Sophia's Chronicles

A/N:

This chapter is supposed to take place over a number of days, so I'll not bother with actually providing dates. All the events are interposed with a dialogue and are roughly in chronological order, though we first see one half of each event and then the other half later.

Chapter 62: The Wise King

The air was still. There was only the distant chorus of souls crying out in agony from where Lucifer sat. Ah… ambience. It would have been absolutely perfect, were it not for the chains around his limbs and neck, as well as the brace around his head that gagged him too. At least he didn't have Crowley rambling on in front of him like a mosquito in his ear that you couldn't quite get rid of. In this dank and lonely cell, he devoted his thoughts to fantasizing about the best ways to get rid of Crowley. Sure, he could have him killed in an instant, but where was the fun in that? Lucifer craved for something more, something that lasted. Maybe he would crush the demon with his bare hands. Maybe he would remove his fingers, his toes and then work his way up Crowley's limbs until the idiot stopped moving. Maybe he would chain the guy to one of his Hellhounds and play fetch with them. Oh, all the possibilities!

Yet, Lucifer couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment. What then? After Crowley was dead? He would have lost his only source of entertainment. It sure would be nice to have some company down here… like the warm, comforting presence of… Snap out of it, Lucifer! She betrayed you. Lucifer sighed. At least I have you, don't I, Nick? No response from the vessel. Whatever Crowley did to Nick, it made him closed off, like he was trying to hide in a shell. Come on, dude, we're all we have. Talk to me.

L-leave… me… alone… Nick's weak voice sounded in his head. Lucifer could almost see the guy cowering in a corner somewhere in his head, rocking back and forth and quivering like a leaf. Normally, the archangel wouldn't care much. After all, it sufficed that the vessel let him in – 'let the human have what he wants in his mind so long as his body is mine to use'. But seeing as his human didn't seem to be getting his end of the bargain, the archangel grew concerned. It was bad etiquette, he thought, to not pay for a service you needed.

You know what, buddy? Let me have a look. Let me see what's gotten you so upset, Lucifer said to him. Without even waiting for further consent, the archangel plunged into his vessel's mind. What have you been up to while I was away? Layer by layer, he peeled away Nick's mind, permeating every inch, every memory. He saw everything – the depression, the loneliness, the depravity of killing. Admittedly, Lucifer was impressed. And then he stumbled upon a stunning vision of familiarity. Zara. He saw how they'd met – with Sophia apparently sending her to find Nick and unite him with his vessel. He also saw how things had turned out… differently. Lucifer narrowed his eyes, evidently irked by what he saw. You mean… I could have avoided all of this… if not for the both of you?! He clenched his fists, ready to tear into any life-form that dared approach him. Sensing this, Nick only cowered more in his own head.

I… I tried to warn her… Nick interjected. But it's my fault, really… I should have stopped her…

Oh look at you, trying to defend her. She won't be able to get your dick wet when I find her, you know, Lucifer sighed and rolled his eyes. Can't say I don't understand the impulse, though. But that doesn't get the both of you off the hook. He thought fondly of all the times he pined for Sophia's attention back in Heaven. All those times they both snuck away when no one was looking, just to get another taste of each other. How they'd found the most obscure of places to do it. How they'd done it longer than they were supposed to, often making up excuses about why they were late for one thing or another. How they'd savoured every inch of each other, how they'd become one with every moment of love-making, how they thought they would just die if they were apart a moment too long… Stop it! You're torturing yourself. Damn you, woman, for making me like this. Lucifer hurriedly distracted himself with the continued narration of Nick's memories until he reached the finale – the moment they were caught by demons.

He saw the hiccup in their escape. The moment it all went wrong. The moment Crowley found them. Lucifer saw through Nick's eyes, feeling the anxiety and tension as the human knelt on the floor with a knife to his throat, anticipating Zara to appear before him with… a pregnancy test?

Somehow, Nick was convinced from the look on her face that he was going to be a father. Oh, you tiger, you, Lucifer congratulated his vessel. But soon his voice grew grave, resembling nothing of the voice before. The archangel only cared about how it all fit together, having seen what had occurred in some small corner of the world. Something was taken from me, Nick. Something you and Zara were supposed to have given me. A price will be paid.

Don't you hurt her! Nick shouted, though his voice was but a tremble to the archangel. Don't touch her, or the baby or I'll-

You'll what? Lucifer smirked. You'll kick me out? If you haven't noticed… Lucifer rattled his chains a little. We're kind of in this together. And I never said I'd hurt the baby… unless it comes to that. So you better hope it doesn't. It almost gave him hope, thinking about what he could do with this baby. A child of unmoulded potential, coming from Zara's bloodline – it had to be useful to him somehow. Cutting off Nick's protests, the archangel studied the memory more closely. So a bunch of humans enter, grab Zara and leave. Who were these people? Where did they take her? None of the answers were clear. But there was one thing. One of the men was carrying a briefcase. It was almost unnoticeable to the ordinary eye. Unless, of course, you were one of the most powerful beings in existence. Good thing it was picked up in Nick's memory too. The human mind was capable of storing all sorts of information, only sieving out and bringing to consciousness what it thought was immediately necessary. Lucifer zoomed in on the image. There it was – an Aquarian star enclosed in a circle. He didn't know what to make of it yet, but it seemed important enough to be noticed. Further investigation was needed.


