Sophia's Chronicles
A/N: This chapter is set in Abandon All Hope, S5E10.
Chapter 18: The Depth of Satan's Eyes
"Have you ever wanted to believe in something so much you'd be willing to die for it? Sure, I long for death's kiss but that doesn't mean it has to be for nothing. Make my blood boil, put me on edge and launch me into the throes of battle without fear. Love and war—it's all the same to me. But can you even make me feel something first? Can you reach into my hollow chest and create something out of nothing?"
The Impala's engine rumbled to a stop as it pulled up on the side of the road. It was raining when they arrived, the plump droplets cascading down the car's windows. The Winchesters were attired in their regular jacket and plaid, while Zara borrowed a set of clothes from Jo, giving the ladies a uniform code of denims.
It was just a matter of time until Ellen's vehicle pulled up next to theirs. "Place seem a little empty to you?" Ellen inquired through open car windows.
Now that she mentioned it, Zara did begin to notice the unusual lack of noise. No one walked these streets. No cars drove along the roads. Lights inside establishments flickered and buzzed with effort. Through rain-spotted windows, Zara saw a coffee shop and there were still cups and plates of pastry on the tables. The cups had browned rims – no one had cleared them in a few days. The tables and chairs, however, were intact for the most part. It was as if everyone just up and left at the same time and in an almost-orderly fashion. Nothing except these modern artefacts remained to indicate that there were people living here at all.
"We're gonna go check out the PD. You guys stay here, see if you can find anybody," Dean instructed.
It'll be like finding a needle in a haystack, Zara thought to herself. Or like finding a needle in a haystack with no needles in it.
"You alright back there?" Sam asked Zara, somehow sensing her apprehension. Back in the daylight again, the ideas hidden by the shadows of the night before had nowhere to go. Instead, they were forced to reveal themselves. Sam's authentic gestures of the night past seemed no more an illusion. It was a real question Zara had carried to the realm of dreams. Someone who claimed to have demons like hers—literal ones too—without a trace of it permeating him. Maybe it was just a front he'd put up for her, she thought, but it was unlikely. Real concern emanated from him. Normal people had concerns, sure, but those were just promises that would fall flat once they knew the things that plagued her. But his… was not a promise, but a threat of reality.
"Yeah, I'm okay," she took a deep breath, mentally preparing herself for what was to come.
"I like what you've done with your eyes," he managed a one-sided smile. She couldn't help but think of it as the most perfect thing to say when in a ghost town possibly riddled with demons.
"Thanks," she said in return. He, unwittingly, was referring to the strange cosmetic Lucifer had given her. The little platinum box that Sophia owned seemed almost to have a never-ending supply of black kohl. Its glossy surface invited curious fingers. Knowing its power, she thought it useful to apply it that day at the cost of mildly curious stares. The moment Sam turned to the road to help his brother navigate the streets, she blinked to activate angel vision, as she called it.
A gasp got caught in her throat. She suppressed it almost instinctively but it had now been borne into existence. She was aware of it. Several figures punctuated the streets in a neat spaced out arrangement. Not only were these beings—who she couldn't see before—highlighted in her vision, their ghastly appearance stood out even more. All dressed in black, some in veils, some in flowing robes, they radiated wisps of black smoke. As the Impala drove through them, she couldn't take her eyes off them. She even thought she could make out wings. Unused to the vision's power, she struggled to put more complex images together. One thing was for sure though – some of them locked eyes with her, tracking her with their gazes as the car drove past.
Intent on focusing on the task at hand, Zara blinked again, returning to her normal vision. No more creepy creatures. The streets were clear again. Yet she couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched by hundreds of eyes. Perhaps there was a serenity to be had. When she used that strange sight afforded to her by the little platinum box, she felt closer to something. Like she was coming home. To what, she didn't know.
Stray pieces of paper swept along the sidewalk with the intermittent wind. The doors to the police station were wide open. As an invitation or a threat, they couldn't tell yet. Well, a normal person probably wouldn't step in there. Welcome to true purpose, Zara repeated Sam's phrase to herself. From the outside, no one could be seen. The moment they stepped out the Impala, the true magnitude of silence set in. It was almost imposing. Still, it didn't hurt to be prepared. The boys were ready with shotguns. They'd given her one too and made sure she knew how to use it. They stepped through the double doors.
They stood silently observing the waiting room. Chairs were lined up neatly along the corners near the entrance. There was a counter with a glass barrier a few feet from the entrance which had a keycard-accessed door that led to a back room. On either side of the counter was a corridor that extended to the back of the station. The offices of various policemen were situated along the corridors.
