I Thought of Angels, Choking On Their Halos [open]

[wentdowntogeorgia]

Lucifer falls.

This is old news for everyone involved. He fell from Grace, he fell from Heaven, and after the so long awaited confrontation in Stull Cemetery, he and his once-beloved brother and the promise of violence, he fell back into the Cage in the body of Sam Winchester.

Now, when he falls, he feels a shift around him like the universe cracking open at the seams; there is the smell of ozone and a lightning-snap that’s louder than even Sam’s fearful internal monologue, louder than the terror that pounds his frantic mortal heart at the sight of Perdition yawning wide beneath him. He is yanked sideways, sudden lateral movement that would be dizzying if he had a center of balance to upset, a rip-tide pulling him in and down and through the rabbit-hole, shadow-thin and darkling deep.

The body that is supposed to be his—that has had his name written over and across and around every fiber of its being since its conception—is suddenly far away, and he is wrapped in the old, familiar skin of a vessel he’d left dying in Detroit, flesh given freely rather than claimed by divine right. And then he is a streak in the sky that hits water and sinks like a stone.

Under the water, cold and getting colder from the seed crystal that is his freezing Grace in its mortal house, he can feel the vast emptiness where Heaven should be above him and isn’t; the universe is silent and it is deafening, a tinnitus ring where there should be angels’ voices. Lucifer grabs two fistfuls of space-time and pulls, moving himself from under the water to standing in the shallows at the bank, and behind him the lake’s surface is already frozen over thick like it’s the dead of winter. The water around his feet is sluggish and barely liquid, filmed over top with a thin frozen layer that breaks and flows around his ankles.

Someone approaches him with a towel, and there is no Hell below him and above him only sky, and he makes no reply; he banishes the water from his clothes with a thought before he puts his fist right through the man’s chest.

[[ooc: So this is going to be the hottest of messes; see mod comment for post instructions and fun stuff like that.]]

[[TW: gore, major character death.]]

Comments

[rae_of_sun]

Sunshine blinks at the janitor as Spike carries her past him, turning her head to continue staring at him over his shoulder. "Hey, it's that guy," she says - drawls, almost. Gods, she's so tired. But not so tired that she can't lift her hand in an absurd little wave before she loses sight of the guy. Maybe he'll find it reassuring.

Once on the elevator, she squints in confusion at Spike's choice in floors. For a moment, she'd thought he was shooting for her floor instead of his (and had felt a vague, distant sort of indignation at his presumptuousness, and at the prospect of so much blood in her nice, clean apartment), but then it registers that they're going all the way up. "Are we going to the roof?" she asks, baffled. Then, because she's really starting to feel ridiculous, "I think I can probably stand."

… Okay, so that didn't sound all that confident. "Yes," she says, trying for a more authoritative tone, "I could."

No, she's not getting loopy from being all flipped out and exhausted, why would you even suggest such a thing.

[erratic_hematic]

Spike doesn't even bother to let her down. She's starting to get worryingly out of it and setting her down is going to take up time that he's not sure he has. And despite what she says, he doesn't actually believe that she'd last very long on her feet.

"Yes, the roof. Best place to sit in the sun and recharge your powers. Or...whatever it is that gets recharged." Just...her in general? That doesn't sound quite right.

[rae_of_sun]

"… Oh." Sunshine considers that for a few moments, a pensive little frown pout on her face. That's actually a solid plan. Points for Spike. "Good idea." Forgetting the no-touching rule, which doesn't seem to matter anymore, anyway (if her affinity is doing anything right now, she's pretty sure it's only applying to her), she reaches up to pet Spike's hair. "You're a good boyfriend," she says. She even manages to sound as if she's delivering an actual compliment and not just praising an obedient dog.

[erratic_hematic]

Spike submits to her touching his hair long enough to be shocked at being called her boyfriend. As far as he knows, they're just dating. Dating often and (he assumes) exclusively, but they'd never really talked about anything else. He'd like that, if it were true, but he suspects that she might not call him her boyfriend once she has all of her wits back.

