Trigger Warning for Graphic Violence, and SA/Non-Con* This chapter continues with delving into Sam's Hell memories, and describes torture he endured there. Some parts are more graphically described than others, but it is fairly consistently mentioned throughout the chapter. There is also sexual assault present in this chapter. The first half or so of the chapter covers the assault, for anyone wanting to skip that scene. It involves deception, withdrawal of consent, and sexual violation. As always please skip or skim this chapter if this is triggering in any way, and use the summary next chapter for any plot points you may miss.
Trigger Warning for Mental Health* This chapter deals with multiple personality disorder, or as close to that as I can compare. Underlying issues of trauma, repression, and mental collapse are also present. While this is a fictional story, and fictional characters, these are absolutely real disorders and complications, and while I hope to both show respect to the seriousness of them, and convey the realistic nature of them in a traumatized individual, they may come across as unrealistic or exaggerated versions of these disorders. If you are struggling, or surviving with any of these disorders, please be aware that there is no disrespect intended towards the disorders themselves, their seriousness, or individuals suffering with them.
Language Advisory* Abusive, manipulative and strong language is in this chapter. Use the above warnings to guide you, and enjoy!
Chapter Text
When Sam starts to wake up, the first thing he feels is confusion. He is laying on something soft, and warm, wrapped in… silk sheets? That couldn't be right. Bobby didn't have anything close to silk at his place and that's where he was staying, right? Or were they in a motel? But that couldn't be right either, they couldn't afford any motel that had anything fancier than cotton sheets. And they definitely couldn't afford a motel that had mattresses this soft, this comfortable. And while Bobby's place was always a safe haven, and he would never complain, the newest mattress he had there had probably come with the house. So where was he? Keeping his eyes closed, Sam lets out a large yawn and starts stretching, extending his arms and legs as far as he can until they pop, and the stiffness from a solid night's sleep starts to fade. To his pleasant surprise, the bed is actually big enough that even fully stretched out, no parts of him are falling off the edges. Warmth and softness envelopes Sam and he finds himself burrowing deeper into his blankets, pulling them tightly around him as he smiles softly, burying his face into the soft, silk pillows resting under his head. He feels comfortable, and safe, and… for some reason, he feels like maybe he hasn't felt that way recently, though no specific reason for that feeling comes to mind. Still, there is no need to question it. Discomfort and danger were a given in Sam's life, and they had been since he was six months old, so why should the sudden, and probably temporary absence of it concern him now? He might as well take full advantage of these fur blankets and warm sheets and soft mattress while he can. The only thing that could make this better would be… wait. Is that Earl Grey he is smelling? Sam smiles, the familiar scent further relaxing him, as he feels any remaining stress in his body dissipate, a soft sigh of contentment escaping his lips. And then, as if this moment couldn't possibly have been perfect already, he feels familiar fingers starting to slide carefully through his hair. Soft, warm, delicate fingers scratching his scalp gently, letting his hair fall over her perfect skin. He would know that hand, those scratches, anywhere, and he rolls over towards her, happiness radiating off of him.
"Jessica." Sam sighs, blinking open his eyes to look up at his angel. Jessica sits on the mattress next to him, smiling down at him, as radiant and beautiful as ever. Her long, soft blonde hair is loose down her back, perfectly framing her kind face, those gorgeous brown eyes of her looking down playfully at Sam. She is naked, with only the same thin sheets covering Sam wrapped around her waist, and in the hand not currently running through his hair is a mug of that delicious smelling tea.
"Sammy." Jessica smiles at him, leaning down and pressing her lips gently to his forehead. Sam closes his eyes at the feel of her lips, full and perfect, and he feels more content, more happy than he has in a long time. Nothing else matters right now, except being here, with her. Although he had glimpsed the room around him, the dark walls with an oddly burning fire set in torches sporadically around the space, and a thickly carpeted floor with what oddly looked like glimmering metal links somewhere near the middle of the room, he can't bring himself to care about any of that or be concerned. Jessica is here, and he is safe and everything is perfect. "You're thinking too much again." Sam opens his eyes again, looking up into her smiling face, and he grins.
