#sam winchester cage trauma

[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.

[sounknownvoid]

sam is afraid of lucifer - but not just for reasons we think

this is another spn random too late at night that occurred to me today: sam is afraid of lucifer - d-uh! : sam has seen lucifers true face, hes tortured him in hell for 180 years, manipulated him his entire life in order to posess him etc,etc.... so yeah d-uh ofc hes scared!.... but theres this horrifying thought thats occurred to me just falling asleep (yeh apparently in that fuzzy place before sleep i head towards spn - ah spn is my true love!)... those might not be the only reasons...

If anyone been in a toxic relationship or abusive situation or coercive situation they might have a better insight - the thing about being in those situations is - you *know* how bad that person is, you *know* how abusive they are, you *know* they're toxic to you and for you and you should not be there...but you know what the most evil,degrading absolute horror of a situation like that is? - being convinced, against your better judgement, your logic to stay - having your own "goodness" turned against you to manipulate you into staying - your compassion and heart and empathy being turned against you into staying - so they can abuse you more, with your seeming "consent" - making you an accomplice in your own murder n rape.... and making you a contemptible, pathetic person in your own eyes cos its making you complicit in your own violations - of your body,mind, heart and spirit... the devil is not evil for what he does to you - its because of what he gets you to do, to yourself, fully aware - the slippery rope, the seduction into it...

Even if you do survive - you will never again trust your own judgement or have faith in yourself or any self-worth or confidence ...let alone heal, help others and have compassion and retain empathy for others...

Now multiply this by a 100, a 1000...coz what i described was a human domestic abuse situation - can you imagine what lucifer could have done to sam?.... no, its not the rapes and the tortures and the hooks and eye-gouging....what samd be afraid of lucifer for the most was how easy itd be for sam to slip back into that mode of being "lucifers b*ch" all while thinking ge deserves it . ... its the "conditioning" of sam that lucifer is capable of/has shown/has done to sam that sam has to fight against every single day....

all leading to even more feelings of self-doubt, worthlessness,insecurity,self-loathing "unclean"-ness.... ie, its what sam becomes when in proximity to lucifer that hed be afraid of most i reckon...

And the thing that gets me absolutely frothing at the mouth about spn-writers, is - sam is repeatedly having to confront and rebuild himself as lucifer is brought back over n over again right in sams face... the absolute exhaustion on having to dig himself out of that headspace all over again - all while terrified that maybe this time, he cant dig himself out, maybe this time he just. Cant. ... leaving sam to think maybe he really didnt make it out of hell after all...

(& yet sammy does have that strength to rebuild himself and even has enough compassion left over to help nick and lucifers kid - my absolute fucken king sammy!)

[blacknidstang]

Really interesting how being possessed is both likened to sexual assault and also genuinely feels like dissociation because you no longer exist in your body, you miss time, you miss memories, you're not you, you watch yourself from somewhere quite wrong. It's like the trauma and the outcome in one package happening at the same time

[samsrosary]

[lazyjellyfishcreation]

We don't talk about Enochian enough.

To my knowledge, enochian is a holy language spoken my angels and god. This means it's probably also spoken by Lucifer, whom canonically has contact with the other demons (azazel for example). It's wouldn't be a long shot for the demons in hell, or at least for hell's royal family to speak the language too. It would be like french in medieval England. Speaking enochian would be a status symbol. A symbol of wealth, class, intellect and hierarchy. Especially since it's so notoriously hard to learn. But because the language only comes through one source and Lucifer isn't exactly giving seminars on the language, it would be safe to assume that the language starts to change and evolve, as languages often do. The language would change quite a bit over the centuries and millennia that Lucifer is down there, making it a different dialect. Devilish, or Hellish enochian.

The enochian used by angels/god would still be named just enochian, heavenly enochian, or the Lords enochian. Now here's where the Winchesters come in. Because they are the true vessels for Lucifer and Michael respectively, it is probably safe to assume they pick the language up faster then any other mortals ever could.

