[Since their arrival here, Lucifer had been of half a mind about finding Sam. Well, more than half. In fact, there were only two things preventing him from harassing the younger Winchester and they were ephemeral at best. The first thing that prevented him doing anything was his disorientation, death and resurrection were likely to blame, but this new place was odd. Once his disorientation had faded, there was the rage to contend with.
For the first several days, there had been a very real possibility that he would kill Sam on sight. He'd done far worse for far less, after all. Killing the human was something fairly inconsequential to him, aside from the fact that he would be breaking his word, but it was that little technicality that made Lucifer reluctant. Unfortunately, even his reluctance wore away quickly in the face of anger and betrayal and this new landscape wasn't quite empty enough to be a comfortable distraction.
Texting didn't work here, not that he had attempted to. He could have called, but that thought didn't occur to Lucifer either. No, instead of distance communication, he did as he was wont and simply appeared alongside Sam. He could travel farther here, a convenience for him if not so much for Sam, and he exploited that as Sam approached one of the identical grey buildings in the spiral.
He had thought he could restrain himself. It took half a second after his arrival and Lucifer's control snapped. Just seeing Sam's face conjured all that anger again and all at once he had Nick's hand around Sam's neck and the human shoved back against the wall. His anger was tangible and his shadow had the long lines of deformed wings protruding from it.]
Sam.
[The greeting sounded casual because that was the sound human greetings made. There was nothing friendly about it.]
Long time no see.
It would have made this a lot less painful for him
[ He'd known Lucifer was around, lurking, perhaps. No, Lucifer didn't lurk; he would be watching over the place with an air of equal parts disdain and yet ownership of the space. Sam has plenty of reasons to be on edge, and Lucifer just happens to be the biggest. The bomb would drop eventually, it always does.
But for however much he feared it, Sam hadn't been prepared for this. The same coolness that always followed Lucifer's presence barely gave him a warning. Within seconds he feels his back crushed hard against the side of one of the houses. The wind is knocked out of him and Sam gasps, grasping at the hand around his neck. ]
[Lucifer's chiding was quick and without compassion--it wasn't as if Sam could argue, not when Lucifer was barely permitting him enough air to keep conscious. He was silent for a second, two, and simply stared at Sam. His gaze was unforgiving and predatory and the longer he held it locked on Sam the colder his fingers became. By the time he continued speaking, Nick's hand was just below the freezing point.]
You really don't need to say anything, Sam. I mean, what could you really say, here, anyway?
[Lucifer leaned in close. He didn't bother with blinking.]
You could tell me you're sorry but, well, we'd both know that was a lie.
[And it would be, of course. That was, when you got right down to it, the major reason he was angry with Sam. Sam knew that was one of Lucifer's greatest...concerns, that specific situation, and he'd all but orchestrated it, insofar as he had agency to orchestrate anything. It was infuriating and Lucifer's grip tightened on Sam's neck, like a vice, and he dragged the Winchester up, against the wall, until he was off the ground and dangling.
How easy it would be to snap his neck. So little effort for such satisfaction.]
[ For all that Lucifer had tried to endear himself to Sam--no, perhaps simply garner some understanding for their shared plight, this is exactly the kind of face Sam would imagine the devil to have. Cold, uncaring, a sleeping silent anger that digs into his flesh and reminds him that the forces he's playing with are so beyond his ability to control. And that's really the problem, isn't it? Sam almost had control, almost had a muzzle on the dog and the dog was willing to walk, but he'd fucked it up. Because you can't leash a mountain lion, a shark.
He tried. He tried because it was the only ace in the hole Sam felt like he had. Lucifer didn't want to fight Michael. Lucifer didn't have to fight Michael, but Sam didn't think it would go so far as not to defend himself against attack. It was a slaughter and he'd witnessed every second. Michael made sure of that. Something that he knew he shouldn't feel any sense of remorse for, but a hefty part of Sam's guilt is that he feels some responsibility. It was his fault. It is.
