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Sam was reading one of his old books again. Lucifer saw it as he phased into the room, folding his wings up behind his back as he striding towards the little table where Sam was sat. without even seeing his face, Lucifer knew the boy was upset—probably due to his father and brother again, like it often was—and so touched his shoulder gently, as to not startle him. however Sam was far too engrossed in his studies and jumped anyway.
“Sorry,” Lucifer said, retreating his hand to his side.
Sam looked Lucifer over, and with just one look Lucifer could tell the boy was stressed the fuck out. Oftentimes, when he was particularly worried about upcoming exams or assignments, he’d get this shell-shocked look, as if one tiny little thing would be enough to send him into a panic. Today, it seemed, it was no different. Lucifer pulled out a chair and sat next to the man.
“Whats wrong with you?” He asked.
Sam turned back to his work. “Nothing.”
“No, Sam, tell me. You look stressed.”
Sam laughed, though it was filled with no humour. “No kidding,” he admitted, and he pushed off the desk, slouching back in his chair. “Just… these upcoming exams, well, I have one this Friday and none of the material is clicking in my head like before. I feel like I’m going to die or something.”
Lucifer nodded solemnly. Because they were one in the same, he, too, felt Sams anxious nature: he felt the same tight coil in his chest, the same restless nag that slowly chipped away at their stomach until it felt like his own body was trying to eat him alive with worry. He understood him, and knew that there was little he could do to relieve Sam expect sit with him and talk.
Leaning over to peer at some of his work, Lucifer put his chin in his hand, “Maths?” He asked.
Sam nodded. “Yeah. its nothing too difficult, or anything—I’m pretty sure I know majority of it, just…”
“These are important grades?”
“Formative, so, kinda?” Sam shrugged, and sat back up. He started flipping through his book, which Lucifer saw held a buttload of practice exam papers and whatnot. “I mean, I’ve got straight As if you exclude that last assignment—that which I haven’t even gotten my mark back for—so I’m really hoping I can keep my streak up.” Sam sighed heavily then and flopped his head down onto the desk, turning to the side so he could still speak with his cheek mushed. “I mean, I probably shouldn’t be worrying as much as I am, because year 12 work is just a couple weeks away, those are the things that actually count, and yet…”
“I understand,” Lucifer said, leaning forward a bit so that he wasn’t looking down on Sam. “Its not the same as your situation, but when I was in Heaven still, and my brothers would have their trials—those of spear matches and healing, things we’d been taught to do since we were fledglings—I was also nervous.”
“Really?” Sam rose a brow. “Doesn’t seem like you, the Lucifer, would ever be nervous.”
Lucifer smiled. Humans were always so quick to assume those stories were true. It was cute. “Yes, I got nervous back then,” he said. “I was my Fathers favourite, as you know, so unlike my brothers, I too had this weight on my chest: the weight to do better then them, or at least not make as many faults as they did, it was a cruel thing, because my Father loved us all equally, and didn’t seem to hold any expectations higher then those of my brothers for me. Yet, I still felt it.”
Sam nodded. He sat straight up again. “So, what,” he waved his hand around, “Are you going to conclude with something like, they don’t really care that much, and the only one your stressing about is your own expectations, or something?”
“Perhaps.”
“Seems like that’s where you were going.”
“Well?”
Sam shrugged. He turned back to his work. He didn’t speak for a moment, until a question piqued his interest, and he leaned over. The tightness in his chest was enveloping now, and alongside, a memory of someone whom Lucifer had no privacy to—some girlfriend, boyfriend, whoever—came rushing into Sams mind. Before Lucifer could even say anything, Sam was feeling it: that clawing in his chest, that never went away, only subsided. He had no idea what to do. Really. And Sam—for he said this to himself, but Lucifer was just as much as him as anyone could ever get, so he thought it too—I can’t be doing this, I can’t cry, not in public; I have study do to, I need to go for a job interview in a couple hours.
Sam stilled for a moment. Staring blankly. Before he breathed in deep, struggling, pushing the feelings away. He glanced over at Lucifer as he rubbed his eyes. “What?” He asked, when clearly Lucifers emotions shone front-first.
Lucifer gave him a frown.
Sam laughed. “I’m fine. Sorry. I don’t…”
Lucifer gave him, again, another look. He understood Sam more then he wanted to—longing was also a troubling factor of his life. Though—and Sam knew this very briefly—he was the Devil. So, he said: “Sam. I understand. But you cannot do this to yourself: pitying yourself, being distracted by past actions. They’ve already been done.” He leaned over and tapped Sams paper, which he hadn’t touched ever since he and Lucifer started talking. “Do your work, yes? In a few moments, it’ll be like it never happened. You can cry about it later, once all the important things are out of the way.”
Sam wanted to bite back, Lucifer could tell, as the boy kept postponing his breakdown over trivial matters—wrong place, wrong time, more often then anything upcoming that needed an immediate clear headspace—but he didn’t. Instead, Sam breathed in deep, chest puffing out, and began his next question again. In a couple hours he would be semi-confident on majority of the topics, but the close-knit feeling of his chest caving in would not ease, not one bit, until the exam was over. Even then, more exams would be forthcoming, so his free time would be swamped in worry.
The cold was nice, Lucifer thought, leaning back to watch Sam work. The shivers up the boys skin… his scars, hidden by t-shirt, purple-cold… his leg, shaking… his emotions, rendered useless.. his gut, anxious… The cold, what a wonderful blessing to keep ones mind focused in stifle times.