Summery: Lucifer appears while Sam is making breakfast. Perhaps Sam isn't dealing as well with the hallucinations as Dean thought.
AN/ This is the shortest thing I think I have ever written.
The cheap motel that Sam and Dean had crashed at was less than stellar. It had come with no curtains, so the sun came beating in at the fantastic hour at six am. Sam wasn't incredibly surprised to roll over on the hard mattress and find that Dean wasn't in his own bed. Probably out drinking, like he had started to do more and more often.
Sam rolled back over, the thin stained sheets twisting around him as he did. Rubbing his eyes, he groaned. If he could just shut that sun off...
He took a deep breath, exhaled and then sat up groggily. His eyes took a quick sweep of the crummy room- peeling wallpaper, leaking ceiling, stained furniture, Dean's empty bed...wait...
Sam did a double take and was immidiately awake, adrenaline rushing through his veins. The bed wasn't empty.
"Heya Sammy," the 'man' sitting there said, leaning against the headboard waved at Sam, who struggled to get up and out of the sheets that he was still entangled in.
"Lucifer," he said flatly. He should have been used to the fallen angel's appearances by now, but he really just couldn't. After all the time, the torture and the games and the pain, it was impossible.
"You're out," he reminded himself, "He is not real."
Sam tried to ignore him, getting out of the bed and striding over to the kitchen and grabbing some eggs from the fridge. He pulled out the frying pan from a cupboard above the stove as he watch Lucifer walk into the kitchen area from his periferal vision. Sam didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he was bothering him.
Sam started up the stove.
Lucifer strode over beside Sam, peeking over his shoulder.
"Whatcha cooking?" He asked, and Sam turned and glared, pressing his lips into a thin line. Exhaling prominently, he turned back to his cooking.
"So you can't physically torture me here, so you're resorting to annoying me now? I know you're not real," he said as he peppered the eggs, and Lucifer shrugged, grabbing some of the sizzling eggs out of the pan and throwing them at Sam. It hit his arm, and stung like Hell. Sam leaped away from the stove, clinging to his arm.
"Yeah, maybe," he said, and then he grinned, "But sometimes you've got your doubts."
Sam looked down at the stinging spot on his arm as Lucifer opened the drawer off to the side, searching around before finding a pink apron and tieing it on. Pulling up his sleaves, Sam watched as the devil began cooking the eggs.
"I am not eating anything you make." Sam said, standing slighty off to the side unsure of what to do. Lucifer turned with a wicked smirk.
"Why not? You should know how good I am at carving up meat, and cooking it until it's well done." Sam shuddered, before walking foreward more confidently.
"You know what, you can get out now," He said, shoving him aside roughly. Lucifer's eyes widened, and he laughed.
"So strong now that you're out of the pit, huh? Did you forget what I can do, Sammy?" He hissed, and Sam stopped cold, fear pulsing through him. No, he didn't forget. He could never forget.
Lucifer grabbed the scolding frying pan off of the stove and looked as if he were ready to swing. Sam braced himself for the impact and pain and stench of his own buring, melting flesh and the crunch of-
"Sammy?" Dean's voice came from the doorway to the kitchen, staring at his brother witha bottle of whiskey in his hand.
Sam was standing there in a pink apron, with a new red burn on his arm, holding a frying pan up above his head, staring up at it as if ready to drop. There were bits of scrambled eggs on the floor, and Sam's face was screwed up in a mix of fear and anger.
He looked at Dean, and then at the fan above his head. He slowly lowered the pan, putting it down on the counter and switching off the stove slowly, looking down at his handsfor a long time.
Dean, with nothing to say, turned and left. Sam stayed standing there for along time.
"Oh great, you've ruined breakfast."