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srs2013_r1Summary: It's been nearly a month since Lucifer, captain, pilot and crew of the Morningstar lost his last co-pilot, and he's getting homesick for the stars, much as Gabriel appreciates having him back planetside for once. Enter Sam.
Word Count: 3779
Characters: Gabriel, Lucifer, Sam, Meg, Crowley (mentioned)
Pairings: Gabriel/Lucifer/Sam
Tags: Sci-Fi AU
"I want to see the stars," the scientist says. He traces the patterns of constellations on Lucifer's palm and forearm, the ones his favorite stories belonged to; the Fox and the Thief, the Leviathan, the Queen's Throne.
"Space wouldn't suit you, love," Lucifer says, looking fond. "Too cold. You're meant for warm places."
The scientist hums and rolls over, folding his hands behind his head. His bunk is only just big enough for the two of them--hardly a bunk, really, just a mattress in the corner of his lab, but it suits his needs. He's added a quilt Lucifer brought him back from a world on the other side of the System, a few ratty blankets he's picked up at thrift shop, some mismatched pillows, forming a haphazard nest. Lucifer laughs each time at how rag-tag it is, and brings him back scraps of brightly colored fabric from all over the galaxy.
Lucifer strokes a hand through his hair, smiling at the way the delicate antennae that stretch off his forehead and peek out of his hair flare up and gravitate towards his fingers, the nodes on the end brushing his skin and sending little signals of content--warm--brother.
The scientist lets out a little purr at the affection and wriggles closer, one hand creeping over Lucifer's hip. His skin is flushed, an almost imperceptible mint green tint to it.
"You found a new co-pilot yet?" he asks, eyes shut.
Lucifer shakes his head, the tendrils on his own forehead twitching in frustration. "Nothing yet."
He's been grounded more than three weeks, and it's starting to wear on him. In secret, dark places in his heart, the scientist is glad about it, has savored these few weeks of having Lucifer all to himself. But he knows Lucifer belongs to the stars, he knows Lucifer isn't meant to stay bound to the earth this long.
"Never happy unless you're running, are you?" the scientist says, and sighs, looking away.
Lucifer's brow wrinkles, and he draws a hand down the scientist's back, letting it rest at the base of his spine where his tail connects. He runs his fingers up the length of it, fingering the tuft of fur at the end of it, smiling when it twitches in his hand and the scientist makes an undignified little noise. "You know I'd never run from you, love," he says. "Not you, Gabriel."
He nuzzles against Gabriel's neck, pressing precise little kisses along his collar bone. "I've got to go out for a bit," he murmurs. "I've got a few leads I need to follow up on. You should get some sleep, you've been working yourself to death lately."
Gabriel makes a face at him. "Will you be back tonight?" he asks. "You should stay here, there's plenty of room. Better than sleeping in alleyways."
Lucifer smiles. "We'll see, alright?"
The dawn is just breaking over the Lower City when he slips out the door to the fire escape, golden pink light creeping up over the towering buildings, sneaking into the tight alleys between them. They build everything too close together down here, too close and too high, everything spindly and reaching. A city made out of fragile matchboxes. Gabriel's lab is on the eighteenth floor, not too far from the ground. He'd been lucky, gotten the space through some contacts of Crowley's, and it's not a bad deal, but Lucifer hates it, hates the way only the faintest slices of sun make their way in here.
He wraps long and slender fingers around the balcony of the fire escape, swinging himself over it, dropping to the next one, scaling the building with practiced ease. He's heading for a place a few districts down, a bar in the Ram District, where Meg's supposed to meet him. She's mentioned a few people she knows looking to move some cargo, and nevermind that he can't fly Morningstar without a co-pilot. He'll figure something out.
It takes him longer than he'd planned to get there. He has to take a detour through a few side streets and dodge a few gang goondas; he doesn't recognize their affiliation, but he's on the wrong side of nearly every gang boss down here. Most of them, he doesn't even remember what he did to piss them off. By the time he gets to the bar he's damp with the fog that's rolled in from the sea a few miles out, his hair sticking to his forehead in limp spikes. Meg takes a look at him, rolls her eyes and turns back to the bar.
"You look like shit," she tells him, swirling her drink. "Don't tell me you're still looking for your new second."
"Nice to see you too, darling," Lucifer says, and gestures to the bartender. "Whiskey, neat."
"You seriously haven't found anyone?" she says. "You know you can't do this job without a co-pilot."
"I'll find one," Lucifer snaps. "I've got leads. Just tell me what the job is."
She raises an eyebrow, but doesn't comment. "It's information smuggling. If you want the job, I can arrange a meeting, he can deliver the cargo."
"What kind of information are we talking? The pay's good, this isn't just someone passing love letters to a girlfriend on another planet."
