Losyngerie in the Devilles mouth (19a/20)whit_meruleMay 19 2012, 05:18:19 UTC
Castiel’s face fell. Lucifer winked at him.
“Okay then.” Dean looked stubborn. “Who was it? And why?”
“Hold on,” Sam broke in. “So you knew this all along, and you didn’t tell Cas? You didn’t tell us? You’ve been letting us run around trying to summon Crowley and find a live alpha - which would have put Cas in danger, by the way - and never thought you might mention we were wasting our time?”
“Sam,” Lucifer said, gentle and reproachful as if Sam was an erring child. “Would you have believed me?”
Dean rubbed his hand over his mouth and looked tired. “Okay, fine. Anything else you think you should be telling us, sunshine?”
Lucifer’s eyebrows climbed towards his hair. Sam wondered briefly, madly, if anyone had ever called him ‘sunshine’ before.
“Like, say, what you’re getting up to in Cas’ noggin? And what it is you’re making him do?”
Lucifer sneered and vanished.
Dean rounded on Castiel. “Cas?”
Castiel looked distinctly uncomfortable. “I don’t think I ought to tell you, Dean. Not yet.” Then he was gone too.
Dean swore. “Dammit. ”
---
They didn’t see either angel again for over a week.
Dean fretted.
Sam didn’t. Sam just worried. Mostly.
Because, well. Lucifer. Really Lucifer. And he might be limited, but he could touch Castiel. He could make Sam cut himself up, and who knew what he could do to Castiel? And, okay, so he might love him, he might get all protective over him, but terrible things had been done in the name of love. Lucifer himself had a great track record with that. Like, say, trying to wipe out the whole human race because of it. And almost killing Sam because he was bored and wanted Sam back, or because Sam had betrayed him, or whatever that was (and Sam didn’t even know, which was exactly the point - you couldn’t guess).
Retrospect didn’t help, no matter how much Sam racked his brains over it. The Lucifer of the meat hooks, of the first few days after Castiel had broken the wall, Sam was pretty sure he hadn’t been real. But by the time Sam had spoken to him and let him in, that had been him, he was pretty sure. Lucifer had implied that Sam, in hallucinating him all the time, had somehow made him real, reached out to the imprisoned angel on a psychic level and gradually opened a connection between them; but Sam couldn’t for the life of him work out when, or how, or if it had been so gradual that there had been no chance of noticing.
Anyway. He was Lucifer, which meant he was pretty much guaranteed to have an agenda. And that agenda was very likely to be either persuading Castiel to follow in his footsteps and destroy the human race (maybe to save them from becoming Leviathan-chow, or whatever), or to work out some way to get himself out of the Cage. Or at least to project himself strongly enough to affect more things than just Castiel outside of it.
---
The next angel they saw wasn’t Lucifer or Castiel at all. It wasn’t even Inias.
Dean was poking disconsolately through the grocery bags on the motel table (“Bananas again? Seriously?”), when there was a tell-tale rustle of wings behind them.
“Hey there, guys!” they heard, bright and chipper and irrevocably, irredeemably annoying. “What’ve you broken in the last three years?”
Dean whipped around, and shot him in the face.
Gabriel scowled at him, and turned the bullet into a bowl of petunias with a flick of his fingers. It felt to the floor and broke with a sad little ‘phut!’ noise. “Dean, Dean, I call that unfriendly. I thought we had something special.”
“Okay then.” Dean looked stubborn. “Who was it? And why?”
“Hold on,” Sam broke in. “So you knew this all along, and you didn’t tell Cas? You didn’t tell us? You’ve been letting us run around trying to summon Crowley and find a live alpha - which would have put Cas in danger, by the way - and never thought you might mention we were wasting our time?”
“Sam,” Lucifer said, gentle and reproachful as if Sam was an erring child. “Would you have believed me?”
Dean rubbed his hand over his mouth and looked tired. “Okay, fine. Anything else you think you should be telling us, sunshine?”
Lucifer’s eyebrows climbed towards his hair. Sam wondered briefly, madly, if anyone had ever called him ‘sunshine’ before.
“Like, say, what you’re getting up to in Cas’ noggin? And what it is you’re making him do?”
Lucifer sneered and vanished.
Dean rounded on Castiel. “Cas?”
Castiel looked distinctly uncomfortable. “I don’t think I ought to tell you, Dean. Not yet.” Then he was gone too.
Dean swore. “Dammit. ”
---
They didn’t see either angel again for over a week.
Dean fretted.
Sam didn’t. Sam just worried. Mostly.
Because, well. Lucifer. Really Lucifer. And he might be limited, but he could touch Castiel. He could make Sam cut himself up, and who knew what he could do to Castiel? And, okay, so he might love him, he might get all protective over him, but terrible things had been done in the name of love. Lucifer himself had a great track record with that. Like, say, trying to wipe out the whole human race because of it. And almost killing Sam because he was bored and wanted Sam back, or because Sam had betrayed him, or whatever that was (and Sam didn’t even know, which was exactly the point - you couldn’t guess).
Retrospect didn’t help, no matter how much Sam racked his brains over it. The Lucifer of the meat hooks, of the first few days after Castiel had broken the wall, Sam was pretty sure he hadn’t been real. But by the time Sam had spoken to him and let him in, that had been him, he was pretty sure. Lucifer had implied that Sam, in hallucinating him all the time, had somehow made him real, reached out to the imprisoned angel on a psychic level and gradually opened a connection between them; but Sam couldn’t for the life of him work out when, or how, or if it had been so gradual that there had been no chance of noticing.
Anyway. He was Lucifer, which meant he was pretty much guaranteed to have an agenda. And that agenda was very likely to be either persuading Castiel to follow in his footsteps and destroy the human race (maybe to save them from becoming Leviathan-chow, or whatever), or to work out some way to get himself out of the Cage. Or at least to project himself strongly enough to affect more things than just Castiel outside of it.
---
The next angel they saw wasn’t Lucifer or Castiel at all. It wasn’t even Inias.
Dean was poking disconsolately through the grocery bags on the motel table (“Bananas again? Seriously?”), when there was a tell-tale rustle of wings behind them.
“Hey there, guys!” they heard, bright and chipper and irrevocably, irredeemably annoying. “What’ve you broken in the last three years?”
Dean whipped around, and shot him in the face.
Gabriel scowled at him, and turned the bullet into a bowl of petunias with a flick of his fingers. It felt to the floor and broke with a sad little ‘phut!’ noise. “Dean, Dean, I call that unfriendly. I thought we had something special.”
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