Replace my heart with a machine
I left my body in the street
So none of you can ever hurt me, hurt me
Repair my head so I can think
About the way you treated me
So none of you can ever hurt me
"A.I." by Palisades
A/N: Hey everyone. I'm infinitely sorry how belated this update is. You guys are amazing for sticking with me. I had some family drama, school got rough, and so on so forth. But I bring good news too–my game studio has finished a prototype, and I'm in a book coming out next month!
...aaand season nine. SEASON NINE.
Cheers,
chaoswalking
They liked to tell him lies, to pass the time. When they opened his door to let in a column of dusty lemon light in the morning, and when they shoved his meal into the room.
"He's dead, Winchester," was a popular opinion.
"Your brother's already been caught," was second on the list.
Dean did not care for them. He did not care for their white little room and their dried food and their never-ending impatience. Once an hour, one would come in, to ask him questions.
"Have you seen a man called Lucifer?"
"Where is your brother, Mr. Winchester?"
"Have you heard of a rebel group calling themselves Hell?"
He answered little. He thought instead of sitting at a breakfast table on a warm Saturday, Sammy propped against his mother's knee and his father reading the newspaper with a hearty grin. He thought instead of holding shy hands with Cass in a diner. He thought of the Impala, parked outside a real house.
"Mr. Winchester, where is your brother and a man called Lucifer?"
Dean Winchester did not know.
...
Sam unfolded himself from the car. He slammed the door shut with a frustrated growl.
"We lost them, didn't we?" He said, running a hand through his hair. Lucifer climbed out of the driver's seat, wearing an infuriating smile.
"It doesn't really matter, does it?" He said lazily, leaning against the car. "If Heaven has them, then they're as good as dead."
Sam's heart slipped. He spun around.
"What?"
Lucifer, a strange cold expression on his face, nodded gracefully.
"Oh, they're gone alright," he sighed. He canted his head at Sam's distress, grin creeping back onto his face. Leaned forward. Pressed his hands into the car door, eyes livid. "But don't you see? We don't need them. They weigh us down. You and me, Sammy, we're golden. We can change everything."
Sam felt suddenly very lightheaded. This was not the same Lucy from college he had shared a burger with. This was not the same man.
"Lucifer," he said, slowly. "Lucifer. From Hell." The pieces of the puzzle were blood-red and it terrified him when they came together.
"That's right, Sammy. You always were a smart kid." Lucifer started towards Sam, his steps slow and methodical. "See, I knew that going in. Heaven made sure of that."
"You were in Heaven?" Sam wasn't sure how much more of this he could take. He checked his watch (face scratched, nine minutes fast) out of nervous habit, thoughts flickering to Dean and the Impala's fading headlights. Where had they gone? And now here was Lucy. Lucy and his secrets.
"Had to fall from Heaven to get to Hell, baby," Lucifer smiled again, but it was tighter this time, sadder.
Sam felt his jacket, the reassuring bulge of his personal gun calming his racing heartbeat. Lucifer's eyes flicked in cold recognition.
"Oh," he sighed. "Is it going to come to that? I just saved your life."
"Why did you follow me? In college," Sam took a step back. "Why did they send you to follow me?"
Lucifer chuckled.
"Oh, I don't think you wanna know, kid," he said sourly. "I don't think you wanna know."
Sam thought briefly of his father, telling him that the monster under his bed was alive and well and very, very hungry. You don't want to know, Sammy.
"I think I do, Lucy," he grit his teeth, pulled the gun from his jacket. It was getting harder to think straight. "What does Heaven want with me?"
Lucifer shook his head with the air of a disappointed mother. He leaned sideways, propped an elbow against the hood of his beaten car.
"You're special, Sam Winchester," he said. "You're different."
...
Dean pressed the hairpin tighter into his palm. He spared a glance upwards towards the security camera (it's unblinking eye black and cool), before turning back to the lock with a hefty sigh.
"Okay," he muttered. "Here goes nothing."
Three minutes later, he was out. Sending a quick thanks to the agent he'd snagged the pin from, he started down the hall as quietly as he could, boots whispering down the vinyl tiles. Somewhere in the building, he heard the indistinguishable scream of another prisoner. For a terrifying second he thought he recognized the sound. Then he shook his head.
