A/N: This is an alternate universe fic based on the S12 episodes 1 and 2. Trigger warnings - discussion of suicidal thoughts, dubious consent issues.

Icy droplets of water dripped from his hair, running down his cheeks and his neck before melting into his shirt. He shivered, chilled inside and out but the physical discomfort was not the worst he'd ever encountered. He could survive this. He shifted slightly and pain shot up his leg from the burn from the blowtorch that had been applied to his foot. He shook his head, almost amused at the naïveté of these two British women. There was a kind of childlike innocence to their tortures, a sense that neither of them had ever experience real pain.

He raised his head slightly and observed them as they whispered to each other, Lady Toni and Ms Watts. He rather thought he might like Watts under other circumstances. There was a no-nonsense attitude and sense of determination about her that he admired, and he had to admit she was a competent if unimaginative torturer. Lady Toni was more of an enigma. Possessed of far too high an opinion of herself and weirdly obsessed with Sam and his brother. He'd toyed with the idea of trying to play the two off each other, but discarded it quickly. Watts seemed loyal and it would take too long to understand their dynamic well enough to use it as a weapon. But they were human, and sooner or later, one of them would have to leave the room and he would have his chance.

Once he could have relied on Dean scouring the earth to find him. But Dean was dead and that fact more than anything else was what made it difficult to care about the physical agonies inflicted upon him. He breathed acceptance of his brother's demise in and out for a few moments, tears pricking at the back of his eyes. He would not cry over Dean's death. Not yet anyway. Later, when he'd dispensed with his captors perhaps he could find time and space to grieve. Dean had died the way he'd always been meant to die, nobly and for a cause that nobody but him and Cas and few others would ever understand. Certainly not snotty Lady Toni and her British chapter of the Men of Letters.

He was sure Cas would be looking for him, but Lady Toni seemed well-versed in Enochian sigils and he wouldn't be surprised to learn the building was warded against any angelic interventions. There were few other hunters who would care to involve themselves. Perhaps Eileen, if Cas could find her. He smiled involuntarily at the memory of the canny Irish hunter and her dry sense of humor.

"What can you possibly have to smile about?" Lady Toni said sharply, standing up and walking over to him. He snorted in derision but did not answer. "You know, you really could make this easier on yourself, Sam."

"Screw. You." He enunciated each word carefully, pouring into them all of his hatred of her, his grief over losing his brother and his anger at a world that would never give him an even break.

"Ms Watts," Lady Toni said imperiously.

Watts looked at her. "No one can take that much pain and not break. No one." She shook her head, seeming both alarmed and impressed.

"What are you saying?" Lady Toni asked, concern lilting her voice to a higher register.

"I th- Ma'am. If you want him dead, then I'll slit his throat right now. But if you want to take this to the next level, you need to make the call. Bring in Mr. Ketch." She gave an involuntary shudder.

"I don't want that psychopath anywhere near me," Lady Toni snapped, her voice betraying real fear. Whoever this Mr Ketch was, he scared this woman, and so far Sam had not thought her easily frightened."

"So?" Watts said, trying to sound nonchalant and failing.

"So... we stop trying to break his body. We break his mind." Lady Toni said. She gave a small, sadistic smile and Sam's already low opinion of her sunk further. He knew where this was going. Whether they resorted to drugs or magic, he'd been here before. He tugged one more time at his restraints, but as he'd already observed, Ms Watts was competent. He was tired. He felt as though he hadn't had any time to just rest and relax in so long. Right now, he'd give almost anything just for some sleep. Almost anything. Just nothing the accent in a pantsuit wanted, that's all.

Cold, hard concrete pressed against one cheek and Sam gave an involuntary groan. Where was he? He blinked open crusted eyelids and then closed them again when he recognized the cold, dingy basement he'd been trapped in since… How long had he been here? It had taken a long time to get here by car, but there had been the extended stop at the veterinarian's house to get his gunshot wound properly treated. And after that, he'd been a little out of it because of the shot the doctor had given him for the pain. So his best guess was three days, but he knew he could be way off. He sat up and looked down at his foot, which had been expertly wrapped. Ms Watts was a woman of many talents, it seemed. Of course, it could have been Lady Toni, but Sam suspected she rarely got her own hands dirty. There was an aching sensation in his neck and he reached up to investigate. His fingers ran over what felt like a puncture wound. So they had drugged him. He frowned to himself, he didn't feel especially unusual, although he'd clearly been out for a few hours if they'd had time to dress his foot and rig up that camera in the corner he was sure had not been there earlier.

He gave the camera a baleful look and then got carefully to his feet. Now he was no longer restrained, he needed to investigate his prison and figure out a plan to escape. Unsurprisingly, there was no carelessly unlocked door or unbarred window. A wave of dizziness passed over him and he staggered. Shit! He had to keep it together. He banged uselessly on the hatch cover that lead outside. Padlocked, he suspected from the way it gave slightly and then stopped. Not impossible, the wood was old and he maybe could smash his way through but not as he was right now. Exhaustion, starvation and dehydration were all sapping his strength. In fact, the only thing to pass his lips since his capture had been drops of water from the icy shower and some of his own blood from where Lady Toni had elbowed him in the nose. He took a deep breath and tried to focus, but it was definitely getting more difficult.

He decided to go back to the chair, since sitting on that was probably more comfortable than the ground and he made a soft sigh as his knees buckled and he sank to the floor.

"Dead," Dean's voice said, from somewhere in the darkness. "I'm dead because of you. I'm dead because of you. This is all your fault. This is your fault." Sam shook his head, trying to clear it of the cobwebs. That wasn't Dean, this was a hallucination. He knew all about those too. He looked up and he could see Dean now, faint and insubstantial as a ghost.

"Dean?" he said before he could stop himself.

"We're all dead because of you, Sam," Dean voice echoed off the walls. It's not real, Sam told himself. It's the drug. There was a sink over by the wall, and a mirror mounted above it. A sink! Maybe he could get some water. Sam hauled himself upright by pure force of will and shuffled over to the sink. He stared at his reflection and almost recoiled in shock. His eyes were sunken and ringed with dark circles. His skin was pale and he looked haggard. His hair hung lank and stringy in his eyes.

"It should've been you. It should've been you. You're a freak. You're a freak. You're a freak. It's your fault." Dean's voice echoed through the basement. Sam stared at the mirror. A mirror. Glass. Sharp and bright and oh so useful.

"You're right," Sam said to hallucinatory Dean as he carefully planned out his next move. Not an easy task with your ghostly brother berating you from beyond the grave, but Sam was nothing if not task-oriented. And that was the worst of it, of course. This Dean might not be real, but honestly it had a point. He should have been the one to die, not Dean. Good, honest Dean, whose life would have been so much better without weak, tainted Sam.

"Your fault! It's your fault. Just die. It's your fault. It's your fault," Dean's voice cried accusingly at him. Sam took a deep breath and smashed his hand into the mirror. Broken glass flew everywhere. Seven years bad luck, he thought wryly. He wondered if it was possible he had actually gone mad after all. Who would blame him, after everything?

"It's your fault. It's all your fault. Just die. Why won't you die, Sam? Why don't you die? It's your fault."