Meg takes a sip of her drink before answering him. "It's the kind that gets you killed if anyone finds out you've got it, let's leave it at that. I told him you were good for it, that you didn't worry about making enemies."
"You know me well," Lucifer says. "When's the meeting?"
"Three days. I'll text you the location. If you haven't found your new pilot by then, don't bother showing up."
Lucifer nods, and he's standing to leave when there's movement to his right, a scuffle--and then hell breaks loose.
The doors burst open, and he recognizes a couple of Crowley's lieutenants, one tall and slithery, the other human and well-muscled. They come in guns blazing, and Lucifer thinks they're here for him at first, instinctively dives under the bar. They've blocked the front door, and none of the windows are big enough to provide suitable escape, but he thinks he remembers there being a back door leading into the alley.
He catches his breath, peering through the smoke, and it's then that he realizes he's not their target. For once. In a way, he's almost disappointed--if he'd finally managed to piss off Crowley this bad, that'd have been the whole Lower City burned for him. Like getting a blackout on a bingo card.
Their real target is a boy, a kid, hardly a man. He's steady enough with his gun, but Crowley's thugs've brought the big guns, and he's well cornered, backed up nearly to the wall. Lucifer nearly feels sorry for him, but it's nice not to be the one being shot at, and he watches with mild interest. The kid's holding his own, has gotten off a few good shots on the big one, but the next shot grazes his arm, slicing through his shirt sleeve and leaving it smoking, and he stumbles, turning as he does--
--his eyes meet Lucifer's--
--all Sam knows is that one moment he's crouching behind the bar, glancing through the smoke for an escape, and the next some guy, some alien, is swearing and hauling him backwards, through a barely visible back exit, pulling him coughing and sputtering into the alley. He's dumped unceremoniously on the ground as the guy shoves a couple of crates against the door before turning back to him.
He's fucked up this time, they got him when he wasn't expecting, and his leg's in bad shape. There's a buzzing in his head, too, a low, insistent thrumming, and he clutches his forehead as he peers at the guy who pulled him out. He's on an ancient cellphone, a piece of shit with extra bits sticking out all over, held together with duct tape and rubber bands.
"Pick up, pick up," the guy mutters, before sighing with relief. "Gabriel. Yeah, it's me. I might, uh. I might be in a bit of a jam." He winces. "Crowley. No, don't yell at me, this time it's not my fault. Look, I'm on my way to you, okay? I might need you to stitch someone up a bit." He sighs and snaps the phone shut, and Sam's honestly shocked the stress of the call hasn't caused the thing to catch fire.
He turns to Sam. "Can you stand?" he demands. "They'll be coming around back in a minute, we need to get out of the open."
He doesn't wait for an answer, tugging Sam up and throwing an arm under his shoulders to hold him up. "They got you in the leg," he says, glancing down at the blood soaking through Sam's jeans. "Shit, okay, just try not to make me carry all your weight this whole way. My bike's around the corner, if you think you can hold onto me." He swears again, panting, half carrying, half dragging Sam, whose vision is starting to go a bit fuzzy at the edges.
"Who are you?" Sam manages to get out, but he's ignored, dragged bodily onto the bike, which looks to be in about as good condition as the cellphone. And then something bangs his leg, and the rest of the journey gets lost in a haze of pain and Lower City fog.
Sam drifts fully back into consciousness to the sounds of equipment whirring. He's warm and comfortable, and for a minute, he thinks he might be dead. It's a thought he has to consider every time he's in a firefight, that this might've been the one, this time he might've really kicked it. He thinks it's helping him accept his own mortality. Anyway, he'd think he was dead were it not for the fact that his leg is killing him, and he's pretty sure things aren't supposed to hurt this bad in the Beyond.
There's an alien crouching in front of him, tail swishing nervously behind him. Sam doesn't recognize his species, but he's not far from human: long, dexterous fingers, a lightly furred tail ending in a thick tuft, a few thin tendrils sprouting off his forehead like antennae, around half the width of his finger. He's small and lithe-looking, and his eyes are bright and curious.
"I'm Lucifer," the alien says.
"Lucifer," Sam says slowly. "Lucifer, like the star?"
The alien--Lucifer--smiles broadly. "Just like the star," he says. "But I don't know your name." He reaches out and runs his fingers along Sam's face, tracing a thumb over his lower lip.
Sam freezes, and Lucifer matches him, gaze locked on him, like a deer in headlights.
"Sorry," he says, after a moment, wrenching his hand back. "You're human, I forgot. Different concepts of personal space."
"Erm," Sam says, feeling flustered. His face feels warm where Lucifer had touched it, his skin humming.
"But you can feel it," Lucifer says. "You can feel it too, can't you?"
"Lucifer," a voice behind them says grumpily, an alien like Lucifer, but smaller, much smaller.
