.-.-. Falling.-.-.-.
Summary:
With the memories of what happened merely two months ago still burning freshly in Dean's mind, he's trying his hardest to make sure his biggest secret remains just that, a secret - from the entire world. But when you're the Devil himself… how long can you keep yourself and your brother safe from a demon with other plans in mind? Sequel to Lucifer.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or anything associated with the show.
Quick reminder, this takes place during Season 2 and is an AU.
Author Notes: Sorry for the delay with this update. It's been hell trying to get time to write it out. Thank you for your patience. Hope you enjoy!
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And in the rain, I screamed your name
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The silence left in the wake of Lucifer's agonised cries was so still that he could hear the gentle drip… drip… drip of his own blood. It seeped from the wounds Azazel had inflicted on him, and it stained the screwdriver Azazel still held, so thick that even it drip, drip, dripped down to the floor, like a broken faucet, until finally the screwdriver was laid on the table and Azazel cocked his head to the side as he considered Lucifer.
"Your wounds are healing slower," the demon pointed out, but Lucifer didn't need the reminder.
He could feel it, the way the pain lasted, the way the air caused the open wounds to sting. He should have been getting stronger as the split in his soul grew, taking back control, but he knew now that the opposite was true. He was growing weaker, and Azazel knew it. The demon was always too smart for his own good, always thinking several steps ahead. It had been what had made him a good general, a good leader, and it had been why Lucifer had never truly trusted him. But, keep your friends closer and all that.
"Tell me," Azazel continued on, his back now to Lucifer and attention on the table of toys in front of him. But Lucifer could still see enough to make out the feather that the demon picked up, holding it between his thumb and forefinger, twirling it gently, like a lion toying with a mouse. "Did it hurt?" He turned to meet Lucifer's gaze, a wide and wicked grin on his face. "When that pretty face of yours fell from heaven?"
"Just get on with it, you son of a bitch," Lucifer spat out. "You always did talk too much."
"Careful," Azazel mocked, "your humanity is showing, and we can't have that. Not now I have this neat new toy." He strolled toward a burning torch and held up the feather in the light. "And you have no idea the lengths I went to, to find this one, fragile little feather. The people I had to slaughter, the demons I had to sacrifice. You recognise it, dontcha?"
Lucifer remained silent, his jaw tightening at the question, features wrinkling up in distaste at Azazel's words. If there had been any doubting what that feather was, the first wave of pain from before had quelled it. Very much like the scorching fire of agony that licked at his skin when Azazel pressed the feather into the flames of the torch. It spread up and down his spine and out through his body; his back arching and muscles spasming from the intensity.
It was only when Azazel pulled the feather free that the pain lessened and Lucifer's body slumped forward, his lungs fighting for air and sucking it in on heavy pants. He closed his eyes, head down, and focused on his breathing. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. In. Out. In. Out. It was only when Azazel spoke again that he dragged his head up to watch the demon once more, hatred burning up his insides like lava and bitter poison.
"The last feather to fall," Azazel breathed out, holding the feather up to his face and examining it with such wonder and intensity, as if it was the most beautiful object he had ever seen, like a thousand sunsets at once, or the last moments of a dying star, magnificent and cruel and beautiful all at once. "Who knew that something so delicate could hold such power, and to think yours was found on the floor of a hospital room in Kansas. I gotta say, that's pretty careless. 'Course, by the time I got to it, it had been locked up tight by your precious little Orobas. How is she these days?"
"Dead," Lucifer bit out, feeling no need or desire to go into detail. "But something tells me you already knew that."
"Demons talk, you know how it is." Azazel shrugged, but the way his mouth hitched up at the corner, the arrogance in his eyes, told Lucifer there was no uncertainty behind it. Oh, when Lucifer was free, he would enjoy wiping that smarmy smile from the demon's face. He just had to somehow find a way to get free first.
"And again with the monologging." Lucifer raised his eyebrows, gaze bored and disinterested. He let go of a light scoff, a small smile playing briefly across his lips as he rolled his eyes and head along with them. "You demons just can't get enough of the sound of your own voices."
