Chapter 4: More than a Feeling

Warnings: Barely described nudity, language.

Pairings: Destiel, and a teeny bit of Sammifer?

Spoilers: Season 7 episode 16

Sam woke in their Minnesotan motel room. It was almost morning, judging by the colour of the sky and the…the chill in the room.

Sam sat bolt-upright, and quickly regretted it. His head ached, and he felt hollow. But he could move. It was just him in his skin. After the flashing blots of light cleared from his vision, Sam looked around. He found Castiel, perched stiffly on the edge of Dean's bed. Though his gaze now met Sam's, he was hunched protectively over Dean.

"What did you agree to, Sam?" The angel asked warily.

The memories came rushing back in a wave. "I uh…he asked me for a bit of my…power?" He replied, pressing the heel of one palm to his forehead in an attempt to stop and encroaching headache. "Did you carry us back? Is Dean okay?"

"Dean will be fine. Don't change the subject, Sam. Did you, before you agreed, tell him to give the power back when he was through?" Cas demanded.

Sam opened his mouth stupidly, and no words escaped. Cas's frown grew impossibly dark.

"Sam, you need to be very careful in your wording when you deal with my brother," he began.

"Yeah? Well I was kinda distracted." Sam replied, temper beginning to simmer.

"You can't deal with him when you're distracted either!" He said, standing.

"Well it was either that, or me and Dean dying. Frankly I think dealing was the right thing to do, even at a disadvantage." He yelled, rising to tower over the angel.

Dean groaned and turned in his bed, but didn't wake. Sam let out a very long sigh.

"I don't think I had any better option," he told the angel. It seemed like he was always choosing between bad and worse, and he was getting tired of it. Speaking of which, where was Lucifer?

His eyes flicked around the motel room, but he didn't see Nick's form anywhere.

The motion of turning made his body ache in that dull, stiff way that was all too familiar to him. When he was satisfied that they were currently alone, he stood and stumbled to take a shower.

"Let me clear me head, Cas." He said before the angel could protest.

The water felt so good. There had been a chill settling in his bones, and the warm spray began wiping it and his soreness away. He sighed, inhaling the thick steam and trying not to think, if only for a minute. The smell of stale sweat and copious amounts of blood rose with the steam, reminding him of the events of…what, 3 hours ago? It occurred to him that he wasn't really sure how much time had passed. Hell, it could have been more than 24 hours.

"5:24 AM, and still today," the devil supplied helpfully. Sam jumped.

Damnit.

Sam shivered and turned up the heat on the faucet, trying to fit as much of himself under the pitiful spray of water as he could.

"Could you, y'know…not be in the same room as me when I'm showering?" He whispered harshly, hoping Castiel—or worse, Dean—couldn't hear him.

"Sam, I'm a tenant in your melon. I've worn you around. Don't tell me you're going prudish on me now?"

"I don't remember saying I was thrilled about those things either." Sam replied icily.

There was a long silence, but Sam could tell that the room had not lost any of its occupants. Eventually he sighed and turned off the tap. He waited another long moment before drawing back the curtain. Lucifer was leaning against the sink, inspecting his short fingernails with an air of minimal interest.

And he was in the way of Sam's towel, which hung on the door to the right of the angel.

"Could you…move?" Sam forced the words out, trying to look anywhere else in the tiny bathroom as he stood, dripping and cold, in the bathtub.

Lucifer looked up from his grooming, flicked his eyes up and down Sam, and grabbed the towel for him, handing it over.

Sam's eyes widened as his face snapped into a horrified glare. He didn't reach up for the towel the angel was offering him.

"You're holding that towel," Sam said dumbly.

"And I was under the impression that you wanted to be," Lucifer replied, raising his eyebrow.

"You know what I'm saying," he replied, snatching it and quickly wrapping it around his waist without drying off. When he was sure the towel was secure, he reached out and grabbed the devil's wrist, which was more than it had been before. When he'd placed his hand on Sam's shoulder days before, it had felt like pressure, but not quite like a human hand. It was like a suggestion of sensation from a dream. Just a feeling.

But this? This was extraordinarily, impossibly, terrifyingly real. Sam was speechless. He was inhumanly cold, but a trail of heat snaked up Sam's arm from where their skin touched, like the feverish sensation he had gotten from demon blood. His heart began to thud in his ears.

"Feeling a bit forward all of a sudden, Sam?" There was humour in Lucifer's voice, and a touch of something else.

Sam dropped the wrist like is burned him.

"Could you…whisper? Please," Sam asked quietly. "And would you stop making it so cold?"

"Of course," the devil whispered back with an indulgent smile.

Sam hadn't realized he had been shivering, but noticed when he stopped. He became aware of the drops of water falling from his hair and onto his bare shoulders and back. He became aware that he was talking to Lucifer, in the flesh, from a motel bathtub. He became aware that Dean would be very, very pissed.

"You know, we second-based it in your noggin yesterday Sam. No need to be bashful now." He said, apparently in response to Sam's expression.

"What did you do?" Sam hissed.

"I borrowed a bit of juice from you, then helped with your pest problem, just like we agreed." He explained. Lucifer pushed off of the sink and stood up straight, folding his arms.

"And then?" Sam pressed.

"And then I raised Nick out of Hell. I think with our little connection, Sam, that his body will last quite a bit longer this time." He added, looking appreciative.

"Define 'longer,'" Sam said hesitantly.

"Oh, you know, as long as you last."

…..

Lucifer had agreed not to be around for the rest of the day.

Dean had woken up as Sam had gotten out of the bathroom, swearing profusely and demanding coffee. Cas had obligingly prepared some, and Dean had stared angrily at Sam.

In fact, he still was.

"What do you want me to say, Dean?"

"Well it's a bit late now, but I wish you'd said 'no.'" His brother retorted angrily.

"And what? Let us die?" Sam asked, frustrated once more.

"Yes. Potentially. Whichever option doesn't involve a deal with the fucking devil." He replied. "And where is the son of a bitch now?"

Sam wasn't certain, and he shrugged to indicate as much. No need to say that he knew where Lucifer had been ten minutes ago. Castiel looked over his shoulder at Sam, his glare accusatory. He said nothing, and Dean didn't notice.

"And just how much of your 'power' did he borrow, Sam?" Dean demanded.

Sam considered his reply, though he honestly didn't know the answer. "Well, enough to affect the real world, I guess."

Dean punched a fist into his mattress, startling both Sam and Castiel. "Damnit! This is the second time you've let the devil loose, Sam!" He yelled.

And that was quite enough of that. "Yeah Dean, I did break the sixty-sixth seal. Do you remember who broke the first? Maybe you forgot that I jumped into the cage to put Lucifer back, and I did not bring him back up this time. Cas took me out of Hell, you insisted that Death put my soul back in, and Cas took his wall down. How the Hell is that my fault?" He shouted angrily. "I'm tired of you blaming me for everyone else's mistakes!"

That seemed to leave Dean searching for words. After a while, he quietly said "but you were still willing to bargain with the devil."

"Yeah Dean, yeah I was. And nothing bad has happened yet," he replied.

"So when it does?" His brother demanded.

"When it does we'll deal with it. Like we always do."

Well, there ends my spurt of rapid updates. I'm not able to update for the rest of the week, but please look forward to a new chapter next weekend.