A/N:This is a co-write between me and tumblr user Wehavebecomeanathema

Pandemonium

Chapter One: The Morning Star

"The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven.." ― John Milton, Paradise Lost

Sam rolled onto his back, staring at the Asylum ceiling. Lucifer was actually letting him get some sleep now, which was a blessing. The dreams were... Not as much. It would have been better if they'd been nightmares, but... He jerked back to full consciousness with a start. The dreams were unsettling. But he was so tired... Slowly, his eyelids drifted closed and he fell into unconsciousness. All too quickly, he had reached his REM cycle. Dream-Sam swallowed hard. "Lucifer..."

Lucifer was sprawled leisurely over a large throne, atop a pile of twisted bodies and bones which seemed to merge together into one organic mass, making a lightly moving dais for his throne to rest on. "Ah, Sam. So good of you to join us," he said, gesturing out towards the legion of demons and fallen angels standing at attention, far out into the depths of the darkness. "Welcome to Pandemonium." Raising himself from the throne in a sinuous motion, he leaped from the top of the dais and wings unfurled from his back, appearing suddenly. They were great and shining, looking as if they had been made from ice and spun gold, the long primaries reaching out to grasp the wind. When he was no more than a few feet in front of Sam, he flapped the winds to stop his decent, sending a great gust of wind that teased Sam's hair and pushed him lightly off balance. Alighting onto the ground, his sandal clad feet touching down with immeasurable poise and grace, Lucifer looked like his name, the Morning Star, for he glowed with the light of a dying star, resplendent in his Grace.

This was actually one of the things Sam hated (loved? He really didn't like to think that) about these dreams. Back in the real world, he could just think of Lucifer as the Devil, Satan, whatever. But here... Here he was a fallen angel who'd kept his Grace. Here he could see his light and his wings. And he was... Well, the word beautiful always carried a certain tenderness, almost a fragility, that would be completely wrong to apply to Satan. But he couldn't think of another word. Sam felt himself drawn to the light, to Lucifer, even as he recoiled from the throne and the hoard of demons. "You know I wouldn't be here if I had a choice." He replied, trying to fake some bravado.

Laughing lightly, affectionately, Lucifer smiled at Sam with unabashed joy, "Oh Sam, I'll take you any way I can get you." To keep himself somewhat recognizable to his vessel, Lucifer maintained the body of Nick, but without the tension and lesions and strain that had appeared on Earth. "Now, seeing as you're here, let me play the role of host properly. Can I offer you a tour of Hell? I promise, it's quite different than people so often portray it." he implored Sam with an apparent pride of his reprobate kingdom. "I mean, it's no Heaven, but we make do with what we're given."

"I've seen enough." Sam crossed his arms over his chest protectively. After the Cage, even Hell's terrible beauty couldn't tempt him.

He looked around for a place to sit. Well, that and for somewhere to look over than the fallen angel in front of him. Of course, he couldn't look at the demons for long without feeling sick. Each demon that had once been a human soul bore the marks they'd received on the rack. Every one was covered in burns, cuts, blood... Wounds too horrible to think about. Finally, he looked back at Lucifer. "Do I actually have a choice? Or is there something else, since I'm stuck here until I wake up?" Sam immediately regretted his choice of words. He'd learned early on not to give the Morning Star any openings. That one was the equivalent of opening the gates and hanging up a welcome sign. Wincing internally, Sam braced himself for whatever the reply would be.

"Oh Sam, you always have a choice. That's what makes you so special, you know?" Lucifer practically purred. When he noticed the man's discomfort, he waved a hand and the legion disappeared in a flap of wings and a hushed snarl on the still air. "Try not to think of it as being stuck, but... otherwise occupied? At least down here you'll talk to me." Stalking around Sam with a feline grace, he cocked his head to the side and thought a moment, "I just want you to be happy, Sam. You said yes to me, and while I will admit I felt a bit betrayed when you jumped us into the Cage, I've never stopped wanting to make you happy. So tell me Sam, what can I do to make you feel better?" he asked, his voice dripping with sinful adoration of his vessel.

