Archive of Our Own

It was the middle of the night when Sam opened his eyes, blinking blearily at the red numbers that read 3:07AM on the bedside clock. Dean's rumbling snore went on uninterrupted in the other bed a few feet away.

This was how it'd been for nearly a week. He'd gotten so used to avoiding sleep—avoiding Lucifer—that he could barely get a good night's rest even when he wanted to. Sam punched the lumpy motel pillow and turned over, laying still for several minutes until Dean's snore grated his nerves raw. 

Dean, of course, always slept like a baby. No brooding archangels with daddy issues there—not even so much as a bad dream, ever since Cas started showing up and lay down the law about Dean getting enough sleep. No, Dean always drifted off, stiff shoulders melting into what Sam almost expected to be a boneless bag of blood and meat—but he was just relaxed. Content. And if Cas lingered a few moments after Dean drifted off, sitting on the edge of the bed with his fingers drifting through Dean's hair, well, Sam never told.

He was happy for them, really; even if Dean was oblivious as a rock and Cas barely understood sarcasm, let alone love. It was obvious that there was love there, and even without romantic intent (for now), they were as close to blissful as they would ever get (especially considering the whole Apocalypse thing).

Sam wasn't jealous.

"Cas," Sam whispered into the darkened room as he toed his shoes on; he turned to find Cas behind him (apparently Cas could find them well enough if they shot a prayer out into the universe in his general direction). 

"Sam," the angel answered stiffly, eyeing him with suspicion. 

"I'm going for a walk."

"I'm unsure of why you called me down here if—"

Sam nodded in his brother's direction. "I'd feel better if you stayed with him. At least if he wakes up, he'll know I didn't run off."

Cas nodded his agreement, but Sam could see the softening around his vessel's eyes as he said, "Very well."

Sam shrugged on his coat and slipped the motel key into his pocket, pulling the gray hat out in its place; it was New Hampshire and it was freezing, despite it being just after St. Patrick's Day—the locals had grumbled something about an annual blizzard, one that had left the nowhere-town covered in half a foot of snow. He crammed the hat onto his head, pulling it down over his ears; he didn't like hats. Sam was a California boy, and he would have avoided the winter months altogether if he could've.

"Will you be gone long?"

Sam knew what he was really asking. 'You're not going to do anything stupid?'

"Probably not," he answered, cracking the door enough to slip through without letting out what little heat they had. "But don't wait up."

It was cold, crisp; Sam's breath frosted against his chapped lips, and he regretted not grabbing gloves. Tugging his hat further down around his ears, he shoved his hands in his pockets and just… walked.

He was at least a mile out when he stopped on the side of some anonymous road, turning in place to observe the snow clinging to the tree branches and the empty, untouched fields in between. Things were different up here compared to back home; all rolling hills and sharp mountains, barely ever a horizon to be seen, unlike Kansas where you could see for fifty miles in all directions on a clear day. 

"I guess we aren't in Kansas anymore," he muttered to himself, wiggling in place to keep his body moving and his blood pumping.

"Seems not," replied a voice, softly amused and fond.

Sam spun on his heel, backing instinctively away—and then redoubling his efforts when he saw the blonde man standing before him, casual as you please in his normal t-shirt and thermal, hands tucked into his pockets only as a formality.

Lucifer.

"You can't be here," Sam said, immediately on the defensive—but the way he'd come was past Lucifer. He cursed himself for the oversight. "You can't find me, and I know I'm not asleep."

"It's hard to find you," Lucifer corrected, his head tilted just slightly. "Luckily, I was already in the neighborhood; you came right to me. Always putting yourself right in my path and you don't even know it." He tsked, taking a step forward even as Sam stumbled back. "There's no need to run, Sam. You know I'd never hurt you."

"I think I'll stay on the safe side, thanks," Sam retorted. "Just—stay where you are. Don't come closer."

Lucifer sighed, put-upon and sounding so very pained. "You have nothing to fear from me. In fact, you're safer with me than anywhere else in the world, and that's just fact."

Sam licked his lips, searching for a response and finding none. His lungs heaved to suck in the cold air; Lucifer's sharp blue (borrowed) eyes fixed on the motion of his chest, intense and fascinated. "Stop it."

Lucifer looked up to meet Sam's gaze head-on, entirely unashamed or maybe just unaware that most humans blinked, most humans actively attempted to break eye contact. Lucifer didn't seem to notice this social nicety and stared at Sam as if he were the most interesting thing in the state—which, to Lucifer, he probably was. "I don't understand," Lucifer said simply, almost petulantly, lips twitching toward a frown. "Well, I do—you need your space, your time to come to terms with this—but I want so much to help you, Sam. To give you what you want."

"You have no idea what I want," Sam snapped.

"A home," the devil answered without pause. "A family. A normal life with your parents and your brother and a family of your own."

"You in a hole," Sam snarled. "I don't need more than what I have—all I need is you, gone."

Lucifer's head tilted to the side, his eyes wide and soft and sad and old. "I know," he said quietly. "You hate me. You were never supposed to hate me, Sam. You were supposed to understand—the one creature that would."

Sam bared his teeth; Lucifer let out a soft sigh. 

"I'm sorry, Sam," said the devil. "I wish you could remember knowing me when I was better; when I was at my best."

This gave Sam pause—Lucifer was apologizing? "I—what?"

Lucifer quirked a slight, sad smile. "I was beautiful once. Regal and just. I loved my father, would have never spoken out against him, but what I saw was something I could not bear. Even now, I don't want to do this—the Apocalypse. Do you think I want to kill my brother; want to kill him any more than you'd want to kill yours?"

Sam swallowed. "I—I'm not going to fall for this."

"I know," said Lucifer. "If it were a trick, I know you wouldn't. But it isn't, and you still won't. You're much too smart for that, too stubborn and suspicious; I'm told we have those things in common."

He held his stance, but the cold was intense; it wasn't long until Sam was shivering, his ears poking out from under the dumb-looking hat—a beanie, his mind told him, it's a beanie—and his hands slipped back into his pockets if only to be shielded from the wind. Lucifer took a step forward; this time, Sam couldn't find the energy to move back.

"No," he insisted, but through chattering teeth.

Lucifer held his hands up, slow and unthreatening. "Please, Sam," he said. "Just let me do something for you. Something small. I can make you warm."

"N-no," Sam said again, but was cut off as he deteriorated into coughs. Lucifer used this short distraction to slip into Sam's personal space, laying one palm flat against Sam's back where he was hunched over; almost immediately, the dryness leeched out of Sam's lungs and the cold, shivery feeling at his core blossomed into pleasant warmth. "I said," Sam snapped, panicky.