"It must really burn you, knowing I'm the one who put you in this prison. Me," Crowley preened. He'd graced the cell with his uninvited presence, right on schedule. "I own you, and I have big plans for us."

"Ooh. I'm flattered." Lucifer did a little shoulder shake, mimicking a shiver. "All this hard work, all that...grr! You get 'em, slugger!" He shook a fist, his other hand following passively due to the chains that bound them together. Then he dropped all emotion, staring the demon straight in the eyes. "I'm still gonna peel off your skin and eat your soul."

Crowley huffed, amused. "Is that so?"

"Yeah. I mean, it will be… a little bit messy, but…" Lucifer shrugged. "You know, gotta protect the rep. You understand."

"I do. But you, in- in those chains? I mean, forgive me if I'm not quaking in my Testonis." Crowley sauntered over to behind the chair so both of them were facing opposite directions.

"Oh, I think both you and I understand that this…" Lucifer jingled the chains. "It's just a temporary situation."

"Oh, do we?" The demon turned his head slightly towards the angel. "See, I understand that whatever sad little scheme that you're brewing up, I'm already 10 steps ahead."

Lucifer raised his eyebrows. "And I thought pride was my sin."

"It's not pride. It's fact," Crowley scoffed. "You cross me, I crush you. You hit me, I hit you back twice as hard. And when your Lady Love comes back – or rather if she comes back – she'll get the lovely surprise of seeing you become my bitch."

"Ah, so that's what this is really about," Lucifer stroked his stubbled chin. "What, you're trying to win her over by showing your dominance? Hate to break it to ya, pal, but she's a harder catch than that. Take it from a guy who spent millions of years courting her."

"Hm. As much as I'd like to become her new baby daddy to spite you, I have an entirely different plan for her," Crowley mused. "And don't worry. You're still the centre of my attention."

"Oh you do know how to sweet-talk a man, Mr Crowley," Lucifer exhaled flirtatiously, fanning himself with a hand. "You know, clarify one thing for me. What actually makes you think you're fit for my throne?"

"Because, I'm clearly a better King than you will ever be. And I'm certainly better than Queen Sophia," Crowley stated.

"Queen Sophia…" Lucifer repeated under his breath. "Has such a great ring to it, don't ya think?"

Ignoring that, Crowley continued, "First of all, I'm innovative. None of that fire-and-brimstone crap is effective anymore. A good King has to get with the times. I can say with a fair bit of certainty that Hell has become that much more intolerable after I changed the whole format."

"If I can't make her a queen, I could at least make my son a prince," Lucifer continued to mutter softly, thinking about all the things he wished to impart to his young one.

"Secondly, I'm just. And by that I mean I crush my enemies. Other than the shining example of you, I've been proactive… taking action to destroy anyone who's ever stood in the way of my greatness," he said, delightfully remembering one of his recent orders.

The sun had been blaring down on the metal junkyard of the Singer Salvage Yard. It was quiet without a soul in sight. That being the difference between life and death. Sam and Dean crept between two lines of rusty, beat-down cars, keeping as silent as they could. Cautiously, Dean risked a peek through the windowless gap of a car door. There were too many of them. Too many demons. If it wasn't for the persistent feeling at the back of his chest that something just wasn't right that day, he and his brother could have been sitting ducks while the demons surrounded the house on all sides. Luckily, they'd gotten out through the back door just in time to avoid being spotted by the black-eyed suckers. There looked to be at least a dozen of them, heavily-armed. Within no time, they'd all switched to search mode and panned out to look for the boys. There was no way two Winchesters could take on that many demons, especially in a close-range distance without any of their weapons. The Impala was their best bet. Unfortunately, some of the demons thought so too. Some of them patrolled the yard, keeping an eye on the car.

"I know how we can weed them out," one demon maliciously posited. Sinister smiles exchanged, the demon disappeared and reappeared with something large strapped to his back. While the boys took the opportunity to inch away further from the house and closer to the car, the demon pointed something connected to a large cylinder on his back towards the house as he went inside. Then the air fell still again. Sam didn't know what to expect. But he only knew that whatever happened next, he'd have to get revenge on Crowley. For what he did to their home. Smoke filled the air, piling out of every window, every hole in the building. The flames glinted off Dean's emerald eyes as he watched in horror. Had they been a moment too late… Out of the fire emerged the demon with the flamethrower, now surveying the yard with an infernal carpet. As they watched the house erupt in fire, they couldn't help but feel a stab of loss at everything that was being taken from them right before their eyes. Bobby's possessions which they consulted in times of need, their memories of what they called a family, their home… All that was left was a strange sense of disambiguation.

But there was no time to grieve. The troop of demons fanned out, sparing no inch of the yard. Time to move. The boys kept low, looking about themselves every now and then to keep out of sight. Once they neared the garage where the Impala was, they needed a new plan. It had to be a rather simple one, considering they didn't have a lot of options. Hefting a spare metal piece from a nearby car, Sam swung his arm, hurling the object at another car far away. A loud clank sounded, distracting the demons. They approached the noise, eager to investigate the possibility of curtailing the two Winchesters before they could escape. Seizing the chance, the boys made a break for the car, practically jumping into their seats. That certainly drew the demons' attention and they started hissing and yelling at the car. Amidst all the ruckus, Dean managed to start the car and jam the pedal, taking off against all odds. As soon as they were on the open road, far from the frenzy of the Hell mooks, they finally heaved a sigh of relief. Yet they were both rightly shaken, the future seeming more uncertain than ever. They had both been so, so wrong in underestimating the danger that they were in. Something had to be done about it.

