Title: My Own Private Hell
Author: Disasteriffic Kaz
Info: You know, being trapped inside Sam Winchester's head is a torture all its own. A little trip down Hallucifer lane. Post 7x14 "Plucky Pennywhistle's Magical Menagerie" tormented!Sam awesome/caring!Dean but mostly good old Luci.
Author's Note: A plot bunny bounced in with a twisted gleam in its eye and Sam….Sam ended up having a very bad day. :P WARNING for some disturbing imagery and mentions of non-con.
Beta'd by the always awesome JaniceC678 :D– Friend and Muse's co-conspirator.
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You know, being trapped inside Sam Winchester's head is a torture all its own. No one thinks of that. Certainly not Dean the Righteous every time he looks in little brother's eyes and promises he's escaped and safe, but here I am, still stuck, still trying to win what little I can of poor Sam's brain a piece at a time.
"That's right, Sammy. Not goin' anywhere." I do a little dance in front of him, and damn how I love watching his whole body twitch and his face pale while he fights so hard to not see me. I can't help but roll my eyes as Sam goes for that scar on his left hand…again, like it's going to make a difference this time. Sure, he bundles me off into his subconscious once in a while with that, but I haven't really left and he knows it.
"Sammy. Sammy!" I flick a little hellfire at his feet just to watch him suck in that panicked breath. "You gotta talk to me eventually. We can't keep having these one-sided conversations."
Sigh. Ignoring me and playing with that damn scar again. I wish I had the power to make it vanish. As I watch Dean lead little brother to bed again, I wish I had the power to make HIM vanish. Oh, how much trouble would Sam be in then? No one to talk to or rely on…except me. It's such a happy thought, I lose myself in it for a while, imagining all the things I could do to Dean, remembering all the things that were done to him once upon a time. Now THERE was a soul who knew how to embrace Hell. I'll give the elder Winchester that. Dean got off that rack and made Alastair look like a puppy some days. He was an exceptional student…which is why it galls me so much to see that melancholy, brotherly, disgusting…affection on his face now every time he realizes I'm sending Sam's marbles rolling for the corners. He could be so much more!
Doesn't he realize what he has here? What WE have here? I mean, Sam is broken! I don't mean, he's a little run-down, sort of unstable…I mean bonafide, grade-A, rubber room, crazy train material! All he needs are a few nudges in the right direction. Speaking of, I've left Sam alone too long and he's actually feeling relaxed…can't have that.
"Hey, bunk buddy. What would Dean think, do you suppose, about our…quality time together? Hmm?" I love this, the way he stiffens up, afraid to even move, like a mouse with a hawk circling that knows one twitch is all it will take to draw its attention and get him eaten. I slide my arms around his waist and smooth a hand up his chest because, hey, I had two hundred years to learn every inch, inside and out of him, and Sam? Sam is practically vibrating with the need to scream now. "You think he'd still love you? Think he wouldn't look at you with disgust in his eyes? I don't know. He's a very judgmental kind of guy." I slide a hand down his backside with a laugh, and Sam is away from me like a shot and trying not to let big brother know he's running from me again.
I give him a day and quietly snicker at the three scalding hot showers he feels the need to take before I play with him some more because he's so much more receptive when he's had a little time to twitch, wondering where I am. I wait for Dean to go grab some food and then it's game on. I throw up hellfire to crackle across the walls and floor, and Sam's eyes are so wide he looks like an owl. I run my hand down his back with ice shivering out over his skin, and he's breathing so hard I might just get him to go into arrest, so I snap my fingers and those chains we loved so much come crashing through the ceiling. They wrap around his arms and pull him, shouting for big brother, off the bed to hang before me and STILL he averts his eyes from mine. He pretends he doesn't see me even when I rip his stomach open and let his guts spill out on the floor. Even as I laugh and smear his own blood on his face while he shakes and cries and moans for freedom…even while the small part of his brain I live in wonders again and again if Dean is wrong and he's still trapped in the cage for eternity with me and all this…all this is just stage setting.
"Can't quite tell anymore, can you, Sammy?" I ask him and step in close, letting his blood warm my cool skin and take his face in my hands. No matter how close I get, he still won't meet my eyes and that's just damn frustrating. "You remember this game. All you have to is beg. Just once, just a little, just ask me to stop and I will." I curl my hands into his face, my nails tearing through skin and muscle down to bone until I'm grasping his jaw while he stubbornly pulls his head up and away. "Just ask, kiddo."
