otherways - Lucifer - 1032 AD - caught

[i_vanquish_evil]

He wakes up in a small, dank basement of a place, the rough blanket still his only covering; hands and feet still bound together. Man was not really meant to be tied up for quite this long. His fingers are starting to go numb and he's not exactly sure he can feel his toes anymore.

And it's cold.

He hears murmurs in the distance... men, talking... in Latin. He Listens and tries to stay still, but it's so cold, and he's still naked, that he's shivering and his bonds are rattling and the blanket is scuffing on the floor. The sounds are oddly, louder than he thinks they should be.

And it's still cold.

He considers moving so his ass isn't on the cold floor, but that would make too much noise and uncover other parts that should stay beneath the blanket. He's so cold and he can hear the voices moving closer. One of them sounds like it's saying "The prisoner is awake" but he can't be sure; his teeth are chattering so hard, he's not getting all of the words quite right. For all he knows, the voice might have been in his head and telling him that fish live in trees.

And it's so very cold.

So cold that he doesn't care if fish live in trees or that he is a prisoner. If fish live in trees, this isn't real and if he's a prisoner, they'll probably kill him. At this point, he'd welcome the reprieve. He would rather be dead than live for centuries without Azazel - again. They had survived nearly five centuries - then suddenly the Order found them again? Someone or something had tipped the Order off, whether or not he and Azazel had been careful - they hadn't; Azazel had insisted upon returning to Rome - was not the point, the fact that one group of men felt they were in charge of dictating two people's lives and doing so by utilizing whatever means they deemed necessary was ridiculous and, in Lucifer's mind, downright unjustified.

And cold.

One of the men approaches the cage and pokes his head. He growls and snarls, non-verbally daring him to do that again. Wisely, the man backs away and pretends not to hear Lucifer's question. One of the others approaches the cage and snaps, "What was that?"

"I said, what gives you the right to rip me from my home, throw me in a cage and deny me food or drink?" He's quite proud of himself for keeping his teeth from chattering as he spoke.

The two men laugh. "The right? We have been given a duty by God to carry out this plan. You and your fallen henchman are not to be together. It is written that you will be separated."

"Written where?" he snarls, demanding proof.

"It is written." Is all he is ever told from that point on; no matter what he asks or how he asks it.

Eventually, he is given food and drink, but never clothing and the only additional blankets he is ever given are only those brought in to replace his current one. Time has no meaning for him as he sits and waits. Chilled to the bone and starving, thirsting, wanting to be anywhere else; but here, in this cage, he must sit.

******

One morning - he assumes it's morning, since someone is banging on his cage, insisting he wake - he hears a voice, quieter, calmer than the usual guards.

"Please, is that truly necessary? A sinner he may be, surely, but there is no need to treat him like an animal," the voice speaks to the guard.

Trying to open his eyes, he finds that he is much too weak to attempt such a daunting feat, much less sitting up to actually see his new visitor. He falls back to his side, curled up beneath the meagre blanket, shivering with cold, exhausted to the point of almost not being able to sleep.

He hears a gasp shortly before more words, "My God, what have you done to him?" There is a series of babbling excuses before those are cut short with another word from a man he can only assume ranks higher than the guards who had been handling him up until now. "Open the cage." An order obviously met with resistance, since it is repeated a short time later, this time followed. He hears the cage door open, but makes no moves toward it - he can't.

He hears a soft sigh and what sounds like the man shaking his head. "Get him out... carefully. Take him to the infirmary."

******

When next he wakes, he is not, in fact, in an infirmary, but in a bed that feels like the most comfortable thing since he had last been with Azazel... whenever that had been. He blinks himself awake and peers around at his surroundings - humble, but comfortable.

A soft voice meets his ears from several feet away. "You have decided to wake. This is good. We feared you might be beyond what we could do to help."

He blinks again and groans as he moves and every muscle in his body screams in pain. "W-where am I?" He's more than certain he's no longer in Rome and he's more than certain a number of years have been left behind him. He'll figure that part out later.

"You are in my home. Such that it is."

"Yes, I understand that, but where?" he asks, making one last valiant attempt to sit up before he gives up and just lays in the bed.

The man tuts at him and presses a soft, wet cloth to his face. "You should not move yet. You were not well when I found you. You are still not yet well enough to move. This is unfortunate, as I'm not sure how you will earn your keep if you cannot work, but we will figure that out once you are well enough. Now, rest. I will check on you again when night falls."

He waits for the man to leave, then he groans. "I'm a slave again." He sighs and falls back into sleep.