Thank you so much Jenjoremy for working your magic on this chapter. You're the absolute best. Thank you also Gredelina1 and SandraEngstrom2 for all the ass kicking and help. This story wouldn't exist without these three ladies.

Chapter Thirteen

The only way to mark the passing of days was the cycle of the sun and moon through the skylight set into the slanted ceiling. Though he sometimes lost track of time, Sam thought it had been nine days since he had been taken. It was dusk now, which meant Lucifer was due for a visit again. Sam wasn't sure whether to be anxious for his arrival or relieved. When he came, he would heal Sam's wounds, though he didn't remove the scars that marred his skin. His body, already a map of the hunts and injuries he had taken, was more marked than ever. The most marred was his bare chest, as that was the easiest place for Meg to attack, but she wasn't averse to hurting his arms and hands, too. His fingers were currently crooked and useless from where she had snapped the bones one by one.

He hadn't broken though.

He tried to hide the sounds of his pain, to keep the little pride he had left, but she often drew groans and cries from him against his will. The fact that he was a Winchester was only effective to a certain degree when faced with this kind of cruelty, but he still hadn't broken. He would not break because people were relying on him to stay strong.

In the days since he had been taken, Sam had not been fed or given a drink. He guessed Lucifer had the same ability to sustain him without that Culpa had. He was glad of it in a way, even though his throat was parched and his stomach ached with hunger, because it meant he wouldn't be forced to soil himself in front of the demons. He had so little left to him that even this small dignity was cherished.

Meg had left him for a while, which should have been a relief, but Sam had learned quickly that the anticipation of pain was almost worse than pain itself. At least when he was being cut into with sharp knives, he knew what to expect. It was trying to prepare himself for that which made him feel like the knives were already there.

The door creaked open and he braced himself for whichever one might enter: Lucifer or Meg. Neither was better than the other. Meg hurt him physically; Lucifer hurt him mentally. The archangel addressed Sam as if they were family, brothers, and that made Sam sick. He had one brother, one family that he loved. Lucifer repulsed him.

After he healed Sam—his touch gentle, almost a caress—he would talk for hours. He would tell Sam stories of his time in Heaven with his Father and the other archangels. He spoke about how it felt to be cast out in detail. He made sure to draw the parallels with what had happened to Dean. Sam knew he was trying to forge some kind of understanding between them, but it was futile. Dean's story was nothing like Lucifer's. John left Dean so that he could have a better life. He set him free because he loved him. Dean took that freedom and created life and hope for others. Lucifer created demons. One was a hero. One was a monster. Sam would never let himself forget that.

A figure stepped around the light that burned at all hours and Sam shuddered as he recognized Lucifer.

"Hello, Sam," he said softly. "How are you?"

"Peachy," Sam said. "Meg's been a great hostess."

Lucifer's lips turned down in a charade of sadness. "I hate that it has to be like this. I wish you would accept that there is only one way this will end and save yourself the pain. Let me in and I will wipe away all that pain, all those cares that drag you down."

"No."

Lucifer shook his slowly. "You're only hurting yourself, Sam."

Sam looked past him into the light. It became obstructed as Lucifer walked towards him and laid a hand on Sam's cheek. Sam felt the burn as his wounds knitted themselves together again and his broken fingers mended. The burn was nothing compared to the feeling of Lucifer's cold touch. It felt intimate. He was grateful when Lucifer stepped back, but also annoyed as he realized the story time part of Lucifer's visit was to come.

"I have news for you," he said.

Surprised by the change in their routine, Sam looked at him.

"Dean."

Sam stiffened. "You stay the hell away from him!"

"I have not seen Dean since I took you," he said, his tone seemingly designed to reassure. "But someone else has."

Sam felt a thrill of fear as he asked, "Who?"

"My brother."

For a moment, Sam thought he meant Gabriel, and though that wasn't the best news, it wasn't all bad. Gabriel had shown them in the past he wouldn't hurt them physically, and Dean was strong enough to take whatever psychological crap was thrown at him. The news that Gabriel had seen him meant that Dean was alive and well enough for the archangel's ends.

