Lucifer was sitting in an uncomfortable plastic chair that faced the window. He could see his plane outside, sitting next to the tunnel that would allow the travellers to board. Well, barely. Sometime between sharing Hank's moral weakness and arriving at their gate, the skies above Los Angeles had opened up. It had rained so hard you could hear it beating a rhythm against the roof of the terminal.

The rain had dissipated finally, but the lightning strikes continued to light up the world outside the windows. A world in which a mist had seemed to roll off the Pacific and envelop the City of Angels. Such strange weather for Tinseltown, Lucifer mused as he looked out on the foggy morning beyond the windows. And certainly odd for this time of the year.

It was upsetting the airport that tried its best to run like clockwork. With zero visibility and an electrical storm that seemed to sit above them, flights were being postponed all across the board. In fact, the flight to Shreveport had already been pushed by an hour and as another flash of lightning lit up the world outside, Lucifer worried that they'd end up cancelling it.

As the thunder rumbled outside, Lucifer sighed and lifted his eyes heavenward. If his father wasn't bloody well constantly messing with him, he was sure there wouldn't be a bloody problem with his getting on a plane and heading east. If Dear Old Dad truly cared, he wouldn't be stopping his son from helping the man he loved. It would be a sunny day and all the flights would be on time.

But no.

His father was all about manipulation, not about empathy.

He blinked up at the ceiling, not quite praying to his Father, but asking him if he had even a shred of decency, to stop messing with the weather and Lucifer get on with his day. Not that his father would hear him, even if he added a bit more reverence to his demand. Dad never did, after all.

When another rumble of thunder reached him, Lucifer slumped in his seat, hand instinctively going out to touch the black coffin that was lying next to him on the floor. It had not been hard at all to wheel Eric through the airport, and given how he was greeted everywhere, from security right to the boarding desk, Lucifer decided that it wasn't actually all that uncommon. He was starting to think he hadn't quite punished Hank enough—a quick public shaming for bribes wasn't enough, considering.

"I don't get your fascination with him," Sam said, from his spot next to Lucifer. "I don't think you know what kind of person he is."

Lucifer straightened in his seat. "I am very aware of what kind of person he is," he retorted, his hand leaving the sleek coolness of the coffin.

"So you know he's got zero issue with killing people? Torturing people?"

Lucifer gave a snort of dry laughter. "I'm well aware of his history. You think I don't like a good torture myself?" Lucifer turned to study Sam.

Sam was quiet for a few moments, a frustrated look on his face. "Look, even if that's true, you probably don't go around torturing people just because you feel like it, right? They have to earn that attention from the devil, yes?"

"Well, yes . . ." Lucifer said slowly. He was caught between wanting to defend Eric and feeling impressed that Sam's assumptions about the devil did not include his being one of the big bad uglies that wandered this world.

Sam gestured. "Exactly. You punish those who deserve it. I know enough about the Bible to know that." His gaze left Lucifer to look down at the coffin. "Eric has tortured people I know. His reasoning is hardly moral. I've witnessed the sort of shit he's capable of. He's why—" Sam stopped, and a look of despair seemed to cross him.

"He's the one you felt you needed to protect the waitress from?" Lucifer asked.

"Well, yes," Sam said. "It was one thing when she was flirting with Bill—he seemed to be trying to fit in with society at least. But when she started going to Shreveport, to that bar of Northman's." Sam scowled. "A woman like her in a place like that? It was like she was trying to get herself killed."

Once Sam started talking, especially when he was reminded of Sookie, it seemed he didn't want to stop. "Eric Northman is dangerous. I've seen what he's capable of. He's got no moral compass. If he thinks you're in the way, he won't kill you. He'll stick you in a fucking dungeon and let you rot."

Sam stretched his short legs out, hands clasped between his knees as he continued. "Northman, though. It was obvious he was interested in Sookie. And a man like that doesn't tend to take no for an answer."

"And yet, from my understanding, he did take no for answer," Lucifer pointed out.

Sam laughed. "Not her no. He accepted Bill's no. Because they believe in ownership, don't you know that?"

"Of course I do," Lucifer retorted. "I am happy to be owned by my Viking. He belongs to me, as well."

Sam shook his head. "Not the same."

"You'd think that, wouldn't you?" Lucifer mused. "Perhaps you might understand I am simply a punisher of evil, but do you think I don't rule Hell? When I'm there, of course."

Sam didn't seem to have a retort to that and Lucifer felt some satisfaction that he'd put the man in his place. Still, he felt the need to explain to him why Eric was worthy of love, or perhaps even friendship, at that. The shifter seemed to have a hatred for vampirism, and Lucifer wanted to correct some of his assumptions.

