Warnings: Humor. Complete and utter crack. Play on the Arranged Marriage Trope. Dean is a little shit. Sam is not a happy in-law. Castiel is unimpressed with the idiocy of his brothers. But willing to tolerate it. For Dean's sake. Gabriel is having the time of his life. That one's a warning all on its own. Lucifer regrets everything. Michael is just glad it's not him. Hell doesn't fear Dean yet. But it will. Oh, it will. Castiel is a good friend. Best laid plans should not involve Winchesters. When will Heaven and Hell learn that? Never let it be said that Dean isn't a committed prankster. Gabriel is so proud. To be fair, Lucifer doesn't have it easy either. Caring for your human is so much more work than they tell you on the package.
And if all that hasn't clued you in yet: pure insanity as Dean marries Satan to the utter horror of his underlings- I mean, for the sake of the world.
baby, we're the new romantics
The time has come.
Long has this day been foreseen {ever since the holy scriptures have been amended to account for a) the utterly confounding stubbornness of the Winchester brothers and b) the creative problem-solving skills of a fallen, but resurrected angel} and now finally, after weeks of preparations, the destined events shall come to pass.
The heavenly choir is singing, bright notes full of light and warmth and hope, for the end of the apocalypse is near, the dawn of a new age approaches, a time of prosperity and peace as God has willed it long {almost a fortnight} ago.
The armies of hell are sharpening their swords, drawing renewed screams of pain from the tortured souls in the honor of their destined king, their maker, who shall finally be returned to them in his full glory. Who shall lead them with his full, terrible might and awaken a never before seen darkness in the depths of hell.
Only the purest of Heaven and most evil of Hell are allowed to bear witness to the Holy Union of the Fallen and the Righteous Man.
The angels await with baited breath the arrival of the one man fated to return their beloved, if forsaken brother to his former light. For as it was written {by a panicking scribe not used to improvising} and so it must come to pass. And if there are a handful among them who will gladly wash their hands of the rearing of the most impossible {if also only} human they have come across, they thank their Father for finally answering their prayers.
The demons are observing the events with unholy glee, for none of them can fault Him the desire to possess the brightest soul they have all yearned to sink their knives into, and many of them are eagerly awaiting the long-overdue fall of the hunter that has so often embarrassed and outdone them. 'Tis a day of a revenge, of the sweetest of defeats, and victory tastes wonderful indeed.
In the centre of the circle stands Lucifer, the Light-bringer, the Fallen, bright and brilliant and beautiful, tall and proud, for this may not be the end he had been preparing for, but Lucifer has always done well at adjusting his plans as needed. Getting his hands on his father's precious Righteous Man? The one Michael failed to possess? Having Dean Winchester kneel before him as he should? Only makes this ending an all the more satisfying one.
The doors to the chamber are thrown open with a bang before the Heavenly Choir can strike up their first song.
In strides, without his assigned escorts {much to the horrified silence of the panicking angels who scramble to return back to the script} and wearing a brilliant white, perfectly tailored wedding dress {much to the disbelieving silence of the gaping demons}, the bride.
Amidst the mass of angels and demons, lone, wise man Sam Winchester chokes on thin air, even as a shudder of impending doom trembles through his very essence.
Dean Winchester greets his groom with a perfectly pleasant smile, lips painted a perfect shade of blood red.
"Let's get this show on the road, eh, honey pie?"
In the second last row in the back, the youngest archangel Gabriel cries tears of laughter into his conjured bowl of popcorn.
After spending a couple of weeks back on Earth and killing a few dozen angels, demons and humans here and there, Lucifer came to an unfortunate conclusion. Namely, that he might not actually win the epic, prophesied fight with Michael that Heaven and Hell were reading themselves for.
It's time for a new plan. A plan that involves a permanent ceasefire, entering a bond with a {insert mental shudder here} human to prove to Michael and the rest of the moral squad that he has truly had a 'change of heart', and the Righteous Man because that is the only guarantee Lucifer can think of that will ensure that his brothers won't try to stab him in the back later on.
Alright, so maybe the thought of so thoroughly humiliating and damning his big brother's precious vessel is just too delicious to pass up, so Lucifer hasn't try very hard to find an alternative. The look on Dean Winchester's face when he called him his wife alone has been worth it. Ah, mortals. Who knows, maybe a couple of thousand years by his side will eventually break even the brightly burning spirit of his future bond mate, and wouldn't that just be beautiful? Still, Lucifer isn't counting on it. Just having Dean Winchester and still being alive and untouchable to Heaven is more than enough.