"Yeah?" He raises an eyebrow, lifting himself so he is resting on his eyebrows. As the thick furs and silk sheets drop away from his chest, he realizes he is as naked as she is, and she seems to notice the exact same thing. Her eyes darken and a playful smile flashes across her face, as she sets the cup of tea down on the nightstand, before shifting to face him, kneeling on the bed over him as her hand tightens ever so slightly in his hair.
"Yeah." She answers silkily, gently pressing him back into the bed with one hand. "You keep doing that, you'll wrinkle that beautiful face of mine."
"Of yours?" Sam laughs, watching her eagerly as she moves, straddling over his legs and resting herself on his thighs. She is every bit as perfect as he remembers. The beautiful curves, the lovely chest, the slender, but athletic build of her body. The little moles and freckles randomly decorating her arms and stomach and legs, each imperfection wonderful and familiar to Sam. She leans down, her chest brushing against Sam's, her skin warm and soft, even more inviting and comforting than the bed. Sam buries herself in her long neck, kissing the skin softly as Jessica's hands trail over his arms, and sides and stomach, her nose skimming along Sam's own neck, his cheeks. She presses her lips softly to his nose, and then his forehead, as if she can kiss away his wrinkles. "My face is your face now, huh?" Jessica pulls back, smiling widely and flashing her perfect white teeth. "Everything you have is mine, Sammy." Jess whispers, leaning in and pressing her lips to his. Sam sinks into the kiss, closing his eyes as they melt together, Jess pressing herself closer against Sam. Sam goes to grab her, to hold her and flip them over the way he has a thousand times before, but something catches his arms, and for the first time since he woke up, he feels a trickle of doubt enter the back of his mind. Pulling away from Jessica, despite longing to stay connected to her, Sam looks over at his wrists, only now noticing the leather cuffs wrapping around each one. Each cuff is attached to a length of rope, binding them to the headboard. Had those always been there? He didn't think they were there a moment ago. "Is everything okay Sammy?" Sam looks back towards Jess, who is watching him with wide-eyed concern, her hands gently pressing into his chest.
"Yeah, er… yeah." Sam says slowly. "Hey uh… were we uh… doing something with… these?" Sam gently shakes his wrists, to highlight the cuffs. He didn't think he and Jess had ever experimented with bondage before. He had too much experience with being tied up in actual life-threatening situations to find any real pleasure in it, and she had never expressed any kind of interest in it. But maybe he had missed something? Jess smiles her beautiful smile, and his doubts and suspicions ease for a moment.
"I just think they look good on you baby." Jess answers, leaning in for another kiss. "Besides, you look so good when you struggle." Red flags flare up in Sam's head as she says that, and he pulls away from her kiss again, frowning. Sam and Jess were never that... way, when they were intimate together. It wasn't exactly gentle, all the time, they definitely played a little bit more roughly, but never in a… dominating sense, for either of them. Everything about when they made love was about equality on both ends. They did their best to make sure both of them enjoyed themselves and felt that they were comfortable and safe with everything that they did to each other. Sex for Sam was about showing love, and passion. Pain and fear didn't really factor into it, or it shouldn't, and he thought Jess had felt the same. Hesitantly, not wanting to hurt her feelings, Sam tries to squirm away, even as the movement pulls on his now outstretched arms. When did that happen? Hadn't the restraints just been loose? He could have sworn there had been a length of rope between the cuffs and the headboard, but now his wrists were tied directly to the headboard itself.
"Jess, uh, can we… we take a second?" Sam asks, shifting again as she nuzzles into his neck, her hand moving to his thigh.
"Why?" Jess asks, stroking her fingers against the smooth inner muscles of his leg. Scratching slightly as she moves it further up. Alarms start going off in addition to the red flags, because they never ask why. If either Jess or Sam needs a break, they take a break, no questions asked.
"Jess… I need you to stop." Sam tries to sound forceful, but his voice shakes and he can't help the confusion and worry from shining out of his expression. This isn't like Jess, not at all. Jess sits up, smirking down at him, but her hands don't stop moving, moving towards his groin, though any hardness he had was rapidly disappearing.
"Again, why?" Jess asks, flipping her hair back, a nasty, ugly look entering her expression that Sam has never seen before.
"I said so." Sam snaps, tugging more insistently at his restraints. "Jess, let me go."
