Chapter One – Birds of a Feather

It was so dark...and cold.

He hated dark and cold.

The water was pulling Lucifer every way, rolling him over and over, so it was nearly impossible to get oriented. He had to get out of this ocean.

He had to get that sleazy witch back for this, and her pathetic son and those damn Winchesters and that piece of an angel Castiel. They'd all pay for this. But first he had to get out of here. He had to get a vessel that could hold him at least temporarily. He wouldn't be satisfied showing up in his true form, they wouldn't be able to see it was him. He wanted them to know who would steal their last breath, who would watch the life drain from their eyes. He wanted, he needed to be seen.

At last, a wave broke over him, and the archangel's grace-form shot out of the water toward the shore. Thankfully, there was no one around to see the ball of white light crash into the sand, or to watch it scramble up the beach and into the woods of the eastern Georgia coast.

If anyone saw him as he passed through towns and neighborhoods, they didn't mention it to anyone else. Unless of course they were the unfortunate few he tried to communicate with. He tried in vain for days to find anybody who would let him in, but it seemed everyone he tried to speak too either couldn't understand him or got scared senseless and rejected him. Or passed out. If it hadn't been for the crucifixes in that one place he would've had a guy, but the human saw that the crosses flipped upon Lucifer's entrance and he fled.

"Figures..." he muttered to himself, winging his way up the side of a small mountain. He had seen a little red VW Beetle puttering up the road, and wondered if its driver would be interested in a little deal. Of course, if this one wasn't he just might have to smite them for it; he needed to blow off some steam before he went totally nuts.

The road dead-ended at a quiet little cottage, like something from a fairytale. There were flowers everywhere (mostly roses, so they obviously had good taste) and a few herbs here and there. Homemade windchimes jingled in the breeze, some made with colorful melted glass, some with little rocks and feathers, but the one that caught his eye was made of animal bones.

"That seems promising…guess I'll have a look-see."

He floated over to the nearest window to peek inside, and while he wasn't disappointed by what he found, he was a little concerned. The closer he got, the more evident it was that there was a protection spell over the house. Nothing that he couldn't get past, of course, but nonetheless it meant that whoever was inside knew that there were things out there that they needed protection from aside from other people. And that they had the means to protect themselves magically, "Probably another witch…which would make smiting them even better if they reject me. That would mean I could get Rowena twice, in a sense." He reasoned, "Wonder if they're home though…? I don't see-"

The owner of the house appeared to him like a divine vision from the dark hallway leading into the kitchen he was peeping into. She looked a bit like Vincente, dark colors from her hair to her painted toes; maybe she was a fan, though she hardly seemed the right age. And she looked like she was alone. She certainly acted like she was by herself, like no one was watching, or maybe it was that she didn't care if anyone was.

Either way, she was a perfect, unguarded target (so he hoped at least). He just had to figure out how to get in her good graces and then into her head…so he searched her mind for something or someone she desired, something he could offer to her to sway her under his thumb. What he found was unexpected, but simple enough, and now he only had to wait for an opportune time to make his move.

He waited for sundown, and then slipped inside.

After the crushing darkness he'd grown accustomed to over the last seven years (those years being in "normal" time, he didn't know how long he'd actually been down there…he'd stopped keeping up) the light surrounding him was nearly blinding. It was painful to even open his eyes. It hurt to breathe air that wasn't cold and damp, the warmth was almost suffocating. There was too much empty space around him. He felt exposed. Vulnerable.

"Where…where am I?" he demanded hoarsely, finally blinking away the sharpness. Once his vision focused, however, he didn't need an answer; he recognized the room.

He also recognized the man sitting in the corner, but just barely. It had been so long since they'd been in the same place, and so much had changed. Neither was the same as they were the last time they'd spoken, one perhaps for the better, one quickly spiraling toward the worse, "You're home, son…you're safe."

Ordinarily, he would've been comforted by his father's presence, in knowing that he no longer had to be in charge of all his siblings alone, but the voices…the Cage was calling to its escaped prisoner.

You have no home.

Nowhere is safe anymore.

You had one job, to end all of this, and you failed.

He didn't realize the paint was melting off the walls, or that all the vases had shattered around him until his father grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him back into reality.

"Hi." It was a simple greeting with a believable smile attached. Lucifer leaned against the doorframe of the living room coolly, waiting for a reaction from his next intended host. He had been circling the place for an hour gauging whether this was worth his time. Not much was these days…but he had decided to give it a shot nonetheless. It's not like he had much going for him or much to lose at the moment; he wasn't even solidly in a vessel right now, nor was he familiar with his location. He needed a way out, and somewhere to regroup.

