Chapter Text
Sam had to admit that seeing Lucifer in his dreams hadn’t startled him nearly as much as it might have. He’d been seeing him for months now during his waking hours, frankly he was surprised he hadn’t showed up earlier.
“Sam…” Lucifer started. Sam watched him warily from the corners of his eyes. Their surroundings were blurry shapes of light that kept shifting, like the dream couldn’t make up its mind about where to situate this. Sam supposed he should be grateful for that.
The Devil looked almost surprised to be here. It must be a trick, Sam thought. He’d learned that as long as he ignored the hallucinations, everything was fine. They had no control over him. Now with this being a dream, it might be a bit harder. He didn’t have any physical sensations to hang onto. He would adapt though, and manage. And he would definitely not give in to Lucifer standing there looking like a beaten puppy.
“Sam?”
Sam was intently watching his feet, searching the dirt along the seams as if it contained the meaning of life. He had a faint sensation Lucifer was walking towards him; it was his dream, dammit, and that made him knowledgeable to everything that happened whether within his senses or not. The proximity ran a shudder up his spine. He knew a hand was reaching for his shoulder.
The hand stopped.
“Sam… please.” Great, now the Devil sounded genuinely hurt.
Despite his common sense screaming at him, Sam jerked around. “What?” He spat. “Haven’t you tormented me enough already?” He stared straight into Lucifer’s face, about ten inches away from his and looking very, very confused.
Lucifer backed away. “I-“
“No – I don’t want to hear it. Get out!” Sam gestured violently at the surrounding area. “This is my dream, and I don’t want you in it!”
To his astonishment, Lucifer vanished.
*
The next morning he kept his dream from Dean. Although the way Lucifer vanished at his command might be a sign that things were looking up, Dean never took too kindly to being reminded of his brother’s madness. Sam had to keep his small victory over Lucifer to himself. And if he seemed preoccupied during their hunt for a violent ghost teacher who left pencil sharpenings at the site of the killings, nobody noticed.
“I’m exhausted,” was the last thing Dean said before passing out on the bed, mud covered and smelling of gasoline. Sam felt his own eyes droop too. The bed with its soft cushions called to his lead-filled limbs, but the fear of what he might encounter in his dreams prevented him from giving in. He opened his laptop to do some research on their latest enemy number one, the Leviathan. His history contained a couple of sites he hadn’t read yet. But after blearily staring at the screen for about ten minutes, not one snippet of writing actually making it into his brain, he decided he had to call it a day. In the background, Lucifer made a remark on the state of decomposition of the minty-green curtains. Almost absentmindedly, necessity having long since made it a habit, Sam pushed his thumb against the faint scar on his palm. He observed that he would soon have to find a new injury for this trick. The pain had faded from a sharp bite to a dull ache as the scar tissue had thickened. He would have to cut it open again to regain that edge.
Cutting himself like a real emo-freak. Dean would laugh his head off if he found out, Sam thought wryly.
He closed the screen, fighting the urge to lay his head down there and then on the invitingly warm laptop. Sam sighed and dragged himself to the bed. As soon as he snuggled his head into the comfortable pillow he was asleep. And nothing noteworthy happened in his dreams that night.
*
It wasn’t until an uneventful week later – well, uneventful in Winchester terms of course, just some salt-and-burns and a lone werewolf to deal with and no Leviathan in sight – that Sam saw Lucifer in his dreams again. He was standing on the fringe of a pleasant-looking field. Sam himself sat on a lone bench in the middle of the field, apparently placed there by a confused park architect or someone in a hurry to construct a dreamscape.
“Sam,” Lucifer begun again from his position near the tree-line. He seemed ill at ease. “I’m not haunting you, please don’t banish me again.”
This pulled Sam out of his very thorough inspection of the glaringly cloudless sky. He looked over at Lucifer, who fidgeted and had the gall to look guilty.
“What do you want then?”
“I want to talk to you,” Lucifer rubbed his fingers. “Make amends, I suppose.”
“You tried to unleash the Apocalypse!” Sam blurted out, shoulders tensing. “You persecuted me, invaded my body and nearly made me murder my brother! You tortured my soul to shreds and I hallucinate you’re here thanks to that! You’ve passed ‘let’s fix this’ a long time ago.”