But Azazel didn't seem all too impressed with the goading, his features becoming tight. A shine of determination lit up those yellow eyes of his as his gaze roamed over the bloody trails on Lucifer's chest. He strolled across the floor toward Lucifer, looming over him for a mere breath before taking the opportunity to remind Lucifer which of them had the upper hand. With one hand, he gripped Lucifer's chin tight, forcing their eyes to meet, as he used his spare hand to reach down and press against a particularly bad wound in Lucifer's side, pushing deep and causing another cry of pain from Lucifer.
After another deep twist, the demon huffed out, seemingly satisfied, and pulled back, delight lighting up his face. "You're looking pretty peaky there, Lucy. How long do you think you have left? Or were you hoping someone would come and save you?"
"I don't need saving," Lucifer answer through gritted teeth. He was Lucifer, he was the first evil, he was fear and wrath, and war and sin. He didn't need saving.
"Oh, I beg to differ." Azazel tilted his head to the side. "And I know the great Sam Winchester well enough to know that he will find us, eventually. But you're not the one he's coming to save."
Lucifer scoffed, the sound of it wet and heavy, blood settling in his mouth again from the internal injuries. He spat it out at the ground by his feet, to join the rest. "You think I would put my faith in a human?"
"I think you've changed," Azazel drawled. "Once over, you would have double-crossed your closest ally if it meant you stayed on top. A regular snake in the garden. So tell me, why use the last of your dwindling power to send Sammy-boy away? To keep him 'safe'? Why not just kill him outright?"
"I made a deal," Lucifer answered, voice sounding and feeling like gravel in his throat.
"You say that like it's stopped you before." Azazel beamed at Lucifer. "But hey, whatever helps you sleep at night, Your Majesty."
-*-*-666-*-*-
The chains fell to the floor with a clank and a clunk, the old wooden door swinging inward, opening to reveal an expanse of darkness beyond. Shadows danced and shifted, and instead of leaving the feeling of emptiness, Dean swore he could feel a thousand pairs of eyes shift to watch him, swore he could hear their shuffling and scrapings inside that darkness.
"Well, that's inviting," he said, the cold air causing the hairs to stand up on the back of his neck.
The darkness reminded him of when the dreams had first started, when the walls had started breaking down and Lucifer had slowly began seeping out. Before the desert and the tree, there had always been darkness. Thick and suffocating, nulling his senses, all except for his sense of touch, and consequently - pain. The claws and teeth, he remembered them clearly, as they had bitten into him from the shadows, attempting drag him deeper.
"You don't have to go in," Orobas spoke up from beside him.
But Dean nodded his head in return, swallowing hard at the lump forming in his throat. "Yes, I do."
Taking a breath, he stepped into the darkness and could already feel it pressing in. The further he moved forward, the heavier it got, and the more he knew that it hadn't been his imagination. The shadows whipped about, between and around the pair of them, and Dean couldn't help the gasp as ragged claws sliced into his arm.
"Damn it," he cursed, bringing his arm up to his chest but refusing to let the pain deter him. He kept his eyes ahead, focused on a small dot of light that grew larger with each step he took. Of course, with every step, he could also feel the sticky breath of the shadows on his neck and face, could feel the nails catching at his clothes, hear the hoarse whispers chattering in the dark.
"Where are you going, my pretty maid?" asked one.
"May I go with you, my pretty maid?" asked another.
"What is your fortune, my pretty maid?" asked the last.
Nails dug into his shoulder, yanking him backwards, the sharp movement causing him to spin on the spot. Faint red eyes lit up the darkness around him, some burning brighter than others, looming closer and closer as more claws dug at him, finding purchase on his legs and arms, tearing through his jeans and shirt and scraping his skin.
"His face is his fortune," the voices answered, and he struggled against the swarming darkness until finally, two hands gripped him tightly and pulled him backward.
The movement caused him to stumble, and he fell out of the darkness and into a dim light, where he landed flat on his back, Orobas looking down at him with her head tilted to the side, half amusement, half mocking, her lips quirked up in the corner and eyes alight.
