#scoobscribbles

The undercover Jedi can't even close his eyes or try to brace himself, just frozen and forced to watch the spinning blade of light fly toward him.

This is it, he thinks. It's over.

A searing pain cuts through him, and he screams through locked teeth. Ahsoka shouts something, but Obi-Wan doesnt make out what she says through the star-bright pain lacing through him.

He wishes he could fall unconscious.

Instead, he feels it as his body thuds to the ground. Anakin's aim, in his blind rage, was off. He feels it as his left leg buckles, and the stump of his right leg slams into the hard, unforgiving durasteel. He feels the shock as his cleanly sliced bone and muscle hits the surface, and then the rest of him topples over.

The ship takes off, leaving him behind. He almost laughs as he realizes he's definitely off the mission now... but he doesn't, because the next second, Anakin is there, hauling him up by the front of his disguise to face him.

The lightsaber is held to his neck now, and Obi-Wan wishes he had the strength to form words.

Anakin is yelling at him, spitting his anger over the death of his master, how Rako Hardeen deserves to die like the filth he is.

"Anakin-" Obi-Wan manages to gasp out, fighting for focus.

"Don't you dare say my name!"

"Anakin!" This time it's Ahsoka shouting, and just in the nick of time, she stops him, pulling on his sword arm to keep his saber away from Obi-Wan's neck. "Master, stop! Look at him, in the force, don't you recognize him?"

Anakin growls, looking unhappy to be interrupted from his revenge. "Of course I recognize him! I don't need the force to know he's the the karking e chu ta that killed Obi-Wan!"

"No, look! He is Obi-Wan, can't you see?"

Anakin blinks. He looks back at Hardeen's face, and when Anakin's force signature reaches out for Obi-Wan's, he drops his shields, even though it means Anakin will feel his pain too.

His teeth are grit in pain, and he shouts again as Anakin drops him, letting him fall back to the ground as his former padawan reels back in shock.

He's safe, for now.

With that thought, and the smack of his head against the ground, he slips into unconsciousness.

°|●.*•

When Obi-Wan next opens his eyes, he's in a bed. A sterile white one... a medbay.

It takes him a moment to remember why, but the metal limb attached to his knee is a pretty good reminder.

He runs a hand over his face, and can tell that his features have been returned to normal. The mission is over then, for him at least.

Seconds after he manages to sit up, his door swings open, and Anakin comes storming in.

The younger Jedi looks to be equal parts apologetic, frightened, and angry.

"Why didn't I know?" He demands, tone just short of accusing.

And well. Obi-Wan is officially too tired for this. "Because, Anakin," he starts harshly, "as you demonstrated so thoroughly, you can't follow simple orders."

Anakin wilts under the weight of Obi-Wan’s disappointment. "Simple?! Was I just supposed to let your killer go loose? Where's the justice in that?!"

"Yes, Anakin!" Obi-Wan states, exasperated. "You need to learn to let go. You need to trust the Council's direction!"

"I can't!" Anakin shouts back, his voice breaking. He's right in front of Obi-Wan now, gripping his arms. "I can't. Not you, Master."

Obi-Wan... he wants to be upset. He wants to tell Anakin off, he wants to push him away, the man who sliced off his leg and nearly killed him.

Instead, for Anakin... only for Anakin... he gives in. He sighs, reaching up to put one hand over Anakin's flesh one.

"Padawan," he starts, more gently this time. "I'm grateful that you care. But you must learn restraint, and you must have more faith in the council. They told you not to go after me, and now you see why."

Anakin looks down, feeling like a student again under his former teacher's firm tone. "They don't care about you like I do. It seemed like they just didn't want to waste the effort." He drops his mechanical hand from Obi-Wan's arm, most of his anger drained. "Why didn't you just tell me?"

Obi-Wan huffs slightly, leaning back. "I had to infiltrate a collection of deadly, suspicious bounty hunters suspected of hatching a plot to kidnap the Chancellor. If I was to fake my death, it needed to be believable, Anakin, and no offense, but you're a terrible liar."

Clearly, Anakin wants to dispute that, but doing so would mean he has to reveal his "secret" relationship with Padmé, so he decides against it.