Lucifer flinched visibly, but confusion and indignation also crept into his expression. He frowned, saying: “I never laid a finger on your soul. I defended you tooth and nail in the Pit, where Michael tried to take out all of his Daddy-complex related anger on you.” He sighed and walked slowly towards Sam. “I was weakened; the Cage and – you’re an aggressive fighter, Sam.” He smiled weakly, crouching in front of him. “The Cage is a horrible environment for a soul. I tried Sam, and I’m deeply sorry to hear it wasn’t enough.” Lucifer’s fingers brushed Sam’s knee. Sam jumped up, glaring at Lucifer for being so familiar.
“You’re lying.”
“How many times do I need to assure you, Sammy?” Lucifer asked, his fingers still hovering in the air. “I don’t lie. And even if I did, I would never lie to you.” He rose slowly to his feet. Sam backed away. “I don’t want to hurt you, Sam.”
“You tried to destroy the world. You killed my friends, tried to kill my brother. How is that not hurting me?”
Lucifer’s face distorted as if in pain. “I know that now.” He looked up into Sam’s face. “I am really very sorry. I had all this rage, concentrated on one goal. It’s not an excuse, but Hell didn’t make me sensitive to human feeling.”
“And now you’re changed.” Sam felt bile rise in his throat. More of this nonsense and he would be violently sick, dream or not.
“Yes.” Lucifer spread his arms, appeasing. “I realized my reasons were messed up. You showed me that I didn’t have to conform to any Big Plans. Team free-will, count me in. I’m the Devil after all.”
When Sam didn’t react, just staring at him in utter disbelief, he continued while rubbing his neck.
“Michael was my reason to fight, we fueled each other like you and Dean, but he is effectively incapacitated. And I must admit I’ve become attached to humanity in the brief period I spend in your head and your company. It’s very lonely in the Cage without you.”
They stared at each other for a while. Lucifer appeared to have said all he wanted to and seemed to be waiting for Sam’s outburst. But Sam sat down on the oddly-placed park bench.
Lucifer sat down gingerly next to him.
“Why are you suddenly so reasonable?” Sam asked with a little sigh. He had deflated a bit, shoulders hunched forward and staring straight ahead.
“How do you mean?” Sam could see Lucifer staring at him from the corner of his eye.
“Comparing to your never-ending onslaught during the day. You are a figment of my mind, aren’t you?” The alternative was too frightening to consider.
“I’m a…? No, I’m quite certain that I’m not. And I haven’t visited you but for that other dream you kicked me out of.”
Sam grit his teeth and tried to calm his rapid breathing.
“How did you get out of the Cage?” He asked in a small voice.
“I didn’t. I can slip a bit of my grace through the cracks after the angel and Death damaged it by pulling you out. But it’s like barbed wire, it rips me apart.” Lucifer cautiously put a hand on Sam’s shoulder, who was on the verge of hyper-ventilating. “Sam, breathe. Talk to me.”
“I’d like very much to wake up now, please,” Sam pleaded. Fear constricted his chest and clawed at his throat.
*
So Lucifer – the real Lucifer – could slip out of the Cage. It might only be a matter of time before he could slip out more than just a piece of his grace. And then… Sam didn’t bear to think about it. For all his talk of not wanting to hurt Sam and not desiring the Apocalypse anymore Lucifer still struck mortal fear in Sam – more so than Leviathan, Crowley and all the monsters in the world combined.
He still hadn’t told Dean about it. During the day hallucination-Lucifer carried on making off-handed comments on Sam’s actions until he banished him. Sam pretended towards Dean that this was the only crazy going on. Of course he knew from experience what being dishonest with Dean led to, but he told himself he was only just digesting this news himself. He would tell Dean, eventually. Meanwhile, it distracted him and made his attention slip dangerously during hunts.
“Dude, what’s wrong with you?” Dean asked, exasperated. They were standing ankle-deep in vampire goo. Sam tried rather awkwardly to clean his machete on his pants and keep his head as still as possible at the same time. Only ten minutes ago a vamp had sprung him out of nowhere – Sam swore he hadn’t been there a second ago – and flung him head first into a wall. His skull throbbed and hurt when he moved and he could feel bump the size of Canada swelling on his forehead. Dean’s intrusive questions did absolutely nothing to improve his mood.
