Title: dying to say something unanswerable
Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Sylvia Plath
Warnings: future!fic AU; disturbing
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 180
Point of view: third
Prompt: thorns
Lucifer prunes the roses himself. His servants have tried to take the task, but after a few died bloody, they let it go.
Every day, mid-morning, he spends two hours in the garden. He hums to himself, hymns and classic rock, sings a few words here and there. The moment he notices, he stops.
Sam, he'll say to the vessel. Still fighting?
Always, his vessel will snarl.
Lucifer will chuckle and look at his roses, flourishing in this new world of his making. Everything but humanity has flourished since Lucifer threw down God. All pockets of resistance have been destroyed and this world is good.
No, the vessel screams every morning. No, Dean's alive. He is!
Lucifer shushes him and hums a lullaby Dean used to sing, back before everything.
Sometimes, if it's an exceptionally beautiful morning, Lucifer will sing it to the roses. The vessel will cry, but quiet down to listen.
"Hush, little Sammy, don't say a word. Dean's gonna steal you a lightsaber sword. And that if sword don't gleam, Dean's gonna steal you a playground swing…"