Gotta Have Faith

Bright blue eyes were looking down into her own, and it was almost like looking up at the sky. If the sky had evil intentions. She raised a hand up, and Lucifer slowly pulled her into a sitting position. She noticed the glass and book on her bedside table, and Lucifer was only wearing a pair of loose sleep pants and a plain white tee shirt. He stayed here, next to her, the whole time she was gone. In one way it’s kinda nice to know that her body wasn’t left unprotected, but it’s also a little alarming to know that the devil himself slept next to her. Even if her soul was on a field trip.

“Did you behave?” Lucifer’s fingers lightly wrapped around her wrist as he raised her arm up higher, and he twisted around to grab the glass off the bedside table. He pressed it into her hands, and Betty greedily drank the water down. She trusts Lucifer not to poison her drink, mostly because poison would be too quick and impersonal. He wants to feel her death.

“I fed the dog and even finished washing the dishes.” A smile can convey so many different emotions, and Lucifer’s is screaming smugness. There’s something else though, like he wanted her to be…she doesn’t know. Happy about him behaving? Or proud? Lucifer tapped the end of her nose, and she forced her eyes to stay straight when they threatened to cross.

“What?” Lucifer’s head tilted to the side as he looked at her, and he’s still smiling.

“You looked dazed. Still have your head in the clouds?” Funny. She shifted around so that she was sitting next to him on the edge of the bed, and he twisted so that they were sitting hip to hip with their feet on the floor.

“Did you try to go into the basement?” Something dark flashed in his eyes, and Betty felt a little more settled. There’s the Lucifer she knows and puts up with. In all honesty, there’s nothing in the basement that she needs to hide from him. There is no way to reverse a binding spell, not the one that keeps his grace locked to her soul or them in close quarters. Only she can remove his grace and only she can separate them. (The grace has to be removed willingly, and they’ll be unbound when she dies.)

“What would I need from the basement?” She gripped his shoulder and used it to push herself into a standing position, and she twisted at the hips to listen to her back pop and to look down at him.

“I’ve got a sturdy axe down there that I’m sure you would just love,” she said and twisted around the other way. That’s better. Her body was starting to feel pretty stiff.

“The one above the cot?” She hummed an answer and continued to stretch out her lax muscles. “It complements your skull perfectly.”

“Really? It doesn’t make my cheeks look fat?”

“Just a little rosy.” His grin belonged on a shark, and Betty felt like they were back on even ground.

She shooed him out of the room then, and he went down the stairs with a quiet huff. Laz’s doggy door banged open as she was pulling her black tee shirt over her head, and Lucifer’s quiet greeting and the sound of dog food being poured into a bowl reached her as she yanked her boots off. It took some struggling to get the tight jeans off, and she sighed a little in relief once she was stripped down to just her bra and panties. One of the biggest perks of being retired, now semi-retired, is that she doesn’t have to wear tight clothes. She can wear loose dresses in soft colors, and—

“See something you like?” She looked the edge of her bedroom floor and down into the living room, where she could see Lucifer propped up against one of the couches. If he was in the kitchen where he was supposed to be, she wouldn’t be able to see him. If she took two steps back into her room, he wouldn’t be able to see her. He didn’t move, and neither did she.

“You don’t have any scars.” He took a bite out of an apple after the simple statement, and Betty looked down at her body. Her tan skin is smooth and doesn’t have a single scar on it, because she’s been very careful for the past six years. Before she retired, her body was riddled with scars. She had to wear jeans and long-sleeved shirts to avoid any stares, and she had to constantly keep her hair in her face so people wouldn’t see the long scar that cut across her left eyebrow and traced down her cheek to her lips. It’s why she keeps her hair up so much now. Because she can.

“Got rid of ‘em when I retired. Sweet little demon owed me a favor, and I cashed it in to get myself scrubbed clean. He did a good job, huh?” she asked and held her arms out. Her skin has turned golden from long days spent out in the sun, and the strong lines of her muscles have softened into curves. Not that she isn’t still strong; the muscles under her skin are still perfectly honed. Just in case.

“Where’s the demon now?” He’s still eating his apple and looking up at her like they’re discussing the weather.

