It was being born again.
Raw pain, an introduction, an understanding of a new existence he'd never known, brightness and warmth and light which were enrapturing and suffocating, until –
It began to change shape, and he felt himself falling, still gripping Adam with clammy hands –
The warmth turned to a freezing chill, the newness became old pains and agony, and he was ripped apart, one being become two: a terrified human and –
Sam looked up. His body had fallen away, lost to the shadows but with his soul he set his eyes upon what could only be considered a star, radiating the most bitter cold and emotions Sam could feel thrumming through his own veins. Anger, hurt betrayal, at his father, at Michael, at Sam. Because Lucifer may never have thought Sam would see his side but he had honestly never expected the pet to bite back. He'd never foreseen this.
There was a part of Sam, a very human part, which regretted the necessity of this. Lucifer had been inside him. Sam had felt his loneliness, his heart-wrenching anger, his inability to understand his father and brother's abandonment of him which only led to more anger. Sam understood that anger. What kind of parent through banished their child into a pit of darkness and despair for eternity as punishment? Sam could almost forgive him. But not quite.
There were two stars, and they were warring. The cold one Sam could feel in his breast, beating with his own heart, as they fell through the shadows together; not physically touching but still One Being. Michael was, contrary to conventional thought, the one which burned. Sam couldn't look upon him, he was far too hot, too bright red and steaming, unbearable to see –
The Fell for ages, for eons, and the angel-stars fought. Sam clutched his little brother to his chest and felt every blow, every scathing comment of Enochian, every mark that fell upon the Adversary as Michael tore him apart. Watching the older and stronger brother tear into the other.
He tried not to think of Dean.
When they finally fell to the bottom there was no peace.
The stretch of land, anguished and old, was as dark as it was endless. No difference between sky and land could be told; both were black as pitch and scarred by smoke and fire. The only brightness was the angels, still falling upon one another, oblivious to the humans watching on in awe and terror.
Sam could feel everything Lucifer felt; from the wounds which pained him, to the turmoil within, the rolling rage and freshly opened wounds. Lucifer had opened himself up to his brother again, had asked him to lay down arms and offered peace. Michael had preferred war to peace, had rather kill him than try to forgive him. Old scars tore open and Sam felt them in similar ways. The pain of rejection, of a brother's outright hatred and disdain, of hearing Dean telling him to never come back.
Lucifer was wrong, but so was Michael; and Sam had no earthly idea how he was supposed to prove it to either of them. Then again, there was no point. It was over. He had saved the world, and damned himself forever.
Then again, forever was a long time. He might as well try to do something in the meanwhile.
It still wasn't over.
Had years passed? Centuries? Sam had spent what felt like a lifetime sitting upon the sooty ground, keeping close to Adam and watching the false stars dance across the false sky. The angels had forgotten their vessels. Endlessly they streaked across the blackness, circling each other, struggling with one another. Sam could not truly understand what was happening, couldn't comprehend how they existed, what they were doing. He knew he wasn't really seeing them; that the star-likeness was as near as his mind could get, that there was something more. Sometimes he could understand bits of what they were saying, filtered through Lucifer's understanding. None of it was kind.
But mostly, he preferred to imagine them as stars. For a moment he could lay back and pretend it was some sort of magnificent nighttime marvel, a feature of the universe, two bright suns dancing across the vastness of space.
When they met, thunder rumbled the plains. Something akin to lightning struck the pseudo-earth whenever they lashed out at each other. They flared and flashed and blinded, more powerful than anything monster Sam had ever slain, more beautiful than any human he'd set eyes on. No matter how much time passed it was never less spectacular or horrifying.
And it never stopped.
Sometimes Sam would close his eyes and think back to his life before. It was too painful to think of the people and places he'd left behind for very long, but it was much too tedious to forever focus on the barren landscape and the war in the sky. So, more often than not, he thought of Lucifer.
It seemed like picking at the scab, but those memories were the only safe ones, the only things he could touch which didn't make him long for anything he couldn't have.
At least, that's how it started.
