Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Keep moving. Keep moving. Don’t think about it. Just keep moving, you’ll be fine.

Forward. Forward is your only option. Keep moving forward.

Three Days (assuming he isn’t being lied to again). One day gone, two to go.

Walking. So much walking.

“I need a car.” The thought came to Lucifer suddenly, stopping him in his tracks. The Devil blinks, his train of thought (or perhaps it might be better described as a train of trying-not-to-have-thoughts) momentarily derailed by the conclusion.

“Stupid, why didn’t I think of that a day ago?” He berates himself out loud, not that anyone would notice, given that he’s entirely alone on a desert highway. (Michigan? Canada, maybe? Geography never was his biggest concern...)

Well, almost entirely alone. Occasionally a car will drive by in one direction or another, but it’s fairly clear that this road isn’t a busy one. Why he thought it would be a good idea to pick a direction and start walking, Lucifer will never know. (That’s not really true. He knows that he didn’t care where he went, so long as it was far, far away from there. Now whether he wants to admit that to himself or not, is another matter entirely.)

One such car just entered his auditory range, driving up the road from behind him. It's engine is terribly loud, and as it gets closer, Lucifer can smell the diesel fuel it uses. His nose wrinkles just a bit in distaste, eager for the car to pass him. But, unfortunately, it doesn't. The loud truck slows down to match his speed, and the driver rolls his window down, propping his elbow up on the edge of it so he can speak to Lucifer.

"Hey there, you headed for Lansing?" The man asks with a pleasant southern drawl. Out of place for this far north, and certainly a welcome change from the too-peppy speech pattern the locals have adopted.

Looking up reveals a sign declaring 'Lansing: 25 mi', and that he's on route 96. He hasn't seen any other signs telling him he's heading elsewhere... so Lansing it is, apparently. "… Yeah. That direction, anyways."

The man smiles upon hearing his answer. "Looks like you've been walking fer awhile, partner. I'm headed that-a-way myself, d'ya need a lift?" The car stops as Lucifer does, giving the stranger a once-over.

It's really his legs that make the decision for him. Lucifer's been walking nearly non-stop for about twelve hours (though he'd insist it was almost a day), and he can definitely feel it. Not only that, but his mouth is awfully dry, and his midriff keeps making noises at him. Human bodies require so much attention. Ugh. "If you wouldn't mind." He accepts the offer politely, finding himself suddenly wanting to be nice to this... Good Samaritan.

The man's smile widens even further as he shifts the car into park and unlocks the doors, gesturing for Lucifer to hop in on the passenger side. "Not at all, partner. Jus' happy to help my fellow man." Nodding, and mystified by the man's openly friendly demeanour, Lucifer walks around the front of the car. "Doesn't hurt that I can use the carpool lane when we get into town now, too." He adds cheerfully as Lucifer makes his way into the passenger seat. "Buckle up and we'll get going right quick, now."

The blonde does as asked, quickly recalling the function of seatbelts from seeing one of the Winchesters 'buckle up' before.

The older-looking, southern man extends a hand to him after he secures himself. "The name's Donny, son. Donny Millard. Who're you?”

Taking his hand and shaking it, Lucifer finally offers the man the barest hint of a smile. "Lucifer. Just Lucifer."

"Well, I'll be." The greying man whistles lowly. "That a stage name 'r somethin'?"

Somehow, Lucifer manages to keep a straight face as he answers, serious as a funeral. "God-given, actually."

The man shakes his head as he puts the car back in drive. "Well ain't that something. 's your family real religious?"

"You could say that."

• • •

All things considered, the ride was nice. The friendly, idle conversation did a better job at distracting Lucifer from his current dilemma than the aimless walking ever did. And he didn't need to add much to the conversation, as the older man was happy to just talk enough for both of them. Lucifer learned quite a few things by just listening to him, some of which might be useful, and others which most likely would not be. Like, while this man was genuinely being nice, and partly wanted Lucifer’s company because rush hour in the city makes the carpool lane far more preferable, it’s generally not a great idea to get in strangers’ cars. He now knows more than he ever really wanted to about this old man’s family, but Donny is helping him out, so he’s not complaining.

Eventually, they reach the inner city, and Donny slows to a stop at a gas station. “Alright, Lou.” (As a church-going man, Donny refused to call him Lucifer.) he gets out to use the gas pump, gesturing for Lucifer to come out too. “My daughter’s house ain’t too much further. This is as far as I take ya.” Lucifer nods his understanding, not really sure what he’s supposed to say. Donny helps him out, one more time. “Good luck out there, son. I don't know where yer headed, but I wish you a safe trip. Put ‘er there.” And with that, he put out his hand, and Lucifer took it, giving his (acquaintance? Accomplice?) … giving the old man a firm handshake.

“You stay safe too, Donny. And thank you for your help. How can I repay you?” He asks, frankly blown away by the kindness the man has shown him so far. There has to be something Donny wants in return, right?

