Title from Stranger in a Strange Land by Iron Maiden
Sam's tired.
It's more than just physical tiredness - although he can admit that he could use a few hours rest - it's this bone-deep exhaustion that's taken up permanent residence in his body. There's just so much happening these days, and he can't afford to take a break, not right now. He has to look for Dean and research ways to stop Michael and help Jack and be a leader to these new hunters. There's no time for him.
And then there's Nick.
At least, that's who he claims to be. Sam thinks he's telling the truth - he has this openness in his eyes, this confusion and sympathy and fear; Sam doesn't think Lucifer's ever felt any of those things. He can't be too careful though. The Devil's always been good at playacting.
When Lucifer - Nick - had woken, gasping, Sam forgot how to breathe. His mind had gone blank as he'd backed up, searching in his periphery for Jack, but not daring to take his eyes off the somehow-alive Lucifer.
"Sam?" he'd said, and his voice had sounded different, but Sam hadn't cared about that, he'd just wanted to get out before Lucifer killed them both.
It was Jack who finally got him to see sense. He'd grabbed Sam by the arm and make him look - really look - at the guy in front of them. He'd been holding his hands up in a kind of surrender, and he'd been backing away from Sam, which wasn't right, not for Lucifer. So the only logical explanation was that Lucifer was truly dead and Nick was alive. How, Sam didn't know; he'd assumed Nick had died the second Lucifer had left his body in Detroit. Besides, he might have never met the poor bastard before, but Sam knows that look that Nick had worn in the church. He's all too familiar with the after-effects of possession, angelic or otherwise, so, yeah. He gets it.
It's strange, having him in the Bunker. It doesn't feel as fundamentally wrong as it had done when Lucifer had lived here during the showdown with Amara, but Sam can't deny that it's making him more than a little nervous. Nick's bunking in the dungeon, his bed in the middle of a devil's trap, holy oil stashed somewhere just in case. It's only an illusion of protection; Sam knows Lucifer would burn through that in an instant if it really was him, but hey. He tried.
It's funny, though. He's the only person in this damn place who'll even go near Nick. His mom can't get within ten feet without threatening to take a swing, and Jack's not even remotely ready to set eyes on his father's vessel. Cas is much the same as Mary, and the other hunters just don't care enough to bother. So that leaves Sam.
Sam, lending clothes out to him because archangels may be able to magically clean their clothes, but humans sure as hell can't. Sam, cleaning his wound every day, although he still keeps ample distance between them as he does it. Sam, making fucking small talk with this man he's barely met, but who knows way to much about him for his liking. It's surreal, to say the least.
Sam's been playing this game since Nick got here. Kind of like spot the difference, but it's more a way of compartmentalising. Like, ice-cold hands, innuendo and knowing, mocking glances? That's Lucifer. Hesitation, apologies and keeping his distance? Nick, through and through.
(Sometimes the two blend into one again, and Sam can't look at the guy, his hands shaking in fear, his gaze forced to the floor by a thousand years of habit.)
(He doesn't tell anyone this, but the dreams have started worsening again, now that he's here. It doesn't matter; not like he's sleeping much anyway.)
He's glad that they're helping Nick. Really, he is. However hard it is on him, Sam knows that it's a thousand times worse for him - Nick was possessed for years; Sam can't imagine what that's done to the guy's head. And he'll get over this fear, eventually. He has to; this is no time to be cracking up, after all.
Lucifer is dead. Nick is alive. That's the truth.
Sam wishes he could believe it.
A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed that! Thanks for reading, and please leave a review if you have a moment!