How the Paint Peels Off: A Sam/Lucifer Fan Fiction
Drip, drop, drip… The steady rhythm of water droplets being released from the stalactites' icy grip forms a calming, and haunting symphony. Sitting here in this endless black, taking a moment to appreciate a place where idiotic demons don't venture to, I am somewhat peaceful. Here, only the screeching brown bats hold dominion. It is a place of beauty, and of startling power. To think that all that surrounds me is natural majesty untainted by human vision, all my father's creation—it is incredible. I sniff the air, and surprisingly to most humans, it is clean. Of course it is… There is no stench of death that humans always portray… In fact it is similar to a misty mountaintop…
Whoosh. With a soft thud I land on the grass. Instantly a rush of cold wind hits me, exciting my senses. The dense fog that surrounds the mountain drops off, creating the illusion that the depths below are endless. Perhaps they are. I sigh, wishing that I could find peace in the world of humans, but I cannot. They are prejudiced, stealing, lying abominations that my father created. And he banished me, came to abhor me, simply because I adored him with a greater love than the stars and their orbiting planets. And then he left us—left me. Abandoned, forced to rule over the unsavory demons who are clueless fools.
And I am broken, breaking still. I couldn't convince the younger of the brothers to bond with me when I walked the Earth freely. Now I can only taunt him with the darkness, hoping to pull him into the abyss with me. But he has too much love, much like I, for his family.
I sigh, and appear back in the room where the young human sleeps. I am really only a figment of his imagination now, for my true self lies in the cage. I can only travel away from Sam for a short while, and even then the pictures aren't complete. He is convinced that I am not real—oh how wrong he is…
The distressed hunter stirs, as if he senses my presence. It's tantalizing that I make him tremble with my mere existence. He should fear me. He jolts awake and looks around, shaking out of his drowsy state. I appear visible to him and he jumps back slightly, pressing against the couch.
"Hey Sammy," I say sweetly, and I can tell that it makes his blood boil.
"Don't call me that—get out of my head!" he roars, standing up and stomping into the kitchen. I flit behind him, reveling in his torture.
"Sam, why do you try?" I ask, seeming disinterested. The younger Winchester looks angry—in fact, he is seething.
"I have to beat this—I will beat you!" he growls, backing against the kitchen counter. I look into his mind and know that he sees more than just me—to him, the walls are crimson red and the paint is peeling off like dripping blood. Chains are clattering all around him, and the fires are spreading, becoming dogs that lap up the room. Sam screams and slides to the ground just as his older brother walks in.
"Sam! Are you alright!?" Dean breathes as he helps Sam up. I appear long enough to wink at Sam, and then disappear.
#
"Sam, are you listening man?" Dean asks, snapping his fingers so that Sam shakes his head and looks back, away from my smirking face.
"He's not real Sammy," I coo into the hunter's ear. Sam shivers from my icy breath that isn't really there. He gives his brother a quick smile and says "I'm fine." I smirk with glee. Dean looks at his brother curiously.
"Sam, that's not what I asked," he says, looking worried. Dena rubs his eyes and goes to sit on the couch. Sam, for once, ignores my taunts and goes to sit with his brother on that worn-out sofa. He has something to ask Dean, I can feel it.
"Dean, are you okay?" Sam asks. I laugh a little to myself, hoping that he'll ask that embarrassing question. After all, Sam knows exactly how Dean feels… how he feels about my brother… Dean looks at his tortured brother and I can see the panic in his eyes.
"Yeah, yeah I'm fine," he says, brushing the question off with a shrug.
"Really? 'Cause ever since Cass, um, left, and I went crazy you've acted really—strange." I can see how the younger Winchester is phrasing his question carefully, not wanting Dean to explode on him. Dean shrugs.
"Yeah—I mean, I guess I miss Cass… Why wouldn't I?" Dean says casually, although his breath hitches when he speaks my little brother's name. And Sam notices.
Dean, that's not—that wasn't really what I mean," Sam says, barely audible. But Dean hears all the same, and flares up.
"Then what, Sam? Can't I be angry about losing my—" Dean pauses for only a second, unsure of what to say. He knows what he wants to say, I'm positive. "My best friend," he finishes quietly, his voice almost a growl. Sam backs off slightly.
"Look Dean, I miss Cass too—" at that Dean's eyes seem to be on fire with anger. Sam doesn't notice. I decide that it's time to torture my little angry Winchester some more. I appear visible to him.