"I did say I would guide you," she said, "but do try not to get lost along the way."
He blinked at her, but still lay on the floor for another moment, recovering from the unwanted contact with the darkness. It wasn't until he heard another voice call out from the distance that he finally made the effort to push himself up into a seated position, taking in his surroundings.
"Chambers!" the voice called. "You've got a visitor."
Dean narrowed his gaze at the three grey walls in front of him, before turning to look behind, dragging himself up from the floor as he did so, eyes moving to the man sitting on the dirty single bed, next to the thick grey bars keeping him locked up. And it was the man that drew Dean's attention more than the bars. The man with features that felt familiar to Dean though he couldn't place why. The man who didn't blink or even raise his head as footsteps echoed out down the corridor beyond the cell, announcing the arrival of a guard and the visitor.
"Chambers," the guard said again, harsher still, jabbing a baton through the bars and into the man's ribs, "visitor."
As the man looked up, the light catching his face more, Dean felt a wave of realisation wash over him.
Harry Chambers. Except, it wasn't Harry. His eyes were similar, and he had the same jaw line, but there were differences. No, Dean realised, this was Harry's father. Or his body at least, Dean thought, as a wicked grin split across the man's face and Dean knew for sure he was looking at Lucifer. He couldn't explain why, but he moved closer, until he stood opposite the fallen angel, barely two feet from him, unable to tear his gaze away.
The guard strolled away, leaving the visitor standing there, her face a carefully put together picture of calm, but those deep amber eyes practically glowed with anger.
"Nice suit, Jerry," Lucifer said, cocking his head to the side, his eyes flashing that familiar chaotic red. "You here to be my lawyer?"
"You went too far, Lucifer," the angel responded, and Dean knew it was Jeremiel, just as he had known it was Lucifer locked up in that cell. "The wife? Really?"
A look passed across Lucifer's features, one Dean could only describe as mania or complete madness. "The big guy upstairs wanted the hunter out of the game, well here he is – well and truly out."
Lucifer stood up and splayed his arms, and for the first time, Dean noticed the blood splatters on his shirt and hands, trailing up his neck and staining his left cheek. A slice of pain cut through Dean's head as flashes of another memory played out at the back of his mind. The brass candlestick holder in his hand, the woman beneath him screaming for mercy, the warm and sticky feel of blood on his face. He steadied himself with a hand reaching out to hold onto one of the bars, pressing his head against the cool and rough metal until the moment passed.
"You seek redemption," Jeremiel spoke, almost spitting the words out with distaste, "and this is how you go about it? Pathetic. You don't deserve redemption."
"This is what you call redemption?" Lucifer asked, and the cocky façade fell away to be replaced with rage, the sing song madness replaced with a low growl, as Lucifer gripped the bars tight and pushed himself up against them, red eyes meeting amber ones. "I call it doing the dirty work. The jobs He's too proud to do himself. Redemption? No, that's something he saves for his precious little monkeys."
Dean moved back away from the bars at the same time Lucifer did, and found himself turning to face the fallen angel once more, whose eyes were now determinedly downcast.
"Punish them," Lucifer spat out, "when they are weakened by sin. Tempt them, test them, murder them… These are His commands. Or have you forgotten Egypt, Jeremiel?" Lucifer shook his head. "No, you just don't question it, and that's your problem – you never have."
-*-*-666-*-*-
It hadn't taken Sam long to find a working computer in Diego's house, using it to track down the last known location of Dean's cell. As soon as he was done, he grabbed his coat and the keys to the Impala and was out on the road again, peeling away from the dirt road with Ripper in the backseat and the angel Jeremiel in his rearview mirror.
He dug into his pocket with one hand, the other firmly on the steering wheel, and pulled his cell free. Jeremiel had been of very little help. At best, he had only been able to half-confirm Sam's hopes that if they got close enough, Ripper could track Dean down. Other than that, he had said there was nothing else he could do. So that left Sam only one real option.
He pushed the call button and brought his cell up to his ear, waiting until the familiar gruff voice of Bobby answered with an equally gruff 'Yeah', bringing a small and grateful smile to Sam's lips.