Lucifer held up his hands again, placating. "I just wanted to help."

"I don't need your help."

"You think you don't need anything," Lucifer argued, sounding agitated for the first time. "Is it really so repulsive that I'd give to you once what your Castiel gives to Dean every day? It's small comfort Sam, for us as much as you. Guardian angel parlor tricks, and you're the only one I'd ever give them to. Do you hate me so much that you wouldn't let me help at all, even when you're suffering?"

"I—Dean—" he stuttered.

"Dean doesn't have to know, Sam. It can be our secret. The last thing I of all people would do is sneak off to tattle on you to your older brother." Lucifer stared at Sam balefully. "I want to help. I want to do something good, and you would deny the chance for me to assist my own charge?"

"I'm not your—"

"You are. I told you, Sam, you're mine. Ever since time began, you were mine. My charge. My true vessel—because I was yours. Before you were ever born, before I was ever cast out, I held your soul within my Grace in Heaven. You were given to me to guard by God himself—a fledgling soul, and you were so beautiful. I don't hate humans, Sam. I hate their shells and how their flesh perverts them. But the human soul—the pure human soul—that is God's most perfect Creation. You know that. You know me. You are me. Everything I am once saturated every fibre of your spirit, and every celestial glimmer of what makes you be was once contained within the closest thing I had to a heart. When I rebelled, Michael tore you away from me and cast me down, and all the way down until I was locked in that Cage, I could hear you scream for me."

Sam's mouth worked wordlessly; Lucifer's expression was laid open and raw and deeply bitter.

"Human souls are meant to be nurtured. They're meant to be released only at the moment of their conception on Earth, and then guarded over by their protecting angel until they die and return to their host. It's why young children always feel safe where adults would be wary—part of them remembers. You were supposed to stay with me. When Michael took you away, he stole you from me. He attempted to contain you as he contained Dean's soul, but he didn't care about either of you—it's the reason you and Dean are so attached, close as you were before you were ever a thought. 

"Normal humans don't share a Heaven, Sam—only ever the ones that shared a Holy Vessel. Identical twins are one soul put into two bodies. Soulmates are two souls contained by one angel. You and Dean—you could never exist without each other. He needed you, and you need him; you always will need each other to feel safe. But you are more loved than you will ever know."

Sam watched as Lucifer's face twisted with pain, if only for a moment before it was once again smoothed over. Sam, though, was in turmoil and felt almost sick. "You don't love me," he protested weakly.

"Don't I?" Lucifer asked in return, pursing his lips the slightest bit. "I know how lonely you are, Sam. How out of place you feel. I know how envious you are of the bond that Dean and Castiel share, even if you are much too kind to ever lash out against them. I won't ask you to say yes to me—not yet. But I would ask you to let me help. Let me prove that we'd be better together. I know that I can."

"I don't—"

Lucifer reached out, for once ignoring Sam's boundaries and protests as his fingers wrapped around Sam's wrist and he pulled Sam against his body. His arms hooked around Sam's waist, and just in time; Sam's body flooded with warm, languid contentment, and he melted into Lucifer's hold. He made a plaintive little noise, but whether in protest of the violation of his personal space or as Lucifer shifted and jostled Sam from his comfortable position, he wasn't sure.

Sam had been tall ever since he was a kid; he was used to being the biggest, used to being the one to protect others. Everyone else had always felt so small. This was different. Despite the fact that Lucifer was shorter and more slender, Sam felt encompassed by love and protection, He was… comfortable. Not smothered, but cocooned and cherished. 

Sam tucked his face into Lucifer's neck, and despite the chill of the skin, he no longer felt cold. He knew he should protest and probably fight to get away—but it had been so long since Sam had felt anything close to happy, and contrary to everyone's beliefs, Sam wasn't selfish much; just this once. Lucifer's hands smoothed down his back and he turned his cheek to rest against Sam's head. 

"Do you see?" he asked. "I could do this for you, be this for you. I never want to fight you. I don't even want to fight Dean or your Castiel or Michael. What I want more than anything is to make things right. I've rebelled against God's plan once before—this Apocalypse was his idea, not mine."

"You've hurt people," Sam protested, but with little vehemence; his face was still smushed into Lucifer's neck and he had no intention of moving quite yet.

"We've all hurt people. What matters is that I would never hurt you."

"Promise you won't hurt them." Lucifer was silent—they both knew what Sam was asking. Sam's hands came to rest on his hips and gave a short, insistent squeeze. "Please?"

Lucifer hesitated. "Michael—"

"We can figure Michael out later," Sam mumbled. "But you want this? You want to prove yourself to me?"

Lucifer sounded slightly unhappy when he replied, "That's what I want, yes."

"And you don't want to fight Michael?"

"I don't."

"Then what I want is to make it work. If you want to help, I want you to help. Because you're right, I am—" Sam paused, his thumb rubbing a small circle into Lucifer's hip. "I am lonely, but so are you. I think we could help each other. So here's my offer," Sam continued, finally lifting his head to look at Lucifer. "Stop the Apocalypse and I'll do everything I can to help fix things between you and Michael."

Lucifer snorted quietly, turning his head away from Sam. "It's a nice thought."

"It's more than a thought. You say the Apocalypse was God's plan, but who was it for? For Michael? For you?" Sam scowled, his grip tightening. "Or was it for us—for humans? If he loved us, why have the archangels burn the Earth?"

Lucifer's eyes snapped back to Sam. "Excuse me?"

Sam clenched his jaw. "You heard me. I don't think this is God's plan at all. I think this is God's test."

"Sam—"

"That's what fathers do. They test us," Sam insisted. "Especially when we fuck up. They test our loyalty again and again. See if we regret what we did and try to make us screw up anyway."

"My Father would not—"

"No?" Sam pulled his hands from Lucifer's hips, backing out of the (warm, comfortable, safe) circle of his arms. Lucifer lingered like he wasn't sure what had just happened before he slowly let his hands fall to his sides. "He's God—this is what He does. He's also AWOL—but we know He's watching."

Lucifer blinked slowly. "How?"

Sam huffed out a short sigh. "Well, you didn't bring Castiel back, did you?"

The archangel crossed his arms over his chest. "No seraph possesses the power to bring life to another. It's impossible, even for archangels." His eyes narrowed and then widened. "Castiel has been revived?"

"He was killed by Raphael on the day that I… freed you. Raphael said—apparently—that God's dead, that you brought Cas back. But you didn't, I never thought you did. Cas wasn't even on your radar. And how would Dean and I have gotten on that plane if Cas was dead?" Sam shifted uncomfortably. "It was a lucky break, at least for us. Not for you, obviously, but…"

"It was most unexpected," Lucifer agreed wryly. 

