Samifer Week 2013 #5: Thursday, October 17, 2013

Lux Just Ain't For Us

Pairings: Samifer (SamxLucifer), Destiel (DeanxCastiel)
Ratings: Mature
Warnings: homelessness, vague references to prostitution
Words: 6900
Beta: Bree (bowtiesanddeductions)

My Tumblr: talesfromperdition

Notes: This fic was inspired by "Royals" by Lorde.

There were a bunch of them, and maybe that was the saddest thing of all.

Sam lived on the street, sleeping at the homeless shelter when he could find a bunk, huddled together with other runaways in the alleyway when he couldn't. He was always starving – he never thought he could ever be hungrier than when he was bouncing from motel room to motel room with Dean while their father was AWOL – but he had never known hunger pains until he was sixteen and on his own.

Most of the kids he knew sold themselves, and Sam was almost desperate enough to join their ranks, but he had a baby face so the guys who ran the shelter usually gave him handouts just to save what was left of his innocence. The older runaways who saw a kindred spirit in Sam would sometimes give him sections of their stolen bread, trying to keep him safe and out of the lifestyle.

The only one who didn't look at him and pity him was Lucifer.

He doubted it was the boy's real name – nobody could agree on his age or why he had run away from home – but he had a specific corner, a park bench, and a switch blade for anyone who tried to encroach on his turf. Sam had stared down the blade only once, when he had tried to sleep on the bench and Lucifer had come home, probably still high from whatever his vice was (almost all the kids turned to something to curb the hunger pains), exhausted and used, only to find his one sanctuary violated by another homeless kid.

Lucifer pulled a knife, and Sam ran away.

The next time they met, the situation was only slightly better.

Sam had been starving – he was always starving – but he managed to beg about a dollar fifty in change on the street, so he was in the cheapest diner in town, trying to decide if he wanted food or a drink. It was too late to get a bed at the shelter, so surviving the night could depend on a warm drink for the next few hours.

It wasn't until he was eyeing the donuts, wondering what could help him survive, that he noticed Lucifer was lurking behind him. It was supposed to get cold tonight – a frost was expected – and Sam was surprised when the other boy leaned over, counting the change in Sam's hand so fast he must have had a ton of practice at it, and whispered, "If you buy me a donut, I can keep you warm tonight."

"What do you mean?" Sam whispered back, shooting a look at the lady waiting to take his order before turning back to look at the blue-eyed teen. Sam was always filthy, but Lucifer's short hair looked cleaner than most of the other homeless kids he saw. He must have showered recently – maybe whoever paid him for his company let him bathe in the motel's bathroom before having his way with him – because he wasn't covered in a layer of grime and grease and he actually smelled kind of nice. The split lip and black eye looked out of place on his face, and if Sam didn't know him, he might have guessed he was just a kid stopping in for a bite before going home.

"I mean, it gets cold," Lucifer said, adjusting the strap of his backpack. Like most of the other kids, he was never seen without the pack as it contained everything he had to his name. "Two of us together can feed off of each other's body heat. Did you quit school before you learned about the Donner Party? How old are you anyway, twelve?"

"I'm sixteen," Sam hissed. "And don't you have your own money. You look…" Lucifer narrowed his eyes, challenging Sam to continue along that line. "This is all I have."

"I don't have anything," the boy admitted. "I spent the money I made tonight already. I promise, if you share with me, you won't be disappointed. I haven't eaten anything yet today. Please."

Sam was holding up the line, and the people behind him were glaring. Early on, runaways learn life lessons on the street. First, a kid pretty much can't survive by himself – he needed other kids to lean on, especially at night – and second, don't trust anyone. The kids on the street would steal his stuff if he left it unattended or didn't grip it tight enough while he slept; some of the sketchier people who ran the shelter would try to use threats and promises to get what they wanted from the runaways, and the police were saviors one minute but enemies the next.

If Sam bought Lucifer the donut, the boy could take the food and run, reneging on his deal. He could point his knife at Sam, take both donuts, and leave his body in a ditch. His idea of you won't be disappointed could be the same as the old men who wanted to use him in the shelter.