"No." Jess sneers, and Sam freezes as her eyes glow a burning, bright red. "I am never letting you go again, Sammy."
"Lucifer." Sam whispers, terror paralyzing him, and he can do nothing except watch in horror as the devil throws back the head of the woman he loves, using her voice to laugh delightedly.
"The one and only." Lucifer sneers, twisting Jess' perfect features. Sam's stomach twists nauseously. He moves her hand, reaching down and tsking as he takes Sam's now completely flaccid member in her… his hand. "Well this isn't good. What happened Sammy? You were so excited to see me just a few moments ago."
"Let go of me." Sam hisses, anger slowly replacing his fear and he twists and turns, trying to squirm his way out from underneath Lucifer. He raises his legs, trying to buck and kick, only for something heavy to fall around his ankles, pulling his legs apart and holding them down. Sam flinches as he recognizes the heavy metal weight as manacles. Lucifer bends down, putting Jessica's mouth next to his ear.
"Sorry Bunk Buddy." Lucifer whispers, sending chills down his spine and making Sam's flesh crawl with disgust. "But we are celebrating, and you are the guest of honor."
"Celebrating what?" Sam demands, tilting his head as far as he can, trying to keep Lucifer in his sights, even as he cringes when Lucifer's hand starts rubbing smoothly against his member, trying to coax some hardness back into it.
"Your fall." Lucifer grins, Jessica's mouth twisted into a malicious, evil grin that looks completely wrong and out of place on her usually gentle face. "Well, second fall, I supposed. And this one is a metaphorical one, instead of a literal one, but it is a fall all the same."
"What the Hell are you talking about?" Sam demands, biting back a small moan as his body can't help but respond to Jessica's skillful, knowledgeable hand. He feels himself getting hard again despite his rage and terror, and he tries desperately to stop it, as Jess' hand grows more confident in her grip, her fingers sliding over the sensitive skin purposefully.
"Your wall, Sammy." Lucifer whispers victoriously. "It is starting to come down, and that means you can't keep me away anymore. It is you and me forever, the way God intended."
"No." Sam says desperately, shaking his head. "No, you aren't real."
"I don't know… this feels pretty real, doesn't it?" Lucifer asks, tightening his grip and Sam gasps, unconsciously bucking into his hand, his body desperate for the touch, the friction.
"Stop… stop it." Sam begs, tears starting to fill his eyes.
"Not until we have celebrated properly." Lucifer promises. "After all, how can there be a union without consummation?"
"There is no union." Sam hisses furiously. "You are in the Cage. You aren't real."
"I am very real, Sammy." Lucifer purrs, and Sam groans again as pleasure, unwanted and unwelcome, shoots through him, his dick now fully erect in Lucifer's hand. "Almost two hundred years together and you think you can just walk away from me? After everything I have done to you, we are bound together. Linked. Even from the Cage, you belong to me. I know you, every cell of your body, in ways you will never know yourself. You were made for me, you belong to me… and I am going to save you Sammy."
"Sa…save me?" Sam repeats nervously, even as his ability to think is rapidly starting to fade away. Jessica, or Lucifer pretending to be her, gets onto her knees, shifting her body, before moving Sam's member into alignment with her, slowly lowering himself onto Sam. Sam groans, biting his lip as he tosses his head back, hating the rush of pleasure through his body, and the way he instinctively tries to push himself further in. Lucifer chuckles, pushing himself down until he is sitting fully on Sam, brushing Jessica's fingers across his lips.
