1-7-28 (Like Real People Do – Hozier)
Contrary to much of the lore surrounding angels, they can feel things just like humans do. Granted it takes more to stir their feelings than it does for us – the pain must be near-lethal, the love all-consuming, the anger enraging – but they do possess emotions and all five senses.
And they can definitely feel, and express their thoughts about, a snowball to the head.
"You can run all you want dear, but you have to come inside sometime!" Lucifer taunted me from the basement door, a retaliatory wad of snow already in his fist. He was right though. I'd have to go through or around him to get back to the cabin, but both of those options held the possibility of getting ambushed. I had no backup to call - none that could make it up the icy mountain safely - and my opponent's skin was naturally frigid, so the weather didn't wear on him like it did me.
We'd been outside since lunch and the clock was drawing close to six in the evening now. A snowman guarded the front door, his crooked pebble eyes staring down the driveway. I took countless photos of the rare weather. Two snow angels decorated the hill, one with three pairs of wings and the other with boot-prints at the feet. I showed him how to make slushies with juice and a bowl full of snow; this was the first time we had enough to do all of this in one go. Usually there wasn't enough to wet the soles of my shoes and it was all gone before sunset.
Today was special though, if only because the flakes had fallen knee-deep and I somehow nailed Lucifer in the shoulder on my first throw.
It all fell apart from there. For three hours after the initial attack the woods became a playground all the way down to the waterfall cave, with us diving behind boulders and dodging through the trees. I will give him credit for not using his powers against me...but even from my hiding spot it was plainly visible that he was considering discarding chivalry.
Fine by me. I can play that game too.
"You'll have to catch me first!" I called back, and he immediately spotted me; with a flick of the wrist I knocked every bit of snow from the porch - it wasn't much, we had to sweep to get the door open - onto his head and bolted for the front door. It would take him a few moments to recover from the avalanche, so I thought I had a tiny head-start. It wasn't enough, but by the time I realized it he had already slung me over his shoulder like a caveman.
Mercy and loyalty went out the window as snow found its way past all three of my shirts and down my spine. His perpetually freezing fingers ruthlessly tickled me when they weren't trying to keep mine from returning the favor, because he knew if I got him pinned down it was over with. Truce means nothing to me when I have the upper hand...which wasn't the case in this situation, so I was more than willing to negotiate.
"If you're going to torture me..." by this time I was upside down, dangling by my ankles mere inches over a snowdrift deep enough to bury me in, "at least take me inside so I don't get sick." considering how futile it was to try and wriggle free from that position, talking my way out of it seemed like the next best thing.
But somehow it escaped my mind who I was dealing with, and Lucifer only grinned with more mischief, "If you're worried about that, you know I can just kiss it better." turning his powers against me, he snapped with his free hand and I soon found myself right side-up, wrapped around Lucifer like a kudzu vine and pinned against the support beam under the house.
"You wouldn't dare."
He very much would dare, and did, "Is that right?" his icy breath cut through my thick wool scarf like it was made of tissue paper. It was a much more pleasant chill than the biting cold of the wind and snow, but shivering kinda cut into the fun on my end, "Why wouldn't I want to do that?"
"Because," I caught him before he went in for another kiss along my throat, instead pulling him up so that our lips met, "I'm much cuddlier when I don't have pneumonia."
"Fair enough." he adjusted my position again so that he could carry me inside bridal-style, "I have a surprise for you inside anyway. I've put off giving it to you long enough..." a faint blush crept across his face, only barely discernible from the winter rosiness already there. Making his cheeks flush was a hard-to-attain feat, so him doing it to himself sent the gears in my mind a-turning. What on earth could he be up to?
"Oh, you sprout chicken feathers or something? Why've you been holding out?" my teasing got me unceremoniously dropped on the couch like a sack of smart-alec potatoes. Lucifer considered flipping the quilt down off the back to hush me but realized how short that silence would be and kept walking toward the stairs, "I'll be right back."
"I'll be in the kitchen while you work up your nerve darlin'." After my giggles subsided, and he threatened to bring our snowball battle into the house if I gave him anymore lip, I got up to shed my soaked outer layers and to start on supper. Now that he'd gotten into the habit of eating sometimes, I could cook bigger meals without having to deal with leftovers as often. Cookbooks that gathered dust in closets for years finally got some use, if only on special occasions or days we had the spare time.
Tonight felt like a spaghetti night; the recipe was one of the few positive memories from my life pre-Georgia, one of the only happy things I had connected to my blood relatives. I didn't need the book for this one, but I laid it on the counter alongside the strainer and the jar of sauce, just in case.
I didn't miss my "family" either, not the ones I left behind that night Creed's hounds came calling...they were only aching memories now, whether they were alive or dead. The Winchesters and Macleods and their angels were the ones there for holidays and awful days and the days in between. They were the ones I called with news and gossip. They were my family now, for better and worse and whatever else.
Especially the one trying to sneak up on me when he knew the floorboards creaked.
"Already in a celebratory mood I see." Lucifer dropped another kiss on my temple as a new bottle of wine clunked down on the counter next to the toast pan, "Hope I don't spoil the mood."
"With that? I think not." this wasn't the big reveal though; he wouldn't get all worked up over a bottle of fermented grapes. Something else was up his sleeve, "But my guess is this isn't all you've got in store, is it?"
"It isn't." He lifted me onto the counter so that we were eye-level, then slowly reached into one of his back pockets.
My first thought came and went as if I hadn't thought it at all. It made sense, but my brain just wouldn't register it as reality. Then I tried to remember which holiday was close enough to celebrate with gifts; Christmas and New Year's were long-gone, and Valentine's wasn't for another month. My birthday wasn't anywhere nearby, and neither was our anniversary.
"Grace Morgan Harbinger," I don't remember him ever saying my middle name before, or ever telling him what it was, but in the snow-muted cabin it sounded like a sacred incantation. Our eyes met, but I could see nearly the whole room at the same time, almost as if I were floating beside myself. This couldn't be a dream though. No dream I'd ever had of this moment was this simple or serene.
He held out a small blue-black velvet box, its lid trimmed with gold filigree. I remembered seeing it in the window of an antique store a few weeks ago when we were Christmas shopping. I remembered what lay inside, how beautifully it glistened in the cold sunlight. The band was dark pewter, almost black, until you got up close and saw the greys all melting together. The stone was as white as the flakes still melting off my boots, except for the rainbow spots that caught the fireplace's light, "you've been there for me like no one else...and I know neither of us need a ceremony or physical thing to remember that, but this feels right. I-I want everyone to know I am yours and you are mine...so...will you...marry me?"
It fit perfectly, "If you'll have me."