“Dead.” He smiled around his next bite, and she watched the way his throat worked as he swallowed.

“You’re not completely unscathed though, are you?” He cocked a brow as he talked, and Betty quickly looked down. Her eyes got caught on the dark fabric still clinging to her skin, and she felt her lips twitch. Does her lingerie match the bruises on her throat?

“I guess not. Feel up to cooking breakfast? I’m starving,” she called down as she moved into her closet. She’s out of his sight now, but it still feels like his eyes are tracking her every movement.

“Dying always makes people hungry. I’ll make biscuits.” She shook her head at the odd situation and picked out something to wear. The dress she slid on was a pale pink with three little buttons running down the chest, and she lightly trailed her fingers along the useless decoration. As a hunter, she wore clothes for their functionality. Now she wears sundresses with buttons that it doesn’t need. She piled her hair on top of her head and revealed the thin straps holding the dress up. On a whim, she plucked out a pair of light gray leggings and pulled them on too. They stopped halfway down her calves, so she didn’t feel too confined.

Laz ran to greet her once she reached the bottom of the steps, and she took a minute to sit down and love on the big lug. He mostly held still as she wrapped her arms around him and just held on, but his tail was wagging so much that his whole furry body moved with the motion. She let him go once she heard the bacon sizzling, and her stomach quietly rumbled at the smell. She patted Laz on the head, rubbed her stomach, and walked into the kitchen. Lucifer was standing at the stove, still in his pajamas, and cooking up a storm. Nick must have been one hell of a cook. She tore her eyes away from the devil and walked over to the fridge. Her note is still taped to the freezer door, and she smiled a little as she reached up. Her phone was right where she left it, and she slowly walked over to the kitchen table.

“Smells good,” she called out as she sat down.

“The only thing Nick could do was cook breakfast and grill steak.” Looks like she was only half-right about Lucifer’s vessel.

“Remind me to buy steaks when we go grocery shopping.” Lucifer grunted in place of an answer, and Betty looked down at her phone. She doesn’t really want to do this, but she’s going to need them. She sent identical texts to Mimi and Tyler, that simply read: come to my house at 11pm and not a minute before.

“Do we have any plans for today?” Lucifer asked as he set a plate down in front of her. Two biscuits packed with sausage, bacon, and eggs. He walked off to fix them both something to drink, and Betty took her first bite. Delicious. Of course it is.

“We do actually. A lot of plans. Do you like car rides?” His brows raised at that, but he’d just taken a bite of his own biscuit so he kept quiet. “I guess it doesn’t matter, because we’re going on one. Gotta make a basement trip first. You might want to get dressed.”

“No nudity on car rides?” he asked.

“Not today. Maybe next time.” She gave him a quick wink, which only made his grin a fraction wider. She can play his game and make him think that she’s falling for his schemes, because she knows what he really wants. When she reached to grab her phone off the top of the fridge, he imagined how bright her blood would look against the pale yellow color. It doesn’t matter how nice or pleasant he acts, he’s always waiting for her death. He might be waiting patiently for now, but that doesn’t mean he’s ready to be nice. He’s only playing at being nice.

They finished their breakfast pretty quickly, and she pointed towards Lucifer’s room once they were done. He placed their dirty dishes in the sink and left the kitchen, and Betty pushed against the fridge. She knows that Lucifer tried to go downstairs, just like she knows that killing her yesterday on her orders left him feeling completely unsatisfied. She punched in her code, that Lucifer knows, and smiled at her invisible barrier. She traced a single finger over the air where the barrier was and felt it when she was allowed access. A harsh light filled the room, and the metal stairs were cold against her bare feet.

Most of the supplies that she needed were in a giant footlocker, so that’s where she went. She carefully pulled out what she needed, and most of them were placed into a good-sized messenger bag. It’s something that can blend in easily and not look suspicious, because who looks for magical supplies in a messenger bag covered with flowers? (Who looks for weapons in a free hugs shirt?) Betty shook off the errant thought and snagged a bottle filled with a thick red liquid, just as she heard footsteps on the stairs. Right on time. She grabbed a tin container and two small bottles before turning around, and Lucifer’s eyes were locked on hers.

