Enochian and Company is one of the most powerful businesses in the world. The CEO is never seen, but rather represented by his four sons. Michael, the oldest and the one to inherit the company. Lucifer, the sweet talker with a devilish smile as he strolls into the building every morning. Gabriel, the one who stands on the podium before the press, smoothly delivering words. Raphael, the back up son.
The company was located primarily in America, several branches in Europe and two in Asia. They specialized in numerous areas, most known for their work in the stock market and their brand name foods. Other things they owned were a few notable gas services across the nation and a nuclear plant in an isolated area of Montana. Needless to say, the company was extremely powerful.
Of course, as all families do, the perfection is shattered by the arguing of the two eldest sons, the third leaving and the youngest stepping up to his place. It only tore further from there, the company experiencing the worse difficulties in financing, the market tearing off to fluctuate between the highs and lows. Gabriel was now living in far off Italy, with a branch of family the rest of the brothers were unfamiliar with. None bothered to call.
When items began disappearing, they began questioning the employees. The struck more and more names from the list, until there was only one left. They didn't bother to ask.
The next morning, the headlines were bold, Lucifer Enochian accused of theft: What will he do? Lucifer didn't know yet. If he had a day more, he would've been able to redirect the accusation, but too soon was his expulsion from the house of angels.
He ran at the threat of imprisonment.
As he grabbed the few things he could, he noticed a note, tucked in between the wood and the mirror of his dresser, swooped handwriting slick as a snake. He grabbed the note and ran out the door.
What he read later made his stomach drop. If one thing their investors could be accused of, it was gloating. The prideful Zachariah Garison, a long time investor and business man, thanking him for his service.
Lucifer growled, pulling a hand over his eyes. He needed more time.
Thus, the tenderly baked plan to escape to Italy—to his brother he had abandoned—was born. Lucifer knew not what was going to happen on the way.
Lucifer pulled the hat lower on his face and pushed through the throng of people. The square, already bright with orange and pink bricks, yellow and red paint speckling the window frames, was further decorated with rows upon rows of tiny American flags, and a flamboyantly colored stage at the center of it all. The skies were clear, the few white wisps of clouds absently crossing the light blue ocean above their heads. A light breeze blew in between the folk of the town, folding down in between the gent's legs and tugging at the women's skirts as it went by. Ladies in large blue bustles and distinguished men in fine, loudly colored suits were closest to the stage, small children bouncing on their feet to see through them. Ambient music streamed from burnt orange boxes and people spoke loudly. A few yelled in his ear and others cheered, tipping their alcohol around aimlessly. He could barely see through the crowd, the fingers brushed against his dressy white shirt and smart black pants bothering him. A man threw his arm up, and Lucifer feared for a moment that he'd been caught.
"Where's your color, mate? Today's the good ol' mayor's speech! You know he does love his color. You stick out like a..." Lucifer harrumphed, ducking under the arm and ignoring the rest of whatever the man was saying. More and more people piled into the area, and Lucifer found himself bowing his head when the roar of the people began, a polite coughing replacing the music that—surprisingly—wasn't entirely annoying.
Everyone instantly quieted, and Lucifer drowned out the man's voice, grimacing at the long and horrid drawls that made the words hard to understand. He had almost found a way out before a woman's elbow swung into him, his hat falling away in the process. She begins yelling incoherently, and Lucifer backs off with his eyes wide. Everyone began to yell with the woman's screaming, and her arm flings up to point at him. Grabbing his hat and yanking it on, he hurriedly pushes through the crowd, knocking the young and old alike out of his way. There's the noise of marching men, the uniformed coming in pairs from all exits but one. He hardly thinks before pulling out the dagger secured in a thigh holster, pushing harder to reach the exit. The police had already seen him. Reaching out blindly, he tugs a tall man into his grip, the male giving a short yelp before steadying in Lucifer's grip. With the dagger pressed against the man's throat, he drags his hostage backwards. "Don't follow me! Do it and he's done!" His voice sounds foreign, but it enough to scare off all threatening to chase. A hazel-eyed man and a shorted man in an old cap watches them leave, their fists clenching.
He continued to drag the man until he found an unlocked car shoving him in. A muffled complaint was issued before Lucifer regrettable planted the knife's hilt to the back of his head. He paced his fingers underneath the wheel, tugging at the keys hidden. When Lucifer got into the driver's seat, he paused to exam the man he had kidnapped—oh, hell, kidnapped—as he lay stilled in the seat. Long brown hair tucked behind his ears, dark eyelashes and light eyebrows—even a small mole next to his nose. He was clad in all old clothes, worn at the elbows and frayed strings springing from the just as old buttons. He looked almost comical in the small car, his knees buckling and his arms sprawled across the seat. Lucifer couldn't help how his eyes lingered as he turned the key, the car grumbling to life. Light bounces off the powder blue paint, and Lucifer's pulling out of the parallel park. A few streets down his eyes slide again to check on his passenger, the male's form looking a little more asleep than knocked out. Lucifer fears that he may've dug a deeper grave.