“Nothing,” Sam said with a casual air he hoped Dean didn’t see through immediately. He tried to shrug too but winced as a piercing pain shot through his shoulder. Damn vampires.
Dean didn’t buy any of it.
“You got your ass handed to you by a vamp today, Sammy!” He said. His face was set on storm-mode.
“There’s nothing wrong. That vamp surprised me, that’s all.” Sam pinched the bridge of his nose, smearing more vampire remains over his face. He groaned. “Let’s head back, ok? We’re done.”
Dean sulked the whole drive back to their latest abandoned house. He hit the brakes too hard at the traffic lights and made Sam wince every time he accelerated aggressively. Sam was relieved when Dean finally drove into the garage and he could stagger out of the Ford and towards his bed. Dean muttered something about “visiting Bobby” but Sam could only groan into the pillow and pass out.
*
“Not again,” Sam groaned when he saw his favorite fallen archangel standing at the center of what seemed to be a beautiful lush garden at the height of summer. The sun softly caressed his neck, the air was full of the sweet warm smells of the flowers and the buzz of happy bumble-bees. Lucifer held his arms out as if to welcome him into this perfect world.
Sam almost gagged at the tooth-aching sweetness of it all.
“You are hurt.” Lucifer slowly lowered his arms to his sides. His benign smile changed into a concerned frown.
“Yes,” Sam spat. “You don’t think you can calmly march into my life again and expect me not to freak out?” He wished the flowers would stop smelling so alluring. He wanted to stomp his feet and throw a tantrum like a ten-year-old. Instead he settled for balling his fists and staring accusingly at Lucifer.
“I am sorry I upset you,” Lucifer had the gall to say. “I thought I had made it clear I just wanted to see you.” He smiled. “You are still my favorite human being. I want to help you.”
“Well, you’re not. Helping, I mean.”
They had come to an impasse again; facing each other, Lucifer looked an image of good faith, Sam stood quietly seething. He was in conflict with himself – what if the Devil really wanted to help him? Shouldn’t he accept that help, even if Lucifer was unlikely to have good intentions, even if this was all another plan to seduce Sam into giving up his body as a vessel? Sam felt like trusting Lucifer and giving him a second chance, crazy as it may sound. This was probably exactly the kind of reasoning that had landed him in this mess in the first place.
Sam decided there was no harm to be found in asking Lucifer some questions first. Talking never hurt, did it? He relaxed his posture slightly and asked:
“How do we kill Leviathan?”
Lucifer’s eyes widened. Sam wondered if this meant he wasn’t aware of the situation on earth – which also meant he wasn’t reading Sam’s mind, something Sam was sure he was capable of – or that he was surprised Sam had decided to accept help.
“I don’t know,” Lucifer answered. “I’ve never fought one. Michael might have, but he would have had the back-up of the heavenly host.” His expression had considerably soured when he mentioned his brother’s name.
“So you’re useless,” Sam concluded. That left a taste of disappointment in his mouth.
“I might not be. Listen Sam, you could get me out of the Cage, and though I’m too weak to fight any Leviathan, I might at least be able to find sources that tell you how to go about it.”
“No.”
“You need my help though. You and your brother are in over your heads. Leviathan are not nice enemies.”
“Neither are you,” Sam said quietly. He glared bloody murder at the roses, which wilted on the spot. That made him feel a little better. “The solution is never ‘to let Lucifer in’. I fell for that once, I won’t fall for it again.”
Lucifer opened his mouth to reply. Overhead the sunny sky had clouded over with dark rainclouds.
“Get out of my dream,” Sam hissed.
*
Dean kept giving him a cold shoulder after the ‘there’s nothing wrong’-incident. Sam could tell Dean was waiting for him to blow a fuse and go stark raving mad. Sam couldn’t blame him for it, since he himself felt more and more insecure about his mental health.
They met up with Bobby again for something seemingly normal and Leviathan-unrelated – just some mystery killings in the woods, possibly the ‘Jersey Devil’. Dean didn’t get the time to address Sam’s problems to Bobby in between being high on ‘Turducken’ Leviathan poison and all the stress from bringing Bobby to the hospital with a serious bullet wound. When Bobby finally pulled through – could really nothing kill the guy? – there had been too much emotions going round to bother him with any more worries. When they left Bobby in the hospital bed to recover, things were still visibly tense between them.