Anything could happen, especially with someone as unpredictable and unfamiliar as Lucifer, but he was going to freeze tonight, and by the sound of the boy's stomach, he needed the meal just as much as Sam did.

"Okay," the younger boy said. "What kind do you want?"

Surprisingly, Lucifer didn't run away. The lady put both donuts in a bag and handed the bag to Sam. The blond didn't stab him or threaten him, and when he started leading Sam back toward the park, his internal danger gage wasn't freaking out. They ended up sitting together on Lucifer's bench, eating silently.

Sam inhaled his, but Lucifer took the smallest bites he could, savoring the treat and allowing it to last. Once Sam's was gone, he watched the other boy eat. He looked younger – his eyes closed in delight, his jaw moving with purpose – and he put his fingers into his mouth, sucking the glaze from his fingertips.

"How old are you?" Sam asked. The pale eyes found his, surprised for a second, as if Lucifer had forgotten Sam was there.

"Seventeen."

"How long have you been on your own?"

"A year, seven months, and twelve days," Lucifer said, looking away again. "What's your name?"

"Sam," the boy answered. Almost everyone had nicknames like Lucifer, but Sam clung to his real name, trying to remember himself. If he couldn't remember himself, he would slip like the other kids. He'd try the drugs to ease the pain, he'd sell himself to buy the drugs, and then Sam would really be lost. "Sam Winchester."

Lucifer looked at him for a moment, turning his head slightly to the side. "That's your real name, isn't it? Why haven't they found you yet?"

"Who?"

"Your family. You haven't been out here long. What, three months? I've seen you around, plus you're not a junkie, and you're not a whore. Someone is definitely looking for you, and since you're stupid enough to use your real name, I can't believe you haven't been found yet," Lucifer leaned back against his backpack, drawing his jacket around his chest.

"Why would you think someone was looking for me?"

"You're not homeless," Lucifer said, shrugging. "You're a runaway."

"I don't have a home right now," Sam insisted. "There isn't a difference."

"There is," Lucifer said, his voice quiet. "You chose to leave. The homeless kids were forced from their homes. You could go back, even if it sucked there. The runaways are always welcomed home. The homeless have nowhere else to go."

They were quiet for a long time. It was already dark, and Sam could see a few desperate kids still standing on the corner, hoping they could go home with a stranger who would let them sleep there that night. The others were heading to the alley, where they would cram together under the one or two blankets that the seven or so of them had between them, and Sam wondered what his generosity bought him instead.

The park bench wasn't big enough for both of them.

Lucifer stood, his hands coming to the straps of his pack as he nodded deeper into the playground. "Let's go."

"Where?" Sam asked, his heart picking up, fear seeping into his voice.

But Lucifer just grinned. "I promised to keep you warm, and you'll survive the night. When it frosts or snows, you can't be out in the open. I sleep under the castle in the playground."

Sam could turn around and go to the alley and freeze with the other kids. He would probably survive the night there too. But he could see the rolled up material on the top of Lucifer's backpack, and one blanket between two bodies was better than two between eight.

Hoping he wouldn't regret it, Sam followed Lucifer further into the park. And Lucifer had been right: Sam was not disappointed.

Lucifer didn't have a blanket; he had a sleeping bag.

It looked new – it even still smelled like the store still – and Sam wondered if he stole it. Try as they might, a kid couldn't survive without the occasional theft, but Sam tried to keep it to food or gum or little things that he couldn't survive without.

The sleeping bag looked thick and warm and expensive, and it wasn't until Sam ran his hand over the material that he noticed Lucifer wasn't looking at the sleeping bag, he was watching Sam's reaction. And the corners of his mouth were turned upward, just slightly, in a very small smile.

"I've been saving most of the summer," Lucifer admitted. "I wasn't going to buy it until later in the year, but with the frost coming in… you can't really be out here alone and survive all winter without good cover. Last year was hell."

"That's why you didn't have any money for food? I thought you bought a fix."