Obi-Wan is tired. He swings his legs over the edge of the bed, wanting to stand, but the new, much heavier leg is already putting him off balance.

"We match now," he jokes dryly, reaching down to knock on the metal.

Anakin has the decency to look ashamed.

"How did you even find us?" Obi-Wan asks, baffled. "No one should have known my location but the Council and the Chancellor, and neither of them would give me away and risk the mission."

Anakin looks a little struck. "Wait, the Chancellor knew you were undercover?"

Obi-Wan blinks, assuming that Anakin is upset about someone else knowing that wasn't him. He's careful as he responds. "Well, I didn't personally tell him, but I assume so. The mission was devised to protect him, after all. I can’t imagine he wasn't informed on the measures being taken to interfere with the kidnapping plot."

Anakin looks troubled. "... Palpatine is the one who told me where you were."

Obi-Wan frowns in confusion. "That makes no sense. Why would he send you after me, jeopardizing his own protection? If he knew my location, he must have known the plan as well..."

"Why would he send me to kill you?" Anakin asks, looking even more troubled. "He said I could get revenge..."

They share a look with one another, the earlier fight forgotten in the wake of this new, strange revelation. Something doesn't add up.

"I need to talk to him." Anakin decides.

"We will," Obi-Wan agrees tentatively. "Together. Now, help me stand. You're my designated crutch until I can walk on my own, as penance for cutting off my leg."

Anakin does, without complaint. "I am sorry."

"Sorry doesn't get my leg back, unfortunately," Obi-Wan barbs his friend, not seeming all that upset about it. "My kicks are going to hurt quite a bit more now, though."

Anakin smiles a bit, and he knows it's going to be okay.

“And what about Lucifer?” Castiel asks.

Dean glances at his brother before answering. “… Sam handled it.” He doesn’t know exactly what happened after he went through the portal. All he knows is that Gabriel died by Michael's hand, and when Sam walked through, Lucifer didn’t follow after him.

Sam won’t talk about it. Dean suspects he feels a bit guilty about whatever happened, and he wouldn’t be the only one.

Truth is, In the 31 hours that Lucifer was ‘on the team’, he grew on Dean a bit. Maybe he did on Sam too, who knows. And maybe Dean is stupid to feel guilty and Lucifer really was just playing them the whole time.

But then again, maybe he wasn’t.

Dean can’t stop thinking about the things he and Lucifer discussed while working on the bus. He really should have taken his own advice to not speak to Lucifer because he’s been second-guessing his gut ever since.

It started when Dean was asking Lucifer to hand him tools while he fixed up the engine and Lucifer was asking him questions about how cars work. He’s apparently always been fascinated by them— and Dean was more than happy to oblige. He almost forgot who he was talking to after a while of discussing cars and how they operate (and eventually teaching Lucifer how to drive once Sam and Cass told him that’s the plan).

Lucifer was very receptive to the information and showed his engagement by asking follow up questions and making educated guesses about what would improve an engine or what certain parts are for.

It was actually kinda fun, all things considered.

That is, until Lucifer asked a question straight out of left field.

“You can still feel it, can’t you?”

Dean looked up from the engine, the fingers absently scratching his arm freezing. “What?”

Dean could swear Lucifer had honest-to-God sympathy in his eyes. Sympathy from the devil. Ha. “The mark. I just can’t help but notice you keep scratching your arm.”

Dean is just struck with silence, because Lucifer hit the nail on the head but how is he supposed to respond?

“Hey, it’s cool. I’m not gonna tell on you. I just wondered… it’s good to know I’m not the only one.”

“What?”

“Is that the only word you know now?” Lucifer teases him, reaching for the beer he’s barely touched.

Dean continues to stay silent, baffled and at a loss for what to say. Too many gears are turning at once. That’s right, Lucifer had the mark first. And for a lot longer than Dean had it. And if he can still feel it like Dean can…

“Don’t worry about it, just forget I said anything,” Lucifer mutters, drinking his beer and setting it aside again.

“No- wait,” Dean rushes to respond, struggling to find something intelligent to say. “Not the only one— you still feel it?”

“Well, yeah,” Lucifer responds slowly. “I mean, I only got rid of it the same time that you did, pal. I still itch at it too.” He proves it by pulling down the collar of his shirt, showing the reddened nail scratches on his collarbone. “But the worst of its effects are gone, so you won’t catch me complaining.”

