Author's Note: Second chapter uploaded immediately, as promised. This is where the real story kicks off. A brief note concerning the whole 'angel' thing; Lucifer and Castiel are not angels, and are in no way connected to angels. The issue of their names will be addressed in a later chapter, as will the exact nature of this AU's cosmology, and things like the outline of Azazel's plan will unfurl in due time. I do actually have an entire fleshed-out background for this AU, so don't worry; everything will make sense as the fic progresses.

Warnings: This chapter is where the slash kicks in. Also, bit of swearing. Nothing much else; the smut doesn't arrive until the next chapter, which is why that's still in production. Shouldn't be too long before posting, though. (Famous last words!)

Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit, you no sue!

A.N.2: For anyone who's interested, here's a shot of 'Luke's' car - http (colon) .com (slash) t37814519 (slash) 1968-buick-wildcat-38k-miles/ - and if that is not one of the sexiest things you've ever seen, then clearly, we're speaking a different language. Before I met the love of my life and settled down, in all honesty, during my young and wild days I probably would have slept with a guy on the basis of him owning that car. I... kinda have a teensy bit of a 'thing' for muscle cars. Like, I sort of get Dean's semi-erotic relationship with the Impala, because dayum that is a fine set of wheels. *rereads last sentence* Ooookaaay, I'm just gonna... go over here and... stop being creepy now... (Guys, take note. Even the girls who say they don't care about cars? Probably half of them are lying. One of my friends insisted to all and sundry that she didn't care about cars and that she didn't get why guys who had fancy sports cars felt the need to show off - then went on a blind date, and spent the next three weeks gushing about how the guy had a '66 Pontiac GTO. He'd worked his ass off and scrimped and saved for years because he wanted one of those cars so badly, and he was sure it would be a total 'chick magnet', and apparently it worked. They're married now, incidentally. True story.)

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Sometimes, Sam Winchester kind of hated his life.

It had been a long, long day. He and Dean had driven into the town of Jackson in Dakota County, Nebraska yesterday afternoon expecting an easy job; the papers had carried the story of a young couple murdered in their new home, and the house had recently been renovated to accommodate the new owners after having sat vacant for decades. The Winchesters had assumed that it was a simple ghost or poltergeist, angered by the disturbance in its home, and set out to deal with it that very evening prepared for a simple salt-and-burn.

Instead, they had set foot in the house only to be immediately and forcefully catapulted back out, sailing right back over the porch and landing hard on the grass of the front lawn. After lying stunned for a moment, Dean pushed himself up into a sitting position, eyes wide.

"Dude, what the fuck just happened?"

Sam shoved himself up as well, groaning as his back twinged in protest. "I think maybe we're dealing with a bit more than a ghost." he said ruefully, glancing up at the opened door of the house with a grimace. "Should we try again?"

Dean sighed and pulled himself to his feet. "Gotta. We need to make sure it really was a ghost."

The second time they tried the door, nothing untoward happened... discounting the faint, discordant cacophony of screaming that bombarded both their ears the minute they stepped into the front hall. Skin crawling and nerves frayed, the brothers conducted the quickest examination of their entire lives; there were no signs of anything supernatural at all, until they reached the living room where the couple had died. It wasn't even the bloodstains in the rug that unsettled them - it was the fact that the minute they stepped into the room, thick, slimy black ectoplasm had begun oozing out of every light switch, electrical socket, and window frame in the room. It even started dripping out of the ceiling joists. Dean swore and stepped back quickly.

"Yep. Ghosts. Fuck this - let's get out of here and start researching."

"Good plan." Sam said fervently, all but running back down the hall and into the clear, ghost-free air.

Any remaining hope of an easy job had been eradicated the minute Sam started poking around the library. This case was far from the first death in the region - over the century or so that the records covered, over sixty families had died bloody, inexplicable deaths in their homes or out in the wilderness. The local history books were rife with stories of a battle that once took place between Native Americans and British settlers in the area; Jackson was close to the Omaha reservation, and according to legend, more than three hundred Native American warriors had died in that skirmish. Best of all, the place they were supposedly buried happened to be less than a mile from the house where the victims had lived, which was smack in the middle of the circle of unsolved murder cases and violent 'accidental' deaths.

It had taken him and Dean literally all night to find the mass grave, dig up enough of it to get the job done, and salt and burn the whole lot of it. Then, they had had to hit the road, peeling out of town in a cloud of dirt and bone-dust as fire engines went shrieking off toward the incinerated gravesite. The entirely-too-bright morning sun had found the brothers rolling into the city of Norfolk an hour and a half later, Dean snoring in the passenger seat and Sam half-conscious behind the wheel in a testament to Dean's pure weariness; only dangerous levels of exhaustion had made Dean relinquish the keys to his beloved Baby. Managing to stagger into the first motel they saw and book a room, Sam and his brother had promptly passed out on the beds without even bothering to shed their mud-spattered clothing.