"Believe it or not," Lucifer huffed, starting to untie his boots. "You're not the only non-junkie who is sleeping on the streets. So you don't have to worry, I'm not going to kill you in a meth-high tonight."

Sam started taking off his boots, too.

The blond boy started climbing into the sleeping bag with all his clothes on, and Sam stopped him with a hand on his knee. "You can't sleep wearing all of that in there. A sleeping bag like this is designed to optimize your body temperature. If you wear all that, you'll get too hot and sweat… you'll end up being colder. You've got to take your clothes off."

The look Lucifer shot Sam was one of confusion and mistrust, like he expected Sam to steal all his clothes in his night. After a second, the blond boy broke out into a cautious grin. "If you wanted to get me naked, all you needed to do was ask. I might not even charge you."

"I'm not…" Sam started, beat red. "I'm not lying about that. My dad was a marine and sometimes we had to sleep outside when we didn't have money for a motel room."

Lucifer thought about it for a second before unzipping his jacket. He stripped down to his underwear and an undershirt, and Sam could see that the bruise on his eye wasn't his only one. The blond reached for the hem of the undershirt, but his eyes went to Sam's instead. There was a yellow bruise at his hip, and he pushed his shirt back down to hide it. "Is this okay… or do I really need to be…"

"No," Sam said. "That's fine." And he started shucking off his clothes too.

It was awkward – incredibly, horrifyingly awkward – as the two settled into the sleeping bag half-naked. Lucifer's skin was cold, but Sam was sure he was pretty cold, too. The blond boy wrapped his arms around Sam, keeping their chests together, so their blood could keep each other warm. Feet and arms were tangled around each other, and despite how awkward Sam felt initially, it was so much better than anything else he could have hoped for, and he quickly fell asleep.

Teenagers were still teenagers, even if they didn't have a place to stay. And teenagers talked.

Other than the mortification of waking up cuddled with another boy – warm, and well rested, but hard and embarrassed because of it – the two of them agreed that it was the best for both of their survival if they met that night, too. Sam didn't need to spend money on Lucifer, which was good because he didn't have any. His only meal of the day came from the soup kitchen, but the blond boy still smiled when Sam got to the castle, took off most of his clothes, and climbed into the sleeping bag.

After that, it was just habit.

A week of sleeping together left the other kids talking.

Lucifer was among the oldest of the homeless kids – they tended to have a short life expectancy due to overdoses, the dangerous lifestyle, and the elements – but according to everyone who wanted to gossip with Sam about his new friend, he had never had a companion. Even Benny, the longest surviving homeless kid after Lucifer, had said that in the year and four months he had been living on the streets, he had hardly seen Lucifer talk to another kid if it wasn't a biting threat.

All of the kids wanted to know what Sam was giving him, because he obviously got many things in return. The sleeping bag, for one. The rest of kids were livid with jealousy when they saw the pair of them emerge from the castle, rolling up the warm, water proof fabric. Another thing that Sam hadn't realized he was receiving with his newfound companionship with Lucifer was protection.

For the most part, Sam hadn't gotten hurt. But he had gotten robbed before. When he saw his usual bully, the guy dropped his chin to his chest and wouldn't look at Sam as he passed.

But Lucifer wasn't getting anything from their deal. Occasionally, Sam made enough to get them something small and healthy. Lucifer didn't exactly like the foods that were the best for him, but he ate it with a scowl, only because he knew Sam spent his money to try and help him survive. But it wasn't a fair trade and Sam needed to make more money.

Lucifer's body stayed cold long after Sam's had warmed the sleeping bag, and the blond boy clung to Sam. The younger boy liked the feeling of the cool nose pressed against his throat, breathing in the scent of the cheap bathroom soap he used to scrub himself clean with every night before he came to the castle in the park. Sam ran his fingers over Lucifer's side, moving the material of his shirt away to press skin against skin.

Lucifer didn't complain.

