applesaucedream | Can't Stand the Distance, Can't Dream Alone [open to all]

When Lucifer opens his eyes, he is laying on his back in a graveyard, looking up at the watery Kansas sky. He is wrapped up in the familiar flesh of his former vessel, but Nick is not in the same condition that he was in Manhattan; he is battered and broken, a wrecked shell like he was when Lucifer abandoned him in Detroit. The vessel is dying and Lucifer's Grace is barely more than a spark, and it takes most of even that small amount of power left to him to get Nick back into an inhabitable shape. At least with his Grace burning so low, the vessel can contain him without being damaged, but it has left him little more than human.

And his wings.

His wings had been wreckages even after his first Fall, all scars and sinew where he'd been burned and healed and burned again in Hell, but they had at least been functional. Now, they were nothing, just bare bone and ash, and he feels the loss of them acutely. Worse is the pervasive silence all around him, the great yawning emptiness overhead where Heaven stands hollow and abandoned.

Angel radio is silent. He cannot hear his brothers and sisters, feel their presence mapped across the universe in a Grace-light starchart. Knowing Gabriel's warning did not at all prepare him for the awful truth of it.

He is free and Heaven is a tomb.

It takes some effort for Lucifer to get to his feet; he is near powerless, has no idea where Michael might be, no plan and no direction. He does not know where Gabriel is, either, but he can at least take a guess and hope that he's in New York. New York, which is across almost half the entire continental United States from where he is. Had his wings still been functional, twelve hundred miles would have been nothing; he could have crossed it in an instant, at the speed of thought. Now--

Now, he has no choice. He walks.

Lucifer doesn't walk quite the whole way. For a few hundred miles past Indianapolis, he rides in the backseat of a van belonging to a man who'd picked him up off of the side of the road with about half a dozen cats. He thinks of Castiel and how he'd ridden in Dean Winchester's car, and he agrees with him: they are slow and confining. The close quarters and animal reek causes them to part ways in the little town of Bethlehem, West Virginia, and he continues walking.

Sometimes, he stops at gas stations or cheap convenience stores to purchase sustenance with what little loose money is left in Nick's pockets. His Grace is returning to him, slowly, but he has to keep burning it off to keep it down to a level where it won't damage his vessel and to keep himself off of Hell's radar (the angels are dead, and he does not trust the demons not to think that one more dead angel would be to their benefit with him weak and the threat of Heaven gone), and it's too low to negate the body's biological needs. He doesn't know how easy it will be to find another if he ruins this one, so he has to take at least the most basic care of it.

He sleeps, at times, though he thinks that sleep may not be the right word for it; he passes out in places, in stoops and on the side of the road. He doesn't remember actually losing consciousness, just the sick, hard jolt of coming back to awareness hours later.

It takes him some two weeks of walking and hitchhiking to make it to Manhattan.

It takes him a little while even after that just to find evidence of Gabriel's presence, but he knows his brother is alive, so that makes the signs easier to spot. He follows the trail of pagan trickster magic and well-hidden angel Grace back to a warded apartment building. His Grace is so weak that the wards barely even recognize him, and he is able to enter; he likes to think that he has done this on purpose, as a way of passing through, but he knows that isn't true.

He is dust-caked and weary, his ruined wings throb down to the roots; his feet are in an unknown condition, because he simply hasn't taken off his shoes. By the feel of it, they've become two giant blisters, and the muscles of his legs have become increasingly uncooperative. His knees ache, especially on cold mornings, and the idea that this body is past middle-age is an uncomfortable one. In a state of constant decay, and over halfway to dead. He needs to find a way to keep Nick from dissolving around him, or he needs Sam.

Lucifer knocks on the door.

((Technically, he's going for Gabriel, but anyone can find him at any point during his Fabulous Misadventures.))

He's home, but home is empty. Heaven is closed for business, and the voices he had blindly hoped to hear are absent. Sam had been right. All of the angels are gone. Fallen. Johnny's not here, nor the TARDIS. Seth. Peter. Any of them.

