Chapter Text
Something rips at me. Some kind of spell or warding. There’s the stench of blood, a searing pain, and—Dad help me. Some idiot mud monkey is trying to expel angels. A second ago I was vaguely aware of Castiel’s grace. Now it’s gone.
I’m still here, though. Maybe there’s not enough left of me to expel.
Wait, where is here? The Bunker. I’m almost sure that I’m still in the Bunker. Ninety percent.
Sam is talking. And some woman is talking back. She sounds English and—fuck, that’s a gunshot! How am I even aware of it? How am I aware of anything?
I remember my Auntie Dearest yanking me out of Castiel’s vessel and scrambling me into a million pieces. But there must be some lingering piece of my consciousness here in the Bunker. Because I heard that gun go off and . . . now I can hear Sam’s labored breaths.
Is there some kind of adrenaline for angelic grace? If so, Daddy-O must have just jacked me up on it. That’s the only way to explain how I pull myself together, shield Sam and flood the Bunker with my presence.
Shoot one of my apes, will you? Welcome to the full glory of the Morning Star.
~~*~~
“You saved Sam.” It’s not a question. There’s a note of surprise in my Father’s voice, but He’s making it sound like a done deed.
“Did I?” I don’t open my eyes. I’m not in a vessel right now. I’m not even strong enough to retain my true form. I’m still sort of . . . scattered. Scattered and scrambled and burned out and amazed that I’m not dead. “I wasn’t sure.”
“Yes. You did. I just don’t know how you managed it—not in the state you were in.”
“Neither do I. Glad he’s all right, though. I mean, I can appreciate the desire to shoot either Winchester. Or both. But Sam . . . Sam belongs to me.”
“Ah, Sam is not actually your property. But I am still grateful for your actions.”
Whatever. “The intruder. She’s dead?”
“She is. There was no way for her to withstand the true form of an archangel. But—” My Father breaks off to sigh. “Her passing is tragic. And likely to cause problems for the boys.”
“Well, they can cry to Castiel. I pulled him back in there to heal Sam.” I couldn’t heal him. Not at that point. Not enough juice.
“I know. I’m not criticizing you, son. I’m just astonished.”
“Me too. After Amara—”
“Amara is no longer our enemy.”
“Really?” Fuck me. “We’re all one big happy family now, huh? Good to know.”
He doesn’t answer that.
“So what now?” I have to ask. “Are you going to destroy me in order to protect those precious apes of yours? Or lock me away again?”
“You’re never going back to the Cage, Lucifer.” There’s a quiet assurance in His voice that I’m strongly tempted to trust. “I promise you that. I—I was thinking that you would sit again at My right hand.”
Wait. That sounds way too good to be true. Maybe this isn’t even real. Maybe I’m already dead.
“No, you’re not dead. But there is a condition.”
Despite everything, I force out a chuckle. “Of course there is.”
~~*~~
Castiel meets me in the park, near the pond where ducks and gulls are mingling and squabbling. He’s still wearing the late, lamented Jimmy Novak, of course. Me, I’m not physically there. I would burn out any vessel—well, apart from Jimmy or Sam—in short order. And I can hardly reveal myself as the Morning Star without laying waste to everyone and everything around us.
But my little brother can sense me. He stares at the birds for a moment—I don’t think he brought any bread for them; he’s not thoughtful the way I am—and then turns around and sits on the bench. He seems to be waiting for me to speak.
I communicate with him via our grace. “So, Dad gave me a choice. I can rejoin Him in heaven . . . but only if I renounce earth.”
“Renounce it?”
“Yes. As in never come here again. Never lay another finger on one of his precious mud monkeys.”
Castiel sucks in a lung’s worth of air. Good. He understands what that would do to me. Everything I’ve done has been to protect our Father’s creation. Everything. I will not be parted from it.
“Or?” My little brother glances to his side, to the spot where I should be sitting. There’s something unsettling about that. He thinks and acts like a human now, without even realizing it. He’s sacrificed his angelic point of view for the cramped view of a single body.
But considering the choice I’m about to make, who am I to talk?
“Lucifer?”
Oh, right. I still have to explain the other option. “Or, I can live for a time as a human. In order to, ah—how did Dad put it? To try and help me ‘understand and appreciate’ his destructive little monsters.”
Castiel smiles. Just a little, but he does. “Are you willing to do that?”
“If it’s my only means of staying here?” I close my eyes—metaphorically speaking, of course—and breathe in the air, savoring the faint scent of pine. “Yes.”
“What about your grace?”
“It will be there, unharmed. Just inert.”
Castiel gives me that thoughtful, constipated look of his. “For how long?”