"If you are sure this is the best way to go about it," one of his smarter underlings, a demon named Crowley, mutters doubtfully.
In retrospect, maybe Lucifer should have asked for a clarification instead of ripping Crowley's arm off as a gentle reminder that Hell isn't a democracy and doubt is not tolerated.
The bonding is a farce. Granted, Lucifer would have drawn a lot more satisfaction from it if Dean hadn't shown up dressed to the nines like an actual bride, makeup, diadem and veil inclusive. Not that it isn't an… interesting picture. But where is the fun in mocking someone who just went all-out to embrace his role rather than agonize about it?
Still. Lucifer will cherish the look of Michael's bristling feathers for the next century. At the very least.
So yeah, maybe Lucifer was a bit put out by that. And he may have possible pouted. A little. As soon as the whole bonding is over — and thank Father that it doesn't come with a mind link or something of the sort. Sure, his grace and Dean's soul are forevermore connected now, but it is more of a symbol, a trinket, than a link. A symbol Lucifer has to honor, of course, but not killing one measly, little human — and his surprisingly large 'family', considering all but one of his blood relatives are dead — is a small price to pay for complete freedom.
The apocalypse may be off the table, but Lucifer has never promised to be anything but himself.
Thus, as soon as the ceremony is over, Lucifer has pretty much stuffed his freshly-baked bond mate into his personal layer of hell and— well. Not forgotten about him, exactly, because archangels don't forget things, but— gone on his merry way. There have been so many plans waiting to be made, vows to circumvent, generals to meet, and cocky demons to discipline {kill off} when they inevitably piss him off.
And hey, it's not like he has handed Dean Winchester over to Alistair. Okay, so, Alistair isn't around anymore to be handed anything, but but the point still stands. Lucifer is an unapologetic asshole, but he made a Vow to protect the Righteous Man. That is not something he takes lightly.
Which is what Lucifer is forced to explain to an incensed Castiel — Him! Explain himself! To a lower angel, no less! — when his pissed little brother eventually tracks him down.
But Castiel's name is right at the top of Dean's definitely-do-not-touch-or-I-will-kill-you-fuck-this-bonding-shit-you-just-watch-me list, just below dear Sammy himself. So Lucifer is forced to pinch the bridge of his nose in annoyance and, when that doesn't help, eradicate the closest demon from his miserable existence, before he sits down and explains the different layers of hell to the little angel that could. Aka that there is no danger to Dean at all on his layer because demons can't even reach it without Lucifer's express permission, and that there isn't even a single weapon Dean could harm himself — or Lucifer, though he doesn't say that — with, accidentally or otherwise.
Castiel, somewhat unsurprisingly, is unimpressed. Even dares to give Lucifer the Raised Eyebrow of Judgement™ Lucifer honestly thought no being younger than Gabriel could pull off. He really misses the old days, when his pesky brothers were good, little soldiers who were in awe of everything he did and said.
"You are aware that you have left him in a hostile environment with nothing to do and no way to entertain himself, are you not? Because I feel it is my duty to remind you what sort of plans the brothers' Winchesters come up with when left to their own devices and with no way to entertain themselves," Castiel says with thinly veiled scorn.
The kid really has grown weirdly fond of his Righteous Man if he is willing to call Lucifer out like this. He honestly can't remember the last angel brazen enough to do that. Or, well, he could, but why should he bother? Lucifer is sure he dealt with them appropriately.
Castiel doesn't even have the decency to use his brief moment of inattention to his advantage and flee. Nope. He's still standing there, smack within smiting distance, watching Lucifer expectantly.
Neither angel will ever mention the outcome of the subsequent staring contest to anyone. Castiel because despite his prolonged exposure to the Winchester insanity he does still possess a sense of self-preservation. And Lucifer because there was no staring contest.
Lucifer spends a couple of hours considering Castiel's suggestion, before he finally decides that his little brother really does know Dean Winchester better than any other angel currently alive, and he should probably heed his warning. Really, there is no telling what far-fetched — but somehow against all logic actually working — plan he will come up with once he is bored enough. Lucifer has had some of his best ideas during the centuries spent in his cage.