“Do you know how to drive?” Blue eyes disappeared as he took in a slow breath, and he was smiling when he opened his eyes.

“I do now.” He’s using Nick’s memories again, but she can’t really complain this time. Not when she needs him to drive.

“Good, because we’ve got a long one ahead of us. Ready to go?” He eyed the bag hanging next to her hip and the bottles in her hands, and she smiled as she walked past him to the stairs.

“Where are we going?” She could hear him following behind her, close enough to touch, but she kept her steps steady and even. She’s not scared of the devil.

“And ruin the surprise? Go grab the teapot from the cabinet for me?” she asked they left the basement. She could feel the heat from Lucifer’s heat at her back, and she looked over her shoulder and up. Why couldn’t he have picked a smaller vessel?

“What’s the magic word?” His blue eyes are still colder than anything she’s ever come across, and she tracked down a yeti once.

“Now.” Ice cut through her as he glared, and she tipped her chin up the smallest bit. The only way to survive the devil is to never back down, and he bowed his head the smallest fraction before walking across the kitchen. Betty quickly traced the wards back over the basement entrance, slipped one of the bottles into a hidden pocket of her dress, and she was pushing the fridge back into place when Lucifer turned around.

“Why do you need a teapot?” He placed it on the counter between the sink and stove, and she sat down the tin container and small bottle next to it.

“For when we get back. Did you feed Lazarus?”

“Yes, I fed the beast. Is there anything else I can do for you?” His words were sickly sweet, and she was tempted to ask him to go fetch her shoes. There’s no point in riling him up now; she’ll wait until they’re on the road.

“No, you’ve done a good job so far. Wouldn’t want to overwhelm you.” A growl rumbled in his chest as she walked by, and she ducked her cheek close to her shoulder to hide her smile until she was completely past him. Her shoes were sitting at the foot of the bed, and she quickly slid on the sandals before grabbing her keys from the drawer of her bedside table. On a whim, she picked up a black cardigan off the back of a couch. It can get chilly riding in the Jeep. Lucifer was waiting for her on the front porch, and she stopped next to him so that they could look out across the yard.

“It’s peaceful here.” The only thing they can see from the front porch is grass, trees, and the dirt path that makes up her driveway. There’s nothing above them but an endless blue sky and fluffy white clouds.

“That’s why I chose it.” She could feel him looking at her, could even see a flash of blue from the corner of her eye, but she didn’t look over. Instead she walked down the stairs and headed towards the Jeep. She moved over to the passenger side, and Lucifer paused in front of the hood.

“Why is it yellow?” Betty looked at the bright yellow paint job and shrugged before answering, “Just wanted something bright.”

She tossed the keys over, and Lucifer caught them with a graceful sweep. Since she doesn’t lock anything, Betty swung herself up into the passenger seat and carefully placed her bag in the floorboard. Lucifer started it up a minute later, and she gave him the first direction. Turn left. They’re in for a long ride, so she leaned her head back against the seat and smiled as she felt the wind running across her skin. She loves having such an open vehicle; she can feel the wind as it rushes past her and bask in the sun a little. It’s nothing like a hunter’s vehicle, which is closed off to hide weapons and sometimes bodies. Or parts of bodies. It’s completely different, and she loves it.

“Can I turn the radio on?” She also loves the quiet, but it’s going to be a very long drive.

“Knock yourself out.”


They were a little over three hours into their drive when Betty started pulling stuff out of her bag, and Lucifer flicked his eyes over at her. Just for a moment, because he had to keep watching the road. She laid a short and very thin board over her lap, placed a single sheet of paper on the board, and set a dark bottle in the cup holder. Next she pulled out a thin paintbrush, and Lucifer felt his eyebrows raising. She’s making him drive so that she can paint? She tapped the end of the paintbrush against the paper seven times, whispered something under her breath that he couldn’t hear over the rush of the wind, and unscrewed the cap on the bottle.

“Taking an art class?” She looked up at him as she dipped the end of the paintbrush into the bottle, and the ink was a startling color of red against the white paper.

