A/N: This is a multi-chapter fic I started, but I'm not sure when I'll get back to it. At the moment I seem to just be writing a lot of one-shots.

WARNING: This chapter contains graphic depictions of violence, torture, and rape/non-con

Clang!

Excruciating pain shot through Sam's right wrist, all the way up his arm, and down through his hand.

Clang!

Skin was torn, blood spurted, bones were crushed, and the massive iron nail went all the way through his wrist and into the wood. This horrific thing had already been done to his left wrist, blood drip-drip-dripping down to the dark stone of the Cage, where it pooled before falling down into the void. The void itself was filled with a dense, eternal fog, and blasts of lightning that struck him with the stench of ozone. But the scent didn't cover up the metallic sweetness of his own blood, and it was clogging his mouth, nipping his tongue while he threw his head back against the wooden cross he lay horizontally on, and screamed. His ankles were tied, bones already broken, the throbbing agonizing; they were up next.

It could've been day 167 in the Cage, day 666 (Sam inwardly laughed at his own little joke while moans left his mouth), or even day 45,922. There was absolutely no way to tell. It was all Hell, truly and positively Hell.

Clang! The Devil drove the hammer into the nail — the nail being one of the ones that would have been used in ancient Roman crucifixions — one last time, the thicker part digging deeper into Sam's flesh, a hot burst of pain making him yell so loudly his diaphragm hurt and an ache started in his chest. He rested his head back, trying to catch his breath, hair hanging limp about his face, sweaty from this ordeal.

Lucifer patted his cheek.

Sam wished he could snarl, but he couldn't find the strength.

The fallen archangel started in on his feet. They'd already been tied so tight he'd lost circulation to them, just so he wouldn't move or fight. Now the nail was being driven through, Sam's chest heaving, tears streaking his face as he howled like he was dying.

He wished he was dying.

Every day he wished for death.

Sometimes there was death.

It was how the Cage worked.

But each day he was brought back to torture anew.

All this to save the world.

Sometimes he forgot what he'd had to save it from.

The hammer was driven against the head of the nail and he remembered.

He'd had to save it from him: the Devil, Satan, the Destroyer, the Son of Perdition, the Power of Darkness, the Beast, his torturer, his rapist, his everything. And in return Sam was trapped with him for eternity.

At least today he wasn't raping him.

Not yet.

It was only a matter of time.

Blood, his blood, always served to get Lucifer aroused.

The final part was for Lucifer to use his powers to raise the cross, to have Sam hang from it, naked and vulnerable and bleeding,weak and agonized in his shame and suffering. All he was missing was a crown of thorns. The Devil stood before him, eyes dark, cruel smile on the lips that Sam knew all too well.

Sam was amazed he hadn't lost his voice by the time he was done being crucified, but it was difficult to breathe like this, arms pulling at his chest, all of him in pain, suffering in an ironically biblical fashion, bleeding like Jesus on the cross, if only much, much more sinful than the original son of God. He supposed it made sense. He'd prayed to God, and there had been no answer. Sam was no proper son to Him. He was impure, an Abomination, a freak.

Suffering was surely what God wanted for him if He had yet to save him, and suffer he would.

"Ha, I nailed you."

If Sam had energy, and pain wasn't taking hold of him in every part of his body, moving through him like a frisson, he would have rolled his eyes at the pun.

"You know, Sam, that gets me thinking." Lucifer was standing in front of him now, blood splattered on him, hands stained a deep crimson, taking the form of Nick, to "make Sam more comfortable" as he'd once claimed. His arms were crossed, still holding the hammer. "We haven't connected in awhile, you know? You, me, a little roughness. I miss that. What do ya say, huh? I leave you up there for a few hours, and then, maybe…"

"No," he heaved out, making sure his head was held up when he said it.

Lucifer smirked, rolling his eyes.

"Here it comes, the no. Come on, Sam, don't be such a buzzkill. Look, I just nailed you to a cross. You don't have to be such a downer about it. What, you sayin' no because I made you bleed? You gonna cry about it?"