Besides Hell is his to rule, changing his personal layer to accommodate his bond mate's needs isn't that big a deal in the grand scheme of things. It may even earn him some goodwill from his spouse, though that is unlikely. But if it stops dear Cassie from stalking him for a while, Lucifer is going to count it as a win. His bond mate's little pet sure takes the term 'persistence' to a whole new level. Lucifer can't decide if that kind of loyalty is admirable or disturbing — oh, who is he kidding, it's admirable. All the more so because it is disturbing.
The point is, Lucifer reshapes his layer of Hell. Just a bit. Nothing to talk about — and certainly nothing anyone would survive talking about. He ties the changes to the human's subconsciousness because he doesn't know and has no desire to find out what his bond mate's personal preferences are.
And then another mediocre demon screws up one of the simplest tasks imaginable, and Lucifer puts the matter out of his mind.
When he returns to his personal quarters a few days later, the previously cold, empty walls are covered in countless pictures of Michael — or various human versions of Michael at least — and a giant 'When I grow up I'm gonna be just like my big brother!' banner.
Lucifer manages to displace himself in time before he destroys Hell and murders his bond mate. Barely. And if a couple of giant lizard-like creatures die out some million years ago, well, Father's will does work in mysterious ways.
Despite his little temper-tantrum in the past, Lucifer remains moody and easily upset for days after the fact. Mostly because sure, he can and does return to his private quarters and rip apart every single picture of Michael — which proves to be surprisingly therapeutic — but he cannot kill the cause of his latest bout of rage.
This is a somewhat new experience.
Lucifer is starting to understand why so few angels ever go through the trouble of claiming a bond.
Deciding that avoidance is the only way to guarantee his bond mate's continued survival, Lucifer rooms the Earth instead. An experience that would doubtlessly be much more enjoyable without the clusters of humans — they really are everywhere — but what can you do.
Naturally, just when Lucifer is starting to enjoy himself, exploring a mountain too high for the frail humans to easily climb, Castiel pops out of nowhere for a little chat. A little chat regarding a certain human Lucifer still has to remind himself every three point two minutes not to kill.
It's like Dean Winchester is the only thing the poor guy can talk about. And boy does he have a lot to say on the matter of Lucifer's bond mate.
Not that Lucifer is really listening — it's all just you can't do this, you can't do that anyways, and really, if Father couldn't make him love humanity, what gives his annoying stalker the impression that he has any say in the life of Lucifer's bond mate. He's done what the kid asked for and gotten his add-on some entertainment, really, what more does one measly human need?
And wow, who knew that there is a whole level of Judgmental Condemnation™ dear Cassie hasn't tapped into yet?
"You are aware that humans are in need of companionship and that the complete lack thereof is in fact detrimental to their health and well-being, are you not?" Castiel asks in a voice that clearly implies he considers Lucifer an idiot when Lucifer reminds him that he is not mistreating his bond mate and Hell does in fact have cable.
In response, Lucifer does the mature thing and kicks the little bugger out of his vessel. After assuring him icily that of course he is aware of that, he may not like humans but he has after all spent some eons listening to them whine about everything wrong with their lives.
Only after Castiel is gone does Lucifer allow himself to pinch the bridge of his nose, which once more fails to elevate his aggravation in any shape or form.
He is an idiot.
In the end, there is a simple solution to the problem: Lucifer connects his personal layer of Hell with the publicly accessible parts. Thus, simultaneously providing his bond mate with the contact he apparently needs — after all, it's hardly his fault if his bond mate happens to be an intolerant demonophobe, now is it? — and making both Castiel and said bond mate regret their continued existence.
Sometimes, most times lately, it's damn good to be the Devil.
"You locked Dean Winchester into Hell with a bunch of demons that aren't allowed to harm him," Gabriel repeats from safely outside the ring of holy fire. He sounds baffled.
Lucifer doesn't understand why everyone seems so surprised. What, exactly, did they assume he was going to do with a bond mate? Carry him around on his shoulder like a fleshy ornament?
"But he's alive?" Sam asks again, having apparently overcome his obvious surprise first. He sounds desperate, which Lucifer assumes is the reason why his vessel bothered to trap him in the first place. Why Gabriel has apparently chosen to help is anyone's guess. Probably for the sake of his own amusement.
