Sympathy for the Devil
Chapter Nine
victorious1314
Warnings: This chapter contains rape and intense violence. For full warnings, see Chapter One.
AN: Okay, so I didn't write all summer because my depression got pretty bad again. I've actually been doing alot better lately. I've only missed 3 days of school so far, which is like a record for me, and I'm taking a really cool creative writing class. I know I shouldn't use this as a diary because you guys aren't here to hear about me life. So, here you go :) Please remember to leave a review, I really do love hearing from you guys. Shoutout to the user Alix, who left one of the nicest reviews I have ever read.
"I didn't mean to upset you Sammy," Lucifer practically purs into his vessel's ear as he screams at the top of his lungs. His freezing cold fist is wrapped around Sam's softly beating heart as he whispers, "Your pain is exquisite." Sam can't even beg for death, he can only gasp for air and cry as Lucifer uses his power to keep him alive.
"I want to show you a new trick I learned," Luce mumbles before squeezing Sam's heart so hard that his black nails pierce the vital organ, "can you feel it?" he continues. Sam's wrists and ankles are raw and bleeding from him struggling against the straps that hold him. His back is arched and cramped from the complete agony he is enduring. If he could think clearly, he'd laugh at the memory of the first time he was tortured at the hands of those demons. That was nothing compared to this hell.
"You see, Sammy," Lucifer drawls and grabs Sam's pale, sweaty chin with his bloodied hand, "Look at me when I'm talking to you," he demands before continuing his domineering speech, "I don't think you want me to stop."
Sam's eyes roll in his head for a few seconds, he's just able to process the devil's words as blood trickles out of the side of his parted lips. A low gurgling sound emanates from his throat in protest of Lucifer's claim. Satan persists, "This is your evolution, my darling... You are becoming what we all do in the end." Lucifer begins trailing his crimson stained hands down Sammy's rapidly healing chest. His clawed hand passes Sam's hips and the teen begins to cry even harder than before.
"I have to destroy you, love," he mockingly attempts to soothe the boy as he gropes him, "You must become wholly mine, and mine only. Sam, look upon the hell of my visage." Sam's eyes open slightly, tears continuing to steadily stream down his cheeks. Lucifer stands, hunched over the boy's form. The vessel he is in appears to be falling apart at the seams. "My face is broken, I need yours, Samuel," Luce mumbles, "Despite my crimes against nature, I am above all else, a gentleman. So, I will apologize in advance for the destruction I am, and will be, wrecking upon your psyche."
The devil wordlessly yanks off Sam's jeans and flips him over. For the first time since the torture began, the room is completely silent for several moments. However, immediately after the sound of Lucifer's fly coming undone reaches Sammy's ears, his wailing fills the dark and still room again.
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"It's been almost 24 hours Dad, and we don't even have a lead on where that bastard took Sam yet!" Dean shouts angrily, his fingers tangled in his short hair, pulling harshly at the roots. John glares at his eldest son over the ancient spell book he's reading, "I don't see you helping," he retorts.
"Will you two quit your yappin'?" Bobby adds, "Besides, I think I found something." Bobby adjusts his glasses and shows the two other men in the room the page in the book he was searching for clues in. "Says here we can use one of Sam's things to find out where he is. All we got to do is a little spell and it should show us his exact location." He whips out a pen and jots some words down on the back of a scrap of paper before handing it to Dean.
"Here, this'll keep you busy. There's a list of ingredients I'll need for the spell to work. Go to the Walmart downtown and get out of your father and I's hair for a while." Wordlessly, John tosses Dean the keys to the Impala and flips a single dusty page of his old leather bound book. Dean looks like he's about to protest but stops himself at a moments notice and grumbles something under his breath before leaving.
The sound of the Impala's engine rumbling fills Bobby and John's ears for several moments before it fades off into the distance. "If we-," John starts, "When we find him... What then?"