All of this would lead one to think that they would be taking the night off. Of course, Dean was never known for his reasonable, responsible thinking. Sam had been shaken awake at four in the afternoon by Dean, who - having slept the entire way from Jackson to Norfolk and being used to getting less sleep than Sam anyway - was recharged and chipper once again, and insistent that they needed to get out of the motel and 'unwind'. Debating the merits of killing his brother and passing it off as an accident, Sam had found himself somehow conned into dressing, bolting down some food, and ending up in the nearest bar to play wingman for Dean while he sweet-talked easily enchanted women and completely ignored his tired and crabby little brother.

Sam was perfectly happy to slouch over the bar, gulp occasionally at his beer, and wonder why the fuck Dean bothered to bring him; so, given this unwelcoming demeanor, he was understandably surprised when a smooth voice interrupted his sullen fratricidal musings.

"Is this seat taken?"

"Huh?" Sam jerked his head up and stared, startled, when he found a man standing and indicating the seat next to him. The hunter blinked; the guy was definitely worth a second look, handsome and quietly confident, with disheveled blond hair and piercing crystal-blue eyes. Taken aback, Sam shook his head. "Um. No. Not taken."

The blond man smiled, slow and easy. "Glad to hear it." He slid onto the stool with the kind of fluid, natural grace that made Sam think of a cat - or a snake - and lifted a curious eyebrow at Sam. "Forgive my saying so, but you don't look too happy to be here. Don't most people drink to forget their troubles?"

Sam snorted. "Yeah, well my trouble is what dragged me in here." he groused, jerking a thumb toward Dean. At that moment, another round of absurdly high-pitched feminine giggles erupted from the table at which Dean had installed himself. "My brother dragged me with him, then ditched me to go flirt. Now I'm stuck here until one of those women takes pity on him and takes him home, at which point I'm probably going to get stuck walking home, and if I take off before then I'll never hear the end of it." Realizing how grouchy that had sounded, Sam sighed and shot the blond man an apologetic smile. "Sorry. That came out way grumpier than I intended. It's just been a really long day."

The man smiled easily. "No need to apologize. It sounds like your brother could learn a thing or two about manners - and speaking of which..." He held out his hand. "My name's Luke."

"Sam." Grin becoming a little more honest, Sam shook his hand, feeling a faint tingle of warmth at the contact that he hadn't experienced in a while. He was a bit surprised at himself; yeah, he'd known since college that he could get it on with a man just as well as with a girl, and Luke was definitely his type, but he hadn't really felt that spark of attraction since Jess died. Maybe his body was deciding it was time to get back in the game?

Feeling a bit more optimistic about this night already, Sam sat up a little straighter, turning to focus more on Luke and giving him a warmer smile. "So. What troubles are you here to forget?"

Luke grinned wryly. "Oh, the usual laundry list of everyday woes. Mostly the fact that almost everyone I know is happily paired off and I'm still single with no likelihood of changing that anytime in the near future."

Sam stared at him. "Was that, like, the flimsiest excuse ever invented for hitting on me?"

Luke paused, head tilted thoughtfully as he sipped at his drink - red wine, which was a surprise but definitely a plus in Sam's book, people who drank wine at a bar weren't very likely to have problems with alcohol at least. "That depends." the blond said finally, his pale, almost hypnotically blue eyes piercing straight into Sam's.

The hunter's breath hitched, and he asked weakly, "On what?"

The corner of Luke's mouth curled up in a smirk. "Do I need an excuse?"

Sam exhaled heavily, heat sparking at the base of his spine and spreading in slow tingles through his body. "Wow." he said, laughing softly, feeling breathless already just from the smoldering look in Luke's eyes. "That's... Jesus. You always that bold when you're hitting on guys bigger than you who may or may not be straight?"

Luke chuckled softly, tongue flicking out to wet his lips as he trailed his gaze boldly over Sam's body. "Sam, no straight man ever wore that many layers of plaid, trust me. Also, I have a very good sense for whether people are receptive or not... but to answer your question, yes, I probably would be anyway. Is that a problem?"

"Definitely not." Sam admitted, heart starting to beat a little faster. He could feel the atmosphere between them warming, definite interest coiling low in his gut and anticipation starting to thicken the air now that issue was out in the open and their cards were on the table. "Go easy on me, though, I've been out of the game for a while."

Luke's eyes flashed, something heated and predatory sliding into his expression as he leaned forward a bit. "I can definitely do that." he purred, voice dropping into a world of velvet and heat and sensual promise as he laid his hand over Sam's where it rested on the smooth wood of the bar. The light, teasing trace of his fingertips over the sensitive skin of Sam's wrist made goosebumps rise along his skin, and his breath hitched again as he found himself ensnared by Luke's brilliant eyes. Luke's lopsided smile grew, his unusually long lashes fluttering down to tantalizingly frame his crystalline eyes as he purred, "So, Sam... what brought a gorgeous creature like you into my path, hm?"