He tips his head away from her touch and looks up at the number indicator on the lift, urging it to go faster. "Your goin' a bit funny, babe. Stop touching me."

[rae_of_sun]

"'Babe'?" she repeats, wrinkling her nose. Ugh, no more pets for you. She pulls her hand back, considers trying to fold her arms, and decides that act would require more dexterity than she has at her disposal. "I'm not responding to that nickname," she informs him as they reach the top floor and the doors slide open.

[erratic_hematic]

"What's wrong with babe," he responds immediately, a little confused, but mostly focused on getting her out into the sun. Once they're out on the roof, he sets her down into the first chair he finds. Thankfully, it's a decent distance away from the bee hive so he won't have to be swatting the things away the entire time..

Once she's seated he runs a hand back into her hair, tucking it away from her face, but he quickly brings his hand back when he realizes he shouldn't be touching her right now. He finds another folding chair then, as an afterthought, pulls over the umbrella so that it's casting shade onto his seat, but not hers. The sun may be good for her, but it makes him nervous, especially when he's already injured.

He sits down with a small groan. His body is still healing, and it's going to take a while longer before he feels put together again.

[rae_of_sun]

"Blech," she says by way of explanation, but before she can elaborate on that salient point, she's distracted by the welcome return of sunlight on her skin. It's a testament to how wiped she is that the pleasure of being in full sunshine outweighs the unpleasant stickiness of the blood on her dress (and legs, and hands) to such an extent that she hardly notices it anymore as Spike deposits her onto a lawn chair.

The feeling of his fingers in her hair ranks below the sunlight, too, but well above the blood, and she turns her face into his touch with a little hum. But then he pulls away, and she slits her eyes open (damn, how long did she have them closed?) and peers at him as he arranges himself on a lawn chair beside hers. Under an umbrella, like they're on vacation at the beach. Ludicrous. He's not within easy arm's reach, and while some distant part of her realizes that's probably for the best, it's still hard to suppress a pout. What if he needs her? He sounds like he needs her.

"Hey," she says, turning onto her side so she can frown at him properly. She should probably say something intelligent sounding about how she is uniquely qualified to lend assistance, here - or she would be if she wasn't so exhausted, and she will be in a little while, once she's had some time to recharge - but she's so tired that what comes out is a cranky, "You'd better not be dying."

[erratic_hematic]

The concerned crankiness is oddly comforting, coming from Sunshine. Her being outright delirious had been scary. Now that she's safely recharging her batteries he can relax a little, and he does, scooting down in his chair so that he can rest his head against the back. "I'm not dying. I'll be fine." At some point in the future he'll be fine. Now, not so much. The hole in his chest is gone, but he doesn't particularly want to look down to check. He's covered in his own blood.

Instead, he lets his head tip to the side so that he can look at her. It may be best not to actually talk about any of that at the moment. Instead, he decides to bring up what she'd said in the elevator. "Boyfriend, hm?"

[rae_of_sun]

Her eyes drift shut again as Spike reassures her. She's more concerned with how not fine he is right now than how fine he'll presumably be at some unspecified future date - yeah, give it a few weeks and a bucket of brain bleach and they'll all be fine - but at least he's in good enough shape to get comfy on a lawn chair, so the situation can't be that horribly deadly dire.

But he's not just getting comfy, he's getting chatty. Sunshine slits her eyes open again to peer at him suspiciously. 'Boyfriend'? Wait, did she say 'boyfriend'? When did she say 'boyfriend'? A more put together Sunshine would probably panic; this one just manages a faint frown. "Huh," she says, as if listening to Mel explain some technical issue he was having with an engine. It's more acknowledgment than genuine comprehension, and she lets her eyes close again as she shifts into a more comfortable position on the chair.

Spike doesn't respond right away. Maybe he expected more of a reaction to his engine troubles. No. To the 'boyfriend' thing. What, is this a semantics issue? "Is there a better word for it?" she hazards, asking if he's asking.

Gods, she could fall asleep right here.