Bobby looks up at his friend, and a distant look settles onto his face, "I suppose you should figure out what in the hell is goin' on."
John frowns, "No, I mean... What do I do with Sam?" The oldest Winchester sets his book aside and rests his face in his callused hands, "He's not human, Bobby."
Bobby sighs deeply, "I guess you'll have to figure out if you have it in you to kill your own son."
"Jesus, Bobby!" John scowls in disgust at his companion's bluntness. John takes a moment to collect himself, "Lord knows, even if I could, Dean would never let me within a mile of him if he knew I was even considering it."
Bobby lets his book fall onto his lap with a soft, 'thud'. He adjusts his beaten up baseball cap, "John, I can't tell you what the right thing to do here is. All I can tell you be that Sam's still your son, and if you decide that that just isn't enough, you should be prepared to deal with the repercussions and lose both of your sons in the process." John rubs his temples roughly, trying to think clearly through his screaming thoughts, "I just want to know he's safe, Bobby," Bobby grumbles and stands up, causing his book to topple onto the wooden floor, "Well, then we should get started," he says before kicking the fallen thing out of his way.
"What are you talking about?" John asks as his brow furrows in confusion. Bobby leaves the question unanswered and opens his broom closet before returning seconds later with a basket of herbs and ingredients, "I have a spell that'll give us an idea where your boy is," he mumbles, trying to maintain his grip on the objects he's holding. Bobby places the goods on the floor in the center of the room and complains about his back under his breath.
"Why'd you make Dean go shopping then?" John asks his friend nervously.
"Because he won't be able to handle this if things go wrong," Bobby sighs, "This spell won't tell us where Sam is or bring us to him, but it will let us see him and his immediate surroundings for as long as we want."
John places his hand over his mouth and mumbles into his cupped palm, "Jesus Christ, you mean if Sam is dead?"
"Not really... we wouldn't be able to tell if he was dead or just sleeping. We would just see complete darkness," Bobby picks up several specific ingredients from the floor and grabs a black, steel bowl from inside his closet, "I was more concerned that we would see something along the lines of torture and Dean would go berserk," his voice becomes strained while saying the last part. John, who had previously been walking towards Bobby to help, stops in his tracks.
"Wh... Why do you say that?" John gasps, his mind spinning. Bobby stops mixing the ingredients in the bowl and looks up at John, "If Lucifer himself has him, do you really think there playin' patty cake?"
John blinks a few times, a chill rushing through his veins. Singer's face softens in sympathy, "I just need you to be prepared for anything. If your emotions become uncontrollable, the spell will cut us off," he continues after a beat, "we'll be right back where we started." He begins to grind a chicken's wishbone into a fine powder, "The spell requires two people for it to work, and we just need enough time to survey the surrounding area where Sam is being held," Bobby pours the white substance into the bowl and adds, "This is a hit or miss for us."
John nods determinedly*, a wave of courage burying his anxiety and adrenaline pumping through his veins, "What do we have to do?" he asks, his voice deep and sure. Bobby pours a mixture of water and pure salt into the now oatmeal seeming like mixture, "Eat some." He takes two spoons and scoops up about a quarter amount of it and hands it to the concerned father. John grimaces and holds up the utensil, "Cheers," he groans before bringing the foul smelling paste to his mouth, however, Bobby grabs his wrist before it reaches its destination.
"Are you sure you can do this?" he questions, his forehead scrunched up in worry. John smiles sadly, "C'mon, we have to do this before Dean gets back."
Bobby mumbles something under his breath but places the spoon into his mouth nonetheless. John follows suit and forces the putrid sour tasting stuff down his throat.
John opens his mouth, "I don't feel anything... Are we supposed to wait or wha-" John is cut off by Bobby falling onto the floor, his spoon clattering after him.
"Jesus Chri-" John's speech is halted once more than he feels his legs give out from under him, but his vision turns to black before he hits the ground.
