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Lay Your Weary Head

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The remains of a street in Detroit are digging into Sam’s neck.

He’s pretty sure the shining tangles spilling across the rubble are his guts.

That should probably bother him more.

Probably.

The sky is swimming.

“Sam.” The voice is quiet, husky; a hand settles on his shoulder. He’s not actually sure how much he can feel right now. “Please. This can all be over.”

He licks his lips, or at least he tries, tongue thick and swollen in his mouth. Did he bite it, or is that just the dying? It didn’t happen last time, but last time was drowning.

Still, he gives an answer his best shot: “Fuck you.”

“Oh, Sam.” Lucifer strokes back his hair, half-gentle. Sam can’t see who he’s wearing now. “It’s not going to get easier, you know. Ever.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not getting harder, either.” He tries to spit, can’t tell what happens; he’s pretty sure that it just splattered on his chin, but he can’t tell. “So. Fuck off.”

“You know, this would hurt more without me here,” Lucifer observes, pulling Sam’s head into his lap. “Quite a bit. I can give you a taste, if you like.”

The first, second, third time, Sam demanded every second. This time he laughs, gargling on blood, and manages, “Thanks, but I’ll pass.”

“Sam.” Lucifer’s hands go still. “Your brother’s going to die like this, you know.”

One. Two. Three.

“I’m surprised it took you this long,” Sam rasps. “The real angels went for that first thing.”

“I’m not threatening you, Sam.” Lucifer strokes his hair again. Sam wonders if those are Jess’s hands; the world is too dim and too greyed-out to tell. “It’s just statistics. Look around you. Look at how many times you’ve died. It hasn’t been quick, ever, has it? And it’s only been coincidence. Sooner or later, something’s going to catch him. And it will take him a very long time to go.”

Of course he will. Too damn stubborn to die as long as someone else wants him to. “Get to the point,” he manages. “I’m dying.”

“Well, if you let me in…” Lucifer sighs. “It will be easier.”

Gunfire echoes.

“So, what, we’re your pet lapdogs?”

“I’d prefer something like that.” Lucifer sighs. “It all depends on what he’ll take – I’ll offer anything you like.” His hands, easing Sam’s eyelids shut. “At the very least, Sammy, I can give him a quick death. At this point, I’d think you’d know the value in that.”

Blood bubbles in his throat. Sam looks at his guts scattered on the street.

“All right.”

He can hear the Devil inhale and go still.

“Thank you, Sam.”

And then everything is over.