This would work, Sam was sure of it. But even if he didn't want to admit it, there was a part of him that wondered if he ought to carry this out for real. This life had become such a burden, not only to him but to everyone around him. Dying seemed almost welcoming. A final, eternal sleep. But that would mean letting that grade A bitch Lady Toni win, and Sam was determined that she was going to pay dearly for what she had done. Vengeance was something he'd tried to keep away from for many years after the Apocalypse. It had lead to his ruin, after all. But now a sort of peace descended on him. He'd escape, kill the bitch and her minion and then he could go somewhere, quiet and away from everyone, and finish what perhaps should have been finished years ago. He breathed, in, out, in, out. And then he picked up the largest of the pieces of glass on the ground.

He contemplated it for a moment. It would be so easy to do this for real. But he'd made up his mind. He put the glass to his throat, being careful to angle his body so that to the watchers upstairs he'd appear to slit his own throat. He dug the glass into his hand and then pulled his hand back in a swift movement, letting blood from the wound in his palm spatter like arterial spray before collapsing to the ground.

As he'd suspected, someone upstairs had been watching. He heard the cellar door being wrenched open and the sound of heels on the stairs. Lady Toni, then. Ms Watts wore more practical footwear. As soon as she was close enough, Sam leapt to his feet and shoved his bloodied hand into her face, grabbing her neck with his other hand.

"Maybe you're not as good at your job as you think," he snarled at her. He squeezed her throat and she began to choke, fighting against him but ultimately he was much stronger than she was. She weakened until finally all the fight drained out of her and she began to slump. Sam let her fall and made for the stairs but it seemed he'd moved too soon. He felt the cattle prod against his spine a moment before she fired it and he yelped in surprise. He lost his footing as his body jerked uncontrollably. Lady Toni pushed past him and made for the door. He grabbed her ankle but she had the advantage and pulled away, slamming the door shut behind her. Sam pounded on the door in frustration and yelled at her. But it was his own fault. He should have snapped her delicate little neck before making his escape. Damn it.

Toni painted the symbol on the basement door with excessive care. It had to be absolutely perfect. Sam Winchester was remarkably resilient and if she made even a small error, she was sure he would make her pay for it in spades. Her lips thinned in distaste at what she was about to do. She didn't approve of doing this, at least she had always opposed using this kind of magic in the past. But she was out of options. Ms Watts was in the field and not answering her phone, and she didn't dare re-enter the basement without making sure Sam was completely unconscious first. The memory of his large, strong hands on her throat made her shudder. Objectively, she supposed he would be considered an attractive man. But only if you didn't know his history, about what he was. Percival, one of the archivists back home, had said he was of the opinion that Sam Winchester had left his humanity behind. But he'd been unwilling to speculate what the hunter had turned into. She smiled a little at the image of Percival, a tall man with faded blond hair and bright blue eyes that must have been quite the sensation in his youth. Now in his fifties, he was all twinkling charm, an obsession with angels and demons and a lingering sadness that never went away. Grief, she had been told, can do strange things to a person. Certainly it had done strange things to Percival.

Having finished the sigil and forced as much power into it as she dared, she quickly ran back to the monitor to see if her handiwork had done its job. Sam was lying on the staircase, his head at an uncomfortable angle. She preened for a moment at her skill and then focused on the task in hand. She grabbed the cattle prod again, it didn't hurt to be cautious after all, and carefully eased the basement door open. The huge man didn't move. She poked him gingerly with her foot but he remained immobile. Getting him back on the chair was going to be fun, she thought. She settled for dragging him across the floor by his ankles, which he would no doubt have objected to, and then somehow managed to leverage him back up onto the chair. When he was finally in position and restrained, she whispered the trigger word and jumped back in alarm when he twitched and slumped forward slightly. But the spell was good and he didn't move again. She walked over to the basement door and checked it was locked before settling on her chair by the stairs and waited for the spell to fully manifest.

She didn't have to wait long. After a few minutes, Sam's breathing began to hitch and he leaned back, his head lolling back. And then he groaned, an unexpectedly erotic sound and Toni felt her heart rate spike a little. She shifted uncomfortably, God, she hated this spell. But stuck here without backup, she had little choice. One way or another, Sam Winchester had to be contained and since the only other option had been to kill him, this nasty little spell was surely the kinder course of action. And how would you feel if it was used on you, a voice in the back of her mind said. Oh wait, it was, and you spent three years unable to cope with even the slightest touch from another human being. You're a hypocrite.

"It's for the greater good," she said out loud.

"What?" Sam slurred, his head rolling to the side.

"Nothing," Toni said, shoving her personal feelings aside. Sam was almost writhing on the chair now, and her discomfort only increased. He moaned and she shivered with a complex mix of arousal and disgust. His body strained and bucked, and low, desperate sounds ripped from his throat. The hallucination had completely taken over his mind now, and as he drowned in it, Toni seriously considered throwing up. And then, finally, he arched and gasped, the front of his jeans revealing a telltale wetness. Toni grabbed her water bottle and gulped down a few mouthfuls, ignoring the tears that had gathered in her eyes. She was stronger than this. She was.

After a few moments of heavy breathing, which gave Toni the needed time to gather herself again, Sam shivered and relaxed.

"Wow," he said.

"Isn't this much more pleasant, Sam?" Toni said archly.

A slow smile spread across Sam's face. "I gotta say, I did not see that happening," he admitted, his head rolling forwards

Toni gave a light, fake chuckle."Well, you know what they say," she said easily. "Opposites attract." Sam shifted in his seat again.

"Oh, we'll get there, Sam," she told him. "Just another couple of questions."

"Hmm," Sam said in response. She frowned at him. What was he doing now?

A sudden gust of wind made the house shiver and creak and she looked around nervously. Foolishness, of course, the house was warded against all comers. But still, she had the peculiar feeling that she was being watched. Toni wondered if she ought to go upstairs and check that all the protections were still in place, but that would mean losing valuable time while Sam was still under the spell. It would not last much longer and she needed to wring as much information as she could out of him. She shook her head. She was getting paranoid, this ridiculous country was getting to her, that's all.

As Sam turned back to Lady Toni, the sheets sliding across his skin, a breeze suddenly caught at his hair and sent a slight shiver down his back. He frowned and noticed that his bed partner was also looking disturbed.

"What was that?" he wondered.

"It's nothing," she said, although she didn't sound convinced.

"Well, you have some very strange ideas about hunters in the US," Sam told her. He sipped at the wine she'd poured and closed his eyes. Whatever it was, it was delicious. He'd never been much of a wine drinker, but this was pretty good.

"How so?" Lady Toni prompted. He leaned back against a pile of pillows and sighed.

"Most of us get into it because someone we love gets hurt. So most hunters are kinda obsessive and revenge-focused. Trouble is, even if you're lucky enough to hunt down the exact monster who killed your wife or whatever, it doesn't end there. Getting out is almost impossible, I dunno, it's like the life grabs hold of you and you can't let go. We're not the most psychologically healthy folks out there."

"Fascinating," Toni breathed. "But surely you exaggerate. American Hunters can't be as bad as you say."

Sam laughed at her. "Yeah. Uh, yeah, they can. What, they're not in the UK?"

Toni shook her head emphatically. "No. No, they work for us. Tools. They kill. They don't think."

"Huh," Sam said. Toni propped her head on her hand and looked at him.

"So who recruited you and your brother? To whom do you report?"

Sam scoffed at her. Hadn't she been listening? He plucked the wine glass out of her hand and placed it with his on the nightstand.

"We, uh... We're not just gonna talk all night, right?" he said with a disarming grin. He moved over her, pulling the sheet as he went. There was a sound, like a door banging somewhere in the distance and his head came up.

