Revolution - MightBeAWriter - Lucifer (TV) [Archive of Our Own] (2024)

Chapter 1: I Want to Help

Chapter Text

The first thing Lucifer had done when he’d returned to Hell at Rory’s request had been to evaluate and tweak the existing Hell Loops toward treatment rather than torture. All of them. That alone had taken thousands of years of backbreaking, heart-wrenching effort, broken only by his occasional visits topside to get Linda’s advice on certain loops, clandestine visits to Chloe, and to pick up some incredibly boring books on the subjects of guilt and therapy techniques.

The visits with Chloe had been a balm to both their weary souls throughout the years (for her) and millennia (for him). Once the loops had been set to their new normal, he’d taken an entire weekend and swept her off to a retreat. The nearly 18-year old Trixie (who was starting to prefer Bea as a nickname, though her mother still slipped out of habit) enjoyed having the apartment to herself, while a 5-year-old Rory had indulged in a weekend of horror movies and junk food with her favorite aunts.

Then the real work had started. Hundreds of thousands of years, first with the tweaked loops: finding the chinks and roots of the occupants’ guilt and then in endless one-on-one or group sessions to come to terms and address those roots. The progress he’s made is fulfilling, but also a crushing burden for Lucifer to bear. These people, these souls… as he helps them come to terms with what they had done in life (or in many cases had done to them in life), they often become his friends in the process. Just as on Earth, he can find common ground and understanding with many… but slowly, inevitably they earn their redemption and vanish in a blaze of Heavenly light. He never sees them again, save for brief occasional glimpses on his forays to speak to Amenadiel regarding The Arrangement.

The Arrangement had come into being over their conversation at Lux before he’d left, starting with Amenadiel’s idea to have their siblings walk the Earth among humanity to gain some understanding of them. Once Lucifer had realized his calling, he’d gone back to his brother with a suggestion– a deal of sorts. There was a literal backlog of billions of souls in Hell, and only one Devil to try to guide them to redemption. Lucifer’s idea had been simple: once a sibling had gained appropriate insight into humanity, give them the further option of helping him clear the backlog of redeemable souls in Hell. In addition, Amenadiel would work from his new position as God to restructure the framework that governed souls being sent to Hell for feeling an overabundance of guilt for inconsequential things, or feeling undue guilt for circ*mstances completely outside their control rather than for acts or decisions they had actually committed.

Another hundred thousand years passed before Lucifer had followed up, only to be put off by an impatient Amenadiel.

“I’m sorry, Brother, but they’re just not finding their way as quickly as I thought they would. It’s been a battle to get them to stay and put in the work, even with Linda’s help acclimating them.”

So Lucifer had outsourced some help in the form of the demons that had volunteered to attend Maze’s wedding– the ones willing to learn more about Earth, and expose themselves to the emotional growth that Mazikeen had experienced. Maze and Eve had carefully mentored and monitored them while they’d learned, but the project had only been a lukewarm success. Their growth had gone so well that many of them were reluctant to return to Hell, even knowing it had been changed in their absence. Of the twenty that had volunteered for the experiment, only half decided to return to help their former King. (Really, he should have seen that coming– even a reformed demon isn’t necessarily altruistic.) Lucifer puts them to monitoring loops: weeding out the ones that had finally reached the root of their guilt and were ready for their one-on-one sessions with the former Devil.

He struggles on. When the cycle of redemption and loss gets to be too much, he escapes for a few much-needed hours with the love of his immortal life. He listens raptly to her funny stories and tearful rants and they wrap themselves around one another until they can’t tell where one begins and the other ends. She listens to his trials and successes with his souls, and they don’t let go until the very last moment before he absolutely has to leave again. Every single parting leaves him feeling somehow both renewed and destroyed all over again.

And the souls continue to pour in, drowning in their guilt.

*

Finally, half a million years after his restructuring began, Azrael arrives at his office door with shy Raphael in tow. The tiny, dark-haired angel had nearly been lost in the shadow of her sister’s smoky wings until Azrael had stepped aside and urged her forward.

“I… I want to help, Lucifer.” She lifts her trembling chin and her emerald green eyes glitter with determination despite the fear shining brightly within their depths. “There isn’t need for much healing in the Silver City, but… but here I can do something useful.”

As it turned out, Raphael had spent most of her time on Earth with Linda, and had absorbed much of her knowledge and techniques, much to Lucifer’s delight. Raphael’s timid demeanor, however, rules her out for many of the rougher or more volatile soul sessions. Lucifer gratefully accepts her offer of help, settles her in her own office, and assigns her the souls that drive themselves to Hell through no fault of their own. Her gentle methods work wonders with these souls, but the time she needs to spend inside the loops with them– showing them exactly how wrong their perceptions are– take a heavy toll on her morale, and Lucifer finds that he has to send her away regularly or his tiny, timid sister would be in danger of burning herself out.

So, Raphael becomes his unofficial liaison to the Silver City. Unfortunately a largely ineffective one, since she is so soft-spoken that no one truly listens to her there. Lucifer always makes sure to follow up her visits with one of his own if there is something he absolutely needs his Godly brother to address, though even then he often has to find his own makeshift solution. It seems that Amenadiel is having just as much trouble balancing his duties of running the universe and maintaining a family as their father had, though admittedly (according to Linda), he was at least present for Charlie’s more important benchmarks of growing up.

Lucifer chews his tongue and works very hard not to be bitter that his brother is allowed to step away from his duties to be present for his son on occasion, while Lucifer is forced to keep his distance from his entire family in order to preserve the daughter that he’s already met and learned to love. Watching from afar as she grows to hate him for his absence tears at his heart and soul, even when he remembers that it’s all at her behest.

“Promise that you won’t change anything! That you won’t… change me.”

No. He’d given his word. He could be– would be– strong, for her. They could be strong for her. His daughter loved who she had become when the time loop had caught up to her, and as much as it pains him to be separated from them all, he knows that she wasn’t wrong– it is just a blip in eternity.

But that doesn’t make it hurt any less. It doesn’t make it any easier each time Chloe clings to him, sobbing and begging him not to leave again after their stolen moments, or lessen the pain when it’s his turn to hold her tight and plead to be able to stay. They take turns being the strong one, supporting one another through their painful separation the best way they can, and each time Chloe is a little more weary, a little older, a little more angry– but not at him.

Never truly at him, though he bears the brunt of it at times. He’s wiser now, in the ways of the inner workings of the mind, and he can recognize transference and denial. They’re both angry at the untenable situation they’ve been placed in, but their strength is fed by the memory of their daughter pleading with them to honor her. To preserve her as she was, as she will be, in just a few more Earth decades. Another half a million years or more for Lucifer himself.

*

One day he opens his office door and finds a vaguely familiar young man standing in the ashy corridor. He shrugs away his fluffy silver wings and grins a lopsided smile, his teeth shining dimly against the dark skin of his lean face. Intelligent brown eyes peer up at him eagerly from beneath a close-cropped mop of tight curls.

“Hello Uncle,” the young half-angel greets cheerfully, “Mom said that you told her that I should look you up once I was old enough to get into strip clubs.”

“Charlie?” Lucifer breathes disbelievingly, a slow smile spreading across his face. “What on Earth are you doing here? Does your mother know you’re here?”

He glances to his left, where his current session attendees are looking on curiously.

“All right, folks, early day today. Let’s… consider what we’ve discussed today, and we’ll pick up tomorrow, shall we?” He waves his hand without waiting for their response, sending them back to their altered Loops and stepping back to gesture Charlie inside.

His nephew looks around with wide eyes, a small smile teasing his thin lips. “Does Mom know you modeled your office after hers?”

“I wasn’t sure if she would be flattered or horrified, so no, she does not,” Lucifer allows Charlie to pick his seat first before settling himself across from him eagerly. “What brings you down here, Nephew? Surely, you don’t need my help getting into clubs.”

“Yeah, not really,” the boy laughs, leaning back and crossing his ankle over his knee casually. “I’ve been running wild around Lux since I could walk, the only difference now is that I can actually drink.”

“And of course, once you’ve experienced Lux, why would you ever want to slum it elsewhere, eh?” Lucifer grins mischievously, his eyes lighting with pride. He’d been able to pop into Lux occasionally, while topside and waiting to see if Chloe could peel herself away from her life for a few hours to spend time with him, and Amenadiel (and later, Eve) had consulted him regarding the updates that had taken place over the years. To Lucifer’s delight, Lux still holds its place of honor as one of the premiere clubs in Los Angeles. “What brings you to my door, then? I’m afraid I’m a bit out of practice at granting favors, but I could consider an exception for my nephew.”

“Well… I guess you could look at it as a favor, if that’s the only way I can get my foot in the door,” Charlie looks at him uncertainly, and Lucifer studies his features. He recognizes him from the photos that Linda has shown him over the years, but he’s grown a lot since then. Childishly exaggerated features have evened out and smoothed into an ageless structure not unlike his father’s, though with finer nuances contributed by his lively mother. “I’m enrolling in grad school. I want to be a therapist like mom, with a specialty in cognitive and perceptual psychology. I thought maybe, since mom isn’t practicing anymore, if I share my learning resources with you, you might let me help you out down here?”

“You want to intern in Hell?” Lucifer laughs delightedly, “You can’t be serious? I can’t even get my own siblings– well, save for one– to come down here and help me with this eternal backlog, and so far nothing has been done to cut down on the numbers of souls that get filtered down here for only harboring guilt for things that have happened to them.”

“That’s exactly what I want, Uncle,” Charlie deadpans, and the smile fades from Lucifer’s face at the seriousness of his expression. “Mom… she still holds a lot of guilt for giving up my half-sister at birth. I’m… I think she might end up here, if Dad doesn’t intervene, or fix things soon.”

“He wouldn’t dare let her send herself here,” Lucifer growls, and a warmth kindles in Charlie’s cautious eyes.

“He sure hasn’t been around much lately, I can tell you that,” his nephew leans forward, elbows on his knees with fingers laced loosely between them. “There’s been loads of times where I’ve prayed, but haven’t received any kind of response for weeks– like last time Mom was in the hospital. I don’t know for sure if he’d even notice when her time comes.”

Lucifer hisses in dismay. He’d thought Amenadiel’s inattention was only for him, or for Hell in general. Anger wells, flaming brightly within his heart, one abandoned son coming to the defense of another. “What’s got him so bloody busy then, that he can’t even answer his own son?”

“I don’t know, he’ll only say he’s busy when he does finally show up,” Charlie shakes his head, his mouth twisting into a wry approximation of a smile. “If I get angry about it, he’ll only snap something about how at least he does show up, unlike–” Charlie’s eyes widen and he straightens suddenly, recalling who he’s speaking to. He pulls in an alarmed breath, and Lucifer raises a placating hand, working hard to bury the hurt that wants to engrave itself onto his expression. “Oh, Uncle Luci, I’m sorry… I didn’t mean…”

“I know you didn’t Charlie, it’s all right.” Lucifer pulls in a breath to replace the air that had been driven from his lungs at the inadvertent accusation. “You’re not wrong, after all. I take it that you know, then. Since you’re here.”

“Mom told me a few years ago. I thought it would be hard, keeping it from Rory, but…”

“Let me guess, she never talks about me?” Lucifer’s voice is tight and he picks up his glass of water, taking a deep drink to give himself time to regroup. It only tastes faintly of ash. Lucifer has learned a lot during his time as Hell’s Healer, including how to insulate their working and living areas from the worst of Hell’s atmosphere, allowing food and drink to be very nearly enjoyable. The water has an unpleasant tang, but no worse than heavy mineral water on Earth. Charlie shifts uncomfortably in his seat at the silence, and Lucifer chuckles darkly. “It’s okay, I know she’s furious. It’s… the price we all have to pay to preserve who she was when I first met her. Who she became– will become– once she’s come to know me. I think… I hope she forgave me by the time she returned to her time.”

“From what Aunt Chloe told me, she had. Or she will?” A flicker of confusion crosses his face. “Time travel is screwy.”

“It bloody well is,” Lucifer laughs again, lightness returning with some effort. “What kinds of gifts did you wind up with, nephew? Anything fun?”

“Not so much fun, but… maybe useful.” White teeth gleam again as he grins, “At least with what I want to do. Empathy. I can… read emotions. Mom thinks if I concentrate I might be able to influence them, too, but… that doesn’t really feel ethical, you know?”

Lucifer nods absently, considering. “That could be spectacularly useful down here, at truly getting to the root of souls’ guilt. Also, if you decide it fits within your moral framework, perhaps you could use it to influence some of the more difficult souls to consider their actions differently.”

Charlie looks thoughtful, then his smile widens. “Does that mean I can help?”

“Come on then, let’s take you for a tour. I’ll introduce you around and you can consider your options.”

*

Fifty-thousand years later, Lucifer doesn’t know how he ever managed without Charlie’s cheerful presence, and access to his textbooks. He brings with him a breath of life to stir the Halls of Hell with each visit, and Lucifer looks forward to their talks and collaborations eagerly.

The day Squee barges into his office during a rather large group session for drunk drivers, everything changes again.

“Lord Lucifer, you need to come, now.” Squee had changed immeasurably during his time on Earth under Maze’s tutelage. He’d gone from being the obsequious little weasel that everyone hated to being Lucifer’s right hand once he’d returned to Hell to help with the rehabilitations. As such, Lucifer doesn’t hesitate to follow the demon as he leads him to a new cell. A door not unlike his own office.

His face crumples in grief as he glances at Squee, who nods somberly. With a sigh, he enters the Loop.

Sitting through Linda's Loop is the hardest thing he's had to do in millennia, but he knows now from experience with Daniel and a few others that he needs to witness a few runs-through of an uninterrupted loop to take in all the potential reasons for the Loop in the first place.

It runs the gamut, starting with typical petty guilt… not feeling sad when her ex-husband had passed, or taking the last bagel from the office tray a few too many times. But Linda has her share of deep, soul-weighing guilt as well.

Never telling anyone about the horrible things that her Uncle Edwin had done. Walking away from her newborn daughter at the tender age of 17. Tiny failures as a mother to Charlie… inconsequential in the long run of shining successes. And lastly, sitting petrified and unresponsive as her friend and patient revealed his raw truth to her, effectively abandoning him in his time of crisis to tend to her own.

When Lucifer witnesses this he freezes the loop, unwilling and unable to allow it to go any further without addressing this unfairness.

"Doctor, I'm afraid I can't let this stand."

Linda stands slowly, blinking at the two Devils facing her, one sitting on her couch with a hopelessly resigned expression, the other standing near the door to her office, eyes dull with grief and regret.

"Lucifer?" Linda's soul has taken on the appearance of her early thirties, so she looks only a few years younger than when Lucifer had known her best. It allows him to read her confusion clearly, and it feels as though a blade is twisting in his heart.

"Thank you, Elgar. Nicely done with my face, you can take the rest of the day." Lucifer speaks quietly, and the demon on the couch nods silently and removes himself from the Loop. As the door clicks softly closed behind him, Linda’s eyes well with tears. The Devil opens his arms and his friend and former therapist darts forward to be welcomed into his embrace. She sobs quietly into his lapel as he holds her, his broad hands rubbing soothing circles across her trembling shoulders. He leans down to rest his cheek against the top of her head until her sobs subside into occasional sniffles. He’d forgotten how very tiny she is, even smaller than little Raphael. “Linda, darling, not that I’m unhappy to see you… but why are you here? You don’t belong here. This…” he sighs, gesturing around the Loop version of her office and looking forlorn, “Linda, this wasn’t your fault. I never should have–”

“No!” She bursts out vehemently, startling him into silence as she looks up at him, watery hazel eyes searching his sorrowful dark ones as her chin juts with determination. “I failed you here, Lucifer, you needed me, needed my help, and I… I left you to flounder alone. But I’m not letting that happen now. Amenadiel…”

“Yes, where exactly is that Godly goon?” Lucifer growls, “Why was He not at your side? Charlie told me you were unwell last time he was here, and that’s been… well. Quite a long time here. There should have been more than enough time for AmenaGod to make His way to your side.”

“He’s been distant,” Linda murmurs, resting her cheek numbly against his chest. “For a long time, now.”

“Well, m’dear, I’m here.” Lucifer huffs a quick breath and wraps his long fingers gently around her shoulders, pushing her away from him and giving her a soft shake. “Between your understanding and my practical experience, we’ll have you out of here and enjoying waffles and pudding in the Silver City with Daniel and Charlotte before you know it. Let’s get a wriggle on, then, eh?”

He pulls his notepad from his jacket pocket and briskly flips it open to a fresh page, gesturing for Linda to choose a seat. He may have a near-eidetic memory, but he’s found that sometimes looking over his notes helps him connect things that had previously seemed utterly unrelated. It gives him a grudging respect for his Detective’s penchant for poring over the files of her cases so many times… but not nearly enough to admit that to her. It’s still boring. He flourishes his pen toward the furniture arrangement in an invitation to sit. “Now, Doctor, where would you like to start? We can’t have you hanging around any longer than necessary, my nephew would never forgive me.”

Linda smooths her dark plum pencil skirt and sits primly in her chair, and Lucifer’s lips quirk up at the corner as he sits on the familiar couch where his Doppelganger had been moments ago. They gaze at each other and a sudden flash of understanding blazes between them. Lucifer sits back, his eyes widening in dismay. “Linda, no…”

“I know what you’re doing down here, Lucifer, and I know how overwhelmed you are.” She leans forward, hazel eyes intent on his as he starts to shake his head in denial. “I want to help people, and I can’t do that from Heaven, can I?”

“Doctor, you don’t belong here,” he gazes at her beseechingly, gesturing to the Loop surrounding them, “Don’t you want… you were terrified of winding up here! Why would you ever–?”

“You’ve told me a little about what you’re trying to do. Charlie’s told me stories, too. How Amenadiel has refused time and time again to help by reworking the system. You need help, Lucifer, and I can do it. I want to do it.”

“I’ve a sinking feeling that your offspring and my brother may have a few things to say about that, darling,” Lucifer closes his notebook with a dull thwap and crosses his legs. “You know that I’m all for Team Free Will, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to agree with them… you don’t belong here, and you know that. Why have you clung so tightly to these… these petty little grievances?”

“It’s the only way I could help,” Linda admits, a sly smile stretching her lips. “I’ve already been therapist to the Devil, even when he was almost God. The only way to top that is to help restructure Hell, and I fully intend to do whatever I can.”

He spends the next few decades trying to talk her out of her conviction, but he inevitably gives in and assigns her patients to counsel. He can’t argue with her, after all, he does need all the help he can get. Even with Raphael taking the truly guiltless souls and a few of the easier-to-handle guilty ones, his backlog is mind-bogglingly immense. However, it doesn’t make the confrontation easier when a distraught Charlie appears in his office with reddened eyes and a tear-streaked face. “Uncle, she’s not there! She’s not… Tell me she’s not…”

“She’s not in a Loop, nephew, but neither can I get her to leave,” He waves his hand and the former child celebrities therapy group members are all teleported back to their tweaked Loops. “She is adamant that I allow her to help, so I’ve set her some of our tougher customers that are still on the redeemable side to give her something to do while we were waiting for you. I’m hoping you can talk some sense into her.”

The young nephil spends the next two centuries trying to convince his mother that she should be in Heaven instead of toiling in Hell to help redeem souls to no avail. Eventually, he too accepts the inevitable, and the Devil, the Healer, the Doctor, and their Intern settle down to work against immeasurable odds.

*

Nearly a millennium later, after Raphael departs for her regular periodic Official Visit to the Silver City, Amenadiel arrives in a thunderclap of wrath and grief. Lucifer feels his presence and huffs an annoyed breath, apologizing to his small group of Spanish Inquisitors as he cuts their session short.

“Luci, what are you thinking!” He bellows as he crashes through the office door with the strength and fury of a raging flood. “You can’t just keep her here, she belongs in the Silver City!”

Lucifer stands and pours himself a drink before gesturing an offer of one to his brother, who declines perfunctorily. “When did you notice she’d passed, brother? When Raphael told you she’d wound up here with us?” Lucifer needles him bitterly, “I’ve been trying to convince her of that for nearly a dozen centuries now, but she’s adamant that she wants to help, since you haven’t done a bloody thing to fix the Dad-damned system!”

The last words emerge in a ragged roar, and Amenadiel flinches minutely at the accusation. The New God recovers quickly and glowers at his brother, Hell’s Healer. Words rumble from his throat like thunder. “You will release her, or I will–”

“Or you’ll what, brother?” Lucifer sneers, “You know as well as I do that I have no power over who comes or goes. Unlike you. Linda has decided to stay and help me address Hell’s backlog, and nothing I or Charlie have been able to say has swayed her in the slightest. You’re more than welcome to give it a go, but don’t come to me brandishing your Godly Wrath when she sends you packing.”

“You’re right,” Amenadiel says grimly, his features hardening into an angry mask. “You have no control over who comes and goes. But I will tell you this, Brother, if I don’t see her in the Silver City by the time Chloe passes, I will not allow her to join you here.”

Lucifer’s heart stills in his breast, but a natural-looking leer appears on his lips, his eyes narrowing at the unveiled threat. “I’ll be interested to see what the good Doctor has to say about that particular stipulation, but I’d be even more interested to see what havoc Chloe would manage to wreak up in the Silver City if you go back on your word.” Amenadiel’s mouth turns down at the corners, the muscles in his arms rippling as he silently crosses them over his broad, silver brocade-bedecked chest.

“You did give her your word, brother,” Lucifer reminds him coldly, “Is that still something that you stand by, or has becoming the Almighty put you above such paltry things as promises? Like the promise you made to find a way to tweak the parameters so that the guiltless guilty no longer wind up on my doorstep, begging for punishment they didn’t earn in life? Hm? Like the ones about sending some siblings down to help with the backlog of souls… Ringing any bells?”

His brother remains ominously silent, glaring at him from the doorway while Lucifer settles gracefully back into his chair. The Devil lets the silence simmer for a while before continuing breezily– this is still his domain; he has no doubts of his victory if his Godly brother wants a fight here. “You do recall that little commitment, do you not? Or are you going dotty like Michael convinced Dad he was? Because if you had followed up on it, then Linda would never have wound up in a Loop replaying every petty guilt she’s been clinging to in order to get here and help us. She wouldn’t have been torturing herself with abandoning Adriana, with her little failures with Charlie, with her initial reaction to seeing my face. None of it. All that is on you, Amenadiel.”

His brother turns to go without answering, presumably to find Linda and persuade or threaten her to give up her hold on Hell.

“Don’t think this conversation is over,” Lucifer addresses the tense expanse of shoulders currently presented to him. “We need to have a good long chat about this, I’ll never be able to make headway here without your help.”

“It’s not that easy, Luci,” Amenadiel admits, still facing the office door, his voice low and strained. “No one wants to be trapped down here rehabilitating hellbound souls. And Father’s system still works, for all its flaws. It keeps the truly guilty out of Heaven, and that’s the primary goal.”

“So to Hell with those who carry guilt not of their own volition?” Lucifer snarls bitterly. “Never mind those so twisted by their abusers that they see every thing that happened as their own fault, or those that made a mistake that contributed to someone else’s misfortune and weren’t able to address their involvement in life? That is unjust, brother, and we cannot let it stand. Those souls don’t deserve to be here.”

“We’ll talk about it, Luci, and you’ll see that I’m right.” Amenadiel opens the door and looks back over his shoulder at his brother with steady eyes shadowed with grief. “You’ll see that Father’s system is the only way it works.”

“I’ll be up for my usual visit once Raphael returns,” Lucifer warns, receiving a slow nod in return. He listens as the door snicks gently closed behind his brother before finishing his drink and blowing out a gusty sigh. “Bollocks.”

He needs to visit Chloe.

Chapter 2: Surely a Small Issue

Chapter Text

Visiting the love of his eternal life and her eldest daughter has gotten both easier and more complicated as the years– more than two decades now– have passed on Earth. At first it had been easy, because Rory was either not born yet, or not forming memories. Once Rory had reached the age of memory formation, they’d had to be far more careful– especially since they weren’t quite sure when exactly that began for Nephilim.

Lucifer had flatly refused to leave without explaining to Trixie not only who he was, but why he would be largely absent from their lives. It had taken some negotiation, deep thought and discussion between himself and Chloe to find a way to explain that Trixie could understand, without putting the blame on her unborn sister. As it happened, much of their careful preparation had been unnecessary.

The revelatory conversation itself was more than a bit anticlimactic: Chloe had been stunned and more than a little horrified to learn that Trixie had always been aware of (and largely indifferent to) the true identities of her two best friends. Trixie had been amused and delighted that her mother hadn’t known for so long, and they wisely chose not to divulge Chloe’s initial reaction to the realization of Lucifer’s true identity.

Trixie had become a willing accomplice in hiding his occasional visits, once she had been appeased with a full explanation of exactly why Lucifer had needed to leave for two months without a word. She’d been over the moon to realize she was going to be a big sister, and utterly awed to realize that she’d already met said sister at Maze and Eve’s wedding.

Her exuberance had been short-lived, however, when her excited exclamations at having Lucifer as her Step-Devil were met only with a sad smile from Lucifer and outright tears from her mother. Her dreams were never to be… The adults had gently and emotionally explained that Lucifer was not going to be able to be a full-time part of the family. It had taken weeks– months, really– for Trixie to come to terms with the necessary separation… with the loss of another (albeit initially reluctant) father figure.

The 12-year-old girl had buried that hurt deeply, allowing her normally sunny nature to obscure it, because she had already realized how sad her mother was going to be without Lucifer around to make sure she had fun. Over the years, she learned not to mention Lucifer at all, as it only served to make her mother sad, and her little sister first confused, then angry. Sometimes, later, listening to her sister ranting about her absent father brought rage boiling up into Bea’s heart and it was all she could do to not throw the knowledge of the reason for his absence back at her. Especially when Bea had lost not only her own father, but Lucifer as well.

Fortunately, Rory was impossible to hate. Not that Bea was really able to hate anyone, especially the sibling she’d wanted her entire life. Watching her younger sister grow and seeing little mannerisms and behaviors that reminded her so strongly of both Chloe and Lucifer sometimes had her torn between laughter and tears. Despite gaining the right education and opportunities, Bea had even decided to give up on her astronaut dreams in order to stay closer to home, knowing that her Mom and sister needed her there… though she’d told her mother that the reason was that she’d discovered she was claustrophobic.

As the years had passed and Rory had spent more time away from home, Lucifer could visit more freely. They could never truly let their guard down, as their mercurial daughter was every bit as likely to show up and barrel cheerfully through the door as her father had been once upon a time. There had been many a time when Lucifer had needed to make a hurried, feathery exit– occasionally leaving a panting and partially-clothed Chloe behind– when the approach of their offspring was detected by his angelic senses. Rory eventually came to the puzzled conclusion that her mom simply had a truly bizarre workout regime that she preferred not to discuss.

*

Chloe’s been a Captain with the LAPD for nearly half a decade now, having already decided not to rise through the ranks any further for fear of getting entrapped in the distracting politics that run rampant in the upper echelons of the hierarchy. Having more freedom over her daily schedule is a blessing with an unpredictable half-angel daughter and an even more unpredictable Devil of a partner popping in and out of her life at the most random times.

When her phone pulses lightly in her pocket during a meeting regarding the solidifying of their new policies on discrimination and appropriate response protocols with the Deputy Chief of Police, she ignores it in her focus on the topic at hand. Once she’d been truly awakened to the dire problem within her beloved LAPD, she had been relentless in her drive to fix it. The campaign had been nearly impossible, but having both the Devil and God on one’s side tends to lend quite a lot of credibility… not that anyone actually knew she had literal supernatural support. Between Lucifer’s favors and Amenadiel’s God’s-eye view, she could make sure the issues were not only heard, but were finally addressed.

She sighs to herself as the DCoP trots out his same, tired arguments against the new policies– too expensive, too time-consuming, too much effort involved for too little results.

Men like this are the reason it took literal Divine Intervention to make the progress we have. How has Chief Monroe not gotten rid of this guy yet?

She closes the meeting two excruciating hours later with another small victory, another concession along the path, and yet another oncoming headache from dealing with the sheer, willful blindness of the upper brass. She pulls her phone from her pocket and lights the screen.

Do you have a few moments for me today, my love?

A familiar thrill of joy floods through her at the simple words, and a tear splashes on the tiny screen in her hand. It’s been six months, but after his long silence last time she can’t keep a love-struck grin off her face at the notification.

Sorry, was in a meeting. Always have time for you. Penthouse in an hour?

Of course. Beatrice has been keeping me company.

She smiles at her phone for another long moment before pocketing it and rushing to her office to wrap up loose ends for the day. She mentally checks Rory’s whereabouts– it’s a Thursday afternoon, so she should be at work. Trix’s schedule is an odd one; she holds multiple positions at Griffith Observatory, which is only open to the public Friday through Sunday, leaving her weekdays free to dedicate to the Miss Lopez STEM Initiative. With today being an Initiative day, naturally Trix would leap at the chance to spend some time with her beloved, if unofficial Step-Devil. It had been far too long since she’d been able to manage a visit with him.

She finishes the last e-mail, setting an automatic response that she’ll be out of office the remainder of the day and shuts down her laptop with a sigh of relief. She ignores her creaking knees as she stands and moves to the door of her office, automatically checking her pockets for everything she needs.

*

Lucifer arrives at the penthouse for his treasured ritual of a hot shower and change of suit. He sends Chloe a text to let her know he’s here, then another to Beatrice, now nearly in her mid-thirties. He sets the phone down and immediately bolts for his shower, not willing to lose a second of his all-too-rare time here with them. They had all agreed to preserve the penthouse as it had been prior to his departure, for use as a base of operations of sorts. His siblings would use it from time to time if they needed to stay on Earth for more than a day or two, and it had been put to excellent use many times throughout the years as a mini-hideaway with Chloe.

When he emerges from his closet in a navy suit and waistcoat accented by a deep purple silk shirt, he hears a familiar voice from the living room,

“I’m here, please do not come out naked!”

“That only happened once!” He laughs, fastening his cufflinks and striding eagerly to the doorway, “And you barely got a glimpse of me before I realized it was you and not your mother.”

“That was more than enough, Lucifer, and it was a very memorable lesson never to surprise the two of you during your visits,” Beatrice grins at him from the bar, where she’s already poured him a glass of his favorite whiskey and helped herself to a bottle of water from the fridge. Seeing him fully dressed, she flies across the room and into his willing embrace (no more reluctant hugs for his urchin– Lucifer is a hugger now, whether or not he actually admits it), enjoying the feel of his chuckle rumbling against her cheek before she asks the inevitable question. “How long has it been for you, since your last visit?”

“Urchin,” she laughs a little sadly at his old nickname for her as his arms tighten around her shoulders, “You know I don’t like answering questions that only make you unhappy.”

“And yet, you know I’m always going to ask.” She looks up at him, and for a moment he can still see the 11-year-old minx that conned him into telling her the story of the origins of his old ring at the behest of his best fiend. He blinks, and the flicker of memory is replaced by the wiser (but no less mischievous) brown eyes of the young woman before him. Her tone takes on the demanding cadence that he knows she learned from her mother. “How long?”

“Only about twelve this time,” he murmurs, as she rests her cheek against his chest again and squeezes him tighter.

“Thousand?” She clarifies, though she’s fairly certain she knows the answer. His stubble lightly catches her curls as he nods against the crown of her head, and she echoes his deep sigh before offering hopefully, “At least it’s not as long as last time?”

He pats her shoulders reassuringly before stepping away and breaking the embrace. There had been an incredible surge of souls into Hell when a new and vicious war had broken out on Earth a couple of years prior, resulting in Lucifer having even larger, more frequent group sessions than usual. He’d never been more thankful for Charlie’s eager help, and even Raphael had anxiously taken on an even heavier consultation burden in an effort to get them sorted out quickly. Even Squee had been pressed into reluctant service leading some of the simpler group sessions. Fortunately, the bloodshed had been over quickly, but it had been a rough fifty thousand years for him, and an incredibly long two years for Chloe. She’d been so worried, she’d actually asked Amenadiel to check on him.

Amenadiel, of course, had sent Jophiel rather than actually visiting himself. Lucifer wouldn’t have minded so much if Jophiel hadn’t insisted on talking his ear off for nearly a millennium and setting him even further behind. Lucifer had gritted his teeth and reminded himself that he wasn’t the only busy one. Amenadiel had his hands full with being God, something he saw evidenced every time he entered the Silver City for his follow-ups after Raphael’s Official State Visits. Amenadiel made time for him, but only just. He seemed stretched thin, and any small requests Lucifer made often seemed to be shunted aside. Occasionally a sibling would arrive with a notice that something had been managed, but more often than not it was a terse apology, or nothing at all.

“Yes, I’d prefer not to repeat that particular experience.” The corner of his mouth twitches into a sad smile. He’d nearly needed a session with Linda himself after all those emergency session, and it hadn’t been too long afterward that Squee had led him to her Loop. He decides it’s time to change the subject. “How is everyone handling Linda’s loss?”

It’s been a little over two weeks on the earthly plane since Linda’s demise, the wounds still fresh in her grieving loved ones’ minds, and Bea is no exception. She winces, her face creasing with grief.

“It wasn’t unexpected… she’s… she had been sick for a long time, but somehow it just didn’t seem real until she was already gone,” She turns away and grabs her bottle of water, dashing tears from her eyelashes before taking a deep drink. “Charlie told you, huh?”

“Mmm,” Lucifer takes a large mouthful of whiskey and hums noncommittally, unwilling to share the distressing news of Linda’s choice of ultimate destination after seeing how devastated Charlie had been. Unfortunately, The Urchin knows him too well. She gazes at him, her expression unreadable.

“Aunt Linda didn’t make it to Heaven, did she?” Her tone is carefully flat, but thankfully not accusing. Lucifer isn’t sure he could handle it if Beatrice blamed him for Linda’s current location. They’d never told her about his attempts and failure to help Daniel, instead only informing her of her father’s current blissful status with Charlotte. Lucifer’s expression now, however, tells her everything she needs to know. He braces himself for the anger, the blame… but it doesn’t come. Rather than getting angry or losing her composure, a small smile breaks across her face like a weak winter sunbeam, strengthening and brightening as obscuring clouds slowly dissipate. “She’s helping you. She’s seeing patients again, in Hell. Like you and Charlie!”

“She is,” he acknowledges, relaxing a little when an accusing diatribe doesn’t seem forthcoming. “None of us have had any success in convincing her to move on, and she’s insisted on taking on my more difficult redeemable cases.”

There are still many (many) souls in Hell that remain beyond redemption, but Lucifer still holds hope for most of them. They didn’t get into their situations overnight, or even in a few hundred thousand years… he checks in on them occasionally and continues to tweak the loops as he sees fit, now with Linda’s direct observation and occasional input as well. His gut twists irritably as his most personal challenge crosses his mind, but he puts him out again just as quickly. He’s not going to waste a single moment here on him.

They settle at the bar, then, and Beatrice tells him about her life while they wait for Chloe’s arrival– filling him in about her work at the Initiative, and some of the more interesting findings she’s recorded at the observatory. He listens with rapt interest as the precious minutes together bleed away.

*

Millennia ago, in Hell.

The problem, as Lucifer has found, is that a Loop has very little effect on someone that’s denying his (or her) guilt. And this particular patient can’t be trusted with just any therapist, even given the limited options that Hell currently holds.

“So you’re telling me,” Michael’s flat, sarcastic tone cuts bitterly through the peaceful air of Lucifer’s office, “that after I made you a very reasonable offer, you shut it down and went to war to become God… only to turn it down, give the position to our goody-two-shoes brother, and crawl back here anyway? What was even the point?”

“Michael, we go over this every time I try to talk to you, every time I try to help you,” Lucifer does not sigh in frustration; he’s getting better at reining in his automatic exasperation with his dickhe*d twin. “Is there anything else you’d like to try to address during our time here? I’m trying to make sure you get your second chance, but you don’t seem interested in doing anything but complaining.”

“Oh, I forgot, I’m supposed to be grateful that the glorious Lightbringer has deigned to show me mercy and is spending his valuable time trying to help me mend my wicked ways!” The words pour bitterly from Michael’s lips as his thick, twisted scar shines dully in the manufactured sunlight streaming in Lucifer’s office window, bisecting his face angrily into uneven halves. “You set me to scrubbing floors in Hell for millennia before you came breezing down here and tossed me in this half-assed Loop, hoping it’ll– what?– teach me something? And then you come in and start demanding I talk it out with the smug asshole who’s effectively ruined my entire life?”

“Michael, I’m not demanding anything from you.” Lucifer closes his eyes and takes a slow, deep breath, working to keep his brother’s nasal, dickish complaints from getting under his skin, “I’ve tried to let you speak with both Raphael and Linda, but as you’ve opted to use your command of Fear on the both of them, they’ve refused to work with you any further. I refuse to allow you to traumatize our nephew–”

“As if that naive nephil would be able to counsel me,” Michael sneers over his brother’s explanation, “he’s barely old enough to be potty trained.”

“– which unfortunately only leaves me to try to help you.” Lucifer finishes stubbornly. “I want you to have your second chance, Michael, but you have to be willing to work with me here. I can’t be the only one trying if this is going to go anywhere.”

“Just tell me why exactly you felt the need to God-block me, only to turn around and give the throne to Amenadiel. I mean, if you were just going to crawl back here anyway, why did you even risk it? Why did you risk her, if you loved her so much? Did she already figure out how broken you are and dump your immortal ass?” Michael sits up from his sprawled position on the couch, leaning forward with the first real interest he’s shown in all these attempted sessions, so Lucifer decides to go with it.

What’s the worst that can happen?

“Michael, you could never be God. You and I, we’re far too alike in all the wrong ways.” Michael scoffs, but doesn’t interrupt as Lucifer continues thoughtfully. “Amenadiel was the obvious choice– he’s the level-headed one, the one that’s held the brunt of the responsibility since the beginning of time. Father’s right hand, until he fell and had the opportunity to learn about humanity and humility. When he pulled his hat from the ring, I couldn’t let you just step into the position. You’re too calculating. You’re needlessly cruel, you play with people’s fears, you killed humans yourself, and had more humans killed on your orders. You killed Remi just so she wouldn’t reveal your plan, and… and I’m still not convinced you feel any regret for that at all.” The Devil leans forward, folding his hands neatly over his knee as his eyes meet the nearly identical– but so much angrier– ones of his twin. His voice is soft, but implacable as he states the truth out loud for both of them to hear. “I couldn’t allow you to become God, Michael, because the world as it has been, the world that I know and love… it would have ceased to exist. You would have replaced it with a twisted, shattered mirror, and I couldn’t let that happen.”

Lucifer sits back in his chair and crosses his legs as he watches his twin’s sullen expression. Finally, Michael wrinkles his nose and asks another question.

“Why didn’t you become God, then, if you were so hell-bent on seeing it done your way?”

Lucifer snorts, a wry smile painting his lips. “I’d convinced myself that I needed to become God in order to prove myself worthy of Chloe, to prove that I could love her the way she deserves to be loved.” Disgusted gagging noises emerge from his brother’s throat, but Lucifer ignores them. If he didn’t want to know, he shouldn’t have asked. “When Heaven destroyed me– when I willingly sacrificed myself to save her from your maliciousness– I realized I already did love her with everything I am. Everything. I realized later that, while I can care for other humans as well, I wasn’t willing to give her up in order to do so… and it felt like I would have needed to. Even then I was willing to see it through, until finally Amenadiel had his own realization; that he actually did want to be God. Since he was the obvious choice from the start, and I was having doubts, it seemed the best solution.”

Michael glares at him incredulously, which only makes his smile widen more. “And shortly after that, I realized that it was possible to help all these redeemable souls down here see their own solutions. I’d done it a few times before, with Charlotte, then with Mr. Said Out Bitch. I’d tried with Daniel but didn’t quite manage it– he had to figure that one out on his own. But I’ve learned more every day, and I’m helping them fight their way clear of their guilt. I’m helping them seize their second chances. Just like I’m hoping to do with you, Brother.”

“Did I hit you too hard during our fight?” Michael wonders dazedly, his tone for once devoid of his habitual snark. “Did you melt your brain when Heaven incinerated you?”

“I haven’t forgotten the things you’ve done,” Lucifer scoffs, “but you’re not the only one that’s done terrible things. I’ve worked a long time to start making up for mine… I’m just hoping to convince you to start taking some of those steps as well.”

