A/N: Takes place after 14x07 "Unhuman Nature". Written as a request for Sammy's Missing Shoe. Thanks so much for sending it in, and talking to me about your idea! I had a lot of fun with this piece.

WARNING: Non-consensual themes.

Something was wrong. That much he knew. Sam couldn't figure out what it was, but his dream no longer felt like his dream. There was an evil coating it, drenching it, smothering blackness that filled his nostrils and his lungs till he couldn't breathe.

Just a dream, he thought. It's just a dream.

Still, he was cautious as he walked down the dark, narrow hallway he found himself in. It was lined with rusted pipes, as if he was underground somewhere. The stone floor and chipped walls were covered in dust, his movements upsetting it, getting it into the air. There was a light up ahead, just out of his reach, barely on the edges of his vision. Sam wanted to get to that light, but as he kept walking, it drew farther and farther away.

He was cloaked in shadows, barely able to see, and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Sam turned, expecting for something to be standing behind him, watching.

Darkness, so complete and absolute that his mind began to tremble with each second he gazed upon it, lay behind him. It edged forward, slithering, the light behind him fading.

Panicked, his pulse throbbing in his neck, Sam turned, facing the light once more. It had drifted away, but there was still a sign of its presence – smoke was trickling into the hallway, acrid and filled with the stench of burning flesh, and the light refracted off of it in ruddy hues, as if it was somehow drenched in blood. The light flickered, and he heard a buzz of electricity.

Closer and closer he got, red surrounding him, the blackness continuing to close in from behind. Eyes. Eyes were looking at him.

Sam turned back to gaze into that darkness, smoke filling the hallway till he could barely see, and the red light flickered and dimmed, the buzz of electricity fading.

He peered into the shadows, heart thudding painfully in his chest, palms sweating.

Cold air rushed over him, blowing his hair back, and the light went out. Sam was left unable to see even his own hand in front of his face.

The only sound was his stuttered breathing.

There was a heavy thud, as if molten metal had dropped to the floor, but Sam didn't feel the pressure of it.

He held his breath.

Silence.

Exhale, inhale.

Shuddering.

Sam felt a tension in the air, thick, overbearing, his knees going weak from it.

Movement.

Just ahead.

But no, there wasn't any light.

Still, somehow he knew something was crawling towards him, dragging, clawing, hungry. So hungry.

He turned to run, each movement sluggish, and he couldn't move fast enough.

Then something caught his ankle, and he forgot how to breathe.

He looked down, frantically trying to see something, anything. The fingers on him were cold, bruising, nails digging into his skin and drawing blood.

Sam fell, crying out. He tried to kick, to scrabble backwards. He managed to roll onto his stomach, coughing as he breathed in dust.

The thing that had him dragged him back.

Reaching, reaching for something to hold onto, his hands only meeting the splintered stone, nails scraping against it. The force at which he tried to fight tore his nails out. All of them.

He knew. He'd been de-nailed before.

The same searing pain erupted in all his fingers.

Still, that thing had him.

Cold. So cold.

Dragging, dragging, Sam screaming.

Then he felt it, touching, biting, turning him onto his back.

It crawled up his body, movements slow and precise, heavy against him, restraining.

Even in the dark, Sam had to squeeze his eyes shut.

Ice pried his mouth open, reaching into him with long, thick fingers, past his teeth, till he was choking and gagging.

Sam widened his eyes in horror, and what he saw paralyzed him.

He had expected darkness, absolute darkness.

Everything inside of him became soaked in dread when he faced the thing.

Two red eyes were staring back at him.

Sam woke up screaming, covered in sweat, sheets hopelessly twisted about his legs. He expected for his brother to wake up, to come running as he'd had to do many times before. He expected someone to enter his room, maybe even Jack who was just next door.

No one came, and Sam was left feeling over his mouth as he quieted, making sure those fingers were no longer there.

Once his heartbeat had slowed and he felt as if he could breathe again he reached over to turn on the lamp.

The light didn't turn on.

He tried again.

Then again.

Click, click.

Still nothing.

"Damn it," Sam muttered.

He wrestled his way out from underneath the covers, and then stood. Usually light from the hallway would filter in from under his door, but there was nothing.