"Don't worry about that," Toni said, although she sounded disturbed. "It's just a loose shutter."

Sam quivered and the chair tilted alarmingly. Toni half-rose out of her seat, concerned that if he fell it would break the spell and she was so close to getting the information she was seeking. But it was taking far too long and the spell probably only had another twenty minutes or so before it was done. She needed things to move faster. The chair righted itself and Sam's breathing began to quicken again. He was muttering something, but it didn't sound important. Just sweet nothings as his mind filled with erotic imaginings.

The house vibrated and this time she did stand up. What the Hell was that? Grimacing, she decided she had to go investigate. If something was testing the wards, she needed to know now. She hurried up the stairs, leaving the door open behind her as she entered the dilapidated kitchen. A few clicks on her laptop revealed nothing of concern but she noticed that one of the wards on the perimeter had been activated. It was a simple ward, meant to keep innocent humans and animals away from the property rather than the more exotic runes and sigils aimed at specific supernatural entities. She contemplated the matter for a moment. It could have been no more than it appeared, an animal or just somebody passing by, although who would be out there she couldn't imagine. They'd chosen this location precisely because it was so isolated that random passers-by wouldn't stumble through. Regardless, she reset the ward in question and then tapped out a quick text message to Ms Watts. Where the Hell was she anyway? Surely Dean Winchester and his angel sidekick hadn't given her that much trouble. There was a groan from downstairs and she sighed, pushed away from the table and headed back to the basement. Maybe now Sam would be more talkative.

Dean wanted to hammer on his laptop in frustration. How was this possible? How had someone just waltzed into the bunker, snatched up Sam and then vanished into thin air? A noise made him look up and he smiled when he saw his mom walk into the room, a cup of steaming coffee clutched in her hands.

"Hey, how'd you sleep?" he greeted her. She looked tired, and not altogether happy.

"I had dreams all night," Mary said. She looked down at the coffee as though it might contain the answer to all her questions.

"Good dreams?" Dean asked warily and frowned at the wistful look on her face.

"Stuff I'd forgotten about. Funny stuff your dad did," she said. "He was a great father." He nodded slowly, not wanting to contradict her but his memories were a little more complicated than that. He almost wept with relief when his cellphone began to ring and he saw Cas's name flash up on the screen.

"Hey, Cas, what do you got?" he said gratefully.

"I think I may have found Sam's location. It's a farm," Cas told him. "It appears empty, but it was rented two weeks ago to a woman with an English accent." Score, Dean thought. How many English chicks could there be tooling around the countryside?

"Did you have a look inside?" he asked.

"No," Cas said regretfully. "No, it's - it's powerfully warded." Dean could feel the angel's sorrow even down the phone line.

"Powerfully warded? Okay, see, buddy, that - that was your headline right there," Dean said. Finally, a decent lead! He smiled to himself, Cas always came through.

"Are we still discussing the same thing?" Cas said, sounding confused and it made Dean feel warm inside. God damn, he'd missed the angel even more than he'd realized.

"Where are you?" he said, folding down the lid of the laptop. Mary was making a face at him but he waved her off.

"I'll text you the address," the angel said. "Are you coming straight away?" This last question sounded almost plaintive. Dean frowned at it, what was up with Cas all of a sudden? His phone buzzed to alert him to a newly received message.

"Okay, got it," Dean said, shaking off the angel's curious mood. "I'm on my way."

"Good," Cas said and hung up.

"I'll get my coat," Mary said, rising out of her chair. Dean swore under his breath, this was just what he didn't need.

"Wait. Uh Okay. Why don't I take this one solo, okay?" Dean said, making a quelling gesture with his hands. "We just - we don't know what we're walking into here."

Mary rolled her eyes at him. "We never know. We're Hunters."

"Right," Dean said, playing for time. There was no way he wanted his mom riding shotgun on this one. Who knew what those stuck-up sons of bitches had done to Sam and… he wanted free rein to make his displeasure known. "Um... Okay, I-I can't do my job if I'm worried about you." he said, casting about for a reasonable excuse. Mary gave him an indulgent smile and it worried him.

"Dean," she said firmly. "You won't have to be. I can handle myself. Okay?" He winced. "All right, good talk," she said, with a simple finality that would brook no argument. He knew that tone of voice all right, having heard himself do the exact same thing to Sam more times than he could count. He'd always wondered how much he resembled his mother, since Sam was clearly the one who was most like Dad. Well now he knew.

"Oh, boy," he said to nobody. Mary had already sailed out of the room.

"It's just surprising that for all your efforts, yours and all the Hunters, monsters remain rampant in this country." Toni said, watching Sam's responses carefully. His pulse had ticked up the last time she'd checked it and now he was shivering in response to the chill. His body was beginning to shake off the effects of the spell and she'd only just started on getting him to open up.

"Yeah, we just, uh - just keep plugging away, I guess," Sam slurred. Damn it, she really didn't have much time left.

"Do you ever think - and don't take this the wrong way - that some of your soldiers may have been compromised? Or bought?" she asked slyly. Sam's whole body shuddered

"I mean... No, I-I don't, um…" he stuttered and Toni knew the spell was failing.

"Is everything all right?" she asked sweetly. Sam bucked in the chair and then rocked it from side to side.

"No!" he yelled. "No! I shouldn't - I shouldn't be talking to you." He raised his head and stared at her, horror etched into his face.

"You'll have to admit, it was fun while it lasted," Toni said lightly.

"What did you do to me?" Sam growled.

"An hallucination created by potion and powerful spell work. So...was it good for you?" Sam looked revolted and she pursed her lips in annoyance. "Hm. Sadly, I can't do the spell again. Your brain would liquefy, which we don't want. Yet. So... I'll have to resort to less... pleasant methods." She moved over to the cart that Ms Watts had used to hold a variety of tools and implements of torture and gazed at them unseeingly. She had never been directly involved in the use of enhanced interrogation, to use that ghastly American euphemism. But she was smart and a quick study, she was sure she could do what needed to be done. Of course, Sam had proved resilient to the physical pain Ms Watts had inflicted, but he was weaker now and Toni simply had to have the information he carried. So, she had no other choice. She turned back to Sam, who was glaring at her and gave him a smile. Lady Toni Bevell always gets what she wants.

The door to the basement slammed open and for a moment she thought maybe Ms Watts had returned, just in time to save her from having to sully her hands with this unpleasant business. But nobody entered, just a gust of wind swirled through the room. She put down the pliers and knife she'd been toying with and strode over to the stairs. She'd locked the door behind her, there was no way the door could have blown open on its own. Something was going on here.

"You…" Sam breathed behind her and she turned quickly. But there was nothing there. Sam was looking upwards as if someone stood over him, his face a riot of fear and… happiness? How the Hell did that make any sense?

So it seemed Lady Toni had exhausted her supply of creativity and was back to physical torture as a means of extracting the information she wanted. Sam seethed with hate, and although he would never admit it, shame. Not just that she had fooled him so easily, magic was a powerful thing and he was a captive after all. But to twist his sexuality to her advantage in the way that she had made him want to rage and weep all at once. He tried to focus on breathing and slowing his racing heart. He would survive and he would have his revenge. He just needed to figure out how, and to do that he needed to be calm.

Sammy…

He turned his head to see who had spoken. The voice had been male, so that ruled out Lady Toni. He twisted his head but couldn't see anyone. Suddenly, the door to the basement slammed open and a huge gust of wind roared through, blowing back his hair. And then, there at the top of the stairs he saw one figure he'd hoped never to see again. Lucifer.

