The gravity of love

[adorablebastard]

Title: The gravity of love
Pairing: Sam/Lucifer
Rating: Teen
Word count: 4,950
Warnings/Spoilers: Lucifer as Sam, Sam's soul, settled somewhere after Sam says yes.

Notes: This is actually my first Samifer fic from back in 2014.

Summary: "You're ready to destroy the entire human race, but you wouldn't dare touch your vessel's soul. I wonder what that says about your true intentions, brother."

Found also on AO3.

--

“What a happy place your head is.”

It startles Sam and he loses the grasp of Milton's Paradise Regained. The Devil’s smooth voice is not a thing he hears everyday.

“Thoughts running free, never denied a position in your mind, never kept on a leash just because the outside world has very instilled, very black and white notions about what’s bad and what’s not. Here, good and evil smolder together like they were never meant to be apart. Here, you didn’t let the outside poison your inside. Yet, I don’t understand why you are so harsh with me. Why do you keep labeling me?”

“Maybe because you’re the Devil, trying to wear me like a Halloween costume party?”

A smile plays at the corners of Lucifer’s lips.

“You’re so eager to please your brother, so willing to take on your shoulders the weight of saving humanity from destruction, that you’re pointedly ignoring what you really want; what you truly desire.”

“You’re speaking nonsense again.”

“See? You readily disregard yourself just because you know it’s for everybody’s good; it’s what you’re supposed to do and in doing so you are slowly deteriorating yourself.”

“Is this another of your sick games to make me say yes? If so, you can stop right there, because I won’t say it.”

Lucifer’s smile, a touch wider than the previous one, sends chills down his spine, a bad feeling creeping at the back of his mind. Immediately after, though, a strange noise breaks the silence of the motel room and the sound of flapping wings catches Sam’s attention.

An impossibly white dove settles on the edge of the desk, not two feet away from where Lucifer stands. It has a certain glow to it and Sam can’t make the uncomfortable feeling from underneath his skin stop. He doesn’t know if he should flee the room and never turn back or get up and touch the dove. The intensity of these two feelings is making him jittery and he glances at Lucifer, who, in turn, is looking at him intently, hungry even.

It’s like he’s curious to see what kind of reaction Sam will have at the sight of the small bird.

“What’s that?” Sam finds his voice again. Dread is seeping uncontrolled through every letter his mouth forms.

“You know very well what it is.” Lucifer’s levelled tone carries out to Sam.

He gulps, his eyes fixing the dove with horror.

“Make it go away!” He whispers, the irrational fear having bested him.

“Why? Why are you so afraid of your true self?” The Devil asks, rocking slightly on his feet, the ghost of a smile adorning his chiselled face. “Because in my opinion, this is the most spectacular and beautiful think I’ve ever seen since the beginning of time. And trust me, I’ve seen a lot.”

Yeah, trust the Devil to find beauty in the oddest things ever. Maybe he’s an oddity himself -- most definitely, given the changes he went through while Falling.

“Change is not always a bad thing, Sam,” he says, because of course he heard Sam’s thoughts.

Nevermind one’s privacy, it’s not important.

Sam snorts. “Speaking from your personal experience or is it a line you heard during your stay on Earth?”

He’s being bitter on purpose. Actually, he can’t quite help it, his tongue seeming to have a mind of its own. A flash of hurt crosses Lucifer’s features. It is just that, though - just a flash, gone before his next blink.

Lucifer’s eyes grow distant for a moment and his mouth turns into a displeased frown.

“Think about what you truly want, Sam. Only when you’ll come to terms with it, you’ll finally be free.”

Sam blinks, taken aback, and Lucifer’s gone.

--

There’s nothing left of Dean in there.

There’s nothing left of the angel that dared disobey his orders.

There’s only chaos until the fight will be over. Whichever side wins, that will be the ruling one. That side will decide the faith of the Earth.

Lucifer looks at Michael’s vessel--at his brother now, because Dean has been completely overwhelmed by the archangel’s Grace. He looks at him and sees only desire to win this battle, only hatred and betrayal (most probably on behalf of their Father).