"Thirdly, I know how to secure allies in the right places," Crowley carried on, listing out his successes as King. "After all, you can only make peace with your enemies and war isn't always the most profitable way to deal with them. Throw 'em a little bait from time to time and they'll give you the world."

"So you say…" Lucifer mildly disagreed, becoming disenchanted with the conversation already. He thought it a good way to get his bearings; see what Crowley had been up to in case any opportunities. But all this gloating and self-praise was still bile-inducing.

Castiel sipped on a cup of coffee, studying the red and white aesthetic of this Biggerson's with a bored curiosity. This was his current safe haven. He'd been successful so far, staying out of radar. He just had to avoid them long enough. But for how long? Until what? What was he supposed to do with the tablet? Castiel shook his head as though to snap himself out of it. We can worry about that later, he thought to himself. First things first.

"Sorry, mister, but you're gonna have to order more than just coffee if you wanna keep the table," a bubbly young lady told him. Castiel regarded her for a moment – this innocent young human. It reminded him of why he did what he did. To protect them. This infant species that was just beginning to live up to its true potential now that it didn't have its fate sealed by a death-match between two archangels. For all of humanity, and indeed for this dutiful young woman, Castiel would stay strong. Do whatever needed to be done to protect the tablet.

"Of- Of course," he glanced at the menu, picking out the first option that his eyes laid rest on. "I'll have the smart-heart beer-battered tempura tempters."

"Of course, coming right up," she smiled positively at him again before heading off into the kitchen.

Castiel glanced at the clock. It was time. He flew away, teleporting to another branch of Biggerson's. By now he'd memorised the location of every single one of them, switching his position among them in such a periodic manner that his teleportation was practically instantaneous and required little focus. The faster he moved, the more he appeared to be in the same position. It was almost like a flipbook with drawings on each page that moved like a small movie when you flipped the pages fast from front to back. For an angel of his calibre, achieving quantum superposition was easy enough. What must have been challenging was actually coming up with the idea. But ever since he'd touched the tablet, breaking Naomi's spell over him, Castiel felt reinvigorated. He felt feelings he didn't quite recall feeling before. All this creativity, this wealth of perspective flowing through him – it seemed so unheard of for the typical angel. Was it the tablet feeding information to him? Or was it simply that he had been reset to factory settings? So this… this is what being an angel truly felt like…

"You… you have to stop…" a female voice begged him, drained of energy. Castiel stopped abruptly, retaining his seat. His eyes, fixed on the table, were captured by the smear of blood on his cup of coffee. That's when the smell of burnt human flesh and spilt blood reached his keen senses. Horrified, he looked away, coming face to face with his former waitress who was hanging onto dear life on the floor. She was one among several decimated human corpses. She was the only one still breathing. She quivered in fear, helplessly moaning in pain, though it had to be some relief that her eyes were so badly charred that she couldn't witness the sheer brutality of the scene before her. "They said you have to stop…"

"No…" Castiel sighed, filled with remorse. His anguished eyes welled up with sympathy for her.

"Just stop… you have to stop…" she kept repeating it like a mantra.

Castiel reached out two fingers, desiring to heal her and put her out of her pain. The feeling of cold metal rested against his throat. He froze, a sense of impending doom washing over him.

"You have to stop… they said you have to stop-" A snap of fingers sounded. Just like that, the woman's head twisted at an odd angle and she just fell limp on the floor, dead and silent.

"Can't hear myself think," the unmistakable voice of Naomi could be heard.

"Making your allies happy means they'll make you happy," Crowley explained to the bored archangel, who simply yawned and took an interest in his nails. "Last but certainly not the least, I know how to be opportunistic. And opportunism is a strange thing – you may have to let down some people to give someone else what they want. It's all about knowing which allies are more important – which ones can give you what you truly desire. A tough decision for most, I'm sure, but I know I have my priorities straight."

It was a cloudy day in Britain. One moment, the sky was white and the next, visible dots appeared and grew larger. A sniper sat on the roof, aiming his rifle upwards to take a closer look at the disturbance. His breath grew rapid. It looked like… people were descending from the sky. If it hadn't been for his training with the Men of Letters, he would have done something stupid like shoot bullets at the angels. Instead, he ran into the building and used the emergency telephone. "This is Muller, reporting a code 15. Hostiles approaching. About twenty of them. Angels!" he desperately yelled into the receiver. Cutting the call, he smashed the glass of the alarm, casting the whole building into a state of alert.

The angels took their time, so self-assured that nothing could be done to stop them. With the bond of temporary cooperation towards a shared goal, Naomi and Raziel rallied their supporters. Taking position, the small army of angels – consisting of a trusted few on both their sides to make up a force of about two dozen strong – channelled the power of Heaven, harnessing it into a ball of light in their hands. Inside the building, the Men of Letters rushed about, preparing for the incoming attack. They armed themselves with all they could find. Though they were somewhat prepared to take on angels, none of them had actually fought one. In fact, they only had a rudimentary understanding offered to them by the two angels they had bound and trapped within the facility, courtesy of the King of Hell. Their research had gone so well, revealing so much insight about the ways angels worked and what happened to their vessels. The same enthusiasm could not be shared by Sarah and Marcus, the two missing angels who were chained on all their limbs, left hanging in the centre of laboratories designed to contain them.