Still, Dean, even though he spends all his time with Cas practically in his ass, still struggles with the language. It is difficult to pronounce, remember and string together words. Not only that, but there are words and concepts in the language that there are no words for in english or any other human language.

The world and existence as a whole is so different for humans then it is for angels, it's almost impossible to completely get a grasp for the language if you only have a few decades of life in your lifespan. It would literally take you more then an average human lifespan to learn the language, in the same way it takes babies several years to learn their first language. So yeah, Dean struggles. Sam on the other hand, spend more then one human lifespan in hell, and came back speaking hellish enochian perfectly. He barely even had an accent. As a matter of fact, his english had a slightly different lisp to it that wasn't there before and Sam occasionally makes weird grammatical errors in his sentences. He doesn't consciously remember the cage, because of the barrier in his brain, but his soul remembers the language well enough. The reason Sam doesn't get triggered into a panic attack when he hears the language of his captor coming from Cas for the first time is because the accent, feel and intonation is so diffrent from the hellish enochian Lucifer talked to him in.

Jack is fluent in both hellish and heavenly enochian. Cas speaks heavenly enochian and Sam speaks devilish enochian. Dean is just confused

[whydotheycallmechimney]

maybe I just have on “fucked up media” goggles at all times, because I can’t believe there are people who watch supernatural and don’t draw parallels between sam’s storylines and csa/sa. there’s so much more to his character than just that, but it feels like such an integral part of him to me and goes hand and hand with his lack of bodily autonomy.

[lambmotifz]

we don’t talk about post cage wincest angst enough

[sleepyspiriit]

my entire life fortune for lucifer to refer to sam as jacks mother once in front of both of them

[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

[unkindledangell]

Days ago with a drabble, I got the chance to dive into Cassifer/Sam and that touch of abuse, which is a theme I've wanted to tackle in fanfics, delve into it more seriously, in more words than just a drabble.

I enjoy exploring that dynamic because, in my opinion, it was poorly addressed in the series. And far from the ship dynamic, I hate see them as a couple. The dynamic of abuse, of captor/victim, is intriguing, implicit in many moments of the series, but it's always disappointing that it wasn't given the seriousness it deserved.

Besides I love Sastiel, the theme with Cassifer and The relationship wirh Cas post-possesione seems so full of potential for anguish. Are you telling me that Sam didn't have any issues, nightmares, or fear that his tormentor was living with him in the only place he felt safe? And that his own brother and God were okay with that?

I rewatched a little from "The Vessel" and just look at Sam's face. And the way Lucifer winks at him and touches him? Boy

There are things like abuse and sexual harassment that Lucifer implies in many dialogues, but that's another topic.

If I could say that I hate any ship, Samifer is one of them. I could consider it a NOTP. However, it's not that serious to me to demand that those who like it block me from that content, and not to take edits, drawings, or shipping so seriously. Fiction at the end of the day

Just something I wanted to clarify because I'll probably talk more about it. I want to extend that drabble

[homehauntsyou]

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

[boywifesammy]

trapped in the Garden | post-cage wincest

It's been a week since Sam got his soul back. When Dean slips into his bed, desperate for what they had before the Cage, Sam lets him have it. He thought it'd be easier to give him what he wants than to explain- and it was, until it all becomes too much and he shuts down during sex.

(gif by @/angel-e-v-a)

[ladylilithprime]

Day 17: Wings

(Follows Day 7, wherein Chekhov's Lube from Day 6 makes its return appearance.)

THE POWER COMING back on roused Sam from his comfortable doze beneath his angel blanket, the lights and television coming to life again nearly blinding after the comfortable dimness of the electric candle. He groaned and attempted to bury his face in the sweep of soft dark feathers before his brain had quite caught up with him and he dropped his head back into the pillows with an embarrassed and apologetic flush. Above him, Castiel slowly let out the breath he had quickly indrawn at the nuzzle to his left wing and favored Sam with a soft smile.

"If you will let me up for just a moment, I will turn the lights back off," he offered, then added in gently teasing answer to the question Sam couldn't make himself ask aloud, "And I will come right back."