His relief transferred itself into a smile that Lucifer saw. He shook his head slowly and a frown creased his brow; he looked almost reluctant as he said, "Michael, Sam."

Sam sucked in a sharp breath and his vision swam. Without means to cover his face to hide his horror, he bowed his head and squeezed his eyes shut. Lucifer carried on speaking. "I understand that he found Dean at the place I took you. Your brother must have returned to search for you."

Sam shook his head and moaned, "No."

"Yes," Lucifer said simply.

Sam looked up into his eyes, searching for a sign of a lie. There was none. Lucifer looked sad but there was no deceit that Sam could see. Of course, the devil was a masterful actor, but in this Sam believed him. He drew in a deep, steadying breath and tried to gain control of his emotions.

"He won't say yes," Sam said, forcing confidence into his voice. "Dean's strong."

"Man can only take so much, Sam. Michael is cruel. He wants the battle, you know that. There is nothing he won't do to achieve his ends, and he is so much more imaginative than Alastair ever was, and you know how Dean broke for him. No, Sam, I'm sorry, but your brother will say yes, and soon. You should hope that he does because the sooner he gives in, the less he will suffer."

A tear escaped Sam's eye. Unable to wipe it away, it trailed down his face until Lucifer's cold finger came up to catch it. He brought the droplet up to his eye to examine it curiously. "I truly am sorry, Sam," he said.

Sam just shook his head in response. He didn't believe Lucifer was sorry at all. This was a victory for him. Dean was taken, and even now he was surely hurting. And there was nothing Sam could do. He was trapped. Dean was on his own. They both were.

That night Sam dreamed. He was in a sumptuously decorated room with cream walls and gold trim. It was a beautiful room, but the scene inside was horrific. Dean was spread-eagled on a marble topped table, his wrists and ankles encircled by thick rope. When he caught sight of Sam standing horrified beside him, he looked up into his eyes and moaned, "Help me, Sam. Please, you have to help me."

Like all humans, Sam Winchester was flawed, weak. His weaknesses were greater perhaps than other humans because he himself was greater. Could Lucifer's destined vessel be anything but? Whereas other humans had vices such as alcohol and drugs, Sam had demon blood, not that his dependence on alcohol was healthy according to Meg. But it was the demon blood that gave Lucifer the crux he needed for his plan. He was banking everything on Sam's addiction being strong and his spirit weak.

Like all archangels, Lucifer had a certain degree of omniscience. He had recognized the potential in Sam when he'd first set eyes on him, when he had been nothing more than incorporeal grace. Sam had been wide-eyed with horror, clinging to his brother as Lucifer poured up and out of the floor. Though he'd only gotten a glimpse before Castiel took the Winchesters away, Lucifer had seen the wonderful weakness he could exploit. The blood. Had Sam not attempted to free himself from his fate by killing himself, he would have remained caught in the claws of addiction. He would have been brought so low that he would have given up anything and everything to feed on the poison.

It was that man Lucifer needed now. He needed Sam so broken that his only option was to say yes to escape the horror of that existence. Lucifer would make his promises, sharing instead of overpowering, providing a constant flow of blood to sustain them both. Lucifer would lie. Sam would believe. They would be one.

He thought he would wait perhaps a few more days. Allow Meg to continue breaking him down to nothing so that Lucifer could step in to heal and soothe. Then he would introduce temptation. From there, it would not take long.

There was movement at the door, and Lucifer looked up. Meg hesitated on the threshold, her lip caught between her teeth in an uncharacteristic show of nerves.

"What is it?" Lucifer asked.

"There has been an… accident," she said tentatively.

Lucifer raised an eyebrow in question.

"I may have got a little overexcited," she said. "I think… I know… Sam Winchester is dead."

