Angels don't sleep. There's no purpose in going outside for fresh air. No reason to leave the room for a bite to eat. Day in and day out he sat on that bed. Barely moving, rarely blinking.

Lucifer couldn't bother him the way he had Sam. He didn't flinch at firecrackers, nor cringe at the screech of a bullhorn. But it didn't take long for his brother to discover what did.

Sometimes he would look down to see the hands pushing through the flesh of his vessel. He could feel the souls clawing at his stomach, desperately scraping away at his skin to reach the surface.

Other times a ring of holy fire would rise around him, binding him in a circle, making him feel small and powerless. He'd see Dean and Sam and Bobby. Did they do this to him? They were yelling at him. Why were they so angry? Dean would ask questions about Crowley. Sometimes he would shout back pleas for forgiveness. He'd tell them how sorry he was and all he wanted was their trust again. But Dean couldn't hear him. He just kept yelling. It was like a movie, and Lucifer set it on repeat.

Lucifer's favorite form of torture, however, was shape shifting. Blathazar paid him a visit once. He'd stand at the foot of the bed. Smile on his face, drink in his hand, and an archangel sword thrust through his chest. His shirt was soiled with blood as it spewed from the vessel.

"Miss me, Cassie?" Balthazar would ask in his sing-song voice.

When he wouldn't answer, Balthazar would keep going. He'd say things like "You do remember me, don't you? Your loyal friend? I stood by you through all of it and never second guessed you. Remember Cassie? You killed me, remember? You drove that knife straight through my heart!"

"I'm sorry," he'd croak in a voice that was barely audible.

Then Balthazar would combust in a brilliant angelic light and Lucifer would appear again, standing on a pair of charred wings. Then he would remember none of it was real, and his eyes would settle back to their empty gaze. And he'd wait for it to start over again. He would sit there, alone, and silently remind himself that is wasn't real.

"But that's the worst part, isn't it, little brother?" Lucifer's voice echoed through the metal room. "It was real. You can ignore me all you want, but it doesn't change a thing."

Laughter followed. Deranged laughter that came from the pure enjoyment of the pain it caused.

"Getting through to you was tough, I'll admit. But then I realized, it's not me you're afraid of." Lucifer inched closer to his ear, making sure he'd hear the next part. "It's you. The things you've done, the souls you've scarred. Those memories are the things that will kill you, drive you mad. And all I have to do it hit the play button. You don't need me to push you to insanity. You'll get yourself there on your own. It's just a matter of time."