As broken and changed as Lucifer is, he can’t not feel a faint stir of sadness somewhere within his chest. This is his brother that he’s fighting. The archangel that always looked up to their Father with reverence and love. The archangel that so readily shared his love with the humans. The archangel who never once stepped wrong, who never once disobeyed any word of his Father.

The same archangel is blaming Lucifer for all that went wrong with Heaven and Earth, because both of them know that that’s actually the root of the current battle.

The fight that both sides have long since been awaiting is finally in full development.

Half of the planet is destroyed, flattened to the ground, burned. All of this has happened in a week and nobody stopped them from doing it. Nobody interfered with their wrath-like outbursts of energy. Pure, thick waves of energy creating devastating repercussions for every clash of wings or swords.

Once again, where is God in all this mayhem?

Does He like the suffering His beloved seraphim brought into the world of His favourite toys?

Except for Michael, all the other archangels are dead. The rest of the Garrison is fighting Lucifer’s demons. The bets are even between the two sides. What will determine the winner is their fight. Only their fight.

Somehow, Lucifer wants God to interfere. Somehow, he wants to see Him again. To look at him and feel even a faint echo of His Love.

He smiles bitterly when nothing happens.

Of course He won’t show up and stop His sons from fighting. Of course He won’t grant his wish to see Him again. After all, Lucifer is the root of all evil. Maybe the world was too perfect back then, at the beginning. Maybe God needed something to balance things, to make them even. Too much good was becoming insufferable. That’s why he created the humans. To have an excuse for creating the evil.

An evil borne from good, that is.

Lucifer is long past the stage of feeling the victim here. He is well past wanting the things to go back to the way they were before--before everything.

He misses the warm feeling of love His Father always sent to him, he misses his brothers and sisters dearly. It’s true. But he chose a path, even if he was somewhat induced to do it. He discovered he has a will of his own and he is free to be and do whatever he wants. So, what he’s doing right now is trying to exploit the ‘destiny’ his Father wrote for him. As best as he can.

Lucifer realized that not just the humans have free will and the liberty to choose. Angels, too, have it. If Castiel and Gabriel and Anna weren’t enough proof of it, then the others are too caught up in the system to avert their eyes slightly to one side and see things from another perspective.

He knows that starting to think, to really think, doesn’t truly mean that they disobey orders, but the lot of them were specifically created for this purpose. To obey orders; to be soldiers.

The only comfort Lucifer allows his brothers and sisters is that they are needed.

“You’re not focused, brother,” Michael says through Dean’s voice, using his wings to create a gush of wind and send Lucifer flying--

-- two states over, because there are no obstacles slowing him down.

Lucifer was distracted. The first in a very long while. Must have been because of his conflicted vessel’s soul that his train of thought went further and further back in time and in so many different directions.

Unlike Michael, Lucifer didn’t allow his Grace to consume Sam’s soul. Instead, he created a sort of cocoon inside his own infinite micro-universe where Sam can continue living, unaware of the outside situation. He still thinks he didn’t say ‘yes’ to Lucifer, even though he isn’t suspicious of the fact that none of his family or friends are there. He could always conjure them from his memories, if he wished it hard enough, but until now, Lucifer hadn’t felt the presence of anyone except the two of them.

It became -- and he was aware of this development long before deciding on keeping Sam alive -- his own little paradise. A place where he goes each and every time there’s a break in his fight with Michael.

“I was reminiscing times long past,” Lucifer says, standing up from the ground as if he were a human.

His wings, outstretched at their full width and height, are still and only the breeze of warm air moves the feathers.

“You speak the truth,” Michael concedes, looking at his brother with a calm and assessing look. Something that is so far from the expressions Dean usually wears -- only Sam could tell. “They are times long since past. They will never return and we will never return to them.”

“Time isn’t a foreign and unknown concept to us.”

“It is not, but that doesn’t mean we are free to bend it at our will.”

“Except we are,” Lucifer counters. “As beings far above the others that He created, we are entitled to use our powers.”

“Not how we please,” Michael says and Lucifer’s wings quiver a little. “This is something you stubbornly refused to understand, brother. What our Father did was test our capacity to share our love for something other than our siblings or Him.”

“Things were perfect before He created them.” The Devil’s voice changes tone, turning out more wistful and vexed. “Why did he have to create the humans?”

