#Trauma From Lucifer's Cage

[unkindledangell]

Casifer has angst potential with Dean... but what about Sam? It's no mystery what Lucifer did to Sam, and the obvious trauma he left behind. We only got a glimpse of their interaction when they were alone while Dean was on the submarine. Sam was terrified of Lucifer; he spent an entire season with hallucinations and often showed how he feels in his presence. His gestures and his gaze. So... just imagine, after discovering in such a horrible way that Lucifer was possessing Cas, how did he feel after that? How did he feel looking Cas in the eyes knowing his torturer was there? Knowing he wasn't even safe in his safe place and home. It's like if Alistair had used Jimmy's face with Dean too. Wish they'd delved deeper into that. So much potential.

[homehauntsyou]

I think about season 1 sam meeting post-lucifer’s cage sam every single day and it never hurts any less

[emadomu]

If I was Adam Milligan after Jack restores the world I would kms in front of Sam and Dean or I would kill them no in between.

[sleepyspiriit]

Post-cage headcannons for Sam

- He has so much of Lucifer’s grace, nothing supernatural believes him to be human

- He can see angel wings, and can sense when Angels are nearby due to being around Angels for so long

- He cannot be around the cold (Lucifer burns cold remember? The air conditioning accidentally turned on in his room and Sam couldn’t speak english for the rest of the day.)

- Can speak and read fluent enochain (has an actual hard time with english, will sometimes substitute english words with enochian ones because he can’t think in english, Deans ears have bleed because of this, many times. Reverts to pure archangel enochian when triggered

- He can tolerate extreme pain (at one point walked around with a huge gash on his stomach that he did not notice at all because of the pain he’d be forced to endure during the cage, he only noticed bc blood started to soak his shirt)

- He can’t remember a lot from before the cage. (He gets Deans name wrong once and is very confused, when Deans almost breaks down)

- Knows almost everything about Micheal and Lucifer and the entire family (he makes a comment about micheal when gabriel was in the room and gabe just stares at him, bc what he l

[cowboylwj]

little tw for self harm and implied rape

I was watching 11x09-11x11 and it made me kind of crazy so to anyone who sees this enjoy a sam and lucifer edit

[sampilled]

AU where Cas only gets Sam out of hell long after dean is already dead.

Cas is so lonely, he sees no point in continuing to try so he goes on a suicide mission to get sam from the cage, he doesn't expect to succeed but he does.

he rebuilds his body around his mutilated soul.

no dean. no bobby. no no one.

they are each others everything, cas puts everything into trying to heal sam, theres only so much he can do but he spends every minute taking care of him. his new purpose is to care for sam, this is all he has!! hes not gonna give him up or let anyone take him!!

[quietwingsinthesky]

Cage Torture: Michael Edition + Sam being devotedly in love with Lucifer when he’s pulled out thoughts.

Because what if Michael was the one who turned his anger at destiny being thrown away onto Sam? Sam slips out of Lucifer’s grasp or Michael takes him away by force, but either way, he’s at Michael’s mercy now. And now, Michael can see that Lucifer isn’t the problem. Lucifer might have protested, might have asked Michael for another way out of the Apocalypse, but in the end, he was willing to do what they were always bound to.

No. Sam is the problem. Because to Michael, vessels are tools. Instruments of an angel’s will. Their goals are the goals of the angel possessing them, but Sam made a choice that wasn’t Lucifer’s. (There’s lingering resentment about Dean here, obviously there is.) Or, to be clearer, he made a choice that wasn’t Lucifer. He chose Dean.

Michael’s looking at this mirror of his brother, Lucifer who was cast out for saying he would love God above all else, and Sam didn’t play his part right. Sam chose Dean. Sam chose humanity. He was supposed to choose Lucifer.

He doesn’t love Lucifer enough, clearly. So. Michael fixes that. He rips Sam up and puts him back together, takes away pieces he knows Sam won’t need to play this role, (lobotomizes him, you might say, lmao) and when he’s done, and what’s left of Sam is terrified and utterly devoted to Lucifer, that’s when Michael gives him back.

(There’s a fundamental disconnect here between them. Lucifer values choice in a way Michael doesn’t. During the Apocalypse, he didn’t really believe there was any other path except the one they were on, but it mattered to him that Sam would walk it beside Lucifer of his own free will. And Michael can’t see how that’s important to him. It doesn’t matter if Lucifer wants this from Sam or not, he doesn’t want it like this, because Michael has removed Sam’s agency from the equation.)

[supernaturalconvert]

We should do this for all of polls natural polls. I mean their rationale is that those polls are for their personal indulges so I guess these non destial Fandom polls are for ours.

Also, who creates polls for personal indulges when all you'll do is block the other side. Wouldn't it be just easier to state the result upfront? Why the whole facade of a poll?

In the interest of breaking the containment of certain fandom circles, let's see how one this plays out over here...

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

The Pathology Murders

Summary: When the reader and the boys stumble across a gruesome scene, they get the feeling that the monster they're hunting is of the human variety...

Pairing: Dean x reader

Word Count: 5,800ish

Warnings: language, angst, lots of mentions of gore/death, trauma, accident, fluff

A/N: This fic was inspired by this imagine (which makes an appearance in this one shot) and also by the horror movie Pathology!

________

“What the hell…” Dean and Sam looked around the abandoned house, pausing like you had when they got to the kitchen. Your boys weren’t wimps by any means. They’d seen some serious crap. Done some serious crap. But that kitchen? 

It took Sam all of three seconds to step out of the room and upheave his greek salad from lunch.

Meanwhile Dean took it all in before his eyes landed on where you were trying to work the scene, fighting back another dry heave. 

“You alright?” he asked. You knew he was concerned. You weren’t one to puke up your guts either. But the poor soul on the kitchen table, or rather what was left of him…twisted wasn’t even the right word for it.

“Not particularly,” you said, pointing at a glass jar that housed a pair of kidneys on the stove. “Not all the organs made it into jars. Pretty sure the liver is in the sink.”

Dean cautiously took a step inside, swallowing thickly. Unlike you or Sam, who had your own experiences with hell, Dean’s had been far more…interactive. Sam’s soul was battered around by Lucifer but it’d been more psychological than physical. You’d spent an unpleasant night with a hellhound in the same cage and while it hadn’t been fun, you’d been able to stay in a corner and out of harms way. Dean though…Dean had been sliced and diced and hacked and every other possible horror, imaginable or not. And then he’d performed the acts himself. You never blamed him for giving in, for breaking. You’d told him time and time again he was, and always would be, a good man.

Some days, more often lately it seemed the older he got, he seemed to believe you.

“Whoever did this performed an autopsy on this guy. While he was alive,” said Dean, leaning over the body to get a closer look. “Huh. Anybody see a heart around here?”

You surveyed the bloody room, finding more than a few peculiar shaped body parts but nothing resembling a heart. Sam finally made his way in, taking a deep inhale as he got used to the gore before him. “I got nothing over here.”

“Could be a werewolf,” said Dean, cocking his head as he straightened, brow furrowing. “Or a witch.”

You knew he wasn’t buying that though, neither of you were. You tore your eyes away from the search to watch Sam’s expression flare up with a strange look of familiarity. “Sammy?”

“I think a person did this,” he said. Dean rolled his eyes.

“No shit Sherlock. Someone used a knife or-”

“No, jackass,” said Sam, shooting Dean a harsh look for a brief second. “I mean I think this was a human, like an actual human. They were just talking about a cold case like this on a podcast I listened to during my run last week.”

“You and your fucking serial killer obsession,” muttered Dean. Sam’s eye twitched, the tension rising in the room. “It’s fucking weird, Sammy.”

“We hunt monsters, dumbass. How is that any different?”

“That’s our job. You don’t see me watching murder documentaries like a certain someone in my free time.” Sam got closer to Dean, Dean taking one to match, both boy’s jaws clenching. 

“Hey,” you said with a snap of your fingers, the pair reluctantly turning towards you. “Dean, plenty of people are interested in cold cases and as long as Sam isn’t a serial killer himself, his hobby is fine. Sam, Dean just gets concerned that you don’t take enough of a break from hunting but he can’t come out and say that. So hug and make up. You’re on the same side.”

They both grumbled and gave each other a half-assed embraced but it made you smile regardless. 

“So what’d your murder podcast say?” asked Dean, walking around to the other side of the cut open body. Sam’s face soured. “That good, huh?”

