a little as he heard Sam's breathing evening out, and he turned his body a bit, looking down at the sleeping figure in the bed. He felt his lips twitching with the urge to smile, but he held it back, and leaned down, kissing Sam's lips softly.

"Goodnight Sam…"

And then the demon vanished.

Word's we couldn't say...

It made Crowley's skin crawl to look at Sam's body and only see Lucifer. The angel wore Sam well, like he was an expensive Armani suit, carrying him with purpose and an air of undeserved dignity. Crowley was laying, sprawled across the devil's trap, trembling from head to toe with pain. Lucifer simply flicked his finger back and forth and wrenched every nerve in Crowley's body, causing him unbelievable amounts of pain.

The days had begun to blur together, laying here, on this floor, never eating, hardly sleeping, and every day Lucifer came to torture him. Lucifer took the time out of his busy schedule to attend to Crowley's torture personally. He was glad to do it, because who better than him? Just looking at Lucifer made Crowley uncomfortable, this much was true. The reasons why however, were skewed. Sometimes he just hated looking at him because he knew he was an angel, but other times he hated it because when he looked at Lucifer he thought of Sam… The Sam he'd known personally, intimately, and better than what they'd let Dean know... He had to shut his eyes, and fight to block it all out and think back... Back to a different time. The whole reason he'd ended up here in the first place was Sam... It had always been Sam... From the moment their lips first touched and their bodies made that utterly carnal connection, Crowley knew that this fate of his was sealed.

However he didn't regret the ride any less. He wished he could have told Sam that he forgave him for saying yes. He wished he could hold Sam by the fireplace and stroke his hair one last time. He wished that he had never met Sam sometimes, but mostly, he wished that Sam was free of that nasty angel riding around in his skin like he owned it. As Lucifer tore into his flesh with a Cat of Nine tails, he gripped the concrete below him with his fingertips, cursing this universe and everything it stood for. Beyond the screaming of the Croats outside, and beyond his own howls of pain, he could hear approaching footsteps and feel a familiar presence. Lucifer cackled and kicked Crowley hard in the gut.

"Sounds like the Cavalry has arrived... Can you feel him Crowley? Can you feel the other Winchester... Your last hope is here to meet his demise..."

Lucifer was so smug in his dark laughter as he cracked his neck, preparing to destroy Dean, whom he liked to consider Crowley's only hope of ever escaping him... Crowley coughed his own blood out onto the devil's trap for what felt like the millionth time and managed a hoarse and humorless laugh of his own.

"You're wrong..." Crowley responded confidently, stopping Lucifer in his trek for the door. The angel spun his head around and narrowed his eyes at the sloppy pile of demon on the floor that had once been Crowley.

"I said... You're wrong... Sam is still in there... And as long as he is... There is hope..." Crowley hissed. "He may be buried deep, but one day, the words I never said before will reach him... He'll hear it and he'll fight you... And the best part is... You'll lose... Because when Sam loves someone... He overcomes every obstacle and does whatever it takes to protect them..."

Lucifer's face pulled into an impossibly evil scowl, and he spat at the floor in Crowley's direction with venom and disregard.

"What makes you think that he loves you at all...?" Lucifer snapped back coldly. Crowley pushed himself to his feet, swooning a little, but he met Lucifer's eyes.

"Because... Even though they went unspoken... We could always feel the words we could not say..."

~Fin