"Of course he is alive!" Lucifer snaps. He is not some klutzy fledgling, he is perfectly capable of keeping one insignificant human alive if he so chooses. Just because he has never done so before, doesn't mean his bond mate is going to keel over dead the moment he's left alone with him! "He's currently watching Star Wars and complaining about some death star and that it's not supposed to be a source of inspiration!"
Because of course Lucifer knows when he chooses to. Hell is his. There is nothing he doesn't know about it. He simply doesn't bother usually, since Hell has been running on its own for quite some time, and, frankly, torture doesn't get any more interesting with repetition.
"You locked Dean Winchester into Hell with a bunch of demons that aren't allowed to harm him," Gabriel repeats, again, just as Sam's expression turns to one of familiar mulishness, and then Gabriel starts laughing.
"Oh, brother."
Maybe it's pure coincidence — maybe it's the niggling worry that Gabriel with all his centuries spent by humanity's side does know something he doesn't — but Lucifer decides to finally return to Hell and check on his bond mate's state in person pretty soon after that encounter.
Just to be sure.
It wouldn't do for Father to finally strike him down just because he forgot to feed the human or something equally ridiculous. Not that humans need to be fed in Hell, but the point still stands. Also Gabriel's parting shot about humans being able to bond with a random piece of rock, given the time and incentive, has left him with an uneasy feeling Lucifer struggles to put a name to. Apprehension, perhaps?
Which is utterly ridiculous. It's barely been four weeks, what could Hell have possibly done to Dean Winchester? As it turns out, the question he should have asked himself is: What could Dean Winchester have possibly done to Hell?
Suffice to say, Lucifer is not prepared for the response.
Where there used to be layers upon layers of darkness, blood and screeching metal that makes you want to tear off your ears, of greedily licking flames and scorching lava, of screams and horror and laughter, now there is a- a- a stereotypical suburban neighborhood, row after row of houses that look exactly the same, with the exact same unimaginative garden decoration and the exact same model of a minivan parked in front of it, as far as Lucifer can see. Demons are wandering through the streets with the desolate, hopeless air of a spoiled toddler that has his favorite toy taken away from him, lacking direction, purpose, and anything else that makes their existence bearable.
"You're here!" a happy voice exclaims from right behind him.
It makes Lucifer twitch because people do not sound that happy when he shows up, and that goes doubly so for Winchesters. But when he turns around, there stands his bond mate with the same pleasant smile on his face that he wore during their bonding ceremony. Lucifer doesn't need to see inside the human's head to know that the smile is fake. Unfortunately, the sparkle in Dean Winchester's eyes might just be real.
"What have you done?" Lucifer asks with honest horror.
If possible, Dean Winchester perks up even more at the question. "Well, you left me all alone here, and during our honeymoon no less!" Dear Father, he is pouting. Actually pouting. "So I decided to redecorate a little, to keep myself entertained." Dean Winchester smiles another hundred mega watt smile. "Not that the sulfur and brimstone wasn't lovely, darling, it really was. But that's how Hell looked when you lived here alone and now that we're spending the rest of our lives together, I wanted our home to reflect the both of us. So I added a little color here and there, exchanged the moldy curtains for a new pair, gave everything a more modern look. What do you think, sweetheart? Do you like it?"
And Lucifer is certain the human is fucking with him, but Dean Winchester's mind has been silent and unreachable ever since overly loyal Castiel found a way to incorporate anti-angel warding into a human soul, and Dean is still looking at him with wide, hopeful eyes, clearly waiting for a response, and Lucifer doesn't know for sure.
The realization is accompanied by a terror Lucifer hasn't felt since Michael cast him down from Heaven a couple of millennia ago.
Hell is quickly returned to its former glory, much to the native demons' obvious relief. Unfortunately, his bond mate appreciates Lucifer's dismissal of his efforts a whole lot less. Lucifer cannot leave hell for even just a few minutes without Dean Winchester messing around with the layers again. And even his presence doesn't stop him completely, simply forces his bond mate to be more subtle in his attempts. And despite Lucifer's superior power and experience, Dean Winchester's presence is soon undeniable in all of Hell.
Be it the big changes — like all torture instruments suddenly turning into massage tools, much to his demons' frustration and despair — or the smaller ones — like all of Hell being suddenly covered in glittery pink because 'It reminds me of your wings, Luci-darling' — there is simply no stopping it. And that's only covering the visible changes.