"Gabriel," Lucifer says, turning around, his voice pitching upward. "Gabriel, he's the one, I can tell." He rises and takes the small alien's hands, curling their fingers together, before sitting and tugging him down to their level. "It's him."
The small alien sighs, and looks at Sam. "You found him in an alley, and you don't even know his name."
"I don't need to know his name," Lucifer says. "I know him." He drops the small alien's hands and lifts Sam's, pressing his lips to it. "It's you, isn't it?"
Sam tugs his hand back as soon as it's released, scooting backward against the wall. He's in a haphazard nest of some kind, made of old odds and ends of fabric, blankets and ratty t-shirts all knotted up into a semblance of structure. "I'm not anyone," he says. "I'm just Sam."
"Sam," Lucifer says. "That's a lovely name. And this is Gabriel." He indicates the scowling alien. "He's my--" he starts, and breaks off. "I don't know what the human word for it is."
"I'm his," Gabriel breaks in. He's folded his arms across himself protectively, knees drawn up to his chest. "And I'm the one who patched your leg up," he adds, pointing.
Sam looks down, and he's right, there's a bandage wrapped around his thigh where Crowley's thug had gotten him. He doesn't bother asking what happened to his jeans; there'd been enough blood to thoroughly ruin them.
"Okay," he says. "Okay. I don't know who you think I am, but I promise I'm not him. It. Whatever. Thanks for rescuing me, but you've got the wrong guy." He's beginning to worry that he's been kidnapped by lunatics.
Gabriel stands abruptly. "I'm going to make some chai. You can explain it to him." He stumps over to the kitchenette, pulling down a kettle, filling it and shoving it onto the stove with unnecessary force. Lucifer watches him, face full of concern.
"Don't mind him," he says. "Not sleeping well, is all. Working himself too hard. He always does." He turns back to Sam. "Some vaccination order from the government. Gabriel's a scientist, but don't ask me what he does, I don't understand the half of it."
Sam nods cautiously. "Sure," he says. "Look, it's not that I don't appreciate what you've done for me. I do. But I don't know what you want from me."
Lucifer looks considering, swipes a long tongue over his lips in a smooth motion that Sam can't help watching. "I want," he starts unsteadily, "I want you. It's difficult to explain to a human. We're connected, we're--we're meant to be together. I've been looking for you. And now I've found you."
"You can't have been looking for me," Sam argues, "you've never met me before." There's an uneasy feeling rising in his chest, a tugging in his heart that he doesn't fully understand.
Lucifer takes in a frustrated breath, and he's leaning forward, maybe about to take Sam's hand again, when Gabriel sits down heavily next to him, shoving a steaming mug into his hands, and another at Sam with no small measure of resentment.
"It's an old legend," he says, annoyance dripping from every syllable. "The Lightbringer and the Boy King. The Lightbringer's a god who annoyed the other gods somehow, I don't remember what he did. So they bound his powers and cursed him to be lost and cut off from the stars until he can find the boy who's his perfect match in every way and who can restore him to his former glory." He narrows his eyes at Sam. "You should drink that, you need something warm in you."
Sam stares at them both, Gabriel with the dark circles under his eyes and the bitter twist to his mouth, Lucifer leaning towards him like an eager, overgrown kitten. "You're shitting me."
Lucifer scoots closer, looking worried. "He skipped all the good bits. It's a much better story than he makes it sound. The Lightbringer wanders the earth, always dreaming off his home in the stars. He never forgets them, but every night they seem to get a bit dimmer and farther away. He used to be able to fly, see, but they tore his wings off, and so he has to keep walking, his feet aching while the places where his wings should be make him cry out at night. And so he looks under every stone and climbs every mountain, because he can feel the presence of his Boy King out there." He pauses, takes a sip from his mug. He's gotten closer while he's been talking, and he reaches out to brush Sam's bangs out of his eyes, tuck his hair behind his ear. "And then one day, his Boy King appears. Only he doesn't believe the Lightbringer at first, he's never seen anyone like him, and so the boy runs from him. And the Lightbringer chases him across the whole of the planet until they're both exhausted. And they both fall to the ground, tangled in each other's limbs, and the Lightbringer kisses the boy. His glory is restored, flowing through the boy, and he can return to the stars. And he never has to be alone again."
"You're not alone," Gabriel says quietly, so soft that Sam nearly misses it.
"You're my Boy King," Lucifer says, ignoring him. "I have a ship, I'm a pilot. Cargo transport, mostly. I lost my last co-pilot a few weeks back, and the ship needs two to fly her. You're meant to fly her with me."
"That's absurd," Sam says. "I've never even been off-world, I don't know how to fly spaceships."
Lucifer shrugs. "Doesn't matter. You're the one, you'll be able to do it just fine."
