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They always wait until Sam is twitchy and sweating before showing back up. Wait until he's on the edge, is not-quite-desperate, is aware enough to be filled with shame, but not far gone enough to be a begging mess. No, they want him aware. They want him to have to choose what they offer, even if it doesn't feel like much of a choice.
Lucifer's the first one through the door, just like always. He likes to be the first and last person Sam sees; it's not his most subtle of manipulations, but then, it's not really supposed to be. It doesn't stop it from being effective, either.
That Sam, in his complete isolation, in his withdrawal, will feel relief to have someone entering his room, and will long for the person to stay when they leave. And Lucifer wants those feelings associated with him and him alone, even if it's the other person who visits that actually has the thing Sam craves.
(It's something Lucifer always makes sure to hit home, too. That Ruby might be the one with the blood, might be the one Sam is desperate to see when he's desperate for a fix, but it's at Lucifer's command that Ruby comes at all. That without Lucifer's permission, his order, Sam would never see a single demon. That maybe it's Ruby's blood, but the gift is actually from Lucifer, not Ruby.
Heh. 'Gift', sure. Might be what Lucifer calls it, but they all know the truth.)
Sam's been pacing the length of his room (his cell, because he's a fucking prisoner even if there's a door blocking him in instead of metal bars; it doesn't make him any less trapped) for the past hour, maybe, and he freezes when the door swings open, head snapping to the side to watch as Lucifer steps through.
Lucifer smiles at him, kind and familiar, coming to a stop a few feet away and folding his hands in front of himself. "Hello, Sam," he says, voice smooth and gentle just like always, like his calm demeanor will make Sam forget who he is, what he's done. What he's still doing, when not in this room with Sam. What he does to Sam, in particular, even if Lucifer tries to dress it all up like it's good.
Despite himself, Sam does feel a flood of relief at Lucifer being here, as mixed with hatred as it may be. Like he said; it's not a subtle manipulation Lucifer's pulled, but it's still an effective one. Because it's been...it's been a couple days now, he thinks, since he last spoke to another person, and having nothing to do but stew in his own thoughts has been getting to him.
But, even more important than his fucked up mind, is his fucked up body. And Lucifer's presence means a solution is incoming.
Without his permission, Sam's eyes flick past Lucifer to the open doorway, beginning to fidget, mouth dry. When he drags his gaze back to Lucifer, it's to find a pleased smile on the angel's lips, a smug hint to it that makes Sam want to sneer, to tell him to go fuck himself rather than play into his hands. But that's—it's just not an option. God help him, but he can't. Not when he needs this so desperately.
"Ruby," Lucifer calls, like it's only just occurred to him, like he wasn't waiting for Sam's jumpiness as a cue, as permission. "Why don't you come on in?"
Sam's feelings on seeing Ruby used to be a lot different than they are now. When he first saw her standing at Lucifer's side, saw how she was heralded as one of his best for her role in freeing him, Sam was filled with such an intense, all-consuming rage (...and despair). She tricked him, manipulated him, destroyed him. Got him addicted to her blood, made him break his relationship with Dean, made him break the world. He wanted her dead. He wanted to wrap his bare hands around her throat and squeeze.
And then they started force-feeding him her blood, reigniting his addiction. They dragged him back into dependence. And so the feelings got a lot more mixed—he needed her again, no matter how badly he didn't want to, so that hatred and rage now had to compete with how desperate he was for her to turn up. It was a...confusing time, one that made Sam hate himself quite a lot.
Now, though? Now he's just—tired. Hatred and rage are exhausting emotions, take so much out of you. And Sam has been so very angry for so very long. But when you're being held captive, when there's no one showing up to save you, when you're a fucking addict desperate for a fix...there's not a lot of room for rage. You just—don't have the energy to keep fanning that fire.
So now, yeah, Sam can say he hates Ruby for what she did to him, to Dean, to the world. But it's such a distant feeling, buried under the weight of everything else he has to deal with. Buried under the weight of his relief when she steps into the room. Because she has what he needs, and he knows she'll give it to him.
Lucifer will give it to him.
The pair of them. Lucifer might hate demons, but he pretends well that he considers them his children, and Ruby eats it right up. And they make an excellent team, when it comes to breaking Sam down.
Sam doesn't know how long he's been here, how long it's been since Lucifer captured him. Long enough that Lucifer's gentle attempts at convincing Sam that they belong together, that he wants to give Sam the world, have changed to these darker, far more manipulative tactics. Such as using Ruby. Such as using Sam's addiction.
Not that Lucifer doesn't still spout all that shit about being made for each other. It's a constant rhetoric, telling Sam about destiny and fate and what was always meant to be. Telling Sam all the ways they're similar, all the things he wants to do for Sam, all the things they could do together once they're one.
Yeah, he still says all that shit. It's just now an accompaniment to the more intense forms of manipulation. And with how out of his mind Sam is more often than not, the words get under his skin in a way they didn't when he was in complete control of himself.