Sam played these memories like movies in his mind. From the dreams through which Lucifer had first introduced himself, through the many months of their running throughout which Lucifer continued chasing him. The angel had been the star of nightmares both his own and angel-created.
The human form Lucifer had taken was still easier to imagine than his angelic explosion of light. Sam could still picture him; wearied by middle-age, hair starting upon thinning and greying but still holding to some thickness and color; an unassuming shape muddled and average, but it stood out so in his mind. Even then, he could catch glimpses of the massive energy within, the supernova barely contained by flesh and bone. It shone through his chilled eyes, reverberated in his tone, made the ground shake at his footsteps. Sam thought perhaps everyone could feel this otherness about the angel but only he could feel it so deeply.
These memories, which at first had been a bastion from the emptiness, became just as troublesome. As time passed and he dwelled more on them, Sam found himself wanting. There had been a time he would have worshipped angels. Fallen at their feet and begged their forgiveness, their protection, their acceptance. The angels of his youth, of the stories of his childhood, those angels he would love and adore and praise.
He'd learned the hard way that most angels weren't like that. Some were. Castiel had proven he was one worth the adoration of history; and Sam did love him. But in many ways it felt… as if Castiel didn't quite fit. Sam wouldn't kneel and worship Castiel. Perhaps it was how close he was to the angel, perhaps it was how human he had come to seem, or how the relationship between Dean and Cas had become. But while Sam knew Cas would always support him and protect him, he was not Sam's angel. He was Dean's.
That was the thing. Sam wanted an angel – he wanted that protection, that love, to be able to just be safe and not afraid for once, because there was something bigger than him protecting him. Once, that something had been God, and his angels. He knew better now. But that didn't make the desire, the want, for the ability to give in and let someone else take over and protect him for once.
Lucifer could've been that angel. Twisted and malicious he was, but in that way he was very human. He'd fallen far, and been hurt viciously, but Sam preferred to think that once, there was a time Lucifer could've been an angel Sam would have loved.
There came a day was enough was enough.
Sam had no idea how much time had passed, or if any had even passed at all. What he knew, was he'd spent what felt like forever watching the angel-stars tear each other apart, and could now see that one was winning: Michael.
Lucifer was not the eldest, nor the strongest of the two angels, and it was beginning to show. The cold star was only cool now, shimmering a light blue instead of a striking dark navy. Melodic moans trembled through the air with every blow that fell, and Sam felt inside that Lucifer's strength was waning.
Thoughts began to race. Would this be better for them? For Lucifer to fall to Michael? No, Sam thought with a shudder, he didn't think so. Lucifer was cruel, but Michael was stronger, and perhaps was even more disillusioned with humanity, especially given the fall into the pit. It would be hard to predict him. With Lucifer at least, he had a bond; he knew the angel, could feel him inside, could predict him. No, in the end, Sam didn't think Lucifer's death would do him and Adam any good.
For a moment Sam felt his memories flash back to a time when the angel had discussed his family. How his father had tossed him aside, how his brother had thrown him down. The utter coldness in his eyes, the wounds healed over which no longer hurt but were sore, throbbed at remembering. Lucifer had been flawed, was flawed, but in the moment he might have changed no one reached out to try and help facilitate it. Sam, glancing up at the fading light, realized he had a chance to change that.
Never say Sam wasn't constantly after hopeless cases. He could practically hear Dean calling him an optimistic fucking idiot. But what else had he to do, and what good might come, if he could show the Fallen King of Hell that not everyone was heartless and would toss him aside, that even the worst of people deserved love and protection. Granted, Satan wasn't people… gritting his teeth, Sam resolved himself to it and stood.
Arms lifted, Sam followed instinct, pulled on the link between himself and the angel, tugged him back down to the earth, and he was so weak he went easily. Still, he was powerful enough that the reforging of their singular self hurt, chilled him to the bone, as Sam stuck that frozen star into his breast and tucked it away, kept it safe inside. Lucifer would draw strength from him, would heal with time, and Michael wouldn't be able to touch him.