Every pet name Dean or his father ever had for him, I use because it makes him twitch. It makes him hurt and it makes him a little more mine every time. "Come on, tiger. All you have to do is say please." Sam's head gives the most minute twitch 'no' and I grin, shit, I purr and slide my hands out of the flesh of his face. "So close, Sammy." I run my hands through the blood to the back of his neck and dig my nails in there. Sam always had a weak spot for that. There were days he could take me, and even Michael, ripping him apart for hours on end and make barely more than a whimper, but this…this always made him scream. Every. Damn. Time.
I dig my nails in along his spine below his neck and pull, digging them into the vertebrae through the muscle and tissue and get my scream. I do it again and earn another, but, dammit, he doesn't beg me to stop, and there on the curtains, are the lights from that damn car. I admit, I want to take that car apart piece by piece and drop them into the lowest level of the pit and watch it melt it into nothing but the stain it is on what should have been my proudest moment. I hate that car. Every time I look at it, I can see it, like it's looking back at me and mocking me with the knowledge that a hunk of metal and machinery was somehow able to let Sam win control of me at the most important moment in human history.
I let Sam go with the rumble of that damnable engine outside to drop to the bed in a gasping, sobbing heap and wipe my hands. "Not done yet, bunk buddy. Not by a long shot." But Sam just crawls to the bathroom and turns the shower on before his brother makes it back in the room, calling for him. I listen to Sam's shaky voice, telling Dean he's taking a shower and shake my head. Dean really should know better by now. How many showers can a guy Sam's size really need in one day?
Sometimes, it's the little things that give me the most pleasure. Like, twisting Sam's fracturing little mind so every time he drinks something, it tastes like blood. Every bite of green salad tastes like the meat of his late, lamented little half-brother Adam's flesh. Michael may have done the humane thing and sent the kid's soul on to heaven before coming to fight me, but Sam didn't know that. He still doesn't, or his big brother. I know it's killing Sam inside a little every day thinking their lost, found, and lost again brother is suffering the torments that were meant for him every day until the sun goes out. I wonder if Dean even thinks of the kid. Probably not. Poor little Adam never really had time to fully get onto Dean's 'family' radar.
"Sam." I slide into his line of sight while he's hunched behind a tree with a silver blade. Some pathetic shapeshifter that I'll enjoy watching die. There are demons and there are angels, and everything else on this, Daddy Dearest's favorite creation, is pond scum in need of extermination, but that doesn't mean I can't have a little fun with Sam. "Sammy." I kneel in front of him, watching his eyes veer away from me and smirk. "You'll put your eye out with that." I flick my wrist, and Sam barely manages to choke off the howl as his eye is, indeed, poked out.
I laugh and watch him scrabble at his eye before he digs that thumb into that scar and curls over himself gasping as he finds his eye back where it should be. "This is why we can't have nice things, Sammy." He climbs back to his feet, and then Dean is there…again…with that look on his face like he knows exactly what I just did to his little brother. If he could see me, I know just what his face would look like - death. That's a reward all in itself, being able to torture little Sammy Winchester in front of his personal damn guard dog who knows I'm doing it and can't do a thing to stop it.
"Pay attention, Sam. Don't wanna end up shapeshifter bait and be a liability." It's calculated and it works as guilt flows over Sam's face like water before he closes down and smiles at his brother to reassure him. "Right, buddy. Dean totally buys your 'I'm not losing it, I'm fine' face." I love the way his shoulders tighten up with my voice. He's so close to giving in and speaking to me. I can feel it.
A day later, another motel room with Sam stitching up a cut in his brother's shoulder and I can't help myself. I need to make his hands twitch. I need…to hurt Dean. It's not often I get big brother under both our hands. Sam is so very careful these days, like he knows how much I enjoy it…how much I want to hurt him by hurting Dean.
I don't make a noise. I don't even whistle, although I'm partial to Stairwayto Heaven. I snap my fingers, and the chains are back, erupting from the floor and the ceiling. Ice crawls over the walls, and Sam's not-so-steady hands. They jerk and Dean shouts.
