Sympathy for the Devil

Chapter Eight

victorious1314

Warnings: See Chapter One

AU: Hi, Everyone. I know I'm really awful at updating... but that's nothing new, I guess. Anyone who reads my little "author's notes" knows I struggle with depression and that makes it hard to get out of bed, let alone write. I love writing, though, which makes this extra sucky... Anyways, I want to thank you all again for your kind reviews. They always make me so happy and I would be lying if I said my heart didn't leap every time I saw the little number go up, hahaha. Also, it would mean a lot if you would check out my new Supernatural fanfiction, "Chaos." It's a time travel fanfic and if you enjoy this story, you'll probably like that one :) So, that's enough delay. I hope you enjoy Chapter Eight.

John's sleeping on the couch, his brows furrowed in a seemingly permanent frown. Dean and Bobby sit on opposite sides of the kitchen table, both of them nursing their beers in tense silence. Dean's emotions are all over the place, his fear reaching an all time high after his brother's supernatural seizure. Every time he closes his eyes he can see Sammy pressed flat against the ceiling, his libs jerking, out of control, and contorted. He wants to know what the fuck is going on, but he's also terrified of the answer. More than anything, though, Dean wants to beat the shit out of that kid named Lucifer.

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Sam finally wakes, his body feeling sore and tired. The sun shines brightly down onto him through the gaping hole in the ceiling. Birds chirp merrily from outside, blind to the fact that a monster is within their midst, just inside the panic room. He groans and moves to rub his eyes but discovers that his hands are once again strapped to the bed. Adrenaline courses through him as he searches the room with bleary eyes for Luce. After finding the room to be empty, Sam realizes that the torture could have very well been a hallucination. He throws his head back onto the lumpy pillow in frustration. How is he going to be able to tell what's real and what isn't? Sam briefly wonders where Dean is, but accepts that his brother is most likely mortified and doesn't want to be anywhere near him.

"Sam, love," a soft woman's voice chimes. Sam yelps in surprise as his eyes settle on a blonde woman in a white nightgown. It takes him a few moments but he recognizes her from the visions and dream's Lucifer has given him over the past nine years. "Mom?" Sam's scratchy voice pierces the morning air. Blood seeps through his mother's sleepwear from a slash on her stomach, though she seems utterly unaffected by the pain. Mary sits down on the small bed and runs her pale, slender fingers through Sam's tangled hair, "Yes," she replies, "I'm here."

"You aren't real," Sam grunts, though he leans into her soft touch. Mary smiles, "That's unimportant. What matters is that we're together and I'm going to help you."

Sam frowns, "How are you going to help me?"

Mary strokes the side of Sam's face lovingly, "I'm going to remind you of what's important," Sam opens his mouth to speak but Mary cuts him off, "You have to fulfill your destiny, dear."

Sam feels like he was just slapped in the face, "W-What?"

Sam's hallucination of Mary replies, "You're confused, why? Are you surprised that I would want you to do as god intended?" Sam feels tears beginning to form, "I thought you would want what was best for me."

Mary touches Sam's hand in a comforting gesture, "I made a deal, Sam. I traded your life for your father's. Do you honestly believe that I ever cared for you at all?"

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Dean tosses his empty bottle in the trash, "I'm going to go check on him," he mutters, not even bothering to look at Bobby who nods sadly. Dean stomps down the stairs, going to check on his baby brother for the tenth time since Sammy's seizure. Dean open's the slot on the door and peers in. To his surprise, Sam is awake. Panic forms in his stomach, however, when he notices that his brother is sobbing.

Sam always knew that nobody truly loved him, Lucifer made sure of that. But, thinking it and hearing it are two very different things. Even Dean doesn't even really like Sam. Dean was forced, by their father, to take care of Sam after their mother died. Dean may think that he loves Sam, but that's only because it was ingrained into his mind by John at such a young age. Sam is a burden, he knows that for sure. Perhaps the only way he'll ever really matter is if he does as he's told and says yes to Lucifer.