"Hey," Sam murmured into the darkness. "I… uh… I can't keep begging forever. I think it's time I started… you know, like you and all the other kids do."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Lucifer mumbled sleepily, lips brushing against Sam's skin as he talked. It sent a different kind of warmth through his frame, but his teenage body had reacted consistently to the feel of a body pressed against his, and Lucifer was always polite enough to pretend he didn't know Sam had a raging hard on every morning.

"I mean… you know… sell myself for money."

Lucifer was suddenly wide awake, moving away from Sam as much as their confining sleeping quarters would allow. His face was set, eyes narrowed, and Sam had to look away. The only thing Lucifer said about the sudden declaration was a hard, "No."

"Why?" Sam asked. "You do it. Everyone does it. It doesn't mean anything."

"Because I said so," Lucifer said, fingers finding Sam's chin and pushing, forcing the younger boy to look at him. "Do you understand me? You can sleep here with me, but only if you don't do that. Promise me that you won't."

"How am I supposed to repay you if I can't make money?" Sam whispered.

"You don't owe me anything, Sam. Don't worry about making money. I can make enough for anything we need to buy. You have a safe, warm spot to sleep at night, and you can eat at the soup kitchen. You don't really need too much money to survive, I've come to realize."

"But, Lucifer…"

"No buts," Lucifer said, drawing Sam to his chest. Lucifer always smelled cleaner than Sam, but he was always sporting a new injury from the adult homeless people who wanted to steal his stuff. Lucifer had to fight every day to keep their bed safe, and he wouldn't let Sam help at all, with anything. "We just need to keep you safe," he murmured, already falling back asleep with the crises averted. "No matter what."

Sam sighed against Lucifer's collarbone, but didn't press the matter. He hadn't wanted to do it anyway – very few people wanted to – but he had wanted to help Lucifer.

So instead, he did everything he legally could do to make money. Well, not legally, but morally. Technically, Sam didn't panhandle. He could juggle and if he happened to have a cup for donations set up in the park then so be it. He also was phenomenal at darts – he and Dean used to make decent money sharking drunk men in bars – but it was hard to make enough money to bet with.

Lucifer had let it slip one night before they went to bed that he used to love getting whoppers with his brothers. They were all too small to eat one on their own, but it always turned into a contest to see who could eat the most. Sam could hear the pain in his voice – how much he missed his brothers even though he swore he hated all of them – and Sam knew what he could do to repay Lucifer.

They had both eaten at noon at the soup kitchen, but Lucifer only ever ate once a day because he spent the night trying to turn tricks for cash. When Sam walked up to the castle, Lucifer came out, sniffing at the air like a dog.

Sam held up the brown paper Burger King bag. It only took Lucifer two strides to get to Sam, but instead of reaching toward the bag, he reached for the teenager. With one hand on the back of Sam's neck, Lucifer guided him in, crushing their mouths together. It hurt a little, the click of teeth on teeth, and Sam pulled away to press his fingers to his lips, checking for blood.

Lucifer looked horrified. "Oh, Sam." He said. "I'm so sorry… I don't know what…"

Sam pulled his hand away. There wasn't any blood, so he leaned in again, pressing his lips more softly against Lucifer's. The blond whined, melting into Sam's arms.

By the time Lucifer got around to eating the whopper, it was cold. But he still groaned throughout the duration, swearing it was the best thing he'd ever tasted in his life.

They whispered to each other in the dark.

Sam learned about Lucifer's three brothers – Mike, Rafe, and Gabe – even though he never learned Lucifer's real first name, nor the family's last name. Sam found himself telling stories about him and Dean to the blond man's collarbone or the soft hair at the back of his neck.

One night, Sam even confided in Lucifer that he was pretty sure that back when he had been motel hopping with his alcoholic father and his older brother, that Dean had sold himself a few times to put food on the table when their dad was off on a bender.

He had cried when he told his friend – he had known, had saw the way Dean limped, the bruises on his body matching Lucifer's and the same, dead way their eyes blurred out on occasion, remembering – and Lucifer held him, rubbing his hair and his back, whispering that he wished it were different.