But again, Lucifer was proven wrong by this man. Donny puts up a hand, shaking his head as he speaks. “No, no, I'll take nothing from yeh. You just have a good journey now, alright? And thank yeh fer putting up with an old man an' his stories, that's all I ask of yeh.”

For a second, Lucifer is struck speechless again. Save for the advantage of taking the carpool lane, this man had nothing to gain by helping a stranger, and did so anyways. And asks for nothing in return. Lucifer had never believed the 'Good Samaritan' story until now.

No. One friendly act does not a good man make. Perhaps 'Donny' has done horrible things, and helping out wandering strangers is his way of balancing the books before he dies. There's always a motivation, right? Humans are inherently selfish, and this man is no different. He may claim to want nothing in return, but there must be some reason for it, that he simply isn't telling Lucifer. Yes, that must be it.

Satisfied with this explanation, Lucifer smiles back at the older man, in a convincing facsimile of genuine appreciation. "If you insist. Thank you again for your generosity, Donny. I won't forget it. Enjoy the rest of your night!"

The friendly words come easily to him, and Donny grins as if Lucifer had just made his day. Nothing else is said between them as Lucifer waves goodbye and walks towards the convenience store attached to the gas station. "Gas'n'Sip", the glowing sign reads above the entrance. The break from walking was nice, and Donny gave him one of the extra water bottles he had on him (apparently Randalls had a 'really great deal' on Ozarka water—whatever that means—and Donny may have bought a bit more than he strictly needed), but Lucifer was starting to realise that he could no longer ignore his body's demand for food, so he'd have to see what he can get there with the contents of Vince Vincente's pockets.

—And that's another thing. As much as he likes the leather/Rock-star look, it's not exactly great for walking in, and these clothes were tailored for Vince, not Nick. They fit okay, but they're a bit too loose around the waist, too tight around the shoulders, and just generally not as comfortable as they were meant to be. He'll have to find something more suitable to wear for travel, and maybe get a bag or something to carry food and water.

All these thoughts were doing a fantastic job of distracting him from it. The one glaring problem with all of this that he's staunchly refusing to acknowledge. It's easier to think about how he's going to adapt to his newfound humanity than it is for him to consider the fact that he is very much human now. (Save for his lack of a soul, that is. Not that he actually knows if he has one or not, he just assumes that's the case.)

But he's not thinking about any of that. He's very pointedly avoiding any thoughts that might lead to him being forced to address the problem with his current condition.

He needs a plan. That much is clear. This aimless wandering won't keep the demons or angels off his ass for long. He suspects that the only reason no one has found him yet is that they don't know that he's weakened. But if Rowena keeps to her word, that won't be the case for much longer.

If he's going to survive and come out on top, he needs weapons, power, magical protection. He needs to be able to travel without (what did Donny call it?) hitchhiking. Something long-term, that he can ward thoroughly enough to keep any and all supernatural beings from finding it or getting inside. He needs a car, preferably one that can't be traced back to 'Vince Vincente', so buying one new is out of the question. He can't just steal one, either, because people will be looking for it the moment they realise it's gone. He needs something abandoned, that no one will notice should it disappear. It should be inconspicuous, too, something that won't draw attention like the Winchesters' Impala does. He definitely doesn't need to be arrested. An arrest would put him out in the open, right where any demon, angel, witch, or nosy Winchester can find him.

As he thinks about this, he browses through the shelves, reading the colourful food labels and their prices. Does this store have anything real? Or do they deal exclusively in these pre-packaged, processed creations? There's fruit at the end of the aisle, and pre-made sandwiches in the cooler. There aren't any backpacks for sale, just flimsy-looking drawstring bags that he'd rather not waste his limited resources on. Deciding that the food choices are better than nothing, and at least they look like real food, he picks up two of the sandwiches, a few apples and oranges, and several bottles of water before walking up to the counter to pay for it all.

He never really paid much attention to the humans' monetary system, but he knows enough to get Vince Vincente's wallet out and just pull the largest valued bill ($50) out and hand it to the cashier. Before the young woman finishes ringing everything up, he picks up a map from the counter's display and adds it to everything else he has. "This too..." He glances at her nametag. "… Sam." Ugh. Really. What are the odds?

The tiny woman beams at him with a well-practiced, forced smile. "The maps're free, sir. Yer tot'al is $26.78." She announces with feigned enthusiasm, taking the $50 he hands her, quickly hands back his change, and then bags up his purchases. Her thick Michigander accent is a little difficult to understand, but Lucifer manages. As he tucks away the money and his wallet, he notices the odd look she gives him before handing the plastic sack to him. "Thank yuh fer shoppin' at Gas'n'Sip, have ah great day." He inclines his head to her, but before he can leave, she voices the question obviously on her mind. "What's with'all the leath'ah? Are yuh going to'ah biker meetin' er something?"