Slowly, he approached, hand outstretched, fingers shaking.

The doorknob twisted, turning, and Sam held his breath. Slowly, slowly, his stomach clenching, goosebumps rising up on his arms, the door creaked open.

Sam jumped back.

"D-Dean?" he called, voice too loud in the emptiness.

Silence.

"Jack?"

Nothing.

Coming to a quick decision, Sam slowly retreated back to his bed, eyes on the door, which hung ajar, showing the eerily blackened hallway. He reached under his pillow for the pistol he kept there, and light that wasn't there reflected off of it, faking, pretending.

Sam took in a shaky breath, gun held at the ready, and edged forward.

"Cas?"

Still nothing.

The door opened wider, and he thumbed back the safety.

Heart in his throat, sweat beading on his forehead and in between his shoulder blades, Sam made it to the doorway. He quickly surveyed each end of the hallway before stepping out and picking a direction to walk in.

He decided to go to room 22, to check on Jack.

Clenching his jaw, steeling himself for the noise he was about to make in the quiet air, Sam raised his fist to knock against Jack's door.

His knuckles touched the old wood, and the door opened.

"Jack?" he whispered.

There was a figure he could just make out through the darkness, sitting on Jack's bed, cross-legged.

Sam waited for it to move, to say something.

"Jack?" he tried again.

Eyes opened, staring. Searing gold gazed upon him.

Everything in Sam screamed at him to take a step back, pulse quickening, his muscles tensing. Instead, he opened the door further.

"Jack, you okay?"

"Not Jack," a voice came to him.

The voice made chills run down his spine, fear squeezing his stomach till he nearly collapsed. It was familiar, but he couldn't yet place where he'd heard it before. Perhaps his unconscious mind was trying to protect him.

"Then who?" he asked, hoping the thing could see his gun as he aimed right between the golden eyes.

"Not Jack," it said again.

Still not wanting to believe that this wasn't his son, Sam got out, voice barely wanting to leave him, "Come on, Jack. This isn't funny."

Nothing, nothing… Then once more: "Not Jack."

Horror tingled up his spine, stomach dropping down into his feet. He swallowed roughly.

"Then who are you?"

Sam expected to hear the same words as before, the intonation exactly the same, as if the thing was frozen in its own mind.

"Think."

Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, his throat aching, and the gun shook in his hands.

"I don't… I don't know who you are."

"Think," it commanded.

Sam licked his lips, mouth dry, teeth clicking together.

"I don't know," he murmured.

"Think." The word pounded into his skull, and he cried out, falling to his knees, gun clattering to the floor.

Helpless.

"I don't know!"

"Think!"

Sam held his head in his hands, squeezing his eyes shut, as he yelled, "I don't know! I don't know! I don't know!"

All he heard was his stuttered breathing, and then the thing was coming closer, closer, till he could feel its breath on him.

Evil wafted from its mouth, and everything in him froze, when he heard the familiar voice, breathy and infused with cruelty: "Come on, Sammy. I know you know the answer."

He shook his head.

He wanted to back away, wished with everything he had that he could, but Sam couldn't move. He couldn't do anything!

Frozen.

"No, no, no, no, no," he murmured. "No. Not real. You're just dreaming. You're just dreaming!"

Bitter cold reached out for him, and Sam found his muscles turning to liquid, slumping down even more, hands falling away from his face.

Still, his eyes remained shut.

Fingers like icicles caressed his cheek, snatching away his air, his will to go on.

"I'm afraid that's not true."

"No, no…"

His voice was a whimper now, and he shook his head, withdrawing from that touch.

The physical presence left him, but its evil remained, dark, clouding the corners of the shadowy room, trapping him. He could feel it, pulsing, beating down against him, enshrouding him.

It wanted in.

"Open your eyes," the voice commanded, impossibly echoing about the room, bouncing off the walls, making its presence absolute.

Tears trailed down Sam's face, and he growled, letting that out instead of the sob that wanted to break free.

"Open your eyes."

The words drilled into his skull, and he found himself bent over the floor, cowering, covering his eyes with his hands.

Can't look, can't look, can't look.

If he looked it would be over.

Something terrible would happen to him.