Eventually the car stopped next to old, occupied tacks. A brightly adorned train is there, people with painted faces and elaborate costumes loading on. Lucifer turned his eyes balefully to the empty trunk of the car, before he walked around the car to pull the unconscious man out. A couple of clowns look at him, their faces covered in paint. Lucifer stopped to wave, grinning a bit from underneath the hat. "He's just a bit drunk! Be fine in a bit!" He kept smiling until they nodded, and sighed a little. He can't help be feel a little heated when he pulls the man up into the old cart, laying him down on the side. Everything felt like it was against him. He growled, leaned up against an old vanity. Slow, uneasy sleep found him.
He woke to the sound of rattling metal and wood, along with a few shouts. Lucifer is roused fully when a pair of long legs enters his view. He hardly has time to react before he's out from under the taller male, watching him as he crossed his arms.
The room around them is silent and almost leaning into the two. Old wooden frames quake with the train and yellow cycles don't make a rattle. Old burnt rings and towels are piled against the walls.
"You kidnapped me." It's accusatory.
"I did." Lucifer replies, blinking the sleep away. The man only frowned more. Lucifer can't help the smug twitch in his.
"Why did you kidnap me?" He questioned.
"I needed a way out." Lucifer shoots back, shifting on his feet.
"Why? Isn't it bad to, you know, kidnap people?" The brunette sniped back, a snarky tone in his voice. Lucifer's smirk fell, his eyes widening a bit, before narrowing his eyes further.
"You don't even know me." He barks, his shoulders broadening. The other man doesn't back off. His gentle air is misguiding, as he has no problem getting confrontational.
"You know, you're only going to get in deeper trouble from this point. Might as well—oh, I don't know—tell me why you kidnapped me. You do have a reason, don't you?" His voice goes soft at the last, and Lucifer feels his stomach bottom out.
"Listen, there's some huge mistake and I've been framed. I don't need your pity and I definitely don't need your belief." Lucifer concedes, gritting his teeth and stepping back until his back is against an old metal wall. He crosses his arms across his chest, fully aware that it's a defensive movement. The brunette stills, Lucifer not seeing the way his eyebrows raise a little and his lips barely part, a look of shock.
"What?" It's light and Lucifer figures, what the hell.
"My name is Lucifer and I've been screwed over by a prideful client and now I'm pretty sure I'll be spending the rest of my days in jail. The bastard even left a note and I can't—"Lucifer's cut off.
"Okay." The male replies, uncrossing his own arms.
"Okay?" Lucifer asked, his hands flying out. "What's okay about this?"
"It's not okay. Nobody's going to believe now that you've kidnapped me." The taller man replies and Lucifer considers swan diving out of the train car door to preserve his last bit of dignity. "I can help though. I was studying to be a lawyer. Maybe if I stay with you, I can testify for you. They have to give you a trial, right?"
"Why would you help me?" Lucifer draws his arms down to his side, turning his right shoulder.
"Because I can. Obviously you're in a tight spot. Do you even have a plan?" The man spoke compassionately and Lucifer found his trust being earned, sand grain by grain.
"Why should I trust you?" Lucifer tries, his resolve going down.
"Any reason that you want." Is the quick reply. Lucifer tilts his head in defeat—or acceptance, but he's not sure enough to say.
"I'm going to need a journal or something." They've talked sparingly, exchanging names briefly before both going back to sleep. It's the first thing Lucifer hears when they jump off the train, the night beginning to turn to morning. The occupants on the train were sound asleep, and Lucifer and the man slipped away, their shoes sinking into the old gravel.
"What?" Lucifer questions, looking ahead steadily. He regrets agreeing to allow the man to come with him—albeit, he's not ungrateful for the company—and he's angry with himself with being so easy with the newcomer. He understands that there's a natural draw about him and Lucifer finds it intriguing to be so invested in the man he snagged in the marketplace square. He's pulled away from his thoughts when the other speaks.
"It'll be easier if I keep track, you know? Of what happens." He says, and Lucifer exhales quickly.
"So, you'll be keeping a diary, kid?" He snaps lightly, trying to push his regret out in anger. The man grimaces and stops, his shoes knocking up some dust and small rocks. Lucifer stops a few yards ahead, turning his head.
"Don't call me kid." Lucifer snorts. "I'm serious. My name is Sam. So.. Use it."
