There were very few things about humanity that Death liked. For the most part, he found God’s chosen beings to be rude and self-important and annoying, but there was one thing. Oh, and it was a small thing, such a quaint triviality that even the horseman couldn’t help himself but indulge. Food; it was the food. The modern era had seen the production of processed food, potentially chemical laden and laced with fats and sugars that made it so energy dense, even if that was a form of energy that humans burnt off quickly. Also, it tasted marvelous, regardless of the complete nutritional deficiency. Perhaps that was part of the fun. Greasy, gooey, sugary pleasure for its own sake. That was why Death was so initially pleased when, in taking a brief reprieve on Earth, he returned to one of the dilapidated old buildings he had claimed as a hideout and found the room set up with a small table topped with a grease stained paper bag. The mere hint of a smile fell when he saw the cake though, and Death’s irritation reached new heights when logic caught up with the smell of the food. If he was correct in his analysis, which he often was, the display before him meant two things: someone knew it was the anniversary of his creation and that someone had managed to get past all the protections he had put around his pseudo-home. Someone would be reaped, he decided, cane clicking against the floor as he crossed to inspect the room. The food was still warm, wrapped in layers of heavy foil to keep it so, and he was considering eating it when he heard the door click behind him. He spun around, face twisting into a snarl when he saw the man stepping through.
“You,” Death hissed.
Lucifer looked up, blue eyes blinking placidly as he pushed the door shut behind him. “Oh. You’re here.”
“Of course I am here. This is my place. How dare you intrude. How did you even… What’s in your hand…?”
Lucifer grinned broadly, sincerely proud of himself, and for that moment, Death couldn’t help but see something boyish in his demeanor. Lucifer was, after all, simply a child to him.
“Candles.”
“Candles?”
“Yes…?” Lucifer’s face fell. “Is that wrong? I swore that was the tradition. I obviously can’t put the proper number on there, not that I’m really sure what the proper number is, but as a symbolic gesture…”
“How did you even get here?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean this entire area is warded. No angel should be able to fly--”
Lucifer nodded, fishing around in his jacket pocket until he produced the small set of keys, which he jingled in an explanation.
Death squinted at him, eyes narrowed into curious slits. “You drove?”
A soft, airy laugh rose in Lucifer’s throat. “I can drive,” he said, stepping over to the table and unwrapping the package of colourful candles, examining the cake to determine the best arrangement.
“Well?”
“Well…?”
Death pursed his lips. “This is your plan? Some magical concoction in the food that will… do what, exactly? Debilitate me? Make me easier to wrangle so that you can--”
“It’s just food,” Lucifer said softly, brows drawing together in a sad little frown. “I don’t think cake does anything like that, not unless you have a particular problem with sugar, neither do fried potatoes and a hamburger. I don’t think… I mean--”
“What are you going on about?”
“Well, I don’t know. I’ve never had one, so--”
“What do you mean you’ve never had one?”
Lucifer shrugged. “I’ve never had a hamburger… or a french fry… or cake.”
Death watched him warily for a moment before he sat down at the table. He opened the paper bag, finding all the food still wrapped up from where Lucifer had apparently purchased it. If not for Lucifer’s confession, Death might have said that he had good taste, but as it was, he’d simply gotten lucky with his selection. Death gave a small, permissive handwave towards the opposite chair, and Lucifer sat down quietly, candles still held in his hand. He tilted his head, looking over the way Death laid out the food with an almost innocent curiosity. He’d never seen people eat.
“How about soda?”
Lucifer looked confused, turning his gaze towards the large plastic cup that was quite prominent in the set up. “It’s right there…”
“I can see that. Have you ever had soda?”
“Oh.” He shook his head. “No.”
Death nodded, pulling the lid off one side of the cup and pushing it across the table. “Drink,” he said.
Lucifer did, nose crinkling at the carbonation that rose up in tiny popping bubbles.
“Well?” Death asked, lifting his eyebrows.
“Well… what?”
“Do you like it?”
“It’s sweet.”
“That it is, but I asked whether you liked it.”
“I think so, but I’m not sure. Do I have to decide that now, having only had it the one time?”