Sam and Dean split up to cover each corridor. Sam to the left and Dean to the right. Zara took Dean's lead. They both treaded slowly. She stepped the way they taught her to – heel first then slowly lower the sole. Zara couldn't help but check their six constantly, like she just didn't trust the still air. Dean did the more difficult work of uncovering the unknown in front of them. He opened closed doors and walked headfirst into whatever was in there to make sure it was safe.
At the end of the hallway, the two separate corridors met and further extended to the prison. Sam came out of the prison area and gave but a shake of the head to summarise. "Not even a critter," he succinctly said.
"No one's in the office too," Dean said, surprised. "It's like everyone just skipped town. At the same time."
"Let's just get back to Ellen and Jo," Sam replied.
The rain had ceased and the sun peaked out from the grey sky when the team reunited. "Well, this is great, we've been in town twenty minutes and already lost the angel up our sleeve," Dean lamented.
As they made down the street, strength in numbers, Zara kept her senses open. Every little hair that stood up on her skin made her wonder if she'd accidentally bumped into one of those dark winged beings. Probably just the wind.
"You think, uh, you think Lucifer got him?" Sam sounded anxious.
"I don't know what else to think." Dean's statement set the bleak mood for the team.
They had barely begun to recalibrate their expectations of this mission when the next obstacle set in. They turned the corner.
"There you are," a familiar female voice beckoned them. The five jerked towards the voice, shotguns armed.
A short brown-haired woman bore an uncanny smile. Recognition shot through Zara. It was her—that demon with Lucifer. Somehow she seemed more threatening alone than with the Devil.
"Meg." Sam's voice hinted a rough history with the demon.
"You shouldn't have come here boys," Meg gloated. Then she eyed Zara. "And you shouldn't have left."
"Hell, I could say the same thing for you," Dean retorted, pulling out the Colt and aiming it at her head as he stepped forward. Zara instinctively shifted to be in the safe cover of Dean's back.
"Didn't come here alone, Dean-o." Meg's head tilted to her right, gesturing to the ground. Rough growls slobbered through the air. Pins and pricks rose on Zara's back just to hear those inhuman noises. They sounded like rabid dogs with anger management issues. Once again, she blinked to activate her angel vision and she saw, right there in the daylight, two of the ugliest hounds she had ever seen. They were both up to Meg's shoulder, had an inordinate amount of fur and bore teeth whose usage was immediately obvious. They stood proudly next to Meg, eyeing the team like their next fix of amphetamines. Dean and the others looked around to guess where the dogs were, but Zara's gaze was fixed with the knowledge of what they were up against.
"Hellhounds," Dean put a name to the grizzly, monstrous faces. His green eyes grew steely.
"Yeah, Dean. Your favourite." Meg relished. Her voice then turned serious. "Come on, boys. My father wants to see you. And Zara, we are all just bursting with excitement to welcome you again."
Zara's brown eyes glinted a lighter shade in the sun, refusing to meet Meg's gaze.
"I think we'll pass, thanks," Sam called out.
"Your call. You can make this easy or you can make it really, really hard." A hellhound growled maliciously. Dean looked at Ellen, who was standing a few feet behind him. Ellen nodded, and Dean turned back to Meg.
"When have you known us to ever make anything easy?" Dean switched his aim to a hellhound and pulled the trigger, injuring a hellhound.
"Run!" yelled Sam.
Everyone turned heels and scattered towards a general exit. Zara simply followed whoever she could see. Amidst the pattering of their footsteps, a heavy thud resounded behind her. She was reflexively drawn to the noise. When she saw it was Dean, sprawled prone on the ground, she had to stop. She didn't even have to think. The Hellhound was atop him. A difficult gulp pushed through her throat. The odds of getting out of under that large, mangy thing were certainly low, all while a hoard of demons were closing in quickly.
"Dean!" Jo yelled what Zara couldn't. She was rooted to the ground but at least Jo's shotgun snapped her out of it.
"Jo, stay back!" Dean ordered. It didn't seem Jo would listen and now Zara fired a couple shots too. But it wouldn't suffice, she knew that for sure. Zara reached into her pocket to feel the familiar cold touch of the bronze hawk. Breathe, focus, aim – that was the drill. Foreign energy filled her at once, using her as a dispenser for its need to be. She thrust a palm towards the Hellhound. Sure enough, a bolt of force shot through her arm. The abomination of a dog was knocked back into a trash can. It works.
An unseemly relief flooded her to feel its effects. In her brief moment of celebration, a grave miscalculation dealt its hand. Dean was free, but another Hellhound pounced onto Jo from behind. Her breath knocked out of her in a sudden yelp. It was all in a matter of seconds. Zara watched Jo engage in a frantic tussle with the creature. The girl was no match for the beast. She writhed about under its weight with spasmic intensity, twisting and contorting to find any opening.