Though he knows perfectly well what he looks like, Lucifer finds himself looking down at his outfit anyways. He shakes his head slightly, feeling the need to justify himself. "I was at a concert." She accepts the answer with a nod, but her comment gets him thinking. Maybe there's someplace nearby that he can get a suitable bag and a change of clothes? "Actually, I was really out of it afterwards, and I'm not entirely sure how I ended up here. Do you know where I could get a phone? And some fresh clothes?"

'Sam' seems to find that terribly amusing, but she hides it very well. "Yeah, show me your map there, won't'cha?" He does so, and she points to a corner on the blown-up city map. "That's us, there. There's ah Dollah Gen'ral an'ah Salvay'shun Army just down the street here. Just go left when yeh leave an' head down Elmwud road. Can't miss 'em."

Lucifer doesn't know what a Dollar General or a Salvation Army is (at least, he thinks that's what she said), but he assumes they have what he asked for, so he thanks her and heads out, seeing 'Elmwood Road' to his left, just like she directed.

Donny's car is gone already.

Well, no use in standing around. Lucifer pulls out his turkey on rye, unwraps it and tosses the trash in a bin before walking the way Sam had directed. (People can say a lot of things about Lucifer, but let it not be said that he's a litterer.)

• • •

Doubts as to its creation aside, Lucifer actually enjoyed his sandwich. And Sam was right, he was able to find the stores without too much trouble. He found a well-worn and loose-fitting black shirt (that advertised for the 'Easy Lay' carpeting company, "satisfaction guaranteed" [like this]), a comfortable pair of jeans (with a hole in one of the knees), a grey zip-up hoodie [like this] (the only one that wasn't too small, was a size too big), a decent-sized backpack (a couple of the zipper pulls were broken off), a silver-lined flask, and a pair of (very) used sneakers at Salvation Army, which was apparently just a store that sells items people have donated. He was able to get everything for under $30. They let him change in the bathroom, too, and he had to admit that the more airy-clothing was a nice change, even in the chilly weather. The hoodie, though a bit too big, was very warm, and definitely a good choice.

At the Dollar General, everything is a dollar. Which makes sense, in hindsight. He got a decent pocketknife, a kitchen knife with sheath, spray-paint, rock salt, zip-ties, wire clippers, and several sharpies. The cashier gave him a funny look at the checkout, but Lucifer honestly doesn't give a crap about what any random person thinks of him. Neither store had any guns, unfortunately, and he realised that in order to get one, he'd have to get a license for it first. Which likely wasn't going to happen any time soon. He had neither the time nor the money for it.

Maybe he'll get lucky again and just find one.

Now better-equipped and more-appropriately dressed, Lucifer looks his map over as he attempts to satisfy his hunger with one of the apples. He likes the apple much more than he liked the sandwich, and finishes it off very quickly.

Lansing is a decent-sized city, but it's not too far from Detroit, and Lucifer can't help but feel drawn to the city where Sam finally said yes to him. He didn't even realise that was the direction he'd been headed in until now, and the city just seemed... right. So he decides to keep heading east, and gets to walking across the city right away.

He gets an idea after seeing a man get on a bus by telling the driver 'whoops, must've left my card at home. Would'ya let me on anyways? I'm already running late, y'know?' It worked for that driver, whether or not the man was telling the truth. The bus map is outlined on the blown-up map, and Lucifer quickly finds the nearest stop for the line that can take him across the city. He starts to give the driver a similar speech to what he'd heard when she asks for his ID, and the driver cuts him off with a sympathetic smile.

"Hop on, pal." She waves him past, probably just wanting to get all the passengers on board so she can keep the line going. There were six others waiting with him, so that must've helped his case.

Whatever the reason, it works, and Lucifer sighs internally with relief, glad that he can relax for a little bit longer before he has to get walking again.

He takes a seat at the back corner of the bus, where there isn't much room for his legs between his seat and the row of seats lining the side of the bus, but there’s a window, and he leans against it to watch the dreary scenery pass him by. Brick buildings and harsh neon signs fill his vision, and he’s quietly glad that he didn’t need to walk past each and every one. The sidewalks are crowded, too, and he finds himself glad that he avoided all that as well.

He feels his eyelids being to grow heavy with the humming of the bus’ loud engine, and momentarily becomes exasperated with himself once more. What now, body? He fed himself, he’s wearing more suitable clothing, but still it seems this flesh prison will not be appeased.

Without thinking about it too much, Lucifer hugs the hoodie a little tighter around himself, struggling to keep his eyes open. Is he tired? Is that it? He already slept though, and not even all that long ago. He's been awake for... about 15 hours? If that? All he remembers is passing out shortly after... it and waking up in his old vessel rather than Vince Vincente. Rowena must have done that, and he's almost thankful for it. He spent a lot of time wearing this body, and he's fairly familiar with the weight and balance of it. More so than he was with Vince's body, anyways. He even unconsciously manifested as this body in the cage, purely because of his familiarity with it.

