It was agony waiting for Friday and, at the same time, it seemed to come way too fast. Dean texted Sam back Monday evening with the address and a firm time (7:30). He seemed excited, and told him again he didn't have to come unless he really wanted to. Sam would never admit it, but...part of him was glad Charlie had sent that text.
Ruby kept urging him to back out. Lucifer kept pushing for roofies, a tirejack to the back of the head, zipties, and an apartment covered in plastic sheeting. Sam wore his headphones even more than usual and talked exclusively to Charlie - and Dean.
Sam had a tough time carrying on a conversation. Lucifer loved to interrupt. He couldn't really do that with texting, though, and Dean was just so easy to talk to. He and Sam really didn't have much in common, as far as hobbies and careers and even taste in music, but that didn't seem to matter much. Sam could text him for hours about discrimination law and a person's relationship with their angel and demon and feel like he was interested the entire time. It was fun chatting with him about cars and classic rock and food, too, just because he was so enthusiastic and it came through even over the phone.
Sam definitely wasn't calm when Friday night came. But at least he'd started feeling hopeful, like at least it might turn out well. He'd come up with a plan, too.
He showered and shaved. Just his face, although Ruby and Lucifer both chattered about preparing for inevitably putting out. He blew his hair dry and styled it. He went with the last outfit he'd worn on a date: jeans, a button down, and a sport coat. After a few more preparations, ones that were even more important than all the others combined, he splurged on an Uber to Menlo Park and got to the restaurant fifteen minutes early.
"I did not tell you to do that," Ruby muttered to herself the whole time. Her tail was whipping back and forth and she was picking at the bases of her horns, something she only did when she was nervous. "This was all you. I hope you realize how much trouble you're gonna get both of us in, Sam. You asshole."
The restaurant was nice. It smelled good inside, and there were a lot of live plants. Sam told the hostess he was meeting somebody and followed her to a booth near the middle of the restaurant. While Ruby stressed quietly to herself, having figured out Sam was ignoring her, he pulled out his phone. He had a text from Charlie.
Good luck :) I know you'll do great! He's going to love you.
One corner of Sam's mouth rose. He started typing a thank-you message.
"Sam?"
Startled, he looked up. Jeans, T-shirt, jacket just barely classy enough to pass for a blazer...looked like someone had given Dean the same fashion advice Sam'd gotten. He looked exactly like his picture. Green eyes, freckles, five o'clock shadow. His voice was deep and raspy, and Sam wondered if he was a smoker even as something primal shivered deep in his stomach. Dean's angel stood stoically on his right shoulder while his demon lounged against his neck on the left, studying Sam with raised eyebrows.
A fist of tension in the middle of Sam's chest slowly loosened. He guessed he'd been a little afraid Dean wouldn't come.
"Hey," Sam said, smiling. ("Too wide," Ruby muttered, apparently back to doing her job.) "Yeah, that's me. And you're Dean, obviously."
"Yeah." Dean returned Sam's smile. He really did have great lips, Sam couldn't deny that. He slid into the booth opposite him. "Thought it was you. That, uh, hair's pretty distinctive." He gestured to his own head. "But I figured I'd better ask anyway."
Sam laughed. "It's even more distinctive right after I get up in the morning. You oughta see."
It took a second for his brain to catch up with his mouth, and realize what he'd just said, and Dean's eyebrows had already risen. Sam felt his face slowly heating up.
"That came out wrong," he said, and Dean chuckled.
"It's okay," he said. "I get what you were trying to say. I told you we'd take it slow, so...let's start with introductions." He pointed to his demon, then his angel. "You know me, but this is Crowley, and Cas."
Sam noted the nickname. He must be on good terms with his angel.
God. What would that be like?
"He's a big one, isn't he?" Crowley murmured to Dean, just loud enough for Sam to hear. He had a British accent. "Sure you can handle him?"
Dean cleared his throat and shifted, not acknowledging his demon except to growl "Cut it out" under his breath. Sam didn't say anything. It was rude to comment on someone fighting with their demon.
"This is Ruby," he said, gesturing to her. He thought for a second about what she'd look like to Dean. Tight-fitting jeans, a leather jacket over a plaid shirt. A long, slender tail tipped with a fleshy arrow and miniature Malificent horns just above her temples. Dean's was clearly a crossroads demon, with all the red; how obvious was it that Sam's was focused on temptation?
Dean nodded, then his eyes moved to Sam's right shoulder. His empty right shoulder. His eyebrows rose again.
"Yeah, I, uh, don't have an angel," Sam explained. Ruby's tail smacked into the side of his neck as it lashed anxiously.
"Seriously?" Dean asked. He didn't look put off; mostly just surprised. Sam was encouraged. "What's that like?"
"Dean, it's probably not polite to ask about it," warned Dean's angel, Castiel. His voice was even more gravelly than his bearer's.
"No, it's okay," Sam assured. "I don't mind." He'd rehearsed this the whole way to the restaurant. He was going all out. "It's not as bad as you'd think. Probably the worst part is other people's reactions."
"Ah," Dean said, wagging his finger like he'd just figured something out. "So that's why you wanna get into the kinda law you do."