That much Sam knew.

He waited, on the brink, knowing committing such an act would have consequences, consequences he couldn't fathom. The heavy weight in his chest spoke of death, whispering across his skin.

"Sa-ammy."

It echoed again, voice drifting in and out, far, and then near.

For awhile all he registered was his harsh breathing, and then he felt the thing behind him. Frigid air bit at his earlobe as it whispered, not echoing now, "Sam, open your eyes."

Sam uncovered his face, arms shaking so fiercely his muscles were beginning to cramp, tears still streaming down his cheeks.

The thing was in front of him now.

Evil perched just before him.

Sam opened his eyes, and gold burned into red.

The Devil chuckled, the sound piercing his soul.

"H-h-how?" he managed to get out, even as his lungs struggled for air. "We-we killed you."

"It didn't take."

Sam's mouth was open now as he gasped. He wished he could close it, but all the muscles in his face were going slack.

He imagined fingers reaching into his mouth, entering him, trying to become him.

"Now, Sammy, you're going to wake up, and you're going to meet me at the coordinates I give you."

"No," he forced out.

Lucifer tsked.

"If you don't, I'll come to you."

Even as more tears fell, dripping off of his chin, his nose beginning to run, he forced out, "So?"

The fallen archangel leaned in, red eyes full of insatiable want.

"I'll come for our son," he promised.

Sam woke up screaming, and this time there was someone there to comfort him. Dean, Dean was there, arms wrapping around him, holding him steady. Still panicked, Sam tried to fight him, pulling at his arms, legs scrabbling uselessly. Tears streaked his face.

Jack was in the doorway, watching, observing.

And then he started coughing, striking terror through him. He wanted to go to him, wanted to hold him, but as much as he loved him, he turned his head away, squeezing his eyes shut, remembering the eyes, the gold.

That thing in Jack's room.

That thing that had looked like Jack.

Lucifer.

Lucifer was alive.

And Sam knew exactly where he was going to be.

Trepidation weighed down his every thought and action during the day. He was going to wait till night, till his family wouldn't even know he was gone. He hadn't told them, hadn't been able to. He was doing the right thing.

Whenever his courage began to waver he would look upon Jack, and his son would smile at him. Sam smiled back, tears in his eyes.

Jack's expression would fall then, a question on his lips, but Sam turned away from him.

The day passed far too quickly, each second slipping away from Sam, even as he tried to reach out for it.

Night fell, and after making sure to say good night to Jack, Sam went to his room, and he waited.

Part of him wanted to pack, wanted to take the archangel blade with him that he had locked away after the fight in the abandoned church.

But he knew it'd be useless.

Lucifer would strip him of anything he went to him with.

Weapons, dignity, all of it.

For Jack, he thought to himself, careful not to say it out loud in case Castiel was listening in.

The angel was awake, but Sam knew he was most likely with Dean – his friend had often watched over his brother since Michael. Waiting, waiting… always waiting for that thing that would go wrong.

Sam did something with that anxiety that coiled his gut. He wrote:

Hey, guys. Hopefully I'll come back and you'll never have to see this, but I'm doing something that'll protect Jack. There's no other way. I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but this is something I have to do alone.

Jack, hang in there, buddy. I'll be back as soon as I can. Get some rest. Listen to Dean and Castiel. I love you.

I love all of you.

Hating how final that sounded, Sam crossed out the last line, and then put underneath it:

See you in a bit.

P.S. Dean, if I don't make it back, the Impala's home, in Lawrence. I'll take good care of her.

Satisfied, Sam sealed it in an envelope, addressing it to the three of them, and then left it on the table in the war room, tucked under a book he'd recently been reading about archangels. They'd know to look there if he didn't return.

Steeling himself, Sam left.

In a few hours he was in Lawrence, standing on the sidewalk outside the house where it had all started, where he'd become the Boy With the Demon Blood, where his mother had burned.

Sam had done his research earlier in the day, and he knew the house was now abandoned. It sent a pang of longing through his chest, of grief, of loss.

The home he had only gotten to know for six months stood empty and barren, much like how he felt these days, especially with his son on the brink of death.