Hands clamped down on Zara's forearms. "Hey!" she flinched. Inky black eyes stared back at her on both her sides. A smug grin plastered Martin's face – of course it had to be the one with the mullet. All warmth seeped away from Zara's extremities in a quick exit.
"Didn't think we'd forget about you, did ya, Little Chicky?" Martin snarled.
"No…" Zara's voice trailed off, though it wasn't in response to him. She tugged and pulled but their eager claws weren't about to give way. The way they had her, it was like her arms weren't even hers anymore. Her arms wouldn't respond to her desperate need to be free, like her mind had. They were complicit slaves. The implication of this had forced her mind to resist. A feeling came knocking like an old friend. The feeling of otherness in her own body. Not to me, this won't happen.
A shrill scream pierced through the air, shattering through the veil of her thoughts. The blonde girl on the ground was in trouble, right in front of Zara. This can't be happening to her. Her heart thudded a sudden, distinct heartbeat. A millisecond later, the tearing of flesh seduced her ears. It was red. Not a pure red, but a pinkish, fleshy red, like what you'd see on the inner surface of your lips. Then, the real red gushed out through messy, rough streaks. It sprayed all over her torso and face in aerosol fashion. The sight was so visceral, Zara thought she could feel the gashes on her own abdomen and recoiled subconsciously.
Her eyes met Dean's. She saw the hunter frozen in time, gaze flickering between her and Jo. The choice was obvious to him but not so much to Zara. He dashed towards the bleeding corpse-to-be and carried her into some hardware store with others. Zara's questioning stare tracked the moving figures until the last second they had vanished into the store.
Have you ever wanted to believe in something so much you'd abandon reason for it?
Zara stopped struggling.
Not a single stimulus filtered in to her brain. She was sitting somewhere, but her legs were numb. Almost like they didn't exist. Some random noises buzzed about. Seemed like movement was in her periphery but she didn't pay attention. It wasn't intentional. Once it set in that she was properly screwed, the collection of thoughts and perceptions that formed her seemed to dissipate, going further and further away until the entity named Zara would be no more. That would have been ideal.
Two hands reunited in a clap right before her eyes, blowing a puff of air into her face. "-are you even listening to me?" Martin's voice faded into awareness. Zara's head jerked up at him. She flipped him off. Martin's frown deepened in response. "The boss only said to bring you in alive. He never said anything about not hurting you!"
Before she knew it, his clenched fist made haste to her left cheek. She impacted against the turquoise bedding. Her nerves were at once weak and trembling. A throbbing sensation emerged from her jaw and lower lip grew numb. Zara clenched her fists, feeling her nails dig white crescents into her palms. She took a deep, shaky breath. A spark shot through her spine like a match lighting up the end of a firework. Her anger felt natural yet some strange force had appeared to her as ammunition.
"Don't…" she raised a palm in his direction. "…touch me!"
All she had to do was exhale. The demon flew back ceremoniously to a far wall. It was like an electricity had suddenly possessed her and now it was gone, leaving her to daze in the afterglow. There was a strange catharsis to seeing the demon squirm in pain as he did. It was addicting. She got up to her feet. This was when she really took notice of the shabby little apartment she'd been brought to. Must have been someone's home, by the looks of the personal objects strewn all about. A photograph here, a stray top peeking out from the closet, half-used stationery on the bedside table – the evidence was all there. She could've thought herself an invader, but the rush from the act had left her feeling like the consequences didn't matter. It wasn't her home that would be disturbed.
Coming to think about it, she hadn't felt this way in years. It was just a glimpse of what it meant to feel alive but it stopped painfully short of the actual thing. Do it again. The demon was getting back on his feet anyway. Not like a little telekinetic punch could stop him. He was certainly fuming at this point. Martin marched towards her briskly, his burly arms flexed at his sides underneath the formal jacket. She raised her palm again. He was closing in. Try as she might, not even a whistle of air obeyed her command. Her heart skipped a beat. Well shit, she thought.
A gasp got caught in her throat. The gap between them closed. Martin backhanded her in a stunning victory for cynicism. Zara fell to the floor, unconscious.
It was night time when she awoke. Nostalgia rushed in as she found herself, yet again, gaining consciousness on a bed in a strange room. Well, it was the same room but the dim yellow lamp had made the bright colours appear gloomy and out-of-place, like a clown in a cemetery. And this time, she could feel pain pulsing in her left temple. She touched it gingerly, trying to gauge the extent of damage.
"Demon-induced concussion," Zara winced. "That's a first."
She scanned her room. It was dark except for the dim moonlight that streamed in from the window. Now sobered and present, she knew from her empty pockets that she didn't have anything on her. Not a wallet or a phone. No way to remember her fading identity or tell the time. At least the bold darkness of the night sky was clear through a far window. It was enough of a clue that it wasn't a good time to be roaming these streets.