He really liked the expressiveness of Nick's face, too, not that he would ever admit it to anyone other than himself. Nick has a way of garnering sympathy and commanding respect in a way the other vessels he's taken just... don't. Not only was it easy, it was actually fun to manipulate people while wearing Nick Monroe. People just respond to him in such delicious ways, he would even go out of his way during his downtime to just screw with unsuspecting humans. Rile them up, get their emotions running high, and then crush all their pathetic little hopes. Sometimes he'd just leave them like that, sometimes he'd take pity and end their suffering nice and quick. Sometimes he'd talk a person into bleeding for him, just because he could. It was fun. He enjoyed it immensely. And now, he likely won't get the chance to do it again.

Lucifer didn't even realise he'd drifted off to sleep until about half an hour later when the bus comes to a jarring halt, and the driver announces over the intercom that it's the final stop, so everyone needs to get off. It's not very difficult for him to rouse himself. His legs are cramped, and his face feels numb where it was pressed against the frigid window. It's a lot colder here tonight than it was when he was walking on the road earlier.

With a slight groan and a moment of self-chastisement, he gets himself up and off the bus, pulling his map out again to figure out which direction he needs to head. He can see his breath now, and he starts to regret not buying the heavier jacket he'd seen. The jeans do a good enough job, however, even with the hole in the knee. He zips up his hoodie and pulls the sleeves down to cover all the way to the knuckles of his fingers after putting the map back away, and starts working his way quickly down the street. There aren't many people left outside at this time of night, or perhaps it's just this part of the city. It doesn't take him long at all to make his way to the outskirts and more suburban areas, and by the time he's there, the walk has helped him warm up pretty thoroughly.

He ends up getting a ride the rest of the way out of the city. A woman who introduced herself as ‘Liz’ offered him a ride as she was on her way back home, all the way out by the highway. It wasn't a long trip, but it definitely would have been a lot longer if he’d had to walk the whole way instead. He thanked her for the assistance, asked her if the highway went to Detroit, and went on his way.

It was about that time at which his lower body began to feel uncomfortable, and he realises with a touch of disgust that he’ll need to… rid himself of his waste… fairly soon. His body is so needy, and so inefficient. It's such a chore to take care of, a fact which he silently adds to the many reasons that humans are inferior in every way to angel-kind. How could his father possibly have thought this was a good idea? That these abominations are somehow better than them, than Him? They're flawed, broken, and so easily corrupted. He hates this.

He hates being human. Lucifer hates the insistent hunger his body feels, the pull of sleep, the aches and pains from all the walking he’s done, the sweat, the cold, the feelings, and now this latest indignity. Human waste. Disgusting.

With nowhere else to go, Lucifer resorts to using a tree as cover for himself. He can't even bring himself to look as he pisses behind a tree, looking for all the world like he’d rather die than suffer another second of this.

And it’s cold. Lucifer knows cold. He’s always thrived in the chill of the arctic, in the brisk, thin air of the atmosphere. But not so, now. Now, he can't help but shiver violently as he walks, the temperature dropping ever further as the night goes on.

It’s late into the night when he hears another car head his way down the road, and he puts his arm up and makes a fist with his thumb sticking out like he’d seen a few other people doing in the city. Luckily, the driver notices him and pulls over on the road, rolling down a window. “Need a lift?”

The man’s accent is clipped, and Lucifer can't quite place it. He was only certain that he wasn't from Michigan. It doesn't seem terribly important to him. “Yeah, I'm trying to get to Detroit.”

“You won't get very far if you die out here in the cold, buddy. Hop in, I can get you as far as Neighbour.” The young man unlocks his car, and with a word of thanks, Lucifer gets in. His fingers and other extremities are all beginning to go numb on him, so he doesn't think twice about joining the stranger in the relative warmth of his car.

The window is rolled up, and the heater is already on, quickly thawing Lucifer’s frozen fingers and nose.

They trade the standard pleasantries, but this driver doesn't seem to be terribly interested in chatting him up, unlike the other two. That's fine with Lucifer; he’s never objected to a little bit of piece and quiet. In place of idle conversation, Lucifer pays more attention to his surroundings, noting the little details in the man’s car, and the occasional break in the monotony of the landscape passing them by. He finds himself looking towards the young man at the wheel, trying to place his accent and appearance.

He seemed to be of eastern origin for the most part; looking to be at least half Vietnamese. But the size of his nose and the tone of his skin didn’t quite match that description. His skin tone was a few shades too dark, making him look permanently suntanned, though Lucifer is very sure that no one has gotten much sun around here recently. His nose is wide, making Lucifer think of the early humans (like Adam and Eve. The descendants that most closely resemble them nowadays would be those who inhabit northeastern Africa, particularly Ethiopians). He has very short, black hair, shaved very close to his scalp. The man doesn’t take his attention off of driving much, though he does glance periodically at his dial display.

He doesn’t have the radio on, leaving the sound of the car’s engine and the tires against the road to be the only sounds occupying his attention.

After about half an hour of this silence, Lucifer begins to feel a bit restless, and while he doesn’t mind some silence every now and then, he much prefers being the centre of attention. “So, what’s in Neighbour for you?”

The African-Asian man glances over at him, looking vaguely annoyed. “I live there.”