In fact Sam felt as if he was going to cry about it, throat aching, corners of his eyes pricking with tears, feeling a pinch at the bridge of his nose, but he tried to swallow the sensation in his throat away, and ignore the others. His injuries throbbed, pain beating anew.

"Hey, it's you and me, bunk buddy," he continued, gesturing with the bloodied hammer, making him flinch and grit his teeth. "You're the one who put us here, so what do you get for saying no, huh? You feel good about it, is that it? You get a sense of…" he paused to gasp dramatically, gesturing with his hands, "control?" he ventured. "Is that what wittle Sammy wants? He wants control? Well too bad, freak, 'cause this cell, this right here," he gestured around with his finger, "this is mine. Yeah, it sucks. I hate it, Dad's a son of a bitch, and all that, yada, yada, yada, but you know what it means? My rules. My rules, Sammy.

"And you are mine. So don't go saying no thinking that'll get you out of it. You know what it's gonna get you? Huh?"

When he didn't respond, Lucifer tossed the hammer aside, the universe seemingly hating Sam and timing it perfectly with a close lightning strike that rattled his bones. He started, the jarring motion tearing at his injuries, and he groaned, throwing his head back, and clenching his jaw against a scream. Lucifer was in front of him now, powers raising him from the floor of the Cage, and he was pressed against him. He grabbed his jaw, eyes searing red, branding his soul.

"It gets you torn apart." He caressed his cheek, hand traveling into his hair, making Sam shudder, and the Devil's mouth was open, hungry, teeth bared as if he wanted to bite and devour. His voice was lowered when he went on, elaborating, "But not with weapons, or torture devices. No, no, Sammy. See, you're too good for that. It gets you torn apart by me, with this body made by my Father, this body that yours has learned to both love and fear so damn much. I can be gentle — you know that — so very gentle, so good to you. I am sometimes, because you're mine, but I can tear, and ruin, make your flesh hurt in such perfect ways. That's what no gets you. So do you want to try again? Let's try again."

As if Lucifer wanted to make this more of a challenge for Sam, or wanted to make it obvious what they were discussing, or he simply hadn't had enough of torturing him, he ran a hand down his body, blunt nails nearly scraping, fiery trails digging through Sam's flesh, leaving him panting. And then he was gripping his cock, stroking hard.

"What do you say to a little quality time? Yeah, want me in you again?"

Shuddering, pain, pleasure, and terror eating at his blood, Sam spit in his face.

"No."

As punishment, he squeezed hard and slammed his head back against the cross forcefully enough to make Sam see stars. He choked on an anguished cry.

"Fine," the Devil growled. "Then let's play a game, baby. I give you a world in your head, control, everything I know you want, in exchange for what I want: little, personal favors."

Sam struggled, but to no avail, hips maybe arching forward into his hand just a tad, which prompted him to start pumping him, and he growled.

"Yeah? You want to play that game?"

And that was all that was said about it. No rules were explained, no demands were made.

Nothing.

Lucifer stepped back, snapped his fingers, and the game began.

Sam wasn't in the Cage. Wasn't entrapped in dark stone of archaic design, wasn't trapped with him. He was lying on a bed with a ratty old mattress, a dark gray sheet with tears in it covering him, still as naked as he had been on the cross, and there was a woman in his arms. Confused, a frown on his face, Sam looked down at the woman: dark brown hair, pale, creamy skin… He carefully lifted her hair from her face and immediately recognized the oval shape to it, the strong arch to the eyebrows, the well-defined nose, the lips that were always ready to throw an insult or a barb at him, that looked wild and wonderful when parted in pleasure, the cheekbones he liked to run his thumbs over. Ruby. Heart racing, pumping, pounding, hurting, Sam froze, mind going blank. Panicking, he let her hair fall down and lifted up the sheet, which revealed that she was as naked as he was. His body, already doing as it did in the morning due to blood pressure changes, was reacting even more to seeing those perfect curves and nicely sized breasts that were partially covered by her arm as she lay on him, and now he was remembering what was in between her legs, so warm, and—

"What the fuck?" he whispered to himself.