Sam walked into the house. It was dusty, the wood splintered, some of it moldy and rotting, and he took out his flashlight that he kept in his jacket pocket to help him see. The light flickered and he smacked it against his hand.

"Hello?" he called, hating the sound of his own voice.

No sign of another presence.

Maybe this was a trap.

No, of course it was.

It was all a trap, and he'd walked right into it. But he'd had to.

Something compelled him to walk up the stairs, to go down the hall, to enter what had been his nursery. It stood bare now, his steps making footprints in the thick layer of dust. The scent of mold nearly had him choking.

The door slammed behind him, and he whirled, adrenaline pumping through him so fiercely he was tingling all over, completely breathless.

Lucifer's voice came from behind him and he quickly turned to face him, gasping as his flashlight shone on a face that was mere inches from his, "Now, now, Sam. There's no need to be afraid."

Sam clenched his jaw, and shuffled back, nearly touching the rotting door.

Nick. Oh god, he looked like Nick. How was that even possible?

How was he here?

How was he alive?

He'd been dead! Sam had watched him die, blazing out in violent light that had hurt to look at. But it'd been worth it, watching him scream, watching him end, and then finally seeing him bleeding on the floor, wings spread out as dark, glittering shadows beneath him, his evil vanquished.

Now he was here, mere inches from him.

Sam idly wondered if he was still dreaming.

He drew himself away from that, mind going to his son, and asked, "What do you want with Jack?"

Lucifer pouted, as if he was sad about something Sam had said. It nearly made Sam feel like he was stupid. Maybe he was.

"Oh, I don't want anything to do with Jack," he responded. "The son of a bitch can die for all I care. He's useless to me."

"Then-"

"Then why did I threaten him? Well, 'cause I knew that'd get you here… alone… with me."

Sam tilted his head, trying to hold back frightened tears.

"Don't look so down, Sammy. You made the right decision. I would've gone after Jack anyway had you not listened to my instructions. I would've killed him in front of you. Would've torn him apart, and crushed his skull, listening to his screams."

The images that conjured up gave Sam strength, and he shoved Lucifer back.

The Devil only smiled, going on, "I would've killed Dean, too. And Castiel. And then…" He glanced knowingly at Sam's crotch, and any strength he had thought he'd possessed left him. "So you did the right thing coming here, Sam. You really did."

"How?" he asked, not able to form the full question.

Their eyes met, and Sam lowered his gaze, noticing the dried blood staining Nick's jeans and his boots.

"Nick wanted me."

"No, no. That's… That's not right," Sam murmured, finding himself taking a step to the left as Lucifer took one to the right, trying to draw closer to him.

They continued speaking, slowly circling each other, the space between them growing tighter and tighter, Sam feeling like he was in a vacuum and couldn't escape.

"Unlike you, he's not a whiny bitch who couldn't take being possessed. Oh, no, no, no. He loved it, loved being me, having me inside him. Loved it more than you."

"Stop."

"Sure, he's not my own personal toy, trained to take it up the ass like you are, but he wants me, Sam. Do you have any idea what that feels like?"

"I said stop."

Lucifer was directly in front of him now, and he grabbed his right wrist, flashlight clattering to the floor as his grip tightened. It rolled and then the light flickered out, leaving Sam in complete darkness with the Ruler of Demons, the ultimate perpetrator of sin.

His eyes glowed, two red lamps in the night, burning intensely.

Lucifer drew him closer, one hand reaching up to tenderly caress his face, making Sam's mouth drop open as he shuddered. A tear, unbidden, trailed down his cheek. Lucifer brushed it away with his thumb.

"He remembers you, Sam," he told him, tone low, breathy. "He remembers how badly I wanted you."

"He… He never-"

"Told you? I know. Wanted to keep that little secret to himself. Wanted to get off to it while you left him alone in that dungeon. And he did."

"N-no."

"There's a lot of things you don't know about Nick, Sam. The blood on these clothes? That's his doing. He's a murderer. Killed his own family."

Sam didn't know whether to believe him or not, but the blood stains were impossible to ignore, even in the horrid darkness. He could smell it, the faint coppery scent. It turned his stomach.

"What do you want with me?" he asked, voice barely rising above a whisper, hardly having the strength to speak, to even stand.