“You speak with so much anger and wrath about our Father’s last creations, yet, you are reluctant in letting your vessel’s soul perish under the force of what’s left of your Grace,” Michael points out, his green-blue eyes piercing through his brother’s.

Lucifer blinks, his face an expressionless mask containing the multitude of emotions that Michael’s comment riled up. He forces his wings into stillness, not wanting to give away how surprised he is.

How could he know about Sam? He was careful in hiding every trace his soul might have left behind. It’s impossible for him to have discovered Lucifer’s little secret.

Michael smiles a private smile.

“You’re ready to destroy the entire human race, but you wouldn’t dare touch your vessel’s soul. I wonder what that says about your true intentions, brother.”

It amazes Lucifer how easily Michael managed to created a ripple in his otherwise determined reasons.

He refuses to let him win this small argument.

“That maybe I’m keeping him for the last,” Lucifer says indifferently.

Michael smirks before launching himself into another attack.

The entirety of Canada is an unrecognizable patch of dark, scorched vastness.

--

The dove is still there, even if the room is different.

It goes from here to there, always in as close proximity as Sam lets it be. He’s currently gazing out of the window, lost in thought and unaware of Lucifer’s presence.

The fallen archangel takes more than a couple of moments to look at Sam, because the calm is back again in Lucifer’s mind and he just wants to revel in it. He feels Sam’s wandering thoughts, how they jump from one thing to the other, always ignoring the proverbial elephant in the room (which, apparently, has taken the form of a dove, but that’s a minor detail).

Sam is aware of the bird; Lucifer knows it, because there’s a restlessness at the back of his mind. It also shows in the fingers that keep drumming on the window sill to a foreign tune for Lucifer.

He reasons that starting to talk would spook Sam so he chooses to flutter his wings.

The result is not far from what Lucifer tried to avoid, Sam taking a sharp intake of breath and turning around. Only when the archangel offers a small, apologetic smile, does the hunter visibly relax to his previous state.

“Have you thought about what we’ve talked about?” Lucifer asks in the smooth tone he reserves only for Sam.

It is pleasant to the ear and it seems to coax the hunter into being more open than if he were to speak in his usually toneless voice he uses for when dealing with the others.

Sam throws a quick glance at the dove that has settled itself on the backrest of a chair, three feet away from him.

“No. Why?” he asks, trying for casual and missing by a mile.

“Because I can’t help you, if you don’t help yourself, dear Sam.”

A muscle twitches on Sam’s face at Lucifer’s use of the endearment. The archangel can clearly see how Sam is debating whether to make him take back what he had said or give an answer and shrug off the little incident.

“You don’t mean that.” He settles for ignoring the endearment.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because you have nothing to gain from helping me.”

Lucifer smiles. “Maybe I do have.”

Sam’s eyes narrow. “And what would that be?”

“Your trust.”

The hunter snorts.

“You’re playing for a cheap and unattainable prize.”

“Am I?” Lucifer smirks and silently approaches Sam. “And why would it be cheap? One’s trust, especially yours, is precious and irreplaceable.”

For a split moment, the hunter’s eyes flickered. The birth of a thought. The Devil stops a mere step away from Sam.

“Oh, you mean the same trust you failed to cherish when you rebelled against God?” Sam counters, but there’s no trace of pride or victory on his face.

“This isn’t about me,” Lucifer says gently, though he’s sure Sam is able to see the sadness and hurt on his face.

“Why not? It seems to me that we have more in co--” He stops mid-sentence, realizing what he was about to say.

They both watch one another, Sam with sheer terror and Lucifer with an unchangeable expression of calm and patience. He’s waiting for the hunter to accept or most probably get used to the fact that he can’t take back those words and their meaning (and that Lucifer will never forget them no matter what happens).

When Sam seems to still be at a loss of words, Lucifer says, “You were let to know only a part of the story. You were led to believe only one side and I’m not sure you’re prepared to hear the whole story. It goes against all that you have learned.”

The hunter looks at him, assessing his features, even though there’s nothing there to assess and inspect with careful and undivided attention, because right now, Lucifer doesn’t seem keen on repressing his emotions. He has everything right before his eyes. Unhinged honesty.

“Try me,” he challenges after a minute of consideration.

