#qpr!samifer

Sam doesn’t startle awake anymore. He’s pretty sure that’s a side effect of the whole ‘sleeping with an archangel thing.’ There are very few things in the universe that could sneak past Lucifer undetected, and if those things happen to get into Sam’s bedroom, he’s already screwed. He might as well enjoy his ability to actually get some good sleep in the meantime, even if that comes at the cost of Lucifer inevitably sprawling out on top of him in a way that should probably feel like he’s crushing Sam. (Only, the weight of him inside his vessel, that unnatural angel density that Cas has tried and failed to explain, is nice. It’s grounding. Sam’s had few enough things in his life that make him feel safe, and it’s taken him a long time to accept that Lucifer can be one of them.)

He wakes slowly, even with the sound at the edge of his hearing becoming impossible to ignore. He blinks up into the darkness once, twice, then fumbles for his phone. He manages to knock it to the floor. He curses. He’s about to get out of bed before Lucifer makes a funny noise like a cat that doesn’t want to be picked up, and Sam’s phone is suddenly in his hand.

“Thanks,” he says. Lucifer squirms closer and presses his face against Sam’s shoulder. Lucifer seems to take offense at the idea of Sam’s personal space. Sam doesn’t think he’d be able to breathe in that position if he were human. Perks of being an angel. Sam looks at the clock on his phone. 3 AM. Witching hour. The noise that woke him rings out again, and he can tell that it’s coming from the door to his room this time. No one other than family would come knocking this late. He runs down the mental list. Dean doesn’t bother with knocking most of the time, and it’s a little too quick to be Mom or Cas. Which leaves- “Your son is here.”

“Before sunrise, he’s Castiel’s son,” Lucifer mutters. Sam lets out a tired huff of laughter. Jack has recently discovered Disney movies, and Sam has since repeatedly caught Lucifer humming songs about animated lions. (And on one particularly rough night, singing to Sam to comfort him with what he only later realized was Can You Feel the Love Tonight.) The knocking comes a third time, this time accompanied by a small voice.

“Dad?” Despite his protest, Lucifer rolls off of Sam, but then he freezes. He just stares at the door that Jack is on the other side of. Sam’s brain goes straight to old studies of dogs being shocked until they stopped struggling. Sam tells his brain to shut up.

He puts a hand on Lucifer’s shoulder, squeezes once, and then gets up and walks past him to open the door. Jack’s there, looking small and scared and every bit the child they sometimes forget he is when discussing the nuclear bomb of power he has inside him. Sam’s not sure how Jack knew to come to his room when looking for Lucifer, (he’d thought they were keeping things well under wraps, enough to not freak Dean out, at least) but he chalks it up to some kind of latent angel instinct the kid has.

“I woke you up,” Jack says, as though that possibility hadn’t crossed his mind until he was looking at Sam, who was still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Jack ducks his head. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Sam says. “Come in.” He opens the door wider. Jack peeks inside, still hesitant. When he sees that yes, Lucifer is actually there, he looks a little relieved. “So, what happened?” The lamp on Sam’s beside table flickers to life without anyone touching it to replace the light from the hallway as Sam closes the door. The bulb whines in protest like it’s considering bursting when it does so, and Sam frowns at Lucifer. The archangel does not meet his eyes, trying to watch Jack, and then failing to watch Jack, and finally letting his gaze settle off towards the opposite wall. Jack doesn’t notice, at least. He’s looking back at Sam again.

“Dean doesn’t like being woken up in the middle of the night,” he informs Sam, and Sam nods his most understanding nod, “so I couldn’t go to Cas, because he’s sleeping in Dean’s room.” Sam manages another understanding nod. He won’t say he’s surprised, because he’s not, he is so far from surprised, but this is still information that he wasn’t expecting to receive from his sort-of adopted son at three in the morning. “And I thought...” Jack trails off.

“Why did you want to get Cas?” Jack shifts his feet awkwardly. He’s not meeting Sam’s eyes, but that’s not a product of nerves. He never looks directly at anyone, opting to stare at their shoulder or behind them instead. Dean says it’s unnerving. Sam just files it next to other things, like Jack’s hands flapping when he’s excited or how he’d probably only eat one thing for a month if they let him, and saves the information for later discussion.

