Who: Lucifer + Evil!Samandriel, Castiel (briefly) What: Cover not so much blown, but discarded - [kryptonite plot] When: Tuesday - 9/10 Some time after This Where: Lucifer's Rating: High - threats of violence, implied, but untrue character death, mentioned violence, no technical violence in the thread, but really there may as well be. Status: Complete
His kitchen was tidy, as it always was -- tea kettle on the burner and water already boiled and perfectly hot, cinnamon tea steeping in an oversized porcelain mug. He'd contemplated cooking, but had waved the idea away almost as soon as it'd arrived. When Samandriel showed up they could order something in to eat and have a night of it.
If Samandriel showed up, that was. It was a little strange that he hadn't heard from the boy since much earlier in the day. Often they texted back and forth -- sometimes to the point where Lucifer rather wished his boyfriend wasn't so adept with the keypad. Today though, it had been nearly radio silence. It was possible, of course, that he was just busy with school work, or perhaps the volunteer work that he seemed to be so keen on. Still…Something was off. Lucifer couldn't really place it, though. It was more a nagging concern in the back of his mind rather than an obvious slap in the face.
“Sorry, I’m late,” Samandriel said cheerfully appearing behind Lucifer. He kissed the other angel on the jaw and wandered over to the fridge no matter that he wasn’t hungry. “Busy, you know how it is.” The phone rang. Samandriel shut the fridge door. “You might not wanna answer that.”
Lucifer quirked a brow at Samandriel's breezy attitude, but said nothing of it yet, instead picking up his mug of tea and looking in the direction of his phone -- just across the counter. "Oh? Do your angel powers include knowing when a solicitor is calling, now?" he asked, a little wryly before sipping his tea and moving to scoop the cell up.
“No, just my mother,” Samandriel said, walking towards the living room. “I might’ve given her a little too much information about...certain extracurricular activities.”
What. No, that wasn't even a question. Lucifer glanced down at his phone, and noted it was not a number that he had programmed in. Samandriel could very well be joking but -- this was not his sort of humor. He set his tea down, strangely calm as he followed the boy into the living room and swiped his thumb across the screen to unlock and answer it.
"Hello?" How he could remain charming, charismatic and bored sounding in the face of a topic like this was a question better unasked.
“Mr. Morningstar,” came Samandriel’s mother’s voice on the other end. “I’ve been led to believe that I, and I quote, tried to sell you something that was already yours. Granted, I was also on the receiving end of a laundry list of reasons that I am a piss-poor excuse for a mother despite providing my son with anything he could wish for.”
Lucifer glanced at Samandriel, who was sitting in his armchair like he fucking owned the place, smug like he'd just killed the cat and taken its entire supply of cream. "Ah, Mrs. Shurley, I presume." The woman hadn't asked and questions, and so he would not give any answers.
“Would you care to comment on the veracity of these claims and perhaps how quickly I ought to be getting in touch with my lawyer? It would certainly damage your reputation should anything like this come to light.”
"I can't speak very knowledgeably about your mothering skills, Mrs. Shurley." He knew that being snarky was probably not the answer to this particular issue, but he wasn't properly sure what was at this very moment. Samandriel looked unrepentant in a way that was completely uncharacteristic of him, and it was nearly more worrisome than his mother on the other end of the line.
He should be more afraid, but frankly, he knew that above all other things, Rebecca Shurley could be bought. She'd made that clear before. "What would you like to know, and how can I help you?"
“I’d like to know how much avoiding this headache is worth to you,” she said. “Since he claims to be sneaking out to spend every night with you anyway, and I’m sure we can round up enough evidence to make your lives both very difficult.” Rebecca Shurley was not a woman with whom anyone should fuck.
But apparently someone had at least once, or else Lucifer would not currently have a boyfriend. "Do you not know where your own son is nightly?" He asked, sounding bored and strangely cautious at the same time. If she wasn't to be fucked with, Lucifer certainly shouldn't have been either -- but he did know what battles were worth fighting and which ones weren't.
"I tend to enjoy avoiding headaches at great costs. Again, what can I do for you?" He frowned at Samandriel, smug, silent Samandriel. This would not be lightly forgiven, the boy must know.