Michael stands up, shaking his head in disgust. “Take me back to my Loop, this touchy-feely crap is making me nauseous.”

Lucifer nods and sends Michael back with a wave of his hand and a fresh tweak to the manufactured Loop. The Devil sits in his office and jots some new notes down in his book, looking pleased with himself. This was the first session that they hadn’t devolved into a shouting match. Maybe there’s hope, after all.

Chapter 3: What Do You Think?

Chapter Text

Chloe shifts her weight restlessly from one foot to the other as the elevator brings her closer and closer to her partner. Her hands come up anxiously to smooth over her face, trying not to fret about the new lines and valleys that have developed since they last saw each other.

The veins stand out more prominently on the backs of her hands, and there's some grey showing at her temples because she hasn't bothered to renew her dye job recently. She's found that a little touch of silver seems to get her a bit more respect (or at least a modicum of it) among the brass, so she actually doesn't mind it so much.

It's been almost 25 years since he'd had to leave. She's over 60 now, and she worries each time he returns that he'll be different. That this time, he'll realize that she's gotten old and unattractive, that he won't look at her the way that he always has… as though she's the one that brings light to him, rather than the other way around.

After all, miracle or not, she's only human. The disparity in their appearance is enough now that she could almost be mistaken for his mother. She pushes those thoughts resolutely away, knowing them for what they are: lies.

The elevator doors slide open and she has a moment to observe him before he realizes she's there. He's sitting at the bar, eternally young and devastatingly handsome. He’s wearing a royal purple shirt that pops wonderfully with the navy of his suit and waistcoat, and Trix is giggling in that delighted way that only he seems to be able to draw out of her. His eyes are twinkling as he laughs with her daughter, but it’s nothing compared to the way they light up when he turns and spies her. His presence takes her breath away every time she sees him, and it doesn't return until his lips find hers and she can finally breathe him in. He’s across the room and gathering her into his arms in less than a heartbeat, and she revels in the fleeting joy that being together always brings. It’s never enough, but it’s so much better than the alternative.

Trixie pours two drinks and moves out to the balcony, knowing they will come to her once they've had their moment of reunion. A tear falls from her lashes, and she wipes it stubbornly away. She's always admired the way Lucifer and her mother love each other, with everything that they are. She hasn't found that for herself yet; any potential mates have a pretty big expectation to fill, after all.

She closes the glass door firmly behind her and gives them their privacy as she enjoys the Los Angeles sunshine.

He tastes of the whiskey he's been savoring, and Chloe tangles her fingers in his hair to hold him closer. His hands start at her waist, but one swiftly moves up to thread his own fingers into her hair while the other grips her tight.

After a long moment and several dozen strained breaths, they break apart to rest their foreheads together. His dark eyes are inches from her faded blue ones, and she knows his sharp mind is cataloging the changes in her since their last meeting. The intensity of his gaze sends warmth racing through her, waking urges that she had almost managed to convince herself she’d aged out of.

"Hello, Detective," he grins, knowing how much she still loves it when he calls her by the title she held when he was able to be constantly at her side.

"Hi, Lucifer," She breathes, her lips brushing his again before traveling all around his face, pressing tiny kisses everywhere she can reach. He obligingly bows his head and closes his eyes, relaxing against her at her whispered, "I'm here. We're here. Together always, yes?"

"Always," he murmurs into her hair, warm breath infiltrating the strands. "I love you, Chloe, always."

She takes her time, being sure that she doesn't miss a single bit of the hallowed skin of his face, neck, and what little of his chest she can reach without unbuttoning his shirt… they'll get to that later, she's absolutely sure.

"I love you, too," She nuzzles into his embrace. She doesn't tell him she misses him. He already knows, just as she does. She doesn't ask him how she looks, the dark glisten of his hungry eyes puts all her silly fears to rest, as it always does.

They've been through uncertainty, war, and separation, and come through it all finally secure in their knowledge and love of one another. She offers the answer to his next question before he gathers the courage to ask it. "Rory's doing well. She's working today at Langdon's. It's one of her teaching days."

"Guitar?" His bristly cheek brushes her neck as he presses a soft kiss to the hollow of her shoulder. She shivers pleasantly and makes an affirming sound. "How long do we have?"

"Long enough. She has a couple lessons later."

"And Beatrice scheduled a dinner with her this evening while we were chatting."

Chloe laughs, grateful for her eldest daughter's scheming mind. "She's so thoughtful."

"Mmm," Lucifer agrees, his lips never leaving her skin. "I suppose that means we should focus on the other reason for my visit, for now."

"For now," She agrees reluctantly, "Am I going to need a drink?"

"I think Beatrice has already accounted for you," he tucks her hand securely in his crooked elbow and grabs his own glass while Chloe snags the decanter to take out with them. They reach the door, and Trixie turns to greet them from her chair with a knowing smile. The couple settles together on the chaise without a hairsbreadth between them.

"It's about Linda," Lucifer dives in without preamble, only a little surprised at Chloe's slow nod of acceptance. "You knew what she was doing, then?"

"She didn't make any secret of it to me," Chloe smiles up at him a little sadly. "She wanted to help, and… it didn't sound all that different from what I intend to do. She was afraid Amenadiel would stop her, though, so I'm glad she made it to you."

"Well… while she has undoubtedly been an immense help lately, I'm mostly here to warn you that Amenadiel is Divinely Displeased with her decision, and my lack of progress at convincing her she belongs elsewhere."

"Displeased?" Trixie frowns, confused. Lucifer obviously hadn't mentioned this part of the problem yet. "Why?"

"I would imagine there's lots of reasons behind it, though he's mostly just deflecting all his anger onto me at the moment," Lucifer grimaces, taking a small sip from his glass before continuing. "The fact of the matter is that Linda– that people like Linda– don't belong in Hell. They don't deserve punishment, shouldn't feel like they need it, and so should be in the Silver City."

"Then why isn't she there?" Trixie asks reasonably.

"Because Amenadiel still hasn't changed the system," Chloe growls her deduction, and Lucifer nods resignedly. Trixie lifts an inquiring eyebrow at the pair of them, and Lucifer gestures to Chloe, who fields the question. "One of the first things Lucifer did after he restructured Hell into a place of redemption was to approach Amenadiel about the number of souls that were winding up there without any real reason to be there. Lucifer wanted him to fix the system, so that people that weren't truly guilty of anything wouldn't wind up in Hell merely because they were harboring guilt for something outside their control. And Amenadiel agreed to do that."

"But he hasn't?" Trixie exclaims indignantly, "No wonder Charlie's so pissed at him!"

"Charlie's been worried about Linda for a long time now," Lucifer offers hesitantly, "I think that's part of the reason he came to me and asked to intern in the first place."

"Yeah, but Charlie's also been mad at Amenadiel for a long time." Trixie takes a drink and leans back in her chair, thinking. "He said that his dad was around less and less, not answering prayers, or if he did answer, not until weeks or even months later."

"Linda was pretty upset about it too," Chloe offers. "I couldn't understand it. Amenadiel loves them. He's omnipresent now, shouldn't he have been able to be there when they needed him? Surely he wanted to be?"

Lucifer's bitterness at his brother choosing to forsake his family blooms into a quiet rage inside him, and he closes his eyes to hide the crimson glow overtaking them. Chloe's hand closes firmly over his, and Beatrice's arms wrap around his shoulders from behind the couch.

"We know you want to be here, Lucifer," Trixie assures him earnestly. A fist clenches around Chloe’s heart at the way his expression crumples as Trixie continues. "You're not your brother. You promised Rory you wouldn't change her, and you're keeping that promise, even though it hurts you and everyone you love."

He swallows painfully, unable to open his eyes yet. Beatrice has seen them flash before, but he doesn't like exposing her to that side of him. He doesn't want to encourage fear. A single, hot tear leaks from the corner of his tightly closed lids and a gentle thumb wipes it away.

He pulls in a calming breath, and while it shudders a bit when he exhales, it's enough to cool his flaming irises. He opens his eyes to find his Decker women watching him carefully, so he puts on a smile.

It doesn't fool them, but Trixie moves back to her chair and Chloe remains pressed warmly against his side. A moment of comfortable silence spreads between them as Lucifer composes himself once more.

"What I don't understand is why, if Amenadiel hasn't changed the system for souls to sort themselves, he's blaming you for Linda winding up in Hell?" Chloe finally asks.

"I think he's really angry with himself," Lucifer muses, using his relatively new knowledge of the mind's inner workings and applying it to his brother. "He didn't notice that Linda had passed and didn't make it to the Silver City for over a millennium. Charlie took less than a day to search Heaven and realize she wasn't there. The fact that Linda chose to come to me, chose to help, and that Charlie had done the same, when he hasn't provided me with the slightest bit of assistance…"

"Hmm," Chloe considers carefully. "What did he do?"

"Hm?" Lucifer responds a shade too innocently, and Chloe levels a glare at him, tightening her grip on his hand.

"You said he's displeased, and he's blaming you. What did he do?"

"He hasn't done anything, yet," Lucifer prevaricates. At Chloe's continued glare, he sighs and finishes his glass before reaching for the decanter to pour another. Chloe takes his cue and empties half her own. "He told me that if he doesn't see Linda in the Silver City by the time you make your crossing, he'll keep you from… from coming to me."

The breath leaves Chloe's body in a rush, and her head starts to spin.

No. Nonononononono. The only thing that made this lifetime of forced separation bearable was the knowledge that she would be with Lucifer after. Forever. Always. To Hell with the New God.

"He wouldn't dare," the shrieking growl rips not from Chloe's throat, but from a furious Trixie's. "If Rory finds out… after everything… and Charlie? They'd rip the place apart to bust you out, Mom, and I bet Dad and Grandma would help!"

"I don't think he'll actually follow through on the threat," Lucifer quickly tries to calm the two enraged women, "I really think he was just deep in grief and lashing out at a safe, easy target."

"He's not just targeting you with that threat, Lucifer, he's targeting me," Chloe points out angrily. "This has been the plan from the beginning of all this, and I'm not going to stand for him reverting back to his blazing Amenadick glory days when he was resurrecting hellbound souls and frying people's brains with your stolen wings to try to get you back to Hell because of his damn tunnel vision."

"I told him as much," Lucifer informs her, an easy smile on his face, "and that Linda wouldn't approve of that particular approach either, and so help me Dad, I do believe he went a little pale when he realized what he'd said. I think you truly frighten him, Chloe."

She smirks, and Trixie barks a laugh. "If he has a healthy sense of self-preservation, he'll hold onto that fear and keep his word."

The conversation devolves from there to how things are going Downstairs, some of the more difficult cases Linda has already managed to help with, and how well Charlie has been performing. He tells them about timid Raphael's constant attempts to step outside her comfort zone and help some of the rougher souls, and the slow progress she continues to make under Linda's tutelage.

As the sun continues its westerly path, Trixie stands to go.

"Gotta meet Rory," she explains unnecessarily with a knowing smile, "Mom, I should be able to buy you at least 3 hours. I'll text you three times quickly when we leave the restaurant?"

"Thanks, baby," Chloe hugs her daughter tight. "Ask her to stop on the way home for some Cherry García for me."

Trixie turns to her unofficial Step Satan with a watery smile. "I'll see you soon, Lucifer?"

"Soon is relative, Urchin, but I'll be sure to let you know when I'm back in town." He steps forward and takes her into his warm embrace. "It's always lovely to see you, Beatrice, I'm so proud of the person you've become. I love you."

"I love you, too." She tries to hide a sniffle against his shoulder, but she squeezes him tight before she steps away and flees to the elevator.

Chloe steps up beside him and wraps her arm warmly around his waist under his jacket. "Remember back when you thought you weren't capable of love because you were your father's son?"

"You mean when you refused to give up on me, and didn't let me destroy my hope of happiness by pushing you away so you wouldn't have to raise two children and spend 40 or 50 years alone?"

"Yep."

"Perfectly," he squeezes her tightly against him, his lips unerringly finding hers. "I've never been so grateful to have been proven wrong in my eternity of life."

*

Slightly less millennia ago, in Hell.

"Okay! Fine!" Michael's nasal tone shatters the silence that had remained unbroken for the entire length of their session. "I… will admit that I could have handled the situation with Remi and trying to become God a little better. Are you happy now?"

Lucifer lifts a non-judgmental eyebrow and takes a sip of his water, wishing it were whiskey instead, and waits silently.

He's been peeking into Michael's Loop. He's finally managed to figure out how to program it to tailor itself to play on exactly how Michael is feeling, thanks in large part to Charlie's empathetic skills. The result has been slowly working for several hundred years now, and Lucifer has been fascinated to watch it evolve as Michael has grudgingly come to face the first of his crimes.

Ironically, he's choosing the most recent ones to begin with, but Lucifer isn't picky. With Michael, he's willing to take any success he can get. Even if it's barely classifiable as a success at all.

Lucifer has learned a lot in the few millennia he’s been trying to work with his twin. For example, if he tries to steer the conversation, Michael either goes on the offensive or sullenly shuts down. If however, he simply sits and watches, eventually Michael will break and start to talk. Sometimes it's even helpful, even if it is a particularly brutal type of torture for the both of them.

Well. It is still Hell, after all.

"Why would I be happy?" Lucifer asks disinterestedly, prodding Michael to see if he'll give up more, delve a little deeper. Lucifer knows from the Loop that Michael has started to feel some of his guilt for erasing their sister's soul from existence. He also knows that although he hasn't admitted it to himself yet, Michael is also feeling some guilt for killing Chloe and nearly causing Lucifer's death as a result.

That had surprised both of them. Of course, Lucifer knows how exceptional Chloe is. He hadn't quite realized that Michael had also discovered it. In the Loop, Lucifer had been able to read the expressions that had flitted across Michael's face as he'd witnessed his twin's reaction to Chloe's death. Guilt. Remorse. Fear.

It had been vastly easier to watch than Chloe crumpling to the ground, or his own anguished expression, but Lucifer had been beyond surprised to read regret and real dismay there. Granted, it was nearly immediately erased by his second attempt to kill Chloe once Lucifer had managed to resurrect her… but then he hadn't even tried to fight back when Chloe had kicked his raggedy, feathered ass all over that stadium

Oh, that had been fun to watch, until he heard Michael's hoarse challenge to his Detective, begging her to finish it. Had he truly felt enough pain to wish it all to be over, or had he been merely playing on Chloe's sympathies?

Lucifer doesn't know yet, and he's starting to suspect that Michael doesn't either.

"Because I'm finally admitting that I wasn't totally innocent?" Michael suggests snidely, and Lucifer blinks back to the present. He'd forgotten for a moment that he'd posed the question.

"But you already knew that, brother," Lucifer points out mildly, keeping all traces of every emotion buried and untouchable. "The point of this exercise isn't to convince me, the point is to enlighten yourself."

An annoyed huff emanates from the long form of his brother spread across his couch.

"While almost admitting out loud to some of the things you've done is progress, you're not quite addressing them yet."

"And how exactly am I supposed to do that?"

"Well," Lucifer considers his twin carefully, "there's no easy answer. It's different for everyone. When I killed Uriel, I had to be forced to face my guilt head-on, in my own Hell Loop. Mum helped me realize that I'd made the decision to save Her, the Detective, and Mazikeen from Uriel’s unhinged actions. While I still mourned his loss, I had to come to grips with my decision and the reasons behind it, forgive myself and move on."

"Yeah, but your reasons were disgustingly altruistic!"

"Everyone has reasons for why they do the things they do. Maybe you need to take a closer look at yours and see if the reasons for your decisions are worth reevaluating."

"Ugh, where are you coming up with this crap? Is Mr. Rogers down here somewhere?"

Lucifer ignores the jibe.

"Look, I'm not stupid, I knew I was never going to win the role of God in a popularity contest. But neither were you." He expectorates the last words like a spitting cobra, but Lucifer is immune to his brother's venom by now. "I was the best one for the job, Dad had been counting on me for a long time to handle the day-to-day."

"Before, or after you convinced Him he was losing control of his powers?"

Although there was absolutely no accusation in Lucifer's tone, Michael actually winces at the gentle question. It's all Lucifer can do not to perk up like a hunting dog that's scented a covey of quail.

"You know what, I'm done. Send me back to my stupid Loop."

"See you again soon, Brother," Lucifer reminds him as he waves him away, settling back into his chair with a thoughtful look.

The office door opens and his nephew seats himself quietly on the couch.

"What do you think?"

"He's a mess, Uncle."

"We're all a mess, Charlie," Lucifer snorts quietly, still deep in thought. "Dad made bloody well sure of that."

"Yeah…" the nephil considers for a moment. "But you and Dad have healed some. Michael hasn't. Neither has Raphael. She's trying, at least."

"Do you have suggestions for a treatment plan?" Lucifer asks curiously, "For either of them?"

"Maybe," he allows, with a pensive look at his uncle. "Let me consider for a while."

Chapter 4: Heaven is Where the Good People Go.

Chapter Text

“I don’t want to go,” Chloe whispers into his bare shoulder a few hours later as they lay coiled around one another so tightly it’s difficult to tell where one ends and the other begins. “Lucifer, if Amenadiel doesn’t—”

“He won’t follow through on the threat, Chloe, I swear it,” Lucifer promises, the barest murmur breathed directly into her ear, but she feels it reverberate through his chest into hers. “I’m going straight up there to have a little chat with him just as soon as you’re gone.”

He won’t leave this time until she does. Throughout the years, they’ve always taken turns leaving first, so that one isn’t always constantly leaving the other behind, or being the one forever left behind. His lips graze lazily down the line of her shoulder, lingering as they always do on the old bullet scar at her shoulder from their first case. She closes her eyes and memorizes again his distinctive scent, the feel of him surrounding her. The rough scrape of his stubble against her skin and the tenderness of his fingers as they explore. Her human memory fades far too quickly, but she holds onto as much as she can, for as long as she can to soothe the loneliness later. His celestial memory is near-perfect, but he breathes her in anew each time they’re together, meticulously cataloguing the changes in her as time passes.

Eventually, though, the triple alert from Trixie comes through, and their separation is abruptly imminent. They dress each other tenderly, Chloe stealing Lucifer’s old shirt and pocket square as she always does. Neither of them break down this time, a welcome reprieve with too much to do on either side.

“Give Linda my love?” She requests as she kisses him one more time. “And everyone upstairs?”

“Of course, darling,” he assures her. She looks up into his eyes and it hurts because his eyes are their daughter’s eyes— that same bright spark of mischief and compassion shining brightly within the dark depths. “I would say give my love to our little Angst-ichrist, but…”

It surprises her into a laugh, which is what he’d been aiming for. Even though the laughter jostles free the tears she’d been holding back, her smile is genuine, and that is what he’d truly wanted to see.

“You’ve got to go, love,” he nudges her gently, and somehow, somehow she finds the strength to let him go again. “I love you, Chloe.”

She doesn’t need the reminder. But he always offers it, so many times, in so many ways. He never says ‘Goodbye’, not after the time he’d left alone on the balcony, when they thought he’d have to remain in Hell for eternity. However, he always reminds her that he loves her, words that he hadn’t been able to give her then. She stores them in her heart, in her soul. She even has them in a voicemail, that she’s backed up as a recorded file saved with a password to access it.

“I love you, Lucifer,” she pulls him close, presses her wrinkled forehead to his ageless one, breathing him in and trying to lock him there within her. “I’ll see you soon.”

He doesn’t reply. He can’t, because no matter how long it is for her, it’s always so much longer for him. She squeezes his hands in hers and turns away before she can start crying in earnest. Rory is always angry and suspicious when it’s too obvious she’s been crying. Quick to blame her absent father for every single slight and inconvenience of Chloe’s life, even now.

She turns once inside the elevator and presses the button for the parking garage, holding his gaze until the very last moment when the doors seal between them before she lets the rest of the tears fall. She’s always a little afraid to really show how hard these good-byes are, for fear he’ll decide not to visit in order to avoid hurting her with their inevitable parting again.

It’s stupid, she knows he looks forward to these respites as much as she does, and that they hurt him just as much. Being able to be together, even only briefly… it’s necessary. For their sanity, for their happiness, for their purpose—she couldn’t imagine living her life without the hope of ever seeing him again until she dies her natural death. She doesn’t want to, even if she does have to face down her own pride each time she confronts her agelessly beautiful soulmate. Lucifer never makes her feel any less desired, despite the inevitable changes in her body. The look in his eyes for her is always exactly the same, welcoming her home.

She sends Trixie an acknowledgement and thanks, then deletes the messages just in case Rory grabs her phone by mistake, and adds Lucifer’s message to her hidden, password protected folder. She bundles Lucifer’s shirt and pocket square into a nondescript canvas tote with some files poking out the top, and prepares herself to return to her youngest daughter for the evening.

At least there’ll be Cherry Garcia waiting for me.

*

“Lucifer!” Raphael hurries anxiously toward him on the wide, empty street when he arrives at the Silver City. Her curly sable hair bounces lightly along the tops of her shoulders, and her bright green eyes flash in the sparkling sunlight reflecting off the argent towers that surround them. She folds her gold and cream mottled wings away as she approaches him. “I’m so sorry—I thought for certain he would have already known—or noticed, or—”

“It’s not your fault, darling, and we’ve already had our little tête-à-tête about it. Linda’s already had a chance to set him straight, don’t you worry.” He reassures her, grasping her delicate shoulders in his long fingers and squeezing gently to ground her. She takes a deep breath and holds it, then releases it as she leans in for a hug, suffusing her warm breath into his fresh shirt. “I’ve already warned Chloe so she’ll be prepared in case he tries anything, but I’m here to make sure she doesn’t have to worry about it. How long has he been back?”

“He’s made several trips since I’ve been here,” Lucifer grimaces at the news. That was the downside of spending time on the earthly plane… time in Heaven and Hell move so much faster than Earth. Spending six hours there is nearly two decades in Hell, though not quite that long in Heaven. He didn’t begrudge a single second of time spent with Chloe or Beatrice, but it gave anyone not on the earthly plane a massive time advantage for plotting. “He’s been back from the most recent trip for a couple of years, and he’s been broody.”

“Broody Amenadiel I can handle,” a look of determination spreads across his face. “Anything else I should know, sister?”

“Just… be careful, brother. He’s… off.”

“He’s always been off,” Lucifer scoffs, but he waves off Raphael’s indignant squawk with a small smile. “I know, I know. Be polite, he’s hurting. I’ve got this.”

Raphael narrows her eyes at him suspiciously, but goes on her way as he straightens his cuffs.

“I hope I’ve got this,” he murmurs to himself as he strides through the shining streets of the Silver City toward the Audience Chamber. He’s stopped by friends and acquaintances for chats and questions several times on his journey—one of the unexpected perks of being Hell’s Healer is the true affection that his former patients hold for him, as opposed to the fear and suspicion the previous denizens of Heaven—and no few of his siblings—still reserve for him when he dares to walk the streets.

The Chamber admits him before he can even knock, and he finds Amenadiel hunched on his throne with his head in his hands. Lucifer’s footsteps are muted by the darkness of the mirror-smooth floor, reflecting back the image of the lighted, delicately branched columns that support the domed ceiling of the amphitheater. The intricate patterning on the walls complements the branching columns, feeding perfectly into their design. He wonders if Amenadiel will ever change the decoration to something more to his own taste as he reaches the base of the dais and slips his hands into his pockets, gazing up at his pensive brother with a smirk on his face.

“I’ve been expecting you, Luci,” the new God rumbles sourly, his deep voice reverberating dramatically throughout the empty chamber. “What kept you?”

“Shouldn’t you already know that, brother?” Lucifer teases lightly, “No need to pretend, what with the Omnis and all. Though I can understand if you didn’t want to See, our performance is still very intense, and your sensibilities are still very tender.”

“We need to talk.” Amenadiel stands and descends the stairs, his pristine white robes flaring dramatically behind him. Lucifer’s smirk becomes more pronounced until his distracted brother finally seems to notice. “What?”

“Nothing, really… I was just thinking you’re looking very… vestal. Part of the new image, eh?”

Amenadiel looks down at himself and in a blink he’s wearing a grey t-shirt, olive-green hoodie, and ratty blue jeans. “Better?”

“Well, that is more the style I’ve been accustomed to seeing you of late. Or at least, when we were seeing one another more regularly.” Two armchairs that look like they might have once graced Linda’s sitting room appear, and Lucifer plants himself in the closest one, leaning back and crossing his ankle over his knee casually. “Thank you for meeting with me. We are overdue for a good chat, aren’t we?”

“Lucifer, I owe you an apology,” he begins quietly, and Lucifer settles back in surprise, listening carefully. “I know you didn’t want Linda down there, and I know I haven’t been able to give you the help you’ve been asking for. She has made it painfully clear… multiple times… that she made her decision and intends to stick with it at least until the soul backlog is cleared.”

“Yes, Raphael told me that you’ve been Downstairs several times,” Lucifer shakes his head, then settles both feet on the blindingly white floor and leans forward, anger burning dimly in his chest. “I did warn you about her stubbornness. What was that ridiculous display in my office really about, brother? You have to know by now that threatening Chloe and me will certainly not gain you any ground, new God or not.”

“No, of course I wouldn’t keep Chloe from coming to you. I keep my word.” He sighs and rubs his forehead, deep brown eyes searching his brother’s expression for something. Whatever he’s searching for, he doesn’t appear to find it. “I’m still trying to figure everything out—there’s just so much and it’s all so intricate. I’m afraid if I change anything that it will all fall apart. Add in the fact that no one up here wants anything to change, and… my hands are tied, Luci!”

The brothers glare at each other for a long, silent moment before Lucifer takes a deep breath and shakes his head. “I’m sorry, but I don’t believe you. I won’t believe that changing a flawed system would irrevocably break down the fabric of the universe, brother, it simply can’t be possible. I refuse to believe that innocent souls should be forced down to Hell for the amount of time it takes them to be convinced that they should be elsewhere. Just as I reject the idea that Raphael and I are the only Celestials capable of rehabilitating them.”

He stands and starts to pace, unable to keep still with the rage and frustration coursing through him at his inability to sway his unimaginative brother. “This is injustice, and I will not stand for it. If the very presence of these souls in Heaven were enough to destroy everything our Father created, then the simple act of their rehabilitation and ascension would have been enough to topple everything. Clearly there is more that can be done so those of us that are willing to help them can move on to help other souls?”

“Luci, it’s not that the others don’t want to help—”

“Yes, I’m aware, no one wants to be in Hell,” Lucifer sneers disdainfully, threading his fingers through his hair. “I’m sure you’ll pardon my lack of compassion for their tender selves. The souls don’t want to be either. If only someone could arrange something like a… oh, I don’t know, a neutral place, a purgatory of sorts that was somewhere other than Hell—oh wait, someone can.”

“Azrael is on board with this idea, brother, and she thinks it should be possible. All you have to do is create the plane for purgatory to exist, and I can assign Raphael there to design the environment. It will cut down on the souls I have to accommodate in Hell, and take some of the pressure off my backlog.” He sits down again, leaning forward eagerly as he presents the ideas that he, Raphael, Linda, and Charlie have collaborated so carefully on. “Raphael can start relocating souls, and then some of the others can start working with them under her and Linda’s tutelage… assuming I can get her to leave, even just for training purposes. That woman is quite the workhorse, especially now that she doesn’t need sleep.”

If Lucifer didn’t have such negative connotations of these kinds of things, he would have considered Linda a Godsend. Since it’s been made very clear that their newly-appointed God had wanted absolutely nothing to do with Linda’s staunch presence at his side, he’s quite content to consider her merely the best of friends—an accolade which holds a far dearer place in his heart than family. With good reason.

“We can make this happen, brother,” he’s not pleading, but he’s as close as he’s ever come where Chloe’s life hasn’t been at stake… or Rory’s soul. “All I need from you is to create a space where we can convince them. Raphael can still do something useful, and she won’t have to be terrified in Hell all the time. There are so many souls down there, brother, I’ll never be able to catch up at this rate, even with the time difference between Hell and Earth. Chloe only has so much time left on Earth, and… and once she passes I’ll want to be able to free some time to spend with my family. You gave your word that you would help. This is how you can start.”

“I don’t know how to create a new plane of existence, Luci, but I can try to look into it.” Amenadiel had sat silently through his brother’s impassioned speech, his expression bland. When Lucifer had mentioned the time difference between Hell and Earth, something had lit within the new God’s eyes, and his brow had wrinkled in thought. That look had never boded well for Lucifer in the past, and he didn’t have high hopes now. “I have an idea that I think I can make work… but you’re not going to like it.”

“Very well, tell me what it is.” Surely any help was better than the big, fat nothing he was getting now.

*

“Lucifer, you didn’t agree to that?” Linda asks, aghast. The slump on his shoulders and the resigned glimmer in his eyes tells her that he had indeed, and she crosses the room and captures him in a hug. He folds his long frame around her tiny one, taking the solace she’s offering him.

“Uncle,” Charlie is caught between anger at his father and admiration of the man before him. “This isn’t fair! You’ve… you’ve just agreed to double the amount of time for you until Chloe joins you—until you can have your family together! And we’ll still have to do it without any help!”

“I’m well aware at what I’ve signed up for,” Lucifer’s voice rumbles into the sunbeam-laden air of his office. “And I’d appreciate it if you could manage to avoid informing Chloe and Beatrice about this new arrangement.”

That had been Amenadiel’s abysmal suggestion. He wasn’t sure about creating new planes of existence for soul rehabilitation purposes... but with his Time skills, he could speed up the difference between Hell time and Earth’s, meaning that instead of a rough 2,000 years in Hell per Earth month, Lucifer would now have 4,000. By agreeing to the idea in order to gain more time (since he clearly wasn’t going to be gaining any help), Lucifer had essentially gone from having his family with him in another 500,000 years or so… to waiting for them another million instead. It was enough to crush him, but he hadn’t let it. In fact, he’d thrown himself into therapy sessions with so much vigor that he’d even outshone Linda, until she, Raphael, and Charlie had staged this little intervention.

“Chloe won’t be affected on her end, and if immortality has any perks, it’s that time has very little effect on—”

“Bullsh*t,” Linda spits furiously, and Lucifer would have recoiled from her if she hadn’t been holding him so tightly. “I know you take pride in what you’re doing down here, Lucifer, but if you think you can hide from me what this separation does to you, you need to think again.”

“She’s right, brother,” Raphael’s quiet voice pipes up from the couch. She’d tugged Charlie down to sit next to her and was patting his hands reassuringly to try to calm his anger. “We’ve all known something was wrong since we returned from the Silver City… we just thought it was that Amenadiel had refused to help again.”

“We weren’t wrong,” Charlie growls, his normally kind eyes narrowed in outrage. “Dad is being singularly unhelpful, and now he’s torturing Uncle Luci! What the Hell is wrong with him? Can’t he see that we can’t do this alone? Chloe and Trixie are going to—”

“Please, nephew, I’d rather they not know,” Lucifer breaks in, pulling free from Linda’s vice-like grip. “I’m aware that it’s a bad deal, but it’s not one that they are on the wrong end of. It’s only a bad deal for me, really, right? I mean, of course you’re all still free to come and go as you like. I’m really the only one waiting for anything to change. And if… if Amenadiel manages to find a way to create that third plane and tweak the rules, perhaps that extra half a million years will really let me gain some ground down here so I can… perhaps have some real family time without anything hanging over my head.”

“And what are you going to do the next time Trix asks you how long it’s been for you?” Charlie challenges mulishly, “You can’t lie, and she knows the rough exchange. She’s told me that she keeps track of how long it’s been for you between visits. She’s gonna notice. And she’s gonna be pissed.”

“I don’t see Beatrice every visit,” Lucifer admits slowly, pouring himself a tumbler of whiskey. “And I don’t suppose it will be very hard to lose track of time, now that I’ll have so very much more of it.”

“Why would you agree to this, brother?” Raphael asks timidly, “It’s obvious that you were counting the days until you could be with your family again.”

“Chloe doesn’t deserve to be here,” he won’t meet their gazes. “I can’t keep her from coming to me… I have no desire to be apart from her any longer than necessary, but… the sooner I can catch up here, perhaps I can convince her to relocate to the Silver City and make this a commuting position instead. She can have her time with her family, and I can go back to her at day’s end.”

“But Lucifer, if time is still moving so much faster here than in Heaven—” Linda trails off, eyes widening.

“I’d prefer she never find that out,” Lucifer’s dark eyes dart up, meeting each of their gazes in turn. “I won’t ask you to lie, of course, but… this project is my calling, and I’d prefer it not become her sentence.”

Silence reigns in the room while the others stare back at him stonily, but he doesn’t back down. Eventually, he does offer a change of subject. “Since we’re all here… I did win a small concession from AmenaGod. I spoke with some of my friends in the Silver City—the actual residents, not my useless siblings – no offense Raphael.” She waves his apology off, her glare unwavering. He stifles a smile, it’s so rare for her to actually get angry that it never fails to amuse him at least a little—as long as it’s not truly aimed at him. One thing he knows is to never anger a Healer. “Amenadiel agreed that if we could find some souls willing to come down and help with our rehabilitation efforts, he would allow them to do so. Charlotte and Dan have agreed to head up that effort, with some of my other friends up there helping to spread the word and screen interested parties. They’ll need some training up, but I think you three should be quite up to that challenge if we can get some volunteers.”

“Well, that’s something,” Charlie acknowledges reluctantly, before his countenance lightens with a new thought. “I bet we’ll get loads of volunteers! I mean… Heaven is where the good people go, right? They’ll want to help.”

Chapter 5: Maintaining the Mystery

Chapter Text

“So how are your efforts at getting some new counselors down here coming along, dear brother?” Michael leers from his reclining position on Lucifer’s office couch. “I’ve been looking forward to chatting with someone other than you for millennia now, and yet… here we are.”

“If you hadn’t tried to affect Raphael and Linda with your talent for trepidation, you could have had someone else to talk with you,” Lucifer reminds him with only a tiny amount of sarcasm embedded in his tone.

The truth was that the results had been utterly abysmal. While his supporters in the Silver City were eager to help where they could, none of them had the skill set necessary to patiently and empathetically counsel the burdened dead, let alone the ability to withstand Hell’s oppressive atmospheric guilt.

Many redeemed souls had tried. Dozens had eagerly asked to be brought back to Hell to help the teeming masses of damned souls. Some had experienced panic attacks immediately upon arrival and had to be returned to the Silver City post-haste. The ones that had been able to stay had gone through rigorous training from Linda and Charlie, and were monitored closely by Raphael afterward. Some had sorrowfully appeared in his office months, or in very few cases years later, resigned and crushed at their lack of progress with any of their assigned cases. One unfortunate soul had wound up sucked back into their loop, and then felt guilt for that lapse that had to be resolved, creating even more work for both Linda and Lucifer to get them back up to the Silver City.

Only one– save for Linda, Charlie, and Raphael– had lasted more than a decade, despite having the best of intentions. Raphael had come to Lucifer with a theory that Hell’s atmosphere was simply too abrasive for the average human soul to withstand without falling into hopelessness. Lucifer had been forced to agree after watching all but one of his volunteers admit defeat.

Seeing Charlie’s crushing realization of how selfish souls could be was possibly the hardest thing about the failed experiment. Lucifer had hated seeing the dashed hopes reflected on Charlie’s face when he realized that help was not, in fact, forthcoming. There were many qualified souls in Heaven that had the knowledge– and certainly the time– to come and help… but none of them did. No Heaven-dwelling psychologists, psychiatrists, priests, or counselors had volunteered to come and help redeem the fallen souls in Hell.

“I don’t understand, Uncle,” Charlie had raged in this very office, pacing in frustration. “These people helped so many in life– why will they not help now?”

“It is sometimes human nature that once a reward is earned, the behavior that spurred the reward ceases,” Lucifer offered quietly, and his nephew had stared at him in disbelief. “There are many reasons these souls may not feel obliged to help now, where they may have before. In life, many of them held positions where they were paid to help people– it was their literal job to do so, and it allowed them to keep to the lifestyle they preferred. Now that they have their reward– their perfect life– they feel no need to offer their services or experience again.”

Charlie had protested, but Lucifer had continued, his tone still soft and explanatory rather than angry. “Some may be afraid– after all, if they believed in an afterlife, they certainly worked their entire lives to avoid Hell. Why would they wish to visit the infernal plane, now that they have successfully avoided it? And some… perhaps especially the religious set… likely believe that the souls here are merely getting what they deserve. After all,” his lip curled in disgust, “as far as they are concerned, Hell is where the bad people go. Why should they help bad people escape their eternal punishment?”

It had been a difficult learning experience for the young nephil, and Lucifer had been sorry to be the professor. He and Linda had worked hard to make sure Charlie took some time off his Hell-related duties after that, and when he’d returned he’d been subdued for a while before he returned to his usual even keel.

Lucifer had found himself beginning to wonder if he really was doomed to spend all of eternity redeeming souls to a reward he could never hope to share… though he was careful not to let those dark thoughts bleed through to his patients or his helpers. His dickhe*d twin, on the other hand, had his usual celestial gift for ferreting out fears in full working order.

“You’re starting to really see the casually cruel brilliance in Dad’s plan, aren’t you?” Michael sits up in predatory interest at the flicker of emotion that crosses Lucifer’s face. “Here you are, back in Hell just like He intended– willingly this time, helping all these wayward souls find their way to peace up in the Silver City… and millennia from now here you’ll still be, sitting in this sad little office counseling these guilt-ridden vermin day after year after millennium... The Devil, always on the outside, always outcast, left behind, and forgotten. How long do you think Chloe is going to last down here, Brother? Hm? How long will she have to suffer at your side before she realizes it’s a lost cause and moves up north with the rest of the shining, guilt-free souls?”

“We’re getting off-track, Michael,” Lucifer replies evenly, keeping his armor in place and not allowing Michael to see where his barbs have landed. “I believe we were discussing your reasons behind convincing Dad that He was losing control of His powers.”

“Uuughhhh, but that’s so boring. I’d much rather discuss your failures.” A frown spasms across Michael’s lips, and Lucifer wonders if Charlie is pushing a little too hard.

“As varied and entertaining as my failures may be, they won’t earn us any progress on your situation, Michael. Or have you started to enjoy your loop, after all?” Lucifer lifts a skeptical eyebrow. “Or perhaps you would prefer going back to scrubbing the corridors? They could certainly use it again, and I’m sure Squee won’t mind volunteering his toothbrush this time.”

“Fine,” Michael snaps, sagging back against the couch, his head resting on the top so he can stare at the ceiling. “Let’s talk about Dad’s casual cruelty then, hm? Aside from gifting me with the psychological torture of living out eternity in the Lightbringer’s shadow, Dad decided to teach me some of the skills of ruling creation.”

“That sounds like quite a show of faith,” Lucifer muses evenly, his mind racing as he tries to see where Michael is heading with this new information. “What was cruel about it?”

“That He never intended to actually let me use any of it!” Michael scoffs, his dark eyes sparking with fury. Lucifer recognizes that look, he’s seen it often enough in his own. “He taught me how to See and Hear, but it was useless. It didn’t help me understand any more or less about Creation as a whole than my Fear talent. You still knew more about creation than I did, just by crawling around on that muddy rock with them!”

“Dad actually taught you how to use the Omnis?” Lucifer gapes at his brother, forgetting himself just long enough for Michael’s smirk to take root and grow.

“Oooooh, Samael,” he coos in that patently false, sickly-sweet sympathetic voice of his. “You still think Dad knew it all? You really think He could See everything? Be everywhere? Bless your blackened, stunted heart, brother– no wonder you were so mad at Him for so long. No wonder He actually bothered to say good-bye to you, and give you that sweet little hug, before He f*cked right off with Mom.”

“Explain,” Lucifer commands, his eyes flickering red. Michael’s smirk spreads into a sneer, seeing that he’s managed to get a real reaction from his brother at last.

“Think about it,” Michael oozes, leaning forward again and watching his brother’s expression avidly. “If Dad were really omniscient, omnipresent, omnipotent… do you really think He would have let you kill Uriel? Do you think He would have made himself human for a day, knowing that He could get killed? For His sake, the man didn’t even know that humans couldn’t see when their eyes are closed!”

“You’re saying that Dad didn’t have the Omnis. That God Himself wasn’t all-powerful… all-seeing… all-knowing?” Lucifer leans back and steeples his fingers in front of him as he regards his wickedly grinning twin. “All right. You’re not lying, so… explain, more.”