The girl lifted her head from the book in her lap to glance at her mysterious visitor; Lucifer assumed that she somehow knew and would recognize his projection of Nick, though he couldn't make any connection between his original vessel and the girl sitting across from him himself. He'd never seen her in any of his thoughts or anything in his house in the brief time that he stayed there. But this was what she wanted to see, the one image he'd picked out of her mind before he decided to come in. She was practically fixated on him.

Boy, was he in for a shock or two.

Her dark brown eyes widened slightly when their gazes met, then they fell back to the pages between her fingers, then they squinted when they found him again. She studied him meticulously; she was peering through a microscope, and he was the specimen beneath the eyepiece. He saw recognition in her eyes, but it was coupled with confusion and a little bit of fear. Nothing unusual for him. Her mouth opened as if she were going to speak, but there was a short silence before words actually came out, "There's no way…" she mumbled, slowly closing the book and standing, "Lucifer?"

He took a step back in surprise, wondering if he'd accidentally stumbled upon another angel or a demon, or even some freak of a human that could see his true form through his disguise. For all he knew -he wasn't wasting his energy on "reading" her, for lack of better term – she could be nephilim or a cambion. Or she was just a really good guesser, "How did you know…?"

She flashed the cover of the book at him, something he'd paid no heed to before, revealing that she was a fan of Supernatural, that ridiculous series his father had started to chronicle the lives of those pesky Winchesters. He caught sight of his name in the title of the particular book she was holding, which amused him slightly, "I've been doing a little reading here lately…I thought that vessel disintegrated a long time ago though? Isn't that the first guy you possessed?"

Her tone was too calm for somebody staring down the Devil himself, and quite frankly it was freaking him out, "I uh…well yeah. This isn't…uhm." He was too confused to speak full sentences. This girl wasn't running away screaming, she wasn't throwing crucifixes at him or trying to exorcise him, or even backing out of his reach. She wanted him here.

What the actual hell?

Her eyebrow arched inquisitively as he continued to stare at her, "What?"

"I'm just…a little puzzled…right now. Uh...you know how this usually works I'm guessing?" he scratched the back of his head, being sure to keep her in his sights, "I come to you with something you want, you reluctantly give in and help me with my world domination scheme or whatever you want to call it. And spoiler alert, it doesn't end well." That last bit probably wasn't a good selling point, but it slipped out anyway.

"I've noticed that on your end, yeah." She threw Lucifer Rising back into her chair and stuck her hands in her pockets, "I don't think your uh, 'divine intervention' here is going to make a noticeable dent on mine though. Which, all things considered, is pretty sad."

"It is when I'm not the worst thing that could walk through your door, yeah." He was far too unsettled to give her the usual smirk, but he did wander closer in hopes that she would become just as disconcerted as he was, "Well, if you're not going to kick, beg and scream, let's chat and get to what I'm here for then."

"Fair enough. Follow me, if you don't mind." She shrugged, striding right by him like they were old friends and heading down the hall to the kitchen, "I know angels don't eat or anything, but I'm getting a drink. Help yourself if you want." She clattered around in the refrigerator and pulled out a wine cooler before climbing onto a barstool and spinning to face him expectantly, "So… what's the deal?"

He finally got fed up with the suspense, "An explanation first, would be super actually. You want me here. Why in Dad's name do you want me here?"

She sipped her drink to conceal a chuckle, "Well I imagine the fact that I was re-reading your grand entrance has something to do with having you on the brain, but it's not even you specifically that I want, er- no offense. You're not exactly what I had in mind but hey, whatever floats my subconscious boat I guess…" she kicked her heels against the rungs on her chair, "I know you're supposed to show up as my deepest desire, right? What I want more than anything?"

"Yeah, uh-huh. The whole temptation spiel, go on."

"Well… and don't laugh…what I want most is to help other people."

Lucifer squinted at her in disbelief, "Soooo, how exactly does that relate to me?"

She smiled sheepishly up at him, which made him even more anxious. He got smirks on his good days, not this rosy-cheeked grin business, "If there was ever anybody on this planet that needed some help, it's you." She went on, twisting a stray curl around her finger, "You have nobody to trust, nowhere to go…right? I'm just going off what's in the books, but I'd like to think they're pretty accurate for the most part. Biased maybe, but…"

He scoffed, leaning his head against the wall, "You're not wrong there, kid."