His apartment rings with silence for a full week before he goes back to his old tricks. People here have souls, people here can attain heaven, so he can deal out justice like he had before without a tug at his moral center. He kills three businessmen before he gets sick of the game and starts doing other things...sending friendly illusionary dragons into central park, then not so friendly ones, covering every building with frosting like the trimming of a gingerbread New York - keeping himself occupied if only for the moment. He doesn't kill any demons. He doesn't want to be on their radar. They think he's dead; it's easy to let his actions be claimed by others.

He wants to go back, but he knows that this is where he should be. He should be trying to fix things here. He should force his way into heaven and kill the last angel alive. Metatron was the one that caused this and he doesn't deserve to be acting as God.

Nearly a month in, he's scribbling out sigils onto a notebook when he feels who's coming up the stairs. He's stuck to the spot, not moving at all until the knock at the door. When it happens, he pushes himself up and flings open the door, taking in the bedraggled dirty shape of his brother, then pushes forward and sets his hands on his shoulders. He feels a strange mix of emotions. Why is it always Lucifer? What makes him endure to be the only other, besides himself? In New York, before, and in New York, now, back home. He's here again, and it's a terrible relief. "I thought I was alone."

Edited 2014-12-01 03:37 (UTC)

He doesn't know if Gabriel will answer the door, or, if he does, if it will only be to tell Lucifer to leave; they hadn't been on good terms with each other for a very long time. He doesn't know if his presence will be welcome here, even if he is the one of only two possibly still living angels. He has heard nothing from Michael, technically doesn't know if his older brother is even out of the Cage or if he survived, and he is hesitant to look before he figures out his Grace situation.

He is hesitant to look and find that he is wrong, that their family has shrunk to only two.

When the door opens, he does not allow himself the luxury of hope. He doesn't have the energy for hope, which had been novel when he'd first experienced it, but by now has gotten terribly old.

But when his brother lays hands on him, warm and firm on his shoulders, that at least isn't the worst reception that he could have gotten. It isn't exactly a warm reception, but, really, being the Devil kind of removes the possibility of very many people being happy to see him, and he's long since gotten used to that little fact. And Gabriel hasn't reached for an angel blade yet, so this is already going better than the last time they met in this universe.

"Surprise," he says, his voice so flat you could put a rug on it and call it a floor. "Happy Christmas, I'm not dead yet."

"No shit." He drops his hands and backs up, but he doesn't turn around to walk into the apartment. If Gabriel is going to do what he's planning to do...he's going to need all the help he can get, and another (albeit fallen) archangel would be an asset. He needs his brother. He doesn't suspect Lucifer has any motivation to attempt killing him at the moment, but he's not feeling all that trusting either. He steps aside, allowing entrance, then closing the door once Lucifer is over the threshold.

First things first. "You smell like a dead possum. Do not sit anywhere."

What is he expecting, for Lucifer to declare war on the one other angel in existence? That would be stupid, even if Lucifer was in a condition to wage war on anyone.

When Gabriel steps aside, he takes those few steps over the threshold; he is aware that being allowed into Gabriel's home is a generosity, something that he is not owed right now, and that may be the only thing that prevents him from going over to his brother's couch and laying on it out of pure anti-authoritarian spite. As much as it is in his nature to be a contrary little shit, he also doesn't want to get kicked out literally thirty seconds after he was allowed into the first real shelter he's had in a month.

"Apologies, Gabriel," he says instead, standing there and trying to will his legs into not cramping up like they're definitely threatening to do, "Next time I get spat out of Hell and have to walk a thousand miles, I'll try to be cleaner about it. For your sake."

There's something to be said about the mindlessness of driving. It's such an inherently mechanical task, especially with such a broad and seemingly unending barren stretch of roadway. It's so endless and mindless and automatic, in fact, that Daniel hasn't even begun to question why he's driving a '97 Volvo that he doesn't remember owning through a state he doesn't have a reason to be in. His subconscious apparently isn't all that concerned about it, however. If Daniel were aware of the true nature of this reality - in that it isn't - he would be pleasantly surprised to admit that this is an unusually relaxing dream.