“Make me an offer,” came the voice on the other end of the line. “I’m not an unreasonable woman, Mr. Morningstar, but if Samandriel is under the impression that I sold him, then perhaps I ought to.”
"I see he was not mistaken about your level of concern for him, then." Ah, there was his anger. Sharp in his chest even as he moved across the room, laying a hand almost lazily on the top of Samandriel's head. He needed something, a reaction from the boy in expression that wasn't just -- nonchalance.
Even without it, he went on, naming a figure that was beyond fair. "That. Monthly, until your son is a legal adult."
There was silence on the other end of the line for a long moment. Samandriel himself tipped his head back and looked up at Lucifer still like he’d done the only thing anyone could expect of him. He’d had enough. He was getting out. It seemed fair.
“Acceptable,” Rebecca said. “I’ll expect payment for September by the end of the week. Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Morningstar, and if you happen to see my son, tell him he has until the weekend to remove his things from the premises or I’ll be selling them.” The call disconnected.
Well. That had gone a little easier than expected. Lucifer hung up his phone, slipped it into his pocket without a second thought, and then turned away from Samandriel, heading back toward the kitchen. The tea in there, whether Samandriel knew it or not, may very well be his salvation.
"You have until the weekend to gather your things from your parents' home," he said, effectively relaying the message.
“Already did it,” Samandriel said calmly. “Well, except the instruments. I don’t think I’ll be needing those again.” He picked idly at his fingernails.
Lucifer stayed in the kitchen, fingers wrapping around that porcelain mug and eyes focused on the pattern of the tiles on the floor.
Pointedly, he did not respond. If Samandriel wanted to have a conversation, he had best follow in order to have one. Lucifer had given more than enough already, lenience would not be included.
Samandriel got up and walked into the kitchen to look at Lucifer. “You can’t tell me you’re not equally sick of hiding. Parental consent goes a very long way. Or am I just not that interesting now that you’re free to have me?”
"You're interesting," he told the boy, and clearly meant it. "I doubt you could ever bore me." He sipped his tea again, and then arched a brow at his boyfriend. "I would expect you to be either more pleased or abashed at your behavior. Nonchalance does not suit you, Samandriel." That feeling from before was back; it was more than obvious that something wasn't right.
“Shame, because that’s definitely what you’re getting. I’m not the only one who should be earning things around here,” Samandriel said, watching him. “And I’m tired of just being expected to be on my best behavior constantly. You want a good boy doormat, I’m sure you can find one at a club who’d be happy to lick your boots and rarely get the benefit of your cock.”
Even in anger, Lucifer's fire was cold, and icy sort of burn that lingered and sat in the deepest parts of him. And even then, he outwardly remained calm. Never did Lucifer Morningstar rush into anything. He sipped his tea, and then moved to top if off with still hot water.
"What have you done with the real Samandriel?" He didn't even sound angry, just vaguely curious as if perhaps he'd misplaced his watch or keys, and you, obvious doppelganger, could you help me to find them?
Samandriel shrugged. “How do you know he’s not still in here?” He tapped the side of his head a couple times at the temple. “Nice and locked up inside. Possibly screaming and convinced that you hate him. He does that, you know. Weep and worry he’s not worthy.”
"I know he isn't you, even if he is still there, somewhere -- who's speaking clearly isn't him." Lucifer glanced back up, expression blank enough to look bored. He'd rather look bored than worried. Because he was worried. Terribly. But that wasn't the sort of emotion that would get him anywhere.
"But if he is there, he shouldn't be concerned over my affections. I don't suffer people I don't find worthy, and he's well aware of it. So tell me, who are you?"
“Samandriel,” the fallen angel said calmly. “Truth?” Which was a silly thing to ask because clearly Lucifer would want it. “I’m what your precious baby angel is when you burn away all the Good in him. Every shred of his light gone.” Samandriel moved in the kitchen. “Fallen, if you will, or perhaps I’m just his mirror, all that good reflected into a nightmare.” He walked away from Lucifer towards the basement stairs. “Either way, you might want to plan his funeral, because that little bird isn’t ever coming back.”
Fallen. How terribly ironic. Lucifer cocked his head to the side, as if considering this creature's words, and then settled his tea back onto the counter and took a quick step in order to catch up. "You're wrong," he decided, fingers grasping the other man's shoulders and holding tight. "My angel will come back, even if I have to be the one to bring him back."
