A/N: Oh look! Another atrocious story from me!
WARNINGS: Underage, non-consensual voyeurism, mentions of pedophilia
Sam came to in a motel room that he recognized for some reason. He was lying on one bed and Lucifer was standing in the corner, his arms crossed, a pleased, yet lazy, expression on his face. Sam made eye contact with him, something that made tension crackle in the air, and he hurriedly got off the bed, pressing himself against the wall on the opposite side of the room.
"Where are we?" he asked.
"You don't recognize it? I took it from your memories."
Sam looked around the room again, taking in the drab details of the gray wallpaper and the steel blue bedspreads. He heard someone coming to the door, and he frowned, looking across at it.
Then he entered, him, from when he was fifteen years old. He remembered because at the time he'd had a Spider-Man pin on his backpack that Dean had gotten him at an arcade, and he'd left it there all year until his dad had ripped it off and stomped it under his boot, telling him he shouldn't like something so ridiculous. He didn't have time to wish he was like a superhero, not when he was a "weak, pathetic boy" compared to what was out there in the dark. That same pin was on his backpack now.
It started to come back to him. He had walked home from school because his dad and Dean had left on a hunt that morning. Sam knew what was going to happen, and he looked to Lucifer with horror on his face.
"No, no… Not this. Please."
"Why not? It'll be entertaining."
He was still skinny at fifteen, still short too, and his hair was nearly getting in his eyes. He came over to the bed closest to Lucifer, dropped his bag down next to it, stripped off his jacket and then went to the bathroom to grab a box of tissues. He then threw himself down on the bed, and Sam swallowed roughly, noticing that his younger self was already hardening, his body still not having much control over that. It wasn't long before his belt, and the button and zipper on his jeans was undone, and his hand was in his pants.
"Ha!" Lucifer exclaimed. "Look at you, you set right to work."
Sam looked away, and he could distinctly hear his younger self's breaths quicken.
"Lucifer, we don't have to watch this. You've already seen everything. Please, just-"
"Come on, don't be shy. You were cute at fifteen."
Lucifer crossed the room, his eyes on the younger version of Sam the whole time, and he was licking his bottom lip. Sam knew what was in his gaze, but he did his best to pretend it wasn't there. It wasn't Lucifer looking at just any fifteen year old boy with lust and the insatiable desire to hurt. It was him. Lucifer wanted to hurt and ruin every part of him. The very knowledge was sickening beyond belief.
The Devil came up to him, and Sam tilted his head away, swallowing back the extra saliva his body was making. He felt a hand under his chin, and though he flinched, he couldn't do anything as Lucifer tilted his head towards his younger self.
Shame and mortification were digging their way through Sam, trying to find the quickest way to his heart and soul. Once they found it they kept on digging, till he was red in the face, and he simply forgot how to breathe.
Sam closed his eyes, hoping Lucifer wouldn't see, hoping he'd be too busy salivating over his younger self. At least in this memory he hadn't made any noises for Lucifer to enjoy. Sam was used to being quiet while masturbating. That's just how it'd had to be sharing a motel room with someone else his entire life. Sure, he'd gotten alone time in the shower to masturbate, but he'd still always been careful, even when he'd started at the age of fourteen. Even at fifteen he hadn't known his body that well, especially since it was changing, and he'd still been getting used to how it worked, to what excited him and what didn't. Lucifer was probably trying to guess what those things were even as he watched him.
"You're lucky I'm only doing this for entertainment value," the dark angel told him. "Fucking kids isn't really my thing, though you are just scrumptious. More Azazel's thing, really. He would've fucked you when you were just a little tot if I hadn't ordered him not to. Wanted you somewhat whole when you became mine."
"I'm not-"
Before Sam could finish speaking, Lucifer put a hand over his mouth.
"Quiet," he commanded. "I like that you still have some fight in you, but seriously, I'm trying to watch here."
At that Sam managed to wrench himself out of Lucifer's grip, opening his eyes, Instead of taking in the sight before him like Lucifer was, he turned, spreading his arms out and shielding his younger self from the Devil. But now he wasn't in front of him. He heard a pleased sigh behind him, and turned to see Lucifer now directly next to the bed, nearly leaning over it. Sam wished he could tell his younger self to stop, to cover himself. Luckily this atrocity would be over soon; it wasn't like he'd been able to last long at fifteen years old.
"Nice try," Lucifer told him.
Sam growled at him, doing his best to ignore that anything was happening on the bed, refusing to even look at himself. He already knew what he'd find, his hand quickly working his cock, his face scrunched up in pleasure as he bit his bottom lip. He remembered who he'd been thinking about too, the girl who sat next to him in algebra. Sam couldn't remember her name for the life of him just because she'd been one of many girls in all the different schools and towns he'd been forced to go to. But he remembered at the time that he'd wanted to kiss her.