"Sam, he loves him—Sometimes more than you…" Sam whips his head back to me and snaps "Shut up!" When he realizes what he's done, he turns back to the anxious Dean.
"I—um," he begins, but Dean cuts him off.
"Dammit Sam! You have to tell me if you've been seeing him! We need to fix this—there's got to be a way. I don't care if I have to sell my soul—"
"No Dean." The words were definitive, probably the most conscious Sam's said in a long time. I grin—this is getting good, like my own Winchester television show. Dean sighs.
"I thought you were healing," he mumbles. And now, Sam surprises me.
"I am, okay? I'm dealing with it… But Dean, you're avoiding the question. I was asking about Cass."
Dean pretends to be confused at the question… But Sam knows better.
"Dean, whatever it is, you can always tell me man," Sam says. Dean nods, although he's probably nodding to himself, trying to rationalize his feelings towards Castiel. He isn't sure what to say, so he scratches his neck.
"Well Sam—I'm not really sure man... I guess Cass was just—maybe it's because he was our only friend left, or, ah I don't know…" Sam sighs and looks at his brother.
"Dean, do you love him?"
"Boom! Score one for the Samster!" I yell into Sam's ear. He flinches slightly. Dean is speechless.
"What? Sam, are you kidding? I mean, he's—he's a friggin' angel!" Dean huffs finally. Sam immediately tries to correct his mistake.
"Dean, you can relax, I was talking about a brotherly love," Sam says, surprised by Dean's reaction. Although I know that Sam is lying. He was certainly not speaking about a brotherly love.
"Oh," Dean says, his face now reddening. He realizes that he's standing up, looking like a wild animal. He sits back down and closes his eyes, probably to stop those human tears from coming out. I find it comical that he actually loves Castiel.
"Sam?" Dean finally asks, opening his eyes.
"Yeah?" Sam answers hesitantly. Dean takes a deep breath.
"Say I were to, well love Cass," Dean says slowly. Sam looks at the older Winchester deeply and with the most sincere expression says, "I'd just be glad that you found someone Dean. And I'd hope that we got him back one day."
"You wouldn't care that he's an angel, or that he's a dude?" Dean asks. Sam shakes his head.
"Dean, don't you think that you deserve happiness?" Sam asks. He knows that Dean doesn't think he deserves anything. He never thought of himself as worthy of anything… It's almost pitiful to see their emotional exchange. But then again, I'm sympathetic. I have brothers of my own, and our "family issues" cause catastrophe on a global scale.
"I guess… I hope you know that was pretty damn painful to say—I always, ALWAYS, liked chicks. But Cass is, well Cass. I just don't get it, but something—"
"You're in love Dean, that simple. Stop analyzing it. We'll get Cass back, I promise," Sam says, Dean nods.
"Thanks…" Sam nods back.
"Welcome—but if we get him back and you don't tell him, I'm gonna kick your ass," Sam says, totally forgetting me. And that isn't okay.
"Sam, pay attention to me!" I say, trying to whine. But the hunter blocks me out, for now.
#
The elder Winchester throws Sam a beer, and he nearly drops the bottle, thanks to my constant presence in his head. Dean laughs and says, "Ha-ha, you okay?" Sam shrugs it off and cracks open the beer.
"Yeah—fine," he says with a fake smile. I look at Sam and casually say "he's not there Sammy… It's your mind playing nasty tricks on you. Open your eyes and see it—you're in Hell…" I grin as I say the name of my eternal damnation, looking sickening to Sam. He is trying desperately to push my out, but it won't last long.
"Sam, stop lying! You keep looking all over the place and pressing your damn hand! We need to try and fix this, but if you don't tell me what's going on then I can't do anything!" Dean looks like for once he'll let down his guard; maybe even cry. Sam stares blankly at his brother, and copying what I've told him many times says, "the paint is peeling off the walls" in a pitiful, sad voice.
"The paint is—what? What the hell are you talking about?" Dean asks, and then I see him slowly turn the idea over in his mind.
"Did Lucifer tell you to say that?" he asks. Sam nods. "He says that a lot. He says other things too—he tells me that you aren't real…" At that, Dean is lost. He realizes that maybe Sam is too far-gone, and maybe he's too insane himself to fix his little brother. For now, I think I'll leave them, and fly to less depressing haunts. After all, this process is slow. It will take more than soft taunts to make the hunter break, and put a gun to his head.