It takes the archangel a couple of seconds more to finally give in and start recounting his side of the story. He explains to Sam how much he loved God and the other angels, how happy they were together until God decided to create the humans. Sam winced at the way Lucifer talked about humanity. There was so much hatred and sadness and all of that was mixed together.

In short time, Sam realized that he opened old wounds and each and every one bled profusely into the room, making the atmosphere heavy with negative emotions until he began feeling like suffocating--or drowning. He wasn’t even sure about which one was more intense, because he has never felt this level of intensity and denseness. He had this vivid scenery of being engulfed in a smoldering black sea of hopelessness.

The most terrifying fact was that he gave up on screaming for help even before he thought about it. There wouldn’t be anyone who would rescue him, anyway. So why bother?

If he payed enough attention (which he was not, being swept away by Lucifer’s words as he was), even the room’s light seemed to dim, to bow before Lucifer’s sorrow, to accept the feeling and make room for it.

Lucifer stopped as soon as he realized the effect his feelings had on Sam. He has always kept those gates sealed--until Sam has dared to poke at them and release what was inside.

“I’m sorry,” Lucifer’s tone is somehow subdued and apologetic, though his eyes remain as piercing as ever. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

Sam’s breath is still uneven. “It’s okay. I forgot your emotions feel real even without needing to empathize.”

A faint smile plays at the corners of Lucifer’s mouth, but it disappears immediately after, replaced by a grim, though determined expression.

“Think about it,” Lucifer says, glancing at the dove that remained in both their peripheral vision.

Before disappearing, though, he leans in and places a delicate kiss on Sam’s forehead, leaving behind the shape and feeling of cool lips.

It goes without saying that Sam remained frozen in place a solid couple of minutes afterwards.

--

He never would have thought the Devil would be so cold.

Not as in distant, but as in physically cold.

It was a curious difference of body temperatures, but he never asked about it, even though whenever Lucifer caught him staring either at his face or at his hands, a smirk would bloom on his lips. That’s how Sam knew that the fallen archangel was aware of his curiosity, yet never prompted the hunter to act on it.

It was a mindless, wordless game they were playing. No rules, no boundaries. Probably something to gain, but it was unclear as of what that might be.

If Sam ponders about the whole situation, there hasn’t been any returns to the real matter for which Lucifer continued to be present. Not a single word or a mindless, natural or inconspicuous digression. He might have grown suspicious, if it weren’t for the Devil’s deftly constructed deviations. Many topics concerning as many valid points and large spaces left open for consideration.

“You know,” Sam begins after Lucifer settles on the only chair in the room, while he is sitting on the bed, his back against the wall. “you can always go with the simplest solution and just ask for forgiveness?” He says, half-shrugging. “Have you ever thought about it? Pride and all of the others left aside.”

Lucifer’s lips curl up in an amused, yet warm, smile. “Yes, I’ve thought about it. On multiple occasions, actually.”

“Yet, you never acted on it?” Sam quirks up one eyebrow.

The Devil looks at the hunter for a long time, his face unreadable. When Sam starts to fidget under the intense stare, he simply says, “No.”

“Because?” Sam prompts, since Lucifer doesn’t elaborate.

“Sam, don’t try to search for reasons why I acted the way I did. You will lose yourself in the whirl.”

“But you did have a reason--or more, for your actions.”

“Yes, I did,” Lucifer answers promptly, though unhurriedly.

Several minutes pass and neither of them utters a word. A shadow of a smile plays on Lucifer’s features. He feels the wheels of Sam’s brain working furiously, trying to put the pieces of information together, then searching for the underlying messages, then overlapping the new information with the old one and see what and where the incongruencies are.

All of this happens in the span of a couple of seconds.

He catches the furtive glance the hunter throws in the direction of the dove and sees the exact moment an idea forms in his head. Then his eyes lock on Lucifer’s, and the fallen archangel can’t deny the thrill of anticipation the look in Sam’s eyes promises.

“How about we make a deal?”

Lucifer’s lips curl into a smile like a pleased cat’s would. “A deal?”

Sam knows he should kick himself for even considering this option, but there’s a gnawing curiosity in him right now that he knows won’t spare any empathy on him.