“I had a nightmare,” Jack says, quietly, “and my room is very dark.” Sam opens his arms up in invitation. Jack brightens, just a little, and accepts the hug. Sam catches Lucifer’s eyes (he’s looking back at them, expression a mixture of uncertainty and surprise) and tries to convey ‘he’s your son and he’s upset, say something.’ Lucifer makes a face back that roughly translates to ‘I spent most of my life in the Cage or ending the world, I don’t know how to deal with a child.’ He relents at Sam’s puppy-dog eyes.

“Jack. Come here.” Sam can tell he’s trying for warmth. It comes out stilted. Jack wiggles his way out of Sam’s arms anyway and makes his way over to the bed. Lucifer pats the spot in front of him, and though Jack does sit there, neither of them look entirely comfortable. Jack rocks back and forth slightly. Sam comes over as well. It’s not that he thinks Lucifer will do anything intentionally bad, it’s just... There’s a reason Jack’s first instinct was to go looking for Cas and not him. Lucifer’s been routinely terrible at this whole parenting thing. It’s not for lack of trying, but he doesn’t know what he’s doing and next to Cas, who took to this whole situation like a duck to water?

Lucifer might be Jack’s dad and nothing will change that, but Cas is Jack’s dad too and nothing can change that either.

“You’re one of the nephilim. You shouldn’t be scared of the dark.” Jack curls in on himself a little. Sam makes a cutting motion with his hand near his mouth. Lucifer tries to course-correct. “You don’t have to be. You can make your own light.” Jack tilts his head, shoulders still drawn.

“I can?”

“Of course you can, you’re my-” Lucifer’s voice stops before he can finish the sentence like he’s been muted. He recovers quickly. “You’re half angel. It’s easy.”

“Okay,” Jack says, “but how?” Lucifer opens his mouth to answer and then shuts it again, frowning. “...Dad?”

“Give me a minute. It’s been a very long time since I taught anyone how to do this.” He shuts his eyes for a moment. Sam wonders how much of that hesitation is him actually trying to recollect and how much of it is him trying to push down the fact that the last time he did this was probably before he got thrown into the Cage. “Alright, let’s see.” Lucifer reaches forward and takes Jack’s hands in his own. Jack jolts back in surprise, but then he leans forward again, curiosity overriding his shock. Lucifer has him cup his hands like he’s trying to hold water in them. “This is all about intention and will, so focus.” Jack’s brow furrows in concentration.

Nothing happens.

Lucifer sighs, says under his breath, “Michael always was a better teacher than me.”

“I don’t get what I’m supposed to focus on.” Jack breaks his position, shaking his hands out nervously. He puts them back in place when he’s done. Sam would love to help, but it’s been a long time since he had any sort of psychic power and that’s not exactly a time in his life he wants to revisit.

“It’s... How do I explain this to you.” Lucifer rubs at his forehead. “No. I can’t. It’ll be easier this way.” He gestures towards Sam’s lamp, and the light dies. Jack inhales sharply, and Sam steps forward, reaching out in the dark to try and comfort the kid. Only, Sam blinks, and there is light. It’s not coming from his bedside table or even the light above him. It’s coming from Lucifer’s outstretched palm. It’s not a hovering ball of light like the cheap effects of some fantasy movie. Lucifer’s skin glows from the inside out. It grows and dims in a rhythm not unlike a heartbeat, but never once does it waver. Jack stares, transfixed. Sam can’t help but feel the same way. Lucifer glances up at him and preens under the attention. He reaches forward again to take Jack’s hands.

“Does it make more sense now?” Jack nods.

“I think so.” This time, as Jack concentrates, light does begin to flicker between his fingertips. “Is that right?”

“Yes. Keep going.” Jack wiggles, all barely contained excitement, and Sam finds himself smiling. The light Jack produces is not as steady as Lucifer’s, nor as bright, but still, Sam’s room looks like it did before Lucifer turned the lamp back off. “Very good. I told you it was easy.” Jack beams.

“It looks like Sam!” he says. Sam raises an eyebrow. Lucifer just nods.