“They called them the Pathology Murders. A string of five victims about ten years ago that went unsolved. The killer performed live autopsies like you said about this guy earlier. The only lead they ever had was that the killer must have medical training, like a doctor, based on what they did to the victims. Oh, and all the murders took place in the Seattle area.”

“Which downtown is only twenty minutes from here,” you said, crossing your arms. “Was the heart missing at the other scenes?”

“I’m not sure. They could have skimmed over that,” said Sam. Your gaze followed Dean’s, his green eyes laced with uncertainty. “I can do some research back at the motel. You guys could check in with Seattle PD, see if the case files have anything useful.”

“We should double check that it’s not our kind of monster and if it really is a person-”

“We’re not working this case,” said Dean. Your eyebrows shot up, Sam’s face already frowning. “We do not investigate serial killers. Save it for the police.”

“Uh, what the hell is going on? You would never let a killer, monster or human, stay on the loose,” said Sam.

Dean’s gaze shot to you and quickly away, his eyes turning sharp as they zeroed in on Sam. You scoffed, Sam cocking his head in question.

“It’s because my mom was murdered. By a serial killer. Isn’t it, Dean?” Dean’s lips pressed into a thin hard line and you shook your head. “They caught her killer which you know. What does that have anything to do with-”

“You caught the killer, you did that,” said Dean, Sam completely lost. He knew your mom had been killed but not the gory details like Dean.

“Wouldn’t that be a good thing then?” he asked. ��Y/N has experience with this sort of thing then.”

“Why don’t you explain to Sammy just exactly what you did to ‘catch’ her killer then, sweetheart. Go on. I’m sure he’d love to hear it.” You glared at Dean, feeling an unpleasant prickling in your eyes. Dean didn’t back down as you teared up though, instead focusing on Sam. “She let herself be bait. She let herself get caught by the son of a bitch. She almost died because she doesn’t see when she’s going too far with serial killers. The same thing happened on that Tulsa case five years ago.”

You could sense Sam had shifted very quickly to being on Dean’s side of this argument. You’d been young and reckless with your mom’s killer, barely a day over eighteen. That was years and years ago. You’d learned since then to use more sense. Tulsa…well your plan as being bait would have worked if your former hunting partner hadn’t been more focused on getting some ass that night than watching your back.

“Yeah, that’s how we met, Sam. Not working a case. No, Y/N was fucked and if I hadn’t been driving back from Jody’s that night and saw the fucking asshole grab her, she’d be dead. Wouldn’t you?” Dean snarled. You narrowed your misty eyes at him, Dean lifting his chin. “We will make sure this isn’t our kind of deal and if it is in fact a run of the mill serial killer, we are getting the fuck out of here, understand me?”

“I fucked up once. Once,” you breathed out. You swallowed thickly, wiping off your face with your jacket sleeve. “Just how many times have you been kidnapped Dean in the five years that I’ve known you? I’ve been taken once. You? How many times have I cut you loose? Taken out the monster with a knife to your throat? A gun to your head? How many times have you gotten lost in a case? Gone on a rampage? I never realized we were keeping score.”

Dean’s gaze fell to the floor, his hand running over his jaw, searching for the right words.

“Sam, go back to the motel and research. Dean and I’ll do the fed schitk and get the files we can. Whoever’s behind this, I’m going after them. You two can do whatever the hell you want,” you said, storming out of the room and out of the house.

“You look pretty,” said Dean softly a few hours later as you exited the motel bathroom in your fed suit, a light blue button down blouse with your charcoal gray suit jacket and pants. You ignored him as you dug through your duffel for your pointed black booties. Professional but also you knew for a fact you could run and fight in them. You growled in frustration when you couldn’t find them though, hearing Dean clear his throat behind your back. You glanced over your shoulder, following Dean’s gaze to where he’d set them down by the end of the bed.

“Thanks,” you grumbled, slipping them on and pulling up the side zipper. Dean was sporting his navy suit today, the one he looked extra hot in. You ignored that fact as you tucked your gun into the back of your pants, fixing your suit jacket over it.

“Y/N.” You sighed, giving him a look that you really didn’t want to do this right now. He took a long breath, sitting down on the edge of the bed. Sam quietly slinked out of the room into his adjoining one. Most of the time the three of you shared but when you could swing it, Sam got his own next door to give you and Dean some privacy.

Privacy you didn’t necessarily want at this moment.

“You do good cop, I’ll be the hardass if it comes to it,” you said, shoving your phone in your pocket. You tried to walk past him for the door but he caught your hand, stopping you after a few feet. “Dean.”

“I do not, and have never, thought you were weak. But serial killers are a blindspot for you. Sam and I both have them. This is yours.” He lowered his head, like he was fighting the words that were coming out. 

To your surprise, he dropped your hand and stood. 

“Be careful on this one, sweetheart.” He walked past you to the motel door, cracking it open and pausing. “We should get going.”

“You sure I’m not going to lose it? Get too carried away and get myself captured?” you said, unable to stop from poking back after his earlier insinuations. Dean’s shoulders rose and fell, one hand going to the doorframe to grip it as you watched the back of his head lower.

“Y/N, don’t you know by now I’m an idiot that’d rather lose you because I’m a dick than find you in the hands of some monster like whoever did that to that poor guy? Don’t you know I know you’re stronger than me? Don’t you think I realize how hard it is to be with someone like me?”

“You don’t stop Sam from doing dangerous things,” you said. “You don’t bring up the past to him.”

“Yes I have,” he said quietly. “And convincing Sam to stay in a motel room where it’s safe to research has never been hard thankfully.”

“You don’t treat me with the same respect though,” you said softly. “It hurts to know you never will think of me as being as capable as he is all because I’m your girlfriend.”

Dean shook his head, straightening his back. “You are more than capable, sweetheart. But sometimes…I just want to be a man that protects his girl. I don’t want to be scared of failing you for once…because if that monster got anywhere near you…”

You took quiet steps over to him, staring at his broad shoulders as they sagged.

“Eventually everyone I love dies or has something awful happen to them. Maybe I don’t say it the right way but fucking hell, all I want is for those things to not happen to you.” He spun around, green eyes full of worry. You nodded, taking his hand and lacing your fingers together. He squeezed them gently, the warmth of it pleasant.

“Our job is dangerous, Dean. We hunt the monsters, supernatural or not. I love you but you don’t get to keep me locked away.” You ran your thumb over his scuffed up skin, still healing form last week’s hunt. “That said…I promise not to get so angry if you promise to just say you’re scared for me. We’ll figure it out, okay?”

“Okay,” he said, a flicker of a smile on his face. “I just have a bad feeling about this one.”

“Then we’ll be smart, okay?” You leaned up and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “And don’t call yourself an idiot. I don’t like it.”

“Okay, sweetheart,” he said. “Let’s go figure out what the hell is going on.”

Two Hours Later

“This guy’s a fucking psycho,” you said into your phone while Dean came outside with a bag of burgers and fries. “Apparently he sends the hearts to the victims families in a little box with a bow.”

“Sounds about right for a guy who cuts people open for fun,” said Sam on the other end. “I’m gonna pour through the records you just sent over.”

“Alright. Dean and I should be back in fifteen-”

“Why don’t you guys have a date night? I got this for a few hours.” You bit your bottom lip, Sam’s silence going on. “Come on, Y/N. You guys should talk about Dean’s protectiveness and your stubbornness.”

You wanted to argue that fact but sighed, closing your eyes.

“Any suggestions on how we find that line when our job is to hunt killers?” you asked.

“Maybe remember that he’s your boyfriend first, hunting partner second. Most boyfriends wouldn’t want their girlfriend near a serial killer either, no matter what their job.”

“Don’t have good points, Samuel,” you said as Dean took a seat next to you on Baby’s hood. “We’ll be back in two hours.”

You hung up and dove your hand into the bag of fries, smirking when Dean presented you with a chocolate milkshake. He grinned as you dipped the fry in it and tossed it back, giving him a big thumbs up.

“I love you,” you said, Dean smiling as he dug out his burger. “I always love you, even when we fight.”

He glanced at you, landing a gentle kiss on your lips in the next moment. He barely moved his lips, letting them linger instead. He moved back only an inch and nodded. “I was a dickhead earlier. All because I’m afraid of finding you with a serial killer standing over you with a giant ass knife again. I don’t know why I can’t just come out and say that shit in the moment.”

“Because you’re human,” you said, wrapping an arm around his waist. “And you’re so much better at talking to me than five years ago. The old you wouldn’t have even been able to say that to me.”

“I try,” he said, letting you kiss him, your own a tad more forceful than his had been.

