Chapter Text
When Lucifer shows up in Sam's dream, everything goes exactly as planned: Sam's reaction to being the Devil's true vessel doesn't disappoint. To the boy's credit, he even tests Lucifer's threat, killing himself the next morning, and getting revived just as promised. He certainly wasn't bluffing about that.
Sam makes a final protest by going without sleep as long as he can, working a double shift at that silly little bar, but eventually the exhaustion catches up with him, and they're back to facing each other again, Lucifer unable to contain his satisfied smirk. He can't help it, it's so endearing that this mortal thinks he can win against him.
But Sam's defenses are crumbling, now that he and his brother are apart, and Lucifer knows he's got one foot in the door already.
"You shouldn't be afraid, you know", he says as softly as he can manage.
" 'm not", Sam shoots back defiantly, as if Lucifer can't read his emotional turmoil, being in his head and all.
He cocks his head, studying the boy like an amusing puzzle. "It's Dean you're most worried about." It isn't a question. "Sure, you want to be good,", he chuckles at the word, "save the world like a real hero, but deep down, you'd go with anything if Dean was unharmed."
Sam grits his teeth but doesn't bother denying it. Must be catching onto the whole mind-reading thing.
"What if I could make that promise? What if, I made sure my brother can't wear yours?" His smile turns predatory, knowing he has the upper hand. "C'mon Sammy, think about it."
Sam's nostrils flare at the nickname, and Lucifer mentally high-fives himself. Anger is good. Anger means less room for rational thought.
"You're lying", he says finally, but his voice betrays him: he wants to believe it.
"I told you, Sam: I will never lie to you. Now, as for the rest of the Earth - I'm not making any promises - but I can grant you Dean. It's a trifle to me, really." He notes how, despite his tenseness, Sam is listening. "The thing is, when we take down Michael, and we will, I'll be busy enough reshaping Heaven the way I want it. Which leaves a certain kingdom unattended. You following me?"
Sam blanches - the gears in his brain are turning just fine.
"That's right, kiddo. They didn't call you Boy King for no reason."
"No", Sam shakes his head, gets up and paces. "I'm not gonna rule friggin' Hell!"
Lucifer remains calm, continuing his pitch. "It's not a bad gig, you know. Just think, you could order the demons not to make deals, not to possess anyone. Could save much more people that way then by hunting..."
Sam pauses.
"No."
His pacing resumes, but there's a crack in his resolve, a deadly flaw that Lucifer readily pounces on. "You know, the sooner you say yes, the less casualties humanity will have. They might not even notice, if we get a jump on Michael."
Sam runs his hand over his face. "This is insane. I can't actually be considering this."
Lucifer suppresses the urge to fist-pump, keeping his voice casual. "Let's say you want to keep hunting. No monster will be a match for those handy psychic powers, you know."
The conflicted look of hope and terror he gets for that is just delicious.
"No more fearing for Dean's life", he offers as he closes in. "You could protect him. Once and for all."
Sam's eyes are pure desperation at this point, breath coming out shaky and uneven.
"Say 'yes', Sam. And your brother will be safe."
With a gulp and a defeated exhale, Sam lets his eyes fall shut.
"Yes", he whispers.
It feels just as good as Lucifer expected, a vessel perfectly honed for him by generations of strong bloodlines; nothing like a random substitute mud-monkey he previously had to ride in. As he makes himself comfortable, he moves onto the first order of business: making damn sure that Michael doesn't get the same royal treatment.
Dean picks up the phone after the fourth ring, as if the feigned hesitance is fooling anyone. His voice is gruff, but he agrees to meet when Lucifer makes full use of his new vocal chords, and affects the most pleading Sammy-voice he can. Check mate.
Driving places is irritating, but he makes the sacrifice. His plan requires finesse, after all, so fast travel will have to stay under wraps for a little while.
Dean still seems to have his hackles up when he arrives, but there's a quick solution handy. Lucifer wraps him up in a bone-crushing hug, catching him off guard, and soon enough the hunter's fight seeps out of him.
Eventually, Dean clears his throat, and thank fuck for how repressed the Winchesters are, because it takes minimal word count to get them back on the road again. Apparently, Dean isn't questioning his luck for managing to avoid an awkward feelings talk, and Lucifer chuckles internally.
Let me talk to him, Sam pipes up annoyingly, and Lucifer shuts him out. No way is he losing an advantage for some schmoopy heart-to-heart. He can feel the outrage from the little corner of his mind where the human is, and ignores it without a second thought. No need to skirt around Sam's delicate sensibilities anymore.
