Anonymoose asked:
Could you write some more of the mad Lucifer in the bunker story? Maybe Sam finding out what Lucifer did for him?
A/N: Here’s the first part in case someone hasn’t read it (I recommend you do so it’s easier for you to understand) and @heavenspariah, I might as well tag you, considering that you’re the cause of this AU in the first place. Anyway, enjoy!
Sam didn’t know why he was doing this.
Okay, yeah, he said that about most of the things he did lately, but that didn’t make this or any other of his recent decisions any less confusing. He wanted to see it as following his heart instead of listening to his brain or something like that, but even his heart was on the fence about this whole deal. He was apparently just being nice to him for no reason whatsoever. Great.
He knocked on the door softly. “Um, can I come in?”
Lucifer’s voice immediately rang with the reply. “I don’t see why not. Door’s unlocked.”
Sam pushed the door open, but he hesitated before stepping inside. He felt so stupid, just standing there, holding a tall glass with a straw in it. A straw. He had gotten Lucifer a straw along with the drink. Getting him a drink was weird enough, but a straw, too? Jesus fucking Christ.
“What’s up, Sam?” Lucifer was lying on his bed. His feet were on the pillow. His head was hanging over the foot of the bed. Sam was suddenly worrying about too much blood going to the devil’s head. For fuck’s sake. If he wanted to be upside down, he could be upside down. Sam was not his mother.
Sam cleared his throat. “I, uh, got you a smoothie.” He raised the glass in his hand awkwardly. “I found a recipe online, but it’s for two glasses. I only wanted one and Dean didn’t want any, so I’ve got an extra glass. It’s yours if you want it.” I’ve got an extra glass. He had said it as if he hadn’t known that he would only drink one glass, or that Dean would never drink his “weird, low carb, nerd drink”. Whoopsie daisy, I really thought I was going to need two servings, but I didn’t! Shocker! I guess I’ll just give the extra one to the devil… I definitely didn’t plan on doing that since the beginning…
Lucifer didn’t try to figure out if Sam had planned to do it or not. He simply sat up in a flash (shit, he’s going to feel dizzy), leaving his legs folded by his side, and extended his hands towards Sam like a little kid expecting a gift. Rolling his eyes, Sam placed the drink in Lucifer’s waiting grip.
“I made it with-” the Winchester began explaining, but the blond stopped him with a wave of his hand.
“Spare me the details. Just tell me one thing: is it good?”
Sam rubbed the back of his neck. “Well… I guess. It tasted alright to me.”
That seemed to be enough for Lucifer. He took a big slurp and grinned. “Pretty good, Samuel,” he praised. Sam wasn’t sure if he had forgotten that Sam didn’t like it when he used his full name or if he was doing it on purpose. Lately, he was more prone to having his head in the clouds than being an asshole, so it was probably the former. “Pretty good,” Lucifer repeated. He kept on drinking, finishing the smoothie in record time. Once it was done, he placed the glass on the floor, stuck one end of the straw —the end that had been inside the beverage— and started sucking on it to get the last drops of the delicious smoothie.
And Sam was still standing there. Damnit. He tried to think of a good reason why he hadn’t left, but the greatest he could come up with was: What if he chokes on the straw and dies? What then? Easy: let him die. He’s the devil. Also, he can’t die from choking on a piece of plastic because he’s the devil. Stupid, stupid Sam. Get it together, man.
“Wanna sit?” Lucifer’s gentle question snapped Sam out if it. When Sam met his eyes, the archangel pulled his feet closer to his body to make space for the hunter on the bed. He fiddled with the straw between two fingers. Sam eyed the free spot on the bed, mulling over his options. This was some sort of fight or flight situa-
Blood.
There was a streak of blood on the sheets. It was more or less on the place where Lucifer’s feet had been a moment ago. Thankfully, though, it wasn’t a big stain.
“Lucifer,” Sam began slowly, “why is there blood on your bed?”
The archangel frowned. “Blood?” He followed Sam’s gaze and his eyes and mouth widened in a way that Sam would’ve found comical if his mind weren’t racing. “Blood,” Lucifer confirmed. “Would you believe me if I told you that I have no idea how that got there?”
Sam shouldn’t have believed him. His first thought should’ve been that Lucifer had somehow hurt someone and that that was some poor soul’s blood on Satan’s bed. It wasn’t. His first thought was That’s Lucifer’s blood; something’s happened, and he put two and two together. “Show me your feet.”
“You think my feet know something?” Lucifer whispered, not sarcastically, but dead-serious. Sam had to take a couple of deep breaths so he didn’t lose his patience. Be nice. He’s absolutely bonkers. He’s entitled to thinking that his feet have minds of their own.
“I think you might have hurt them,” Sam said patiently. “I need to check them to be sure.”
Lucifer nodded. “Oh. Okay.” He unfolded his legs, and Sam kneeled down to inspect Satan’s feet. Nothing weird in that sentence. Nope.