Lucifer would whisper in the dark about how he wished everything would have been better, that they could have met at school or when they both went out for the same sports team, how it could have blossomed into something beautiful and untainted by what Lucifer had to do to survive… to keep both of them alive, now.

And Sam, with tears in his eyes, whispered that he wished the three of them – Sam, Lucifer, and Dean – could share a house and be a family.

A week after that, it snowed for the first time.

Sam shivered in the sleeping bag, drawing as close to Lucifer as he could. They had shelter from above – the metal roof of the play castle kept the snow from falling on to them – but it was open on all four sides and the wind was cold. If it blew too heavily, the snow could fall onto them, and Sam's teeth were chattering in his skull so much he couldn't really sleep without fear of falling into a coma and dying in the night.

There was only a light dusting of snow on the ground when he woke up, but he was cold and miserable. Surviving in the summer was one thing, surviving the winter would be a battle.

For three days, Sam noticed Lucifer looking at him with a sad, faraway look when he started shivering, and for three days, his friend held his tongue on whatever he had already decided.

The night they were expected to get a foot of snow, Lucifer had demanded that Sam go to the shelter for the night. The younger boy was not happy.

"You can't just tell me what to do, Lucifer," Sam yelled. The blond was laying dead center of the sleeping bag just in case Sam got any ideas and tried to force his way in. "You're not my father."

Lucifer growled, any comparison to John Winchester was negative, because Lucifer knew that Sam hated John as much as Lucifer hated his own father for kicking him out. Sam felt even colder, feeling Lucifer's rage directed at him. "You need to go home, Sam. You can't live out here all winter. You're going to get sick and die."

"You did it last year," Sam said, already defeated. Lucifer was only trying to protect him, like always. "And I can't go back there. I regretted leaving after a truck driver tried to do something to me and I only got out of it because another guy heard me yelling. I was already halfway across the country by then. After a week, I was so hungry I couldn't walk. I managed to save up enough money to use the payphone, and I called the motel Dean was staying at and she said he'd checked out. They left me, okay? They were probably glad I was gone. Dean was starving and now he doesn't have to share the little food we had. And fuck if my dad cared about anything but getting drunk. So you were wrong, okay? Nobody's looking for me."

"He is," Lucifer said quietly. "I know he is."

"It shouldn't take three months to find me," Sam screamed. The little birds that didn't fly south flew from the tree, and it grew so silent after that that Sam's heartbeat was deafening him. He reached a hand up to wipe the tear on his cheek before it froze there.

"He just doesn't know where to look," Lucifer whispered, but Sam still heard him. "You don't belong out here, not when someone loves you back there. And if I don't make you leave now, you won't go. You'll die out here, Sam. You're too kind to survive in this world, and I can't lose you like that."

"But you don't mind losing me if you know I'm going back home?"

"I've lost so much, Sam. I just need to know you're safe," Lucifer said, curling in on himself in the sleeping bag. There was no fight left – Sam had lost and they both knew it – and it hurt, knowing that Lucifer would be out in the snow all alone. It hurt knowing he didn't even kiss Sam goodbye. It was bitter and childish – but Sam wasn't much more than a child – but he turned to stomp away anyway, vowing to not go to the shelter, just to spite Lucifer. Right before he started off, he heard Lucifer mumble, "If Dean can't find you, I'll find him."

Panic swelled in Sam's chest, and he ran away.

Sam didn't go to the shelter. He went to Denny's because it was open all night and he had just enough money for a coffee. It was mostly empty, and restaurants had a no loitering policy that usually meant the homeless kids and runaways could only milk an hour of warmth before they were kicked out.

But the woman at the front counter kept refilling his coffee all night. She brought him an order of eggs and toast after he started crying, and she even let him sleep in the back until the morning crowd started coming, and she had to leave to get her son around for school.

She woke him up and asked if she could drive him somewhere.

He just shook his head. He had nowhere he could go.

The next day was warm again, and Sam spent the morning digging out the snow from under the castle, so they would have a dryer spot to sleep in that night. He resolved to put his foot down and not let Lucifer bully him into leaving him behind.