"Whatever happens, you won't say yes to Michael." He tries not to make it sound like an order.
Dean shoots him an insulted look. "I wasn't going to, bitch."
"Good." He allows himself a smug smile while Dean’s focused on driving. "Any news on his whereabouts?"
An affected sigh. "Don't you think I would've lead with that? Cas still hasn't found anything."
Lucifer thinks that he would have a lot of fun riling him up in other circumstances, but priorities first. Still, the ride to the nearest motel seems almost pleasant. Strange.
It's well past nightfall by the time they park and Dean throws him the keys, griping about how he needs a shower before he gets the plague or something, and Lucifer chuckles like he's supposed to. So far so good.
It turns more good when Dean exits the small bathroom wearing nothing but the complementary motel towel, and there's a curious new sensation in his vessel.
Hmm. Lucifer cocks his head, considering. He is quite lovely, for a human.
There are waves of mortification rolling off Sam's mind-corner, and strangely enough, embarrassment.
Well, well, Lucifer thinks gleefully. This isn't the first time you've taken notice, is it Sam?
Sam doesn't deign him with a response, nor does he need to: Lucifer can draw conclusions well enough.
I did have something else in mind when I said I'd make him unsuitable for Michael, but you just gave me an idea.
He can feel Sam doing a mental equivalent of a deer in the headlights, frantically trying to claw his way to the surface. That's cute.
"Dude. You're staring." Dean catches his attention and Lucifer offers him the most innocent look Sam's features can muster. "Just thinking." Is that a blush creeping up Dean's neck?
"Well think in another direction", he mumbles. "It's been a weird enough day already."
Lucifer offers him a benign smile as he passes him to take his turn in the shower, letting it turn darker when the door clicks shut behind him. Oh yes. This will do quite nicely.
Dean tosses and turns a lot at night, which reflects in the dark shadows under his eyes the next morning. Nonetheless, it doesn't take away from the crisp green of his irises, flecked with hints of gold in the sunlight. Mesmerizing.
"...so unless you want me keeling over from starvation, get your ass in gear."
Oh right. He was rambling about something.
"Huh?"
"Jesus, we need to get some coffee in you, stat". Dean rolls his eyes before standing to change his shirt. The muscles of his chest ripple temptingly.
***
It takes an inordinate amount of effort to pay attention to everyday minutia when he's anxious to get on with his plans, but Dean all but drags him to the diner and plops himself down, waving the waitress over.
"Cheeseburger and fries, sweetheart."
The waitress looks over to Lucifer, who mutters a "Same", off-handedly, wanting to get this feeding distraction over as soon as possible. How do humans get anything done at this pace?
He resigns himself to wasting yet more time and figures he can at least enjoy the view while he's at it. The view, however, is giving him an incredulous both-eyebrows-raised look.
"You're gonna have junk food?"
Lucifer tsks mentally, figuring Sam could've given him a heads-up about this sort of nonsense, but Sam's off sulking unhelpfully. The brat.
He shrugs. "Strange times, you know?"
Dean frowns, but goes with it. Bless him. He chuckles internally at the irony.
The coffee and breakfast have one advantage, he decides, as having his mouth full spares him the obligation of talking. Dean's more than happy to fill the silence anyway, from trivial comments to discussing strategy, so Lucifer finds himself nodding and occasionally throwing in a coherent sentence not to be too obvious. He's itching to just smite Michael already, which is slightly hampered when he's nowhere to be found. Really, he can't have given up already? That would be no fun.
Entering the stuffy motel room again feels strangely claustrophobic, and Lucifer suppresses a wince. Can't blame a guy for disliking small spaces after he spent millennia in the Cage.
His personal space suffers a new attack when Dean crowds him unexpectedly, suspicion in his eyes. His bright, beautifully green eyes.
"There's something off about you, man. I don't like it."
Before Lucifer can deflect, he growls. "Take your shirt off."
As surprising as this turn of events is, he isn't about to complain. "O-kay", he says, the corner of his lips turning up as he makes quick work of the buttons.
"Don't try to be funny", Dean cuts him off, "I need to check your anti-possession tattoo."
Oh. Much less interesting.
Dean's fingertips skitter over the ink, gaze intent on making sure there isn't some tiny damage to the motif. If Lucifer leans into the touch slightly, that's nobody's business but his.
" 'Kay. So you're not possessed", Dean allows, still in a sour mood, "but I'm getting the silver and holy water - don't move an inch."
"Wouldn't dream of it", Lucifer affects, finding the whole charade mildly entertaining.
