endoftheverse | Lucifer's Dreamwalking

[He rolls Sam's eyes, and the gesture is so familiar to Dean, so very much like the eye rolling Sam does in his general direction; he feels ill, watching it, and the frown on his face deepens.]

Or, you know, his family tried to save him from whatever dark path he was heading down. But sure, spin that anyway you need to in order to make yourself feel better. You're good at that, right? According to Milton, at least.

[Dean wants to shudder, revulsion running deep within him, but he swallows that urge down, the same way he swallows down a lot of words he could be saying right now.

His hands clench into fists at his sides, knuckles going bone white, when Lucifer says some shit about being "real family," and it's damn lucky some of Dean's survival instincts have gotten a kick in the teeth lately about not giving up entirely.]

Real family, huh? Real family would let Sam go, and be his own person, not use him as his own tool and weapon, douchebag!

[There's so much fear and anger, a noxious, fraught combination, like the ingredients to a ticking time bomb, lurking beneath his skin. All Dean wants is the satisfaction of violence; all he wants is to wipe off that damn expression with his own two hands.]

I'm not one for lying; the truth hurts so much more.

[Patient eyes flick to look at Dean's balled up fists.]

... You're so angry, Dean. I had always been told Sam had that darkness and fire within him — that anger. But now... I see it's a family trait. Anger and darkness and guilt.

[He smiles so pleasantly.]

Didn't your older self tell you, though? You're going to leave Sammy to the wolves, Dean. The same way you left him to the wolves when you died and left him to clean up the messes — all while you soiled the Winchester name in Hell, carving up and maiming souls.

[Oh shit. Oh fuck. Dean might not want to believe in the Devil, but in one twist in the conversation, he finally finds he really does have to accept that Lucifer is a real and viable being simply from the way Lucifer goes right for the jugular, poking at the most vulnerable and raw of all the exposed nerves that make up Dean's inner core.

He doesn't see red; he sees green, bright, noxious green, and the rusted iron chains holding him to the rack. Sulfur and brimstone fill his nose, and Dean's nails are digging into his own flesh so hard, he draws blood, and every ounce of color drains from his face.

He stares at the bastard wearing Sam's face for a mask for one long, low moment, and then, without thinking, pulls back his right hand and punches him right in the face.]

[Lucifer's head jerks to the side — in reality, it should have hurt Dean a lot more, should have cracked the bones in his fist, should have left Lucifer's head steady and unflinching after. Lucifer just smiles, though — like it's what he'd expected fully. Like he's more than happy to send Dean over the edge, into that kind of state.

Too easy. He laughs, teeth covered in blood from where the blow had landed.

So much for peaceful dreams, hmm? This scenery betrays the sudden tension, the scent of rot and sulfur that invades from Dean's own subconscious. Lucifer loves it, as he's loved it for many thousands of years now. Lucifer steps closer again, humor crinkling the corners of his eyes. No trace of an adoring or kind or warm brother — it's all cold and calculating, a being who loves to crush bugs under his thumb for fun. Bugs in their houses and on their playgrounds and in their planes, cars, trains-]

Now this is it. The mutilator who abandoned his brother. Who let him come running into my open arms. Why are you so angry, when all I'm doing is repeating what plays in your head over and over, day after day?

[He's taunting, tempting. More than happy with the violent fallout.

He's been a gentleman in almost all of his dreamwalking, okay? He deserves this.

This is fun.]

[The Devil wears Sam's face, and the Devil laughs. At him. Dean growls, both hands curled into fists by his side, but he finds that he can't actually do anything more than dig his own nails into his own skin, both of his arms suddenly weighing him down like a pair of lead pipes attached to his person, a makeshift ragdoll of scrap metal and leftover spare parts.

Dean closes his eyes, tries to grasp for that brief moment of peace that now seems like an eternity away as sulfur and rotting everything fills up his nose, practically chokes him.

He can feel the echoes of every memory from every year he spent down in the Pit. Every carve he made, every slice he stole. And every single act of torture that was done to him, too. He feels like a raw fish, like the first time Alistair flayed him down to his very essence before piecing him back together, just to do it all over again.

This is all you're good for, the darkest parts of himself whisper. The weapon, the blunt instrument, forged now literally in fire. Violence and death and destruction, this is what you've wrought.

He hates the burning sensation of tears filling up the corners of his eyes. He hates that those tears force his eyes open, into the cold, cruel gaze of a monster wearing a familiar face.]

Fuck you.

[His voice cracks, and the words come out like the broken protests of a desolate child, abandoned and forgotten on the playground.]

[Lucifer's eyebrows raise at the insult, but seems more than content to leave it be. He would have been angry in Dean's shoes, too. Angry to be jerked around and used and manipulated, all because he loved his family a little too much.]

You know, Dean, despite everything — I don't particularly hate you. Not like I do all the other unpleasant human-shaped leeches, roaming the earth. In fact, I owe you... You may have come up short for Sam, but you never let me down.

I never would have been here if you didn't break the first seal; if you hadn't undervalued yourself, threw yourself away at the first opportunity to ensure my vessel's survival and picked up that blade—

Well. The devil wouldn't be here.

[He licks his teeth, blood still painting them.

The air is thick with a suffocating warmth, but Lucifer radiates cold; too hot on Dean's back, frigid cold on Dean's front.]

So, you know. That's why I decided to pay a little visit. While everyone loves to give Sam credit for starting an apocalypse — for freeing me... you're an unsung hero. It's a little unfair of me not to appreciate your hard work.

Edited 2020-12-17 23:27 (UTC)

[Dean thinks it's impossible for him to feel worse, and the Devil seems to take that as a personal challenge; his eyes fall shut as Lucifer explains every favor Dean seems to have done for him, how all of his choices and all of the ways in which he thought was fighting to save his brother were actually damning Sammy (and the whole world) instead.

He's caught in the epicenter of a variety of sensations; a brutal cold to the front, a scorching heat to the back, and the lead weight of all the guilt and all the self-loathing that he carries with him, increased tenfold as Satan thanks him for all the good he's done.

He opens his eyes, but he might as well be dead inside for all that they resemble those of an unseeing corpse.

He wants to tell Lucifer that he's wrong; that he's lying. But why would the Devil need or want to lie about something so truly goddamn awful?

Dean chokes on his tears and the words that he wants to say, and then he wakes up in a start.]

Lucifer's Dreamwalking

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cw: violence, descriptions of blood, Dean Winchester's stupidity, etc.

cw: mental/emotional abuse, satan being satan, general horribleness

cw: low self-esteem, anxiety/depression, poor mental health, violence, torture, etc.

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no subject