Perhaps Lucifer should have payed Gabriel's warning more heed, because it appears that humans are indeed capable of forming attachments towards anything, even demons. Lucifer only finds out about the weekly poker tournaments his bond mate holds, when Dean Winchester storms into a highly important meeting with his generals because apparently Lucifer has killed one of his bond mate's favorite psychopathic playmates.
(Lucifer later connects the incident to one of his cheekier underlings who had the gall to hand him a flyer for human anger management classes and promptly joined the dinosaurs in a long chain of creatures that have lost in the natural selection process against an incensed archangel.)
Needless to say, said very important meeting turns into a Hell-wide bitch session about the impossibility of Dean Winchester — there's a lot of demons bitter about the loss of their toys, and even more who resent their lack of invitation to the aforementioned poker games, or so Lucifer gathers. Nothing gets done that day, but Lucifer feels better about the state of things by the end of it, so that's something.
Lucifer learns about Castiel's bi-weekly visits in Hell two months after it happens for the first time.
"Let me get this straight," Lucifer says very, very calmly from his place on the huge, stony throne — that his bond mate has had the foresight to adorn with daisies, to counter the lack of homey feeling, apparently, but ever since the disintegration of the first demon who snickered, everyone is doing an admirable job of pretending not to notice. "You decided in your infinite wisdom to let an angel with no clear affiliation to me run wild in Hell, without supervision or even the slightest form of resistance. For weeks. And none of you saw it fit to inform me of that decision."
These are the days when Lucifer most sincerely regrets building his own little kingdom away from Father's home: the days that remind him of the unmatched incompetence of living beings in general and demons in particular.
The demon in front of him shuffles nervously, proving that he does possess at least some sense of self-preservation.
"W-Well—"
Lucifer lets the pathetic waste of a corrupted soul crumble into nonexistence to spare himself the pointless excuses.
"M-my lord, your husband assured us that he would bring your attention to the matter at your earliest convenience," an only slightly less pathetic demon stammers.
Lucifer pinches the bridge of his nose even though the gesture has yet to help stave off a Dean Winchester-centered developing headache.
Dean has been badgering him for weeks to attend one of his home-cooked dinners, supposedly to strengthen their relationship and talk about certain matters that had to be discussed. Lucifer had naively assumed that laughing into his bond mate's face and then going back to pretending he doesn't have one would have solved the problem by now. Apparently not. Apparently Dean has been setting him up. Again.
Lucifer can already hear the ready-made excuses. 'I tried to tell you about those little field trips through our home that I had my best friend organize weeks ago, darling. You just never listen.'
Cheeky little shit.
This is revenge for setting the flower crown Dean had gifted him to their 'one month anniversary' on fire with his glare. Lucifer just knows it.
"Are you declaring the angel Castiel's immunity invalid, my lord?" a sycophant simpers. Lucifer rolls his eyes and gets rid off that one too, there's no point in encouraging idiocy in his ranks. Not to mention that Dean Winchester would deep-fry him in holy oil if he even thought about setting his minions on precious, darling Castiel.
"Have you tried to look at the situation through her eyes? Compromise is an integral part of any working relationship," Doctor Weston asks.
"I'm perfectly capable of compromising!" Lucifer exclaims, insulted. "I called off the apocalypse, didn't I? Do you know the effort that went into starting the end of the world? The administrative shit that had to be signed alone! All of that effort wasted, for nothing! But do I get a thank you? No, I get cold shoulder because apparently I've hurt his brother's feelings when I didn't invite him over for Thanksgiving. I don't even celebrate Thanksgiving! And it's Hell! Who voluntarily comes to Hell anyways?"
The psychologist looks more and more distressed, the longer he continues, but a quick probe into his thoughts tells Lucifer all he needs to know. Which is that the man has nothing of worth to say. And no, he isn't suffering from paranormal delusions and he sure as hell doesn't need to be institutionalized. One prison is more than enough.
Lucifer returns to Hell with a renewed appreciation for his own self-control — he hasn't killed the man, who would have thought? — and the satisfying knowledge that humanity is exactly as useless as he always assumed them to be.
Lucifer stares at the peas. After endless centuries of staying stuffed in a box like a discarded toy, after millions of schemes and plans, after rebelling and losing everything he holds dear, after staring at Michael's face as he takes possession of the Righteous Man, knowing that he will cherish the look on his brother's face forever, this is what the grand Averted Apocalypse™ boils down to.
Peas.
