Destruction

Rating R for suicide/violence/gore; 1,510 words; spoilers for SPN 5.03
written for zuben_eschamali prompt on the spn_hurtcomfort fic meme; prompt: "Sam tries to kill himself, multiple times, but Lucifer keeps bringing him back to life. "Mystery Spot", only darker."

***

When he looks up, Lucifer is gone, leaving only a heavy silence behind him. Sam's quivering knees give out landing him on the end of the bed. His cheeks are damp with tears; tears of anger, confusion, grief, but most of all, defeat. He can feel it pressing down on his chest like a ton of bricks making each and every breath a struggle.

He is Lucifer's vessel. And his nightmare is far from over.

***

He feels like he's barely been asleep twenty minutes when he's startled awake by a quiet rustle in the otherwise still room. Automatically his hand slides under the pillow, fingers curling around the grip of his 9mm. With practiced moves, he is out of the bed, standing, gun aimed at the figure hovering by the window in a matter of seconds.

"Have you given my offer any thought?" Nick turns half-way around, silver moonlight illuminating his profile. There is a smirk dancing on his lips as he nods toward the gun in Sam's hand. "It might as well be filled with holy water for all the effect it will have on me."

Sam doesn't move an inch, keeping the gun trained on Lucifer's vessel.

"Get out," he mutters between clenched teeth. "Get out before I start shooting."

Nick's head rolls back on his shoulders as he barks out a laugh. "Come on, Sam. I'm just here to talk. Besides, you can't kill me with that."

Sam's arms slacken, moving the gun away from Lucifer but not dropping it either. "No, I can't kill you." He puts the barrel flush against his temple, finger jumping nervously against the trigger. "But I can kill myself."

The smirk falls away from Nick's lips as he turns to face Sam fully, looking more annoyed than anything. "I told you, Sam. If you kill yourself, I will just bring you back. You are my vessel and I will let no harm come to you."

He takes a step forward, but Sam instantly jerks back a pace as well, hand tightening his grip on the gun.

"Stay back," he warns; his voice sharp with desperation. He knows, without a doubt, that he will pull the trigger if he has to. "Just … stay away."

Lucifer smiles again, hands held out in front of him, placating Sam. "Okay. Okay. You want to test me? Go ahead, Sam. Pull the trigger; see how serious I really am."

Sam's finger tightens a fraction, his eyes never leaving Nick's face. He looks on wearily, just waiting for Sam to decide.

"Go ahead, Sam. Pull the trigger. But I will bring you right back. Try me. Pull the trigger." Lucifer takes a step forward and Sam has no where to retreat to, his back pressed against the wall.

"Pull the trigger, Sam. Go on, do it." Another step forward and Sam is panicking. "Pull the trigger." Two more steps and Nick will be right in front of him.

Sam isn't sure what scares him more, pulling the trigger and dying, or pulling the trigger and still living. But either way he's going to prove his point. He'd rather die than help Lucifer. And he's gonna go down swinging.

Looking directly into Lucifer's eyes, Sam smirks as he pulls the trigger.

***

He jackknifes in bed, instantly awake. His breaths come in gasps and his heart is galloping away in his chest. Sam scans the room but nothing appears out of place. He almost thinks it could be just a bad dream if it weren't for his gun lying on the bedside table, one bullet short of a full clip.

That night he grabs two bottles of whiskey from under the bar before he heads back to the motel. He gets through one bottle, breaking the seal on the other, when Lucifer appears.

"Are we going to do this again tonight, Sam? Or are you ready to talk?" Nick seats himself on the wooden chair and watches Sam closely.

Sam just tucks back another couple swallows of the whiskey, meeting Nick's gaze head on.

"Well a bullet to the brain couldn't do it last night. What makes you think trying to drink yourself to death will work any better?"

Sam grunts miserably and flops back on the bed, half-empty bottle landing beside him. Maybe if the alcohol poisoning doesn't kill him, he'll chock on his own vomit, Sam thinks as the world grows blessedly dark around the edges.

***

The next night Sam strings a rope from the beam above the bar once everyone has left. He slides the noose around his neck, tightening it, before he steps off the counter.

His body struggles and heaves as his air supply is cut off. His fingers rip at the rope around his neck and his mouth opens and closes spastically as he tries to pull in air. But it is all reflex. He wants this now. He wants to die rather than become another demonic tool of destruction.

Even as his vision dims, Sam catches sight of Nick standing at the back of the bar shaking his head in disappointment. He knows he's failed yet again.

***

Sam doesn't even realize the passing of the next night until he wakes up to his alarm and the afternoon sunshine. For a few moments he is hopeful. No late night visit, no need for another suicide attempt. Maybe Lucifer has take the hint and backed off.

It isn't until he's walking down the street that night, heading for his shift at the bar, that he sees Nick again. He's leaning casually against a streetlight across the road, eyes tracking Sam's every move, face impassive.

Sam doesn't think twice before stepping in the street and into the path of a speeding SUV.

***

Sam is at his wits end. He's tried everything he could think of for the passed two weeks and each and every time Lucifer brings him back.

He brought him back after he jumped off the bridge into the rushing river below. And him washing down a bottle of painkillers with a bottle tequila. He survived a knife to the chest and a fall from a five story apartment building. He even walked into a building filled with demons unarmed armed but none of them would touch him. He stepped in front of bus, set the motel room on fire, and took a bath with the hair dryer and yet here he was. Still alive.

He was feeling crazy with desperation and fear. There had to be a way. There had to be something that could kill him.

When Nick showed up that night Sam was sitting on the bed with his knife in hand ready for another round.

"Sam, you can't be serious. You haven't succeeded yet, nor will I let you. You are my vessel and I will keep you alive no matter what you do." Nick sighed heavily and sat down in the chair across from Sam. "Are you ready to talk yet or do we need to delay the inevitable for yet another night?"

In response, Sam set the blade to the inside of his left wrist and drew it upwards. The skin split wide open, a deep gouge in the one unmarred flesh. Blood poured out of it, staining his jeans and the sheets bright red.

"I will not be your vessel," he whispered, voice tight with pain. With a whimper, he set the blade against his other arm. "I will do everything in my power to make sure it doesn't happen. Even if I have to kill myself over and over, every night. I will not but your puppet." Wit that he drew the blade up his other forearm.

Sam refused to break eye contact with Lucifer. He glared at him head on even when his body began to shake and the knife slipped from his grip. Even when his vision grew dark and it was getting harder and harder to breathe.

He would not give in.

***

His eyes snapped open a split second before his heart lurched in his chest and his lungs re-inflated. It took a dizzying minute for him to become aware of his surroundings, but when he did, he felt bile rise in his throat.

He was still seated on the bed, knife lying on the pillow next to him. Fresh, wet blood still coated his unmarked arms, stuck to his jeans and stained the sheets around him.

With a cry of frustration, Sam was up off the bed slamming his fist into the wall. But more than frustration, he could feel the panic beginning to rise up in his chest, about to explode. He was in deeper than he thought and he knew there was no escape this time. At least, not by himself.

Before he even realized it, his phone was in his hand, fingers dialing out of memory. Each unanswered ring had his hopes falling a little farther until finally the other line picked up.

"Dean? Please, I need your help."

***

End.