She shifted on him, and he couldn't ignore that he was hard, annoyingly so. In the Cage that was a cause for shame, and fear, but… was he in the Cage?

From what he could tell he was in the bedroom of what might've been some sort of hospital or sanitarium. It was rundown, looking like it'd been abandoned years ago, window cracked, paint on the walls faded and chipped, everything a bit dusty and worn. Maybe it was 2008 again, in his head, back when he'd been drinking demon blood. But he was sure he'd never stayed the night in a place like this.

Just in case, Sam lifted a hand up to feel his hair.

Nope, not 2008. Hair wasn't short enough for that.

So later, but how much later? Still before the Cage?

Perhaps it didn't matter. Sam glanced around, trying to see through the dingy walls, tried to see to his prison. There were fallen apart buildings he though he could see through the window, a campus of some sort, but aside from that and the dreary sky, not much else. This was still the Cage, even if it didn't look like it. He'd just changed it. Or this was in his head. He liked to do that sometimes — go in his head, mess around, take and violate what was his, drench it in violence and blood and unwanted sex.

This was part of the game.

Sam could smell Ruby, the sweetness of her, but not just that pleasant warmth that all women had, and her own, personal, scent, but the sinful delight of her blood. Distantly knowing it was wrong, but so used to violation, he rolled her onto her back and climbed on top of her, sucking and licking at her forearm, longing for a knife. He groaned in surprise but leaned into her, rubbing his erection against her hip, when she suddenly grabbed his hair and held him close.

"Morning, Sam," she breathed.

Instantaneously, he was filled with anger at hearing her low voice, the surge of it hot and bubbling. The anger heightened to rage in a mere second, making pressure flood his pelvis till he ached, and he looked her in the eye to say, "No, we don't do this."

"Do what?" she asked, frowning, lifting herself up with her weight on her forearms.

"This," he got out, feeling himself fall into some old routine within this world, even as want swelled in him. "This—this thing where we pretend we're a normal friggin' couple with some normal apple pie life. I know why you're in bed with me, you know why you're in bed with me, so let's cut the crap. Got it?"

She rolled her eyes, huffing out, "Jeez, Sammy, I just said good morning. You know, trying to be polite? Sorry I thought for a second that we could have a decent interaction."

Ruby tried to roll out from under him, and he pinned her down, unable to help how he grinded against her. As she tended to, she challenged him, tilted her mouth up towards him, lips seeming ready for his, or even ready to smile. This made her feel alive, even as it tore him down inside.

"No. I don't get decent interaction. Not with you. You used me."

The almost-smile disappeared from her face. "I thought you were over that."

"Demon-killing knife. Now," he snarled.

His order was followed out immediately, Ruby twisting her body so she could grab it from the rickety bedside table. He was kneeling in between her legs, one hand eagerly caressing her bare stomach, when she handed it to him. He positioned himself lower, Ruby stroking his arm pleadingly, as he sliced into her vertically two inches above her navel. Ruby's pained, yet pleased, cry met his ears, singing through his veins when the first trickle of blood ran out on her pale skin, and he growled as he cut deeper, farther. Ruby's nails dug into his wrist now, body arching away from his, but a yes was leaving her. The need in him undeniable now, he licked the knife before tossing it aside, and grasped her hips, ready to devour.

The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, a warning. This wasn't real. None of it was. The world was a fallacy, a game, and it could all fade in moments.

That was why he had to indulge himself.

The time for being hesitant would be later. Not when she smelled so good, not when she was right here for him, not when some part of him knew this could all go away. Sam was desperate. A moan left him as soon as his tongue touched the liquid heat of her, lapping along the wound, sucking.

His eyes rolled back in his head as he drank, the darkness turning scarlet, everything in him hot and high, body tingling and becoming more than aroused, and she urged him on, hands running through his hair, body tilting up to him, legs wrapping about his shoulders, talking to him softly.

The blood was power, and pure power was better than any kind of arousal. It settled in him like arousal, and while Sam held her to him with one arm, he ended up touching himself with his other hand, getting off to taking from her.

He came away, lips bloody, panting, Ruby using her legs to maneuver his head lower, her mind on other matters now as well.