Lucifer still isn't entirely sure what happened. One moment he was directing his forces of evil — who, granted, spend more time working on their degrees in law and management than torture these days because apparently they have rights and one of them just happens to be the right to further their education and maybe if Lucifer hadn't laughed himself sick the first time he'd heard it he would have had the presence of mind to forbid it —the next one of his underlings reminded him that today is his bond mate's birthday and perhaps he should heed the dinner invitation for once.
Nobody wants a repeat of the Christmas debacle. And there at least, Lucifer had an excuse of not celebrating a holiday that couldn't even get its date right.
So Lucifer came. Not because he is intimidated of one meaningless human, but because he can't kill said human and actually has to live with him. Sometimes it's just easier to choose the path of the least resistance.
Lucifer hadn't expected there to be other guests.
People don't just go to Hell whenever they please. It just isn't done. And sure, he'd been forced to offer immunity deals to Sam Winchester, Castiel and even Gabriel — how Dean even knows his pest of a brother, Lucifer still isn't sure he wants to know — but he hadn't expected them to just drop by for a visit. Regularly.
Still, it is Dean's birthday. Lucifer supposes he should have expected it.
"Deano!" Gabriel greets Lucifer's bond mate with an enthusiastic kiss on the cheek that has Lucifer narrow his eyes. "Love what you've done with the place, birthday boy!"
He gets pushed out of the way by Sam, who is clinging to his older brother like he wants to suffocate him — an urge Lucifer can well understand, though sadly not abide — which is fortunate because Lucifer has been trying to decide how much harm he could do with a knife. It's meant for food, not torture, but Lucifer has made do with worse.
"It is good to see you, Dean," Castiel states in his deep voice, like he doesn't hang out in Hell as much as on Earth these days.
He is standing close by Dean's side, as always. Lucifer has spent so much time not-thinking about it, it catches him a little off-guard how much he still doesn't like it.
But despite the unpleasantness of the situation, Lucifer could have handled it. Until the surprise guests showed up.
"Michael?! Raphael?!"
Lucifer is possibly gaping — and Dean is definitely taking pictures — but, really, who can blame him when Heaven's Holiest descend down to Hell. Carrying not swords but presents.
"We received your bond mate's invitation and thought it rude to decline." Michael looks uncomfortable, which does a lot to help Lucifer regain his footing.
Still. He raises a disbelieving eyebrow at his older brother. No way is an invitation all it takes to get the perfect son to set a foot into something as vile as Hell. Not even after his Righteous Man took over parts of it.
Michael awkwardly clears his throat. He looks out of his depth and almost helpless. Just as Lucifer is starting to enjoy this moment, Raphael of course takes over, like the steadfast follower he is.
"Our brothers expressed upon us the importance of human birthdates and felt this would be a good opportunity to welcome your bond mate into our flock," Raphael says steadily, managing to keep the sneer out of his voice as he says 'human'.
Translation: Dean sent Gabriel and Castiel to emotionally blackmail and threaten his brothers into joining them.
Lucifer is genuinely impressed. Absently, he wonders if there is anything Dean Winchester cannot do, if only he puts his mind to it.
"Michael, Raphael, welcome! I'm so glad you could come!" Dean greets his brothers with a beaming smile. Lucifer has developed a twitch at the sight of said smile. "Oh, we have so much catching up to do! Aren't you going to offer them a seat, Luci-darling?"
Then Lucifer remembers that he is going to spend the rest of his existence with Dean Winchester by his side and he regrets ever considering this bonding. He had a perfectly working plan filled with the terror and destruction of the human race. Why did he think the emotional turmoil of one man would be in any way superior to that?
"Catching up?" Michael asks with a frown.
"'Luci-darling'?" Raphael mouths incredulously.
"Oh yes," Dean nods eagerly. "Luci here is just so shy sometimes, it's the most adorable thing. You know, I was wondering if there aren't some stories from his childhood that you could share with me. Gabriel once told me that the first time my sweet Luci-bear—"
Lucifer stares at the perfectly done pears on the dinner table, amidst a flood of dishes that appear to be home-made by Dean himself. This, he realizes with resignation as first understanding and then glee dawns on his siblings' features, is Hell.
"Of course it is, darling." Dean pats his hand without turning his attention away from Michael's increasingly enthusiastic rendition of an incident Lucifer refuses to remember. "You chose our honeymoon destination, remember?"
