Title: Unclean Rating: PG-13, Gen Warnings: References to self-harm and sexual assault A/N: Set in a slightly canon- divergent version of episode 7.17, The born again identity --
Northern Indiana State Hospital, Ward D2, High Security Area
Sam’s eyes are closed and he’s rocking back and forth. “Not real, not real.”
It’s on repeat in his head or maybe he’s saying it out loud, he’s not really sure any more, and Lucifer is chuckling.
“Oh, I’m very real,” he says from his place in the corner. Sam wonders if he’s still playing cat’s cradle and then he shakes his head.
“No,” He presses his thumbnail into the center of his palm, wound long since healed over. “You’re not here.”
“Oh yes I am,” Lucifer singsongs. “And so are you. Here in the cage. You never left, Sammy.”
“Just a hallucination,” Sam mutters.
“Yes,” Lucifer agrees. “Everything, from the moment you came to in Bobby’s house has just been a hallucination. Except for me. I’m real, bunk buddy.”
Sam ignores him. It’s better when he just ignores him.
Except when it’s not.
Lucifer is now playing the drums; bam, bam, bam, boom, CRASH. The cymbals make Sam jump every time.
He opens his eyes when the door opens. It’s Bobby, which would be great, except Bobby’s dead. At least Sam thinks he is.
“You’re dead,” he blurts.
There are probably more tactful ways he could’ve put that, but whatever, he’s sliding toward the veil himself right now, not to mention certifiably insane. Tact is not a given.
Bobby, though, doesn’t seem affronted. “Well yeah,” he says, hands stuffed deep in pockets, “I’m in Hell, ya idjit. Being dead kinda goes with the territory.”
Sam squeezes his eyes shut again. “You’re not real,” he whispers. “Bobby wouldn’t be in Hell.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Bobby says. “I killed more ‘n enough people. The fact most of ‘em had demons in ‘em don’t matter. They were still people. And I killed ‘em. I’m gonna rot in Hell. Dean too, when it’s his time.”
“No. Nonononononono.”
Eyes closed. Rocking back and forth.
Lucifer’s breath is warm against Sam’s neck. “Maybe I’m lying,” the devil murmurs. “Maybe you did get out. Maybe, I got out too. Maybe all you have to do is say yes.”
Sam’s shaking and there’s ice in his gut, but he still manages to say no, emphatically, even if his voice wavers a little.
“Oh come on, Sammy,” Lucifer pouts. “Let me in, little pig, let me in.”
Sam draws a shuddering breath. “Never,” he says.
There are sigils. Runes that he can carve into his flesh. Sam’s done his research. All he needs is something sharp, but Sam’s not allowed sharps because he’s a danger to himself and others.
FILLED: Unclean. 1 of 2
Rating: PG-13, Gen
Warnings: References to self-harm and sexual assault
A/N: Set in a slightly canon- divergent version of episode 7.17, The born again identity
--
Northern Indiana State Hospital, Ward D2, High Security Area
Sam’s eyes are closed and he’s rocking back and forth. “Not real, not real.”
It’s on repeat in his head or maybe he’s saying it out loud, he’s not really sure any more, and Lucifer is chuckling.
“Oh, I’m very real,” he says from his place in the corner. Sam wonders if he’s still playing cat’s cradle and then he shakes his head.
“No,” He presses his thumbnail into the center of his palm, wound long since healed over. “You’re not here.”
“Oh yes I am,” Lucifer singsongs. “And so are you. Here in the cage. You never left, Sammy.”
“Just a hallucination,” Sam mutters.
“Yes,” Lucifer agrees. “Everything, from the moment you came to in Bobby’s house has just been a hallucination. Except for me. I’m real, bunk buddy.”
Sam ignores him. It’s better when he just ignores him.
Except when it’s not.
Lucifer is now playing the drums; bam, bam, bam, boom, CRASH. The cymbals make Sam jump every time.
He opens his eyes when the door opens. It’s Bobby, which would be great, except Bobby’s dead. At least Sam thinks he is.
“You’re dead,” he blurts.
There are probably more tactful ways he could’ve put that, but whatever, he’s sliding toward the veil himself right now, not to mention certifiably insane. Tact is not a given.
Bobby, though, doesn’t seem affronted. “Well yeah,” he says, hands stuffed deep in pockets, “I’m in Hell, ya idjit. Being dead kinda goes with the territory.”
Sam squeezes his eyes shut again. “You’re not real,” he whispers. “Bobby wouldn’t be in Hell.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Bobby says. “I killed more ‘n enough people. The fact most of ‘em had demons in ‘em don’t matter. They were still people. And I killed ‘em. I’m gonna rot in Hell. Dean too, when it’s his time.”
“No. Nonononononono.”
Eyes closed. Rocking back and forth.
Lucifer’s breath is warm against Sam’s neck. “Maybe I’m lying,” the devil murmurs. “Maybe you did get out. Maybe, I got out too. Maybe all you have to do is say yes.”
Sam’s shaking and there’s ice in his gut, but he still manages to say no, emphatically, even if his voice wavers a little.
“Oh come on, Sammy,” Lucifer pouts. “Let me in, little pig, let me in.”
Sam draws a shuddering breath. “Never,” he says.
There are sigils. Runes that he can carve into his flesh. Sam’s done his research. All he needs is something sharp, but Sam’s not allowed sharps because he’s a danger to himself and others.
Teeth, though. He has those.
Sam smiles.