Chapter Text
All things considered, Dean Winchester is having a good morning. He woke up to a text from Cass, updating him on the hunt for Lucifer. When they found out that Rowena made him human about two months ago, Crowley slashed Castiel’s stolen car’s tires and ditched the angel, declaring this an every-being-for-himself race. Dean was mostly glad to hear about the development, as it meant that his best friend was in a lot less danger than he was previously. How much trouble can the devil be when he’s only human?
Apparently enough to keep him from being caught for a solid two months, even with an agent of Heaven, most of Hell, and a Witch on his ass. Dean can’t help but be the tiniest bit impressed. If he’s not just dead somewhere, Lucifer must have adapted to his humanity fairly quickly.
The update was interesting, mostly because it didn’t say much. Apparently Castiel found Lucifer’s latest hideout. Some teens found it that way late last night and called the local police. Castiel thought the report was promising, and it was in the right direction for where he expected Lucifer to be heading, so he followed up on it. There are signs of a struggle, sulphur, semi-fresh blood that is neither demonic nor quite human, and partial warding on the walls; all of which would imply that Lucifer was caught off guard and captured or killed. But there’s no way that Crowley wouldn’t be bragging his ass off to anyone who would listen if that was the case. At the very least, he’d have texted them a selfie with his success. Maybe another demon is responsible? But who?
That’s not all, though. There’s fresher blood in the shack’s shower, from the same source as the rest of it. And there are depressions in the ground outside indicating a car was parked there, but there is no longer such a car present. So he escaped, possibly?
Dean is gulping down his coffee when he gets another text, this one being a picture of some symbol drawn in blood on a table. It’s smudged by another splotch of blood, presumably from when it was activated, but the original symbol is still clear enough underneath. Dean has never seen it before, and apparently Cass hasn’t either. Cass’ best guess is that it’s a variation of the angel banishing sigil, and given the context of the situation, it banishes demons. Dean jots it down, keeping that in mind. It’d come in handy to be able to get rid of demons without having to recite an exorcism.
Not to mention the smart ones, which lock themselves inside their vessels.
He says as much to Castiel, who mentions knowing that Crowley has a binding rune on his person. They end up calling each other to discuss the matter further. After an hour or two of discussion and speculation, they decide to assume that Lucifer is most likely wounded, and still on the loose. And Crowley’s probably pissed. Dean considers texting the demon to say they found the remains of his latest battle, and asking how he fucked it up so bad. Really, dude, Lucifer’s human, how much trouble can he feasibly be?
If Dean was a betting man (which he is), He’d put money on Crowley getting so caught up in gloating over his victory that he wasn’t paying enough attention to Lucifer to notice that his prisoner had far from given up on escape. There’s a reason they say you shouldn’t count your chickens before they hatch.
The knock on the bunker door comes as a surprise. Still on the phone with Castiel, Dean cautiously makes his way to the heavily warded door, wondering who it might be. It’s probably just wishful thinking, but… maybe Mom decided to come back.
He swings the door open, a warm greeting on his lips, which dies instantly as he sees the blonde man on his doorstep. He looks like he’s been through hell and back, there’s a slightly wild look in his eyes, and his posture tells Dean that he’d rather be pretty much anywhere else, but his face is still unmistakeable.
“Uh… Cass, I think I found Lucifer.”
The reaction is immediate. Cass tells him not to engage, to keep his distance. He says he’s heading to the bunker right now. Don’t move, Dean. Keep Lucifer out of the bunker. Proceed with caution. As if Dean doesn’t already know all those things.
He can’t help but wonder what the devil’s doing here, of all places, though. And Lucifer hasn’t moved since he opened the door, obviously waiting for Dean to get over his initial shock. That’s not the kind of thing someone hostile does. Knowing Lucifer, if he wanted to, he easily could have silenced and killed Dean in the few seconds it took the hunter to recover from surprise. So he wants to talk, then?
Dean ignores Cass’s warnings, putting his hand on his gun as his gaze hardens on the man in front of him. “Gotcha, Cass. I’ll call you back later, okay buddy?” And paying no mind to the angel’s protests, he hangs up the phone, pocketing it. Lucifer shifts on his feet slightly, looking pained as he does so. Dean sizes him up again. “… Why the hell are you here?”
“Funny you should ask. Hell’s exactly why I’m here.” It seems that even becoming human can’t douse Lucifer’s perpetually flippant attitude.
“If you’re expecting us to save your ass, you better think again. You made your own bed, Lucifer. Lie in it.” Dean makes to shut the door on him, but Lucifer, desperate, blocks it from closing with his arm, hissing in pain as the heavy door nearly snaps his bones.
“Wait!” There’s a desperation in his tone that Dean’s never heard before from the devil, and it makes him pause. The pause lasts just long enough for Lucifer to push the door back open, but notably, the devil doesn’t come inside, seeming to respect Dean’s right to allow or deny him entry. “Please, hear me out before you shut the door on me. You’re my last option. If you won’t help me, I’m as good as dead.”
Dean considers just ignoring him and locking him out anyways, but there’s a note of hopelessness in his tone, a sense of rushed, blunt honesty to the statement, and Dean knows he can’t just ignore the desperate cry for help and still call himself a good man (not that he’s a good man anyways, but he tries). Dean always did have a heart that was too big for his own good. He’ll at least listen to what Lucifer has to say, and then he’ll shove him right back outside. It’s no less than Lucifer deserves.
The hunter releases a frustrated sigh, ticked off with himself for doing something he’s almost entirely sure he’s going to regret, and he pulls the door open a little wider. “Fine. No funny business, you understand? Come inside for a minute, I don’t want to keep the door open for too long.”
Lucifer gives a quick nod of understanding, stepping just inside and out of the door’s path. “Good idea. And… thank you.” Dean can tell that the two simple words pain him to say, but the fact that he says them at all shows just how much his run as a human has affected him. The Lucifer who fought Amara with them would have considered refraining from attempting to murder them both thanks enough for their help, God forbid he stoop so low as to say the words out loud.