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John's first conscious moments feel exactly like waking up to a wicked hangover. His vision sways as he forces himself into a sitting position. His ears are filled with an annoying buzzing sound, and something different in the distance that he can't quite place. He rubs his eyes and squints at a dark figure across the room from him. However, every time he tries to focus his eyes, his vision fades out. The buzzing has now turned into ringing and the strange noise... into crying.
"Don't look, John!" somebody shouts. Their voice is heavy with poorly masked fear and desperation. The dark figure rushes towards John and turns him so his back is facing the source of the noise.
"Wha-" John mumbles, his vision finally clearing. He finds himself looking at a stone wall, "What's happening?"
"Just give me a minute to look around!" Bobby's voice shouts over the screams. John looks towards him to find the fellow hunter with tears on his cheeks, surveying the room with rolling, horrified eyes. "No! Stop, John!" Bobby tries as John pulls himself from his grasp.
"Singer, get off-" John yells before his mouth runs dry. His eyes widen in terror at the sight before him. His soul suddenly feels like it's been untimely ripped from his body and he's watching the events unfold from an outsiders' perspective. His thoughts become scrambled and detached. He begins thinking of the horrors he's witnessed throughout his life; in Vietnam, his wife's death, the violence of hunting. John decides, during those few seconds that seemed to last for an eternity, that he would rather infinitely relive each and every trauma, than have this image remain in his brain for a moment longer.
The screams of his son echo in his ears and make his blood churn. His stomach begins to lurch and he feels weak in the knees. He briefly wonders if this is what dying feels like. The disgust, the grief, and the absolute shame is enough to make him want to jump off a bridge. As his son is brutalized he is left to stand there in complete shock, unable to even breathe. The monster's hand is pushing Sam's head onto the table, coincidentally forcing Sam's gaze directly at his invisible form. Sam's eyes seem dazed and distant, almost foggy, as they look right through John. Suddenly, the glassy hazel orbs twitch and move towards his father's face, just before they begin to fill with more tears.
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"Jesus fucking Christ, how hard is it to find the fucking seasoning aisle?" Dean mutters, his fists gripped at his sides. He finally caves and asks an employee for help and finds what he needs.
About ten minutes later, Dean pulls back into the scrap yard. He wastes no time in rushing up to the house, ready to find his brother. The sound of his father yelling, however, makes him ditch the bag of herbs on the porch and bolt into the study. John's fist is bleeding from having punched a hole through the wall, much like Dean's yesterday.
"Calm down, John!" Bobby tries. "You're asking me to calm down after what I just saw?" John screams, his whole body vibrating with fury.
"What the hell is going on?" Dean yells over the shouting men. Bobby casts an apologetic glance towards the older brother, but John doesn't bother. He instead proceeds to promptly vomit into the dustbin.
"Christ, John!" Bobby mutters, his tears never ceasing. "What the fuck is happening?" Dean demands, his palm covering his own mouth at the sight of bile.
"My son," John cries into his calloused hands.
"The room was empty, John. I couldn't find anything," Bobby says, still in shock. He takes his cap off and crushes it against his chest, trying to steady his breathing as he is on the verge of hyperventilating. Dean searches the room wildly until his green eyes settle upon a paste like mixture of herbs, "You cast the spell without me?" he accuses, his scabbed fists balled tightly. "We have to find him, Bobby. We have to." John says, his voice strained and broken by sobs.
A bright light explodes in the center of the room and sears their retinas. "Holy shit," Dean exclaims as he pulls out his gun while simutainiously attempting to cover his eyes. A man with slicked back brown hair and deep brown eyes suddenly takes shape as the brightness dissipates.
"Who the hell are you?" John questions, his gun out as well.
The man puts his hands up mockingly, "Oh, come on boys. I come in peace," the young man's lips curl upwards in amusement, "Name's Gabriel, as in the archangel. Maybe you've heard of me," he picks up a bible from Bobby's desk, "Not that anybody really reads this old thing anyways."
