thelockbox | Lucifer

[ It was quite the occasion. The lights, the music, the dancing, just the kind of event that Lucifer went out of his way to attend since arriving in this world. Unfortunately, things being what they were, it was impossible for him to attend the Valentine's Day ball in his usual attire, or at least in his own vessel.

She suited him perfectly. A devotee of the church, he'd known that she was suitably spirited for him to use her body. Yes, if he stayed with her for too long, the same fate would await her that had once consumed Nick, but Lucifer didn't need another vessel for permanent use, just the occasional night off.

He took her to his bed as a concubine, but he left his bed as the concubine, and dressed in red heels and dress, a black domino mask, Lucifer slid through the crowd as a new woman. Angelique's body was strong, well muscled, good arches. It drew interesting attention, and Lucifer gravitated toward Jeff, when she noticed him. There were a keen group of admirers surrounding him, but Angel was different to the rest, a dazzling breath of fresh air. She laid her hand on Jeff's forearm in a gesture of familiarity. ]

Darling. You're Jeff Winger. I'm just about your biggest fan.

Hell was Hell.

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."

They must have thought that they were so clever putting up all their anti-angel sigils in the bunker, so recently lowered so that Castiel could find their home - but Sam had given Lucifer the answer to that little puzzle, given him the power to break through any angel seal with just a spell. It was too easy - way too easy - to step back into Dean's home as soon as Sam left it.

He appeared at the top of the stairs, just because it gave him the chance to make an impression as he descended them. His hands dropped into the pockets of the black trenchcoat he'd picked up to replace Castiel's. He wore his white shirt, the top buttons undone, with nothing else over it, the shirt tucked into black pants, with a shiny black belt and silver buckle closing them. Even his shoes shone, like the blue of his eyes, seemingly made more "ravish me" blue by the way his hair had been pulled rakishly aside, ruffled with gel. It was a new look, a good look--a Lucifer look.

He trotted down the stairs, and gave a sharp, loud whistle:

"Honey, I'm home."

[ Things didn't go so badly over the next few weeks. Sam made an impression on Eliot, little by little, perhaps growing on him through enduring Lucifer's cruel treatment in the bedroom. It was always easier to get Eliot on his side the day after Lucifer abused him, and so once or twice Sam made use of that to ensure that he wouldn't fight back quite so hard.

Sam didn't think he was using some kind of Stockholm syndrome on Eliot, but that was essentially what he was doing. The man pitied him, knew that this was torture for him, and was making it easier in whatever small ways he could, without actually surrendering himself.

But that was going to have to change, sooner or later, if Eliot was ever going to be pushed to the next stage. Both Sam and Eliot were just tools in Lucifer's plans for each of them, after all.

Not yet, though. Sam had filled a bath, and then unlocked Eliot's cage, not bothering to redress from the night before, he reached in to take his hand.

"Come on. You can help me wash."

[ Will Graham was dead.

Well...as dead as anyone would be for very long in this place, at least, but it had hurt, and it had been bloody. Lucifer had dismembered him in front of April, splattering blood in every direction, using just his hands. Then, very carefully, he'd shot her in the head, not killing her, but leaving her in such a state that Will, returning, would wish very much that she was. If the bullet couldn't come out without killing her, then the nanites couldn't possibly heal it up.

That, of course, all paled in comparison to what Lucifer had in store for Jeff Winger. His hounds had been shot, so he needed to replace them.

He waited until Jeff got home, and found the massacre, and then and only then did he drop in and abduct him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. The next step took him to a white room with no doors and windows, where Lucifer released him, all but pushing Jeff away from him as they landed. ]

Hello, Jeffrey.

Sam knew today was going to be hard. It could be awful, in fact. Of course what he expected was to find them thrown back into their usual routine, Sam at Eliot's back even after he'd been so gentle with him. His back still ached, but he was healing fast thanks to his usual - secret - diet, and Hell's natural attributes, but he hadn't forgotten--wasn't likely to forget quickly.

Lucifer would surely not join them again, Sam thought--but Sam was wrong. Lucifer came at around midday, well before he'd have considered taking Eliot to bed. To be honest, he was putting it off. The last thing he wanted was to hurt him again.

He came attended by a demon with a clipboard this time, standing in the doorway as Sam looked at him, baffled.

"Are we going somewhere?" he asked, carefully.

Lucifer stepped in, petting his hair, until Sam lowered his head, his gaze, utterly submissive, and told him yes, that both he and Eliot were to come with him. They were even invited to dress with clothes laid out on the bed, which made Sam suspicious. He could guess where they were going, what they would be invited to do, and that Eliot would fail. He knew it already, but he stepped out obediently, following Lucifer and the demon through the long gothic hallways.

He hung back, but didn't say a word to Eliot, already psyching himself up for what was to come ahead.

At last they stepped into a torture room, recognisable by the floor which tapered into the center, where a hole in the floor under the table would drain away anything anything that splashed. The body laying out on it was an older man in an expensive suit, who clearly had no true understanding of where he was, or what had happened to him. When they stepped inside, he parsed some spiel about calling his lawyer, and the police.

[ Once upon a time, there were two archangels, brothers actually, and one of them - the cooler one - kicked the other brother's ass. End of story. Except it really wasn't. Even after the apocalypse, the world just kept ticking on, minute after minute, day after day, and despite all the younger brother's efforts, Dad never showed to set everything right.

He burned the world, killed all but a handful of humans, exterminated all his Father's pets. The angels abandoned Heaven, they abandoned their champion, and Lucifer still didn't get what he wanted.

Unfortunately, that meant Michael needed to keep suffering. He needed to rot. He needed to hurt. He needed... He needed to hurt so badly that their Father came running, so that he could grab him by the arm and slap him on the wrist. Wasn't that how admonishment worked? Lucifer didn't know, he'd been shoved straight into the Cage the first time his Father had gotten truly mad at him.

Poor Michael. The consequences, for his brother, were severe and bitterly dark. Lucifer just wanted to make everyone else hurt the way that he did.

So Michael, bound and helpless on his knees beside Lucifer's throne, a collar sealed with Enochian sigils clasped around his neck. It had been a rough day, rougher than usual, emotionally, and he reached across, dragged his fingers through his brother's hair, then turned to look down at him. ]

Feel like making me feel better?

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Eliot and Sam

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