“Dragon’s blood ink and there’s a little bit of butterfly wings mixed into the bristles.” She waved her paintbrush at him before making another red line against the page, and he thought the ingredients over.

“What are you up to, Betty Fay?” Since he was stopped at a stop sign, he turned his upper half towards her and met her brown eyes head on. She hasn’t told him a single thing, and he’s tired of just blindly following her.

“You need to go straight.”

“Betty—”

“Straight ahead, Lu, and I’ll tell you.” He felt his teeth grinding against each other and felt a dull ache starting to pound in his jaw. He hates this human prison that he’s been locked away in. Everything he does hurts or has the potential to hurt; he’s constantly having to tend to its needs; he’s so weak that he can’t even get a single mortal woman to bend to his will.

“Are you going to tell me today or next week?”

“Ooh, someone is feeling feisty today.” Betty on her knees, deep cuts on her cheeks that show where tear tracks would be, arms hanging uselessly from the sockets. “Fine! I’ll tell you. No need to be so overdramatic. I’m creating a binding spell.”

“Like the one you used to bind us?” It’s good to know that if he concentrates just right, he can make sure that Betty hears him. He might be able to use that to his advantage, especially if her mental walls are falling.

“No, I only bound our physical bodies, because you don’t have a soul.” She’s doing a soul bind which is nearly impossible to forge by magic. Most soul binds are weak at best and formed by emotional attachments, like human soulmates. Strong, and conscious, soul binds have to be made by the two participants. (Gabriel is binding himself to a human; he’s taken part of a human soul and made it his own, at the expense of his grace.)

“Who are you binding?” She has to be binding herself to someone, but who? Can her body even handle being bound to something else?

“The Prophet and a hunter named Jo. You probably don’t remember her, but she was the girl killed in Carthage.”

“A lot of girls were killed in Carthage.” The screams could be heard for miles, if he had allowed them to be heard. The smell of blood and sulfur had been so thick in the air that he could taste it on the back of his tongue; could Betty taste it too?

“She was a hunter killed by a hellhound. Her mother sacrificed herself by blowing the bitches up.” He could hear the dark teasing tone in Betty’s voice and let it wash over him. Her anger is like a glass of cold lemonade on a hot day.

“I remember. Are you sure you want a dead hunter to guard the prophet?” He knows what she’s doing now, and it’s not possible. Using magic to force a soul bond is hard enough to drain even experienced witches; raising a dead body and then binding its soul forcefully can’t be done.

“You think this is my idea?” When he looked over at her, she met his eyes for barely a second before looking upwards. Heavenwards.

“I don’t think He’s up there anymore.”

“Still got the point across.” She went back to her painting, and he watched as a face appeared. Smooth brows, small nose, pointed chin. The female hunter.

“What you want to do can’t be done.” She hummed a little as she started on the girl’s hair.

“I’m pretty sure they said that about binding a human devil too, and here we are.” She reached over to pat his shoulder and fingers brushed right over his ear. Instead of pulling her hand away, she reached even farther and lightly ran her fingers over his hair once before returning to the painting.

“Dragon’s blood?” Once she starts the spell, he’ll watch her. If it looks like she might be weakening to the point of death, he’ll stop her.

“Strengthens most spells, and it’s good for binding. As for the butterfly wings, they’re good for a little bit of everything. Aiding in transformations, finding balance, helping to accept change. I need all the help I can get, right?”

“Right,” he agreed quietly. She won’t succeed, but he won’t let her fail.


Six hours into their drive, two paintings were laying on the dashboard to dry in the sun. Betty had both feet kicked up to hold the papers down, and she’s been singing along to the radio for the past two hours. Quietly, under her breath, but just loud enough for him to hear the rough cadence of her voice. She’d slid on a black jacket to ward off the chill of the wind after she finished painting, and she’s been mostly still ever since. It’s been hours of him driving and her sitting calmly next to him. All beings used to tremble in his presence and were too afraid to even look upon his face, but this woman relaxes fully and even touches him casually. A weak and mortal woman can touch him while he can’t even muster the strength to grab her thin wrist in his hand and feel the bones crumble into powder. His Father is only making him hate humans even more; how can such weak beings create so much destruction on his Father’s gift?

