Fic: My True Love Gave To Me... An Angel Without A Grace Tree
Title: My True Love Gave To Me... An Angel Without A Grace Tree
Rating: PG
Pairing: Dean/Lucifer
Summary: They seemed to fit, the two of them. Not quite two halves of the same whole, but two imperfect, broken pieces that fit together with rounded corners and ragged edges.
A/N: Written for Kari's "First Christmas" prompt on Tumblr. Ducifer is my one true weakness.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. Isn't that obvious by now?
Dean maybe wasn’t the smartest person in the world. He freely admitted that. It wasn’t that he was stupid. He was just… special. In all the ways that mattered.
People thought it was crazy. Bobby and Sam and Cas and Ellen and Jo. Rufus had nearly shot him. None of that changed the fact that Dean had saved the world. Cut Michael off at the pass, rocked the Host of Heaven, said the Big Yes to Sam’s angel.
Lucifer had come with a deal: he’d call off the Apocalypse if allowed to shadow the elder Winchester. Dean had agreed. Then he’d asked why.
It seemed that Dean was special in all the ways that mattered to Lucifer. He was “intriguing,” and “an exquisite example of humanity.” Plus, it would piss Michael off.
So Dean said yes and stopped the Apocalypse and wound up with an archangel in his pocket. And it was weird, for a while.
Then it got weirder.
They seemed to fit, the two of them. Not quite two halves of the same whole, but two imperfect, broken pieces that fit together with rounded corners and ragged edges. They bonded over pop culture references and bad sci-fi movies, fast hunts and slow research. They were in each other’s space without realizing it, squeezing close and smiling wide. It wasn’t quite romance, but it was close enough for the both of them.
Dean was special in the way that Lucifer was special, and that was how he knew something was wrong. The angel was prone to quiet moments in the backseat of the car, the farthest corners of motel rooms, and the shadowy booths of small-town bars. This was different. Usually, he was quiet with company, examining people and watching the hunters with a gaze that said he knew everything they were thinking. It scared him sometimes, the way Lucifer looked at him like he knew exactly what was going on in Dean’s head, because Dean’s thoughts these days were rarely kind. But Lucifer would shrug and say that it was ok. They were broken, but they fit.
This was not one of those times.
The festivities of the day had wound to a close. Ellen and Jo had left hours before, waving good-bye around the loads of gifts they’d packed in their truck. Rufus had followed them not long after. Becky had stayed the latest, waiting until Chuck had passed out on the couch to sneak out with her now-autographed collection of Supernatural books. It was probably the weirdest Christmas Dean had ever had, and that was saying something.
It hadn’t taken him long to notice that Lucifer had slipped out of Bobby’s house and into the night. He stood on the porch and gazed out into the yard, finally spotting the angel perched atop the hood of a broken-down Ford.
“Your family doesn’t like me,” Lucifer said as Dean wandered over.
“That’s not true. Sam… well, he might not love you, but he likes you ok.”
The angel glanced down at him as he leaned up against the car, elbows resting on the hood, looking out toward the road. “Your extended family doesn’t like me.”
Dean shrugged. “They’ll get used to it.”
“Castiel hasn’t.”
“Maybe that’s ‘cause you keep saying his name wrong.”
“I’m serious, Dean.”
The hunter sighed and turned around, hands clasped on the hood of the car. “It’ll take time. I think they still see you as something to hunt. Super-strong not-quite-angel that you are.”
“I know it hurts you.”
Dean looked up at him. “What?”
“You crave acceptance. They don’t accept me. It’s like not accepting part of you.”
“Look, man, there’s nothing you can do -“
“I could Fall. They would accept something weak, something they could kill.”
“Dude.” He wasn’t going to say that he hadn’t thought of it. He’d thought about it a lot, actually. Taking down something so powerful, making it so vulnerable. Something that would need help and guidance, something that wouldn’t have a clue without him. He’d thought about it, but he would never suggest it.
“This vessel is falling apart, Dean.”
“What?”
“His name was Nick. He was going to kill himself. He’s dead now, but he was never meant to hold me.” He sighed. “It was supposed to be Sam.” He glanced down at Dean, saw the panic on his face, and smiled. “I’m not suggesting Sam. I’m just sharing the facts.”