"It's not his fault, you know," Lucifer started, but Sam immediately scoffed. Lucifer bristled in return, not liking the small man with the mysterious magical abilities. "No, I'm serious."

"How do you figure it's not his fault?" Sam asked, but by the tone of voice Lucifer could tell he probably wasn't going to be open to hearing about God and all of his silly master plans. Still, he had to try.

"My dearest Viking, along with every other vampire out there, is legitimately without their souls—and thereby without a moral compass, if you will."

Sam gave Lucifer a look of disbelief. "And you know this how?"

"The Devil, remember?" Lucifer asked. "Between myself, Eric, and a few choice contacts, we confirmed the loss of the soul just last month. It still exists, mind you. But Father thought it would be fun to conduct an experiment."

"Your father?" Sam asked, looking confused. But a moment later a light dawned in his eyes. "You mean God."

"Yes, precisely. My Father."

"He experiments?" Sam asked, his disgust about vampires seemingly forgotten in the face of a God who played tricks on humans just for the fun of it.

"Yes, Dad is constantly meddling in the affairs of humans. And apparently supernatural beings, as well." Lucifer's frustration with his father bubbled up and for a moment Lucifer sat in silence trying to contain himself. This wasn't about his father and Lucifer's own hangups. This was about vampires and correcting Sam Merlotte's assumptions about this. "Point is, Shifter, Eric Northman, Bill Compton and every other vampire out there is blundering about blindly without a moral compass—through no fault of their own."

"You think?" Sam asked.

"I know," Lucifer corrected. "And like as not, your little waitress had such an impact on my Viking that he worries about it now. He's afraid that he's damned, and doesn't seem to care that even if he does go to Hell when he dies that I'll be there to welcome him."

Sam laughed at this and Lucifer scowled at him. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Sam finally appeased. "I just find it very hard to believe that Eric Northman is worried about going to Hell. He likes being a monster."

"Perhaps before," Lucifer conceded. "He's said as much and I've seen his lovely little torture chamber below Fangtasia. But things have changed. He blames her, you know."

"He blames Sookie?" Sam asked. "For what?"

Lucifer gave a silent, dry laugh. For what, indeed. "He doesn't particularly like that he has feelings," he finally said. "He claims before he was cursed and subsequently taken care of by your waitress, that he got along just fine without his soul."

"He blames her for growing a conscience?" Sam asked, baffled.

Lucifer shrugged. "So it would seem. He worries that his soul is damned—and initially he worried that meant he wasn't worthy of someone like her."

"This does not sound like the Northman I know," Sam replied.

"Considering your seeming hatred of him, when was the last time you actually spent time with him?" Lucifer countered. "Did you know witches cursed him to forget who he was?"

"Sookie told me—"

"But did you see him when he was cursed?" Lucifer asked hotly, not willing to let the shifter interrupt him.

"Well, no. Sookie kept him locked up pretty tight," Sam admitted.

"So you don't know what he was like when he couldn't remember the things that made him the monster you claim him to be."

"I guess not," Sam admitted, frowning. "I just assumed—"

"Everyone always assumes, don't they?" Lucifer asked, feeling an unexpected tightening in his chest. People always assumed about him, too. His hand strayed out to touch Eric's coffin again. "Regardless of what Eric was before, he's not so bad now. He struggles, from time to time, but I understand struggle. And being misunderstood."

Sam rolled his eyes. "I suppose you would."

An announcement interrupted their conversation—their flight was delayed by another hour. Lucifer sighed. At least he hadn't seen anymore lightning out the window, but he was certain that fog was holding everything up. Can't fly if you can't see.

He checked his watch, but there wasn't much he could do. At this rate, the sun would set before they were allowed to board a plane. And if that were the case, there was nothing stopping him and Eric from flying to Louisiana in a more unconventional way. He was hoping it wouldn't come to that.

That fog was so strange, though . . .

But speaking of strange things. "Tell me, Shifter—what makes Sookie Stackhouse so special? I understand the lure to vampires, her blood can let them see daylight. But for you? For her current Were lover? It seems everyone I meet seems smitten with her."

"I wouldn't say everyone," Sam hedged.

"Don't be daft," Lucifer replied. "Even the King of Louisiana would bend over backward for her." He paused, looking out the window. Was the fog finally thinning? "I don't see the appeal."

"I don't know," Sam said. "She's got an innocence about her. The kind that promises that perhaps she's not quite so innocent in everything, you know?"

