Work Text:
“So Sam,” Eileen starts, and there’s something about her little grin and the way she licks her finger because it’s sticky from margaritas, laughing on his bed, that makes Sam feel maybe even something like happiness, with the foggy-tipsy soft light. “Is there a reason you haven’t made a move on me yet? At first you seemed shy, but then--”
Ah, yes. Then. Her hand, too fast, on his thigh. His whole body flinch. How he got so whoozy from the terror so fast, he made some dumb-ass excuse to leave the room. Flee like a coward. It’s so hilarious, and something he’ll never be able to articulate to her. That the fact he left like that, that he could leave then sit beside her like this now, is because he trusts her in a way he trusts barely anyone in this world.
“I uh--” He wipes his hand, across his face, probably subconsiously trying to block his lips, but he removes it, feeling naked, when he continues. Too complicated for his basic signing, whatever nonsense he’s about to try to say. “Look, it’s not that you’re not, beautiful. You are. It’s just.”
“What, it’s not you, it’s me?” she says. Sam cringes, but yeah, actually.
He wishes he could explain to her. He wishes he could make her understand how fucking special it is that he could even try to reject her. That rejection feels like pulling teeth. Or split bones, down the middle. The crunch. The sinew snap.
Eileen won’t hurt him, if he rejects her. He’s pretty sure. He keeps telling himself, through the foggy fear. But fuck, he led her on --- (he led him on, he led him, on, of course he--). They’re literally having drinks now, on his bed. He and Cas used to, and sometimes they’d-- but he knew, with Cas that. It never went further, than he could handle.
The sliding black ice has danced along too long. The centre doesn’t hold. Does Eileen know that, about him, yet? Can she see it? How he’s made of sand, now?
She’s not. She fierce, and she holds her own. He admires her so much, it makes him want.
But it’s not want, when he continues.
“I could go down on you, if you wanted?” he says, grimaces. Oh that, sounded bad, panicky. He used to love doing that. But then it was one of the most disgusting things, though, with--- (maybe that’s because he used to like it so much). But he was able to, when he felt safe, and was really in the mood, with Amelia, to enjoy it again. But that’s not what this is about now at all. He’s bargaining. And it’s not Eileen’s fault. It’s a train whose tracks lead straight off a cliff, and Sam can’t stop it. How will he look her in the eye after this?
“I mean,” Eileen starts, and he’s terrified she’s going to say yes. Mostly because he doesn’t want to ruin the chance to do something like that with her when he actually wants to. Her body language changes, though. She signs, and this one Sam knows. “You good?”
He wants to say. No. He wants to say. There are things that happened to me, in Hell, that make it so whatever we could have is impossible. He wants to say. Forgive me. I would have wanted all of this. He wants to say. Please please please don’t make me.
He can’t make any words come out, but he does manage to sign, “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to be sorry,” Eileen says. “I just felt like I was getting mixed signals. I’m not trying to push you.”
With Amelia, there was no hiding, that someone had hurt him. But that was their thing. This damage they shared. Their trauma and grief. And for some reason, even though it was so much closer to-- he didn’t. Feel it the same. He still could feel like he was lying about-- but it’s not like other people haven’t done things to him. It was broad. He came to her fucked up. But he was a lot better then, in many ways. Like he had one shot at healing, and now he knows that the idea of that is just a fantasy. The worst thing he ever did.
Lucifer always comes back. What’s he going to say about this?
“Something, happened?” Eileen asks. And it’s so much different, than when Amelia did. She knows the insides and out. She’s hunted her whole life, just like him. She was raised in this violence. She’s even been to Hell. She knows who Lucifer is.
When she asks if something happened, it can’t just mean anything. The shame is putrifying. It’s already too close. It’s already in her eyes, real on his skin. She can’t know.
“Look, I can’t?” Okay. He signs it, on repeat. “I can’t.”
The problem isn’t something that happened to him. Many things have happened to him. What really ruined him? It’s the things that he did.
“Sam, it’s okay. I’ve had my share of bad experiences. No judgment.” Sam scoffs. “What, you don’t believe me?”
“No, I do. I just, uh, it’s not. That something happened. Like I get it, in this life. Things always happen. But I--”
He can’t. She must know. She must see it.
“When I was younger, I dated this guy. I redact him, because he hurt me a lot. He convinced me to do a lot of things I wasn’t comfortable with. And the worst part wasn’t when he got more violent. I can handle that. In fact, it was good. Made sure I left. But I lost all these bits and pieces of me along the way. How long it took to leave? That’s maybe the worst part. It probably contributed, to the trust issues.”
“Wow, uhm. I wouldn’t have. Expected that,” he says. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”
“Why?”
“Uh, why what?”
“Why wouldn’t you have expected that?”