“You look fine to me.”
Lucifer picked at a scab on the back on his hand. “I’ve been siphoning off undamaged Grace to Castiel for the past five months. Keeping him charged up. He’s been healing this body in exchange for the help. Keeps me off the demon blood.”
Dean blinked at him. “Demon blood, plan-B vessels. Anything else you wanna share with the class?”
“It’s not working anymore.” He looked up at the sky, unwilling to meet Dean’s eyes.
“What’s that mean?”
“It means that Nick will burn. Inside and out. I would need to find someone new, but I doubt you would approve. Sam’s definitely out. Without a vessel, I’d be… lost. Vulnerable. I couldn’t go home, couldn’t stay here. Hell would be the only option left.”
“So you’re gonna Fall.”
Lucifer shook his head. “I can’t.”
“You’re scared?” It was odd, but he had started to think that Lucifer wasn’t afraid of anything. The angel had stood up against God Himself. What was left to fear?
To Dean’s surprise, Lucifer nodded. “If I Fell, I would be human.”
“That’s the general idea.”
“I wouldn’t be able to protect you. I could die.”
“You’re scared of dying? Really not all it’s cracked up to be, trust me.”
“I’m not scared to die. I’m scared of leaving you.”
And Dean… didn’t have a snappy reply to that. No one, not one person in over thirty years had ever expressed that kind of devotion. Everyone left him. Everyone but the Devil. Suddenly, the idea of living without the King of Hell in his pocket was terrifying. The loss of that hovering presence, the occasional whiff of ozone and smoke, the deadpan sarcasm. He shuddered.
“Are there other options?”
“I could find God,” Lucifer said. “Ask Him to fix me.”
“God could do that?”
“God can do anything.”
“Would He want to?”
“No.”
“So what’s the plan?” Dean asked after a silence that seemed to stretch for ages.
“I was… praying,” Lucifer admitted. “Asking for guidance. Forgiveness.” He turned his eyes from the sky to the hunter. “I’m afraid He stopped listening to me a long time ago.”
“Maybe you just need a signal boost,” Dean suggested. He reached out and took the angel’s hand in his own, closing his eyes as the Devil turned his gaze back to the sky.
It had been a long while since Dean Winchester had prayed, but he threw his whole being into it. He had a bloody and broken soul, but surely he’d done enough good in his life to warrant a whisper getting through to God, wherever He may have been. For the first time, he had something good, something that was deluded enough to want him back - he felt a small squeeze of his hand at the thought - and he wanted to keep it. Selfishly, he wanted to keep it.
The night was cold, but just as he started to shiver the air shifted around him, draping him in something warm. Small breaths of chill air touched his skin, drafts blowing through holes ripped in ruined wings, and he prayed harder, coherent thoughts turning into singular words turning into emotions powerful enough that even Dean was shocked by the strength of them.
Not quite love, but something like it. Something deeper.
He had no idea how long they stayed like that, wrapped in wings, hands clasped as the snow began to fall around them. They were interrupted by the sound of Bobby’s front door banging open.
Angel and hunter both turned to see Chuck silhouetted by the bright light shining warmly from the house. “Hey, guys,” the prophet announced, “Sam found another present.”
“Good for him?” Dean said.
“It’s for you,” Chuck clarified, pointing at Lucifer. “Come on. It’s freezing out here.”
Lucifer sighed and slid from his position on the hood of the car, keeping his hold on Dean’s hand as they walked back toward the house.
Sam was standing by the tree, a small red and green box held loosely in his hand as if he thought it would bite him. Chuck had fallen back to his place on the couch, spreading out and settling in for the night. Bobby was puttering around somewhere in the kitchen, and Cas was standing at Sam’s shoulder glaring at the package.
“We missed something,” Sam said, holding out the box. “It was sitting in the branches.”
Lucifer shrugged and grabbed the box, popping off the lid with a flick of his thumb. His face went slack when he saw what was inside of it.
“What is it?” Dean asked, trying to sneak closer for a peek.
The angel reached into the box and pulled out a small glass vial attached to a thin silver chain.
“What is it?” Dean asked again.
“It’s a receptacle,” Cas said. “But it can’t be.”
“You just said it was.”
“Like what Uriel used to take Anna’s Grace,” Sam supplied, “but smaller.”