Anxiously, a blond woman looked out of a window at the sky. The angels were still, ominously maintaining a circular formation and still far enough away that they could not be hit by anything or even banished by a sigil. The woman, trembling, reached for her phone and composed a goodbye text to her husband, a man who she'd only known through the organisation she worked for. He, just like her, worked on an important operation except he was stationed in the US – he was helping out with the investigation of the archangel vessel. "I love you, Tom," the message ended and she hit send.

Meanwhile, the head of the facility – an aged man with a fit physique but salt-and-pepper hair – hastily composed a distress message to the home office in London. He requested everything they had – armies, weapons, anything. They were desperate. All their machines were going crazy in lieu of the crazy electromagnetic field being generated. The earth shook, knocking the humans off their feet. They could barely hold their balance and in all the rumble, anything could happen. Glass broke and instruments short-wired, sending sparks flying. These moments were short. No peace lasted long enough for thought. And then, thunder chorused in one deafening wave. Up in the sky, the angels united their efforts and sent it all down in one protracted blast. A mighty smiting. They sent it straight down the centre of the building, annihilating any magical protection that might have been afforded to it by the work of the Men of Letters. Every single living thing in the immediate radius burned to a crisp. There was no mercy for violating the servants of Heaven in such a manner, no matter the reason – especially so if it was to steal the secrets of angels and Heaven. Secrets that were not for any human to learn.


"So you see," Crowley had a triumphant glint in his deep brown eyes. "With the right insight and control over the right people, I've become practically invincible. Don't need wings, don't need Daddy Issues. Just little old me to rule the world."

"Hm. I'll give you props, kid. You got ambition. That's more than what most have," Lucifer's lips curved up into a sympathetic smile, the kind you give a toddler who drew something utterly hideous but still sort of resembled what they were aiming for anyway. "And innovation? Fine, creativity does make things interesting. After all, you can't spend an eternity just churning out the same old…" He waved a hand dismissively. "But I can't say I agree with you on all that. See, here's the fundamental difference between you and me: ruling… it comes naturally to me. I don't need all these compromises, all these… uncontrolled variables to get me to where I want. I just take it! Or rather, the world bends over for me." He laughed despite himself. "Who cares about war and peace? It's all about enjoying myself. I mean, now that Michael's in the cage, Raphael and Gabriel are dead… the world is my canvas!"

Crowley smirked. "And as long as you believe that wholeheartedly, I'll always be ahead of you. My plans… they're all set in motion, turning like cogs in a machine. So maybe I should thank you… for being the embodiment of pride as you are," he said self-assuredly.

"It's not pride, Crowley, it's a fact. Let me tell you what I know," Lucifer laced his fingers together. "There is only one force in the world that matters – power. Might. Majesty. Power is currency. And being the most powerful player on the board right now, I am destined to reap the fruits of this world. Which I fully intend to do, especially now that I'm a family man. Gotta bring in the bread, if you know what I mean."

"You still don't get it do you?" Crowley's eyebrows crinkled in a mixture of frustration and bewilderment. "You've already lost. You've lost support as King, you've lost your family and most importantly, you've lost freedom. Maybe you're still in denial, Lucifer, but let me be the one to assure you: You've lost!"

"And you don't seem to be getting what I'm saying," Lucifer rolled his eyes and pulled a hand down his face. "I don't know how to make it clearer to you, you poor, doomed little thing. Maybe I should use simpler words. Ah, think about the stars." The archangel used a more dramatic voice, impersonating a new-age spiritualist. "The stars are aligning in my favour. I can feel it. And sadly, that only brings in bad luck for you. I mean, whatever plans you have, from what you've been telling me, it sounds like you're putting a little too much faith in other people. These people you call your… allies…"

Scouring through the wreckage, the angels found their missing brethren lying under a pile of rubble. Sarah and Marcus were barely breathing, having been also struck by the smiting. But they persisted, the shallow up-and-down of their chests indicating that they'd held on long enough to be found alive. Naomi gave Raziel a knowing look and they both exchanged a nod.

"Shemsiel, take the others and go look for their hard drives," Raziel ordered his team.

"But-" Shemsiel meant to protest, not trusting at all the fate of these two angels at Naomi's hands after learning what happened to Samandriel.

"Now, go," Raziel insisted, shooting a non-negotiable glare at the angel. Seeing them go off, Raziel cursorily glanced at Naomi, who was in turn expecting Raziel to leave too. This was part of the agreement. When Naomi came in with news that she knew where the missing angels had been held, they'd struck a deal that they'd embark on the operation together, with Naomi 'taking care' of the angels while Raziel destroyed the information the Men of Letters had collected. A proper division of labour, like they were always meant to have with each of them doing what they were supposed to do. With another nod, Raziel went off to join his team. Just as Naomi fully intended to do what Raziel wouldn't approve of behind his back, Raziel had the same intention.

As soon as Raziel was out of sight, Naomi performed her justice, executing the two angels like she had Samandriel. And as soon as Raziel was far enough away from Naomi, he gathered all the hard drives and instead of destroying them like he was supposed to, he stowed them away in his office for later investigation. That night, the five knowledge keepers combed through the hard drives, taking note of what was revealed to the Men of Letters in their investigation. And that was when they hit jackpot. There were a few references to something taking place in the US. Something you would only notice if you knew what you were looking for. One thread of memos, dated from December of the previous year to January of the current year, read:

"Being an angel-specific vessel, the subject shows a greater resonance than the vessels that are currently being studied in Britain – we may be able to isolate the specific frequency of the archangel Sophia, which has implications for location devices… Subject appears to be susceptible to rationalising pressures though she still suffers from delirium induced by the long-term occupation of an archangel… A permanent mark in the psychology and electromagnetic output of the subject inflicted by the archangel appears to be making her resistant to rehabilitation… Initiate high-stress treatment but consult with laboratories in Britain as to what standard measurements are to be taken."

