Hell has nights and Hell has days and the very worst thing happens at night when Lucifer has tired of pulling Sam apart and Sam has tired of screaming.
When the fires dim and the cage grows darker, Lucifer snaps his fingers and Sam is sewn back together. He nurses his limbs, which ache with phantom pains, and he curls up and around himself, like it will help. He knows that it won't, because he knows that the very worst thing is about to happen.
It starts the same every time. Sam is left breathing on the ground and Lucifer waits just a few minutes, always just a few – enough to make Sam think, every time, that maybe it won't be this time – and when he starts, Sam hates himself for even thinking of the possibility that it wouldn't be the very worst thing, not this time.
It is glamorous in its unglamorousness. The Devil lies beside him and their bodies fit in a way that makes Sam's skin crawl. Breath on the back of his neck and hands creeping and oh God, not again.
It's all skin and limbs and isolation in the dark, in the cage, and, oh, what would Dean or Jess or, God forbid, Dad think? But Lucifer doesn't let Sam's thoughts stray, no, he makes sure that he is all that Sam can think of or smell or touch or taste. And here, Lucifer wins until they are both a mess on the floor.
One night, Sam laughs and his laugh is bitter and tastes like vinegar and venom. Of course this would be him, he was destined to be lying here and everything he's ever done, every life he's ever saved and everyone he's ever loved has led up to this moment and the moments like this before it. It's all lead up to the very worst thing, at least here and now in Sam's mind. He laughs harder and boy, is that laugh cold. It chills the hot air of Hell and sends shivers down his own spine. It sends shivers down Lucifer's, too, but his are of a different nature and he joins in his vessel's laughter whole-heartedly.
Lucifer twists around his boy like a snake. Sam stops laughing and they lay there, in the dark, and listen to distant screaming. Outside, Crowley is reworking the foundations of Hell. Upstairs, Sam's body is walking around and Dean has fallen asleep on the couch next to Ben, who has in turn fallen asleep next to his surrogate father figure. Downstairs, Sam wishes that he could fall asleep.
Lucifer wishes that he could fall asleep, too. He hasn't slept since he left Heaven, hasn't been able to sleep without his brothers beside him. He has a distant hope that Sam can remedy that. The Devil is tired. He buries his head in Sam's neck with a drowsy sigh. Sam stiffens. Lucifer holds him close and relaxes. Eventually, Sam follows his example.
There is a flutter of wings that makes Sam jump. Lucifer does not sway. A cool shadow stretches out over the pair of them. A flash of white catches Sam's eye and he smells something good – Jess's shampoo, to be exact, something fresh and calming. The shadow hangs over them before it curls over Sam like a blanket. Something cold and soft touches his arm and he instinctively shies away, closer to his cellmate.
There is silence. No more screaming. "Better," Lucifer murmurs into Sam's ear. Wings, Sam thinks, and then he doesn't think anything else. He falls asleep.
Sometimes, the very worst part about the very worst thing is how much Sam likes it.
shit son, i wrote a supernatural fanfic. please be gentle. i haven't written for such a long time.
also, i'm still catching up to the series and i'm on 7x10, sooo in the off-chance something happens to make this incredibly not even plausible at all in those nine (nine?) episodes, many apologies.