Dean keeps his hand firmly on his ivory-handled .45 Colt M1911A1 as Lucifer enters, ready at any second to draw it and shoot the bastard. He glares at the blonde, making how he feels about this situation very clear. “Alright, you’ve got five minutes. Talk, and make it quick.”
The devil wastes no time once he’s invited to speak, the words tumbling past his lips as if they’re all rushing to be said, falling over themselves to be heard. “You must’ve heard how I developed my current condition by now, so I won’t bore you with that. I’ve come in the hopes of receiving one of two things from you and your brother, Winchester. Crowley intercepted me at my last safe-house, and I barely escaped with my life intact. He was... Less than forgiving.” Dean gives a tiny snort at that, but his expression remains hard and unforgiving.
Lucifer takes a short, calming inhale. He’s in no place to be making demands, so he has to be as civil and respectful as possible. One catches more flies with honey than with vinegar. He can’t elicit sympathy for himself, so he’ll attempt to appeal to Dean’s sense of reason. “I would have kept running, but it would be a pointless endeavour, now. Crowley’s hound caught my scent, he’ll be able to find me just about anywhere I go, with the exception of this bunker. I was hoping…” No, don’t look weak, be professional. “I’d like to offer you a deal. Or rather, give you the terms of my surrender.” Dean checks his watch, and Lucifer continues quickly. “I know things. All kinds of things. I’ve been around since the dawn of time, and I’m willing to share all of that knowledge with the two of you in exchange for asylum here. Not only that, but should I regain my grace, I will owe you a life debt, and you’ll have the devil in your back pocket for the rest of your existence. If that’s not good enough, I’ll extend it to your entire bloodline. I value my life far above my dislike for humanity.” Dean seems to consider that for a second, so Lucifer takes his chance to push the deal from appealing to ‘can’t refuse’. “The final decision on whether I get my grace back or not if and when it’s found is yours, of course. I won’t touch it without your say-so. I will show you how to bind me in such a way that I cannot absorb it until the rune is removed, and you’re free to have Castiel double-check that it works. I understand that I’m not exactly trustworthy, and I’ll comply with any scrutiny you wish to put me under. If you’d rather just keep me locked away somewhere, I’ll go willingly, so long as you are my captor, rather than Crowley or Rowena.”
Dean purses his lips for a second, but Lucifer can tell he’s really considering it. The hunter interrupts him with a tone smug enough to make Lucifer bristle in annoyance. “Not a fan of those two, huh? Makes me wonder what Crowley did to shake you up so much.” He looks over the placement of Lucifer’s various cuts and bruises. “Alright, and what’s the other thing you want to ask of us?”
Lucifer nods, continuing. “Should those terms be unsatisfactory to you, your brother, and Castiel, I’d like to ask instead, that Sam engages in one-to-one unarmed combat with me, to the death. If you won't offer me sanctuary, I’m as good as dead anyways, and I’d rather go down in a fair fight against a worthy opponent than to my own blade or Crowley’s. Consider it my dying wish. Would you deny even me that?” He waits expectantly, watching as Dean’s expression goes from smug, to confused, to understanding, to sympathetic, and back to the former cool indifference. Dean must recognise his drive to die a warrior’s death, if he must die at all.
“… Why Sam?” He cocks a brow at the devil, the question mostly serving as a stalling technique while he decides on the best course of action.
It’s a fair question. Dean is just as, if not an even more adept fighter than his brother. “I respect Sam. He’s proven that he is at least mentally my equal, and I know that physically, we are now nearly matched. And if anyone deserves the right to take my life, it’s him.”
There’s silence for a moment as the two men meet each other’s eyes, a wordless battle of wills taking place in the air between them. Neither really wins it, both seeming to concede as they break eye contact.
“… Damn right, he does.” Dean finally admits, with a quiet nod of acquiescence.
Lucifer neither agrees nor disagrees. It’s not his first choice, but then his first choice went out the window over two months ago. It’s not the most undesirable option, in any case. “Don’t tell him I said that, though. That boy needs an inflated ego like he needs a hole in the head. Father knows it didn’t do me any good.” There’s maybe the slightest touch of bitterness in his tone. A glance at the wall clock says it’s been well over the allotted five minutes. He cocks a brow at his ‘host’. “So what’ll it be, Winchester? Mercy or death? My fate is in your hands.”
Dean doesn’t answer, not wanting to rush into a potentially world-changing decision like this. Definitely not on his own. And not in his PJs at eight-ish in the morning.
The two of them are still at the top of the bunker’s steps, hovering by the door, Lucifer almost leaning against the cold metal in what Dean can only assume is well-concealed exhaustion. Considering how fresh the blood Castiel saw was, he must have been driving and/or walking continuously since he was attacked. And who knows how long he was awake and on the move before that? And yet here he was, fighting his body’s limits just to maintain his reputation as a being untouched by human limitations.
When he doesn’t get an answer right away, impatience gets the best of Lucifer, and he speaks up again. “If it’s a moral dilemma, I promise you, no one is going to think less of you for condemning the Devil to death. It’s no less than I’ve earned from you and yours. In your place, I’d make that decision in a heartbeat.”
Now, Dean’s not exactly the greatest negotiator, but that doesn’t exactly motivate him to spare Lucifer’s life at all. Isn’t Satan supposed to be the most conniving, deceiving, seductive, charismatic being in all creation? Maybe he’d actually rather die, and just doesn't want to do it himself, seeing that as an action beneath him.
It’s weird to think that perhaps the devil is trying to commit suicide indirectly, but those thoughts are cut off as Lucifer continues, wincing slightly as he rubs the arm he stopped the door with.
“Of course, I assume you heroic-types like to think you’re better than me, so I understand your reluctance. Perhaps my death would satisfy you, but then I wouldn’t be able to make amends for how I’ve wronged you, would I? It comes down to what you find more important, really. Your quick and immediate revenge on me, or the potential advancements in hunting and general benefits to the world my vast banks of knowledge can bring, not to mention the possibility of having myself at full power at your disposal, to help clean up this broken world mess by mess. Should you so choose.”