"GOAL!" I shout and throw my hands up in the air. What the hell, I even make my own roaring crowd noise while Dean curses, and Sam, well Sam looks like he wants to crawl under the bed and eat his own gun…again. The apologies make me gag. Seriously. Sam all but crawls on his knees, hovers over Dean who I can tell is fighting the urge to walk away and try to finish it himself, but he's so determined to show Sam he trusts him that he lets him back at his shoulder with the needle.
Oh, hell yes. It's Christmas in my own private hell! "Careful, Sammy." No point in not talking to him now. He knows I'm here. "Wouldn't want to hurt big brother again. Look at him. He doesn't trust you. He's waiting for you to screw up again." I watch his eyes narrow, tighten. His mouth is closed tight and his eyes are so firmly focused on Dean's shoulder a marching band could come through the room and he wouldn't see them.
"Huh. Good idea." I wave my arms and a marching band comes through the room. Well, it's me, so it's a marching band from a high school bus trip that took a little…detour off a cliff while I was still walking the earth. They're bloodied and bleeding, mangled, missing limbs, playing so far off key even I have trouble while I'm belting out 'American Pie,' but, dammit, I'm trying. Sam is shaking. I can see it as I hit the third verse and one of the cheerleaders…legless, crawls over toward him, and, hell, I'm jumping up and down now because I can see it. It's there in his eyes. Sam is a second away from screaming at me to stop. It's in every damn line of his body. His eyes have started a slow rise from Dean's shoulder, and I'm almost on my knees waiting for it while the drummer's head lolls off his shoulders and splatters blood across Dean's back.
"Just say it, Sammy. That's all. One word." I look up, and a chain steaming with hellfire snakes slowly out of the ceiling. It wraps around Sam's throat with all the care of a lover, and he's there. He's going to say it. All he has to do is say one word, just one, and I win…one word and he's mi…
Sam gasped and stared down at the blood welling out of his left palm and the small knife Dean held as he gripped his wrist tightly. "Dean?"
"Take a breath, buddy." Dean watched Sam's eyes as they skittered around the room nervously and then landed on him. He worked to stay calm, but it was tough when he'd realized Sam had gone completely still, hadn't answered his voice, and seemed to be watching things, horrific things, that only he could see.
"Dean." Sam sucked in a breath and then another and shuddered so hard he was surprised he didn't fall off the bed. "Sorry…I'm sorry."
"Take it easy." Dean had done the only thing he could think of when digging his thumb into his brother's hand hadn't been enough. "He gone?"
Sam met his eyes and nodded slowly, shakily. "Yeah. Yeah, he's…he's not here now." He scrubbed a hand over his face and tried to stop his heart galloping, because he'd almost given in. It drove his blood cold, how close he'd come.
"Ok, you're done." Dean bent to look at his shoulder and nodded. It really only needed one more stitch, and he could do without it. This was more important. He pulled gauze and antiseptic out of the first aid kit and poured the latter over the fresh cut, making Sam hiss and Dean grimaced. "Sorry, buddy. I had to do it."
"No. No, thank you. I'm…God, Dean."
"You're alright." Dean ducked his head to see Sam's face where he'd hung his head. "You know that right? You? Me? Real world here. Not hell. That son of a bitch ain't really here."
Sam nodded. "Yeah. I know. You got me out." He managed a wan smile and let his brother wrap the gauze around his hand tightly to stop the bleeding. "Sorry."
"Don't." Dean tucked the ends of the gauze in securely and gave Sam's shoulder a shove until he went over into the bed. "Time for sleep, little brother, and don't give me any crap."
Sam smiled, relieved to know that Dean was there…even more relieved to have the parade of horrors stopped, at least for now, and he closed his eyes with Dean's hand on his shoulder like a talisman against the devil in his head…even if just for a night.
I will get him. One of these days, he'll be on his own. He won't have sainted Dean there to pull him back at the last second. One day soon, it'll just be me and Sam and his greatest fear, and I will make him ask for me. Sleep tight, bunk buddy.
To the anonymous coward - I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about. I love my readers and I think they know I do and I love more of my fellow writers than I can even count and routinely enjoy talking fanfic with them on Facebook. Whatever your issue is, it's not with me. If it were, you would have stood up and named yourself instead of hiding in the shadows.