*

Charlie enters the office later, once the session has ended and Lucifer has sent Michael back to his therapeutic loop. He finds his uncle leaning forward, his head in his hands and looking as dejected as Charlie has ever seen him.

“I’m sorry, Uncle Luci, I… lost control a little bit during your session. Raphael came to me to discuss something and I got distracted with–”

“It’s all right, Charlie, it’s not your fault,” Lucifer’s voice is echoingly empty of all inflection, and sends a shiver of alarm up his nephew’s spine. He opens his senses a little and sends them creeping carefully in the direction of the slumped figure before him.

The maelstrom he senses within causes him to draw back quickly, flipping his shields back into place before the swirling emotional black hole that is his uncle can pull him in. He moves closer hesitantly. “What happened?”

“Your other uncle shared some new, possibly vital information… and for once I don’t think he’s lying.”

“Well… that’s something,” Charlie offers hopefully. “What did he say?”

“Do you think your father is all-powerful, Nephew?” Lucifer prevaricates. Charlie narrows his eyes as he considers the question.

“Of course he is, he’s God.”

“Hm, he is, isn’t he,” Lucifer agrees quietly. “I think we need to have a staff meeting soon. I have some things to consider before I can have a discussion about what Michael shared. Thank you for your help today.” He stands and stretches slowly, like a cat in a sunbeam. “I’m glad I always schedule him last. He always frays my patience to the bone.”

“I think that’s normal for family,” Charlie grins, and Lucifer smirks. “I’m kind of glad I’m an only child. Having Adriana as a sort of auntie, and Rory and Bea as cousins was definitely enough for me.”

“There are many times I’ve wished for fewer siblings, so I’m quite envious of you.”

“I’m choosing not to take offense to that statement, Brother,” Raphael says tartly as she slips through the office door. Lucifer grins at his tiny sister, always happy to see her rare sass shine through her thick veil of timidity. “But only because I’ve shared that wish more than once.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Lucifer laughs, “I’ve often wondered how many times you’ve had to patch up Jophiel for doing something stupid.”

“Far too many, and we’ll leave it at that,” Raphael chuckles quietly at her brother’s delighted grin. “Do you have a moment to talk?”

“Of course,” Lucifer gestures to the couch, and Raphael glances at Charlie as she takes a seat. The young nephil seats himself beside his aunt, and Lucifer grabs a bottle of whiskey and three glasses before reclaiming his own seat. “Charlie said you’d needed to discuss something with him during Michael’s session just now. Is one of your patients giving you trouble?”

“Not one of my patients, no,” Raphael hedges, accepting the glass from him and taking a small sip. She’s still learning to appreciate the finer points of whiskey, but she’s proving to be a willing student, much to Lucifer’s amusem*nt. “Not exactly.”

“Do you need a break?” Lucifer asks anxiously, “You know you don’t need to ask my permission to take a sabbatical, Raphael. You do so much to help us down here, but you need to take care of yourself in order to–”

“I’m not the one that needs a break, Lucifer,” Raphael cuts him off sharply, and his mouth snaps closed in surprise. Raphael is never snippy. “You are.”

“I beg your pardon?” Lucifer sputters, eyes flashing as he puffs out his chest in an attempt to distract his damnably observant sister with a show of offense. “I am perfectly–”

“Miserable,” Charlie interrupts unapologetically, and Lucifer transfers his glare to his meddling nephew. “You haven’t been to see Aunt Chloe in ages. She’s been asking about you even more than usual, I think she’s worried.”

“It hasn’t been all that long,” he protests weakly.

Fifty thousand years. It’s been fifty thousand years since I’ve had the pleasure of gazing into her sea-blue eyes. Only about a year for her. But if I go see her now, she’ll know. Somehow, she’ll know how long it’s been for me, and she’ll know what I’ve done to… to buy time to make this bearable for her.

“I’ve gone far longer without a visit, there’s no reason for her to be worried yet,” Lucifer sighs and rubs his tired eyes. He wants to go see her. Badly… but he doesn’t want her to know about the deal. He’s afraid to tell her what Michael has shared with him, and then have to discuss what that might mean for them now. And leaving her is always so hard and it’s his turn to leave, and he doesn’t feel strong enough to walk away from her right now. “I just… I can’t right now.”

“You need a break, Uncle,” Charlie offers quietly, and Lucifer hisses his displeasure at the conversation into his glass. “You can’t keep going the way you have. I… I read you just now, and you’re a mess. You can’t expect to counsel souls when your own is running on empty. You need her.”

“You haven’t told her?” Lucifer’s gaze narrows on his nephew, whose eyes widen in alarm at the accusation there.

“I wouldn’t do that!” Charlie’s hands come up in a protest of his innocence, and Raphael leans forward to intercept Lucifer’s stare.

“No one has told Chloe anything about the crappy deal you agreed to with our brother,” she scolds, eyes flashing green fire. She reaches up and brushes an errant curl from her face, ruining her severe manner. “But you should. She deserves to know what you’re doing for her.”

“It’s not only for her sake that I agreed!” Lucifer argues, and now it’s his turn to be on the receiving end of the narrowed gazes. He sighs, acquiescing. “All right, it was a big part of my reasoning, hoping to gain some leeway… but it gives us more time to work with souls between new ones coming in, since Amenadiel refuses to do anything about the sorting process to keep the ones that don’t truly deserve punishment from coming here at all. You can’t deny that it is helpful.”

Charlie’s deep brown eyes drop to the floor of the office, and Lucifer immediately regrets his phrasing. He growls under his breath. “I’m sorry, that was unfair. It’s not that he’s refused to help, it’s that he apparently doesn’t know how to help. If we want a true Purgatory of sorts, somewhere to physically place souls that isn’t Hell… it’s likely going to be up to us to figure out how to manage it.”

“Is there a reason we can’t just set up a section of Hell as Purgatory?” Charlie wonders suddenly, and Lucifer turns to him in interest. “I mean, it’s still Hell, I get it, but… maybe section it off?”

“Well,” Lucifer hesitates, thinking it over, “I mean, the whole point of having a Purgatory was to avoid having to sort through the guiltless souls down here at all. It takes a lot of effort and time, even with the new time difference. The idea was to have a place where Raphael could work with the not-really-guilty souls that wasn’t Hell so she could be more likely to get some helpers… since they’re all so unwilling to actually come down here.”

“All?” A familiar voice thrums in the doorway, and Lucifer scoffs in a friendly welcome.

“All but the defective ones like you two,” he tosses a grin up at his friends, and Linda and Father Frank Lawrence enter the room. “Come to join the intervention, have you?”

“I told you we were late,” Frank mutters to Linda, who shushes him.

“You’re not late,” Raphael assures them, making room on the couch. “We’re only just getting started here.”

A miserable sound works its way up Lucifer’s throat and he downs another glass of whiskey before standing to retrieve two more glasses for the newcomers. “Are you really all converging on me to force me into taking a little vacation? Just when we’re finally starting to make some progress?”

It’s true, at last. With the new double-time deal, they’ve managed to redeem more souls than they have previously, and new souls haven’t been pouring in as quickly. It’s still tedious, unceasing work, but it’s gained them a bit of a reprieve. Frank has proved to be an enormous asset, with his near boundless empathy and understanding, and his skills for getting through to even the most stubborn of souls… just as he had for Lucifer, once upon a time.

And it’s still only a drop in Hell’s fathomless bucket. Even with the millions of souls redeemed over the past half a million years, there are countless more still wallowing in cells of their own making, refusing to face the roots of their guilt and move on. Until they do… until they can… Lucifer’s work will never be done.

Something has to change, but he has no idea what. Or how. He only knows that it must.

“We can hold down the fort for a millennium or two,” Linda points out reasonably.

“Or ten,” Charlie mutters stubbornly. “Rory can manage by herself for a while, take Chloe on a vacation somewhere. You both deserve it. Dad knows she’s got the vacation time saved up.”

“Does he, though?” Lucifer murmurs absently, and four pairs of eyes immediately meet his.

sh*t. Didn’t mean to say that out loud.

“Does he what?” Linda prods, and Lucifer knows he’s not getting away without having this discussion.

“So, Michael said something during our session today that piqued my interest,” the fingers of his left hand trace aimlessly over the unadorned ring finger of his right in an old habit: that ring has long graced the hand of his beloved, but he still reaches for it in times of stress. “He says that Dad was never all-knowing or all-seeing. That He was probably all-powerful, and He was able to See, Hear, and Know some things, if He was Listening, or Looking. But Michael says that He wasn’t the all-powerful being everyone thought He was.”

The four before him sit in stunned silence, the identical blank expressions on such disparate faces making the corner of his mouth twitch upward in a sad smile. “Looking back, it actually makes a fair amount of sense.”

“But… He was God.”

“Mm,” Lucifer agrees, taking a large mouthful of his whiskey. “And now my eldest brother is God. And I’m the Devil. How much truth of me did you find in all the stories, Linda? Frank?”

“You’re saying that Dad didn’t have the Omnis?” Raphael breathes quietly, and everyone looks to her. Lucifer hates the lost expression in her wide green eyes, but he’s sure there’s a similar look in his. They’d all believed their father was, well, everywhere, all the time.

“Michael is saying that,” Lucifer corrects gently, leaning forward and lacing his fingers together between his knees. “And we all know him well enough by now to take anything he says with a pillar of salt, but… I’ve had a bit of time to think on it, and it does make sense.”

“But He was God!” Linda repeats, as though saying it again more emphatically will change the outcome of the revelation.

“Mom, Dad didn’t even notice you’d died until you’d been down here for over a millennium,” Charlie points out after a long moment. “I’d honestly rather think that he doesn’t have the Omnis than think that he just didn’t care enough to be there when you died.”

“Why would he lie about something like that, Lucifer?” Raphael asks, aghast. “Why would our brother lie about being all-knowing? Why would Father?”

“Did they?” Lucifer wonders, letting his mind drift back. “Or have they just let us assume and not bothered to correct us? You know that was one of Dad’s favorite tricks… it’s certainly one I’ve put to good use from time to time. Amenadiel flat out admitted to me that he didn’t know how to create another plane– or create access to another plane– for our Purgatory idea. He was truly surprised by Linda’s conscious decision to come here when she died… if he were truly omniscient, he would have known and been ready to either counter it or accept it.”

“What about your father’s Plan?” Frank interjects. His tone isn’t sharp, but it’s not far from it. “How could He set something so intricate in motion if He weren’t all-knowing?”

“Michael’s theory is that Dad had some foresight– not entirely unlike our brother Uriel– that allowed Him to see the Big Picture. Uriel could see all the tiny details that led to some outcomes… perhaps Dad could as well.” Lucifer shrugs hopelessly. “He apparently taught Michael how to See and Hear from a distance, which explains far too well how he knew enough about my life in LA to pass for me, the bloody creeper.”

“How do we know Michael isn’t lying just to start trouble?” Linda puts forward hopefully, but Lucifer shakes his head regretfully.

“He’s not lying. Or at least, he believes what he told me,” he elaborates thoughtfully. “Dad didn’t know about my devil face until He saw it. He truly didn’t know that His children wanted Him to tell us that He loved us. He turned Himself human, Linda, without having the slightest idea what could happen to Him– Chloe had to stop Him walking into traffic twice while He was following us around on a case like a stray puppy! He couldn’t even manage drinking a Slurpee without giving Himself multiple brain freezes…”

“Maybe He was just… maintaining the mystery?” Raphael suggests, but her bleak expression gives away her lack of belief in her statement.

“If He’d been less ‘mysterious ways’ from the beginning, perhaps we wouldn’t have this mess we’re dealing with now,” Lucifer scoffs. “If Michael is right, we’ve got a God with no powers beyond what he already had, following the flawed and outdated systems and plans of the previous God… who apparently wasn’t as all-everything as He wanted us to think.”

Raphael leans forward, meeting each of their eyes in turn. “This… this idea can’t leave this room until we figure out all the potential fallout, agreed?” Everyone nods slowly, Linda last. “Let’s set it aside and take some time to consider it, then meet again later to discuss. Say… after Lucifer’s vacation.”

The Devil sighs again as his team of volunteers once again spears him with their gazes. This is a battle he doesn’t have the energy to fight, let alone win. As much as he fears Chloe learning the truth about the deal he’s made, he doesn’t want to avoid her because of it.

"I'll see what Chloe can fit into her schedule," he acquiesces. He doesn't even try to dampen the smile that lights his eyes.

Chapter 6: No Rest For the Wicked

Chapter Text

As it happens– even nearly three Earth decades after his departure– his Detective (as he stubbornly still calls her… and she loves it) is still terrible at using her amassed vacation time, squandering it in case of an emergency with one of her girls, even though both are adults now.

Their two-week sojourn together in a secluded cabin near Sequoia National Park is idyllic. Despite Lucifer’s offers, Chloe refuses to let him take her out, opting instead to spend nearly literally the entire time either nestled together in their hideout or walking the more gentle trails through the mountains. They bask in one another’s presence; even Lucifer with his never-waning energy is content to simply be with Chloe resting against him, or walking beside him with her arthritic fingers threaded through his dexterous ones. Lucifer cooks gourmet meals for her, and she tells him stories from her life… glimpses of the life he’s missed with his family, and he drinks them in like a desert wanderer chancing upon an oasis.

Chloe is careful not to talk about Rory’s increasingly angry rants, and Lucifer is careful not to ask– he perfectly recalls exactly how hurt and furious she had been when he’d first met her– backed against his Assyrian wall with metallic, bladed feathers drawing pinpricks of blood from his throat. He’d recognized something in her then, even though he had no idea who she was. After all, he’d seen that look often enough in his own eyes; the floundering, abandoned soul desperately acting out.

Chloe asks blithely how he’s coming along in Hell, asking about sessions and procedures, what he does when he’s not actively counseling damned souls. She doesn’t say it, but he knows she’s preparing herself mentally for her own time to come. He’s careful not to bring up her other option for her eternal retirement home after her initial, vehement rejection.

“How would that be any better than what we’re doing now, Lucifer? Stolen moments where you visit me when you can? No. I’m coming to help you– to be with you– and that’s final.”

That’s the closest they come to a fight, neither wanting to waste the time they’ve managed to steal with petty disagreements– they’ll have plenty of time for those later. He manages to avoid discussing the new time difference arrangement entirely, and he counts that as its very own miracle. Chloe, for once, doesn’t ask and he certainly doesn’t offer.

Their last night together they don’t even try to sleep. They spend the entire evening curled together on the comfortable couch of their rental in front of the fireplace. If Lucifer closes his eyes, he can almost imagine they’re back on his piano bench, that final night in Lux. Chloe’s weight on his lap is much as it was then. Her lips perhaps a little drier as they pepper his face and neck with feathery kisses sprinkled liberally with tears and soft words of affection, of affirmation. The warm metal of her ring burning into his flesh when she presses her hand against him to pull him closer. The sheer strength of their love, of their belief in each other, flows between and around them, weaving them indelibly together.

They reassure one another that it won’t be long, not really, not in the grand scheme of things… and that’s what they’re aiming for, aren’t they? The ‘blip’ that Rory had assured them of as she’d traveled back to Chloe’s deathbed… the ‘blip’ that was merely Chloe’s life on Earth alone. Surely it isn’t too much in trade, for an eternity afterward?

Except they could have had it. They don’t whisper that to one another, because yes, they could have lived those years together on Earth… but it would have cost them the daughter they’d already met. The daughter they had both grown to love so fiercely in those few weeks. The one that had been so angry at him for abandoning her… only to realize that it was for her sake that he’d been missing all along.

Chloe clings tightly to him, inhaling him deeply with every breath she takes. This has been the longest getaway they’ve ever managed– and even before they had never succeeded in a getaway with no interruptions. This idyllic escape has been as close to Heaven as either of them is likely to get for a very, very long time.

“I don’t know if I can do this another 15 years,” she breathes against his chest. She’s curled on his lap, her hand over his heart and her head nestled under his chin. Her silvering hair keeps catching on his immaculate stubble when he moves or speaks, and she revels in that tingling sensation. “I don’t know how I’ve survived without you this long– and I know it’s so much worse for you!”

“I’ve loved you for hundreds of thousands of years now,” he murmurs in her ear, and a shiver runs through her. “Nothing can change that, certainly nothing so paltry as a little time. We’re past the halfway mark, darling, we can manage this. You’re so strong…”

“I don’t want to be,” she sobs, and it shreds his heart. He pulls her closer and lets her cry. “I just want to be happy, and for all of us to be able to be together. We want to be together, it’s so… so stupid that we can’t be!”

“You sound like the urchin.” He huffs a wry laugh into her hair, because he remembers having nearly this exact conversation with Beatrice before he’d departed. “Do you know what I told her, then?”

Chloe sniffles and shakes her head against his chest, focusing on the steady thrum of his heart under her slender fingers. “I told her that the dark times are defined by the light. That she would have both in her lifetime, and that without one, the other would be meaningless. Times of light, of happiness– those would mean nothing without the dark patches, the occasional bouts of sadness we all have to weather in our existence.” Chloe hiccups against his chest, and he rubs her back soothingly. “We’ll have our time in the light together, my love, all of us… we just have to wait in the dark a little longer than most… perhaps one of the unpleasant side effects of half our family unit being immortal, hm?”

The sound that escapes Chloe is half sob, half laughter, and Lucifer considers it a win.

Chloe drops off to sleep still holding him tightly just as the first tendrils of dawn paint the skies in watercolor pastels over the mountains, and Lucifer reluctantly transfers her to the bed, loads most of her luggage into the car, and forces himself to depart before she wakes.

After all, it’s his turn to leave.

*

“We need to get the Flaming Sword.”

Stunned silence greets Raphael’s enthusiastic suggestion, and her face falls. “It’s the only thing that makes sense! If we have the sword, then we can just go ask Father how to go about making a new plane for our Purgatory!”

“Why not just use the sword to open a doorway to a new universe, and use it as our Purgatory?” Charlie asks pragmatically.

“I don’t think that would work, unless we could tie it open somehow,” Lucifer shakes his head. He’s been back from his getaway with Chloe for a century, and they’ve been spitballing ideas about how to move ahead with their plans without the new God’s help since. “When I opened the doorway to Mum’s universe, the moment I removed the key from the sword, the gateway sealed up again. And there’s a real possibility that leaving a gateway like that open long-term would invite attention from other creatures we have no desire to meet.”

“Other creatures?” Linda asks warily.

“Oh yes,” Lucifer nods sagely, and Raphael echoes it. “There are reasons my Father had His Army, with Michael as His Sword. My rebellion may have been the only time they really got called into use, but there are other things out there, and it is prudent to be wary of them. Especially from other universes– there’s no way to know what may be in those.”

“Are we even sure it’s possible to create another plane of existence?” Frank interjects quietly. “If your Father never did it, and your brother doesn’t know how…”

“Well, I never knew that Hell was supposed to be a rehabilitation center before Dad left, so I didn’t get a chance to ask Him before he retired.” Lucifer’s lip quivers in a restrained sneer. “It would have been so much easier to start these processes before Hell became as populated as it is now. I wasted so much time just… raging. And He wasn’t even listening.”

“You couldn’t have known, Brother,” Raphael places a steadying hand on his shoulder, able to understand a little better now what her brother had gone through during his imprisonment and isolation.

“Do we think Dad will let us use the Sword to go talk to Grandpa?” Charlie asks, picking at the faded navy sleeve of his ratty USC hoodie. “I mean, it’s kind of a dangerous weapon, right? Even without the flaming part added in?”

“What if we made Purgatory adjacent to Heaven?” Frank suggests as an alternative, looking curiously back as they all turn to stare at him. “Well, why not?”

“Could we?” Linda wonders aloud, rubbing her cheek thoughtfully. “I mean, is it even physically possible for Azrael to bring a soul that would otherwise be coming here into the Heavenly plane?”

“We would have to ask her,” Lucifer shakes his head, conceding his ignorance of the matter. “If it is, it might make the rehabilitation go more smoothly– Heaven’s divinity would influence the souls to a more conducive frame of mind to forgive themselves than Hell’s atmosphere of infernal punishment… but that would be like… placing a homeless shelter next to a high-end gated community. I can’t imagine the residents reacting well.”

“Would they even be able to react in any way that was negative?” Charlie asks, curious. “I thought Heaven basically meant no negative thoughts period?”

“Maybe for humans?” Lucifer considers. “It certainly didn’t go that way for me, but I’m a Celestial, so perhaps I was immune? Perhaps I can ask Daniel and Charlotte next time I’m there, see if they can remember much of Hell. Frank?”

The priest considers his answer for a long moment. “Heaven doesn’t block negative thoughts… at least not once you’ve acclimated. At first, I only remember an overwhelming peace– just bliss in existence. It took me a while to even remember my daughter so I could go find her. After I found her, and settled into being there, there were times when I would remember when I’d lost her, or when I would have a fleeting worry about Connor. Those thoughts never lasted more than a moment though, like a wisp of smoke blown away in a breeze. The push to just let them go, to be happy… it was almost a compulsion.”

“So the question is, do we think the souls in Heaven would react badly to having souls that haven’t quite ‘earned’ their way to Heaven setting up base next door?” Linda rephrases, trying to settle the question in her mind for consideration.

“Souls don’t ‘earn’ Heaven,” Raphael scoffs before Lucifer can respond, and the unaccustomed harshness in her tone makes everyone turn to her in surprise. “Heaven is the default, every soul ever created is Heaven-bound until they feel enough guilt to redirect. Even humanity’s worst stained souls were once pure enough to achieve Heaven.”

Everyone considers this, each with their own varying degrees of optimism for the success of their plan to create a Purgatory capable of housing souls that merely need reflection and realignment, not the intensive therapy and rehabilitation needs of the rest of the souls in Hell. The issue with having them in Hell is that Hell itself tends to reinforce guilt, forcing the souls to face it over and over. With the souls that Raphael specializes in, however, the guilt isn’t truly theirs to carry, so Hell only grinds the guilt deeper and deeper into the fiber of the soul, miring them within it like quicksand. They need somewhere neutral to house them, if they can’t manage Heaven-adjacent. Somewhere like…

Lucifer’s head pops up as an idea occurs to him, his shoulders straightening as his chest fills with a revelatory breath. Linda and Raphael notice, but Charlie and Frank are still lost in thought. Lucifer shares a glance with the other two, but says nothing. He doesn’t want to raise hopes until he tries his idea to see if it’s even possible.

“So, items on the agenda going forward,” he licks his lips eagerly, glancing around his office and making mental notes. “One: Check in with Charlotte and Daniel and see if we can get a consensus on how Heavenly souls might react to having a soul rehab center right next door. Two: Ask about the flaming sword, and if the answer is no, have the same discussion with AmenaGod.” His lip only curls a little at that, and Linda chuckles despite herself. He lifts an eyebrow and she shakes her head fondly.

“I still can’t believe he lets you get away with calling him that.”

“I let him call me Luci, Linda,” Lucifer’s grin seems to have far too many teeth. “Believe me, this nickname is far nicer than others I have for him.”

Charlie looks as though he’s going to ask for examples, so Lucifer quickly continues his previous train of thought, “Three: Linda and Frank, we need to address the fact that you two also need to take some time off.”

This proclamation is met by an immediate negative clamor from the two souls in question, as he’d known that it would be. He lets the protestations die down a little before he holds up a hand in a request to be heard. “Every argument that you used on me to go take time with Chloe is applicable here for you. Charlie has his time on Earth, and Raphael gets her time in Heaven. You two are quite literally the only souls that have willingly chosen to forsake Heaven to help me in my impossible project of renovating Hell. Not only can I ill afford to lose your incredibly valuable insights, but you are some of my closest friends, and I will not allow you to burn yourselves out because you’re too bloody stubborn to take a break now and then.”

“He’s right,” Charlie agrees immediately, returning Linda’s accusatory glare with an apologetic expression. “You know he’s right, Mom, you’ve been down here for millennia. Let me take you to Heaven for a break. You can see your family, the friends you’ve got up there–”

It doesn’t escape Lucifer’s notice that Charlie doesn’t mention his father, but he allows that observation to pass by without comment. As far as Lucifer is aware, Linda and Amenadiel haven’t spoken since Amenadiel conceded his defeat at convincing Linda to come to Heaven rather than help Lucifer with his soul rehabilitation program.

“I won’t go,” Linda crosses her arms and sets her chin stubbornly. “What if I take a little break in Heaven, but when I come back, I have a breakdown like the other souls that tried to come back to help? What if–” she presses her lips together with a brief glance at her son before obviously rerouting her argument. “I’m not taking that risk, Lucifer.”

“I may have an idea about that,” Lucifer allows, but doesn’t elaborate. “Let me work on it and I’ll get back to you, but either way– Linda, you will be taking a break. Frank–”

“I can see the sense of what you’re saying,” the priest agrees reluctantly. “I… I’m not worried about having a breakdown when I return here, because I’ve never been trapped in one of the Loops. The next time Raphael makes her visit, maybe she can take me. I can spend some time with my daughter, and maybe brainstorm with Dan and Charlotte, and whoever else they have in their network.”

“That sounds like a working vacation at best, Padre,” Lucifer narrows his eyes at his friend, who only smiles beatifically back, completely unapologetic in his single-mindedness. “But I do know better than to think I can change your mind. At least you’ll be escaping Hell itself for a while.”

Frank beams back at him, and while Linda still doesn’t look happy, Lucifer is content to call it a win for now. “All right, have I missed anything? No? Let’s get back to work then, chop-chop! Hell isn’t going to empty itself, you know.”

Everyone stands and files from his office, but Linda lingers, watching him carefully.

“How did your vacation with Chloe go?”

Lucifer sighs, knowing this tone of voice. She’s decided it’s time for Hell’s Healer to have some therapy of his own. He gives her a smile and lowers himself onto his couch, gesturing toward his usual chair for Linda to have a seat, acknowledging the swap in their roles. Her eyes soften as she accepts the invitation, closing the door to his office and seating herself, patiently crossing her left leg over her right knee and adopting a listening expression.

“It was… glorious torture, Doctor,” he sighs, fiddling idly with a cufflink. “Being with her is all I ever want, but feeling the minutes with her drain away like sand in an hourglass, knowing how few of them she has left on Earth and yet how very many I have to endure here before we’re really able to be together… I’m not sure I have adequate words for how that feels.”

“Whose turn was it this time?” Linda is well aware of their policy for alternating departures, and of how hard parting is, no matter which one leaves the other.

“Mine,” he whispers brokenly. “We said our goodbyes the night before, and after she fell asleep, I put her to bed and left before she woke.”

Linda nods sagely, not judging. “Did you tell her about the new time conversion?”

His silence speaks volumes, and she can’t suppress a sigh. “You can’t keep that from her, Lucifer, she deserves to know what you’re doing here. What you’re doing for her.”

“She already knows time moves faster here,” Lucifer defends half-heartedly, “I don’t know that putting a specific number to it will make her feel any better about it.”

“And yet you didn’t have any problems informing her of the specific number before you made this deal with Amenadiel.” Her voice is perfectly neutral, but Lucifer knows the tricks now. He knows her personal view on the matter, and he knows Chloe would want to know, even though there is nothing she could do aside from fret about it.

“Surely you can understand why I want to spare her this… unnecessary worry?” He pleads weakly, his dark eyes boring into her compassionate hazel ones, asking for her comprehension. “She already has so much on her plate, and I know she worries about me down here for so long. I tried pointing out that I’ve been down here far longer and with less to look forward to, but that certainly didn’t help my case…”

“I understand, Lucifer, but you need to remember that we’re talking about Chloe here,” she says gently, leaning forward and holding eye contact. “Your partner. You decided a long time ago to let her in, to share everything equally with her. You made a difficult decision that affects your well-being without consulting her. Have you forgotten how she’s reacted to your unilateral decisions in the past?”

“This one doesn’t need to affect her at all!” He argues passionately, standing abruptly in order to pace the confines of his office. “This decision only needs to affect me– her time isn’t affected at all. Charlie might be affected a little, but he is always free to come and go as he pleases, you know that.”

“Let’s look at it this way,” Linda suggests calmly, as her friend and patient takes great, steadying gulps of air while pacing restlessly. “How do you think Chloe is going to feel, knowing that you’ve taken on a much heavier burden in her absence, all in the hopes of easing her burden once she arrives here?”

“Oh, I know that she’s not going to be happy.” He doesn’t have to think about it, he knows that she’s going to be angry at him for increasing his self-imposed sentence. He doesn’t know if he can bear her anger on top of Rory’s right now. “My primary concern is that she’s not only going to be angry with me, she’s going to be angry with Amenadiel for not holding up his promises to help us resolve this entire issue.”

Linda’s jaw drops, her lips forming a perfect ‘Oh’ of surprise. “You’re afraid if she causes too much of a stir, Amenadiel might…”

“Mm-hm,” Lucifer chirps, nodding somberly. “He’s already threatened to withhold her from me when you chose to come here to help, Linda. He almost immediately took it back, but…” he sighs in frustration, closing his eyes tightly and shaking his head a little. “I think you know what I’m afraid of, and I think that’s the reason you don’t want to go to Heaven for a break.”

He opens his eyes and catches the surprise written openly across her face. A sad smile plays on his lips as she nods slowly. “You see? I’m learning to read people better all the time. But as for Chloe… as much as I don’t want her here, I also can’t bear the thought of being without her any longer than I absolutely have to. If she chooses to come here, I cannot turn her away. I… I don’t want to.”

“Lucifer, I’ve known Chloe for decades. Once she makes up her mind, nothing gets in her way.” The weight of her friends’ plight settles heavily in her chest. She knows better than nearly anyone how much Lucifer’s absence affects Chloe, left to raise two daughters and tackle the deeply rooted prejudices at the LAPD without her partner’s irrepressible presence and constant support. “Did you make any plans for the next time you two can get some time together?”

“No, it’s simply impossible to plan too far in advance. Even with retirement coming up, she’ll stay busy, and she tells me that Rory is ridiculously suspicious and overprotective, always questioning her incessantly if she isn’t where Rory expects her to be.” A sour look crosses Lucifer’s face, softening when Linda can’t help but chuckle. “Something else my little murder angel gets from me, apparently.”

“Murder angel?” Linda lifts an inquiring eyebrow, and now it’s Lucifer’s turn to chuckle.

“Daniel used that nickname for her when she brought him to my penthouse from Hell,” Lucifer’s smirk betrays his amusem*nt, but it falls into a heavy sadness quickly. “She’d told him that she wanted to kill me, you see, so…”

“Oh, Lucifer,” Linda sighs, having forgotten in the intervening millennia how very angry Rory had been when she’d turned up in 2021. “You know that she was just–”

“Yes, I know, she was angry about my absence from her life, and displacing her grief at Chloe’s passing into her anger at me. And I know she’ll feel differently when the loop is closed.” His assurance feels empty, and Linda knows his enforced absence from her life, from their lives cuts deeper than he will ever let anyone– save perhaps Chloe– see. He clears his throat before promising. “I’ll speak with Chloe about the deal the next time I see her. In the meantime, was there anything else? I… have a new project I need to start work on.”

“What, another one?”

“No rest for the wicked, Doctor,” he grins, and at her off look, adds, “Nor apparently the wickedly handsome.” He preens a little, sobering at her tired sigh. “I don’t want to get any hopes up, if I can’t manage it, but I have to try. Call it Purgatory Plan B, if you will. I’ll be around if you need me, but my office schedule may become a little erratic for the foreseeable future.”

He stands and moves to the door, opening it to see her out. She stops beside him, looking worriedly up at him. “I worry about you, Lucifer. You take on too much.”

“Call it retribution for all those millennia I spent down here sulking when I could have been doing something useful instead,” he says lightly, but she can easily hear the self-recrimination behind his words.

“It’s not your fault you didn’t know any of this was possible,” she points out candidly, and he nods in acknowledgement, but not acceptance. She sighs. “Just… please let me know if I can be of any help, all right?”

“You’re an immense help, Linda, and never think otherwise.” His dark eyes hold hers, hypnotic in their earnestness. “Your patience, your willingness to be here, your friendship… those are priceless to me, darling. Don’t think I’ve forgotten about your break. I’m going to work that out for you first and foremost.”

He shoos her out and closes the door before she can argue, glancing around his office again and allowing himself to hope for the first time that this new little project might prove effective.

Chapter 7: What Does That Mean, Exactly?

Chapter Text

“Lucifer, slow down,” Linda’s anxious voice rings through the dim corridor as he drags her feverishly out of her office. “No one has seen you for months, and now you’re– I was in the middle of a session! Where have you been?”

It had felt like old times, with a wild-eyed Lucifer bursting in on her session with a patient. Only this time, instead of shuttling them out the door with nary an apology, he’d simply waved his hand and the soul had been bundled off back to his Loop.

“Working, Doctor!” He crows triumphantly, eyes glinting as he glances back over his shoulder at her and stumbles on the uneven ground. “I’ve been working, and I may have an answer!”

“An answer for what?” She succeeds in yanking her hand from his clammy grip and stops dead in the basalt-pillar-lined hallway, crossing her arms over her chest. “We’ve been worried sick about you. It’s been centuries since you’ve even appeared long enough to spend much time counseling the souls!”

“I know, and I’ll be getting back to that soon enough, but Linda, I need you to come with me!” He’s pleading now, and she narrows her hazel eyes in concern. Dark circles hug his bloodshot eyes, and he looks as though he’s lost weight and muscle mass.His usually immaculate appearance is frayed, his behavior manic. “Please… Linda, please. You’re the final test! We have to hurry, I don’t know how much longer–”

The blatant anxiety in his tone gets her moving again, and his grin widens so much that it’s nearly a grimace. “It’s taken me bloody forever to figure this out… oh, I hope it’s still running, I’m nearly out. If this doesn’t… Ah, finally! Here we are, Doctor, in you pop!”

“Lucifer, what is this?”

It looks like a standard loop door, but that wouldn’t have Lucifer in such a state. Unless… is someone they know in there? She glances at him, but can find nothing but pleading in his open, exhausted expression. She gathers her wits for what she’ll find when she enters, and pushes through the door–

– only to sink to her ankles in soft, white sand. Brilliant sunshine blinds her, and a refreshing, salt-tinged ocean breeze teases her hair as seabirds call obnoxiously in the distance. Cerulean waves sparkle in the sun as they foam gently along a pristine shoreline, and an enormous blue blanket is spread invitingly on the ivory sand with a multicolored umbrella shading it perfectly. A sweating co*cktail glass full of a peach-colored iced drink sits anchored in the sand beside the blanket.

She blinks in confusion and turns to Lucifer with a question on her lips, only to find that he’s no longer beside her. And the door is no longer behind her. And she’s no longer wearing her sensible black-and-white floral patterned dress. In its place is a tasteful red bathing suit, a tropical-patterned sarong knotted over her left hip, and some comfortable sandals.

“Lucifer?”

She pulls in a breath and notices for the first time that something feels… odd. For the first time in millennia– since she’s come to Hell– the constant pressure she’d felt bearing down on her is absent. She pulls in another breath, and sighs at the lightness of it. The sun caresses her skin like a long-lost lover and she lifts her face to it, drinking in the heat and light and freedom.

The beach is empty but for her presence, the sand smooth beneath her feet and absent of footprints, tire tracks, and trash. Everything is perfect, and Linda spares a moment to wonder how Lucifer managed this. It’s Hell, after all, this shouldn’t be possible.

What have you done here, Lucifer? How?

She removes the sandals and slides her toes through the sunwarmed sand as she approaches the beach blanket and settles down in the shade, reaching for the drink. She holds the sweating glass up to her forehead, enjoying the juxtaposition of the heat of the sun and the icy drink before taking a sip and moaning a little as fruity tartness explodes on her tongue.

This is paradise. A little slice of Heaven here in Hell, and while she fully intends to interrogate Lucifer later about how he accomplished it, for now, she is more than willing to enjoy her well-earned vacation.

*

“Uncle?” Charlie approaches the slumped form cautiously. “I was looking for Mom, one of the demons said she came this way with you… are you okay?”

“M’fine,” Lucifer slurs, waving his hand sloppily. In his other hand, he’s holding what appears to be a white folding fan with a red handle. “Juss tired. Seeing to th’Doct’r’s holiday.”

As he approaches, Lucifer takes a piece of the fan and presses it to the door he’s slumped against. There’s a sizzling sound and a small flash of silver light, immediately followed by the acrid scent of burnt hair.

“What are you doing?”

“Feeding it,” Lucifer mutters without opening his eyes. Charlie moves closer and sees it isn’t a fan in his uncle’s hand, but a bundle of snowy white feathers, blood clinging to the quills where they’d been ripped unceremoniously from their follicles. He blinks in confusion. Is this some part of Hell husbandry he’d been previously unaware of?

“Why are you feeding your feathers to a loop?”

“S’not a loop,” the King of Hell’s head lolls from one side to the other lethargically. “It’s a…” a musical sound emerges from his throat, quickly swallowed by the dense atmosphere of Hell.

“It’s a what?”

Lucifer makes the sound again, which still fails to enlighten his nephew. After a moment, he shrugs. “Okay. Well… I guess I’ll leave you to it, if you’re sure you’re okay. Do you know where Mom is? One of her patients is nearly ready to ascend.”

“Oh, good,” a lazy smile spreads across Lucifer’s face, and suddenly Charlie notices the lines of exhaustion around his eyes and mouth, the dark circles under his eyes. “She’s inside.”

“Inside the loop?” Charlie looks again at the door, then at the fairly large pile of feathery ash on the ground beside his uncle. He hesitates only a moment before asking, “Why?”

“S’not a loop,” Lucifer growls, this time cracking his eyes open to glare at his clueless nephew. “S’a… divin’ty chamber. F’r holiday.”

“Why are you…” Charlie suddenly connects the dots, his expression switching from confused to horrified in the blink of an eye.

He’s feeding it. With his divinity.

“This is… like one of the rooms in Heaven?” He clarifies. Lucifer makes that musical, lilting sound again and nods weakly. A rising tide of concern nearly chokes him. “Uncle Luci, how much of your energy did it take to make this? How long have you been sustaining it?”

“S’not important,” He waves his hand again, then clumsily feeds two more trembling feathers to the door. Charlie wrinkles his nose at the smell, but Lucifer appears not to notice. “Took m’bloody f’rvr to get it right.”

“Okay,” Charlie hunkers down next to his uncle and looks him over. He looks bad: eyes dull, hair wild, cheeks sunken, and a clammy pallor giving his face a corpselike sheen. “I think Raphael needs to see you, Uncle, can you fly with me?”

“Don’ thn’ so,” Lucifer slurs, blinking up at him heavily. “Bit short.”

“What’s short?” He’s really starting to worry now, he’s never seen Lucifer this disconnected. He’s always perfectly put together, even when it seems Hell is trying to crumble down around them. In reply, Lucifer merely huffs a sigh and shrugs his shoulders. Charlie staggers back with a shuddering gasp. “Uncle!”

Rather than Lucifer’s beautiful, glowing white wings, what unfolds from his shoulders are nothing more than naked expanses of follicle-pocked skin, some of which are still sluggishly oozing blood. Painful-looking quills protrude here and there where feathers have started to re-grow, but Charlie barely stifles a cry at their pitiful state. One thought surfaces urgently.

Raphael.

He unfurls his own silvery grey wings, ignoring their trembling as he looks once more at his uncle’s denuded appendages. “I’ll be right back, Uncle Luci, I’m going to get Raphael.”

He hums his tired agreement, eyes sliding closed again as his nephew leaps anxiously into the air. He returns with the Healer in tow, just in time to see Lucifer feed his last few feathers to the door.

“Is Linda in there?” Raphael asks tersely. Lucifer gives a slight nod, and the Healer scoffs angrily. “Do you think she’d appreciate you draining yourself like this? Do you think she would be enjoying herself in there if she saw what it’s costing you?”

“‘Splain later,” he mutters, “too tired now.”

“No kidding,” she kneels beside him while Charlie anxiously shuffles from foot to foot beside them. “You’ve emptied your reserves, you idiot.” She brushes her dark, curly hair out of her emerald eyes and looks up at her nephew in concern. “I’ve got to get him out of here. He’ll recover much faster if I can get him to the Silver City. Or even Earth.”

“Take him to Earth,” her nephew suggests, his expression hardening. “With the new suspicions about Dad, I’m not sure Uncle Luci would want Him to know what we’re working on down here, and I can’t imagine you getting him up to the Silver City in this condition without Dad hearing about it. Take him to Lux, just… don’t tell Chloe.”

