As usual, I own nothing but my own diseased brain.

. . . . .

Bam. Pow. Smack. Crunch. Thwack. Crush.

Lucifer moaned. "That," he gasped, "was not cool."

Michael shrugged. "I saw an opening, I took it."

"You don't punch your brother in the family jewels, man! That's fighting dirty."

Michael laughed. "You're the Devil, and you're complaining about me fighting dirty? Really? Besides... It's not like you need those parts anyway."

"Says you," Lucifer said as he uncurled himself from the ball he was in. "As far as Dad's inventions go, I'm kinda pissed we didn't get them."

"Ugh. Soft, wobbly bits. They get in the way."

"Heh," Lucifer snorted. "Mikey's a virgin."

"First of all," Michael said, jabbing a finger at Lucifer's face, "do not call me Mikey. Nobody calls me Mikey."

"...'Kay, Mikey."

"And second, I do believe our Father decreed that we not... do that... with human women," he said uncomfortably. "In fact, I clearly remember that rule. And I remember you being an ass and taking your friends and immediately disobeying."

"Dude, did you see some of the first women? I mean, damn. And please. Jesus couldn't even follow that rule. Mary Magdalene wasn't following him around just for her spiritual health, if you know what I mean."

Michael rolled his eyes. "That's not what she says."

"All I'm sayin' is, you don't know what you're missing, man." He immediately frowned. "And now we're stuck in here, and I can't even use what this vessel's got." He stood up, stuck a thumb in the waistband of Sam Winchester's jeans, pulled outward and looked down. "Huh. Nice. Well, shit. I could get more ass than a toilet seat wearing this guy, if I weren't stuck in here with Mikey The Wonder Virgin." He laughed again. "My vessel is not pleased with my wish to go get myself a harem."

"Your vessel isn't the dumbest little mud monkey, then. And 'more ass than a toilet seat'? You sound like Gabriel."

Lucifer punched Michael in the face. "My vessel, along with wanting very much to cockblock me, wanted me to do that to you for calling him a mud monkey."

Michael adjusted his nose a little. "Is this how we're going to pass the time here? Punching and insults?"

"Don't forget dick jokes."

. . . . .

"Rock beats scissors."


. . . . .

"Do you have an eight?"

"Ha. No. Go fish."

. . . . .

Lucifer looks up into the endless blackness of the Pit. "If we're gonna be down here for eternity, Dad, can you at least toss us some alcohol? Please? Ugh."

The firmament shook. Lucifer and Michael are two of the first creations of God, and yet the sound of His voice still nearly disintegrated the delicate eardrums of their earthly bodies. Somewhere deep inside Lucifer and Michael, Adam and Sam shook and screamed.

"No," rumbled the voice of Chuck. "You're in time out."

. . . . .

"So he's like an angel."

"No, you idiot, he's an alien."

"But there are no aliens," Michael said, cocking his head and widening his blue eyes, blinking innocently.

"No, there aren't," Lucifer sighed.

"But as a... supernatural being, he has the advantage."

Lucifer flopped back. "Michael, have you spent no time on Earth in the last fifty years?"

"Yes, I have!" he said indignantly.

"Then you should know that the human ability to to hold on to grudges and seek revenge is legendary and will win out. And you know the damn story."

"But... Superman is just cool. Very archangel-like."

"I'm telling you, Mikey, Batman can completely kick his ass."

"Didn't I tell you to stop calling me Mikey?"

. . . . .

"Dear Heavenly Father," Michael earnestly prayed, "this amount of time spent with my brother with no distractions is near-intolerable. I know the evils of things like this, but please, God, like Lucifer asked... Tequila? Please?"

"I SAID NO!" said God. "Don't you make me come down there!"

. . . . .

"So, then," Michael said through chortles, "we all convinced Castiel that he needed to hop down to Earth and retrieve, for the Garden... get this... a snipe."

Lucifer looked at his brother like he was the dumbest creature in creation.

"There's no such thing as a snipe," Michael howled with laughter.

. . . . .

"Daaaaaad," whined Lucifer, "I need a drink. My brother's annoying me."

"Fine," sighed God. "Now quit bothering me. I'm in the middle of a really important chess match with Buddha right now, and you two are completely distracting me."

"Yes sir," said Michael earnestly.

. . . . .

"Nonononono," Michael said, drunkenly, "I... I'll tell you, I'll tell you whoozh hot. That one saint. Y'know. The one with the shpear."

"Saint Teresa of Avila?" Lucifer asked, wiping his face off with the back of his hand. "The one who had the angel sex dream?"

"Hee hee, yesh," Michael said, giggling as much as a man and archangel can.

Lucifer collapsed in laughter. "I heard that was that dickhead angel of yours, Zachariah, trying to make himself feel all... more superiorer," he said with a hiccup.

Michael's face grew very serious. "It wazh. He got in so. Much. Trouble." He angel-giggled again. "Still, she wazh hoooooooot."

Lucifer poked Michael's shoulder. "You can't hold your liquor."

"I'm fine," Michael insisted. "Besides, the... the... where's the liquor gone?"

"We drank it all," said Lucifer, sadly.

. . . . .

Sixty more minutes were spent playing a stupid human game Lucifer had heard of; namely, the one where you hit a guy in the nuts, and then he hits you, and you see who the last man standing is. This is one of the many reasons that the Prince of Darkness, as dark as he might be, should not watch South Park. He does not need inspiration.

. . . . .



"Kirk, you idiot."

"Picard! He would make a terrific archangel!"

"Is that your criteria for EVERYTHING?"

Michael looked at Lucifer like he'd lost his marbles. "Of course."

. . . . .

God's chess match with Buddha went swimmingly, and they agreed everyone had won. Looking down at his first angelic creations, who were now arguing about whether Goofy was a dog or a man, He sighed, and once again was thankful that Dean Winchester had locked his kids in the cosmic playpen.

God only knows what will happen if they ever get out...