There was nothing on Lucifer’s left foot, and, at first glance, there was nothing on his right foot, either, apart from the shackle around his ankle and the chain attached to it. Sam tasted something foul in his mouth every time he saw the crude metal with wards scratched on it. It’s necessary, he always told himself. They couldn’t trust Lucifer (yet), and a warded chain could be the only thing keeping him from tearing the world apart. It had to stay on, no matter how guilty it made Sam feel or how many times the hunter played house with Lucifer. All Sam wanted to do in that moment was stand up and leave before he did something stupid, but then he saw a drop of blood trickle from under the shackle.
Carefully, Sam moved the hem of Lucifer’s sweatpants out of the way and slid the shackle down. It made a thick sound, the sound of blood unsticking from skin. Lucifer’s ankle was an angry red color. The skin was cracked and bleeding, and there was dried skin and caked blood stuck to the inside of the shackle. Sam swallowed down the lump in his throat. Had he used the wrong wards? He was sure he had used only wards of containment when he carved the shackle, but maybe in his anger towards Lucifer he had made a mistake or carved a sigil that hurt the archangel. The damaged ankle could be only a superficial manifestation of Lucifer’s wounds. The wards could be damaging the Morningstar’s Grace in ways that Sam didn’t know if he could heal.
“Oh, no, it’s not that. The wards are all safe.” Lucifer had been reading his thoughts again. Damn him. Sam knew he didn’t do it on purpose —sometimes Lucifer couldn’t even tell if he was reading thoughts or just listening to someone talk— but it still annoyed the hell out of Sam. The hunter raised his head to look at Lucifer in the eye and prompt an explanation lengthier than “it’s not that”. Lucifer complied and added, “That’s because of the scratching.”
“What scratching?”
Lucifer pulled his knees up to his chin. If his new posture wasn’t guarded enough, the guilty glint in his eyes completed it. Sam suddenly felt too far away on the floor, but he didn’t dare move closer. He even held his breath while he waited for Lucifer to speak. Sam knew he was going to get an answer, but he wasn’t going to pressure him into spitting it out.
“I get scared sometimes,” Lucifer whispered, and Sam sat up a little bit straighter. The archangel wrapped his hand around the chain connected to his ankle slowly, as if it were a snake that could unexpectedly bite him. “I feel like it’s tugging me down… there. Back to the Cage. It tugs me down, and… I sometimes see things. More chains, ready to bind me if I get too close. Fire. Spikes. Blades. I get so scared that I try to get free by any means possible. I scratch at it, but the wards fight back and make the metal too hot to touch, so I turn to my ankle instead. When I’m too far gone, I can’t stop, not even when the bleeding starts.”
Sam didn’t know which of the million things he wanted to say sounded more genuine. Hey, it’s okay. I’m here for you. You are not going back. You’re safe here. “Let me heal you,” was his final choice.
Without waiting for Lucifer to reply, Sam got up and opened the bedroom’s small cabinet, which had been pushed to a corner to give Lucifer more wall space to decorate. All Men of Letters’ bedrooms had a cabinet like this one. They were big enough to fit a few clothes (Sam used it for books) and a mandatory first aid kit. Behind him, Lucifer had begun to complain, but Sam ignored him and pulled out the metal box. The hunter walked towards the bed and began taking what he needed from the kit: rubbing alcohol (the Winchesters had replaced the outdated bottles with new ones in all bedrooms that were being used), cotton swabs, and bandages. “Sit back and stretch out your legs,” he ordered firmly.
“Sam, it doesn’t really hurt. I’m a big, ol’ archangel, remember? I’d heal it myself if I could remember how to heal myself… But really, it’s not-”
Sam shut him up with a pointed look. Lucifer untangled his legs begrudgingly and let them drop to the floor, forcing Sam to kneel down once again to have access to the wounded ankle. Sam wet one swab with alcohol and warned, “This might sting.”
“No, it won’t because I won’t feel anything,” Lucifer sang. The hunter ignored him.
Sam stared at the shackle. Healing Lucifer would be easier if he took it off, just for a few minutes… He shook his head. He couldn’t risk it. Instead, he had to manage by sliding the cotton swab between the tough metal and the wounded skin. Lucifer didn’t flinch. He really didn’t feel the sting after all. Once Sam was sure he had disinfected every inch of the wound, he wrapped a bandage around the shackle. It was delusional to think that something as flimsy as a bandage could stop Lucifer from damaging his ankle even more, but it was worth the shot.