The Healer bites her lip, but nods her agreement after a long moment. “Get your mom out of there, I don’t know what will happen if the divinity wears off with someone inside.”

Charlie barely has time to acknowledge the instruction before tiny Raphael scoops up her much larger brother and spreads her glimmering gold and cream wings before vanishing, leaving behind a swirl of ash and the acrid scent of burnt feathers. Charlie turns to the door and opens it carefully.

“Mom?”

A gentle breeze teases his short curls, smelling richly of the ocean and hot sand. As he steps through the door, his jaw sags at what awaits him.

“Wow.”

“Charlie!” Linda sits up at his entrance, stretching lazily and waving when she spots him. He braces the door open (just in case), and jogs across the sand to her blanket, still staring around the tropical beach in awe. “Hey baby, is my vacation time officially up?”

“Guess so, Mama,” Charlie forces a smile, not wanting to worry his mother until they know more about what shape Lucifer is in. “One of your patients is almost ready to jump ship.”

“Please tell me it’s Herman.”

“It’s Herman,” Charlie laughs when his mother groans in relief and flops back down on her beach blanket. “We think he just needs a final little push from you.”

“Thank the stars,” Linda breathes as she stands, adjusting her sarong and finishing her drink. “This has been a nice break, but it’ll be good to get back to work.”

“Feeling recharged?” Charlie prods anxiously, opening up his senses just a little. To his sight, his mother’s emotional state whirls gently with a kaleidoscope of soft greens, purples, and blues. He relaxes a bit. She’s in a good place. Whatever happened with Lucifer, it hasn’t affected his mother.

“I feel great,” Linda assures him as she follows him to the door, kicking up little puffs of powdery sand with her bare toes. “I have so many questions for Lucifer about how he managed this little getaway, though.”

“So do we,” Charlie glances back over his shoulder at the quickly fading pristine paradise and shakes his head. It shouldn’t have been possible, setting up a piece of Heaven here in Hell. It had drained the Devil to do it, but he’d managed it, and all to help a friend. “C’mon, Mom, let’s get you to your office so we can send Herman on his way.”

“Finally,” Linda laughs as her son scoops her up and flaps, dislodging any clinging sand from her bare feet and dispelling the remains of the small pile of feathery ash by the now inactive door.

*

Chloe doesn’t really need to check Lux’s monthly books. It’s not like she can’t afford to pay someone to go over the accounts and make sure the i’s are dotted and the t’s are crossed, after all. Eve had offered to take the task over many times, even.

But if she did that, Chloe wouldn’t have an excuse to spend some uninterrupted time alone at the penthouse every few weeks. And even though she’s never been a clubgoer at heart, Lucifer had loved Lux. Keeping a connection with his club is one of many, many small ways she keeps him alive and present in her daily life, and she can’t imagine giving this one small thing up any more than she can imagine losing any of the many other small things.

She chuckles quietly to herself as she recalls the first time she’d done this, how far in the red the balances had been, only to bounce mysteriously back into the black the very next month… now that Lucifer was no longer around to drink up all the profits, and then some.

It’s a definite no-brainer that she would have traded it all to keep him with her. She’s about to close the ledger with a sigh, when she hears a rustle from the bedroom, followed by a low groan. She’s been here for two hours, so she knows no one else was here when she came in, but that sound is far too familiar to mistake for anything– anyone– else. Her heart speeds up, and she calls out breathlessly,

“Lucifer?”

It’s been less than a week– only a few days, really– since their idyllic secluded fortnight at Sequoia. It’s why she’d come here tonight, she’d been missing him so fiercely that she’d needed to have reminders of him close. He shouldn’t be here, unless something is very wrong.

“sh*t.” The whispered epithet sounds uncharacteristically desperate, but she recognizes that voice as well.

“Raphael?”

“Chloe, hey,” Raphael greets her at the entrance to Lucifer’s bedroom, her gold and ivory wings out and semi-spread, effectively blocking the view inside. “I… didn’t think anyone would be here! Just… uh, stopping in on my way up the Silver City for my periodic check-in. You know how it goes. I… realized I was gonna be way early, so I thought I’d just stay the night here, you know.”

Another quiet groan echoes from the room behind her, and Chloe crosses her arms and lifts a brow.

“He’s fine, Chloe, I promise,” Raphael sighs as she brushes past. “He’s just… working on a new project and overstretched himself a little. I brought him here to recover faster, that’s all.”

Chloe flicks on the lamps and a gasp falls from her as she surveys his condition. He’s propped up in one of the low chairs opposite the bed, his head tilting forward until his chin rests against his chest. Dark shadows cling to his face, accentuating the deep hollows below his eyes and in his cheeks. She crosses the room and drops to her knees beside him, taking his face between trembling hands.

“Raphael, what the Hell? Lucifer?”

He hums a response, and the razor’s edge of her anxiety eases when he leans into her touch, even if it doesn’t abate completely. His eyelids flutter weakly, but remain firmly closed. “How did he get in this state?”

“I’m not really sure what his project is, I only know that he’s been working on it like mad, and then we found him like this.” Raphael shrugs helplessly at Chloe’s pointed question. “He’s just overextended and needs to rest a little bit so he can replenish, that’s all.”

“This isn’t just overextension,” Chloe argues vehemently, lifting his chin so she can trace the clinging, bruise-like shadows with gentle fingers. “This is exhaustion. He’s lost weight, Raphael, that doesn’t happen with a single strenuous effort. Have there been more uprisings?”

He hadn’t mentioned any whispers of unrest… but then, it’s probably been a couple of centuries since he’s been back there, and things could have changed…

“No, nothing like that,” the Healer shakes her head. “We’ve been trying to figure out a solution for a… limbo, of sorts. I think he was trying to do something new, and just… put a little too much of himself into it.”

“What does that mean, exactly?”

“It means he’s nearly drained himself of energy, and he’ll recover faster here than he would in Hell,” Raphael sighs. “He just needs some rest and sunlight, and if I kept him there, he’d just be fretting about not getting back to his project, so I thought he could recuperate here.” Raphael rolls up the sleeves of her lavender robes, and places a hand over Lucifer’s heart. “I’m going to give him a little jumpstart of energy… sort of… priming the pump for recovery. He’ll probably jump, but I don’t think he’ll wake up.”

Chloe nods, her eyes never leaving her partner’s face as she remains kneeling beside his chair. The cold from the stone floor starts to seep into her arthritic knees, but she makes no attempt to move away, keeping a firm grip on his hand. With a low grunt of effort, Raphael pushes a soft glow into Lucifer’s chest, just over his heart.

Chloe feels an odd tingle in her fingers where they’re wrapped around Lucifer’s hand, not unlike when she runs them through his feathers. He heaves a heavy gasp and his body arches against the chair, his extremities trembling erratically before he slowly loses all tension in his body and nearly oozes from the seat.

The tiny healer steps in, gently pushing Chloe back as she hauls him back into the chair and goes to the bed to turn down the sheets. Chloe gapes in shock as Raphael picks up her brother and hauls his lanky body across the room without any discernible effort, only stopping to clinically remove his shoes and jacket before pulling the bedclothes tightly around him.

Even after all this time it’s sometimes shocking to see evidence of how other angels can be. Even Rory and Charlie are stronger and faster than the average human. It’s been nearly three decades, and she’s still not used to that.

Speaking of Rory… She glances at her phone and grimaces at the time. She’ll be expecting her home soon. She bites her lip and flicks a glance at Raphael fussing over her brother.

Your Aunt Raphael turned up while I was doing the books, she types out into a text message. I’m gonna stay here tonight and catch up with her, since she’s only going to be in town for a day or two.

Three little dots start dancing, and Chloe waits impatiently for her daughter’s response. She doesn’t want to have to call Trix as a distraction, but she will if she has to.

You’re not bringing her here, right??

Chloe stifles a laugh. She’d almost forgotten about the near-enmity Rory holds for her aunt after her reaction to seeing her wings for the first time once she’d developed her bladed feathers.

Raphael had quizzed her incessantly about why she felt the need to weaponize her wings all the time– Did she feel unsafe here on Earth? Was she being threatened? Did she have a deep-seated anxiety about being able to defend herself?

Rory had been 17 at the time, and she’d given her aunt glib, sarcastic answers until Raphael had crossed the line and suggested Rory go stay in the Silver City for a while to get a better handle on her self-actualization. At that point, her funny, dry-witted daughter had snapped, and it was the first time Chloe had sworn she’d seen a familiar red glow flash in those haunting mahogany eyes.

“My wings are bad-ass, just like my Mom,” Rory had shouted, her wings bristling with offense. Raphael had reeled back in shock, her wide green eyes taking in Chloe’s calm countenance in the face of Rory’s sudden fury as she’d stammered her apologies. “There is nothing wrong with me, or my life. I wouldn’t change one single thing about it, so back off.”

Chloe had called her daughter to order then, and Rory had grudgingly apologized for her outburst, but she had actively avoided her aunt since then… which admittedly wasn’t difficult, since the Healer spent her time largely either in Hell with Lucifer himself, or in Heaven as his liaison.

No, we’ll just be here chatting. Text me if you need me, k?

K

Love you.

Love you too, baby.

Ugh, MOM

Chloe chuckles and tucks her phone away. Rory may be in her late twenties, but one thing she and Linda had discovered about half-angels is that while they are very advanced at a young age, once they hit physical maturity the aging process seems to slow, resulting in an extended puberty.

Joy of joys, she thinks to herself wryly. Rory, while nearly 28 physically, really has the emotional maturity of a 17 to 20-year old human. It’s something that reminds Chloe so much of her partner that it’s almost painful to deal with every day, but she can’t imagine her daughter any other way.

Nor would she want to. Rory reminds her in a thousand ways every single day of the man that she loves, while also being nothing other than her utterly unique self. But Chloe is honest enough to admit to herself that watching her beautiful, intelligent, beloved daughter grow to hate the man that is separating himself from everything he loves at her unknown request is a burden so heavy that sometimes she doesn’t know how she hasn’t yet been crushed beneath it.

She pulls in a deep breath and centers herself in the moment: a rare, unexpected one with Lucifer, even though he’s not conscious to enjoy it with her.

“Are you going to stay with him?” she asks the Healer, once she’s done fussing around her patient.

“I was going to.” A slow smile spreads across her face. “But if you’re here, I don’t need to. Did you want to stay? Do you need someone with Rory?”

“No,” Chloe laughs, imagining Rory’s horror at the idea of having a babysitter. “Rory’s fine by herself, and I already told her I’d be here chatting with you all night.”

“There we go, then. I’ll just head back to Hell and my patients, and give you an extra day or two with him.”

“Is there anything I need to do for him?” Chloe sits on the bed beside him, her hand reaching out reflexively to brush an errant curl from his forehead.

“He really does only need rest. His energy will regenerate quickly enough.” Her brows draw together as a thought occurs to her, “His feathers might take a little while to regrow, though…”

“His feathers?” Chloe’s never known him to lose feathers before… except for the loft with Cain, when his wings had been shot nearly literally to Hell while protecting her. “What happened to them?”

“I think he was using them for his project, but I’m not sure exactly how. He’s going to be super itchy when he wakes up.”

“Itchy?” Chloe blinks, feeling as though she’s missed a page in a script somewhere. “Why is he going to be…” She looks down at him, not seeing a… a rash or hives, or anything.

“Regrowing feathers is a pain,” Raphael shrugs. “It takes some time, but he doesn’t have to stay here the entire time if he wants to come back sooner. He just needs to rejuvenate for a bit and then Charlie or I can take him back if he’s not up to flying himself.”

“His feathers are gone?” Chloe gasps, worry surging and congealing into a heavy weight in her chest. “Like Amenadiel’s, when he fell? He’s… he’s not falling again?”

“No!” Raphael throws her hands up, stemming the tide of Chloe’s frantic concern. “No, nonono, Chloe, it’s nothing like that! I think he was using them as a kind of… celestial battery. For his project. But until he’s got his energy back, I don’t know anything more than what I’ve already told you.”

“What the Hell was he working on that he used eighteen feet worth of wingfeathers on??”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Raphael sighs and spreads her wings. “I’ll come check on him in four or five centuries if I don’t see him before then, check if he’s ready to come back or if he needs some more time.”

“Four or five centuries? You said he’d only need a day or two?”

“Er, riiiiight,” Raphael’s eyes widen as Chloe’s narrow. “Gotta go, Chloe, talk to you soon!”

She’s gone in a rustle of cream and glistening gold, and Chloe transfers her suspicious gaze to her sleeping partner. She slips off her boots and curls up on the bed beside him, not sleepy yet, but not wanting to waste any moment of closeness.

She rests her head on his chest, reassured by the steady, strong rhythm of his heart under her ear as she lets her mind turn over the bits and pieces she’d gleaned from Raphael’s disjointed explanation.

Slowly, she starts fitting them into place, and she doesn’t like what picture is starting to form.

*

Lucifer slowly wakes into a particularly vivid version of one of his favorite dreams.

In the dream, he’s in his luxurious bed, surrounded by silk sheets, and the love of his life is draped across his body and snoring like an ancient, rusty chainsaw. He doesn’t open his eyes, afraid of breaking the dream, so he revels in the dream contact and scent (and unbelievably loud sound) of her nearness. He has perfect recall on waking, of course, but this dream is certainly top-tier. The comfortable weight of her limbs draped over his, the warmth of her breath puffing against his neck, the tickle of her hair against his cheek.

He wishes he could live in this dream forever, but he’s got so much work to do if he’s going to make Chloe’s afterlife with him worthwhile.

He tugs his dream-Chloe closer as he gathers the courage to wake up alone and in Hell, and she snorts adorably, settling into quieter slumber for a moment. A low chuckle rumbles in his chest and he chooses this moment to take with him as he wakes to his bleak, miserable– penthouse?

He blinks in the unexpected sunlight– real sunlight, not the weak facsimile that streams in his Hell office windows. Silvering, dirty-blonde hair forms a wild halo on the ebony silk pillowcase before him, and when he drops a tentative kiss into it, the strands snarl gently in his stubble.

I’m on Earth?

That’s… odd. He’d only just returned from an entire two weeks with Chloe less than a millennium ago, how did this fortunate twist of fate happen? The last thing he remembers was working on Linda’s…

Linda!

Only the weight of Chloe’s peacefully sleeping body keeps him from leaping to his feet and bolting for Hell. It makes him pause long enough for common sense to kick in. If he’s here, then obviously someone brought him here. Perhaps he had been a little overexcited to try out his idea. He takes a steadying breath and slowly traces his fingers up and down Chloe’s back, feeling the gentle bump of each individual vertebra as his trembling fingers gently travel the length of her spine again and again, the motion soothing for both of them.

If someone brought him here, then someone must have found Linda. He wonders how long she managed to enjoy her little getaway, wonders what form it took. He hopes it was enough.

She stirs against him again, making the familiar little sounds of contentment that he loves so well. The sheets slip from her shoulders, and he notices with a smile that she’s wearing one of his shirts.

“Old habits, eh?” he murmurs, pleased. He’ll have to find a way to take this shirt with him when he goes. He always tries to take something that smells of her. She never says anything, and he returns the favor when she always pilfers something of his.

The scent never lasts as long as he wants it to. But then, neither do their too-brief interludes.

There’s an odd sensation in his back, as though his wings are being trailed through nettles. He bears the discomfort as long as he can, determined to enjoy every instant of being wrapped up in his Detective (no matter that she hasn’t been a Detective for well over a decade by now, by Earth standards). Eventually though, he can’t stand it any longer and manages to slither reluctantly from her grasp and pad to his en-suite. He looks down at his once-white shirt, now lightly dusted here and there with smudges of ash and a deep-brown speckling of what can only be blood.

Curious, he checks himself for a demon-blade injury but finds none.

Odd.

A particularly irritating stinging sensation finally drives him to unfurl his wings thinking perhaps some ash had managed to embed itself into a follicle– but when his wings manifest, all he can do is gape at them in the mirror.

“Lucifer?” It’s little more than a breath, but he hears it, of course he does.

“Bloody Hell,” he murmurs, glancing up and meeting her wide blue eyes ruefully in the mirror. “You would have to wake up just in time to see me in all my porcupine pegasus glory, wouldn’t you?”

Chapter 8: Time To Go

Chapter Text

Chloe doesn’t let him distract her with humor, moving closer to inspect his denuded wings. “So… do angels molt, or… something? I mean, Rory did, when she lost her baby feathers, but… um… this seems a little extreme.”

“We…” he huffs in annoyance, “I’m not a bloody bird, Detective, we’ve been over this ages ago, when you kept banging on about wing oil and preening glands.”

“I know you’re not a bird, Lucifer,” she tweaks one of the longer shafts gently with her fingertips and he lifts his wings, quills rattling in affront. “And yet, here you are, all molted out. Wanna tell me what happened?”

“I… I’m not sure I know, exactly,” he admits candidly. “I was working on a project, and I may have gotten a little swept up in it. I was so excited that it seemed to be working, you see, and I needed to test it quickly before I ran out… um, before it stopped working.”

“Raphael said you drained yourself working on this project, and that none of them knew what you were working on.” Anger gives her tone a razor’s edge, and he stills as he feels it sliding dangerously across his skin. “What if they hadn’t found you? What if one of Dromos’ followers had come across you while you were out there, unconscious?”

“Darling, I took care of that issue hundreds of thousands of years ago now, I was perfectly safe!” She crosses her arms and meets his gaze in the mirror, making it clear that she’s certainly not buying what he’s trying to sell. “This was important, and I was the only one that could make it work.”

“Make what work?”

“I told you, the last time we were together, about the issues we’ve been having with trying to work out a… limbo, of sorts, yes? Somewhere that borderline souls can go to address their inconsequential or undeserved guilt without having to fight Hell’s guilt amplification?” She hums agreement, her expression still closed. “Amenadiel says He doesn’t know how to create a new plane for purgatory, so we came up with a couple of potential ideas. I was working on one of them.”

“Hm,” she grunts as she turns away and starts to pace, leaving Lucifer to watch her agitated movements from his position in front of the mirror. He folds his quilled wings away to give her room to move, but doesn’t turn to face her. “How long were you working on this project?”

“I started working on it once I returned from our retreat.” It’s the truth, of course, but also an evasion. It stings his lips as it passes them, because he’s become so accustomed to telling her everything. This feels like a step backward, and he has no desire to be further away from her, physically or metaphorically. He releases the next words on a sigh. “Less than a millennium, but I don’t know exactly how long it’s been.”

“Three hundred years or so?” She guesses lightly, her eyes narrowing in when he winces.

Bollocks.

She knows. Or at least, she suspects.

“At least twice that.”

“You haven’t been back in Hell that long, Lucifer. It shouldn’t have been more than three hundred years for you by the time Raphael brought you here last night.”

“Yes, I know,” he turns to face her now but doesn’t try to reach out to her, much as it pains him to see her holding herself away from him. “I… worked out a deal with my brother to help us start addressing the backlog of souls needing rehabilitation.”

“You mean He’s finally going to get you the extra help He promised?” Chloe’s chin lifts in surprise. “How’s he managing that? I thought you said no one wanted to be stuck in Hell?”

“That’s… still accurate.”

“Then how–”

“He can’t force my siblings to come help,” Lucifer swallows, his throat making a dry clicking sound, “and he can’t provide us a place for mislaid souls, but…”

“But what.”

“But he could give me… more time.”

“More t– Lucifer, what exactly does that mean?” He doesn’t respond for a long moment, the words caught in his suddenly tight throat. It hadn’t seemed such a bad thing when he’d made the deal. Onerous for him, of course, but since it wouldn’t affect the Detective, he’d been willing to bear the brunt of it in the hopes of making some headway before she makes the mistake of sentencing herself to Hell for the sake of being by his side.

Now… Oh, now he remembers what she’d told him so long ago, about how anything that affects him also affects her, particularly if it hurts him. Because what hurts him, hurts her.

He’s hurting her now, and when he finally admits to his arrangement, he’s only going to make it worse for them both… because now she’ll know that he’s been hiding things from her… again.

“It means, " he sighs, closing his eyes as if to gather his strength, "that AmenaGod tweaked the time difference for the Infernal plane, so that my team has more time to work with incoming souls and still address the backlog. He… stretched it a bit further than it had been already.”

“How. Far.”

“It… I don’t have the exact mathematics, but it roughly doubled the time difference. It gives us a lot more time between souls arriving now, so we can start really digging into the waiting souls. Our ascensions have really started to pick up, and if I can just get this purgatory thing rolling–”

“Doubled.”

“Yes?” He flinches at the flatness of the word.

“You let him double-time Hell. You asked for that?” The dangerous flatness slowly gives way like a sinkhole, threatening to drag him down with the gravitational force of a black hole to drown in the maelstrom of her anger and disappointment. “You… Lucifer! When did you agree to this?”

“I… since… Linda.”

“Since–” A breath escapes her and it sounds like a sob. He finally scrapes together the courage to lift his eyes to meet hers, only to find them spilling over with tears. “Lucifer, it's been over a year since Linda died! How long had it been for you? When you saw me last week? How long between the visit with Trixie, and Sequoia?”

“Fifty thousand years,” he murmurs brokenly, shoulders sagging as the last of his secrets leaves him. “Give or take a few millennia. Far too long, love, but the progress we’re starting to make–”

He cuts off in surprise when she launches herself into his arms with all the fervor of the memory of seven-year-old Trixie. She buries her face in his shirt and it immediately soaks through with her swiftly-cooling tears. His arms pull her close without any conscious instruction from him, and he cradles her against him, humming softly against her onslaught of anguish and fury.

She weakly pounds her fist against his chest again and again, sobbing something that sounds like “Why” into his chest, but he doesn’t try to answer, except to hold her tighter until her own arms snake around him and cling as though she never intends to let go.

“Why would you agree to that?” She finally mutters, her fingers digging into the muscles of his back. “I just… help me understand.”

“We need all the help we can get, love.” His palm strokes her back tentatively, unsure how she’ll react to his attempt to soothe her right now. “Since we can’t get help, I had to settle for extra time. And… and since I’m the only one truly feeling that extra time, it… it only made sense to give us that benefit.”

“You really think the others aren’t feeling the time difference?” She looks up at him, narrowing her eyes as she scours his face for any clues that he’s hiding anything else.

“The others are already living their eternity, darling, save for Charlie, who is free to come and go as he chooses.” His thumb traces gently along her jawline. “It seemed appropriate to… work on limbo while I’m stuck in limbo, you see?”

“What does that mean?”

“It means… my life is on hold until I’m by your side again, Chloe,” he murmurs. “My heart only beats when you’re within my reach. What happens until then is irrelevant. I can endure anything because I know our eternity together is coming one day– not too soon– but I want us to be able to enjoy our life together once we have that opportunity, which means I need to start gaining some ground now.”

“You drained yourself to the point where you lost your feathers because you’re trying to… to what, give me an eternal vacation?”

“I didn’t lose my feathers, I used them.” He shakes his head and lets her go, stepping past her and moving toward his closet as he unbuttons his blood-speckled shirt. Maybe this time I should choose a nice grey, it might show the ash less. Chloe follows him soundlessly, and he continues his explanation. “The idea is to try to set up a separate section of Hell for those souls that just barely tip on the infernal side of the guilt scale. But in order to do that, I need to somehow offset Hell’s guilt amplification… and the only thing I’ve found that works is… divinity. I thought I would start small, with a single chamber, and see if I could mute that effect. It’s something like the buffering I do for our work and living spaces, only… more intense.”

“That sounds… reasonable.” She leans against the closet doorway, watching critically as he slips his ruined shirt off and chooses a new one. “Why have you lost so much weight? I can see your ribs, Lucifer, that… that can’t be right.”

“As it happens, it takes a lot of energy to establish my will over Hell’s.” He shrugs into a clean shirt, still facing away from her until he’s buttoned it back up. “The longer I worked, the less energy it seemed to take to keep it running, until finally a simple feather every so often was enough to sustain it. But then I had to test it, and that took ages. If I took too long between feathers, I had to start all over from scratch. It was exhausting, love,” he glances at her in the mirror, wincing inwardly at her unreadable expression. “But it worked. I made a… divinity chamber. In Hell. The Doctor was my final test, and I need to get back to find out how it worked, but–”

“You can’t go back until your energy is restored,” Chloe’s voice is tight, her face set into a stern mask. “Raphael brought you here because you’d nearly drained yourself completely. You were unconscious, Lucifer. You can’t…” she sighs, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. “You have to ask for help when you need it, okay? I… please don’t make me worry even more about you alone down there.”

“Chloe, there’s no help to be had, love,” he says softly, finally turning to face her as he tucks the tails of his shirt into his waistband. His brow creases with frustration. “I’m the most powerful being we’ve got. If there’s going to be a solution, I’ve got to be the one to find it, to make it work.”

“Why can’t you ask Amenadiel?” Her voice cracks, holding on to this last hope, and he hates to shatter that for her as well. “Surely he would help, if he knew what you were trying to do?”

“Detective…” he lets out a heavy exhalation and closes his eyes as he dashes her hopes. “There’s a very good chance that Amenadiel doesn’t have any more intrinsic powers now than he did before. We think he’s still got the power level of your average, run-of-the-mill angel– though that’s still quite enough to be going on with.”

“But… he’s God now?”

“He holds the title, yes.” Lucifer shakes his head, trying to find the words to explain while minimizing the risk that Chloe might punch his eldest brother in his Godly face next time she sees him. “We have reason to believe that once he took the mantle, though, the Omnis… well, they weren’t part of the package.”

“You’re saying we have a God that… isn’t all-knowing? All-seeing?”

“All-present?” Lucifer lifts an ironic brow and hums quietly. “According to my weaselly twin, Dad didn’t even have those gifts quite the way His children thought He did.”

She stiffens, her arms tightening around her torso. “You’re taking Michael’s word for this?”

“He’s a dick, I know.” His lip curls, but he lifts his hand and shakes his head again. “But he isn’t lying.”

She wants to question his ability to discern a lie from his twin, he can tell, but she bites the words back, chewing on her lip thoughtfully instead. “Why would Amenadiel lie?”

“It certainly wouldn’t be the first time he’s done so,” Lucifer snorts softly. “Although, this time, I think he’s simply going for distraction and evasion. To my knowledge, he hasn’t claimed that he has the Omnis. Everyone simply assumes that he does, and he doesn’t bother to correct them. If someone brings it up, he’ll use what he does know, imply the rest is all down to his bloody Mysterious Ways, then change the subject. Just like Dear Old Dad.”

“Why would he do that?” Confusion wars with anger in her sea-blue eyes, age-lines deepening as her brows draw together in thought. “I mean, why pretend? He was the favorite for the position anyway, so surely your brothers and sisters wouldn’t hold it against him. It’s not like anyone else is all-knowing, or all-seeing, or all… whatever.”

“I don’t know,” he plucks a new jacket from a garment bag, then goes to peruse his collection of pocket squares. He selects a blue-green paisley silk that reminds him of Chloe’s eyes and folds it, tucking it meticulously into place as he turns to face her. “To uphold the brand, perhaps? To avoid someone else trying to stage a coup? Not that any of my siblings have the audacity to… try…”

“What?” Chloe’s eyes narrow shrewdly.

“None of my siblings are going to try to usurp God,” Lucifer breathes. “They like the status quo just as it is, they don’t want anything to change. The Silver City never changes, change is only for Earth, and Hell. They’re barely accepting the ascending souls, and that’s only because Amenadiel convinced them it was Dad’s plan all along.”

“So? Then why would Amenadiel let them believe he has powers that he doesn’t have?”

He must be wrong. He’d had the position in the bag, and literally gave it to Amenadiel. He already has his calling, why would Amenadiel…

“He can’t help me,” Lucifer murmurs to himself, staring blankly into space as his thoughts whirl chaotically. His knees suddenly feel weak and he braces himself against the low bench before the mirror. “He promised he would help, but he can’t, and he’s afraid…”

“You think he’s afraid you’re going to start another rebellion?” Chloe asks skeptically, even as she swoops in to support his wavering frame. “Why would you do that? You were already going to be God, but decided to go help souls in Hell instead, staging another rebellion now doesn’t make any sense.”

“It doesn’t,” Lucifer agrees quietly, but his heart is racing. His head spins as he continues, hoping that he’s wrong. “Except that now he sees that I really will be trapped in Hell for all eternity because he won’t make the changes we need in order to fix the system. And he knows I don’t want you in Hell for any longer than you absolutely have to be.”

“You don’t want me in Hell?” Chloe steps away suddenly, her distraught tone stopping him cold. His gaze snaps into focus and meets her stricken one as he realizes what she thinks she heard. “You… you don’t want me?”

“That’s not what I said, darling,” Lucifer crosses the sudden gulf between them and slides his trembling hand along her cheek, threading his fingers into the hair above her ear and holding her close. “Of course I want you, I want you every moment of every day, and nothing will ever, ever change that. But I would much prefer that we spend our eternity together somewhere other than Hell. It’s why I’ve been working my arse off trying to find a way to address the backlog of souls.”

“That’s why you agreed to that horrible time arrangement?” She sniffles, he looks down to see tears beading on her lashes, shredding his heart to pieces. “To keep me out of Hell?”

“You’re too pure for Hell, love.” He swipes his thumb gently under her eye, brushing the tears away. “You don’t belong there, and as much as I want you with me, you deserve to be rewarded in your eternity, not punished. You shouldn’t have to be subjected to any of it.”

“Lucifer, being without you feels like I’m being punished now,” her whisper sends demon blades slashing through his chest. “The only way I’ve been able to bear our separation is knowing it was necessary in order to keep our Rory, and remembering that once it’s over, I’ll get to be beside you for the rest of forever. You… do you still want that, too?”

“More than anything,” he assures her instantly. They lean into one another, Chloe’s hold around his waist tightening as she feels how unsteady he is on his feet. “I only wish it could be in the Silver City, rather than Hell.”

“Anywhere you are is home,” she mutters into his shoulder as he feels himself start to sway. “Everything else we can handle as it happens, okay?”

“Do you… think we could make the couch home for a little while?” He asks haltingly, “I… think my strength is nearing its limit.”

“Come on, Satan.” Her low chuckle is watery, but her arm is steady as she supports him. “Let’s go snuggle.”

Once they’re settled on the couch, Chloe seated between his legs with her back pressed to his chest just as they had on that beach with Rory nearly thirty years before, she leans back against him and he wraps his arms around her midriff.

“Will you say something to him?”

“Do you think that’s wise?” He counters. She lifts her chin and turns her head, finding him looking down at her with a sad smile. “If he finds out I know he doesn’t have the Omnis, if he thinks I even suspect he doesn’t have them… then wouldn’t I become even more of a perceived threat?”

“But you don’t want to be God,” Chloe says plaintively, feeling him nod his agreement behind her. “Then why–?”

“I’m not sure,” he admits carefully. “But if Michael is right–”

“That’s another thing,” she interrupts with a growl, “how much can we really trust Michael here? You know how good he is at stirring trouble. I know you said he’s not lying, but what if he’s just telling you this because he knows it’s going to cause problems between you and Amenadiel?”

“Oh, I definitely don’t trust my dickhe*d twin,” Lucifer’s fingers absently stroke her stomach, where Michael had stabbed her with Zadkiel’s staff. She reaches down to lace her fingers with his in a silent affirmation. I’m here. We’re here. “But I can’t see what he would gain by putting me and Amenadiel at odds with each other. He’d be stuck in Hell no matter which of us was on Heaven’s throne.”

“Unless you took each other out?” Chloe suggests hesitantly. “If both of you were… discredited or- or incapacitated, would the others look back to him? They followed him before.”

“Perhaps.” He brushes his cheek against hers, his chin resting comfortably on her shoulder as his fingers gently squeeze hers. “I’ll see what else I can ferret out. Charlie’s gift is invaluable for working with Michael. I just wish I could have Linda or Raphael work with him for a while. He’s always so antagonistic with me, but I’m the only one that’s immune to his fear talent. He nearly sent Raphael into a mental breakdown, she needed two thousand years in the Silver City to recuperate. And after what he did to Linda here on Earth with Charlie… I didn’t even want to allow her to try. I certainly can’t let her try again, after how long it took for her to recover after the first attempt. I… I can’t lose her now. I– We need her.”

“You said she was your final test on that divinity chamber you made,” Chloe blurts suddenly. “What exactly is it that you were testing? What does that room do, aside from canceling out Hell’s exaggerated guilt trip?”

“Well, right now it’s likely run out of power, which means that I’ll have to start over from scratch once more if it worked the way I hope it did.” He heaves a resigned sigh. “Linda needed a break. She’s been working nonstop since her arrival, and I didn’t want her to burn herself out. She didn’t want to go Upstairs, because she was afraid she might suffer a breakdown like other souls that came back to try to help did… or that Amenadiel might not allow her to return. Since I needed to find a way to nullify the guilt amplification anyway, I decided to test the chamber by making it into a… a reward loop of sorts for Linda to try out.”

“A reward loop?”

“Like the chambers in Heaven. It creates a paradise specifically for the inhabitant. If it worked the way I hope it did, Linda will have enjoyed an idyllic vacation with her surroundings of choice.”

“You can do that?”

“Well, not without great effort expended, as you’ve already seen,” he huffs a dry laugh, and Chloe notices that she can feel the ridges of his ribs against her back. “But my success is yet to be determined until I can make it back to check in with Linda.”

“You get an unexpected break topside, and you’re already so eager to get back,” Chloe’s tone is teasing, but he can hear the underlying melancholy.

“Oh now, Detective, I happen to know today is a work day for you–”

“I’ve already checked in. I told them I’d be working remotely today… one of the benefits of rank.” She settles her slight frame more comfortably against his chest. “I intend to use you as my pillow for the day so you’ll actually rest like Raphael said.”

“But there are so many more pleasant ways to use me, darling,” his grin tickles her ear as his arms tighten gently around her waist, tucking her close against him.

She closes her eyes and breathes deep, turning her head to press a kiss to his stubbled cheek. He leans into it, humming contentedly. “I think rest precludes a lot of your favorite activities, babe.”

“And you still underestimate my ingenuity in the bedroom,” he chuckles, tracing his lips softly along the line of her jaw. “Shall I prove my creativity yet again? Have you forgotten our little getaway in Codru?”

Her response flushes her cheeks, neck, and chest with warmth. He’d managed to sneak her away for a single weekend while a barely-teenage Rory had been reluctantly attending a Rockstar Camp after Chloe had suffered a fairly mild injury on the job. Nothing incapacitating, but her range of motion had been impeded, and she had been in quite a bit of pain due to her stubborn refusal of any painkillers the doctors had offered.

She’d had to stop him from flying off to deliver his own brand of justice to the perp that she’d been injured apprehending. His eyes hadn’t stopped burning for over an hour, until she’d desperately thrown out the idea of the trip abroad as a distraction and he’d finally settled down into a whirlwind planning session. Once she’d shown the slightest interest in one of the locations he’d mentioned owning some property, he’d whipped out his wings and before she could even suggest packing a bag, they’d been in a modern villa overlooking sun-drenched, undulating vineyards from the Eastern windows, and sylvan hillsides from the Western ones.

Her memories of that weekend are a hazy blur of gentle touches, gloriously loosened muscles, and whispered words of love. They could never get enough of each other, and yet he’d been so gentle that she’d never felt a single twinge from her injury. As it happened, she hadn’t needed to pack a bag, after all. Her tongue flickers out to wet her lips as she remembers.

Creativity had never been a rarity during her time with Lucifer.

“Falling asleep on me, eh?” He chuckles in her ear, shaking her out of her woolgathering. “I must have exhausted you last week, then.”

“Leading by example,” she murmurs, lifting her left hand over their shoulders to twine her fingers into the hair at the back of his head. “The best way to get you to rest, is to rest on you, then you’ll stay still so you won’t disturb me.”

“No complaints from me,” he hums against her neck, folding himself around her like a living shawl. “There is absolutely nothing I would rather be doing than cherishing every moment I get to hold you in my arms, even if I’m merely serving as a particularly handsome body pillow.”

“A very comfy and warm handsome body pillow,” she leans her head back against his shoulder letting it roll to the side as he presses soft kisses all along her throat. After a while, he begins to hum a low, soothing melody against her skin. The gentle thrum against her back and her neck eventually lulls her into a light doze. It’s not long before her soft snores draw him into healing slumber, and the two of them while away their rare lazy afternoon simply basking in having the other near.

Chloe wakes a few times, checking messages and e-mails on her phone without ever once moving from her sanctuary in her lover’s arms throughout the course of the day, until he wakes again near sunset.

“You let me sleep all day?” She can’t see his face, but she knows the pout that he’s currently wearing. “Detective, we get so little time together, and you just let me waste an entire day!”

“You needed the rest,” she replies easily, flexing her shoulders and arching her back as she stretches against him. “And apparently so did I, since I slept most of the day right along with you. Getting old sucks.”

“Pft, you’re not old, darling,” he scoffs as she unfolds her legs and gingerly stands, groaning as her joints creak and protest their movement.

“Says the ancient immortal,” Chloe teases. “You don’t have to worry about arthritis. Or wrinkles. Or age spots.”

“I prefer ageless,” he smirks, and she feels the welcome pressure of his gaze as it rakes her body with every ounce of the reverence and hunger that it always has, “but even aside from your breathtaking exterior, you are always the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.”

"Flatterer," she laughs, self-conscious even though she knows that he's only telling her his truth. He sees her, no matter what her body looks like. He always has.

"Always the truth," he murmurs warmly, unconsciously echoing her thoughts. He reaches out and snags her hand, rubbing his thumb lightly over her knuckles. "How long do we have before Rory comes looking for you?"

"She thinks Raphael is here, so she probably won't come by." Chloe shakes her head, but the familiar leaden feeling of their looming separation settles in her chest. "But I need to head home soon, or she'll be suspicious."

"Well, we can't have that," Lucifer sighs, standing and straightening his suit. "Do we have time for dinner, at least? You've not eaten all day."

"It needs to be quick." She gives him an apologetic smile. "But I can come back tomorrow? Will you still be here?"

He flicks his shoulders, glancing back at his spiny wings with a grimace."Well, I've certainly got my work cut out for this evening, at least. I won't know for sure if they'll fly me back yet until I get these casings off."

She wrinkles her nose, remembering exactly how miserable it had been trying to get a young– and very impatient– Rory to hold still while she was going through the then-unfamiliar movements of freeing her pinfeathers from their keratin sheaths.

Trying to clean up the stubborn, clinging dust from the crumbling process had nearly reduced her to tears more than once, and she had been beyond relieved to realize it would not be a regular cycle like it was for birds.

"I can help you in the morning with the harder to reach spots," she offers hopefully as he folds them away again. "You should probably rest for a while longer, right? And your poor piano has been neglected for so long…"

She's reaching for any reason for him to stay a little longer, to snatch a few more stolen moments in his presence and they both know it. His smile is tinged with sadness, his fingers gentle as he reaches up to tuck her silvering hair behind her ear.

"Come on, love, let's order that dinner so you can get home to your daughter."

"Our daughter," Chloe grabs at his wrist as he moves to turn away, pain twisting his expression. "She loves you, even though she doesn't realize it yet, Lucifer, and you've… we've already sacrificed so much for her. She's ours, not just mine. You know that, don't you?"

"Yes, of course." He plucks her phone from the table and pulls up her contacts to order dinner. She lifts a brow at his half-hearted response and crosses her arms as she waits for him to place their order.

He turns back to her with a smile that quickly falls when he takes in her skeptical expression. "What?"

"You know that, right?"

"I… do," he says hesitantly, fiddling with his cuffs as he avoids her gaze. "I mean… I think she loved me? At least a little, when she… when she left. But now? Detective, she hated me when she first arrived, I could see it in her eyes. Everything that she turns out to be, everything that makes her, her– that unique, glorious rogue spirit that we grew to love so quickly– that's all you, darling. I have contributed absolutely nothing to our amazing daughter beyond her initial existence. I… feel as though I have no right to claim any part of her."

Chloe gapes up at him, stunned. He still doesn't meet her eyes, instead moving to the bar to pour himself a drink. Absently, she trails after him, taking a moment to gather the thoughts scattered by this completely unexpected bombshell.

He'd always been so eager to hear her stories about Rory, drinking in every miniscule detail like a man lost in the desert stumbling upon a tiny oasis. He'd asked question after question, his curiosity, his desperation to know his daughter bleeding through any attempt at humor or deflection to cover them with a veneer of polite interest.