Ah, and there comes the infallible reasoning. Dean frowns, knowing that Lucifer’s manipulating him, but also unable to find fault with his logic. His word really is binding. If Lucifer’s really offering this deal, claiming that he’ll owe a life-debt… he has to honour it. There’s no way out of it for him. His existence is really worth that much to him, it appears.
Dean shakes his head, taking a step back. “I’m not deciding anything until I discuss this with Sam and Cass. You… just…” He looks around, before remembering his … cough-fuzzy-leopard-print-cough-cough … ‘handcuffs’ (and he uses the term loosely) that are still in his sweatpants pocket from his… sexcapades the night before last. They aren’t his, and the only reason he has them is because in his drunken and sexed-out state, he was unable to get the one cuff off his left wrist, and they lost the key some point between un-cuffing him from the bedpost and well, you know. He had to pick it free the morning after, before Sam saw it on him.
Well, as Dad always said, you use what you’ve got. Dean pulls the cuffs out, earning yet another raised eyebrow from Lucifer. “This is taking a turn I didn’t see coming, but can’t say I completely object to.” Comes the immediate, practically reflexive snarky comment.
“Shut your pie hole.” Dean retorts gruffly, grabbing the blonde’s injured arm in retaliation and feeling a sense of vindication when he receives a hiss of discomfort in response. “I’m going to go get Sam, and you’re going to stay put.” He says as he clicks one ridiculously fluffy cuff around Lucifer’s wrist and the other around the railing.
The devil gives the cuff an experimental tug, and then shrugs. “I’m not going anywhere. Go call your boyfriend and talk to your brother. I await your decision.” As Dean walks away from him, Lucifer blows a kiss with his free hand. Cocky bag of dicks. Dean tosses him the finger for good measure.
And with that parting gesture, Dean quickly makes his way down the stairs and out of sight.
The charade wasn’t as easy to keep up as Lucifer made it seem. The injured human was on the brink of exhaustion, and aching all over. He was running practically purely on willpower. When Dean’s out of sight, He sinks to the ground, the arm attached to the railing just above his head making it a bit awkward to situate himself.
He (correctly) assumes that Dean plans to call Castiel back first, and then wake his brother up and explain the situation. This could take awhile, so he might as well make himself comfortable, right?
The devil isn’t sure what fate awaits him, but at least for now, he’s still alive.
Smiling to himself, he adds to the tally. Lucifer: 63, Universe: 1.
Lucifer ends up settling down curled up into the corner formed by the railing and adjacent wall. His crushed and bruising (but miraculously not broken) arm dangles from the surprisingly comfortable handcuffs (he tries not to think very hard about who used them last and for what purpose), but otherwise the position is actually fairly comfortable. And defendable, though that’s something he notices more subconsciously. He’s behind the door’s hinges, so if someone were to come inside, he’d see them before they would see him. And if someone were to come through the hallway and into the map room, Lucifer’s got the high ground, and the railing to help obstruct their view of him.
Not that any of that really matters, because after about five or six minutes, Lucifer is pretty much passed out in that corner, for all intents and purposes dead to the world.
The conversation with Castiel is kind of rough. Dean isn’t able to get a word in edgewise for almost a solid five minutes after telling Cass that Lucifer is handcuffed to the staircase. The angel hardly pauses for breath amidst his never-ending reprimand of Dean’s poor decision-making.
“Come on, I can handle one human.”
“I’m sure you can, but he’s no mere human, Dean.” The angel reminds him with a tired sigh. “He can’t be trusted, no matter what form he’s in.”
“I know that, I’m not an idiot, Cass.” Really, what does Castiel think he’s going to do? Sell his soul? “There’s a reason I cuffed his ass. But aren’t you just the tiniest bit curious as to why he came here?”
The phone crackles electronically as Cass huffs on the other end. “Of course I am. That doesn’t mean you should have talked to him on your own. At least tell me Sam’s there, too.”
“Um… Yeah, Sam’s here.” Dean answers, not completely untruthfully.
Castiel pauses, and then responds with a tone that says just how done he is with Dean’s bullshit. “He’s not awake, is he.” The angel doesn’t wait for an answer. “Dean, you have to be more careful!”
Ugh. When did Castiel become such a mom? “I am careful. Careful is my middle name. Everything’s under control, I swear. Now do you want to hear what he wants, or not?” Dean would bring up the fact that he’s the only one of the three of them who’s never said yes to being possessed by Satan, but he’s not that much of an asshole.
How Castiel manages to sound so judgemental over the phone, Dean will never understand. “Your middle name is Henry, Dean.” And how does he even know that? Dean’s pretty sure he’s never told the angel… Maybe Sam’s the culprit. Or maybe it’s just an angel thing. “… But I suppose the damage is already done. What does he want?”
“To surrender, apparently.” Dean answers quickly, and proceeds to explain Lucifer’s offer to his friend. Castiel refrains from interrupting as Dean does so, but the hunter can practically feel the skepticism in his silence.
There’s a long break in-between Dean finishing his explanation and Castiel’s reluctant response. “… It’s a very good deal, granted he actually binds himself to it.”
“No kidding.” Dean runs a hand through his hair, and then checks his watch to see how long he’s left Lucifer alone. Almost half an hour, geez. “He knows that we don’t have to help him, too. We can make pretty much any demands we want, and he doesn’t have any choice but to give us what we want or end up in Crowley’s hands again.”
“I’m not sure what else we could ask of him, though. He’s offering to sign over his life to you. Anything else we could ask would be redundant.”
“You said it, angel. This is definitely his last play. He’s out of cards.”
“When did he have cards?” Dean waits. “Oh, that’s just another human expression. I understand. Indeed. Lucifer’s been effectively cornered, it seems. And his claim about the hellhound checks out. There were scratches on the floor and table that would suggest the presence of a large, clawed animal, as well as slobber that I would also believe came from a hellhound.”
“Which means he’s fucked.” Dean concludes gruffly. “Those things are impossible to run from forever. He definitely needs a safe place to hide, and here probably really is his best bet.”