"I'm not who you're looking for," Sam says desperately, trying to shove down the warm feeling curling in his stomach at Lucifer's proximity. "I'm just not. I should--I should go." He moves to stand, but his leg gives a roar of pain and he collapses back down, swearing.
"The hell you're going anywhere," Gabriel says, "not on that leg."
"Crowley'll be looking for you, too," Lucifer adds. "You'll stay here until it's safe to go out." He pats the mattress the nest is based on. "You can sleep here."
"Lucifer," Gabriel says furiously.
"Gabriel," Lucifer snips right back, "he can't sleep on the floor--"
"Oh yes he can! This is my nest, I'm not letting you give it away to some kid you picked up off the street, I don't care if you think you've found your new goddamned soul mate--"
"Gabriel," Lucifer says, stroking a hand down Gabriel's face, "Gabriel, he's mine."
Gabriel stares at him, mouth a thin line. "I hope you two have a wonderful fuckin' life together." He stands, shoving away Lucifer's hands, and heads for the door, slamming it behind him.
The air outside is clammy and damp, curling around Gabriel in thick ropes. It's late afternoon, but the fog and pollution are so bad out here this time of day that you'd never be able to tell from the sun. He fumbles in his pocket and finds a lighter and two squashed cigarettes, pulls one out and lights it up.
He's nearly done with the second by the time Lucifer shows up, stretching out next to him.
"You know those'll kill you," Lucifer says, bumping his shoulder against Gabriel's.
"Don't act like you give a shit," he mutters. "You said you'd never leave me, not for good, but now you've got this kid, don't you, don't act like you're not about to leave me and run away with him."
"I'm not going to leave you," Lucifer says, wrapping his arms around Gabriel, tugging him, squirming, into his lap. "I wouldn't ever leave you, sweetheart."
Gabriel snorts.
"I won't."
"You do. You do every time you go off-world, and I never know if this is the time you're not going to come back. You make me sick with worry until you finally come sauntering back in with a fresh set of scrapes to bandage up." He twists in Lucifer's lap, kissing him hard and angry. "It's not goddamn fair."
"There's nothing fair about it, love," Lucifer breathes, hands sliding up and under Gabriel's shirt, stroking his back, chuckling when Gabriel shoves him over and climbs on top of him, straddling his hips. He makes a grab for Gabriel's tail and laughs again when Gabriel hisses at him, sounding nearly feral. "Get down here," he says, tugging at Gabriel until he calms, resting his head on Lucifer's chest, listening to his heartbeat.
"We won't leave you," Lucifer promises, "neither of us."
Gabriel huffs out a skeptical noise.
"I know you can see it in him," Lucifer says quietly. "You're my Gabriel, you're mine, I know you can see him like I do. Tell me you can see it."
Gabriel doesn't answer for a long time, draws fidgety fingers through Lucifer's short hair. "He's like you," he says at last. "He feels like you."
Lucifer smiles. "We'll do great things together."
"Great fucking disasters, more like."
"And we'll come back to tell you about every one. Couldn't stand not having you to tell about all the marvelous things I'd seen. And someone's going to have to tell everyone else about our exploits. Can't be great heroes without you to tell the stories." He nudges Gabriel off of him gently, sitting up and kissing him lightly on the nose. "Come inside. Sam's sleeping, but there's room for two more."
And Gabriel has to admit that there's something sweet about this overgrown mountain of a human all stretched out in his nest, forehead wrinkled in his sleep, gangly limbs splayed everywhere. Lucifer's already climbing in next to him, slipping under his outstretched arm and pressing a kiss to his cheek.
Sam's shirt's rucked up, revealing an expanse of pale stomach that Gabriel can't help running his fingers over, five light points of pressure that leave Sam stirring and blinking.
"Mmmm," he mutters sleepily, and squirms when Lucifer tickles his side curiously. "Quit that."
"Do you mind?" Lucifer asks, mouth against Sam's ear, and Sam makes an indistinct noise before murmuring, "Not really."
Lucifer busies himself tugging Sam's shirt up higher, nudging his head forward and pulling it all the way off, while Gabriel toys with his hair. It's not like he's never seen a human before, but he's never gotten quite this close with one. He smells like Lucifer does, too, like the salt tang of the sea and the cold burn of space.
Lucifer looks down at Sam consideringly, tail swishing, before reaching down and tweaking one of his nipples, smiling when Sam squeaks and wriggles away, pressing back into Gabriel. Gabriel takes the opportunity to tickle his side again, grabbing his wrists and pinning them above his head when he curls up defensively.
When they both look up again, Lucifer is staring at Sam with a curious expression on his face.
"Do you remember the legend?" he says, and Sam nods, eyes wide. Lucifer takes a breath and releases it, before leaning down and capturing Sam's lips in a kiss.
"We'll do great things together," he whispers when they break apart, and Sam nods, sighing a little.
