Wow. Really short chapter. I'm sorry about that.
Thanks to everyone that has reviewed, followed, favourited, or read. I love you. So, enjoy today's rather paltry offering.
Gabriel paced anxiously, hands gripping at his hair. He glared at John and Dean. "How is it," he managed to grit out, "That every single time he's with you chuckleheads, my Sam goes missing?" Gabe was growling by the end of the sentence, too frantic, too frightened to keep calm in front of the humans. He had no idea what to do. Sam was alive. Gabe couldn't accept anything else. He could feel him, that tiny piece of Grace that was connected to Sam's soul bright and alive. Frightened, and in pain, but alive. He could feel nothing else, not even a vague direction.
"How dare you-?" John started, eyes flashing with fury as he rose to his feet. He towered over Gabe, and was obviously trying to intimidate him.
"Shut up," Gabe snarled, his wings flaring and curling aggressively. The humans couldn't see them, of course. He didn't want to blind or smite Sam's family. Jut for them to tell him where he'd gone when he left them.
John opened his mouth, face reddening as he tried to force words out through his frozen vocal cords. Dean just stared, shell-shocked, open-mouthed. Gabriel knew his Grace was slipping from his control, electrifying the air, making it difficult for the humans to breathe. He reigned it in. It took more effort than he expected.
He started pacing again. "What if they found him?" He muttered, no longer speaking to the Winchesters in the room. Panic was trying to break free. Gabe swallowed it down, forcing it into the back of his mind. He was useless to Sam if he panicked.
"What if who find him?" Dean demanded, his fear a weight in the room. He wasn't as close to his brother as he could have been – would have been without Gabe – but it was a near thing sometimes.
Gabe growled, before gasping as agony flared through Sam. His knees collapsed under the weight of someone else's pain. "Oh, by my Father." He groaned, gripping his temples and resisting the urge to pray for the pain to stop. He couldn't have his brothers and sisters interfering, especially not now. He pulled at his hair, desperately trying to distract himself so that he could just focus.
"Gabe," Dean was kneeling in front of his face, ignoring whatever it was that John was saying. Gabe was ignoring the words. The tone was angry and demanding, and that was enough for Gabe to ignore him. He wasn't interested in what the eldest Winchester wanted.
Gabe swallowed the whimper of pain that wanted to escape. He was an archangel, dammit. The Messenger of God, Gabriel. "Someone's got Sammy," he managed to grit out. "They're hurting him." He blinked rapidly, hating that he was linked enough with his vessel, and far enough from his Grace that it cried when he was in pain. That it displayed so much of his weakness in front of humans, but especially in front of these humans, almost made him wish he was back in Heaven, content to follow orders and have no will of his own. At least that wouldn't be so painful.
Dean was low and intent. "It's alright Gabe. We'll find Sammy. We'll find him, and we'll kill whoever it was that's hurting him. I swear."
~~SPN~~
Azazel stared at the trickster that one of his demons had captured. He hadn't entirely believed they were real before that. It looked like a boy, all overly long limbs and large hands, and floppy brown hair. The furious light in its green eyes, malicious and considering, was the only thing that gave lie to the humanity of its appearance.
"What's your name?" He demanded. He'd had it for three days now, no food, no water, and it looked no different to when it had arrived. Maybe this thing would be what granted him access to Purgatory and all the monsters and gates therein. It was worth further consideration.
Sam stared at Azazel and smiled, willing away his hunger and his dry, scratchy throat. The collar didn't affect that ability, at least, and he rarely needed to eat as it was. If only the sugar craving was that easy to eliminate. It was almost unmanageable, and he had no idea how much longer he was going to be trapped here.
"What's your name?" Sam lifted his eyes to meet the yellow ones of the demon he hated above all else and smirked.
Azazel's smile slipped when Sam remained silent, hands gripping one another where they rested in his lap until the knuckles were white. Demons had blood flow. Who knew?
The fist that connected with the side of his face was huge, and he staggered, blood exploding in his mouth. He spat and cursed. "What the Hell is your problem, dick?" The demon stared at him for a moment before guffawing loudly. Sam turned his face away. "I am going to enjoy killing you." He muttered, narrowing his eyes.
He'd been ignored for longer than he thought he would be, since Loki was technically the only real trickster in existence, and he'd taken the time to experiment. They clearly had no idea he was one of Azazel's 'special children,' because all his psychic abilities still seemed to be intact. He wasn't completely devoid of sense, no matter what Gabe insisted. He was just very bad at self-preservation.