What definitely didn’t help was Sam’s hallucinations getting worse and worse. He hadn’t seen Lucifer in his dreams anymore, but he was seeing all the more of hallucination-Lucifer during the day. He was becoming more prominent and invasive, and much harder to ignore. Sam had to carry through with his self-harm joke in the end, desperate for more leverage on his imaginary tormentor.
Things rapidly went down-hill after the messy disaster with the demon-loving psychopathic killer – Jeffrey – which forced Sam to interact with Lucifer. As Lucifer was so happy to point out to him as he set fire to Sam’s bed, that interaction had given him “a much firmer grip” on his mind. Apparently, that meant a license to keep Sam awake by singing horrible pop songs and other attacks on his senses.
Dean picked up on the insomnia during a hunt for three malicious witches. It was a routine job; angry witches trying to kill several poor people through spells – messy and with lots of bodily fluids – Sam and Dean rushing in to save the day. Sam had been tasked with killing the first two of the three witches while Dean was racing around town removing hex-bags and searching the remaining witch. After bursting through the basement door, Sam was startled by Dean’s mangled corpse lying on the concrete floor. It took him several valuable seconds to realize Dean was on the other end of town and this was merely another manifestation of his crazy. Dean’s corpse dutifully disappeared, but Sam ended up with a lot more bruises than he liked.
Sam refused to kill the last witch because she had morphed into Jess. Dean shot her – she still looked like a monster to him – and gave Sam his patented ‘What the hell, dude’-look.
“I’m having trouble sleeping, Dean. I’m exhausted, that’s all.” Even to his own ears that sounded weak, especially given his track-record on evasive answers.
So Dean, knowing him, just shot him a stern older brother look, holstered his gun and said: “We’re going to Bobby, right now.”
Lucifer chose that exact moment to drench the world in blood. Sam’s knees buckled and he desperately pushes in thumb at the angry red slash in his palm. Somewhere far-off he heard Dean shout his name, but it was drowned out by Lucifer’s laughing. Horrible visions of Jess in flames, Bobby’s broken and dead body on the floor and Dean with black eyes threatening to kill him flashed in front of his eyes.
“Shut up!” He yelled at Lucifer, still clutching his hand.
“Oooh –“ Lucifer crooned in response. “He talks to me!” He made a gesture like a flustered schoolgirl, theatrical and comical if it wasn’t for the blood still dripping along the walls.
“I hate you,” Sam uttered with difficulty. The crazy flooded in from all sides, closing his eyes didn’t help anymore. His heart was hammering its way out of his ribcage. He found himself with the reassuringly cool surface of his gun in his hand.
Dean.
He had to find Dean, before he started shooting imaginary devils.
He saw Dean walking backwards, but his face was all messed up. One side hung off, the flesh of his cheek flapping with the motion and revealing the glistening bone underneath. Sam tore his eyes away. He stared at the gun in his hands. Then he stared at the ground. Maggots and cockroaches crept around his knees, feasting on the human gore he was kneeling in. The Devil started singing ‘Stuck in the middle with you’ at the top of his lungs.
“Snap out of it Sam, come on,” Sam muttered. He managed to put his gun away and pushed his thumb into his palm again. “You’re imagining this. It’s not real.”
“CLOWNS TO THE LEFT OF ME…!”
Something touched his shoulder. Dean stood there, maggots crawling in and out of his eye socket, hand hovering above Sam’s shoulder. His middle finger had fallen off and was currently sliding down Sam’s arm.
“Sam…” Dean’s mouth was a gaping hole of rot.
“…JOKERS TO THE RIGHT!”
“Snap out of it, snap out of it, snap out of it,” Sam rocked back and forth, hunched over his knees.
“Sammy, snap out of it! Dammit!”
“HERE I AM- “ Lucifer spun around madly in circles, arms outstretched like a dunk ballet dancer.
“STUCK IN THE MIDDLE WITH YOU!”
*
“Dude, you are seriously not ok,” Dean looked at him sternly in the rear-view mirror. Sam lay stiffly on the backseat of the Dodge they currently drove. Dean had half-dragged, half-carried him back to the car while he was still babbling incoherently about maggots and blood. They were en-route to Bobby, after Dean had driven them past the house to pick up their clothes. He never allowed Sam off the back seat to help him, constantly checking over his shoulder if his brother wasn’t going off his rocker again.