"Yeah," Sam continued awkwardly, self-consciously tugging his hat back over his ears. "Tell me about it. But, um; yeah. God's in the building, we're just not sure where, because he's obviously not in Heaven, and Cas was looking for him on Earth for a while." Sam's expression crumbled slightly; Lucifer tilted his head. "But that's not the point. God's somewhere, and I doubt this is what he'd want, y'know? Something isn't right about the whole God wants the Apocalypse thing. So I guess this is where I make my sales pitch to join Team Free Will."

Lucifer eyed him, seemingly caught between being amused and perplexed. "Team Free Will?"

Sam ducked his head and kicked idly at a clump of snow. "It's what Dean calls us. One ex-blood junkie, a dropout with six bucks to his name, and Mr. Comatose—Cas was passed out, but to be fair, he was kind of Falling at the time, so—"

"Sam," Lucifer interrupted. 

Sam studiously avoided looking at Lucifer. "Yeah." 

He looked up only when cold fingers brushed against his face. Sam flinched, but Lucifer didn't react; he simply continued to free a clump of Sam's bangs from where they were trapped under his hat, hyper-focused as he combed through soft strands with his fingers. When he was satisfied, he carefully rearranged Sam's beanie so it wasn't so prone to making escape attempts from Sam's head. He smiled faintly.

"You used to talk to me sometimes," Lucifer murmured like he was sharing a particularly well-loved memory; maybe he was. "It was different, then; we didn't talk the same way. I spoke only Enochian and you didn't understand the concept of speech as such—but you talked. You would get excited over the things you saw in Heaven through my eyes, and you would ramble. I hadn't realized how much I enjoyed it or how much I missed it. Feelings aren't usually my forte, but as always, you are the exception." Sam made a quiet sound when Lucifer's thumbs smoothed over his cheekbones, cradling Sam's face in his hands. "I've missed you."

Sam licked his lips, dry from the cold, but found the inside of his mouth wasn't much better. He didn't reply.

Lucifer tilted his head—it had to be an angel thing, Sam realized, because Cas did it all the time—and let his eyes trace over the face of his true vessel. "I'll help you, Sam, but only as long as you understand that, despite the fact that I don't wish to fight my brother, I have no great love for humans. I would still just as soon see them all burn and see my kind walk the Earth." Sam shivered slightly. "But I'm willing to give them a chance because you've asked me to do so. I'm still not a kind creature, Sam. Hell has twisted me, and even if I somehow manage to pass this test, I have no intention of forgiving my Father. I'll probably always be angry at Michael. And there will be times that I'll lash out in that anger—maybe even at you. Is this still what you want?"

Sam nodded just slightly, careful of the infinitely-strong hands that held his head in careful balance—it would be so easy for Lucifer to snap his neck. Laughably easy.

"And your brother and his angel—they're going to be furious. They'll probably turn against you too, at first. You want to risk that fragile bond with Dean just for my cooperation?"

"It's more than cooperation," Sam said quietly. "You know it is."

Lucifer made a sound of acknowledgement. 

"I'll risk it," Sam confirmed. "Because I want you to make me a promise."

The archangel raised his eyebrows. "Is that so?"

He nodded. "Make me a promise that you mean what you say."

Lucifer's eyes narrowed. "Sam, I said I would never lie—"

Sam stared at him. "Promise me. Please."

Lucifer frowned, his fingers curling more tightly around Sam's face—but not enough to hurt. "My word is my bond, Sam. I said what I meant and I meant what I said."

"I—" Sam's eyes widened. "Did you just quote Horton Hears a Who at me?"

"Horton Hatches the Egg, actually," replied Lucifer mildly. "I meant it. That's what sincerely means, and I can assure you of my sincerity."

"Dean would be horrified if he knew that you quote Dr. Seuss. Isn't that sacrilege of some sort?"

Lucifer made a sound that probably qualified as a snort. "I find your lack of faith disturbing."

Sam made a pained noise. "Now Star Wars? Luce, you can't expect me to get Dean to like you when you're casually subverting his childhood."

The archangel blinked slowly, head tilting to the side as he stared at Sam. Slowly, the corners of his lips started to tug upwards.

"What?" Sam demanded. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Lucifer's thumb rubbed over Sam's cheekbone again, one singular, slow swipe that left a trail of tingling warmth behind. "You humans and your need to rename things. You're lucky I find it charming; Michael would be insulted."

"I—what? What did I say?" Sam asked, perplexed and distracted. 

Lucifer smiled enigmatically.

"Luce," Sam complained, then: "—oh. Luce? Oh."

"I like it," the archangel said. "You can call me that if you wish. Just you."

"I, uh," Sam started, and was cut off when his body was wracked by a large, exhausted yawn.

"You're tired," said Lucifer, tugging Sam closer again until Sam's forehead rested against his shoulder. Sam's hands thoughtlessly made their home at Lucifer's hips. "You need to sleep."

"Motel," Sam mumbled, weighed down with warmth and that blissful feeling making its way through his body. "Mm, 's 'bout a mile from here." The wind shifted around them, and when Sam lifted his head, he and Lucifer stood in a familiar parking lot. "Oh. I probably shouldn't—I mean, this whole thing," Sam said helplessly. "They're gonna kill me."

"I wouldn't allow that," Lucifer said, petting the nape of Sam's neck with the backs of his fingers. "I could go."

"No," Sam protested weakly, leaning into the touch. "Stay, please. This is really nice; I'd die for a night's sleep at this point."

"Castiel is inside, you are aware."

"Yeah, I know."

"And he's looking out the window."

"…what?"

Sam pulled himself together just in time to see Cas appearing before them, face dark with betrayal and his angel-blade gripped tightly in his hand. Sam had a split second to move away, but the only thing he could think of doing was grabbing the unsuspecting Lucifer by the back of the shirt and yanking him behind Sam.

"Sam!" Lucifer said in shock.

"Just stay behind me," Sam muttered darkly, now very much awake.

"Sam," Castiel said slowly. "Step away from him."

"No," Sam replied firmly. "I won't."

"Sam," Cas commanded. "Move. That's Lucifer."

"I know who he is, Cas," Sam snapped. "And I need you to listen to me for five seconds before you smite the abomination to get to him, okay?"

From behind him, Sam could feel an incredible spike of cold.

"You're making a mistake, Sam," said the angel, eyeing Lucifer warily. "He's controlling you—"

"Lucifer isn't doing anything, Cas, you're not listening," he said. "We want to call it quits. We want to stop the Apocalypse."

Cas tensed, looking between (presumably) Lucifer and Sam. "You're not serious."