"Bobby," Sam breathed out, "it's good to hear your voice."
"Sam?" Bobby answered, worry immediately settling in. "What's wrong?"
"The demon, he has Dean…"
"And by demon you mean…" Bobby started, the rest going unsaid, because it didn't really need saying, but Sam confirmed it all the same.
"Yellow Eyes," Sam answered, bobbing his head even though he knew the older hunter couldn't see it. "The one that killed our mom, Bobby – that killed Jess, and Dad and tried to kill…" He swallowed hard, unable to finish the thought, even as he remembered Dean lying motionless at Bobby's front door, with a hole in his chest.
"So the same one responsible for these damn hunters camping out on my porch then?" Bobby let go of a heavy huff. "Damn it, Sam – what happened?"
"Long story," Sam answered, waving the question away, not too willing to relive it at that current moment in time. He had to stay focused. "But, I think I might know where they are. I tracked Dean's cell to a town in Wyoming – Eden. Me and Ripper, we're heading there now to see if we can find them."
"Something tells me you didn't call me just to keep me updated. So what can I do for you?"
"I've got the colt, Bobby, but it's not enough. I need something that'll give me the element of surprise at least. Something that'll get me through the door to wherever he's keeping Dean. A spell, an incantation, anything you've got."
"I can do you one better than a half-cocked spell. I can be there in half a day, tops."
"No, Bobby," Sam answered, shaking his head, "I- no, I couldn't ask that. This is our fight."
"You're already one man down, boy. Don't be a fool. What's your plan? You show up with a hellhound and hope for the best? Besides, you're family, kid, which means it's my fight too."
"Bobby…"
"No arguments. Just, if you get there first – be safe and don't do anything stupid."
"What about the hunters?"
Bobby scoffed. "Them cowboys? This ain't my first rodeo. I've given more people the slip than you've had hot dinners. Now… let's go save that dumbass brother of yours."
-*-*-666-*-*-
Lucifer raised his eyes and stared forward, but whilst Dean felt himself stiffen under the gaze, he knew Lucifer couldn't see him. It was just a memory after all. He was just a bystander, an observer of what had already happened. Lucifer's past. And yet, from the touch of the cell bars to the feel of rage and anguish that charged the air, every inch of it felt familiar, like a song from the radio that had played in the background countless times, but this was the first time he was truly hearing it.
He found himself subconsciously taking a step forward at the same time as Lucifer, his thoughts so lost amongst the lava in those eyes, his mind so focused on the fallen angel that he never realised his surroundings had changed until he heard the sound of children laughing. He blinked and turned around, squinting in the sudden brightness of the sun overhead, his hand moving up to shield his eyes.
Lucifer and Jeremiel had faded away, the cell with them, and Dean stood there with Orobas, looking out across a park filled with happiness and innocence.
"I know this place," Dean said, lowering his hand now his eyes had adjusted to the light. He turned to look to Orobas. "I've been here before."
When she didn't answer, he pushed forward, through the small metal gate and onto the colourful asphalt, fingertips hovering over the wooden seat of the seesaw he passed by, his gaze taking in the bright yellow slide at the other end of the park and the monkey bars of the climbing frame. It could have been any park, in any town, but he knew if he looked closely, he would find that the third bar along squeaked when tugged, and the bottom plank of the steps leading up the slide had gone on permanent vacation.
"I used to come here as a kid," Dean breathed out, coming to a stop. "Every Sunday, Mom would pack up a picnic, and Dad would bundle us up in the Impala, and we'd come here until the sun went down."
"And I'm sure you had a lovely time," Orobas answered, with a light rolling of her eyes. "But this isn't your memory."
"Why would Lucifer be here?" Dean questioned, and even as he said the words, his gaze moved beyond Orobas and to the blonde entering the park with a bright smile on her face and such a hopeful glimmer in her eyes, her friend sending her young child off to play on the swings before leading the way to a bench nearby where they both sat. He let out a breath at the sight and felt his heart quicken. "Mom…?"
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Authors Notes: Thank you for reading!