“Ah.” Lucifer responds articulately, leaning back in his seat. “So why were you all the way out here?”

The man’s look of annoyance grows slightly. “I was hunting.”

That catches Lucifer’s attention. It takes him a second to realise that it’s unlikely the man is the Winchester brand of ‘Hunter’, at which point he relaxes again. “Really? What were you hunting for?”

“You ask a lot of questions.” He doesn’t answer the blonde, just keeping his eyes firmly on the road.

With a touch of disappointment, Lucifer abandons the attempt to start a conversation, deciding that this guy just wasn’t the talking type. He turns his attention back outside, entertaining himself with thoughts of what he’s going to do once he reaches Detroit.

The car has to be his first priority. He’s got just under a day and a half before people start looking for him, so he needs to get that car, and he needs to ward himself. He can use the sharpies he bought to apply temporary concealment wards to his skin, but it’d be better if he could make those permanent. Tattoos, perhaps? How much would that cost him? He really needs to go through his wallet and figure out exactly what it is he has. He saw a few of those bills labeled with 50s on them, and it seems like he can stretch that amount fairly far, considering how much he bought with just one of them. He also saw other people paying with plastic cards, and he saw some similar ones in Vince’s wallet, but he isn’t sure how much they’re worth.

His thought process goes much like this for the duration of the ride, with the two men driving along the dark road in silence all the way to Neighbour.

It isn’t until they start passing by buildings that Lucifer finally speaks up again, seeing an open gas station. “Thank you for the ride,” He realises belatedly that he doesn’t know the man’s name, “… sir. I can get out here.”

The man doesn’t stop the car, looking over at his passenger with the warmest smile Lucifer’s seem on him yet. “Are you sure? You look hungry, man. Don’t you want to have dinner at my house before you move on?” Lucifer doesn’t answer right away, brows drawing together in slight confusion. “Come on, it’s cold out here, and my wife has stew waiting at home. She always makes way too much.”

Something pricks at the back of Lucifer’s mind, telling him that there’s something off about this. But for the life of him, he can’t come up with a real reason to turn down an offer of free food. “Thank you, but I’ll be fine on my own. I don’t want to intrude.”

“No, no. I insist.” The young man says firmly, not turning his attention from the road. “At least take some to go, won’t you?”

Against his better judgement, Lucifer acquiesces. “… Sure.” After all, the first two people who helped him out were very kind, what does he have to be so worried about? Just because this guy is a little quieter, doesn’t mean he’s any less friendly.

Mostly satisfied with the justification, Lucifer settles back into his seat, though now his attention is solely on the driver, who has gone back to his stoic silence.

hIt’s not much longer before the man pulls up to a house, and Lucifer notes that he doesn’t have any neighbours. The city is fairly suburban, but this guy lives in a more secluded part of it, on a road with houses and small businesses sporadically placed along it. The next thing Lucifer notices, is that there’s not a garage, or another car parked in the driveway. Nor are any of the lights in the house on, even though it’s only a little after 9pm.

He could still be wrong, but Lucifer starts to doubt the man’s claim of having a wife waiting for him with stew, and immediately puts his mind on full alert. He doesn’t dare say anything to let the man know he suspects anything, just waiting for him to put the car in park and get out, so Lucifer can snatch the keys, throw them into the bushes, and run. (It wouldn’t do to run away only for the man to run him over, or something. And at the same time, if he’s wrong, he doesn’t want to just take the keys with him, and leave the man who gave him a ride here unable to drive his car.

But instead of pulling the keys out of the ignition, like Lucifer expects, the man’s hand darts up, grabs Lucifer’s hair, and slams his head right into the dashboard. While Lucifer’s dazed, he tucks the keys into a pocket and gets out, yanking Lucifer’s door open just as the blonde is recovering.

There’s a knife in his hand, and Lucifer swallows as the point is pressed to his neck. “Get out. Scream, and I’ll slice your throat early.”

Slowly, Lucifer gets out of the car, feeling his heart speed up against his will. He can handle this. He’s just a man, and he’s only got a knife. He’ll take it away from his neck sooner or later, and when he does, Lucifer knows how to disarm him.

The man has obviously done this before, his hand is steady as he keeps the knife pressed against Lucifer’s neck just hard enough not to actually break the skin. If Lucifer wasn’t currently in danger, he’d probably applaud the man for it.

A thought suddenly occurs to him, and Lucifer doesn’t have the self restraint necessary to keep his mouth shut. “So, you ‘hunt ‘hitchhikers, I take it? Easy targets, nobody to look for them, good choice. What, afraid of a challenge?”

The knife is pressed a little more forcefully against his skin. “Shut your damn mouth, you filthy waste of space.”

“Ah, so you have a grudge against hitchhikers.” Lucifer smiles victoriously as he sees his captor’s expression darken. “Come on, before you kill me, tell me your driving sob-story, won’t you?”