Sam's throat went dry. Notgoodnotgoodnotgoodnot-- who was he kidding? Well, himself, obviously. And only himself. This was the other half of why he hated (again, loved?) the dreams. Because every single time, Lucifer would give him this chance. He could take it and he would be able to bathe in that glorious light. If he would just... But he hadn't yet and he really didn't plan to... At least, he hoped he didn't. Because he knew that if even a small part of him wanted it, Lucifer could, and would, use it. And it wasn't small.

Sam started walking. "Why don't you just give me the damn tour?" he snapped. He just wanted- he actually had no idea, if he was being honest with himself. And down here, it was too dangerous not to be. Lies were double edged swords.

Lucifer fell into step besides Sam, a sardonic grin stretching over his face, "Ironic choice of words there, Sammy. But I live to serve." Gesticulating into the gloom around them there came again the sound of wings, larger this time as some great beast dropped from the preternatural darkness about them. There in front of the two men stood a great black horse with feathered wings the color of pitch and the fire that burned inside the Nightmare streamed out of its empty eyes and nostrils, leaving small wisps of smoke to trail away into the air. "Seeing as you have no wings, and likely wouldn't appreciate me carrying you, I believe Ba'al will serve adequately." He raised up a hand and stroked the velveteen muzzle of the giant horse, his naturally cool touch causing Ba'al to twitch his head in slight irritation.

"Um..." Sam wondered, idly, if he could refuse. He didn't really have a problem with horses. But this was a Nightmare, dream horses that carried night terrors on their backs and tangled in their manes. "I'm not going to scare the crap out of some poor kid, am I?" He asked. Giving the Nightmare another wary look, he stretched one hand out toward its shoulders in preparation to mount. "Cause if I am, I am not getting on."

Rolling his eyes at the innocent question, Lucifer clapped a hand onto Sam's shoulder, "Don't you worry your poor, bleeding heart over that. We're in Hell, no children to frighten down here." Motioning out at the darkness which was occasionally lit by a plume of sulfuric gas burning off in the distance, and the dim glow from the lake of fire leagues off, he added, "Come on, Sam, the aerial tour is to die for. And Ba'al is my most faithful steed, he knows how important a guest he'll be ferrying on his back. He would sooner throw himself on the Mongol's blade or the Spartan's spear than face my wrath at any harm coming to you."

"Touching." Sam replied dryly. Turning his back on the devil, he swung up onto the Nightmare with surprising ease. It was also much more comfortable on his back than Sam had expected. Carefully, he settled into place, winding his hands into Ba'al's mane. When the Nightmare took off, he was unable to suppress a surprised yell. His legs slipped on the Nightmare's smooth flanks and his hands tightened desperately in the black mane. He could almost feel the disapproval radiating off the creature under him. "Shut up." he muttered. Then he rolled his eyes. "Fantastic. I'm talking to a horse."

Lucifer watched with a swelling pride as Sam and Ba'al launched into the air, and he burned the image of Sam astride the Nightmare into his memory. Seeing Sam in his kingdom, aback one of his subjects, warmed his glacial heart, for there was something so right about Sam being here, accepting even the smallest of gestures from the Devil. Launching himself into the air after them with a strong down stroke of his radiant wings, he tore off into the sky behind them. Once he'd pulled alongside the pair, he nodded to Ba'al, making certain that their wings wouldn't tangle in such close proximity. "Well, shall I show you the grand city that we built, our dear Pandemonium? Dear Mammon, one of the fallen angels, crafted the gold and fine jewels with such artistry that I assure you, you'll find no edifice more splendid on Earth or Heaven above."

Sam shrugged, focusing on not tumbling off the Nightmare's back. "Why not." he needed the distraction, after all. Lucifer's wings were exquisite enough when they were folded. Open and beating, they were indescribable. Sam's fingers inched to comb through the feathers. Would they be warm or cold? Soft, like real feathers? Or would they feel like metal and cut his palms like shattered pieces of glass? Her jerked his mind back to what he was doing, staring over Ba'al's shoulder at the city below him. It really was beautiful, in its own terrible way.