Great things, Gabriel thinks. And someone will have to tell the stories.
Word Count: 3779
Characters: Gabriel, Lucifer, Sam, Meg, Crowley (mentioned)
Pairings: Gabriel/Lucifer/Sam
Tags: Sci-Fi AU
"I want to see the stars," the scientist says. He traces the patterns of constellations on Lucifer's palm and forearm, the ones his favorite stories belonged to; the Fox and the Thief, the Leviathan, the Queen's Throne.
"Space wouldn't suit you, love," Lucifer says, looking fond. "Too cold. You're meant for warm places."
The scientist hums and rolls over, folding his hands behind his head. His bunk is only just big enough for the two of them--hardly a bunk, really, just a mattress in the corner of his lab, but it suits his needs. He's added a quilt Lucifer brought him back from a world on the other side of the System, a few ratty blankets he's picked up at thrift shop, some mismatched pillows, forming a haphazard nest. Lucifer laughs each time at how rag-tag it is, and brings him back scraps of brightly colored fabric from all over the galaxy.
Lucifer strokes a hand through his hair, smiling at the way the delicate antennae that stretch off his forehead and peek out of his hair flare up and gravitate towards his fingers, the nodes on the end brushing his skin and sending little signals of content--warm--brother.
The scientist lets out a little purr at the affection and wriggles closer, one hand creeping over Lucifer's hip. His skin is flushed, an almost imperceptible mint green tint to it.
"You found a new co-pilot yet?" he asks, eyes shut.
Lucifer shakes his head, the tendrils on his own forehead twitching in frustration. "Nothing yet."
He's been grounded more than three weeks, and it's starting to wear on him. In secret, dark places in his heart, the scientist is glad about it, has savored these few weeks of having Lucifer all to himself. But he knows Lucifer belongs to the stars, he knows Lucifer isn't meant to stay bound to the earth this long.
"Never happy unless you're running, are you?" the scientist says, and sighs, looking away.
Lucifer's brow wrinkles, and he draws a hand down the scientist's back, letting it rest at the base of his spine where his tail connects. He runs his fingers up the length of it, fingering the tuft of fur at the end of it, smiling when it twitches in his hand and the scientist makes an undignified little noise. "You know I'd never run from you, love," he says. "Not you, Gabriel."
He nuzzles against Gabriel's neck, pressing precise little kisses along his collar bone. "I've got to go out for a bit," he murmurs. "I've got a few leads I need to follow up on. You should get some sleep, you've been working yourself to death lately."
Gabriel makes a face at him. "Will you be back tonight?" he asks. "You should stay here, there's plenty of room. Better than sleeping in alleyways."
Lucifer smiles. "We'll see, alright?"
The dawn is just breaking over the Lower City when he slips out the door to the fire escape, golden pink light creeping up over the towering buildings, sneaking into the tight alleys between them. They build everything too close together down here, too close and too high, everything spindly and reaching. A city made out of fragile matchboxes. Gabriel's lab is on the eighteenth floor, not too far from the ground. He'd been lucky, gotten the space through some contacts of Crowley's, and it's not a bad deal, but Lucifer hates it, hates the way only the faintest slices of sun make their way in here.
He wraps long and slender fingers around the balcony of the fire escape, swinging himself over it, dropping to the next one, scaling the building with practiced ease. He's heading for a place a few districts down, a bar in the Ram District, where Meg's supposed to meet him. She's mentioned a few people she knows looking to move some cargo, and nevermind that he can't fly Morningstar without a co-pilot. He'll figure something out.
It takes him longer than he'd planned to get there. He has to take a detour through a few side streets and dodge a few gang goondas; he doesn't recognize their affiliation, but he's on the wrong side of nearly every gang boss down here. Most of them, he doesn't even remember what he did to piss them off. By the time he gets to the bar he's damp with the fog that's rolled in from the sea a few miles out, his hair sticking to his forehead in limp spikes. Meg takes a look at him, rolls her eyes and turns back to the bar.
"You look like shit," she tells him, swirling her drink. "Don't tell me you're still looking for your new second."
"Nice to see you too, darling," Lucifer says, and gestures to the bartender. "Whiskey, neat."
"You seriously haven't found anyone?" she says. "You know you can't do this job without a co-pilot."
"I'll find one," Lucifer snaps. "I've got leads. Just tell me what the job is."
She raises an eyebrow, but doesn't comment. "It's information smuggling. If you want the job, I can arrange a meeting, he can deliver the cargo."
"What kind of information are we talking? The pay's good, this isn't just someone passing love letters to a girlfriend on another planet."
Meg takes a sip of her drink before answering him. "It's the kind that gets you killed if anyone finds out you've got it, let's leave it at that. I told him you were good for it, that you didn't worry about making enemies."
"You know me well," Lucifer says. "When's the meeting?"