“That’s all I ask for,” you said, Dean’s phone going off at that exact moment. He sighed as he took it out, Sam’s name appearing. He tapped it onto speaker and took a bite of his burger. “What’s up Sammy?”

“Guys, I think I figured something out. All the victims were patients at Mercy West hospital back in the day and this latest guy? He was a patient there last week.” You and Dean shared a frown. “Yeah, I know. The cops investigated all of the hospital staff there back then but they never came up with anything. They thought maybe a doctor was behind it but he died in a car accident between the second and third vics.”

“It could have been him and he had a partner. Definitely is someone with access to records so they have to work there,” said Dean as you held up a finger. “What?”

“I could have sworn I’ve heard about this hospital in the news before. Something to do with a boat accident?” you asked. You heard Sam typing loudly before he hummed.

“Yup. They made national news about six months ago when seven of their medical students died in a boating accident. Explosion apparently when they got boozed up and had a bonfire on the boat. The bodies were so bad they couldn’t identify the remains,” said Sam. Dean took another bite of his burger and swallowed. “Already checking through the police files. Shit.”

“Shit what, Sam?” you asked, dunking a fry in your milkshake.

“Shit as in the boat accident wasn’t an accident at all. There was definitely an explosion but they found damage on the bodies indicating some injuries occurred before death. Like being carved up alive. They don’t want the public knowing the killer is still active in the area.”

“It’s gotta be someone linked to that hospital. Only question is why can’t the police figure out who?” asked Dean.

“Good question,” said Sam. “I’m going to keep digging, see if there’s a connection between the two we missed.”

“Thanks Sammy. We’ll be back in twenty to help,” said Dean, hanging up. He glanced at you, biting the inside of his cheek.

“This isn’t a monster,” you said quietly. “At least, it’s a human one.”

Dean polished off the rest of his meal quietly, the air still for a few beats. 

“When you get too worried about me on hunts, you put yourself in danger,” you said, slowly sipping from the shake. His heated gaze was on you as you handed him the drink. “You have to trust that I’m strong enough to do this. Careful and capable. We both need to work on that.”

“Alright. But do me a favor? Stick close to me or Sammy on this one. You’re just…” You waited, let him find his words. He took the drink and finished it off, shoving the trash in the bag. “You just got over that shoulder injury. Your punches don’t hit as hard as normal right now. I don’t mean that in a bad way, just-”

“Okay,” you said, finding his hand, slipping yours inside. “Now let’s figure out who this bastard is.”

He hummed, letting go of you for a brief moment so he could toss the garbage away. You slid inside the passenger seat, Dean back and behind the wheel after the blink of an eye. Approximately ten seconds later you were pulling out of the parking lot and on the road, headed down main street and for the motel.

“So I was thinking this guy does autopsies on victims right?” said Dean, turning the radio down low on a soft rock station. You glanced out the window on the dark night, a rumble of thunder overhead. “But the cops can’t find him. Well, isn’t there someone that sometimes works at hospitals and for the police that would be able to fuck with a body after the fact and hide traces of their involvement?”

“A pathologist. I was thinking that too but wouldn’t that have been their first look? I mean they literally call them the Pathology Murders,” you said, waiting for the the light to turn green. “It could be someone that knows someone at the department covering for them. Stranger things have happened.”

“Maybe. I get the gist this guy works alone though. I only clocked one set of boots at the scene this morning,” he said, the bright green light illuminating the dark interior.

“Same. It’s absolutely someone associated with that damn hospital-” you said, Dean’s arm shooting in front of you in your peripheral. A millisecond later, something slammed into the right side of Baby, your side. Your lap belt tugged on you hard as your body lolled to the side, weightless for a moment before gravity reared it’s ugly head and slammed you down. Your head smacked something hard and it all went dark.

You could hear Dean asking a paramedic a million questions, not a single one concerned about himself. You opened your eyes to find yourself in the back of an ambulance, Dean lying on a stretcher beside you. He could tell you were awake and struggled to reach over to you but couldn’t. Instead he thrashed his head back against his pillow in defeat, straining against the straps that held him down.

“Sir, I need you to calm down,” said the paramedic as you blinked slowly at Dean. You knew something was wrong with you, with both of you, but you weren’t quite sure what that was yet. You struggled when you saw Dean upset. You wanted him to feel better. “You need to relax, she’s seeing you panic and that’s making her do the same.”

Dean stopped as he took in how your heart rate had skyrocketed, how scared you looked. He sighed and forced himself to stay calm. You saw him relax and heard him say it was okay. Neither of you enjoyed the feeling of being tied down, especially when the both of you were in plain view of one another and couldn’t reach each other. You tried to speak but couldn’t as you felt how raw your throat was. 

“We’ll be at Mercy West in just a few minutes,” said the paramedic to Dean as you half-listened. 

“No, take us somewhere else!” yelled Dean suddenly, fighting again. The paramedic sighed as you both started struggling once more. You didn’t have much of an idea of what was going on but if Dean didn’t want to go there, it wasn’t safe. 

“I’m going to give each of you a sedative and by the time you wake up, you’ll be in your hospital beds feeling a lot better,” he said gently. 

“No, don’t you touch her,” said Dean as you started to get very sleepy. The last thing you saw was Dean shutting his eyes as you finally remembered what had happened.

If Sam didn’t get to you soon, you were screwed.

Your eyes wearily opened under bright lights that made your head hurt. You winced and turned away from it, limbs heavy and still. Dean’s voice echoed somewhere, to your left maybe? You forced your eyes open again, Dean strapped down to a metal table with metal drawers behind him, the look on his face like he was screaming at you. You blinked, the ringing in your eyes loud and obnoxious, droning him out.

“Get up, fucking get up!” Dean shouted so loud you shook your head, a splitting headache cracking over you. “Y/N get out of here!” 

It took only a moment to discover that unlike Dean, you weren’t restrained in what was most likely the hospital morgue. Something was wrong though. A sedative? No. You were becoming more alert if anything but your arms were growing more tired, head becoming too heavy to lift.

“Something’s off,” you tried to say, the words caught in your throat, unable to be voiced. Your eyes flared wide, Dean’s drifting past you.

“Someone took a long time to wake up,” said a voice to your right. Suddenly a hand was under your head.

“Don’t you fucking touch her!” Dean snarled, your head set on a…stand? Something to keep it elevated and from rolling to the side. You tried to move but the message wasn’t getting to your body, your eyes glued on the handsome face with a just slightly off smile leaning over you.

“You were in a nasty accident, Agent Carlson. Unfortunately for you, your head trauma was too severe and you coded in the ER. Meanwhile Agent Manns in his grief unfortunately succumbed to his injuries. At least that’s what the autopsy report will say,” he said, inspecting what felt like a cut on your temple. “Such a shame. It won’t be my best work but you’re not the first law enforcement to cross me. Sadly no one will be able to discover your remains once you’re accidentally incinerated as John and Jane Doe but it’s good practice.”

“Let her go you fucking psycho,” growled Dean when the doctor moved out of view and returned with a pair of shears. 

“Psycho? I’m Dr. Thomas, ER Trauma physician and part-time pathologist. I’ve saved far more lives than I’ve taken, Agent Manns,” he said, snipping through your blouse. 

“What the fuck did you do to her?” Dr. Thomas bagged your shirt in a plastic bag nearby, doing the same with your pants and boots once they’d been removed.

“Paralyzing agent. Hard to come by but it has it’s advantages. No messy straps or ropes in the way,” he said, lifting your arm as you watched helplessly, cold metal against your skin as he cut through your bra straps.

“I swear to god I’m going to rip your spine out of your fucking face. If you touch her-”

“Not my style,” said Dr. Thomas, pulling away the fabric, sending a chill down your back. He gave you his focus again, a smirk on his face as he put two fingers to your neck. “Your heart is hammering away, isn’t it? Biology is fascinating that way. It’s so strange how an emotion such as fear can cause physical reactions in our bodies.”

“Get the fuck away from her!” shouted Dean. Dr. Thomas’ smile towards you dropped when he looked at Dean. He sighed and set the shears down, walking out of view.

“You’re really starting to irritate me,” he said, the distinct sound of tape being ripped from a roll filling the room and then Dean’s cries became muffled, only quiet thumping as he struggled coming from him now. Dr. Thomas appeared again wearing another smile. “Sorry about that. It’s always the men that get all squirmy. The women always live longer. Now, one could argue that’s because women have on average more blood in their bodies than men but I’ve gotten a fairly large sample size over the past decade to believe they’re psychologically stronger and therefore last longer.”