“New and improved design,” Dean quipped, his eyes settled on Lucifer, who hadn’t moved since he’d pulled the thing from it’s packaging.
“It’s impossible,” Cas explained, “because we can’t make them. They’re a leftover from the beginning of time. They were a way to temporarily strip angels of their power as punishment, or to interact with humans without the use of vessels. Anna destroyed the last one in existence.”
“It’s not big enough,” Lucifer whispered.
“Are you saying God made that?” Bobby asked, joining the conversation.
“It’s unlikely,” Cas said, “but, it would appear that way. The only question is, why?”
“It’s not big enough,” Lucifer said.
“Aren’t you a cocky son of a bitch,” Dean quipped.
Lucifer turned to him, a smile lighting up his face. “It’s not big enough,” he repeated. “It can’t hold me.” He turned back to the vial. “Not all of me.”
“What are you saying?” Sam asked.
“I’d still be an angel. Just not a very powerful one.” He looked back at Dean in awe. “I can’t die. I won’t leave.” He spun on his heels and strode out the door, leaving the group to watch the door bang shut behind him.
“Close your eyes,” Castiel advised as light began streaming in through the front windows.
It was over in seconds, and when Dean opened his eyes, Lucifer was standing in front of him, grinning like an idiot. He had the chain clasped in his hands, holding it out to the hunter. The vial had been stoppered shut, and the inside had been filled with a swirling mass of white light and blackened shadow.
“I want you to have it,” the angel explained, shaking the chain slightly. “You’ll keep it safe.”
Dean hesitated, staring at the vial. The contents were fascinating. Anna’s Grace had been light blue and sliver, shimmering as it swam, oddly calming. This was different. Stained and sparking, like a thunderstorm in bottle, lightning and tornado swirling in constant opposition.
Slowly, carefully, the hunter reached out and took the small bit of glass between his fingers.
“It’s warm.”
Everyone turned to look at Castiel, who had pulled Dean’s amulet out of his pocket and was staring at it as if it held the answers to all of life’s great mysteries. It was glowing slightly in his palm.
From his spot on the couch, Chuck laughed, raising a half-empty bottle of wine above his head in a toast. “God bless us, everyone.”
Rating: PG
Pairing: Dean/Lucifer
Summary: They seemed to fit, the two of them. Not quite two halves of the same whole, but two imperfect, broken pieces that fit together with rounded corners and ragged edges.
A/N: Written for Kari's "First Christmas" prompt on Tumblr. Ducifer is my one true weakness.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. Isn't that obvious by now?
Dean maybe wasn’t the smartest person in the world. He freely admitted that. It wasn’t that he was stupid. He was just… special. In all the ways that mattered.
People thought it was crazy. Bobby and Sam and Cas and Ellen and Jo. Rufus had nearly shot him. None of that changed the fact that Dean had saved the world. Cut Michael off at the pass, rocked the Host of Heaven, said the Big Yes to Sam’s angel.
Lucifer had come with a deal: he’d call off the Apocalypse if allowed to shadow the elder Winchester. Dean had agreed. Then he’d asked why.
It seemed that Dean was special in all the ways that mattered to Lucifer. He was “intriguing,” and “an exquisite example of humanity.” Plus, it would piss Michael off.
So Dean said yes and stopped the Apocalypse and wound up with an archangel in his pocket. And it was weird, for a while.
Then it got weirder.
They seemed to fit, the two of them. Not quite two halves of the same whole, but two imperfect, broken pieces that fit together with rounded corners and ragged edges. They bonded over pop culture references and bad sci-fi movies, fast hunts and slow research. They were in each other’s space without realizing it, squeezing close and smiling wide. It wasn’t quite romance, but it was close enough for the both of them.
Dean was special in the way that Lucifer was special, and that was how he knew something was wrong. The angel was prone to quiet moments in the backseat of the car, the farthest corners of motel rooms, and the shadowy booths of small-town bars. This was different. Usually, he was quiet with company, examining people and watching the hunters with a gaze that said he knew everything they were thinking. It scared him sometimes, the way Lucifer looked at him like he knew exactly what was going on in Dean’s head, because Dean’s thoughts these days were rarely kind. But Lucifer would shrug and say that it was ok. They were broken, but they fit.