She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but something felt off. It was the feeling of hairs ready to jolt to attention at the slightest breeze or movement, even when alone. That's when she realised. It was quiet. Not an ordinary kind of quiet as sanctioned in a library. There was no noise. Not even so much as crickets. The air was still, pregnant with anticipation. It was a deathly silence like all sound was being sucked into a vacuum. Just a faint ringing in her ears assured her that her acoustic faculties were still functional.
Zara felt so stuck in time, she thought she heard the coming onslaught of uproar from its inception. Still, it shocked her no less. A glass of water on the bedside table produced ripples. She'd barely noticed it when… Boom! The noise may have been a mighty roar, but the sudden outburst shook the walls with but a light tremor. The sound reverberated in her chest. For a moment, she thought something was terrorising her chest cavity, but when no pain was felt afterwards, she grew relieved. But what could that explosion have been?
Then back to the loud silence again. Was it the Winchesters? Were they still alive? She remembered Dean and his piercing light eyes. They could be tough all they wanted but it didn't change the fact that he failed his own conscience. What is it that you hunters actually believe? A sense of loss visited her like an old friend. Are you just lost? Or are you abandoned, like me? And Sam—was he a victim of this lie too? He will be.
Murmurs wafted in through the door. Zara perked up and crept close to it.
"She's been apprehended, sir." It was Greg.
"Good," a serpentine voice slithered across the air. The hairs on the back of her neck pounced to attention. "I'll have a chat with her later."
Footsteps shuffled and Zara quickly retreated to the bed. The door opened and her bodyguards entered, Greg carrying a tray of food which he then placed on the table next to the bed.
Her solitude was violated. It forced her to confront reality again. I was kidnapped to help Lucifer, I agreed, I escaped, and I got kidnapped again. Putting it in words really didn't help her confidence. Her own actions lost their initial meanings. Funnily enough, it wasn't the first time this confusion had plagued her. It was the one thing she'd known for a fact about herself. Behind Greg, Mullet-haired Martin sauntered into the room with slow, purposeful steps. He had a rigidness about him, especially in that stern gaze.
All blood abandoned Zara's extremities and stomach. Greg didn't say much; he simply stood with his back against a wall to her right while Martin neared her. Pins and pricks danced away on the floor of her skin.
"Eat," Martin ordered. Zara turned her head away. Martin huffed in annoyance. She stood up and, with trembling legs, walked to the window. Looking at the night sky always calmed her, and to the same end she sought the window.
That was a bad move. All she could see outside was a large male assembly amongst tombstones and dirt. Who would build an apartment so close to a graveyard? She blinked once, her irises flashing green. Demons—all of them. Not a human in sight, until two tall figures snuck onto the scene in the cover of trees. It would've been hard to spot them if not for her vantage point. Sam and Dean. She wasn't sure if she was relieved or not. Biology refused to guide her, even in moments like these. Following their direction of movement, the strange vision revealed another figure. This one had a signal so bright it was difficult to discern the features. It was only when she'd 'turned off the goggles', so to speak, that she vaguely recognised it as Lucifer. He wasn't kidding about the angel part. So… someone else actually did say 'yes' to an archangel. What could drive someone to do that, she wondered. Some questions were best left unanswered. Wouldn't want to open a can of worms the world wasn't ready for.
Strangely, Lucifer was engrossed in the simple task of shovelling dirt. He was really good at it too, making such fast progress. Perhaps the pleasure of doing simple things couldn't be bought. The simple act of… burying corpses. A hard gulp jostled down her trachea. She finally figured out where the townspeople were.
Sam stepped out into the open. The archangel's eyes were immediately drawn to him. Lucifer stopped shovelling just to talk to his ordained vessel. Somehow, from this distance, it felt like Lucifer met Zara's eyes. It was just a single second and yet, chills erupted in her shoulders. 'I know you're watching', he almost seemed to say.
Dean made it closer to the blond Devil. From where she was standing, it was impossible for Lucifer not to notice. Maybe he didn't want to. What goes on in his mind… She needed only to think it.
Her eyes rapidly fluttered. She froze. Her eyelids had a life of their own. A cinematic reel began to play before her without her permission. Her irises glowed green again amidst the relentless blinking. Everyone and everything faded to black, except for the night sky which retained its midnight blue. All noise had faded away. The moon was impossibly large, taking centre-stage. It cast its chalky light onto the figures below. Lucifer and Dean had remained where they were. In fact, they were the only two discernible characters in this play. Dean faced Lucifer in a paused half-gait towards the Devil. Some several feet away, Lucifer still held onto the shovel. This time, he didn't have the strong star-like glow about him. He appeared fully dark, except for laser red eyes that now took notice of her.