“I will work on that,” he says, pointing at the dove and leaving an unsure pause hanging in the air. “--thing, if you promise you’ll tell me the whole story, complete with reasons for your actions and all that.”

“Are you sure you want to hear the whole truth of your religion’s very foundation?” Lucifer asks, while approaching Sam. “Because I assure you it is not something that could or would put you to sleep.”

The hunter’s eyes roam on The Devil’s features, considering it for a moment, then nods.

Lucifer smiles. A genuine, open smile that almost makes Sam take a step back in shock and wonder. He doesn’t, and then it happens. Without warning, without time to prepare for it. Sam is frozen for the duration of it.

Lucifer’s lips press gently onto Sam’s, neither of them closing their eyes. Glacial, piercing blue, focused on dissolved green with specks of brown.

All Sam’s thoughts vanish. Just like that. He’s not thinking, not hearing anything. He only feels. Feels the press, the cold, the shiver that travels through his body, dispersing and fragmenting itself in tiny rivulets of unrestrained energy. They settle just beneath his skin, bringing it alive in a way he has never felt before. It’s like there’s not a single inch of skin that’s not vibrating, causing bouts of goosebumps all over his body.

Lucifer’s intense stare doesn’t help one bit. It pins Sam down; it makes him unable to even dare to blink.

How much did it last, Sam doesn’t know. Doesn’t even want to know. It’s not important. Not the way Lucifer’s action is, right now. Why?

“Why did you do that?” Sam whispers, not trusting his voice with a higher volume.

He’s aware of the mixed feelings it triggered in him. He’s not prepared, however, to hear their consequences in the way his voice will come out. Whispering is a safe bet.

Lucifer smiles again. Small, warm--fond. “Because I love you, Sam.”

The hunter’s eyes widen impossibly and he forgets to breathe.

“My actions may trigger hate and distrust, but that doesn’t mean I’m not capable of love.”

“But that goes against--”

“Everything,” Lucifer finishes with a calm smile. “Yes, I know. It goes against everything that you know about me.”

“I…” Sam frowns.

How do you deal with something of this magnitude? How do you even begin to understand it?

“How am I supposed to reply to that?”

Lucifer shrugs. “You don’t have to. I only wanted you to know that I love you.”

It hurts. Whenever he pronounces that word, it makes Sam’s stomach contort into a knot. It’s not because he’s disgusted by it, but because it’s such a simple word, he himself used so many times. Yet, falling from Lucifer’s mouth, it holds so much meaning behind. It feels intense, fierce, protective.

It hits Sam with such force, he’s surprised he’s still standing.

His eyes have not stopped roaming over Lucifer’s face, searching for even the tiniest evidence that he was playing another of his games. He sees only honesty and openness; eagerness, even. As if he’s hanging on the next words that will come out of Sam’s mouth.

“Sam,” Lucifer says gently, as if he’s afraid he’ll spook him if he speaks in his normal tone. “You’re shaking.”

The hunter’s eyes dart down to his hands, and true to Lucifer’s words, they are shaking. Every joint in his body is shaking. He doesn’t know what that means.

Before his knees give out on him, Lucifer’s there, effortlessly supporting Sam’s weight and guiding him to the bed. He settles on a bent knee, right besides Sam.

“Take it easy. You’re in shock right now,” he says, pushing a couple of locks away from Sam’s face.

“Of course I am. It would’ve been ridiculous not to be,” the hunter comments, a shaky smile on his lips.

Lucifer hums noncommittally. He steers Sam’s head to rest in the crook of his shoulder without any protest from the other. It seems he’s too distracted to do anything but let himself be guided.

He falls asleep to Lucifer’s hand, caressing his hair.

At the edge of the bed, a few centimeters away from Sam’s feet, the dove shines.

No deal is made between the two.

--

“You’re not cold,” Sam tells Lucifer, some time after his confession. “You’re actually burning so hot that to my touch you feel like an ice block.”

They never did talk about what The Devil admitted to him, although Sam could tell, Lucifer hadn’t forgotten. There was always an intent look in his eyes. As if he was prepared for anything Sam might say on that subject.

“Is that so?” Lucifer says in his usual calm tone, but it didn’t escape the hunter the flash of surprise that was smoothly engulfed by his usual mask.