You tried hard to move your hand when he held up a scalpel near your face but nothing worked. 

Fuck if you could move anything you’d be shaking harder than a tree in a damn hurricane. Dean struggling right beside you with a front row seat was not helping.

“Now I like to explain all of my procedures to my patients beforehand. While you are paralyzed to a degree, you will still feel things. That’s perfectly normal.” You were wide eyed, Dr. Thomas chuckling. “The procedure typically takes me around thirty minutes. However, you’ll die from the blood loss or shock after roughly seven so don’t worry about that aspect. Considering you were in an accident less than an hour ago, I suspect it’s more like four or five for you which is unfortunate for me but it is what it is. Perhaps Agent Manns will give me more time.”

He lowered the scalpel to your shoulder and dug in hard to the skin, dragging it inward towards your chest. Your scream was caught in your throat as he did it on the other side to match.

Dean was shouting and thrashing on the table beside you but you couldn’t even turn your head to look. Dr. Thomas started talking about incisions and procedures and then you felt something completely unnatural against your arm, another shout trapped in your lungs. Forget the brave face. You would have been full on wailing if you were capable of it.

Crack. Snap. Shudder. Rip. It was around the time that Dr. Thomas held up something dark red and sticky looking that your body decided passing out was the best course of action. Unfortunately, it wasn’t doing that for some reason and you were stuck on the edge of consciousness, terrified and wishing something would come along and smash your head in to end this.

A loud bang shot out and something heavy smacked your leg, something else skirting against your side. 

“Dear god,” whispered Sam. Your eyes were locked open as you heard Sam rush over, staring down at you for only a split second before he moved to Dean. 

That was not good. You were far more injured that Dean, somewhere on the verge of death if you figured. Sam would have stopped to help you first.

Unless you were beyond saving.

“Sweetheart,” said Dean, grabbing one of your blood covered hands in both of his. Fuck he was crying. Fuck, fuck, fuck. You were so totally fucked. He looked over to Sam, Sam staring back with an open mouth. They couldn’t fix this. Shit, shit. You were going to die cut open like a Thanksgiving turkey. “W-What about Cas?”

“Dean,” said Sam, an air of resignation in his voice. “He’s in Kansas.”

“Jack then.”

“He’s with Cas. He doesn’t know how to-”

“A spell, a cure, something! Take her upstairs to a fucking doctor!” shouted Dean. 

“De. Half of her organs are…” said Sam as you got light headed, Dean’s hand running over your head. Dean found your face, his chin wobbling. “I-I don’t know what to do.”

“Then we sit with our girl,” said Dean softly, tucking a hair behind your ear. “And you fall asleep, sweetheart and when you wake up again, you’ll feel all better. I’ll come find you someday. Okay? Just close your eyes and try to sleep for me.”

Dean lowered his head, kissing your forehead as he fought back the tears that wanted to spill over. Sam took your other hand, squeezing it gently as you tried to do what he asked.

“Bloody hell, of course a Winchester took out a nutter like that. I’d have thunk he deserved more than a bullet,” said a familiar voice. 

“Rowena?” both boys echoed. She didn’t respond though, Sam’s hand dropping yours as a flash of red hair moved in front of you. You stared up at her, her hands cradling your cheeks.

“Dean, let go.” He did and about two seconds later you were shot straight upright, body in one piece, full of feeling and horror as you wrapped your arms over your chest, looking all around. 

“What the hell was that?” asked Sam while Dean shrugged out of his fed jacket and wrapped it around your shoulders, buttoning you up before he picked you up and was cradling you in his arms.

Rowena faced him with a hand on her hip, your own gaze falling down to where a dead Dr. Thomas lay on the floor, blood oozing from the back of his open head.

“Do you boys still not see me as a friend?” she asked, an undercurrent of hurt in her voice. You were shaking in Dean’s arms, clutching to his shirt with your too long sleeves. 

“You’re the queen of hell. Why would you stop a death?” asked Sam. She rolled her eyes and approached you, resting a hand on your arm.

“Because I’m the queen of hell and I do as I please, Samuel.” You wanted to say thank you but all you could manage was a few jumbled words as you buried yourself in Dean’s neck. “She’s in shock, quite bad. Best to take her home and let her rest.”

“Thank you Rowena,” said Dean, walking past her, stopping near the entrance to the room. “Next time you need something, just let us know and we’ll help.”

“Of course. I’ll take care of this mess. Oh and Y/N, dear?” You managed to lift your head, grateful to find Sam was right on Dean’s heels. “This lad is going to be spending a lot of time on the receiving end of what he gave out up here down in hell. I promise you that.”

You nodded, giving her a thumbs up. Dean kissed the top of your head, his hold on you tight.

“You’re going to be alright, sweetheart. Just give it some time.”

“How’s that feel?” asked Dean for what felt like the twentieth time back at the motel. You’d showered, took another another shower, took a bath, took another shower and currently were wrapped up in a mess of Dean’s pajamas on the bed with a big towel in your hair. 

“Better,” you said, your voice back with you once you’d gotten out of the hospital morgue. Sam was off relaying what he’d found to the local police. Apparently Dr. Thomas had worked on a few cases for the county but his sister it turned out was a hot shot detective who’d been covering for him for years. It was how he’d found out about you and Dean investigating.

Honestly that woman would be better off going out like her brother. She’d covered up a lot of murders for her brother. It’d be a miracle if someone didn’t take her out before then. Not that you particularly would mind that. 

You patted the bed beside you, Dean taking a seat and pulling you into his lap. He removed the damp towel and nuzzled the top of your head with his cheek, strong arms wrapped all around your body.

“So we really nailed that whole careful thing, huh?” you said. Dean chuckled deeply, inhaling the scent of your damp hair, a pretty lilac and vanilla blend you knew he liked. 

“How do you do that? Make me laugh when I don’t feel like ever laughing again,” he said, tightening his hold.

“Because I’m hilarious,” you said, closing your eyes, wrapping your hands around his forearms. “You might not understand this but what you said when I thought…you made me feel safe even when I was scared that was it. You were a guy protecting his girl tonight, even if it’s not the way you meant it.”

“Meant every word,” he whispered, breathing slowly. 

“Don’t you dare fucking apologize for not stopping it. There’s no way we saw that coming.”

“Okay,” he said, draping his legs over yours, leaning back against the headboard with you. “How’s that feel? Comfy?”

You smiled as you rolled your eyes at him, tucking in closer. “I got you, Winchester. I’ll be alright. A chocolate milkshake and order of fries wouldn’t hurt though.”

“You’re hungry? After all that?” he chuckled. 

“Yup. Ask Sam to pick some up on his way back,” you said, tilting your head back, kissing under his jaw. “Our date got cut short after all.”

“Are you sure you’re okay? You couldn’t talk earlier,” he said, taking your hand, lacing your fingers together.

“I’ll have nightmares, I’m sure, and all the other crap we get. But right now in this moment, with you, I’m okay.” He smiled, holding your body against his.

“I love you so much. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. Even if you do get kidnapped by serial killers.” You whacked his leg, Dean’s laugh rumbling against your back.

“Love you too, ya dork.”

_________

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Squeeze Once, Squeeze Twice

Part one of the Uncaged series

Sam and Dean & little sister!reader

Requested by Anonymous

Synopsis: you’re selectively mute, but things have gotten a lot worse since hell

Warnings: LOTS of mental trauma, mentions of torture (non graphic), lots of angst, little fluff

A/N: I took some creative liberties with this one, I’ve had this idea in the back of my head forever where the little sister fell into the cage with Sam so I wanted to put it here. Also this is set in season 6 (very loosely following the plot)

A/N 2: ok so this story took on a whole life of its own, it’s gonna jump around a bit but I think I did it in a coherent way, I hope you guys like this one because I really liked the concept 💜

You’d never been very talkative, even as a little kid. You could go days without ever uttering a word, and you never spoke to someone unless you were comfortable around them—which basically meant you’d only talked to Sam and Dean. However, you used to make exceptions—John, Bobby, Ellen, Joe, and a handful of others.

You didn’t do that anymore.

In fact, you hadn’t even talked to your brothers since hell.

Dean had been hovering over you since Death got you out, worried about how silent you’d been. He’d gotten used to how little you talked, but now it felt like you might never speak again.

He wished Death could’ve done for you what he had for Sam—put your memories of the cage behind a wall—but he’d said it was different; Sam’s body had been separate from his soul, so the memories had a disconnect, but you’d been in hell the whole time.

