This is my take on what happened to Sam from the time he fell into the pit until he reappears on Earth. All characters belong to the writers and creators of Supernatural.
There will be swearing typical of the show.
***Comments are love***
Hell's Half Acre, or Sam Winchester's Journey in the Lands of the Dead
"Determined will is the beginning of all magical operations... it is because men do not perfectly imagine and believe the result that the arts (of magic) are uncertain, while they might be perfectly certain."
Tumbling Tightness Trapped
Birdsong brightness breezy
Sweet sugar spices
Dreams give way to the sounds of a summer morning and the gentle caress of gauzy curtains surrounding the enormous bed. Everything is white, soft; ethereal. Sweet smells like flowers or baked goods fill the air, and as he pushes himself to a sitting position he sees that the room is overflowing with white roses.
He lowers first one, then another foot cautiously to the smooth tiled floor. It too, is white and stretches from beyond the room he occupies to a wide and seemingly endless corridor.
There are no memories to access, this place is as much a mystery to him as who he is and how he got there.
Each time the man thinks he is nearing the end of the passage, it seems to grow farther away. After what seems to be ten minutes (or was it an hour) he turns left and enters a room. Inside, there is a mirror, and as he stares at his reflection for some indeterminate time he ponders his name. Weren't there two names he held? His eyes are somewhat blue and somewhat green, and so fascinated is he trying to count the flecks of amber within their depth, he is unaware of the rustle of wings coming from the doorway.
A noise like the sound of an approaching tornado encompasses the room and a voice speaks within his head.
"You're mine. You think you can walk freely here, when you stole my freedom?"
"I, uh, I can explain." Words tumble from trembling lips, a lie to buy time. Through the mirror he can see the monster behind him. It stands on two legs like a man, but there the resemblance gives way to slick oily skin, four eyes and a tail that twitches from side to side like an angry cat's. From the depths of his memory, its identity is known. The Morningstar, the fallen angel Lucifer, the Devil himself in his true form.
"Stop!" His feeble command is interrupted by an explosion of pain and an unearthly sound which brings him to his knees, as the screeching hits a perfect unearthly high note his location becomes apparent.
The horned creature has every advantage. The man, for he is certainly human and not angel, crawls to the wall and huddles where it meets the floor, as if he could ever make his long body into something small and unnoticeable. There is a whimper echoing on the cold floor, which is no longer white, nor tile, nor even clean. No, instead he sees filth on his hands as he raises them to protect himself from the Devil. Sharp claws pierce his flesh, and in an instant he remembers some story that was told to him of this place, and of another time when torture was dealt at the end of a knife blade. He tries in vain to access the memory, the person who told him this horrid tale, but the pain of having his lungs torn from his flesh is too present, too excruciating for him to bear. He wants to die, but knows there is no death, for this is death, this is eternal.
He knows he should be afraid, because he is already dead and this is most certainly Hell. But a new voice, deeper then his own and more silken, lulls him like Dorothy in the field of poppies. "Move on from this place". The voice seems familiar, but every thought he attempts to bring to the surface of his consciousness pales in the bright light.
Somehow, he is again lying in the fluffy, rose scented bed. He opens his eyes to mirror images of his own peering down at him. Yet when were his eyes ever so cold and devoid of emotion?
"You're lucky, my brother was about to smite you. He's not too happy being locked up. And with me."
"Where am I?"
"My Own Private Idaho. AKA, the Cage. You know, you opened the door, you let me out and then you opened the door and put me back in..."
"Always with such contempt, it means light bearer, you know." The fallen angel sits at the edge of the bed looking more bemused than angry. "I see that your brain is finally making a recovery. It was a little touch and go there for awhile, never thought you'd wake up. Or that maybe you'd become some sort of half wit."
"So, back there, in that room, that was Michael?"
"You're a quick study Sammy. Yes, and in his true form no less, which at least proves my theory right."
"You still have your two eyes. And the rest of you. I can't protect you from Michael, and I'm not so sure I should. I mean, Sam. Two millennia I've worked to find the right human and the right conditions to free me from this place, and you had to go and ruin it all. It makes me very angry."
The white suited angel leaned forward to caress his vessel's chin.
"So disappointing. I thought you'd be different from the rest, a little higher up the food chain than a common cockroach. Sammy, you were made in my image. Foolish really, we could have done so much."
"Oh yeh, like burn the world."
"No, that was Michael's plan. Did you ever think to ask me mine?"
"Do you ever tire of the sound of your own voice?"