Dean pulls the hammer back on his pistol, "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't load you full of bullets right now," he growls between his teeth.
Gabriel rolls his eyes, "Because it won't do shit, honey," he motions towards himself dramatically, "Hello, literal holy warrior of the lord here."
"Lucifer took-" Bobby starts before he's cut off by Gabriel, "I know Lucy has Sam," he assures, "I'm here because I want to help you get him back."
Dean lowers his gun slowly, "How do we know we can trust you?"
Gabriel laughs humorlessly, "You don't."
"Well, where is he?" John demands, his face still slightly red from his miniature breakdown. Gabriel shakes his head, "Big brother has put up warding all around wherever he's keeping him, but with enough team effort, we should be able to break them."
"Why are you helping us?" Bobby squints at the acclaimed archangel. Gabriel's smile falters for the first time since his arrival, "Look, I love my family and all, but they tend to get too political about things. I haven't seen my brothers for a long time, but news has traveled fast that this showdown was arriving ahead of schedule." Gabe placed the bible down and pulls a cigarette from his jacket pocket, "While they're all content with debating on what to do and what would make dad the happiest on top of their little clouds," he lights it, "I'm not going to stand around while a kid is tortured. I mean, I felt bad enough at the prospect of you two going through this as adults, I'm not a monster."
"I'd beg to differ," Dean snarls, "What are you getting out of this?"
Gabriel takes a long drag of his cigarette and shrugs, "I just want everyone to get along."
"Whatever, what do we gotta do to save the boy?" Bobby cuts in as he fits his cap back onto his head. The archangel flicks his ash onto the floor, "Give me access to your spell ingredients and weapons."
Dean frowns, "Are we planning a battle here?"
"Are you okay with getting your hands dirty?" Gabriel responds, his eyes encapsulated with a twinge of madness. Dean nods determinedely, danger emanating from his aura.
Gabe pulls a long silver blade from his inseam pocket, "This is a blade that all Angels have with them. With it, you can kill any angel or demon," he hands it to John, his smile never fading. John looks at the dagger in surprise, "Why would you give this to me?" he asks confusedly.
The angel snorts, "So you have a sense of control. What do you want me to sa-" John interjects, "Nevermind, just help me find my son."
"That's the plan," Gabriel quips.
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Sam's flesh mends itself back into its original shape, he groans in agony as Lucifer does nothing but watch the horrifying process.
"Sammy boy," the devil starts as he begins to unbuckle his victims binds, "I'm going to be out of town for a while, so to speak." he grabs his vessel by the jaw, "And I need someone to hold the fort down." Lucifer wraps his pale spidery fingers around the teen's throat and begins to squeeze, "In other words, I'm going to be taking over heaven's army and I need you to watch over hell while I'm gone."
"Gah-" Sam tries to speak but the words are choked right out of him. "Alistair will be your mentor for the time being," Lucifer licks Sam's tears from his cheeks, "And he'll teach you the way things are run around here," he starts to lean his body weight into the adolescent's windpipe, "I'm also giving him the keys to this room. So if you misbehave," Lucifer removes his hands and Sammy desperately gasps for oxygen, "he has permission to punish you."
Lucifer grabs Sam by his bare shoulders and forces him into a sitting position on the cold, unforgiving table. He conjurs up a pair of plain wool pajamas and wordlessly puts his vessel into the clothing, limb by limb. The devil smooths the catatonic, shaking boy's hair down and whispers, "You know I'll always love you, right?" He crouches down to Sam's level, "I wish you didn't make me do these things to you."
Tears form in Sam Winchester's eyes but he seems otherwise unaffected by the words. "All we have is each other now, baby" Lucifer whimpers, leaning into Sam for emphasis. Sam twitches slightly at the contact, his eyes empty and seemingly dead.
"Anyways," Luce says, "I'm off to war, my pet."
A girl with short blonde hair and a crimson robe emerges from the shadows and picks up the teen with ease.