“Hey kiddo,” Dean spoke softly, but you flinched anyway. “We’re at Bobby’s.” He eased the Impala to a stop and turned around to look at you. “You, um…” Dean swallowed. “You remember Bobby, right?”

Dean had no idea how this hell thing worked—Sam didn’t remember, and you didn’t speak—but if it was anything like his time in hell, you must’ve felt like you were in there for over 100 years.

You just stared at Dean, and not for the first time he wondered if you even remembered English. What if Lucifer and Michael spoke so much Enochian over the past hundred years that you didn’t even remember how to speak? Was he doomed to be unable to communicate with you at all?

He was so distracted by his own thoughts that he didn’t even notice you reaching over the seat and grabbing hold of his wallet.

“Bobby.” Your voice got his attention. He whipped his head around to see you holding up a group photo he kept in his wallet. You were pointing at Bobby. “Bobby,” you repeated, the ghost of a smile twitching at the edge of your lips.

“Yeah.” Dean grinned. “Yeah, that’s Bobby.”

“Let’s get going,” Sam cut in, stepping out of the Impala. You got out quickly, trailing right behind Sam. Things had been strange between you and Sam; awkward. You had obviously formed some kind of severe trauma bond with Sam during your time in hell, but Sam didn’t remember anything that happened in the cage, so he didn’t understand the bond.

“You ok?” Sam asked you as he led the way towards Bobby’s porch. In answer, you reached your hand forward and grabbed his, squeezing it twice.

He didn’t even notice, too intent on waiting to hear you speak.

“Are you ok?” He asked again, softer, as if pleading with you to answer. You squeezed his hand twice again, and this time he noticed. “Is that supposed to mean something?” He asked, but the front door opening distracted him, so he didn’t see the way your face fell.

“Hey boys,” Bobby greeted as he stepped out onto his porch. “Hey kiddo.” His eyes landed on you, and a big grin broke out on his face. “It’s been a long time.”

Dean was the first to notice the discomfort in your subtle movements when the silence grew out awkwardly.

You felt as though everyone was waiting for you to speak, or at least to hug Bobby, but you hadn’t left Sam’s side.

Dean didn’t understand that, though—he could just tell you were uncomfortable. “You remember him, don’t you?” He asked.

“Hey,” Sam spoke softly, and you turned to look at him. He’d noticed the way your hand gripped his tightly, and the way you were leaning towards him and glancing at him. “I’ll go over there with you, if you wanna say hi. I’m right here with you.”

Your hand squeezed his twice, and Sam took that as an invitation to lead you up onto Bobby’s porch.

“Hey Bobby,” he said, releasing your hand for a moment to greet Bobby with a hug.

“It’s good to see you in one piece.” Bobby patted Sam on the back before both men pulled away. You looked up at Sam, and his tiny nod was all the reassurance you needed. You all but jumped into Bobby’s arms, and he chuckled and held you close. “Hey there. I’ve missed you around here.” Bobby pulled away, turning his attention to the boys. “We’ve got some work to do.”

…

Dean couldn’t get you to leave Sam’s side.

“Kid, we need all the help we can get with this,” Dean coaxed. “Sam’s gonna wake up, but…but we can’t wait any longer. We’re out of time. Cas and Crowley are on the move now, we’ve gotta go.”

It was like you couldn’t even hear him. You kept Sam’s hand gripped tightly in yours and you wouldn’t take your eyes off him.

“Kid—“

You looked around suddenly, as if making sure no one else was in the room.

“He remembers.” Dean stopped speaking when he heard your words. “When he wakes up, he’ll remember hell. I can’t leave him alone.”

“I get it, ok,” Dean said. “I know you guys went through all that torture together. But right now I need you, kid. Me and Bobby, we need you.“

You were quiet for a long moment, looking from Sam to Dean.

“Is Cas bad now?” Your voice was barely above a whisper.

“I…” Dean’s voice cracked. “I don’t know, kid.”

“I wouldn’t wish those memories of hell on anyone,” you whimpered. “And Cas, he…he made Sammy remember everything.”

“Hey.” Dean put a hand on your shoulder, trying to ignore the way you flinched before you relaxed. “We’re gonna fix this. We’re gonna get Cas back, and he’s gonna fix Sam.”

You didn’t speak again. Instead, you stood from your spot by Sam and took the gun Dean was holding out for you, leading the way out the door.

…

It was all going wrong, and you couldn’t even get to Sam. He’d shown up halfway through the fight, but Cas was blocking your way to him and Dean wouldn’t let go of your arm.

Sam was swaying on his feet, an exhaustion you recognized all too well. But there was a confusion in his eyes too, like he couldn’t quite put together the hundred plus years of memories that were bombarding him.

You wanted nothing more than to go to him, and Dean’s hand holding you back was killing you.

It was also bringing back memories of things you would rather forget…

Lucifer was torturing Sam again. You couldn’t force yourself to look this time—you didn’t want to know. You were tired of seeing it. And you were scared; you were always so scared.

But you did try to go to him. Over and over, every time Sam screamed in pain, you tried to go to him, but every time Lucifer used his grace to slam you back against the metal bars of the cage. It used to hurt—sometimes he would slam you so hard that something would break—but you were so used to pain that you could barely feel the little things anymore.

You were whimpering as you tried futilely to fight off the grace. You wanted to call out to Sam, but you couldn’t get your mouth to form around the words—you’d been too scared to speak for what felt like decades.

“You’re done!” Lucifer announced cheerily, wiping blood off his hands and turning away from Sam, who was curled in on himself in the corner of the cage. You couldn’t tell where the blood and beaten skin ended and the protruding bone began.

You tried again to go to your hurting big brother, but Lucifer slammed you back down again.

“I said he was done; now it’s your turn, little thing.”

“Not doing so well, are you Sam?” Castiel’s condescending voice as he turned to Sam brought you back to the moment.

“I’m fine,” Sam lied, swallowing hard and glancing at Dean. “I’m fine.” He didn’t direct it at you—the two of you had made a pact decades ago in the cage that you would never lie to each other. Not that Dean believed Sam, anyway.

“You said you would fix him, you promised!” Dean thundered, and you flinched.

“IF—“ Castiel cut in. “You stood down, which you hardly did.” Dean and Cas were having a stare-off, Dean unable to believe Cas’s betrayal. But you couldn’t take your eyes off Sam.

“Be thankful for my mercy,” Cas directed at Sam. “I could’ve cast you back in the pit.” His eyes on you finally pulled your attention from Sam, and the coldness you saw there had you shivering, suddenly thankful for Dean’s hand on your arm—a reminder that he was there. “Both of you,” Cas added.

“Cas, c’mon, this is nuts!” Dean was saying, but you couldn’t listen anymore. The fear in Sam’s eyes at Cas’s words had you more desperate than ever, and with Dean distracted you had a chance.

You broke free of Dean’s hold and made a run for Sam. You passed directly in front of Cas, and you saw his eyes flash in anger and surprise, raising a hand—whether to hit you or smite your or blast you away, you had no idea—but he held it there, waiting to see what foolish move you were making.

You reached Sam unscathed and grabbed hold of his arm, your fingers seeking out his hand. Once his giant hand was around yours, you squeezed his hand twice.

Some of the confusion in Sam’s eyes faded, and his eyes met yours with a horror that you’d gotten used to seeing.

…

Your hand squeezing Sam’s seemed to knock around some of his jumbled memories in the right order, and suddenly he was able to grab onto a single memory.

Lucifer was torturing you. After months—or years, Sam couldn’t tell anymore—of being too petrified to speak, you had finally gotten up the courage to have a whispered conversation with Sam while Lucifer was yelling at Michael about something.

The worst part was, Sam couldn’t remember what the two of you had said—all he knew is that eventually Lucifer picked up on the quiet conversation, and he had decided that “the trash was making too much noise.”

He had grabbed you by the neck—you were already a whimpering mess by the time he reached you, because you were well acquainted with the fact that Lucifer’s attention on you meant pain—and Sam had tried to stop him, tried to convince Lucifer that it was Sam’s fault, not yours, that his conversation had been interrupted.

Lucifer didn’t listen—he never did. He’d selected his victim, and he never changed his mind.

When Lucifer finally finished with you, he’d thrown you against the wall by Sam. Sam crawled over to you, careful not to make any noise.

He couldn’t ask if you were ok; he knew the answer anyway. The two of you were too scared to make any noise at all. So instead, Sam reached out his hand and wrapped it around yours, squeezing once—not too hard. The two of you needed gentle touches. Your tearful eyes met his, and he felt it; two squeezes—your response to him.