Sam, he could hurt. And he proceeded to, in ways the human had never thought of or imagined, that were agonizing in ways no mortal could express.
Sam could not think during that time. But when it was over, when he felt that brilliant star expand and explode inside, he thought how foolish could he be, to be so unsure of his own redemption he would try to redeem the Devil himself.
When Sam awoke, Lucifer was still inside his rib cage, shuddering and expanding with his lungs.
It no longer felt odd, to be one with something so old, so large and incomprehensible. Sam and Lucifer were upon the ground, on their backs, looking up at an empty sky. Michael was gone. Without Adam to draw strength from, the eldest angel had been overwhelmed by his little brother. Sam felt a sense of peace pervade his tired heart, and he sighed.
Or, he tried to. His body wouldn't move. In an instant flash of fear he realized he was trapped again, had willingly allowed Lucifer inside himself again. Panic drowned him, but vanished and was replaced with confusion when suddenly the cold star floated out of him.
It reformed beside him into Nick, but still the form shined with ethereal blue light and a chilly aura like Michigan in January. Shivering, Sam sat up, shock widening his eyes as he looked over Lucifer.
The angel was looking upon him with some surprise of his own; subdued, but present, kneeling by the human's side. The human began to sit up only to let out a gasp of agony, falling back to the ground again.
What Michael had done left no visible scare but still his soul was shredded and torn, and Sam was in so much pain there were no words to describe it. But as quickly as it started, it ended. Bleary, watery eyes opened, and Sam saw the star again. Nick's vague outline shone through it, around it, but he could see within to the ethereal, otherworldliness tucked away.
Nick's hand lay upon Sam's chest; tendrils of light, bitter cold to the touch, weaved around Sam's soul. He could see the angel's lips moving, hear him speak, and could sense the words almost downloading straight to his self.
What was said shocked Sam to the bone.
He struggled to sit up. "What?" Mouth open, Sam watched as the two versions, the star and the man, became one again, and Nick-Lucifer was sitting across from Sam.
The angel was smirking, eyes sharp like daggers, but there was something subdued within. The hand on his chest drifted upward, caressed his cheek, drifted into his hair. Sam's breath hitched.
"Adore me," Lucifer muttered. He pulled Sam in, and the human was helpless to stop him. "Adore me, and you'll want for nothing."
Instinct said no; self-righteous anger said no; but when his lips parted, he said nothing. What could no bring him? Sam looked around him, remembered that he had already sacrificed everything for the world, that he could literally go no further down, that Lucifer and his little brother were his dorm mates for eternity and there was no changing that.
What did it matter if he damned himself? He was already in Hell.
So he didn't say no. He murmured, "Please," with cracked lips, fell upon the Devil's shoulder shuddering with tears, felt the angel's arms and more coming round him.
"Worship me," The angel muttered against his ear. "I will never turn you away, I will never leave you to rot. I am not my father, and I am not your father. I'm better than both of them."
He was truly sobbing now, clutching at the angel, begging for something, what he couldn't say. "Please!"
Lucifer smirked viciously, eyes burning bright, before his human formed melted to mist. Then a brightness overwhelmed him, and the cold was back, the star closer and more powerful than ever before. Then he was the star, one and the same, and enveloped in a chill that wasn't bitter but comforting, like a soft wind on a hot day.
Love me, the star whispered to Sam's mind. God is gone. Dean is gone. Everyone is gone and I am all that's left.
Adam! Sam insisted. His little brother, family, his fault he got involved –
Yes, said the angel patiently. I shall protect him. And you. Just give yourself to me.
And Sam Winchester, tired, torn apart, lonely Sam Winchester, gave himself to the angel again – felt snow and ice replacing the blood in his veins – felt his pain and agony melting away, pleasure and light exploding in his head, filling him over – he was expanding to fit a galaxy inside him, eons of knowledge and pain and memories - allowing himself to be protected by something larger and greater than himself, giving in, images of crosses and churches and his father's distant face –
It was being born again.