"Three days. I'll text you the location. If you haven't found your new pilot by then, don't bother showing up."
Lucifer nods, and he's standing to leave when there's movement to his right, a scuffle--and then hell breaks loose.
The doors burst open, and he recognizes a couple of Crowley's lieutenants, one tall and slithery, the other human and well-muscled. They come in guns blazing, and Lucifer thinks they're here for him at first, instinctively dives under the bar. They've blocked the front door, and none of the windows are big enough to provide suitable escape, but he thinks he remembers there being a back door leading into the alley.
He catches his breath, peering through the smoke, and it's then that he realizes he's not their target. For once. In a way, he's almost disappointed--if he'd finally managed to piss off Crowley this bad, that'd have been the whole Lower City burned for him. Like getting a blackout on a bingo card.
Their real target is a boy, a kid, hardly a man. He's steady enough with his gun, but Crowley's thugs've brought the big guns, and he's well cornered, backed up nearly to the wall. Lucifer nearly feels sorry for him, but it's nice not to be the one being shot at, and he watches with mild interest. The kid's holding his own, has gotten off a few good shots on the big one, but the next shot grazes his arm, slicing through his shirt sleeve and leaving it smoking, and he stumbles, turning as he does--
--his eyes meet Lucifer's--
--all Sam knows is that one moment he's crouching behind the bar, glancing through the smoke for an escape, and the next some guy, some alien, is swearing and hauling him backwards, through a barely visible back exit, pulling him coughing and sputtering into the alley. He's dumped unceremoniously on the ground as the guy shoves a couple of crates against the door before turning back to him.
He's fucked up this time, they got him when he wasn't expecting, and his leg's in bad shape. There's a buzzing in his head, too, a low, insistent thrumming, and he clutches his forehead as he peers at the guy who pulled him out. He's on an ancient cellphone, a piece of shit with extra bits sticking out all over, held together with duct tape and rubber bands.
"Pick up, pick up," the guy mutters, before sighing with relief. "Gabriel. Yeah, it's me. I might, uh. I might be in a bit of a jam." He winces. "Crowley. No, don't yell at me, this time it's not my fault. Look, I'm on my way to you, okay? I might need you to stitch someone up a bit." He sighs and snaps the phone shut, and Sam's honestly shocked the stress of the call hasn't caused the thing to catch fire.
He turns to Sam. "Can you stand?" he demands. "They'll be coming around back in a minute, we need to get out of the open."
He doesn't wait for an answer, tugging Sam up and throwing an arm under his shoulders to hold him up. "They got you in the leg," he says, glancing down at the blood soaking through Sam's jeans. "Shit, okay, just try not to make me carry all your weight this whole way. My bike's around the corner, if you think you can hold onto me." He swears again, panting, half carrying, half dragging Sam, whose vision is starting to go a bit fuzzy at the edges.
"Who are you?" Sam manages to get out, but he's ignored, dragged bodily onto the bike, which looks to be in about as good condition as the cellphone. And then something bangs his leg, and the rest of the journey gets lost in a haze of pain and Lower City fog.
Sam drifts fully back into consciousness to the sounds of equipment whirring. He's warm and comfortable, and for a minute, he thinks he might be dead. It's a thought he has to consider every time he's in a firefight, that this might've been the one, this time he might've really kicked it. He thinks it's helping him accept his own mortality. Anyway, he'd think he was dead were it not for the fact that his leg is killing him, and he's pretty sure things aren't supposed to hurt this bad in the Beyond.
There's an alien crouching in front of him, tail swishing nervously behind him. Sam doesn't recognize his species, but he's not far from human: long, dexterous fingers, a lightly furred tail ending in a thick tuft, a few thin tendrils sprouting off his forehead like antennae, around half the width of his finger. He's small and lithe-looking, and his eyes are bright and curious.
"I'm Lucifer," the alien says.
"Lucifer," Sam says slowly. "Lucifer, like the star?"
The alien--Lucifer--smiles broadly. "Just like the star," he says. "But I don't know your name." He reaches out and runs his fingers along Sam's face, tracing a thumb over his lower lip.
Sam freezes, and Lucifer matches him, gaze locked on him, like a deer in headlights.
"Sorry," he says, after a moment, wrenching his hand back. "You're human, I forgot. Different concepts of personal space."
"Erm," Sam says, feeling flustered. His face feels warm where Lucifer had touched it, his skin humming.
"But you can feel it," Lucifer says. "You can feel it too, can't you?"
"Lucifer," a voice behind them says grumpily, an alien like Lucifer, but smaller, much smaller.
"Gabriel," Lucifer says, turning around, his voice pitching upward. "Gabriel, he's the one, I can tell." He rises and takes the small alien's hands, curling their fingers together, before sitting and tugging him down to their level. "It's him."