It didn’t really have one meaning; it wasn’t an “I’m fine” or “you’re ok” or even an “I’m here for you” or “things will get better.” The two of you knew you weren’t fine, you knew it would never get better in the cage, and you knew you had no choice but to be there together. But it was grounding; it was reassuring, it was whatever you needed it to be. It was “I know it hurts,” it was “I love you,” it was “I feel your pain,” it was “I’m sorry,” it was “no matter what, we go through this pain together.”

And that became your new language.

Sam blinked, bringing himself back to the moment. Your hand was still in his, and you were staring up at him, completely ignoring Castiel’s icy gaze as you waited for Sam to gather his thoughts. He looked down at your little hand gripped in his.

And he squeezed it back gently.

“You’re brave for someone too scared to speak,” Castiel cut in.

Sam’s eyes flashed to Cas. He seemed to debate within himself before speaking. “Leave her alone!”

You recognized the fear in his eyes—standing up for each other had turned out painful in the past; but Cas wasn’t like Lucifer. You hoped.

“I hope for your sake,” Cas began, turning his attention back to Dean, seeming to ignore Sam’s words. “That you never see me again.”

And he was gone.

“Hey.” Dean was by Sam’s side in an instant. “You ok?”

“I’m fine,” Sam lied again. “So um…what now?”

…

The four of you went back to Bobby’s to “regroup,” as if there was anything you could do to stop Cas.

“You two need to get some sleep,” Dean directed to you and Sam. “You guys look like crap.”

You met Sam’s eye, and he looked just as wary as you.

“What?” Dean demanded. “You guys look like you’re having a psychic conversation. I know something wrong, I’m not blind.”

“Nothing,” Sam mumbled. “It’s nothing.” He couldn’t tell Dean. He couldn’t talk about it. Neither of you were able to think about sleep without thinking about the countless times that you’d been woken up by unspeakable torture over the last hundred years. You couldn’t even remember the last time you fell asleep that wasn’t just you collapsing from exhaustion despite your fight to stay awake, and it always ended the same way; vulnerability was met with punishment.

“Alright then.” Dean looked annoyed, but he dropped it. “Well, I’m hittin the hey. Goodnight.”

Once Dean was gone, Sam and you just looked at each other.

“We’re safe now,” Sam began slowly. “I…I guess we should try—“

“I don’t wanna be alone,” you whimpered, coming closer to Sam.

“Hey, hey.” Sam grabbed your hand and gave it a squeeze, but you didn’t squeeze back yet. “I’m not gonna leave you alone. We can share Bobby’s guest room, ok?”

You just looked up at Sam, opening your mouth, then closing it.

“I know you don’t think you can sleep,” Sam said, reading your eyes. “I…I don’t think I can either. But we gotta try to…to go back to normal.”

“I don’t…” you swallowed. “I can’t—“

“I know,” Sam sighed. “I don’t think I know what normal is anymore either. But let’s figure it out together, ok?”

You nodded firmly and looked down at your hand in Sam’s.

And squeezed it twice.

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl @chocorade @aestheticdaisies @inlovewhithafairytale @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @casmustdiee @987coley @deadlymistletoe @wayward-impala83 @whump-loverz

[popamolly]

“INTERNAL REDEMPTION” LUCIFER MORNINGSTAR

summary. (y/n) finds herself in Lucifer’s grasp, knowing her job is to get close to him in order to figure out his future plans for hell and to ultimately sabotage him by telling the V’s. Though their first encounter didn’t exactly go as planned.

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE | CHAPTER FOUR

warnings. lucifer morningstar x stripper!fem!reader, eventual smut, mention of death, biblical references, sex work, sexual themes, trauma, abuse, murder

author’s note. this story has gotten so much love in such a short amount of time! thank you all!

“Change of plans, dollface. Your new owner wants you brought to someone else’s place, apparently you’re his gift.” The shark face man tossed you into a back of a van with a snarl, “How generous of him.”

“Screw you.” You bit back as you pushed yourself up, giving the guy a glare.

“Ouch!” The guy playfully steps back with a roaring laugh, “The dove can bite.” You glared at the man as he slams the car doors, covering you in complete darkness. ‘This sucked’ you thought to yourself, you got caught up in something that could make or break Hell itself when you just wanted to live a simple life, or at least the most normal idea of simple you can get. You wanted nothing more than to just dance to your hearts content while keeping under the radar but because of your damned loyalty to Valentino you had no other choice. Cruel as the man can be, you owed him more than just your afterlife.

Before you knew it, you were in a bedchamber after being scrubbed down from head to toe and put in a quite revealing garment. You did not even have time to admire the walls that would serve as your cage for the time being. The intricate architectural designs had you in awe, it was clear you were far away from the slums of Hell being in such of place of grandeur. Chandelier's adorned the high ceilings, oil paintings decorated the walls, and the smell of it all caught you off guard- it was a clean scent, something that only the rich and those bathed in luxury could afford to have.

"You will wait here, until his highness is ready for you." A elderly maid took your clothes that was neatly folded beside you as you stood in the center of the room feeling oh so out of place.

"Asmodeus is still away?" You asked, wrapping your arms around yourself.

"As-? Oh, no dear, you are in the King's bedchambers." The maid revealed, catching you up to speed on your current situation, "You are a gift for Lucifer."

Your heart sank then. Of course this is what you wanted, this was plan a, but how could have you caught his attention so soon? Your mission was now becoming more real and you realized that you couldn't fail. You couldn't disappoint Valentino because your afterlife quite literally depended on it. But now that you were actually in the King's bedchamber what should you expect? Someone demanding? Someone who easily towers over you? Ruthless in bed? You knew to keep your expectations low if the rumors about the King were even remotely true.

For awhile you sat on his large bed. Swallowing into your own thoughts as you waited patiently for Lucifer to arrive. Your nerves only grew and with that your curiosity as well.

Though Lucifer himself was a ball of nerves just like you. He was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet with nervousness at the thought of a woman in his chamber waiting for him. This was all so screwed, he didn't even want to be at Asmodeus' party nor did he want a prostitute in his room, that he didn't have time to clean due to such short notice. ‘Were you laughing at him and the mountains of rubber ducks? How fucking embarrassing!’ As much as the thought of a night of passion was intriguing, this is not how he wanted it to go. He could be everything people wanted him to be but he wouldn't stoop that low to sleep with someone who was under obligation.

Lucifer returned home to his palace with one thing in mind, and that was to free you from his ownership.

The sound of the rattling doorknob had you shaken from your thoughts, making you hurriedly get onto the center of the bed to make yourself more presentable. Tucking your legs under you, you let a strap of your gown fall from your shoulders as you puff your chest out to reveal your cleavage. You took a deep breath, ready to put on your facade to appear more alluring as you watched the door slowly open revealing the evil, dark, merciless- short king?

You blink once. Then you blink twice.

“I’m sorry,” You scramble to your feet, trying your best to cover yourself with your arms, was this some joke the maids thought would be funny? Putting you in the wrong room? “I must have the wrong room.”

“No, actually this is my room, ha ha.” Lucifer tapped his cane against the ground as he walked further into his bedchamber, kicking a rubber duck to the side, “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting too long, my dear.”

This wasn’t a prank.

“Oh! Your highness,” you curtsy with a bow of your head to show respect, “Forgive me.”

“All is forgiven,” Lucifer tugged on his shirt collar, suddenly feeling smothering in the fabric. He was a bit nervous now that he was in your vacinity. You were absolutely breathtaking up close, “I hope your ride here was smooth.

‘Hardly that’. “It was, my king.”

“Good, Good…uh.” How was he going to go about this? “Well this is awkward, ahaha. I actually was going to release you of your duty to me. Your uh…services, aren’t needed here. This was all just a simple mishap.”

You tilt your head in confusion. He was letting you go? So easily? What of those rumors you heard before, of the man who took and ravaged without mercy? And besides all that, you had a mission to do, you couldn’t fail so easily and so soon. The day wasn’t even over, “Do I not please you, your highness?”

“What?! No, no, no! You are…quite the lovely creature with an,” Lucifer gulped, his eyes raking over your figure with flushed cheeks, “an amazing body but I just—” ‘Spit it out, you idiot!’ He thought to himself. “I-I’m married, you see.”

“Ah,” You look to the floor then, trying to jumble up the words you wish to speak before you were tossed out. How could you convince him otherwise? “I see..”