"I am," Lucifer said from behind Sam, laying a gentle hand on Sam's back as he stepped up to stand at his side. The tension was eased, but not entirely erased—the trembling that had started in Sam's limbs started to fade. Sam sighed softly in relief, feeling Lucifer's fingers sweep across his shoulder blades until they fell away. "Quite serious, actually."

"What have you done to Sam Winchester?" Castiel demanded.

"Nothing, Castiel. I've done nothing to him, I've brought him to no harm; look for yourself, I know you can see."

"Look, Cas," Sam said. "I know it sounds unbelievable, but this is real, okay? He wants to stop. He doesn't want to fight Michael any more than I want to fight Dean."

"You'll have to understand that I can't believe that, Sam," Castiel argued, hand tightening around the hilt of his blade, eyes flicking to Lucifer.

Lucifer made a soft sound. "What are you going to do with that, Castiel? It can't hurt me, and I have no intention of hurting you. You may as well put it away and discuss this like the reasonable creature you've been said to be. Well—Heaven doesn't seem to agree, but I think I'll take my chances with you."

"I can call for Michael," Castiel said in a rush, expression pinched.

"You won't," Lucifer replied quietly, assuredly. "Because you're as scared as the coming confrontation as I am. You don't want to witness Michael's wrath any more than you would want to see your beloved Dean Winchester lost to the tide of his Grace. I don't want to fight my brother, Castiel, and more importantly, I don't want to fight Sam. I don't want to fight you. I want to see this conflict… end. Finally."

Cas looked torn but no less angry. "What did you do to Sam?"

"He didn't do anything," Sam answered, frustrated. 

"No? Then I am to understand that when you went for your walk, this was not what you intended?" Castiel's lip curled slightly with derision. "Meeting Lucifer was a coincidence, then? And your sympathy for his supposed plight—that only began, what, an hour ago?"

"I'm not asking you to trust him!" Sam snapped.

"But you do?"

Lucifer turned to look at Sam, watched the range of emotions pull at him, before his shoulders slumped and Sam murmured, "Yeah, I do."

"Then you've fallen prey to his lies," Cas replied stonily. "And I cannot allow you to continue. I'll take you somewhere safe—somewhere that you can stay until you see sense."

"Castiel," Lucifer said in warning, stepping in front of Sam and glaring at the other angel. "I won't let you harm him."

"I don't plan on it."

"Oh?" Lucifer snapped. "And taking Sam, locking him in that iron cage, leaving him to scream himself hoarse, neglecting his needs and ignoring his pleas for you to listen—that isn't harming him?"

Castiel looked betrayed, turning his eyes to Sam. "Sam, you know that isn't—"

"That's what it felt like," Sam said quietly. 

"You were addicted to demon blood!"

"And you let me out!" he yelled. The angels stared at Sam, at the fury building in him. "I know it was you, Cas. You let me out so I could escape and join Ruby, so I could kill Lilith and release Lucifer. Heaven wanted the Apocalypse, and now none of us do. Do you really want to see the world burn? Are you really going to tell me I'm crazy, even if there's the slightest chance that I'm telling the truth?" 

"What the hell is going on?" Demanded a familiar, angry voice. They turned to see Dean standing in the doorway of the motel room, barefoot and grumpy-looking, his handgun held loosely; his eyes flickered between Sam and Cas before settling on Lucifer. "Who's that?" He asked, gesturing with a short jerk of his chin.

"Your brother has lost his mind," Cas growled, taking a step toward Dean. "We need to get him out of here. Now."

"Okay, I'm game," Dean agreed without hesitation, though he frowned deeply. "What's going on, Cas?"

Cas bristled like an angry cat and nearly hissed, "Lucifer."

"What?" Dean exploded, whirling to take several (marginally menacing and barefoot) steps toward Lucifer. "Get away from my brother, you dick with wings, or I'll tear them off myself and save your brother the trouble!"

"Dean, stop!" Sam shouted, reaching forward to lay a hand against Lucifer's shoulder. "Luce, I gotta talk to him."

Lucifer gave a short nod. "Perhaps it would be better if I—"

"No. You're staying with me." He squeezed Lucifer's shoulder lightly, giving him a small, tense smile. "We're sticking together from now on. No matter what."

"Sam—" the archangel started, but Sam stepped up and cut him off, and just in time—Dean raised his gun level with Lucifer's forehead just as Sam stepped in front of him. 

"Dean, I said no," Sam said firmly. "I need you to listen to me, man."

"Why should I listen to you?" Dean asked, voice thick with furious betrayal. "I gave you another chance, Sam. I let you come back, because you said this was exactly what you didn't want. Was it another big lie? What the hell did I do wrong with you?"

Sam flinched as if Dean had slapped him.

"What? You can't handle the truth, Sam? Because I swear to God, it's like every time I turn around, you've gone and fucked up something new. It never ends, does it?" Dean was red-faced and furious; even Castiel looked slightly uncomfortable. "I wanted to help you, Sam, but maybe you're just broken. Ever since I brought you back, ever since Yellow-Eyes; you just like to run with demons, don't you? Makes you feel special? Is that it?"

Sam's lip trembled—Dean had never spoken to him like that before. "I—Dean—it's not what you think, I didn't betray you—"

"You know what, Sam?" Dean snapped, baring his teeth. "I almost understood when it was Ruby. But Lucifer? Are you kidding me? I just—" Dean shook his head helplessly, angrily. "What am I supposed to do about this? How am I supposed to help you if you don't let me?"

"Dean," Sam pleaded, resisting the urge to scrub at his burning, aching eyes. "I'm trying to fix this—"

"Yeah?" Dean asked quietly, setting his jaw. He clicked off the safety of his gun. "Well, so am I."

Sam prepared for pain. He didn't prepare for a splatter of chilled blood on his face that was most definitely not his own.

In the second that his world went blank with shock, Sam saw Lucifer stumble and not quite fall; he reached out instinctively to steady the archangel, but his hand never made contact. At that moment, Castiel appeared at Sam's side and clamped a hand bruisingly tight around the back of Sam's neck, forcing his spine to bend under the weight of an angel's strength. When Sam felt pressure and pain close in on his body, he knew what was about to happen.

"Luce—" he gasped. In the span between blinking and opening his eyes, Sam found himself surrounded by an iron vault. "No," he whispered, even as Cas shoved him forward toward the cheap cot. "Cas, you can't do this! I wasn't lying! We were telling the truth!"

"I know better than to believe the word of the Father of Lies, Sam. Unfortunately, you do not."