This was not one of those times.
The festivities of the day had wound to a close. Ellen and Jo had left hours before, waving good-bye around the loads of gifts they’d packed in their truck. Rufus had followed them not long after. Becky had stayed the latest, waiting until Chuck had passed out on the couch to sneak out with her now-autographed collection of Supernatural books. It was probably the weirdest Christmas Dean had ever had, and that was saying something.
It hadn’t taken him long to notice that Lucifer had slipped out of Bobby’s house and into the night. He stood on the porch and gazed out into the yard, finally spotting the angel perched atop the hood of a broken-down Ford.
“Your family doesn’t like me,” Lucifer said as Dean wandered over.
“That’s not true. Sam… well, he might not love you, but he likes you ok.”
The angel glanced down at him as he leaned up against the car, elbows resting on the hood, looking out toward the road. “Your extended family doesn’t like me.”
Dean shrugged. “They’ll get used to it.”
“Castiel hasn’t.”
“Maybe that’s ‘cause you keep saying his name wrong.”
“I’m serious, Dean.”
The hunter sighed and turned around, hands clasped on the hood of the car. “It’ll take time. I think they still see you as something to hunt. Super-strong not-quite-angel that you are.”
“I know it hurts you.”
Dean looked up at him. “What?”
“You crave acceptance. They don’t accept me. It’s like not accepting part of you.”
“Look, man, there’s nothing you can do -“
“I could Fall. They would accept something weak, something they could kill.”
“Dude.” He wasn’t going to say that he hadn’t thought of it. He’d thought about it a lot, actually. Taking down something so powerful, making it so vulnerable. Something that would need help and guidance, something that wouldn’t have a clue without him. He’d thought about it, but he would never suggest it.
“This vessel is falling apart, Dean.”
“What?”
“His name was Nick. He was going to kill himself. He’s dead now, but he was never meant to hold me.” He sighed. “It was supposed to be Sam.” He glanced down at Dean, saw the panic on his face, and smiled. “I’m not suggesting Sam. I’m just sharing the facts.”
“You look fine to me.”
Lucifer picked at a scab on the back on his hand. “I’ve been siphoning off undamaged Grace to Castiel for the past five months. Keeping him charged up. He’s been healing this body in exchange for the help. Keeps me off the demon blood.”
Dean blinked at him. “Demon blood, plan-B vessels. Anything else you wanna share with the class?”
“It’s not working anymore.” He looked up at the sky, unwilling to meet Dean’s eyes.
“What’s that mean?”
“It means that Nick will burn. Inside and out. I would need to find someone new, but I doubt you would approve. Sam’s definitely out. Without a vessel, I’d be… lost. Vulnerable. I couldn’t go home, couldn’t stay here. Hell would be the only option left.”
“So you’re gonna Fall.”
Lucifer shook his head. “I can’t.”
“You’re scared?” It was odd, but he had started to think that Lucifer wasn’t afraid of anything. The angel had stood up against God Himself. What was left to fear?
To Dean’s surprise, Lucifer nodded. “If I Fell, I would be human.”
“That’s the general idea.”
“I wouldn’t be able to protect you. I could die.”
“You’re scared of dying? Really not all it’s cracked up to be, trust me.”
“I’m not scared to die. I’m scared of leaving you.”
And Dean… didn’t have a snappy reply to that. No one, not one person in over thirty years had ever expressed that kind of devotion. Everyone left him. Everyone but the Devil. Suddenly, the idea of living without the King of Hell in his pocket was terrifying. The loss of that hovering presence, the occasional whiff of ozone and smoke, the deadpan sarcasm. He shuddered.
“Are there other options?”
“I could find God,” Lucifer said. “Ask Him to fix me.”
“God could do that?”
“God can do anything.”
“Would He want to?”
“No.”
“So what’s the plan?” Dean asked after a silence that seemed to stretch for ages.
“I was… praying,” Lucifer admitted. “Asking for guidance. Forgiveness.” He turned his eyes from the sky to the hunter. “I’m afraid He stopped listening to me a long time ago.”
“Maybe you just need a signal boost,” Dean suggested. He reached out and took the angel’s hand in his own, closing his eyes as the Devil turned his gaze back to the sky.