"Shh, Sammy, don't you worry." Lucifer says softly. "When your wall breaks, all you have to do is let me in and I will fix everything for you. I will make you whole and we can do what we need to. I think you have learned your lesson, so there is no need to hurt you anymore. We can have a fresh start. Why do you think I chose this outfit? She is how we met, do you remember? In that little room above the bar you were working in? You were all alone then, abandoned and betrayed by your family and friends. And here we are again. I will never abandon you, though, Sammy." He starts to shift, riding Sam and Sam whimpers, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head desperately. "Just relax Sammy. You deserve a treat, a break. Pretend I am her. You believed it before, and you were so happy. I can be her for you if that is what you need." Sam's body listens, even as his mind tries to resist. He feels himself relaxing, and starting to move in sync with Jessica's body, and it feels like he is finally able to scratch an itch he didn't even know he had until now. "That's it Sammy." Lucifer encourages. "How long has it been for you? Since you got your soul back, at least? You deserve this… let me show you how it can be between us…"
"No… no." Sam objects weakly. "I don't want this…" But his heart is racing, and sweat is soaking his body as his breathing deepens. He feels himself pulsing and thrusting into Jess as she moves against him, and everything him wants to take her, hold her, be with her again. But it isn't her. It isn't Jess, it is a monster, using her against him. He wishes he could just stop feeling all together, that he could push away the love and longing that is beating through him, encouraging him to play along, because it feels like Jess, and it looks like Jess, and it sounds like Jess. If he can't have the real thing, why shouldn't he be able to pretend? But he can't let Lucifer use her like this. Use her memory against him. She is good, and innocent, and he can't let her memory be corrupted and poisoned by letting Lucifer use her to… to use him. He squeezes his eyes shut, turning his head away and trying to force his body to stay still even as tears escape down his cheeks. Tied down as he is, he can't fight back against Lucifer entirely, but he can stop himself from participating. He can stop him violating Jess like this.
"Oh Sammy… " Lucifer sighs, sounding impatient. "I was just trying to make this good for you to. But if you are going to be so melodramatic over being with a dead girl I thought you would have been delighted to see again, fine… is this better?" Jess' voice changes half-way through Lucifer's sentence and Sam looks up in shock, seeing himself sitting in her place, still moving against him, a smug smirk tugging at his lips. "Personally, I feel like fucking yourself is a little… masturbatory, but if this works better for you, I am happy to oblige."
"Get off of me." Sam whispers, before he groans loudly, bucking as Lucifer pushes against him harder, grinding their hips together.
"You don't mean that." Lucifer purrs in Sam's own voice, a smirk highlighting his, their face.
"Stop… please. Please, no. Please don't. Stop." Sam begs, as he feels himself getting heavier, and harder, his breathing picking up.
"Please don't stop?" Lucifer asks innocently, Sam's own hazel eyes gleaming with malice as he smirks down at Sam trapped under him. "Well how can I refuse you when you ask me so sweetly?" Sam moans under Lucifer, digging his fingers into his palms hard enough to draw blood, as Lucifer pushes him closer and closer to the edge, until finally Sam cums, unable to fight it off or resist anymore. Tears pour down his cheeks as Lucifer laughs, clutching onto Sam's shoulders, and holding him still until Sam sags backwards, breathing heavily and moaning softly. Lucifer grins down at Sam, as Sam stares dejectedly back at him. "See Sammy? That wasn't so bad was it?" Sam looks away, shame rushing though him as Lucifer bends over, kissing Sam's forehead as he flinches away. And then Lucifer is yelping, and Sam looks back at him in time to see something silver and sharp protruding from Lucifer's chest. He blinks in surprise, before exploding into a blast of silver light, blinding Sam as heat rushes over him, and suddenly his head is on fire. Pain rushes through Sam as memories, horrible memories, flash clearly through his head. Every torture, every torment. Every time being used by Lucifer and Michael. His devolvement over the decades as the endless agony wore him down until he was quiet, and submissive and obedient to every whim of his tormentors. The skinnings, the flayings, the crucifixions. The whippings, the de-boning, the burnings. Being ripped apart, joint by joint, being frozen, his bones snapping and cracking and shattering. His organs being removed, his senses being destroyed. Being isolated, left alone and trapped in darkness, for years. Starving, drowning, suffocating. Being taken by the archangels, over and over again. Every moment of Hell, every single second under the knife of the archangels, it all comes flooding back in, taking Sam's entire consciousness. Sam screams, because he can't do anything else. He screams and he cries, and he struggles as the memories rip at him, pulling him apart, slicing through him. Too vivid, too clear, and too horrifying. And, somewhere in the chaos of his mind, he hears Dean's words, when he had asked his big brother about Hell.