It...people who aren't addicts will never fully understand it, and one element that is the hardest to talk about is how stripped bare you feel when you're itching for a fix. How paper-thin. It makes you a really easy target for people who want to use you (case in point, all Ruby accomplished leading up to killing Lilith). And when the person trying to manipulate you is the Prince of Lies himself...
Well. Sam is barely keeping himself afloat. And the pair of them are doing their best to drag him under.
All for his own good, of course.
Ruby strides inside on command, briefly looking at Lucifer with a smile and respectful bow of her head before turning her gaze on Sam. Her eyes slide up and down his form, intimate and familiar, and Sam swallows heavily, fighting with himself. He wants to close the distance between them, wants to take that knife he knows is in her boot and cut her arm, drink the delicious blood just waiting for him—
This is why they want him on the edge, want him not-quite-desperate, want him still aware. Want him not fully in the grips of withdrawal and willing to sell his fucking soul for another hit. They want him to have to ask, want him to feel the weight of doing so in a way he wouldn't if he was out of his mind. They want him to have to admit, over and over again, that he needs them. Maybe it's not needing in the way Lucifer wants, not yet, but it's still need. And it's a good first step in his book.
And Sam is so—he is so tired. And they've been doing this for too long for Sam to be able to hold back, no matter how desperately he wants to. How desperately he wants to be that man again, the one who could say 'no'. The man who could have demon blood in his mouth and spit it out into the face of the person who put it there. But addiction is addiction, and it has him in a chokehold. He needs it. He needs it.
He needs them.
"Hey, Sammy," Ruby greets, hands in the pockets of her leather jacket. Still that same old style, still the same Ruby Sam fell a little bit in love with when he thought she was his savior instead of the devil on his shoulder. "Not looking too hot, huh?"
"Now, now," Lucifer chastises, like he actually gives a crap about the mild dig, like this isn't all a perfected performance. Sam closes his eyes, letting out a shuddering breath. "He's doing pretty well considering the circumstances, don't you think?"
Sam doesn't want to do this again, doesn't want this fucked up little song and dance. Can't they just cut straight to the chase?
"Please," Sam says. His voice is hoarse, a combination of his dry throat (one of the lesser symptoms of withdrawal, really) and the fact that he doesn't talk to people all that often. He opens his eyes again, gaze falling somewhere between Lucifer and Ruby. "Please, just—" His throat bobs. "Please, I need it. Please."
Out of the corner of his eye, Sam can see Lucifer smiling, even as the angel says nothing. Sam begins scratching at his wrist, a little tick that's developed recently. He would hate it for how obvious it makes his unsteadiness, if not for the fact that literally everything about him screams 'unsteady'; what's one little tick against about a million others? Against the bags under his eyes, the paleness of his skin, how thin he's getting...He looks like a strung out junkie, these days. And, hell, is that even an inaccurate description for him?
"What do you want, Sam?" Lucifer asks, because they always make him ask for it, these days. Make him voice the words they all know. Because even though they all know he'll do it, it's still a victory for them each time. Still chips another small piece off of Sam's meager armor, each time.
Sam draws in a slow breath, pushing down the shame, the self-hatred, the voice in his head telling him how disappointed Dean would be in him. He locks it all away, tries to lift himself above it. Opens his mouth wordlessly for a few long beats before he gets the words out.
"I need the blood. Ruby's blood. Please. Please."
He can hear her pulse in his ears, can barely keep himself from staring at her neck, the only bare skin she has right now. It's right there, everything he hates and needs is right there, and he's so grateful that they've come to him before he's desperate enough to just throw himself at Ruby, to hell with how pathetic and desperate that made him look, how easy.
(They did that once. After he made an escape attempt. They gave him a large dose of her blood and then left him, not coming back. Left him and left him and left him, until Sam was on fire from how desperate he needed a fix, until he was pounding on the door and screaming and sobbing. Left him until he was so far gone that by the time they walked through the door Sam could barely speak, couldn't say shit to them, only lurched forward and desperately latched his mouth onto her neck, nearly tearing it open with his teeth before Lucifer forced him still and slowly cut a slit on Ruby's throat, making Sam watch, making Sam tremble and sob and keen as he was frozen in place, helpless until Lucifer finally freed him and Ruby gathered him close with cooed words of encouragement as he drank down the blood as fast as he could.)
Lucifer steps forward, closing the distance between him and Sam with slow, easy footsteps. He doesn't stop until he's directly in front of Sam, and he brushes his knuckles gently down the side of Sam's face as Sam stares at the ground. The knuckles settle under his chin and nudge his head up, ignoring Sam's meager resistance to force him to meet his eyes.
His blue eyes are steady, and caring, and fond. They look at Sam like they always do, like Sam is important, is more important than he could ever comprehend. They look at Sam like he's precious, like he's the most amazing thing in the world. They look at Sam like they can barely believe he's even real, that he's standing right there in front of them.