"I know him!" Sam shouted back furiously. "How stupid do you think I am? You weren't even created when he had me—you don't know anything! But I remember now, I remember enough—and I'm never gonna stop! And if he tears up the world to get back to me, it's your fault! Yours! You should have listened to me, you never listen." Sam scrubbed his hand over his eyes, sinking down helplessly to sit on the cot, gritting his teeth in an effort to fight back the pathetic sniffles that desperately clawed their way up his throat. "No one ever listens, and then it's always my fault."

Cas shifted uncomfortably before he disappeared, leaving Sam alone to fight back his tears on the old, lumpy cot.

Lucifer nearly snarled as he felt the bullet rip through tender human flesh—he'd moved out from behind Sam in the hopes of being able to keep a better eye on things, but it seemed that Dean Winchester had gotten hasty. 

It didn't even occur to him that there might've been more to it until he heard Sam's panicked gasp of, "Luce—"

Castiel was forcing Sam's head down into an angelic gesture of submission, and Lucifer realized his oversight as the two disappeared. He let out a furious hiss, Grace fluctuating wildly and expelling the bullet from Nick's body. Nick was already tender and starting to bruise inside from the intensity of containing an archangel; he simply wasn't built for it the way Sam would be.

Sam.

"You are an idiot," Lucifer growled at Dean, standing tall and watching as the Hunter paled slightly, eyes wild as he looked for his replacement-angel to come and save him. Lucifer took a menacing step toward Dean. "And a cruel idiot. Don't you see the way you hurt him?" Lucifer bore his teeth, feeling frost creep across the ground with the swelling of his fury. "You're not trying to help him, you petty, tiny, disgusting little insect. He was trying to help you. He wasn't lying; I was willing to help—which you would have known if you had listened." 

Lucifer sneered at the shocked terror on Dean's face and spat a mouthful of Nick's blood onto the pavement at his feet. It hissed as it came in contact with the rock, steaming and quickly freezing; Dean yelped and stumbled backwards, bare feet trying to avoid the growing ice. "You and Michael deserve each other," Lucifer snarled. "But I tell you now, Dean Winchester—Sam has belonged to me for far longer than he has belonged to you. And I will not leave him."

Dean grimaced. "You stay away from my brother."

"Or what?" Lucifer asked with a bitter curl of a smile. "There's not a creature in all of Heaven and Earth that could have changed my mind, aside from Sam. And yet you condemn him, cast him down and into a Cage—doesn't it sound familiar, Dean?" Lucifer began to pace, to prowl around Dean in a circle, the ice building sharp shards against the pavement that trapped Dean where he stood. "The only reason you have Sam is because of me, and because when I rebelled, Michael took him from me. But it doesn't make him any less mine. I can give him exactly what he needs, and he wants that."

"You did something to him," Dean accused.

Lucifer could have snapped the human's neck for all the fury he felt then. Only the thought of Sam held him back. "I've done nothing," he said stonily. "And you would do well to remember that. I would never force Sam to do anything he didn't want. I would never try to persuade him using blackmail or violence or coercion. If Sam chooses me—when Sam chose me—he made that choice himself. I made him a promise that I would never hurt you, and you should be infinitely thankful that I made an oath that I would never lie to him."

"Bullshit," Dean snapped, dodging another sharp patch of ice. "Then what the hell do you call this?"

"I call this negative reinforcement," Lucifer replied. "So you will remember that this is what you have to lose when I am with Sam again. All of this, all of your fear and your hate and your pain, it will only ever disappear by allowing me in. And this is the least of what I could do to you if I so wanted Dean, and that is my promise to you. One way or another, Sam will be mine—the choice is yours. Would you prefer an end to the Apocalypse, or the Apocalypse accelerated with my fury?"

As if to prove a point, the cold suddenly dispersed from the air; the ice melted into harmless water, and the chill inherent from the long winter became mild. The several inches of hard-packed snow and ice from the recent blizzard vaporized and became fog, hanging low to the ground. The dead grass began to green up. Dean stared. The world around him was changing, and there wasn't a single expression on Lucifer's borrowed face that would have indicated that he was responsible. 

"What are you doing?" Dean demanded, spinning in place to watch each of the changes as they happened. 

"Fixing things," Lucifer answered. "That blizzard was probably my fault; a side effect of my arriving most places, I'm afraid. But I can fix that, too—before now, I've simply never cared enough." He rolled his neck casually, and Dean winced at the hollow pop.

"So, what?" he asked. "You and Sam get all buddy-buddy and you want to be a real boy now? What's the catch?"

"You are," Lucifer said. "Your reaction. What you've done irrationally because of it. That's the catch."

Dean sneered slightly. "You expect me to hand over my brother to you because you say that you don't want to crash our sandbox anymore? Forgive me if I don't really believe you, Satan."

"Ah," Lucifer said, raising his eyebrows slightly. "I understand, of course. Now, what should I do about little Castiel? He's trying so hard to get back here, after all."

Dean's eyes widened, the blood draining from his face. "Cas?"

"Mm," Lucifer agreed noncommittally. "What do you think, Dean; should I let him in? I've kept him from flying within a mile's radius of this place—completely unharmed, of course, but he seems a little irritated. Then again, so am I—you really shouldn't have taken Sam."

"Don't hurt him," Dean said lowly. His body tensed, ready to fight. "I swear, if you hurt Cas—"

"I'm not going to hurt your chickadees, Dean; how many times do I have to say it?" Lucifer snapped in frustration. "I only want you to understand the unique position you're in. These are the things that I can do—change the world, keep out lesser angels—and that's not even the half of an archangel's powers. Don't tell me your warrior's brain hasn't considered what that power could do when it's on your side. I am offering."

"Let me put it to you this way," Dean snarled. "If you've got a murderer that's killing people, the cops aren't gonna employ the murderer to catch himself."

Lucifer's expression darkened. "And by your logic, then, if a serial killer were to call the police and offer to turn himself in, they should turn him down because they would rather catch him themselves—is that what you're saying? In the meantime, how many more people will die?" Lucifer took several menacing steps toward Dean until he was barely an arm's length away; Dean attempted to fire off another shot and found that his gun was jammed. "You should consider yourself lucky that I've found something else to occupy my time. Otherwise, you'd be chasing a trail of bodies until there were no more people left to be killed." Lucifer seemed to tower over Dean as he reached out to harshly grip the man's chin, scanning his face before the archangel pushed him away in disgust. "You really are the most stupid human being I've ever had the misfortune of meeting."

In the next second, Dean found himself alone. Lucifer was gone.

Cas appeared, strangely breathless and looking petrified. "Dean!" he exclaimed, reaching for his self-assigned charge. "What happened? What did he do to you?"