He'd never before given voice to any doubts of Rory's acceptance of him, of his role in her life after this forced separation is over. Of just how much his daughter she is, even never having met him yet in her own timeline. His tired eyes are shining with suppressed pain, and she knows she needs to address this, now.

“She doesn’t hate you, Lucifer, she’s just hurt.” She leans over the bar and brushes her fingers across the back of his fisted hand resting on the smooth marble. “She doesn’t know yet that she’s the reason for your absence. She’ll understand eventually, and then you’ll have your chance to spend time together. I know waiting is hard–”

“I’ve been waiting for hundreds of thousands of years, Detective,” he scoffs, emptying his glass. “I’ve grown rather used to that.”

“Where is this coming from?” Her eyes search his, the dark pools brimming with uncertainty. “You know how she feels, when all this is over. It’s… it’s not all that different from how you felt about your dad, before–”

She realizes her mistake instantly, as his face drains of blood and slides into the practiced blankness that she’s grown to loathe, because he only wears it when he’s trying to hide from her. He swallows hard and looks away as she rounds the bar and folds his tense body into her arms.

sh*t. Oh, sh*t, I’ve just made this so much worse.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers raggedly into his chest, relaxing a little against him as his arms slowly close around her in return. His jagged, uneven breaths pepper the sensitive skin of her neck as he buries himself in her embrace. “You’re absolutely nothing like your father, Lucifer, I’m so sorry, that’s not what I meant. What I was aiming for is that… that you never stopped loving your dad, even when He was so horrible to you. Even when you thought you hated Him. You’re nothing like Him– everything we’re doing is at Rory’s own request, and you keeping your distance while we endure here is nothing like the torture your father put you through.”

This is an incredibly important distinction that she needs to make sure he understands. She mentally kicks herself for even thinking the comparison, let alone speaking it aloud. Why on Earth had she done that?

Regret slices into her as she recalls those agonizing weeks while his father had been on Earth, when Lucifer had been convinced that he was incapable of love. How torn he had been between wanting to maintain the mental and physical distance he’d imposed upon himself as a form of self-preservation, and wanting to re-establish a relationship with his asshole of a dad.

He didn’t deserve a son like Lucifer. Why, why did I introduce the seed of that comparison?

“Rory is happy, and loved, and she’s not being manipulated by some higher being. My point was that… that she just doesn’t know you yet. Soon enough–”

“Not too soon, love,” he reminds her, murmuring into her shoulder. “You’ve still got well over a decade here, and as much as I miss you both, I’m in no hurry for that particular… obstacle.”

Over a decade. Fourteen years, at least. If his time is doubled now…

Seven. Hundred. Thousand. Years.

Her breath shudders in her chest, not quite a sob, but close enough that his arms tighten around her protectively.

Whatever time he’s already served down there, away from us, he’s got to do it all over again now, and more. My wait is almost done, but he’s only halfway through his sentence.

“Soon enough, we’ll be able to be together, all of us,” she continues, as much to distract herself from her tortuous thoughts as to soothe her partner, “and she can remind you exactly how she feels about you.”

“We don’t know how she’ll feel, when… when the time comes, though, do we?” He shudders. “What if… what if once she returns to your side, and she sees you once again alone and d-dying,” his lips stumble over the word, betraying his projected calm. “What if she remembers all her reasons for hating me? A week or so spending time with me surely isn’t enough to override a lifetime of neglected resentment.”

“But she’ll know the truth, and… Lucifer, it won’t have been long for her. Everything we went through, it will all be fresh in her mind by the time I… by the time I can come to you. By the time Rory will follow. It won’t have been hundreds of thousands of years for her, it’ll only be hours. Days, at most. She’s going to be so happy to see you.”

He doesn’t respond, and she knows she needs to say something else to fix this, but she has no idea what it would be so she only holds him tighter. When he sighs and melts further into her arms, she hopes that it’s enough to help him swim against the tide of doubt for a while longer.

A long, long while.

Dinner arrives shortly after they pull away from one another, and a companionable silence fills the small space between them as they arrange their burgers and fries on the bar. The minutes tick by far too quickly, their elbows brushing as they eat and their time together running out like grains of sand in an hourglass. Her heart stutters when her cell pings with a text from Rory.

What’s for dinner? Want me to grab something?

She bites her lip as she feels Lucifer tensing beside her.

“Time to go, darling,” he says lightly, patting her hand. “It’s your turn to leave, after all.”

“I’ll come back in the morning,” her eyes seek his, pleading. “Stay that long, at least. Let me help you with your wings.”

“Detective.” The word escapes on a heavy sigh, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Will that really make the parting any easier?”

“It’s never going to be easier, but I’m not ready to say goodbye again so soon.” The admission falls from her lips easily. “Raphael wasn’t even going to tell me you were here. I want every second we can get. You’ll stay?”

“I’ll stay,” he agrees, huffing a small chuckle. “It’ll take me most of the night to get my wings into any sort of order anyway, and if I go back with these circles under my eyes or a single feather out of place, Raphael will have my bloody head.”

“You know better than to piss off the Healer,” she admonishes teasingly, some of the weight lifting from her heart now that he’s agreed to wait for her return. “Wise choice.”

She picks up her phone and advises her– their– daughter to grab her own dinner, and looks back up to find her partner watching her with a too-familiar wistful smile.

“I’ll be back first thing in the morning. Get some rest, okay? Recharge your batteries.” Her hand finds the place over his heart and rests there. “Do you wanna fall asleep real quick so I can sneak out like you did last time?”

“I didn’t sneak–” she silences him with a kiss, and he pulls her closer with a small, desperate sound unfolding in his throat. His hands tighten on her hips and they lose themselves for a long moment before Rory’s response to her text breaks the spell. He rests his forehead against hers, his brows pressing together as his breath brushes against her lips in another, contactless kiss. His voice is ragged when he whispers, “I love you. Be careful going home.”

“Always,” her fingers caress his cheeks, savoring the roughness of his stubble, then gently tracing the soft, shadowed skin just under his eyes. “I’ll see you in the morning. I love you.”

She pulls away before she surrenders to the temptation to just stay here in his arms for the next fourteen years, tucking her phone in her pocket and striding quickly to the elevator before the tears burning in her eyes spill over.

Rory has both her parents’ observational skills and they’re often laser focused on her mother, so she always spots when she’s been crying. Her reaction is usually an emotional rant about her father, and Chloe can absolutely not handle that today.

She fights back her tears, and gives the love of her life a watery smile as the elevator doors slide closed between them, leaving him standing alone in the dusty remains of what was once his thriving life.

Chapter 9: Devil in Rapture

Chapter Text

Lucifer falls asleep out on the balcony while he’s removing the protective sheaths from his feathers. Several times. Which he supposes means that he truly does need the rest, but he finds it incredibly frustrating nonetheless. He wants to stay, but he needs to go, and as a creature that has followed his desires whenever remotely possible, the yawning chasm between his current needs and wants threatens to tear him apart with every breath.

Literally the only thing that makes this separation from his family at all bearable is the idea that maybe he can make some progress in reducing Hell’s population before they’re all dragged down there with him. He can’t be the reason everyone he loves is doomed to spend time in the Infernal realm. He refuses to be.

Which means he needs to get his bloody arse in gear and get this mess figured out now. That compulsion has been nipping obsessively at his heels since their separation hundreds of thousands of years ago, and most of the time it’s the only reason that he can peel himself out of Chloe’s arms at the end of each of their too-brief getaways.

By the time sunrise rolls around, he’s not even halfway done, but he is feeling partially recovered… if somewhat run down. He chuckles to himself as he recalls the Detective’s advice to recharge his batteries. He certainly feels like he’s still on low charge.

Something tickles in the back of his mind but when he tries to focus on it, the thought retreats from his grasp like a feral cat so he abandons it for now until he can set a trap for it later. He finishes the next section of his left wing and gently runs his fingers through the new, tightly curled feathers to straighten them a bit, sighing with relief from the confined feeling being somewhat lifted before he moves on to the next section.

It’s going to be a long day… but it’s a day on Earth. The open sky is above, the sun is shining brightly above the horizon now, and he’ll see Chloe today, which makes it one of the best days of his existence despite the tedious task of tending his newly-replenished feathers and the looming spectre of his impending recovery and departure. He starts to hum as he loses himself in the process, his fingers moving automatically as his mind wanders back to the divinity chamber, and how he might be able to expand and sustain it indefinitely without denuding his wings and draining his very self into it over and over again.

The elevator chimes, immediately followed by Chloe’s soft voice,

“Lucifer?”

“Out here, love,” he calls, smiling at her small sigh of relief. He waits until she reaches the glass doors before lightly admonishing her for doubting his word. “I told you I would still be here, did I not?”

“You did,” she agrees, glancing out at the hazy morning Los Angeles skyline as she settles behind him and gently starts working on the tiny scapular feathers where his wings meet his shoulders, “but I’ve seen you disappear from this balcony too many times to take it for granted that you’d really be here when I returned. I was half-afraid I’d find you all groomed out and ready to leave.”

"I'm afraid my reserves are still rather empty." He leans back against her, and she abandons her half-hearted attempt at preening to wrap her arms around his waist and bury her face against the small space of bare skin between his wings. "If I try to go back before I'm recovered, I'll never hear the end of it."

"From me, or from Raphael?"

"From Linda, of course." He shudders, and Chloe's warm breath of laughter suffuses his prickly soon-to-be feathers. "She's truly the only one of the lot of you that I fear."

"Mm, she is terrifying," she agrees lightly as Lucifer takes one of her hands and lifts it to his lips, pressing gentle kisses to her fingertips, then her palm before trailing up to her wrist to linger against the thin skin there.

"Formidable women seem to be a theme in my life," he murmurs into her skin. Her pulse trembles against his lips, and they quirk in a smile as she scoffs and kisses the back of his neck.

“You like it.”

“Oh, I do,” he purrs. In a blink his bristly wings are folded away and he turns, grinning, to tug her around and into his lap. Chloe’s surprised squeal is muffled by the tender press of his mouth to hers. When he pulls away, his eyes flutter open, dark and sparkling like a field of stars when they flutter open. “I like it very much.”

“Thought your reserves were empty,” she teases, settling herself comfortably against him. She loops her arms over his shoulders, her fingers tracing tingling paths between the short hairs at the base of his neck.

“Well, they’re not entirely empty,” he smirks, eyes lighting with mischief. “But I can think of something that’s filling u-”

She silences him with a kiss before he makes her laugh. His own chuckle rumbles between them as he responds to her advance, grasping her hips gently and pulling her close enough to feel her effect on him as he blissfully breathes her in.

It’s only been a few centuries, and fortunately for his stifled libido his memory is near-perfect, but every time she’s in his arms feels like the first, or the last. He basks in the warmth of her presence, his own personal sun bathing him in light and love every time he manages to escape the dark, dank hallways of Hell. He soaks her in, her affection slowly seeping into every crack and crevice of his being like a warm spring rain after an interminable winter.

Her lips skim along his stubbled jaw and move down his throat, pausing to dip her tongue into the hollow at the base of it. Her breath washes warmly over his bare chest. De-sheathing feathers is best done with as little clothing as possible… the dust clings to fabric and causes ridiculous amounts of itching. Her fingers trace the familiar expanse of skin until it’s no longer familiar. She pulls back, a small flicker of a frown as her hands slide down his starkly defined ribcage.

“What’s wrong?” He asks breathlessly, pulling himself back from the euphoria of having her hands on him.

“You can’t do… whatever it is you did… again,” Her darkened blue eyes flicker up to meet his. “Your ribs are showing, Lucifer. Whatever you did more than drained you, it ravaged you. It’s not sustainable, you have to find another way. Promise me.”

“Chloe, I can’t stop now, I’ve only just made the breakthrough–”

“Promise me,” she intones, pressing her body more firmly against his. “I can’t do this if I’m worried that you’re draining yourself to nothing down there. I… please. I need to know you’re taking care of yourself.”

Their gazes lock, unwavering, as he considers her demand. “I need to talk to Linda, to see if it even worked the way I hope it did,” he says slowly, his hands massaging her hips thoughtfully. “If it did, then I can start brainstorming other ways to make a divine generator work somehow in Hell. You’re right, my first attempt wasn’t sustainable, but at least now I have hope that our idea is possible.”

“I’m gonna need that promise.” Her tone is hard, but her hands slide slowly down his chest, her thumbs flicking lightly across his nipples and causing his breath to catch in his throat.

“I can’t give you a promise that I won’t do everything in my power to solve this problem, love,” he argues. His rebuttal is weakened a bit by the slight tremble of his hands digging into her waist as her fingers trace along the waistband of his black briefs.

“Working yourself to exhaustion doesn’t do anyone any good, baby.” She leans forward and breathes the words into his ear, her hand slipping just a little further down. A dry, clicking sound emanates from his throat as he swallows hard. “You’re smarter than that.” Her hand cups him, gently stroking the fabric stretching tight over his bulge. He groans, his hips shifting desperately under her attentions. “Still waiting. I’ve got all day.”

“Bloody h-hell,” he stammers as she squeezes lightly, fully appreciating her willingness to fight dirty to get him to agree to her terms.

“At least half-charge, Lucifer,” she names her terms firmly, her hand still steadily stroking him. “You can’t pour from an empty cup, so you’ve got to make sure you’re not trying to do too much. I’ll have Charlie report on you if I have to.”

“Please don’t bring my n-nephew into this while you’re stroking Big Ben,” he groans miserably, his eyes closing helplessly as his grip tightens in the fabric of her shirt. She stifles her smile, but he scowls as the amusem*nt dances in her eyes. “Half-charge, eh? I s-suppose I can m-manage that.”

He stutters and stammers with each light press of her hand, and she lifts an eyebrow, waiting him out.

“I can’t promise not t-to wear myself out again if doing so will result in a self-sustaining solution.” He licks his lips, a low moan falling from them as she pulls away and crosses her arms over her chest, giving his brain a moment to pull his scrambled thoughts together. “I can promise that I’ll ask for help before I reach the point of exhaustion, and that I’ll check in with Raphael more often, especially before expending a strenuous amount of energy.” He glances down at his prominent ribs, wincing. “This… this was an experiment, and I’ll admit I got a bit wrapped up in it. I’ll… take more care moving forward, now that I’ve got a baseline.” She lifts her other eyebrow silently, and he sighs, sagging back against the cushion. “I promise not to dip below half-charge for more than a hell-week at a time, while submitting myself to scathing scrutiny of my sister, the Healer. Will that suffice?”

A smirk appears on her face, deepening the lines around her mouth and eyes as her hands creep back toward his waistband. He holds his breath as her fingers slowly slide beneath it, sliding it down over his hips to allow his throbbing member to spring free. She leans in and whispers in his ear, “Honestly, it’s a better concession than I thought I’d get. I can’t believe I’ve never tried this method of persuasion on you before.”

“It’s h-highly effective,” he pants as her hand closes around him and strokes gently. “Please feel f-free to use it anyt-time you feel the need.”

“Half-charge, Lucifer,” she murmurs, nibbling his earlobe. “Don’t forget.”

“Woman, we have no need for batteries for what I’m about to do to you for that little stunt,” he growls, his arms sliding from her waist and snaking underneath her thighs, scooping her up and against him as he carries her into the bedroom, stepping gracefully out of his pants on the way. “And as you said, we have all bloody day.”

*

Lucifer never hurries. Chloe’s sexual relationships when she was younger were always… rushed. Jed had never lasted long in bed, and when she’d been with Dan… well, one of the downsides of being a cop in a relationship with a cop is that you never knew when you or your partner were going to get called for a case, so intimacy had to be fairly quick to make sure both were satisfied in whatever time was available. Add in a small child and the window for opportunity only shrank further. Marcus… had been very goal-oriented, and a bit rough about it, to boot.

Her first time with Lucifer had been incredible. A meeting of bodies and souls that she had been sure they would never surpass. Yet somehow every single time they are together it keeps getting better. Even with their time together being so limited over the years, Lucifer never once rushed her into sex, content just to spend time with her, and Trixie when she was able. To have them near, to hear about their lives, to breathe them in and bask in their affection.

In their stolen hours alone, despite going thousands of years without seeing her, without holding her in his arms, he still takes his time. Reverent touches, soft exclamations of praise and adoration as his hands slowly explore her body, mentally mapping all the minute changes that had occurred during their time apart. New scars were greeted with growls and promises of retribution, followed by tender kisses. Creases and sags as her body aged were breathed in and reassurances uttered of how very in love with her he is, how beautiful she will always be to him.

Always, always, he would see to her pleasures first, usually several times before allowing her to reacquaint herself with the planes and passages of his unchanging body. She knows that’s his intention now as he lowers her to the mattress, his soft lips fervently exploring the tender spot below her ear. Her fingers slide over his chest, noting again the prominence of his ribs, if only so she can remember to check and make sure that he’s regained his lost musculature the next time they’re together. She snakes her arms around his body, digging her fingertips into his back and he groans into the hollow of her shoulder, pressing closer to her in response.

She takes the opportunity and quickly levers herself up and over, rolling them so that she is now pressing him into the mattress. He huffs in surprise, dark eyes alight as she hovers over him, meticulously pressing soft kisses over every inch of his face. It’s a familiar ritual with them now, one she uses to soothe them both when their looming separation hovers too closely.

A shuddering sigh leaves him, his muscles fluttering beneath her as he closes his eyes and loses himself in the sensation of her touch, her scent, her breath. Their love.

For her, it’s only been a few days since they’d been snuggled on the couch in their rental cabin together, but for him it’s already been several centuries. She takes the time they need to ensure that he feels her devotion, her support, her faith in him. She kneels and bends over him, her hands and mouth slowly blazing trails of heat over the rest of his body as she responds to his nearness, to how he reacts to her.

His breath catches when her tongue dips into his navel, hands grasping her greying hair gently and pulling it back so he can see her face as she traces a slow path downward, veering to the right as she reaches his groin, his straining erection caressing her left cheek until she turns and runs her tongue along his uncut length.

“Chloe,” he protests, starting to sit up, “I want to–”

“Mm, no,” she hums against him, and he cuts off with a low groan, “You’re supposed to be resting, remember?”

“If you think I’m getting any rest while I’ve got you uuungh,” he groans as she takes him in hand and drops a kiss onto the weeping head of his already impressive erection. He flexes his neck back against the bed, his back arching as he fights for self-control while she rolls her tongue over him and slowly starts to stroke. His fingers thread gently into her hair as she takes him into her mouth, and when she looks up all she can see are his dark eyes staring into hers, burning like stars.

Her free hand caresses his tense thigh, and her own muscles tighten in an instinctive response to the sounds flowing from him. He bends his left knee a little, bringing his leg into a better position for her to roll her hips against it to relieve the sweet ache building there. His left hand snakes down and pulls her right from his thigh, lifting it up and pressing it over his galloping heart. His fingers lace through hers and he holds it there.

She focuses on the thrumming of his heart, the throbbing of his co*ck, the gentle pressure of his fingers in her hair, and the movement of his thigh between her legs as he whispers beautiful truths to her in a voice tight from effort at holding onto his control.

She feels the minute movement of his hips as he fights to stay still, and she gives him a gentle squeeze and twists her hand just so as a reward. That results in a hissed epithet and a gentle tug upward… his tell that he’s close.

She lowers herself, sliding her center along his thigh and they moan in tandem as she pulls back agonizingly slowly, feeling his hips strain to chase her warmth as it retreats. She licks his engorged head as she pulls away, the taste of him lingering pleasantly on her tongue as his harsh panting breaths echo in the quiet room.

He pulls her up effortlessly, his lips crashing against hers and his arms pulling her close, seemingly trying to fuse them into a single being. She feels the length of him throbbing, pressed into the crease of her thigh, but she keeps getting distracted by his hands, his tongue, his body moving under hers in a sinuous pattern she will never get her fill of.

He catches her lip gently between his teeth as a hand snakes between them, gentle fingers causing her muscles to tighten as a quiet whine escapes her. Their dexterous movements have her coiling tighter, the liquid heat within her spreading until her limbs feel as though molten gold is thrumming in her veins. The slightest brush of pressure with the pad of his thumb and she shatters, crying out against his lips as she holds him more tightly, lost in the eternity of stars behind her eyes with nothing grounding her but his voice in her ear, guiding her home.

He soothes her through her quivering aftershocks, ignoring his own insistent, throbbing arousal pressed between them until she regains the use of words.

“I’m supposed to be taking care of you,” she pouts against his chest, feeling the rumble of his chuckle.

“It’s not a mutually exclusive thing, love,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against her hair. She knows he’s right– he’s taught her that over the years. Bringing her pleasure brings him pleasure… just as she finds bringing him over the edge one of the most satisfying things in life.

Knowing that she can reduce him to a trembling mess of a man with nothing more than herself – her aging, boring, human self– makes her feel powerful in ways she’d never imagined before he came into her life. His certainty in his love for her, his reverence for her, has brought her the confidence she’s needed to endure this most unconventional love.

“It isn’t,” she agrees, giggling as he tickles her neck with his stubble. “But I still want to.”

“Well,” he purrs, dark eyes glittering in a band of late morning sunlight sneaking through the curtains, “by all means darling, I certainly won’t stop you.”

“As if you could,” she scoffs, smirking as he sucks in a breath when her hand closes around him again, sliding over his length. “I’ve got you in the palm of my hand.”

“You do indeed,” he breathes, almost soundlessly, his eyes following her with laser intensity as she moves until she’s kneeling over him. His gaze drops briefly to her fingers gently stroking him, silk over steel, and he twitches in her hand. “Now you’ve got me… what will you do with me, Detective?”

That surprises a laugh out of her, his relapse into her old title while she’s holding him in her hand, in this intimate situation. She spares a moment to consider what her reaction would have been, all those years ago if someone had told her this was how her life would work out. She remembers how thoroughly she had once convinced herself that she wanted a simple, easy relationship, then looks down at the love of her life– of her afterlife, even– and decides she doesn’t give a damn what her younger self would have thought.

There’s absolutely nowhere else she would rather be.

“I can think of a few things.” She leans back against his spread, bent knees, and his hands come up to caress her hips before sliding up her sides, his thumbs grazing the underside of her breasts as his eyes remain locked on her face. “But I might need to stretch first…”

His huffed laugh cuts off with a strangled sound as she strokes him one final time before sinking down, drawing a satisfied sigh from them both… welcoming them home.

When she starts to move atop him, he doesn’t help her, but he does support her. His hands on her body providing a grounding point for her balance, helping to take some of her weight off her left knee that had suffered an injury years before and had never quite been the same since. He doesn’t lift so much as spot, making sure she doesn’t place undue strain on her aging joints or old injuries– caring for her, even as she does for him.

She moves slowly, undulating gracefully above him as he watches her with bated breath. The curtains ripple in a breeze– the open balcony door had been the least of his concerns when he’d brought her inside– and ribbons of light and shadow play across his ageless face framed against the ebony sheets like a Renaissance painting.

Devil in Rapture, 1666

She manages not to laugh at the stray thought only because he chooses that moment to start thrusting in time with her movements. She clenches around him to keep her balance and he curses under his breath. Now she allows a smirk to dance across her lips, knowing that he takes it as a personal affront if she can make him come first once he’s inside her.

She sees the exact moment he notices her expression, and he rises to the challenge, snapping into a sitting position, bringing them chest-to-chest and deepening his angle of penetration in just the way that she likes.

Now it’s her turn to bite back a curse, and she leans forward to kiss the smirk off his lips before he can make a comment. Her hands slide along the column of his neck, careful not to close around it– she’s never scraped up the courage to ask, but many of his behaviors lead her to believe that at some point his family had perhaps chained, or collared him after his rebellion. Any true pressure, or perceived pressure around his throat was an instant cause for discomfort that she was careful to avoid at all costs. She’d seen it when they’d worked together, how he’d always kept the top button or two on his shirts undone. In how quickly a bowtie was loosened or undone the moment a show was over, and the small, well-hidden sigh of relief and relaxation of tense muscles once the pressure was off. The fact that he’d worn a tie to Dan’s funeral was a testament to his dedication to showing his respect for his friend’s memory.

So instead, she’s learned to hold the back of his neck and his hair, pulling him into her kiss as his arms wrap around the small of her back, pulling himself deeper as their movements align into their familiar and beloved rhythm until they’re both breathing too raggedly to maintain the kiss another moment.

He buries his face in her neck with a deep groan, hot breath washing across her skin as he surges against her. Goosebumps spread over her skin at the raw need in the sound. His arms tighten around her and she clenches around him with a high-pitched whine of want.

“Chloe,” he breathes, his hips stuttering against her, and she knows what he needs.

“I’m here,” she murmurs against his temple, lips caressing his ear. “I’m here, baby. I love you. Let go.”

With a strangled cry, he does, and she follows immediately after, repeating and repeating the only promise he needs, the only one that means anything:

I’m here. I love you. I’m here.

Chapter 10: I Am Content To Wait.

Chapter Text

Neither of them sleep, even once their panting breaths have gentled and their heart rates returned to their normal rhythms. No words are needed, only this: the primal need to be wrapped tightly in the arms of one’s other half.

Lucifer draws her in, holding her scent and impressing it into his memory yet again. His recall is near-perfect, and yet she somehow always smells better than he remembers. Just as she always feels better than he remembers once he’s got her back in his arms again.

Like right now.

It’s Heaven. The only Heaven he’s likely to have, and if he can’t start making some progress in Hell, it might be the only Heaven she’s likely to have… and he just can’t accept that.

There’s a way. He just has to find it.

A comfortable silence blooms around them, creating a bubble, an infinite moment where time stands still, no demands are made, and they can simply exist entwined together, finally complete and content. They pretend not to notice the angle of the light streaming through the curtains changing, how it deepens from glaring yellow to deep goldenrod, to dusky taupe.

Chloe’s thumb traces the skin below his right eye. “Your shadows are fading,” she says lightly, though her bare leg tightens possessively over his naked hip, knowing their parting is coming soon. “How’s that recharge coming along?”

“Only about half-staff at the moment, darling,” he murmurs playfully, flexing against her, “but do keep coiling around me and I’m sure I can be–”

She presses her fingertips against his lips, laughing with him as he kisses them in lieu of finishing his thought. “I don’t need a status report on your ‘staff’,” she huffs, sliding her hand along his cheek. “I can feel it just fine.”

“Hmm, I should certainly hope so,” he hums, ducking his head to nuzzle her neck. Something fidgets in the back of his mind. A mental glance tells him it’s the same feral niggling that had hinted at an idea earlier that morning, a bit bolder now. He still can’t quite make it out, though, and he presses a gentle kiss to her throat before reluctantly pulling away. “Sadly, I am feeling better, which means I should probably get started on my wings so I don’t have to suffer the indignity of Raphael carrying me back to Hell like a bloody stork.”

She laughs at the mental image of tiny Raphael carrying Lucifer in a bundle of ebony silk sheets, his long limbs and spiny wings escaping the confinement of the fabric as Raphael struggles to stay in the air under her lanky brother’s weight.

“Well, that’s something I can’t unsee.” She smiles, pulling away so he can stand, slip on his robe, and unfurl his wings. Even half-quilled, they’re still magnificent, his gracefully trailing tailfeathers swaying gently with his movements as he inspects his wings. “How are they coming along?”

“Mostly ready,” he prods at them thoughtfully. “There’s a few that aren’t quite there, but I’ve no doubt I’ll be well able to cross planes by morning.”

Which means you’ll be gone before I can make it back, she doesn’t say. She swallows hard. It’s not like she didn’t know this was coming. She wasn’t even supposed to see him again so soon, it shouldn’t hurt so badly that this completely unexpected bonus time with him is coming to end.

But it does. Every time he leaves, every time she leaves, it’s though she’s being torn in half. As though he takes a bit of her with him every time he has to go back. She hopes, if that’s the case, that it helps sustain him through the long millennia toiling alone.

He folds his wings away again and moves to the closet, returning as he ties the belt on his black satin robe, with her own flowered one in his hand. “Care to help, love, or do you need to be going?”

“I’ve got a few hours yet, of course I’ll help,” she disentangles herself from his sheets and stretches luxuriously, aware of his appreciative eyes on her as he holds up the robe for her to slip on. He smooths his hands over her shoulders and down her arms, dropping a kiss into her sex-mussed hair.

“Do you want a shower first? I can order dinner and we can eat before we start working on them.”

“I’m going to need a shower after we’re done,” she laughs. “If I go home coated in sheath powder, Rory is going to have questions.”

“Hmm, point taken. I’ll order dinner and we can get started straightaway, then. How about that little Thai place you love so much?”

“They closed up a few years ago.” A pang of sadness strikes her at how well he remembers her preferences, and how much the world has moved on since his departure from it. “The owner died and his widower decided to move back home. He said the memories were too painful here.”

Chloe had felt that sentiment keenly, but it was never a decision she could have made. If memories were to be all she had, then she was going to cling tightly to them until they were an indelible part of her. She’d done it with her memories of her dad, becoming a cop to keep him alive in her heart. She’d done it again with Dan, and now Lucifer.

But her life was here, too, not only her past. Her job, her home, her wonderful, fiercely beautiful daughters are all here, nestled in the loving arms of Los Angeles.

She can’t help finding a soothing sort of irony that she lives her life in the City of Angels, so very far from the one angel that she feels she can’t live without.

“Oh,” her comment seems to stymie him for a moment, but he recovers quickly. He pours himself two fingers of whiskey and moves toward the glass door. “Well, dealer’s choice then, order whatever you like. I’ll be out on the balcony.”

She watches through the glass wall as he removes his robe and his spiny wings spread, stirring the leaves on the potted plants with their movement. He pulls the ottoman away from the furniture grouping and sets his glass far enough to avoid getting crumbled sheath dust in it before he settles himself on it with a sigh and starts freeing his new feathers with his dexterous fingers.

She orders dinner from the first Chinese place that pops up on her delivery app and slips out to join him on the balcony, feeling the slight tremor of his muscles as she buries her fingers gently in the feathers he’s already freed.

“Now, now. We’ll never get anything done if you start that, love,” he admonishes teasingly, the feathers ruffling as his wing flexes under her ministrations. “I thought you were going to start on the ones I can’t reach?”

“I am,” she says coyly, scratching lightly under his feathers and smiling at the quiet groan that escapes him, “I can’t help it, they’re just so soft.”

“I’ve got something for you that is certainly not soft, Detective,” he growls, twitching his wings out of her grip and mantling them around his shoulders. The faint crackle of the sheath he’s currently working on reaches her ears, and she moves toward him again, gently starting to work on the smaller, unreachable scapular feather quills. The tension spills from his shoulders as her hands make quick work of the delicate casings.

They work in companionable silence as the afternoon bleeds away, only breaking for a quick meal once it’s delivered. As the late afternoon shifts far too quickly into early evening, the final few quills are cracked and gently peeled away, the newborn feathers slowly unfurling in the golden light like tender spring leaves. Lucifer stands and stretches languidly, his arms and wings both rising and straining until they tremble with the effort, freezing in midair as Chloe’s phone alerts from her pocket with a text message.

“I think you’re being summoned, love,” he murmurs as he folds his wings away and turns to face her, resignation written openly across his face. The buttery light streams across his bare chest, highlighting it with gaunt shadows from his slightly protruding ribs. The shadows beneath his eyes are lighter, but his cheeks still have a sunken appearance, and Chloe’s heart sinks at her impending departure. She doesn’t want to leave him here alone. “Best be on your way, eh?”

He holds out his hand and she takes it, getting stiffly to her feet and chuckling as a cascade of sheath dust falls from her robe, scattering over the stone floor of the balcony and drifting in small eddies in the breeze. “I absolutely need a shower first. This stuff clings like…”

“Like ash?” A melancholy smile teases the corners of his mouth, and she automatically reaches up to stroke his cheek with the hand not held in his, her thumb lightly stroking along his bottom lip. “You’re right though, Rory would certainly recognize sheath dust, and wonder whose wings you’d been mucking about with.”

“‘Mucking about’?” She imitates his accent with an air of forced playfulness, making his lips curve into a real smile, and a half-hearted chuckle. “Is that what we’re calling freeing you from your so-called ‘porcupine pegasus glory’?”

“Well, I’m back to my full Devilish glory now.” He puffs out his chest, the effect ruined somewhat by the massive yawn he’s unable to completely stifle. “Well, nearly, anyway.”

“Hm,” she narrows her eyes at him, but he only smiles blandly back at her and squeezes her hand gently. “Don’t leave tonight. Get some more rest. I can come and see you again in the morning, and we can make sure we haven’t missed any feathers–”

“I’ve already been gone nearly as long as I’d been back, darling.” But his argument is soft, and Chloe gets the feeling he’s open to some negotiation, perhaps wary of his own weakness. “I’m recovered enough to make it back Downstairs without any trouble–”

“Raphael hasn’t come looking for you yet, so things are fine down there,” she offers eagerly. “She was expecting you to take a few days to fully recover, and you’ve really only been here for two. If you go back too soon, you won’t make it back to full strength for another few centuries.”

Her voice breaks on the last word, and that, more than anything else, seems to make up his mind. He sighs heavily and wraps her in his arms. “But it will be another few centuries that I’ll be falling behind down there if I stay up here for an extra day to finish ‘charging’, as you so charmingly put it. As though I’m a particularly effective sex toy…”

“The main difference I’m concerned about is your recovery time. You can’t be an effective therapist for damned souls if you’re too exhausted to focus properly,” she points out, and he frowns because it’s the same effective argument he’d used on Linda and Frank. And Raphael. Dammit, and Charlie. “One more day up here and you’ll be feeling better, versus another few hundred years of feeling drained and spread too thin down there. You know which one is better for you, and you promised to take better care of yourself.”

A single tear escapes and skips down her cheek. He moves to catch it before it drops from her chin, watching it glisten on the pad of his thumb. Bloody Hell he hates being the cause of her tears. One more day won’t set him too much further back, and she’s not wrong that he wouldn’t be working at full capacity anyway…

“One more day, then,” he agrees, the reluctance sliding easily from his demeanor as he steps away, releasing her from his arms. She wobbles on her stiff knees, and leans down to massage them with a groan.

“Ugh, I’m getting too old to sit still for so long.” She lifts her eyes, glinting with sudden mischief. “How’s your ‘staff’ now? I may need a walking stick to make it to the shower.”

“I’ll give you a ‘staff’, my silver vixen,” he laughs, reaching out and running his fingers through her greying hair. “Come on then, let’s get you clean and satisfied… not necessarily in that order… then you go home to y– our daughter.”

He scoops her into his arms dramatically, but since she was expecting it she only laughs and wraps her arms around his neck, kissing him passionately as he walks them into his bathroom to shower each other with love… and lust… and incidentally remove the dust of their day’s work from their skin.

*

“Feeling like you can walk on your own now, love?” He pants into her ear later as he fumbles to shut the shower off. The only sounds in the sudden silence are the occasional plink of water droplets onto the floor and their ragged breathing. He can feel her trembling against him, and happily keeps his arms tight around her as she steadies her legs to accept her weight.

“No,” she laughs shakily into the hollow of his throat, her heated breath cooling over his wet skin, “but you’re still the best walking stick ever, baby.”

He chuckles, pressing a kiss into her dripping hair as she playfully squeezes his bare ass. Once she pulls away, he snakes an arm out and snags a towel, tenderly wrapping it around her before reaching for one for himself. She lets him blow dry her hair, closing her eyes and simply running her fingers over whatever bits of him she can reach as he moves around her, his nimble fingers sliding through her silvering hair and separating it so the hot air can dry it thoroughly. Chloe’s getting past the age now where she can truthfully claim that she’d worked herself into a sweat at work and showered before she’d come home, and Rory is nothing if not vigilant when it comes to her family.

When he shuts off the hairdryer, the silence settles around them like a heavy snow, swallowing up any background sounds until they could be existing in a vacuum if not for the roaring of the sand in their rapidly emptying little hourglass of togetherness. He smiles down at her and offers his hand. “Time to go, darling.”

“I hate this,” she quavers, taking his hand and folding her fingers tightly around it. “I know why we’re doing it, and I wouldn’t change Rory for anything, but… Lucifer, I hate this.”

“I know,” he smiles sadly, the familiar knives of their parting already sinking deeply into his heart and soul. “I know, Chloe, and you know how utterly useless I am without you by my side… but we both have a job to do, and the only way we can do it right now is…”

“... separately,” she agrees desolately. “When will you be back?”

“Probably best not to plan, hm?” His eyes burn with tears he won’t allow to fall, because he knows if they do, then Chloe will cry, and Rory will notice, and it will result in a fight once she gets home. “That way if anything comes up, neither of us will be disappointed.”

“Don’t you dare stay away another fifty thousand years,” she threatens fiercely, her eyes blazing up with thwarted fury. “Don’t do that to yourself. Don’t do that to me, Lucifer, please. If your time moves faster, that means you can take little breaks more often, okay? Rory’s getting busier, she’s got more of her own life now… so maybe we can make more of our own, too. You know, practice for later, when I invade your realm and you can’t get rid of me.”

“You mean when you can’t get rid of me, don’t you?” He teases lightly. “Especially if you’re still planning on coming to our realm?”

“Our realm?”

“Well, what’s mine is yours, isn’t it?” He smirks as her jaw drops. “What, all these years and you’ve never considered that if I’m the King, and I’m yours, that essentially makes you the Queen of Hell?”

“I… more of a consort, really, isn’t it?” She asks faintly. He takes a moment to bask in one of the rare moments he gets to truly surprise her.

“As if you could ever be content with merely standing prettily by my side,” he scoffs as they move into the closet to dress. “Not that you wouldn’t be breathtaking, my love, but you’ve never been one to sit still when things need to be done. I have no doubt the demons will be falling over themselves to see your will be done, however long you choose to brighten Hell with your presence.”

“I’m not leaving Hell without you, Lucifer,” she warns him, as she has every time they’ve touched on this conversation. “You know that.”

“I do,” he sighs, pulling her in for a brief hug before propelling her gently toward her neatly folded clothes on the padded closet bench. “And while I love the idea of having you with me, I still hate the idea of you in Hell because of me.”

“Still my choice,” she replies stubbornly, not bothering to glare at him this time. “You are always my choice, baby.”

“I love you,” is the only response he can muster, and they share a sad smile. He hates this contention within himself. He wants to be with her– it’s a constant, aching need, of course he wants her– and yet being the reason that she’ll condemn herself to Hell just to be with him… it feels wrong.

Rory’s going to blame him for that, he just knows it. Just what she needs, another reason to hate him.

He peels his gaze away, focusing on choosing a new suit while Chloe finishes dressing. His patients are so used to seeing him in black… should he stick with the theme, or shake it up a bit? A grey suit might show the ash less… But his fingers keep coming back to the classic black, and he gives in. Black Tom Ford, white button-down, red pocket square. Why mess with the best?

When he turns to face her again, she gives him a tremulous smile, her hands reaching out instinctively to smooth his already impeccable lapels.

“One more day, right?” She asks, nearly managing to hide the desperation behind the question. “You’ll still be here when I come in the morning?”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, love,” he assures her with a smile. “You needn’t worry.”

“I always worry about you,” she chides him, tweaking his pocket square before reluctantly pulling her hand away from his chest. He captures it in the crook of his elbow, and they walk to the elevator pressed closely together.

“Have you got your legs under you again, darling?” He teases as the silver doors slide open. “Do you need help getting to your car?”

“I can do without my walking stick to get that far,” she murmurs, her mouth brushing along his jawline before softly pressing to his lips. “But we’ll see what tomorrow brings.”

“As long as it brings you back to me, I’m content to wait,” he sighs into her hair before stepping back, freeing her from his embrace. They hold each other’s gaze until the doors separate them once more, and huffs a melancholy laugh. “Walking stick indeed.”

An image flashes into his mind then, and he freezes mid-step on his way back to the bar. Zadkiel’s staff, broken and bloodied, the pieces strewn across the flagstone court of the coliseum after his battle with Michael. After Michael had used it to prematurely end Chloe’s life, and he’d sacrificed himself to go to Heaven to retrieve her soul and right the egregious wrong that had been committed.

A shudder ripples through him and he pushes it away. It comes right back though, with a memory of standing next to Zadkiel kneeling between the pieces, his face twisted in grief.

“I am sorry about the staff, Brother,” Lucifer had murmured, still reeling from his unexpected victory. “Would you like me to see if I can repair it?”