"Now that sarcasm, so unnecessary. It isn't going to get you anywhere. Not in here. This, everything you see? My Matrix. You like this soft bed? It's my creation. I was going to give you everything you ever wanted. Your family, your mother, even Jess. Here, you still can have anything you want. "cept out.
"I. Don't want. Anything! From you. Never asked for this destiny." His eyes were misty now. "I just wanted to be normal."
"You were born a vessel, less a human, more an angel. Normal, was never on your plate."
"Don't give me that crap, you hate us."
"True. My father tired of his older children and wanted new playthings. Why? Weren't we good enough for him? He made us perfect, beautiful, gave us divine grace, and still. He made you little apes so damaged, so capable of heinous acts that would rival any demon, and with so little grace some of you could never even imagine Heaven. Why make such flawed creatures? Why disturb the universe? But the worst thing? Being asked to bow before such filth."
His mind recalls another who would have begged the fallen angel to stick the self-pity where the sun doesn't shine. That being had chutzpah enough for the both of them and Sam found himself laughing, just slightly, at the idea of him irritating the whiny being.
"Why do you laugh, Sam Winchester? You've cursed us all to this eternal pit. Michael and I've torn each other to shreds and reassembled at least a hundred times and that sanctimonious bastard still swears his obedience to our father. Still tries to kill me, every single day. Meanwhile you and that vessel child have been sleeping on and on for a century or so..."
"Adam is here?"
"Of course, remember, we dragged his sorry ass and Michael in with us."
Sam thinks back for a moment. Suddenly there are two men, one beaten, collapsed on the ground, another, possessed, righteous. The beaten one, there is emotion there-a connection, and a name.
"Dean? We hurt him?"
"We spared him his life. He's just fine. As is Adam."
"I wanna see him."
"He sleeps, like you did. I doubt he will wake anytime soon. He hasn't your constitution."
"What's that suppose to mean?"
"Sam, you've had demon blood your whole life, what exactly do you think is in that elixir?"
Sam is confused, a frown crosses his face; so Lucifer continues.
"My Grace. I used my Grace to make the demons. Their blood contains my power. Oh, don't look so shocked, it's a simple concept. My little F-you to my father. Don't tell me you never had contempt for your dad?"
"I might of hated my dad, might of taken off, but I never hurt anyone to piss him off. So...just stop with the comparisons, all right?"
"Whatever you say, my padawan. Just stay in this room, or Michael will carve you to pieces."
In the time it took to blink, Lucifer had vanished.
Sam has no intention of remaining in the room. Spending eternity is a chamber more fit for a princess would not only be restrictive, it would be down right embarrassing. The only problem is, after what seems like weeks, Sam has yet to find a door. And each time he approaches the window, it grows further away. Yet, despite his frustrations, there is no urgency.
Maybe it's been weeks, months or years, but finally Sam discovers the secret to his egress is the same mind control he used for telekinesis; only now he thinks of where he wants to be coming to him rather than pushing it away. As he stares from his window at the impossible drop to the rocks below, he envisions the bottom being mere feet away, and with a literal leap of faith he is free.
Outside the confines of the mansion, the landscape resembles Mars, but the temperature remains comfortable and the air cool and sweet So Sam Winchester begins his trek to no where.
He is crossing an area where the red rocks are large boulders when he hears a sound like thunder. Since he has been here it has never rained, never stormed. He fears he knows exactly what is coming, and takes refuge behind an enormous outcropping.
The face before him is familiar, unlined and young. It takes him a moment to place the name of his younger half-brother. Though a human male, he senses the being is far from human; that this is just one form the being before him can take.
"Michael?" Sam swallows hard as he recognizes the face of his younger half-brother, worn by Heaven's fiercest warrior. Lucifer has warned him that Michael will be one seriously pissed off archangel. Sam already knows what happens when archangels feel wronged, they have a tendency towards violent creativity. Creative archangels brings to mind Gabriel, who may have killed in the name of justice, but always seemed to be on their side. Our side. Sam can see him now, his big brother Dean and it gives him strength to face the fearsome creature before him.
"It didn't have to be this way. We could have stopped it all."
"What makes you think you know how any of this was to come to pass? It was long foretold that Lucifer and I would fight, until you little maggots interrupted God's plan."
"God's plan? Are you kidding. God doesn't want his sons fighting and destroying the Earth. Why would you ever think that was so?"