Signaling for Ba'al to descend with a sharp whistle, Lucifer folded his wings in close to his body and dove, enjoying the aerial acrobatics. His smile bordered on insanity as he embraced the feel of the wind ripping at him and gravity's greedy embrace pulling him towards the ashen loam below. With no more than two body lengths before he would crash into the ground, he unfurled his wings and caught the air, beating in hard, strong strokes that stopped his descent in moments. The wind played with his feathers, splaying them wide as his primary feathers seemed to stretch out in search of an updraft. Once he landed, he looked back up to watch Ba'al and Sam's flight, and his wings fidgeted with nervous energy, ready should he be needed to catch Sam in case he slipped from the Nightmare's back.

Sam yelled again, clinging to Ba'al's back with everything he had. When the Nightmare landed, he flew forward onto his neck. Slowly, he straightened up. "I am never doing that again." Sam decided right then that he was never going to tease Dean about his fear of flying ever again. Ever. Not matter how tempting it might be. Because that had been terrifying. But also... Strangely exhilarating. Every vein and artery thrummed with adrenaline. His face was flushed, eyes wild, and hair as mussed as if he'd just come staggering out of the motel room. He shook his head. "Never." With that, Sam slid onto the ground, legs somewhat unsteady.

Ba'al looked back at him, flaming pits for eyes somehow seeming soulful and concerned, and the behemoth of a horse pushed his head against Sam's chest questioningly.

"Look at you, Sam, making friends wherever you go." Lucifer said, stepping forward to put a steadying hand on Sam's shoulder. "Would it help if Ba'al agreed to a saddle? With a good pommel for you to grip?" With a mischievous smile at the both of them, he turned towards Pandemonium, which was lit up like a torch in the surrounding gloom, fires burning on every parapet and an eldritch glow coming from the lamp posts that lined the streets of gold, causing the gilded cobblestones to shine and wink in the distance. "Welcome to my home away from home, Sam."

Lucifer had not been lying when he said that there was no city finer than Pandemonium, for it sported architecture that would have been impossible on Earth, fine gold spun into bridges and pagodas, glass pavilions that seemed to flow like water under their tranquil surfaces, and vast columns and statues made from the purest crystal and sapphire and blood red rubies. For as terrible and horrific as Hell was, Pandemonium was a great oasis in the desert, adorned with more beauty than all the heavenly realms.

"...Wow." Sam said quietly. It was the understatement of the millennium, but given that he hadn't planned on saying anything, it was a lot. When he was able to tear with eyes away from the shining city in front of him, Sam snuck a glance at Lucifer... And immediately regretted it. He returned his attention to the city, trying to pretend that his heart hadn't just done a back flip. That he was now finding it slightly difficult to breathe. That... That if Lucifer were to ask him to... If he wanted... Same realized that he would say yes. He shouldn't have agreed to the tour. He shouldn't have ridden Ba'al. He shouldn't have gone to seen Pandemonium. And he should not have looked at Lucifer. Because know Sam was reasonably certain that he had either fallen for, or was in the process of falling for, the devil.

"We may be living in Hell, but people forget that we were angels once, and we can still build such beautiful things." Lucifer said with a somber smile and a glint of something like pride in his eyes. Stepping forward, his feet making only the barest whisper over the golden cobbled street, he strode down the main street and pointed out interesting locations, telling Sam small anecdotes about each portion of the city, each section of architecture that caught his fancy. He looked like an ancient Roman orator then, one hand folded regally against his body while the other gestured with practiced ease, and his wings which were constantly shifting, as if even on the ground they yearned to feel the winds. Occasionally one of his wings would unfurl and he would use it to point out a particular marble frieze or jasper doorway. Then he inclined his head towards the grand palace in the center of the city, a shining spire of obsidian and glass and hematite that's uppermost spires were lost in the dark, "And there, is the seat of my kingdom. Just imagine how it would look if it were ever touched by the light of the sun..."

Sam nodded mutely. It would gleam like fire and illuminate the entire city. The only thing that would shine brighter would be the Morning Star's wings. Sam had been torn between watching them and staring at the buildings ever since they entered the city. Carefully, he curled his hands into fists and tucked them behind his back, wishing that the Asylum clothes had pockets. He could have used them to restrain his hands. Before he realized what he was doing, Sam had opened his mouth and was speaking. "Lucifer. Before... You said that you wanted me to be happy. What did you mean?"