Whatever she thought the Devil would do when he was angry, she thought she would find out right then. He threw the shovel down impatiently just to give her his full attention. He took a few steps to his left, now juxtaposed right before the enlarged moon. He raised his arms up his sides slowly. At first she thought he would raise the earth in a partition like Moses did with the ocean. Then it became clearer that he was beckoning to her—no, not her, but an entity in her place. He had taken centre frame and brought the moon's comfort just for this gesture. He stretched out his arms further up to delicately cradle the moon's curvature, making him the bearer of its gifts. The chilling, cosmic breeze carried a faint melody from Lucifer to her. It was a song of unspoken cravings which could only be deciphered by whatever resided within Zara.
A strong wind of radiance swept up from the deep recesses of her chest. It wasn't her own, she knew that for a fact. Whatever it was, it was drawn to Lucifer like the first light caressing green meadows at dawn. It ambushed her with a warmth she'd usually been hard-pressed to feel. The muscles of her face felt the magnetism too, aching with an insatiable tantrum. It forced her jaw to stumble upon a breath. Once she accepted the inhale, the painful dryness of her lips was apparent. They longed to sink into a lake of fire and be consumed by it. Then the exhale came. It was coupled with a slow reaching of Zara's right hand towards the window, as if Lucifer could be touched from this distance.
What's happening? Her mind fought for control. At once, her eyelids relented. She blinked again to make sure she could. The natural lighting returned to her. The moon was at the apex, small as it should be. The scene she was witness to was erased from reality like it never happened. Just the cold feeling of the window against her fingertips remained.
BANG!
Zara flinched. Dean's arm was outstretched. The Colt had become continuous with his arm and now aimed barrel-to-face with Lucifer. A gasp was stuck in her throat. As she watched Lucifer sink to the ground, limp, the moon-loving foreigner used her heart as a conduit for its ache. The whirlwind of forces in Zara's inner world were a mystery to her. One minute the stabbing thralls of pain craved her consolation and the next, a warm fire gushed out of the crevices formed and overflowed. Yet it was clear to her that none of this was her doing.
Dean's features weren't visible from this far, but from the hesitant shift of his silhouette alone, she could read his expression. It wasn't much but she could tell he was begging the universe to let this be a win. It came as no surprise to her that the limp body on the ground began to budge again.
She wondered what it was like for Dean, to watch a plan fail so bad and then have no choice but to see impending death materialise before his very eyes. Lucifer pulled back an arm and swung it at Dean without any hesitation. At least Sam will keep me company.
As soon as Dean was out of the picture, Lucifer seemed his normal self, monologuing to Sam about something Zara didn't have the privilege of hearing. He even picked up the shovel and picked up where he left off, as if the hunters didn't even bother him. Maybe there was some solace to be had in that. The younger Winchester hurried to his brother's side. Dean started shifting to his feet and amidst all of that, Sam looked like he had some choice words to say to the Devil. Some spine he has, Zara thought. Guess he really doesn't care anymore.
In a way, she admired him for that. Things weren't all that optimistic, as she watched. Lucifer turned to the crowd of demons and they all recited some sort of collective prayer. The deep rumbling of their voices chimed in the air. When they stopped, lights seemed to pop in and out from where the demons were. It was only upon further inspection that Zara realised that this wasn't just some light show—all those demons lost their heads in messy splatters. They… wanted this. The absurdity didn't stop there.
The earth rumbled from deep within its gut. Zara could almost feel the story within her veins without explanation. There was another force emerging in this very snapshot of time and space. An ancient, esoteric being who hungered for all the souls sacrificed that day. Lucifer welcomed this thing, whatever it was, with a grand feast. It was at this moment when Zara's reality became undeniable. She believed without a doubt now, absolutely and truly, that the First Cause was here. The serpent that tempted humanity—one of the first creations. His power, undeniable. His authority, unquestionable.
If you want to honour your promise to Dean, this is the time, reason spoke to her. What was it Dean had said?
"You're the only thing holding Lucifer back from getting a plus one to the prom."
There was talk of duty then, as if it was such an obvious thing to feel—the things that needed to be done if the plan was bested by Lucifer. "If that's what it means to make sure we win and Lucifer doesn't get me, best believe I'll do what I have to," she had said. As if the Winchesters could do whatever it took, she huffed. Not after the Hellhound's tango with Jo.
Should I do it? she asked herself. It wasn't a question that had to be asked. When it came down to it, either the act was done or it wasn't. Thinking about it wasn't going to help, but she did so anyway. The options available to her weren't so encouraging either. With her belongings and shotgun confiscated, it was hard to get creative. That, and the two pairs of demon eyes surveying her every move would make this difficult. But not impossible.