Sam couldn't go home. Lucifer couldn't go home. But that wasn't their home anymore. Their home was the shared sleeping bag under the play castle in the park. Their home was together.

Sam didn't have any money, but Lucifer was the one who brought the goods. The blond looked as exhausted as Sam felt – he wondered if Lucifer got any sleep last night or not – and as soon as he sat down in the dirt next to Sam, he dug in his backpack and pulled out a bottle of whiskey.

For a long moment, the pair of them just looked at each other. Sam had shared bottles with other homeless kids before, numbing the hunger pains and fighting off the cool bite in the summer night's air around a fire in a garbage can had been a reprieve for all of them.

Lucifer had never come to their parties. He never smelled or tasted like alcohol, and the occasional times he smelled like smoke it was from when his clothes spent a prolonged time on a motel room floor where the smoke had long since seeped into the carpet fibers.

The blond uncapped the bottle of whiskey and held it to Sam, offering the first swig along with a silent apology.

So they drank.

Again, they whispered into the night. Lucifer demanded to know everything about Dean – from a description of his physical features, to the exact make and model of the car he drove, and any words or phrases he commonly used – and Sam demanded access to Lucifer's mouth as repayment.

Sam's head was swimming – pleasingly warm from the whiskey and from the slow, almost lazy kisses that they had been sharing for the past half hour – but he wasn't as drunk as he had been with the other kids. Lucifer wouldn't let him drink much of it, certainly not enough to get him smashed or sick, and eventually, the older teen stopped breaking the kisses to ask questions and started in with apologies instead.

He murmured words against the younger boy's lips, how he didn't want Sam to leave, but it was selfish to ask him to stay. How he just wanted to be with Sam, but safe, where he was sure Sam wasn't only kissing him because he thought he needed to so Lucifer would keep him safe and warm.

He whispered that he loved him against his neck as Sam rocked against Lucifer's leg, trying to get himself off by grinding against his hip.

Words turned to frantic, breathy sounds. Lucifer's cold fingers pressed into Sam's hips, rolling the younger boy on top of him, guiding his thrusts so their clothed erections could brush against each other until their movements grew erratic and tense.

Sam collapsed on Lucifer, knowing his underwear would be a sticky mess in the morning, but he didn't care right now. He couldn't. He reached down, feeling blindly at Lucifer's underwear, and when he felt the warm wetness on the material, he breathed a sigh of relief into the boy's collarbone.

Lucifer was breathing heavily, gasping for it really, and Sam had just enough consciousness left in him to whisper back, "I love you, too," before he fell asleep.

It hadn't been a very big bottle of whiskey, and they had to use the rest of it to clean a stab wound less than a week later. Lucifer was usually a careful pickpocket, but he had been careless with the man on the subway.

He had been trying to steal his phone, but he wouldn't tell Sam why. And when Sam asked if he had gotten it or not, he hissed about cleaning the wound before it got infected, and Sam had forgotten about it for the time being.

It wasn't deep, thank God, a slice not a stab, and luckily the blond carried around a first aid kit.

By the four month anniversary of Sam's run – and the first month anniversary of their friendship – Lucifer had done a handful of other sketchy but out of character things like actively ditching lunch dates at the soup kitchen with Sam to duck into the library, trading approximately fifty dollars for something in the park with a hooded stranger, and skipping his usual nights of selling himself, opting instead to spend his time lounging in the sleeping bag, fingers tracing over Sam's bare torso, as if he were trying to memorize every inch of his skin.

Then one day, Sam woke up to the sound of a phone ringing, and Lucifer crawled out of the sleeping bag, standing in his underwear in the snow to answer it out of Sam's earshot.

When he came back, he was frowning. His skin was freezing again, but Sam wrapped his arms and legs around the blond boy to try and warm him back up. "Who was that?"

"Nobody," Lucifer said, shrugging. He pressed a kiss against Sam's palm. "Do you think in ten years, you'll be a lawyer?"

"I hope so," Sam laughed. "Not exactly sure how, what with not having a real place to go, but… I can't imagine I'll still be homeless in ten years."

