35. Original Play, Small Substitutions

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35. Original Play, Small Substitutions

"Lucifer!" Sam bangs on the closed bedroom door. I swear the door practically vibrates from the obnoxious rock music playing from the other side. Since Lucifer's drama king exit, he's holed himself up in a room and has refused to come out. "Y'know, sometime you're gonna have to come out and...talk to...God."

We don't receive an answer. Sam throws up his hands.

"It's like the worst episode of Full House ever," Dean mutters.

Our ears get a break when the music stops. But we still get another nuisance from the other side of the door, aka, Lucifer's voice: "If Dad has something to say to me, I'll hear it from him! Until then, I'll be in my room."

"It—" I try, but the rock music starts up again. It sounds even more obnoxious now. "It's not your room."

"It's my room," Sam tries pathetically. He bangs on the door a few more times.

"Well, what did we expect?" I huff. "Whatever. There's only one way this is gonna stop. Chuck needs to hash it out with him." I rub my temples. If Lucifer wasn't in Cas's body, I'd kill him right now. That music is grating on my last nerves.

"Okay, well, we gotta find him first," says Dean. "We just gonna play scavenger hunt?"

"We may have to." I shrug, leaving Sam's closed bedroom door.

I pick up where Chuck is just by the smell of pancakes. This must be a pregnancy side effect. Or I'm just starving. I'm the first one into the kitchen, and sure enough, Chuck is there making pancakes. Freaking God himself is in the bunker making pancakes.

This is the kind of shit you just can't make up.

"You got an ear available?" I ask the back of Chuck.

"All the time." I hear him sigh over the sizzle. "If you're going to talk to me about what I think..."

"You know it's inevitable." I walk to the table and lean against it, my brothers take seats. "He's being stubborn, but so are you."

"How am I the stubborn one?"

"Well, clearly there's unresolved issues between the two of you, if that awkward tension earlier is anything to go by." I rap my fingers on the table. "The longer you two act like this, the less time we've got to figure out a way to stop your sister."

"Jo's right," Sam sides with me. "Talk to him."

"Won't do any good," says Chuck.

"Why not?"

"Because I can't give him what he wants."

"And what's that?" asks Dean.

"What everyone wants. My sister, my children, you humans—an apology. A big, wet 'I'm sorry.'"

"Well, so give it to him. It's not like he's askin' for a weapon, or for Hell, or for Heaven. He's askin' for words."

"I can't say I'm sorry if I'm not." Chuck places plates of pancakes in front of us. "What he wants an apology for, I did it for humanity. For the world. Look, Lucifer wants what everybody wants: Amara gone. 'kay? Let's just give him a little time to cool off."

I scoff, noticing the mug Chuck is sipping out of. World's Greatest Dad, huh? Some would beg to differ.

"Okay, well, I don't know if you've noticed, but a little time is not something that we have," says Dean. "The end is frickin' nigh."

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