likely_evil | [badcompany_muse]: Deprivation

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[badcompany_muse]: Deprivation

ooc: demon!Sam verse. The night after this

It was in the other eyes of the demon that Sam found himself remembering. Pain. Hurt. Fire. Smoke. DEAN! They had always been feelings. Things he didn't see pictured in his head.

But he saw them now. They had found another motel to sleep in that night, and Alec and Dean were inside. Two beds, two men. Trying to sleep. Not think of the demons. Not think of bad things. But Sam can only think of bad things. Bad bad things. Pain. Hurt. Fire. Smoke. DEAN!

Sam sat on the hood of the Impala. He leaned back on the windshield and looked up at the stars. The sky was black. Dark. But there was light. Little worlds making light. But there only light in hell was from fire.

There were only a few memories that Sam had. Now he had these and he didn't want them anymore. They were not fireflies. They were knives and blood and bad things. Bad things.

Pain. He was on a rack. Hooks in his shoulder. threads woven in and out of his limbs to keep him in place. Dad next to him. Same torture. Alastair. "It's ok, Sammy. Be strong."

Hurt. Knives. Cutting flesh. Muscle. Little strips away piece by piece. Different ways. More and more until nothing left. Dad crying. Alastair laughing. Then back in one piece. Breathless. Raw.

Fire. So hot. Pokers. Stabbing skin. Eyeballs. Smell the flesh as it burnt when it fell to the ground. Flesh curls when it burns. Lights up like a firefly before it dies. Gone.

Smoke. So thick. Hurt to breathe. Can't see. See things wrong. Where's dad? not on rack. Knife. In front. Alastair smiling. Dad not. "It's ok, Sammy. Be strong."

DEAN!

The crack of the windshield brought Sam back from his vision. He looked down and saw his hands were bleeding. Then he saw the Impala. The windshield was broken. Two impacts. Stars bursting from the pain to ripple along the clear glass. Never the same. Can't see through. Shattered.

Home was broken. He broke it. His fault. Dean will be mad. Sam quickly got into the car and curled up in the back seat. He his his hands in his hoodie. Curled up and rocked as he tried to keep the memory away. Dean would be out soon. Yelling. Mad.

His fault. He was a demon. Bad. Bad thing.

Pain. Hurt. Fire. Smoke. DEAN!

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Sam looked up at his brother at that point, his eyes wet with tears. "I broke home. Knives and blood. Bad things. Not fireflies."

He felt Alec try to get at his hands to patch them up, and he resisted. If Dean didn't see his hands then he wouldn't know he did the damage to the car.

Alec gave another gentle tug. More showing that he wanted to see, rather than trying to do anything against Sam's will. "Please? I'm actually pretty good at this. I'll be careful. I promise." He hoped Sam didn't need stitches because no way was he doing that without something to numb the skin. Which, at this hour he'd have to jack from somewhere. He'd do it if he needed to though.

"You didn't break home, Sam," Dean said, shaking his head softly. "We can fix it, no problem. Don't worry."

He knew the fireflies meant something, but he still wasn't sure how. "What do you mean, not fireflies?"

Sam rolled onto his back, head in dean's lap. He looked out the back window of the Impala. Almost like a cat, trusting someone to pet his belly. But it was so he could pull his hands out for Alec.

Alec wouldn't hurt him. Alec wasn't knives and cuts. Alec was nice. Dean was safe. He was safe there.

But how could he make Dean understand. The last time Sam tried to show him Hell, Dean was upset. In pain. Sam can't show him again. He wants to know but he can't.

"Cut away. Pieces curl up in the heat. Glow. Fireflies. Smoke. Ash. Gone."

Alec swallowed hard and shivered. That sounded like a week he'd had in med-lab once when he was on the lab cat rotation. He shook his head to clear it and reached out and took Sam's hand. He started to clean up the blood first, and on occasion had to pull out a sliver of glass.