Lucifer stopped when Sam addressed him, turning to give Sam his full attention. And at his words the fallen angel smirked, his eyes twinkling like stars in the night sky, "I mean that you are my vessel Sam, the only pure, solitary gift that my Father has ever given me." He paused, trying to think of the best way to explain it. Looking about Pandemonium, he began softly, "Did you know that when I was first cast out, I was not directly put into the Cage? I was left, battered and broken, on the shores of the Lake of Fire, my very skin melting and my wings charred to the bone. But I was determined to make a haven from this Hell. No, it was only after I had made Pandemonium and tempted Adam and Eve into sin, into knowing good and evil for themselves, casting off their naivety, that God saw fit to punish me further. So he created the Cage and locked me away into my own personal Hell, far worse than all of this, far worse than the cries of the damned and the choking sulfur and the endless night."

By now his tone had turned bitter, but he drew a breath and shook his head, dispelling the malicious mood. Turning his gaze back to Sam, he stepped forward, closing the space between them ever so slightly, until he was standing in that too close way that seemed to be natural to angels. "But you, Sam, I knew that all I had to do was hold out for you to be born. When I say that I want to make you happy, give you everything, it is only because you are everything that I waited for, you complete me more fully than Heaven ever did, than the Host ever could, and certainly more than an cruel father who wanted me to worship created beings over their creator."

His hand made to touch Sam's face, but he pulled it back, "Earth be damned or saved, none of it matters now, Sam. All I have is this," he said softly, hands spreading down and out as he gestured to himself, "an image in your mind or in your dreams, the hope that I can prove to you that I am not the villain, Sam."

Sam froze. That hadn't been the answer he's expected. If he has been crass, vulgar, rude, demanding, sly... Any of the things one would normally use to describe the devil, he would have been fine. But he was not prepared for this. Not to have Lucifer talk to him the way he had talked to Jess almost a decade ago. Not to have him almost bear his... His soul to him. But how did Lucifer expect Sam not to think of him as the villain? He'd killed Cas, he'd tortured him, he'd... Sam met Lucifer's eyes. "Help me?"

"In whatever way I can and whatever way you need." Was Lucifer's murmured response. This time when he reached forward, he allowed himself to brush feather-light fingertips over Sam's cheek, just the barest whisper of a touch. "I am your angel, Sam, and fallen or not. And if you need anything when I'm not with you, pray to me; I will always listen, I will always find you." His words fell into the stillness of the eternal night like a possessive embrace, marking Sam as loved, as safe, and as his.

For some reason he did not particularly want to think about, Sam didn't shy away. A month ago, he would have backpedaled as fast as he could, flinging insults at the fallen angel until he was blue in the face. But now... He closed his eyes for a moment, breath whooshing out in a long, heavy sigh. "The guy with demon blood praying to the devil. The world has a sense of humor after all." He said it, but there was no bite in his voice. If anything, he sounded resigned. Sam's eyes opened again.

His next words came as a shock even to him. "Thank you."

Lucifer actually laughed then, a deep, resonating sound that seemed so out of place in Hell, even in the shining Pandemonium. "You're most welcome, Sam." Dropping his hands to his hips, he shrugged, "And dear old Dad has always had a sense of humor. Practically enamored with irony." Making a vague motion with his hand, he waved off the thought as unimportant. Then suddenly he stiffened, sensing a shift in the wind, his wings flaring protectively, reaching forward to partially shield Sam on both sides. The world around them shimmered and rippled, the dream's substance starting to fray at the edges. "Looks like you'll be waking up soon, Sam. You should know that out there..." His mouth continued to move, but the words were ripped away by a rushing wind, howling and angry. Over the din a few more of his words reached Sam in disjointed fragments, "I... won't be same... remember... pray." Then the world fell into complete darkness.

Sam woke up with a start, sitting up so fast he fell out of bed and crashed onto the Asylum floor. Lucifer's last word was still echoing in his head. Pray. Carefully, he righted himself, sitting on the edge of the bed. The door opened and a nurse poked her head into the room. "Sam?" She asked gently, "Is everything alright?" He nodded and it must have been convincing enough because she went away. That left him to puzzle over what had happened. None of the other dreams had ended that suddenly or violently. So why this one? And what, exactly, had changed between the two of them? And what did Lucifer mean by not the same? Lying down on his side, Sam stared at the wall until the nurse came with breakfast, unable to get back to sleep.