“There,” Sam mumbled. Lucifer was looking down at him with the saddest pair of blue eyes Sam had ever seen. “I’m sorry.” The apology finally crawled out of his mouth. “I know it must be awful to be tied up like this, especially after all you’ve been through, but I can’t… I-”
“I get it,” Lucifer said softly. “I do. I’m dangerous and unstable, like a nuclear warhead. One wrong move and Luci goes BOOM.” With a sigh, the angel spread his arms and let himself fall backwards. The straw, which had remained clasped in his hand during their conversation, slipped out of his grip and fell to the floor. “Round and ‘round the cobbler’s bench, the monkey chased the weasel,” he began singing under his breath. “The monkey thought ‘twas all in fun. Pop! Goes the weasel.” A hollow giggle left Lucifer’s lips, and he continued humming.
What happened to you? Sam thought, standing up. He saw Lucifer cock his head and immediately knew he had heard his thought.
“What do you mean, what happened to me? In your eyes, I haven’t changed one bit. I’ve always been one crazy bastard to you.” Yeah, he had definitely heard.
Sam cautiously sat down in the edge of the bed; Lucifer propped himself up on his elbows to watch his every move. “You were, uh, extreme back in the days of the Apocalypse,” Sam explained, “but now you’re-” Lucifer started making cuckoo noises. Sam scratched a phantom itch right under his ear before continuing, “Well… yeah. That’s one way to put it. I’m… I think curious is the only way to put it. I just want to know what the hell happened to you between then and now.”
“Hell,” Lucifer replied simply.
Sam tried really hard not to give him a bitchface. “Yeah, but that also happened before, and for a longer time.”
The archangel wagged his finger at Sam. “You didn’t let me finish.” Because it didn’t sound like you were going to say something else. “Hell and you, Samuel. You in Hell, and not in any of the nicer parts of Hell. All the awful things that the Cage did to you… even if you got out —and you did, I’m so proud— the memories would haunt you and destroy you. I didn’t want that, Sam. I couldn’t bear…” Lucifer’s voice broke and his eyes became unfocused. It didn’t take a genius to see that his mind was being a jerk again and was dragging him to an imaginary Cage. Sam placed his hand on Lucifer’s thigh.
“Hey. Stay with me.”
Lucifer nodded and closed his eyes, focusing only on the comforting weight of Sam’s hand. After remaining for few seconds like that, he opened his eyes and kept on talking, “Death came for your soul, and I took all I could find in your mind from your time in the Cage. I took all of your memories, but along with them came the psychological damage, the pain. It was too much. My mind couldn’t handle it.”
Lucifer had tangled their finger together. Sam realized he didn’t care. He gave the angel’s hand a soft squeeze and said, “You didn’t have to do that.”
Even with bags around his eyes, Lucifer managed to give Sam a challenging look. “I did, or all of this would’ve happened to you.”
Sam clenched his jaw. “Yes… but it was my burden to carry. You already have enough shit to handle without having to deal with my problems, too.”
“Sam, I did it because I wanted to do it and because I care about you. And stop worrying about the shit I handle. I’ve been handling it quite well on my own all my life.”
“That’s the point!” Sam threw his hands up in the air in exasperation. It would’ve been easier (and it would’ve looked less ridiculous) if he had let go of Lucifer’s hand, but he really didn’t feel like doing that. “You can’t bear that type of stuff on your own! You need other people to help you carry it, and you can help other people carry theirs. That last part doesn’t mean “absorb other people’s problems and don’t tell them you did it until it’s too late”, though.“
"That’s easy for you to say,” Lucifer grumbled. “You’ve got Dean and Cas and your whole suicidal definition of family that makes you do stupid things to help each other. I’ve got no one.”
“You’ve got me,” Sam blurted out, and the shell-shocked expression on Lucifer’s face was enough to make him keep on talking, “I got you the smoothie, didn’t I? And I healed you. And I got you your own room and I want to help you get better.” The hunter studied their linked hands. “It seems that I care about you, and that’s why I’ve been doing all these things.”
The Morningstar inched closer to Sam. “You mean that?” he asked. Sam barely had time to nod before he was almost tackled off the bed by a fully grown archangel. Lucifer wrapped his arms around Sam’s neck, and Sam awkwardly placed his hands on Lucifer’s hips.
“I, uh,” Sam stammered, “I wasn’t expecting a hug, but okay.” He felt Lucifer’s giggle rumble through the chest pressed against his. Lucifer, hugging, and giggling. The only reason why those three words were in the same sentence was due to the angel’s current… situation. Sam reminded himself of this and tried not to get used to it. If he was really going to find a way to heal Lucifer, he had to remember that Lucifer was more of the “thank-you nod and maybe a pat in the shoulder” type of fellow.
Sam didn’t realize that Lucifer had gone still in his arms until the archangel spoke, “Are you really going to try to cure me?”
Sam pushed him back so they could see each other face to face. “Of course,” he promised. “There has to be a way.” Lucifer smiled, and Sam smiled right back. Sam noticed that Lucifer was sitting on his lap and that his hands were still on the angel’s hips. If Dean walks by right now, he will kill me before I heal you. Lucifer laughed and curled up against Sam’s chest, not helping him with the imminent danger at all.
