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Human Lucifer. The concept alone is a novelty - the fallen archangel, the King, the Morningstar, the one who refused to choose to love anything above his Father, including humanity. This condemned creature, condemned once more to suffer the very same condition he had grown to hate in his time locked away. Ever since Castiel discovered him in that alleyway, he’s been utterly fascinated by it. Lucifer without his grace. All powerful archangel, reduced to a simple creature, slave to his own needs.
Many a night has been spent watching over the man whimpering in his sleep, a reverence in his hands with every wound he heals, a sick fascination with the audible pump of his heart. Of course, his heart pumped before, but now he’s heard it sped up in anxiety. He can almost feel the difference, now that it’s fighting to keep him alive. Alive. Alive and breathing.
That breath is coming out particularly shaky, now, as the former angel huddles under the scratchy motel room blankets. Castiel hesitates at the side of his bed, unused to whatever it is that’s afflicting him. His skin is almost dewy in its pale glow, the moonlight slipping through the curtains making him look even more frail. Cas isn’t big on touch, necessarily, and yet he’s driven by some hidden impulse to reach out, hand fitting over his forehead. Slick under his palm, the slide a serious indication that something’s wrong. And he’s hot . Cas will never quite get over the change, from winter frost to soft warmth. Lucifer’s cheeks are muddied and flushed, and his eyes are sea glass when they flutter open to look up at him.
“Brother,” he murmurs, lips hardly moving. “Am I dying?”
It’s a fair question, and he’ll let his pondering on the question be the reason he can’t seem to move or speak. Rooted to the spot. Would a human death feel so different from an angelic one? Would you be able to feel all of those precious organs shutting down? He swallows, nonsensically.
“No… I think you’re just sick.” His eyes scan over his brother’s face, heart absently pounding in his own chest. The detachment from his own body is a necessity as an angel, a vessel rendered to perform as just that. A vessel. An empty, unattached ship. He doesn’t feel this body the way that Lucifer now feels his own. Sam and Dean don’t really get sick, so this is hardly his area of expertise, but he knows in this instant that nothing could remove him from Lucifer’s side.
The weakened man’s head nods slowly, lips twisting. “Do I need… medicine?”
“I can fly out and get you some,” Castiel offers immediately, hand pushing into the messy, spiked blond hair. Also damp. A shudder runs through the entirety of Lucifer’s body, and it makes something within Castiel buckle.
“No!” Lucifer’s eyes shoot wide, and he half sits-up before collapsing back pitifully. “Stay. I don’t…” There’s the look of panicked dog in his eyes, all panic and desperation. “I can’t defend myself right now.” His tone is off, but his eyes are pleading.
Lucifer is afraid.
He has gotten a lot more comfortable with the limitations of humanity, after all. Not happy with it, certainly, but every day is no longer a fight. No longer the pitiful, helpless creature. Sure, he still needs Cas, to keep him safe and hidden and alive, but it’s not the same. He has a day to day life, he can tentatively go out in the world. Castiel can’t be here all the time, so Lucifer has gained some self-sufficiency. And now, for the first time since he’s gained it, that foundation is shaken again.
“Alright. I’ll stay. Let me take care of you.” The relief is clear in his brother’s unfocused gaze, fever bright. Cas’s hand circles his face, thumb tracing the skin of his lips. Paler than usual. Dry, cracked. “I’ll get water.” Castiel reluctantly removes his hand, turning to the small “kitchenette.”
A cup is filled, and a sandwich is made. One which Lucifer only ends up being able to make it halfway through, but it’s necessary. An armchair is dragged over to the side of the bed, television turned on, and the shuddering man on the bed finally edges toward relaxing again. Actually, Castiel rather thought he’d fallen asleep by the time Lucifer pipes up again.
“Will you come sit on the bed?” His voice is tentative, sleepy, like he’s hanging on by his fingernails to it. It catches on Castiel, and his every thought stutters to a halt. “With me. I just…” Cas looks at him, finally, lips parted. Bated breath. “I need you close.” The words come out whispered, and it’s clear that Lucifer hadn’t been sure he’d even say them.
It’s more than Castiel had asked for. And, oddly, he rapidly comes to the realization that it’s exactly what he wanted. It only takes a second to get him to his feet, sliding into the space Lucifer makes for him. He doesn’t bother getting under the covers, but the invited closeness is something that stirs in his gut, making him ache for something he’s not even sure he has words for. And when Lucifer hesitates, then leans softly into him, he feels… important. And more at home than he has in any memories of Heaven that haven’t been stripped from him. It doesn’t even take long before the slump of sleep leaves Lucifer’s body heavy against him.
It’s better than he could have possibly hoped.
The glass vial had done its trick, a simple remedy that any witch - or angel - could cobble together. And now, with Lucifer snuggled into his side, shaking every once in a while in his sleep, the result is even better than he ever intended. He just wanted Lucifer to not distrust Cas, to stay dependent on him, to… to look up at him and see his savior. Holding him at the brink of death, and pulling him back.
He never thought there’d be side effects, like Lucifer clinging to him, hand tangled in his shirt and gripping tighter at any discomfort. The urge to duck down and press his lips to that warm, clammy forehead. His own protectiveness over his brother. So weak. So fragile. A baby bird in his strong hands, who wholly believes in him.
In him.
Castiel, a lowly angel of the Lord, a mere foot soldier in the battle of Heaven and Hell. An angel whose story was meant to end at the hands of one of his own. Insignificant. And now… now, the Morningstar himself needs him .