They talked for over an hour, anticipation and erotic tension building between them with every word until Sam felt like iron bands of lust had formed inside his chest and were squeezing tight around his ribcage, making his every breath shallow and halfway to desperate. Soft due to their proximity and roughened by the wine, Luke's voice was like liquid sex poured into Sam's veins, and he had a way of turning every word suggestive with his tone alone that made the younger man's gut clench in desire. Moreover, Luke seemed to be taking Sam's request seriously; the heat between them built slowly, easily, a steady simmer that grew and grew until both of them were aching for it. Finally, Sam drained the last of his beer and said thickly, "Alright, forget slow. You got a car?"

Luke's smile was pure sin. "I thought you'd never ask. My place or yours?"

"Definitely yours. I just gotta let Dean know not to expect me back." Sam said fervently. Luke hummed agreement, tongue gliding tantalizingly over his lips again as he smiled.

"Don't be long."

Fighting the urge to pant like a cartoon canine faced with an improbably voluptuous woman, Sam slid off the stool and made his way through the now-crowded bar to where he'd last seen Dean. Sure enough, his brother was still installed at the table full of women he'd scoped out upon their entrance, holding court among his blushing and tittering admirers. At the moment, though, instead of basking in their obvious adoration, he was looking at Sam with a poleaxed expression on his face. Obviously, he'd noted Sam's company of choice.

"Hey, Sammy. What's up?"

Sam could easily hear the what the fuck, man? in his brother's tone, but chose to ignore it. "I'm gonna head out, Dean. I probably won't make it back to the motel tonight." he said, lifting an eyebrow pointedly. At the same time, he rested his hand casually on his hip - years-old established Winchester bar-code for everything's good, I'm gonna get laid and my partner doesn't show signs of being a monster.

Dean's jaw dropped, and he blinked a few times before managing a stunned, "Uh, sure thing, Sam."

Grinning, Sam turned and made his way to Luke, who stood at his approach and slid in close beside him to lead him to the door. As they made their way through the by-now crowded bar, Luke bumped into a dark-haired man with the deepest, most intense sapphire-blue eyes Sam had ever seen, who ducked out of the way and mumbled something inaudible to Luke's hurried apology. Then, they were hastening out into the cool evening air, the scent of blooming lilacs heavy on the hot summer breeze.

If Sam hadn't already been ridiculously in lust, Luke's car would probably have done the trick, an absolutely gorgeous '68 Buick Wildcat convertible in a gleaming bronze color. Sam voiced a low, appreciative noise at the sight of it. "Jesus. Even your car is sexy as hell."

Luke laughed, low and rich. "Why thank you." he said, eyes glittering as he smiled coyly at Sam, unlocking the vehicle and actually holding Sam's door for him. Sam slid onto the butter-soft leather seats, heart pounding against his ribs, feeling lighter than he had in months as the anticipation thrilled through him.

As Luke drove them to his house, Sam found himself marveling at this turn in his fortunes. For so long, he had been mourning Jessica, hardly able to bear the thought of seeking pleasure with another woman - and Madison's death had only exacerbated that. Now, though... Sam hadn't gotten a chance to slip any holy water into Luke's drink, the man had been paying too much attention for that, but he'd chanced a quick 'Christo' disguised as a cough and gotten no reaction. Likewise, the silver bracelet Sam was wearing hadn't even made Luke blink when Sam had 'accidentally' brushed his arm - though the touch had garnered a rather heated smirk, as Luke clearly mistook it for an overture. A notion which, honestly, Sam had done nothing to disabuse him of. Luke had passed the obvious tests, that was good enough for him - not to mention that Sam was becoming increasingly aware, with every moment he spent in Luke's company, that Dean had been on to something; he really did desperately need to get laid.

Maybe that was what had made him careless. Because even when they pulled up in front of Luke's house and Sam found himself admiring the garden full of white lilies, belladonna, pale-petaled irises and drooping cyprus trees covered in twining morning glory, it still didn't occur to the hunter that perhaps he should have been just a bit more persistent about the holy water.

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A.N.3: A note of potential interest - white lilies are, of course, a common symbol of death and mourning. However, irises are also associated with mourning, as is morning glory - and of course, belladonna, more commonly known as nightshade, is a very sinister plant. Cyprus trees have been associated with death since ancient times and are the most commonly planted tree in cemeteries. Lucifer has a very firmly established love of irony, and it amuses him to fill his garden with creepy death-plants and silently laugh at all the people who completely miss that blatantly obvious clue.