“Just because his reasons are valid, doesn’t mean that his intentions are as he says.” Castiel reminds him in that deep, serious tone of his. “Wait for me to reach you before you agree to anything, please.”
“Alright, I can wait. How far away are you?”
“No more than five hours, four if I speed.”
“Gotcha. Sam should be up before then. I’ll tell him, and assuming he doesn’t just murder Satan, we’ll wait for you to get back before we decide anything.”
“See you soon, Dean.”
“Later, Cass.”
Dean hangs up the phone, and then peeks into Sam’s room again. His little bro is still out cold, so Dean lets him be, turning back to go check on Lucifer.
The hunter’s heart skips a beat when he doesn’t immediately see Lucifer at the top of the stairs. His gun is drawn quickly, and his senses go on high alert. “Lucifer?!” Dean whisper-shouts it, not really expecting an answer. How did he get out of the handcuffs?
However, his fears are assuaged when calling the man’s name gets him to stir from his place curled up in the corner at the top of the staircase. One side of the devil’s hair is mussed up, like it was flattened against the wall for a while. Dean relaxes just a bit, and lowers his handgun.
“… You called?” The half-asleep-looking blonde peeks over the railing, taking his time getting back up. He’s rubbing his neck with his free hand, in such a way that tells Dean he had it at an awkward angle.
With a quiet snort, Dean tucks his gun into the back of his pants again. “Thought you might’ve run off somewhere. Had a nice nap?”
The look of annoyance the question gets him is enough to make him smile again. “Until you woke me, I was.” Dean gets an absurd image of Lucifer’s face on Smaug, bellowing ‘Who dares disturb my slumber?!’. He keeps the thought to himself. Lucifer eyes him somewhat warily. “I don’t see Sam with you, am I to take it that means you haven’t spoken to him yet?”
“Yeah, he’s still out. Cass won’t be back for another four or five hours, so I’ll wait for Sam to wake up on his own. He’ll probably be more agreeable that way, than if I woke him up early.”
Lucifer makes a half-assed attempt to un-flatten his hair. He cocks a brow at Dean’s answer. “So… you’d rather keep me alive, then?” He sounds genuinely surprised by that.
“You made us a pretty damn good offer, dude. That is, assuming you can follow through.” Dean admits reluctantly. “Even Cass agrees with that, and he wants nothing more than to see you locked up again after that stunt you pulled.”
“Ah. I see.” Comes the short reply as Lucifer leans back on the wall he’d been resting against and rubs his eyes. After another second of silence, Lucifer turns his full—if tired—attention on the hunter. “So you’ve made up your mind, then? If you weren’t required to wait for your brother and your angel, which fate would you choose for me?”
Dean gives the graceless archangel a critical once-over. He already knows what his answer is going to be, but Lucifer can wait a little longer to hear it. Lucifer doesn’t seem to care too much, looking for all the world like he’d rather still be asleep. “… I’d let you stay here, if it was only up to me. It’s only the three of us most days, and we can use all the help we can get.” The hunter pulls out his phone, making his way up the stairs. “Cass found your last hideout, and he’s been unable to get into your other ones. You obviously know warding and runes that not even he knows, and that stuff alone would almost be enough to make me want to keep you around.” As he reaches Lucifer, he shows the blonde the picture Castiel sent him earlier this morning. The devil stiffens up slightly at the sight, looking very uncomfortable for a brief second, and then he brushes it off. “Cass doesn’t recognise this one. Best we could figure, it banishes demons.” The hunter says open-endedly, obviously waiting for Lucifer to explain the marking.
It takes the blonde a second to get what Dean wants. “You figured right.” Lucifer holds his hand out for the phone, and Dean gives it to him. “Alright, you get one freebie before you decide what to do with me.” The blonde saves the picture, and opens it in the ‘edit’ menu so that he can trace over it to illustrate as he talks. “All banishing sigils are within circles. I’m sure you know of the angel-banishing one, and this one’s similar. The symbols within this one are from a language of my own creation. This one means ‘begone’, this one ‘hellspawn’, and this one ‘to hell’. The nine dots above that last one specify the ninth circle of Hell.” Lucifer traced the runes as he mentioned them. “It’s like… a wordless exorcism, the only differences being that it works on hellhounds too, and it doesn’t leave the vessels behind. I can teach you this language. It’s fairly simple, because I invented it particularly to work against demonkind, so everything is in terms of that. Once you know it, you can make all kinds of warding and banishing sigils to get rid of them. They must obey any order in this language written in blood.”
“You made a language for them? Why?” Dean takes his phone back when Lucifer is done with it, saving the photo with the tracing on top of it.
“I created Demons.” Lucifer starts with a shrug. “When you create something, you can assign it strengths and weaknesses. There’s pure salt, holy water, running water, and this language, among other things which I’ll tell you if you let me stay. I could have given them no weaknesses, but then their power would come solely from myself, therefore weakening me.”
Dean simply nods, a crease between his brows telling the ex-archangel that he’s listening intently.
“It’s like any spell works. There’s a balance to it.” Lucifer continues dispassionately. “Come now, you hunt all things weird, and you don’t know how magic works?” When Dean shakes his head, Lucifer rolls his eyes and sighs, in a very much ‘here we go’ tone. “Demons are souls that are enchanted to accept certain limitations in exchange for certain abilities. Only myself, Lilith, and a few of her highest underlings know all of their weaknesses. More demons are created through the act of a soul undergoing torture until it accepts those terms, whether or not the demon realises that’s what it’s doing. The torture isn’t even necessary, but I assume that Lilith enjoyed doing it so much that her underlings have just assumed that it is. The spell is cast on the domain of Hell. I could take any soul to Hell, ask if it wants to become a demon, and if it agreed, Hell would do the rest and it would become one. It’s that simple.”
Dean nods at the new information, lifting a brow. “Okay, but what about the Mark? When I died while having it, I became a demon without deciding anything.”