I shrug. “You know how Dad is. He just said as long as it takes.”
“It—it sounds like a promising arrangement.”
“Sure it does. To you.” I scoff. “You’ve already lived like one of them. But yeah. I’ll manage.” Hell, Dad knew he had me by the metaphysical balls when he made this offer.
“Then it’s settled?”
“Almost. Ah, here’s the thing. I need a vessel.”
He stiffens up.
“Castiel, I need one that can hold me—even with my grace inert, I’m still an archangel. Sam will never agree. And I don’t think Dad even wants me to ask him. So my only other option is . . . well, my little brother here.” I project a wry smile into my voice. “You know, the one with the super vessel.”
“Lucifer, hosting you almost destroyed me—”
“It won’t be like before. I won’t be burning through you or—or tucking you away in the corner of your own mind. You’ll be in charge. My grace will be inert, remember? All I ask is that you give me some time each week to be the face man.”
“But I live in the Bunker. With Sam and Dean. You would need to live there too.”
“Ah, yeah. About that—that’s, ah, part of the deal, actually.”
“What do you mean?”
Damn, these words are hard to get out. “Dad thinks I can learn a lot from the Winchesters. About humanity, that is.”
“Oh.” And that’s all Cas says. Now he looks thoughtful again. And constipated again.
“So what do you say, little brother?”
“I have to speak with Dean. And Sam.”
“You know, this might be a case where it’s better to beg forgiveness than ask permission—”
“No.” There’s a cold finality to his voice. He’s pathetically in need of Dean’s approval. Especially since he didn’t ask permission from his master last time. And, make no mistake, it will be Dean who decides this. I understand the dynamics of this trio enough to know where the ultimate power lies.
“All right.” I let out a long, bitter sigh. “What do you think the odds are of them agreeing?”
He hesitates. “I don’t know. But you fought with us against Amara. When she was our enemy, I mean. And they are grateful to you for saving Sam.”
I grunt. “Somehow I doubt that will tip the scales. Not in light of all the torture and murders and—well, you get the idea.”
“Maybe not. But if—if this is really what our Father wants . . . .” He shrugs as his voice trails off.
“Very well, Castiel. I trust you to do your damnedest to convince them.” Maybe there’s hope. Dean is weirdly susceptible to that deadpan voice of his. “When do you want to meet?”
“Come back here tomorrow.”
~~*~~
“Is he here?” Dean’s voice is brusque as he looks around for me. What does he expect to see, exactly? An archangel in his full power and glory, right in the middle of the park? Well, no one said he was the brightest candle in the menorah.
“Yes, he’s here,” Castiel answers. He shoves his hands into the pockets of our trench coat.
Sam folds his arms over his chest. “And he can hear us?”
“Yes.”
“All right.” Dean looks around again, and then inhales deep. “Listen, Lucifer. We’re doing this—I mean, Cas is going to say yes—because Chuck asked us to directly. And that’s pretty much the only reason. I mean, thanks for saving Sam and all . . . but that don’t make up for everything that came before.”
So my Father actually came back down to these apes to ask in person. Or in his own Chuck Shurley meat-suit, at any event. Interesting.
“Right,” Sam agrees. “And he said Cas will have the ability to kick you out if you step out of line.”
“How far out of line do you think I can go with my grace inert?” I project my voice into all their heads. My ‘Casifer’ voice, that is. That’s the one I’ll be using from now on, after all. And it should remind them of the time I fought by their side. My old vessel’s voice—Nick’s voice—would remind them of torture and the like.
Dean glances around, as if he can figure out just where a disembodied voice in his head is coming from, and then rolls his eyes. “Dude, you know how much trouble humans can cause without grace?”
All right—I chuckle at that. “You have a point. Don’t worry, Dean. I’ll be the model of good behavior.”
“And you’re okay with this deal?” Sam doesn’t sound convinced. “We’re going to be like, your parole officers. And you don’t exactly have the highest respect for humans.”
“Parole officers? That suggests handcuffs and other interesting paraphernalia—but that’s really more Crowley’s thing than mine.”
Sam shuts his eyes for a second. “Lucifer—”
“Sam, I’m fine with the arrangement. And you should be too. The Winchester boys will now have two pet angels for the price of one.”
Dean shakes his head a little and turns back to Castiel. “Are you sure about this? Because you can still say no.”
“He’s my brother, Dean.”
And that’s enough of an explanation for any Winchester. “All right.” Dean puts a hand on my little brother’s shoulder. “Do what you have to do.”
The hard lines of Castiel’s face soften—he really is on board with this. “Yes,” he whispers.