“It does, doesn’t it?” Sam’s eyebrow creeps up higher.

“What looks like me, exactly?” Jack turns to face him, and Lucifer tilts his head. They’re both grinning, and all of a sudden, the family resemblance is obvious.

“You’re shiny!” Jack says.

“I’m what.”

“We have always been mirrors, Sam. Are you really that surprised that your soul reflects how radiant I once was?” And Sam can’t exactly say that he is, that he’s spent his entire life thinking that he was sullied, not when Jack’s right there. Lucifer smiles like he knows that, and he has so much trouble getting Sam to accept compliments normally that Sam’s sure he’s doing it on purpose. Sam counters. Turnabout is fair play.

“Mirrors only reflect what’s still there, Lucifer.” Lucifer pretends to take his words in stride, but Sam can see the few moments where he’s caught off-guard by that. Jack looks between them, and then he ducks his head and bites his lip like he’s trying to keep an even bigger grin from spreading over his face.

“Thank you,” he says, “for teaching me how to do that.” He rubs his hands together. “I can go back to my room now, I think.” Sam looks at his bed (well, their bed, really. It’s not like Lucifer ever really uses the one in his room.) It’s pretty big.

“You know, when I was a kid and I had nightmares,” Sam says, “Dean used to let me sleep in his bed.” He’s not sure if angels have childhood nightmares or beds to climb into, but from the way Lucifer’s expression goes quiet and sad, Sam thinks he might have stirred up some kind of memory. “So, I guess, if you wanted to stay-”

“Can I?” It all but leaps out of Jack. He repeats himself a second later, softer, glancing over at Lucifer. “Can I?” Lucifer blinks, shakes whatever he was thinking of off, and nods.

“If it’ll help.”

Which is how Sam learns that Jack? Is even worse about personal space than Lucifer.

Still, even if he spends the rest of the night squished between the archangel he loves more than he’s ready to admit and his son who’s being collectively raised by the village of Winchester, it’s worth it. Sam’s happy. He’s really, truly happy.

The problem with raising a child who is half-angel is that Sam does not have access to all the information he would need to do it right. Cas is better equipped than him or Dean, but Jack is still the kid of an archangel, above Cas’s paygrade. In the end, that’s why Lucifer gets visitation rights (which in reality translates to ‘why Lucifer crashes on their couch and is impossible to get rid of.’) He’s the only one left who knows how to wrangle a child whose temper tantrums could easily make people explode.

(It’s not that Jack wants to hurt anyone. It’s that there’s a reason you don’t give toddlers guns, and that’s because they’ll figure out how to shoot long before they figure out why not to.)

Sam is still wary of Lucifer, but that’s a hard feeling to hold onto when he’s comparing the guy who wanted to burn the world to the ground to the guy making a lightshow on the Bunker’s ceiling for Jack to distract him from a nightmare. If there’s only one thing Sam knows, it’s that he’s going to give everyone a second (third, fourth, fifth…) chance. He couldn’t live with himself otherwise, couldn’t face his own reflection knowing he’d been afforded that much and couldn’t extend it to someone else. Maybe Lucifer doesn’t deserve that, or to be in Jack’s life, or even to still be alive after everything he’s done, but Sam’s world has never revolved around fairness. They’re here. Jack exists. Lucifer is trying. That’s what matters.

He knows how Dean looks at him. Like it’s all going to go to Hell again. Sam doesn’t know what Dean would have done if Lucifer hadn’t shown up and claimed parental rights, how Dean would have treated Jack without the threat of an archangel’s wrath hovering in the background, but they’re knee-deep in parenting the antichrist now. A kid isn’t something they get to back out on because he’s gotten inconvenient. If nothing else, Lucifer gets that. Sam thought he wanted some sort of legacy, a final fuck you to his own father, but Lucifer… he really did just want a kid. He wanted someone to raise and protect and watch grow, and to know that he’s turning out alright despite (or even because of) Lucifer’s own influence.

If Sam was wrong to let the devil in, then he’ll pay the price. But he’s not so sure that’s going to happen.

