Oh goooosh, Inkheart. I absolutely loved the series. ;-; So thank you, thank you for giving some free-reign on this and prompting it. I haven't gotten to write in a while, so I hope this is okay. It's probably not what you were expecting though. ;A; but regardless, I hope you enjoy! Also, cross-posted here, in case people prefer AO3~
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Sometimes, when Lucifer closes his eyes, he can hear ringing laughter in his ears. The sound is always soft, melodious, and sweet – an innocent sound, the laugh of a child. Then the guilt would come, washing down on him like a wave, relentless and furious. He would imagine bright blue eyes, widening in surprise and maybe a touch of fear and he would remember the hand that reached out for him, the one that he tried to catch in his own grasp before it disappeared into the pages of the book.
His eyes would open then, the nightmare chased away, and he’d hear singing instead, and the scent of something undeniably sweet would fill the air.
It was almost a routine – everyday, he would wake from the same nightmare (memory, a voice would whisper in his mind), he would dress himself, and he would make his way down the winding stairs to the kitchen, where a short man with words painted over his skin would be making pancakes.
“His wings,” the words would read, “were ripped from his back, the pride of his being torn from his soul…”
The man’s name was Gabriel. He was short, lively, and sarcastic to a fault, but he was good, and somewhat respectful of the blond he lived with. It was almost painful, how different he was to the boy he had taken the place of. There were black-inked words tattooed into his skin, winding from his hands, around his scarred back (“there were wings there, once,” his mind would whisper to him, softly, yet with a cutting cruelty he would never let go of) and even a smidge on his face. His hair had specks of black in them, marring the brown that was slicked back and set in place. Gabriel liked to complain. He was loud, and he was hyperactive. He didn’t belong to the human world.
Gabriel was stuck out of place, with no way to go home. He never asked Lucifer, after that first time, if he could send him home with his magic tongue. The brunet never seemed to forget how he felt, finding himself in the strange sitting room filled with books, so many old books that were lovingly repaired, or the fire that seemed to chill him instead of warming him. He didn’t seem to forget the twin mugs, filled with steaming hot chocolate or how shell-shocked Lucifer had been the night they met, or how it was the only time he had ever seen the blond with tears in his eyes, speechless, and undeniably scared.
Lucifer never spoke a word of that night, the night when Lucifer read Gabriel out from the pages of a book, the night where Lucifer’s little brother, his only family, was torn away from him. They let the hurt linger beside them, following them like a cloud. They never said a word about what they both had lost.
Since then, they had adopted a conventional relationship. Lucifer would eat breakfast with Gabriel, and then he’d slink down into his office, lovingly fixing books like his little brother had always wanted to do. Gabriel would wash whatever dishes they used. He would go out, exploring the world in a large, think hoody and avoid the crowds stuffed with people he would never understand. The two would meet up again for lunch every now and then before returning to their separate ways until supper. Then Lucifer would cook, something salted and not sweet, and they would chat a little. Lucifer would show Gabriel the books he fixed that day. Gabriel would talk about the strange things he saw, and he would compare them to the mountains of his home, to the kingdom filled with light and tranquility. They would go to bed, in opposite parts of the quiet house, and the ritual would be repeated.
They never talked about the blue-eyed boy with dark hair whose picture hung on the wall, on a table, and on top of the fireplace. They never talked about the family left behind in the black ink of a book, of a shining kingdom filled with laughter or the winged knights who protected the skies.
And sometimes, Lucifer would read. He would read aloud the book from which Gabriel came from. His mouth would produce sounds, words that meant nothing to him but meant the world to Gabriel. The brunette would listen with rapt attention, for Lucifer’s voice held magic in it, and his tongue made beautiful sounds that he could never imagine. Gabriel would close his eyes, and he would see the sun shining on a kingdom of gold, with towers rising in the sky and his brother-in-arms at his side.
Lucifer would read flowers out of the books. He would read weapons, armour, and maybe a piece of jewelry or two, but a person never came. From the hundreds of times he read the book, Gabriel would never return to the pages of his home, and a blue-eyed boy never came out. A year passed like this, and then another. Three years turned to five, and the monotone routine slowly started to change.