When silver and holy water predictably show no signs of monsters, Dean gives him an assessing look, chewing on his lip in thought. It makes him even more attractive, he must know that.
Lucifer's idle musings are rudely interrupted. Again. "See, this - this is what I'm talking about!" Dean sounds almost defensive, like he's trying to prove he's not crazy. "Quit looking at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like - like I'm dinner!"
Lucifer chuckles mischievously. "Well you're the one who jumped me and told me to undress."
"I - that's not - don't make it weird, I was just - argh!", Dean seems to finally give up on forming coherent sentences and throws his hands up. There's an expression for that, which Lucifer is barely containing himself from uttering. The lady doth protest too much. He sniggers at the thought.
After a few deep breaths, though, Dean composes himself enough for another attempt at being taken seriously.
"Sam. If you don't tell me what the hell is going on with you, I swear to god..."
He leaves the threat hanging, but the steel in his voice gives Lucifer pause. It really wouldn't suit him for word about this to get out too soon; he'd lose the element of surprise. And a convenient source of information. Not to mention a fun new toy.
A little help here, headmate?, he calls in vain. The thing he both likes and hates about Sam is just how quick of a learner he is. Case in point, the way it took him less than a day to figure out that he can use the same mental walls that trap him as a shielding mechanism. First at the diner, and now again. Lucifer would be impressed if it weren't so annoyingly troublesome for his purposes. And sure, he could tear down those repurposed defenses, but it would mean giving Sam a chance, however slim, to take back control. Not something he's willing to risk.
Well then. He'll just have to improvise.
A heavy sigh is always a good start. Followed up with a hearty helping of puppy eyes.
"Okay, Dean", he starts softly, like the pitter-patter of rain on leaves.
The shift in his demeanour hits the bullseye: Dean's anger deflates, replaced with a concerned expression that says he's ready to listen. Anything for Sammy, right? There's bitterness in the thought, envy and regret about his own relationship with Michael. But in the next moment it's extinguished, as it should be. Lucifer refocuses on his act.
"The truth is...", he hesitates, half to sound more lost and vulnerable, and half to give himself more time to plan out the next moves. It's almost like chess.
"The truth is, I did a lot of thinking, since we last saw each other."
"Yeah, what else is new?", Dean snorts, the delivery only slightly pinched.
"About us, I mean. About… how I feel about you."
"Oh for Chrissake..."
"No, let me. Just, I need you to hear me out."
Dean makes a face as though he's being accosted with a plateful of broccoli, but keeps his mouth shut in silent acquiescence.
Lucifer takes a step closer, so Dean has to tilt his head up to maintain eye contact. The angle suits him nicely.
"Sam?"
The thing about Hell is that it's an invaluable teaching manual, if one pays attention. And there wasn't much to do in the Cage, other than pay attention to what he could sense of his surroundings. Humanity at its most raw, tormented in all sorts of creative ways; their emotions wafting around like volatile scents. And two of those, the ones he'd recognize anywhere, are what he notices in Dean Winchester, now that he's really looking. Fear. And desire.
They're subtle, almost invisible to a human observer, but Lucifer can see through the mask, he can sniff them out like a bloodhound, and they're exactly what he needs right now.
Words are something he needed to work on Sam. Dean though, Dean's more of an actions type of person, isn't he?
Without wasting another second, he cups Dean's face between his hands and kisses him.
At first there's no response. Shock, presumably. Then Dean makes a tiny broken sound and melts into it, letting his lips part just enough for Lucifer to take the lead and deepen the kiss.
It isn't until Dean is really kissing back that he notices he isn't exactly unaffected either. It's probably just the vessel, not him, not really. If he feels something more than before, it's because this is his custom-made one-of-a-kind ride. That's why kissing Dean feels good.
Maybe it's his mental segue that makes him lose concentration, or maybe it's unrelated, but from one moment to the next, Dean snaps out of it. His hands, that were carding through Sam's hair, pull back as though burned, and he takes two big steps back, hand flying to his mouth.
"What the fuck?" It comes out shaky and weak. "What the fuck?!", Dean repeats himself, more forcefully.
Ugh. Humans can be so annoying with their ridiculous social norms. This whole thing could be so much simpler if he didn't have to work around taboos.
Still, it means he's managed to pull the rug under his opponent. What a fun game this is turning out to be.
Apparently realizing he isn't going to get an explanation, Dean whirls around and grabs for the doorknob.
"Where are you going?"
"Out!", he shoots back, visibly shaken, slamming the door behind him.