[Detroit!AU: the first to come was a fair maid]

[stilljustandrew]

Jonathan's vision was pretty well unmistakable. Gabriel's in danger, and doesn't know it -- or at least doesn't know the specifics.

That would be enough on its own, even if Andrew didn't more or less owe him his life.



Gabriel's nowhere to be seen at Milliways, and no one seems to have run into him in the past couple of days. Well, and that's normal enough; there's no reason he'd be here all the time, and plenty of reason to make himself scarce, all things considered. Maybe he's just back home.

Please just let this not be too late.

Andrew writes out a note at the bar giving Jonathan's vision in as much detail as he can, folds it carefully in quarters, and writes "The Trickster (G.)" on the outside.

Comments

[gavemea_45]

"Yes, you can," he counters, sharply, even though Andrew hadn't finished the sentence aloud.

"Now look at me--"

[stilljustandrew]

No. No. No.

He breathes in a shaky gasp to say the word aloud --

-- and blinks, eyes opening involuntarily.

[gavemea_45]

It's very likely almost like looking at a photo-flash in reverse.

There in the center of the brilliance that whites out the rest of the room, the impossibly-glorious figure of Lucifer Morningstar is nevertheless perfectly clear to Andrew's sight.

And as Andrew's eyes open, he smiles.

"I told you."

[stilljustandrew]

He can't close his eyes.

He almost can't want to close his eyes, before that terrible beauty.





Very, very distantly, he's aware that his knees are starting to give way again.

[gavemea_45]

His grip loosens giving the impression that Lucifer's fingers are threading gently through Andrew's hair even as the gleaming feathers of his sheltering wings brush against his back, his arms.

"Fear not," he says again. "You are here, and I am with you."

A beat.

"I will not lie to you, Andrew Wells. This is not like before, with the creature that took the form of your friend Warren. Doubt it not: this is your second chance."

[stilljustandrew]

"Second ch --"

He can't finish the word; all the breath's gone out of him.

[gavemea_45]

"Indeed."

Brightness is all around them; brightness is in his voice now as well, the hard shining light of sharp slicing steel as he says,

"War is coming. That cannot be changed; in fact, it has already begun. If it grinds onward, slowly, then by the time it ends, there may well be nothing of humanity left upon the face of this dead world but ash and bone."

Cold certainty rings in each word, not unlike the tolling of a death knell.

"But it doesn't have to end like that. Not if it ends quickly."

His gaze meets Andrew's, locks and holds.

"That which called itself the First Evil sought to deceive and manipulate you, to use you unknowing. I offer you a choice, and a place beside me where with your talents you can do that which no other can. Help me end this war, Andrew. Before it's too late."

[stilljustandrew]

We're not on the same side.

He fought.




Andrew takes what feels like the deepest breath of his life, pulling the air in and in and in until his lungs can't expand any further.

And then lets most of it out again, because it's far more than he needs to say the one small syllable.

"No."

[gavemea_45]

Everything around them goes utterly, absolutely still.

Lucifer studies him.

"You're as stubborn as Sam Winchester was," he marvels.

Silence again, and then slowly, very slowly, he smiles.

"But he said yes to me. And you will, too."

A beat.

"Think about that for a bit, why don't you?"

The light dies around him and his wings vanish in a rush of displaced air in the same moment. Lucifer lets go of Andrew completely and turns away, calling out in a voice like a whip-crack,

"Meg!"

[stilljustandrew]

Andrew staggers and nearly falls, stumbling a few steps back to keep his balance; he stays there, half bent forward and breathing hard like he's run a race.

Stubborn as Sam Winchester was.

He's not. He knows he's not. But he can try to be.

And he doesn't for a moment think that he'll be able to hold out where Sam didn't. Not forever. Not for good. And chances are pretty low that anybody's going to be able (or, let's face facts, willing to take the risk) to come and rescue him. Lucifer's right: he's going to say yes eventually.

So all there is ... is to see how long he can make it take.



Andrew straightens as best he can, and waits for Meg to appear.

[mynamesnotmeg]

It's a matter of seconds, and not many of them, before the door to the hall bursts open.

She doesn't even bother glancing at Andrew; her focus is all for Lucifer.

"You called for me?"

[gavemea_45]

He clasps his hands behind his back and smiles warmly at her.

"I did." He flicks a glance at Andrew, then back to Meg.

"Tend to our ... guest. As we discussed."

[mynamesnotmeg]

"Of course," she assures him, and turns a sharp smile on Andrew.

"I'll be delighted to."

[stilljustandrew]

This will be bad.


His arm abruptly twinges, hard, where a knife went into it some years back.

[gavemea_45]

Lucifer smiles.

"Good."

He glances at Andrew.

"We'll talk again. Soon."

[stilljustandrew]

"Hey, don't rush on my account."

The words are flippant. The tone isn't: a whisper like a guttering candle wick, struggling to draw the last of its wax, struggling to stay alight just a little longer.

[gavemea_45]

He laughs, very softly, and walks out of the room -- touching a casual hand on Meg's shoulder and running it down her arm as he goes.

[mynamesnotmeg]

She looks after him, then turns her full attention to Andrew.


"Oh, we're going to have fun, Wells. I can't wait to get started."

[stilljustandrew]

He swallows.

"Till your daddy takes your T-bird away?"

(It's an only slightly better attempt at bravado than the last thing he said.)

[mynamesnotmeg]

She shrugs, smiling.

"Something like that."

A beat.

"Guess we're gonna have to make the most of the time we've got while it lasts, right?"

Meg claps her hands sharply together, and three guards promptly enter the room in response to her summons.

"Take him downstairs," she orders.

[stilljustandrew]

He could try to run, but they'd just catch him.

He folds his arms loosely across his midsection, and looks away.



This will be bad.

[mynamesnotmeg]

The guards muscle him out of the room, down a flight of stairs into a short, ill-lit corridor, and into the middle of another room.

Meg leaves them at the top of the stairs. It's only after the guards get him to the center of the cell that she arrives, carrying a cardboard box.

She crouches down, setting it on the floor, and starts to open it, then glances over at them.

"Why is he still on his feet?"

[stilljustandrew]

This time when he tries to brace against being forced down, it's not so much with any hope of staying upright as with some thought of making them at least have to work at it.

They don't, much. This time the shove is accompanied by a casually brutal blow to the kidneys, and his knees buckle without any further encouragement at all.

He swallows bile and keeps his eyes on the box.

[mynamesnotmeg]

The first thing she lays out is a set of wrist cuffs.

Then a collar, and a metal chain.

Finally, Meg picks up a smaller box that's labeled as being from a medical supply shop, and turns to pin him with a look.

"I remember your little trick last time. With that Dvasha bitch."

The gloves she lifts from the box are specially designed, with metal-braced foam splints to separate and immobilize each finger.

"Don't think you'll be pulling that one again."

She adds a roll of duct tape, and smiles.

[stilljustandrew]

The cuffs and collar are disturbing, but (he tells himself) not that bad. No worse than things already are.

But the sight of the immobilizing gloves strikes a deep chill into him, splintering what's left of his composure; involuntarily, he tries to draw back, tries to pull his hands protectively to his chest.