“Well, it’s just. You’re very--” Strong? Independent?
Sam sips the sour drink. The salt almost feels like it burns his lips, on the rim.
“Abuse can happen to anyone. I just wanted to tell you. So you get that I won’t judge you. But I don’t need your judgment either.”
“No, no sorry. That’s not what I meant.” Or maybe it was, and in Sam’s frantic urge to compensate, he tears out his insides. He trusts her, like she trusted him, in a way he never has, with anyone. “The-- person. The person who I. The things, that I did with him,” Fuck, did Sam just out himself too? Does it count, if he’s referring to someone he doesn’t know if he ever would have wanted, circumstances different? He doesn’t want it to be this way. For her to know those two parts of him together, at the same time. But to her credit, she doesn’t even flinch. Just watches his lips. “I was trapped. And he-- he did. Hurt me. Badly. And I want to call it conditioning or, or, or claim I had no other choice. But that’s not true. And if you knew, if you knew--”
He could have just told her no. He didn’t have to turn everything to ash. Words that aren’t meant to be spoken. He can’t turn back. He can’t make her unsee any of this. An irreversible chemical reaction.
“I wouldn’t judge you, Sam. Even if we’re never anything more, you’re my friend. And even if you weren’t, I’m not going to judge you for how complicated abuse is.”
“But it shouldn’t have been that,” Sam says, frustrated. “I shouldn’t have ever had a relationship with him.” The word out of his mouth, closest ever with Rowena, her comparison, but it was different. The extent, what Sam is. It’s filth. He closes his eyes tight. The worst part is, this is fear that’s lived with him every second for years. But he’s kept it tight, under wraps. He hasn’t acknowledged. Even when Lucifer mocked him. Even when Lucifer basically spelt it out. Just jokes, right? Lucifer’s always joking.
Sam feels like he’s going to be sick.
“I won’t judge you. You don’t have to tell me, but you can.”
He doesn’t deserve this kind of niceness.
And if he doesn’t tell her, she’ll just be another person he’s obsessed with knowing if they know. Like Gadreel, Cas, or Crowley. Or even Dean.
He can’t say his name. He can’t say anything. She already knows, from inference, he’s sure. Lining of his organs. The mould grows. How did they get to this point of no return?
So he signs it instead, “Lucifer.” It makes the room spin.
She can hate him. It’s worse, he knows. Than Ruby, a demon. It’s so much fucking worse. His hands feel leaden now. He just feels empty and sick.
But there is some type of satisfactory relief. He hasn’t revealed this voluntarily to anyone, ever. He thought he never would. He didn’t necessarily think it’d stay a secret, considering that’s not something he usually gets to choose. But he never thought he’d say it.
Hi, I’m the Devil’s bitch, still wanna date me?
At least it can be a clean cut.
“I don’t know what to say. But I’m definitely not judging you.”
“Right.”
“Seriously. It’s no one’s business, how anyone survives Hell.”
My hell wasn’t hell though. My hell was him.
“Well,” Sam says, feeling high all of a sudden. “Now you know. Saved yourself from having the Devil’s sloppy seconds.”
It’s so horrifying, like he’s out of his body, saying the words. They’re finally in the world. There’s no saving himself, no way he can claim he has anything to who he is, but how Lucifer degraded him. It’s not separate worlds anymore. He’s not an actor, pretending.
“Hey, I’m still into this,” Eileen says. “You think I’m scared away by a little hell trauma?”
“Eileen, it’s more than a little--”
“I know that. But it’s not like I didn’t already know you had PTSD. It’s fine, Sam, really.”
“It’s fucking disgusting, is what it is.”
“I mean, maybe he is. You? Not so much.”
“You don’t get it. The extent of what happened.”
“I don’t care.”
He reins in a desire to fight and fight her until she sees. He could go all night. But maybe he needs to accept that he was right, to trust her. That maybe Amelia would have not cared, if she saw a bit more too. That maybe his entire life doesn’t have to be a lie to be cared about. He can’t see past it. There’s no part of him that isn’t Lucifer. And that’s revolting.
“Fine,” he concedes, for now. “I’d like to kiss you now, if you’re okay with that.”
But you get it right? You get where my lips have been?
“You sure, because we just were talking about some heavy stuff.”
“We could take it slow,” Sam says. “Kiss. Drink way more margaritas. And watch some shit television.”
Maybe everything doesn’t have to be in wholes. He’s lying out what’s comfortable to her. It’s pretty similar, to what he usually does with Cas, honestly. But he doesn’t want to stomach more now. That kind of intimacy makes him feel sick.
“Yeah, we can do that,” Eileen smiles.
And when he holds her face to kiss her, it’s the first time in years he feels like he’s actually been seen. It’s horrifying, but it was already horrifying.
At least, this feels real.