"You…" he breathed in fear and astonishment. And yes, there was hope mixed in there too, dammit. Maybe Lucifer could get him out of this fix. Did he want that? He wasn't sure.

"Hello, Sam," Lucifer said, walking casually down the stairs like he owned the place. Lady Toni was looking around in alarm, which meant whatever was happening was apparently only for Sam's eyes. Considering that Lucifer had once again donned the visage of Nick, the poor sap who'd served as his temporary vessel after Sam had released Lucifer from the Cage all those years ago, that meant either that this was a hallucination, or that Lucifer was manipulating his mind in some way.

"Yes, I am currently without a vessel," Lucifer admitted. "This is a projection into your mind. But I am really here, and I want to help."

"Help?" Sam stuttered. "How can you help?"

"Simple," Lucifer said with a disarming smile. "I already blew out all the defenses on this place. A little more hocus-pocus-" He wiggled his fingers expressively. "And voila! We pop you out of those restraints, kick this bitch into the long grass and ride off into the sunset."

He was standing directly in front of Sam now and as he gazed up at Lucifer, Sam wanted nothing more than to let the archangel free him. But there would be a price.

"So, what do I have to do?" Sam said, but as soon as the words were out of his mouth, he knew. Lucifer grinned at him. "Shit. Of course."

"Is it really so bad?" Lucifer asked him. "I mean, we had fun together last time, didn't we?" The archangel knelt down, his mouth just inches away. "I've missed you," he whispered. "So much..." He touched his mouth gently, almost chastely against Sam's. His lips were cool and soft. "My beautiful, noble Sammy, always willing to sacrifice himself for the world." Another close-mouthed kiss. "And the world for his brother, of course." This time the kiss was firmer, and he licked at the seam of Sam's mouth. Sam trembled, desperately fighting an insane mix of fear and arousal.

Lucifer trailed kisses along his jawline and then down the side of his neck and Sam groaned in pleasure. Teeth scraped at the sensitive nerves and he yelped. "You see, Sam, I know you like nobody else knows you. And I want you. I want you so bad right now…"

Sam gasped. "No, you have to stop."

The archangel ignored him, nibbling and biting at the skin of his neck and then lifting his head and swooping down to claim Sam's mouth. Sam wanted to resist, but somehow his lips parted beneath Lucifer's onslaught and he moaned.

Toni was now very concerned and seriously disturbed. Had Sam somehow slipped back into the clutches of the spell? He had closed his eyes and was writhing on the chair, tugging on his restraints and seemed utterly unaware of her presence. She strained to hear the words he was mumbling.

"No, you have to stop," he was protesting, although not very hard. Toni looked around the cellar, and chewed on her lip. There had to be something in here, something she couldn't see. Something that Sam was apparently very happy to see. The trouble was, she had no idea what that could be. What could be powerful enough to enter regardless of the considerable layers of protection she had laid down? She sketched out a Celtic rune on the floor and slammed her hand down onto it, activating it with a whispered word.

"Nochtann!"

A strange, silvery mist appeared, outlining every object in the basement with a faint, ethereal glow. She inhaled sharply at an odd distorted spot directly in front of Sam's chair. She was right, there was something there. Unfortunately, although this spell was powerful at revealing what was hidden from sight, it was not an identification spell and she didn't have the right materials for that. And without knowing what was in this room with her and Sam, she couldn't fight it. She considered the matter, who were the Winchesters known allies? Castiel, the angel, but there was no way he'd be powerful enough to tear through the protections on this house. There was a demon, Crowley, who'd managed not to be exorcised or killed by the brothers despite numerous encounters. Could they have actually allied themselves with filth like that? After what she'd read about Sam and his liaison with the demon Ruby, it did not seem totally unlikely. And then there was that vampire buddy of Dean's, Benny. But a vampire didn't have nearly enough juice to get past the runes, not even an alpha should be able to bypass them.

Sam arched in his chair and was muttering again. "No, I shouldn't"

Shouldn't what? Toni wondered. She'd been going through every spell she knew, every warding sign and even emergency signals that might bring help when suddenly she felt every muscle in her body freeze. Even breathing was reduced to short gasps.

"Who.. what…" she managed. There was no reply.

"I love you, Sam. It's always only ever been you. Please. Let me inside you. It'll be good, I promise. It'll be amazing." Lucifer's voice was soft and beguiling, and Sam wanted desperately to resist but he was weak, the tender ministrations of Lady Toni Bevell having worn down his will and his resistance.

"No," he muttered. "I shouldn't."

"But you want it," Lucifer coaxed. "I know. I can feel it, Sammy."

"Please," Sam begged. "Please stop asking."

"I can't," the archangel admitted. "I want you so much, Sam. And do you really want to stay here? With… her?" Sam looked over to Lady Toni, who was standing rigidly by the stairs and watching the scene before her with a kind of horrified fascination. Sam wondered briefly what she could see.

"No," Sam agreed. "But you're not being fair." Lucifer made a derisive sound. "No, really. I mean it."

"I don't remember ever promising to be fair," the archangel said acidly. Sam breathed out a sigh of relief. If he was dropping the act, then maybe Sam had a chance to fight back.

"Look, I'm in a bind, no question. So I'll make you a deal. Get me out of here, and then we'll talk," Sam offered.

"No can do, Sammy," Lucifer said. "I need a vessel and fast. Every moment topside without a vessel leaves me weaker and soon I won't have the juice to get you out of here. And I can't break you out of those restraints like this. But I'll tell you what, you know you can rescind your consent at any time, don't you? Let me in, I'll get us out of here and if you don't want me as a passenger after that, then you can just kick me out." He eyed Sam contemplatively. "Now, do we have a deal?"
"You're in an awful big hurry," Sam complained.

"The cavalry's on it's way," Lucifer said opaquely, flicking his gaze to Lady Bevell, which Sam took to mean more British Men of Letters were coming to crash the party. Sam bit his lip, angry at his lack of choices and angrier that he was even thinking about saying yes to Lucifer's deal. No doubt there was some small print here, some way Lucifer could resist Sam ejecting him. When they'd tried to convince Cas to push Lucifer out, Crowley had said that Lucifer had managed to pacify the seraph into a dull acceptance. Would he do the same to Sam?

Sam's memories of the first time Lucifer had possessed him came flooding back. The experience had been unlike anything he could have imagined up until that point. Somehow, his wildest emotions had been unleashed. Anger became a ferocious rage, desire mutated into uncontrollable lust, and happiness an all-consuming savage joy. Jimmy Novak had once described being possessed by Cas as being chained to a comet. For Sam those words seemed utterly inadequate. Equally, when released from Hell and reunited with his soul, he'd never told anyone of the depths of despair he had plumbed. Being separated from Lucifer had been like a physical pain, even as the pale shadow of the archangel had tormented him once the wall in his mind had been destroyed by a vengeful, maddened God-Cas. He still missed the archangel's presence, every Goddamn day, like a wound that wouldn't heal.

Cas had tried to explain it to him once. An angel's True Vessel was bound, soul to Grace, in an ineffable way that for the human involved, manifested much like a love affair. He'd told Sam that all of his feelings, of grief and loss and betrayal, were entirely natural. As were the feelings of love and desire he'd felt for the archangel during the brief possession. Sam had looked at Cas with new eyes after that, and no small amount of wonder about what exactly Cas had felt about Jimmy. It certainly added a strange dimension to the already weird relationship he had with Sam's brother.