"Grace Harbinger."

"Oh. Well, sounds like I'm in the right place for once then uh, Grace." He hadn't thought to ask her name. He hadn't intended on needing it after this, but he was wondering if that would still be the case now, "I need a new meatsuit. This is just a projection of Nick here. Think you can help me out?" he held out his arms as if to invite her to come closer but, to his surprise, she didn't.

"I don't think you'd want to be knocking around in my head, even if you could." Grace pulled back her shirt to reveal an anti-possession sigil surrounded by roses just beneath her collarbone. She leaned back in her seat, as if she were still pondering his offer, "But I'll do you one better…I can fix that one for you. Or bring it back, I guess it would be."

"You're a powerful enough witch to do that?" she hardly looked old enough to be living alone, much less have the kind of power that would be needed. Granted a witch's outer appearance often belied how old they really were, but that wasn't the case with her. She wasn't world-weary enough to be ancient.

She scowled at him indignantly, her eyes flashed violet, "My cat could do that, and he's totally useless. He's not even a familiar." A low meow came from the corner of the kitchen, and an enormous ball of black fluff sauntered over to sniff the new presence in the room, "Yes, Nox, I mean you."

The cat regarded the Devil as though he wasn't an all-powerful celestial being, and the Serpent regarded the feline with an equally haughty expression, though truth be told he was contemplating petting it. Animals were fine, it was humans he despised, "Does he bite?"

"Depends on the day." Grace tossed her empty bottle in the trash and watched them curiously; the cat flicking his tail, the angel tilting his head.

Lucifer went for it. Nox didn't protest, or try to take a chunk out of any of his fingers. He purred and rubbed against his leg. When the cat was satisfied with the petting, the angel was back to business, "Alright so, we doing this thing or not?"

"What's the rush, you got a date?"

He sighed, feigning heartbreak, "Well my last girlfriend sent me to the bottom of the ocean and my boyfriend won't even talk to me, so no." Grace pretended to frown in pity, placing a hand over her heart, "I know, tragic. Story of my life."

"Listen, I love Sam, but I will gladly fight Rowena if I ever see her. I don't appreciate all her wishy-washy b.s. with Crowley. Yeah, he's a demon, but that's no excuse for her treating her own son that way." She tightened her braid and hopped off the barstool, "The parents in Supernatural suck, with like three exceptions. And that's being generous." He followed her down the hallway to the room where she kept her things for spell-work, choosing not to comment on the accuracy of her statement.

Instead, he observed the décor that adorned her walls; some were photos of nature, others were drawings of random people, and there were a few colorful non-objective paintings. He had a feeling this girl wasn't entirely put together, and if anything was a dead giveaway it was the lack of a theme or obvious connection between any of the knick-knacks or art that he could see. Her house looked like an odd patchwork quilt, and he suspected she was equally broken and pieced back together.

In his own absentmindedness, he almost ran into a windchime-like piece made of colored glass and wire that hung from the door. She took this time to warn him to watch his head. Nox didn't try to hide his disinterest as he leapt onto a roll-top desk in the corner and made himself comfortable, "What exactly does this voodoo of yours entail? Just out of morbid curiosity and justified paranoia."

Grace was almost too busy climbing her shelf to hear him; she was too short to reach what she needed and too proud to ask him to get it for her, "Huh? Oh, the- it's a sigil like what Rowena was doing in the last book before the one we've probably started, but you won't be sleeping with the fishes this time." She chuckled to herself, "It goes on your skin, so lose the t-shirt. And it might sting or tingle or something, so you might want to sit down until it's done sealing you to the vessel."

"Sealing, meaning?"

"It rebuilds the vessel around your grace, so it's sealed inside like a human soul. You can still come and go from it if you need to, but you won't have to worry about asking to come back in because it's just you in there."

Lucifer was impressed, both that someone so young knew how to do something so undoubtedly complicated and that a witch had managed to come up with something like that in the first place, "Man, wish I knew about you sooner. Would've saved a lot of time."

Grace pulled a book and an oddly shaped bottle from the top of the bookcase, "And a lot of fangirl heartache. If I had a dollar for every time somebody at a Supernatural convention or online complained about you changing bodies every other story arc, I'd be a rich woman. People get attached to the meatsuits in this fandom. I can't even begin to fathom what kind of uproar there'd be if Castiel pulled something like that. Or Crowley."