Her fingers traced the windowsill until the clasp was reached and undone. With a satisfying click, the window slid up. The quaking earth could be heard more clearly now. More evident was the freezing wind violating the quiet sanctum of the room. She peeked out the window. It was a definite five-storey drop. Lethal for sure.
This is objectively the right thing to do. Devil, bad guy. Do it. A rough breath filtered in through her nostrils. The demons probably couldn't catch her in time. This was perfect. She looked up once just to make sure. Lucifer was clearly busy and the Winchesters were nowhere to be seen. She was officially stranded. Zara's hands grasped the windowsill tightly. You've polluted yourself with coke for less.
Her forward momentum had barely begun. She was sure she would do it. Yet, a sudden gravity pulled her back. Her chest grew tight. It was like being under lockdown. Her nerves at once clenched and flooded her with warmth, the same kind she had felt mere moments before. It was foreign, firm and here to stay. The sheer inevitability of it all dawned on her and dampened her eyes. It was like the entity was holding her in its bosom and whispering, 'Don't leave.'
Zara couldn't help but connect the dots. That weird vision she had just experienced was no vision at all. It was a real conversation between two long-lost celestial bodies. It was her that had initiated it – she had reached out, through Zara, and called to him. Whatever he had heard, it made him stop in his tracks, stop time itself, just to say, 'I am waiting for you.'
It seemed now so personal an exchange that Zara felt like she was eavesdropping, albeit on her own self. She no longer felt human. More accurately, she knew her mortal status to be but as nothing more than a cosmic telephone linking the real forces that existed together. She was a bridge to be crossed into this reality. She was the only channel that could tune the frequencies of this eternal flame that Lucifer wanted to release.
Unable to bear the significance of it all, she closed the window. The rumbling stopped. Zara's shaky legs swung the Richter scale on their own but she managed to reach the bed. Her back against the headboard, she clutched a pillow close to her chest for comfort in an effort to calm her racing heart. By now she was parched like the Sahara. A glass of water on the bedside table was soon emptied. But the plate of food grew cold all the same. Martin didn't stop scowling at her.
After long enough, he came.
Only his footsteps sounded so surely, slowly getting louder down the hallway until her door was reached. The knob twisted. Lucifer entered the room. Martin and Greg immediately straightened up and stared dead ahead. Lucifer's gaze, however, was purely fixated on the girl defiantly sat on the bed. He approached slowly with unwavering eyes.
"She won't eat, sir!" Martin complained.
Lucifer didn't seem fazed. "Leave us," he ordered. The demons complied, though Martin just had to shoot her a grimace first.
Zara didn't bother to look up. She didn't want to see his expression. But so far, it was calmer than she expected – like a calm before the storm, perhaps. He took a seat in front of her on the bed, continuing to study her expression. "You haven't touched your food," he began.
"With all of this going on?" she blankly gestured towards the window. Her voice was meek and soft. "How could I?"
Lucifer picked up the plate, using a fork to stir the spaghetti. To her surprise, he extended a fork of spaghetti to her lips, like a parent feeding a child. Not wanting to be rude, she obliged, trying to read his intentions.
"You shouldn't have come here," he said calmly. "If you wanted to escape. You almost made it out, you know? I had guys scouring whole cities for you. Was gonna be hard without that little compass you stole from me."
That last bit had a salty edge to it that Zara didn't know how to respond to. So she didn't.
"What was it you wanted? Freedom?" he beckoned her to answer. "That's what I don't understand. I thought I promised you anything you wanted."
The simple thought of another bite of food made her sick to her stomach.
"Say something," he ordered suddenly, making her flinch.
"I don't know," she blurted out. He set the plate back on the table. Nothing but air would be between them. No space for even lies.
"How'd you do it?" he asked next, without sparing a second.
"Your demons aren't that smart," she said back with the same tempo. She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. She heard him exhale. Chancing a glimpse at him, she found an unreadable expression on his face. That, and all those weird sores on the side of his head. A curious sight but she didn't want to be caught staring.
"It's so hard to get good help these days," Lucifer rolled his eyes. Some odd thought flashed behind his eyes and held him in pause. "You met the Winchesters. Did they tell you everything?"
"About the apocalypse? Yeah," she nodded, back still firmly pressed against the headboard. She didn't dare budge. "Sam is your vessel and Dean is…?"
"Michael's," Lucifer answered. "My brother."
Apprehension pulled his gaze away from her. Discomfort tugged at his muscles. Lucifer shifted in his seat. "And there was an angel too," she recalled hesitantly. "Cas."
"Castiel," Lucifer uttered with disgust. "They perverted the angel. I'm sure they tried with you too."
"Tried what?" Zara wondered. The hollowness in her chest was more prominent now than ever.
Lucifer sighed belatedly, gaze fixed to a spot on the floor. "To convert you to their religion," he said. "Their false doctrine of right and wrong, good and evil. It's always like this with humanity, isn't it? Always taking inconsequential things to mean something more than they do."