Lucifer and Jack are both early risers. That’s easy to do when you either don’t sleep or only need a few hours every couple of days. Sam is still human, and he can’t function without coffee. He stumbles into the Bunker’s kitchen and the tail-end of a conversation.

“-thought they would take care of themselves,” Jack is saying before he hears Sam and turns to greet him. “Good morning, Sam.”

“Good morning, Sam,” Lucifer echoes. Sam glowers at him because it's early, and he should not have to deal with the devil before eight.

“Morning,” he gives them. He goes straight to the coffee maker. Strangely enough, there’s already a pot waiting for him. It’s fresh, too. Lucifer continues whatever they were talking about.

“They don’t. You don’t expect the human parts of you to take care of themselves. Why would the angelic be any different?” It takes Sam longer than he’d like to admit to sort out that Lucifer’s upset, not angry, which is the first place Sam’s half-asleep brain goes to. He glances at Jack to check, but where Sam tensed up at Lucifer’s firmer tone, Jack is completely relaxed. Why wouldn’t he be? He’s never had a parent who prefaced shouting matches with disappointment. “Your wings are delicate, especially now. You have to preen them, or they’ll start to hurt.”

“What does that mean?” Jack asks. Lucifer frowns.

“This shouldn’t be new information to you. Castiel could have taught you this. Why didn’t he-“ Lucifer stops himself, his gaze flicking towards the darkened doorway that leads to the rest of the Bunker. Castiel has his own room here, now. It seemed a little weird for Lucifer to have one picked out and not him. Lucifer’s expression goes from confusion to realization to concern, and then he quietly says, “I can handle that later.” He turns back to Jack. “Preening is how you keep your wings clean. I can’t teach you to fly without them being in a good state.”

He tosses it out casually, but Jack hones in on it in an instant. If the half-smile on Lucifer’s face is anything to go by, that was intentional. “You promise?” Jack says.

“Cross my heart,” Lucifer responds, and when Jack tilts his head and frowns at the saying, he adds, “I promise.”

“So, how do I do it? Preening?” Jack pouts. “I don’t have to get in the shower, do I?” Jack is not a huge fan of showers. Dean thinks he’s being overdramatic when he says that the water hitting him feels like tiny knives. Sam, who has started paying more attention to the way Jack avoids certain sounds or textures, isn’t so sure.

“No. You should probably be careful manifesting your wings anywhere in here. Except around Sam, of course. He can take it. Dean’s eyeballs might explode.” Sam jolts at hearing his name. He’s been passively absorbing everything up until now.

“What does that mean?” he asks. Lucifer waves a hand.

“No part of me can hurt you to look at,” he says, “and Jack was a part of me, once.” Mercifully, he stops that explanation there because Sam does not feel like they need to explain the birds and bees to Jack this morning. “You could see his wings. You’ve seen mine.” Sam tries not to shudder. He’s seen a lot of Lucifer. None of it was pretty. Lucifer is watching him, and though Sam squashed most of his reaction, enough clearly reached his face that Lucifer catches it. He looks more upset than Sam expected, but as always, it’s brushed off and his focus falls back on Jack. “Technically, you could help, if you wanted to.”

“Help?” Sam and Jack say at the same time.

“It was a bonding exercise in Heaven. Michael used to-“ Lucifer stops, crosses his arms. When he starts again, he’s quieter. “If you had to guess, you’d think Gabriel was the messy one, but he always kept his wings neat and tidy. It was Raphael who had to be made to sit still so that I could comb their feathers back in order.” He takes a breath. Sam knows no version of the archangels except the ones in the aftermath, Gabriel as the trickster, Raphael at war, Michael as the dick he dragged into the Cage with him, but they were Lucifer’s family, once. And now he’s got nothing.

Or, he has Jack. Sometimes, how desperate Lucifer was to be a part of his life makes a lot of sense.

“Angels aren’t made to be alone,” Lucifer says. “We can take care of our own wings for a while, but in isolation, well, speaking from experience…” He shrugs, like this is something that doesn’t matter to him. Sam’s convinced that half the reason Lucifer doesn’t lie is that when he bothers to, he’s terrible at it. “So let’s look after yours and keep them from getting to that state, yeah, kiddo?”