The small alien sighs, and looks at Sam. "You found him in an alley, and you don't even know his name."
"I don't need to know his name," Lucifer says. "I know him." He drops the small alien's hands and lifts Sam's, pressing his lips to it. "It's you, isn't it?"
Sam tugs his hand back as soon as it's released, scooting backward against the wall. He's in a haphazard nest of some kind, made of old odds and ends of fabric, blankets and ratty t-shirts all knotted up into a semblance of structure. "I'm not anyone," he says. "I'm just Sam."
"Sam," Lucifer says. "That's a lovely name. And this is Gabriel." He indicates the scowling alien. "He's my--" he starts, and breaks off. "I don't know what the human word for it is."
"I'm his," Gabriel breaks in. He's folded his arms across himself protectively, knees drawn up to his chest. "And I'm the one who patched your leg up," he adds, pointing.
Sam looks down, and he's right, there's a bandage wrapped around his thigh where Crowley's thug had gotten him. He doesn't bother asking what happened to his jeans; there'd been enough blood to thoroughly ruin them.
"Okay," he says. "Okay. I don't know who you think I am, but I promise I'm not him. It. Whatever. Thanks for rescuing me, but you've got the wrong guy." He's beginning to worry that he's been kidnapped by lunatics.
Gabriel stands abruptly. "I'm going to make some chai. You can explain it to him." He stumps over to the kitchenette, pulling down a kettle, filling it and shoving it onto the stove with unnecessary force. Lucifer watches him, face full of concern.
"Don't mind him," he says. "Not sleeping well, is all. Working himself too hard. He always does." He turns back to Sam. "Some vaccination order from the government. Gabriel's a scientist, but don't ask me what he does, I don't understand the half of it."
Sam nods cautiously. "Sure," he says. "Look, it's not that I don't appreciate what you've done for me. I do. But I don't know what you want from me."
Lucifer looks considering, swipes a long tongue over his lips in a smooth motion that Sam can't help watching. "I want," he starts unsteadily, "I want you. It's difficult to explain to a human. We're connected, we're--we're meant to be together. I've been looking for you. And now I've found you."
"You can't have been looking for me," Sam argues, "you've never met me before." There's an uneasy feeling rising in his chest, a tugging in his heart that he doesn't fully understand.
Lucifer takes in a frustrated breath, and he's leaning forward, maybe about to take Sam's hand again, when Gabriel sits down heavily next to him, shoving a steaming mug into his hands, and another at Sam with no small measure of resentment.
"It's an old legend," he says, annoyance dripping from every syllable. "The Lightbringer and the Boy King. The Lightbringer's a god who annoyed the other gods somehow, I don't remember what he did. So they bound his powers and cursed him to be lost and cut off from the stars until he can find the boy who's his perfect match in every way and who can restore him to his former glory." He narrows his eyes at Sam. "You should drink that, you need something warm in you."
Sam stares at them both, Gabriel with the dark circles under his eyes and the bitter twist to his mouth, Lucifer leaning towards him like an eager, overgrown kitten. "You're shitting me."
Lucifer scoots closer, looking worried. "He skipped all the good bits. It's a much better story than he makes it sound. The Lightbringer wanders the earth, always dreaming off his home in the stars. He never forgets them, but every night they seem to get a bit dimmer and farther away. He used to be able to fly, see, but they tore his wings off, and so he has to keep walking, his feet aching while the places where his wings should be make him cry out at night. And so he looks under every stone and climbs every mountain, because he can feel the presence of his Boy King out there." He pauses, takes a sip from his mug. He's gotten closer while he's been talking, and he reaches out to brush Sam's bangs out of his eyes, tuck his hair behind his ear. "And then one day, his Boy King appears. Only he doesn't believe the Lightbringer at first, he's never seen anyone like him, and so the boy runs from him. And the Lightbringer chases him across the whole of the planet until they're both exhausted. And they both fall to the ground, tangled in each other's limbs, and the Lightbringer kisses the boy. His glory is restored, flowing through the boy, and he can return to the stars. And he never has to be alone again."
"You're not alone," Gabriel says quietly, so soft that Sam nearly misses it.
"You're my Boy King," Lucifer says, ignoring him. "I have a ship, I'm a pilot. Cargo transport, mostly. I lost my last co-pilot a few weeks back, and the ship needs two to fly her. You're meant to fly her with me."
"That's absurd," Sam says. "I've never even been off-world, I don't know how to fly spaceships."
Lucifer shrugs. "Doesn't matter. You're the one, you'll be able to do it just fine."
"I'm not who you're looking for," Sam says desperately, trying to shove down the warm feeling curling in his stomach at Lucifer's proximity. "I'm just not. I should--I should go." He moves to stand, but his leg gives a roar of pain and he collapses back down, swearing.