He remembered his first time with Ruby. Pushing her away, saying don't, not quite wanting it.

But he was in control now.

Control.

This was what Lucifer was supposedly giving him with this world in his head. Sam had yet to figure it out, but it was difficult to do so when all his body was urging him to do was fuck, the ache in him so strong he didn't know shame or fear, the blood driving out everything except for ecstatic power.

Sam obliged for a few minutes, getting her right to the edge, loving her taste even though it wasn't her blood, refraining from pleasuring himself so he could hold her legs open. God, Sam loved how she whined for him.

Was this what power felt like?

He wanted it all.

Wanted it till he was more than high, till every cell in his body was bursting and screeching with the thrill of power, control.

He didn't want what Lucifer gave him every day in the Cage, didn't want what his first time with Ruby had been like, didn't want what his entire life beat him down with.

Sam wanted this.

He climbed up her body, nipping at her lips and then breathed, words desperate and gravelly with his burning arousal, "You're going to let me fuck you, and you're going to enjoy it."

"Oh, fuck yes, Sam."

Their mouths were together before she'd barely finished his name, and when they came apart he rolled her onto her stomach and got to work.

The beauty of Ruby being a demon was that her body could handle things a human woman's could not. Sam entered her swiftly, swollen with need, feeling her hot and wet around him, and held his arm against her neck, restricting her airflow. A growl ripped its way from his chest as he buried himself deep, body burning and throbbing with immense pleasure at their joining. With a human he knew to take his time, but with Ruby he knew she could handle it. He went at her rough and hard, enjoying the way she arched against him, skin warm and pleasantly soft.

She still managed to talk to him with his arm about her neck, and he snarled for her to be quiet. Immediately she listened, and oh god, to have her body, just his.

Sam hated Ruby. He'd loved her. He had. He really fucking had, and maybe some part of him still did. And she'd used him, manipulated him, gotten him to resurrect the being who had tried to destroy the world, who had killed so many, including Castiel and Bobby, who had hurt Dean, and who had become his torturer and rapist. Lucifer wasn't here, and Sam was powerless against him. But Ruby was here, willing, so now Sam went at her as he never had with anyone before, not caring if he was hurting her. If he was, she wasn't saying anything, so it didn't really matter to him. Besides, she was acting as though she was enjoying it, body still pressed back against his, still wet and pleading, and clenching rhythmically around him with her orgasm every once in awhile, cries letting loose.

Oh, how he wanted to hate her, wanted her blood in him to turn black and consume him, so he would feel nothing about killing her, and he could just tighten his hold just a bit more, keep going till her heart stopped...

But god, he couldn't do that, even if such a thing could kill a demon.

He was better than that.

Wasn't he?

Sam left her, breathing hard, and she fell down to the bed, turning onto her side, head tilting towards him. Her eyes were dark, mouth open as she sucked in heaving breaths. Sam pushed her legs aside to enter her again, groaning from feeling her slick around him, pleasure cascading like liquid fire in his cock through to his gut. Ruby looked as though she wanted to say something, mouth opening wider, but only a cry left her, no words coming out, and he didn't know why that was.

He'd told her to be quiet, but that was all.

It wasn't like Ruby to listen to him to such a degree. She liked battling him, liked getting him on edge.

Sam pushed it to the back of his mind, feeling his climax coming on. To make himself feel better about it, he pressed his lips to hers, kissing her as he finished, jolts of satisfaction running through him, bliss bursting in his brain to join the red that already consumed him.

There wasn't a worry about finishing in her. This wasn't real.

But it was real enough to feel amazing as her insides hugged him, as if begging for more of him, more of his cum, and Sam cried out into her mouth, biting her bottom lip till he tasted blood.

He collapsed beside her, sweating, chest and face all red, pulling her close with one arm. Ruby's silence was deafening, discomforting tingles bursting in his body. He thought of letting it last as he came down from his climax and she from hers, but it was too much.

"What did I do wrong?" he asked. "You enjoyed that, didn't you?" Sam didn't even know why he cared.