Somewhere in the background, Lucifer hears the traitorous sound of crunching popcorn.
It takes Lucifer another six months of increasingly embarrassing failures, before he finally adjusts his plans once more, this time to account for the impossibility that is Dean Winchester.
And it takes them a long time to figure out how to handle this bond they now share and how to find a balance between who they are and who they have to be to function together, but eventually.
Eventually, the perfectly pleasant smile disappears from Dean's lips, as do the dresses and the make-up — for the most part at least. Eventually Lucifer grows used to Dean Winchester the person, instead of Dean Winchester the symbol. Eventually the annoying nicknames change into something a little less false, a little more them — "Get your ass here, you fucking sonofabitch before we both find out what happens when you pour holy oil on an angel dick!" "Sweetheart, you say the nicest things." Eventually Dean stops passive-aggressively playing up a weird Wife-Slash-Harpy-Slash-Something-Extra role he's been going for, and settles for tormenting Lucifer's minions instead.
And that is a solution they can both happily live with.
The end
Addendum: On the other side
"Dean-o, Dean-o, Dean-o," an unfortunately familiar voice sing-songs way too close to his ear.
Dean resists the urge to punch the smug face that accompanies the voice. Barely. The satisfaction might be worth a broken bone or two, but Dean is busy drowning reality out through sheer force of will and copious amounts of alcohol. A brawl with an archangel would throw a wrench into that plan.
On the bright side, Gabriel might actually kill him if Dean pisses him off badly enough — and say what you want, but Dean is good at pissing people off. It's one of his most underrated talents.
Gabriel snickers. Probably listening in, the fucker.
"And missing the marriage ceremony of the millennia?" the sonofabitch crows in open delight. "Now where would be the fun in that?"
Fucking angels. Dean hates them all.
"Tut, tut. Is that any way to talk about your future brother-in-law, sugarplum?" Gabriel's eyes are twinkling like crazy and Dean really, really wants to kick his feathered ass. Cease fire be damned, nobody would blame him.
"Get the fuck out of my head," he growls instead and gestures towards the barkeeper for a refill. Clearly, he is still way too sober.
"Wasn't in you in the first place, big boy. You just have your thoughts written all over your pretty face." Gabriel waggles his eyebrows obnoxiously, but there is a focused look in eyes eyes now that was lacking before. "Matter of fact, I'm not sure even Mikey could break through this. Not without the full power of his vessel at least, which of course he doesn't have until he's actually in you— oh, nice one. I see. Gotta say, I didn't think my little bro had it in him, but what do you know. That sure is some fine warding. Does Luce know you come with your very own chastity belt? And how did little Cassie even do it? Carve the sigils into your skull?" He's leaning closer now, squinting at something humans can't see.
Dean snorts. Grabs the glas the bartender slides over the counter like a lifeline. "Yeah, like I'm gonna tell you that."
After all, the only thing standing between him and a destined fate as an angel condom are the angel wards Cas put up in his very soul — something that is supposed to be impossible, but then angels are supposed to be fluffy puppies made of rainbows and unicorn shit, so what do you know. Turns out, heaven really isn't so eager to start a fight they aren't one hundred percent sure they're gonna win. And for all that everyone is eagerly calling for a ceasefire now, Dean knows damn well the apocalypse would be back on track before he could curse the angels if they could figure out a way to break the sigils. Like hell is he gonna tell them anything.
Of course that still leaves them with Lucifer walking around freely, not all that interested in killing his brother, but very interested in killing off all human life on the planet. And naturally the only solution to the problem is an angelic fucking bonding ceremony between the Righteous Man and the Devil himself.
Because that makes perfect sense.
God better fucking hope Dean is never going to track him down because if he ever meets the fucker face to face, they're gonna have words.
"Awww, come on. Don't be like that, Dean-o," Gabriel coos. "This is no way to celebrate a bachelor's party."
Dean opens his mouth to tell the asshole that celebrating is the furthest thing from his mind because he can't forget that self-satisfied grin Lucifer wore when he offered Dean a deal he damn well knew Dean couldn't refuse — save Sammy, save the world, and really, what's an eternity as the devil's wife next to that? — and he fucking hates it. He hates that Cas and Sam and Bobby are out there right now, combing the books for an other solution, when Dean is here, already knowing they won't need one.
Knowing he'll accept. You'd think forty years in hell would have taught him a lesson about demon deals.