"Yeah. Exactly." Sam smiled, relieved.
"I'm guessing this is the condition you mentioned," Dean said. "To be honest, wish you would've just told me right off the bat...or I would've figured it out from looking at your profile picture. Probably could've saved you a lot of stress."
"You're right," Sam agreed, mostly regretting that he hadn't thought of this earlier in the week. "I'm sorry. I just can't ever be sure what someone's gonna think, and I didn't know you very well yet. So."
"You still don't," Dean pointed out. "But let's fix that."
A waitress swung by then, apologizing for the wait. It was Friday night, so of course they were busy. Ignoring Ruby advocating for whiskey, Sam ordered a dark beer. Dean grinned at him, complimented his taste, and got the same.
Things went great for the first hour or so. The beer was excellent, cold and not too foamy, and the conversation warmed up quickly. Dean was just as easy to talk to in person as he was via text message, and Sam almost immediately noticed a trait that hadn't come through over the phone: he was funny. And he knew it, which wasn't a bad thing. He had dozens of stories about his customers and coworkers that had Sam laughing into his menu and hoping he wasn't being too loud. Dean's angel and demon seemed okay, too. He was clearly more fond of Castiel than Crowley, but he bantered easily with both of them.
It didn't start going wrong until their food was delivered.
Dean had ordered a steak, mashed potatoes on the side. After assuring him he could pay for himself, Sam had gotten a steak wrap with a side salad. Everything looked excellent.
"So where you from originally?" Dean asked, in the process of sawing his steak to pieces.
"Kansas," Sam replied.
"Hey, another Midwesterner. South Dakota, here." That didn't surprise Sam. He'd been able to hear a bit of a twang all night.
"Actually, Kansas and the Dakotas are in the Heartland," Sam corrected. Ruby wanted him to, and he went along with it, since this seemed minimally harmful. "The Midwest is closer to the Great Lakes."
Dean laughed. "Anybody ever told you you're kind of a nerd, Sam?"
His tone was light, even affectionate. Sam was two beers in and starting to feel loose and relaxed. He was enjoying himself in public for the first time in years. Smiling, he opened his mouth to answer, but the lights flickered before he could.
"Huh." Dean glanced up. "Wonder what that was."
"Power surge?" Sam suggested.
"No." Crowley had been sitting or laying on Dean's shoulder all night, but now he was standing, face hardened into a serious expression. "Something's wrong." He looked at Dean. "Get out. We were right, this was a mistake."
"Okay, I'm gonna need you to shut up. 'Cause I'm not gonna - " Dean had twisted his head in order to glare at Crowley, but suddenly he paused, a funny look crossing his face. "D'you...smell sulfur?"
"It's not me," Ruby and Crowley said at the same time.
"Maybe somebody else's demon is acting up." Sam pushed past the insecurity that Crowley's use of "we" had planted in him.
"Doesn't smell quite like a demon, though." Dean frowned. Around them, people were murmuring, noticing the scent and checking with their demons. "Actually, I think I smell burned hair, too."
"Or feathers," Ruby hissed to Sam. He swallowed, throat tacky with dryness.
"Dean," Castiel warned all of a sudden, tone low and urgent. Then the lights went out, plunging the restaurant into darkness.
There were surprised gasps all around, one almost-scream, some forced laughter. Angels, who already glowed ambiently anyway, brightened their halos, and phones came out. Castiel's wings were spread aggressively, shining like oil in his blue aura, and he'd moved closer to Dean. When Sam pulled out his own phone, he saw he had another text from Charlie, but didn't bother reading it.
He felt nauseous, and it had nothing to do with the smell of sulfur.
"Sorry, folks," the hostess called, sounding embarrassed. A large flashlight clicked on in the general area her voice was coming from. "We're gonna get this fixed as soon as possible. For now, we'll be coming around to every table with candles so you can keep enjoying your meal."
"Crap," Dean muttered, looking around. "Sorry, Sam. This has never happened before. And jeez, tonight of all nights..."
"It's okay." Sam choked out a laugh, and it sounded exactly as unnatural as he'd been afraid it would. "I mean, candles are romantic, right?"
Dean glanced at him, then focused in, concern settling onto his features. "Shit, are you okay?" Sam groaned internally. He must look as sick and anxious on the outside as he felt on the inside. "You afraid of the dark or something?"
"No, Dean." Castiel. He was looking at Sam now, too, and his eyes were the same bright, intense shade of blue as his halo. "You know I don't often say this, but Crowley's right." The demon's tail curled in a self-satisfied way. "Something's wrong."
It was probably less than a second after he'd stopped talking that there was an explosion of light and flames in the middle of their table. They didn't actually burn, but they were bright enough to hurt Sam's eyes. As he flung up his arms to shield his face, he heard Dean swear. There were shouts and screams from what sounded like the entire restaurant.
"I told you!" Ruby shrieked, latching onto Sam's ear to steady herself. Her claws dug into the sensitive skin on the back of it.