That gives Dean pause as well. He’s smart enough to put two and two together but his gut keeps saying ‘no, there’s no way.’

Eventually, his head wins out. “So… let me get this straight. You had the mark even after you gave it to Cain?”

Lucifer nods, amusement playing in his eyes. “Duh. Did Cain lose it after he gave it to you?”

“Well, no…” Dean frowns to himself, logic telling him one thing which he really doesn’t want to consider as a possibility. “So, uh… your fall, the apocalypse, all that was under the mark’s influence?”

“Bingo,” Lucifer nods, something akin to hope in his expression. “And they say Sam’s the smart one.”

Dean pauses again. “So then you really are different now.”

That gives Lucifer pause, and Dean can tell the archangel is choosing his words very carefully. “… yes… and no. I mean… I’m sure you know, the effects of the mark don’t just… go away.” He waits for Dean’s nod of confirmation before he continues. “I’m not suddenly all better, back to my good old self. It took a long time to screw me up, it’s gonna take a long time to get better. But I want to— get better, that is.” He leans against the side of the bus, looking at nothing in particular as he talks.

“I thought beating Amara would make me better. But then when dad left again… it’s like there was no point in trying anymore. Everyone thinks I’m a monster anyways, so why bother trying to change anyone’s mind?” He catches sight of Jack walking around with Castiel further into camp and watches him walk, waving when Jack sees him as well. “But now I have a reason to try.”

The discussion didn’t go much further than that, but it really opened up Dean’s eyes. He started paying attention to how Lucifer acted, and tried to see him without the prejudice-tinted lenses he had before. And what he saw seemed for all the world like Lucifer was honestly trying to be better. He’s struggling, definitely. He really wants to impress his son— even more than he wants to help the rest of the team… but it does make it easier since Jack makes it clear that helping is more impressive than any story he can tell.

Maybe Jack isn’t naïve… maybe they’ve just been blinded by their prejudices.

It doesn’t matter anymore, though. Sam ‘handled it’. Dean will never find out if Lucifer really was trying or if he was just leading them on, because now he’s gone. Dead, probably. Michael killed Gabe, why would he spare Lucifer?

He can’t afford to worry about a what-if anyways. They’re home and safe, that’s all that matters now.

———

Dean can’t help but feel an ache in his chest as he fights Lucifer. He could see it— the second that Lucifer broke. It was in Lucifer’s eyes, mostly.

All it took was Jack rejecting him, calling him a monster. And Dean could see the way Lucifer crumpled inside and just… gave up. in that moment, Dean was 100% certain that up to that point, Lucifer was really trying to get better.

But it doesn’t matter because before Dean could get a word in… Lucifer retaliated. He took Jack’s grace and then he took Jack and Sam, and Dean has no choice but to give Michael his consent so he can go save them. Because as sure as he is that Lucifer was trying, he’s equally sure now that the Devil isn’t trying anymore.

And that applies to more than just trying to be good. Dean can tell Lucifer is a better fighter than he is. Lucifer is trained in forms of combat Dean couldn’t even imagine. Michael tells him as such in the back of his mind. But despite all that… it’s easy. Lucifer isn’t trying. He’s given up on more than just getting better.

When Dean lands the fatal blow, there’s a moment of resistance, as if Lucifer and Jack’s combined graces are working to keep him alive and nearly succeeding.

And in that moment of resistance, Lucifer meets Dean’s eyes and Dean can once again see just how broken he is. “I tried,” he mutters just loud enough for the two of them to hear. “I didn’t mean for it to end like this… but, thank you,” he says quickly, and then his grace gives up as well and the blade sinks deeper into his chest. And then they both fall, Dean holding Lucifer with the blade still lodged up to the hilt in his chest.

It seems the right thing to do, to hold Lucifer as he dies. Considering that no one else has offered Lucifer that luxury in his life, it seems only fair that Dean holds the angel through his death.

It’s violent, and bright, and nearly sears Dean’s retinas, but he makes himself watch.

That could have been him. If he didn’t have anyone to keep him sane, that would have been him. That still can be him, if he loses sight of what’s important to him.

