Summary. . . . . . . . . . Lucifer and Michael seek their revenge on Sam.
Disclaimer. . . . . . . . . Not mine, never will be, yada, yada, yada.
A.N. . . . . . . . . . Just a very short ramble about Sam's time in hell, whilst I wait for inspiration to return for my chapter fics. Catch you soon, Peanut x
I tremble in anticipation and lust, craving that next hit like those pitiful wasters I have all to often seen roaming around topside, as I stand alongside my brother, our own battles forgotten as we watch rivulets of rich garnet trickle down across the taut, strained, and trembling muscles of our common enemy, streaming around the protruding, broken bones of his arms and legs, or pooling within the gulley of his caved in back.
We're united once more, bonded once again as only family can be, by the prey that brought us to this fiery lair, the prey that now lies splayed before us; neck restrained, his head turned to one side; arms, pulled further than their natural limits, to each side, rusted inch thick nails keeping hands secured; ankles stretched, feet bent secured by yet more nails, toes pointed; a crucifixion in every sense of the word, only staged so that we can prolong the torturous suffering we're inflicting.
It's eyes are stitched open, bloodshot whites surrounding color no longer discernable and dilated pupils, allowing me to witness what others had all through his life, the inability to hide what he truly is feeling at any given time. His hearing has been taken, my brother's idea to increase the fear and trepidation of our prey, and I must admit to drinking in the terror that rolls off of our victim every time he sneaks up and runs a hand across goose bump littered flesh.
I congratulate my sibling for his quick thinking in wiring our victims jaws shut, metal glinting in the firelight, stained with bubbling blood and saliva. It doesn't stop all of the noise, but at least that insistent pleading has been stopped, now only muted screams of agony can be heard, adding to the thrill I'm already feeling, a thrill I'm sure my brother is feeling too.
We move as one, but only I can see the terror in our preys eyes, as he sees my arm reach out, his body tensing even though it causes even more agony to rush through him, as his brain reminds him of past experiences and just what suffering this one gesture can bring. Our fingers touch the sweat slicked skin at the same time, digging into the flesh easily like a hot knife to butter, our digits slicing, trailing down the naked torso, over bare buttocks and down exposed thighs, leaving two very different tracks in their wake, mine bubbling and blistering, my brother's chapped and cracked, fire and ice.
We look at each other, just a quick fleeting glance, but it's enough for us both to see the same reluctance written in each others eyes, a reluctance not to mend things so quickly this time, a reluctance not to ease the suffering for even just a remotest of time, but instead to break him even more, inflict even more pain, snap even more bones, and release even more blood.
It's my brother's idea to try something different, to inflict misery psychologically instead of physically, so we project our preys essence to another place, allow him to stand and watch as another lives life without him. It works at first, the misery rolls off of him in waves that wash over us and we drink it in, but it doesn't last and we soon realize just what a terrible mistake we have made as the suffering subsides, and the terror retreats, and the fears ebb, to be replaced by acceptance and contentment, and from that moment on our fun has ended.
No matter what we do, we cannot take away the vision he has seen. No matter how vicious our inflictions, we receive none of the suffering we previously had, and our anger grows. His eyes once so expressive, are now blank. His cries once so loud, are now silent. His body once so chiseled and tense, is now soft and relaxed. Our anger unable to penetrate, is forced else where, minions drop by the thousands before us, but it brings us little relief. Our play has been ended, or has it? Our thoughts turn instead to another, one that obviously means so much to our prey, one that thinks he can walk away and leave all his past behind, one that has surrounded himself with vulnerability, and our minds link as one as we plan our next move.
A.N. . . . . . . . . . Well I hope that you enjoyed? Peanut x