Sam had been here a year, he was told, but it felt more like thirty. The days stretched into months, and even a day - one day - felt like longer. Too long. The torture was unending, unbearable, or at least that was what he thought. He endured it, as he'd endured so much in his life. He rose above it. Whatever Lucifer did to him only made him stronger, but as the years passed, as he began to be offered options in order to release the impact on himself, diminish the torture he was exposed to, Sam found himself bending toward them. He was grateful for any let up, no matter what it was.
Torture, it turned out, was easy. It wasn't just something he could do, he was actively good at it. He engaged with his victims, and while at first he cared what they'd done to earn their place in Hell, that quickly dissolved. For the first time, in far too long, Sam wasn't in pain, and he could feel himself beginning to slip, as his empathy was dissolved. He knew what lay at the end of this path, the fact that he would become a demon, but the more people he hurt, the more he almost longed for it. It would be peaceful, wouldn't it, to be so corrupted that he no longer cared?
But he was trying to resist, because--well, because Dean was still alive, but also because he as just that kind of man. He had to resist it. He had to fight it. As peaceful as it would be, it wouldn't be the end. Lucifer would have him murder the people he loved. So he'd obey, he'd do as he was told, because it earned him freedom, and removed him from all but Lucifer's torture chamber, and Lucifer's bed; he'd obey because it meant a kind of acceptance from Lucifer that he was a working intern, pulling his weight, and not something that required extra measures to break.
But this one was different. This one wasn't just a soul to torture; he was intended to be a demon, like Sam, and this was his first real posting. He had to do well, for to fail would only earn him a session at Lucifer's behest. Nothing was off limits.
And Eliot would earn his freedom too, like Sam, but first he had to break. Or at least surrender to it. He'd had other torturers already, all physical, but this--this was meant to be more personal. More intimate. Sam stepped in through the door, and closed it and bolted it behind him. He took off his tie, slowly; black on red.
Eliot and Sam
Sam had been here a year, he was told, but it felt more like thirty. The days stretched into months, and even a day - one day - felt like longer. Too long. The torture was unending, unbearable, or at least that was what he thought. He endured it, as he'd endured so much in his life. He rose above it. Whatever Lucifer did to him only made him stronger, but as the years passed, as he began to be offered options in order to release the impact on himself, diminish the torture he was exposed to, Sam found himself bending toward them. He was grateful for any let up, no matter what it was.
Torture, it turned out, was easy. It wasn't just something he could do, he was actively good at it. He engaged with his victims, and while at first he cared what they'd done to earn their place in Hell, that quickly dissolved. For the first time, in far too long, Sam wasn't in pain, and he could feel himself beginning to slip, as his empathy was dissolved. He knew what lay at the end of this path, the fact that he would become a demon, but the more people he hurt, the more he almost longed for it. It would be peaceful, wouldn't it, to be so corrupted that he no longer cared?
But he was trying to resist, because--well, because Dean was still alive, but also because he as just that kind of man. He had to resist it. He had to fight it. As peaceful as it would be, it wouldn't be the end. Lucifer would have him murder the people he loved. So he'd obey, he'd do as he was told, because it earned him freedom, and removed him from all but Lucifer's torture chamber, and Lucifer's bed; he'd obey because it meant a kind of acceptance from Lucifer that he was a working intern, pulling his weight, and not something that required extra measures to break.
But this one was different. This one wasn't just a soul to torture; he was intended to be a demon, like Sam, and this was his first real posting. He had to do well, for to fail would only earn him a session at Lucifer's behest. Nothing was off limits.
And Eliot would earn his freedom too, like Sam, but first he had to break. Or at least surrender to it. He'd had other torturers already, all physical, but this--this was meant to be more personal. More intimate. Sam stepped in through the door, and closed it and bolted it behind him. He took off his tie, slowly; black on red.
"Hello, Eliot," he called. "I'm Sam."