Lucifer felt a thrill of annoyance flicker through him. It wouldn't take much to bring him back of course, but the thought of Sam Winchester in Heaven—the home Lucifer could never return to—aggravated him. It just wasn't right. Though Lucifer thought perhaps he could work the situation to his advantage. Lucifer wasn't the only one that wanted the vessels to consent. Most of Heaven was supporting the cause, and those that weren't were staying silent.

"I'm sorry," Meg said. "I didn't mean to."

"I'm sure you didn't," Lucifer said, walking towards her and cupping her cheek in his hand. "My dear, devoted Meg, you can do something else for me now. I want you to gather as many of your kind as you can, and find a place to… enjoy. Pick a town, a city if you like, and let your imagination run wild. I want death and destruction, do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir," she said sycophantically.

"Oh, and Meg, be certain that it will make the headlines."

She nodded and a cruel smile crept over her lips.

Lucifer watched her leave, her excitement barely concealed, and he smiled. She was his most devoted and obedient. She would be the last to be destroyed.

Alone now, Lucifer decided to visit with the corpse of his vessel. He walked into the large room they kept him in and stepped around the light to get a clear view. Sam Winchester hung limply on the rack, his chin touching his chest. Lucifer stopped in front of him and lifted his face roughly by pulling a hank of his hair.

His lips were blue and his skin ashy. He glanced down at Sam's bloodied and ruined body and saw, through the demented art of Meg's blade, the injury that had gone too deep. She had cut too close on his neck, slicing through something vital.

"Are you hurting yet, Sam Winchester?" Lucifer asked. "Have they got you on a new rack in view of the people you love?" He dropped his hand back to his side and Sam's head fell forward again. "I hope so. I hope they are making you feel everything I cannot."

He wiped his hand on the leg of his jeans and stepped back. He thought he would stay here a while, just enjoying the view.

Sam was sitting in the bar of The Roadhouse at his usual table. There was a glass of whiskey in his hand and the jukebox was playing an old Rolling Stones classic. He picked up his drink and swirled the liquid against the glass before taking a sip. It was smooth, Ellen's good stock, and he enjoyed the sensation as it warmed his throat. He was alone, but somehow he knew people would come eventually.

An indeterminable amount of time later, the bar door opened and a man walked in. Of all the people Sam had anticipated seeing in this dream, Zachariah was the very last he could have expected. Sam jumped to his feet and reached into the back of his pants for a weapon. He couldn't kill the angel in a dream or awake, but he would get a lot of pleasure out of shooting him in the face.

There was no weapon there though. He could do nothing but watch as Zachariah stalked towards him, smug smile in place and eyes narrowed with hatred. Sam glared back. He detested this angel almost as much as he did the archangels.

"Winchester," Zachariah said. "I'd say I'm pleased to see you again, but that would be a vicious lie. The fact you are here is an affront of the highest order."

"I was going to say the same thing," Sam replied. "I don't want you tip-toeing through my dreams either."

"Dreams?" Zachariah laughed harshly. "You stunted ape. This is not your head, boy, this is Heaven. And the fact that you're here at all makes me want to vomit. That they decided an abomination like you should be allowed through the gates beggars belief."

Sam's mind reeled. Heaven! He was in Heaven! What kind of twisted joke was that? Was he here to get a glimpse at what could have been before being given an express ticket downstairs? He surely couldn't be slated for this place after all he'd done.

Zachariah glanced around the room, looking disgusted. "It makes sense that this is your heaven though. Where else would an alcoholic waster end up but in a dingy bar?"

"Screw you," Sam growled. The Roadhouse was the closest thing to a home he had ever known, even more so since Dean came back into his life. This was where they headed at the end of a long day. Perhaps it was really home now.

Zachariah glowered at him. "Watch your mouth. I am an angel."

"You're a dick," Sam corrected.

Zachariah seemed to swell with rage. The fact that he apparently expected respect from Sam after everything was laughable. With one exception, and Castiel had started out just as bad, all angels were dicks with wings. They didn't deserve any semblance of respect. They deserved holy fire showers.