"This is Meg, she'll take care of you for now." Lucifer smiles and turns to the demon, "Tend to him well," he orders. The woman nods, her mouth pursed into a tight line and her black eyes fearfully downcast. Lucifer wordlessly disappears through a door he conjured up and Sam is left alone with the strange demon.
"Can you stand, my lord?" Her feminine voice queries. Sam's trembling body jerks towards the source of the noise before he shrugs his shoulders weakly. The pale skin on his bones seems almost stretched and unnatural, like he hasn't eaten a decent meal in weeks. Sam briefly wonders how long he's been in this torture cell. It must have been at least a few weeks. Since there was no windows, Sam could not witness the days passing, however, he can roughly estimate how long it has been through his increasing hunger.
The demon called 'Meg' grabs Sam's frail body off of the stone table and carries him through the doors. Sam begins hyperventilating from the sensation of being grabbed and tries to pull away from his new captor. She scoffs and adjusts her grip on the teen, "You sure are jumpy for, 'The Boy King of Hell.'" She says that last part in a mockingly deep voice.
They continue walking through what appears to be a large system of tunnels. Sam's mind spins with ideas of that they could be leading up to. Perhaps it's a bigger torture chamber? Or maybe it's hell itself. That idea in particular sends him into a panic. His thin, fragile legs manage to kick out and throw Meg off balance a bit, but this only causes her to hold onto him more tightly than before.
"Can you knock it off?" She growls, her nostrils flaring in anger. Sam whimpers and continues to wiggle in her arms, desperate to be set free. Meg yells out in frustration and throws his weakened body onto the dirty stone floor.
"Stand up," She barks, her entire demeanor radiating rage. Sam struggles for a few moments, unable to get his limbs to comply. Meg swiftly kicks him in the side, not hard enough to break anything, but still enough to knock him flat onto his back. She grabs the collar on his pajamas and drags him towards a small wooden door at the end of one of the tunnels. Sam whimpers and continues to try to twist away from her grasp. Meg kicks the weak door open and pulls the struggling teen into a large, white room. The light blinds Sam momentarily and he mistakes the brightness as hellfire. He begins to cry pitifully as he's picked up once more and dropped into a cool marble bath. Sam squirms as Meg rips the pajamas from his emaciated form.
His eyes begin to adjust and he watches as she twists a metal knob above the faucet. Cold water splashes against Sam's legs and he gasps at the contact. For the first time, Sam begins to survey his surroundings. He sits in a lone tub in the middle of the most extravagant bathroom he has ever seen. High arched ceilings with murals of angels tower over him and clean marble floors reflect the light of a crystal chandelier that hangs above. The simple brown door that had been kicked in, stands innapropriatley among st such finery. The water, now warm, begins to fill the tub. Meg watches his quivering form with a piercing, yet seemingly uninterested gaze. Sam flinches and averts his eyes.
Meg grabs a bar of soap from the floor and immediately starts scrubbing at the dried blood and grime on his pale flesh. Tears begin to form at his eyes, once again and he tucks his chin into his chest in embarrassment. His thoughts begin to wander towards his brother. What would he think of him, now? He's a monster, but he is also weak and slow. The amount of times he has been victimized is surely shameful. He can already see the look of utter disappointment that would form on his father's face if he could see his son now. Having the dirt and washed from him like a child.
Sam grits his teeth as Meg reaches his more sensitive parts. He scans her face only to read a clear look of determination settled upon her features. He nearly sighs in relief knowing he is not going to be assaulted once more. The previously clear water is now tinged with gray. Flecks of dried blood and dirt float noticeably in the liquid, keeping Sam in a sort of trance as he watched them swim. Meg seems to notice this as well as she grunts in disgust and unplugs the tub, only to fill it up again with clean water.