At first, it was small things. Gabriel would cook something other than pancakes, or Lucifer would spend less time in his office. They would wander outside together, a comfortable silence lingering beside them. The taller of the two started to notice just how out of place Gabriel seemed to be – how his eyes shined as he watched children play, how they darkened in anger when a bully came, and how quick he was to play a prank on said bully, his childish nature mixing with protectiveness over the innocent. For the first time, in so long, Lucifer began to feel something more than guilt and sadness. He was intrigued, curious, and he watched as his companion would saunter back with a smirk of satisfaction on his face.
“Are you always so quick to help others?” Lucifer would ask each time the shorter of the two delivered the “just desserts” that the bullies so much deserved.
“Nope!” the brunet would give a toothy grin, eyes shining as he thought of a new plan. His pranks were usually quite deadly, and harmful, but Lucifer could never bring himself to care. Sometimes, he thought he stopped caring after his little brother had been torn away from him. Sometimes, he would wonder how his world went from everything to nothing but the brunette who was always beside him.
And somewhere along the way, he started to think of Gabriel as his own little brother. He stopped reading to the brunette, maybe out of boredom after having read the words so many times or maybe out of fear of losing him. He would wander out of his office more, the old books collecting dust and left forgotten once more.
The nightmares stopped, the blue-eyed boy (Castiel, his memory supplied softly, though the name no longer brought him pain) smiling now rather than holding a fearful expression. Lucifer would pass the syrup to his surrogate brother, who would then slather his pancakes full with them, causing both fascination and disgust in the blond. Lucifer slowly learned to smile again, laughing at the cryptic quips Gabriel would make and eventually joining him in his deadly pranks to deliver justice against those who wronged others.
And maybe, pressed between the words of a book filled with winged knights, a picture of blue-eyed boy smiling happy in the arms of a freckled face, long-haired boy was enough to let Lucifer know that his little brother was okay, and that he was living his happily ever after in the black ink of a book.
Fill, Team Castiel/Lucifer, Inkheart AU
I haven't gotten to write in a while, so I hope this is okay. It's probably not what you were expecting though. ;A; but regardless, I hope you enjoy!
Also, cross-posted here, in case people prefer AO3~
- - - - - - - -
Sometimes, when Lucifer closes his eyes, he can hear ringing laughter in his ears. The sound is always soft, melodious, and sweet – an innocent sound, the laugh of a child. Then the guilt would come, washing down on him like a wave, relentless and furious. He would imagine bright blue eyes, widening in surprise and maybe a touch of fear and he would remember the hand that reached out for him, the one that he tried to catch in his own grasp before it disappeared into the pages of the book.
His eyes would open then, the nightmare chased away, and he’d hear singing instead, and the scent of something undeniably sweet would fill the air.
It was almost a routine – everyday, he would wake from the same nightmare (memory, a voice would whisper in his mind), he would dress himself, and he would make his way down the winding stairs to the kitchen, where a short man with words painted over his skin would be making pancakes.
“His wings,” the words would read, “were ripped from his back, the pride of his being torn from his soul…”
The man’s name was Gabriel. He was short, lively, and sarcastic to a fault, but he was good, and somewhat respectful of the blond he lived with. It was almost painful, how different he was to the boy he had taken the place of. There were black-inked words tattooed into his skin, winding from his hands, around his scarred back (“there were wings there, once,” his mind would whisper to him, softly, yet with a cutting cruelty he would never let go of) and even a smidge on his face. His hair had specks of black in them, marring the brown that was slicked back and set in place. Gabriel liked to complain. He was loud, and he was hyperactive. He didn’t belong to the human world.
Gabriel was stuck out of place, with no way to go home. He never asked Lucifer, after that first time, if he could send him home with his magic tongue. The brunet never seemed to forget how he felt, finding himself in the strange sitting room filled with books, so many old books that were lovingly repaired, or the fire that seemed to chill him instead of warming him. He didn’t seem to forget the twin mugs, filled with steaming hot chocolate or how shell-shocked Lucifer had been the night they met, or how it was the only time he had ever seen the blond with tears in his eyes, speechless, and undeniably scared.