"There aren't words." He had said. Sam agrees. The things he is remembering happening to him are beyond description. And he doesn't just seem them as horror pictures in his mind, he can feel the memories in his bones. He can feel the pain, the suffering, like a phantom limb. Endless, all encompassing. Sam screams again, because he can't do a damn thing else, except feel and remember the horror. One hundred and eighty years of memories swim through Sam's consciousness and everything else fades away. The room, the bed, the restraints, it all vanishes as he is overwhelmed. He would have more luck fighting to swim upstream of a raging river, than of finding his way out of this nightmare. Everywhere he looks, a new horror appears, and his body responds. He feels his eyes being burned out of their sockets. He feels his nails being ripped from their beds. He feels his eyelids being sliced off, and his skin peeled from the muscles. He feels his skin burning, melting, bubbling as the scent of roasting flesh fills his nostrils. He feels his bones breaking a part, one at a time. He feels his limbs being stretched, pulled so far apart the ligaments rip and tear as he is dislocated piece by piece. He feels the scorching heat of Michael and the brutal cold of Lucifer, filling him up, tearing him apart from inside of him. And he hears their voices. Michael's Enochian taunts and insults. And Lucifer, wearing the faces of the people he loves, tearing him down, expressing their hatred and disappointment in him, of him, for him. On, and on, and on, drowning him until he can't scream, he can't call out. He can't do anything but see and feel and hear his almost two centuries of Hell. It is all that he is, all that he was.
"No. Don't you dare." Somewhere in the middle of the screams and the pleadings, the sneers and cold remarks, the limitless pain and agony, a sharp voice echoes. Desperate for something, for anything, to cling onto, even if just barely, Sam searches for the voice. "We are not giving up just because of a little pain." Sam blinks, confused, as slowly the memories, while still present, ease a tiny little bit. The dark room with the bed is gone, leaving an empty field. No, not quite a field… it's a cemetery. The, cemetery, Sam realizes. Stull. Sam is on his knees, curled into as small a ball as he can force himself to be. And standing over him, looking down at him calmly, is… himself. A tiny smile tugs at this other Sam's lips, though his eyes are cold, calculating. There is a sense of danger radiating off of this Sam, but also something… not quite right. Not quite whole. Like he is missing something. "Howdy."
"Who… who are you?" Sam whispers. Other Sam sighs, looking disappointed.
"You just went through a shock, so I'll forgive that. I am you, genius. Part of you, anyways." Other Sam says, as if it is supposed to be obvious. "See those angel dickheads decided to go poking at your wall, and shattered part of it. And you, pathetically ill-equipped to deal with that as you are, manifested it as Lucifer taking you for a joy-ride as Jessica. I am sure Freud or Jung or whoever could give you the psycho-babble about her representing your innocence in not knowing about what happened in Hell, while actually just being a mask, a front, that covers up the truth of what you have been through. The beautiful lie of ignorance bleeding into the harsh truth of reality, blah, blah blah. The whole getting completely fucked by your own demons and memories is self-explanatory I would think." Other Sam frowns in mild disgust, as if what Sam had just endured, just been put through, was no more than an inconvenience. Sam stares up at him, struggling to grasp what he is saying, to process it, but he is still too affected by the Hell he just watched.. relived, to do more than look at this other version of himself and hug himself even tighter. Other Sam continues, not seeming to care about Sam's current state of mind, or its rapid disassembly. "And then, like the idiot you are, you started resisting, and fighting, and the strain was too much. You broke into pieces. The one you were getting it on with was the part of you that remembers Hell." An angry, shameful blush burns across Sam's face at the Other Sam's careless words.
"I didn't get it on with him." He snaps, starting to scramble to his feet. Other Sam watches him, mild amusement in his expression.
"Of course not." Other Sam says coolly. "Well, while you were apparently not getting it on, that other one… lets call him Hell Sam, since Other Sam is already taken, manifested as your personification of Hell. In this case, Lucifer wearing you to the prom." Sam blushes more, clenching his fists angrily.
"How do you know I am calling you Other Sam?" He demands. Other Sam taps his forehead.
"I'm in your grapefruit Sammy." Other Sam says, a slight sneer to his otherwise disinterested expression. "This, all of this, is in your head. Your psyche is going haywire, and this is your desperate attempt to save your own life. And since I am you, you pulled me here to help."
"Well what part of me are you?" Sam asks suspiciously.