"Focus, Winchester." He darted along. "Focus."
Four doors down. The prisoner in their was wailing silently, banging bleeding fists against the metal wall. Dean moved on, trying to ignore the worm of guilt in his gut as he passed her by. Ten doors down. A man scratched his elbow, barely looked up as Dean opened his door. Moved on.
Eighteen doors down. This door was special. This door had two locks, an alarm rigged at the top of the metal frame. Dean sucked in an adrenaline-drowned breath. This was it. He flicked the hairpin out.
Eight minutes later, the door creaked inward, and the hall was suddenly filled with harsh, white light, flooding Dean's eyes and sending him staggering back.
"Cass!" He hissed, clamping his hand over his eyes and stumbling through the threshold. "Cass, you there?"
The lights dimmed. A fluorescent buzzed, and sparked out. Dean dared open an eye. The screams upstairs continued on (familiar and afraid).
And then–
"Dean? Is that you?"
He opened his eyes, and they were filled with a dark-haired shape hurtling itself towards him, arms outstretched.
Dean choked back a sigh of relief as Cass squeezed him.
"Yeah, man," he said, shaky with a strange, strange sort of feeling. "Yeah, I'm here."
...
Sam stared at Lucifer over the barrel of the gun, eyes narrowed.
"Special?" He said. "And what the fuck does that mean?"
Lucifer run a frustrated hand through his choppy hair, and raised an eyebrow.
"Means they made you that way. Tested on you. Experimented." He glanced sideways. "Improved upon the original model, if you know what I mean."
Sam forgot to breathe.
"What are you talking about? My dad would never–"
"Your dear old dad," Lucifer snarled, "Was the one who put you in the program. He helped run the damn thing."
("That monster is real, son. But remember–if it bleeds, you can kill it. And don't you see it bleeds?")
"No. No, that's not right," Sam shook his head, his hand shaking, the gun feeling warm and sticky like melted chocolate in his hands. "My dad was a hunter, he wasn't a scientist, or an agent, or–"
"Your dad helped Heaven end us all."
Lucifer went quiet.
Sam, his vision suddenly white, let his arm drop to his side with a thud.
They stood facing each other by the illegal car of the Devil, the night air cool and thin on their skin. A bird flapped noisily overhead, but neither paid any attention.
Then Sam laughed.
"Figures," he said. "He was fond of his lies."
Lucifer looked uncertain. He crossed his arms, eyebrow still raised.
"So what's this, Sammy-boy?" he said. "You're okay with knowing you're a super-freak?"
"No," Sam replied, tucking the gun back into his jacket. "But right now I've got bigger problems. Like my brother being arrested," he looked pointedly at Lucifer. "Like your brother being arrested."
"There's nothing we can do about that," Lucifer snapped. He was irritable, folding his arms and pacing back and forth. "We can't help them."
"Oh yeah? Ten bucks and genetic testing says we can." Sam was getting pissed. Lucy from college has reappeared, as savagely irritating and depressingly pessimistic as he ever was.
"It doesn't work like that," he answered dully, head tilted back towards the sky. "You don't just break into a Heaven facility with two magical dudes and a Glock. It's suicide."
Sam, having had enough, made a sound best described as that of an extremely long-suffering moose. He strode forward the last few steps towards Lucifer, grabbed his shoulder, and kissed him square on the mouth.
After a pleasant moment, they broke apart. Lucifer stared. Sam grinned.
"So," he said. "I thought the Devil had a few demons up his sleeve. Or was that whole spiel about the oh-so rebellious Lucifer of Hell just an ego-trip?"
Lucifer leaned back onto the hood of the car, a crooked smile playing out over his face. He fished a cell phone out of his pocket. Dialled a number with a flash of pale fingers.
"Baby, you ain't seen nothin' yet," he called, tossing Sam the car keys as he yanked open the passenger door, phone cradled between his ear and his shoulder.
He winked.
"Let's go save those sons of bitches."
...
A/N: Tried to give our boys a little more fluff in this chapter (just for you, Bitblondetoday and HuntingWithAngels. Thanks for the continued support!)
Next Up: Fun with Rescues, Meg Gets Jealous, and Samifer is Canon, Bro (dedicated to you, Mana Walker).
See y'all soon! :)