Topside

4

"Hey, Sammy." A voice over Sam speaks softly, waking him up. Sam expects to see the fake Dean standing over him, it was his voice after all, but when he opened his eyes its the devil's face staring back at him. His blue eyes pinning him to the seat of the Impala, warning him not to cower away any further.

Very disoriented, Sam looks around trying figure out where they are this time. He's in the car, alone except for the devil holding the door open, in Bobby's junk yard. Lucifer grabs Sam's face, forcing him to look straight ahead. 

"Look at me." He orders, terrifyingly gently. The calm before the storm: any second now his other hand will plunge a knife into his chest, or pull his tongue out of his head, or he'll just keep adding pressure to Sam's neck until it breaks. 

Sam can feel his own hands gripping the seat, desperately trying to stop himself from resisting. If he fights, even accidentally, Lucifer will just remove the offending limb from Sam's body. Maybe just his hand if it's a small offence, but more often than not he'll just take the whole arm off, slowly hacking away at the shoulder joint until the it falls off. If he's lucky the devil will just break it, multiple breaks so Sam couldn't move it, but it would be attached; he would have a chance of healing without needing the devil's help. 

"Hey, look at me. Tell me what you see." The hand holding his face feels like hot iron. Any second now Sam's going to put a hole in the footwell with the amount of force he's using to keep himself from kicking at the devil.

"Blond hair," he starts, preparing to be struck. He shouldn't have said that, it's too specific and not what Lucifer meant. 

"Good, keep going." 

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Sam tries again. "Blue eyes." It's not fair, he hasn't played this game before, he doesn't know the right answers- if there even is a right answer, this could just be an unwinnable game.

The devil frowns, making Sam squirm. "Green jacket," he rushes out. "Brown shirt," but the devil doesn't look satisficed. "Please-"

"Hey," the hand comes off his face. The devil takes a half step back, putting both hands in front in the air in front of him. "What's my name?" 

Sam chokes back another wave of panic, the devil doesn't need to touch him to cause pain. "Lucifer." 

"No." Lucifer doesn't hesitate and Sam flinches back. The order is strong, no room for debate even though Sam was right.

"Sorry- Sorry." It feels too hot in the car. Like any second it would burst into hell fire.

"Hey, Sammy. Look at me. It's Dean. Yah?" The devil's skin moves unnaturally as it reshapes itself: the face becoming slightly narrower, eyes moving closer together, even his clothes recolor themselves until it's Dean standing before Sam. He's standing with his own scarred and calloused hands up between the two of them, now dressed in his white undershirt and jeans. He's almost unnerving to look at.

Dean should be wearing his jacket, but looking down Sam finds the familiar flannel resting on his lap.  

"Dean?" 

"It's me Sammy. We got you out remember? And we just got Bobby and Garth out of a police station. Tell me where we are Sammy."

Briefly taking his eyes off Dean, there's familiar cars surrounding them and a not quiet run down home behind Dean. Uncertainly, Sam whispers out "At- At Bobby's."

Dean almost smiles, nodding his head in encouragement. "Yah, you fell asleep in the car remember? After the gas station, and we patched up your leg?" 

The memories rush back: Lucifer ordering Sam to grab coffee for his illusions, the awkward bathroom break, Sam spilling a cup on his leg and burning it on the drive back, being too scared to tell Lucifer and only barely working up the courage to tell Dean, the gas station where Dean made him take off his pants so he could properly asses the damage, the exhaustion finally taking over and the calming engine of the car lulling him to sleep. The memories hit him like a ton of  bricks.