He knew he wasn't thinking straight. Tortured, drugged and enchanted, broken by grief and destroyed by the endless torrent of abuse that was his life, he was in no fit state to make important decisions like should he agree to be possessed by the devil. But life wasn't even generous enough to give Sam lemons anymore, so he had to work with what he did have.

He took a deep breath. "All right," he said. "Yes."

Sam's head turned in Toni's direction but he didn't seem to be looking at her.

"All right," he said. "Yes."

Bright, whiter than white light suddenly scorched her eyeballs. She wanted to scream but her throat was just a immobile as the rest of her. Her eyes wept at the pain and when the light was gone she was blind, her vision a mass of blurred colors.

"So," Sam said, and it seemed he was standing in front of her. "What have we here?"

She blinked rapidly, hoping to clear her vision. How had Sam gotten out of his restraints? She tried to flinch when he tilted her head with one finger on her chin. Her eyes were still smarting but she could just about make out the shape of his face.

"British Men of Letters," Sam said, as if he'd only just realized what she was. What was going on? "It's been a long time." He stroked her hair and made a humming sound. Toni managed a shocked sound. That didn't even sound like Sam Winchester, which meant the unthinkable had happened. He was possessed, probably either by an angel, demon or ghost. She thought quickly and ruled out ghost almost immediately, Ms Watts had cleared the farmhouse entirely of any lingering spirits before they'd even set out to capture Sam. Which left angel or demon. Sam had an anti-demon possession tattoo on his chest, which even she had to admit was rather clever. Not demon then. Only one answer left, angel. She swore silently, apparently Castiel was more powerful than they had imagined if he had managed to get past the extensive anti-angel warding that surrounded the entire plot of land.

"I should probably just kill you," Sam said. "I think that's what Sam would like me to do. And what my beloved Sammy wants, he gets." He drew back his fist and then punched her in the chest and she gasped in pain and shock. Icy cold air swept over her and she watched in horror as he withdrew his hand and she saw her own beating heart in his fist. And then he slowly crushed it before her eyes, as the blood ran down his arms and he laughed.

The farmhouse was old, and parts of it appeared to be falling down. Dean squinted through the binoculars Cas had produced from who knows where.

"Where's all this warding you mentioned?" he asked. It was a stupid question really, since he wouldn't be able to see it.

"I don't know what happened to it," Cas said. He gave a sidelong glance to Mary. "You brought your mother?"

"Hello, Castiel," Mary said easily. "Yes, he did."

"So what do you mean, you don't know what happened to it?" Dean said, handing the binoculars to Mary's outstretched hand.

"I don't know how to be any clearer," Cas said, sounding baffled.

"It was there when we spoke on the phone and then…" Dean made a gesture with his hands, indicating that Cas should fill in the blanks. The angel's expression cleared as understanding dawned.

"At some point between our conversation and your arrival, the wards were burned out." Cas explained. "I didn't see it happen. I didn't detect any presence, but the wards were there and now they're gone." Cas put one hand on Dean's arm, his face concerned.

"Burned out," Dean clarified, dropping his voice lower so that his mom might not overhear. This did not sound promising. "Not lowered or dispelled, but burned out."

"Exactly," Cas said at his normal volume. Dean gave him an exasperated look and the angel blinked. He lowered his voice and leaned in slightly. "If the inhabitants wanted them gone, they'd have either removed them or temporarily disabled them. These wards were hit with some kind of gigantic power surge."

"That sounds bad, Cas," Dean said. The angel's grip on his arm tightened.

"I agree," Cas said. "Which is why I am concerned about Mary's presence on this… mission."

"Look, I couldn't stop her, OK?" Dean said defensively. "And I'm not really sure I wanted to." He straightened and waved towards the house, returning his voice to normal and tried to ignore the warmth of Cas's hand on his arm.

"Is there anyone inside?" he asked.

"Not that I've seen," Cas said. "The agent said the lease was handled long distance, but someone warded the house. And someone else destroyed those wards."

"I'm gonna go have a closer look," Dean decided. "You stay here, just in case whatever burned those wards out comes back."

Cas shook his head and tugged on his sleeve. "No. If whatever burned those wards out is still around, you might need me."

"Us," Mary interjected. Their pathetic attempts to exclude her from the conversation had clearly not worked. "Now, let's go."

The trek across the field took longer than expected, because the ground was so uneven and dry. Mary cursed as her ankle threatened to twist on a large lump of hardened mud.

"How long has this place been abandoned?" she asked. Cas held out a hand to help her over another difficult area but she waved him off.

"Years," he said laconically. "The realtor said she'd had it on her books since 2011. But before that it was in the hands of another agent who passed away. I'd say it's been at least 8 years. Possibly more."

"And it doesn't rain around here?" Mary asked. Cas looked up at the sky as if searching for answers.

"Normally, yes. But according to the realtor, there's some kind of strange microclimate that's kept this entire county in a decade-long drought." He shivered and it struck Mary that that was a very strange thing for the angel to do, since he claimed not to feel temperature and anyway it wasn't cold.

"Wait!" Cas said suddenly. "Stop!"

Dean came to a halt so quickly he almost lost his footing. "What is it?"

"There's a warding rune right in front of you. It's still live." Cas said urgently. Dean took a few careful steps backwards.

"I thought you said they were all burned out," he said accusingly. Cas ignored him and moved over to where his angel sight could see the rune glowing. He knelt down before it and muttered a few words of Enochian. It flared and then subsided, winking out and leaving only a faint afterglow behind.

"Celtic," he said. "It's an old spell that gently discourages animals and humans from getting too close. A simple but effective way to remain undisturbed."

"What would have happened if I'd crossed it?" Dean asked. Cas looked over at him, and Dean was surprised by how unhappy the angel looked.

"Nothing much," Cas said. "It would have set off an alarm somewhere, that's all. Presumably in the house."

"OK, so why do you look like someone killed your dog?"

"I don't-" Cas broke off when Dean glared at him. "This kind of magic is simple. Low powered, easy to make. I could teach a child to do it. So why is it here?"

"I don't understand," Mary said. "What's wrong with it being here? They obviously just didn't want any passer-by or wild animal to show up uninvited."

"Cas says the powerful wards were burned out," Dean pointed out. "So why are these ones still intact? If strong anti-angel wards and the like were totally destroyed by some great power surge, how did this little thing survive?"

"And why weren't you deterred by it?" Cas added. Dean gave him a long look as he considered the matter.

"Was it working properly?" he asked. Cas nodded. "Then I got no idea. Could it have been set after whatever blew out the warding had left?"

"No," Cas said. "These runes have been here for weeks."

"Mom?" Dean said in alarm. Mary had knelt down beside Cas and was inspecting the small stone with the rune carved into it that now lay dead and lifeless on the ground.

"Look at the craftsmanship," she breathed.

"What?" She reached out to pick it up and Cas caught her arm. She gave him an irritated look and he smiled gently at her to try and deflect her temper.

"Please, let me," he said. "Just until I'm certain it's inert."

"OK," she allowed. Cas picked up the stone and turned it over and over in his hands. Then he offered it to her. She flashed him a grin and took it, examining it closely.

"It's exquisite," she said. "Look, Dean. This is no crudely carved or painted stone. It's been carefully crafted by someone with considerable skill."

