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They’re at a gas station, some run-down old heap off the interstate that Dean pulled in at to get gas. He’d sent Sam out to pay the bill, and grab some food to eat on the go while he was at it - and, of course, Lucifer had trailed along afterwards like a lost puppy, keeping close on Sam’s heels, eyes wide and a little nervous (it’s easy to forget, sometimes, that he’s only been Graceless for three weeks, because it seems like forever but it’s really not that long a time to get used to the little foibles and weaknesses of humanity).
"What’s this?" asks Lucifer, tapping Sam’s shoulder and holding a small, plastic tube up when Sam turns from paying the guy at the checkout for the gas and assorted crap food he’s managed to bundle into a carrier bag.
Sam frowns, confused for a minute, and then smiles. “They’re bubbles, Luci.”
The guy on the checkout looks between the pair of them, the universal you’re both crazy expression spreading slowly across his face as he reminds Sam that he needs the rest of the money. He pointedly doesn’t ask why the one on the left doesn’t know what bubbles are, and why Sam’s calling him by what’s clearly a girl’s name.
(It’s Dean’s fault, really, trying to use the nickname as an insult, only to be disappointed when it turned out Lucifer had no particular loyalty to the male gender and, in fact, had some difficulty understanding the finer concepts of gender at all . The name had stuck, regardless, no matter how many odd looks they’ve gotten for it over the past few weeks.)
"Can we get them?" Lucifer interrupts again, as Sam’s handing over the $5 more he owes the guy, and Sam sighs.
"Really?" he asks, raising an eyebrow - because sure, they’re supposed to be showing Lucifer the ‘joys of humanity’ or whatever, but he’s not sure that bubbles are really that important in the grand scheme of things. But then again, there’s this… innocence to the Devil’s face, an honest, open sort of curiosity, and he just can’t resist.
Lucifer clutches his bubbles tight all the way back to the car, ignores the jibes he gets from Dean when the other hunter realises what he’s holding, and doesn’t let go of them for the rest of the drive.
~x~
They don’t get a chance to try out the bubbles until they stop at a motel for the night. They’re checked in, bags dumped on the beds, and Dean’s out getting pizza. Sam’s sat at the table reading a local newspaper when Lucifer sides into the seat next to him and nudges him with his elbow, oh so gently, before placing the bottle of bubble mix on the table in front of Sam.
Sam smiles, folds the paper away, and takes the bottle - because Lucifer’s bad at asking for things, especially for himself, so when he wants something very badly he doesn’t actually say anything. Sam knows what he means anyway.
Lucifer watches, face tight with focus, as Sam unscrews the cap and dips the little stick into the mixture, making sure there’s a thin sheen of liquid covering the loop on the end before bringing it to his lips. There’s a frown on Lucifer’s face, now, like he’s unsure what Sam’s going to do (is he going to eat it, throw it, shake it, what), and Sam has to pause for a moment to swallow down the giggles before pursing his lips and blowing a thin, steady stream of air towards the loop.
The way Lucifer’s face lights up when bubbles come streaming out of the end of it is enough to make Sam’s heart ache. It’s so easy to forget, sometimes, that Lucifer isn’t human, hasn’t had a childhood; but at moments like this, moments where the smallest, most mundane of human fripperies manages to amaze and captivate him, Sam feels almost angry that the Devil never got the chance to grow up.
"You can touch them," he prompts, lowering the stick to dip it into the mixture again, and watches as the frown of concentration returns to Lucifer’s face. He watches the bubbles drift around the room for a moment, blinking out of existence, before touching one gently - and recoiling a little when it disappears. He seems to catch on to the idea of it soon enough, though, standing up and curving his hands around a bubble, before bringing his hands together, hard, and looking delighted when the bubble pops between them.
Sam lets loose another stream of bubbles, and wonders at what his life as become as he watches the Devil clapping his hands and jumping around in an attempt to pop the cloud of bubbles, a look of childlike delight and wonder on his face. He seems to take it as a personal affront when the bubbles meet their demise against the furniture or the floor rather than by his hands, and Sam doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone so deeply involved in and focused on a game of ‘catch the bubbles’.
"Let me have a go," says Lucifer, quietly, when the last of the second lot of bubbles has disappeared into tiny droplets of moisture in the air. There’s that smile-that’s-not-a-smile glowing through his eyes from somewhere deep inside of him, and he holds out a hand towards Sam, hopeful.
Sam hands over the bottle, and grins.