"Besides the better part?" Other Sam asks cockily, grinning a slightly wicked grin that bears an uncanny resemblance to the Hell Sam. Sam scowls and Other Sam chuckles. "I am the part of you that took over while your soul was on vacation. I am the one who kept us alive, kept us sharp and at the peak of our game. Until those assholes crammed your soul back in." Sam's eyebrows rise as he realizes what Other Sam means. He is the soulless version of Sam. The one who lied to Dean about being back, who tried to kill Bobby, who let Dean be turned into a vampire. And he has the audacity to call them assholes? Dean was right, Soulless Sam was a dick.
"You mean Dean? Bobby? Our family?" Sam asks angrily. Soulless Sam, as Sam renames him, snorts.
"Family… please. If they considered you family, they would have let you be. Look at the state you are in now." Soulless Sam says balefully, gesturing wildly at Sam. "I warned them this would happen. Cas, Crowley they both warned them as well. Your soul is a fucking mess, Sam. It is damaged in ways you can't even comprehend. It was better off left in the Cage." Shaking his head, Other Sam takes a quick, angry breath. "Obviously, I lost that fight. But I will be damned if I let their mistakes cost us our life."
"And how are you going to do that?" Sam asks warily. Soulless Sam regards him coolly.
"Well the good news is, something is trying to help you. Grace, I think. The angels apparently don't want you a drooling, paralyzed mess lost forever in your own mind being haunted by your stupid decision to jump into the Cage." Soulless Sam answers after a moment. "The section of the wall they broke down let out the worst of your memories before they could fix it. So, enjoy those Hell memories. At the very least, since I killed Hell Sam for you, we don't have to worry about him coming back to bite us in the ass. If he had won control… well, if the Pit turns out demons, what do you think you would have become after the events of the Cage?" Sam swallows nervously, thinking of that other version of himself, sitting on him, pinning him down. The gleam of evil and malice in his expression, the delight at his pain and begging. Is… is Soulless Sam right? Would he… would he have become that thing? "I am right, and yes you would have." Soulless Sam says impatiently. "All the pieces of you that you broke into are still you. Versions of you that have been created because of what happened to you, and because they are all you, if they take control, that is who you become."
"That's… that's impossible." Sam shakes his head in denial. "That isn't how people work."
"People, no." Soulless Sam raises a finger, pointing at Sam, and starting to pace closer. Automatically, Sam starts to retreat. "But people also don't fall into cages with archangels. People don't have their souls forcefully ripped from their bodies. People don't have their souls and bodies separated and left apart for months on end. Years, centuries almost for the soul. People don't endure over a century and a half of torture at the hands of the Father of Demons, and the Commander of the Host. You aren't people Sam." Soulless Sam finally stops his charge towards Sam, and he raises his hands slightly in a shrug. "Congratulations. You are a metaphysical miracle." Sam shakes his head again, running a hand through his hair.
"This… this is insane. I am insane." Sam whispers. Soulless Sam shrugs.
"Maybe… most likely, if you come out on top." He agrees. "Human psyches really, really are not designed to be put through what you are going through Sam." Sam stiffens, eyeing Soulless Sam suspiciously.
"What if you mean, if I come out on top?" Sam demands. Soulless Sam hesitates, his eyes flashing to Sam's as they both become still, almost frozen. That dangerous edge to Soulless Sam seems even more prominent now then before, as he tilts his head slightly, his eyes hardening. Sam shifts, tensing his body in response. "I thought you were here to help me…"
"I am helping you Sam." Soulless Sam says softly. He steps forward slightly, and Sam steps back at exactly the same time, the same pace. Soulless Sam hesitates. "I won't hurt you, Sam."
"Why don't I believe you?" Sam growls. Soulless Sam raises his arms in a placating manner.