“Good!” Lucifer clasps his hands together, trying to ignore the fact that he absolutely, positively— what do the young kids say now a days? Fumbled. He fumbled hard on such a pretty woman as yourself. But for good reason. He was married and as lonely as his life may be, he still held out hope for Lilith. He was faithful to her even after all these years…or at least that’s what he wanted to believe, “I will have the maids see you out and pay you handsomely for any inconvenience.”

“No!” You always did want to try acting sometime when you were alive, “Please my boss, would not accept me back. You’re all I have your majesty.” You held onto Lucifer’s arm gently, forcing your eyes to become glossy with tears, “I have no where else to go.”

“Well, that..” Lucifer felt goosebumps arise at the feeling of your fingertips on him, “that…is quite a pickle.”

“If you don’t accept me as your mistress then let me join your staff,” You plead with fake desperation, a desperation so good that even Lucifer was starting to pity you, “I can cook, clean…anything else really just please don’t kick me out.”

Lucifer bit the inside of cheek, trying hard to remain true to his word on releasing you from his leash but he couldn’t help but feel sorry for you, and all it took was you batting your eyelashes at him with a sad look that had him folding instantly. A spark ignited within him, something that he wouldn’t dare even acknowledge.

“I supposed I do have to replace one of my maids.” The King of Hell, gave in without much of a fight. Even if he knew that this was a bad idea, “Fine, fine, fine! You can stay but know that you are allowed to leave whenever you wish, I will not keep you against your will.”

You couldn’t help that your heart all but fluttered as his words. His voice radiated a warmth that you haven’t felt in such a long time. It was surprising and almost distracted you. Almost.

“Thank you, Thank you, your highness,” You bow your head again before raising it to meet his gaze. For a split second the both of you got lost in each other’s eyes at a loss for words until Lucifer finally broke the silence by clearing his throat, turning his back to you with a new found coldness.

“The other maids will take care of you and tell you everything you need to know.” Lucifer made his voice go slightly deeper, “You are excused.”

You nod before leaving the room, silently thankful that your desperate act worked. Which only confirmed that the King of Hell did have a soft spot, a simple crack in that stone wall of his that you fully intended on using to your advantage.

“The King does not eat breakfast but loves brunch, you are to serve him at eleven twenty-five sharp, not a minute early not a minute less—!” The elderly maid you met the day before was walking ahead of you in such speed you were unsure how her little lamb legs could even move so fast. You struggled a bit to keep up, trying to memorize everything she was saying, “—All the windows in the palace needs to be dusted before noon, are you listening to me child?!”

“Ah, yes!” You bumped into her as she abruptly stops, letting an apology fall from your lips before looking up at one of the floor-to-ceiling windows you were expected to clean, “How can you possibly clean all the windows in the palace before noon? How many even are there?”

“Six hundred and sixty-six.” Lysandra states matter of factly, “Now keep up, we mustn’t dawdle.”

The head maid leads you into a the grand foyer, her heels clicking and clacking against the elegant marble floor as she leads you to the center, a large crystal chandelier hanging above the both of you that seemed to sparkle like diamonds under the light. Lysandra points to the bucket filled with soapy water and the big yellow sponge beside it.

“This whole foyer needs to be shining before eleven so you have time to serve the king,” Lysandra raises an eyebrow at you, “Understood?”

You glance around the room, trying your best to understand how in the fuck you were going to clean this whole foyer in under an hour. But did you really have time to complain? At least while you scrubbed you can figure out how you were going to get close to the King, “Got it.”

Lysandra smiles at you, “Good. You remember where the kitchen is? Come there in about an hour to bring the king his lunch.”

“Got it.” You repeat yourself, which makes Lysandra nod in approval before leaving you to your work. You start to get to scrubbing until the floor was so spotless that you could see your reflection through it. Before you knew it was thirty minutes pass ten, making it almost time for you to be done and believe it or not you did better than you thought you would.

Though your mini accomplishment wasn’t celebrated for long because not even a moment later the sound of footsteps echoed through the foyer, and then a loud thud!

“Who in the unholy hell made this floor slippery!” Lucifer groans, holding onto his lower back with a deep frown, “And without a wet sign?!”

You gasped, “Your majesty,” Rushing over you help him, only to be nudged away the moment he got up on his own two feet, “I am so sorry!”

It was already your second day and he had to bump into you again. What are the odds in a place as big as his palace that he ran into you. ‘Fuck, this was going to be hard wasn’t it?’ Lucifer nearly groaned at his own thoughts, ‘Give it another day or two and she’ll just blend in with the other maids.’

“What a unique way to take out the big boss,” Lucifer joked, “Through lower back pain and a dislocated spine.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at his words, stopping short when you realized what you were doing. It wasn’t your fault that the merciless Lucifer was funny— and quite charming.

“Please forgive me, I think I got a bit carried away with the polishing..”

“You think?” Lucifer chuckles, The both of you sharing a moment of laughter, “The foyer does look spotless now thanks to you so I suppose I shouldn’t complain too much. It hasn’t looked this presentable in years.”

You wanted to pat yourself on the back. Turns out cleaning could be a bit therapeutic for you. Lucifer couldn’t help but stare at your face, your small smile and honey sweet laugh seemed to take his breath away.

And he didn’t like it one bit.

You stood a bit straighter as Lucifer cleared his throat, “Now if you excuse me.” And with those words he was off into the dining hall. Which reminded you of your next task— which was to help dust the windows. You had all but completely two before you checked your watch and your heart nearly sank at the time. Rushing to the kitchen, you hurried down some corridor steps and make your way down another hall until you heard the bustling movement and hurried voices.

“You’re late!” Lysandra frowns as she hurriedly puts a tray of food in your hands, “You need to go serve the king! Who knows how long he has been waiting? Now off you go!”

With a gentle, yet a bit forceful shove, your pushed toward a hidden stairway that led you right into a hallway near the King's bedchamber. You sighed before knocking on the large door and entering once you heard a simple, "Come in."

You entered the bedroom, letting the door close behind you as you made you way toward Lucifer. The King was sitting on a chair at his desk, tinkering away at yet another rubber duck to add to his growing collection. You wanted to know where this obsession with ducks came from and why it seemed so out of character for the King of Hell to have. The longer you stayed here, the longer you realized that everything you thought you knew was a lie.

"Your highness," You did a quick bow before setting his tray of food beside him, "Your brunch.."

"Ah! Thank you!" Lucifer frowned slightly, not expecting that it would be you to deliver his food this morning. It was as if you were at every corner, constantly reminding him of his physical attraction to you, "That is all, you can go."

"Um..actually! I thought you would entertain my company for awhile sir," You smile at Lucifer, mentally noting that there was an unspoken sexual attraction but you would have to tear his walls down first to even act upon it. You figured that you would have to get him to trust you first, "I've been curious about your...rubber ducks ever since I got here."

‘Why were you being so persistent? I mean I like it but what exactly was your angle here?’ Lucifer squints his eyes in suspicion at you, looking over your face to find any hint of deceit but only found your warm smile instead, "Really?"

You nod with excitement, pulling up a stool to sit beside him. Now that you were slightly lower due to the short stool, you looked up into his eyes with a hidden determination and a new found curiosity that you couldn't help. The King of Hell was a mystery and whether it was your obligation to Valentino or your want to truly look through the cracks of Lucifer's protective barrier himself, you found yourself intrigued by him.

"Well surely, there is a story behind it." You straighten out your maid attire before putting your hands into your lap, "Will you tell me?"

Lucifer clears his throat, a bit taken aback at the fact that someone seemed so interested in his duck obsession. He hasn't had someone even remotely curious since- well since his daughter Charlie. What was this feeling inside his chest? Why did he want you to continue to look at him in the way you are now?

"I suppose I can spare a moment...or two."

© POPAMOLLY 2024 all fanfics belong to me, do not copy, translate, or repost in any other social media.

@pyromaniac-on-caffeine @froggybich @punching-pentagrams @elleofdragons @futureittomainn @cryptidghostgirl @yelinmarceline

Be sure to leave a comment & let me know if you want to added to the tag list for this story so you’re updated whenever I drop a new chapter! xo

[chiisana-sukima]

What's your opinion on the take that Sam is always running away?

The short answer is I think spn's ethics are insane.

The longer answer is that if you did a rewatch and counted up all the times that Sam objectively "runs away" from a problem/his family/etc and all the times Dean "runs away" from the same, I'm not sure who would actually win. But I do think the narrative frames Sam as the one who runs, and that, over the long term, it treats "running away" as his cardinal sin.