It was slowly starting to click as to what Sam was talking about. He tensed slightly, looking down at his brother with a heavy sigh, before starting to try and relax.

"You got more memories from Hell, didn't you?"

Sam's head just lolled to look at the windshield. It was an avoidance tactic to not let Dean see his eyes. He couldn't lie if he looked in his eyes.

"Not strong. Bad thing. Bad."

"What's a bad thing Sam?" Most of the time he could sour out Sam's loose analogies, but not this time. The first hand didn't need stitches if Sam didn';t mind a couple of small scars. Just butterfly strips and anti-biotic ointment to avoid infection. Windsheilds were nto clean.

Dean was just quiet and let Sam answer the question. He knew what Sam was doing, and he didn't want to pressure him into saying something he didn't want to. But he also wanted to help, so for the most part, he just stayed quiet.

Sam stopped wiggling a moment, then blinked his eyes black and looked at Dean. "Alastair."

Alec wrapped Sam's hand in bandages and moved on to the other. "You don't belong to this Alastair dude anymore Sam."

Dean nodded in agreement with what Alec said. "He's not getting you back. He'll have to do it over my dead body, alright?"

"NO."

Sam shot up, grabbed onto Dean and held him VERY tightly. "No dead. Not go near. Stay away. Bad. Pain. Hurt. NO."

There was pure fear in Sam's black eyes and his fingers would be leaving bruises in Dean's arms.

Alec had never seen Sam outright afraid before. Nervous and skitish as all get out all the time, but afraid? Not so much. That meant either this guy hat hurt Sam or or he was really bad news. "Okay." He reached out and put a gentle hand on Sam's arm. "Okay. We know the art of falling back."

Dean watched his brother's face as he did, before nodding. "Okay, Sammy. We'll stay away. We won't go near him. I promise."

Sam tilted his head, then nodded and curled a bit into Dean's lap, his head resting against Dean's chest. His eyes blinked back to hazel.

He was shaking. Alastair was bad. Very Bad. Sam was Bad, but Alastair was very very bad.

Evil.

Alec watched Sam's eyes, a little facinated. The black didn't bother him. They were Sam's eyes. The hazel they saw was more of a window that Sam looked out of. Alec wiped blood away from Sam's other hand.

Dean just slid his arms around his brother, keeping him close. The fact that not even Alloces could scare his brother the way Alastair did did not bode well for things as a whole. That only meant bad things happening in the not to distant future. And Dean knew that things like that never ended well.

Things like that was how he lost his brother the first time.

Sam was content and snuggled into his brother more while Alec worked. "Three days. Year. 15 days. 5 years. 5 years," he just said softly to himself over and over again.

Alec wrapped up the second hand and tucked it close to Sam's body for him. He set a hand on Sam's boney knee. Time to distract, with out confusing. He nudged the knee a little. "Five years uh? So how old does that make you now?"

Sam looked at his wrapped hands before just curling around them. But he looked at Alec confused. Then he realized that Alec understood what he was talking about.

"Six." Which was true. The demon was 6 years old. Sam the human died at 24.

"You're not doing to bad for being only six." Which is true. Alec would trust a transgenic kid to be be able to handle themselves, and for the most part so could Sam. But an Ordinary? Not likely. "How old were you before?"

Sam tried to think. But he couldn't remember. He couldn't remember anything much except a few memories of him as a kid. But he wasn't a kid. He didn't feel like a kid. He felt grown up, but didn't remember it.

"I don't know."

Alec shrugged. "Oh well." Because he knew better than to push at Sam. It didn't help him any. "You'll figure it out at some point." He offered Sam a smile then. It was kinda comical with three men that were all six feet tall or more, crammed into the back of the car.

Dean was quiet for a moment, still somewhat processing things, before he closed his eyes and spoke up.

"You were twenty-four," Dean replied. "You'd just had your birthday a few weeks before it happened -- you dying, I mean."

[badcompany_muse]: Deprivation

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