The demon's expression contorted, even as Azazel smiled in anticipation. The demon jabbed, snapping Sam's head back and blood exploded from his nose, running down his face and dripping from his chin. He flexed his fist, the amount of pleasure he felt when the demon staggered and gasped frightening in its intensity. He closed his fingers into a loose fist and twitched his wrist in a barely visible movement. It was a low level demon after all. No point giving away all his tricks so early in the game.
The vessel staggered, before dropping like a marionette with its strings cut, limbs sprawled on the stone floor.
It was sudden, immediate panic. He had four demons dead before Azazel managed to regain control of the room. Sam had barely shifted his feet, and his hands hung loose by his side. Subtlety was occasionally a necessary sin for a trickster after all.
Azazel was on his feet, face contorted with rage. Sam was momentarily distracted by the ridiculous throne of skulls he had been sitting on. It looked ridiculous, and extremely uncomfortable. "Ava." The word was bellowed. A round faced girl hurried through a door half hidden behind the throne.
She dropped to her knees by his feet, eyes lowered to the ground. "Master?" Her voice was husky, face hidden by lank, light brown hair.
Azazel reached down and gripped her by the hair, ignoring as her face contorted in pain. "What have I told you about killing my demons without permission, Ava?" His voice was gentle, and all the more frightening for it.
The girl blanched, eyes wide in her suddenly bloodless face. "I'm sorry, Master," she wasn't sobbing, but by the catch in her voice, it was a close thing. "It won't happen again."
"See that it does not." His eyes narrowed. "I need you alive, Ava. That does not mean that I need you whole, or unbroken. Do not test me again. Do you understand?"
Ava nodded rapidly in his grip, swallowing repeatedly. "Yes Master. I'll behave. I swear it." He released her and she buckled to the floor, face pressed into the stone. "Get out of my sight." Ava fled back through the door she'd initially entered through, the door slamming after her.
Azazel turned his attention back to Sam, smiling genially. The abrupt switch was disconcerting. Sam repressed a shudder. "You didn't answer my question, trickster. What is your name?"
Sam smiled, dimples flashing. His shoulder tucked forward, and he hid under his bangs. It made him look small, younger than his eighteen years. "I am only a disciple," he demurred, fingers twisting together in a display of timidity. "I am called Seamus."
"A disciple?" Azazel looked genuinely interested. Probably wanted the biggest and the best for his new zoo. Sam chewed on the inside of his cheek. What was the point of all this, his menagerie? Surely Azazel hadn't simply become a collector of all things non-human? Although even Gabe hadn't been able to figure out his end game. He thought potentially the beginning of the Apocalypse, but that didn't quite fit with the information they had either.
"Of Loki, of course."
The demon scoffed. "Obsolete Norse weaklings." He dismissed, already disinterested in them. Sam shrugged. The Pagan Gods did pretty well for themselves. Most of them, after all, were the physical embodiment of forces of nature. "Put him back," Azazel waved a hand. "He bores me."
Sam wasn't dragged before Azazel for another week. He waited impatiently for something to happen. Surely Azazel wouldn't be stupid enough to take him at his word. He must have figured out something was happening, the number of his soldiers to have disappeared the last few days.
Azazel came to him personally on the seventh day. Sam ignored him, eyes closed as his head pounded. His throat was dry and scratchy, his tongue thick and unpleasantly furry. He was human enough to still be affected by dehydration apparently.
"Sam," the voice crooned. He determinedly kept his eyes shut. Plausible deniability wasn't really an option here, but he was going for it anyway, of only to piss the demon off. "Samuel Winchester." A hand grasped his chin. "Did you really think you could lie to me, Samuel?" He was dragged to his feet by the hand on his face. Sam flexed his jaw. This feeling of helplessness was infuriating.
He wasn't strong enough, still, to kill Azazel, but one day. One day that damned soul was going to be burned out of existence permanently.
Sam remained stubbornly silent as he was dragged in a difference direction from the week previously. He stumbled along as the floor became more uneven. His arms were pulled back until shackles could be fitted over his wrists. He was tall enough that it barely stretched his shoulders. It would hurt eventually, he knew, but not for quite a long time.
The girl, Ava, approached, when Azazel stepped back. She was smiling eagerly. "Your little stunt last week got me punished," she growled, eyes alight with pleasure at what was ahead of her. "So I'm going to enjoy returning the favour."
Azazel smiled like a proud father. "I'm just going to ask you a few simple question, Sam." He sounded almost sympathetic. He was quite good at this, Sam noted absently, determinedly tucking his consciousness away, letting the trickle of power available to him cocoon his sanity. "If you don't answer to my satisfaction, I shall be forced to let Ava have her fun with you."