Sam's not sure if it's just Nick's fingers or if his neck is really starting to nice over, but each strangled gasp he tries to bring in feels more strained, cutting into his chest and lungs. Sam's tall--his feet not touching the ground--...
This is it, isn't it? He just got back after a week of Hell, a week of believing he was turning into Lucifer as some sort of payback, and now he's about to be sent back. But he still struggles, trying to unhinge Lucifer's grip with decreasing strength as he begins to feel light-headed. ]
[Sam was scrambling, clawing at Nick's fingers, against the ice forming on his skin, but it was like spitting into the wind. It was an endeavor so pointless that even the description was a waste of time. Lucifer's eyes were locked on Sam's, as he panicked, as he stared inevitability down in the Devil's borrowed face, but he saw his fingers gripping and trying to find lasting purchase.
It would be so easy to kill him. Sam was nothing more than a wretched little human. For all Lucifer's adoration, Sam was nothing but a creature, petty, desperate, weak. The only reason he'd caused mayhem at all was because Lucifer had allowed it.
Unfortunately, stripping Sam of what little power he held, while comforting, put the blame for this squarely on Lucifer's shoulders. If Sam was only a pawn, and he was, then eviscerating him wasn't worth violating his word.
All at once, Lucifer let out a slow breath. It curled between them like smoke and Lucifer released Sam. His grip and the support it provided were gone immediately, leaving only a redness and the bite of cold behind. Nick's arm was a little slower to return to Lucifer's side, but it did, eventually, and his hand clenched into a tight fist.]
I've never found breaking my word so tempting, Sam, as I do right now. It's really put me in a jam.
[Nick's face pulled into a disconnected frown, one that was too tinged with cold, homicidal rage to be anything but patronizing.]
Oh, if I hadn't promised you--[Lucifer let out a shorter breath, something plosive that hovered between a sigh and a laugh.]--this conversation would be so much...different.
That's the way the cookie crumbles, isn't it? But now I have to wonder...just where does this leave us?
We're not in Kansas anymore, or Zelien, and I'm not too keen on renewing your contract. So, just what do I do with you?
[ He knows that sound. He also knows this isn't really the time or place to think that way, either, not when she's just come back from the dead. That's the first time she wanted it though, wasn't it? Wanted to try and reconnect with the living. They're at a different place in their relationship now, but he still doesn't want to take advantage of any vulnerability she's feeling, however momentary.
Sam rests his nose along side hers, running his hands up and down her back in a soothing manner. If she needs to feel connected, he can help. But he doesn't want to overwhelm her. ]
[ Sam gives another small huff and doesn't stop. She has every right to freak out, to need to take a moment or hundred. Whatever she needs. He knows he has to go chase down Rosie, but he dose know that Jo is safe for now, in a new house with people around to keep an eye on her.
[She touches the scar on her face. No amount of makeup or self-confidence (and she does like to wear both of them) is going to make it easy for her to forget. It's different from Zelien. Yao wants her to remember what she went through.
[ He does need to work on reassuring her of his affections, he knows. He also knows it's not an excuse to be concentrating on other things; she deserves better. She may think she doesn't, but she does. So while she is with Sam, he will try to be what she does deserve and maybe even need.
He kisses her slowly, deliberately, trying to show with the words he doesn't always say that he values her, he wants her around, he likes having her close by. ]
[ She's right, it isn't. Every time she has brought it up he's been able to avoid committing to anything and the truth of the matter is it's not exactly about his hair; it's about letting go of the past, which is something he tries to do, but doesn't necessarily want to. The future, the more he learns of it, is scary. There are some things that he just wants to cling to for a while longer.
It's a languid, but purposeful kiss. Not asking for much, but making sure to take care in each move of his lips. He moves his own hands up into her hair, pushing her head back slightly as the kiss intensifies, but doesn't hasten. He has to take his time to make a point. ]
[A snarl of hunger sneaks up through her body. She's still not used to the feeling. Doesn't want to be used to it. Because it's a wonderful surprise, a potent reminder that they're both still alive, still together, still...
Lots of things really.