He never imagined that he'd have fans, not in that sense at least. Yeah, there were those that "worshipped" him, but he never paid them any attention; they had him wrong for the most part so he didn't offer them any favors. And honestly, all demons were pains in the neck, regardless of their so-called "loyalties" so he avoided them whenever he could afford to, "You must have gotten attached too, or you'd be looking at somebody you know."

"Oh, I doubt that very much." She shook her head, pulling something out of a cabinet that he couldn't quite make out, "And I never said I wasn't one of them."

"Glad to know someone likes me." He chuckled bitterly, only catching a glimpse of the apologetic smile that appeared on her face afterward.

"You do have your moments. There's quite a few characters that the fans just absolutely hate, but you aren't necessarily one of them. Even with some of the stuff you've done." His eyes flashed dangerously scarlet at the mention of his past misdeeds, at the memories it dredged up, "S-sorry…I-I uh…never mind." she shook her head to dislodge her own thoughts as she gathered her ingredients and shuffled over to where he sat at her desk.

A silence that was only half as awkward as it should have been fell over them while she mixed ingredients for the ink and then drew the marks across his skin. He watched her intently, hoping against all hope that this wouldn't be a repeat of what Rowena had done to him, and promising himself that if it was he'd take this one down with him. She wouldn't have time to get out of his reach, or the strength to struggle enough to get away. By the time he'd formulated exactly how he was going to accomplish his theoretical vengeance, she had finished her work. What she hadn't done was hex him into oblivion.

"Give it a second to set in. You'll feel it." She closed the book and laid the bottle on a nightstand in the corner, then reached over to scratch Nox's head.

"No incantation? Kind of an odd spell…" he studied the lines and marks, trying to recognize some of them. He thought one of them might've been Enochian, but he couldn't really see it from that angle.

"My magic doesn't always require spoken incantations." She informed him, taking a chair from another desk and sitting in it backwards across from him, "A lot of what I do doesn't even require me being there the whole time." He tilted his head, so she clarified that she was a hedgewitch, or what some folks around there liked to call a "mountain doctor". She worked mostly with folk medicine and nature, hence the secluded home in the middle of the woods. She also clarified that Rowena was, in her opinion, a shiftless, low-down, something-that-rhymes-with-witch, and if it was in her power she'd strip the "queen-mother of Hell" of her powers and help her take a long walk off a short dock into the nearest lake.

Lucifer whistled, "Yikes, and I thought I didn't like Red…you really have it out for the little ginger, don'tcha?"

"She reminds me of some of my relatives, so I'm not exactly an admirer of hers. I'd do the same to some of them if I thought it was worth the effort…" Grace huffed. She rested her head on her arms wearily, not offering any other details without being prompted.

However, Lucifer had gone eons without much in the way of willing company, so he was eager to keep any conversation going, even if it was one-sided at times, "Let me guess, at least one super-religious and overbearing parent, wimpy siblings that wouldn't defend you, other relatives only helping you so you'll owe them…if they bothered to help at all?" he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"No religion actually, but that was part of the issue; I believed, I actually have magic, and they didn't, even after I showed them what I could do." She toyed with the rings she wore, twisting each one around and around in no particular order, "The only sibling I have was a scrawny little tween last time I saw him, so he couldn't do much anyway. But that third bit…dead-ringer, until I moved up here. Folks around here pay their dues for what I give them…sometimes they do more."

He noticed the sigils searing into his flesh and disappearing, but it didn't hurt, so he didn't bring it into the conversation, "Are we related? It sounds like we're related."

Her mouth quirked into a half-smile, "For our sakes, I hope not. Our family trees are full of nuts separately...I'd rather not put them together."

"No, that wouldn't work out at all." He shook his head knowingly, pausing when a thought came to him, "Can you imagine what that Christmas gathering would be like?"

She made a face of horrible contemplation, "Thanks, but I'd rather not."

There was a moment of tentative silence before they both decided it was okay to laugh.

"The family I had that believed me didn't do jack for me, so I cut them all off and left when I was seventeen. Didn't look back."

He scowled at her skeptically, "I looked back. You can't tell me that you didn-"

She brazenly cut him off without raising her voice, "You didn't want out. You want back in." He watched her reposition so that she was sitting cross-legged, her feet in the chair, and beckon for her pet to sit in her lap. Nox obeyed, leaping from the desk to the floor to the chair, and curling into a massive, purring, black ball.

