Word Count: 2252
Characters: Bobby Singer, Lucifer, Sam Wichester
Pairings: Bobby Singer/Sam Winchester
Tags: Graphic Violence, mentions of cannibalism
He could still see the dirty dishes in the sink one of them really should have taken care of. And there was a note on the fridge, probably a message for him someone called and left, written in Sam's familiar scrawl.
"What do you mean you don't know who I am?!" the madman with the sense of entitlement demanded.
Not ten minutes ago, a man Bobby sure as hell didn't recognize had broken in, despite the security, threatened Bobby with his own concealed weapon, and tied him to his own dining chair, the slightly wobbly one.
"Okay," Bobby said with as much calm as possible, feeling like "just another victim" in a pair of jeans and a casual shirt with no armor to speak of, though not necessarily no weapon. "You asked me if I recognized you," he explained, "and I said I didn't. Sounds like that's a problem." He eyed the man's cool expression for any feedback, positive or otherwise. "My name is Bobby Singer, though I'd bet you already know that. I'll know who you are, if you just tell me. What's your name?"
"Lucifer," the man hissed, leaning forward to assess Bobby, like he was intent on finding all the little hints of recognition he could and using them to quiet his unsteady ego.
Bobby frowned slightly. Alright. A case, probably. Likely one of Sam's, because Bobby didn't think it was one of his, and Bobby was part of a team, really, and all action. Someone like this guy'd excite Sam's professional interest easily enough, since Sam was all about the mind and the behaviors. "Serial killer?" he tried.
"'Serial killer?'" Lucifer mocked, leaning forward even more before stepping back, then taking another step, and another, boots slink-clunking across the hardwood floor as he shuffled and paced. "Of course I'm a serial killer," he snapped. He turned away from Bobby, somewhat distressed by Bobby's knowledge base.
Bobby let Lucifer pace, using the opportunity to flick out the blades in his ring without drawing too much attention. He shimmied the ring lower down his fingers, hiding it under his hand in the grip of the sides of his fingers, attempting to cut at the rope near his wrist. Lucifer hadn't put too much thought into the capturing part, really, probably because he was so focused on being recognized.
Bobby paused after Lucifer seemed to be pacing more heavily, then faked it as good as he could. "Oh! Yeah. Oh man. Lucifer. That's right. The things I've heard," he said with a swallow and a little shake of his head. "It's coming back to me, although I wish it wasn't." He squirmed in his chair, the wobbly chair, as he cut at the rope near his wrist with his ring.
Something in the visitor seemed to relax enough to let him lean against the cabinets again. "Maybe he was just being considerate," Lucifer said thoughtfully.
"Well, that does sound like him," Bobby agreed, imagining they were talking about Sam, but not quite sure.
"Bobby Singer," Lucifer said with a wrinkle of his nose, taking a look around. "How long have you been...here?" He gestured to the kitchen counter and the the table that were covered with strewn personal belongings and signs of domestic compromise.
"'Bout two years," Bobby finally decided. It was the truth. He didn't know what he was supposed to say, so he decided he might as well get punished for the truth rather than a lie. It was certainly more noble that way.
"Oh," Lucifer said, voice high with a wounded trickle, "two years, and you got the bare facts of my case. Oh, Sammy, for shame. That's not polite," he shook his head and tsked. "Actions have consequences, or so he tried to prove when he locked me away."
"Hey, about that. How'd you get out?" Bobby asked.
Lucifer's brow furrowed, and he tilted his head, but he offered up his method easily. "I seduced a nurse," he said, almost looking as confused to be saying it as he was that Bobby had asked. "Nurse Masters. Meg, to her friends. I know people, of course, and I know she would have followed me anywhere I wanted to go, and done anything for me." He paused.
"That's...nice," offered Bobby.
"She got as far as two blocks past the hospital." Lucifer shrugged. "She would have gotten in the way of my work. Like you, actually. You're getting in the way." He leaned in close, hand on Bobby's, luckily the one not attempting to cut the ropes. "You're sort of ruining everything for me," he said in a whisper.
Lucifer stepped back from Bobby and the chair again. "Yeah. He defeated me, Sammy, you know? For a while, anyway. For Holmes it was the woman, for me it's the BAU agent with the soulful eyes, but I'm going to have the last laugh, Bobby." His voice was so even, more alive and regular than it had been the rest of the time he'd talked to Bobby, like this was the real point of it all. "I'm going to take back those years I was locked away, and the loss of all my freedom."
Bobby watched as Lucifer looked around the kitchen, oddly thoughtful. "This place isn't right for it, yet, though. You understand it has to be purified." With a nervous gesture of wiping his hands on his jeans, the man reached for the hat Bobby had lying on the kitchen counter, and the message on the fridge, and he started opening the cabinets.
"What are you doing?" Bobby asked, making some serious chair-wobbling progress with the blade in his ring.
"Purifying this place," Lucifer said with agitation, tensing. He walked over to Bobby just to give him a slap across the face. "Two years," he wrinkled his nose. "You touched him."
Bobby's eyes widened, and Lucifer's narrowed, and Bobby's cheek stung for a moment, making things seem oddly surreal. The garage door sounded, which didn't help bring reality back at all.
Lucifer sighed, went back to looking in the cabinets. After a moment, he pulled out a few spices, and Bobby raised a brow as he finished cutting through the rope.
Sam walked in, staring at the sight in their kitchen. His jaw dropped slightly, which was cute, but Bobby needed something more than cute.
Sam drew his gun, setting his jaw. "Lucifer."
"You told him I was just another case, Sam. I'm wounded."
Sam paused, taking a glance at Bobby. "Well," he told Lucifer, looking embarrassed as he glanced back at him, "I couldn't tell him the truth."