"OK, well, as much as I'm enjoying standing around in an empty field, can we get moving again?" Dean said, looking around. They were exposed here and it was making the space between his shoulder blades itch. Cas and Mary exchanged a look and then stood up. Dean nodded at Cas and then turned back towards the farmhouse.

It took another twenty minutes of slow trudging to reach the dilapidated building. Dean inspected it with a critical eye.

"It looks like it might fall over in a stiff breeze," he observed.

"The basic internal structure is sound," Cas disagreed. "But watch out for falling debris."

Dean tried the door and eased it open when he found it unlocked. He pulled his gun from his belt and heard Cas slide his angel blade out from wherever the Hell he kept it in his sleeve. It lead straight into a kitchen, where a laptop sat on a rickety table and an empty Starbucks cup lay on its side on the checkerboard tiled floor. Dean picked it up and sniffed.

"Pumpkin spice latte," he remarked. Mary gave him a strange look, as if trying to figure out the deeper meaning to over-flavored coffee drinks. He poked at the laptop, which came to life and presented him with a login screen. "And this is running on battery, so whoever was here, was here recently."

There was a door to his right that was slightly ajar and a door to his left that was closed. He nodded at Cas and then at the left-hand door. Cas stepped carefully towards the door and then shook his head to indicate he could hear nothing with his angelically superior ears. Dean frowned and pushed the other door open with his foot. The tangy, coppery smell of blood flooded his nostrils and he gritted his teeth. Please, let Sam be OK, he prayed silently to a God he knew wasn't listening.

He carefully descended into the basement and stopped halfway down the stairs when he spotted the corpse of a blond woman, blood spread in a large pool around her body and an obscene gaping hole in her chest. It reminded him vaguely of a werewolf kill.

"What the Hell…" he muttered.

"What is it?" Mary said behind him. He heard Cas tell her to stay in the kitchen and then felt the angel come up behind him to peer over his shoulder. Cas's involuntary intake of breath whooshed past his right ear.

"It's OK, Mom," Dean called out. "It's not Sam."

"No," Cas agreed. "That's the woman who kidnapped him." Dean turned and was a little startled by the closeness of the angel's face to his own.

"You're sure?"

"Positive," Cas said firmly. His eyes met Dean's for a moment and then he stepped back and around the hunter. He prowled around the basement, his face growing increasingly uneasy.

Dean took the last few steps and looked around. There was a chair in the middle of the room, lying overturned on its side. Handcuffs and zip ties lay on the ground beside it. There was a curious burn mark on one leg of the chair. Dean poked at it and frowned to himself.

"Dean," the angel rumbled and he turned to see Cas with a syringe in his hand, sniffing at it.

"What's that?" he asked.

"Extract of Salvia divinorum," the angel said disapprovingly. "It's a powerful psychoactive. And commonly used in a range of-" he broke off and looked bleak.

"What, Cas?"

"Mind control spells," Mary's voice floated down from the basement steps. "Nasty stuff." She thundered down the stairs, her face stormy.

"Jesus," Dean exhaled. "What the Hell were they doing to Sam down here?" He spotted Sam's phone lying on a table near the window and picked it up. Dean tried turning it on but apparently it was dead. He turned it over in his hands. "The question is, who killed her ladyship over there and spirited him away." Cas looked away, and a cold feeling crept over Dean. "You know who did this, don't you?" he said softly.

"No," the angel denied. "But I have a suspicion."

"Spit it out, Cas." Dean demanded.

"Lucifer."

"Lucifer!" Mary yelped.

"You've got to be kidding me," Dean said after a moment.

"I'm not certain," the angel said mournfully. "But it's the only thing that makes sense. When Amara cast him out, he'd have been desperate to find a new vessel. We're vulnerable on earth when we're not in a vessel and every day he is outside one, he gets weaker."

"So what, you think he came here, blew out the wards except for the few minor ones, and then…" Dean's mouth worked but no sound came out.

"Yes," Cas said. "Sam was probably in poor condition when Lucifer found him." He held up the syringe in his hand. "He'd have been very susceptible to whatever lies Lucifer chose to tell him."

"No," Dean denied. "No way, Cas. He's resisted Lucifer before. Better than you as it turned out." Cas's head snapped back as though he'd been slapped.

"Dean, I-"

"Shit, I'm sorry, man. I didn't mean it like that. I'm just… worried." Dean said, his eyes wide. Mary gave him a withering look and unable to hold her gaze, he dropped his head down.

"Sam has been tortured, drugged and possibly bespelled," Cas said quietly. "I'm not sure anyone could resist Lucifer's blandishments under those conditions."

"All right," Mary said. "So what do we do?"

"We find Sam and we convince him to eject Lucifer," Dean said. "He's beaten Lucifer before. I know he can do it again."

The hotel Lucifer had chosen was more upscale than the kind of places Sam stayed in with Dean when they were on the road. The archangel had retreated, leaving Sam in control of his body again and wondering just what was going to happen now that they'd escaped the Hellish basement the British Men of Letters had been holding him in. Lucifer had also healed his wounds and somehow given him a boost that made him feel like he'd had a decent night's sleep as well. But now he was hungry.

So, what now? Sam asked, turning his thoughts inwards. There was no reply. Well, if it's all the same to you, I need to eat. He picked up the hotel guide and flicked through it. Room service was a luxury he'd rarely enjoyed and the menu looked decent, if a little pricey. Finally he settled on salmon on a cedar plank and a salad. That and a few beers from the minibar and he'd be happy. He needed to call Cas, assuming the angel still had his cellphone. But when he checked his pocket for his phone he realized it was empty.

"Dammit," he said aloud. He eyed the hotel phone on the nightstand. Normally these things charged an arm and a leg but this was an emergency, kinda. He reached out for the phone and then let his hand drop. Maybe after he'd eaten. He picked up the handset and dialed through to room service, placing his order in clipped tones that sounded quite unlike him. Then he replaced the handset on its charging stand and went over to the minibar for that beer.

The selection was not large, and after a moment of deliberation he settled on a craft brew from the Springfield Brewing Company. He realized for the first time he had no idea where he was. Opening the hotel guide again, he saw that he was in a small town not far from Springfield. He wondered how far from that awful farmhouse he was. It was twilight, so either the answer was not far or he'd missed at least a whole day.

There was a light tap at the door and Sam peeked through the spyhole before opening the door. The hotel waiter was carrying a large tray and the smell of salmon drifted through the air, making Sam's stomach growl. He signed the proffered receipt and exchanged a few pleasantries with the man before shutting the door behind him and falling on the food like a starving wolf.

Better? Lucifer asked when he'd finished. Sam picked up his beer bottle and went over to lay on the bed.

Much, he agreed. Are we going to talk now?

If you wish, Lucifer said, sounding hesitant.

Look, don't think I'm not grateful, Sam said. Man, this is weird, talking to myself in an empty hotel room. The room shimmered for a moment and then Lucifer appeared, Nick's face once more in place, lying on the end of the bed.

"How are you doing that?" Sam asked.

"Altered perception," Lucifer said. "This isn't real, we're actually inside your head. I just made the inside look like the outside."

"Huh," Sam said, looking around. "So you could make this look like anything? A tropical beach, a fast food restaurant, the bunker, anywhere?"

"Yes," Lucifer said. "Do you want me to change the scenery?"

"No," Sam said. He focused back on the archangel lounging in front of him and wondered why he wasn't more afraid. "So, as I was saying, it's not that's I'm not grateful for your help. But I really don't want to go through this again."