"Okay, Sam, you're going to keep a diary about what an amazing adventure you had with a man who may be lying to your face?" Lucifer bares his teeth in a mocking grin, and the newly named Sam shifts on his feet, crossing his arms and frowning deeply.
"No, I'm going to keep a record of events with an innocent man." It's a challenge, and Lucifer turns; he begins to walk again, the bordering fence within site with an old train platform.
They're in an old field—Lucifer figures they're beginning to enter the Midwest now—that's all dust edging out of the gravel field, with sparse blades of brown grass peeking out. There's the low thrum of bugs chirping and the pitched calls of early birds as they take off from their roosts. It's rustic America, fitting right in with the steam-powered engines and elaborate Victorian style.
The platform, as they reach it, is old wooden planks hammered together with old, rusting nails and a tin roof over the old oak bench. A lonely tree is to the side, and Lucifer notices how the light is just now falling over the horizon and dancing through the thinning leaves.
"Well, if you're damn sure about it, we'll get one in town." He supplies dragging a hand along the support rails as he passed them. There's matching creaks as they step off, an old cobblestone road looping in a wide U to connect to a more recent road, one that heads two ways with no end in sight. There's smoke in the air, rising from distant housetops with their brick chimneys. He stops and looks at Sam, who quirks a small smile in return.
"That sounds alright. Think the shops will be open when we get there?" The warmth is unbelievable from the gentle soul, and Lucifer wonders if he's being played. No man could ever be so eager to follow a condemned man in adventure across country and sea to evade arrest. He files it away as a question.
"If we get a start now, maybe we will." Lucifer looks away, and begins to leave puffs of dust in his wake. His lips tilt a little as a rock skitters onto the road behind him.
They're sitting outside an old deli, their hands full of sandwiches, when Lucifer decides to ask.
"Why would you just up and decide to.." He pauses as a couple walks by, the petite redhead giggling in the arms of the male, and Lucifer can't help how his eyes track them until they turn around an alleyway's corner. They're leaning up against a yellow brick wall, with their elbows dirty from bumping the sooty spots left by a streetcleaner. Sam's legs could probably just about reach the other side of the tiny street, and an old sign swings above them with squeals in the wind. Lucifer's hair is being lightly teased while Sam's long locks are twisted around, tickling his nose, scrunching his eyes up and leaving small wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. "To come with me. I'd imagine you have much more important things to do—like become a lawyer." He takes a bite out of his sandwich, watching Sam's face twist with a few indiscernible emotions in mere moments. He swallows his bite. "You don't have to if—"
"No, no. It's okay. My brother's not big on talking about things, so it, uh.. Caught me off guard, I guess." Sam replies, his words holding truth but his eyes also saying something completely differently. There's an old journal in Sam's lap, one bound in unusual yellowing leather with a rusty nameplate on the front—Stockholm. They'd bought it just before the food—an old bookstore vendor a few streets down was offering used items for a discount. The journal was barely used, and looks like it belonged to an old Missus Stockholm. The paper inside was just as yellow as the cover with small designs of birds upon every page. "My Dad just.. passed a few years ago. When he did, we really didn't have the money for me to keep going to school." Sam's hands are now laying over the journal, his food wrapped up on the street beside him. He's holding his hands like he's swearing on the journal, which may just be true. "Dean—my brother-doesn't make enough at his mechanic job, so I dropped out. I mean, it's just.." Sam pauses. "I thought by now I would be going places, traveling. You know, the things you always think when you're a kid. I didn't want to stay home and do the family business. I still can't.. Dean's okay with me moping around, but I couldn't really stand it anymore. Dean was having a harder time than me and it really felt terrible to depend on him when he's having more trouble than me, you know? I needed something to do- I guess, in a way, you kidnapping me may be the best thing to happen to me in a few years."
"That sounds like bullshit. Or, at least, the last thing." Lucifer points out, and Sam chuckles a bit, pushing his hair back.
"I guess it sort of is. Okay, my turn then." Lucifer cocks his eyebrow, and Sam offers a sheepish smile. "Do you plan to make a habit out of kidnapping people?" Lucifer grins, and now Sam laughs a bit. "Because if you are, I may need to write that down. You know, for the jury."
"I don't think so. I don't think I'm going to find another willing hostage." Lucifer sasses back, pursing his lips as he wraps up his sandwich.
"Good. Partners?" There's a glint of hope in Sam's eyes and Lucifer smirks just a bit.
"Damn right, we're partners." Lucifer agrees, satisfied. Sam's a dropout lawyer who really does want an adventure it sounds like—at least to get away from the monotone life and the family troubles. Lucifer's happy with the answer—at least for now.