"Messed with me a little, but I'm fine. He didn't hurt me," Dean answered, both hands fisting in the front of Cas' trench coat, reassuring himself that Cas was really there. "What about you? He said he locked you out somehow, I had no idea he could even do something like that—"

"He's Lucifer," Cas answered helplessly. "He does what he wants, regardless of the consequences. Come on—go get your things, quickly. We need to get back to Bobby's. I warned him that Sam was downstairs, but that was all I could manage before I tried to return."

Dean got their things and threw them into the Impala, and as an exhausted Castiel nearly collapsed onto Bobby's lawn from the strain of moving both Dean and the car, Bobby was standing on the front porch with a shotgun and a glass of whiskey.

"It's a little early for that, isn't it?" Dean asked, his arm hooked around Cas to keep him upright and moving. 

"Normally, I'd say yeah," Bobby agreed gruffly. "But not now."

Something in his voice gave Dean pause. "Bobby, what is it?"

"Well," said Bobby simply, holding open the door for them. "Cas said that Sam was in the panic room."

"Yeah," Dean agreed, helping Cas to sit on the couch. Bobby closed the front door behind them with a huff. "Sorry about that."

"That ain't the problem," Bobby said.

Dean turned; Bobby was frowning deeply into his glass. "What do you mean?"

Bobby looked up. "The problem's that Sam's not there."

Sam sniffled, wiping at his still-cold nose with his sleeve. He was curled up on the old cot, exhausted and emotionally drained, resigned to another short eternity locked in Bobby's panic room. He miserably pulled his hat further down over his ears; it was cold, and Sam already had the shivers.

"Sam."

Sam nearly fell off the cot in his haste to turn, jackknifing up and flailing for a short second when his body became convinced that gravity no longer applied. His eyes settled on a familiar figure across the room, arms crossed tightly over his chest, which loosened as he approached Sam and came to stand at his bedside.

"Luce," Sam whispered, reaching out to curl his fingers into the archangel's shirt. Lucifer's hand settled on the back of Sam's neck, and Sam leaned into him, forehead coming to rest against his belly, still just on the side of being cold, but soft and comfortable and nice. Sam whined quietly when those fingers kneaded at a knot of tension at Sam's nape. "You're here."

"I'm here," he agreed quietly, petting at Sam's back and neck. "Castiel's oversight of not warding Robert Singer as he did for you and Dean made it easier."

Sam's arms wrapped around Lucifer's waist, soaking up all the warmth and comfort that he had to give; the archangel smiled just a little, fondly and in triumph. He had Sam. Sam was his.

Sam sniffled again; Lucifer's hands paused, coming to rest on either side of Sam's neck, tracing the line of Sam's jugular with a fingertip all the way up to the baby-soft skin of Sam's exposed earlobe. It was this tiny gesture that made Sam shiver for another reason entirely, nosing at the gentle swell of the archangel's borrowed stomach. "It's cold," he whispered.

Lucifer huffed slightly in amusement; sometimes Sam was so transparent that Lucifer feared his fragility more closely echoed glass—beautiful and breakable—though he tried so hard to be made of stone. 

"Let's get you out of here, then," Lucifer replied simply, swiping his thumb under Sam's eye to rub away the remnants of his tears. "Come on, Sam."

Sam's arms loosened slightly and he looked up at Lucifer. "What about Dean and Cas?"

Lucifer pushed a damp strand of hair out of his face. "What about them?" When Sam gave him a slightly-watery smile, Lucifer decided that was quite enough. He took a step back, grabbing Sam's wrists to help pull him up, and looked him over. "Is there anything you need?"

"Depends where we're going," Sam answered. He frowned slightly. "My gun would be nice, but…"

"We'll worry about that later." Still, Lucifer gave Sam a look. "You don't trust me to protect you?"

"It's a comfort thing," Sam replied, self-consciously scratching at the hat. "It was my mom's. That's not the point; I know you can protect me, but I'm a Hunter. Needing to be able to protect myself is just… instinct, I guess."

Lucifer nodded a little in understanding—humans had odd comforts and instincts, quirks that made each of them different and unique; none were more unique than Sam.

Sam shifted anxiously before he asked, "So… where are we going?"

Lucifer smiled indulgently, stepping into Sam's space and laying one hand over the human's quick-beating heart. "Where would you like to go?"

"Anywhere," Sam said immediately. He then added, "Maybe near the water. And it's been a while since I've been in a city."

"North or South?" the archangel asked, grabbing Sam's wrist and guiding his hand to loop around and rest in between his shoulder blades—right between where his wings should be.

"North."

"Really? I would have thought you wanted to go somewhere warm."

Sam smiled, ducking his head and glancing at Lucifer through his lashes. In that moment, Lucifer understood how a human could be an object of fascination in the physical sense—especially when Sam added, "Well, that's what you're for, isn't it?"

Lucifer was searching for some sort of a reply when he heard footsteps. Sam must've heard them, too, because his head whipped around and he whispered, "That's gotta be Bobby."

"Hold on," Lucifer replied, gripping onto Sam's shirt anyway—

—in an instant they were somewhere else. The room was filtered through with the gray light of a city dawn in the winter, the far-off sunrise casting faint light through the old curtains. Though it wasn't particularly pretty for a motel room, it was warm; one mid-sized bed and two fairly-comfortable-looking chairs, as well as a tiny area with kitchen appliances. 

Lucifer let go of Sam to let him wander about, checking the bathroom (dirty tiles, but otherwise clean, and with the rare addition of a full-sized tub) and the bed (ugly sheets, but stain-free, and when he sat down, the mattress didn't creak nearly as bad as even the spare bed at Bobby's house). Of course, sitting on the bed only made him realize how exhausted he was. Sam flopped back with a groan, upper body sprawled out over the mattress, legs splayed in a way that probably looked stupid, but he was simply too tired to care. 

From behind closed eyes, he heard footsteps (and Lucifer had to be making sound on purpose; it wasn't like an archangel worked like everyone else) and expected the bed to dip beside him. However, Sam's eyes flew open when he felt careful hands lifting his foot and deliberately untying the laces of his boot, working it off his foot and placing it to the side. Lucifer knelt—knelt—at Sam's feet, and didn't bother looking up to meet his eyes until he had removed the other boot much the same as the first. When he did, then, it was with a curious tilt of the head, as if it were a completely normal thing for Sam to find the Devil kneeling between his legs on the floor and deliberately taking off his mud-stained boots. There was a biblical reference in there, something about traitors and feet and Jesus, but Sam's mind was a bit too muddled for him to recall.

For a fraction of a second, Sam's overcome, exhausted mind sparked with the bright idea that started with blurting out the words I love you. He stomped on that thought before it ever came to fruition, and instead rubbed his dry tongue along the roof of his mouth, searching for the words like he might be able to taste the right ones if he tried hard enough. Sam eventually had to conclude that there simply weren't any words and held out his hands for Lucifer to take, needlessly assisting in pulling him up onto the bed.