As the angels read on, various expressions of horror filled their faces as they found small little details of experiments they did. But really, it was the last update that chilled them to the bone: "We no longer require the 'safe' tests. Subject is no longer pregnant. Requesting new medical consultant since the last one decided the life of an unstable prisoner was more important than the fate of the whole world."

To that, the reply was: "Finally. We thought you lot would never get on with it. Will forward your request to the higher-ups."

"Oh my God," Pahaliah gasped from her position among the others behind Raziel as they read from his laptop screen. "This is vile."

"It is," Raziel agreed, eyes glued to the screen. "We can't ever let Naomi get close to her. Not in this state."

"Allies… they always have their own agenda," Lucifer remarked. "It really is a fine line that separates your allies and your enemies, don't ya think?" For a moment, Crowley thought of the botched Quartum operation with Naomi and then immediately dismissed the thought from his head, as if considering that as evidence would mean he assented to what the archangel said. "And sometimes… sometimes they're just careless. You give them an opportunity, and they find some way to muck that up. Even worse, their mistakes could affect another part of your plan! Your perfect web of influence in the world, controlling every part of it… just torn apart because someone wasn't paying attention. You know what they say: if you want something done, do it yourself."

Naomi stood impatiently in front of Castiel, arms crossed as her henchman Ion searched all the Biggerson's. When he came back with nothing, she stared daggers at the guilty angel sitting before her. "Why? Why are you doing this?" she asked, somewhat flustered. "Let us put the tablet where it should be."

"I need to protect it," Castiel muttered, jaw clenched as he returned the iron gaze.

"From the angels?"

"From all of us," he answered truthfully.

"I'm just going to have to pull you apart, aren't I?" Naomi wondered.

As she made to approach him, Castiel panicked, his defensive instincts flaring up. In that moment, he felt a fire burning within him, fed by the very blaze of fear and panic that overwhelmed him. A bright flash of light erupted, blinding even the angels. Disoriented, Naomi covered her eyes and stumbled backwards. The next moment, everything was silent again. And Castiel – gone. It was the tablet, responding to his need to get away. He felt himself being pulled away, launched through space until he finally landed on solid ground. He'd escaped. For now.

"And my point on power is more important than you think," Lucifer continued, holding Crowley's cynical attention. "There are things in this world… things of unimaginable power that can stand in your way. The only way to deal with them is by being more powerful than they are and making them yours to possess and use. Same thing with allies. The only way that works out is if they're your slaves. Following your orders unquestioningly and in fear of you. Without that… it's only a matter of time."

"I think I've got the enslaving part down," Crowley eyed Lucifer's chains up and down.

"Oh I'm not your slave," Lucifer clarified, narrowing his killer gaze on the demon. "I'm a storm waiting to be unleashed."

"I'll make you watch, you know. As I conquer the world. I'll prove you wrong. Remember the last time all of Hell saw you? On that bridge in Duluth? How none of them stepped forward to help you? That's just a prelude of what's to come," Crowley warned.

"About that," Lucifer raised a finger. "I've been thinking about that a lot. I mean, there's no way all those demons were going to listen to you but they did anyway. How'd you do it?" He was genuinely curious. But on top of that, if he could get Crowley talking about it, he could find a way to break his hold over the demons. "It can't have been your charisma because… you were standing next to me… I mean… self-explanatory," he shrugged. "Ooh, was it that broad you had with you? The witch? Did she help you put them under a spell?" Lucifer slowly nodded, the pieces falling into place. "But for a spell to work on demons, it would need something to give it that extra push… like a potion or a drug. Which is it?"

The longer Crowley hesitated, the longer he realised he was confirming Lucifer's suspicions. Better to be out with it, then. Not like it mattered now, with everything that had transpired since then. "Quartum," he answered.

"Ah, the opiate of the masses," Lucifer recognised. "Can't say I haven't tried my fair share of… substances. Sophia and I just couldn't help ourselves, especially with the old green stuff. You know, the uh- the catnip… mary jane…" Crowley rolled his eyes. "Weed. I'm talking about weed. Don't tell my Dad." He giggled at the memory. "But Quartum? Wow. That stuff was strong. And you got it from Heaven? The angels mustn't have been too happy about that."

"No, they weren't. But that's why having allies helps," Crowley rebutted.

"And how'd that work for you, huh? I'm surprised you haven't tried giving me some. Could knock me right out of this plane of existence," Lucifer smirked. "Unless, of course, you don't have any. What happened? Did something go wrong?"

"Like I'd reveal details of my operations to you," Crowley shot back.

"Tsk tsk," Lucifer shook his head once. "See, I told you, it's only a matter of time. And time…" He drummed two fingers against his jaw. "Time is such a strange thing. Time irons out all the wrinkles. Time… favours those who've been patient. And me… I've been waiting a long time."