"A devil between the sheets?" Lucifer nearly leered. "Doubtful, she doesn't seem the type."

"And you'd know?" Sam shot back.

Lucifer smirked. "I certainly know what the devil is like between the sheets, yes."

Sam's eyes grew wide and the man nearly blushed, no doubt as he imagined what Lucifer could be like between the sheets. "That's not what I meant," Sam almost whined.

Lucifer couldn't help but laugh though. It was fun messing with someone like this Sam Merlotte. He seemed so straight laced and normal. Make him think about Lucifer naked in bed—make him think about it and question his own morals and sexuality. Yes, Lucifer was really great at doing that.

"Look," Sam said, his eyebrows screwing up as he scowled at Lucifer. "Point is—Sookie is special. I can't tell you why she's special, she just is. I don't think it has anything to do with her heritage. She's just one of a kind."

Lucifer didn't think he was going to get anywhere else with this line of questioning, so he decided it was time to change the subject. Besides, thinking about Sookie Stackhouse was giving him anxiety. "And what about you, Shifter? What is a shifter?"

Sam's scowl froze and he looked about to see if anyone had heard. "Can we not discuss this?" he asked quickly. "It's none of your business."

"Certainly it is," Lucifer disagreed. "You mean to tell me your fairy friend has gone missing, your Were friends are all sick, and the vampires, on the contrary, appear to be fine. What about you? Where does this put you on the magical map?"

He took another quick glance out the window and felt a small relief. Yes, he was sure the mist was beginning to let up. Perhaps it wouldn't clear up completely, but surely they'd start flights back up. Surely.

Sam shook his head. "I don't know. I'm surprised I'm not sick alongside Alcide and the Weres."

"Oh? Can I take it that shifter means you shift into another appearance?"

Sam sighed, as if giving up, and finally nodded. "Yes. But it's not the same as a werewolf. If I've seen an animal before, I change into it."

Lucifer's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Is that so? Any animal at all?"

"If I can imprint on it, I can change into it. Elephant. Fly. Everything in between. I usually choose a dog."

"A dog?" Lucifer questioned.

Sam gave him a sheepish look. "It's easier to blend in and look like I belong if I'm a dog. No one bats an eye at a dog on the loose in Bon Temps. Better to look like a pet than a wild animal; less likely to get killed."

"Can you change right now?" Lucifer asked, curious. How come he knew nothing about shapeshifters? Werewolves, vampires, fairies. Granted Dad wasn't the only godlike being out there, but you'd think he'd be aware of what the others were doing in his sandbox. There was so much he didn't know—he had so many questions, and an entire day to get through.

"Anytime I want," Sam confirmed. "Although obviously its easier at certain times than others. And like Hell I'm going to shift in the middle of a crowded airport."

Lucifer huffed a fake sigh of disappointment. "You're such a wet blanket," he groaned, but a second later gave Sam a charming smile to let Sam know he was only teasing. "I can see why you're worried, though. Both shifters and Weres can change shape but only one species seems to be affected right now, yes?"

Sam nodded.

"Perhaps you're not as closely related as it would seem," Lucifer mused, enjoying the mystery of it. Two subsections of humans that had similar powers, and yet one falls ill while the other does not. Was it possible they came about their powers in different ways? And how for that matter? Were werewolves and shapeshifters more social experiments conducted by Lucifer's father? It wouldn't surprise Lucifer—although it did surprise him that he'd never heard of them before.

He'd at least heard of vampires, even if he hadn't known their origins or much about them.

Before he could continue questioning Sam, the speakers above crackled. Both men cocked their heads, listening to the announcement that flights were beginning to board as the fog had finally dissipated enough to start shuttling people out and up into the skies. No news on when their flight would be rescheduled, but Lucifer was glad it wasn't cancelled. They'd be in the air in due time, and long before the evening came and the sun had set.

Thank goodness.

He continued to chat with Sam, striving to get to know the man from Bon Temps. Despite his clear bias toward vampires, the man seemed nice enough. Lucifer made it his mission to rid the shifter of his negative assumptions while they were in the air. They'd have about five hours to kill and while Lucifer was planning on partaking in the in-flight drinks, he was already deciding he'd see if he could upgrade Sam's ticket to first class. What better way to sway a man than by lavishing him with luxuries he otherwise could not afford.

Lucifer shifted in the uncomfortable seat, eyes straying to the wide window where he watched a plane taxi by. Things were moving again and there was a new energy in the air as people began to anticipate their trips again.

Perhaps his father had decided it wasn't worth his while to mess with Lucifer's life. For now.