To his surprise, Lucifer rubs the back of his neck in what looks like mild embarrassment. “That was actually a failsafe I put in for myself. I knew what I was doing would probably, eventually lead to me fighting my father or Michael, so I added a clause about the Mark. Whosoever bears it, should they die by any means, will be reincarnated as a demon with power equal to what they possessed when alive. Of course, at the time, I assumed that would only ever be me.” He recounts, dropping his free hand back to his side. “It was intended to give me a second chance, and allow me to only be killed by the first blade, making me damn near undefeatable. I never did find out if it actually worked. I assume that it might have, because for you and Cain, it converted the formerly unusable power of your untainted souls into raw, demonic power. It should have done the same for my grace. Of course, no power comes without a price. I’m sure you already know the costs of wielding that which the mark gives you.” The graceless angel beaks eye contact with Dean.
Dean nods. He does. Of course he does.
The explanation makes sense, given Lucifer’s circumstances. It’s actually a really strategic move on Lucifer’s part. He turned what would be considered his greatest weakness into a hidden strength, making himself effectively invulnerable upon ‘death’. The thought is actually a little scary, and Dean finds himself suddenly really glad that they stopped him from fighting Michael. No wonder Lucifer was so confident going into that fight with his brother. He’d rigged it so he would win millennia ago. With God gone, Michael would have been totally unprepared for Lucifer to come back. And a world ruled by an emotionless, hate-driven demon (meaning he’d no longer need permission to possess people, holy crap) with the power level of an Archangel would be… horrifying, to say the least. Lucifer would massacre all of Heaven, his entire family without so much as batting an eye. Dean knows he would, because Dean would have killed Sam if Castiel hadn’t intervened. And he would have enjoyed it.
The only way to beat him would be to undo the spell, which only Lucifer knows how to do, get someone else with the mark to kill him with the first blade (but he’d be way stronger than Cain or Dean), or release Amara, who was arguably worse than Lucifer.
Before he can voice this revelation however, he’s interrupted by gunshots. Lucifer drops to the ground just before the first two go off, and Dean whips around to see Sam pointing his gun at the Devil from the hallway. “Dean, why is Satan handcuffed to our staircase?”
Both bullets missed Lucifer. He reacted quickly enough after seeing Sam to duck them. He stays below the railing, making himself a more difficult target to hit. Dean moves into Sam’s way, too. “Put the gun away, Sammy. Meet me in the kitchen, we’ve got a lot to talk about.”
Lucifer peers over the railing, giving the hunter a wave. “Morning, Sam!”
Dean turns to glare at him, and Lucifer ducks another shot from Sam’s gun. “Dude, not helping. Shut up, and keep your damn head down.”
“I’m being friendly!” The blonde protests, but stays down anyways.
Dean ignores him, looking back at his brother. “Stop shooting, Sam! Trust me, okay? I’ll explain in the kitchen.” The elder brother turns on the man behind him. “And you,” he starts, sounding understandably pissed off, “stay put and shut your trap. Just don’t. Do. Anything.”
In true flippant Lucifer fashion, the blonde nods, putting up three fingers in the boy scout symbol. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Winchester. Scout’s honour.”
“Yeah, like you’re a scout.”
“Actually, Sir Baden-Powell is in—”
“I don’t want to know. Just stop.”
“Stopping. Gotcha.”
Sam is thoroughly thrown off by the whole conversation. Sure, as a Winchester, he’s been in some really fucked-up situations before, but waking up to find his older brother chatting up Satan, who is handcuffed (and are those handcuffs… fuzzy? And leopard-printed?) to their staircase? That’s definitely up there on the ‘crazy and unexpected’ chart.
Almost purely out of curiosity, the junior Winchester puts his gun away. “Fine. But you better have a damn good reason for letting him in here, Dean.”
“Heh.” Dean exhales a little nervously. “Is curiosity a good reason?”
“Dean.” The younger Winchester sounds about as done as he looks.
“C’mon, Sammy. We know he’s human. It’s not like he’s really dangerous.” The elder tries, starting to make his way down the stairs.
An affronted huff from the blonde in question catches both their attentions. “Come on, give me some credit. I managed to evade capture from the forces of Heaven, Hell, a witch, and you two idi—hunters—for two months. I may be human, but that doesn’t mean I’m not still a formidable foe.” At Dean’s exasperated glance, he quickly adds; “Or ally. Go Team Free Will, right?”
Winchester senior just pinches the bridge of his nose, suddenly aware of what he decided to side with.
“… Riiiight.” Sam drawls, turning towards the kitchen, now utterly perplexed.
“I promise, there’s a halfway-decent reason I didn’t kill him, Sammy.” Dean reassures his skeptical brother, not fully convinced himself.
With a shake of his long-haired head, Sam disappears into the kitchen. And with a look of warning to Lucifer, Dean follows after him.
Lucifer relaxes, satisfied that he played his cards right. Phase one; complete. Dean is technically on his side, and he convinced Castiel to take their side as well. All that’s left is Sam, and he’ll be the trickiest. But if Lucifer knows Sam (and he does—perks of having literally been in his noggin for a bit) the younger Winchester would have been even more suspicious of him if he’d acted any less like a prideful asshole. And the fact that Dean kept glaring at him would make sure that his brother knew he wasn’t somehow under the devil’s control.
At this point, Lucifer’s only goal is to survive long enough to get his revenge on Rowena. He can even stomach not getting his grace back, so long as he can make her pay for what she did to him. He’d like to kill Crowley too, but the bastard is friends with the Winchesters, and they almost certainly wouldn’t help him with that venture.
At least, not right away. Assuming things keep going his way, it should be a fairly simple matter after getting them to like him, to casually slip in what Crowley did to him, and perhaps they’ll take his side on the matter.
Oh Winchesters, so hopeful and good of heart, always so confident they’ll come out on top that they don’t notice when they’re being played like a pair of fiddles.
Sam is waiting patiently by the coffee maker when Dean reaches the kitchen. Perhaps patiently isn’t the right word. The younger brother looks more like he’s doing everything within his power to hold back the imminent lecture he wants to give Dean.
And really, Dean should know better. But his younger brother is trying to give him the benefit of the doubt here, because surely Dean wouldn’t just let the devil into their bunker without really thinking it through first. Dean has more common sense than that… right?