As she finishes rinsing the last of the suds from the Boy King's hair, she stands up once more, pulling him with her. Sam stands on wobbling legs like a newborn colt before he is wrapped tightly in a soft towel. He's then led through another set of doors, this time they are tall and made with what appears to be mahogany. The next room is even more stunning than the last. There is another mural on the ceiling, this one depicting what appeared to be the crucifixion of Christ. The wounded eyes of the martyr bore into Sam's, causing the teen to force his gaze away. A large bed with red drapes hovering above is placed in the center of the room.
Meg leads Sam towards the bed and wordlessly sit him down. She proceeds to ignite a fire in a large fireplace across the room. The thought of trying to escape enters Sam's mind as her back is turned to him. He searches the room with wide eyes before finding another set of elegant doors a few yards away from where he is seated. The image of him running through the doors into another, unknown room enters his mind. The realization that he has absolutely no idea where he is suddenly plagues his thoughts. He could run into a room full of demons who are much less inclined to care for him. He remembers he is completely naked and blushes at the thought.
Meg brings a black robe over to the bed and sets it beside the fifteen year old.
"Get dressed," She barks, her mean gaze unrelenting. Sam blinks a few times before standing and hesitantly shrugging off the giant towel. He puts on the robe and pulls the thick hood over his head with shaking hands. He pushes a few strands of his damp hair from his eyes and Meg pushes him back down to the bed. As his weak frame crumples onto the black velvet blankets, he gasps, his eyes rolling around, trying to summon enough strength to sit back up.
Eventually Meg sighs and pulls Sam back up into a sitting position. "That's it," She mumbles as she pulls out a knife. Sam makes a sound similar to a hurt puppy and jerks away. Meg simply scoffs and promptly cuts open her own wrist. "Drink up, my Lord," She laughs.
Sam instinctively leans forward as the copper smell reaches his nostrils. Without any further prompting he latches onto her wrist like a man dying of thirst. He can feel the hot liquid dripping down his chin and neck, but he cannot seem to bring himself to give a fuck. After several minutes of drinking from the demon's open wound, he looks up to see that her eyes are hooded as if she is about to fall asleep. He reluctantly pulls away, not wanting to kill the only being who has shown him any compassion in weeks. Meg gasps and pulls her wrist towards her chest before wrapping it in a white cloth she pulled from her robe's pocket. She laughs softly and ruffles Sam's hair. He instinctively flinches away from the contact.
Meg reaches a hand out to pull Sam up again, but he refuses her help and manages to stand on his own, the power of the demon blood surging through his veins like white hot flame. Meg hands Sam a pair of black leather shoes with red soles and he immediately slips them onto his cold feet. She gives the Boy King a reluctant half smile, "You'll be staying in here for the next few days," She says suddenly, "We still have to finish up getting a few things ready for you." Her tone slowly shifts into a whisper, "We really didn't expect you so soon."
Meg then takes her leave and walks through the set of doors that Sam had considered escaping through just minutes earlier. A loud 'click' echoes through the room as she locks the doors behind her. Sam jumps at the sound and buries his face in his hands before laying himself down onto the bed. Tears fill in his eyes as he begins to view the grotesque mural once again. The jeering faces of the roman soldiers below the cross make Sam grimaces as his eyes travel up the lifeless body of the acclaimed son of god. The detail is incredible and leaves a sense of realness that Sam can't shake. Blood pours from the wound across Christ's chest made by a Roman's spear to increase his suffering and speed up his untimely demise. The holy figure's mouth is agape in what seems like a permanent scream of agony and his hollow eyes are cast upwards, as if he is begging for his father to end his pain.
Sam swallows thickly and averts his eyes from the scene as he wonders if Jesus actually lived, or if he was just a tale conjured up by the church to gain more followers. He begins to unexpectedly notice the stark similarities between himself and Christ. Would he be remembered as a martyr? Or would he be forever known as the Boy King of Hell? The teenager who single handedly brought hell on earth. At that moment, Sam decides he will do whatever it takes to destroy Lucifer, even if it results in his death.