endoftheverse | Lucifer's Dreamwalking

[The dream finally seems to land on a particular day — beautiful day, really. Dean might vaguely remember it was somewhere around 1988, maybe later, maybe earlier. He was just a young kid then, anyway. But there's a picnic blanket smoothed out on a grassy hill overlooking a playground that seems all but abandoned. It's behind a hotel somewhere in Utah, and their dad's gone for the day, and it's just the two of them. It's sneaky and wrong and they could get in trouble, but-

Sam is very, very happy. He sits with his legs stretched out in front of him, a pile of dollar store drawing materials all around him; he's drawn what is maybe a rabbit, maybe a dog, maybe a blob with arms and legs. But he's happy, and he smiles over at Dean as he appears, not apparently concerned with the fact that Dean isn't a child.]

What're you shaking for? S'not even cold. Look.

['Sam' motions to the sunny sky with a small hand. It's warm.

Not a cloud in sight.]

[ Dean's dream world tips a little on its axis as his subconscious flits through memories, some real, some imagined, many deeply personal. He lands here, though, and he remembers this day, remembers Sam's scribbled drawings, remembers his own legs stretched out as the sun beat down on his face. It wasn't hot, it had been just right - warm, comfortable, just the two of them.

He remembers buying those supplies, the notebooks and crayons with cash they were supposed to use for food, but Dean hadn't cared. Sam had wanted to draw, and what Sammy wanted from Dean, he usually got.

It had been a good day, he remembers.

Why, then, is he trembling? He doesn't know. ]

I'm fine. Show me what you drew?

[Sam smiles — not as frequent a sight as it should be, really, for a boy his age. But sometime's he's brooding and sad and lonely, watching his kid's cartoons on the television and playing with toys from the quarter machine and not noticing the dark figures peering through motel room blinds, eager to catch a glance of their master's vessel-]

It's my dream dog. See?

[He holds it out to Dean.]

I gave him an extra leg, just in case. Remember the one we saw, on the road? He was hopping on three legs?

He wouldn't hafta' worry about that, if he had another one.

[Word for word, a perfect facsimile of Dean's memory, however foggy. Sam Winchester swore by the 'emergency spare leg for dogs' concept until he was eight or nine, and inevitably learned that sort of thinking was childish and stupid.

The boy points to the empty, white space on the paper, next to his odd-looking dog.]

That one's your dog. Right? It always smells bad.

[ The smile is as treasured now as it was then, when Dean saw it the first time. Children should smile more, they should play, enjoy their youth while they can. Dean...tries to do that, to create simple joys in Sammy's life, but it's hard with the way their family lives.

Still. This is a rare treat, this sunny picnic, and dream or not, Dean's enjoying it. ]

I remember. Good job, he'll appreciate that.

[ But Dean's brow furrows, quizzical, as he looks at the empty space Sam points to. ]

What dog, Sammy?

[He points again to the empty space.]

You know the one! You met him before, didn't you? He smells bad, like when we forgot to close the fridge all day. Dad was so mad. Remember? [He doesn't give much time for Dean to process what he's trying to say, though. Sammy hops up onto his feet, looking particularly determined, eyes sparkling with some excitement.] ... I'll show you! I know where he's at; I'll go get him, Dean!

[He's running from the picnic blanket, stepping on and breaking some of the crayons as he goes (isn't that just like Sam, to accidentally break things, trying to do something helpful?). He's excitable and buzzing with the energy of a kid who had eaten too much candy, gotten so little sleep that he's practically unhinged with delirious joy. He's running toward the collective of trees that line the top of the hill, the kind that lead into a pleasant hiking trail.]

Then we'll have a dog — a dog we can hide from Dad, 'cus he won't be able to see it!

The devisible one!

[Wrong word. Sammy took a while to get the hang of using too-smart, big-brained words to annoy his brother. In the dimming light of the hiking trail ahead, deep, rattling growls carry across the pleasant hilltop. The stench of rotten eggs follow the sweeping, sudden wind.]

C'mere, little doggy!

[Sam shoves his fingers into his mouth as he runs toward the dark, tries to whistle, and nothing happens.

Hasn't figured it out yet.]

[ There's a distinct feeling of dread that sits like a rock in the pit of his stomach at Sam's description, and despite the cheery sunshine and the nice picnic they were having, Dean suddenly, desperately, wants to get out of here.

Now.

But he's drawn to follow his kid brother, he's little and vulnerable and Dean's scrambling after him, shouting-- ]

Sammy, wait! Come back, get back here--

[ He pulls a face, because the smell is foul and disgusting, and it's familiar, and his heart drops all the way down to his toes as his dread (and terror) grows. ]

Sam, wait!

[Sammy stops on the hill, the trees behind him beautiful and lush and green, just as the memory dictated. He turns and waves at Dean, beckoning him to follow. It seems slow — the waving, the soft rustle of the leaves, the speed in which Dean can even move. Time is impossibly difficult to keep up with, and Sam's voice distorts, echoes through a tin can in Dean's ears.]

Over here, Dean! It's this way!

[And then, sharply, Sammy's leg goes out from under him. His belly hits the ground with a soft thump as the air punches out of him, leaves crunching beneath, leg dangling in the air as if on fishing line. Blood wells and spills as he looks at the big brother running towards him; scrabbling at the dirt, one word is dragged out with him as the invisible beast pulls him into the thick forest:]

Dean!

[ He runs faster, pushing himself, willing his legs to move faster, faster-- ]

Sammy, Sammy, stop--!

