Sam Winchester is sitting at a table mindlessly sketching Enochian letters, letters that have come back from memories he doesn't want to remember, onto the faded wood when Lucifer walks in.

He doesn't fly in, which scares Sam even more. Because Lucifer is one of the only beings with working wings.

Which means he has far worse intentions than frightening him with the sound of wings.

Lucifer eyes Sam's hunched-over form, then the letters. He raises his eyebrows.

"I see you still retain what I taught you." He grins. "Never thought I'd be that good a teacher."

Sam wants to close his eyes and drift away, drift away from the being, the creature, the monster that still haunts his nightmares, even now. But he can't. He's stuck. Stuck with the Devil.

Lucifer walks slowly over to the other side of the table, then sits down, knitting his fingers together and resting his chin on them.

Sam clenches his jaw and looks up at him. He sighs, so tired, so tired like he doesn't want to fight anymore. He wants to be full of anger like he was in that tunnel.

"What do you want?"

Lucifer shrugs. "Oh, I don't want anything, really."

There's a pause there, Sam knows it. There's more.

Lucifer looks to the side, through the opening of the small cabin they're in, where all Sam wanted was solitude.

Sam doesn't take his eyes off the Devil, the being that could kill him and bring him back instantly.

He nearly flinches when Lucifer opens his mouth again to speak, still not looking at Sam.

"Did you really think you escaped the cage? Escaped me?"

Sam doesn't absorb what Lucifer says at first. Then he freezes, blood draining out of his face. He can feel himself stop breathing, terrified.

He can't. He can't be back there. That's impossible. Or is it?

He lets out a panicked laugh. "You wouldn't- you wouldn't do that. Letting yourself be captured by Crowley? The talk with-"

He swallows, not wanting to make Lucifer angry, furious because he remembers a time where he would get his spine ripped out through his mouth for speaking. He finishes his sentence.

"The talk with Chuck."

Lucifer smirks, turning back to face him, ignoring Sam's frightened pause, ignoring Sam's nearly shaking form, ignoring Michael just to torture, ignoring the flashes of lightning outside of the metal bars.

"All to play my part? Of course, I would!" Then he shrugs, smirking. "See ya, Sammy."

Then Lucifer walks out of the cabin, leaving Sam pale and clutching onto the side of the table like it's his lifeline.

Because this is real. Right?

The Devil doesn't know a better way to torture him than telling him that.

The Devil doesn't lie, but that wasn't a lie. Only a suggestion.

A suggestion that could be true, all along.

The Devil is gone from the room, gone to talk to Jack, gone to talk to his non-existent son, gone to talk to a figment of his imagination, but Sam feels like he's always there, always lurking.

And Sam can't trust anything. Anyone.

Not anymore.