“Turn in at Penny’s Diner. Yeah, right here. Hungry?” He pulled into a parking space between a rusty truck and a minivan, and Betty had one hand on the door handle and was looking at him over her shoulder.

“Do we have time for this?” They’re on a schedule, he can tell that by the way her eyes darken when she looks away. What she is going to attempt to do, will happen very soon.

“Not really. Does it matter?” When she left Jeep, he followed behind her. One day, he’ll drag her broken body behind him. He looked around the diner, which had several empty booths and a few people scattered about, and Betty moved to a booth in a corner. Away from anyone else. He took his seat across from her and looked down at the menu laying on the tabletop.

“Welcome to Penny’s. Drinks?” He looked up at the older woman, with her lumpy red hair and blue eye shadow, and felt a deeper hatred for humankind. This is His greatest creation?

“I’ll take a cup of your strongest coffee, black, and he’ll have a glass of sweet tea.” Betty smiled up at the older woman and cut her eyes over at him, but he just innocently smiled back. The waitress walked off, and Betty kept her eyes locked on him. She must have heard him thinking about their waitress. “Jealous?”

“I thought we had something special,” Betty said in a slow drawl.

“You’re still my favorite.” Her eyes widened, just a bit, before she smiled at him. She’s surprised. He hasn’t singled out a human to hate in a very long time, she should feel special. She’s not just another one of the masses, she stands out. The squeak of a shoe sounded and their waitress sat down the drinks.

“What’ll it be, darlings?” The woman was holding a pad and had her pen poised, and Lucifer beat Betty to the punch this time.

“I’ll have Loco Liz’s Chalupa Platter, and she’ll take the New Guy’s Pitstop Patty Melt,” he quickly ordered with a winning smile.

“And Crystal’s Five-Alarm Burger to go,” Betty added. The waitress glanced between them with a penciled on eyebrow raised, but she wrote down what they ordered when they just kept smiling at her. Lucifer watched her walk away and could feel a sneer threatening to overtake his face. “She had cancer; that’s why she’s wearing the wig and has pencil eyebrows. When she went into the hospital, her husband left her for some college girl barely in her twenties. She works here to pay off her hospital bills, and she wears the blue eye shadow because that’s what her mother did when she wanted to feel pretty. The cancer is going to come back in six weeks. She’ll be dead in nine weeks.”

“She’s dying now?” The waitress was taking another table’s orders, a family with two young children, and smiling at a little boy with a milk mustache.

“We’re all dying now, but…yeah, she’s dying now. She knows it too; she can feel it in the way her bones ache. What do you think will last longer? The Earth or Mabel Kelley?” Betty had her chin propped on one fist while her other hand tapped out a rhythm on the table, and she looked completely disinterested in the question. Only mildly curious.

“You can’t see?” Her smile was slow and hateful, because he’s not the only one who hates Betty Fay. Sometimes he wonders which of them hates her more.

“I can see a lot of things. It only takes one person, one little event, to change everything. The future is what you make it.” It sounded like something from a bad graduation speech, and she delivered it with fake cheer in her voice. It sounded hollow. If he tried to tear out her heart, would anything be there? Or is the pulse that he longs to feel fade beneath his hands only beating out of spite?

“You’d make a good demon.” He hates demons even more than he hates humans, because demons are humans that failed spectacularly. Just like he knew they would if given the chance.

“Like you make a good human?” Their staring contest continued until their waitress, Mabel, returned. The food was placed in front of them, and the strong scent of onions and peppers was overwhelming. A large Styrofoam box was placed at Betty’s elbow with a few letters scrawled across the top, and Mabel told them to holler if they needed anything else.

“You know I’m going to have onion breath for the rest of the day, right?” Betty asked before taking a huge bite of her burger.

“Then you should keep your mouth shut until the stench wears off.” She managed to glare at him with puffed out cheeks, which he easily ignored in favor of his chalupa. He hates that his body has constant demands, but food isn’t so bad. Not when it’s done right.

