Every rose has its thorn

Whatever it takes

"Some people eat to live. Others live to eat. Being an angel, I don't fall into either one of those categories, and now that you're down here neither do you. But - the best way to a man's heart, or so I'm told, is through his stomach." She leapt up off the couch. "BRB!"

Sam really didn't want to eat anything. Hadn't felt any hunger since being in the Cage, only nausea.

Then he remembered. Do whatever it takes.

He followed her into the kitchen. "Do you um, do you want any help?"

Lucifer was halfway inside a cupboard, rooting through pots and pans. She looked round at him. "Yeah Sam, that would be great! Let's make apple pie!"

She pulled out a big pie dish and handed to him to put on the countertop. He noticed her fingernails were now thankfully clean. His stomach was churning badly enough as it was, even without the thought of having to eat something made by muddy fingers.

"If you get peeling those apples, I'll roll out the pie crust. Oh and don't forget your apron!" She handed him a blue gingham apron with the word 'Sam' stitched across the top. Lucifer put on a matching red one, with 'Lucy' sewn across it.

OK. So this is actually happening. Sam's aching mind struggled to make sense of everything. Like 20 minutes ago I was watching my brother being tortured by me on widescreen TV, and now I'm trapped in a 1950s sitcom making pie with the Devil.

Sam found himself side by side with Lucifer, chopping up apples, adding spices and sugar, and learning how to cut leaf shapes out of dough to stick on top.

As soon as the pie was in the oven, she made them each a coffee and leaned back against the counter, hands wrapped around her china cup. "See how nice this is Sam? Don't you love the smell of cinnamon filling a home?"

Sam nodded and sipped his coffee. It tasted just as good as the first time and it helped to mask the bad taste in his mouth.

"So, Sam. We find ourselves with a spare half hour whilst the pie is baking." She went up to the oven and set the timer on the clock for thirty minutes. "I'm going to give you that long to think things over before you tell me where you would like to spend the rest of infinity."

The air around them suddenly became electric, and Sam's pulse began to race. He felt panicky - this was taking place now?

"Shall we go over the terms and conditions of our little arrangement before you give me your final answer? Probably should, I don't want you to say you weren't fully informed..."

Sam choked out an agreement. "...ok. Sure."

"Do you want to sit down for this? Yes, you probably do..." She dragged over two tall kitchen stools from under the staircase and placed them up against the counter. "Sit."

Do whatever it takes. Sam sat. Lucifer did the same.

"OK, you ready for this? I know you are still a bit fragile at the moment?"

"It's ok, I'm ok." Sam lied.

"Do you think we should get changed first, wear something more appropriate? I feel a little bit informal doing this in jeans..."

"Please...can't we just get this over with?" The tension was killing him.

"Alright, alright." She huffed. "At least let's take our aprons off. I cannot and will not conduct a formal agreement in gingham."

Sam took his off gladly, wiped the sweat of his palms on it. Kept it bunched tightly in his hands as Lucifer began to speak.

"Sam Winchester. You will agree to woo me, lavish me with romance, foot rubs and chocolate. Be a gentleman around the house and offer to do the chores. Come up behind me when I'm cooking and wrap your arms around my waist. I want you to make me feel, and I'm quoting here, 'like I'm the only girl in the world'." She paused for a second, thoughtfully.

"I appreciate there might be limits - I'm not expecting perfection here. After all, you are only human. And male at that. But, in return for a job well done, I hereby vow to not maim, mutilate or otherwise shred your soul too badly. Plus you get to keep the remote control to the TV. "

"De...define 'too badly..." Sam stuttered, feeling as if his brain had been punched in the stomach. Repeatedly.

"Not beyond the point where it can't ever be entirely repaired."

She said it so matter of factly. So coldly. His face went as white.

"Look Sam, I'm being honest here. I don't want to hurt you that badly, I actually don't. But accidents do happen and I won't always be able to control my temper. I am the Devil, for Christ's sake."

She gently lifted his chin up with a finger. "Come on Sam, a little bit of domestic abuse is the least of your problems. And I'll always get you nice gifts afterwards to say sorry. I promise."

Sickened, Sam went to stand up, to get away from her, but she shoved him back down. "I'm NOT finished yet." Lucifer glared hard at him as she sat back down on her stool. "You haven't heard your alternative offer." She leant forward until their faces were almost touching.

"Should you choose what's behind door number two instead? Let me put it this way. The fun you had with Dean the other day? Well that's just Monday. Tuesday is Bobby Singer. Wednesday is Jess. Thursday is your lovely momma. And so on, ad infinitum etc. And on special occasions, you can even have a turn in the hot seat." She leant back again. "You get where I'm going with this?"

Yeah, Sam got it. Loud and clear. He could choose between a fucked-up option, and an even more fucked-up option. His chest hurt, and he was sure that if it were possible to have a heart attack down here, he would be having one right now.

His 'do whatever it takes' mantra sounded so hollow.

"Plus you have to call me Lucy, not Lucifer. That's non-negotiable." She shrugged. "But I will also answer to honey. Or darling. Terms of endearment are always good. But not babe. That's just nasty. Oh - and remember..." she waggled a finger at him "...no hanky-panky either."

Sam's eyes swept to the oven clock. Somehow there were only two minutes remaining.

"Time flies in here Sammy." She smiled, wickedly.

"Two minutes left for you to decide. Do I get out the soft cushions, or my favourite red hot poker?"