"You're not homeless," Lucifer whispered. "You're a runaway. If you found your brother, and you wanted to leave with him, you could go back."

"What if I wouldn't want to go back without you?"

Sam felt Lucifer's lips twitch into a smile against his hand, but his eyes were sad. "I have something I need to do today, so I won't be able to meet you for lunch. I need to ask a favor of you."

"Anything," Sam breathed.

"I need you to stay off the streets today. No panhandling, no walking around. I might need to be able to find you quickly, so I need to know where you'll be. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important, but you can pick the spot. Denny's, the kitchen, the library. Wherever."

Sam didn't need to think about it. "The library, but are you… okay? Are you in any danger?"

For a moment, Lucifer looked confused. Then he broke out into a pained smile, forcing a laugh. "Not danger, and certainly not physical danger. I just… I need to do something, and I need for you to trust me."

"Okay," Sam said simply. "I trust you."

Lucifer kissed him, softly at first before pushing into it more, kissing Sam like it was the last time he ever would have the chance. It left Sam feeling confused and worried, even as he settled into his favorite chair in the back of the library and started reading.

It was hours later when Lucifer walked in, standing next to Sam and offering his hand. He looked upset – far more upset than Sam had ever seen him – and when Sam took the offering, Lucifer pulled him to his feet, wrapping him up in his arms and holding them together, chest to chest.

For a long moment, Lucifer didn't say anything, and Sam held him. It felt like Lucifer was breaking apart.

"I… I just wanted to say goodbye before…"

"Before what?" Sam demanded.

"Hey there, Sammy."

Sam looked up, mouth dropped open at the sound of Dean's voice. His brother didn't look different – four months wasn't that long – except his hair was a bit longer. Dean had stopped maybe ten feet away, and Lucifer growled as he turned to look at the older Winchester. "I asked for a few minutes alone first."

"I'm sorry… I just… that's my little brother," Dean said, rushing at him. Sam didn't mean to let go of Lucifer, but suddenly he was in his brother's arms laughing at Dean's stupid manly tears. After a long moment, Dean gripped Sam's face and held him at arm's length. "I never thought I'd see you skinnier than you already were. What the fuck is the state of homeless children in America? Obviously the government needs to get off its ass to do something about it."

Sam laughed, because it was either laugh or cry and Dean was doing enough of that for everyone…

Except, Lucifer was too.

The blond had moved back, further into the shadows, half hidden behind a bookshelf like he had planned on leaving before Sam could notice but he couldn't actually do it. Sam turned to him, reaching out and grabbing his wrist, pulling him toward his brother. "This is Lucifer," Sam said. "I would have frozen to death if he hadn't helped me."

"I know who he is," Dean said, nodding at the boy. "He's the one who told me you were here. Little fucker grilled me for hours to make sure I wasn't some asshole abuser trying to take advantage."

"Can he come with us?" Sam asked. Lucifer tried to tug his wrist back from Sam's hand, but the younger boy just held on tighter. "He has nowhere else to go, and you know all about the state of homelessness in America. He could die out here. He saved me, Dean. We should repay him."

"I couldn't ask for that, and I didn't save you," Lucifer was still trying to rip his arm free, but Sam had two arms on him now, digging in his heels, and refusing to let him go anywhere. "I don't want your pity. It's not as hard for me as it was for you."

"Don't think for one second I ever pitied you," Sam hissed. "I love you, and I told you I wasn't leaving without you." Lucifer's eyes snapped up to Dean in a panic at the declaration, like he was afraid of what the older boy would think of their love, before he stepped forward, trying to get himself between the brothers and raising his arms like he was about to defend himself. "What are you doing?"

"You just… He's going to… You can't just tell people you're in love with another guy, Sam. It doesn't work like that."

Suddenly, it clicked. Lucifer's moments of rage at his family with bouts of loss and despair. How Lucifer apologized the first time they kissed – not, Sam realized, for hurting him – but for acting reckless and kissing him in the first place. He remembered how Lucifer always made the distinction between being homeless and being a runaway, and how he stepped between them at the very mention of love.