“Go sleep,” he’d told Sam. Easily said for him, but the Devil hadn’t left Sam alone since the warehouse where they’d killed the last witch. He was working his way through ‘top 50 country song of all time’, upping the volume every time Sam’s eyes dared to droop. It was extremely loud and very much out of tune. Sam wondered if he would ever catch any sleep again.
Six agonizing hours later they stood on Bobby’s living room carpet, although Sam looked more on the verge of collapsing than anything. Dean flexed his fingers, moved his feet around and looked generally exasperated that he couldn’t do anything for his brother. Meanwhile, Bobby paced around the room, looking at this book and that, occasionally pulling one out of the shelves only to set it back with a dissatisfied grunt.
“What are you looking for?” Dean asked finally, his hands moving in and out of his pockets.
“Something on demonic hallucinations.” Bobby turned around and seemed to really take in Sam’s state for the first time. “You look like shit boy. Go lie in the bed upstairs, I’ll fix you a tranquilizer to knock you right into tomorrow.”
Dean followed Sam up the stairs, apparently prepared to catch him if he might stumble.
“You should have told me it was getting worse.” Dean said.
Sam wasn’t sure whether his brother was angry or upset or worried. Probably all of the above.
“Sorry Dean, I didn’t realize it was this bad either.” He pushed into Bobby’s guest bedroom. It contained two narrow beds and a nearly empty wardrobe Bobby used as storage for obscure trinkets from the past. He kept all the useful hunting stuff downstairs. The wardrobe contained among others a cardboard box with a few toys from when they would have ‘sleep-overs’ at ‘Uncle Bobby’s’, a cheerful euphemism for hunter’s training with Bobby, although he did occasionally take pity.
“Are you going to stand there watch me undress or do you have something useful to contribute?” Sam asked while pulling off his shirt.
Dean scowled. “Sweet dreams, Samantha.”
He backed out of the room and stomped down the stairs. He must have met Bobby there, because he entered not a moment later, just as Sam was crawling under the covers. In the corner, Lucifer had switched to ‘The final countdown’ at ear-splitting volume.
“I’ve got the tranq for you,” Bobby said. “Just drink it, it’ll knock you out cold.” He handed Sam a chipped mug half-filled with clear liquid.
“Thanks Bobby,” Sam said. He knocked back the drink and closed his eyes, not for one moment expecting it to work.
The world reappeared as a softly flowing meadow overlooking a sparkling blue lake. It was another bright and warm day. Sam waited for the teletubbies to appear and was slightly disappointed when he only saw another wayward park bench. He sat down gingerly on it, vaguely expecting it to explode, and it hit him: the absence of sound. Not completely, he could still hear the rustling of wind in the grass and the waves down below, all the general peaceful nature sounds one would expect in a place like this. But no Lucifer, no music, no sudden loud noises. Sam cringed, expecting the eardrum-shattering torment to start over any moment, now that he’d discovered its temporary lapse of attention.
Nothing happened.
Nothing continued to happen for a while. Sam couldn’t exactly say how much time had passed. Time had gotten a slippery quality, and minutes might be hours or hours might be minutes. But it was nice and peaceful and Sam wasn’t complaining.
Soft footsteps on the grass grew louder until a body settled next to him on the bench. Sam flexed his shoulders defensively. Now it would come…
“Are you suffering from insomnia?” Lucifer asked softly, as if not to disturb the peaceful quality of the dream.”
“Yes,” Sam answered testily. “And whose fault is that?”
“Mine?” Lucifer ventured. He looked guilty and concerned, none of the usual gleefully mocking tone in his voice. “Does the idea of me out of the Cage still inspire such worry?”
“Partly. But you singing ‘It’s Raining Men’ at three a.m. did a lot more to keep me up.” Sam paused, then added maliciously, “You’ve got a horrible voice.”
Lucifer seemed unfazed by the criticism of his vocal qualities. “You’re hallucinating it,” he said matter-of-factly.
“Yes, thank you. Do you have more obvious information to contribute?”
“I could help you, if you would accept my help.”
“You? How?” Sam had begun to doubt the credibility of this Lucifer being real. He’d thought the Devil had been real during the day, why did he have more reason to trust this manifestation of his brain, just because it was friendlier? He said as much to Lucifer.