His cheeks were still burning red, and he had the sudden urge to cry. The expression on Lucifer's face was terrifying. It was filled with desire and pleasure, but it wasn't innocent. It was far from innocent, but different than the predatory and sexual way he knew Lucifer could sometimes get. Oh, it was still predatory, still dangerous and wrong, but it was all mental pleasure derived from how much this was disturbing Sam, from how violating this one thing was. Sam wasn't even able to comprehend just how violating it was. All he knew was that he wanted to cover his eyes, hunch in on himself, and cry. He wanted to be left alone.
But he'd never be alone ever again.
He wasn't sure why it took this moment for that fact to hit home. Sam couldn't be alone. He was stuck in a Cage with the Devil, and he knew Michael was around, on some different plane of existence or whatever, but he was still there, maybe even peeking in from time to time to see how his baby brother was playing with his new pet. At least he wasn't joining in. The last thing Sam needed was two archangels attacking him in unimaginable ways.
No, it was just Lucifer. For now. And saying it was just Lucifer was an understatement. This was too much to put up with.
The Devil had already violated him, had already seen everything, but now that he was getting off to this in some strange way it made things even worse.
"You're really going at it," Lucifer commented, his voice low.
"Stop."
"Hmm…" he responded, tilting his head, resting himself against the wall. "Let me think about it for a moment. No."
Sam gestured to himself on the bed, still not looking, as he shouted, "I'm only fifteen for crying out loud!"
"And?" Lucifer questioned, now looking to Sam and away from the memory of himself on the bed. "It's still you, isn't it?" Lucifer straightened, slowly walking over to him, making Sam back up. "Every single part of you belongs to me," he explained. "I can't pick and choose that, you can't pick and choose that. You belong to me now, you belonged to me when you were hyped up on demon blood, you belonged to me when you were a pathetic, normal college student, you belonged to me then," - he pointed a finger to his fifteen year old self on the bed - "you belonged to me all those times your daddy yelled at you when you were a kid, you belonged to me when you were a baby, and you even belonged to me when you were in your bitch of a mother's womb. You have always been mine, Sam. The very idea of you is mine. God made you for me, and me alone. What part of that do you not understand?"
Sam was against the wall now, tears streaming down his face. He swallowed, trying to get rid of the ache in his throat that was stealing his voice. He had a feeling that if he tried to speak he would start sobbing instead.
Then he shook his head.
There was a small grunt from himself on the bed, and then the memory was thankfully fading away, dripping into nothing like blood running down a wall, and then he saw the Cage and the darkness of the void and the lightning that flashed around them, rattling Sam's teeth, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.
Lucifer grabbed his chin at that, forcing him meet his gaze, which was now a glowing red that made Sam's heart leap up into his throat.
"Oh, so you don't understand?"
"No," Sam got out. "I belong to me."
"Oh yeah, sure you do," Lucifer responded teasingly. "Sure, it's not like I waited for you since before the creation of the Earth and then you threw me in here! It's not like you wouldn't have been born without God wanting it to happen. Without me, you'd be nothing, Sammy. You wouldn't even exist. I needed you to exist. God needed you to exist. So you are mine. And you'll always be mine."
Sam understood every single word Lucifer was saying, and somewhere inside him he knew it was true. He'd only been born so that he could belong to this vile, fallen angel, the father of demons, of lies, the creator of sin itself. And though Lucifer had a silver tongue, Sam knew he wasn't lying now.
Sam belonged to himself, but Lucifer had an even stronger claim on him.
"Say it," Lucifer commanded, one hand on his shoulder now, squeezing till Sam had his face scrunched up in pain and was crying out. He thought maybe he could hear crackling sounds, even with the thunder drumming around them. "Say. It."
Sam wouldn't say it. He couldn't say it.
But it was true.
He knew it was true.
Deep down in his very soul he comprehended that fact, that inarguable truth that made him want to rip his skin off, tear himself apart so Lucifer couldn't have any of him. But the Devil already tore him apart enough as it was. And Sam knew why. He was furious, he was bored. Sam was there, and he was his.
That hand of ice left his shoulder, creeping over towards his bare chest, then lower, near his diaphragm, and fingers started pushing into him. Not through his skin, not through his organs, but in him, heading towards his soul.
He screamed as that twisted, defiled Grace touched his soul and played with it, played with him, touched him, ventured inside him.
And through his screams, even as he tried to hold them back, he cried out, knowing in his core essence that it was true: "I'm yours!"
"Again!" Lucifer commanded, voice filled to the brim with sadistic bliss.
"I'm - agh! I'm yours!"
The Devil withdrew himself from his soul, and Sam fell against him, trying to catch his breath, grunting through the pain that radiated out from deep inside of his very being. A cold hand was on his face, the other caressing his hair, and he cried.
Sam belonged to the Devil.
But as Lucifer lifted his head up, smiling at him, he had one defiant thought, one thought that went against all the torture, all the brutalities, all the horrors and ruining, violating touches his body, soul, and mind had experienced, and he hoped it didn't show in his eyes: Sam belonged to himself.