'Supposed as Forfeit to a Confin'd Doom'
Summary: When the Angels dragged Dean out of Hell they took him from someone they'd never imagined.
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: S4 finale
Notes: This is a twisted dark-AU mash-up of 'Like to the Lark at Break of Day Arising' and dakotalynn421's 'Look What This Love's Done To Me'-verse, because my plot bunnies just don't know when to leave well enough alone.
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Dean stood by Sam as Lilith’s blood spiraled across the floor into its pattern. He reached out and grabbed Sam’s shoulder, glancing briefly at his brother before staring in apprehension at the glow that was beginning to emanate from the opening seal. They were too late, far too late; they had lost when Sam had decided to trust a demon over his own family. No. That wasn’t right; Dean knew they had lost when he himself had broken in Hell, when he had said ‘yes’ and stepped off the rack and spent ten years doing things that would have made Sam and Ruby run for the hills.
He couldn’t blame Sam, because he had no right to be upset with Sam for trying to find someone to be there for him after Dean had gone to Hell, and to have someone who wasn’t spending their every moment in memories of the pit after Dean got back. He knew he was broken, he knew he had been weak, still was weak; and now they were all going to pay for it.
Dean exhaled softly and planted himself more solidly between Sam and whatever was going to come out of the opened cage. He could feel a strange pressure building; the hair at the nape of his neck standing on end, a thrill running up his spine, a crushing weight settling over his heart and in his lungs.
The room filled with blinding light, until finally a darker shape emerged; so surrounded by the light that it was nearly indistinguishable from it. The bright form seemed to hang suspended for a moment, and Dean felt the pressure suddenly release.
The crushing discomfort was gone, replaced by a deep sense of familiarity; he felt for a moment as though all his pain was gone, as though the stain on his soul had been cleared away. He had the sense that someone was saying something to him, that they were speaking so softly he couldn’t hear them-the barest of whispers-but that his mind was still registering what they were saying. It felt as though he had reconnected with something he had been torn away from, as though a bond had been repaired; it was wonderful; it was beautiful; it was so overwhelming that Dean felt his legs give out from underneath him. He could distantly hear Sam yelling his name, but he was beyond worry for his brother’s sake.
Dean lapsed into blissful unconsciousness.
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Lucifer ascended; at last spreading his wings and breaking free of his place of imprisonment. Tearing himself away from the darkness that had held him and going where his light could shine again; where he could light Heaven and Earth if he wanted to.
He emerged from the cage in the cathedral in Maryland, surveying for a moment the site of his release; Lilith’s body lying limp on the floor, and the Righteous Man standing to defend his brother. The Righteous Man and Lilith; the First and the Final-each of them with a special significance to him, each of them important, each of them belonging to him in their own way. Lilith’s role was over now, but the Righteous Man’s was just beginning.
Dean Winchester’s soul shone as brightly as ever, brighter perhaps, its glow not dampened and stifled as it had been in Hell. The purest soul in all creation; and it belonged to him, although Lucifer was sure Dean had been left unaware of this fact. He knew the angels had a hand in his release; they had driven Dean and his brother to this point while twisting things to get what they wanted, but now he was free, and Lucifer would delight in turning his brothers’ plans in on themselves.
Delicately he touched Dean’s soul; renewing the bond that he carried as a subject-former or otherwise, it didn’t matter-of Hell, rewriting his claim on Dean’s soul.
In his form of pure grace and light, Lucifer rose again; carefully gathering up his unconscious Righteous Man-body as well as soul-and taking wing.
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Dean woke in a soft bed.
There was a handsome man leaning over him-blond haired and with the bluest eyes Dean had ever seen.
“I know you.” He breathed.
The man-no, not a man; an angel, his angel, more than Castiel had ever been-smiled softly at him and traced the bow of Dean’s lips with the pad of this thumb
“Yes.” He whispered against Dean’s lips as he leaned in and kissed him, and with the kiss everything came flooding back.
Lucifer resonated through his soul; familiar and comforting and oh so beloved.
“They took you from me,” The Devil kissed his words softly into Dean’s lips and hair and the curve of his jaw and the soft skin of his neck, “They took you from me and they hurt you.” Lucifer paused in his ministrations to look Dean in the eyes, “I will destroy them for that.” He says, low and intense; a promise and a prayer-to Dean and for him.
Dean looked up at his angel-his Archangel-awed and frightened to be loved so much by someone so much greater than him.
“You could tell me about your plan,” Dean said softly, “If you wanted to?”
Lucifer stared at him for a long moment before smiling softly, tentatively.
And that was the breaking of the world.
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Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul
Of the wide world dreaming on things to come,
Can yet the lease of my true love control,
Supposed as forfeit to a confin'd doom
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