A/N: Trying to reconcile all the different Lucifers into one.
Finding a new shell is like finding a new planet. There are mountains in memory, there are deep volcanic crevices of weakness, oceans of potential that crashes to the same shores.
These humans.
He hates how they, like worlds, are remembered simply for being.
He has always had to make himself known. And that looks like a comet, fire and a devastating plummet into the deep.
His brothers, he has ruined. Proud Michael, warm-hearted Gabriel.
He has always had a father, but he has never truly been a son.
He has no heart because he is a soul from end to end, the spangle of an angel too deadly to be worshiped, too bright to be anything but feared.
First he takes on the skin and bone and muscle of a broken man, and he spends those days laughing low in his throat with dead eyes. The vessel of the angel Castiel is different. There is nothing there but loyalty and gravitas. He turns it on its head, a mockery. Nothing grand. He is overshadowed by God. He kicks his devil dog like a petulant child, and wishes again that Dean Winchester was dust and that Sam Winchester would say yes.
Because Sam has always been the perfect vessel.
Sam is the unknown world, the sun in orbit.
In Sam, that hard-edged soul takes shape, takes form. Fear has a scent. It smells like blood. There was fear and blood when he walked in Sam, his shadow outstretched like black wings that master and never meet, covering everything in darkness.
This world, after all, is his princedom.
Sam said yes, but Sam was something that humans should never be: Sam was strong. And so into those deep crevices of volcanic weakness they fell together.
He escaped the cage. He has not yet escaped his father, his brothers, his own knife-blade soul.
A new vessel found, a new world. This one, all showy celebrity and tobacco-stained fingertips. Alcohol and memories pool in the deep shadows under the eyes.
This is the dawn of a new world.
Lucifer spreads his wings.