"Go through what?" Lucifer said mildly.

"Well, the Apocalypse for starters," Sam said. He scrutinized Lucifer carefully. "But I take it that's not on the cards?"

"No," Lucifer said, rolling over onto his back. "Been there, done that." He turned his head back to Sam and flashed him a wicked grin. "Worn the t shirt."

"Thanks," Sam said dryly. Lucifer returned his gaze to the ceiling. He should be afraid, Sam thought. He should be terrified. The one thing above all else he had never wanted to happen again, being possessed, especially by Lucifer, should be driving him out of his mind with terror. But he felt strangely calm.

"So, what do you want?" Sam asked hesitantly.

"To make you happy," Lucifer said casually. Sam almost swallowed his tongue in surprise. "And return to my true home, of course."

"You want to go back to Hell?" Sam squeaked.

"No!" Lucifer snapped, turning back to face him, his eyes savage. "Heaven."

"Oh. Oh. I don't think they're gonna be too happy to see you…" Sam said. Lucifer began to crawl up the bed and suddenly Sam was nervous. There was a predatory look in the archangel's eyes that had not been there before. He kept coming, stalking towards Sam and the hunter backed away in fright.

"Now, Sam," Lucifer said, giving him a sultry look. "There's nothing to be scared of." He'd managed to bring himself up to Sam's level and he cupped his hands under Sam's chin, stroking his thumbs along Sam's jawline. Sam shivered despite himself, and hated how weak he always was when Lucifer was around. And then the archangel kissed him and all rational thought fled.

Kissing Lucifer had always been a unique experience. Sam had never told anyone of the wild and uninhibited way they had made love when he was possessed by Lucifer the first time. Not even Dean would have understood that. And he'd worked very hard over the years to push those memories down so deep they would never resurface. But here he was, Lucifer inside his head all over again and that fatal attraction was as strong as ever.

Lucifer was making short work of Sam's clothing, tugging off his shirt and nibbling at his skin. Sam writhed and gasped under his ministrations.

"I know," the archangel soothed. "It's been so long, you can hardly wait. But I promise, it'll be worth it."

"Wait!" Sam gasped. "Stop."

This time Lucifer did. "What's wrong, my love?" he said softly.

"Well," Sam said reddening. "We're supposed to be talking about what happens next." Lucifer began licking at his stomach. "Uh, oh God. Please. I mean, stop. Seriously. Uh."

"Later," Lucifer said dismissively, working on the fastening to his jeans.

"No!" Sam exclaimed, wriggling. Somehow his jeans were on the floor. "I… oh!"

Lucifer had dismissed the rest of his clothes with a flick of his hand and lowered his mouth to the inside of Sam's thigh. He licked a wicked line up towards his groin and then took Sam into his mouth. Any semblance of resistance was instantly banished. All Sam could think about was this need, winding tighter and tighter inside him.

Lucifer raised his head and blew chilled air across his skin. "I want to make love to you, Sam."

"Oh, God!" Sam said again. Lucifer was stretched out on top of him, bare skin against bare skin. He was cool, as he always was but Sam was on fire. Lucifer's mouth was hungry against his, their tongues entangled in a wild dance for dominance and control. One of Lucifer's wicked, wicked hands was gripping them both tightly and Sam had given up his fight against his forbidden desires and dug his hands into the muscles bunching in the archangel's back. Lucifer lifted his head for a moment, a wild light in his eyes.

"I love you, Sam."

Sam bit down on Lucifer's shoulder, tasting blood and he groaned.

"No," he muttered. "It's a bad idea."

"I know you want it," Lucifer coaxed. "We're inside your head, remember."

"Lucifer, please," Sam begged. "Don't ask me for this."

"I have to," the archangel admitted. "I want you so much it hurts, Sam." He thrust against Sam's hips, drawing gasps from the hunter. "Come on, Sam. You remember how good it was before. I know you want this too."

"Oh," Sam cried out, his body straining. "Oh, God help me, yes, I do."

"How are we going to find Sam if he doesn't want to be found?" Mary said when they'd got back in the car. Dean watched Cas turn on the headlights of that crappy truck he was driving and then pulled away, making sure the angel was following.

"Who says he doesn't want to be found," Dean challenged.

"Dean, he left his phone behind," Mary said sadly.

"Look, we haven't gotten into the whole story about Sam and Lucifer during the Apocalypse," Dean said. "And maybe Cas is right, maybe Sam was so hopped up on drugs and magic he didn't know what he was saying. But the moment he realizes what's going on, he'll kick Lucifer's ass out so fast that son of a bitch won't know what's hit him."

"Are you sure about that?" Mary said and Dean swiveled his head to look at her in horror.

"Why would you say something like that?" he asked, dismayed.

"I don't know, Dean. I just get the feeling something is off. And that angel buddy of yours knows more than he's telling."

"Cas?" Dean said, returning his eyes to the road. "What do you think he knows?"

"You didn't think it was strange that his first thought on what had happened to Sam was that Lucifer had possessed him? Of all the explanations for what happened in that basement, that was his go-to idea? He expected this, Dean."

"Bullshit," Dean said. He did not want to argue with his mom about this, but she had Cas - and Sam for that matter - all wrong.

"Is it, Dean? Is it bullshit that I come back from the dead to find my two boys, who I love more than life itself, are doing the very thing I fought desperately to keep them away from? Is it bullshit that the man I loved, a man who was the best father I could have possibly wanted for my children, turned into a monstrous caricature of rage and vengeance?"

"What are you talking about?" Dean stammered.

"Just because you want something to be true, doesn't mean it is. I don't know Castiel very well, but I can tell when someone's got something to hide. And that angel has a flashing neon sign above his head that says he's hiding something big." Mary took a long, shuddering breath as Dean gaped at her in appalled silence. "Look, I'm not trying to run your life for you. I just want you to see what's in front of you. Talk to Castiel. He might have a good reason not to be completely honest about what he knows. Maybe he is just trying to protect you. But secrets can kill, Dean."

"I know," Dean said, despair eating at him. Was his mom right? Did Cas know something he wasn't saying? "Look, I'll talk to him, OK?"

"That's all I ask," Mary said, seeming satisfied. Dean turned his attention back to the road.

Back at the bunker, Mary had made her excuses and headed off to bed, even though it was still quite early. Dean opened a bottle of whiskey and started drinking directly from it.

"My mom thinks you're hiding something from me," he said without preamble. Cas gaped at him and then looked away. "Seems like she was right."

"Dean," Cas rumbled. "It's not that simple."

"No, it is that simple. No more secrets, Cas. We promised, remember." He thumped the whiskey bottle down on the table. "Why were you so sure it was Lucifer in that farmhouse?"

"Sam Winchester is Lucifer's True Vessel," Cas said.

"Yeah, so?" Dean snapped. "Sam overpowered him once. Twice if you count the hallucinations. And he said no to him when we were looking for a way to fight Amara."

"And Sam never told you how difficult it was to say no," Cas said. "It almost broke him."

"I don't see why," Dean said aggressively. "Why would it be hard to tell that asshole to shove it?"

"You'd understand better if you'd ever served as a vessel. Especially if you'd served as Michael's vessel. The bond between an angel and their True Vessel is profound," Cas explained. "And… sometimes it can take on a sexual or romantic dimension."

"Romantic!" Dean exclaimed. "Are you kidding me?"

"No," Cas said seriously. "Why would I joke about something like this?"