Well, relaxing up until the point where he notices the bedraggled figure making its way along the side of the road and, ever the humanitarian, Daniel pulls up just beside him.

The man looks awful, whoever he is, probably in need of a hospital in addition to a ride out from the middle of nowhere. He looks distantly familiar in a vague, unplaceable way, though that's hardly what he would consider salient at the moment, not when this guy seems to be so badly in need of help. Daniel can't imagine how long he's been walking here on his own in that condition. Without a second thought, down the window goes.

"Hey," he calls in obvious concern. "You okay there, buddy?"

Lucifer has been walking down this lonely stretch of road somewhere in the God's own country between Pittsburgh and Philadelphia for a long time now; he has long since ceased to care about the fact that his vessel looks like some kind of ragged transient, that his feet ache and his legs hurt and being basically human is really an awful state of existence. He wants his Grace back-- he wants to be able to let his Grace come back in full. He wants Heaven to not be empty. He wants a lot of things, but all he can do is walk.

He slows when the car comes up near him, its wheels kicking up a little gravel on the side of the road. He stops and looks in the window at the concerned man within; he sees no malicious intent in the man's mind and soul, a useful little piece of his powers that's still intact. This is not the first person who's stopped to offer him a lift since Bethlehem, but it is the first that he might actually consider riding with.

One of those men who stopped will not be found for a few days. He deserved what he got.

"I'm fine," he says, though it's a half-truth at best. "I'm heading to New York. Going my way?"

'Fine' is very much relative and Daniel would be inclined to think that according to most sane and average standards, this guy doesn't particularly fall into the parameters of 'fine'. As it stands, he's a few sigmas away from Daniel's central understanding of the concept. At least.

"Yep," says Daniel, with no idea if he's actually heading to New York or not. He's not sure he set off driving this stretch with an actual plan in mind. But the state this guy's in, he could be going to Antarctica and Daniel would still probably take him partway at least.

His head goes to one side, apprehension sharpening. "You, uh, you need a hospital or something?" Not that they're likely to find one out in the middle of nowhere, but the man looks like he needs it.

Lucifer's standards for 'fine' are probably a little harsher than the average person's; his vessel is not currently in danger of disintegrating or dying, so therefore he is fine. He is dirty and thirsty and tired and has probably worn a hole in the soles of his shoes by now, but he can still put one foot in front of the other. So long as he can stand, he'll keep making his way towards New York.

He doesn't even know if Gabriel is really in New York at all, and if he isn't, than Lucifer is back to square one and mile zero; the next best option is Las Vegas, which is an even further walk than Manhattan. He thinks it may be difficult, walking through the Arizona desert, possibly more difficult than the Pennsylvanian mountains. It's hard to say, though; he has little experience with deserts. He supposes it would be hot.

But first: New York City.

Lucifer is close enough to the car than he can put one hand against it, taking a little of the weight off his feet; a little lean, nothing too obvious. He is fine; he is fine.

"No. I'm not injured."

He's just a lone forty-something year old man walking by himself through the Fuck-All Mountains of central Pennsylvania, clearly there's nothing strange going on here. He's not a fugitive or a hobo or an escaped mental institution patient, really, he promises.

"Right," he replies, circumflecting the word with a lingering, skeptical pull.

Clearly he's missing some astronomically huge chunks of context here. But it wouldn't make sense to stop and ask some stranger if he's all right and then drive away, and Daniel's picked up stranger hitchhikers under far more colorful circumstances. The fact that those hitchhikers usually happen to be on the other side of the asteroid belt doesn't really change much. And hey - being homeless and wandering aimlessly around is something Daniel has an unfortunate amount of experience in. He can't help but be sympathetic to the guy's plight. Even the tattered looking-half-dead thing, though Daniel has his doubts.

"Here." He leans over to unlock shotgun. Altruism before reason, as always. "If you're, um. Really sure about not needing a hospital."

"I'm quite certain."

Lucifer opens the door when it's unlocked and settles himself in the passenger seat; the movement is awkward, like he's never done this before and isn't quite sure where all his limbs are supposed to go, or perhaps like he's walked some five hundred miles and is sore as hell. Toss up, really.