In a motel room, the Winchesters were getting ready to start the day. Sam was fixing his hair. Dean was tying his shoelaces. The week had been slow, without a case in sight. Considering they'd been so focussed on staying out of sight of demons and keeping their heads on their shoulders, a case would have been a fine distraction. Finally tired of waiting, they decided to take a much-needed break. But the universe had different plans for them. Thud! A men fell out of a closet, snapping them both into defensive positions. "Which of you is John Winchester?" the stranger demanded.

"As if that entitles you to anything," Crowley mocked. "Last time I heard, the universe doesn't give out freebies."

"Who said anything about free?" Lucifer raised an eyebrow. "Nothing is ever free. I'll only reap what I've sown." Crowley scrutinised the self-possessed angel. What was it that made him so confident? Ultimately, however, it didn't matter. Crowley had planned for all sorts of contingencies. There was no way Lucifer would escape. And then his phone rang. "Phone," Lucifer pointed out.

Walking over to the back of the cell, Crowley answered the phone. Some desperate rambling sounded from the other end of the line. "Wait, wait, what? Come again?" Crowley looked positively befuddled.

"Sir, it's Abaddon. Knight of Hell. She's been spotted," the informant told him. A small smile crept across Lucifer's face.

"Get the others. I'll be there," Crowley ended the call.

"Trouble in paradise?" Lucifer asked, wiping away that malicious smile in favour of feigned concern.

"As much as I'd love to carry on this fascinating conversation, I have business to attend to." Crowley picked up the bridle and held it open to get it on the archangel.

"Don't be long now," Lucifer managed to say before Crowley locked the brace around his head, muffling his speech with the metal gag. Abaddon, huh?


British Men of Letters Temporary HQ – 12 February 2012, Some time…

This was far worse. Far, far worse. There was nothing but blackness. It felt like the nothingness was moving. But how could that be? It's… nothing. Weird amorphous forms seemed to spawn from the walls – again, what walls? First it was fingertips. Then a palm. Then a hand jutting out. Zara breathed rapidly. What the hell was she seeing? There was no one here. Her skin felt warm, like there was a burning sensation just underneath. She herself felt light, floating in space. This was the furthest she'd gone. The most vivid of her experiences in the tank. It was almost like she was in another realm, another universe, altogether. Though she couldn't quite place where she was, she felt like she should know it.

An arm emerged from the hand. A shoulder emerged from the arm. Then a torso, legs and a head. Zara gasped. There were things she wanted to say – an exclamation, maybe. Or just a simple "What the actual fuck is going on?". But her mind was eerily blank. And her mouth… it felt sealed shut. Just like every other sense. No sound, no sensation – just this astral hallucination. The person-thing took notice of her. It had no eyes – or any other facial features, for that matter – but Zara just knew that it was looking at her. If she could feel something, she knew the appropriate sensation would be the hairs standing on ends all over her body. Her chest felt tight. She backed away. But the thing only moved closer. It took small, measured steps, stopping whenever she did. An incision of sorts opened on its face and a weird static noise came out. As Zara concentrated, frozen in her step, she realised that the thing was speaking to her.

"You're…" the thing began. Its voice drawled, sounding sharp yet smooth like some sort of snake. "… a… long…" Zara squinted, focusing really hard. This thing was giving her a message? "…way… from… home…" She frowned. Where the hell was she? "… Zara…"

Zara screamed but she couldn't hear her own voice. She thought she felt air being expelled from her lungs but why was there no sound? Try as she might, the stretch in her vocal chords produced no communication of panic. And that was an even greater source of panic. A sudden jolt pulled her away. Things were pulled off of her. She gasped, gulping large volumes of fresh air. Her eyes widened so much they worried her eyeballs would fall out of their sockets. Her voice was raspy as she uttered noises, surprised that she could say or hear anything at all. Even sight was confusing. Her sense of self was confusing. This realm had a completely different feel to it. The other one… felt easy. Wait, no, that sounded weird. Easy? What did I mean, easy? Self-awareness returned to her like a spirit possessing her. Zara's head swivelled and she recognised the long cylindrical tank below the metal-grated floor. Sensory deprivation, right. That must have been the longest she'd ever been in there.

"What did you see in there?" Toni stood over her. For a moment, Zara almost didn't recognise her. It took her a few seconds for everything to come back to her. Someone wrapped a towel around her.

"I-" She was cut off before she could finish her sentence. Every muscle in her body tensed up at once. Like being rudely ejected from the driver's seat, her muscles had a life of their own, relaxing all of a sudden in an instantaneous cool wave. Then they tensed again, clenching so tightly she feared that she might implode if she could string a coherent thought in her head. They cooled again. This went on for what felt like forever – this cycle of tensing and relaxing. Zara couldn't feel herself anymore – not just her body but her self. Can't. Control. Anything. There were no words to describe the panic of feeling imprisoned in your own body. It was a strange feeling to say the least – knowing that there are all these subjective experiences but having no way of connecting all of them to yourself as the experiencer. The research staff backed away, allowing her body to convulse freely. After all, it was dangerous to get in the way of someone experiencing a seizure.