“I don’t have to tell you shit, jackass. What are you, some kind of fuckin’ Psychologist?” The man growls, tightening his grip on the blade and prodding Lucifer to keep moving towards the house. “Degree didn’t work out, left you homeless, in debt up to your neck?”

Lucifer snorts at the idea. “Nah. I never went to school. No degree, no debt. Dad kicked me out of the house a little early for any of that. But enough about me, tell me about you. What’s a poor hitchhiker like me ever done to a strapping young man like you?” He can tell his strategy is working. Don’t show fear, that’s what he wants. If it’s a deep-rooted psychological issue, and Lucifer fits the profile he targets, his goal is to cause fear and to prove that he’s the stronger one. Lucifer’s callous tone and lack of fear is successfully throwing him off, distracting him enough for him to lower the knife almost to Lucifer’s collarbone, where it’s no longer a guaranteed lethal cut.

Lucifer considers attempting to disarm him right then, but he’d still rather wait until his success is more of a guarantee. His heart is beating very fast, and he can hear his blood rushing in his ears.

The serial killer just turns Lucifer around, still keeping the knife close to his neck. “All you people do is take advantage of people’s kindness. You take and take, and give nothing back. You’re a burden on society, and I'm just lightening the load.”

Yeah, this guy is a real piece of work. Lucifer fights the urge to roll his eyes. “So you think you’re some kind of hero? News flash, buddy: Murder doesn’t get you into heaven. I’m pretty sure there’s a commandment for that one. I could be wrong, though, it’s been a while.”

His already-white-knuckled grip on the blade at Lucifer’s throat only tightens at the words, telling Lucifer that he won’t get the reaction he wants by appealing to religion. Or at least, not Christianity. Lucifer switches tactics. “But you don’t really care about any of that. This is personal, right?”

The man doesn’t answer, only adding a painfully tight grip on Lucifer’s arm to the knife at his throat. Using the grip on his arm to gauge a reaction from the serial killer, Lucifer continues talking. “Shy? That’s okay, How about some suggestions? Did one of us hurt you as a kid? Were you robbed? Someone never said ‘thank you’? Maybe it wasn’t you at all, maybe it was your mom?” The grip on his arm tightens, and Lucifer knows he’s hit the nail on the head. “Your mom, huh? A hitchhiker took advantage of her? How?”

Quicker than he anticipated the man was capable of, Lucifer is spun around and his back is slammed into the wall besides the front door. The knife is pressed harshly against his jugular once more. “My mother, wonderful woman that she is, offered a man a ride to the city, and invited him home for dinner. They drank, and he went to bed with her. She gave him so much, asked for nothing in return, and he was still gone before morning, skipped town and never talked to her again. He was my father, and he ruined my mother’s life. Now will you shut up?”

The story makes a few things make more sense, now. Like why he bothers tricking people into coming all the way to his house before he kills them, rather than murdering them on the highway, where their bodies wouldn’t be discovered for a very long time. He wants to recreate how his father was brought to his mother’s home. It’s a ritual.

Not wanting to move his head for fear of accidentally slicing his own throat open, Lucifer merely hums his assent. The serial killer accepts his response, seeming to enjoy the show of submission, regardless of how small it was.

His moment of opportunity comes sooner than Lucifer had expected, as the man moves to open his front door. He has to change which hand is holding the blade, and as he does, Lucifer strikes. His grip on it isn’t strong, making it easy for Lucifer to knock it out of his hands and kick the blade away. The additional second of shock is all Lucifer needs to knee him in the crotch, and then grab his shoulders and throw him to the ground. Lucifer is slightly larger, and he’s able to pin the man down and hold his arms behind his back without too much difficulty. As he does so successfully, Lucifer releases a heavy sigh of relief.

“Kid, you should be more careful with who you corner. I’ve killed way more people than you ever will.” The devil takes a second to gloat a little bit.

The man ceases his squirming for a minute. “You’re… like me?”

He can’t help it. Lucifer laughs. “God, no. I’m Satan.”

“You’re insane.”

“You know, people keep telling me that, but I don’t see it.” He responds cheerfully, deciding what he’s going to do next. “You’re still pretty new to this, right? Word of advice, the gruff silence-y thing is really fucking suspicious. It’s textbook sociopath behaviour. Talk a little more, and no one will see you coming. Leave a light on inside so they think someone else is home. And for God’s sake, a knife? Could you be more cliché? If you’re not going to get a gun, at least find some way to bind their hands first. Seriously.”

“You’re… giving me advice?” The young man sounds utterly perplexed. “You’re not going to kill me?”

“Of course not. You know who I am now. I can’t send you to Hell where you can just blab off about me to any old demon. They might not listen to you, but I’m not going to risk it. I’m going to tie you up, take your keys, and leave. And you’re not going to stop me, and you’re not going to tell the cops, or I’m going to reveal your dirty little secret. Deal?”

“… Deal.” The man sighs, almost spitting out the word like it disgusted him. “If you’re Satan, why don’t you want Hell to know where you are?”