“No… I suppose not.” Death sat back with a heavy sigh, dunking a french fry in a heap of ketchup before crushing it between his teeth. “So do you want to tell me what all this is about…?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“Perhaps, but the question stands.”
“I thought it was a nice tradition… this idea that people just celebrate something like that.”
“Something like…?”
“Just the fact that another person exists. An entire day devoted to just celebrating someone being alive…”
Lucifer looked down then, and Death frowned. If he didn’t know any better, he would say the boy looked sad. He chided himself inwardly for that. Boy. This was no boy. This was Lucifer. This was the spoiled brat of an archangel who was going to tear the world apart on a whim. This was Satan, the Devil, the great destroyer of… well… perhaps that last part would be hypocritical. As ancient and immortal a being as Lucifer might have been, Death couldn’t see anything but a child looking at him from across the table: blue eyes wide with curiosity, hair a disheveled mess from riding with the windows down, fingers still clutching a packet of colourful candles. A child and an almost hopeful child at that. Death realized it then, with a sudden pang in his chest. Lucifer was lonely, as abandoned by God as Death himself often felt. He sighed.
“Put the candles in the cake, Lucifer.”
“You’re not going to eat first?”
“Sometimes you have to have dessert first in life, child.”
Lucifer tilted his head, not quite understanding, but he reached for the cake and began carefully arranging the candles in a neat little circle.
“This doesn’t change anything, you know.”
“I didn’t really expect it to.”
“Good.” Death sat back and watched quietly while Lucifer set up his cake, lighting it with a wave of his hand. “...Well?”
“What?”
“You’re supposed to sing, Lucifer.”
“Oh.” He laughed nervously. “I don’t know the song.”
“Make one up.”
Lucifer pressed his lips together in a taut line for a second, but then they broke apart in another boyish smile as he began to sing an old Enochian ballad to the birth of a star.
Death kept his face straight, hiding all emotion as he listened to the angelic song. His fingers twitched on his cane, and he blinked his eyes rapidly once Lucifer’s gaze was turned. Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps there was something good in the boy after all. He shook the thought from his mind and helped himself to a rather large piece of cake.
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Fill: Team Castiel/Lucifer, Death's Birthday
Date: 2013-10-20 01:40 am (UTC)There were very few things about humanity that Death liked. For the most part, he found God’s chosen beings to be rude and self-important and annoying, but there was one thing. Oh, and it was a small thing, such a quaint triviality that even the horseman couldn’t help himself but indulge. Food; it was the food. The modern era had seen the production of processed food, potentially chemical laden and laced with fats and sugars that made it so energy dense, even if that was a form of energy that humans burnt off quickly. Also, it tasted marvelous, regardless of the complete nutritional deficiency. Perhaps that was part of the fun. Greasy, gooey, sugary pleasure for its own sake. That was why Death was so initially pleased when, in taking a brief reprieve on Earth, he returned to one of the dilapidated old buildings he had claimed as a hideout and found the room set up with a small table topped with a grease stained paper bag. The mere hint of a smile fell when he saw the cake though, and Death’s irritation reached new heights when logic caught up with the smell of the food. If he was correct in his analysis, which he often was, the display before him meant two things: someone knew it was the anniversary of his creation and that someone had managed to get past all the protections he had put around his pseudo-home. Someone would be reaped, he decided, cane clicking against the floor as he crossed to inspect the room. The food was still warm, wrapped in layers of heavy foil to keep it so, and he was considering eating it when he heard the door click behind him. He spun around, face twisting into a snarl when he saw the man stepping through.
“You,” Death hissed.
Lucifer looked up, blue eyes blinking placidly as he pushed the door shut behind him. “Oh. You’re here.”
“Of course I am here. This is my place. How dare you intrude. How did you even… What’s in your hand…?”
Lucifer grinned broadly, sincerely proud of himself, and for that moment, Death couldn’t help but see something boyish in his demeanor. Lucifer was, after all, simply a child to him.
“Candles.”
“Candles?”
“Yes…?” Lucifer’s face fell. “Is that wrong? I swore that was the tradition. I obviously can’t put the proper number on there, not that I’m really sure what the proper number is, but as a symbolic gesture…”
“How did you even get here?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean this entire area is warded. No angel should be able to fly--”
Lucifer nodded, fishing around in his jacket pocket until he produced the small set of keys, which he jingled in an explanation.