"Hurting you wouldn't do me much good." Soulless Sam says, trying to sound reassuring. "We may both be pieces of you, but you are the largest piece, Sam. If the other one was Hell Sam, and I am Soulless Sam, you are Sam Prime. Or Soulful Sam, I suppose. You have the largest retention of who we are. You are more than just memories, dark and broken, and twisted beyond repair. You were born Sam Winchester, you have existed as him all of your life. Me? I only exist because of circumstance. I came into being out of your existing instincts, and memories, and experiences. I exist because of the absence of your soul. But I can't exist at all if you don't. Why do you think Hell Sam didn't just kill you once we shattered apart? Taken control of this body, this mind, himself? He couldn't. We both depend on you for our life, because we are you. And when he died, you absorbed him back into yourself, and that piece that had broken off ceased to exist. Humpty-Dumpty put himself back together again. Hence why you can now recall your lovely reward for saving the world." Sam flinches at the mention, stepping back as Soulless Sam slides forward another step. "If either he, or I, killed you however, you would be absorbed into one of us and would disappear from existence. And since we need you to exist… well. You are smart, Sam, you can figure it out." Sam frowns, confused, and scared, but slowly piecing together what the soulless version of himself is getting at. He is like the world's worst ever case of multiple personality disorder. It is his head, his mind, his body, and without him everything else in his head ceases to exist. But within that head, fighting for control, he isn't alone. Going to Hell, getting rescued, they created different… personalities, for lack of a better word. Personalities that want to be in control. Jesus Christ, it's like Sam has the first ever case of what happens when MPD meets possession. Sam raises his arms defensively as he continues to back away from the slowly approaching Soulless Sam.
"So… so if absorbing Hell Sam made me remember Hell… if I kill you, I'll remember what happened when I was soulless?" Sam asks, trying for a distraction as he glances around. The graveyard is empty, quiet, with nothing but the two of them and the headstones. Soulless Sam steps even closer, the same knife he used on Hell Sam, an angel-blade now that Sam can see it properly, held loosely in one hand.
"Theoretically, yes." Soulless Sam says calmly. "I have all those memories. And believe me, Sam, you don't want them. I know you. You will be torn apart by guilt, and angst. Not knowing is better."
"No." Sam disagrees. "It's easier, but that isn't the same. They are my memories, I deserve to have them. I deserve to know what we did."
"See, that is exactly why I need to be in control." Soulless Sam says, pacing closer. "You are focused on the wrong things. Raphael is about to raise Michael and Lucifer and restart the apocalypse. We need to be at our best. Sharp, focused, ready to fight and kill. We need to be prepared to do the hard things, no matter what the costs. You could do it once. You did, with Lilith. You drained that nurse, and you tuned out the distractions, and you got the job done."
"And started the apocalypse." Sam spits out. Soulless Sam waves his hand dismissively.
"That's beside the point. An unexpected cost of taking out the evil threat, which is what we were born and trained to do." Soulless Sam says carelessly. "My point is that isn't you, not anymore. You are going to be a big enough mess as it is, with all that pain floating around your head. If you take me in to, it will destroy what is left of the wall. You could die, Sam. You could become insane, become psychically imprisoned in your mind. We would be useless in the war to come. But I am not the same as you. I don't have those Hell memories. I don't feel the pain you are in, I don't feel the shame and humiliation and anger that is written all over your face. I don't care what Hell Sam did to you. I can focus on stopping Raphael. I can keep us alive, and in fighting shape, so we can get back to Dean, and stop Cas from making a gigantic mistake again. And I will keep you safe. Put you in a memory with Jess, or your parents, or your family. Give me control, Sam. Make the right choice." Sam listens to Soulless Sam and his sales pitch. He can't deny it is tempting. To stay safely hidden in his head and run away from his problems. To let this other version of himself, who isn't weighed down by pain or guilt, take control and fix his problems. But it is like Sam told Soulless Sam. Easier is not the same as better. And though he doesn't know everything about what he did when he was soulless, he knows he can't ever go back to being like that again. He can't unleash this cold, dangerous version of himself ever again. Even… even if that means tearing down the rest of his wall. Fully aware that this might cost him everything, Sam says a silent goodbye to Dean, to Cas, and Bobby. To his family. Soulless Sam's expression grows cold as he must be able to read Sam's thoughts. Still, Sam isn't one for leaving any confusion.
"Pass." Sam says coldly.
"Fine." Soulless Sam shrugs. "We'll do this the hard way… but when I win, you aren't going into some nice, lovely memory now. You just made things a lot worse for yourself."
"Story of my life." Sam says sarcastically. Without another word, Soulless Sam lunges at Sam and Sam steps forward to meet him.