"Should probably turn off the TV, too," Sam mumbled, wincing. The previously pleasantly quiet documentary on birds had, in the intervening hours of the power outage, switched over to a much more high energy presentation on monster truck rallies, with flashing lights and the revving of suped up engines.

He reluctantly opened his arms (and hands) to release the angel, unable to resist letting his eyes drop to take in Castiel's naked form as he sat up. He tried to keep his eyes from straying too far, but it was practically impossible. Castiel was completely without shame in his nakedness-- and the angel certainly had nothing to be ashamed about! Even aside from the solidly built and decently maintained physical body that used to belong to Jimmy Novak, Castiel made no move to return his wings to whatever plane he kept them on most of the time.

They weren't actually black, Sam noticed helplessly. While the feathers along the upper parts of the wings were dark, and very dark close to the base, the color was a lot closer to purple or indigo and shading down into brighter shades of amethyst, cobalt, even flashes of emerald and tiny flecks of silver near the tips of each feather. There were other marks, patches where the feather growth was uneven hinting at past injuries and slow regeneration, but those places couldn't detract at all from the majestic beauty of them. Or their size. Even though he was obviously keeping them manifested for Sam's viewing, at least if that heated sideways look was any indication, Castiel still kept them partially folded, out of what Sam guessed to be spacial considerration for the dimensions of the motel room, lifting or drawing them in to avoid knocking into furniture.

The television was switched off, dropping the room back into comfortable silence, and then Castiel was crossing to the light switch by the door and incidentally presenting Sam with an unobstructed view of his wings perfectly framing the length of his spine and the muscled curves of his ass. Sam's dick twitched with interest, reminding him of his own naked state. Heat rushed through him, embarrassment as much as arousal, and he fought the urge to pull his legs up to hiding his rapidly returning erection.

The lights went out, shrouding Castiel from view as Sam's eyes struggled to adjust yet again to the change in light levels, and he lowered his eyes to blink at his own hand tangled in the sheets. Just for a moment. Just to readjust, to catch his breath....

"Sam," Castiel murmured from somewhere near the foot of the bed. "Are you feeling discomfort? Do you need some space?"

Who besides Castiel had ever been so concerned with and conscientious of Sam's comfort? But no, Sam didn't need space right now, nor did he particularly want it. He shook his head and took a deep breath before making himself look up again and meet Castiel's eyes. "I'm okay, Cas, promise. Just... a little in awe?"

His eyes flicked inbidden to Castiel's left wing, eyes homing in unerringly to the spot where he had pressed his face into the feathers earlier, able to see the disarray in the way they rested despite the dim lighting. Castiel's eyes followed Sam's, and his face took on an odd look. Sam thought it might have been consternation, except it seemed almost... fond. There was definitely affection in his expression when Castiel turned his attention fully back to Sam, and the heat of returning arousal as his eyes visibly took in the sight of Sam sitting naked on the bed with a half-hard dick.

"I am glad that you find me to be visually pleasing," Castiel murmured. Sam thought maybe there was a very subtle emphasis on the word "me", like he knew it was his wings, the only physically manifested part of his true form, and not just his vessel that Sam found attractive. And then Sam felt his brain short-circuit and his dick make a valiant attempt to jump to full hardness as Castiel spread and lifted his wings much wider and higher, practically putting them on display, and knelt on the end of the bed before crawling back up the length of it. "I enjoy having your eyes on me, Sam... and I would very much enjoy having your hands on me as well."

Sam bit the inside of his cheek as his dick practically throbbed at that invitation, his hands suddenly all but itching to reach out and touch, stroke, bury themselves in those soft and vibrant feathers to see what sorts of noises and reactions he could draw from his angel. He sat up more fully, drawing his legs up until he sat cross-legged on the bed and could reach out a hand to Castiel. It connected with the angel's shoulder, slid up the curve of his neck to cradle his jaw, and drew him closer into a careful almost questioning kiss. That unspoken question was quickly answered as Castiel settled himself in Sam's lap, his own renewed erection rubbing teasingly against Sam's in mimicry of their earlier actions, and then both of Sam's hands were sliding around the human body and up into the angel's wings.

