Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, and am not affliliated with the writers. All writing is purely recreational.
This is my first fan-fic, so please be nice!
Take it Sam. It will help, I promise.
Sam slowly edged his hand over the table, his nails were dirty, and small cuts snaked their way up his arm. His bruised fingers gingerly brushed the hilt of the knife, the feeling of cold metal sending a spike up his arm. For a second his head was clear. He could feel the beat of his heart, and the ache of his limbs. He could hear his ragged, disjointed breaths, and the slight wind that smacked itself against the window. Then, his mind went foggy again. He felt the chains returning to the shaken recluse, the part of the his soul that wanted to feel, hiding at the back of his mind.
It's okay, Sam, I believe in you.
Sam felt his resistance ebbing away, and clutched the knife tightly in his hand. His knuckles turned white, the furrows on his forehead deepening. His soft hair was matted, his face pale and slack. His eyes were blank and unnerving. He didn't blink.
Move, Sam. Do it. It will stop the pain.
Sam stood up, knocking over he chair with his lanky frame. It clattered to the floor, the sound echoing throughout the dismal warehouse. He carelessly paced over to the wall, his feet dragging behind him. He hurried on, desperate to get away from the voice haunting him. His body hurt, his eyes blurring.
No, Sam. I told you. Listen. Or I will do it myself.
Sam fell, landing awkwardly on his hip. The pain rushed through his body. He scuffed his knees, his jeans thinning around the forming bruises. He felt weak, and dizzy. His arm twisted painfully around his side, as if some other force was moving it. His hand reached round, pulling up the sleeve from his other arm. Underneath the skin was pale, with a slight green hue. His demonic arm took the knife, holding the point above the flesh.
Will you obey me, Sammy? I need your obedience.
Sam nodded, the grimace hurting his neck. He felt hot, and freezing at the same time. He leaned back, pressing his face against the cold flagstone floor. His back leant uneasily on the ground, the stones digging into his tender muscles. He nodded once more, tears streaming from his sorrow-filled eyes.
Prove it.
Sam held the knife above his arm, the salty liquid dribbling down his cheeks, and onto his tattered plaid shirt. The pain was unbearable. 'I will obey!' He screamed, his weak voice echoing off the empty building. 'I will.' He sobbed, his mind dark and heavy. The knife was poised just over his flesh, the tip imprinting onto his skin.
Good.
The knife clattered to the floor, as Sam drew into a small ball. He pulled his long limbs close, and squashed his face into his arms. His breathing was heavy, reverberating around the room. His face was hot, his nose running, his eyes stinging. He gasped, his mind went clear once more. The pain flooded into him, the sharp blow cutting into him like a knife. Like the knife almost did. Everything hurt. He wasn't okay. Lucifer had taken him, and his life was no longer in his hands.