No, he cared because he didn't want to be him.

But maybe he was…

He'd taken her for power. Wasn't that what Lucifer did to him?

No. He'd gotten her consent, hadn't he?

Sam tried to think back on it, but he couldn't remember.

Now he found that he couldn't breathe.

Ruby was facing him now, and she nodded.

"Come on, talk," he pleaded.

"You told me to enjoy it, and I did," she told him.

Sam frowned at her odd phrasing.

"That's it? No, hey, Sam, do this next time, or, hey, I didn't exactly like when you did this?"

"Since when do you care about all that with me? You drink my blood, we fuck, we fight, we do it again. And despite the shithole the world's turned into I stick around, and I do it with him too."

He opened his mouth to ask what she meant, but then memories flooded his head, false ones. They had to be, or perhaps some of them were.

Saying yes in Detroit, the Devil taking him.

Dean resisting Michael until he faded out of Sam's life, and the angels had seemed to have left Heaven and Earth, letting the Apocalypse reign. Humans had died in droves: storms, natural disasters, unholy acts, the Croatoan virus, demon attacks, their own violence against each other.

God was nowhere to be found, the only true power remaining that of the fallen archangel who ruled triumphantly over the blasted out waste that remained.

And Sam was...

Sam looked down at himself, confused.

He was still possessed.

How…?

And how was Ruby…?

"He's messing with your head again, isn't he?" Ruby asked, cupping his face in one hand, making him look at her. "Look, Lucifer let you out for a bit, let you have control of your body, so let's just enjoy it, okay?"

"He… what? You're dead."

"He wanted to make you happy, so he brought me back," she sighed. Sam just stared, so she went on, "This is maybe the… twenty-sixth? Yeah, twenty-sixth time I've had to explain it to you. Once in awhile when he lets you out, you don't seem to remember everything."

No.

No, no, no, no, no.

It couldn't be. That couldn't be right.

Why would he…?

I'm not…

No, I'm not…

I'm not… I'm not… I'm not…

Hello? Sam questioned in his head, feeling empty, dreading an answer.

None came.

Was this real?

Was the Cage fake and just the Devil playing in his head?

Was the Cage the real game, and this was his life, the Apocalypse?

Sam drew away from her, sitting up, staring hard at his shaking hands. There'd been nails in his wrists earlier, in another place. He was so sure of it, pain blooming in him, living in him, taking root like it would never leave, but now it wasn't there.

Ruby took his left hand in both of hers, caressing.

"He's gonna come back. He tends to at night. I think he likes a turn with me."

"Lucifer likes a turn with you," Sam stated, voice dead, all of him numb and full and empty at the same time as he tried to process.

He was in the Cage. He was!

But did he even want to be?

Did he want this?

Did he want any of it?

"He says he lets you feel it, that it makes you mad." She kissed his knuckles. "It's okay. I'm a big girl, Sam. I can handle myself. But he… I think you forgot… He leaves you with something."

"What?" he asked, dread rotting in his stomach, making him unable to look at her, just stare at the room, but not even take in the surroundings. There was a buzzing sound in his ears, the world feeling fuzzy.

"A power. I don't know why, but… Sam, you can control people with your voice."

"What?" he asked again, more focused, turning to face her.

"You command someone to do something, they do it."

His stomach turned, everything in him dropping, a shudder running through him.

Control.

Lucifer had said he was going to give him control.

That's exactly what he'd done.

"Oh god, Ruby, are you saying…?" Sam trailed off, already realizing what had happened, what he'd said. You're going to let me fuck you, and you're going to enjoy it. That wasn't consent. He'd… He'd… Oh god.

"Sam, it's okay. Not the first time you've done it, Lucifer's done it, it's happened in Hell. Kind of the norm for demons, you know?"

Sam just about collapsed out of the bed in his attempt to get away from her so he couldn't hurt her again. Maybe he cared, maybe he didn't, but he knew he didn't want to be like the Devil, didn't want to hurt someone in that way, because oh god, the very thought of it—

"R-Ruby. Bathroom."

