Chapter Text
Damn Crowley. Somewhere worse than hell, I mean. Worse than hell and purgatory combined. I should devise a dungeon dedicated solely to tormenting that smirking, smarmy dick. No, that would give the bad doggie an exaggerated notion of his own importance.
I close my eyes. For a second—just a second—I see Simmons, right before she sacrificed herself for me.
Huh. I’ll actually remember that sacrifice. Yes, my dollface was only a demon. And demons are nothing more than humans stripped down to their true, vile natures. And yet . . . she had a certain something.
A stunning vessel, for one thing. (Even I can appreciate human beauty now and then.) And she made the most of it. She had style, after all. That bold afro. That staunch suit. Those ludicrous heels. It all made for an enticing package.
All right. I could see past that vessel to her demonic features. Not a pretty sight, trust me. But somehow it wasn’t unbearable.
And she had guts. Too much guts for her own good, as it turned out. But still—it’s hard not to admire her chutzpah. She had the balls to stand up to me and demand orders. And she had the balls to try and trick Crowley on my behalf.
Stop this. I need to pull myself together. Simmons’s death and Crowley’s escape are just temporary setbacks. Nothing more. That’s what I tell myself as I appear back in hell. The pathetic, sycophantic creatures I rule rush to hear any new command, but I dismiss them with a wave of my hand. “Leave me.”
Every last demon obeys. They’re not stupid; I’ll give them that much. I sink onto my throne and try to swallow down the strange taste in my mouth. Damn it. There’s only one person around who is remotely worthy of my attention. I’ll have to resort to a little chat with him. “Castiel?”
He’s here. Of course he’s here. I couldn’t oust him when I took over his vessel. No, he’s with me every second. Ready to help against the Darkness. But also ready to thwart me again should I lay a hand on his beloved Winchesters. “Don’t be coy, little brother.”
“I’m here.”
Good. I really couldn’t stand the silent treatment. Not tonight. Talking to myself, though, is tedious. So I picture him sitting in front of me—on the floor, of course—wearing the same trench coat and business suit, right down to the unkempt tie. Yes, I’ll admit it: I’ve grown to like this get up more than I anticipated. Castiel won’t make the cover of GQ any time soon, but the holy tax accountant look does work.
“Do you understand this?” I ask. “You have more experience than I do when it comes to—the, uh, odd things this vessel of yours experiences.”
He cocks his head at me. Sweet Dad, I can picture that questioning, constipated look of his perfectly. “What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean! You’re feeling it too; don’t pretend otherwise.” I suck in a lungful of air. “I’m talking about the bile in my throat. The . . . the way my breath gets short when I’m not paying attention. The way my stomach clenches—”
“It’s a combination of anger and grief.” And there’s that total deadpan voice of his, like he can’t believe I need him to state something so obvious.
“Anger? Oh yes, there’s anger.” I grin—a savage, malicious grin. “Wait till you see the torments I have in store for Crowley. But grief? You’re mistaken.”
“Why do you think that?” He sounds genuinely confused. “She gave up her existence for you.”
“Simmons was nothing but a filthy human, Castiel! A filthy human turned demon. I don’t grieve them.” I slam my fist down on the arm of the throne—but then force more air down my vessel’s lungs. I refuse to lose control. “Do you know who I grieve for? Every angel we’ve lost, regardless of which side they fought for. They deserve my tears.”
“But—”
I snort. “There’s no use talking to you about this. Your idiot crush on Dean Winchester has blinded you.”
He’s not offended. And he doesn’t bother denying it. He laughs softly instead. “Dean Winchester is a good man. And he and his brother have been known to best you.”
It was mostly Sam who bested me, but that’s still one point for Castiel. I come right back at him, though.
“Dean is a closet case. You understand that, don’t you? Granted, you have a better shot at him than that fanboy Crowley does. But don’t hold your breath waiting for him to embrace his bisexuality.”
“I don’t care about that.” Castiel’s voice is sharp. Ha! So that little arrow of mine struck home. “Human hedonism is pleasant, but—”
“Unnecessary for us. Yes, I know.” Unnecessary, tedious and arguably stomach turning.
And yet. I can almost imagine unbuttoning that staunch suit of Simmons. I close my eyes a little, remembering the subtle way her breasts swelled beneath it . . . .
“Will you find a way to bring her back, Lucifer?” I roll my eyes as my little brother’s gruff voice destroys the moment.
But the question is valid. I might be able to manage it. But why would I? I need to focus on defeating the Darkness—which, in my favorite fantasy, will require the blood of both Winchesters and Crowley to boot. I don’t need to worry about resurrecting some barely evolved bipedal creature. Still, it might be amusing to have Simmons at my side for my eventual triumph.
Fuck me. Now that the idea is there, I can’t get it out of my head.