She reaches back with one hand, pulling the rubberband out of her hair. The braid starts to unravel a bit. It's a shame to waste Cas' hard work, but she's not in a mind to mourn it all that much.
Oh. Cas. Right.
Her hand drifts to her pocket, were she put the...
...is that where this is going? Or is she being presumptive?]
[Fatima does not want to make this call. She dithers for an hour or two, making up little excuses; cold compresses, rest, maybe a shot or two of rum. But she knows perfectly well that they're excuses. And she knows perfectly well that she made a deal with Sam.
It'll be fun seeing how that blows up in her face.
So she makes the call. It's voice, instead of video. Her bruises are healing up, but they're still visible.
She speaks rapidly, like she wants to get it all out before she changes her mind or chickens out or something. Like a band-aid, right?]
Everyone is fine and alive and kicking and I don't want you to freak out or do that guilt thing you do, because it's really not about you, even if you internalize everything, but I swear to whatever gods are out there, this was a long time coming, "long time" as in "way before you and I were..." I don't know, whatever we are, and I'm only telling you this because I promised that I would try out the whole being-honest thing so please don't flip out, okay?
[ This? Yeah, this is not the kind of call he wants to get...ever. But he answers, and she rambles, and Sam has one more worry to add to his seemingly endless list. ]
He'd hoped, he'd really hoped too much had gone on for Dean to try that again. Hadn't they just gotten out of something so much bigger than his petty grudges?
There's a grated sigh, though it's not directed at her. He's tired, he's angry, and dammit Dean, just stop. ]
[ he doesn't want to make this call, is certain sam already knows -- because of course he does, fatima would have said something -- but dean doesn't want it to boil down to sam having to force the answers out of him again, like during prior conflicts. so he reaches out before sam can, though the usual bite and steel of his voice is missing, his defenses down. ]
If you already spoke to Fatima-- [ it started off better in his head, but suddenly dean isn't sure where he's going with this. only that... excuses won't really cut it.
[ You messed up? Yeah, you messed up. Again. But so did Sam. He knows he can't hover and hope to protect her at every moment, but Dean is his responsibility. Dean is someone he cares about and wants to trust. But he can't, he just can't.
But really, Dean is admitting that he messed up. Something Sam never thought he'd hear in regards to Fatima.
There's silence on the other end where shouting usually is. He's tired and shocked. ]
[ the fact that sam replies gives dean enough hope to keep going, though the words come slowly, carefully. it's hard to not slam the blame on fatima -- he still hates her, hates that she's a part of sam's life -- but this isn't about her. not really. ]
I know she was bruised, but... it didn't go beyond that.
[ There are so many things Sam wants to say, things that in
every right he should tear Dean apart for. But the fact that his brother
has come forward of his own accord is enough to keep him quiet, keep his
temper in check. He's tired, too, but the thought that if he says the wrong
thing Dean will recoil is paramount. ]
Why?
[ Why didn't it go beyond that? Why did he do it in the first place?
Why does he always do it? ]
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No text in Haven, that's a shame.
For the first several days, there had been a very real possibility that he would kill Sam on sight. He'd done far worse for far less, after all. Killing the human was something fairly inconsequential to him, aside from the fact that he would be breaking his word, but it was that little technicality that made Lucifer reluctant. Unfortunately, even his reluctance wore away quickly in the face of anger and betrayal and this new landscape wasn't quite empty enough to be a comfortable distraction.
Texting didn't work here, not that he had attempted to. He could have called, but that thought didn't occur to Lucifer either. No, instead of distance communication, he did as he was wont and simply appeared alongside Sam. He could travel farther here, a convenience for him if not so much for Sam, and he exploited that as Sam approached one of the identical grey buildings in the spiral.
He had thought he could restrain himself. It took half a second after his arrival and Lucifer's control snapped. Just seeing Sam's face conjured all that anger again and all at once he had Nick's hand around Sam's neck and the human shoved back against the wall. His anger was tangible and his shadow had the long lines of deformed wings protruding from it.]
