Nicholas Scratch

In the privacy of Nick Scratch's apartment, Lucifer rifles through the detritus of Scratch's life. He picks through the contents of his wallet, flips through the photographs and videos saved to the sleek phone that he finds in the pocket of Scratch's jeans. He finds that he can't look at Sabrina Spellman's face without an all consuming rage bubbling in his guts; he imagines that it will receed when he puts her in her rightful place, crowned and obedient, whether she likes it or not.

But first there's some fun to be had here, burning down the lives that these children have made for themselves. Why should Sabrina think that she can defy him, seek to imprison him like a common demon, and get away without punishment?

He'll make them all suffer before he's done.

It's all going so well, until the moment when it all falls apart. He'd stood there with the others, aware of all of the glamour laced around the like threads of gold, watching Sabrina and the Dark Lord dance, unable to tell, in that moment, which one of them shone brighter. It was like they were both bleeding light. When the Dark Lord had come to Nick with his request, he'd been in a different form, and it had never occurred to Nick, never in his life, that he could be so...beautiful.

It makes sense though. When he thinks about it.

When the others start chanting, Nick starts chanting too, repeating the words that he's learned by heart, that he knows in his muscles, in his bones. A spell to bind the devil; an incantation to beat him at his own name.

By the time Lilith sends the glamour up in smoke, by the time Lucifer catches on, it's too late. The trap's been set.

"I told you what would happen if you defied me again," he spits and something inside Nick, something primal and primate, wants to run away and hide somewhere deep and dark and secret. Sabrina doesn't back down though. She's brave and brilliant, in her crown; she's blazing light. She is, without a doubt, the most beautiful thing that Nick Scratch has ever seen.

But he's always thought that, hasn't he?

"Remember my name!" she says, "Remember it was me - Sabrina Spellman - who beat you, Lucifer Morningstar."

Ambrose sends the Acheron Configuration skittering across the floor and light flares before it dies and Lucifer Morningstar, Satan, the Dark Lord himself, is gone without trace.

It feels like his heart is going to burst in his chest. He's so proud of her. He loves her so much. Even if she never wants him close to her ever again, that's a thing that's always going to be true.

"Well planned, Spellman," he says.

"Yes," says Zelda. "Edward would have been proud."

And then it doesn't matter what anyone else would have said, what anyone else thinks, because the Acheron jumps and shudders in Sabrina's hand and she cries out like she's been burned, and then the thing explodes into all of these pieces and there he is, once again, beautiful and terrible in his fury.

"You try and try to defeat me! I am the great Satan, that no prison may contain!"

He surges forward towards Sabrina and then, just as suddenly, stops, and Nick can feel the power coming off Lilith in waves. How did they ever mistake her for anything other than what she so clearly was? How stupid were they?

"Hold that nasty thought! I can't restrain him for long. We'll need a better prison. A stronger one."

And what she says is true - that the most perfect prison ever created was one of flesh and bone, all of the shit and blood and wonder that went into human bodies, witch or mortal. Bodies were miracles, mazes, and Nick knows, in that moment, what he has to do next. The only choice he has, really. A way to make up for everything that he's done wrong, every step he took away from the girl in front of him. When Sabrina insists that it has to be her, there's a chorus of disagreement, but nobody's voice is as vehement as Nick's own.

"Absolutely not! I'm the best binder and conjurer since Edward Spellman; if anyone can keep him trapped, it's me."

He can feel the relief coming off everyone except Sabrina, which makes sense too; who did he ever belong to, before he belonged to her? He looks at her, a tear overspilling her lashes and rolling down her cheek, and it feels like his heart is going to burst. It feels like he can't breathe for loving her, like there's no room in his body for anything else.

"I love you, Spellman…" He says, the first time he's ever said it, to anyone, his whole life. He didn't even know that he could feel it, not like this. "You taught me how to love."

The words come back to him. Body. Darkness. Hold. Hold. Hold. Palace. Prison.

He hits his chest to finish the incantation and there's this rush of darkness, this roaring noise in his ears and he drops down to his knee, and he's fighting it, he's fighting so, so hard, because he's never wanted anything in his life, he's never wanted anything like he wants her to be safe, and...and….

"Nick? Nicholas?"

He hears her say his name, as if from a long way away, but he can't see anything, can't make out anything except the vaguest hint of gold in the darkness, gold that might be her hair or her dress or her crown, and then he hears Ambrose (he thinks) cry something about sleep, and he's gone then…

Nothing. For a long, long time.