“And Sam will help?” Jack and Lucifer both look to him. Curiosity and a need to help Jack win out over caution, in the end.

“Sure,” he agrees.

Sam’s seen angels manifest their wings in shadow but never as anything tangible before. The closest to that he's ever experienced was back in the Cage, Lucifer's wings cradled around him like there was anything he could do to protect Sam's soul from Hell, and that's a fuzzy memory at best. Now, they all huddle on the floor in Jack's room, his bed (and judging by the amount, Sam's and Lucifer's, too) stripped of blankets and pillows to construct a haphazard nest. Lucifer's and Jack's are softer than Sam knew they could be. Sam's blankets are the outlier, more function than comfort. Sam looks at the walls around them and makes a mental note to buy Jack more things to brighten up the room. Paint. A poster or two. Some glow-in-the-dark stars to stick to his ceiling and walls. He's a child, not a prisoner, and where he sleeps should reflect that.

"Scoot back, Sam," Lucifer says, and Sam moves without thinking, still looking at the walls. When he glances back, Lucifer's settled behind Jack. "Breathe. Try not to hit Sam in the face." Jack laughs. He rolls his shoulders.

His wings don't explode or blind Sam. They softly glow into existence, feather by feather. They're slightly folded at first, but Jack stretches them out. They seem shorter than Castiel or Lucifer's wings, round where theirs were broad. Lucifer catches them at the wrist as they extend, not halting the stretch. They're an off-white color. Jack flaps them a few times. Sam needs a minute to get over the awe of seeing them at all to start noticing the flaws. His feathers are a tangled mess. The wings themselves are mostly clean, but they're also dull, lacking the luster Sam has seen on well-kept birds' wings. Lucifer's hands drift down from the wrist to the tips of Jack's uppermost primaries. Jack's feathers puff up at the contact like hair standing on end, but Lucifer pets them back down, humming soothingly.

"You okay?" Sam asks. Jack's biting his lip. He looks up at Sam, looks down again, and then he says,

"It's... weird. Not bad. Kind of like getting my hair brushed." Lucifer folds Jack's wings back up, checking that it doesn't hurt him to do that. Jack shivers. "But... more."

"You going to help, Sam, or am I going to do all the work myself?" Lucifer asks. Sam moves closer. Jack's wings extend again, waiting for him to touch. Sam reaches out, but he stops, hovering centimeters from the feathers. Lucifer places his hand over Sam's, and when Sam doesn't jerk away from him, he slowly presses Sam's hand down on top of Jack's feathers. Jack gasps. His wing twitches out from under Sam's palm.

"You shocked me!" he says.

"Sorry,” Sam says. Lucifer chuckles, and he guides Sam's hand back down to Jack's wing. This time, it stays steady, though Jack still looks back over his shoulder, trying to see what they're doing.

"Easy," Lucifer murmurs. He's guiding Sam gently, getting both him and Jack used to the contact. "There we go." Jack's feathers are soft and fluffy where they aren't matted down, and even those patches feel like they'll be easy to comb out. Lucifer's hand leaves Sam's, and Sam feels a strange loss at the contact. Lucifer's touch is still calming, after all this time. It's no manipulation or trick. It's just a fact. He slides his fingers between Jack's secondary coverts as Sam watches, very carefully adjusting the feathers. Some, he only runs two fingers over, smoothing out the barbs. He glances at Sam, and Sam nods. He mimics Lucifer's movements with Jack's secondaries. Those feathers are larger, rustling under Sam's fingers. Jack stifles a laugh.

"Hold still," Lucifer chides softly. Jack's wings are moving, quick flicks and shifts that are off-setting Lucifer and Sam's attempts to fix his feathers.

"I'm trying," he protests. "It feels nice."

"It's supposed to." Lucifer moves to the scapulars, the feathers closest to Jack's back.

"No one touches me much unless I'm in danger," Jack says. "I'm not used to it."

And at that, Lucifer and Sam both pause.