Death squinted at him, eyes narrowed into curious slits. “You drove?”
A soft, airy laugh rose in Lucifer’s throat. “I can drive,” he said, stepping over to the table and unwrapping the package of colourful candles, examining the cake to determine the best arrangement.
“Well?”
“Well…?”
Death pursed his lips. “This is your plan? Some magical concoction in the food that will… do what, exactly? Debilitate me? Make me easier to wrangle so that you can--”
“It’s just food,” Lucifer said softly, brows drawing together in a sad little frown. “I don’t think cake does anything like that, not unless you have a particular problem with sugar, neither do fried potatoes and a hamburger. I don’t think… I mean--”
“What are you going on about?”
“Well, I don’t know. I’ve never had one, so--”
“What do you mean you’ve never had one?”
Lucifer shrugged. “I’ve never had a hamburger… or a french fry… or cake.”
Death watched him warily for a moment before he sat down at the table. He opened the paper bag, finding all the food still wrapped up from where Lucifer had apparently purchased it. If not for Lucifer’s confession, Death might have said that he had good taste, but as it was, he’d simply gotten lucky with his selection. Death gave a small, permissive handwave towards the opposite chair, and Lucifer sat down quietly, candles still held in his hand. He tilted his head, looking over the way Death laid out the food with an almost innocent curiosity. He’d never seen people eat.
“How about soda?”
Lucifer looked confused, turning his gaze towards the large plastic cup that was quite prominent in the set up. “It’s right there…”
“I can see that. Have you ever had soda?”
“Oh.” He shook his head. “No.”
Death nodded, pulling the lid off one side of the cup and pushing it across the table. “Drink,” he said.
Lucifer did, nose crinkling at the carbonation that rose up in tiny popping bubbles.
“Well?” Death asked, lifting his eyebrows.
“Well… what?”
“Do you like it?”
“It’s sweet.”
“That it is, but I asked whether you liked it.”
“I think so, but I’m not sure. Do I have to decide that now, having only had it the one time?”
“No… I suppose not.” Death sat back with a heavy sigh, dunking a french fry in a heap of ketchup before crushing it between his teeth. “So do you want to tell me what all this is about…?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“Perhaps, but the question stands.”
“I thought it was a nice tradition… this idea that people just celebrate something like that.”
“Something like…?”
“Just the fact that another person exists. An entire day devoted to just celebrating someone being alive…”
Lucifer looked down then, and Death frowned. If he didn’t know any better, he would say the boy looked sad. He chided himself inwardly for that. Boy. This was no boy. This was Lucifer. This was the spoiled brat of an archangel who was going to tear the world apart on a whim. This was Satan, the Devil, the great destroyer of… well… perhaps that last part would be hypocritical. As ancient and immortal a being as Lucifer might have been, Death couldn’t see anything but a child looking at him from across the table: blue eyes wide with curiosity, hair a disheveled mess from riding with the windows down, fingers still clutching a packet of colourful candles. A child and an almost hopeful child at that. Death realized it then, with a sudden pang in his chest. Lucifer was lonely, as abandoned by God as Death himself often felt. He sighed.
“Put the candles in the cake, Lucifer.”
“You’re not going to eat first?”
“Sometimes you have to have dessert first in life, child.”
Lucifer tilted his head, not quite understanding, but he reached for the cake and began carefully arranging the candles in a neat little circle.
“This doesn’t change anything, you know.”
“I didn’t really expect it to.”
“Good.” Death sat back and watched quietly while Lucifer set up his cake, lighting it with a wave of his hand. “...Well?”
“What?”
“You’re supposed to sing, Lucifer.”
“Oh.” He laughed nervously. “I don’t know the song.”
“Make one up.”
Lucifer pressed his lips together in a taut line for a second, but then they broke apart in another boyish smile as he began to sing an old Enochian ballad to the birth of a star.
Death kept his face straight, hiding all emotion as he listened to the angelic song. His fingers twitched on his cane, and he blinked his eyes rapidly once Lucifer’s gaze was turned. Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps there was something good in the boy after all. He shook the thought from his mind and helped himself to a rather large piece of cake.