Castiel moaned, low and deep and with an undercurrent of something like deeply tolling bells, and he pressed closer into Sam even as his wings opened further to expose the innermost parts of their structure and the soft, almost downy feathers there to Sam's shaking, trembling hands. His fingers carded through the feathers, combing and smoothing them, drawing gasps and moans and sighs from his angel. Sam lost himself a little in the experience, drinking in every sound that fell from Castiel's lips as his own pressed soft, reverent kisses along the line of Castiel's throat. Clutch, release, comb, stroke, over and over to every sensitive part of those glorious wings he could reach, until he felt Castiel shift and fumble around in the sheets.

A moment later, the sound of Castiel's moan was cut off by a triumphant huff and the unmistakable click of the cap on the lube being flicked open. "Cas--"

"I will not require further preparation," Castiel assured him, and Sam was astonished and a little gratified by how breathlessly wrecked the angel sounded. "We will still require the lubricant to ease the way."

"No, yeah, I... I get that," Sam gasped as one of Castiel's hands closed around his dick, already slick with lube. "I just... I thought you'd...."

"I can use my grace to clean myself within," Castiel reminded Sam, sounding a little more steady now that Sam's hands had been distracted. He twitched his fingers in Castiel's feathers, and was rewarded with another gasp. "No-ot... something that I would try with you, without-- aah! Discussing it beforehand...!"

Which was fair enough, and also incredibly sweet and considerate, and Sam would absolutely be sure to appreciate Castiel's thoughtfulness and efforts on Sam's behalf when he wasn't about to practically come out of his skin from the desire to get inside Castiel as deep as he could go. Castiel's throaty groan edged in bells and rumbling thunder told him the angel was probably just as eager. The speed with which he lifted himself up and canted his hips to position the tip of Sam's dick at his entrance confirmed it. Sam managed to pry one hand away from his angel's wings to drop to his hip and help guide him down as he slowly impaled himself on Sam's erection, going inexorably lower and lower, swallowing Sam up in tight, fluttering heat that tingled with the feel of grace beneath the angel's skin, until their hips met and Castiel made a sound that very nearly sounded like a sob.

"Sam!" he gasped, groaned as the sound of his name in that tone made Sam's hips jerk upwards in an involuntary thrust. "Sam... O'el mao'nao'na'es... o'el ca'aelza... za'aca'arae...!"

The words, halfway to growling and yet still somehow sounding like song, resonated within Sam, rattling at the edges of places inside him that still ached from a time trapped between ice that burned and fire that froze. Castiel's voice thrummed against that space, tugging bits and pieces free, and setting Sam to shaking, his hips jerking upwaards sharply in reaction to the entreaty that felt like a command. Castiel cried out, human hands gripping his shoulders as strong wings flexed and shuddered, urging Sam to do it again, and again.

"Cas... Castiel... na'onacape o'el o'ecara'ima'i...!" Sam managed to gasp out before the effort of speaking became too much and he could only moan and grunt in time with Castiel's whines and keening cries.

Their position didn't allow Sam to move much beyond rolling his hips into shallow thrusts, but Castiel made up for the limitation by bracing himself with his hands on Sam's shoulders and getting his knees under him enough to flex his thighs, lifting up barely an inch or two before quickly dropping back down again as if he couldn't bear to separate from Sam even for the friction and slide that drove their combined pleasure higher and higher. Sam could feel his second orgasm of the night building in his gut like an ever tightening spring, and he pressed his bosy closer to Castiel's, hoping to give the angel's own erection some reciprocal attention--

It broke over him in a wave, Castiel's orgasm accompanied by a shout and a flare of grace that rattled the windows even as his body clamped down hard around Sam. He managed two more short thrusts before falling over the edge into his own orgasm, his mouth pressed over Castiel's neck to muffle his cries. Castiel shuddered in his arms and groaned as Sam's teeth grazed the flesh of his neck just above where he could feel the flutter of a pulse against his lip, the sign of a heartbeat racing from exhertion--