"Wait," Dean said, "So does that mean you felt some kind of… dimension with Jimmy." The angel's cheeks went pink and Dean's mouth dropped open. "I'll take that as a yes," he said, sounding stunned. Dean leaned back in his chair, absorbing that slowly. Cas's eyes were steady on his and full of sorrow.

"I've always known that deep down, Sam loves Lucifer," he said. This was insane, Dean thought. Sam loving Lucifer? Cas had lost touch with reality.

"And you never thought it was worth mentioning?" Dean demanded.

"It never seemed relevant," Cas replied.

Dean swallowed more whiskey and then pinched the bridge of his nose. "Don't keep stuff like this to yourself, Cas. Tell me and I'll decide if it's relevant. No offence buddy, but your judgement isn't the best where human emotions are involved."

"I'm not offended," the angel said mildly. "It's true. I'm sorry, Dean. I was only trying to protect Sam's privacy. I didn't think he'd want you to know and I didn't think we'd ever encounter Lucifer again."

Dean eyed the whiskey for a moment and then stood up and went over to the fridge. He pulled out a beer and then turned back to the angel.

"You want a beer, Cas?" he asked.

The angel made a strange face. "All right." Dean grabbed another bottle and handed it to Cas, who looked down at it mournfully.

"OK, explain to me again how Sam could be in love with freaking Lucifer," Dean said through a mouthful of beer. Cas gave a weary sigh.

"When an angel inhabits a True Vessel, that's a very… intimate thing," he said. He still hadn't opened his beer. "A piece of the angel's Grace embeds itself into the vessel's soul. It can't ever be removed, it's like the soul had a space specifically for that angel's Grace to fill. That connection is so unlike any other, it's a unique bond." Dean snatched the beer bottle out of Cas's hands, opened it and handed it back. The angel gave him an uncertain look and then took a large swallow.

"So, when Lucifer possessed Sam back during the Apocalypse, he stuck a bit of his Grace into my brother's soul!" Dean said, incredulous.

"Yes." Cas was tense, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"And, you. You did this with Jimmy Novak."

"Yes," the angel whispered. He wasn't looking at Dean now, but staring down at the floor.

"So you and Jimmy… uh…" Dean waved his hands uncomfortably. Why the Hell had he started asking about this?

"The attraction was there," Cas said. "We never did anything about it."

Dean gaped at him. "What does that mean?" Cas opened his mouth and Dean shook his head. "No, don't tell me. I don't wanna know. But are you saying Sam and Lucifer… uh… did something about it?"

"I'm reasonably certain that's what occurred," Cas said. "When I raised Sam from the Cage-"

"Without his soul," Dean said sourly.

"Yes, without his soul," Cas agreed in a small voice. "He was quite upfront about it. Later, once he had been ensouled once more, he didn't seem to remember that he'd told me. I didn't see any reason to tell you about what he'd said. Lucifer was in the Cage, and that was the end of it."

"Is this why he hallucinated seeing Lucifer?" Dean asked sharply. "After you tore down the wall Death put up in his mind?"

"I would think so," Cas agreed. He grabbed Dean's hand and looked directly into his eyes. "I'm sorry, Dean. I should have told you before."

"It's OK," Dean said tiredly. "I understand why you kept it to yourself. But what the Hell do we do now?"

Cas sighed. "I have no idea."

Sam opened his eyes slowly, letting himself emerge from the warm cocoon of sleep. Lucifer had retreated once more, leaving him alone with his thoughts. He stared up at the ceiling, thoughts tumbling over one another until finally he sat up and looked over at the phone on the nightstand.

He really should call Cas. The angel was probably half out of his mind with worry. He reached out to pick up the handset and then hesitated. How was he going to explain what was happening here? He barely knew himself what he was doing. He'd wondered, in that dark hellish basement, if he'd lost his mind. Perhaps he had, perhaps too much pain and loss had finally sent him screamingly insane. He felt remarkably content, considering.

Thinking about his recent captivity brought another thought, that he'd planned to end his life somewhere peaceful, once he had escaped. Now he had escaped, he could plan out his end. In which case, was it really fair to let Cas know where he was? No doubt the angel would attempt to foil any plans he made.

"Are things really so bad?" Lucifer said suddenly and Sam jumped in surprise. Lucifer was sat on the only chair in the room, an unattractive armchair with a pull-out footrest. His body was relaxed but his face was tense, a sure sign this conversation was going to end in an argument.

"I'm tired," Sam said. "I've seen more horrifying things in the past week than most people see in a lifetime. My world is a constant barrage of pain and blood and horror, and I just don't want to deal with it anymore. I'm done."

"But I'm here now," Lucifer objected, as if his presence was somehow not part of the appalling shitshow of his life. The archangel stiffened as that thought crossed Sam's mind and he remembered belatedly that he was not alone inside his head anymore.

"Don't take it personally," Sam told him.

"How else am I supposed to take it," Lucifer said sourly. "But don't let me stop you."

"What does that mean?" Sam asked. "If you're in here, can I even die?"

"No," Lucifer said. "I just thought making an attempt might make you see the value of living."

"Go away," Sam snarled. "You said I could rescind my consent to being possessed. Well, fine. You had a chance to talk to me yesterday, but instead you chose to seduce me. That's on you."

"You wanted to be seduced," Lucifer pointed out. "Prissy little Sammy Winchester can't have anyone thinking he wants the devil to fuck him senseless. No, he was overwhelmed by my incredible powers!"

"Didn't I tell you to leave?" Sam said acidly.

"Well, it's not that simple," Lucifer said. "After all, I am an archangel. Can't just go around tossing archangels out on their ear."

"You lying son of a bitch," Sam growled. "You promised me I could ask you to leave once we were free."

"That wasn't a lie," Lucifer said mildly. "It's just not quite a straightforward as I led you to believe. You can ask me to leave. In Enochian."

Sam gaped at him. "I don't believe it," he said after a moment. "You really are a piece of work. You know damn well I don't speak Enochian. And no doubt you'll make sure I can't just google it or call Cas up to ask him how to say it."

Lucifer shrugged modestly. "I had my reasons."

"Of course you did," Sam yelled. "God damn it, I should have let that bitch kill me."

"Now, Sam," Lucifer said. "There's no need to overreact." He grabbed Sam's ankle and dragged him down the bed. Sam yelped and clutched at the covers in a futile attempt to escape. But it was no good, Lucifer easily pinned him to the mattress and grinned down at him. "Don't pretend there aren't plenty of… fringe benefits," he said, waggling his eyebrows. "We are incredible together, are we not?" Sam struggled against his hold but the archangel was way stronger than he was, even in this artificial construct inside his mind.

"No," Sam said. Lucifer leaned in for a kiss and he turned his face away. "No," he repeated. "Never again."

"Sammy…" Lucifer said, pouting at him. "If you're going to be my vessel for a while, you might as well enjoy yourself. You want it, don't think I can't feel your arousal. Forget about this ridiculous idea of killing yourself, or going off to find Dean and Castiel or any other nonsense. Just let me drive for a while, and you can rest. Recover from all the bad things that have happened. Let me make love to you until all those horrid memories have faded away."

"Dean's dead," Sam said, his misery and grief threatening suddenly to overwhelm him.

"Is he?" Lucifer said, sounding slightly puzzled. "If you say so." He began nuzzling at Sam's neck and Sam arched under him, the sensations driving him slowly insane.

"I hate you," Sam said. And then Lucifer claimed his mouth and he said nothing more.