crowroad3 (crowroad3) wrote,

Fic: Visitors

Genre: not exactly gen
Characters: Sam, Lucifer, Rowena, Dean, God
Relationships: Sam & Lucifer
Rating: PG
Warnings/Spoilers: non-consensual touching present and past, metaphysical transactions, sort-of seduction, vision-things, spoilers for 11x09!

Word Count: 550
Summary: Heya traveler. Take a load off.

On A03

The crack in the world--
that shook from the proto-heavens to the proto-earth, little spiderwebbings from the vault to the deeps--
these are paths. You can walk them.

The first time, Sam came down the iron steps, little iron thuds under his boot-feet, there was a blank look on his face, and he was pale as remembered sky, topside.

Lucifer said, well, well.

Lucifer said, you don’t look well, bunkmate.

Lucifer said, sit down before you fall down.

Sam folded himself, downcast eye, didn’t speak.

You are a wayfarer in your own body. When you glance in the mirror, mid-washing, you want to call out to yourself across a great plain, across a windy Kansas prairie, tallgrass bent before a dark heaven.

Your brother calls you, visits while you work, pray, carries provisions, tries to carry you home.

You curl yourself into the backseat; you get out again, look skyward.

You get out again.

You walk.

The second time Sam comes, Lucifer says, heya traveler. Take a load off.

Sam looked at his hands: nothing to set down.

It’s a metaphor, buddy o mine, Lucifer said, pushed the conjured table between them.

In hell? Sam said.

I know how you like it, Lucifer said,

coffee, tea…or me?

Dean was visited by an angel one night, while halfway across the fractured globe:

You can pass through here, Rowena was saying, or here, her small hands like rain on a map of the damned, or all the damned pathways of the world. The other witches listened.

Rowena knows portals.

And passing through.

Third time, Lucifer conjured a couch, familiar one, set Sam down, pulled him close, warm breath in the Cage-cold. Sam didn’t resist. Sam sat with his spine, the way he always did. Sam held everything off with the fire there.

It’s a secret, but God visits sometimes, His old earth, walks the ley lines.

Sees sister in them.

Lucifer blinked shy the fourth time, asked for a cuddle.

Sam stiffened.

No-one ever visits me, Lucifer said, except, you know, those other inmates, and I’m bored with them.

I’m not really here, Sam said.

I know, Lucifer said, but trust me—

you will be.

God would say, if He said anything at all:

Why do my creations persist, in ignorance of what they know?

You are travelers in your own bodies, strangers in your own spines, stiffened--

against yourselves.

The fifth time Sam comes with a witch and a book, leaning.

He smells familiar, fine hair burnt between hands.

Lucifer slips fingers between bars, doesn’t stroke, this time.


In-between times, Lucifer slips along the cracks, shines for the heck of it.

Light-bringer, he says, questioned, points to himself with a good smirk.

I am your--

(Best nightmare)

(Worst wish)

(Fever dream)

(Prom date)



Take your pick.

Sixth time’s the charm.

Sam’s pulse is steady under his fingers.

Sam stays.

Rowena thinks: their hands would fumble at the spellwork, the wards, their clumsy quasi-Christian hands. Follow a powerful witch into hell and you’re, well, pretty well …

Fucked, she told her boy; fucked, Fergus. And you the king of it.

God would say, if He said anything at all:

You’re all just words like seeds passing through, floating free along the stony cracks of the world.

Good luck taking root.

Lucifer says, Sammy, takes his hand for the old slice, that old scar, long road to walk alone--

take me with you.
Tags: maybe a story

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