“It’s complicated.” Lucifer huffs angrily, manoeuvring his would-be murderer’s arms so that he can hold them in place with one hand while he pulls his pocket knife out and holds it to the back of the man’s neck. “I’m going to get up, and you’re going to walk with me back to the car. Try anything, and—consequences be damned—I’ll shove this knife through your brain stem. Do I make myself clear?”

The killer nods, and Lucifer proceeds to get off of him, keeping the blade’s tip in contact with the back of the man’s neck all the while. They reach the car without incident, and Lucifer has the man open the passenger door for him, pull out his backpack, and retrieve the zip-ties from it. As soon as the zip-ties are in hand, Lucifer grabs the man’s hair and slams his forehead into the side of the car, effectively knocking him out. The serial killer crumples, and Lucifer huffs with satisfaction, pocketing his knife and massaging his own still-sore nose. “That’s for hitting me, you son of a bitch.”

The unconscious man doesn’t respond.

Sighing tiredly, Lucifer mutters to himself about amateurs and sets about zip-tying the man’s hands together behind his back, and looping another zip-tie around the part of the binding between his hands and then around the car’s door handle. He retrieves the knife (careful to use the sleeves of his hoodie, so as not to leave fingerprints) and leaves it close enough for the man to reach, if he gets creative. He takes the car and house keys from the serial killer’s pockets and drops them into the nearby bushes, not wanting to risk taking them with him and there being some kind of tracking device on one.

He doesn’t stop there, though. Taking out a sharpie, Lucifer leaves a note on the car’s window. “Better luck next time, kiddo. I’m sure you’ll make a killing out there!”

And without further ado, the devil takes his leave, shouldering his backpack and munching on an apple as he departs.

• • •

It’s not very long (just over an hour or so) before he stops, catching sight of exactly what he’d been intending to find in Detroit. He’s passing by a derelict gas station on his way towards the (more lively) centre of the city, and what does he see, but a car parked in the abandoned lot? It’s nothing special; just a silver ’06 Lexus IS 350 [like this] (according to the back of the car). It doesn’t stand out (he almost didn’t notice it. He wouldn’t have, if he weren’t actively looking for a car that seemed even only slightly out of place), its windows are all intact, and as he approaches it, it becomes clear that it’s been there a while. There’s dust gathered in edges of the car, the tires look like they’re slowly losing air, and there’s a plastic to-go cup inside that has mould growing on it.

He tries the handle, and as expected, the door is locked. Luckily, he has his pocket knife, which has a few additional options on it. What looks like a screwdriver does the trick, and he manages to pick the lock open.

The door opens just fine once he does, and he smiles to himself at this sudden run of good luck. (It seems good things do happen to bad people.) The first thing he does once inside is take the cup out and toss it into a trash can at one of the gas pumps. The contents of it smell rancid, and he has to hold his breath as he rids himself of the detested thing. He hopes the whole car doesn’t smell that way.

Of course, he’s not that lucky. He never is.

However, this car is pretty much perfect in every way that really matters, so he’ll put up with it.

The keys were even left on the console, which he assumes is why the car was abandoned in the first place. Whoever it belonged to must’ve been locked out and was unable to get new keys or have it unlocked. Whatever the story was, the car is his now.

Now he has a car, the keys to it, and the gauge says there's still fuel in the engine.

… Now he just needs to figure out how to turn the damn thing on.

Staring blankly at all the dials, buttons, and levers in front of him, Lucifer decides that this is a task better suited for the light of morning, and simply rolls down the front windows enough so that the air can circulate during the night, re-locks the doors, and then climbs into the backseat to get some well-deserved rest.

Pleased with all he’s achieved today, (it’s certainly been more productive than the previous day,) Lucifer takes a little while to ‘decorate’ his arms with Enochian and Infernal protection wards, now that he finally has a moment of privacy to do so. He learns quickly that he needs to wait for the ink to settle into his skin a bit, otherwise it will smudge at the slightest rubbing. (“Permanent ink my-ass.” He grumbles to himself after this discovery.) He also adds finding some way to remove ‘permanent’ marker ink from skin to the top of his to-do list, just in case the smudging issue persists.

Strangely enough (though he’s not about to look a gift-horse in the mouth), there is actually a fleece blanket in the backseat, and Lucifer can’t believe his streak of luck right now. There has to be a catch to all this, right? There’s no chance that Dad just decided to cut him a break and give him this one, right?

As he begins to drift off to sleep, using his hoodie as a pillow and the blanket to keep warm, Lucifer allows his mind to wander.

No, Dad probably doesn’t even know he’s still alive, or if he does, he must not care all too much. He’s too busy frolicking somewhere with the one thing in creation Lucifer knows he can never hold a candle to in God’s heart. Everything was so much simpler when good and bad were clear-cut. God is good. Amara is bad. Light is good. Darkness is bad. Angels serve God, so angels are good. Leviathan serve no one, so they’re bad.