They collapsed to the bed, Sam falling back onto the mattress and pulling an all too eagerly pliant Castiel with him, still buried in the angel's body and feeling his weight pressing him into the bed with every gasping breath. Lips found skin, tasted salt from sweat amid soft kisses as the two of them slowly came back down, calmed, settled, basked in the lingering feelings of pleasure and unity brought about by their tryst. It was the safest and most satiated Sam had felt in a very, very long time, and he could only hope that Castiel had gotten something close to the same pleasure from him.

"O'el ba'oa'eluaha'e ieles," Castiel whispered, close to Sam's ear, fingers stroking through sweat-slicked hair with a tenderness that was almost discordant with the passion bare minutes before. Sam paused. Swallowed.

"I don't know what that means," he confessed, no louder than a whisper himself. He bit his cheek against a whimper of protest as Castiel drew back from him far enough that his softened dick slipped out of that previously welcoming warmth. He swallowed again as he peered up through the fall of his hair, fearing reprisal, but the angel only gave him a soft, sad little smile.

"I know, beloved," he murmured, a wealth of regret in his eyes before he closed them with a sigh and touched his forehead to Sam's in an almost painfully tender gesture. "I will teach you their meaning, and the meanings of all the other words my foolish older brothers neglected or forgot in their stupidity and cruelty. Like ma'oza for 'joy', or sa'aelma'ana for--"

"Home," Sam murmured, daring to resthis hand on Castiel's shoulder and draw the angel back to curl against his side. His eyelids felt so heavy despite his earlier nap. "I know that one.... sa'aelma'ana va o'el mao'nao'na'es...."

"You are the home of my heart, too, Sam Winchester," he heard Castiel murmur softly. Lips brushed across his forehead, preceding the soft, warm wash of Castiel's grace over him, cleaning them both once more. The sheets were tugged out from beneath them and then settled over their legs, followed by Castiel's wings. "Sleep now. I will watch over you."

And Sam believed he would.

- Enochian Translation -

"Sam... o'el mao'nao'na'es... o'el ca'aelza... za'aca'arae...!" = "Sam... my heart... my firmament... move...!"

"Cas... Castiel... na'onacape o'el o'ecara'ima'i...!" = "Cas... Castiel... to you I sing praises...!"

"O'el ba'oa'eluaha'e ieles," = "I love/adore thee/you [above all others],"

[samsrosary]

more lucifer torture

[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!!

[lazyjellyfishcreation]

The boys should have scars

people have talked about this before, about how Dean and Sam should have scars from all their hunting. But i wanna see more of how it affects them. Buckle in this is a long one: Take Dean for example. Imagine baby Dean, maybe 13 years old, coming back from a hunt with his dad with a gash on his arm. It hurts and it stings like he's never felt before, but he doesn't let himself cry. (Boy's don't cry, dad had told him) That is the first one of his injuries that scars. The first physical mark that he's in this forever, and that he can't get out of this life anymore. Dad said he should never be ashamed of his scars, it meant you lived. A few years later, Sam gets his first scar when he's around the same age as Dean, and Dean freaks the fuck out. Because this means Sammy can't go back either. It means that Sammy is also stuck in this life and there's nothing Dean can do to protect him from it. And every new, red, scabbing scar on Sam's body is just a new testament of all the ways Dean failed his baby brother. By the time Sam goes to collage, he is covered in them. Arms, torso, back, legs. He can't stand it. He's scarred and ugly and a monster.

He's no virgin, but he never had one night stands like his brother did. To him it wasn't worth it. It's not worth trying to keep the girl from looking the the gnarled and marred skin instead of looking at him. It confuses Jess a great deal when they start dating. She is used to boys his age trying to jump her bones and then see if he wants a relationship after, not the other way around. Sam makes excuses for it, but she can smell the half lies in his words. Whenever things do go further then kissing, Sam keeps his shirt on and the lights off, or he gets her off without undressing himself.