“No, Lucifer,” Zadkiel had sighed, looking up at him. “It is tainted with blood and evil intent. This staff was all that remained of the Tree of Life, and our brother Michael has stained it with malice and death. There is no restoration possible.”

“I am sorry,” Lucifer repeated, tucking his hands in his pockets to avoid fidgeting with his cuffs. (Surely God doesn’t fidget. He doesn’t remember his father ever doing so.) “Had I known what Michael would use it for, I never would have allowed its introduction into our battle.”

“I know,” the Archangel of Righteousness stood, the pieces held tenderly in his hands much like the way Lucifer had recently cradled Chloe’s cooling body. “It saved your life, and I cannot regret that. Michael is the one that chose to use it for darkness. It is still a divine artifact, and worthy of reverence. I will… keep it safe.”

The new God had reached out and placed a sympathetic hand on Zadkiel’s shoulder. “Thank you, Brother. For your support, and the use of your staff. You did save my life.”

A divine artifact.

He blinks, stunned at the new, brilliant idea taking rapid form in his mind. He recognizes it as the wildling thought that had been skirting his mind all morning, evading his capture. Now it approaches like an asteroid, landing with a smoking crater in his mind, not unlike his initial re-entry to Heaven.

Would it work?

He presses his palms together and sends a prayer to Zadkiel. Only one way to find out.

Chapter 11: There's More?

Chapter Text

Zadkiel looks decidedly confused. Lucifer sighs, and refills his brother’s glass before settling into a chair across from him.

“And you think the staff will help you with this?” Dark brows draw together as Zadkiel contemplates the idea that had been introduced. “How did you even think of that?”

“Chloe planted a seed, and there it was.” The Devil shrugs with a small smile, and Zadkiel decides to let that explanation stand. “The point is, we have a divine artifact that is not in use, isn’t dangerous, and won’t be missed. If it doesn’t work, then the worst-case scenario is that I’m back to square one. With your permission, Brother, I’d like to try.”

“And you don’t want me to talk about this with Amenadiel because–?”

“AmenaGod is busy with ruling Heaven, and he’s made it clear that Hell is my problem to fix,” Lucifer tries to keep the bitterness out of his tone, but Zadkiel’s lifted eyebrow tells him that he hasn’t quite succeeded. “Besides, the staff was entrusted to you. If I needed Amenadiel’s rod, then I would ask him.”

He briefly entertains the idea of airing his suspicions to his brother, but the facts that they are only suspicions, that his information is unverified and comes from Michael, and that if Zadkiel thinks he’s trying to undermine the new God he will very likely leave and refuse to help stills his restless tongue.

“Why is this so important to you?” Muddy green eyes watch Lucifer carefully. “I mean, why now? You’ve been in Hell for eons, why are you only trying to lessen its evil now?”

“Hell isn’t evil, Zadkiel, it simply is,” Lucifer snaps angrily, defensive over his realm now that he’s aware that he can make it better. Hearing the same falsities uttered about his kingdom that have been spread about him for eons stings, especially since he’s been working so hard, for so long. “Father decreed that human souls needed somewhere to go to impale themselves upon their guilt, and so Hell came into being as He willed it. Any evil that resides there is a direct import from the human souls that inhabit it. Even the demons aren’t intrinsically evil, they’ve merely been steeped in it for so long that it tends to soak in. As to why now… I didn’t know it was possible to help these souls before. And honestly, I… wouldn’t have known how to do it, even if I’d tried. The first time was a sheer accident. I tried to show him how to help himself but he wasn’t ready to listen, then when I landed in Heaven, there he was. Before I moved to Los Angeles, I didn’t understand humans the way I did after living among them for a decade. I still can’t say I truly know what I’m doing. Even now they puzzle me frequently, but I’m learning more all the time.”

Zadkiel leans back and crosses his arms over his muscular chest, regarding Lucifer thoughtfully. Lucifer sips his whiskey, outwardly calm as he waits for his brother’s decision. He has a good feeling about this, much better than their last tête-à-tête, when he was trying to earn Zadkiel’s support in his bid for their father’s job.

“It would be a fitting task for the remains of the staff,” the archangel muses, sipping from his own glass. “To bring some life to that realm of darkness.”

“Is that a ‘yes’, Brother?”

“I…” he hesitates before nodding definitively. “Yes. If your idea works, I can’t think of a better purpose for the remains of the staff. Can I come with you to see it off? How long before you know if it will help?”

“I’m not sure, Zadkiel, I’m… making this up as I go,” Lucifer huffs a wry laugh and shakes his head. “It took me nearly five centuries to really get it up and running the last time, but that was just using my own energy. If the staff works the way I hope, it may take some time to get the ambient divinity to a usable level.”

“I still can’t believe you created– and maintained– a divinity chamber in Hell, Lucifer.” Awe is heavy in Zadkiel’s tone, and Lucifer looks up from his glass in surprise. “For any length of time I mean, I believe you, I just… I never would have thought it possible.”

“I’m learning a great many things are possible with the proper motivation.” A smile teases the corners of Lucifer’s mouth. “How soon can you bring the staff? The sooner we can start, the sooner we may see some results. Just remember–”

“I know, keep Gabriel and Amenadiel out of it.” The archangel of justice finishes his drink and stands, unfurling his fawn and white wings. “I can retrieve it now, if you like?”

“Thank you, Zadkiel.” Lucifer empties his own glass and stands alongside his brother. “Meet me in Hell?”

“I’ll beat you there,” Zadkiel challenges with a grin, then disappears.

Lucifer smiles and unfurls his own wings. He’s not breaking his word to Chloe– he didn’t say he wouldn’t pop back down to Hell to check in, he said he’d be there in the morning when she returned, after all. And if this works, the staff could have as much as a couple of centuries head start on him when he returns to check its progress tomorrow.

As it happens, Zadkiel does not beat him there, but it’s a near thing. Lucifer is only just shrugging his wings out of sight– best to avoid getting ash in his brand new feathers for as long as possible– when Zadkiel pops into view a few feet away, carefully cradling both halves of the staff. A cold chill creeps up Lucifer’s spine at the vivid splash of rusty red-brown on the broken edge of one piece.

“Really, Brother, you couldn’t have cleaned it?”

“I did clean it,” Zadkiel protests. “I even asked Raphael to help me get the blood off, but it refused to be lifted.”

Lucifer frowns. Is that normal for wood? Or blood? He doesn’t know, and after a moment he wrenches his gaze away, unwilling to look at the bloodstained instrument of Chloe’s death any longer.

“So, what is your plan?” Zadkiel asks as they set off toward the area Lucifer had cordoned off for his earlier experiment. “I’m assuming you have something beyond ‘let’s see if it can give Hell a positive vibe’.”

“I certainly never used the words ‘positive vibe’ when I was telling you about this idea,” Lucifer protests, setting a brisk pace through the corridors. “When I was working on the chamber, I needed to maintain contact with the door, first with my hands, then later by feeding it my feathers. But with the staff… I’m hoping to maintain at least a few more chambers at once, so I thought if I could embed it in the stone, perhaps in a central courtyard with surrounding chambers– Ah, here we are.”

“You were feeding it your feathers?” Zadkiel asks, aghast. “Lucifer, that’s…”

“Brilliant, I know,” the Devil supplies distractedly, unwittingly derailing Zadkiel’s horrified exclamation as he checks the now-dormant door and paces the width of the corridor. “Damn. I mean, I thought it would go dormant, but yes, it’s definitely dead. Bollocks, I’ll have to start over from scratch again.”

“No, I meant… feeding it pieces of you seems a bit extreme,” Zadkiel tries to draw his brother’s attention, but Lucifer is too busy getting the measure of the area. He kneels and places his hands against the cracked stone floor, not even bothering to clear the ash before doing so. “What are you–”

He watches as Lucifer closes his eyes and pushes, hands folded over one another as though about to give the ground CPR. Zadkiel staggers a little as the floor undulates beneath them unexpectedly, a cloud of powdery ash rising from the flagstones and surrounding walls. He coughs for several minutes and when the air clears, Lucifer is still kneeling in place, a thick coating of ash blanketing his hunkered form. “Brother?”

His hesitant query breaks the rippling silence surrounding them, and Lucifer shakes his head, causing an avalanche of ash to fall from him and back onto the floor. “Ugh, bloody ash.”

He stands, wobbling a little but steadying quickly as he glances around, seemingly satisfied. Zadkiel follows his gaze, his jaw dropping in surprise. What had been a narrow corridor lined with basalt columns is now an open, roughly circular courtyard with several doors lining the now-smooth walls around them.

“Is this… something you’ve done often?”

“Never done it before,” Lucifer grins cheekily, surveying his work. “Not to this scale, anyway, just an office here and there for me, Raphael, Frank, Charlie, and Linda. Wasn’t sure it would work, but here we are. Excellent. The staff, Brother?”

Zadkiel is jolted from his slack-jawed perusal of their newly reformed surroundings and regards his brother warily. He offers him the pieces of the staff, and Lucifer hesitates a moment before gingerly taking them, carefully avoiding touching the still-glistening stain from Chloe’s blood on one jagged end.

“What are you going to–” Zadkiel trails off when Lucifer rears back, his eyes flaring red as he holds the pieces high above his head as though he’s staking a vampire. He drives them downward with a mighty roar and a blinding, incandescent flash of light. If the floor had rippled before, it buckles now, driving Zadkiel off his feet and backward onto his angelic ass in a cloud of dust and ash. Around them, Hell seems to whine, a grinding, crushing sound of straining stone and sifting sand.

The light blazes brighter, until Zadkiel has to squeeze his tearing eyes shut against its onslaught even through his lids, already closed to protect from the ashy residue raining down around them. When it suddenly flares and dies, multicolored spots dance behind Zadkiel’s eyes. An ominous silence settles, until he hears a slight stirring and his brother’s hoarse voice murmuring weakly, “Bloody Hell. Wasn’t expecting that.”

“What exactly were you expecting?” Zadkiel croaks miserably, sitting up slowly and rubbing his head. He opens his eyes and his jaw nearly falls into his lap as he blinks in stunned surprise at the sight that greets him.

“Not that,” Lucifer replies, exhaustion heavy in his voice as he nods toward their focus. The other angel can only return the gesture in mute acceptance of the statement, unable to peel his eyes away from the miracle before them.

Because it is a miracle. Lucifer pulls his feet under him with some difficulty, balancing carefully as though afraid the ground beneath them may start to roll again. When it doesn’t, he warily moves toward the planted… sapling?

Zadkiel steps closer as well, leaning in to get a closer look. His murky green eyes flicker to his brother, who looks every bit as astounded as he feels.

Before them, where Lucifer had driven both halves of the staff into the stone floor of Hell, is a living, growing sapling.

Or is it two?

There are certainly two shoots from a seemingly shared root. One appears fragile: thin, willowy branches covered in tiny, pale green leaves that delicately curl under. They nearly glow in the dim light of Hell, and Zadkiel blinks, wondering if he’s still seeing the aftereffects of the flare, because tiny motes of light seem to be hovering around them like ethereal fireflies. He breathes in, and catches a hint of a sweet, almost familiar scent that he can’t quite place. Dazed, he turns his gaze to the second growth.

The other is twisted and gnarled, covered with heavy black thorns and wide, deep purple leaves, nearly black. The dark leaves have a dusty, waxy sheen to them, as though they’re coated with ash already, but when he ventures to touch one, it’s velvety smooth. He wonders what Arael would make of this. When he pulls his hand away, his fingers are coated with an odd, oily residue that he absently wipes off on his robes. If motes of light seem to float around the first branch, this one seems to draw in the abundance of ash drifting in the air around them. There is… something happening there, but he can’t quite make it out.

“Have you ever seen anything like this, Zadkiel?” Lucifer breathes.

“Have you?” He counters quickly. “I didn’t think anything could grow in Hell?”

“It… it can’t,” Lucifer shakes his head and sinks onto his knees beside the new growth– the very first of its kind in the history of the universe. “At least, nothing ever has. Can you feel it?”

“Can I feel–” he stops, because he can feel something. His brows furrow as he glances around, trying to pinpoint what exactly it is that he’s sensing. “That’s… odd. What is it?”

“Probably too soon to tell,” Lucifer replies with a loopy smile. “But… I think it’s safe to say that something will happen here.”

“Not what you expected, though?”

“I suppose we’ll have to wait and see, hm?” The Devil sags forward a little, catching himself with his palm on the floor– now mysteriously cleared of ash. “Oh, bollocks. Chloe is not going to be happy with me.”

“What?” Zadkiel eyes his brother with concern, but all he gets is a muttered, unintelligible blurb about ‘charging’ or some nonsense. “Lucifer, are you all right?”

“I’ll be fine,” he rumbles after a moment of visibly preparing himself to speak. “Need to get back upstairs to… recharge.”

“Okay?”

A heavy sigh emanates from the slumped form before him. “I might… need a bit of a boost, Brother. I think the staff, er, borrowed a bit of my energy for that little growth spurt.”

“Should I get Raphael?”

“No!” The denial is much stronger than his previous attempt, but he sinks a little lower to the floor with the effort expended. More quietly, he adds, “No, we needn’t worry the Healer, I just need to replenish my expended energy again. I’ll tell her about it when I get back. That’s why I was on Earth when I called to you earlier, I… rather drained myself trying out Plan A, and Raphael prescribed me time on Earth to recuperate.”

“You came back against the Healer’s orders?” Zadkiel lifts his shaggy eyebrows, unsure whether he should be impressed or scold him. “Are you mad?”

“What she doesn’t know won’t incapacitate me,” Lucifer grits out. “Are you going to help me, or not?”

“All right, Brother,” Zadkiel chuckles, taking one more look at the impossible tree. “Let’s get you back to Earth. Chloe’s going to know you’ve done something though, you’re much paler than you were, and you’re coated in ash.”

“Nothing a little shower and some concealer won’t fix,” Lucifer growls, allowing his brother to brace him as he wobbles to his feet again. “But I’ll tell her about it anyway.”

Zadkiel grunts doubtfully and spreads his wings, and in the blink of an eye he’s lowering one thoroughly exhausted Devil onto his caramel-colored leather couch.

“Thank you for your help, Zadkiel,” Lucifer sighs, thunking his head heavily against the backrest. “I’m not sure yet what we’ve accomplished, but… it feels like something. You won’t tell Amenadiel? Or Gabriel?”

“I won’t tell them,” Zadkiel agrees after a moment. “I’m sure Amenadiel will say something if he has concerns. I doubt anyone else would believe me anyway, and as you said, we don’t know yet what we will reap from what you’ve sown.”

An exhausted hum is all the response that he gets, and even Zadkiel can recognize how drained his brother is. “Do… you need anything? Is there something I can do to help you recover?”

“Jus’ need rest,” he slurs. “Comes back quicker up ‘ere.”

“Your energy?”

Another noncommittal hum. Zadkiel tilts his head, remembering what his brother had said about feeding the divinity chamber he’d created. “The staff drew on your divinity to create that tree, didn’t it?”

No response.

“Lucifer?” He steps forward anxiously, but settles when he notices his brother’s chest continuing to rise and fall shallowly. His pale face is relaxed, but there are lines around his eyes, and deep shadows beneath them.

Sleeping, then. He glances back at his wings, loosely cupped against his back, then back at his unconscious brother. Reaching back, he grimaces and pulls two secondaries, one from each wing. Holding them in his palm, he reaches out and presses them to the exposed skin at the base of Lucifer’s throat. This time, the soft brilliance of the light is expected, and washes over him like a warm rain– nothing at all like the incandescent tsunami that had flattened them both in Hell. When it dispels, slowly fading like the last clinging light of day, his brother’s color is improved and the shadows hugging his eye sockets have lightened, though they’re certainly still present.

Zadkiel nods at his handiwork then glances around the flat, wondering if there is anything else he should do. The doorway to the bedroom catches his eye, and he only stops to consider for a moment before scooping the Devil into his arms and carrying him to his bed.

He settles him on the mattress and surveys his work, nodding to himself again and calling it good. He spreads his tawny wings and departs, intending to check on his brother again soon.

He’s already starting to rue his promise to keep their little adventure to himself. He’s sure Arael would be fascinated by that tree.

*

Lucifer wakes hours later, exhausted and itchy from his fine coating of ash. As he moves upon waking, he feels the grittiness of it on his sheets and it pulls him fully into consciousness with an irritated groan.

“No,” he croaks to himself. “No, no, no, no, no. I put up with ash in Hell, I refuse to have it ruining my silk sheets here on Earth as well.”

He slowly sits up, gazing around with bleary eyes. He runs his fingers through his hair, wincing at the soft patter of crumbling ash dislodging and contaminating his sheets further. “Bloody Hell, Zadkiel, you should have left me on the couch.”

He kicks off his smeared shoes and wrinkles his nose as ash cascades out of them like sand from a broken hourglass. Slowly, he tests his legs’ ability to stay under him, pleasantly surprised when he doesn’t immediately crumple to the floor under his own weight.

Hm. Maybe that little experiment didn’t take as much out of me as I thought.

He glances back at his bed, huffing unhappily at the vaguely devil-shaped smudge of pale grey ash where he’d lain before balling his ebony sheets into his arms and dragging them toward his laundry chute. Once he’d stuffed them all down, he examines his suit and decides with another aggrieved sigh that it’s unsalvageable.

Why do I keep wearing the black suit, white shirt, red pocket square combination? It never ends well.

He sends the suit down the trash chute and walks, naked and dusty, straight into the shower, where he spends the next hour luxuriating under a steaming hot cascade of water and scrubbing Hell from every last millimeter of skin. He finds that his legs aren’t quite up to the challenge of standing that long, so he makes use of the shower bench that usually has a much more fun purpose. By the time he emerges, he barely has enough energy to re-make the bed with fresh sheets and collapse back into them before losing his battle with consciousness.

Chloe finds him there well after sunrise, sprawled on his stomach and lightly snoring in nothing but a loosely-wrapped towel around his waist. As she moves closer, she notices his hair has dried into flyaway spikes, as though he’d gone to bed with it wet.

She narrows her eyes in thought.

He’d showered with her last night, and they were both dry by the time she’d left. What had he done that he’d needed another shower in the ten hours since she’d seen him?

She doesn’t have to reach too far to realize he’d made an excursion back to Hell– the powdery residue of ash on the floor beside the bed gives the game away. She sits on the bed beside him and threads her fingers into his wild hair, smiling as he moves into her touch without waking. It’s thoroughly dried, and so is his towel. She drops a kiss to his temple and ignores the tiny, disappointed noise he makes when she moves away, knowing he isn’t anywhere near waking. She checks out the bathroom, finding the shower used, but mostly dried, with only a small wet ring around the drain.

So he hadn’t been gone long… at least not by Earth standards. Chloe bites her lip and wonders what emergency had cropped up that had necessitated his return to Hell before morning. Had Raphael come to get him, then sent him back?

That seemed the most likely scenario, but she’d wait to hear it from him. She settles onto her side of the bed and opens her laptop, logging in to work remotely with a sigh as Lucifer sleeps off his exhaustion beside her, gravitating toward her over the course of the morning until his forehead is pressed against her hip and his arm is slung across her waist. The towel had stayed on his side of the bed, and she merely smirks and caresses his cheek as he tosses his finely muscled leg over her shins, giving her a lovely view of his sun-dappled ass.

Talk about an office with a view.

He starts to stir restlessly in the early afternoon, his deep brown eyes peeling open just as Chloe catches up with her inbox and backlogged paperwork from the past couple of days.

“Chloe?” He mumbles thickly, hesitating as though unsure if she’s really beside him.

“Hey baby,” she murmurs, running her nails softly along his scalp as his drawn-out sigh warms the denim covering her hip. “You seem pretty worn out, compared to yesterday. Wanna tell me why? Did Raphael need you for something?”

He hums a negative as he blinks up at her slowly, his arm drawing tighter around her waist as her fingers slowly trail down his neck to trace over his shoulder. A flicker of pink appears as his tongue darts out to moisten dry lips before his mind seems to connect with his mouth. “Had an idea.”

“About your project?” He nods, sighing contentedly as she continues to trace her fingertips over his liberally freckled skin. “What idea?”

“Your idea,” he responds nonsensically, and she rolls her eyes fondly. Part of her wants to be angry at him for going back to Hell before he was fully recovered, but he had only promised to be here this morning, not to stay on Earth all evening. She should have seen that loophole and closed it before she left; it’s obvious how important this project is to him. “The walking stick.”

“The… what?”

He’s starting to truly wake up now, his mind slowly grinding into gear from his evident exhaustion, and his words start to string together more naturally, with less effort as he reconnects his mind and body.

“Yesterday,” he yawns, rubbing a palm across his face as he struggles to sit up and pull a pillow into his lap, “you kept bringing up walking sticks–”

“You started it with your talk about your staff,” she huffs a little laugh as Lucifer smiles wolfishly and glances down at the pillow now covering his impressive erection.

“Yes, but, once you’d left, it made me think of… of Zadkiel’s staff. The one that I broke during the battle with Michael.”

“The one that he–” her left hand moves to rest over the cold spot blooming in her gut where Michael had stabbed her all those years ago. There is no scar, no outward sign of the mortal wound. Whatever Lucifer had done in Heaven to bring her back, it had completely erased the injury aside from the hole in her shirt and the blood on her clothing and the stones beneath where her body had lain.

“Yes, that one,” Lucifer hurries to continue, as eager to leave that particular subject behind as she is. “It’s a celestial artifact, the last existing bit of the Tree of Life. Even broken, it holds a massive reservoir of divine energy, and Zadkiel had no further use for it after Michael shattered it with the sword and tainted it with your blood. So, I called him down here to ask if I could borrow it.”

“What are you going to do with a broken stick?” Chloe blinks at him blankly, unable to follow. “Honestly, Lucifer, I was just joking about needing a cane. And even if I did need one, I definitely wouldn’t want that one.”

“No, no, I know that,” he scoffs, shooing away her objection. “You said it yourself, or, well… something like it, anyway. I needed a battery. Some… store of divine energy that doesn’t depend on me to make this divinity chamber idea work. I thought maybe the staff could be that. It’s not currently in use, and Amenadiel would never notice its absence from the Silver City. It seemed like a good place to start, at least.”

“Oh,” Chloe continues to stare at him, nonplussed. “So… Zadkiel was okay loaning you the stick, and you ran it down to Hell for safe keeping before coming back up here?”

“Well… in the loosest terms, yes, but that’s not exactly what happened.” Excitement flares in the dark depths of his eyes, and for the first time, she thinks she sees a tendril of hope coiling there. “Zadkiel came with me. I wanted to drop off the staff to give it a bit of a head start in the area I’d chosen to try to mold into our purgatory. Give it some time to… seed the area with divinity, as it were. I figured if I dropped it off then, by the time I return there tonight, it would have had a few centuries to start saturating the area.”

Chloe lifts her chin in understanding, starting to see the sense in what he’d done. “But… just hopping down to Hell shouldn’t have set you back in your recovery like this,” she traces her thumb along the delicately shadowed skin below his eye. “Something else happened.”

“It did,” he agrees, shuffling his position to better face her, his expression alight with wonder. “Detective, it was like nothing I’ve ever seen or done before! I’ve always had some power over Hell, of course, especially the loops, but this…” he trails off, his eyes going distant for a moment before snapping back into the present with a widening smile. “I don’t know how to describe it to you. It felt like I mojo’d Hell. I told it what I wanted, and Hell made it happen. I needed a central area to place the staff so it could feed several chambers at once, and Hell provided me with an open courtyard ringed by empty doors.”

“And you’ve never done that before?”

“Never!” He declares proudly, puffing his bare chest out proudly. Chloe frowns as she notices his ribs are still showing prominently, and wonders how much this new effort had cost him; how long it will take him to fully recover from what he’s done to himself. “But even that pales in comparison to what happened next.”

“There’s more?”

“Detective, it was amazing,” he gushes, taking her hand in his and squeezing it in his excitement. “I planted the staff in the center of the court, and divinity just exploded from it. Knocked both Zadkiel and myself arse over teakettle, and when we scraped ourselves off the stones, the staff had grown into a tree.”

“A… tree.” Chloe feels like she’s missing something here, as though she’s stuck in one of Trixie’s old stories about a giant, and a magical beanstalk, and a goose that laid golden eggs… all for some magic beans. She supposes it is pretty impressive that a dead piece of divine wood managed to revive in Hell, where it seems like nothing can thrive.

“Well, a small tree, for now, but darling, it felt like a miracle. Each piece sprouted into a separate trunk, completely different from one another! And that’s not all! When I opened my senses to it, Chloe…” He closes his eyes, his smile nearly incandescent. “I think it was… it was… ah bollocks, I don’t have the words for what it was doing. I need Miss Lopez and her sciency brain.”

“Lucifer, you know Ella married Carol over twenty years ago. She’s Mrs. Corbett now.”

“Nonsense, she will forever be Miss Lopez to me,” he scoffs, waving off Ella’s twenty years of wedded bliss in his eagerness to relate his adventure, “but the point is that one of the trunks seemed to be absorbing infernal energy, while the other side– the side that appeared more… alive– was giving off divine energy!”

Chloe’s brow contracts as she considers this. “So it’s… like… photosynthesising divinity?”

Lucifer tilts his head in confusion, and Chloe reaches way back to helping Trixie study for a botany class she’d taken as an elective in college. “Plants absorb carbon dioxide and convert it to oxygen. So… this tree is kind of doing that, only with celestial energy? Taking Hell energy and turning it into, uh, divine energy?”

I’m explaining basic botany to the Devil to try to work out how this brand-new Hell tree works. How is this my life?

“That…” Lucifer hesitates, considering, before nodding eagerly. “Yes. That’s the basic concept of what it’s doing. There are a few more nuances going on there, but I’m eager to see what it’s accomplished when I get back.”

“That still doesn’t explain why you lost ground on your recovery last night, Lucifer,” Chloe points out, refusing to be distracted from her primary concern: her partner’s well-being. “Something else happened.”

“Yes, when I… planted the staff, I didn’t know what was going to happen. It, er, took a rather decent chunk of energy from me in order to get a foothold in Hell.” He must read the gathering storm in her expression, because he hurries to reassure her, “I’m fine, darling, it was entirely unexpected, and Zadkiel was there with me. He helped me home, and promised not to tell anyone about our little experiment, and I already feel nearly as good as I did yesterday before you left, so it didn’t take too much from me, after all.”

“You slept all day,” she reminds him, gesturing out the windows at the mid-afternoon light casting its slanting rays over them. “And you’re obviously still exhausted, because you haven’t tried to make a move on me, or gotten up to go get yourself a drink yet.”

“Perhaps I’m simply basking in your company,” he tries with a weak smile, but her lifted eyebrow speaks volumes for her disbelief. “Yes, all right, it did drain me, but I wasn’t expecting that to happen, and I had Zadkiel there as a backup. I wasn’t being reckless, and I wasn’t alone, love, you know I keep my word.”

“I know you do,” she relents, unable to bear the sag in his shoulders when he thinks she’s angry with him. “And I’m glad you took Zadkiel with you so he could help you get home. What did Raphael say about it?”

“I… didn’t tell her.”

“Lucifer–” her tone hardens, and he’s quick to defend himself from the coming onslaught.

“She would have tried to stop me, and I can’t waste time down there. That was the whole bloody point of making the deal to begin with– the more of a head start I get, the less time you’ll be trapped down there with me! It’s already my fault that your life here on Earth is so… torn, so lacking. I will not be the reason that your afterlife is miserable! I refuse to allow that to happen!”

She gazes at him with wide eyes, and he seems to realize that he’s said far more in his exhausted state than he would normally have allowed to pass his lips.

“You think my life is lacking?” Is all she can think to say, an odd feeling tugging in her gut. She repeats herself, emphasizing different words this time, as though trying to make her brain wrap around his statement. “You think my life is lacking.”

Her voice cracks, because every time she imagines him in Hell, it’s only him she sees, surrounded by a vast, lonely void. His friends, his life, his love are all here on Earth and he is in Hell virtually alone, fighting to pull billions of struggling souls out of the quicksand of their own guilt.

She knows that helping those souls is its own reward, and that he truly is doing wonderful things down there– nearly alone. Without her, just as she has been struggling up here without him. And somehow, knowing that they each recognize how empty the other’s life is when they’re apart, knowing that they willingly choose this pain every waking moment in order to preserve their daughter… The stalwart peace that she’d always found in that decision develops a small crack in that moment, and a torrent of pain and frustration starts to pour through like rushing water through a crumbling dam.

“No, not…” he hesitates, trying to find the words to express the sentiment his weary mind had allowed to escape. “Of course I know that you have your daughters, and your friends, and your career. I know that your life is… full, and productive. But…”

But it sucks. We had a few wonderful months where we thought we could be together, only to be ripped apart again. And again. And again.

She knows that he didn’t mean that her life is empty, that it’s meaningless– though sometimes, without him it does feel that way despite everything else she has to focus on. She knows that he would give nearly anything to be able to share her life with Rory and Trixie and all their friends. But in that moment, his words are like setting a spark to dry tinder.

“But what, Lucifer?”

She knows what he’s going to say, and her eyes burn with the angry tears she’s fiercely trying to hold back. He hasn’t brought this up in years, because he knows how the very idea of it upsets her. Rationally, she knows that the only reason he let it slip now is because he’s drained himself to the point where his filter is nearly non-existent.

They’ve had this argument, both before and after she realized he’d been telling the truth about his identity the entire time she’d known him. She’d hoped the last time would be the last time, but perhaps that was too much to hope for. She blinks, and a tear breaks free as he reaches to take her hand.

“Chloe, love, you deserve so much more–”

“Don’t,” she hisses, that tugging feeling inside suddenly snapping into something recognizable: anger. It had been so long since she’d felt it directed at him that she hadn’t realized it until now. She is angry. No. She is pissed. Furious, even.

“We have been through this so many times,” she growls thickly. “We’ve been together too long for you to keep pulling this sh*t, Lucifer. If I were going to find someone else, I would have done it by now. I’m nearly 70! Don’t you think it’s a little late for me to be sticking a toe into the dating pool now?”

“Well,” he says quietly, toying with her ring in an echo of the habit when it had lived on his own finger, “I was nearly 15 billion before I met the love of my life.”

“What exactly are you trying to say here?” She demands, yanking her hand from between his and ignoring the chill where the warmth of his skin had been. She leaps to her feet and starts to pace the room restlessly, his dark eyes following her. “You know I only want you. I know you love me. Yes, being apart sucks. I hate it. You hate it. Trixie hates it. Hell, even Rory hates it, though she doesn’t know why yet.”

He opens his mouth to respond, but she steamrolls over him, gaining momentum as she goes. She hasn’t had a good yell in years, and by AmenaGod, she is going to have one today.

“If you think my life is lacking, Lucifer, what do you think of yours?” She spits acidly, blue eyes narrowed into slits of glacial ice as she watches him move to sit on the edge of the mattress, leaning over to snag his previously unnoticed robe from the corner of the headboard. He slips it on, but doesn’t tie it. “Is your calling enough to fill the emptiness of being held apart from your family? Because I’ll tell you what I think. I sit up here with sunlight streaming in my windows while Rory and I are snuggled on the couch watching a movie and she’s making fun of the cheesy dialogue just like you used to, and I miss you so much it hurts.”

It does hurt. It hurts all the time: it’s a dull ache in her heart when she’s focused on something, a sharp pang when something Rory or Trixie says or does reminds her a little too sharply of him. A gutting, mortal wound when she wakes from a dream of what their life could have been and reaches for him, only to find the sheets beside her cold and empty. It hurts on the exceedingly rare occasions that he’s in her arms, panting and whispering words of love and praise as their bodies move sinuously together in fleetingly glorious pleasure, or the even more infrequent family moments she gets to share with Lucifer and Trixie together. She folds her arms across her stomach and keeps pacing, not making eye contact because she knows she won’t be able to bear seeing the pain she knows her words are inflicting reflected in his deep mahogany pools.

“I wonder what you’re doing in those moments. I wonder how lonely you’re feeling. If the demons are behaving. If Michael is still being an ass. I mean, you’re down there trying to manage billions of damned souls with nothing but a healer, a priest, a therapist, and a half-angel that’s barely old enough to rent a car! I worry about whether or not you’re taking care of yourself, because even when you were up here you had tendencies to ignore your own well-being. I think about how empty your life must be, about how badly you wanted to stay with us. It breaks my heart every single day because I know that you’ve been alone for far too long, and now even when we’re together we have to be apart and you’re still alone, and I worry that… that when I can come join you, that you’ll have been alone again for so long that you won’t want me anymore!”

She sucks in a surprised breath as the love of her life looks back at her with wide, dark, stricken eyes. The hot fury boiling in her gut freezes to ice in an instant and shatters, perforating her with billions of shards of regret.

“There will never be a time when I don’t want you, Chloe,” he murmurs, quiet intensity burning in his gaze. He stands, the pillow on his lap falling unnoticed to the stone floor and the folds of loose fabric of his robe swaying as he moves slowly toward her, as though approaching an injured wild animal. “There has never been a time when I haven’t wanted you. Even when I didn’t know you existed, I was looking for you. I will never stop believing that you deserve better than my shattered and rebuilt soul as a match for yours, and I will never stop trying to be better so that one day I may deserve you.”

Her tears had started falling in earnest once he’d started speaking, and his placid acceptance of her rage only makes them fall thicker and faster until she can barely make him out, even with the small distance between them.

“I will never push you away again, love, I learned that lesson after my father came to town, but… it doesn’t change the fact that I often wish that you could simply be as happy as you deserve to be. That you didn’t have to wait until your Earthly life was over before we could truly start our life together.”

“We’re together now,” she sobs, and his sad smile in response tears her last thread of restraint, sending her into his welcoming arms.

“We are,” he murmurs into her hair, peppering kisses across her temple. “Always. Even when I’m not here, we’re together. It’s just hard to remember sometimes, down there. It’s hard to believe, even now, with you securely in my arms. I’m sorry, darling, I know it upsets you, and I didn’t mean to say it–”

“You’re exhausted, I know,” she sniffles into his silk robe, her tears blazing tracks down his chest until they soak back into her shirt where she’s pressed as close to him as she can get. “I didn’t mean to yell.”

“I daresay you did mean to,” he chuckles, and she hiccups a watery chuckle against him. “But I also daresay I deserved that. Did you get it all off your chest? Do you feel better?”

“I think so.”

“Good, I’ve heard that partners are supposed to help with that sort of thing, and Dad knows I don’t get the chance to do so often.” He brushes a kiss to her cheek, then rests his chin on top of her head with a heavy sigh. She feels him trembling with the effort to remain standing, and it’s a true mark of how exhausted he truly is that she’s pressed against his mostly uncovered body and he hasn’t uttered a single innuendo. He clears his throat, and the sound rumbles through her. “Now, you’ve not eaten all day, what would you like for dinner?”

“We had my choice yesterday, what would you like?”

He remains silent for a moment before he pulls away and looks down at her, tilting his head as he finally ties his robe. “Do you think we could scrape together the ingredients for some of your famous egg sandwiches?”

“This is LA, we can get grocery delivery in less than an hour if the traffic is cooperating,” she huffs a watery chuckle at his delighted expression. Leave it to Lucifer to suggest her comfort food as his choice for dinner when he knows she’s upset. “Let me grab my phone. I’ll place the order now, then you can tell me more about this tree and what you’re hoping it will do while we’re waiting for the supplies to arrive.”

Lucifer sits back down on the bed in a sort of controlled fall while Chloe goes to check the kitchen to see if there’s anything usable in there. By the time she places the order and returns, he’s fast asleep again, sprawled on his back with his jaw hanging open in a relaxed position.

She shakes her head and smiles, content for now to simply settle back into the bed and hold her love in her arms until the ingredients arrive.

There will be time for more answers later. For now, she can lose herself in the peace of having her other half here with her.

She can’t wait to tease him about his snoring.

Chapter 12: We Can Declare It a Helliday.

Chapter Text

He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, and yet, the rare occurrence of waking up with Chloe’s arms around him and her cheek pressed against his back is something Lucifer can’t regret for even an instant upon waking. He pulls in a lazy breath and lets it out in a long, contented sigh.

“Hey baby,” she murmurs for the second time that day, and he files that soundbyte deep in his brain to remember in the lonely years to come. His heart sinks as she continues, “I was hoping you’d wake up before I needed to leave. You still want those sandwiches?”

“Not nearly as much as I want you,” he grumbles, folding his hands over hers on his chest and lacing their fingers together. “But you must be starving, love.”

“I’m a little hungry, yeah.” He feels the heat of the light kiss she presses between his shoulder blades as her arms tighten around him. He knows if she’s admitting to being hungry, then she’s absolutely famished, and he reluctantly lets her go, rolling away until he faces her. “But I can always just eat dinner at home.”

“Nonsense,” he glances at the sun, which is lower in the sky than he’d hoped. Golden rays of early-evening sun filter in through the curtains, painting his bedroom in broad swathes of bronze and jet. “We still have a little time, surely I haven’t wasted our entire day?”

“Lucifer, you obviously needed the sleep to recover,” she shakes her head and huffs a small laugh. “That’s not a waste, that’s why you’re here.”

“Yes, but–” he’s interrupted by a sneak attack from a yawn so massive that Chloe’s jaw aches with sympathy just witnessing it.

“No buts,” she smirks, patting his hip playfully before rolling over to get off the bed. “Let’s get some dinner and you can tell me some more about this idea of yours.”

“I don’t know what else there is to tell at this point in the game,” he watches as she stretches with a grimace, then manages to get his own feet under him to follow her off toward the kitchen. “I’ve no idea what I’ll find when I get back; if the tree will even still be alive, if the ambient divinity is enough to stave off Hell’s atmosphere for the chambers to even start to charge up… there are so many possibilities.”

“Then we can talk through some of them, then,” she offers. “I want to help.”

“Of course.” He suppresses a smile. Of course she wants to help. Never been one to stand on the sidelines when something needs doing, not his Detective. “Do I get to help you make dinner, then?”

“Uh, no.”

“And why not?” She quirks an eyebrow at his knowing smirk, returning one of her own because she knows full well that his favorite way of ‘helping’ her cook is to distract her as thoroughly as possible in the most pleasant of ways.

“Because I don’t have time to burn several sandwiches and still enjoy talking over the meal with you, Satan. Go sit down, you can talk to me from the bar.”

“Ma’am, yes Ma’am!” They both laugh as he marches over to one of the high stools and perches on it, primly crossing his leg over his knee. Or, it would be primly, if his robe didn’t conveniently split over his legs. He coyly pretends not to notice her darting looks his way as he leans back against the bar. “All right, then, scenario one: I get back and the tree is dead with no hope of revival.”

“Ugh, why is that scenario one?” She wrinkles her nose as she busies herself with dinner preparation.

“Because I prefer to think of worst-case scenarios first. Best to be prepared, yes?”

“Okay,” she sighs. “Okay, you’re right. All right. Worse case scenario, then.”

They talk over the possibilities that occur to them and possible courses of action based on each while the sandwiches sizzle, the conversation flowing effortlessly over the actual meal as well. They sit side by side, arms brushing one another with each movement, painfully aware of their time together bleeding away far too quickly.

“Do you think you’ll still be here tomorrow?” She finally asks, when they’ve covered all the potential situations they can think of and she’s trying to put off her departure by just a few more minutes. “You’re still exhausted, you should probably take another day.”

He knows she’s right, though it stings his pride to admit it. Selfishly, he wants to. Every moment with her is precious, and he hoards them greedily. “I’m not sure,” he sighs, after a long moment of self-evaluation. “I suppose I’ll see how I feel in the morning. And I should probably check in with Raphael to see how things are doing down there.”

She levels a glare at him and he holds up his hands with a rueful laugh, “I’ll simply throw her a prayer and let her know I’m mending, and ask her to pop up here if there’s anything that I need to address before I’m ‘fully charged’, as you so delightfully phrased it. I promise I won’t pop back down to Hell tonight for a nightcap.”

That seems to mollify her, but he hesitates before continuing. “You should probably make an appearance at the office, though, darling,” he suggests tentatively, squeezing her hand as she moves to protest. “The longer you’re absent from the office the more likely it will somehow come to Rory’s attention, and then you’ll have to come up with a believable explanation for why you were well enough to leave the house, but not well enough to go into the office.”