Lucifer at at Sam's side, but wasted no time in busying his fingers with Sam's jacket, unzipping it and slowly pushing it off Sam's shoulders. Sam opened his mouth to ask why, exactly, Lucifer was doing this, but Lucifer shushed him preemptively with a quiet, "Shh, Sam. Let me look after you this once."

He let Lucifer strip him of his heavy winter coat, as well as his plaid overshirt. Lucifer paused when coming to Sam's jeans, looking up for permission that Sam gave with a short, nervous nod. Even knowing there was nothing sexual about the gesture, Sam still felt strangely shy as Lucifer unbuckled his belt and worked it free, moving on to the fly. Sam lifted his hips enough for Lucifer to help get them down his legs; Sam felt equal parts like a small child and a virgin sacrifice of some sort. Lucifer removed his socks, which strangely felt the most intimate of all—just a tiny gesture, so personal and strange, and Sam shivered as he felt cold fingertips brush the arch of his feet.

Lastly, Lucifer removed Sam's goofy, lopsided hat; this he tossed aside, unlike the other articles of clothing which had each been folded carefully. The archangel smoothed his hands through Sam's hair, gently working out tiny tangles with rapt focus.

"Luce," Sam said quietly, face flushed with embarrassment, caught between feeling mortified and flattered in his t-shirt and boxers. There were a slew of things he could continue with, but wasn't sure which was right. Quit it. I'm not a baby. Stop. Don't stop. Why are you doing this? Instead, what he said was, "I'm okay."

Lucifer nodded, but didn't immediately stop his petting of Sam's hair. "You need to sleep."

"You're staying, right?" Sam asked uncertainly.

"Of course," answered the archangel, toeing off his own boots and holding out one arm. Sam slipped into the crook of it with a contented sigh, laying down in Lucifer's arms with his head pillowed on the archangel's shoulder. 

Sam kicked the blankets free, moving them up enough with his feet that he and Lucifer could slip beneath them. He was strangely uncertain—what were the rules when sharing a bed with an archangel? Lucifer settled his tension with gentle fingers rubbing at his temples and a softly murmured, "Get some sleep."

"You don't mind?" Sam asked uncertainly. "I know Cas doesn't sleep—you probably don't have to either—and I don't want to, like… make this weird."

Lucifer huffed, rolling onto his side and hooking his arms around Sam. In a smooth movement, he rolled himself back over, with Sam sprawled on top of him, a warm and solid and human weight. He guided Sam's head to tuck into the curve of his neck, flushed skin against chilled flesh. Lucifer rubbed meaningless patterns into Sam's back, a pleased hum escaping him when Sam relaxed into a veritable puddle of goo under his attentions. "Just sleep, Sam," he replied, and Sam thought maybe he felt the feeling of lips against the side of his head as he drifted off—but then again, he was tired, and there was no way to be sure.

His pillow smelled nice.

Sam let out a sleepy noise of approval, nosing at the source of that earth-and-storm smell, and was less surprised then he should have been when it rumbled beneath his nose and lips. 

Sam cracked open one eye—oh. Lucifer. Of course, his sleepy mind reasoned, like waking up to an archangel underneath him was perfectly acceptable. Maybe it was. Sam was too tired and comfortable to care if it wasn't. He pushed himself up on one arm, giving himself just enough room to mold his mouth to Lucifer's, tongue darting out to taste to surprised and pleased murmur that hummed against his lips. Sam returned the sentiment when a hand threaded into his hair.

Oh. 

Oh. 

Lucifer.

Startled, Sam jerked back, eyes wide and face flushed from one part sleepy-contentedness and two parts mortification. Lucifer blinked up at him slowly, and Sam temporarily forgot how to breathe, wishing to die right then as to not have to deal with the consequences of his stupidity. Lucifer's fingers were still petting through his hair, rubbing at his scalp; Sam shivered.

This was going to be a problem if he didn't move really soon.

"I, er—" Sam started awkwardly. "Um."

Then, casually as you please, Lucifer pushed himself up to meet Sam, kissing him slowly and thoroughly. When he pulled back to allow Sam to breathe (gasping slightly for breaths that never seemed quite enough), Sam's face was stained red. The archangel responded with the slightest quirk of a smile and a burning-fascinated look. "You've slept nearly all day; I was starting to wonder if you were comatose. Your heartbeat says otherwise."

Sam's mouth worked soundlessly; Lucifer's mischievous little smile widened, showing the barest hint of teeth. "You don't need to say anything, Sam."

Sam's mouth closed with a barely-audible click of teeth.

"You're awake, then, I take it?" Lucifer asked, taking Sam's tiny nod as a confirmation, and wiggled ungracefully out from under his human heat blanket. "Good. I'll make you coffee. You drink coffee, don't you?"

Sam stared after him blearily—when had Lucifer ended up shirtless? Had he worn those jeans all night? "Do you even know how to work a coffee maker?"

Lucifer shrugged a little, rifling through the cabinets for what he needed. "Nick knows how. Nick knows a lot of things. He's not nearly as vibrant as you, but there's a lot of interesting information holed up in this here grapefruit. For all that most humans err on the side of barbarians, you've truly made some clever contraptions to make even your vices more easily accessible."

"I… thank you?" Sam asked, frowning. "I think it might be too early for this."

"Coffee first," Lucifer agreed mildly. Sam gave the archangel's bare back a long look, eventually stumbling to his feet and joining Lucifer in the kitchen area. Sam leaned against the counter, half-staring into space until he was distracted by Lucifer making himself present in Sam's personal space. "What is it, Sam?"

Sam shrugged a little, helplessly, before he finally asked, "What are we gonna do now? Dean'll tear apart Heaven and Earth if he thinks I'm in trouble—no matter how pissed he is, I doubt he'll let you get away with nabbing me."

"I believe the nabbing was consensual," Lucifer said, smoothing the wrinkles from the front of Sam's v-neck tee. "We're both adults, aren't we? You're a grown man, Sam, you can make your own decisions. You can choose to run away with me if you so desire." Abruptly, the amused look on Lucifer's face faded, and his hands went still. "And you can return there if you want, too. This is all up to you.”

"I told you, Luce," Sam replied. "We're sticking together." Sam ignored the rising flush in his cheeks as he lay his hand over the one Lucifer had pressed to his heart. He carefully avoided looking the archangel in the eye, and watched instead the slow twine of their fingers. "Tell me I'm crazy, Luce. There's no way it could be like this already, right? There's just no way."

