Sam Winchester – or what was left of him – sat slumped over on the dirty ground, his hands chained above him to the wall, his body covered in dirt and dust, his features littered with wounds, and his dark eyes tired and broken. It had been a few days since he had seized control and leaped into the Hell Gate, pulling Michael with him, and each day had been the same.
He had seen no sign of Michael, Adam, or anyone else for that matter. His head ached; his body felt like a thousand white-hot knives were twisting slowly inside of him, and his memories were tattered and painful. He wished he could breathe without the sulfurous air burning his lungs. He wished he could stand up and escape, fight back and emerge victorious. If nothing else, he wished he was dead. The infinite screams of the distant damned and the laughter of their black-eyed masters echoed in his ears, driving him to the edge of stability.
He was broken, teetering on the edge of a complete breakdown, his senses screaming. The hellfire around him licked at his flesh. His vision swam and he was on the verge of falling back into unconsciousness when he heard the soft rustle of wings and was blinded by a burst of light, his eyes watering from the unusual brightness.
"Hello, Sam," said a calm voice in front of him. "I've been looking for you for a very long time."
Sam raised his eyes to the source of the voice. His heart began to quicken, his pulse racing in utter terror. "Lucifer," he gasped hoarsely, his body erupting into a painful fit of coughing. Every fiber of his being feared the fallen archangel, resented him for what he had done to his piss-poor excuse for a life.
The angel knelt down beside him, his emotionless blue eyes studying the hunter's torn features, flickering briefly with what could be mistaken for concern. "Sam. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm here to protect you." As if to emphasize his point, the shackles around the Winchester's bruised wrists snapped off, his arms falling loosely into his lap as he hunched over in another fit of coughing.
"No," Sam whispered weakly, "You stay the hell away from me." His words were shaky, and he collapsed from his sitting position onto the floor, tears streaming down his face as his body convulsed with sobs and agonizing pain. He felt the fires burning around him flare up, the heat scorching his face. The wings rustled again.
As if sensing his weakened state, torrents of black smoke began to pour in through the grates beneath him, surrounding him, tearing at his flesh and vying for his soul. He screamed. With his last ounce of energy, he turned his gaze once again on the angel, his eyes desperate, begging to be spared, but Lucifer was gone. A tremendous wave of fiery pain overtook the hunter, and he felt his soul begin to tear. His vision faded to black.