“Like a teenager skipping school?” Chloe chuckles, but the sadness in her tone wraps around his heart and squeezes like a fist. She flips her hand over to thread her fingers with his. “You’re not wrong, but… if you’re here, I want to be with you. I don’t want you to be alone while you’re here.”

“What’s the urchin’s schedule like tomorrow?” He offers. “Not that I need a babysitter, mind, but I haven’t seen her in ages, and if she’s up for hanging out with her unofficial step-Devil, I’m sure we could get up to some mischief. And perhaps you could schedule a faux ladies’ night with Miss Lopez at Lux tomorrow evening, if I’m still not quite up to snuff?”

“Trix isn’t back at the Observatory until Friday, and her Initiative hours are flexible. You can text her tonight and see, but I know she’d love to see you. Honestly, so would Ella, but you know how she is with the lying–”

“Still as transparent as ever, hm?” He barks a laugh and nods. “Would she object to being used as an alibi for an illicit hookup with yours truly?”

“Lucifer, I’ve loved you for over 30 years. We have a daughter together. You’re certainly not a hookup, let alone illicit.”

“A rendezvous, then?” He arches his eyebrows suggestively, sliding off his stool and slinking into her space. “A tryst?”

She purses her lips in mock-thought as he steps closer, breathing her in as she parts her knees to allow him to step between them. She loops her arms over his shoulders, linking her hands loosely behind his neck and slowly kisses her way up his jaw until she reaches his ear, breathing, “I’ll allow it.”

He hums, dropping gentle kisses along the creping skin of her neck as her breath washes pleasantly over his. He slides his hands around her waist and they melt together, clinging, both unwilling to part yet again so soon. But time is merciless, and part they must. He peels himself away with a sigh, offering her a hand off the stool. She takes it, but not for support, lacing her fingers tightly through his.

“Text Trix tonight and see about tomorrow. If she’s got plans, I am not above taking another day.” She narrows her eyes at his half-hearted protest. “I love Rory, and I love that she’s so protective of me, but I don’t answer to her. She’s a big girl, she can deal, I promise.”

“I know, love,” he murmurs into her ear as they walk slowly toward the elevator, “She gets that ability from you.”

“Keep me up to date on how you’re feeling tomorrow?” She nods toward the kitchen, where his current phone lives until he pops up for his visits. Chloe’s taken it upon herself to update it whenever the carrier deems necessary, and he simply charges it whenever he pops up and needs to notify her, or Beatrice of his arrival. “And I’ll work out my alibi with Ella, though we’ve really been too old for girls’ nights at Lux for a couple decades now, you know.”

“I wasn’t aware that Eve had instituted an upper age limit when she took over Lux for Amenadiel,” he teases. “As ancient as she is, doesn’t that rule her right out of her own club?”

“You know what I mean,” she huffs, gesturing to her aging body vaguely with her free hand. He stops dead in his tracks and takes it in his, holding her hands out to the side and giving her a thorough, appreciative scan.

“Chloe,” he breathes, sincerity saturating his words, “every time I lay eyes on you, you are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. Never doubt that, my love, because you know I only speak the truth.”

“You can’t just… say stuff like that, and then expect me to walk away from you,” she huffs, tears welling in her faded sea-blue eyes. “That’s not fair.”

She steps into his embrace again, her face pressing against the smooth silk of his robe as they sway together for another long moment. Finally, he murmurs into her hair, “You can walk away from me as many times as you need to, darling, I only need to make sure you want to keep coming back.”

“We come back to each other,” she murmurs back. “Always have, always will. It’s why we work.”

“And here all these years I’ve simply thought it was the incredible sex,” he squeezes her tighter as she laughs into his chest, warming his heart through and through with the sound of it. They step back simultaneously this time, and he pretends not to notice her surreptitiously wiping away a stray tear that had escaped her control. The lift doors open with a soft chime, and he presses a kiss to her forehead after ushering her inside. “I won’t leave without speaking with you, love, and since you’ve had to leave me three times this visit, it’s only fair that I leave the next time we part.”

Another rogue tear skips down her cheek, and her eyes glitter as she presses her lips together and nods. The doors close between them and he lingers there with his palm pressed against the cool stainless steel until he hears the cable stop moving in the shaft.

Nodding to himself, he turns and makes his way to his phone, which Chloe had thoughtfully charged for him at some point since his unconscious arrival.

Good evening, Beatrice. Have you some time tomorrow for a visit with an old friend?

He sets the phone down, but hasn’t even had a chance to move toward the bar before it’s chiming with a response. Several, from the sound of it.

OMG! You’re here?!

Like you even have to ask!

What time? How early is too early?

He’s typing his response when the phone rings in his hand. He laughs when he sees her contact photo, undoubtedly one chosen by the Urchin herself, of her and Rory, leaning close with enormous smiles, Rory’s mouth is wide open and her tongue is on display, and Beatrice is obviously laughing at her sister’s antics. An affectionate smile stains his lips as he answers.

“Well, hello Beatrice, can I look forward to your company tomorrow, then?” He keeps his tone teasing, and though she returns in kind, he can hear the trembling emotion in her response.

“Now I know you’re here, you’d have to hide to keep me away! Does Mom know you’re here?”

“Yes, she’s spent the last couple of days here with me while I’ve been on… er… assigned R&R, as it were. We felt it best if she put in an appearance at the office tomorrow to avoid suspicion, though.”

“R&R?” She picks up on that tidbit of information immediately, of course. “What happened?”

“I’m perfectly fine, I simply overextended myself a bit working on a project, and Raphael is overprotective. She insisted a few days up here would pick me right up, and I’m nearly there. I’ve mostly been asleep since I’ve been here, or I would have texted you sooner.”

Her response is cut off by another deep yawn, and he apologizes, but she won’t have any of that.

“Okay, well, I’m definitely down for tomorrow. You sound like you could use some more rest, so get some sleep, and just shoot me a text when you wake up. I’ll bring you breakfast, and there’s a new show that I think you’ll love that we can binge, if you just want to relax and don’t feel up to chatting.”

“You know me, Urchin, I never shut up,” he smirks, her musical laughter tickling his ear through the line. “I’ll text you when I wake, then.”

They say their goodbyes, and he meanders to the bar, carefully choosing which whiskey he wants to savor before pouring himself a glass and taking it over to the piano. He runs his hands reverently over the mirror-smooth finish and pulls in a deep breath as he flips up the fallboard, caressing the keys lovingly.

“Hello, love,” he murmurs, closing his eyes in bliss as he coaxes her to sing for him. “I know it’s been a while, but I’m quite willing to make up for some lost time if you are.”

As it turns out, she’s just as eager as he is, and he can almost swear that the ebb and flow of the music they create together does more for his recovery than all the sleep in the world.

*

He wakes the next morning with shadowed green eyes narrowed intensely only inches from him, and groans dramatically.

“Come to check up on me at last, Sister?”

“You’re more depleted than you should be,” Raphael says in lieu of a greeting. “Why are your reserves still so low?”

“I’m not that badly off,” he protests, resolutely ignoring the beating drum that pounds in time with his heartbeat in the back of his head. “As it happens, the Detective gave me an idea that I simply couldn’t wait to try, and I managed to get it started with only a little setback in my recovery. I was coming back this evening.”

“You are most certainly not,” the Healer grumbles, peeling down one of his eyelids until he swats her hand peevishly away. “What did you do? And who do I need to yell at for giving you a boost when you drove yourself to exhaustion again?”

“Exhaustion,” he scoffs, only slurring the word a little due to being rudely awakened, thank you very much. He glances out the windows, where the dim grey light of pre-dawn is only just lightening the sky. “I’m not even late getting back, you said to take a few days. Why are you here checking on me at this hour?”

“Something is happening Downstairs, and I knew if something was happening, you were behind it,” she huffs, simultaneously annoyed and smug at being proven right. “You might as well tell me, because if you don’t, Chloe will.”

He heaves a long-suffering sigh as he struggles to sit up, brushing his sister away with his trembling forearm when she moves to help him. Her lips thin as she observes his movements, and she nods to herself.

“You’re definitely not coming back today. Whatever you did, it drained you again. Do you have a headache?”

“It’s not that bad–”

“That’s a yes, then,” she says briskly. “Trembling, incoordination, sleepiness, muscle weakness, irritability–”

“I’m not irritable, I’m annoyed that you woke me up to yell at me–”

“Is your vision blurred? Are you dizzy? You’re you, so I can’t really gauge your decision-making capability–”

“Now wait just a bloody minute–” His vision is only fuzzy because he’s just opened his eyes, surely, and he’d only sat up a bit too fast…

“Mmhm.” Her emerald eyes flash angrily. “Like I thought, exhaustion. You’re not ‘just a bit tired’, you are physically and mentally drained, and you are banned from Hell until you are recovered. And when I find out who boosted you, they’re getting a piece of my mind.”

“Banned?” He recoils, stung by her phrasing before the rest of her sentence registers in his sleep-muddled mind. “Boosted? What on Earth–”

“Someone gave your reserves a boost, I can feel it. Who did you take to Hell with you? And why? What was so important that it couldn’t have waited just a little bit longer?”

“I… I’m not sure, it just… felt right.” He hesitates, brows contracting as he considers. “It needed to be done, and not a moment too soon.”

“And what, exactly, is ‘it’?”

He sighs, gazing at his sister with dark, uncertain eyes. “The Detective gave me the idea of trying to find a… a source of divine energy– other than myself, of course. It needed to be something from Heaven, something that no one would miss, since we’re running under AmenaGod’s radar right now.”

“Are you saying you found something?” Raphael’s eyes narrow skeptically. “What could possibly hold any appreciable amount of divinity that wouldn’t be noticed if it were missing?”

“The Staff of Life.”

“Wh–” her narrow jaw literally drops for a long moment before she closes it with a snap. Her pink tongue darts out to wet her suddenly dry lips, and her eyes dart to and fro as her agile mind considers her brother’s idea. “You stole the Staff of Life? Why? It’s not even in one piece anymore.”

“I didn’t steal anything,” Lucifer scoffs, offended. “A missing divine artifact would draw far too much attention, especially if someone discovered it in Hell. I asked Zadkiel for the pieces.”

“And he said yes?” She squeaks in surprise. “Did you tell him what Michael said about–?”

The Devil shakes his head solemnly, stifling a yawn. “I don’t want to stir any trouble up there, we’ve got enough down below. I simply told him that Amenadiel had made it clear that Hell was my problem to fix, in whatever manner I see fit. He was intrigued, and even wanted to come to Hell to see what might happen when I introduced the staff.”

“And?”

“And… then he helped me get back here?”

“Are you being deliberately obtuse, or are we adding loss of mental acuity to your exhaustion symptoms?”

“Oh. Right,” he shakes his head, trying to clear the creeping tendrils of fog from his mind. “I took him to see the divinity chamber I’d made, but it had gone dead as I suspected. I… asked Hell to make a space for my idea, and it listened.”

He briefly describes the new courtyard, planting the staff, and the incredible result. When he finishes, the Healer stares at him, pursing her lips pensively.

“That explains it.” She nods to herself after another moment of thought. “It explains why Hell feels different, and who gave you a transplant.”

“Transplant?” He tilts his head in confusion. “What are you on about?”

“I told you someone boosted you, I could sense it. Now that I know Zadkiel’s involved, I can recognize him,” Lucifer fidgets under his sister’s intense scrutiny. “He gave you at least one feather, maybe more, to help you recover after your little stunt Downstairs.”

Did he? Lucifer tilts his head as he considers. He hadn’t felt as poorly when he’d awakened as he’d feared. A wry smile twists his lips. That would explain it.

Zadkiel’s unexpected supportive gesture touches him. He had fulfilled his promise to help Lucifer back to Earth to recover. The donation of a feather to further that recovery is a large step above that, and Lucifer isn’t sure how to feel about it, so he does what he does best: buries the feeling and moves on. Maybe he’ll ask Linda about it the next time she corners him for his own session.

“Maybe if you’d spared a feather or two, Sister dear, I could have been back in Hell already,” he teases lightly, shrinking back a bit when Raphael levels a glare at him. “I’m only joking, Raphael, I wouldn’t have expected you–”

“I very deliberately didn’t give you a boost because you needed the mental respite as much as you needed the physical recovery,” she lectures, waving an admonitory finger under his nose. “You’ve worked yourself into the ground, and we need you whole to do what we’re doing. You take care of our needs, Lucifer, you have to let us look after you, too. And look what happened: You spent a few days here, and this new idea bloomed from your time with Chloe!”

“Yes, of course,” he sighs, well aware that he’s never going to win this argument. “The Detective will always bring out the best in me, I’m aware. Now, tell me about this new sense of Hell. When did you notice it? How noticeable–”

“Oh, no,” his sister adamantly crosses her arms over her chest and glares at him. “You are officially on vacation until I come back for you. You’ll be here for at least two more days, and if Chloe tells me you’re not resting when I come back, it’ll be at least 3 more before I come back for you again.”

“If you’re trying to punish me by banishing me from Hell, I’m afraid you have a terrible misunderstanding of my motivation,” he smirks, but she reflects it right back at him.

“Oh, really?” She lifts a sardonic eyebrow. “So you’re not burning yourself out in an attempt to get Hell into manageable shape so Chloe won’t have to spend eternity in Hell with you? That’s not why you made a desperate deal with our brother to give you more time before she dies and winds up there? By all means, then, Brother, enlighten me.”

She waits smugly as he glares at her. “But by keeping me here, you’re only giving me more time with Chloe and less time in Hell!”

“Exactly,” the smugness slips away into sincerity, and Lucifer shifts uncomfortably. “You give me time to go home when I need it, but you wait until you’re on your very last leg before you come home to Chloe. That’s not healthy, Lu, for either one of you. You only thrive when you’re together, and I can only imagine how hard it is for you to be apart.” He scoffs and looks away, his stomach twisting. “I know it’s tough right now, because of your promise to Rory. It won’t be forever, though, and you’ve got to take care of yourself in the meantime. We all worry about you, because you’re so used to doing things on your own that it doesn’t even occur to you to ask for help. We can keep tabs on you, but we can’t make you accept help. Don’t make our job any harder than it has to be, hm?”

“Bloody Hell, fine,” he huffs, feeling the rare burning sensation of shame coursing through him. She’s right, after all. By working himself to the point of collapse he’s only making life more difficult for those that are choosing to stand by him… forcing them to undertake his own burden in addition to their own while he recovers from his self-imposed exhaustion. “I promise not to visit the infernal plane until I have your all-clear. Any other instructions for me, Healer?”

“I’m not trying to make you feel bad, Lu,” her tone is gentle now that she’s getting her way, her brilliant green gaze soft. “You’re important to us, and you’re the only one that can really manage Hell. We need you in top form and in order to maintain that, you need to be aware of how your lack of self-care affects everyone around you. Spend some time with Chloe and Bea, or even some of your friends if you think they’ll be able to keep it from Rory. I’ll see you in a couple of days.”

“A few centuries, you mean,” he grumbles, his brows lowering as he realizes again how much more time he’s losing.

“Think of it as giving your idea some breathing room,” she suggests, and he can reluctantly acknowledge the sense in that. “If it’s made enough of a difference that I can sense it in just a couple centuries, it might have an actual, usable reservoir for you to draw on once you return to us fully rested, hm?”

“Only time will tell, I suppose,” he allows with a sniff. “Perhaps you should take some time off as well, and shuttle Frank Upstairs for some time with his daughter. We can declare it a Helliday.”

“The rest of us are fine,” Raphael assures him, rolling her eyes at his pun. “Linda’s still fresh from her divinity chamber beach vacation, Charlie is good about taking time as he needs it, and Frank has only just returned and is eager to get back to work. You’re the only one that needs a break right now.”

“That’s what you said when you shuttled me off to Sequoia for two weeks with the Detective!”

“It was true then, and since you’ve managed to effectively burn yourself to the ground once you returned, it’s even more true now,” she points out ruthlessly. “We’ll find a way to make it work. But first you’ve got to let yourself recover.”

“I’ve already said I will,” he replies peevishly, “are you going to lecture me about it all day? Because that is the opposite of relaxing, and I was hoping to spend some time with the urchin today.”

“Yeah, do that,” she nods her approval, eliciting his own eye roll and a long-suffering sigh. “Bea is sensible, she won’t let you do anything stupid any more than Chloe would.”

“Very well,” he waves her off with a small smile. “I’ll just text her, then have a little nap until she arrives. The Detective was planning to come by after work, but I don’t know how much time she can manage here before Rory starts getting suspicious about her absence at home.”

The Healer unfurls her wings, the golden highlights glinting in the early morning sun filtering through the curtains. “I’ll see you in a couple days, then. Try not to do anything stupid?”

“No promises,” he calls over the sound of her rustling feathers as she spreads her wings and vanishes to the infernal plane. He sighs and shifts his legs off the mattress so he’s sitting on the edge, fumbling to pick up his phone.

Good morning Urchin! Please commence visitation whenever you like. I’m under strict orders to relax, preferably with supervision from yourself or your mother.

Leaving the phone on the table, he weaves his way into the shower. Being clean is one of his top ten favorite things about Earth, after all. His energy level is still low enough that he can’t stand throughout the entire process, but he feels invigorated when he exits. He chooses a suit and styles his hair with a few brief breaks to sit down, and by the time he makes it to his living room, the elevator is softly chiming Beatrice’s arrival.

She steps off the lift, heavily laden with bags of food and a wide smile. He relieves her of the first burden, and the moment he spreads the bags out on his bar, she launches herself at him for a bone-crunching hug.

He staggers back under the onslaught, catching himself with her help.

“Sorry, sorry!” She yelps, laughing a little through her tears. He wipes them away with his fingers, and she pulls him for another, more gentle embrace. “I know, you’re on R&R. I brought loads of food to help you recover, because Mom mentioned that you’d lost weight when I talked to her last night.”

“Oh, lovely,” he coos as they take a step back. “Let’s eat then, because I am famished, and you can tell me everything I’ve missed. Then perhaps we can watch a few episodes of this new show you were on about last night.”

“Oh, you’re going to love it. Mom says you were a huge fan of the source material, this old show called Bones? This is kind of a spin-off, about their daughter, only she’s a cyborg, and–”

Lucifer’s grin widens, his mind supplying a similar spirited synopsis from a different young woman in this very room. Clearly, both his girls have phenomenal taste in entertainment.

“-the chemistry between Borgie and Agent Andie is just… what?” She notices his distraction, a small smile curving her lips. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, it sounds fascinating,” he sits down and digs into his food, waving for her to do the same. “Tell me everything.”

Chapter 13: Purgatory Plan B

Chapter Text

Three full days of sunlight, spending time with Beatrice, and being wrapped in Chloe’s arms, and Raphael deems him recovered enough to return to duty.

“I’m going to be watching him closely, Chloe, and making sure he takes the breaks he needs,” the Healer tosses over her shoulder as she unfurls her wings. “See if you can talk some sense into him so I don’t have to knock him unconscious and lug him here myself next time, okay? He’s heavy.”

“My weight is perfectly proportional to my height and musculature, you oversized wren!” He calls after her, as she spreads her wings and vanishes. “As if she’s not every bit as invested as I am…”

He glances over at Chloe, narrowing his eyes as she turns her chuckle into a cough. She steps closer, rests her head on his shoulder, and slides an arm around his waist. “So, does that mean I’ll get to see you more often, then?”

“We’ll have to be careful, love,” he murmurs into her hair. “We can’t have Rory catching on to our little conjugal visits.”

“I’ve told you before, I’ll do anything for our daughter, but I don’t answer to her, Lucifer,” she pulls back, defiance in her eyes. “You may not be able to lie, but I’ve gotten damn good at it over the past few decades. And the best part is, since it was all her idea, she can’t even be mad at me for it.”

“No, I believe she’s reserving all her anger for me at this point in time,” he huffs ruefully.

“She’s still 17 mentally, she’s got plenty of anger for everyone,” she assures him wryly, swinging herself around to embrace him fully to rest her ear over his heart. She closes her eyes, committing the rhythm of it to fading memory yet again. “But it won’t be forever.”

“Are we sure about that?” He asks uncertainly. “Celestials are known for being rather… unchanging.”

“That’s true,” she muses quietly. “But you are her father, and you’ve changed more just in the time I’ve known you than all the rest of them combined, I think. And we already know that Rory changed her mind about you once she learned the truth about why you couldn’t be here with us.”

He tightens his arms around her and doesn’t point out that they don’t know that, not truly. They won’t know for certain until Rory returns from her little temporal sojourn and Chloe takes her last Earthly breath before joining him in Hell. Instead he hums, presses his lips to her silvered roots, and changes the subject.

“In that case, you can think about where you’d like to go for our next reunion. You plan it, and just send Charlie after me when you’re ready for your chariot to arrive.”

“Are you the chariot?”

“I’m much easier to handle than one of those tin death traps,” he smirks down at her. “Much better ride, too.”

“So what I’m hearing is that you want me to start making ‘Big Ben-Hur’ jokes?”

“Oh, look at the time,” he exclaims, stifling his laugh and squeezing her tighter. “Raphael must be wondering where I am.”

She buries her face in his jacket and mutters something unintelligible. He doesn’t need to understand the words to agree with her unmistakable sentiment… but it’s his turn to leave, which means it’s his turn to be the strong one.

“Plan our next visit, love, shall we aim for… twice a year?” She mumbles into his chest again, and clings tighter as he allows a sad smile to twist his lips still pressed into her hair. “If Raphael wants me gone more often, then let’s indulge her before she makes good on her threat to manhandle me up here herself.”

The sky above them slowly darkens, but neither makes a move to let go until a low rumble of thunder and the gentle, scattered cadence of rain rattling against the windows pulls them reluctantly out of their bubble where time had ceased to exist for the briefest of moments.

“You’ve got to go,” the words tremble as they pass her lips, but her eyes are clear and only a little teary. “You’ve got souls to save.”

“And you’ve got a precinct to run, a daughter to raise, and an idyllic vacation to plan in six months’ time.” He huffs a laugh as he pulls away and straightens his jacket. “Always an over-achiever.”

“Says the archangel that turned down the position of God to become Hell’s therapist.” She sniffs, smiling up at him with pride lighting her eyes. Tears start to well as her hands reach up to stroke his cheeks. “I know you know, but… I am so proud of you, babe.”

“Ah, now, darling, don’t start crying,” he leans down, brushing the tears away with his lips. “Then I’ll start crying, and you know how the ash sticks to a wet surface…” That startles a laugh out of her, and he smiles at his success. “There now, that’s more like it. I vastly prefer taking a smile back with me.”

“Then you’d better go, because I don’t know how much longer I can hold it,” she teases, widening to a grin. “I love you.”

“And I love you, Chloe,” he assures her, though they’re beyond needing mere words to know the depth of their bond. “Take care, love.”

He glances out to the balcony where the rain is now sheeting down and shakes his head. He unfurls his wings there in the bedroom, spreading them wide in preparation to leave.

“Good luck with your staff,” Chloe blurts as he lifts his wings, causing him to pause for an instant and give her a mischievous smile and wink. He vanishes before she can add, “I mean, your tree…”

“I meant your tree,” she repeats, laughing to herself as she turns and surveys the room. She doesn’t have to clean it, there’s a service that comes every few weeks and dusts and airs the place, changes the linens, and does all the little maintenance things that need done when a residence isn’t being actively used.

She doesn’t have to clean it. But she always does. It helps her settle the new memories of him into her mind, lets her hold onto him, bask in his scent, his presence, just that little bit longer. She’d stayed an entire extra day at their cabin at Sequoia, just reliving their extended time together, and having these few precious, unexpected days with him so soon after the last time has been nothing short of amazing.

So she starts to tidy up, ferreting away the shirt he was wearing yesterday into her work bag with her laptop before clearing away the towels and grooming products in the bathroom, then returning to bundle the sheets up to put them in the wash. She reaches the steps leading out of the bedroom just as the elevator chimes and her half angel daughter walks in, black eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“Rory! Uh, hi,” Chloe blinks, left mute by the immense wave of relief sweeping over her that Lucifer had left when he had.

“Hey Mom,” her eyes widen as she takes in the golden sheets gathered in Chloe’s arms. “I thought Eve paid somebody to come keep this place up?”

“She does–”

“Please tell me that she doesn’t pay you to do it,” Rory growls. “You told me money wasn’t tight for us. I know he’s loaded, wherever the Hell he is. If you’re having to take a second job doing his–”

“Rory! Enough!” It’s rare enough for Chloe to raise her voice that Rory stops dead in her tracks. “I’m not here because Eve is paying me to clean your dad’s penthouse.”

She doesn’t miss the grimace that crosses Rory’s face when the words your dad are introduced. Their daughter has steadfastly refused to refer to Lucifer as her dad for well over a decade now, and even ceased spitting his name, only referring to him the venomous pronouns he or him or sometimes that asshole that left us when she thinks Chloe isn’t listening.

It breaks her heart, but she works to stay positive in the knowledge that it doesn’t last forever, that it’s all working toward the end product of the daughter they had both fallen deeply in love with during those few short weeks back in the late summer of 2021.

“Then why are you changing– oh. My. Uncle A.” Rory’s eyes widen so far they nearly bug out of her head and her jaw drops. “Mom!”

“What?” Chloe asks defensively, clutching the sheets tighter and breathing deeply as a fleeting whiff of Lucifer puffs up from them.

“Are you using the penthouse for a hookup?” Her daughter’s expression is torn between humor and horror. “That is somehow amazing and disgusting all at the same time.”

Before Chloe can start to take offense at that, Rory continues, laughing incredulously. “I mean, just because it’s you, you know, I don’t want any details about your… your... You know. Details. But man! Using this place? I knew all your defense of him was a front. I knew there was no way you weren’t pissed at him for leaving you with another kid to raise. Using his den of sin to host your own hookups? Damn, Mom, I am proud of you. Way to stick it to him.”

Rory cackles, and Chloe can only stare, so stunned at being so abruptly jarred out of her new, happy memories that she’s unable to even formulate a response. As her daughter’s laughter continues, though, a slow flush of rage starts to creep up her neck and flood her cheeks until she can feel them burning. She squeezes her eyes shut and grits her teeth, tightening her grip on the bundle of fabric in her arms and breathing in the rapidly fading scent of the love of her life.

“You’re certainly not a hookup, let alone illicit.”

“A rendezvous, then? A tryst?”

As her lungs fill with him, his playful words echo in her ear, dispelling the fury like a sunrise burns away the dense morning mist. She can play this to her advantage. To their advantage. She holds her breath– the one with the last fading remnants of Lucifer for a long moment before letting it go with an embarrassed smile.

“Rory,” her tone is disapproving but she ducks her head in feigned embarrassment, using the movement to school her features into a pinched expression. The flush of rage helps contribute to a flustered countenance as she channels her younger, pre-Lucifer self. “I am not discussing my sex life with you.”

“Good, because I totally don’t want to hear about it,” her daughter laughs, enjoying her mother’s apparent discomfiture. “I’m just glad you’re actually having some fun, for once in your life. Did you meet him during your trip last week?”

“I–” she hesitates for a moment, smiling when she realizes she can tell the truth. “I did, yeah. He’s… amazing, but he’s not local, so I won’t get to see him very often.”

A small frown crosses Rory’s expression, quickly wiped away by a sly grin. “But you are going to see him again?”

“Absolutely.”

“That’s the spirit, Mom,” Rory crosses to the bar and pulls down a crystal decanter and two glasses. “When you’re done ‘freshening up’, you can tell me all about him.”

“Not all about him, Hummingbird,” Rory rolls her eyes at her mother’s old nickname, and Chloe grins at the expected response. “I think I’d like to keep a few details to myself.”

*

Lucifer can feel the difference the instant he nears the courtyard where the Tree is planted. It’s like… feeling sunshine on his skin again after millennia in the dark, like that first sip of finely-aged whiskey after he returns to the penthouse after a stint in Hell. He pulls in a deep breath, and a smile plays at the corners of his mouth.

It had been faint when he’d arrived, but here, in the courtyard Hell had created for him… here the divinity is nearly as thick as mist, crawling across the flagstone courtyard and licking up against the basalt columns and doors surrounding the new tree. And it is a tree now, barely even resembling the fragile twig he’d left just days ago.

It’s twice as tall as he is, with multiple offshoots from each trunk spreading and interweaving into a dense canopy until the ever-present softly falling ash can’t even reach the ground.

One trunk is thick and gnarled, with coarse, ropy bark. The branches are twisted, and covered in thick, waxy, broad purplish-green leaves that have an ashy patina that almost feels like a soft fuzz when he reaches out to brush his fingertips over them. The boughs between the leaves are covered with thick, dangerous looking thorns, and dotted here and there are small, dusty brown swellings the approximate size and shape of strawberries, only covered in tiny hair-like protrusions.

The other trunk, or rather trunks, are a cluster of thin, birch-like, arching columns, gently curving over the open courtyard. Thin, willowy branches drape in a continuous cascade with long, spearhead-shaped spring-green leaves nearly brushing the ground. Deep red clusters of flowers, the color of the last drop of life-blood, hang in drifting streamers from them, emitting an odd, sweet scent.

Perhaps it’s only odd because it’s in Hell.

He sits on the ash-free flagstones under the sheltering leaves and gazes up at it in awe, feeling the thrum of its presence fluttering against his skin as he closes his eyes and extends his senses to the surrounding rooms. They’re still dormant, but the ambient divinity licks at them curiously, as though waiting for them to open and allow its entrance. He stretches his consciousness, feeling the energy swirling around him start to respond when the sound of a throat clearing comes from behind him.

“I know you’re not considering trying another experiment when you haven’t even been back here ten minutes after emptying your reserves down to the dregs.” Raphael’s annoyed tone is slightly softened by amusem*nt, and Lucifer releases a sigh, opening his eyes as he turns to face his exasperated sister.

“I wouldn’t break a promise, Sister,” he assures her with a wide grin.

“You wouldn’t,” she crosses her arms and lifts a brow, “which is why it’s a good thing I’m here to keep you from doing just that, isn’t it?”

“Of course,” he shakes his head with a low chuckle. “It looks as though this particular part of my experiment is coming along quite well, wouldn’t you say?”

“It is definitely different,” Raphael admits, sitting next to him and looking up at the tree with sparkling green eyes. “I’ve started bringing some of my more timid souls here and having sessions under the tree.”

“Are you seeing an effect?”

“Some, but it’s fleeting,” she bites her lip, brushing dark strands of hair out her eyes as they narrow in thought. “They make progress while we’re here, but then once we’re out of the divinity field…”

“Hell’s atmosphere triggers a relapse, eh?” Lucifer nods thoughtfully. “Well, all the more reason to get these chambers started. I’ll need to speak to Linda first, take some notes on her experience, and then I should see to my patients for a while, but then I can make a start here–”

“We’ve been keeping up with your regular patients, Lucifer,” the Healer gives him a gentle smile and tugs at the sleeves of her dusty blue robes. “I think some of them are even ready to ascend, they’ve just been holding off for your return so they can give you a proper thank you and farewell. But I don’t want you working on these chambers without someone here with you, is that understood?”

“I won’t promise that.” He lifts his chin stubbornly. “I’ve given my word not to drain myself for an extended time again, but I refuse to be confined to working with a bloody chaperone.”

“At least for the first few sessions,” she presses relentlessly, refusing to give way. “Just until you’re more comfortable with finding your limits before you blow right past them, hm? And I’d prefer it be me or Charlie here with you.”

“Why, so you can nip me back to Earth if I collapse again?” He lifts a wry eyebrow, and shakes his head when his sister merely reflects the expression back at him and doesn’t refute his statement. He huffs an exasperated puff of air and climbs to his feet, automatically dusting himself off, though no ash clings to his suit. “Fine. It takes wings to get here, anyway, so at least I won’t have to go fetch my chaperone if it’s one of you two. I’ll give you five supervised sessions before I start working alone.”

“We’ll start with five sessions, and see if we need to continue supervising you.”

“I’m a big Devil, and I’m perfectly capable of–”

“You’re clearly not, or you wouldn’t have needed to recuperate on Earth to start with… and then you probably would have never gotten the idea to try bringing the pieces of the Staff of Life down here to power your plan,” Raphael points out, leaving his jaw hanging open wordlessly. “So maybe you can just settle down and let those of us that want to help you, help you. Mmkay?”

“... Fine,” he grouses, reaching down and giving her a hand up. She takes it, then uses it to pull him into a reluctant hug.

“We’ve missed you down here, Brother,” she murmurs into his jacket as he makes a show of squirming uncomfortably before grudgingly returning the embrace. “I’m so glad to have you back, I won’t even tell Linda that you came to see your new tree before you went to say hello to her and ask about her vacation.”

“Small mercies,” he grumbles, and she laughs, unfurling her wings as they leave the shelter of the canopy above. He glances wistfully over his shoulder as the delicate fronds part to let him through into the open courtyard beyond. Ash immediately drifts down to settle on his jacket and he sighs in resignation. “Let’s be off, then. Loads to do.”

“Oh!” Raphael gasps, causing him to shoot her a quizzical look as he spreads his wings in preparation to take off. “I almost forgot! Squee says Michael was asking for you.”

*

He carefully contains his excitement as he listens to Linda gush about her months on the sunny seashore. He takes detailed mental notes of her observations, including how she’d felt once she’d emerged from the chamber, and how she’d fared in the past millennium or so while he had been recovering on Earth.

“It was a wonderful thing to do for me, Lucifer, but you have to see that it’s just not sustainable,” she concludes earnestly. “You can’t tire yourself like that for every soul down here, you’d waste away to nothing in no time flat.”

“Tell me, Doctor,” Lucifer leans forward with an eager glint in his eye, “have you felt anything different in the past century or two?”

“Raphael asked me that, too. Different how?” Linda asks curiously, tilting her head in her typical, birdlike fashion.

He pulls in a considering breath, not wanting to lead her answer. “Just… think about it. Do you feel any differently? Have you noticed any differences in your sessions, or even outside of your sessions?”

Raphael hadn’t said anything about the Tree to anyone, and Lucifer was interested to see if the difference in Hell’s atmosphere was noticeable to anyone other than himself and his healer sister. Linda’s brow creases as she slowly shakes her head, and he huffs a small, disappointed breath.

“Ah well, it’s no matter. Early days yet, I suppose, but I hope I’ve got a plan in place to help make it more manageable. Purgatory Plan B, remember?”

“And what is this Purgatory Plan?”

He fiddles with his unused notebook for a moment before looking up at her through his lashes. “Doctor, would you mind terribly if I didn’t tell you?”

She twitches back in surprise, her hazel eyes narrowing in thought. He hurries to continue, “It’s… it’s not a secret, or harmful in any way that I can perceive, but… I’d like you and the others to… to be my Guinea pigs for a bit, to see if you can feel a difference as the process really, er, takes root.”

“Hmmm,” she watches him suspiciously for a long moment. “It’s not harmful. To us? Or to you?”

“As far as I’m aware, this shouldn’t be harmful to anyone, and it bears Raphael’s seal of approval, provided she’s allowed to ‘oversee’ my efforts for the first… oh, however long until she’s satisfied, the bloody micromanager.”

“So Raphael knows about it,” Linda’s expression lightens, and she leans back in her chair smiling. “Then I’ll agree to being your Guinea pig again. It worked out well for me last time, after all.”

“I’m wounded at your lack of faith in me, Linda,” Lucifer gives her his best puppy eyes, but she merely waves him off with a laugh.

“I trust you to make sure you don’t do anything that will hurt us,” she assures him, hazel eyes glittering softly in the manufactured light streaming in her office windows. “But you never take the same care for yourself, Lucifer, and you should. You’re important to us.”

“I’m the D–”

“Devil, yes, I’m well aware,” she cuts him off, laughing in exasperation. “You’re also my friend, and you’re still sometimes my patient, and I worry about you. We all do. All right?”

“Yes, I’ve rather bloody noticed,” he grumbles, but her concern– their concern– touches him deeply. It always had, since he’d started to understand it a little better.

That overwhelming confusion he’d felt the very first time his Detective had reached out to him with that expression on her beautiful face had only been the tip of the iceberg. He’d decided to return the favor of her little accidental strip tease, and as he’d turned to show her what she was missing, she had gasped, and reached out to touch his scars. It had taken him by surprise, and he’d moved to intercept her, suddenly feeling stripped bare where he hadn’t before.

Don’t. Please.

He hadn’t known what to make of her unique response. No one else had ever remarked on them, had cared enough to ask about them, merely remaining as intently focused on getting their own pleasure as he had been. But Chloe had seen him, and he’d felt the utterly alien weight of her concern for the first time. She had seen the vulnerability in him that even he hadn’t been aware of, and so he had become vulnerable around her in a subconscious attempt to feel something.

He understands better now, even if he still has to fight eons of believing himself unworthy of love or any positive regard in order to accept that his friends– his friends! The Devil has friends! That feeling will never get old– care about him and want him to be happy just as much as he wants that for them.

“Then I do appreciate your faith in me, Linda,” Lucifer smirks, then settles back in his seat, crossing his right knee over his left. “Now, I’m to understand that you’ve been helping out with some of my patients in my absence–”

A light tap at Linda’s office door causes both their heads to snap toward the sound. A muffled, familiar voice calls from the corridor, “Uncle?”

“Come in, Charlie,” Linda allows, as Lucifer smiles to welcome the young man. “You need something?”

“Raphael said I should meet Lucifer here to fill him in on Michael before he goes to talk with him.” He steps into the office, shutting the door softly behind him before crossing the room to give his mother a brief hug. He turns to survey his uncle with concern clouding his expression. “Hello Uncle. It’s good to see you looking much better than the last time.”

“The last time you saw me?” Lucifer’s brows draw together in confusion.

“When I found you outside the uh, divinity chamber, and you were… really tired.” He shoots a glance at Linda, whose eyes have narrowed suspiciously again. “We’ve been worried about you.”

“Yes, that seems to be the theme for discussion since I’ve returned,” the Devil sighs, gesturing for his nephew to be seated on the couch with him. “I appreciate the concern, but I truly am recovered now, Raphael’s seal of approval and all. She mentioned that Michael had been asking to speak to me, but I thought my directions about approaching him had been quite clear.”

“Don’t.”

All three of them speak the word in tandem, Linda and Charlie nodding seriously in agreement.

“So I’m rather curious how he was asking to speak with me if none of you were near him.”

“He can tell the demons apart in his Loop,” Charlie supplies with a grimace. “Even when they’re wearing their glamours, he knows who they are. It’s like he can see through the loop.”

“Ugh,” Lucifer scoffs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “How long has that been going on?”

“Just the past couple centuries or so. He started asking them to speak to you. We’re hoping it means he’s ready to really start trying to improve, but we know better than to go ask him.”

“Quite,” Lucifer huffs a wry laugh, remembering the state poor Raphael had been left in the last time she’d tried to speak with their manipulative brother. The past couple centuries, though… so… around the time the Tree started having a mild effect? That could be problematic. “All right, Charlie, tell me what you know, and then I’ll go have a chat with my reluctant twin.”

Chapter 14: My Time Isn't Up Yet!

Chapter Text

“Well, if it isn’t the mighty Samael, back to slumming around Hell with the rest of us damned souls,” Michael sneers as he reclines on Lucifer’s couch. “And here I thought you might have decided to retire again, in the face of your Great Failure down here.”

“While I find it interesting that you seem to be considering your stunning lack of progress my failure, I hate to disappoint you, but I’ve just been busy working on a little project,” Lucifer sits in his chair as though it’s his throne, leaning back, legs crossed and fingers steepled in front of him as he regards his twin. He’s been at this too long now to allow Michael to needle him so easily, and his bland smile doesn’t waver. “Since you seemed as though you weren’t really investing in our time together, I thought you wouldn’t mind if I put off your sessions for a millennium or two while I prioritized more fruitful ventures.”

“I’m wounded that you think I don’t enjoy our little discussions just as much as you do,” the Sword of the Old God smirks, and Lucifer bends enough to allow his eyes to roll as Michael expects. “Does your little fruitful venture have anything to do with why it feels different down here now?”

“How does it feel different?” Lucifer is genuinely curious how Hell feels to Michael, who is an archangel that is neither Hell’s King nor a Healer in tune with her environment. The infernal atmosphere hasn’t yet been altered enough for Charlie or any of the inhabiting souls to detect it without being in the direct presence of the tree, but it’s fascinating to him that the three archangels in residence have clearly started to sense the change.