It takes her no less then 6 months before she gets to see him shirtless.

Sam sits her down and tells her that what's under his flannels and shirts isn't pretty. She's confused. She's felt the muscles there, he's built like a Greek god. Hell, she's seen him when he gave her his flannel in the rain and his own thin shirt got so soaked he might as well have been naked in front of her.

It does not prepare her.

He's so scared when he finally stands up and pulls his top off. He's never been *scared* before to show himself to anyone. Self conscious, yes, but scared?

But this is Jess. He loves her. He loves her more then he ever thought himself capable of loving someone. He's so scared that his scars will turn her off. That she will think of him as broken or ugly or too much of a monster to be loved.

She doesn't.

She just hugs him and holds him and puts him on the couch and kisses every single silver mark on his body. From the large ones on his chest he got from a werewolf to a small one on the heel of his palm, where he had accidentally cut himself with a new pocket knife.

They don't have sex that night, but he cries in her arms and she doesn't call him a coward for it. She just holds him and asks if he wants to talk about it.

He does. He can't. He knows that he can't. So he lies and says no.

But it's okay, because Jess has seen them now. She has seen him. And she loves him just as much as he loves her. And then she dies. She dies and now there is nobody to trace and kiss and touch every imperfection of his skin like he's still precious. There is nobody there to tell him that he is scarred but so so beautiful. Sure, both Dean and Dad told him never to feel bad about his scars, he's told them the same thing about theirs, but neither of them never called their scars beautiful.

He avoids mirrors now. He flicks the lights off when he showers to he doesn't have to see himself. He is ugly, and there is nobody in the world that can convince him otherwise.

(It gets worse after the cage. Maybe nobody can see it, but Sam can feel Lucifer's hands on him. He can feel his touch and he can see the scars and it's worse. It's so much worse, because Sam is dirty now. He's dirty and filthy and he'll never be clean again)

It takes a long long time before he lets anyone see him shirtless again other then his direct family. (Until Eilleen, she understands. She has the same ones.) But that's not the bad bit. The bad bit is when Dean comes out of the shower shirtless. (not strange, they lived in motels their entire lives, privacy was sparse to say the least)

And there are so many scars that he doesn't know the stories behind. He used to know every single scar on his brothers body, and Dean knew all of Sam's, because they were the only ones to stitch each other up, and if not that, it was Dad and they would be in the room watching, and listening to the tales. Not anymore.

3 years. It's been 3 years and it's like looking at the body of a stranger. Sam looks at his brother and all he can see is the injuries he could have stopped from happening if only he had stayed. But he hadn't stayed, and now Dean had to point out all the scars that Sam wasn't there for.

Dean has never been self conscious about his scars. They're part of the job, nothing to worry about. It doesn't make him ugly (it makes him weak. Weak weak weak) And so he doesn't care. He doesn't care. He doesn't care. He doesn't care. He doesn't-

Dean has always been a good liar.

He likes his hookups. Of course he does. He's a handsome, well built young man with a dangerous job and lots of adrenaline in his veins at any given point in time. The girls who's places he goes back to always tug on his shirt first.

It's flattering.

He turns the lights off before he lets them undress him.

He pins their hands over their heads when they fuck so they don't slide their hands up his torso and feel the ridges.

He leaves before the sun lights up the room.

After all, nothing is a worse turnoff then a girl who is interested in him recoiling when he takes off his shirt. When they like him more for the broken parts of him it's worse.

it's like a set of rules he made for himself. He doesn't keep his rules with Cas. Cas is his friend, nothing more. And then he becomes more, and he stops taking his shirt off, and Castiel is so confused. Dean is not prude. Especially not with his romantic partners.

Sam ends up telling him. Now that they are romantically involved, Dean doesn't want Cas to see his ugly scars anymore. Cas is still confused. Dean's scars are human. Castiel is an angel, and therefore everything human is beautiful to him. Dean does not cry when Cas tells him that. He does not.

No thoughts, just they boys and their scars.