He is aware that he is not the most savory passenger to have right now, but there is little that he can do about his appearance. The relief at being off of his feet is immense and nearly overwhelming, and he eventually settles into a position that hurts the least. How do humans live like this, every moment of their lives? How do they stand it?

He tilts his head slightly towards Daniel, looking at him out of the corner of his eye.

"Why are you so adamant about helping me?"

It seems a reasonable enough question; this road hasn't been busy, but it hasn't been completely deserted, either. There have been plenty of people who saw him walking and just kept driving on.

"I could be a criminal, for all you know. Or a murderer."

"Uhh." Right, good question. Which means Daniel has of course not considered it. "You looked like you needed the help? And, well, homelessness - been there. Not a lotta fun. So, sympathy. I guess."

That rationale's pretty poor, he'll admit it. And it really has been a while since he's been in any sort of situation resembling the one this guy's in. But then, impulse doesn't necessarily correspond with common sense. The second statement is a little more worrisome, but Daniel pulls back out onto the road regardless - plus one passenger of questionable intent. He parses those words for a minute in an attempt to work out if they're meant to be ironic commentary or a challenge.

"I've dealt with worse than criminals," he offers finally, settling for defensive neutrality. "I can handle myself. Might not look it but, yeah." Usually, anyway. He'll leave the bits about the frequent die-er's miles out.

Homelessness. Daniel has no idea just how homeless Lucifer is right now.

He listens, then cocks his head as though considering what Daniel has said about handling himself and being tougher than he looks. After a moment or two, he nods, because there is something there in this man that isn't in the average human. He's a little different-- Lucifer can't quite put his finger on what, but it's definitely there-- and he supposes that Daniel hasn't made it to this age by being completely unable to handle himself. If he was both stupidly altruistic and just stupid, he'd probably be dead in a ditch from a scenario just like this.

He remembers something, what some other drivers had wanted in one form or another.

"I can compensate you," he says. "I have some money."

He replies with a noncommittal shrug.

"Mm, it's no trouble. I'm heading that way anyway." Is he? He supposes he is. New York seems important in a vague, abstruse way, and that sort of meandering logic is solid enough for Daniel's present instincts. Even if those instincts tend to get him killed, they're often correct for a reason.

"Um, Daniel," he ventures hastily upon remembering that he's forgotten an important step in the socializing process, "is me. Hi."

New York City is a popular destination; Lucifer thinks little of the coincidence.

"Nick," he replies, because he really can't go around introducing himself as Lucifer, Lord of Darkness and Ruler of Hell and except to not end up in a white padded cell. He dislikes the charade of playing human, but he doesn't have much of a choice until he reaches Gabriel's. Once, he was one of the most powerful beings in the universe. Now, he's sitting in a car with an anthropologist, using his vessel's name so that he can have at least a few hours' rest.

How the mighty have fallen.

So the stranger Daniel just picked up off the side of the road who looks like he's crawled out of the ninth circle of Hell is fairly taciturn, but that's fine. That's understandable, even. Who knows how long he's been out there? ~~Careful with those similes, Daniel.~~

"Been traveling long?" he asks, politely conversational. He's going to guess the answer is an emphatic 'yes' based on Nick's general appearance and demeanor, like he hasn't had the luxury of sitting in a while. Which, speaking of general appearances and demeanors - "And, uh, you're sure you don't need a hospital or anything? It wouldn't be a problem, really."

"That won't be necessary."

Either Daniel does not understand the meaning of the word no or Lucifer's vessel looks worse than he'd thought; it could go either way, really. He hasn't exactly had the chance to look in a mirror since he'd been set free.

"I've been walking for about three weeks." He says it as though it isn't unusual. Didn't humans used to walk everywhere, anyway? Back before they had cars and airplanes and the combustion engine. "I started in Kansas."

For a guy walking his way halfway across the continental US, he wasn't making terrible time.

As far as appearances go, it's safest to say it's probably good thing Nick isn't actually human.

