He was falling. Falling through space and time, the blackness complete and eternal around him. A harsh wind sang in his ears, whistling as he descended. It was a hollow song of breaking and ending. Of longing and loneliness. His grace burned, searing him from within. Flaring hotter and hotter until he could feel it seeping through his skin, escaping like air from a perforated balloon.
He fell for eons, as the cosmos shifted and stars aligned, piercing pinpricks of light through the dark. He could feel himself shrinking as his vast reserves of celestial energy began to dwindle. Something began to pulsate within him, an awakening of a body that was once so familiar. He counted the beats, a soothing mantra as his bones calcified and the wings rotted from his back.
Mumbling human voices interspersed with the keening of his brethren. What have I done? he wanted to scream at them, but the wind stole his words away.
Finally, he stopped falling, or rather, the plummeting sensation ceased. The darkness solidified around him, pressing down, squeezing in. Light. A small yellow circle gleamed in the distance. He crawled forward on his hands and knees, pushing against the edges until he could tumble through.
Rough cloth, aching muscles, breaths sharp and spastic like his body had forgotten how to function. His arm jerked to his chest, the pounding rhythm increasing.
"I think he's waking up." There was a click and a sigh, followed by a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, can ya hear me?" The touch was different. Warm, fleshy. Not merely sensory input that registered in his consciousness. There was meaning behind it. Concern. He could feel the emotion conveyed through the firm pressure. Fingers acting like conductors; copper wire for electricity.
The gruff man. Cas cracked his eyes open and winced against the sudden influx of stimuli. Everything was too loud, garish, and bright. He squeezed them shut again. Dean, I saved him. But the words tore at his throat, his parched lips unwilling to open.
"Relax, you're safe, okay? Dean's coming." Another sigh, this one longer and heavy with fatigue. "Maybe he knows where the hell we can even start. Hang in there pal."
They're gone. They left me. Everyone. I did as I was told. Dean, why… Cas felt himself sink further, dimly pleased that that the weightless sensation didn't continue. Permanence. The word felt strangely sad, but Cas didn't have time to reflect before the blackness caught up to him.
Sam followed Azazel through dank and twisted corridors, sinking lower and lower through the sulfurous rock. Finally they arrived at the lip of a gaping maw that stretched further than Sam could see. A chill emanated from the chasm, cutting through the ripe heat of Hell.
"He's here." Azazel's tone was soft and reverent. "Lucifer. Locked away for millennia. Waiting for you."
Sam shuddered, his skin crawling with unease. Because as much as he'd like to deny it, wish it away, something was calling out to him. The pit seemed to stretch out even further, inviting him in. This is your true home, Sammy it whispered. You belong here. With me. You always have.
"Now Sam, this is what led to the demon blood and that unfortunate incident with your mother." He jumped at the sudden sound of Azazel's voice. "You are the one true vessel of Lucifer, destined to rise and bring the apocalypse, blah blah blah."
Sam flinched. He couldn't honestly say he was surprised, but that made hearing it out loud all the worse. This can't be who I really am. Frustration and despair curled within him like a fist. I just want to get out, get back to Dean, forget this ever happened.
"However," Azazel continued, "for reasons undisclosed, we can't start said apocalypse without your brother. So right now you're in a bit of a pickle." He grinned. "The demons just don't know what to do with you, Sammy. Alistair, he wants to torture you of course," faint disgust flickered across his face, "Lilith wants to use you as bait for your brother, and one odd fellow named Crowley just wants to let ya off scott-free." Azazel spread his palms as if amazed by the audacity of the idea. "Me on the other hand… Well no offense Sammy, but I think you could use a little more training."
Sam glanced up sharply, "If you think that I'll ever-"
Azazel put up a hand to stop him. "Please, you insult my intelligence. I already know that you would never stoop to do the bidding of a lowlife scum such as myself. Unfortunately," he leaned in, his grin widening conspiratorially, "I don't think you've got much of a choice."
Sam stared into the pit, feeling its pull inside him. He took a deep breath, willing those desires back into the dark well they sprung from. Maybe I don't have a choice right now, but I can fake it, at least til Dean finds a way to bust me out of here. He was strong enough to resist whatever plan they had set up for him. I can do it too.
Sam turned back to face Azazel, carefully schooling his features into a look of defeat. He kicked irritably at a nearby stalagmite, hunching his shoulders and shoving his hands deep into his pockets.
"After this is all over, my training and everything. You'll let me go, right? I'll be able to see Dean?"
"Of course. If you still want to, that is. I'm not gonna lie to you Sammy, your life will never be the same."
Sam felt his anger flare again, genuine emotion pushing through the mask. "Yeah well a 'normal life' hasn't exactly been in the cards for me, I guess. Not since my mom died," he snapped. For a moment he saw himself, standing over the smoking hulk of Azazel's body, a smile playing across his lips. Just a flash, a split-second of searing pain, and it was gone.
"Good," Azazel nodded. "Acceptance is the first step. Very healthy." He slapped Sam on the back, "One more thing, my well-adjusted friend. Then we can begin."
He held out his arm, delicately slicing the thin skin just below his palm with a fingernail. Blood welled to the surface.
Sam could smell it instantly; the chamber reeked with a pungent, spicy aroma. His mouth watered.
No, I can't.
Azazel waited expectantly, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly at Sam's hesitation.
He's testing me.
A single scarlet drop rolled down his arm, splashing on the floor.
So loud. Sam flinched at the thunderous echo. He was sweating, his fingers twisting around each other in complicated knots.
The demon said nothing, merely gestured toward the cut with his free hand, as if to say dig in.
Blood was pounding in Sam's ears, his head spinning, limbs tingling.
I can't back down now. I'm so sorry, Dean.
He stepped forward, the bitter scent growing stronger. He could feel a nervous, hysterical glee building inside him. Bubbling up from his gut.
Breathe. You're stronger than this.
Sam opened his mouth hesitantly. Azazel winked. He grasped the demon's arm firmly and bent his head, trying to smear most of the blood around, or coat his lips rather than his tongue.
Still, he could taste it. Red, juicy, raw power. Sharp with a sulfurous tang and smoky notes intertwined.
Bliss.