She directed him to it, and held himself up with the wall as he lurched to it, barely getting to the old toilet before he was puking, stomach aching fiercely, head pounding. It was all blood, and he lamented it, a sob breaking free, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.

He'd done it before?

No, no, he couldn't have.

He wouldn't have done that. He wasn't like that.

No, this wasn't real, this wasn't real, this wasn't real.

But, god, he didn't want the Cage to be real either.

Sam's body heaved, saliva dripping from his mouth, dry heaving now, having gotten all the blood out of his stomach on the first go.

He wanted to scream, but he held it in and stood, washed his face in the cracked, grimy sink. The mirror above it had glass missing from the top right corner, and lines ran out from the point like reaching spiderwebs. Sam met his bloodshot gaze in the mirror. He looked older than when he had fallen into the Cage, hair longer, face not as clean-shaven, but Lucifer seemed to be taking more than good care of his body.

Past the hazel that he knew so well, that he hated, there was an emptiness, a loneliness, and he knew what he had to do.

Sam had to find Dean.

Sam kept his plan to himself, not even sure how he would accomplish it, or if Dean was even alive. If he was alive, where was he on a planet that was dead?

But no, Sam couldn't entertain the idea that his brother was dead. If he was dead, what would he do? Be left as this? Lucifer's pet? Ruby's…? Sam couldn't finish the thought to what he was. He knew what he was, what he'd done that morning even if she didn't seem to care. Oh god.

He barely even remembered what had happened once he left the bathroom, everything a blur. He tried to keep his tongue behind his teeth, not speaking, not wanting to use his power, and when he did speak he was careful about his words. He was sitting at the head of a weathered laminate table in what had been a communal kitchen. Many of the drawers in the kitchen had been taken out, cabinets left open. There was a sink in the room, but Sam doubted it would work. Over by the far wall were ripped up drawings, old and crinkled.

Ruby was at his side, running a hand over his wrist. How had he gotten dressed? Had she helped him into the suit? Why the hell was he wearing it? He vaguely remembered an explanation from Ruby that Lucifer liked the white, liked it on him, and she was in all black, and leather, tight pants that made him think of all the things her body could do for his.

No, Sam. Get your head of the gutter.

Memories of that morning washed over him, and he clenched his hands into fists, toes curling in the shoes he wore, jaw clenching.

I'm a…

No.

NO.

Maybe he could have more blood, fix this. Now the euphoric power of it was waning, and he was just floating on the dissociation of it, lost. Sam was lost in all of this, not sure of what was real. Ruby's hand on him felt real, fingers warm, soft, pleasant, but the inside of him was numb and roiling all at once. There was a tingling in him, and he knew it was from the blood, but after discovering his power and what he'd done it no longer felt pleasant. Everything was too much and not enough.

There was a can of… something in front of him (was it pudding? really?), Ruby insisting he needed to eat while Lucifer left his body alone, that he was under the rules of humanity once more. Lucifer hadn't really explained it to her, but Sam knew Lucifer enough to guess at it.

It was to remind him of his humanity, to remind him of the shitshow that life his was, so that when he took control once more he could thank him, praise him. Sam couldn't remember anything of his possession in this world, but he wondered how that was working out for him. Sam couldn't imagine it was going very well, even after… How long had it been?

He abandoned the pudding, pushing it aside without even trying a mouthful. It was in an industrial sized can anyway and looked as if it'd been open for a few days, making Sam question who else had been needing to eat.

"Ruby, what year is it?"

"2014."

"And I've been possessed since…?"

"2009."

"And what do we — you and I — what do we do? Or what does he do?"

She shrugged. "He revels in it, I guess. Some days he just wants to fuck, other days he wants blood, or you do. He's trying to destroy the humans though, has other demons as servants, kills them when it suits him, drinks from them when it suits him, deploys them in battle, and he's been using the Croats." Sam frowned, and she came forward, hand reaching out, and Sam pulled away, sickened that she was okay with him, with this. "It's really bad this time, huh? You don't remember anything?"

"I remember a bit," he shot back.

Her hand still found his face, and Sam closed his eyes, letting her palm rest against his cheek, licking his lips, hating her, hating Lucifer, hating this, not knowing his life anymore.