[ But he's not fast enough, he isn't quick enough in the dream to make it to him in time. It's like slogging through quicksand that's sucking him down, slowing his movements, making sure he has to watch, but can't assist. ]

I'm coming, Sam, just hold on!

[Run, Dean, run.

It doesn't do much good, though; by the time Dean arrives in the blood-spackled clearing, the small, limp body has been abandoned in it. The small body is pale, positioned eerily like Dean had been the day that hell hound had torn him apart and dragged him to hell; the injuries match to an unnatural degree, in a way Dean would have no memory of, no visual recollection of.

That's because Lucifer created the scene with a little help from poor Sam's memories.

It's just a little flair. A little flavor.

He leaves Dean to the scene, lets him have his terrible nightmare sincerely, before he wanders out into the clearing himself. It's just him in ol' Nick's image — he watches patiently, thoughtfully, as if he hadn't directly influenced this dream at all.]

I could bring him back for you, if you'd like.

I've done it plenty for him before, you know.

SAM!

[ Dean drops to his knees, body shaking, vividly remembering the hounds, the way they'd smelled, the way they'd torn him to pieces and dragged his soul to hell. His hands tremble violently as he reaches for his little brother, cheeks wet from tears and flushed. God, Sammy, Sammy--

This isn't how he remembers it. It's a nightmare, dragged from the hellscape that is this Dean's subconscious, it isn't real. He says it in his head over and over, repeating it like a broken record it isn't real, it isn't real, it isn't real--

A voice shatters his mantra and he looks up wildly, face stained with tears, something in the back of his head telling him, without a doubt, it is Lucifer. IT has to be. ]

Get out of my head.

That's no way to greet an old friend, Dean.

[He walks closer, his expression unreadable as he eyes Dean — and then the small, lifeless figure in his arms, his expression smoothing into something a little sadder.]

Such a tragedy.

You know, the day you died like this was the day he died like this, too.

Whatever was left of the 'Sammy' you loved.

The moment you were dragged to hell, he was dragged, too — he just never had a destination to reach. Not until he found me, to free him from that torment. [He crouches down so fucking boldly, and begins to reach out to put a hand on the little body's chest.] It really does pain me that you keep giving him hope that things will end any differently...

Don't-- touch him, [ Dean snarls, clutching the little body, hauling his baby brother closer, the rage and fury catching in his throat. Don't you dare touch him, he doesn't belong to you-- ]

Get out of here with your lies.

[Lucifer sighs, drawing his hand back.

He stays crouched down in front of Dean all the same, arm slung across his knee.]

Dean, you know I'm not much for lying. It's a bit of a time-waster.

And... you know as well as I do that you've made some mistakes here, hmm? We both know you screwed the pooch on letting my brother occupy that body of yours. [He smiles sadly, shaking his head.] I'm just being honest, and you know it. You've failed every step of the way. You couldn't stop your father's death, the deals — the seals. You couldn't protect Sammy from all the creepy crawlies out there, watching him grow up, waiting for him to be mine... Couldn't save a single friend, any of your family...

You abandoned him- [He gestures to Sammy, a soft tutting to follow.] Practically fed him to hunters and demons and angels while you tucked your head in the sand with Castiel. God, Dean, they practically tore him apart, one piece at a time; he had no choice at the end of everything, to come limping over to me.

[Lucifer's slight smile widens, as he puts a hand on his own chest.]

His real family.

His other half.

[ It's true; Lucifer doesn't lie. Not that Dean has had many extensive conversations or interactions with him, but still. Honestly, sometimes Lucifer actually speaks sense and that is far scarier than lies.

But that's why the words cut, because they're true. Dean isn't perfect, never claimed to be, but he really...really fucked all this up. Like, on a global catastrophe kind of scale. He should have picked up the phone, he should have brought Sam back into his life, he should have said yes to Michael--

God, there's so many things he'd fix, he'd change if only he was given the chance. ]

Shut up, shut up.

[ He clutches the little body tighter, closer to him, lips pulling back in a snarl.

The problem is Lucifer isn't wrong - he's not wrong; Dean pushed him away, told him to pick a hemisphere, and they stayed apart. They're weaker apart, stronger together. ]

No. [ The last part, though. That strengthens him a little, and he looks up, face flushed in anger and emotion. ] I'm his family. And yeah, I messed up. But I'm here, and I'm not gonna mess up again. So if you really wanna take him over, you're gonna have to go through me.

[Lucifer looks down at the scene with pity in his eyes.

People think he's a heartless monster, but — well. He's always had a sliver of a soft spot for Sam Winchester. And you can't have a sliver of a soft spot for Sam Winchester without an additional sliver of sympathy for the brother he had become so terribly devoted to. Dean Winchester is a stubborn, ornery, frustrating fool of a human being who had miscalculated most steps in his life.

And he will continue paying the prices for those steps.

No, Lucifer isn't heartless. Not completely. He'll be sure to kill Dean Winchester with some small measure of disappointment that it had to be this way, after he paints the town a little red, stretches his wings.]

Dean, Dean, Dean... I'm sorry. But I've already taken him.

[The small body in Dean's arms is suddenly empty air. Lucifer's carrying Sammy's lifeless figure, now, too much like how a father would carry his son to bed; the head of unruly, bloodied hair is tucked under Lucifer's chin, and the arms hang limp. He almost looks like he's just tired.

He is just tired.]

We know how this ends, Dean. But don't worry — I'll take good care of him.

[Lucifer vanishes.

He leaves Dean with the hounds.]

Lucifer's Dreamwalking

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cw: dream child injury

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aaand fake child death

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