On Broken Wings of Love and Deceit (Samifer, FemSam)

Chapter One

 The Flames of Hell 

It was never quiet. Surprisingly, after all his years languishing in the cage; Lucifer had never grown used to the screams of the dammed.  The pain and heat that struck him in waves of burning agony were something he could endure. Nothing could be worse than the look in Michael's eyes as he flung him, screaming into hell. His brothers last words to him echoed endlessly inside Lucifer's brain. "I was wrong" He had said, eyes hard and unforgiving "You are no brother of mine"

Lucifer was free to roam his small, square prison. All the surfaces were made of the same dull, black rock; scorched by years of hell-fire. He used to pace: up and down, up and down. But sometime in his 300th year of torture, after the Winchesters had so cruelly averted his beautiful apocalypse, his mind had shattered. All that was left of Lucifer was a sniveling, flinching wreck of an archangel, too numb with pain and terror to do anything but sit with his head in his hands.

Today, however, was different.

Lucifer felt better on this particular day, the torture wasn't so heavy, his mind wasn't so twisted. He was sitting cross legged in the centre of the cage, eyes closed, when it happened. A chink of searing white light appeared, a square of brilliance falling to the stone next to him. An opening. Slowly, as if trying not to frighten it off, Lucifer opened one eye to stare incredulously at the light that had so improbably shone into his life.

It had been years since he had seen light and it burned his eyes to even glance at it after so long in the darkness. Tentatively, he looked up, moving his hand to his forehead in an attempt to shield his delicate blue eyes. In the distance, far up, he could see its source. Blue sky. A crack in the cage. His thoughts raced- how was this possible? How were the seals broken without him noticing? Where were the Winchesters? Shouldn't they be here, if the cage was open? These and dozens more questions flew through his mind. But, as the corner of his mouth twitched, pulling his mouth into a wicked grin, but what does it matter? He was free. Free at last.

In his excitement, Lucifer lept up from his cross legged position. Too quickly. Groaning and stumbling onto the wall, body screaming as gashes opened and muscles tore at the sudden movement, Lucifer looked up again, the light remained. He could do this. He could make it, even if he was half dead when he reached the top, he would get there, he thought to himself, desperately clawing to positive thoughts which seemed to fly away on the burning breeze.

Fingernails scrabbling on the bare granite, he climbed. It seemed like days, weeks even, that Lucifer hauled his aching body upwards. Vessel broken, hands a scarlet mess, always looking forward- eyes streaming, at the small square of light. It was the only thing keeping him from letting go and plunging back into the pit.

Lucifer almost gave up, he slipped, foot swinging in the void. Intrusive voices invading his head. Why shouldn't he just let go? What is the point of making it to the top, nobody would welcome him, nobody wanted him. For a moment, he thought about it. The Winchesters were probably sitting right at the entrance, waiting with a smile to flick him like a bug, back into the cage. What really was the point of all this? Wavering, he looked back over his shoulder. The drop was enormous. Head swimming with vertigo, clinging even tighter to the rock face he allowed himself to break slightly. Shoulders shaking in silent, tear-less sobs,wishing, despite himself that he could go home, to heaven. But he could never go back. Not after what Michael had done to him. Pulling himself together, he refused to listen to his doubts. Focusing instead on the task of finding the next handhold and pulling himself over the edge, into the light he had dreamed of for years.

Only to find he couldn't fit.

With both his arms outstretched, his  bony shoulders only just fit through the crack. His wings. His wings were preventing his escape. Moaning, hands trembling with exertion, Lucifer pulled at the grass under his broken nails, searching desperately for purchase. Finding it in the form of a cool stone, bured deep enough to offer him something to clutch, he pulled with all his angelic might.

Crack. Biting his tongue, blood welling in his mouth and coating his teeth, Lucifer gave a muffled shriek as the first wing broke, going limp across his back.

Panting, eyes screwed shut against the blinding daylight and his own overwhelming terror. He continued to haul himself onto the muddy grass, fingers crawling slowly to a further hold.

Crack. The second wing gave after several agonizing minutes of pushing it against the ragged opening of his prison. The sudden lack of resistance caused him to flop forward, shivering into the cold September air. Mustering the last of his strength, the wriggled forward so his legs were also topside.

Free.

Considering everything, Lucifer smiled. Cheek pressed against the ground, eyes closed, black wings matted with blood, limp on his back, he smiled. Blood covering his teeth and a mad glint in his eye, the grass around him slowly being encrusted with frost.

He was back.

And this time, he would win.