When Lucifer is dead, Dean let’s his body fall out of his arms, laying the empty vessel on the ground over the imprints of his wings.

What was supposed to be a simple hunt turned into a hot mess when the demons arrived. Sam’s challenge to all of Hell hadn’t been taken lightly. The strongest of the demons have risen to the challenge of going through Sam first, quite literally.

The name of the demon and her lackeys that ambushed them is unimportant. Her monologue has only served to give Castiel and Sam time to mentally ready themselves and get closer to each other in preparation for a fight.

It’s a good thing Cass is an angel, and Sam can give him mental instructions through prayer— unfortunately that communication is only one way, but that’s why Sam is the leader here. The Chief and his commander. Sam lays out the plan and Castiel carries it out like the dutiful second in charge he has become after Dean’s extended disappearance.

So when the demons decide they’ve had enough talking and decide to attack, Castiel and Sam are ready, each taking down their targets like a well-trained, singular unit.

That is, until they get to the leader, the lady Demon intent on claiming Hell for herself.

She has an angel blade and when he sees it Sam warns Castiel to back off while he deals with her. But she’s stronger than he expects. She gives him a lot of trouble while he tries to outmatch her in skill since she definitely has him beat in terms of strength.

It seems to be over when she knocks him to the floor and kneels on his chest, lifting the blade over her head to bring it down on him.

Sam throws his hands up to protect himself as she brings the blade down, but it never connects.

Castiel dives in from where he was hanging back, dropping to his knees when he slides in. He catches the blade as she tries to deal a fatal blow to Sam, grunting from the effort of not only stopping the blade, but running in and dropping to his knees.

Before she can recover (or retrieve her blade from Castiel), the seraph drops his own blade into his other hand and swings for her side, effectively stabbing her just under the rib cage.

She dies with a scream and Castiel relaxes. Finally, he has a chance to take a breath.

Sam is similarly relieved, up until he sees blood. And then he follows the source to Castiel’s hand— oh, he didn’t catch the blade.

“Cass!” Sam exclaims, pushing himself up in an instant as he sees the angel blade lodged in Castiel’s palm.

Castiel looks over at Sam, seeming almost confused about the note of panic in his voice. “What?”

“Your hand…”

“Oh, it’s fine.”

Sam gives an exasperated huff, throwing Castiel a look that clearly says he doesn’t believe him. “You’re worse than Dean, I swear. Come on, let’s get back to the car and I’ll wrap your hand up.”

Castiel sighs a little but doesn’t protest too vehemently. “It’s just my hand, Sam. I’m not human, it’s not as if I’m going to bleed out.”

“Maybe not, but you won’t be able to use that hand for much until it’s healed,” Sam pulls Castiel to his feet using the angel’s good arm. “Thanks for the save.”

“Of course,” Castiel responds simply, not mentioning the lack of usability of his hand.

Sam pats his friend’s back, bending down to pull Castiel’s blade from the demoness and wipe it off before tucking it back away.

They leave the blade embedded in Castiel’s hand until they get to the car. Maybe Castiel won’t die from blood loss, but it’s probably better to just not pull the blade out until Sam can clean it and wrap it up.

Castiel, for his part, is patient and relatively cooperative for Sam. More so than Dean usually is, at least. He complains that this is completely unnecessary, but other than that he lets Sam take care of his wound.

The angel winces a few times as Sam pours alcohol over his wound and stitches it up as best he can before wrapping bandages around his hand. Sam can tell that the blade hurt him more than he’s letting on, but Castiel clearly doesn’t want to make a big deal of it so Sam doesn’t make him talk about it.

When his hand is all cleaned up, Sam pulls the smaller man into a tight hug.

Castiel freezes up a little bit before relaxing— he doesn’t get many hugs from Sam but he always appreciates them.

“Thank you for saving my life,” Sam says earnestly before letting Castiel go.

The angel gives his friend a small smile. “You say that like you don’t save lives every day, Sam.”

“You took a blade for me. That’s different.”

“To the hand. It isn’t a big deal.” His quiet smile stays in place. “You have to know by now that I’ll take a blade for you or your brother any day.”

Sam hugs him tightly again at that statement. “And we would for you too, Cass. But… Jesus, Cass, you scared me. Don’t do that again.”