Lucifer seemed to understand. "Humans aren't meant to have lasting contact with their angels again once they leave Heaven—perhaps a few encounters when they are children and an angel is needed,  but never for long—not until they die. You and I are unique. You're not crazy; this is just how we were always meant to be; harmonic, symbiotic. We've spent so much more time together than you entirely understand, but that time is still there. It's only waiting to be unlocked in your memory."  Lucifer leaned forward, resting his forehead against Sam's cheek; the gesture was tender and so human that Sam's heartbeat sped up under Lucifer's palm. "As for what we're going to do—we're not going to do anything. We can wait here, let the world go on around us. In time, when Dean and Castiel see that nothing else is going wrong, that the attacks are tapering off and the weather is returning to normal, they may rethink this. They may change their minds. If they do, we can try again."

"And until then?" Sam asked.

Lucifer smiled faintly, tilting his head to press a kiss to Sam's cheek. "Until then, we can do whatever you'd like.  We can stay here or travel elsewhere—whatever you want, Sam. Anything you want."

"Both, maybe?" Sam said. "But now—it's been a while since I stayed anywhere for more than a few days. I kind of just want to… hang out. If that's okay."

"I told you, Sam—anything." Lucifer lingered for a few long moments, only pulling back with the click of the coffee machine. He rifled through the cabinets and pulled out two plain mugs—not your usual motel standard. "It's extended-stay," Lucifer added, like he knew what Sam was wondering. "We can stay indefinitely. Demons inhabit most of the staff; crude, but useful. And many of them are so eager to please."

"When did you have time?" Sam asked, ignoring the sharp spike of some dark sensation in his gut and accepting the mug Lucifer handed him—black, one spoonful of sugar, piping hot. He inhaled the scent gratefully.

"Well, I had to stay somewhere before I ended up in 'Hampshire. I was only looking into some information up there. This is my home base, at least in name. I don't need the bed, or even the kitchen, really, but it gives me some space to form my evil plots." The archangel shot Sam a mischievous smirk. "And I thought it might be a good idea to have some human amenities at hand, in case I could persuade you to my side. How the tables have turned." Lucifer frowned suddenly, staring at his own mug of coffee as if it contained acid. "If I truly am going to stop the Apocalypse, I'll have to right the wrongs I've done. I've already gone about releasing two of the Horsemen; I should probably put them back where I got them."

"Will that be easy?"

"Incredibly difficult."

"Oh."

Lucifer took a sip from his mug; his face twisted, and he set it back on the countertop. "That's repulsive."

"You might like it better with milk," Sam offered, eyes sliding shut as he took a pull of the bitter brew, completely missing Lucifer's fascinated gaze. "Black coffee is kind of an acquired thing. The only people who drink it that way are the ones who like it or the ones who got used to not having anything else."

The archangel leveled Sam with a long look. By the time he spoke, Sam had finished his coffee, leaving a few sparse dregs in the bottom of his mug. "You deserved so much better."

Sam startled slightly, placing his mug down and crossing his arms over his chest. He shrugged, frowning. "It never felt like it. I mean, I had what I needed. I know Dad and Dean loved me, even if it wasn't always happy with all of us. It worked."

"You ran away," Lucifer pointed out.

Sam winced. "It wasn't like that—maybe it was. I dunno." He hung his head slightly, shame rolling in his gut at the thought that then wasn't much different from now. Here he was, running again. 

He found himself wrapped in a pair of arms sooner than he could react; his lashes fluttered as Lucifer slid a hand into his hair and tugged Sam into a slow, chaste kiss. "I didn't mean to upset you," the archangel murmured into Sam's mouth.

"M'not," Sam disagreed, slightly tipsy with the unfamiliar influx of being spoiled with cuddles and coffee and morning kisses. He steadied himself by holding onto Lucifer's bare waist, letting the electric-chill of his skin seep into his palms. It had been so long since he'd had anything like this, and part of Sam wondered if he was dreaming, if all of this wasn't some sort of a dream.

"I wish I could've been there," Lucifer said. "I should have been there to look after you, make sure no harm came to you. Michael didn't care for you and Dean even a little bit compared to what I would've done. I would've looked after you both; you because you were mine to look after, and him because you would have liked it that way. Never did I regret Falling until after I saw your suffering. I should have been there for you, Sam. I should have been there to play with you on those lonely afternoons when you were four, and to kiss your scraped knees when you were six and your father had already taught you that 'boys don't cry', because it wasn't true at all. That is the job of a guardian angel, and while I was prevented from doing what I would've, Michael shirked his duty to you two in order to keep a perfect watch over a peaceful Heaven that didn't need nearly as much attention as you."

"It might be better," Sam said quietly, letting his mouth rub across Lucifer's jaw, "that you weren't. Because if any other parents had heard that their kid had an invisible friend, they would shrug it off. My dad would have run ten kinds of rituals to figure out what you were."

"He would never have known," Lucifer replied.

"Maybe. But if you had never disobeyed, if you had stayed in Heaven, I never would have been born," Sam answered. Lucifer looked stricken. Sam let his lips run over the corner of Lucifer's mouth as a gentle apology. "Maybe you messed up, but when you protested the evil you saw back then, you let this world to grow. Maybe trashing it isn't the answer; maybe it isn't the right sort of penance. Humanity was always gonna get bigger, and wiping us out would just be unnecessary bloodshed. Angels have been stuck the way they are for so long; I think you could learn from us, maybe just a little bit. Maybe we could learn from you. The more angels that take to us like Castiel has, the more change can happen. If you really want to walk the Earth, maybe we can share."

Lucifer rested his hands on Sam's shoulders, idly rubbing over them and back over his shoulder blades. He turned his face again into the path of Sam's lips, stealing a quick kiss (more passionate, now) that tasted of coffee. "Sometimes I think you should have been an angel, too," Lucifer said. "You're much more reasonable than most of my kin."

"That's nothing special," Sam disagreed mildly. "I'm not angel material—what I am is human. I make mistakes. I screw up. But I have a few rare moments of insight because of that. That's not me being superior to the rest, it's me being equal to them."

Lucifer stared at him for a long time before he slowly admitted, "Maybe you're right."

Sam grinned.

It might take time—maybe a long time; months or even years. But Sam was pretty sure this might just work. Given enough time, maybe Lucifer could change his mind about humanity.

In the meantime, maybe Dean and Castiel might change their minds about him.

Sam could only hope. But until that day, Sam would wait and treasure the feeling of being so unconditionally loved. Maybe things would grow between he and Lucifer; maybe they wouldn't. Maybe they would stay just as they were. 

And maybe, just maybe, Sam could even teach the Devil to make a decent cup of coffee.