Sorry about the month long delay on this chapter. I have no excuses besides how creepy Lucifer was in the season thirteen finale episode. I love Jack, so I didn't want to write Lucifer for a while after watching it. That's why he doesn't come in until the end of the chapter.

Sam woke up alone. He was curled up on a soft bed with fuzzy blankets tucked around him, but Lucifer was gone.

For a little while he couldn't find it in himself to worry. He was safe and comfortable, and nobody was hitting him. He was tired and pleasantly warm.

The problems in his situation became glaring as he woke up more fully, the sleepy daze in his mind clearing. He was handcuffed, cut, bruised, his nose had dried blood in it, his ankle was sprained, and Lucifer had gagged him.

It was possibly the worst position he'd been in in years.

Sam's hunter training started kicking in. If there was a way out of this, he needed to find it before Lucifer came back.

Ignoring the pain in his ankle, he pulled his knees to his chest and moved his arms to get the handcuffs in front of him, giving him more mobility.

He needed a lock-pick. If he could fully free his hands from the cuffs, he might have a prayer of finding a way out. But he had nothing like a lock pick on his person, and meandering blindly in an unfamiliar place was foolish.

Sam found the edge of the bed and maneuvered so his feet were on the ground. His ankle hurt, but he could stand alright. He took two uncertain steps forward.

He found a wall. He walked along the wall until he found another wall perpendicular to the first one.

With careful, painful experimentation Sam found out he was in a doorless, windowless room. He was confused about how Lucifer came and left freely, but it didn't really matter. Sam was trapped.

There wasn't much furniture in the room, so it was easy for Sam to remember where everything was without seeing it.

The large, comfortable bed was against one wall. There were pillows of all shapes and sizes, and a plethora of blankets. Most of the blankets were fuzzy, but there were other textures as well.

A pile of beanbag chairs lay against the far wall. He hadn't expected anything so modern. It was odd. But he had to admit he liked them.

One whole wall was made of glass. Sam couldn't figure out why. The glass was uneven but not sharp. There was no discernable pattern to the bumps and hollows, but he found it was interesting to run his hands along it and try to make out shapes.

A empty desk or table in the corner went with two simple wooden chairs. A bookcase was beside it, and Sam was frustrated with his inability to read the books as he couldn't see. He could feel them to tell they were mostly older, hardcover books, and some of them had been used enough to be nearly falling apart.

Sam sat down on a braided rug in the center of the room. He felt like smashing something. The whole situation was a complete nightmare. He wanted out.

But there was no escape. He was trapped here, and he had no easy way to resist Lucifer.

All the options were bad.

Sam hated it when he felt like he didn't have any choices. There had to be something he could decide to do for himself.

Ah, yes. Mess up all ruinable objects.

Hadn't it been a part of Lucifer's list of things Sam wasn't allowed to do? It was perfect.

Most of the things in the room weren't particularly breakable, but Sam found some stuff he could smash. He used a chair leg to shred the pillows and tear through the blankets. He upended the mattress, though he couldn't make the bedframe move enough to damage it.

He broke the chairs against the wall and snapped them into the smallest pieces he could. Bits of wood tore into his fingers, but the pain just fed his anger. He ended up trying to smash a hole through the wall. It wouldn't work.

His fists were bleeding, and the handcuffs dug into his wrists. The pain started to override the rage he felt, and he slowly sunk down against the wall. He pushed uselessly against the unbreakable wall, feeling horrifically helpless.

It was just too horrible. He couldn't get out. He couldn't do anything more than smash a bunch of furniture.

At some point he hid in the pile of shredded blanket mess. He wanted a little protection between him and the room he'd so violently destroyed. He just felt like someone was going to attack him.

Sam wished the last few months were only a nightmare. He could wake up and be back home and Dean would still be alive. He'd be able to see things and not hurt all the time. Even with John there it couldn't be this bad.

He fell asleep, hoping to at least dream of when he'd had a home.

No such luck.

Sam was standing in a bar. It was the sort of place Dean would've loved and Sam typically avoided. The counter was dirty, and the barstools were hard and lumpy. It was completely empty of customers. An Asia song Sam didn't know blasted from the stereo loudly enough to shake the walls. Sam covered his ears with his hands and hurried out of the bar. He didn't like music to be so loud.

The narrow street outside was covered in litter and weeds. It looked morose and abandoned, not at all friendly or alive. There were no people anywhere.

Sam started slowly down the street. There were no turns or anything.

He picked up his pace. The dark street was unfriendly, and he just wanted to get away from it. He wanted to find a turn. There had to be a turn.

Eventually he came to a place where he could see a side street in the distance. He ran forward, desperate to reach a new road.

It was a mirage.

The new street vanished when he reached it. He'd been so desperate for it his mind had made him see it. He collapsed to the ground and started crying.

He didn't know why it was so important to him to escape the street he was on. Dreams aren't rational places. It was life or death to him to get away. There was just no way to do it.

The weeds grew much more quickly than they could've in reality. They split the cobblestones and covered the litter with green and brown thorns. A mound of weeds grew over Sam and covered him completely.