Sam doesn't realize he's sobbing loudly until he hears the latch on the door open and sees Dean step in. Sam searches wildly for any traces of his mother but finds none.

Dean steps towards Sammy nervously, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. He shouldn't be scared of his brother, but now all he can think of when he looks at him is the blood dripping down Sam's chin after he slaughtered those demons. Sam's sobs are now reduced to small hiccups and he flinches when Dean sits down where their mother had just been moments ago. Dean wipes away the tears on Sam's cheeks and chin with shaking hands.

The cuts on Dean's knuckles are scabbed over by now, but they are surrounded by purple bruises. Dean opens his mouth to speak, but Sam beats him to it, "I'm sorry," Sam says, his voice tearful and quiet. Dean sighs and places his head in his hands, "What's happening Sammy?"

Sam lets out a nervous, airy laugh, "It's a long story." Dean looks at him through the corners of his eyes, "Lucky for you, we have a lot of time." Sam looks away from his brother's piercing gaze, "Well, if I'm going to tell you everything, I'm only going to tell it once. Dad should be here too."

The giant fan, lazily spinning above them, is the only sound for several moments until Dean says, "Alright," his voice is tight and scared seeming, but he continues, "I'll go get him." Dean stands up and heads towards the door before stopping in his tracks. He turns his head slightly to the left instead of turning towards his brother before he adds, "No matter what happens, I'm not leaving you." He doesn't wait for Sam to reply before leaving the room, the door locking with an echo that bounces around the room behind him.

Sam tries to compose himself, he blinks the remaining tears from his eyes and does his best to sit up with the restraints holding his wrists down.

He suddenly feels goose bumps prickle his skin. An abnormal chill runs down his spine and he instantly knows who has joined him. Lucifer is at the edge of the bed, his clothes torn, his face bruised and bloodied, while his features are contorted in a mixture of pain and amusement. Before Sam can utter any words, they are in a new, dark, cold place.

Sam is strewn onto the unforgivingly hard stone floor, his weak body in shock and unable to do much else other than look at the devil in horror. Lucifer chuckles, "Believe it or not, even after your little charade, I managed to come back out on top."

Sam struggles to breathe, "H-How?" Lucifer stalks over to him, his twisted grin that seems too wide and evil to be remotely human, everpresent. Lucifer grabs the collar of his little vessel's shirt, his eyes a blood red, and he pulls him up to his level. Dark circles frame Lucifer's crimson eyes and he suddenly seems to have grown several shades paler. Light blue veins can be faintly seen through his nearly translucent flesh, pumping his vessel's ice cold blood to it's harshly beating heart.

"How?" Lucifer repeats, his voice distorted, his chilly breath hitting, and numbing Sam's warm cheeks. "I'm. the. Devil." Lucifer then throws the boy across the room, which sends him barreling into the wall. A loud 'crack' resounds from his pubescent frame. Sam's groan is mixed with a choked sob, that is muffled by the blood pouring from his mouth. Lucifer begins to walk back over to his victim, and continues his answer, "After you sicked my big bro on me, which was a low blow, I might add," Lucifer swiftly kicks Sam in his already broken ribs for emphasis, "I got in a little fight with him."

Lucifer picks the youngest Winchester up by his hair and drags him over to a table in the center of the room, "However," He slams Sam's body down onto the table and begins fastening the boy down with leather straps, "I was able to convince him that what we have goin' on here," He conjures a knife out of thin air, "is a good idea." Lucifer slices away Sam's filthy, hand-me-down band t-shirt with the razor sharp blade.

"Hell, I actually got him on board with this!" He leans in close next to Sam's ear, "All I had to do was convince him of what a worthless piece of shit you are, and then he pissed off." Lucifer begins kissing Sam's neck passionately whilst his other hand begins slicing through the flesh under the teenager's left collarbone. "And now," Lucifer adds sweetly, "I have you all to myself."