For example, when Dean runs away from his mistakes in Road Trip, the narrative does frame that as immature and self-destructive, and punishes him with the Mark of Cain. But by s11, this is reframed briefly as a "we" problem in s11a (Sam: "if we don't change, right now, all of our crap is just gonna keep repeating itself") and then never held against Dean personally thereafter. Whereas Sam's equivalent attempt at running away--the s4 demon blood arc--continues to be held against him by the narrative until at least 13x21 (Cas: we let Lucifer out of the Cage.)

Even more interestingly, at least to me, with the exception of Stanford, the narrative also tends to treat Dean's episodes of running away from Sam as "abandoning" him, but Sam's episodes of running away from Dean as "betraying" Dean.

This is Dean abandoning Sam to his fate as Lucifer's vessel. The narrative punishment is extreme, but not only does Dean get a do over in the same episode and it never comes up again, but the quote is remembered by fandom primarily as a quote about how close they are. And I do think that's borne out by the narrative. If Dean abandons Sam, the world will literally end.

Meanwhile though:

When Sam screws up with Dean, he's betraying him. The problem isn't just that Sam is an addict or that he ran away from Dean's attempt to forcibly detox him for his own somewhat questionable "good", but that he did so with a demon whore. It's portrayed as a personal betrayal in a way that Dean abandoning Sam to Lucifer is not.

In some ways, Sam is even the more steadfast brother. He may physically leave Dean at times but he never stops believing in Dean's capacity for good. When it's his turn to lock Dean in the panic room because Dean gives up and runs to destruction at the hands of Michael, he doesn't do it. And in the Mark of Cain arc, he affirms that even if Dean kills him, he accepts it as necessary and still believes Dean is a good man.

Which brings me to spn's ethics and fandom's response.

If there's one single thing that spn is entirely, completely, one hundred percent consistent on, it's that tumblr is wrong. You can't just walk out; leaving is always wrong and will usually end the world. It's wrong if it's temporarily for the evening because you'd like to have Thanksgiving dinner and your family doesn't do that, or for four years because you want to go to college, or for forever because all your remaining loved ones have been killed before your eyes, or if it's only a partial withdrawal because you want better boundaries in the face of years of violence and autonomy violations. (To be clear, spn thinks the violence and autonomy violations are wrong too; it's just especially adamant that the only appropriate response is self-sacrifice.) The only reason Sam is finally allowed to temporarily leave in the finale is because he so obviously no longer wants to.

And all of this, to be completely blunt, is batshit fucking crazy. And I mean that in the clinical technical sense of the word. As a system of ethics it's an enormous mess, as a behavioral guide it's guaranteed to result in inappropriate assignment of blame and unnecessary suffering, and it's hard to interpret it all for me personally as anything but a response to trauma.

I do think that on an emotional level there's something wildly compelling about it though, and it's fiction, after all, so there's nothing wrong with it as a fantasy. The idea that if only you could prove your loyalty strongly enough your family would finally accept you, flaws and all, is an impossible wish many of us have spent a lot of our real lives trying to actualize. And seeing it happen on screen when it can't happen irl can be cathartic, much like revenge stories can be cathartic even though irl revenge is a terrible idea. The vibes are, in short, without flaw.

The thing that's hard for me though is remembering that everyone irl grows at their own speed. Not everyone is in a position to cleanly separate their emotional enjoyment of a plotline or theme from their intellectual calculus about whether or not it makes any fucking sense--especially when those plotlines or themes are about violence, betrayal, abandonment, and abuse. And it's hard for me to remember sometimes that huge swathes of meta aren't actually the result of [insert negative judgement here] but are just reflective of a different series of experiences than the ones I happen to have had.

Honestly I find it frustrating. I wish people would be better about separating out what the story is saying from what they think of that message themselves. I feel like the format of fandom meta is often kind of a disaster. It adopts an authoritative, academic tone, but is usually actually used to express personal feelings and wishes without acknowledging that it's doing that.

It's not that I think people should have to disclose their personal experiences to write meta--on the contrary, sometimes that's helpful but sometimes it just makes it worse. Rather, I wish people would get in the habit of using more "I" statements and acknowledging their subjectivity more overtly. Back in the days when dinos roamed the earth and I was an undergrad, I learned that the use of the third person passive voice in academic writing is a political choice. It grants the illusion of more authority and objectivity than actually exists. I wish fandom would take up my professor's call to abandon it to some extent and say "I feel hurt that Sam left Dean alone with John to go to college" rather than "Sam is always running away".

[ambersock]

Third chapter is up.

Post Hoc, Ergo Propter Hoc

What if Dean hadn't missed?

[lambmotifz]

thinking about sam. thinking about how he ran away from the family because he didn’t feel safe. his “this is not going to be my life”. then he loses jess. then spends months dealing with how his father told his brother to kill him if he couldn’t save him. he is only 23 years old when he dies for the first time. then he spends a whole year grieving & trying to save dean. his mystery spot trauma. then dean goes to hell and leaves him with the guilt. sam didn’t ask for this. then he is used & manipulated by ruby. then the people he loves most lock him in the panic room because they think he is a monster. everyone who was meant to comfort and reassure him left him alone in there. then he sacrifices himself and jumps into the cage to be raped and tortured by lucifer for eternity. his cage trauma. and even after that he still blames himself. he thinks he deserves punishment.

anyway. just thinking about sam

[pollsnatural]

*I'm not a samgirl and I rarely read posts from Sam fans. I did a little research for this poll, but I can accidentally misrepresent views of Sam fans with these options. If you don't find the thing that you're bitter about, please vote for "something else" and write about the thing in the tags (but this thing you're bitter about should be about the show, not the fandom, bc that's a completely different story and deserves another poll).

No hate towards Sam/Sam fans in the notes to this poll.

EDIT: The option "Dean didn't look for ways to save Sam from the Cage between s5 and s6" is incorrect. Dean looked for ways to save Dean. I'm sorry for my mistake.

Dean poll, Cas poll

[deanscutiepiesam]

I can't stop thinking about that one post about how Lucifer should've been played by Jared when projecting the image of himself [this post, go read it. It's so good]. And I completely agree with them across the board. Sam, being his true vessel and the horrific impact it would have on him, would've been amazing to see explored. But I also think Lucifer should've been played by Jared because he was better for the character.

And I don't just mean this in an acting way, (though, I am biased. Jared has skills), but for the sake of the story and his likability. Obviously, we aren't supposed to like Lucifer, I don't, but I did like how he was written when Jared played him. Think of Endverse!Lucifer in his white suit. Telling Dean how no matter what, he'll always end up here. Think of Swan Song, where he was pleading with Michael. How Lucifer didn't want to hurt his brother, but he "left him no choice." He's almost oddly sympathetic, but then you have to remember he's literally trying to start the Apocalypse. He's manipulative. He's the devil. We've gotten accustomed to Jared's face being Sam, all soft and sweet, so that image being juxtaposed with evil incarnate is so powerful. Wolf in sheep's clothing and all that. Gives you chills.

Now compare that with Nick's Lucifer or even Casifer. Not even close (in my opinion, at least). I was talking to a friend of mine about this a while ago, but those versions of Lucifer don't even feel like the same guy. He went from an intimidating, genuinely scary, and interesting character to a "I'm so silly" comedian - and a weak one at that. And I know this was unfortunately because the show went the route of making Sam's cage trauma a joke, but why, though?? There was so much potential for Jared to play him, and even going the Nick vessel route, they could've written him not... like that.

And this isn't to say Lucifer can't crack jokes. I think, executed well, it could be funny and add to the horror. Supernatural has done funny bad guys before (like I personally enjoy Azazel's and Crowley's quips), and it works for them. But Lucifer just feels like a failed version of that. It doesn't fit his character, personally. And I know some people enjoy Nick's Lucifer and Casifer, and that's valid, but it just doesn't sit right with me. He loses aura points, and I don't enjoy watching him.

And once again, I know we aren't supposed to like him, but it's not even a dislike because he's a good villain; he's just annoying. He comes on screen, and I'm not scared or anxious, I'm annoyed. And it's frustrating because they did so well with him in my Jared examples. And not only that, it could've been a foundation for later seasons. (Imagine Sam!Lucifer doing the misunderstood guy facade to get Jack on his side. Like come on, we were robbed.)

Anyways, I don't know... I just had to get that out. Not sure if I made any sense, but I'm gonna trust I'm coherent enough for you to get the gist of it. Shout out to well written Lucifer. You will always be famous. I hope you die — oh, wait...