Toni watched in a mixture of curiosity and sympathy. Things had escalated so quickly. There had been little time for her to think. Really think about what she was doing. She wasn't a cold-hearted monster, that much she knew. Or so she kept telling herself. She had a son waiting for her back home. A son she hadn't spoke to in nearly two weeks. A son she missed dearly. But work had to come first. Now everyone back at Headquarters was more eager than before, waiting for more "serious" results. How could they be so… cold? She'd just witnessed a woman miscarry under her own supervision. Guilt gnawed at her. But it wasn't her fault. Again, something she kept telling herself to sleep at night. It wasn't just her tests. Someone up high wanted this to happen. It wasn't an official order – no, that was unethical – but it had been implied in some way or another that this abortion was desired and necessary. It was also why it was so easy to cover up Dr Berg's death – someone didn't mind losing an esteemed member of the Men of Letters, so long as it got them unimpeded access to the knowledge minefield that was Zara Joshi's mind.

Unfortunate things happen. It's part of the job, she told herself as she waited for the new medical consultant to come in with the seizure meds. Zara's face was pale, pigment lost from months without sunlight. But there was something about her in that moment. Toni looked more closely, daring to approach her side. Her eyes… the brown was fading. Little by little, the colour seemed to be lost. Until it suddenly transitioned to a bright green. No ordinary green too – a glowing, celestial green. Her irises pulsed between this colour and her normal brown like some kind of alarm. That's weird… Toni was captivated. She'd never seen anything like it before. Something strange was going on. Something strange and new. It felt weird to be on the cusp of a great discovery yet fear for its eventual coming. What frightening secrets of the universe lay beyond Zara's foreign eyes?

Watching all of this from afar was Tom. He stood, unmoving, behind a glass window of the control room. His jaw clenched and he gulped. Things were getting… difficult for him as well. He tried to put the thought out of his mind. The sadness was becoming too much. But everyone knows that the more you try not think of something, the more you actually do. His fingers trembled, hesitating as they paused mid-way to his pocket. Then, relenting to the pressure, he fished out his phone. The muscles on his face twitched, threatening to make him sob like he had been for several nights now. A few button clicks later, he was back on the screen, reading the same text again for the hundredth time. A goodbye text from Laura. A final farewell before she was slaughtered. Mercilessly burnt to a crisp. His wife, wiped off the planet like dust swept away by the wind.

All that was left for him to do was think. Think and work and cry. There was no respite for him other than this. And in all his contemplation, the one thought that kept returning to him was contagion. Sadness, ill-luck, loss of sensation, what have you – it seemed to spread like a disease. Zara's fate – her desperate, pained aura – was affecting all of them. Like some kind of Butterfly Effect, her experiences had made this happen. An angel's vessel crying out in pain. Did the universe hear her? Through all this warding? Tom almost huffed. Now it seemed almost ridiculous to him that a bunch of man-made drawings on cement could actually keep cosmic order from operating. Yet he had believed it for so long, just like his colleagues. That they, as humans, could learn something from the divine. That they could interact with it. That they could control it.

That girl right there – the one who stopped moving when Dr Williams jabbed a syringe into her neck – was somehow tied to it all. And it wasn't her fault. He could see that much. Doing all these things to her, pushing her to the limits of human sanity… the universe didn't like that. The universe was fighting back. His wife died because the universe fought back. This wasn't right. But what could he do about it? Tom clenched his fist. The Men of Letters took a massive gamble with Zara and he paid for it. What he felt right then was an ambiguous amalgamation of anger and helplessness. Heaving a deep, dense breath, Tom left the room, preparing to go on a Chupacabra hunt to clear his head.


An uncertain 'click' sounded. Lucifer perked up, awaiting the entrance of his soon-to-be demon punching bag. But the slow, cautious opening of the door indicated otherwise. The door was now fully open, revealing two gaping demons who were most definitely not Crowley. Their eyes widened, their jaw permanently dropped as they beheld the sight before them. Bingo, opportunity. "Hi guys," Lucifer waved, though his voice was muffled by the gag.

"My Lord," the demon named Tommy greeted, falling to his knees immediately. "I'm not worthy."

"Hm." Lucifer was unamused. He was expecting more of uhm… getting out of these chains as quickly as possible.

"We knew it," Lionel, the darker demon, proclaimed proudly. "We knew Crowley was up to something!"

"Mmvhmmvv," Lucifer nodded, eager to get on with it.

"I mean, the way he was acting?" Lionel elaborated with a confidence that Lucifer already found annoying. "And how he snuffed out everyone who was part of the Cage project? Except for his little porcelain doll witch, of course."

"Uhvvff-huungghh," Lucifer continued to nod and garble, gesturing for them to get his cuffs off.

"And a lot of us really don't like Crowley. It used to be that we could agree with him on everything, which… felt kinda weird to be honest," Lionel continued. Lucifer sighed, rolling his eyes. "Then it just felt like our support for him wore off. Like cheap perfume. Now we know we don't like Crowley. He's very prancy."

"Uh-huh," Lucifer widened his eyes in demanding anticipation. Worthless minions of my making…

"And then someone spotted Abaddon," Tommy reported enthusiastically, his eyes lighting up with hope. "A Knight of Hell, here, in our time? It was the perfect distraction for us to see what he was hiding."

Lucifer nodded in assent. Yes, yes, that's good and all. Moving on…

"We hoped… We knew it could only be you," Tommy said, opal eyes almost sparkling, if that was possible.

"And we brought this," Lionel brandished a ring of keys from his pocket.

Lucifer's expression lit up upon seeing the jingling metal. "Gvvff vveee auvvff hergghe," he continued his garbled attempt at speech, again holding out his wrists for them to do as they were bid.

"But before we uh- before we let you out, we have a few… well, I wouldn't call them demands exactly," Lionel half-tilted his head.