"Three - three weeks?" Daniel tears away from his distantly concentrated stare at the road to raise his eyebrows at his new passenger in mild astonishment. "Just by walking? God, how did you even manage that?"

Sure, that sort of thing isn't unheard of. And maybe he's been hitchhiking sporadically in between, who knows? Daniel still can't help but gape a little. No wonder the guy looks so rough.

"Mostly by not stopping."

He just... walked. Through good weather and bad, day and night, until his vessel could not physically keep going. The concept of limitations is still a distant and not particularly well-understood one for him; he had lived in this vessel for so long and never really had to learn what it could and could not do. It simply would do whatever he required of it.

It's a good thing that Nick is no longer sharing it with him.

"I need to get to New York, and there wasn't a better option available."

The eyebrows climb higher. Well, okay, talk about determination. Has he just been pushing himself nonstop, only pausing when it's to get a ride from whoever might be intrigued or worried or sympathetic enough to pull over?

It sounds like it.

"Why? What's in New York?" he can't help but ask, curiosity sharpening the edge to the question. Something important enough to risk tapping himself out physically and mentally and in all ways one can become tapped out is the idea Daniel's getting. He can't even begin to guess at specifics. It strikes him too late that this might be a bit of a personal matter and hence not really some random stranger's business, but Daniel tends to fling himself at neon Do Not Touch signs like that.

It is quite a bit of a personal matter, especially for some stranger who doesn't know him from Adam, and he isn't exactly keen to get too deep into his family issues. Not only are they fresh and painful wounds for him, they'd also be incredibly difficult to explain without sounding like he's insane.

But he can explain why he needs to get so badly to New York, at least in a superficial way.

"My brother. He should be there."

"Ah." A nod, peripherally relieved. That's as good and normal a reason to be traveling as any. Though why Nick is apparently refusing to factor rest stops into his equation is certainly a mystery.

Yep, this sure is a situation. For a moment Daniel drums his fingers on the wheel and watches tires chew up roadway and casts about frantically for some way to continue a reasonably normal-sounding conversation without encroaching on some deeply private topic. He performs a belated double take when he finally takes the time to dissect those semantics.

"Wait, 'should' be? You mean you don't actually know? Do you need to, uh, call him or anything?" Daniel fishes around in his pockets for his phone. One hand emerges, triumphant, bearing a perfectly serviceable if definitely military grade cellphone.

Lucifer looks at the phone in Daniel's hand as though the man had just offered him something terribly unhelpful, like a fish.

"My brother and I didn't part on good terms," he says, because that's true enough. The last time he saw Gabriel in this universe, he'd been sticking an angel blade in his chest. Even humans would consider that 'not good terms'. "I haven't spoken to him in some time, so I don't have a number to call."

He turns his head, looking instead out the window, at the scenery passing by far more rapidly than it had when he was walking.

"Last I knew, he was in New York. He may have moved on by now, and if he has... I suppose I'll just have to keep going."

Just keep walking until he finds him.

Wincing, Daniel re-pockets the phone. Such an exemplary display of his legendary tact.

"Sorry," he mutters for no reason he can immediately specify. It's not like he could have known one way or the other, but it seems the polite thing to say. Nick's tone has him more than a little worried.

"So you're just, what? Gonna keep walking and wandering and hoping that you'll run into one specific person out of some seven billion?" It doesn't sound very efficient, is all. "You can't look him up or anything?"

"He's very good at staying hidden when he wants to be."

If he had been able to stay off of Heaven's radar for a few millennia, he'd certainly be able to give Lucifer a run for his money, assuming he knew that his brother would be looking for him. It's possible, though, that Gabriel still thinks he's in the Cage, or that he's dead like the rest of their family, and won't be guarding against him.

He doesn't hope that Gabriel will be looking for him as adamantly as Lucifer is looking for him. He's too old for that kind of self-deception.

"But I know my brother. If he isn't in New York, he may be in Las Vegas, or New Orleans. He was fond of Buenos Aires, if I recall."

And he would walk to Buenos Aires, if he had to.

Lucifer's Adventures in Hitchhiking, or Things Sam Lacks: Good Communication Skills, the AU

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject