Abraxas IC Inbox

[outwear]

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[thedevilwhorose]

Well that's obvious. I wouldn't want to be your friend. How many of your friends die? You're just like... the scab you can't help but pick at.

[outwear]

Do you know what
happens to a scab
when you actually
leave it alone?

[thedevilwhorose]

Implode with radiant sparkles?

[I'm sorry did you expect a serious answer Sam do you remember who you're talking to]

Healing is nothing more than a lie. Eventually, every wound and scar reopens. I know this from experience, and you know how old I am.

[outwear]

At this age, you should be
used to disappointment.

[thedevilwhorose]

And where are you at when it comes to disappointment?

[outwear]

I'll let you guess.

[thedevilwhorose]

Back to the bowels of Hell for you!

Fitting, really.

[outwear]

How exactly did you
manage to craft
a legitimate truce
with my brother again?

[thedevilwhorose]

Sheer, dumb luck.

[He's not really interested in telling Sam, truthfully.]

So strange that you, of all people, cannot understand.

And you were supposed to.

[outwear]

I'm sure there are others
who appreciate the fixation.
But I personally don't.

[ He hates this lie the most, but it's persistent and insistent, and oh how he tells it. To himself, over and over, most of all. Like sticking his fingers in his ears and nyah-ing his way through life. In fact, he hates how intrinsic they are, how there are days he questions whether he would even exist without Lucifer's influence before he even greets the day. ]

But I'll take sheer, dumb luck.

[thedevilwhorose]

[And with another topic circulating now in this conversation Lucifer might've even replied with keep telling yourself that, but Dean free of the Mark a second time over is just. A little too sharp for even Lucifer.]

Lucky you they're all in Thorne.

And there's other concerns than little ol' me.

You'll need my help one day and have to ask, Sam, I'm sure of that.

[outwear]

And then what?

[thedevilwhorose]

Now that's the fun of it, isn't it?

Maybe this time I'll be the one to say no.

[outwear]

Imagine how hurt I am.

[thedevilwhorose]

Oh, it's not now that matters. These kind of things need to marinate.

[outwear]

Imagine how hurt I'll be.
After the marination.
Extra salty, even.
You'll enjoy that.

[thedevilwhorose]

[of course he doesn't miss the sarcasm but it'd be so rude of him not to play along]

Awwwwww, thanks for thinking of me, Sammy.