And Sam doesn't know how much of that is truth, how much is manipulation. Knows that he's buying it a lot more now than he did at the start, when Lucifer first captured him. Knows that he used to scoff and sneer at that look, at the matching words. Knows that now, no matter how much he hates himself for it, he has the urge to melt into Lucifer's touch, to soak up that insane, beautiful, intense love Lucifer always directs his way.
As alone as Sam is now, it's...hard, to resist something like that. Hard to turn down the promise of loyalty and love and care when there's no one else offering it.
(The last time Sam talked to Dean, his brother told him to pick a hemisphere. Told him they're weaker together, and ignored Sam's pleading, hanging up on him instead. And then two days later, Lucifer found Sam. And now here they are.)
He's doing his best. He hasn't said yes to being Lucifer's Vessel, and he has no plans to. But he can feel how much weaker his resolve is now than it was at the start. He can feel how much closer Lucifer is to getting what he wants. And honestly? Sam doesn't even know if he cares anymore. Doesn't know if he has it in him.
"Sam," Lucifer says gently, thumb stroking over Sam's cheek. He can probably read all of Sam's thoughts plain as day across his face. Sam doesn't have walls anymore, especially not with Lucifer. No more poker face. No, he's an open fucking book. Another way he's become way too easy.
"Please," Sam says, nearly choking on the word.
Lucifer hums, hand shifting upward to cup Sam's cheek. There's an energy between them, always has been. Feels so much stronger when Sam's as physically and mentally weak as he is in times like this. Lucifer leans in to press their foreheads together, and Sam gives a tiny, shuddering gasp, eyes slipping shut. He doesn't know how much of the calm this touch brings him is something Lucifer is making happen, and how much is the genuine impact of True Vessel and Archangel being so close.
Either way, it's—it's a certain kind of bliss. Doesn't get rid of Sam's twitchiness, his craving, the pulse that's not his pounding in his ears, but it...mutes it all, a little. Makes it secondary to Lucifer's touch, his presence.
Nothing can quiet Sam's addiction like Lucifer can. Another layer of this long game manipulation.
"Sam," Lucifer says again, cradling Sam's name like it's something precious. "I'll always give you what you want, you know that. I'd give you the entire world if I could. Of course you can have the blood. Ruby?"
Sam doesn't have it in him at the moment to push back, to argue that Lucifer saying he 'always' gives Sam what he wants is bullshit, since he only ever turns up with Ruby when Sam's already reached sweaty and lightheaded. Those arguments don't matter right now, not when Ruby is stepping forward, is shrugging off her jacket, is pulling out her knife and slowly dragging it across her forearm.
The sight of the blood spilling over pale skin is captivity, his entire focus narrowing down to it. Her pulse is like a drum in his head, the smell overwhelming in the air. A pathetic whimper escapes him without his permission, and he grasps at Lucifer's shirt with desperation, begging wordlessly to be released, to be granted what he needs so badly.
Lucifer smiles, pausing for a long moment that feels like an age, and then he kisses Sam's forehead and lets him go, stepping out of the way to allow Sam to go to Ruby.
Sam doesn't hesitate, practically stumbling forward to close the distance between him and the demon. Ruby lifts her arms to welcome him in, a peculiar smile on her face as one of her hands cups the back of Sam's neck and the other extends to offer Sam her bleeding forearm—
As soon as Sam gets his mouth on the wound, everything else fades away, nothing in the universe mattering but the blood. It is thick and warm on his tongue, so very familiar after so long of drinking it. He curves into her, holding her arm in place so he can drink steadily. Distantly, he notices that they're moving, that Ruby is nudging him backwards until she can push him to sit down on something soft, immediately following to sit on his lap, never once disengaging his mouth from her skin.
And this, it's such a familiar thing. This body, the action, this position—how many times have he and Ruby done this, been just like this? How many times has she held him and let him drink? How many times has he entrusted himself to her grip, believing he was safe, feeling safe and powerful when they were wrapped around each other like this?
It's an entirely different betrayal from the one where she got him to open the Cage. Because yes, she got him to do that through things like this, manipulated him into doing something so horrible. But...but separate from that, is she betrayed this. This thing between them, as fucked up as it was—he loved her, and he truly thought she loved him in some way too. And he felt safe with her. Safety is such a foreign concept to him, to their line of work, but she held him and kissed him and he thought it would all be okay.
And that betrayal...The other one might fill him with rage, but this one? God, it breaks his fucking heart.
A chest lines up against Sam's back, Lucifer's arms wrapping around Sam's middle. His nose brushes over Sam's hair, gentle kisses getting pressed there after, then to his temple, his cheek, his neck. Sam can only whimper, eyes stinging, caught between two people who have done nothing but manipulate him and ruin his life. Two people who are holding him and touching him like he's the most amazing thing there is.
"It's okay, Sam," Lucifer whispers against his skin, pressing close. "You're okay. We've got you. We will never abandon you."
The kicker of it all? Lucifer's actually telling the truth.
And the bitch of it all? Sam can't remember the last time someone else said that to him and meant it.