"Hey, Sammy! Ignoring me again?"

Sam just traced a spot on his hand.

"That won't work."

He kept his eyes fixed on the wallpaper of their cheap motel room.

"Pretending you can't hear me? Please. That is so last month."

Sam imagined that he was a sane man sitting in an empty room.

"Sammy..."

"Leave me alone," he muttered, speaking into the silence.

"He talks!" There was a gleeful note in his voice.

Sam, for the first time in hours, turned to look at Lucifer. The look in his eye would have scared anyone except the wall at which it was directed.

"Oh, Sammy, I was beginning to lose hope." His face was split in a wide grin. "You've come to terms with your insanity!"

"You're not real, and we both know it," said Sam turning away and restarting a familiar argument.

"This again? Do you just like to hear your own voice or something, or do you actually believe that will work?"

"You're nothing but bad memories."

"Bad? I had a lot of fun carving your soul up down in Hell! Your screams were beautiful!"

"I'm messed up, and this is just my messed-up-ness manifesting itself."

"I have a hard time thinking that you really think you got out. When has it ever been that easy for you?"

"I'm talking to myself."

"You're talking directly to Satan, Sam."

"I'm in an empty hotel room."

"How many times did you try to quit hunting, Sammy? Let's see... One... Two... Does that count as three?"

"I'm sitting here alone."

"The point is, you always let yourself get dragged back in. Do you want to know why that is?"

"I'm all on my own. No one here."

"It's because you love it."

"This isn't real."

"It's because you love the life. It's a sick kind of love, though, and you won't admit you love it. You get off on the thrill. The adrenaline rush. You've tried to live without it, but it never works."

"This is a twisted dream."

"Admit it, Sammy."

Sam had nothing to say to Lucifer, so he just closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall, trying to keep up the illusion of sanity.

"Hey, Sam." It was Dean.

He opened his eyes.

"You feeling okay?"

"Yup. I'm good." Lucifer nearly fell over in fits of maniacal laughter.

"Have we got a case?"

"A few," he admitted. "Possible ghost in Kansas. Possible shifter in Wichita. Possible Leviathans in Seattle."

"Seattle it is," Dean decided. "They're more of a threat."

Lucifer smiled. "Big brother's a mite obsessed. One, two, three..."

"Any new info on Dick?"

"None. Same old crap."

"With you two,it's like a bad sitcom," Lucifer said with an exaggerated eye roll. "All of the lines are predictable and none are funny. The regularity is nauseating."

Sam glanced at his brother. "So did anything happen?"

"Yes. I got it." Dean held up a grocery bag. "Pie."

"Really."

"This is exactly what I mean!" Lucifer complained, evidently bored. "You two are impossible. I might have to step it up on you if this keeps up or sheer entertainment."

"Yeah," said Dean, defending his case with a look that said that he clearly knew how annoying his pie obsession could be. "Sammy -"

"Don't call me Sammy," he said quietly. "It's Sam."

"Oh, but I call you Sammy," said Lucifer innocently. "And you know that if you get tired of it, you need only ask and I'll gladly continue."

"Okay," said Dean. "Sure. Sorry."

Sam had to remind himself that Dean couldn't hear Lucifer. "Right. Thanks."

"You should really get a haircut, Sammy. You're letting yourself go a bit." The Devil gave him a charming smile."

"I'll check out the cases you found," Dean said, going into the next room.

Lucifer began to sing Spanish Train.

Sam closed his eyes and wished he were sane.

I loved writing this. Please remember to read it in their voices, and please remember to review! Nothing is mine, not even the song. (Spanish Train by Chris de Burgh is awesome.) Thank you!