Sam.
[The greeting sounded casual because that was the sound human greetings made. There was nothing friendly about it.]
Long time no see.
It would have made this a lot less painful for him
But for however much he feared it, Sam hadn't been prepared for this. The same coolness that always followed Lucifer's presence barely gave him a warning. Within seconds he feels his back crushed hard against the side of one of the houses. The wind is knocked out of him and Sam gasps, grasping at the hand around his neck. ]
Luc-- [ Sam chokes out. ]
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[Lucifer's chiding was quick and without compassion--it wasn't as if Sam could argue, not when Lucifer was barely permitting him enough air to keep conscious. He was silent for a second, two, and simply stared at Sam. His gaze was unforgiving and predatory and the longer he held it locked on Sam the colder his fingers became. By the time he continued speaking, Nick's hand was just below the freezing point.]
You really don't need to say anything, Sam. I mean, what could you really say, here, anyway?
[Lucifer leaned in close. He didn't bother with blinking.]
You could tell me you're sorry but, well, we'd both know that was a lie.
[And it would be, of course. That was, when you got right down to it, the major reason he was angry with Sam. Sam knew that was one of Lucifer's greatest...concerns, that specific situation, and he'd all but orchestrated it, insofar as he had agency to orchestrate anything. It was infuriating and Lucifer's grip tightened on Sam's neck, like a vice, and he dragged the Winchester up, against the wall, until he was off the ground and dangling.
How easy it would be to snap his neck. So little effort for such satisfaction.]
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He tried. He tried because it was the only ace in the hole Sam felt like he had. Lucifer didn't want to fight Michael. Lucifer didn't have to fight Michael, but Sam didn't think it would go so far as not to defend himself against attack. It was a slaughter and he'd witnessed every second. Michael made sure of that. Something that he knew he shouldn't feel any sense of remorse for, but a hefty part of Sam's guilt is that he feels some responsibility. It was his fault. It is.
Sam's not sure if it's just Nick's fingers or if his neck is really starting to nice over, but each strangled gasp he tries to bring in feels more strained, cutting into his chest and lungs. Sam's tall--his feet not touching the ground--...
This is it, isn't it? He just got back after a week of Hell, a week of believing he was turning into Lucifer as some sort of payback, and now he's about to be sent back. But he still struggles, trying to unhinge Lucifer's grip with decreasing strength as he begins to feel light-headed. ]
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It would be so easy to kill him. Sam was nothing more than a wretched little human. For all Lucifer's adoration, Sam was nothing but a creature, petty, desperate, weak. The only reason he'd caused mayhem at all was because Lucifer had allowed it.
Unfortunately, stripping Sam of what little power he held, while comforting, put the blame for this squarely on Lucifer's shoulders. If Sam was only a pawn, and he was, then eviscerating him wasn't worth violating his word.
All at once, Lucifer let out a slow breath. It curled between them like smoke and Lucifer released Sam. His grip and the support it provided were gone immediately, leaving only a redness and the bite of cold behind. Nick's arm was a little slower to return to Lucifer's side, but it did, eventually, and his hand clenched into a tight fist.]
I've never found breaking my word so tempting, Sam, as I do right now. It's really put me in a jam.
[Nick's face pulled into a disconnected frown, one that was too tinged with cold, homicidal rage to be anything but patronizing.]
Oh, if I hadn't promised you--[Lucifer let out a shorter breath, something plosive that hovered between a sigh and a laugh.]--this conversation would be so much...different.
That's the way the cookie crumbles, isn't it? But now I have to wonder...just where does this leave us?
We're not in Kansas anymore, or Zelien, and I'm not too keen on renewing your contract. So, just what do I do with you?
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[ He knows that sound. He also knows this isn't really the time or place to think that way, either, not when she's just come back from the dead. That's the first time she wanted it though, wasn't it? Wanted to try and reconnect with the living. They're at a different place in their relationship now, but he still doesn't want to take advantage of any vulnerability she's feeling, however momentary.