For a while he didn't care.

Then he realized what was happening. He started to fight against the brambles. Thorns stung his hands and arms, but he fought his way out.

It was still night. There were no stars in the sky above him.

A single shooting star fell across the sky.

It was fast. He saw it for a moment, and then it was gone. But he seemed warmer, somehow, having seen the star. He felt more alive.

He came back to the reality of the street. There were no gaps in the buildings. The road went on endlessly.

Sam was still trapped.

He got up and started walking again. It wasn't like there were any other choices. If he wanted to get off the road, he'd have to try harder. It couldn't go on forever.

Time passed randomly, the sun rising and falling several times in a few minutes. The world seemed dull and empty, even in the bright daylight.

It was night again when Sam gave up.

The road was endless. There was no escape.

He didn't feel any urge to cry. He sat down on the edge of the sidewalk and stared ahead. He felt empty.

He had nothing and no one, and he might as well give up. There was no reason for him to live.

When Sam started sitting his posture was erect.

Time passed. The sun never rose. The starless sky was forever dark. There wasn't even another single shooting star to give a little bit of life to the world.

Sam's posture drifted minutely downward until he was slumped.

More time passed. He was starved for any feeling. He wanted to see someone, anyone. He wanted to hear someone speak or feel someone's arms around him. He'd settle for anything.

His head was on his knees.

He was lying on the ground.

He didn't have the strength to get up, or the will to try. He was completely empty. He'd be no less alive if he died. He didn't even have enough life left to wish he was dead.

Sam woke up. If the nightmare had been less horrible, maybe he would've screamed. As it was he was too afraid.

He almost cried, but somehow the fear and emptiness in his chest were too much to let him. His eyes wouldn't form tears.

He wanted to cry. He wanted the emotional release he knew would come with tears. He couldn't get it. He was just frozen, trapped. So he lay there shaking.

"I've been waiting for you to wake up."

"Lucifer." Sam could only whisper.

"You know I said no deliberate property damage."

Sam flinched. He'd forgotten about wrecking everything he could find. It seemed so long ago.

"Sorry," Sam mumbled weakly. "P-please, can you be mad l-later?"

Lucifer didn't answer for a moment. "Why should I?"

"Please," Sam begged. "Please help me."

Sam felt cool fingers against his cheek.

"Alright," Lucifer agreed.

There was a rustling of fabric, and Lucifer slipped into bed beside Sam. He gently hugged Sam to his chest and nuzzled his hair. Sam hugged him back desperately.

Sam listened to Lucifer's heartbeat and started to relax a little. It had only been a nightmare. Lucifer was here, so it couldn't be as bad as being alone. Lucifer might be horrid, but he was nothing compared to the dream. And right now he was being very nice.

Tears started escaping Sam's eyes. He wasn't sure if they were from fear or relief. Whatever it was, it felt better than the horrible loneliness of the street in the dream. He felt alive.

Lucifer seemed ok with waiting patiently while Sam cried. He ran his fingers through Sam's hair and kept holding him close.

After a while Sam ran out of tears.

He just lay there in Lucifer's arms for a while, but soon questions started presenting themselves to his mind.

"I'm not handcuffed," he blurted, without thinking about it.

"Very astute," Lucifer teased. "You aren't gagged either. Or did you not notice you were talking?"

"Oh," Sam said in surprise. "I was- uh, distracted, I guess." He buried his face in Lucifer's shirt again, holding back a fresh round of tears.

"Nightmare?" Lucifer guessed.

Sam nodded weakly.

"Tell me about it."

Sam shook his head adamantly. He knew it was probably a good idea to talk about it, but he wasn't telling Lucifer anything so personal.

Lucifer shoved Sam away.

Sam gave a little cry of panic and despair. He crawled back to where Lucifer had been, but nobody was there. There was only a slight cold spot on the covers.

Sam found he was on a bed like the one he'd destroyed earlier. Lucifer wasn't anywhere on it.

Sam started to panic. He couldn't be alone. Not after the dream.

"Please come back," he whimpered. "Lucifer? Please."

"Tell me about your dream," Lucifer ordered. "I'll hold you afterwards if you do."

Sam started crying. He didn't want to tell Lucifer about the dream or give in to his demands, but he couldn't see any other choice. Nothing was worth being alone.

"O-OK," he sobbed. He pulled his knees to his chest and huddled into a ball. "I-I was in a bar somewhere, and there was nobody th-there and the music was too loud. So I left, and then I was on this street, only there weren't any intersections at all. And- and I was just walking and walking f-forever- alone." He shivered.

Sam felt soft arms around him and he was pulled into Lucifer's embrace. He relaxed as Lucifer covered them both with blankets and rubbed circles on Sam's back.

"Go on," Lucifer said gently.

"I th-thought there was a turn up ahead, but then it was just a m-mirage. And I was so lonely and I felt so t-trapped…" He took a moment to gather himself. "I saw a shooting star," he confided, leaning into Lucifer's embrace and closing his eyes.

Sam fell peacefully asleep, not really worried about anything right then. For a moment, his life seemed almost ok. Lucifer smirked.