"Inconsequential things like… butchering a whole town?" Zara dared ask.
"Exactly," Lucifer agreed. When he saw her questioning eyes, he continued, "Zara, you must see the bigger picture here. This had to happen. The last Horseman had to be released."
"The- of course," Zara found questions to be futile. She merely crossed her arms, partly in impatience. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because you need to know. You're the vessel of an archangel, not some bumbling rando with nothing to show for her life," Lucifer said somewhat sharply. "But that doesn't mean I will put up with just about anything from you."
And there it was. The chilling tone of voice that froze her to her core.
"You know what I see when I look at you?" he asked, brows mildly furrowing.
I have a feeling you're about to tell me, she thought.
"Nothing. I see nothing in you. You're like a black hole, but indiscernibly so from the outside," he said through a tight jaw. "All of them, the other humans, they are constantly looking through a fog. But not you. You're hidden in the fog. You've disappeared. No one can even tell."
"I…" Zara muttered. A deep stirring within her made her eyes twitch. "I know."
"So why did you do it?" he asked. "Why did you run away? Back into the fog?"
"Because…" she began. Shallow breaths passaged in and out of her lungs. She didn't want to say anything at first, but the first word had already disobeyed her. "I wanted to feel something."
Lucifer's frown deepened as he looked at her. "By… by running away from your true destiny?" he further pressed.
"All my life, I've been wandering without an end. I looked for signs. I looked and looked until I didn't believe anymore," she uttered, pouring thoughts out but never feeling like the words were enough. "No matter what I did, I never felt anything. I am broken in some way and I may never be fixed, but at least I could shatter myself completely."
She saw his blank blue-eyed stare and decided to look away.
"It's probably inconsequential, as you say," she sighed.
"No, not at all," he said monotonously. He scanned her for a moment. Zara felt uncomfortable under his surveillance, like she'd been turned inside out and her entrails were on display. "So did you find what you were looking for? Did the Winchesters make you feel something?"
She wondered if it was mockery she sensed in his tone. Yet, his unyielding attention suggested otherwise. The honest answer was that she didn't know, but she couldn't possibly tell him that. "Do you feel things?" she asked.
"So much more than you are capable of knowing," he honestly answered, still stoic. "But you had a glimpse, didn't you?"
Her heart raced. She knew what he was referring to. "You… noticed," she uttered, averting her gaze. "I didn't think it was real."
"That's a lie," he sharply replied. "You know for a fact what that was. It was what you helped happen. Don't you see? Even your emptiness couldn't swallow the seeds of your destiny."
She gulped. That was the truth and he'd laid it out for her. Finally, a force mightier than the void inside of her had come to contend, it seemed. A small part of her would miss the misery she'd been swimming in all these years. Mostly, though, the implications before her were a looming mystery of change she had never considered so fully. In fact, it was scary. "What's happening to me?" she whispered airily.
Lucifer shifted closer and placed a hand gently on her shin. "Salvation," he said briefly. His icy irises pierced straight through her, eliciting a shiver. "Don't you feel what she feels?"
Though at the bed's limit, Zara tried to shift back away from him. Lucifer's hand clamped down on her leg in plain refusal. She suddenly grew stiff, not daring to make another move. "Castiel said she wasn't meant to be freed," she recalled. The strangeness of her own timing was not lost on her.
"Do you think her freedom is negotiable?" Lucifer questioned, eyes widening with his frown. There was something feral about it. Something desperate and wounded. "The stars were set ablaze in one day. My world was torn apart and my whole history reduced to fire and brimstone. My skin melted. My wings twisted. My feathers charred. I became a twisted creature to all of them. Some… some maniac to be discarded and abandoned. But not to her."
Zara's vision grew blurry. Finally, a tear escaped her eye and ran down her cheek in a flurry. What he was exhibiting wasn't weakness. It was quite the opposite—an unbridled fury lay underneath those words. A fury he would kill for. Right now, it seemed she was at the wrong end of it. "I'm… I'm sorry," she sincerely meant it. As wary as she'd grown now, there was a distinct sting of jealousy in her chest. That look in his eyes was so powerful that she wished she could feel something like that.
"The Winchesters tell you about good and evil?" he taunted, moving closer so their faces would be in proximity. Zara watched almost breathlessly as he continued, "What good was it to do to her what they did? Erase her name from existence like she could be forgotten? Everything you see on this earth—it's nothing without a single breath from her, and none of you even know it. Was that a good thing to do, Zara?"
She remained silent. This clearly wasn't about what she had to say.
"Your actions speak for themselves," he said. "You've already chosen a side. The moment you began channelling her power, you broke a lock. You are an empty shell, and all you want is to be filled. That's why you came back, isn't it? You saw all the lies for what they were. You know you belong with me."