"You know, I was going to go easy on you," Zachariah said. "I thought with what was happening to you already, I would be able to break you with a few strokes of the knife, but I think I'm bringing out the big guns now." He raised his voice and chanted something in Enochian. The door opened again and a man came into the bar. He was dressed in black, but rather than the usual semi-formal attire angels seemed to prefer, he was wearing jeans and a close fitting t-shirt under a leather jacket. His expression was grim and his dark eyes bored into Sam. "Thaddeus," Zachariah said, "this is Sam Winchester. I want you to show him why it is not a good idea to insult me."

The man nodded. "It will be my pleasure."

Sam felt himself being swept back against the wall by an unseen force and his arms spread at his sides. Though no ropes or chains held him, he was unable to move an inch. There was no way to defend himself as the angel stalked towards him, drawing an angel blade.

Within moments, Sam was crying out in pain. His last coherent thought was that Meg was an amateur compared to Thaddeus.

At no point in his existence had Castiel been intentionally cruel. He had tried to be what his Father created before the mantle of warrior was placed upon him—an angel. Somehow morality had become lost over the millennia as difficult choices were made. He had stood at Uriel's side as cities had been leveled. He had killed in the name of The Lord. He had punished. He had been a soldier of God. But he had always tried not to be cruel.

In keeping his silence now, he was trying not to be cruel.

Sam had been gone two weeks, and the inhabitants of The Roadhouse despaired. Dean had been strong at first, arguing that his brother wouldn't break, and though his belief was sustained as Sam had not yet given himself over to Lucifer, his spirit flagged. Every day that passed without news of Lucifer attaining his vessel was another day of Sam's suffering, of which they were all acutely aware. Dean himself, having suffered decades under the blades of Hell, had insight into what Sam was suffering, and that combined with his devotion to his brother made the situation so much harder for him. The others could only imagine that kind of suffering.

The best chance they had for information about Sam giving consent was Castiel's tentative connection to his former family through angel radio, so Castiel listened hard. While the others stood behind Ash as he tried and failed to find clues to Sam and Lucifer's whereabouts on his computer, Castiel stood in the corner and absorbed the voices of the angels, waiting for their triumphant cries of their first success in bringing about the end.

It was through their voices that he heard the news that cut him to the quick. "Sam Winchester is dead."

He was alone in the room as it was very early in the morning, and so had no reason to hide his reaction. He moaned Sam's name in lament. He could take no comfort in Sam's demise being an end—albeit temporary—to his suffering, as he knew Heaven's blades could slice deeply and recklessly, too.

He closed his eyes and shook his head, trying impossibly not to think of what his friend was suffering now.

"Cas, you okay?" Dean asked.

Castiel jerked and looked to see him standing in the doorway. He was a wreck of a man, pale skin and ringed eyes that held no life. He came deeper into the room and looked closely at Castiel.

"What's happened?" he asked fervently. "Has Sammy…?"

Castiel shook his head. "No, he has not given in." He could say that without lying. "The voices are just being particularly triumphant at the moment and I find it hard to listen to them." An evasion but not a lie. "Why are you awake?" he asked. Was the connection between the brothers, deeper than any Castiel had ever seen, so great Dean could sense over whatever distance there was that Sam had fallen?

Dean shrugged. "Just couldn't sleep anymore." He cast his eyes downward. "Dreams."

"Of Sam?"

For a moment Dean didn't answer, and Castiel thought he wouldn't, but then he drew a breath and said in a broken voice, "I see them hurting him. I see it all the time. When I'm awake I'm imagining it, and when I sleep I dream it."

Castiel thought he would have nightmares had he the ability to dream. He also saw much when he was awake. "I could help you sleep without dreams," he offered.

"No," Dean said quickly, and then looked apologetic. "It's okay, Cas. I'll be fine. Dreams are the least of what I deserve."

"You did nothing wrong, Dean," Castiel said. "No one could have protected Sam when Lucifer arrived, not even me."