When the blinding light and roaring fire faded away, the smell of sulfur and burning feathers had gotten strong enough that Sam could hear people gagging. He slowly lowered his arms, blinking green blobs out of his vision. There was a burn mark shaped vaguely like a five-pointed star charred into the glossy wood of the table, the top point aimed directly at Sam. It was illuminated by a pulsating red glow that dimly lit most of the restaurant now. The source of the glow was standing smack-dab in the middle of the star: Lucifer, in all his glory.
His halo, glowing crimson, was shattered, the broken pieces orbiting his head in a rough circle like the remnants of a pulverized moon. It'd been like that for as long as Sam had known him. His wings were an unhealthy gray with ash and neglect, only the barest hint of blinding white showing through. Even now, he was shedding damaged, burned feathers. Under his patchy primaries, the tips of sharp, leathery, bat-like things, the color of a scab on an infected wound, peeked out. His eyes were glowing as brightly as his halo, and he grinned up at Sam with a set of sharp teeth.
"Hey, there, Sammy," he greeted. "Looks like I made it in time for your date. I'm so glad."
"Is that an angel?" Dean asked quietly. Sam felt his jaw twitch, but it wasn't him Dean was asking.
"I believe it's Sam's angel." Castiel was unnaturally calm. "Lucifer."
Lucifer turned to face Dean, wings hunched like a vulture's. Sam felt instant dread, wanted to snatch him off the table before he could say anything to him, but as hard as he tried, he couldn't make himself move.
"Hello, brother." Castiel's halo dimmed by a fraction when Lucifer addressed him. "Haven't seen you in a while...I'm gonna assume Dad gave you to another screwup, since he's just the best at everything. Including matching angels and humans." He half-turned to Sam, still smiling, and gestured grandly at him. "I mean, just look at me and Sam here. He's the most perfect fit I've ever had, and I've been with some of the best. The Baron de Rais, General Ishii, little Teddy Cowell - ooh, he was fun. Turned out great. But Sammy could probably tell you more about him than I could, even. He's obsessed with serial killers. Right?" Lucifer glanced at Sam as if for confirmation, then continued in a conspiratorial tone. "He could rattle 'em off by name and kill count right now, if you wanted. Just one of his many talents."
Out of the corner of his eye, Sam could see a waiter who'd stopped dead not far from their booth, both hands full of candles. Everyone around them was staring, apparently just as frozen as Sam was. Dean's eyes were fixed on Lucifer, green irises reflecting the red of his halo-light. He was clearly tense, jaw clenched and shoulders squared. Crowley, practically hiding behind his neck, was whispering wildly into his left ear. Castiel wasn't trying to talk to him at all, which some small, detached part of Sam found odd.
"What the hell's going on?" Dean's voice was low and quiet as he shifted his focus from Lucifer to Sam. Ruby, trembling against Sam's ear, had no suggestions. He was on his own.
"I - "
"You said you didn't have an angel."
"Dean, I - "
"He did?" Lucifer demanded, sounding incredulous. He let out a shrill, humorless laugh. "Seriously. Wow, I'm not even surprised. Do you want to hear what actually happened? What he did to me?" He raised his voice, to the point where the whole goddamn restaurant could probably make him out. "Before he came out here hoping to beg a BJ or two outta you and that luscious mouth of yours, he poured a circle of holy oil, popped me in the middle, set it on fire, and left." He turned slowly, hands spread, looking appealingly around at the other angels nearby. "All my brothers and sisters. How 'bout you tell us how bad it hurts an angel to be separated from their bearer?" None of them answered, besides whispering in their people's ears. They must have advised them to leave, given that more than one person slowly rose and started inching towards the door. "Okay, in a word: a lot. And we're not talking some bullshit emotional pain. This is actual, physical agony." Lucifer shot a poisonous glare at Sam. "When I suggested you start hurting small animals to work through all those issues of yours, I didn't mean me, Samsquatch."
Sam's hands, clasped tightly in his lap under the table, trembled. He was sucking in air, but it felt like his lungs had shrunk. Every pair of eyes on him was like a physical weight, pressing down on his skin hard enough to bruise. He was being crushed into his seat. Dean, the waitstaff, the other customers, people trying to earn a living or have a nice evening who'd had their Friday night interrupted by his very own personal nightmare...he knew what they were thinking. He could feel the way they were looking at him. Like a freak. A monster.
Twenty-five years of getting this reaction and it still hurt. Wasn't like he could blame them, though. Every single bearer of Lucifer ever recorded, from Cain all the way down, had delighted in slaughter and suffering.
What could Sam possibly say to offset hundreds of thousands of years of historical precedent?
"Run," Ruby breathed into his ear. "Get out of here."
For once, her advice was excellent. It even had the added benefit of unfreezing Sam.
"S-sorry," he stuttered. To Dean, to everyone else in the building, even to Lucifer, because this whole thing had been a colossal fuckup from the very beginning. Then he practically launched himself out of the booth and sprinted for the door, knocking over a ponytail palm in the process. The realization that he was lucky it didn't trip him flashed through his mind.
He heard a mocking laugh, then a couple of flaps, and then a pair of tiny boots landed on his shoulder right before he burst through the doors. He didn't even have to look to know it was Lucifer. Returning to him like he always had and always would.