"The hell you're going anywhere," Gabriel says, "not on that leg."
"Crowley'll be looking for you, too," Lucifer adds. "You'll stay here until it's safe to go out." He pats the mattress the nest is based on. "You can sleep here."
"Lucifer," Gabriel says furiously.
"Gabriel," Lucifer snips right back, "he can't sleep on the floor--"
"Oh yes he can! This is my nest, I'm not letting you give it away to some kid you picked up off the street, I don't care if you think you've found your new goddamned soul mate--"
"Gabriel," Lucifer says, stroking a hand down Gabriel's face, "Gabriel, he's mine."
Gabriel stares at him, mouth a thin line. "I hope you two have a wonderful fuckin' life together." He stands, shoving away Lucifer's hands, and heads for the door, slamming it behind him.
The air outside is clammy and damp, curling around Gabriel in thick ropes. It's late afternoon, but the fog and pollution are so bad out here this time of day that you'd never be able to tell from the sun. He fumbles in his pocket and finds a lighter and two squashed cigarettes, pulls one out and lights it up.
He's nearly done with the second by the time Lucifer shows up, stretching out next to him.
"You know those'll kill you," Lucifer says, bumping his shoulder against Gabriel's.
"Don't act like you give a shit," he mutters. "You said you'd never leave me, not for good, but now you've got this kid, don't you, don't act like you're not about to leave me and run away with him."
"I'm not going to leave you," Lucifer says, wrapping his arms around Gabriel, tugging him, squirming, into his lap. "I wouldn't ever leave you, sweetheart."
Gabriel snorts.
"I won't."
"You do. You do every time you go off-world, and I never know if this is the time you're not going to come back. You make me sick with worry until you finally come sauntering back in with a fresh set of scrapes to bandage up." He twists in Lucifer's lap, kissing him hard and angry. "It's not goddamn fair."
"There's nothing fair about it, love," Lucifer breathes, hands sliding up and under Gabriel's shirt, stroking his back, chuckling when Gabriel shoves him over and climbs on top of him, straddling his hips. He makes a grab for Gabriel's tail and laughs again when Gabriel hisses at him, sounding nearly feral. "Get down here," he says, tugging at Gabriel until he calms, resting his head on Lucifer's chest, listening to his heartbeat.
"We won't leave you," Lucifer promises, "neither of us."
Gabriel huffs out a skeptical noise.
"I know you can see it in him," Lucifer says quietly. "You're my Gabriel, you're mine, I know you can see him like I do. Tell me you can see it."
Gabriel doesn't answer for a long time, draws fidgety fingers through Lucifer's short hair. "He's like you," he says at last. "He feels like you."
Lucifer smiles. "We'll do great things together."
"Great fucking disasters, more like."
"And we'll come back to tell you about every one. Couldn't stand not having you to tell about all the marvelous things I'd seen. And someone's going to have to tell everyone else about our exploits. Can't be great heroes without you to tell the stories." He nudges Gabriel off of him gently, sitting up and kissing him lightly on the nose. "Come inside. Sam's sleeping, but there's room for two more."
And Gabriel has to admit that there's something sweet about this overgrown mountain of a human all stretched out in his nest, forehead wrinkled in his sleep, gangly limbs splayed everywhere. Lucifer's already climbing in next to him, slipping under his outstretched arm and pressing a kiss to his cheek.
Sam's shirt's rucked up, revealing an expanse of pale stomach that Gabriel can't help running his fingers over, five light points of pressure that leave Sam stirring and blinking.
"Mmmm," he mutters sleepily, and squirms when Lucifer tickles his side curiously. "Quit that."
"Do you mind?" Lucifer asks, mouth against Sam's ear, and Sam makes an indistinct noise before murmuring, "Not really."
Lucifer busies himself tugging Sam's shirt up higher, nudging his head forward and pulling it all the way off, while Gabriel toys with his hair. It's not like he's never seen a human before, but he's never gotten quite this close with one. He smells like Lucifer does, too, like the salt tang of the sea and the cold burn of space.
Lucifer looks down at Sam consideringly, tail swishing, before reaching down and tweaking one of his nipples, smiling when Sam squeaks and wriggles away, pressing back into Gabriel. Gabriel takes the opportunity to tickle his side again, grabbing his wrists and pinning them above his head when he curls up defensively.
When they both look up again, Lucifer is staring at Sam with a curious expression on his face.
"Do you remember the legend?" he says, and Sam nods, eyes wide. Lucifer takes a breath and releases it, before leaning down and capturing Sam's lips in a kiss.
"We'll do great things together," he whispers when they break apart, and Sam nods, sighing a little.
Great things, Gabriel thinks. And someone will have to tell the stories.
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Date: 2013-11-15 07:44 pm (UTC)Anyways I really enjoyed reading this, fantastic job :)