But then He had to throw humans into the mix, and what was Lucifer supposed to make of them? They serve no one but themselves, but they Look up to God, so are they like Leviathan or angels? They’re neither light nor dark, so what is he to infer from that? And then before Lucifer could come up with his own judgements of them, he’s told to love them over God. Ordered to. But serving and loving God above all is good, so to not do so would be bad, right?

Nothing made any sense, and thinking it was some kind of test of his love for God, Lucifer refused to bow to these undefined, strange things.

He was punished for it, and then he was deemed bad.

He loved God, but he was still deigned a creature of evil. He radiates light, and yet is equated with darkness. Thinking maybe the humans—strange and undefined as they were—could explain it to him, he convinced Eve to eat the fruit of knowledge, so she might be able to tell him what makes something good, and what makes something bad.

They were ordered not to eat of it, but Lucifer was ordered to Love God, and he was punished for following that order, so how was he to know which orders are meant to be followed, and which are okay to break? He knew the fruit would not cause her immediate death, so he told her so.

He probably should have just eaten it himself, for all the trouble that action caused him. Eve didn’t have an answer for him anyways. She became overwhelmed with other matters far too quickly.

Cast into hell for his actions, essentially trapped there for all he could do with useless, broken wings, Lucifer finally learned hatred. There, in the punishing flames that cut through even his natural aura of cold, Lucifer began to hate. He never completely lost his love, but his hatred grew until he nearly despised and adored God in equal measures. It grew and grew, and he began to hate humans too, deeming them to be the cause of all his suffering. If it weren’t for them, things would still be simple. He never would have known pain, hate, or anger. Good would be good, and bad would be bad.

With his hatred, he twisted the lone soul he shared this fiery coffin with, and thus demonkind was borne of Lilith.

But he was not content with just this one. No, as soon as he was able, Lucifer whispered in the ears of the humans on the surface, tempting their souls, seducing their flesh, and seeding doubt in their minds. That is, until he drew Abel’s attention. He really shouldn’t have shared the mark with Cain, but he wanted so badly for someone to understand his suffering, he couldn’t resist. Their story had many similarities to his own, Abel standing for humanity, and Cain resembling him. Despite how hardened his heart had become over the years, Lucifer felt for the struggling human. He offered Cain a choice, thinking that Cain would choose himself over the little brother who did no more than he, and still received love and praise beyond his accomplishments. Cain chose to save his little brother from Lucifer, and killed him to do so. Either way, Lucifer would have won. It didn’t make him feel any better.

None of it ever made him feel better. There was a void within him, a hole that the love of his Father and siblings used to fill, and while the anger and rage were effective distractions, that’s all they were. Distractions. Meaningless distractions that did absolutely nothing in the long run to fill the emptiness eating away at him.

The only thing since falling that did anything to refill that hole, was agreeing to fight Amara again. To be close to his Father once more, and to even get an apology from Him. To feel the warmth of his power washing over Lucifer, knitting up the damage Amara had done to him. To be accepted as an ally in Heaven once more, even if it was only because Castiel convinced them to do so for the greater good. It didn’t completely fill his void, but it helped. Having his father back filled a blank that had been there so long, he forgot how good it felt to have something there. For a little while, things started to feel right again. He had a purpose, and he was more than happy to aide his father against the darkness once more.

Things were straightforward once again. God is good, Amara is bad. Lucifer serves God in the fight against her, so Lucifer is good now, too. All is right once more.

He thought…

He thought that if he did this, and they won (and why wouldn’t they? Good always triumphs over evil… right?), maybe things could return to normal. Or something close. Maybe, just maybe, he can go back home.

Maybe they can get Michael back, and Father can tell him that they needn’t fight one another.

Maybe, with time, they can even get Gabriel back, and Lucifer can apologise to the only being he feels is truly deserving of one from him.

Maybe.

But none of those hopes matter now. They lost. Badly.

Lucifer was left so injured that he had to abandon Castiel. If he had stayed even a second longer, he might not have survived her attack. Thankfully, she did not pursue him.

No, she mortally wounded God and then fled. Lucifer was convinced that this was to be the end. The universe would cease to exist, and no one would be able to stop it.

But that didn't happen either. No, Amara… healed her brother. All that fuss, and she didn't actually kill him. And then they ran off into the sunset together.

And for all he said, all the promises he made, God abandoned him—them—again. God apologised for leaving, sure, but he followed that right up with ditching the world all over again.

And on top of that, everything became unclear again. Amara, the darkness, the one thing that no matter what, has always been evil, is no longer so? She and God are suddenly equals, and everything is just going to be forgotten between them so they can frolic together somewhere?

‘What about me?’ Lucifer wants to ask. What about His favourite? Or was all that just another lie that God told him because he thought it’s what Lucifer wanted to hear? Was it just another fabrication to keep Lucifer in line?

Lucifer doesn't know the answer to that, and he finds he’d prefer not to know anyways. He’s thinking about this far too much, and it's all irrelevant right now anyways. He’s got a bigger problem to deal with for the foreseeable future, so he turns onto his other side, and settles down to sleep.