Lucifer never spoke a word of that night, the night when Lucifer read Gabriel out from the pages of a book, the night where Lucifer’s little brother, his only family, was torn away from him. They let the hurt linger beside them, following them like a cloud. They never said a word about what they both had lost.
Since then, they had adopted a conventional relationship. Lucifer would eat breakfast with Gabriel, and then he’d slink down into his office, lovingly fixing books like his little brother had always wanted to do. Gabriel would wash whatever dishes they used. He would go out, exploring the world in a large, think hoody and avoid the crowds stuffed with people he would never understand. The two would meet up again for lunch every now and then before returning to their separate ways until supper. Then Lucifer would cook, something salted and not sweet, and they would chat a little. Lucifer would show Gabriel the books he fixed that day. Gabriel would talk about the strange things he saw, and he would compare them to the mountains of his home, to the kingdom filled with light and tranquility. They would go to bed, in opposite parts of the quiet house, and the ritual would be repeated.
They never talked about the blue-eyed boy with dark hair whose picture hung on the wall, on a table, and on top of the fireplace. They never talked about the family left behind in the black ink of a book, of a shining kingdom filled with laughter or the winged knights who protected the skies.
And sometimes, Lucifer would read. He would read aloud the book from which Gabriel came from. His mouth would produce sounds, words that meant nothing to him but meant the world to Gabriel. The brunette would listen with rapt attention, for Lucifer’s voice held magic in it, and his tongue made beautiful sounds that he could never imagine. Gabriel would close his eyes, and he would see the sun shining on a kingdom of gold, with towers rising in the sky and his brother-in-arms at his side.
Lucifer would read flowers out of the books. He would read weapons, armour, and maybe a piece of jewelry or two, but a person never came. From the hundreds of times he read the book, Gabriel would never return to the pages of his home, and a blue-eyed boy never came out.
A year passed like this, and then another. Three years turned to five, and the monotone routine slowly started to change.
At first, it was small things. Gabriel would cook something other than pancakes, or Lucifer would spend less time in his office. They would wander outside together, a comfortable silence lingering beside them. The taller of the two started to notice just how out of place Gabriel seemed to be – how his eyes shined as he watched children play, how they darkened in anger when a bully came, and how quick he was to play a prank on said bully, his childish nature mixing with protectiveness over the innocent. For the first time, in so long, Lucifer began to feel something more than guilt and sadness. He was intrigued, curious, and he watched as his companion would saunter back with a smirk of satisfaction on his face.
“Are you always so quick to help others?” Lucifer would ask each time the shorter of the two delivered the “just desserts” that the bullies so much deserved.
“Nope!” the brunet would give a toothy grin, eyes shining as he thought of a new plan. His pranks were usually quite deadly, and harmful, but Lucifer could never bring himself to care. Sometimes, he thought he stopped caring after his little brother had been torn away from him. Sometimes, he would wonder how his world went from everything to nothing but the brunette who was always beside him.
And somewhere along the way, he started to think of Gabriel as his own little brother. He stopped reading to the brunette, maybe out of boredom after having read the words so many times or maybe out of fear of losing him. He would wander out of his office more, the old books collecting dust and left forgotten once more.
The nightmares stopped, the blue-eyed boy (Castiel, his memory supplied softly, though the name no longer brought him pain) smiling now rather than holding a fearful expression. Lucifer would pass the syrup to his surrogate brother, who would then slather his pancakes full with them, causing both fascination and disgust in the blond. Lucifer slowly learned to smile again, laughing at the cryptic quips Gabriel would make and eventually joining him in his deadly pranks to deliver justice against those who wronged others.
And maybe, pressed between the words of a book filled with winged knights, a picture of blue-eyed boy smiling happy in the arms of a freckled face, long-haired boy was enough to let Lucifer know that his little brother was okay, and that he was living his happily ever after in the black ink of a book.