Losyngerie in the Devilles mouth (2/?)whit_meruleMay 16 2012, 04:54:45 UTC
Unfortunately, thirty seconds into building up to a really good freak-out, Castiel was looking so worried and upset that Sam had to stop. And, what the hell? Who was the wronged party here? Sam thought they’d had their nice hug-it-(figuratively)-out session last time they’d met and they’d worked it all out then. And he didn’t want to have to start blaming Castiel for things again. It made no sense, and Sam actually had no idea what to do.
He took a deep breath, cut off mid-rant, and just settled on a pleading, “What the hell?”
“Only a little bit,” Lucifer put in, picking thoughtfully at his nails.
Castiel’s eyes were deep blue pools of wounded helpfulness. “You were lonely without him. And he misses you. Don’t you like him?”
Lonely? The hell? “Like him? Cas, he’s the devil.”
Castiel’s face fell. “I don’t understand. You miss him, and he can’t hurt you like this. Why aren’t you happy to see him?”
Sam stared at him, and tried very very hard not to let his gaze slip sideways to the other angel - the non-existent angel - lounging on the other side of the table. He could feel the (non-existent) grey eyes boring into the side of his face, and it was more than a bit disconcerting just how familiar that was. How much that felt like… well, habit. Almost reassuring.
(Lonely?)
“Cas, man,” he said, pitching his voice low and soothing. “That’s… a nice thought, really, but if Dean gets back and I’m seeing Lucifer again, you know he’s gonna freak.” Castiel flinched. Yeah, low blow. “And I really don’t have time for weeks of sleep deprivation right now.”
“He is not in your head, Sam,” Castiel said, with a hint of his old stern growl. “He is in mine.” Huh. Okay. “I chose to share him with you, because sharing is how people demonstrate that they care about the feelings of others.”
… Not touching that one. Although, that was weirdly sweet. In a creepy way.
Sam shoved his hair out of his eyes and huffed. “He can’t miss me, Cas. He’s a figment of a broken imagination.”
“Why should that mean that he doesn’t have feelings?” Castiel tipped his head to one side and stared a little too hard at Sam, a little too hurt. “Is it because he’s an angel?”
Sam gaped.
“Well, this is awkward,” Lucifer drawled brightly. “I feel like the cat in the buttery.”
“You stay out of this,” Sam snapped at him.
Then he froze. Shit. He’d spoken to him again. Lucifer was locked in now.
“Sam, your heart rate is up,” Castiel said, concerned. “Why is your heart rate up? Are you anxious?”
“He said ‘shut up’ to me,” Lucifer explained, sly with an edge of delighted. Then he winked. “Don’t worry if you don’t get it, little brother. It’s our special joke. Just between Sam and I.”
“Ah, I see,” Castiel acknowledged gravely.
“Hold on,” Sam cut in desperately. “If he’s in your head, how come he knows things you don’t know? Like that? I mean, that was just my twisted brain’s version of Lucifer. It wasn’t even real. How can you throw it out there?”
Lucifer cackled quietly. Castiel looked mildly disappointed in Sam’s intelligence, but then, that was fairly usual for him.
“Sam,” he said gently. “He’s an angel.”
Which didn’t help at all.
Then the key scraped in the door of the motel room, Sam jumped, all on edge and reaching for his gun, Dean came in and gave him a “seriously, dude?” look, and - Castiel wasn’t there.
Neither was Lucifer.
Sam slumped back into his chair, and scowled when Dean made an utterly hilarious crack about Sam looking like he’d seen a ghost.
Just a regular day in the life of Sam Winchester. Honestly, who wrote this crap?
He took a deep breath, cut off mid-rant, and just settled on a pleading, “What the hell?”
“Only a little bit,” Lucifer put in, picking thoughtfully at his nails.
Castiel’s eyes were deep blue pools of wounded helpfulness. “You were lonely without him. And he misses you. Don’t you like him?”
Lonely? The hell? “Like him? Cas, he’s the devil.”
Castiel’s face fell. “I don’t understand. You miss him, and he can’t hurt you like this. Why aren’t you happy to see him?”
Sam stared at him, and tried very very hard not to let his gaze slip sideways to the other angel - the non-existent angel - lounging on the other side of the table. He could feel the (non-existent) grey eyes boring into the side of his face, and it was more than a bit disconcerting just how familiar that was. How much that felt like… well, habit. Almost reassuring.
(Lonely?)
“Cas, man,” he said, pitching his voice low and soothing. “That’s… a nice thought, really, but if Dean gets back and I’m seeing Lucifer again, you know he’s gonna freak.” Castiel flinched. Yeah, low blow. “And I really don’t have time for weeks of sleep deprivation right now.”
“He is not in your head, Sam,” Castiel said, with a hint of his old stern growl. “He is in mine.” Huh. Okay. “I chose to share him with you, because sharing is how people demonstrate that they care about the feelings of others.”
… Not touching that one. Although, that was weirdly sweet. In a creepy way.
Sam shoved his hair out of his eyes and huffed. “He can’t miss me, Cas. He’s a figment of a broken imagination.”
“Why should that mean that he doesn’t have feelings?” Castiel tipped his head to one side and stared a little too hard at Sam, a little too hurt. “Is it because he’s an angel?”
Sam gaped.
“Well, this is awkward,” Lucifer drawled brightly. “I feel like the cat in the buttery.”
“You stay out of this,” Sam snapped at him.
Then he froze. Shit. He’d spoken to him again. Lucifer was locked in now.
“Sam, your heart rate is up,” Castiel said, concerned. “Why is your heart rate up? Are you anxious?”
“He said ‘shut up’ to me,” Lucifer explained, sly with an edge of delighted. Then he winked. “Don’t worry if you don’t get it, little brother. It’s our special joke. Just between Sam and I.”
“Ah, I see,” Castiel acknowledged gravely.
“Hold on,” Sam cut in desperately. “If he’s in your head, how come he knows things you don’t know? Like that? I mean, that was just my twisted brain’s version of Lucifer. It wasn’t even real. How can you throw it out there?”
Lucifer cackled quietly. Castiel looked mildly disappointed in Sam’s intelligence, but then, that was fairly usual for him.
“Sam,” he said gently. “He’s an angel.”
Which didn’t help at all.
Then the key scraped in the door of the motel room, Sam jumped, all on edge and reaching for his gun, Dean came in and gave him a “seriously, dude?” look, and - Castiel wasn’t there.
Neither was Lucifer.
Sam slumped back into his chair, and scowled when Dean made an utterly hilarious crack about Sam looking like he’d seen a ghost.
Just a regular day in the life of Sam Winchester. Honestly, who wrote this crap?
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