He crossed his arms over his chest, radiating smug satisfaction. He thought he had him, Sam realised, almost wanting to laugh. He thought Sam was going to crack under the threat of torture, or whatever a demon hybrid could do. "Now, Sammy, how did you avoid getting pulled into the little battle royale I set up?"
The Trickster smiled. "I am Loki. That claim comes before all else."
Azazel scowled fiercely as Ava caressed her knives before selecting one and approaching, looking perturbingly aroused.
Sam returned to consciousness slowly, to hear Azazel rebuking the girl. "-questions I wanted answers to."
Ava sounded put out and petulant. "He wasn't saying anything, anyway. I don't know why it matters."
Sam let himself hand limply between the chains, swallowing the heavy taste of sulphur. He grimaced, hidden by his hair. He cracked his eyelids, watching as Azazel fastidiously cleaned a neat slice on his wrist. Sam frowned, focussing internally. He really hoped the demon hadn't done what Sam had a sneaking suspicion he had.
The unfamiliar hunger curling in his stomach was the first hint. The psychic abilities were like a physical weight on his soul, heavier than he had adjusted to. He cringed, remaining silent and limp as he was dragged back to his cell by two nameless demons. Oh, Gabriel, angel of Justice.
~~SPN~~
Sam gasped as he was pushed back into the cage, his burned shoulder brushing against the bars. His jaw flexed, but he remained stubbornly silent as he carefully lowered himself to the ground. He ignored the demons smirking at his bleeding, exposed back as he turned towards Matthias and grinned.
His back twinged when he turned his head. He had learnt very quickly how much Ava like knives, and whips, liked the way skin split, and the neat lines of scars. Azazel was determinedly feeding him demon blood and using anything he could think of to get him to kill demons with the extra power.
The weight of the demon taint was heavy, and painful. He loathed it with everything in him.
From what he'd seen of Ava, the blood should have been highly addictive. If she was without for even a day, she collapsed, screaming like someone was ripping her apart from the inside. He didn't like to consider how long it would take for him to get that bad. He had yet to have a day where he was deprived of it.
Matt watched him silently, still in the way only vampires were capable of. The demons ignored him as they locked the cage and left the small holding area they were stored in. Sam was aware of ten others, with anywhere from one creature to three or four. He heard them sometimes, screaming, wailing.
Sam shuffled unsteadily to the edge of the cage, pressing his cheek to the ground and sighing. The concrete was cold on his flushed skin. He was fairly certain a whole section of his back was infected. He was feverish, and he could smell it. The skin was spongy and pus leaked from it whenever it was touched.
"How long can you keep this up, Sam?" Matt sounded genuinely concerned. Sam flashed him a smile, wincing only slightly when it pulled on the cut on his cheek.
"As long as I need to." His grin brightened. "Not much longer now." He touched his neck. He still had no idea how to get the collar off. Saint Gabriel, holy angel, please find me. Sam prayed silently, grasping at the threads of the connection they shared.
Matt leaned forward, almost touching the bars. Something in Sam's expression was wrong, and genuine concern stirred to life within him. "Are you sure?" He asked tentatively. Angering a trickster was as bad for supernatural creatures as it was for humans.
Sam carefully offered his blood, not even flinching when his skin touched the bars. Pain was oddly overwhelming, and his receptors had seemingly shut down. Sam was fairly certain he was going mad, and that was terrifying.
Matt tasted it and recoiled sharply. Sam's blood tasted of light and lighting, and strengthened him in a way nothing else ever had. Now. Now the taste was overwhelmed by sulphur and heat. "What have they done?" He gasped. There was something so wrong with that.
Sam's face twisted in silent revulsion. "Demon blood, Matt." His voice was softening, slurring his words, and Matt knew he wouldn't have the trickster for much longer. He was only coherent while he was in pain, but before it overwhelmed his senses. "I've always been an experiment, but Azazel is force feeding me his own blood."
Matt opened his mouth, but Sam was still talking. "There's on;y meant to be one survivor, but there's two, and now no one knows what's going to happen. This is meant to be testing me, but I'm saving it up, you see. Almost enough now. Almost enough." The last word trailed off and Sam wrapped his arms around his knees, mumbling nonsense to himself.
Matt sighed. Sam had retreated back into himself again. It was taking less and less time for that to happen.
Gabriel felt a tug, far to his left. Saint Gabriel, holy angel, please find me. The prayer was weak, but aimed directly at him. "Sam?" He turned towards it, grasping tightly to the hint of location and snapped his fingers.