"Your mother died to save you. If there is one thing Voldemort cannot understand, it is love. He didn't realize that love as powerful as your mother's for you leaves its own mark. Not a scar, no visible sign ... to have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loved us is gone, will give us some protection forever."

- Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter

"If there are angels watching over my sons, please! Please! Protect them! Sammy! No!
Protege eum! Custodi Sammy tutus! Serva eos tutus!"

"Serva eos tutus!"

Fire was washing over the walls, grabbing at the new paint, making it peel and bubble and blacken. Azazel was gone, grinning into the night, and Dean had already grabbed Samuel and run as far as his tiny little feet could carry him. John Winchester had just given up on catching the demon, though at that moment he did not know it was such, was just running out, coughing smoke as black as it could get without being demonic.

And on the ceiling burned Mary Winchester.

Through the smokey haze, firefighters who'd arrived on the scene (far too late to save the house, of course, though they were surprisingly optimistic, he thought) would see the execrable way her mouth stretched open and her head sagged onto her neck instead of limply allowing gravity to drag it down. (Those who later received this testimony from the firefighters - John had already left - would assume this was because rigor mortis had already set in and she had died like that and was then perhaps hung in some way to the ceiling. Although, a neighbor would later mention seeing her seemingly fine and healthy and content not hours before the fire) They would cough and some would curse or speak the Lord's Name in vain. Others froze. The smartest ones would rush into the room to check the cradle, which they would be relieved to find empty. Then they would flee, most looking back in horror and rushing to some other part of the house.

They would see the silent scream, they way her eyes looked upon some terrible thing. If the air were not so hot and clouded by smoke, they would see the tears that had hung to her face, that had not fallen with her blood. They would feel the wrongness of the room, the sudden cooling, even though it burned just as brightly, the origin of the fire.

Those with eyes not yet ravaged by their profession would see, also, the gash in her pale dress, and the blood that even still dripped from it even as her skin flaked and turned to ash.

Human bodies were great big bags of liquid. As far as he was convinced, they were made up primarily of bone and blood and more of the later than the previous. And souls, but humans could not see those, either.

And if any of them had been angels (none were), those blessed by God would have perhaps seen the small boy watching the proceedings from near the crib, dressed, curiously, in black, formal attire. His hands were folded behind his back, and he stared impassively up at the dead woman. He stood there, never looking away or seeming to even notice when the few firefighters that rushed past him to the crib did so. He looked through them as much as they did him, although he was more than aware of their presence. His blond hair reflected the fire light, but he seemed untouched by the massive organism that greedily ate at the air around him.

Eventually, he would turn his head away from Mary Winchester, and look at the manger, his hands would unclasp and gently touch the wood. Even as it began to be completely consumed by fire, he overlooked it's few contents. A blue blanket that would not last as more than a curled, blackened thing in the rubble. A pillow with ducks faintly printed on it that would burn very nicely. A teddy bear, worn, but well loved (though he didn't care), and given as a special gift.

Eventually, Lucifer pulled his hands away and let the fire truly consume the house around him. Outside, the firefighters would be beating a hasty retreat, having saved all they could, and now having to watch it burn.

It was fitting he be present for this, the end of the wait.

And they had, for so long, waited.
He then spread the fire, let the sturdy house drown in it, sink into the flames.
It would be gone, completely removed in a few years, rebuilt and remade as if nothing had happened.

But it was the beginning, the real beginning, for Heaven, and for Hell, too.

He gave one last look to Mary, thanking her even though she would likely be horrified if she knew he was here.

Thank you for letting me see this, He thought.

I have waited so long for Sammuel, and you have brought him to me.

The corpse did not answer, of course. The spell Mary had enacted was accidental but ancient.

It worked only in extreme cases. And poorly, at that.

Lucifer hadn't even been pulled out in time to see Sam.
And likely he couldn't even interact with the world.

He might as well be a ghost.

Ah, well, he had bore witness, and now he would wait again, but this time, with an end in sight.

Beautiful, wonderful Sam.

Lucifer turned from Mary, cloaked as the child, and and walked barefoot through the burning house. Even if he could exist on this dimension, he'd be unmarked. Only Holy Fire would ever come close to burning him.

He watched the house begin to collapse into itself, silhouetted against the backdrop of it's brilliant pyre, beautiful and terrible and absolute.

To them. The humans.

To Lucifer it was like watching a dying ember glow.

but it was a spark.

The beginning.

He turned away finally, and let himself fall back into Hell.
The house began to recede, and the world began to stretch.

Sound ceased, suddenly compacted into an intense moment of all the dimensions pushed haphazardly together.

He looked at the small hands he'd adorned himself with.

A pity, He thought, that I chose a form to appear before Sam as
and I don't even get to see him.

Ah well.

One day.

the house disappeared, and light stretched around him. He was but an incorporeal form at the moment - he'd left his wings and the other powers his grace had afforded him behind. Such was the nature of the spell.

The light slowed, and sound crept back into the world around him.
Lucifer stilled.

He was most certainly sure that several hours ago, Hell had not looked like this.

Specifically, a Super Motel 8.

He was just feeling a little smity when he heard a baby's cry pierce the night. Soft shushing followed it, and soon the noises were soothed. Lucifer let out a soft breath, looking at the one window that glowed yellow in the night. The baby was again distressed, and weakly cried out.

A tiny voice murmured and the babe, though upset, was comforted. A harsher voice rang out, but then silence reigned. The baby gurgled, and the tiny voice was heard again.

"Shhhh, it's ok, Sammy, I got you."