It had been a long while since Dean Winchester had prayed, but he threw his whole being into it. He had a bloody and broken soul, but surely he’d done enough good in his life to warrant a whisper getting through to God, wherever He may have been. For the first time, he had something good, something that was deluded enough to want him back - he felt a small squeeze of his hand at the thought - and he wanted to keep it. Selfishly, he wanted to keep it.
The night was cold, but just as he started to shiver the air shifted around him, draping him in something warm. Small breaths of chill air touched his skin, drafts blowing through holes ripped in ruined wings, and he prayed harder, coherent thoughts turning into singular words turning into emotions powerful enough that even Dean was shocked by the strength of them.
Not quite love, but something like it. Something deeper.
He had no idea how long they stayed like that, wrapped in wings, hands clasped as the snow began to fall around them. They were interrupted by the sound of Bobby’s front door banging open.
Angel and hunter both turned to see Chuck silhouetted by the bright light shining warmly from the house. “Hey, guys,” the prophet announced, “Sam found another present.”
“Good for him?” Dean said.
“It’s for you,” Chuck clarified, pointing at Lucifer. “Come on. It’s freezing out here.”
Lucifer sighed and slid from his position on the hood of the car, keeping his hold on Dean’s hand as they walked back toward the house.
Sam was standing by the tree, a small red and green box held loosely in his hand as if he thought it would bite him. Chuck had fallen back to his place on the couch, spreading out and settling in for the night. Bobby was puttering around somewhere in the kitchen, and Cas was standing at Sam’s shoulder glaring at the package.
“We missed something,” Sam said, holding out the box. “It was sitting in the branches.”
Lucifer shrugged and grabbed the box, popping off the lid with a flick of his thumb. His face went slack when he saw what was inside of it.
“What is it?” Dean asked, trying to sneak closer for a peek.
The angel reached into the box and pulled out a small glass vial attached to a thin silver chain.
“What is it?” Dean asked again.
“It’s a receptacle,” Cas said. “But it can’t be.”
“You just said it was.”
“Like what Uriel used to take Anna’s Grace,” Sam supplied, “but smaller.”
“New and improved design,” Dean quipped, his eyes settled on Lucifer, who hadn’t moved since he’d pulled the thing from it’s packaging.
“It’s impossible,” Cas explained, “because we can’t make them. They’re a leftover from the beginning of time. They were a way to temporarily strip angels of their power as punishment, or to interact with humans without the use of vessels. Anna destroyed the last one in existence.”
“It’s not big enough,” Lucifer whispered.
“Are you saying God made that?” Bobby asked, joining the conversation.
“It’s unlikely,” Cas said, “but, it would appear that way. The only question is, why?”
“It’s not big enough,” Lucifer said.
“Aren’t you a cocky son of a bitch,” Dean quipped.
Lucifer turned to him, a smile lighting up his face. “It’s not big enough,” he repeated. “It can’t hold me.” He turned back to the vial. “Not all of me.”
“What are you saying?” Sam asked.
“I’d still be an angel. Just not a very powerful one.” He looked back at Dean in awe. “I can’t die. I won’t leave.” He spun on his heels and strode out the door, leaving the group to watch the door bang shut behind him.
“Close your eyes,” Castiel advised as light began streaming in through the front windows.
It was over in seconds, and when Dean opened his eyes, Lucifer was standing in front of him, grinning like an idiot. He had the chain clasped in his hands, holding it out to the hunter. The vial had been stoppered shut, and the inside had been filled with a swirling mass of white light and blackened shadow.
“I want you to have it,” the angel explained, shaking the chain slightly. “You’ll keep it safe.”
Dean hesitated, staring at the vial. The contents were fascinating. Anna’s Grace had been light blue and sliver, shimmering as it swam, oddly calming. This was different. Stained and sparking, like a thunderstorm in bottle, lightning and tornado swirling in constant opposition.
Slowly, carefully, the hunter reached out and took the small bit of glass between his fingers.
“It’s warm.”
Everyone turned to look at Castiel, who had pulled Dean’s amulet out of his pocket and was staring at it as if it held the answers to all of life’s great mysteries. It was glowing slightly in his palm.
From his spot on the couch, Chuck laughed, raising a half-empty bottle of wine above his head in a toast. “God bless us, everyone.”