Part of him wanted to go back to his crucifixion. That, he thought he understood. That was the Cage. But if he had never been…

"Don't touch me," he murmured.

Immediately, her hand drew away, and she lowered her head, hiding her face from him.

"The Croats — the people infected with the Croatoan virus," she went on, drawing back to the earlier discussion. "He uses them against the humans, has a heavy area of infected around here as a defense, but the other demons should keep you safe enough, even when we move locations. Humans come, mess with the Croats sometimes. Things get violent. Every once in awhile he takes some humans, has his fun with them. I think he wants…" she trailed off, clearly not very willing to give him the information.

"Ruby, what? What does he want?"

She faced him now, eyes dark, haunted, and she was struggling with herself. Perhaps a question was something that could be resisted. It wasn't commanding enough. Sam shifted forward.

"Ruby, tell me. What does he want?"

The words tumbled from her mouth, "I think he wants Dean."

"Dean's alive?"

She nodded.

Alive.

Oh, thank god.

Or was there even a god to thank?

Sam's thoughts grew dark and spiraling and he couldn't breathe, so he went back to that crimson numbness. His chest rose when he drew in a breath.

"He's alive, and— Where is he? What's he doing?"

"Sam, he doesn't know you're still… you."

"But I could find him," he argued. "I could find him, bring him here, and show him I'm—"

"He wants to kill you!"

Immediately he was on his feet, shoving the chair back so quickly that it fell, and Ruby pushed her chair back so she was away from him.

"Maybe he should!" Sam shouted. "What have I been doing for five years, huh? Just been—been raping you?"

"Sam, it's not like that!"

"Yeah, it's not, is it? Do I even let you say yes? Or is it just like earlier where I told you to let it happen and told you to like it. How many times, huh? And he rapes you too. You told me he does. And he's been raping me, in my head! And when he's not doing that he's tearing me apart. He wants me to be happy?" Sam laughed, turning around at that, taking in his surroundings, the dark, dilapidated room, the peeling paint, the cracked, grimy windows that showed a small fenced in garden where there were roses blooming amongst detritus and rotting earth. "Well, he's doing a great job at that!" Ruby came forward, close, but not touching, and he glared down. "Oh, and yeah, great, now you can't touch me because I said so. I don't even know if I want you to, isn't that great? But why should I have a say in what you do? Fine, fucking touch me, if you want."

Her hands rested on his chest now, pulling at his clothes.

"Sam, listen to me! This is all we have. He lied to me, too, okay? He told me he'd take care of demons, that he'd remake the world for us, but no, he didn't! He didn't. We're just his slaves. He doesn't give a damn about us." She reached up, taking hold of his face, Sam snarling at her, and he grabbed her wrists, pushing her back against the wall. "But Sam, we have each other! I don't care what you do to me. You don't mean it. You're not him. I loved him. I did. I did, is that what you want to hear? That's why I hurt you. But I'm not trying to hurt you now. Please, just forget Dean, just let us enjoy this. I don't know when he's gonna come back, when he'll want control again."

There was that word: control.

Sam felt tears tracking down his cheeks, mind on fire from it all, and he fell to his knees, pulling Ruby against him on instinct. She fell to her knees now as well, kissing his forehead, and then bringing her lips to his, kissing him hard.

He pulled her up into his lap, and she, too, was crying.

God, what were they doing? Were they just his playthings, his to use and torment?

Was Lucifer the only god left?

Or was this the game?

Did Sam get to pick and choose who to control, and in what way? Did he get to feel power for himself? Did he get to remake this world in his image, become a god?

Or was he just a toy?

Maybe all gods started as someone else's toys.

Sam eventually pulled away, spit connecting them for a couple of seconds, and he was breathing hard. "Ruby, I have control now, right now, and I'm gonna find Dean."

She shook her head. "Sam—"

"No. My brother's alive, and I'm gonna find him. We're gonna fix this. Five years. Five years and I've done nothing, is that right?"

A nod.

"Well, I'm sick of being Satan's bitch."