AN: Finding time to write has been a pain, but I just got back from vacation which has an eight hour drive, and no phone reception, which left me with plenty of time to write, even if that meant I was doing so until three a.m. But- this has always been a story that demanded to be written, because much like when Meg possessed Sam, you can't help but wonder how it came to be. Plenty of torture, and angst. Always angst. Gotta love angst.
It was so damn unfair. Sam had always been the one who had believed. He had believed in God, he had believed in angels, he had believed in the idea that he could one day redeem himself, be seen as more than the boy king, an abomination, a monster.
That had been his own fault really.
Turned out Sam had been right about angels being real. The part that sucked was that damn near every single one of them hated his guts. They were all so bent on the notion that he was nothing more than Lucifer's meatsuit, which made him just as bad as Lucifer apparently. But that didn't stop them from incessantly trying to get him to say 'yes' to him, because why the hell not be a bunch of hypocritical douchebags?
Sam really had no idea how long it had been since he'd contacted Dean. The days tended to blur together when you start and end each one with copious amounts of alcohol.
Not that it mattered. Dean had made it clear just how much he cared about Sam. Seriously, Sam had told him that freaking Satan was invading his dreams, and Dean had said that they were better off apart. Whatever, not like Sam needed him anyway.
Or- so he had thought...
Months Later...
Day God knows what, in town God knows where, and drink number- God probably doesn't want to know actually. But God had made it quite clear that He had abandoned Sam long ago. But whatever, so had everyone else in his life, why should one more matter?
Despite how fine Sam had insisted he was, this particular bartender had decided that Sam had had enough for the night. Like it mattered how much he drank. The Devil could still possess him with a ruined liver. The Devil could bring him back to life if he died in a car accident. He couldn't escape. He was destined to become Lucifer's bitch, and apparently he couldn't stop it. His entire life had been one rollercoaster he'd been unwillingly strapped into starting at six months old. Every twist and turn, every rise or fall he'd endured had all just been pushing him closer and closer to Lucifer. Sam had always been in favour of one having the ability to choose one's own path, but look where that had gotten him.
Finally able to make his way out of the bar, Sam drunkenly stumbled back to the hotel, along the way passing some kind of priest rambling about the imminent destruction of mankind. Oh, if only you knew, buddy.
He collapsed onto his bed, dreading the headache and nausea he knew he was going to wake up to. But until that moment came, he'd take solace in the bliss of not being conscious for as many hours as he possibly could. With that promise of ever fleeting numbness, Sam closed his eyes.
As expected, he woke up a few hours later with a blazing headache. Without even opening his eyes, Sam reached out to the nightstand next to his bed to grab some painkillers. Only- the bottle wasn't there. He finally opened his eyes to look for it, but to his surprise, not only were the pills missing, but so was the entire nightstand. He shot up in his bed- wait, even his bed was gone!
What the hell?
Ever the hunter, Sam began to survey his surroundings, and the first thing Sam realised was that he was no longer in the same place he had gone to sleep in. It was a fairly small room, and Sam soon noticed something else. The complete lack of a door. And windows. Seriously, what the hell was going on?
"Confused?"
Sam internally groaned at the sound of that voice. He'd actually believed that he'd finally gotten rid of that asshole. Add that to the list of letdowns.
"Zachariah." He greeted with a huff, turning around to face the angel he'd come to hate so very much.
"Aw, what's with the face, Sam? I'm sure you missed me at least a little."
Sam's silence was all the answer he was willing to give.
Zachariah was the one who huffed this time. "Rude."
"How'd you even find me?" Sam asked, in no mood for these childish games Zachariah seemed so bent on playing.
"We gave a few chosen speakers yours and Dean's faces. Helps to have a couple of eyes on the ground. Keeps us from having to deal with all the other monkeys on this soon to be eradicated planet."
"Yeah, and how's that been going?" Sam couldn't help but mockingly ask. Pissing off Zachariah was just way too much fun. Although- it did often have its consequences.
With a very clear scowl, Zachariah grabbed Sam by his shoulders and painfully slammed him into the yolk-coloured wall. Why he didn't just flick his fingers and pin Sam there was beyond Sam. Zachariah leaned right into Sam's face, and it quickly became clear that angels didn't feel the need to brush their vessels' teeth.
"You would be wise to show me some, respect, boy." Zachariah hissed at Sam, his blue eyes boring into Sam's. "You're stuck with me now, so I wouldn't play this game if I were you."