The younger doesn't say anything, just waiting for Dean to explain himself with a look on his face like he’s trying really hard not to be pissed off. And not quite succeeding.
The elder of the two takes his time thinking through what he has to say. He knows there isn’t really a good way to explain what’s going on, so he’s got to be careful to word it in the least bad way possible. “I swear I didn’t just let him in here for shits and giggles, tSammy. He’s here to surrender. He can be real useful to us, you know he can. And now he’s human, which means we don’t have to worry so much about keeping him in check, especially when Cass gets here.” Sam looks like he has several choice words to say, but Dean barrels on. “Look, I was just gonna throw him out, too. But the dude almost broke his arm trying to get me to hear him out. I mean, he’s desperate enough to come here for help. And honestly, we can use all the help we can get, too.” Dean hardly paused to take a breath, trying to keep Sam from interrupting with all the surely very convincing arguments he has for Dean’s points. “Sammy, I’m not saying we should trust him. We’d be idiots to trust him. But we can use him. He knows more things about Demons, angels, and monsters than we could ever hope to know, and he’s willing to share everything he knows with us if we let him stay here.” Sam still doesn’t look happy, but at least now he looks like he’s giving the idea some consideration. “Not only that, but he says he’ll owe us his life, if he ever gets his grace back. Like Chewbacca and Han Solo.” And finally, Dean stops, having said all he can think of to convince Sam to back off for the time being.
“Dude, did you just compare Satan to Chewbacca?”
The elder of the two rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, kinda. Look, you don’t have to decide anything now. We’ll sit down and talk it out when Cass gets here. Just… don’t kill him until then, okay?”
The taller man is silent for another few seconds, as if waiting to see if Dean intends to continue. His expression is thoughtful, brows drawn together slightly and lips pursed. When he sees that Dean’s done talking, he finally speaks. “Okay.”
“I know where you’re coming from, Sammy, I do, but I’m not asking--” Dean halts, Sam’s answer finally registering. “Wait, did you say ‘okay’?”
Sam hums his confirmation, slightly amused by his brother’s reaction.
Dean obviously wasn't anticipating this conversation to be this easy, and now he looks stumped as for what to say next.
“Well?” Sam prompts.
“Give me a minute, I didn’t think I’d get this far…” Dean replies gruffly, leaning against the counter. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”
“No, I don’t think I’ll ever be okay with Satan living with us, but… you know. I’ll deal.”
“Then why are you agreeing with me?” Sometimes, his little brother makes absolutely no sense…
The taller Winchester shrugs, eyes on the coffee machine. “I trust you, Dean. If you’re convinced we should give the devil a chance, then we’ll give him a chance. But if he tries anything, Dean, don’t dare try to stop me from shooting him again.”
There’s a brief lull in the conversation as Dean tries to find the right way to respond to that, and Sam pours himself and Dean a mug of coffee each.
In the end, Sam saves Dean from having to come up with something to say. “You did make sure he actually is human before you let him in, right?”
Dean pauses mid-sip of coffee, blinks, and tries to play the moment off like it didn’t happen. “Psh. Of course I did, Sammy. How careless do you think I am?” He sets his coffee down. “I’ll be right back. I’ve got to… use the little boy’s room.”
“Dean.” Sam hisses, not falling for it for a second. He is not, in fact, as gullible as his older brother seems to think he is.
Knowing he’s been caught, the elder heaves a sigh, dropping the pretences. “C’mon, Sam. It’s early, what do you want from me? It doesn’t really matter at this point, anyways. If he could, he would have done something by now.”
Sam doesn't look amused.
“I mean, those hand cuffs aren’t really anything special, Sammy. I got them from this hooker a coupl--”
Sam cuts him off right there. “Dude, I don't want to know.”
Dean has the audacity to look kind of proud of himself at the disgruntled look on Sam’s face. “Point is, if he wasn’t human, we’d know by now.”
“I’m still going to check.” Sam shoots back, putting down his coffee and making for the doorway.
Dean doesn’t move to stop his brother, just huffing out a soft snort. “You just wanna cut him up.”
“And you don’t?” the younger asks, cocking an incredulous brow at his older brother as he pulls a few knives of different composition from one of the kitchen’s many drawers.
This gets him a shrug in acquiescence. “Touché.”
With knives, a syringe of dead man’s blood, holy water, holy oil, and lighter now in hand, Sam heads back out to the map room. Lucifer is standing again, leaning against the nearest wall and holding onto his his right shoulder. He straightens up when he sees Sam, with an expression on his face that went from cautiously hopeful, to confused when he saw what Sam was carrying, and then back to cautiously hopeful when he recognised what they were. He didn’t say anything as Sam made his way up to him, evidently deciding that Sam would be more patient with him if he kept his mouth shut. It was a smart choice.
Sam looks the devil over as he nears Lucifer, noting the budding bruises littering what parts of the other’s skin he could see. It wasn’t until he was just a couple feet away that he noticed why Lucifer was gripping his shoulder the way he was. “You’re bleeding.” The statement came out almost as a question, with how surprised Sam was by that fact. The devil can bleed now, and Sam had never considered that a possibility before.
“Oh, this?” Lucifer lifts his hand from the wound, acting as if he’d only just noticed it himself. “You just nicked me with that third shot. I’ll be fine.” He eyes the things in Sam’s hands, indicating them with a dip of his head. “I assume you want to assure that I’m actually human now?” He extends the arm that’s already bleeding towards Sam. “Test away, I’ve got nothing to hide.”
As the handcuffed arm was extended to him, Sam could see the bright red and purpling bruise on his right arm where he’d stopped the bunker door from closing on him. Yikes, Dean wasn’t exaggerating. The guy really looked like he’d been through the wringer.
But all Sam had to do was take one look at Lucifer’s face, and any sympathy or pity he felt for the man evaporated. The hunter grabs the arm offered to him after setting down or pocketing everything but the silver knife. “You better not, or I don’t care what Dean thinks, I’ll gut you like the monster you are.” And with that, he cuts a line across the meat of Lucifer’s arm, maybe a little deeper than necessary.