Lucifer held up his hand as if swearing an oath. “I’m real, Sam. I don’t know whether this causes you more or less grief, but I am not some hallucination cooked up by your battered soul. I swear on…” Lucifer’s eyes trailed off. “I swear on the father who I hate that I am truly the archangel Lucifer.”
Sam didn’t know whether to laugh, cry or have a panic attack. He had tossed and turned and never truly believed this wasn’t all more than just another sick trick of his mind. Yes, he might’ve believed it the first few weeks, and even worried about Lucifer escaping the Cage, but when his hallucinations had taken a turn for the worse he hadn’t believed it anymore.
Meanwhile, his body settled for laughing hysterically and uncontrollably – he was about five seconds from hyperventilating his way into a panic attack.
“How do you propose to help me?” Sam wheezed. He fought to get his breathing under control again; in through the nose, out through the mouth, slowly. It was a dream, nothing would happen if he didn’t make any deals and just woke up.
“If you summon me – “
Sam relapsed into violent coughing. “No. No, no, no. No freaking way,” he spluttered. “Don’t even think about it.”
Lucifer sighed and patted him on the back. “Listen Sammy,” he said. Sam didn’t even object to the pet name, still awed by the thought that this was really Lucifer.
“Let me finish before you protest, because you won’t like what I’m going to say,” Lucifer continued. He was still rubbing soothing circles on Sam’s back, whose breathing was oddly calmed down by that. “I’ve suffered considerably damage in the Cage. I need your body to heal, before I can construct my own vessel –“ He stopped when he saw Sam’s expression of disbelief. “What? I’m an Archangel, I can bend space and time, surely you’ll believe I can put some molecules together and make it human-shaped?”
Sam still looked pointedly at him.
“Oh.” Realized dawned on Lucifer’s face. He took his hand back. “Nick was only a temporary measure. It’s takes up energy to keep a constructed body together, it’s like having to constantly think about your clothes or you’ll end up naked. Inhabiting my true vessel would have given me the freedom to use my power to the fullest extent; I needed that to battle Michael, I don’t need it anymore now. I doubt anything on earth is strong enough to require the full force of my grace.”
“You have a habit of underestimating us things on earth,” Sam couldn’t help himself to point out. This was getting more absurd by the minute. And he was still saying no, wasn’t he?
“I believe you’ve taught me that more force doesn’t always outweigh the merits of willpower and wits,” Lucifer smiled. “I can help you Sammy. In return for borrowing your body I will fix it and your soul.”
“You can do that? Not even Death could fix my soul.”
“Death is destruction. I’m an angel, our grace is rooted in creation. I can fix your soul.”
Sam stared out over the blue water for a while. He recalled the torment he had momentarily escaped. How long did he expect to last without help? Did he trust Bobby and Dean to find something against soul-hallucinations? He thought he could be pretty sure he was a one of a kind case.
“Can’t you help me from here? I’m done making deals with anyone.” Sam knew he was grasping at straws here.
Lucifer sighed, of course recognizing Sam’s desperation for what it was. “Without me, the hallucinations will probably kill you sooner than later; the human body can go only so long without sleep.” He looked Sam sternly in the eye. It was a particularly piercing stare. Sam squirmed.
If this didn’t work out, he could always add it to his growing collection of very-poor-decisions. Dean would chew him out if – no, when – he found out, but he could live with that. As for the world and the integrity of his body –
“You’re only allowed to ride along in the backseat.”
Lucifer’s eyes began to twinkle, a smile tugged at his mouth.
“You’re not to take me over, no unleashing the Apocalypse or wiping out the human race, no tricks and no loopholes.”
“I can’t take over even if it’s a matter if life and death?” Lucifer asked.
“No,” Sam said resolutely. Then he reconsidered this. “Only if I’m already unconscious and it’s definitely life-threatening. I don’t trust you not to take advantage of this otherwise.”
“I can live with that, I think.” Lucifer stuck out his hand. “I’m not Crowley, so no kissing. Deal?”
Sam grabbed his hand. Lucifer continued with explaining the summoning ritual to him. Around them the telly-tubby-world remained peaceful and sunny.