"What, like you're not already planning to torture me to get me to say 'yes?' What more can you really do?"
The scowl Zachariah once had shifted into an all too eager smile, but the eyes stayed icy and hateful, and Sam soon began to regret asking that question.
"Oh, don't look so worried, Sam. I'm not gonna lay a finger on you..." The grin widened. "Yet." He snapped his fingers, and Sam couldn't help but reflexively flinch. Any time an angel snapped their fingers, only bad things happened. Although nothing he'd expected occurred. He didn't explode into a mess of organs and blood, his bones shatter, and he didn't get his lungs torn out again either. Instead, a small table appeared in the centre of the room, nothing on it expect for a single glass. And inside the glass was- no. Oh, God, please no.
Demon blood.
It had been months since Tim and Reggie had tried to force that damn stuff down his throat, and he hadn't let himself give in then. But- he had been fighting humans in a , now he'd be resisting an angel in an inescapable room. This was not good.
"You keep that stuff away from me." Sam had been going for strong and defiant when he said that, so it was much to his dismay when it sounded more like a plea.
Zachariah must have noticed it too, because he chuckled. "You've got a long way to go before you say the big 'yes,' I can tell you that." He made his way over to the glass, and strode back over to Sam, the gleaming red liquid taunting him. "But this will be a good start." He immediately tried to force the glass up to Sam's mouth, but Sam knocked it out of Zachariah's hands in a flash, and the glass clattered to the floor, its contents now glimmering red against the white tile.
Like a disappointed owner scolding its dog, Zachariah crossed his arms and turned to Sam. "Now look at the mess you've made."
Within a single blink of Sam's eyes, the spill was gone. Before he could feel relief, Zachariah thrust another glass filled with demon blood directly into Sam's face. "Wanna try that again?"
It was really Zachariah's own fault for giving Sam the choice. He was only a human, but an annoyingly stubborn one at that, so it shouldn't have been that much of a surprise when Sam refused that glass too, once again knocking it onto the floor.
Sighing, Zachariah shook his head. "Let the record show that I tried to do this the humane way."
Before Sam could even flinch in anticipation for an attack, he felt his back slam against something solid and cold. Then what felt like leather slid over his limbs and mouth, pinning him to what he presumed to be a table. With the gag over his mouth, Sam supposed it meant that Zachariah had given up on trying to feed him demon blood, for which he felt relief.
That is- until he saw Zachariah coming at him with a needle. His stomach clenched in horror as he immediately guessed its contents.
He began to struggle as much as he possibly could, but with his arms fastened down at his sides and his legs secured in three different places, there wasn't much room for the possibility of freeing himself.
For a moment he thought that he'd have a shot at escape when Zachariah undid the strap on his left arm, but the angel simply yet harshly squeezed Sam's wrist, grinding the bones together, making the message clear. Sam was going nowhere.
With nothing else left to do, Sam cast a pleading glance to Zachariah, his panting breaths amplified as they rushed against the gag across his mouth. He even gave a meek shake of his head, because he was just that desperate.
But Zachariah only laughed.
"And with that, you're already on step one of your acceptance process." That said, Zachariah swiftly injected the needle into the soft skin of Sam's inner arm, smirk widening further upon hearing Sam's distressed cry. He finished with the first dosage, and with a wave of his hand, he closed up the injury. Wouldn't want even a single drop of that blood spilling out, now would we?
"Now," Zachariah said with what seemed to be a genuinely pleased smile, and wasn't that the most comforting sight? "You've been a bad boy so far, Sam, so I'll just leave you here to think about what you've done for a while. See you in a few hours, buddy."
After briefly delighting in the panicked look in Sam's eyes, Zachariah vanished, leaving the boy to writhe in misery.
AN: This story just further shows how much I dislike dialogue. Don't know why, just don't like doing it. But hey, it means gagged Sam, so can you really complain? Hehehe. Next chapter is fully complete, but I actually have a job this Summer, so I don't know when I'll be able to post. But to anyone who knows my stories, you know that an already finished next chapter means a-
Sneak Peek: "Satan's vessel, whimpering on the ground because of a shot. Go figure."
Even less dialogue next chapter than there was here, but hurt!Sam galore, so I'm sure y'all won't mind. Drop a review if you're enjoying, and I will post as soon as I can! Thanks for reading!