As they ate, Betty told him the pasts of everyone in the diner. The secrets were whispered in between bites, and she challenged him to guess their futures based on past knowledge. Most he got right, because humans tend to be predictable, but there were a few surprises. A child that would one day lead the country into the biggest and most destructive war the world has ever seen, but only if he isn’t killed in a car accident first. There’s a werewolf sitting on a stool at the bar and eating a chicken fried steak; a second generation werewolf that has personally turned over fifty people. He can tell that Betty’s trigger finger is itching, but she won’t kill the man. She hasn’t been told to, so it’s not her business.

“Here’s the check, darlings. Anything else I can do for you?” Lucifer looked up at the older woman as Betty assured her that they were good to go. The psychic pushed their to-go box into his hands before moving off to the cash register, and he slowly stood up as Mabel started to clean their table. Betty stopped to talk to the werewolf at the bar, so Lucifer stepped outside to wait. There was no one outside, so it was infinitely better than inside. A few moments later, the waitress stepped outside with a cup of coffee in her hands. Her eyes widened when she saw him, and he smiled politely back. It felt like his skin was cracking with the gesture, but he’s playing his part. For now.

“Oh, shoot, I must have left it inside. Would you mind holding my coffee? Just for a moment?” He gripped the box of food in one hand and extended the other, and Mabel smiled as she passed the cup over and hurried off. Betty came out as Mabel was going back in, and Betty raised a brow at his full hands.

“If she could be put in a stasis, so that the cancer would stay in remission, would you do it?” Betty asked him.

“To see who would outlast who?” She shrugged, as if saying the reasoning didn’t matter, and he thought it over. Mabel Kelley will be dead in nine weeks; she’ll die alone and as a waitress. “She doesn’t contribute anything to this life. She’s simply here.”

“What does that matter? She has a life. She has a daughter that thinks of her mom as her best friend, grandsons that can’t wait to spend time with their Nonnie, as they call her. People in the community love her, they go to her for advice. When she dies, people will mourn and move on. She’ll never leave a huge impact on the world. Won’t even be remembered in a few decades. Does it matter?” She’s just another human, taking up space in the world. Her life means nothing. Her death will mean nothing. She is nothing.

“I would put her in a stasis.” She’s nothing, so what does it matter? If she lives, it won’t affect the grand scheme of things. Betty nodded, pulled a bottle out of her pocket, and dumped the contents into the coffee cup. Mabel opened the door just as Betty was slipping the bottle back into a hidden pocket on her dress, and the waitress had a cell phone in one hand.

“Thanks, darling. You got yourself a fine man here, sweetie,” Mabel said as she retrieved her cup.

“Oh, he’ll do,” Betty said with a wink at him. The waitress waved them off, and Lucifer moved back into the driver seat of the bright yellow Jeep. Betty took the food, kicked off her sandals, and put her feet back up on the dashboard. They were quiet for the first few minutes, until he couldn’t take it anymore.

“You knew that would happen,” he finally said. Betty’s head rolled back against the seat as she looked at him, and she held out her hand. When he just raised a brow and looked back at the road, she leaned over and snatched his hand away from the wheel. He had to compensate by quickly grabbing the wheel with his left hand, and he felt one of Betty’s hands holding his while fingers traced over his palm.

“I knew something would happen, and that the choice would be yours,” she said quietly. She’s not tracing the lines on his palms; she’s circling around them and creating her own lines.

“Her life means nothing.” Fingers tapped against his palm, twice, before tickling across the surface again.

“In twelve weeks, Mabel will be trying to quiet her grandsons in the backseat and will run a stoplight. She’ll t-bone another car, and that little boy in the diner will be the only casualty. He’ll never reach double digits or declare any wars. Millions of lives will be saved, because you decided to save Mabel Kelley.” Millions? He saved millions of the worthless mud monkeys? In nine weeks, Mabel would be dead, but he chose to save her. She will live long enough to kill a child, who will grow into a man capable of near genocide. Because of him.

“I didn’t know that I was saving that many. I didn’t think I was saving anyone.” Betty’s fingers slotted between his as she pressed their palms together, and she rested their now joined hands on top of her thigh. He could feel the heat from her skin through the thin material outlining her legs.

“It doesn’t matter.”