Sam rests his nose along side hers, running his hands up and down her back in a soothing manner. If she needs to feel connected, he can help. But he doesn't want to overwhelm her. ]
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That feels good.
[It feels alive. But she needs to stop thinking that way.
Well. At the very least he isn't rushing off to hunt down Rosie. That's something.]
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He can stay for Fatima. ]
I'm glad it's broken. At least this once.
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And that makes her surprisingly furious.]
I'm not sure we know what that means yet.
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audio.
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[ Everything okay? ]
audio.
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[ He's been...dealing with a few things. But he knows that's not what Cas is asking about. ]
The air is kind of...odd.
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[ He does need to work on reassuring her of his affections, he knows. He also knows it's not an excuse to be concentrating on other things; she deserves better. She may think she doesn't, but she does. So while she is with Sam, he will try to be what she does deserve and maybe even need.
He kisses her slowly, deliberately, trying to show with the words he doesn't always say that he values her, he wants her around, he likes having her close by. ]
Re: ACTION
[She touches his face gently with her fingertips, kissing back. Not forcefully, more following his lead.
Her fingers stray up, brushing against his hair, smoothing it back, away from his face.
Still too shaggy for her tastes, but she figures not isn't the time to bug him about grooming again.]
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It's a languid, but purposeful kiss. Not asking for much, but making sure to take care in each move of his lips. He moves his own hands up into her hair, pushing her head back slightly as the kiss intensifies, but doesn't hasten. He has to take his time to make a point. ]
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Lots of things really.
She reaches back with one hand, pulling the rubberband out of her hair. The braid starts to unravel a bit. It's a shame to waste Cas' hard work, but she's not in a mind to mourn it all that much.
Oh. Cas. Right.
Her hand drifts to her pocket, were she put the...
...is that where this is going? Or is she being presumptive?]
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[VOICE] - Way the frick backdated to last week
It'll be fun seeing how that blows up in her face.
So she makes the call. It's voice, instead of video. Her bruises are healing up, but they're still visible.
She speaks rapidly, like she wants to get it all out before she changes her mind or chickens out or something. Like a band-aid, right?]
Everyone is fine and alive and kicking and I don't want you to freak out or do that guilt thing you do, because it's really not about you, even if you internalize everything, but I swear to whatever gods are out there, this was a long time coming, "long time" as in "way before you and I were..." I don't know, whatever we are, and I'm only telling you this because I promised that I would try out the whole being-honest thing so please don't flip out, okay?
[That was kind of a sentence, right?]
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Fatima, Fatima--slow down, what happened?
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[Fatima actually sounds bewildered for a second. Didn't she just tell him what happened?
...no. No, she really didn't. Fuck.
She takes a single, deep breath. And then plows forward as fast as possible, as if holding the words in will hurt her.
Of course, letting them out isn't much fun either.]
Dean tried to kill me again.
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He'd hoped, he'd really hoped too much had gone on for Dean to try that again. Hadn't they just gotten out of something so much bigger than his petty grudges?
There's a grated sigh, though it's not directed at her. He's tired, he's angry, and dammit Dean, just stop. ]
When? Where was this?
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( voice )
If you already spoke to Fatima-- [ it started off better in his head, but suddenly dean isn't sure where he's going with this. only that... excuses won't really cut it.
a long beat passes and he sighs. ]
I messed up, Sam.
[ simple and honest. ]
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But really, Dean is admitting that he messed up. Something Sam never thought he'd hear in regards to Fatima.
There's silence on the other end where shouting usually is. He's tired and shocked. ]
...Yeah. Yeah you did.
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I know she was bruised, but... it didn't go beyond that.
[ unlike with him and his broken nose. ]
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[ There are so many things Sam wants to say, things that in every right he should tear Dean apart for. But the fact that his brother has come forward of his own accord is enough to keep him quiet, keep his temper in check. He's tired, too, but the thought that if he says the wrong thing Dean will recoil is paramount. ]
Why?
[ Why didn't it go beyond that? Why did he do it in the first place? Why does he always do it? ]
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