Though he was a few inches taller than the Devil's current vessel, he knew he was much, much smaller, weaker in every way imaginable.

He'd lost against him so many times, and he was losing even now.

Lucifer patted his cheek, making Sam flinch, but he drew him closer, lips nearly against his.

"Come on, can't I say hi to my favorite Winchester?"

"No."

Lucifer put a finger to his lips, making it so he'd be unable to say anything else.

"Now, now. Don't be so bossy. That's my job, remember? I tell you what to do, and you do it. Understand?"

No, this couldn't be happening, not after all this time, not after all these years.

He was dead, he was dead, he was dead!

But his finger lay cold against his skin. He brushed it aside, tracing his upper lip, making his skin tingle, and then he had a hand in his hair. The other one that had been on his jacket was now gripping his jaw. Lucifer's breath wafted over him, and fear took hold of Sam so violently he thought he was going to faint.

"Go to Hell," he whispered.

Lucifer brushed his lips against his cheek, making Sam groan, reaching out for the hands on him, hoping he could pry them off.

"Sammy, that's not very nice. Where are your manners?"

Sam said nothing, another tear falling. Lucifer's tongue came out to taste it, and Sam squeezed his eyes shut, begging that he was anywhere but there.

He did something he knew was utterly useless.

He prayed.

He prayed to the God that had left, the God that had let him be hurt, the God who didn't seem to understand all his suffering and torment. The God he had once believed in.

Silence met his desperate prayers.

No miracles would be happening this night.

"So," Lucifer went on, "I want you to keep this between us, okay? Can you do that for me? I want to surprise everyone when I come back. Was thinking I'd go on a killing spree, maybe decimate Heaven, even Hell. I'll get to the Earth later. I know, I know you're thinking you'll leave and then tell your family, but…" He brushed his lips against his face to his ear, Sam gasping for breathing. After nipping at it, tugging on his earlobe playfully he told him, "You tell anyone, and I kill our son."

He's dying anyway, Sam thought bitterly.

But no, there was still hope that Jack would live. There had to be.

Sam was going to have to do this, to keep him safe.

He pulled back, Sam slowly opening his eyes, facing him even as dread filled him like poison, as fear pumped through his veins, his will to live leaving him.

But then he thought of Jack.

Lucifer saw something in his eyes, maybe compliance, and he gave him an eerily serene smile. It looked wrong on his face, too kind. False.

"Now, I'm off to destroy the world, Sammy. And I'm going to finish with you. I'm going to end it all as it started, make you drink the blood of the last demon I keep alive, turn you into my slave, torture you and ride you for days, and then I'm going to kill you. In this. Very. Room."

Sam closed his eyes again, unable to face the horror before him, unable to face the truth.

Lucifer was back, and Lucifer would destroy everything he loved, and then he'd come for him.

It was poetic, the end of all things being just like the beginning.

For a long minute the only sounds were their breaths, Lucifer's rushed and excited, Sam's sharp and stuttered, the contrast between the two bleeding into each other, creating intimacy that made Sam's soul ache deep within him.

Sam was unable to do anything as Lucifer suddenly shoved him back against the wall, the force of it surely bruising him, and his lips were against his, violently taking. Sam couldn't move as ice reached into him, tongue hungry, angry, filled with the need to hurt. It reminded him of the fingers that had reached into him in his nightmare.

Those fingers and that tongue had been in him many times.

Sam had thought he'd escaped it, had never wanted it ever again. He'd been relieved, so relieved he sometimes found himself on the brink of tears, found himself nearly laughing when he woke from his nightmares.

That relief died, was reaped by the Devil himself.

Sam's lungs pounded as Lucifer went at him, touches abrasive, rough, all sin and eager want.

It went on forever and ever, trickling into eternity.

Finally, the fallen archangel pulled away, inhaling his scent, a growl emanating from his chest.

"Oh, fuck, I've missed that," he murmured, lips so close to his Sam could taste him.

Then he released him, pat him on the chest, making him flinch, and said, "See you later, Sammy."

He winked, there was a fluttering sound, and then he was gone.

Sam fell to his knees in his old nursery, his old home, the place that had been supposed to be his, and he sobbed.