"Hmmvvff?" Lucifer frowned.

"I want jurisdiction over an American city of my choosing," Lionel began, straightening his tie. "To do as I please, of course. Then I want a troop of bodyguards and servants. After all, holding my presence as demon-in-charge of a whole city will have its challenges. Oh, and lastly, you will grant me a thousand souls per year and you will anoint me…" the demon snickered in excitement. "… the new King of the Crossroads."

Lucifer nodded passively, his bored eyes threatening to roll into the back of his head.

"Great," the demon gave him a toothy grin. He then turned to his friend. "Hey, Tommy, you want anything?"

"The only thing I care about is making Hell great again," Tommy said with as sincere a tone as possible. He even maintained a respectful stance, keeping one palm over the back of his other hand as he stood.

Lucifer chuckled through his gag, pointing and showing support for the demon's sentiment.

A momentary confusion eclipsed Lionel's face but soon dispelled. "Alright, let's do this," he announced. With a nimble work of the fingers, the shackles soon came off. "There we go, my Lord."

With a relieved grin, Lucifer got up and stretched his limbs. "Oh- Ohh, that feels so good," he moaned as a cool wave of energy spread through him. Finally. Then, he did what had to be done. His hand seized Lionel's neck, pulling him so close that the demon could feel the frustration seeping off the archangel.

"We- we had a deal!" Lionel protested, eyes wide with shock and fear.

"Did we?" Lucifer mocked a sympathetic expression. With a snap of his fingers, there was a poof and that was it. The demon was gone in a cloud of dissolving black smoke. Dropping all emotion, he turned to the other demon. "Sorry, kid, you understand, right? No witnesses or anything?"

The demon bowed his head and approached the archangel, zealously awaiting his sentence. "Yes, take me. Oh Fallen One, my life is yours to devour!"

Lucifer paused, almost grimacing. "See, now you just made it weird." But the demon didn't seem to pick up on his discomfort. "But wait." A new thought occurred to him. "I may have a job for you."


Crowley's shoulders were light as a feather as he made his way back to the throne room. All that worrying was for nothing. The Winchesters had taken care of it, as usual. For all their flaws, he had to hand it to the Hardy Boys for taking care of a mutual problem. And this wasn't the first time Crowley had them doing his bidding either. They always seemed to fall for it from time to time. Maybe it wasn't such a bad thing that his idiot goons missed their first and best opportunity to get rid of the Winchesters. Still, they were a recurring problem and had to go. Smirking, the demon King pushed open the doors, awaiting a moment of peace on his throne. He froze in his step, narrowing his eyes at the lone intruder. There, casually sitting with a leg slung over an armrest was none other than the Dark Prince himself. Cautiously, Crowley dared approach the archangel with small steps.

A satisfied grin on his face, Lucifer promptly sprung to his feet and stepped forward to face his adversary with a self-assured bounce in his step. "Now, what was that you were saying about always being two steps ahead?" he challenged. His eyes regarded the demon briefly before he swung an arm at Crowley, sending him reeling backwards. Lucifer let out a deep, bellowing laugh as he displayed his large, magnificent wings. His arms extended outwards majestically as he felt the power rising within him and emitting a powerful glow that lit up the whole room. "Buh-bye, Crowley."

From his submissive position on the stone floor, Crowley's face contorted with fear, only feeding into Lucifer's enjoyment of the moment. But just then, like a flip of the switch, he dropped all emotion with nothing but a crooked smile curling his lips up on one side. "That's not what I said," he spat out through a bleeding lip. His face radiated with pain where he'd been struck but the mere anticipation of what was to come made him savour it. After all, it would be the last real show of power this arrogant prick would have for himself. Crowley snapped his fingers. Lucifer's glow cut off abruptly, hurling darkness back into the room.

"Huh? What the-" Lucifer reached at his back, suddenly conscious of the loss of his wings. Where'd they go? Try as he might, he couldn't summon them back out of his body. A small tingle of concern arose at the back of his mind. His wings… they were a part of him that he was supposed to be able to control.

Crowley pulled himself onto his feet, dusting off his coat. "I'm glad you had a little taste of freedom. What I said was, I'm always 10 steps ahead," he clarified. "I said you cross me, I crush you. You hit me…" Crowley snapped his fingers again. A 'crack' was audible and Lucifer doubled over, groaning in agony. What the hell is this? "… I hit you back twice as hard." Again, with another snap of Crowley's fingers, Lucifer was thrown into another fit of pain, coming from his ribs this time. Seething, the archangel glared at the demon through fury. Oh this is too much. I'm coming for you, bastard. I'll make you feel pain in every way I know how to inflict it. And that is a lot. "That chain around your neck?" Crowley continued, walking around the archangel towards the throne. "That was nothing. A stylish accessory. This vessel… That's your true prison. It's been warded with runes and spellwork from the Cage, carved into every molecule. In there? I own you." The demon sighed, chest relaxing with satisfaction. "I'm just getting started. So… I'm gonna put you back in your hole, and then I'm gonna destroy your mind inch by inch until you're nothing but a drooling mess. A shadow of your former self. And then? I'm still just getting started."


A/N:

Whew, I hope that was easy to follow. Episodes featured: As Time Goes By, The Great Escapist, Somewhere Between Heaven and Hell. This may seem like a lot of repetition, but it's an important set up for the next major arc to come. Hope you'll bear with me until all Hell breaks loose!