He didn't try to dispute her point, but he didn't exactly agree either, "Honestly…I don't know if I want to go back anymore…" wow, ok, so we're pouring our heart out to this kid we just met half an hour ago? This seems smart Lucifer, let's give her the whole tragedy in one sitting, if you can manage it, "I mean…none of the other angels would let me back in. I already know that. And Dad…he doesn't seem to care either way. But Hell sucks and I'm not going back in that Cage…but I have nowhere else that's safe, let alone comfortable."

Grace tilted her head pensively, stroking the cat's fur. She didn't know what to tell him…Were he anyone else, she would tell him to just do what she did; strike out on their own, build a new home to their liking, build a new family that loved them despite or because of what they were, build themselves up… but he wasn't anyone else, and she had a feeling he had a little more baggage to work through than most folks. Not to mention he had a bit of a reputation to deal with. Of course, he could make a fake identity, but lying only makes things more complicated. And nobody really wants to make things complicated on purpose.

"Demons are unhelpful at best. I don't know why I made those stupid things to begin with." He chided himself, "And humans won't be any more help than my family. They're either terrified of me…which I guess is reasonable…or they've got ulterior motives of their own."

"Yep." Grace nodded, her voice sincere, "Humans suck."

"Of course, you're not like other people, are you?" he mocked her seeming distaste for her own kind. It was obvious that her wounded loathing for her kin was honest, and he could relate to her in that respect, but he seriously doubted she held that kind of disdain for the rest of the race too. She couldn't have experienced enough of them to feel that way, not in her short life, "At least you like to think you're different from them…but you're all so good at lying about that. Especially to yourselves."

He waited for her to lose her temper at the insult, to try feebly to banish or kill him for it, but she only laughed and shook her head, "I'll have you know I'm a terrible liar, thank you very much."

"Really? With that poker face? Not likely." he challenged. He started to stand, intending to break her annoying amount of self-confidence through either the angelic "hypnosis" he'd used on that dopey Vincente groupie, or the messier option of just flat-out torture, but he didn't quite get to his feet. A wave of tingly dizziness suddenly hit him, and hit him hard, knocking him back into his seat, "Wh-what's happening? Wha- what did y-you do?"

Even though the room was starting to spin, he could still see the change in her expression, "I told you you'd probably need to sit down…what's wrong?" Grace booted the cat out of her lap and hovered beside Lucifer, "You're not feeling sick, are you?"

He shook his head, and then immediately regretted doing so; that made it worse, "I-I feel…I've never actually b-been…but I f-feel…drunk…"

"Drunk?" she was trying so hard not to laugh at the thought of a tipsy archangel, "Can you stand up?" he grumbled something that sounded like the word 'no' and clutched his head in a fruitless effort to steady himself.

"Is this s'pposed t'happen?" he was being pulled apart and put back together simultaneously.

He flinched at the steadying hand he felt on his shoulder, "I didn't think it would affect you this much. I thought you being a stronger being would cancel this bit out…c'mon, you need to lay down. You'll be in the floor by morning if you don't." she tried to coax him forward, but he refused to come with her, "Lucifer, come on. It's not far. I've got you."

He staggered backward, his grip tightening on the back of the chair, "How c'n I trus' you?" he slurred, trying to pull away from her without taking himself down. The amount of brute strength in her slender, freckled arm was more than he bargained for, however, and in his inebriated state he couldn't pry her grip loose, "If I die…"

"You'll kill me? Ok, I'll be sure to remember that." At last she tugged him free of the chair and guided him down the dark hallway to the spare bedroom across from hers. I just hope he doesn't fall out before I get him in here…I can't lift him up by myself, "Here. You stay in here until this wears off. And don't go stumbling around the house in the middle of the night, if you need something just call me. I'm right through there, alright?" She pointed over her shoulder when she finally wrestled him onto the mattress. He flopped onto his stomach in defeat and grunted, which she took as an affirmative. Grace almost left him lying there as he was, but she couldn't bring herself to leave him just yet. Something was missing.

Purely out of habit -she knew he didn't need it because angels don't get cold, nor do they usually sleep, but the gesture felt right to her – she grabbed the quilt out of the rocking chair in the corner and covered him with it before retreating to her own bed. His eyes fluttered open for a moment as she tiptoed out. He wanted to say something to her, whether sarcastic or appreciative he couldn't decide, but she was gone and he was unconscious before he could make up his mind.