Lucifer's the first to say something, "No, I..." He can't continue. Jack looks back over his shoulder again, frowning. Guilt wells in Sam's chest. He goes over the past few days, or weeks, and what Jack says is right. Castiel is the one who gives him the most physical affection, and even then, it isn't possibly enough for Jack to live off of. Sam's doesn't usually get or give to anyone more than a near-death hug every few months and occasionally pats on the shoulder or back. The fact that Lucifer doesn't give Jack more surprises Sam. Lucifer used to overwhelm Sam with how often he insisted on touching him, constantly leaning into him or stroking his hair, until Sam snapped at him to stop a few times. It all ended after that. Sam would be lying if he said he didn't miss it. But with Jack? Lucifer's always fluctuating between wanting to be involved in every aspect of his life and restraining himself from getting too close. Even if he wanted to give Jack daily hugs or ruffle his hair, would he even let himself? Even this, preening his wings, was excused by necessity, rather than purely being something Lucifer wanted to do to bond with him.

"I guess we're not used to it either," Sam offers, "but if you ever need that... You can ask."

"That's allowed?" Jack doesn't sound sure, and that alone breaks Sam's heart.

"Of course." He vows to do better, to watch how he interacts with Jack and try not to be so distant. It's not an easy thing to promise himself, but for Jack, he can do it.

He sneaks a peek at Lucifer's expression. He's withdrawn his hand from Jack's wing, and he's tensed up. Before he can think better of it, Sam puts his hand on Lucifer's shoulder. When Lucifer meets his eyes, he looks lost. Sam tilts his head at Jack. "You'll do better," he whispers. He slides his hand down Lucifer's arm to his hand and presses it back into Jack's feathers. Jack's wings flap.

Lucifer works on one wing and Sam works on the other. After a while of correcting feathers and combing them into place, Lucifer shows him how wing oil works. Jack chirps in surprise when Lucifer brushes one of the glands, a weird high-pitched not-quite bird noise. Lucifer chirps back. Both of them make Sam's ears ring a little but not hurt. The oil smells caramel-sweet. It's easy to spread over Jack's feathers. As they go, the wings begin to shine more, the off-white turning to pearl. Where the light catches the freshly-cleaned feathers, they glimmer with gold and pink light. Jack flaps and stretches again.

"So, I get flying lessons now," he says, delighted. Lucifer sighs.

"Fine, but take it easy on your old man. I'm not the best flier anymore." Sam makes sure Jack's coverts are all in order one last time, stroking down the length of the wing. Jack chirps again.

"We should preen yours," he suggests. Lucifer freezes.

"That's not a good id-" Lucifer starts.

"Why not?" Sam says. "Angels can't take care of their wings on their own."

"Sam," Lucifer hisses. It's far from anger. It's almost panic. Sam can't blame him. He keeps them well-hidden, from Jack and from Castiel. Sam might be the only one left on Earth who knows just how terrible Lucifer's wings have gotten, which means he's also the only one Lucifer would be comfortable enough showing them to for grooming.

"No part of you can hurt me, right?" Sam's not going to pretend Lucifer's True Form doesn't scare the shit out of him. He also won't pretend that he doesn't want to help him.

Lucifer won't meet his eyes. He passes his hands over Jack's wings one last time before declaring, "You're finished. Stow those away before you end up accidentally blinding Dean." Jack folds his wings against his back. They disappear with a quiet pop like a bubble, and just like that, he could be a normal kid again. Well, normal as any kid who grew halfway up in a day's time. He twists, still grinning. Sam smiles back. Lucifer reaches forward hesitantly and cups Jack's cheek. Jack looks very small like that. Lucifer leans forward and presses a quick kiss to Jack's forehead. Jack's smile falls, not out of upset but pure surprise. He blinks twice, and then he launches himself forward, knocking Lucifer back. It takes Lucifer a minute to wrap him up in a hug, but when he does, Sam sees Jack shiver and burrow further into the embrace. Sam's not sure how welcome he is until there's a hand tugging on his, and Jack's pulling him closer. Hugging Jack means hugging Lucifer, too. Sam's okay with that.

Jack squirms between them so that he can wrap his arms around Sam next. Lucifer presses his forehead to Sam's before pulling back. Sam has one of their hands in each of his.

More than okay.