Lucifer Morningstar didn't make you do shit. (didnt_make_you) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2013-09-13 18:07:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, dean winchester, lucifer morningstar |
Who: Dean Winchester & Lucifer Morningstar
What: Attempts at comfort
When: 9/13
Where: Lux
Rating: Low, although talks of death and grieving
Status: Complete
Lux wasn’t Dean’s type of place, but that didn’t stop him from showing up there. Lucifer was important now, which was fucked up, particularly when he considered that he saw more of Satan than he did his own brother.
He’d seen the other man when he came in (without Cas with him, his brother Couldn’t see Lucifer, not yet, but Dean had to,) reached behind the bar to grab a bottle of whatever he could and looked at the poor confused bartender who clearly wanted to kick him out.
“Tell your boss I’m upstairs when he’s ready.” Huh. Vodka. Alright.
He walked up the stairs and sat down heavily on the couch to drink. He’d be fine to drive home. He’d driven home on way way worse.
Lucifer had nothing beyond work right now, and so had thrown himself into it as well as he ever had. Samandriel's things were in his house. He had a basement he couldn't wander into. He'd slept in a guest room. And even Lux wasn't offering much comfort, since this place was Samandriel's in a way too. It was a school night, but that didn't mean the little stage on the side of the bar wasn't missing a violin player. His violin player.
It took him a few minutes. Not because he hadn't seen Dean enter, but because he didn't know what he'd possibly say to the other man.
Eventually, though, he offered a word to his bartender to not mind the missing bottle, to just make a note of it, and then he went up the stairs as well. His own drink was something stronger than his usual martini, and it was definitely a double.
"Dean." He glanced at the other man, before taking a seat next to him on the couch. "I thought you'd gone sober." It wasn't really an admonishment, though.
“Yeah, but when the sun goes out, you’re allowed to throw out your chips,” Dean replied. “I couldn’t leave you here alone,” he said. “Seemed wrong. Your life is more fucked up than ours right now, y’know?” He looked over at Lucifer.
Lucifer looked right back, but only frowned before turning away to look at the ceiling instead. "Not more fucked up," he murmured after a beat. "Just differently." He did not for a second think that Castiel's absence from Dean's side was not an intentional one.
“Almost killing someone isn’t the same as killing someone,” Dean said, looking at the bottle balanced on his knee. “He’s got like...PTSD dreams of him. Like the ki-” Dean paused, cleared his throat and corrected himself, “Samandriel, is begging for help or something. He wakes up weeping. Been there before.”
Lucifer had nearly had a similar dream -- right until he'd woken up and decided not to sleep any more for a good, long while. It made sense, he supposed. He and Castiel both had known the good in Samandriel more than any other. Of course they'd both feel guilty for -- well.
"I didn't kill anything that didn't deserve death," he said, but wasn't certain he meant it. "He's gone, either way. That's still fucked up." Lucifer wasn't the type to swear, felt himself above it -- but it suited for the moment.
“We’re getting new carpet in the living room,” Dean said quietly. “Probably repainting things too.” He’d had enough of the vodka, the very, very good vodka that was all smooth and delicious and no longer burned at all, that leaning against Lucifer seemed like the best of ideas.
He couldn’t say that half the time when he heard Cas’ wings behind him and his husband just randomly show up, he expected to turn around and find a very apologetic looking Samandriel. He should have figured out a way to trap it, should have saved them all this heartbreak.
Lucifer didn't know the state of Dean's house, and didn't quite want to. His own basement was bad enough, and he couldn't even force himself to go down there yet. He nodded, sipped his drink and then sighed a little before carefully settling his arm around Dean's shoulders. They both needed the comfort, and Lucifer wasn't stupid enough not to take it.
Unsure of what to say, he let silence sit between them for a long moment before finding a few words. Careful words. "I realize you both -- particularly your husband -- came here because of Samandriel. I don't want you to feel obligated over guilt to continue." He wasn't looking for pity.
There was only one way to answer that statement. Dean straightened enough to look Lucifer in the eye. “Shut up, Satan,” he said, but before the other man could get a word out in response, Dean’d kissed him hard on the mouth. Actions speaking louder and all.
That made Lucifer laugh, and although it was an honest laugh, that didn't make it any less sad. Dean's lips were reassuring on his own, and he liked the pressure of it -- kissed back just to remind himself that he was alive, even if his lover wasn't.
But the reminder rather hurt, and so after a moment, he pulled away a little. "Dean," he said, voice softer than intended, his usual icy tone nearly gone. "not yet. I can't." Eventually, maybe. But not yet.
Dean’s forehead rested against Lucifer’s. “No, I know,” he whispered. “I can’t either. I just...needed you to know that you’re not an obligation. You’re family. Just like he was.” And Dean never, ever wanted Lucifer to forget it, fucked up as it was that he was Lucifer.
He pulled away and unbuttoned his shirt enough to reveal the gauze still protecting his hastily done (but still neat, because Cas,) stitches on his chest. “Even if I had enough anything in me to get it up, I can’t.”
It was sad to be realizing that in retrospect. Lucifer would have preferred to learn it naturally -- to come to terms with whatever their budding relationship had been slowly, and over time. With Samandriel. The four of them probably would have been a very good, if not strangely convoluted family. It was nearly ironic, the devil shacking up with angels and men with entirely too much heart. But Lucifer didn't really feel like the devil, anyway.
He frowned at the gauze, could not bear to ask what had happened, because he knew already in his own way. Nothing would have set Castiel off more than Dean being injured. Everything slotted into place.
"I wasn't implying that, either," he murmured, and settled his own glass down in order to take the bottle of vodka from Dean.
“Implying? You just friggen said you didn’t want me to feel obligated to come see you. I don’t.” Dean left his shirt partly open. Buttons were too much tricky effort. Dean handed over the bottle of vodka easily and settled against Lucifer again. “Family don’t end with blood. And one of us has to be together enough to keep you two birds from sliding off the deep end.”
He'd meant kissing, not obligation. But Lucifer didn't see fit to correct Dean, just because it didn't seem to matter much in comparison to Dean's next words. He settled his arm around the other man again, took a drink of the vodka and kept the bottle.
"You don't always have to be the strong one, Dean. Family supports each other, they don't just designate one person to handle it."
“I don’t think you know how Winchesters work, then,” Dean said softly. He was still learning that family actually would support and he didn’t have to be both parent and brother and then not know how to be either.
“When I get you two on your feet again and you’re settled enough, I’ll collapse. Promise.” Or he’d die first. One of the two. “Cas...he told me about the pictures. If..if you need someone to clean up your basement.” Dean would do it. Not like he had much else going for him at the moment anyway.
"It's a good thing I'm not a Winchester then." He'd meant it to be funny, but was well aware that humor wasn't going to be working out for either of them any time soon, not really.
He tilted the bottle a little, looking at how much was left, but didn't yet take another drink. This wasn't his vice; and he didn't want to encourage Dean further back into his either. "I --" he paused, thoughtful. "I'm not fine. It's not okay. But I can handle it. You don't need to -- you should look after your husband before me. And yourself."
He licked his lips, eyes finding the ceiling again. "The basement… I can't go down there. I can't even--" He could play icy and careful here, might even be able to pass as believable. But he couldn't go there.
Dean nodded. “I’ll take care of it,” he said. “Get Cas to do angel delivery so that you don’t even have to give me a key or anything.” He rested his hand on Lucifer’s knee in what he hoped was comforting, but knew fell short.
It did fall short, but not for lack of effort. Lucifer couldn't blame Dean for it, and wouldn't anyway. He covered that hand with his own and nodded a little blankly.
"Thank you."