"I wanted to take the hunt, though. I was the one that made him go. It was a trap, and I didn't know."

"Exactly, you didn't know."

"Doesn't make Sam any more here, though, does it?" Dean asked. "No, it's on me this time. Sam's with Lucifer because I wanted to be a damn hero."

Perhaps there was some part of that which was true. Castiel wasn't going to examine his thoughts to decide. His mind was preoccupied in hiding his devastation from Dean, because Sam wasn't with Lucifer now. He was dead.

Lucifer left Sam dead for a day before deciding he'd suffered enough at the other angels' hands. It was his turn again.

The time Sam had been dead had not not spent inactively though. Lucifer had prepared for his return. The spotlight that Meg had requested during the preparations for Sam's capture was moved to the side and a TV was set up in its place. The light that had been used to disrupt Sam's rest and to make sure he was able to fully appreciate the damage Meg was doing had been effective, but the news channels would be even more so. Meg and her cronies had been busy and the stations were starting to report the stories of the devastation and death he had requested.

He checked the room once more, satisfied it was ready, and then reached for Sam. It was a simple matter of siphoning the soul back into the vessel. Within a moment, Sam Winchester's chest was heaving for breath and his eyes were roving the room. "Dean?" he gasped.

"Not here," Lucifer replied coldly.

Sam's eyes settled on Lucifer and his expression slackened. "You."

"Me," Lucifer agreed. "I know you've been through a lot, dying and all, but you and I need to talk seriously, Sam."

"As opposed to the light-hearted chatting we've been doing?" Sam asked, his tone defeated despite his easy words.

"Michael has taken Dean," Lucifer said.

"So you said."

"No, I mean Michael has taken Dean. Your brother gave consent and allowed Michael entry."

Sam's head bowed and he drew a noisy breath. He released it slowly and then looked up, staring Lucifer in the eyes. "Why should I believe you?"

"Because I am telling the truth," Lucifer said mildly. "I warned you, Sam, man can only take so much. Dean was held for weeks before he broke, only yesterday."

"I've not been gone weeks!" Sam argued.

"You have been dead weeks," Lucifer lied. "I had much difficulty finding your soul to return you. The angels hid you from me well. I apologize for it. I would not have left you to suffer at their hands that long by choice."

He expected Sam to scoff or come back with a sarcastic remark, but he didn't. He seemed stunned into silence. Lucifer guessed he was thinking of what could have happened to his brother in those imagined weeks. He would not be able calculate against the time spent in Heaven, as time there moved in a different way to Earth, just as it did in Hell.

After a lot of apparently deep thought, he said, "I don't believe you."

"You are lying."

Sam shook his head. "No. Dean wouldn't break."

Lucifer stepped into his space and cupped his cheek in his hand. "Then why are you crying?"

Sam blinked and tears spilled down his cheeks. He drew a shaky breath and glared at Lucifer. "No."

He wasn't referring to his tears, Lucifer knew. He was reiterating the refusal he had made many times before.

"Why do you fight it?" Lucifer asked. "Your brother is gone now. There is nothing left to fight for."

"There's still a world," Sam said in a wrecked voice.

Lucifer looked apologetic as he turned to the television. "Not for long. See what Michael has been doing in the last day, and tell me there's still a world."

He flipped on the television to display the anchorwoman's explanation of how a small Iowa town had been decimated in one night. Sam's eyes fixed on the story and another tear slipped down his cheek.

"I'll leave you alone," Lucifer said. He stepped back behind the light and opened and closed the door noisily without leaving the room. He lurked against the wall, watching Sam as he absorbed the news story. He had only to wait a few minutes before he heard Sam speak and knew his lie about Dean's consent was believed.

"Oh, Dean," Sam moaned. "No…"

So… Lucifer is a real ass, right? Sorry for the angst and that sneaky character death. It'll soon be over though. Just hang on a little longer.

Until next time…

Clowns or Midgets xxx