*
Sam knew he had to be fast and quiet about summoning Lucifer. Dean wouldn’t let them leave Bobby’s until Sam could sleep without tranquilizers – which meant never, if he didn’t get a chance to summon the real Lucifer. Since he’d woken up – a process that had included staring groggily at the ceiling trying to remember what day and age it was and why couldn’t he recall his bloody name? – Sam had been sneaking around to house collecting the ingredients for the spell. It turned out to be a fairly standard summoning spell, only tweaked slightly to reach specifically into the Cage and pull. Sam was relieved it didn’t involve any messy livestock and/or patricide. Bobby had plenty of spell-material lying around the house for the more every-day-spells (when had spells become everyday business? Sam wondered) and with Dean and Bobby still searching frantically for an anti-demonic-hallucinations-pill Sam had plenty of room to move around the house. Or at least as quietly as hallucination-Lucifer would permit him to.
Fake-Lucifer was growing more invasive by the hour, as if Sam’s problems sensed they were soon to be exterminated. He had shifted tactics from singing to making loud noises – megaphones, sirens, pneumatic drills – at the most unexpected moments. Sam nearly dropped the antique spell bowl at a particularly loud air horn and another time almost fallen backwards off the stairs from unexpected gun shots. At the end of the day his nerves were completely frayed.
Therefore he didn’t need to act in the least to look relieved when Bobby brought him that night’s dose of tranquilizer. But despite having had the whole day to think about an excuse why he wouldn’t take them immediately, the only thing that came out of his mouth was:
“Just leave it on the nightstand, I’m going to read a bit first.”
Bobby looked at him as if that was the craziest thing he’d heard all day, but nevertheless set down the mug and grunted goodnight. In the doorway he turned around and said: “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, son.” Well, if Bobby made deals with Crowley, wasn’t this as good as permission?
Sam counted till ten before he slipped out of bed and pulled the already prepared from under the bed. He kneeled by the tablecloth with the bowl and candles. His hands trembled as he lighted the candles. “What if it doesn’t work?” He mumbled. What if it does? The voice in the back of his mind supplied. What if he ended up unleashing the Apocalypse? Again.
A vuvuzela trumpeted next to his ear. He jumped, shaken out of his thoughts and immediately convinced that, damn the consequences, he had to carry through with this.
Sam slid the knife over his palm and whispered the chants when the first drop his the contents of the bowl. After about six drops of blood and the ten lines of chant, absolutely nothing happened. His hand stung, Lucifer still tried to wring a song out of the vuvuzela and it sounded like Dean and Bobby were striking up an argument downstairs. Fragments about how they “Couldn’t keep my brother on sleeping pills forever” and that “I’ve looked in every damn book twice, you idjit!” drifted upstairs. Sam closed his eyes and exhaled. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but this wasn’t it. He pushed his hair out of his face and sat back on his heels. Maybe –
The light hit him like a freight train on amphetamines. Suddenly everything was illuminated and Sam was hyper-aware of even the smallest hairs in the dusty carpet, the particles of the peeling wallpaper glue. Everything. He gasped for breath, sucking much needed oxygen into his lungs that seemed too big and too small at the same time. Time took on that weird slippery quality again. For an infinite moment he was suspended in reality.
When he exhaled he felt something – wings – fold up and into his body. The world slowly came back from its high as Sam’s senses were restored to the usual five. He didn’t remember much about the first time Lucifer had possessed his body; just flashes of rage and fear mixed with this overwhelming, freezing white light. Now he distinctly felt a cold energy pulse along his spine.
Hello Sammy ¸ Lucifer’s voice said inside his head. It sounded like Nick’s voice, just more, ethereal or something. Like it had the power of the universe behind it.
The cold feeling settled somewhere between his shoulder blades. It reminded Sam of a big cat snuggling up against him, all lazy contentment.
Hallucination-Lucifer – having apparently been momentarily blown away by the force of the spell – popped back into existence and leered at Sam.
“You’re cheating, Sammy,” he pouted. “Not fair.”
That’s downright disturbing , Lucifer commented as his copy disappeared. Your hallucinations have been temporarily fixed. Patching up your soul permanently will require more time.
Sam let go of another shaky breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding. Having Lucifer this close actually felt comforting. He stood up and disposed the evidence of the summoning. Better not tell Dean about it for a while. Then he threw the contents of the mug out of the window onto the dusty ground below and climbed into bed again. Silence. He closed his eyes and sleep came immediately and dreamlessly.