The devil grits his teeth against the sting of it, but doesn’t complain. “… That’s fair.” He admits weakly, not meeting Sam’s eyes. “You’d be perfectly justified in doing so.”
Next was the iron knife, and though Sam knows perfectly well that he only needs to press it to the other’s skin, he cuts another line anyways. Lucifer must know, too, but he doesn’t say anything on the matter. At least this is better than being killed, he reminds himself. It could always be worse. Lucifer passes the iron test, too.
So that crosses Shapeshifter, Were-wolf, ghoul, skinwalker, and ghost off the list.
Sam doesn’t say anything further, just handing Lucifer the flask of holy water. “Drink it.”
Lucifer does without hesitation, and nothing happens. So, not a demon. Anymore.
As he does, Sam injects a tiny amount of the dead man’s blood into his right arm, nodding when the skin doesn’t react to it.
So, he’s not a vampire.
And finally, the last test. Sam lays a circle of holy oil around Lucifer, who stays mostly still and completely silent as he does. When he’s satisfied with it, Sam gives a slight nod, then straightens up and drops his lighter on it. Now’s the moment of truth; is he an angel and just faking all this?
Lucifer eyes the fire around him for a second before steeling himself, shutting his eyes, and stepping outside of the ring quickly. He cracks one eye open once he’s outside, and looks back at the ring of fire.
Like he can’t help himself, the devil cracks a wide smile. Sam eyes him suspiciously. “What are you so happy about?”
Lucifer faces Sam again, his smile fading as he does, but not quite disappearing. “I’ve just never been able to do that before. I mean, I have, but it always took a massive amount of power, or it hurt like a bitch. Now that I just… can… It’s kind of neat, you know?” He explains, looking back at the fire. “You humans have it good, you know that? Immortal souls, free will, no imposed limitations, Dad really went all out when he made humanity… it’s no wonder you’re the dominant species.”
Dean reached them then, carrying two mugs of coffee and a fire extinguisher under one arm. He cocked a brow at the blonde. “Not so anti-human now, huh? Why the change?” He hands the mugs to Sam so he can put the fire out.
Lucifer waits for Dean to finish before answering. “I’m trying to make the best of a bad situation. I had two choices when Rowena left me without my grace. I could sit there and wallow in self-pity and self-loathing, or I could get off my sorry ass and do something about it.”
Dean smiles a little. “With an attitude like that, you’ll fit right in around here.”
Sam clicks his tongue in disagreement.
“Stuff it.” Lucifer huffs, but doesn’t seem to be offended. “I won’t say I prefer being human to having my grace… but it really isn’t all as bad as I thought it would be.” The blonde admits, holding his shoulder once more to keep pressure on where Sam grazed him with a bullet. There are cuts on his arm too now, and he doesn’t have enough hands to put pressure on both. “The bleeding, I could do without though.”
Dean snorts. “Yeah, you and I both, pal.” He sets the fire extinguisher down and takes his coffee mug back from Sam. “Sammy, mind patching him up real quick while I clean up this mess? Can’t have him bleeding out all over our floor.”
“Sure, Dean.” Sam turns to go get what he needs with a roll of his eyes. Personally, he’d rather just leave Lucifer like that, but Dean’s right. They’re agreeing to let him stay so he can help them, and he can’t help them if he dies of blood loss.
Before he gets very far, though, Dean pipes up again with, “Hey, take him with you, wouldya? I can’t clean up with him right in the middle of all this.”
“I can clean it up.” Lucifer offers. “It’s because of me that you needed it anyways.”
Sam and Dean are taken aback by the unexpected offer. They exchange a glance that conveys an entire conversation, and Sam nods to Dean, who turns back to Lucifer. “Alright. I’ll get what you need, and Sam will fix you up first.” And with that, he produces a hairpin (which definitely doesn’t belong to him) and picks the lock on the handcuffs.
With a nod of understanding, and still holding his shoulder, Lucifer follows Sam down the stairs. It’s a quick walk to the kitchen, where Sam pulls out a roll of bandage cloth and a rag, then runs water over the rag to wet it. Nothing is said between them as Lucifer rolls up his sleeve to expose the gunshot wound to Sam, who quickly cleans both it and the knife cuts up with the rag, and then proceeds to wrap the gunshot wound up.
It’s silent for a long while, until Sam finally speaks up. “It’s been bugging me for a while. Before Rowena… you know, took your grace, you didn’t really do anything but look for a vessel, as far as I could tell. Did you have a plan? What were you going to do once you found one?”
Lucifer shrugs, then winces at how the motion affects the wound on his shoulder. “Not really. To be frank, I’d probably just start smashing things. My head was in a pretty bad place after that fight.”
Sam arches a brow at that admission. “Why? Didn’t God apologise to you? You two were cool, right?”
Lucifer releases a derisive snort, shaking his head slightly. “Yeah. He apologised for abandoning me, and the rest of our family. And what’s the very next thing he did, Sam?” When the hunter doesn’t respond, Lucifer answers his own question. “He abandoned me. Again. D—God just said whatever he had to to get me to do what he wanted. He needed my help, so he told me what I wanted to hear. And I fell for it, like he knew I would.” Lucifer’s fist tightens for a moment, and then he just releases it, the anger draining from his body, as if he didn’t have the will to hold onto it anymore. “We’re all just toys to him. Broken, disappointing toys. I see that now. He told me I was his favourite, made me think I was special… but now that I’ve outlived my entertainment value, he’s tossed me aside. He’s tossed us all aside. I’m done throwing tantrums to get his attention now, I think. It’s just not worth it. He’s not worth it.”
Sam focuses on bandaging Lucifer’s forearm up, debating whether he’ll actually be needing stitches for the cuts or not. He decides that he’ll take another look at them after Lucifer’s done cleaning, and decide then. “Being human made you decide all that, huh?”
The once-angel shakes his head slightly. “I think I’d eventually reach that conclusion regardless of whether I had my grace or not. Abandoning us again for Amara… it was the last straw, for me. Not having any power definitely forced me to be less destructive, though.”