As he said this, a couple spots burned on his forehead and faded like embers, leaving behind marks of wear and tear. "W- what's happening to you?" she gulped.
His face eased. He backed away slightly, leaving her some air to breathe. "This vessel can't contain me for long. It'll wither away soon enough. But it'll have to do, until Sam comes to his senses," he sat on the edge of the bed, both arms clutching the fabric at his sides. "He has a rage I need, you know? A pure rage that will fuel me, like your emptiness will fuel Sophia."
Does she feel it too? Zara wondered.
"I could've just settled for any of the others I'd found before you," he sighed. "It could've worked, like Nick works for me."
"But you want nothing but the best for her," Zara realised.
"Now you're starting to understand," Lucifer said as a stern parent would. His crystalline irises pointed at her accusatorily. A shudder forced itself through her. "I think you're a reasonable girl. For that, I will have mercy. Sophia would want me to."
He got up from the bed. What that meant, she wasn't sure. She kept still.
"But your transgression has cost me… precious seconds," Lucifer glared down at her. "She'd understand."
One second, she saw the skin peeling away from around his eyes, revealing a burnt maroon. Drawn into his gaze, his eyes soon showed their true colour – a flaming red. The next moment, she flinched. They were in a dark place. A dark, hot place. She couldn't see anything but those fiery scarlet orbs.
Gasps struggled out of her throat. She pulled against the shackles. Their grip on her were secure. Her body felt light, almost like it was floating. The only grounding sensation was the rough stone grazing against her knees and feet. A brush of warm air against her torso made it clear that she was bare. Her heart pounded in her chest. There were no lies here. Every hair on her body stood to greet the one who had brought her here.
"You see," a deep, rumbling voice whispered in the dark. It was unlike the human voice she'd heard before yet somehow she knew it was the same entity. A bitingly cold puff of air neared her ear, its paralysing intensity the starkest contrast to the warm surrounding. "I'm not known for my patience."
Without even looking, the horrid image of his madness attacked her like it descended from the very air she breathed. It wasn't a sight but a fact that invaded her mind without release. He hadn't even done anything yet. She could practically feel his claw-like hands on her shoulder. Horns sprouting from his auburn curls. A distorted mouth on a melting face with stabbing eyes. A built chest and arms, complemented by the magnificent wings arching over his figure – even his feathers were stood to attention like an assemblage of knives. He certainly hadn't looked like this earlier, even when she'd dared glimpse at him through an archangel's eyes. This was an occasion like no other, it seemed. Zara, you truly fucked up this time.
She felt the thorns burying into her back well before the pain. A scream shot out of her mouth. Zara keeled over, hoping to be rid of the pain, but the two whips were well-embedded like roots below her right and left shoulder and going down her back. Desperately, her wrists tugged against the taut chains. It would be of no use – they forced her to receive with open arms. Zara heaved large breaths, gulping volumes of air and bawling in a way she probably hadn't since she was an infant. Her sunken head bobbed up and down as she did so.
There was a long enough silence that it could have fooled her into thinking she was alone. When the immediate explosion of pain subsided into a dull throbbing ache, her dizziness became more apparent. Her crying grew to mere whimpers, resigned to fate. Warm droplets seemed to trickle down her back from where the whips had nestled on either side of her spine. She didn't want to know what it was.
She looked up. Lucifer's mad face – the real but warped one – stared back at her. Her breath was stuck in her throat. He was mere inches from her face and bore a scowl that made death desirable. His strong palm gripped her throat and held her chin up. In doing so, her torso was somewhat lifted up too. She could feel the sharp nails digging into her fragile human skin. When she blinked, her eyelashes relished in the dampness replenishing them.
"This… cannot repeat," he said as matter-of-fact through clenched teeth. She meekly nodded within the tightness of his grip. Still, his eyes refused to waver from hers. "You want something to die for, Zara? You're in the right place. So get with the program."
Stranger yet, those words were like a salve. The consolation she felt betrayed all rationality yet it was an undeniable truth. Lucifer let go. She fell to her knees clumsily. At once, the rooted whips were torn out of her back, leaving her in numbing agony.
"Black light guide you."
The whips would kiss her back again, plunging her into cycles of tenderness and pain like it was night and day. At some point she stopped screaming. Not that it didn't hurt – to the contrary, the waves of pain had become absolute. If there was a deliverance, this seemed like hers. She thought she felt Lucifer again with his cold wisps of air circling about. It was just the feeling of his all-encompassing gaze enveloping her uncovered body where nothing could be guarded. There was perhaps a slight glimpse of relief, but before she knew it, Zara exhaled a tired breath. She found herself falling from a precipice with wind billowing in her face.
Vision faded to black.
