Lucifer regarded Sam with a little smile. No, he had never quite underestimated the other. He had fully understood the potential because he was made of the same stuff, the same crouching evil thing, full of spite and determination and stubbornness, that hid in wait between the shoulder blades, waiting to spring to full height and grandeur. He didn't underestimate Sam or his brother. What he had underestimated was the strength of the connection between them, that was what caused him to fall. Not that he'd admit to it, of course. It was all a fluke, some crazy scenario that just happened that way. Nothing more.
Michael stirred somewhere in the cage and Lucifer's head turned quickly in its direction, staring at the rustling form before whipping his head back to Sam. A slow, cruel smile began to play up the corners of his mouth, spreading into his all knowing grin. I know something you don't know.
"You know, Sam," the angel began, pacing away slowly. The lights in the parlor flickered. In the silences of his pauses, choruses of souls screamed, agonized, begging for redemption, begging their beautiful angel to come and save them. It was almost like thunder and lightning, the screams and moaning, coupled with the occasional flicker of his lights. Oncoming storm. Lucifer stopped in his tracks, pretended to be interested in a painting that he had seen a million times, that he had created out of sheer boredom. It was oddly beautiful, a strange combination of different artistic styles and wonders. And it ought to be, it took him centuries to perfect.
It was a battlefield, with two opposing forces, a subtle note of division between them, one black, the other white. Balance. Order within chaos.
"We're lucky we have Michael," Finally breaking the silence, he rounded upon his brother, gently touching his cheek, smiling as he glanced back to Sam. "He is so... weak here, so powerless. Like you." There was that smile again. "Come here, Sam. Look at him with me, see how fragile he is, how easily I could break him."
"Stop it." Sam didn't move but his brow was furrowed in concern. Adam, or Michael as the case seemed to be didn't look like he was about to wake anytime soon and having lucifer at that proximity did little to set Sam at ease. After a moment he stepped forward, still keeping Lucifer at a distance, but close enough that he could touch Michael. Possessed or not, neither if them were meant to be there. An angel and a child. Sam shook his head.
"You don't really want to hurt him. You didn't want to hurt him then, I felt it. You and Michael have no reason to fight now. You're both in the same boat.". He swallowed and glanced down again. For the first, and what he knew was far from the last time since awaking in the pit Sam longed for his own older brother. Dean… he was never going to see him again. Only indreams and memories.
That thought made him sick as he continued to watch Lucifer. He could never go home
Michael stirred somewhere in the cage and Lucifer's head turned quickly in its direction, staring at the rustling form before whipping his head back to Sam. A slow, cruel smile began to play up the corners of his mouth, spreading into his all knowing grin. I know something you don't know.
"You know, Sam," the angel began, pacing away slowly. The lights in the parlor flickered. In the silences of his pauses, choruses of souls screamed, agonized, begging for redemption, begging their beautiful angel to come and save them. It was almost like thunder and lightning, the screams and moaning, coupled with the occasional flicker of his lights. Oncoming storm. Lucifer stopped in his tracks, pretended to be interested in a painting that he had seen a million times, that he had created out of sheer boredom. It was oddly beautiful, a strange combination of different artistic styles and wonders. And it ought to be, it took him centuries to perfect.
It was a battlefield, with two opposing forces, a subtle note of division between them, one black, the other white. Balance. Order within chaos.
"We're lucky we have Michael," Finally breaking the silence, he rounded upon his brother, gently touching his cheek, smiling as he glanced back to Sam. "He is so... weak here, so powerless. Like you." There was that smile again. "Come here, Sam. Look at him with me, see how fragile he is, how easily I could break him."
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"You don't really want to hurt him. You didn't want to hurt him then, I felt it. You and Michael have no reason to fight now. You're both in the same boat.". He swallowed and glanced down again. For the first, and what he knew was far from the last time since awaking in the pit Sam longed for his own older brother. Dean… he was never going to see him again. Only indreams and memories.
That thought made him sick as he continued to watch Lucifer. He could never go home
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