[He looks around them, but his vision is as blurry as Break's probably is.]
How long has it been? I warded- don't remodel anytime soon, the wards are carved- [So that no one can see them, so no shinigami or other angels can decipher or alter them.
[He should nod--he manages that much--and then offer an off the cuff remark, like 'where's the tea'. But his mind hasn't caught up that far yet. It's still somewhere between the Cage where Michael is screaming, and his next step here, whatever that is supposed to be.
He leans his head against the wall and grips Break's shirt between his thumb and forefinger, concentrating on the feel of it. The very real stitching, the softness that comes with aging in a rough environment like this one. It's aging, but it's real.]
[Lucifer lets him go, examines the room. Finds the tea set, and sets it out to test if he can keep Nick's hands steady. He's satisfied that he can do that; having some control grounds him, starts gears turning again.
As he moves past Break to check for cream, he impulsively pulls Break's head back with his hand under his chin, exposing his throat. But all he does is kiss the corner of his mouth and murmur:]
[It's exactly the sort of reaction Lucifer needed. There's a trickling sense of stability which he welcomes, and he sets the cream on the table and then joins Break by the tea pot.]
[There is no exaggeration in what he's saying. Everything is gone for him now, even the last two people who wanted to get him out.]
I asked Michael to stop, and he wouldn't. And then Castiel- he killed Raphael for trying to get us out of the Cage. And now, the only demon who could have freed me again is strung up on the racks.
[He stands, and pads over, picking up his teacup and moving to stand next to Lucifer's chair. With the spare arm, he flings it around Lucifer's neck, pulling his head to rest against Break's stomach, holding him steady like that.]
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How long has it been? I warded- don't remodel anytime soon, the wards are carved- [So that no one can see them, so no shinigami or other angels can decipher or alter them.
But he looks at Break again, finally.]
Do I still stay here?
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[Yes.]
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He leans his head against the wall and grips Break's shirt between his thumb and forefinger, concentrating on the feel of it. The very real stitching, the softness that comes with aging in a rough environment like this one. It's aging, but it's real.]
Miss me?
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You're- I didn't think you'd ever come home.
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[He tries a smile, but Nick's body isn't quite ready for an expression so it doesn't quite make it.]
I always keep my promises, remember?
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[He decides, moving to the stove. Lucifer looks so ragged.]
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As he moves past Break to check for cream, he impulsively pulls Break's head back with his hand under his chin, exposing his throat. But all he does is kiss the corner of his mouth and murmur:]
I'll always come back.
[And then he lets go, and resumes cream-hunting.]
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I didn't doubt for a second.
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That makes you the most faithful man here.
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[Smiling, pouring them both their cups.]
What happened while you were gone?
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I lost.
What did I miss here?
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Nothing. Some waiting.
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[He sips the tea, looks at Break's cup as a memory finally settles clearly in his mind]
I was going to find some bees-
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You- lost? What do you mean? What does that mean?
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[There is no exaggeration in what he's saying. Everything is gone for him now, even the last two people who wanted to get him out.]
I asked Michael to stop, and he wouldn't. And then Castiel- he killed Raphael for trying to get us out of the Cage. And now, the only demon who could have freed me again is strung up on the racks.
[His voice falls lower, barely audible.]
I am never getting out.
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[Break informs him, quietly.]
I have you. And when I leave here, I will find you.
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Come here.
[Not that there's much space, it's a small table, but things are...strange to him right now. Disorienting.]
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[He can manage his usual snarkiness when he has support, when he doesn't feel like he's teetering on an edge.]
As bad as this place is, I'm glad you're still stuck in it.
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[He leans back a little, tugs on Nick's ratty green t-shirt to show him.]
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[Gravely.]
I am Satan. The poster child.
Why, do you want to wear it? We could be a pair; Juliet made me new shirts after our adventure in the Tunnels.
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[Though he's fairly sure Nick's pants, at least, would be far too long.]
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