Darkness.

That's all there is.

Nothing to see. Nothing to hear. Nothing to feel.

Sure, he can think, reminisce about what was and what will never be again. But, that can only help for so long until you beg for torture. Know you're begging, but not being able to hear the words, not being able to feel the words come off your tongue, or not being able to see the breath those words produce. Guess he's not as strong as he once believed. Though he can't exactly recall the last time he truly believed that.

'Try Weak. Try Desperate. Pathetic.'

He's just desperate…

Desperate for the fire that always seems to burn cold.

Desperate for the feeling of flesh being torn from muscle.

Desperate for the feeling of Lucifer's hand gripping and corrupting his soul.

'We're two halves made whole. M.F.E.O. Literally…'

Desperate…

He's not sure how long he's been in this stage of existence, this stage of oblivion, this stage of simply being. For all, he knows it could've been two months or two thousand years.

It's hard to know since nothing changes... ever.

This isn't the first time he's been in this state. And he knows it won't be the last. He has no power here, all he is a rag doll with a name. An archangel's chew toy, punching bag, plaything, possession.

That's all he was and ever will be. The whole time he was called the Boy King, but all he truly was and is, is a crown to be worn. An object to be controlled and manipulated. His body has never been his own, not since he was six months old.

'Better than mothers milk…'

There are two constants with these sessions, the constant oblivion and he always comes back. Back to him. Back to the cage. Back to salvation. Sick-twisted salvation, don't need any shrink to say how fucked that is, nevertheless salvation from nothingness.

Last time he believed it had been centuries, but Lucifer corrected him stating it had been a week. And Lucifer doesn't lie to him.

'I will never lie to you…'

But, God he hopes he would.

This time he believed it to be even longer, yet once again he can't trust his fragmented mind. A reason for this conclusion is that he's slowly, although surely, forgetting things from before. Before the fall. His fall. Their fall, if he's truly honest with himself.

He's forgotten his, their, our (?) name for instance.

'Freak.'

'Abomination.'

'Monster.'

He knows it's not those though, however, they seem to fit one way or another.

It goes on like that for a while, yet for the third time 'a while' can mean a lot more or less than intended. Nevertheless, he keeps forgetting names and faces.

Every moment spent in nihility is another moment he feels things slip away. This continues for what seems like an eternity until it appears, this sort of whisper. A whisper that seems so dangerous yet so soothing.

''You, I, we need to come back, back to reality. Back to blood, power, necessity.'

He can't quite understand its intent, although he can't help but be enticed by it. Enticed by its further offers. The more he listens to its calls the more his surroundings brighten and more sound can be detected.

"Sam…"

'My name' his mind supplies.

Then there's a rumbling of a… of a car engine. 'The Impala... Dean'.

With that, the light seems to brighten at a faster pace, the noise growing in volume.

Till his vision goes white...

Coming back to himself, he recognizes that his eyelids feel as if they weigh a ton as if it would take all of his strength to simply take a peek at the light of the outside world. From what he can till he's in the impala since he can feel it moving over rough terrain and hear its engine. Overall, this setting is not doing any wonders for the growing pain behind his eyes.

Attempting to lift his right hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, he cognizes a cool surface that is surrounding both of his wrists. Mustering enough energy, he opens his eyes slowly and looks down at his restrained hands while also making sure to avoid the sun from getting in his eyes. While being cuffed isn't a new occurrence (get your mind out of the gutter), being cuffed with warded cuffs originally made for demons is. Taking in the sight he attempts to think back to the events before waking up.

Blood filling his mouth, blood on his hands. Power building, begging to be used. The ba-boom ba-boom of their hearts as well as his own. He's burning, he's for sure burning. Dean's yelling at him but the voices are so loud. He wants to stop, he thinks he does. But they say no, so he doesn't… Dean's voice is now overpowering voices begging for his attention, he could hear him now. It's hard trying to speak in English but he does, then dark nothingness. No noise, no vision, no smell, nothing to feel.

Sure enough, his memory is sort of… fuzzy. He can only recall bits and pieces, usually, that would freak him out but all he feels is calmness. Raising his head slowly to not irritate his head anymore, he takes a look at the driver's seat. And there Dean is, hands white-knuckling the steering wheel and foot pushing down on the gas. Squinting his eyes he takes into account the smudge of dark under his brother's eyes and the facial expression of a "man on a mission". Yup, wish he could remember what Dean's exact mission may be.

Clearing his throat Sam finally speaks, "Uh… Dean why… why am I handcuffed?". This seems to catch Dean by surprise as he jumps from his seat, meaning he didn't notice he was awake nor that he cleared his throat. So much for his brother's hunter instincts. "Oh um… sorry didn't mean to scare ya…" Sam mumbles calmly which also appears to surprise Dean.

"No Sammy, just… just don't apologize. You just startled me, that's all", his older brother attempts to reassure. "And before I answer your question, what's the… the last thing you remember?". This causes Sam to pause and think back again, this time he gets a little more information as the fog has seemed to clear a bit from his mind. "Not much. I know Abaddon had been there and she... she… oh." Realization hits him and the memories flood back. Abaddon, forcing him to ingest demon blood. His powers pleading to be released, to kill. Him drinking and killing the demons left behind. Him... him hurting Dean. Then the voice, but he still can't recall what it said.

"Oh… yeah, I um remember most of it now. Are you okay?" he asks calmly, attempting to add some worry, but he simply doesn't have it in him. This causes Dean to glance at him warily and push further down onto the accelerator. "I'm fine, nothing aside from the normal bumps and bruises", Dean assures him though noticing the peculiar calmness. "Besides it's you I'm worried about, especially since this is the first time you've been up and coherent. As well as speaking in English." his older brother said while quietly grumbling the last part. "Anyways before you ask we're about 60 miles out from the Bunker and Cas is there to help if anything turns sideways. But how are you feeling, and please don't say 'I'm fine".

Sam who had simply been listening to him speaks up. "Yeah... I'm definitely not fine." he gestures to his trembling hands. "I think withdrawal is gonna start kicking in soon, and I could feel the uh… the blood and it's kind of dulling now. I also haven't heard any voices since waking up, all there seems to be is a throbbing headache and general tiredness," he says in an attempt to answer Dean's question. Answering truthfully about how the withdrawal is starting would for sure help in the long run, especially since it worked last time after Famine. Though he can't find it in himself to be worried.

His older brother seems to nod in acceptance, but from what he can till that's the end of the discussion for now. He's okay with it though because he could feel his body starting to tire. Once moving his cuffed hands into a comfortable position he lays his head on the cool window. Shutting his eyes, he obliges to his body's request for sleep. As his mind drifts off though, he could hear the increase of the whisperings. Instead of fighting them, however, he simply listens and finds himself comforted and the voices oddly...

Soothing.

TBC