Lucifer was sitting on the small desk that was crammed into the northwest corner of Sam's room, his legs splayed wide as he rested his feet on the chair and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, hands dangling loosely. He was watching Sam with a singular ferocity, almost like a predator stalking his prey with eyes that were cold and lifeless. The fallen angel made no movements, sitting as still as if he had been carved from marble; and in fact the only thing that showed he was alive was the leisurely blinks he made every few minutes. Finally his lips curled into a frightful sneer and he said in a bone-chilling whisper, "Why hello, Clarice."

The nurse did not notice the devil sitting in the corner, but Sam did. He stared openly, barely registering the concerned look the nurse gave him. They all thought he was crazy anyway. There really was something different about him, Sam thought as he bit into his lukewarm toast. He looked so cold, so... like the devil. He was almost frightening, nothing like the laughing, beautiful creature that Sam had talked to in Pandemonium. When the nurse left, he sat back, toying with the slightly soggy crust. "Is this what you meant when you said you'd be different?"

Lucifer gave a little wave to Sam behind the nurse's back, fingers moving slowly, practically caressing the air. He leaned further forward, resting his palms in between his feet on the chair, "What I meant?" Cocking his head to the side, he stretched his back and then sat back up, once again resting his forearms over his knees. "I don't know what you're going on about, Sammy." Suddenly the fallen angel's attention was focused on the two objects he held in his hands, a lighter and firecracker. "You know, it's been entirely too long since I've deprived you of sleep. I so love the way you break, Sam, you just start chipping and flaking like slate." He made an appreciative noise deep in his throat, almost thrumming with anticipation. "You're just so beautiful when your light is almost extinguished."

No, no, no, no, no... Sam pleaded silently. Not now, not after last time, oh please, please, at least give him a chance to get his strength back. Please G- no. Not God. Lucifer had told him to pray. And if it was a choice between praying to the devil and his internal organs shutting down, he would listen. But how did he even do it? Dean had prayed to Castiel, his words never loosing their mocking edge. But that didn't seem right. Following his gut, Sam went with the first prayer he had ever learned, amending it slightly. "Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Star my soul to keep, My Angel watch me through the night, And keep me safe till morning's light." Somehow, it felt right to call Lucifer "his" angel. Now all he could do was hope it worked.

Lucifer lit the fuse of the firecracker, a small thing made more for sound than sparkle, and held it in between his thumb and forefinger. Blowing on the fuse ironically, he said, "Now, where to toss this?" Just as he chucked the small explosive onto Sam's bed, just shy of his hip, his face shimmered as if he was a mirage over an endless stretch of summer road. The firecracker exploded, sending a dull pain into Sam's hip, but even the pain seemed to flicker and pulse oddly, as if his nerves couldn't quite understand if he'd been injured or not. He looked down at his hands in confusion, flexing them into fists as they slowly became translucent. "What the Hell?"

"Sam..." A voice whispered through the chasms and valleys of Sam's mind, quiet and muffled. There was a unique quality to the voice, a distortion as if it was being spoken underwater. "I'll do what I can to limit your hallucinations. He will still be there, but no harm can come to you." The voice explained in hushed tones.

Sam sighed in relief. It worked. Part of him had thought he was crazy for praying to the person hurting him. But after the dream, he had thought that maybe it was worth a shot. He slumped back on the pillows and closed his eyes, flicking the firecracker away absently. He was safe and it was Lucifer who had done it. He breathed a thank you, hoping the Angel could hear him.

Lucifer did not look particularly pleased that Sam had somehow found a way to partially banish him, in fact, he supposed he looked livid. Slipping from the table and stomping over to Sam's bedside, he tried to grip onto the young man, but his hands passed right through him. "Well now," the apparition said, eyes narrowing at the thought that Sam could ignore him again, "isn't this a pretty trick you've learned Sam?" Leaned down next to Sam's head, he breathed out a chilled breath of air against Sam's next and whispered saturninely, "You simply must tell me how you did it."

Sam clenched his jaw and stared past him. Without meaning to, he pressed on the scar on his palm. Nothing happened, but it was reassuring. He didn't have to listen to him anymore. He could have peace. And that was how the rest of the day went. Lucifer tried something, Sam ignored him. That continued until nighttime when Sam curled up on his side to sleep.