"They kicked you out for being gay?" Sam asked, pulling Lucifer away from Dean, stepping back to give him some room.

"My father… kicked me out. My older brother beat me before I could leave," Lucifer was still eyeing Dean suspiciously. "Half the kids out here have the same story. I thought you knew."

"No, I… I mean, Dean doesn't care. Do you, Dean?" The younger boys turned to look at the older Winchester, who shook his head, a flush growing up the sides of his neck, turning to look behind him.

Sam hadn't noticed before, but another man had walked in with Dean.

This man was actually a man. He was wearing a police uniform, his hands on his belt, eyes narrowed but not unkindly. More so like a person who needed glasses who hadn't realize it yet. He walked forward, standing next to Dean, before his eyes opened further.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Sam," the man offered, but said nothing more.

"Can Lucifer come with us?" Sam asked, and Dean looked back at the police officer.

"What kinds of laws are there about that, Cas? Am I going to get a kidnap charge if I let the kid live with us?"

The police officer narrowed his eyes again. "It depends on who he is. I can look to see if his family put a missing person's report on him. They probably were required to, but it is difficult to say if he was disowned. Not to mention, there might be a case for educational neglect, possibly even an assault charge. They might want to put him in foster care…"

"I turn eighteen in two weeks," Lucifer said. "Could we… could we hold off until then?"

The Winchesters looked at Cas and the officer sighed. "I have broken so many rules with this case, this honestly probably isn't even the biggest one."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked.

"He means he's been fucking the brother of the missing kid, who technically was a suspect, especially after their deadbeat dad turned up in jail for armed robbery a handful of towns over at the time," Dean grinned, wrapping his arm around Sam's shoulders. For a brief moment, he hesitated, but then wrapped his other arm around Lucifer. The blond man looked startled, but somewhat pleased at the inclusion. Dean grinned at Cas and said, "Alright, guys. Let's go home."

On Lucifer's eighteenth birthday, he called his dad and demanded his social security card and his birth certificate. His little brother Gabe had answered, and he burst into tears the moment he heard Lucifer's voice. Most of the fifteen minute conversation was trying to calm the teenager down, but after that had been accomplished, Gabe promised to get his stuff for him and mail it to Castiel's precinct.

Two days later, an envelope full of documents showed up with Gabriel Milton – who had stolen nearly a hundred dollars from his dad to get a bus ticket out and back – and when Castiel called Lucifer to tell him to pick up his stuff, Gabe had nearly killed him with a bone-crushing hug.

The teenager couldn't stay for long. He had skipped school on top of stealing the money, but after he gave Lucifer his cell phone number and demanded that he called and talked every so often, he got back on the bus, tears in his eyes, as it drove away.

Lucifer had cried to.

For the first time in one year, eight months, and twenty-four days, Luke Milton had the legal proof that he existed. The first thing he did was re-enroll in school. He tested in at Sam's grade, but it was harder for him to stay up on the homework, and his backpack was always loaded down with things he would need if he ever had to run.

Not that he ever planned on running again.

The name Luke didn't really work out, other than a legal name. Lucifer didn't care for it anyway, and the first time another kid heard Sam yell "Lucifer, wait up!" down the hallway at school, it stuck.

Dean got a job as a mechanic owned by a man named Bobby, who was sympathetic to the whole homeless situation, and gave Dean an advance in his pay, even though everything about their past screamed that they couldn't stay put for very long.

Dean surprised Bobby by being one of the hardest workers he'd ever had, and Castiel surprised Dean by cooking the four of them dinner nearly every night.

They found a cheap apartment with three bedrooms, but the first morning in the place, he went to go wake the boys up and found them huddled together on the floor in the sleeping bag that Lucifer refused to throw away.

Eventually, they grew out of sleeping on the floor and using the bag – no, they literally grew out of being able to fit in it together as Sam grew four inches in four months once he started eating food again – but just like their home wasn't with their fathers, their home wasn't the sleeping bag.

It was the two of them together, along with Dean and Castiel.