Lucifer tilted his head again. He put the hat and the message into the trashcan under the sink, then looked around for a few more of Bobby's things.
"The truth about how I get it," Sam said with those sympathetic eyes. "About you wanting to use my body. I think about it a lot. I've...you're the only man who's ever desired to capture me," he murmured. "To...open me up."
"You're not pure anymore!" Lucifer roared, turning around quickly, the statement and the movement clearly startling Sam. The gun wavered slightly.
Sam ran eyes over Bobby in a purposefully detached manner. "Because of him?" he gestured to Bobby with the gun. "Really?" He then trained the gun on Bobby, getting the right angle, like he was testing the idea out.
"He touched you, and he tainted your skin. All your insides. Your mouth," Lucifer flinched, running a hand over his own mouth. "He kissed it, so many times, Sam. And if we can't fix this, it might be too late."
"What do I have to do?" Sam kept training the gun on Bobby, who did let one end of the rope fall from his hand on accident, swallowing. Taking a step toward Lucifer, Sam said, "Destiny's really important to me. I want you to know that. And I hurt you, right? You still want me?" He offered the full power of his apologetic, hopeful gaze.
"Of course," Lucifer sighed.
"You have your tools, don't you? We have to do it right," Sam pointed out, stepping just a little closer, footfalls silent, eyes full of hope. "No skimping on the process. It needs to work. The Devil doesn't waste effort," he smiled shyly. "Just like he doesn't waste parts." He lifted his free hand like he wanted to touch Lucifer, slowly, unsure of himself, but then he swallowed and let it return to his side.
"The tools are in the car," Lucifer said, eyes wide so they could soak up what was happening, what was tickling his mind and feeding their destiny. "You felt his taint?" he asked uncertainly.
"Sometimes," Sam admitted. He cautiously stepped closer to Bobby, then punched him across the face in the red spot from Lucifer's smack. "Show me your tools? Please," Bobby heard Sam say as he closed his eyes and grunted.
"Not yet," laughed Lucifer, rounding the corner and edging closer to Sam in stops and starts. "Tell him. About our destiny."
"Destiny?" Bobby asked, sounding slightly pained because ow.
"He'll open me up, right," Sam said, with an excited glance at Lucifer. "Once he purifies me, he'll take all he wants from me, and he'll get stronger, smarter. He'll know everything a guy like me at the BAU knows. It's the perfect ending to our story. It's our destiny. Too bad I roped you into this, but, it's too late," Sam said with mock sympathy.
Lucifer got a little closer still, pressing himself nearly right against Sam's back. Sam looked startled, but hid it quickly. He relaxed and let Lucifer manipulate his body slightly, let Lucifer lean in and scent at his neck, at his ear.
"You won't be unsalvageable at all," Lucifer noted, pleased, and then Bobby met Sam's eyes. Sam reached back to pull Lucifer's hands into his, and Bobby slid the ring on, let go of the rope, and did his best to get the blade right in Lucifer's eye.
The blade didn't actually sink into Lucifer's eye, but something was nicked, and the man howled, trying to jerk his hands out of Sam's hold as he closed his eyes. Sam wrestled with the killer, and Bobby grabbed the gun Sam had dropped, until Sam got Bobby's gun away from Lucifer.
As Lucifer was taken away first to get his eye dealt with and then to be locked up again, Sam gripped Bobby tightly, murmuring apologies for everything from how he should have told Bobby about Lucifer to how he shouldn't have punched Bobby's cheek, until Bobby said, "Shut up, World's Best Boyfriend."
Sam looked at him like he was crazy. Then, he looked at him like he'd been looking at him since he'd started apologizing
"Sam. You saved my life. You talked down a killer, got him close, and we took him on together. And plus," he added with a twitching hint of a smile that didn't really stick, not with how shot his nerves still were, "you were the one who told me that damn ring would come in handy.
"Dean, I'm fine!" Sam insisted as his brother tried to talk his ear off over the phone. "We're at a hotel, just trying to take a break. We're not...you are not coming here," Sam said vehemently. "No, you're not. Why? Because we're in the bath tub," Sam said. "Yes. Both of us. Yes, it is a nice hotel." Sam hung up on Dean's reply, and he tossed the phone across the dark blue carpet for good measure.
"You're awful popular tonight," said Bobby.
Sam sighed and threw his arm over Bobby, settling close with a little huff. He sighed a sigh as heavy as his thoughts. "How are we ever gonna go back home?"
"We don't have to," Bobby pointed out. He leaned over and reached for the remote.
"...True," Sam admitted.
"But, we can, in time. If that's what'll work for us. 'Least I'm in the FBI too," he continued. "Imagine if I wasn't. Then we'd really have a whole mess on our hands."
"We do have a whole mess on our hands," Sam complained.
Bobby handed Sam the remote, slipping out of bed.
"Where are you going?" Sam asked.
Bobby knelt down by his bag. "'Member when I said I forgot something?"
Bobby sat next to Sam on the bed, what was obviously a ring box in his hand.
"It's not gonna save your life," Bobby admitted as Sam cautiously took it from him, as he studied it before finally, carefully lifting the lid. "But it looks pretty nice."
Sam blinked. "Bobby," he said with a frown. "This is like the worst night of our lives. Seriously?" He poked at the ring with a fingertip.
"Seriously," Bobby said, taking the remote back and trying to find HGTV. "Maybe we should remodel the kitchen," he pointed out. "'Stead of shipping out all together."
Sam slid the ring on his finger and reached for the remote, turning the volume down. He rested against Bobby and said, "Okay."
Neither would have imagined they'd be able to get any sleep, even in a nice hotel, but they were wrong about that. That wasn't to say they slept for long, or that any dreaming was good dreaming.
They left the TV on. The homes and gardens on the screen got better each half hour as the two of them slept. And they'd get better too.