Sam cracks a smile and looks down at the shining, white dove in his hands. It became impossible to separate himself from it after that night. It would feel unnatural to have it in any other place but beside him. Something must have unlocked deep inside Sam to feel this much love and acceptance towards the dove.

“Am I ready?” Sam asks, not taking his eyes off the little bird.

“Are you?”

He takes a couple of seconds to mull it over, then a slow, deliberate smile creeps on his face. “I am,” He whispers.

The dove explodes into a blinding light and everything disappears.

--

They don’t come back slowly. All his memories, that is. All that has happened until that very moment, which stayed hidden from him. Lucifer’s battle with Michael; his wavering determination.

They all come at once, imploding inside him like a pot kept under pressure for far too long. He’s confused, afraid, but then a soothing voice pierces through the thick veil of memories, calling him and all the chaos quietens.

He turns to look at the source of the voice. He knows he shouldn’t be able to comprehend or even take in the vastness of an archangel. But he does, and he can’t help but look at Lucifer, at his true form, with wonder.

It must say something about Sam, something that he would consider so fucked up, if he were still the old Sam, that he willingly accepts Lucifer’s beckoning embrace.

--

“Sam,” Lucifer’s true voice creates comfortable ripples in his soul. “We lost,” he tells him, no edge of sadness or anger. Nothing. Just comforting warmth.

“You let him win,” Sam smiles fondly. Or he thinks he is.

Lucifer must have seen it either way, because in the next moment, Sam’s hit by a wave of love and care.

“They must be celebrating by now,” Lucifer says instead, enveloping Sam’s soul in what can be best described as a hug from behind.

“With how uptight your brother is, I doubt it,” Sam replies and Lucifer chuckles. “Why don’t we celebrate our cosmical defeat?” he asks, feeling the way Lucifer’s Grace is playing with every particle of Sam’s soul, making him dance in tandem with the archangel.

“Wonderful idea. I’ll tell you the once and only time Balthazar managed to pull a prank on Gabriel, which then sealed Gabriel’s fate as a Trickster.”

“Now that’s a story I’d very much like to hear,” Sam says, excited. “Is he still in Spain?”

“No. He was in New Mexico, last time I saw him.” Lucifer confesses and Sam hums, the resulting waves teasing the archangel’s Grace. “But that’s a secret. He made me swore I won’t divulge it to any living or celestial being.”

Sam smirks.

“Cas and Dean are getting by,” Lucifer says without preamble, and for a split moment, Sam’s playful waves freeze in place. “They miss you, especially Dean, but they’ve resigned themselves to your presumed death.”

Then, slowly, ever so slowly, they retake their languid dance with Lucifer’s Grace. Shortly after, the archangel feels a warmth so thick it makes him smiles fondly.

“Is Cas back in Heaven?” The thought about how Dean must have felt and still feel is too painful to go and poke it just yet.

“Yes, he is. Michael restored his Grace, but he told my brother he’ll visit Dean periodically and help him if he needs. It seems Castiel’s love for your brother is hard to resist.”

Sam chuckles. “I hope Cas can fill in the hole I left… “ He trails off, his voice wavering dangerously, biting back a sob.

Lucifer soothes him, by guiding his soul into a slow dance, offering comfort. When he speaks, his voice is barely above a whisper. “You know nobody will be able to replace you in your brother’s heart. That’s how siblings, who care about each other, are made. Castiel can only try to appease the sorrow.”

Sam offers a shaky grin. “He believes in Dean. I can only hope he’ll be stubborn enough to distract him from me.”

Lucifer smiles and hums, the dance never faltering. It calms Sam to a deep level.

They remain in silence for a little while.

“Now, what was I saying about Balthazar?” Lucifer says suddenly, trying to cheer Sam up. “Oh, yeah. Gabriel was patrolling the Eden’s Gates, as he always did out of boredom, when--”

And Sam can’t do anything but let himself be filled by Lucifer’s soothing voice, as memory after memory flows in, giving Sam the most vivid and hilarious picture of a recounting. He’s surrounded by warmth and love, his brother and Cas are okay, Earth is in no Apocalypse-danger anymore--everything’s as fine as it can be.

It feels like coming home.