"You insignificant prick, you know how many angels have ever seen my father, talked to him face to face? Four! Archangels, his first creation. And then you come along, and you, some simple minded baby, think you know what's best. The arrogance."
"You know you're starting to sound more and more like your brother." Definitely not the right thing to say. Michael was upon him in an instant. Fists of marble crushing Sam's facial bones instantly.
"Let me remind you of how you treated your brother." Michael grips him about the neck , choking off his air. "You don't know me, you never have, and you never will." Images of Dean, bleeding, gasping, flash before him.
Michael's gone, and Sam reaches his hand to feel his broken face and finds it whole. It is wet, not with blood, but tears. He is crying, loud child-like sobs when he pictures Dean broken. His own body over powered by demon blood and a crazy need to assert his will. He had choked Dean, pulled back before doing any damage, but still. And Dean had forgiven him, had always tried to save him from his own evil self. What had he given him in return? Dean should have hunted him, should have ended him before he unleashed this evil upon the Earth. He walks a few miles before taking rest on a smooth flat stone. He doesn't know where he is going, or even what the point of his journey is, but he knows one thing for sure, Hell is a place where he belongs.
He isn't sure who is after him, both have the face of a lion and the talons of eagles. One clamps his large jaws around Sam's torso and the other goes for his throat. "Oh God please." He begs before he can speak no more. One of them, whose face morphs into something vaguely representing a man, removes a piece of his intestine from his mouth before speaking.
"If God were involved, do you think any of this would be going on? Here, try this, it's delicious." He gags as his own flesh is forced passed clenched teeth. The pain is everywhere and as his body reassembles itself he is aware that the sky has taken on a sulfuric tone, the soil beneath him shifts and he is covered in writhing insects.
"Creative, Brother. Some maggots for the maggot." The one who speaks tears his arm from its socket and Sam screams over and over again until the other brother's beak like face pierces his larynx. The torture is endless. He suffers, dies, and is reborn. His pleas go unanswered. These are angry beings, and he is not beyond reason to find it ironic that they have found something to which they can agree. Unfortunately it is his torment.
Someone he loved also was tortured like this, but through his pain, he can no longer remember the name. All he knows is that he wants it to end, he'll give anything to be back in the safety of his chamber, anything. Fighting the smells of his bodily fluids he concentrates on the roses in his room, their color, the softness of the petals and the thorn less stems. He sees the soft bed and the gauzy curtains, and he loops this vision in his mind.
The room is not exactly as he remembered it, but it's been months, maybe years since he was there. The roses have all withered and dried. The curtains are faded and torn and the whole room has a musty smell of death. But he is whole again, clothed in white, but barefoot. The tiles beneath his feet are still cold, but grimy with filth. Somehow he wonders if this wasn't always truly so.
There is another human somewhere in this place. Younger, sleeping, who is he? Adam? Brother? Sam closes his eyes and concentrates on the young man who was dragged into the pit with him. When he opens his eyes he is in a chamber like his own, but cleaner. Again, there is the sweet smell of roses and the large white bed. Lying under the covers is a male human barely out of his teens, and Sam finds himself feeling the need to protect him. He is across the room in an instant and shaking the boy lightly. "Wake up, we have to get out of here."
"And go where?" A voice responds, but it is not Adam.
"Leave him alone." Sam turns to face the monster that had previously tortured him, but sees his own face instead. "He didn't put you here, he doesn't even know what he's doing."
"True, he doesn't exist. Don't look so confused, he is neither alive nor dead, not sleeping, not dreaming, just there, as you were for perhaps a hundred years. It would have been better if you had continued in your limbo. I will not hurt the boy, not now. But you, you don't like following orders do you?"
"You can't make me stay in that room."
"Obviously not, something's all fired up in you. But here's the deal. You might be some kind of powerful hybrid, but you're no match for an archangel. When I find you, and I will, you'll wish for what Michael and I were doing in that grotto."
"Then I guess I'll make sure you don't find me."
"You think those sigils Cas carved into your ribs work here? You aren't really corporeal." Lucifer laughed a short huff. "My Matrix, remember? Good luck avoiding us."
"What? You two on speaking terms now?"
The fallen angel picked at the blood in his nails, bored. "More like shouting, but yeh, when it comes down to hunting you. You might say we've formed an alliance. See you 'round".
In a flutter of wings the archangel is gone. Sam tries again to wake Adam. He considers taking his younger brother with him, but he doesn't even know where he is headed.
"I'll come back for you, promise." And with the will of his mind, he too disappears in a quiet rumble of thunder.