Sam's screams echo throughout the windowless room as he is tortured, falling upon no one, as he is once again, completely alone.

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Dean opens the door of the basement and heads towards Bobby, who is now flipping through an old, leatherback bible. "Bobby," Dean starts, and Bobby's gaze flickers towards him in acknowledgement. John appears around the corner, his hand rubbing his neck absentmindedly. An equally tethered book on Christianity in his hands. Dean continues, "Sam said tha-"

There is a loud crash from down in the basement that cuts the eldest sibling off. "What in the hell is it now?" Bobby mutters, exasperated as all three of them bolt towards the basement. John tries to open the door but finds it has been somehow sealed shut. He yells in frustration and backs up to kick it down. His foot hits it squarely but has no effect other then propelling him backwards. Dean tries next, but his attempt ends the same.

"What the fuck are your doors made out of Bobby?" John yells as Dean tries to bust the door open for the third time. Bobby shouts back, as panicked as them, "It's goddamn wood, as far as I know!"

Dean's heart is beating in his ears at this point, his breath ragged. He suddenly gets an idea. He sprints away from the older men, who continue to slam against the basement door to no avail. Dean rips open the door to the garage where Bobby and him had worked on an old car just the day prior. He begins towards a crowbar on the cement ground but something on the wall catches his eye. He turns towards a giant, metal chainsaw hanging on a hook next to an old box of tools. Dean snatches the thing and bolts towards the basement door.

Dean pulls the cord connected to the engine, whist holding the machine to the ground with his left foot. It makes a weak sputtering noise and quiets immediately. Dean prays that it's full of gasoline. Dean yanks back again on the cord and it finally revs to life. The grumbling of the chainsaw is so loud it makes a lump form in Dean's throat, as he's never used one of these before. John and Bobby jump out of the way as Dean attempts to shove the spinning blade through the wood. Instead of lf gliding in smoothly, the rusty chain stalls upon the pressure.

Dean yells and Bobby snags the shitty piece of machinery from his hands. Bobby holds the heavy thing above his head and Dean instinctively takes a step back as he slams the thing down onto the basement doorknob. The old thing snaps off, along with a piece of the lock from the inside due to the softness of the rotting wood. Dean backs up some more and rams the door open with his left shoulder. He barely catches himself from falling down the dark basement stairs on the rickety railing.

Another bang is heard from the panic room and the three need no more encouragement to send them rushing down the stairs and to the door. Bobby unlocks the door without even thinking this time and the three spill into the room. The sight that greets them stops them in their tracks.

The bed that had Sam strapped to it is overturned and across the room, steaks of blood in it's wake. There are scratches that seem to be from human nails through all of the warding on the walls, ceiling, and floor. The above lights are flickering like when there is a poltergeist near. The view that truly makes their blood run ice cold, however, are the words "HE IS MINE," spelt out in blood on the floor. They observe the chaos in silence for several moments. Enough time for Dean to notice the absolute absence of sound in the room. His eyes dart up to the ceiling, where the large fan now sits completely, eerily still.

John observes the scene, his heart pounding in his ears. Where is his son and how are they going to get him back? Bobby is the first one of the three to move. He steps towards the message on the floor, his face and throat tight with emotion. If this is Sam's blood, there is no way he survived the massive loss of the fluid. However, considering the recent inhuman traits that they have observed from the fifteen year old, perhaps he is still breathing somewhere.

"Dad?" Dean says, his voice small and scared, almost childish, "What are we going to do now?" It takes a bit for the words to register in John's brain, "I don't-" John starts, his voice flat. He takes a moment and closes his eyes. The oldest Winchester inhales deeply through his nose before opening his eyes again and continuing, "We're going to find out what happened here and we're going to get Sammy back."

While the three begin their investigation of the scene, Sam's screams continue to fall upon deaf ears, as what's left of his sanity slowly slips away.