Samandriel turned in that grip. “I killed him,” he said coolly. “Or maybe if you kill me, he’ll die too. There are risks, Lucifer. The only way to get rid of me might just cost you him as well, and won’t it be awful when that ends up in the papers? I’m sure our mother would be satisfied with nothing less than your absolute ruin.”
That this false Samandriel was speaking with such a maybe-this-maybe-that inflection was rather telling. Samandriel wasn't dead, could be found -- even if it was inside this other one. Lucifer granted himself the right to be cocky, just as nonchalant as this other man had been earlier. He grinned, lopsided and sharp. "Tell me. How do you ruin the devil? Really?"
“You hang a dead, underage valedictorian on the St. Andrew’s cross in his basement while he’s out. And then you take pictures. Would you like to see them? They’re on your desk all pretty and black and white. Not the originals, of course. I wouldn’t be quite so sloppy.”
"Of course you wouldn't," Lucifer murmured, the only tell of his anger was his fingers digging more deeply into the other man's shoulder. Not Samandriel. "Do you really think framing me for murder would ruin me forever? Maybe you aren't as smart as you think you are." He smiled, cold, calm. He didn't want to see those pictures, couldn't honestly bear to fathom it. "You know better than even me at the moment that time is long, infinite. Eventually I will be more than you could ever dream of being. And no one will be more sorry for it, either." He'd already chosen which battle to give up on today, and this wasn't the one.
“Prison isn’t kind to pedophiles,” Samandriel pointed out. “You’re no angel at all yet. Time may be infinite, but you may not.” He nodded over to the desk. “You should look. The boy’s dead and all your new toys were so very fun to play with.”
Yet. He wasn't an angel yet. But eventually he would be. It was Lucifer's job to think of numbers, statistics, time frames. He knew he would be an angel well before the system broke him. But it was hardly a real concern at the moment, because he was turning away from this creature, moving up the stairs to his office. Pictures weren't telling. He didn't want to look, but that didn't matter. Anyone could look dead in a photo, it didn't make it so.
"You're boring me, Fallen. I don't suffer those who bore me."
Samandriel followed easily. He knew that the boy hadn’t told Lucifer yet that nearly nothing could kill him. It would just be a matter of time before he healed. The pictures were graphic. Samandriel shirtless, his head lolled to one side with a series of deep lash marks all over his torso, knife wounds followed and one lay buried to the hilt in the poor wee angel’s heart, dark, thick blood tracing its way from the wound. His eyes were unfocused on the camera, and with the angles that the fallen angel had gotten, he looked utterly lifeless. He wasn’t, of course, but that didn’t matter.
“Then maybe you should have loved him better and we wouldn’t be having this issue.”
"I hardly think that's the issue at all." Lucifer was certain of that. Samandriel -- the real one -- was well aware of how much Lucifer loved him, there was no mistaking that.
He tilted the door to his office open and glanced back at the Fallen angel with a half of a sigh. Really, it was just him steeling himself for what was to come.
Surprisingly, someone else appeared in the room the second after he'd opened the door. With the sound of wings, Dean's husband, Castiel, stood facing the desk picking up and staring at what Lucifer assumed could only be the photos he'd come to see. The angel turned and looked up, blue eyes darker than what he remembered and anger clear on his expression.
Samandriel smirked darkly, a sick, twisted thing as he stood behind Lucifer. “Fun’s just getting started, isn’t it, brothers?” And then he was gone.
Castiel deflated immediately upon seeing the imposture go, eyes turning sadly back to the photos in his hands before he found himself on his knees.
Lucifer was there a moment later, finally allowing himself to feel the worry and panic that he'd been holding back for this entire encounter. "I - I need to see those," he said, and did not wait for permission from the brunet angel before snatching them from his hands.
It was horrible. Lucifer stared and didn't know at all what to feel.
Somewhere, he supposed from below him, Castiel spoke, his tone deep and resolute. Somehow tired. "I'm going to kill him."
One thing was for certain: that thing he'd just spoken with was not Samandriel, or even in the same body as him. It was a stupid mistake for it to have made. And so, the only thing Lucifer disagreed with in that statement was who would be doing the killing.