“Yeah, that sounds about right.” Sam agrees as he finishes cinching up the bandage wrap, and releases Lucifer’s arm. “Alright, you’re good.”
Lucifer gives his bandaged arm an experimental stretch, before turning back to Sam with a half-smile. “Thanks. Back to the staircase, yeah?”
Sam was about to just agree, but he caught sight of something odd when Lucifer smiled, and his brows drew together. “Are you… missing teeth?” Without thinking, his hand shot up to grip Lucifer’s jaw, so he can take a better look. “Let me see.”
The blonde flinches as he does, then seems upset with himself for doing so. He can’t seem to decide whether to allow or deny the request.
It doesn’t matter, because a thumb dragging Lucifer’s lower lip down is all Sam needs to reveal Lucifer’s bottom row of teeth. “How did this happen?” Where his pointed lower canines should be, there were just smooth gums, one which looked like it was an old wound, long healed-over, and the other which looked like it had been recently burned shut, and then had the damaged skin broken again. It looked painful enough to make Sam cringe.
Deciding that he doesn’t like being manhandled this way, Lucifer forcefully jerks his chin out of Sam’s grip, turning away from the hunter and towards the door. “It doesn’t concern you.” He starts walking out of the room, shoulders tensed defensively. “Thank you for bandaging up my arm, but don’t grab me like that again.” His voice shakes slightly, like he wants to yell, but is willing himself to keep his temper in check.
Sam knows the feeling, strangely enough. And as much as he wants to use the other’s reaction as proof that he’s not as reformed as he wants them to think, he can’t really blame the other for being upset.
Still, Sam can’t find it in himself to sympathise with the devil. “Watch your tone.” He glares at the ancient being’s back. “I didn’t do it for your sake. Thank Dean.”
“I will.” The shorter man replies stiffly, leaving the kitchen without waiting for Sam. The hunter follows after him, if only to keep an eye on the man he still sees as a threat, despite all the evidence to the contrary.
It’s only now that he’s behind the other man that he notices Lucifer’s pronounced limp. He’s obviously trying to disguise it, but Sam can still see how much of a struggle it is for the blonde to walk normally. He covers it up better when he reaches the stairs, and can use the railing to help steady himself.
If he was anyone else… anyone, even Crowley, Sam might’ve taken pity on him and told him to go get some sleep. But instead the younger Winchester feels a brief rush of triumph and vindication. In fact, he’d like to shake Crowley’s hand for doing such a number on the devil, even without knowing what exactly it was he did. He should probably be disgusted with himself for finding enjoyment in someone else’s suffering, but it’s Lucifer, and Sam feels that if he can enjoy anyone’s suffering without being a bad person for it, it would be Lucifer’s. If anyone deserves to suffer, it’s Lucifer.
Sam stays by the map table, watching as Lucifer makes his way up the stairs to Dean, who’s holding a couple towels. “Our fire extinguisher just uses water, so all you really have to do is dry it up.” The older Winchester explains, tossing one of the towels to Lucifer. “You sure you don’t need help?”
“I think I’m perfectly capable of drying up a little water on my own, Dean. I’m human, not an infant.” The blonde replies testily, and Dean wonders what put him in such a bad mood. One look at the vaguely self-satisfied expression on Sam’s face is all the evidence he needs.
Oh boy, this arrangement is going to be real fun, he can tell already.
What did Dean sign himself up for?
With the towel in hand, Lucifer slowly drops to one knee, his face kept carefully blank as he gets to work on the wet and scorched ground. Giving a shrug, Dean leaves him to it, making his way down the staircase to talk to Sam again.
“What’d you do?” The older Winchester asks softy, tiredly. When Sam tries to look like he doesn’t know what Dean’s talking about, Dean steals one of his brother’s signature bitchfaces. “It seemed like he was in a pretty good mood, and now he’s all… Defensive, I dunno. People don’t pull three-sixties for no reason, Sam.”
The younger Winchester huffs in disagreement. “He’s not people.”
Dean just keeps up that judgemental look until his brother caves.
“Okay. Jesus. It’s not even my fault.” Sam rolls his eyes, starting to walk away, back towards the kitchen to put up the first aid kit. “He smiled and I noticed that he’s missing some teeth. His canines, specifically. I asked him about it, and he got all touchy. That’s it.”
Dean nods to himself at that, glancing back up at Lucifer from the kitchen’s threshold. “It looks like Crowley really got even with him. Half of me wants to give him a crisp high-five, the other half wants to know what the hell he did to spook Lucifer into running here, of all places. Lucifer seems like the kind of guy who would stand and fight, unless he literally had no options left.”
Sam hums in agreement as he packs away the bandages and antiseptic. “Too bad we probably won’t get anything out of him. Especially once Cass and I vote to kill him.”
“You’re sure Cass will want him dead? I think it’d be sweet to have literal, actual Satan helping up fight demons. You should’ve seen the warding he uses. I’ve never seen anything like it. And we know it works, because he’s managed to effectively hide from… well, from pretty much everybody for months.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Sam’s tone is tough, unforgiving. “He can be as knowledgable and useful as he wants, but Cass and I know he’s nothing but evil. You haven’t had him in your head, Dean.” He gives his brother a hard look. “There’s nothing redeemable about him. The second he has a chance to screw us over, he’ll take it, regardless of any empty promises he’s made or debts he owes us.”
“So we don’t give him a chance.” The elder brother responds glibly. “I know it’s a tough job, Sammy, but since when have we ever taken the easy jobs? Anyways, he’s way out of his depth here. We have the home field advantage, and we’re better at this human thing. How hard can babysitting him be?”
Winchester the younger shakes his head with mild disbelief. “I don’t know Dean, how hard was it for Crowley to find him? Don’t underestimate Lucifer, man.” He shoots a look at the man he can’t currently see through the doorway, past his brother. “I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him. But I can wait for Cass. We’ll do things your way, for now.” He finishes with the kit, putting it all back. “Speaking of which, what’s your plan? We can’t just leave him free to roam around here while we wait for Cass.”
Now there’s a good question. What does one do with the devil?