But he doesn't get a chance to say anything at all before Gabriel has already snapped his fingers and reality reshapes itself around them.
Two mean games of pool, four strip clubs, an untold amount of drinks, and a quick stop in Japan later, Dean is willing to concede that maybe there are worse people to spend the last free night of his life with. Of course that thought manages to suck whatever amusement he has managed to gain right out of him — because, fuck, okay, Dean would do anything for Sam, will do anything for Sam, but an eternity with Lucifer is nothing to be taken lightly.
A warm hand on his shoulder startles Dean out of the gloomy thoughts. There's something odd in Gabriel's eyes, something almost sympathetic — definitely not a word Dean would associate with the Trickster — and then the flashing club lights are gone and instead they're standing in the corner of a run-down bar.
"See those guys over there?" Gabriel gestures towards a cluster of middle-aged men sitting around a table, beers in front of them, unhappy frowns on their faces. "They meet here every Friday night. They've got houses, mortgages, wives, children, jobs. Pretty decent life all-around, wouldn't you agree?"
It's not really a question because Gabriel continues smoothly without pause: "Know why they're here every week without fail? Because they meet up to bemoan the woes of their lives. Yeah, Bald-Head over there? His wife's wants them to go to a marriage counselor. See how tired Three-Cheeseburgers-Too-Many is? Two affairs and a marriage aren't for the faint-hearted. The scheduling skills that requires alone… Mustache over there just wants some place to drink a beer because his wife doesn't tolerate alcohol in the house. And the guy clinging to his glass of water? He's just escaping the weekly book club meetings his wife holds at their home. You see where I'm going with this?"
Dean gives him a blank stare. "You want to convince me to put a bullet through my head before I end like those guys?"
Gabriel facepalms. Actually facepalms. It might be weirdest thing Dean has ever seen an angel do. Oh, wait, no. There was Lucifer proposing to him a few days ago.
"Look, Deano, I like you. And maybe I feel a little bad that you're getting saddled with my less awesome brother forever."
The world around them trembles and then they're back in Vegas. Dean is getting way too used to being jumped around the world, that's for sure.
"So," Gabriel drawls and takes a bite of the snickers bar he pulls out of nowhere. "I'm going to give you a little advice," he says around a mouthful of chocolate. "You can't go into this making Luce think he's won. Take it from someone who spent eons by his side: Lucifer is impossible to deal with when he gets one over you. Smuggest asshole you've ever met, and I'm including myself in that list."
"Sounds charming," Dean states drily. "You're really selling me on this whole marriage spiel, you know that right?"
"Aha!" Gabriel exclaims. "But see, that's the beauty of it. You're not marrying Lucifer, you'll be bonded. As in the real deal. As equals. Even Lucifer won't dare dishonor such a bond. He probably told you that he wouldn't torture or kill you, right?"
Dean shrugs. Promises made by angels mean little when they aren't made by Cas. Promises made by the devil? Yeah, Dean definitely isn't counting on those. But Gabriel just nods, not in the least surprised.
"That's because it's no loss to him, he won't be able to do those things anyways. Not without breaking the Vows. Vows Lucifer wouldn't consider giving, if he wasn't willing to uphold them. Trust me on this."
Dean snorts in disbelief. Sure. Trust. Because that comes so easily to him. Gabriel just smirks winningly, like he knows exactly what Dean is thinking.
"Or don't. Not like suicidal risks have ever stopped you before, eh?" The smirk slowly fades, and when Gabriel turns to give Dean his full attention, he is wearing a grave expression that probably wouldn't have been out-of-place when announcing the birth of Jesus Christ.
"The first rule of pranking is this: if a prank goes wrong somehow, but it's still recognizable as a prank, you play along like it was always part of the plan."
Dean rolls his eyes at the air of imparting great wisdom that Gabriel is wearing. He doesn't even know why expected anything else. Gabriel, of course, is unperturbed.
"And second, if someone else succeeds in pranking you?" Now he's smiling again — wider and madder than any Joker Dean has ever seen. A saner man would be running for his life, but for the first time since Gabriel decided to show his face again, Dean is honestly intrigued.
Gabriel leans closer and the light in his eyes is close to burning. "You play along and you play it better."
Reviews are free and much appreciated. And if you have any prompts for further scenes in this 'verse or another Lucifer/Dean fic, you're welcome to share those too :)