“That ridiculous ‘therapy loop’ you’ve got me trapped in seems to be wearing thin, because I can see which demons are acting out the parts now,” Michael’s nose wrinkles in disgust. “It’s no wonder they’re such savages, if all they’ve had to do for eternity is play bit parts on inane, endless repeat cycles.”

“Savages,” Lucifer muses, tipping his hands so his fingertips brush his chin. “An interesting term to choose, considering some of the actions you’ve taken in the past.”

“Are you saying I’m a savage?” He growls, his wide scar puckering as he bares his teeth in a showy snarl.

“I’m saying actions speak louder than words, Brother,” Lucifer says mildly. He drops one hand into his lap while the other makes a weighing gesture, palm-up. “My demons fulfill a vital purpose here in Hell, initially giving each soul what they felt they deserved, by living out their greatest guilts and failures on an endless loop. Now that we understand more of what Hell is capable of doing, they have evolved to help guide those souls on a path of self-forgiveness and enlightenment. They’re trying to help guide you, and yet you obstinately refuse to take steps in any direction. You’re choosing to wallow, and I’m curious as to why that is. It doesn’t seem quite your style.”

“So you think I’m plotting something.”

“You’re always plotting something, Michael, the questions are typically who are you plotting against, and what is your convoluted goal.” Michael’s hitched shoulder draws in, and Lucifer notes it but doesn’t remark upon it. “I find it interesting that you call my demons savages, and yet don’t seem to find your own past actions reprehensible.”

“I did what I had to do,” he hisses venomously, “I did what needed to be done to make sure the Fallen One didn’t dupe the Host into electing him God.”

“Hmm, so the end goal justified the means, then,” Lucifer nods sagely. “Obliterating Remi’s soul, and harming innocent humans were completely justified in your mind.”

“Oh, you’re one to talk,” he scoffs, bristling. “Uriel, Cain? Those names ring a bell?”

“Several,” Lucifer replies dryly, refusing to respond to his brother’s goading. “And I have faced the consequences of my actions and accepted them. But this isn’t about me, it’s about you and your decisions. Which is why we’re here, so you can do the same and move forward.”

“And yet you thought it was okay to leave me to my own devices for a millennium or two?” Michael snorts. “How is that helpful if I’m wallowing?”

“As I said before, Michael, and as you’re proving right this moment, our conversations tend to be very circular. They don’t go anywhere. So, until you actually want to make some progress, there’s very little I can do here. Why waste both our time?” Lucifer leans forward earnestly, catching his twin’s dark gaze. “I don’t want you to have to hit rock bottom and drag along it for eons like I did, Brother. I sincerely hope you can avoid that particular Hell. I didn’t know it was possible, but I’m trying to make sure you know you can, if you only choose to take action before impact.”

“I’m already in Hell, Samael, I don’t think I can go much lower.” Michael flexes his stiff shoulder and rubs his right wrist.

“You are in Hell,” Lucifer agrees quietly, without an ounce of malice or smugness. “You were escorted here, after a fair hearing of your crimes, after Raphael had tended to your wounds, and you were set a clearly delineated task with strict instructions to the demons for them to leave you be. Once your task was complete, you were assigned a therapy loop, just as every other resident soul has been.”

“You act like that’s some kind of favor,” he spits. “I’m still in Hell, I’m still a prisoner.”

“You weren’t launched into the realm like a bloody comet. You didn’t land so hard you set the entire plane afire. You didn’t crawl out of your burning crater, only to be immediately set upon by a horde of bloodthirsty demons and had to fight your way to the top in order to exist.” He ticks each of these points off on a long finger, leaning forward and meeting the angry glare of his brother. Such a familiar sight. But he can’t get lost in recollections now. He gathers himself and continues with barely a pause. “So yes. I consider that a favor, and one that the only repayment I am asking is that you address your actions and start working to be better.”

“I am an angel,” Michael sniffs, “It doesn’t get any better than that.”

“Amenadiel thought as much once,” Lucifer remarks dryly, “just before he Fell. Only then was he really able to learn, and grow. And now look where he is.”

“Are you going to tell me next that if I eat my crow, I might grow up to be God, too?” Michael sneers, and Lucifer allows himself a single sigh.

“I hope we can spare you the full experience of Falling, Michael, but we’ve nothing but time. I’ve instructed my demons to leave you be for a while, so we’ll chat again soon, once you’ve had some time for… contemplation.”

“What, no more therapy loop?” The mock disappointment in his tone is so thick that it nearly obscures the undertone of worry.

A chink in the armor. He’s not sure what to expect.

“No therapy loop. No demons. Just you and an unbreakable mirror. I think you could use a little… self-reflection.”

“You can’t just–” Lucifer interrupts him by waving a hand and sending Michael into his new ‘loop’, though it weighs heavy on his heart to do so. After a moment, there’s a soft knock at his office door.

“Come in, Charlie.”

“He was afraid, Uncle,” Charlie offers without preamble as he enters the room and sits on the couch where Michael had been. “I know you don’t like the idea, but I think Linda and Raphael are right. We need to shake him up in order to make him confront his actions.”

“I’ll have to schedule his sessions more frequently so he doesn’t go stark raving mad,” Lucifer sighs, rubbing his temples. “I hate using solitary confinement.”

“I know, but you’re right. If the only thing he can focus on is himself, and not picking apart his surroundings, eventually he won’t have a choice but to consider his situation and how he wound up there. And maybe, with no one to talk to, he’ll be more willing to open up during your sessions.”

“Or his mind will break under the pressure, and we’ll be dealing with an insane archangel.”

“Uncle, you survived down here in much harsher conditions, while you were trying to heal from celestial-level physical and mental trauma. I think your twin can handle a time-out.”

“I suppose only time will tell,” a small smile tugs at his lips. “Let’s start him off with a century, and see how we need to tweak the intervals from there.”

“Deal,” Charlie replies easily. “It’s weird that he didn’t tell you what he wanted, though.”

“What he wanted?”

“He was asking for you, remember? We assumed he wanted something.”

“He probably wanted to make sure I wasn’t topside enjoying myself,” Lucifer grumbles, tapping his fingers restlessly on his armrest. “He was the last that I needed to catch up with, yes?”

“Yeah, you didn’t want him to sour the rest of your sessions today,” Charlie supplies with a grimace. “Have I mentioned how glad I was to be an only child?”

“I believe so, and I still envy you that position, even if you are my boring brother’s offspring,” Lucifer chuckles as his nephew levels a mock-glare in his direction. “Fortunately, you take after your mother.”

“Thanks.” Though the young man’s tone is dry, Lucifer sees the spark of pride in his dark eyes, the slight straightening of his shoulders. It warms Lucifer’s heart that Charlie seems to be prouder of being Linda Martin’s son than being the Son of AmenaGod himself.

Lucifer certainly knows which one he thinks more highly of.

“Well then, Charlie, now that we’ve dealt with your angry uncle, how would you like to come with your aunt and me to get a start on my new project?”

The eager gleam in his nephew’s intelligent eyes gives him all the answer he needs.

*

Raphael had insisted she be present for at least the first attempt at harnessing the new divinity saturation around the tree, and since Charlie was the only other one that Raphael approved to “oversee” his sessions, it was best if he was present for the first try as well.

She and Charlie settle themselves against the tree after clearing the fallen, walnut-sized fruits away for a space to sit, watching attentively as Lucifer paces the clearing, muttering quietly to himself as he expands his senses, collecting the new ambient divinity in his mental ‘hands’, feeling it thrumming against his skin as it had when he’d been creating stars in his role as the Lightbringer. The feeling makes him smile, even as his fingers start to go numb. It’s like holding dry ice, burning and numbing all at once.

“Lucifer,” Raphael’s tone holds a soft warning. “You’re holding too much. You need to start directing it.”

“Just another moment,” he grits out, his hands spread before him as though gently grasping an enormous glass sphere likely to shatter at any moment. “It’s not enough yet.”

“Lucifer, you’re starting to steam.”

He snorts. As if he can’t see that. He pulls in a final breath, strides over to the nearest door, presses the invisible sphere of energy against it, and pushes. The courtyard buckles in protest, causing Raphael and Charlie to scramble to their feet in alarm, then clutch the slim, swaying trunks to keep their feet as the flagstones rattle around them.

Lucifer presses harder against the door, channeling the energy around him into the chamber, creating a small pathway to direct the energy directly into his intended outcome, so that once the process is begun, the newly converted divinity from the tree will slowly siphon into the chamber, keeping it well ‘watered’ and functional. First, though, he needs to top off the reservoir.

After a long, nerve-wracking moment, the rumbling stops. Lucifer’s knees give out and he slumps, panting, against the door. Raphael bolts to his side, gentle hands carefully poking and prodding until she realizes that his breathing isn’t labored– he’s laughing.

“What the Hell was that?” She demands stridently, as Charlie moves toward them on wobbly legs. “And what on Earth are you laughing about?”

“Can’t you feel it, Sister?”

“Can you feel me about to kick your–”

“I can feel it,” Charlie breathes, his eyes wide with wonder. “Uncle! You– it’s… is it working?”

“Not yet, Nephew,” Lucifer sighs contentedly, resting his head limply against the newborn divinity chamber and staring into the roiling, bluish-grey clouds circling above. “But we’ll give it a little time to fill up properly, and then the real work can begin.”

“I think the work is done for today,” Raphael declares, and Lucifer knows better than to argue with her. Besides, he feels rather hollow, as though he’s been flipped inside out, wrung out, then turned rightside in again. The Healer stands and narrows her eyes at him. “Can you stand?”

“Of course I can stand,” Lucifer puts words to deed, managing to gain his feet with only minimal support from the door behind him. “The energy didn’t come from me this time, I only had to create the path and funnel it.”

“‘Only’,” she levels a glare at him, but can’t keep her lips from twitching in a smile. “It’s a good start. Thanks for not draining yourself again and making me drag your ass back up to Earth for another three or four centuries.”

“I told you I don’t need a chaperone,” Lucifer huffs in exasperation. “Does that mean I can work on my own terms now?”

“No,” the answer comes in stereo from his sister and his nephew, and the Devil can only roll his eyes as he stalks away, down the corridor.

Raphael and Charlie share a fond glance between them and follow after him, a few of the tiny, haired fruits falling from where they had clung to the hem of Raphael’s robe and the cuffs of Charlie’s jeans as they navigate the halls back to the offices.

Half a century passes in rehabilitation and therapy sessions, brainstorming with his fellow Healers, and missing Chloe as fiercely as ever. One day is much like another, only varying in the souls he helps… until one day something catches his eye as he’s stretching his legs on his way to visit the Tree.

He’s taken to visiting the courtyard frequently to check in on his incubating divinity chamber. He upholds his promise, not doing any actual work, just simply… monitoring. The Tree is a soothing place to be, even though the fallen fruits have made a right mess of the flagstones below the canopy on the infernal side. The demons had flocked to the courtyard out of curiosity once word had spread about the tree and how their King was intending to use it, and of course some of the braver (or less intelligent) ones had tried eating the fruits, which apparently taste of ash. The demons had lost interest in them soon enough (after all, ash was no novelty in Hell), and Lucifer hadn’t been curious enough to try them to verify, so they’ve just been left to molder away at the base of the tree.

Today, though, he notices something new and very out of place. A tiny pair of shoots curling up from the ground against the basalt columns. He stops dead in his tracks and turns to investigate this anomaly, hunkering down to peruse his discovery.

“What in Dad’s name?” Since when does Hell have weeds? Upon closer examination, though, the seedling looks familiar.

It shouldn’t be possible. He glances down the hallway, in the direction he’d been heading. The Tree is miles away from here. How could this new growth be possible?

Nothing has thrived in Hell except demons since time began, and now suddenly he has, not one Tree of Life, but two? He brushes his fingers gently along the shoots, thinner than a coffee stirrer. The miniscule thorns feel a bit like a nettle’s prickle, too small for now to do any damage, but still present. The tiny leaves have barely even opened, just the barest hint of spring green cones and bruise-colored buds.

He wishes he could risk bringing Arael down for a look. If anyone could tell him anything about this, it would be him. He considers it for a moment before shaking his head and standing, staring down at the miniature miracle in awe, but ultimately decides he can’t risk drawing Heaven’s attention just yet. He needs to have his new program fully in place and functional before Amenadiel becomes aware of it. Better to present it as a fait accompli than try to defend his attempt before it can even get off the ground. Rapid footsteps approach, then falter upon finding the King of Hell standing idly in a corridor, staring at a stick.

“Lord Morningstar?”

“Lyros,” Lucifer greets the demon without turning away from the newborn tree. He nods his head in its direction wonderingly. “It seems Hell is surprisingly fertile for this particular botanical species. See to it that your siblings don’t disturb this one, hm?”

“Not a problem, My Lord,” the demon replies deferentially, peering down at the tiny seedling with interest. “Does that mean this corridor will soon be in use for your project as well?”

“We’ll see how the growth comes along, Lyros,” Lucifer allows thoughtfully. “It may not survive long enough to make a difference.”

He takes another long look at the impossible plant before turning and continuing his journey to the Tree, mind alight with possibilities he barely dares to consider.

*

“Oh, I’m sorry, were you talking to me?”

Lucifer doesn’t sigh. He doesn’t roll his eyes, or outwardly react at all, but in his mind he gleefully etches another scar across Michael’s face, making a jagged X across his mirror image.

“There’s no one else in the room, Michael, I think it’s safe to assume that yes, I’m talking to you. If you would prefer to have more you-time, I can easily just–” He lifts his hand in dismissal, and sees a flash of something in Michael’s eyes that he doesn’t expect.

Fear.

“Wait!” The word breaks from his brother’s lips like a dry bone underfoot. “My time isn’t up yet!”

“Thus far you’ve either ignored, ridiculed, or outright derailed every subject I’ve tried to address with you. Tell me, why should I waste my time here when you clearly don’t want to talk?”

Michael’s mouth opens, but no sound emerges. He swallows, his dark eyes shifting to the coffee table between them as he leans forward to take the offered glass of water for the first time ever. He turns it in his left hand, holding it awkwardly by the bottom as he watches the rippling liquid catch the light filtering in the window. Lucifer eyes him, curious now.

“Why did you tell my demons you wanted to speak with me, Michael?” He asks quietly. “What is it that you wanted to discuss?”

“I followed every single one of His rules, you know,” Michael finally says, almost conversationally. “For eons, like some kind of automaton. He gave me just as much of His Will as you, but He gave you the desire to use it.” A bitter laugh rolls from his throat, echoing in his glass as he tilts it to take a drink. He doesn’t lift his gaze, but Lucifer notices his fingers tightening around the crystal.

“He gave you everything,” he continues, still addressing his drink. “Put you front and center like the star of the school play– bright and shiny wings, all the schmooze. He gave you light, and music, and lo–”

He breaks off suddenly, chin setting mulishly as he remains silent.

“And then He tore it all away when He had you cast me down here,” Lucifer muses. “And never spoke to me again until He needed me for one last task.”

“Even once you were gone, He never looked at me, you know?” His upper lip curls in what might be a sneer. “I thought… once I’d goaded you into pissing the old man off and He’d meted out your punishment, maybe… but no. Amenadiel slid right into that ‘favorite son’ spot and never looked back. Once Amenadiel got sucked into life on Earth with you, I took my chance. I made a play for the right hand position and for once… I thought I might have my chance in the light.”

“Is that not what happened?” Lucifer asks quietly, after a long moment of silence, waiting to see if his brother will continue. “Did you find the light not to your liking?”

Michael scoffs disgustedly. “He never even looked at me. He’d give me the occasional direction, but that was when Mom was crawling around in the mud with the two of you, and He was fascinated. He basically abandoned all the Silver City responsibilities to me, so He could tune in to Goddess Does Humanity. It wasn’t hard to make Him start doubting Himself, as distracted as He was watching the three of you.”

“I thought you said He wasn’t all-seeing?”

“He wasn’t,” he laughs darkly, like sharp rocks rolling down a mountainside. “But that doesn’t mean He couldn’t See.”

“Are we back to talking in circles, Micheal?” Lucifer does allow himself to sigh now. This is more than Michael had spoken– truly spoken, not simply deflected or whined, or ranted– than in all his other sessions combined. Lucifer had almost started to hope…

“No circles. I wanted to make a deal.” His black gaze finally lifts to meet his brother’s, and Lucifer sees a flicker of hope within it.

“And what could you possibly have to offer me in your current position, Michael?”

“I can teach you how to See,” Michael says after a pregnant pause. “And in return, I want to talk to Gabriel.”

“Really?” Lucifer laughs, a bray of disbelief escaping him as his eyebrows climb toward his immaculate hairline. “Gabriel? Your erstwhile partner in crime? The one you sent in secret to retrieve the soul-destroying blade from Mum’s universe? Do you honestly think I’m going to invite her down here for tea and biscuits with you? Assuming she’d even be willing to come, of course. She hasn’t so much as shown the slightest inclination for visitation for any of us down here.”

Gabriel had seemed to genuinely regret her part in Remiel’s ultimate demise, and she’d been nearly friendly to him during his visits to the Silver City, her usual, bubbly personality on full display. But he doesn’t trust her. Lucifer knows exactly how easy it is to obfuscate one’s true thoughts when one’s mouth is constantly running– it’s one of his methods for skirting the truth when he can’t directly answer a question.

Not to mention the fact that Gabriel is also an archangel. If she noticed the taint of Divinity in Hell’s atmosphere, there would be no stopping her telling AmenaGod.

But then, if she’d never set foot in the realm before, how would she know? Michael glares stonily at him as he tilts his head, considering. He can’t risk Amenadiel finding out about the Tree. Trees, now, he supposes, as the tiny seedling has continued to thrive, despite literally carving its way out of the chinks of Hell. Half a century in, it’s still not as big as the original had been after the billowing ash had cleared from Lucifer’s forceful planting of it, but its growth has been unmistakable and steady.

If she mentioned anything, he could pass it off as the presence of three archangels in the plane… but no. What use would he have of being able to See, whatever that meant. Always assuming that Michael isn’t lying.

Which, frankly, is a huge assumption, and probably a false one, to boot. But this is the first time Michael has expressed a real desire, and he wants to see where that might lead them.

“What is it you want to gain from visiting with Gabriel?”

“Can’t a brother just want a chat with his favorite sister?”

“Not when said brother is known for nefarious plots, and said sister is known for aiding them, I’m afraid. You’ll need to do better than that.” Lucifer sits back in his chair and recrosses his legs, left over right this time, while Michael sullenly chews his tongue.

“I want to know if she has any messages for me.”

“Messages?”

“She’s the Messenger,” Michael grunts, “It’s kind of in her job description. I haven’t had a chance to talk to her about it since you sent her to Mom’s universe to ask about shuttling Dad off to retirement. I was just… I wondered if…”

Lucifer’s carefully blank mask cracks at the fleeting glimpse of emotion that crosses Michael’s scarred visage. It strikes him like a mallet between the eyes: of all their siblings, the only ones that got to say goodbye to their parents had been himself and Amenadiel. Had their father told any of the others that He loved them?

Somehow, Lucifer doubts it. And in that moment, he’s surprised at the surge of sympathy he feels for the broken angel before him.

Michael reads it, of course he does, they have the same face, and his own expression shutters into boredom.

“Think about it,” he offers, with an attempt at casual indifference. “I’m ready to go back to my mirror chamber and talk to myself some more. I’m much better company than you are, anyway.”

“As you desire,” Lucifer nods his head briefly and waves his twin away.

Think about it, Michael had suggested.

Perhaps he will.

Chapter 15: Are We There Yet?

Chapter Text

In the end, the others agree with him to err on the side of caution with Michael, at least for now. One session of slight participation certainly isn’t enough to earn trust from any of them, and so Lucifer opts to continue as he’s begun.

Time passes and Lucifer and his team tackle Hell one soul at a time (All right, sometimes groups of souls at a time, but they still get individual attention as well.). The Trees continue to grow, and new seedlings take root here and there along the paths most commonly walked from the Courtyard. The ambient divinity in the courtyard continues to be funneled into the chambers lining it, but still hasn’t reached a level that can sustain a true divinity chamber, let alone an entire courtyard of them.

Lucifer finally convinces Charlie and Raphael that he isn’t going to run himself into the ground again, and they grudgingly allow him to work on the painstakingly slow process of building his divinity chambers without their anxious supervision.

A few millennia after the first Tree was brought into being, Zadkiel knocks on the door to his brother’s office, white-mottled tawny wings half-spread behind him and a contrite look upon his face.

“Hello, Brother.”

“Zadkiel!” Lucifer’s shocked expression melts into a genuine smile at his unexpected visitor. “What brings you to Hell?”

“I was curious about what use you’ve made of my destroyed staff,” Zadkiel admits, before glancing uneasily over his shoulder. His wings flex uncomfortably, and Lucifer follows his brother’s gaze to meet a pair of familiar, sparkling aqua eyes peeking over Zadkiel’s feathery screen. “And… I may have let some information about your little, uh, anomaly slip to one of our siblings.”

“Arael?” Lucifer breathes, nearly unable to believe his stroke of luck. The one sibling he’d wanted to consult appearing quite literally at his door? If he didn’t know better, he’d call it a Godsend.

“Lucifer,” Arael’s brilliant coppery hair nearly gleams in the dim light of the surrounding Hellscape, and his vivid cerulean eyes crinkle at the corners as he moves out from behind Zadkiel’s wings, “I heard you’ve taken up a bit of gardening, and thought I would come to see what you’ve managed to cultivate from stone and ash.”

“What happened to ‘this remains between us’, Zad?” Lucifer lifts an eyebrow, but his grin is too wide to even begin to feign anger.

“Well, to be fair, you only asked me not to tell Gabriel or Amenadiel,” the Archangel of Righteousness shrugs with no hint of shame. “Neither one of them have a clue, but I was curious about that half-damned tree. It hasn’t left my mind since I left you in your apartment, so I finally went to Arael to ask him some hypotheticals.”

“Strangely specific hypotheticals,” Arael laughs, nearly giddy with excitement at the possibility of examining an entirely new species. “And with very pointed descriptions. I found my curiosity quite well piqued.”

“Well then, Brother, let me educate you on my attempt at basem*nt botany,” Lucifer steps out of his office and into the corridor with his brothers, gesturing grandly for them to walk with him. “Allow me to take you on a tour de Hell.”

Arael’s inquisitive eyes never stop roving their surroundings as they amble along. Social interaction had never been Arael’s strong point, and Lucifer had absolved him of even trying to help rehabilitate souls. Arael doesn’t have a malicious bone in his body, but if you’re not some type of plant, then the simple truth is that there is only so much interest he can scrape together.

It’s no wonder, then, when they round one of the many twists in the path and come face to face with the younger of the two first trees, that he’s rendered speechless. With his eyes practically glowing with excitement, his black-striped cinnamon colored wings tremble as he approaches the tree, now roughly three times Lucifer’s height. The branches of the two halves intertwine so thoroughly that it’s easy to think it’s a partially dead tree, with the living half supporting the rest… but it’s obvious to Lucifer that Arael can already sense that this isn’t the case.

He steps reverently under the canopy of trailing spring-green fronds and places gentle fingertips against the ropy bark of one of the gnarled, dead-seeming trunks, carefully avoiding the evil-looking thorns. His eyelids droop and he tilts his face up, an expression of awe spreading across it. His other hand reaches blindly up, brushing against the cascading leaves and hanging strands of vivid crimson flowers.

“Did you transplant it?” Zadkiel wonders quietly at Lucifer’s shoulder, as they wait for their brother to process whatever information he’s collecting about his new discovery. “I thought it was in the middle of a courtyard?”

“No, this one grew from one of the fruits of the original,” Lucifer murmurs back. “We’ve had several more take root in the past millennium or so, but they’re still small. Wait until you see the one you helped me with. It’s… magnificent.”

“Have you been able to do anything with it yet?”

“I’ve made a start,” Lucifer sighs, his dark eyes riveted on Arael, still communing with his new friend. “It’s slow going, but I’ll be interested to see what your senses pick up as we get closer. Can you feel anything now?”

“Oddly enough, I feel like I’m in Hell,” Zadkiel jibes, and Lucifer hides his disappointment in a scoff. “Should I be feeling something else?”

“Perhaps not,” the Devil admits, shaking his head. “I can feel it, as can Raphael– and Michael, believe it or not. Charlie can feel it if he’s right up close to the older tree, especially if I’m working on the chambers surrounding it. I’m still hopeful that we’ll manage to get our Purgatory out of this experiment.”

Zadkiel hums thoughtfully, turning his moss-green gaze back to the miraculous tree before them. “Arael! Are you going to be a century talking to that tree, or can we go see the big one now?”

“There’s another one?” Lucifer laughs at the incredulous eagerness in the Gardener’s tone. If angels were prone to squealing, he would lay odds that Arael would do so at this news. “This is not the tree that sprang from the staff? But it’s just as you described, Brother! I can feel the divinity it exudes!”

“This is the second,” Lucifer informs him with a wide grin. “We have nearly a dozen now, but the others are far smaller than these two.”

“Is the first nearby?” Arael glances around eagerly, his keen eyes scanning the tops of the basalt walls surrounding them, likely looking for a towering canopy crowned with thorns.

“We’ve got a bit more of a trek to get there,” he shakes his head. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

Arael breathlessly recounts everything he’d observed about the tree, but the only thing that Lucifer really understands from the fountain of botanical knowledge that spews from his brother’s excited lips is that it seems to be sterile.

“What do you mean, it’s sterile?”

“I mean that this tree has no means of reproduction,” Arael explains. “The flowers are hollow, there are no reproductive structures within them. Their sole purpose seems to be to emanate the divinity that the tree metabolizes from the infernal energies. You said this one sprang from the fruit of the original tree?”

“Yes, the infernal things get tracked everywhere, they cling like burrs.”

“Hmmm.” Thoughtful blue eyes narrow in consideration. “The tree we’ve just left is mature, and yet it bears no fruit. I would like to see the others once I’ve had a chance to examine the original, if I may?”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Lucifer rolls his shoulders in an almost shrug. “There aren’t so many that it will be any strain on my time to guide you. Do you think the fact that the second one isn’t producing fruit is the reason it’s not building as much divinity as the original seems to be?”

“Possibly,” Arael shakes his head, his coppery curls brushing softly against his chestnut wings. “I may know more once I’ve seen the others.”

“Then I look forward to hearing your theories,” Lucifer’s sincerity is thick enough that Arael pauses to really look at him, despite his obvious hurry to see the original tree. Lucifer notices his surprise and rolls his eyes to the boiling clouds above them. “This project is important to me, Arael. If these trees can help me achieve my goal, then I want them to thrive.”

“What is your goal, Lucifer?” Curiosity burns in Zadkiel’s eyes as he enters the conversation. “Before, you said you wanted to take Father’s place to prove yourself worthy of Chloe’s love. But then once you became God, you handed the mantle to Amenadiel and came down here to rehabilitate souls. You surprised me, Brother, I really thought you would be a good replacement for Father.”

“Well,” Lucifer stammers for a moment, surprised at his brother’s expression of his faith in his abilities. “Thank you, Zadkiel. I… I thought this was rather more important. Once I realized how broken Hell truly was, and that I could help it be better… how could I not? How could I have taken Dad’s throne and turned a blind eye while I immersed myself in managing the universe, knowing that the souls down here needed a Healer?”

“You don’t think that you could have made a difference down here from Father’s position?” Arael asks interestedly. “I mean, it does have the perk of the Omnis, and I may not be seeing the whole picture, but I would think that being all-powerful would certainly be of help if you’re trying to make a torture chamber into a recovery center for lost and wayward souls instead.”

“I… needed to focus my attention,” Lucifer prevaricates, looking straight ahead to avoid both his brothers’ inquisitive gazes. “Rory asked me to help, and… I couldn’t say no. She needed me. They need me down here. Dad knows hardly anyone else really wants to help out.”

“If you had kept Father’s position, you could have Commanded them to help,” Zadkiel points out. Lucifer can nearly feel the weight of his evaluating gaze.

“You know me better than that, Zadkiel,” he sighs. “First of all, Command only ensures obedience, not competence. Look at the fiasco when our siblings decided to try to ‘help’ by answering prayers for exhibit A on that point. And secondly… I hope you don’t truly think I would force anyone to do something they truly didn’t want to do.”

And that’s assuming Command comes with the job. Has Amenadiel used it? He doesn’t think so.

“No,” Zadkiel muses, “I don’t think that at all, Lucifer. Which is why I still think you were the right choice, and also why I’m still curious as to why you allowed Amenadiel to take the throne.”

“Oh, for Dad’s sake!” Lucifer’s eyes flash crimson before he pulls in a deep breath. “I’ve already got one unwanted throne, and my hands are more than full. Why on Earth would I want a second?”

“You’re avoiding the question,” Arael observes casually, and Lucifer huffs a sigh.

“I’m hiding, all right?” He hisses suddenly, turning to face his brothers with his shoulders squared as though preparing for battle. “Rory needed me to be absent for the rest of the Detective’s life on Earth in order to preserve who she was, and if I were God, if I were able to see her… if I were able to watch her missing me, watch them living their lives without me…” There’s a burning in his eyes that has nothing to do with Hellfire, and he closes them in an effort to stave off the tears. “It would have driven me mad.”

The three brothers stand in silence for a long moment, all stunned at the strength of the confession they’d just witnessed. Finally, Arael shifts his wings restlessly and blatantly changes the subject.

“Are we there yet?”

*

Arael’s excitement when they reach the original tree is a sight to behold. Lucifer is amused at the mental comparison he makes to the time he managed to coordinate a visit to Earth for the urchin’s sixteenth birthday and showed up in secret with a 6-tier chocolate cake and the keys to his vintage Aston Martin in his pocket.

“We said driving lessons would have to wait ‘til later… I think it’s finally later, Beatrice, would you care to join me for a midnight drive?”

Her joy had been palpable, as Arael’s is now. If Lucifer didn’t know better, he would suspect his stolid brother of being about to weep. He approaches the tree reverently as Zadkiel releases a low whistle.

“I think it likes it here,” he murmurs, stretching his neck to peer up into the mismatched canopy, easily a hundred feet tall now. “It’s come a long way from when I’ve last seen it, at least. I can sense it now– it feels different here.”

“The souls here can feel it too,” Lucifer nods, only slightly disappointed that his brother hadn’t been able to feel it from further away. “Unfortunately, they can’t feel it outside of this place yet, which is why I’m in such a bloody hurry to get these chambers up and running. The sooner I can do that, the sooner we can start making real progress down here.”

“What do you mean, the souls can feel it?” The question comes from deep within the shadow of the Tree, where Arael stands, curiously examining the nondescript bundles of fuzzy fruits. “And why is it unfortunate that they can’t feel it elsewhere? Admittedly, it is nicer here than the rest of Hell that I’ve seen, but I’m having trouble seeing how this would help you in your goal of emptying Hell.”

“Emptying Hell is an unrealistic objective, Brother,” Lucifer sighs. “Some souls are simply too damaged or deranged to ascend. My goal here is to give souls a chance at redemption. To face their own demons, accept the consequences of their actions, and have a chance to be better. This plane will never be empty, but I hope it can become as much a place to heal as to punish…if not more so.”

“And why is this Tree vital to your plan?”

“You said yourself that it exudes Divinity,” Lucifer points out dryly. “I’m sure you’ve noticed that Hell’s atmosphere leaves something to be desired. There is a distinct lack of warmth, despite the heat. Guilt is heavier here. There is no hope here, no love. What is Divinity but both of those things? Raphael and I have noticed that there is a considerable lessening of the guilt that weighs down souls when they’re in the presence of the Tree. I’ve been channeling the ambient divinity into the rooms lining these walls, with the intent to construct divinity chambers for the purpose of allowing us to have a purgatory of sorts. Somewhere to house borderline souls to hasten their progress, and therefore ascension.”

“Can you show us what you’re doing? Perhaps it will help me understand, to see if there is a way I may be able to help you.”

Lucifer surveys the area, taking note of the ambient divinity and deciding he can just barely make a sweep now. “Very well, but I’ll ask you two to move either toward the tree, or the wall please. It’s… not an exact science, and I don’t want to accidentally pull any energy from either of you.”

“Could you do that?” Zadkiel asks, torn between horror and curiosity. He knows it’s not something his brother would do on purpose, but he moves briskly toward the wall nonetheless.

“I don’t know,” Lucifer admits, as Arael moves over to the branching trunks at the base of the tree and seats himself at the root. “And I’d rather not find out.”

He closes his eyes and extends his senses, now familiar with the feeling that he’s slowly filling up with light as he gathers the energy to him. He pulls in a deep breath and tilts his face back as though he’s standing in the bright sunlight, his hands spreading low and wide before slowly sweeping in and forward.

It responds to him, as it always does, moving as he Wills with the ease of a flock of sheep in the care of a competent shepherd. He spreads his hands straight in front of him as he walks forward and presses them against one of the doors, leaning in and widening the channel so the divinity can flow in faster, maintaining his focus until the last straggling wisps have flooded into the chamber and his energy gives out. He sinks to his knees, panting, as he comes back to himself, surprised to find his brothers at his side.

“Can you stand?” Zadkiel asks anxiously, as Arael watches curiously. “Should we get Raphael?”

“No, don’t go get the bloody Healer,” Lucifer scoffs, waving his anxious brother away. “She’s got a bone to pick with you for giving me a boost after our first little foray down here, you know? I’ll be fine in a moment, it’s just… a bit of a strain, that’s all.”

“A boost?” Arael’s head tilts in interest, and Lucifer is reminded strongly of an Irish Setter, with Arael’s long, russet curls framing his lean, heavily freckled face.

“Lucifer was barely coherent after he planted the staff,” Zadkiel explains, when Lucifer doesn’t seem inclined to. “I had to help him back to Earth to recuperate, and by the time I got him there, he was unconscious and didn’t look very good, so… I gave him a couple of feathers to help his reserves replenish.”

The Gardener’s chin lifts in understanding, his own chestnut wings ruffling thoughtfully as his intelligent eyes flicker between the Tree and his brother slumped against the door. “This is something you do regularly? For millennia?”

“It is,” Lucifer groans, attempting to stand. His legs refuse to support him yet, and he leans back against the door, his head thunking dully against it. “I’ve promised not to completely drain myself again in the attempt, though, so it’s unfortunately slow going.”

“Hm,” Arael’s gaze meets Zadkiel’s with a lifted eyebrow and a small nod that Lucifer doesn’t notice, his eyes still closed as he gathers his strength. “Well, as I would still like to see the other trees, and you have exhausted yourself at my behest, it seems only fair that I help you get your feet back under you, Brother.”

Before Lucifer can register what he’s saying, Arael has taken a secondary feather from each of his wings and dropped them in Lucifer’s lap. A soft, greenish-gold glow emanates from them, and Lucifer pulls in a deep gasp, his eyes opening and flaring the same color before it fades, the feathers drifting into motes of light.

“That was… unnecessary,” Lucifer rasps, but his voice is already stronger.

“I disagree,” Arael replies dryly, turning away and heading back to the Tree as he rifles through his wings, removing smaller feathers here and there. “I think I’ve found a way I might be able to contribute to your effort here, despite my lack of social skills.”

“Oh?” Lucifer’s interest is echoed in Zadkiel’s eager expression, as the Archangel follows his brother, leaving the Devil resting against the door behind them. “What are you–”

He’s interrupted by another burst of life-colored light, as Arael presses one of the smaller feathers to the twisted central trunk of the tree, the smooth and gnarled trunks nearly braided together so tightly they appear melded, yet still easily distinguishable. A small pulse seems to rustle through the branches, a light susurration moving through the leaves and trembling delicately in the flowers and fruits as Lucifer struggles to his feet, his eyes lighting with a wide smile.

“What’s this, then?”

“My Gift is tending botanical life, Lucifer,” Arael shrugs, stroking the anomalous trunk lovingly. “I can help the Tree thrive even more, and the Tree can help you. I can give a similar boost to the others, and maybe it will help speed your progress in helping the poor souls that have condemned themselves here. I’m useless with people. This… This I can do.”

“Arael, I–” Lucifer shakes his head, words failing him. “I don’t know what to say, how to thank you.”

“You can thank me by letting me take some of these fruits,” Arael grins, a mischievous sparkle in his ocean-colored eyes. “I want to see if I can cultivate them in the Silver City, see if it alters their growth or behavior.”

“Take as many as you like, Brother,” Lucifer looks down at the floor, noting the many, many squashed fruits littering the stone. He brushes one off his pant leg with a grimace. “But don’t come running to me if these little blighters take over your garden, I’ve warned you of their propensity to cling.”

“You have,” Arael acknowledges, pulling a small leather sack from his robes and carefully choosing several dozen of the tiny fruits to take back with him. “Thank you, Lucifer, I look forward to sharing my findings with you!”

“I promise to understand none of your findings, but if you have advice for me on their care, I will do my best to implement it,” Lucifer replies earnestly, earning a laugh from both his brothers. “Now, I’ve got my legs back under me… shall we continue on our Tour of Trees?”

Chapter 16: You Never Have Before.

Chapter Text

With Arael’s help, the trees continue to thrive, though the archangel’s disappointment at his failure to grow them in his Garden runs deep. Despite all his efforts, not a single fruit had bothered to sprout in the Silver City… but he had managed to start a veritable forest of new growth in Hell.

After another few thousand years the divinity level in the Courtyard, which Lucifer affectionately refers to as “Pregatory”, rises to a point where it actually becomes mildly uncomfortable for the demons to enter the immediate area. That’s when Linda, Frank, and Charlie finally start to notice a difference in Hell’s oppressive atmosphere outside of the Courtyard.

Raphael slowly starts to relax her vigilance on her brother as he continues to channel the rising divinity levels into the surrounding chambers, until one day an urgent summons reaches her in the midst of a session with the frazzled soul of a recently deceased social worker.

“Raphael,” Charlie’s voice rings anxiously through her office door, “we need you in the Courtyard. I think Lucifer’s overstretched again.”

The Healer swears silently as she gives an apologetic smile to her patient, sending him back to his therapy loop before leaping to her feet to answer the door.

“I thought he’d learned his limits?!” Raphael snaps her wings out and follows her nephew over the twisting corridors. “He promised!”

“I don’t think it was intentional,” Charlie shrugs, panting a little from his hurried errand to fetch his aunt, his wingbeats rapid but powerful. “It was… different this time.”

“Different how?”

Charlie struggles for a moment to put what he’d witnessed into words.

Lucifer had brought Charlie along this time because he’d been experiencing an odd sensation with his past few sessions in the Courtyard, and wanted to see if Charlie could sense anything as well. He hadn’t… until Lucifer had tried to disengage from his focused effort to channel the divine energy into the chambers.

Charlie was used to witnessing the routine by now, he knew when to expect his uncle to start pulling away. Only this time, he’d felt something new. As Lucifer had started to pull away, the flow of power had wrapped around him, as though determined to pull him through the door and into the chamber itself.

Lucifer, already weakened by his efforts, had collapsed against the door with a low groan and slid to the ground, and Charlie had leapt forward to drag him away. Once the connection had broken, Charlie had bolted to get his aunt.

The Healer kneels quickly next to the Devil, gently patting his pale cheeks and lifting his eyelid before releasing it to close, eyelashes forming dark half-moons against his nearly translucent skin. He huffs an irritated grunt, twitching one hand in a feeble attempt to wave her off.

“Dammit, he’s drained himself again,” she mutters, feeling the flickering dregs of divine energy within him, like dying coals. “Time for a trip topside, I think, but he needs a boost before he can make the crossing.”

She threads her fingers through her wings, finding a couple of loose coverts that she presses over her brother’s fluttering heart. A burst of mint-green light and warmth and his heartbeat has steadied. Color floods back into his cheeks, but he doesn’t wake. The Healer sighs, then glances between her brother and the door nearest them in puzzlement. Something does feel different, but she doesn’t have time to address it now, she has a patient that needs her.

“I’m taking him to Lux,” Raphael looks up at her nephew. “Can you go see if Chloe is available? He’s drained enough that I’m not comfortable leaving him to recover alone.”

Charlie nods, his lips thinning in concern as he looks down at the Devil sprawled inelegantly on the ground. “He’ll be okay, though?”

“He’ll be fine, he just needs a few days on Earth to replenish before I can properly yell at him for draining himself again.”

“I’m really not sure he did, Aunt,” Charlie reminds her as he spreads his wings in preparation to visit Chloe.

“I’ll make sure I get his accounting of what happened first,” Raphael smiles at her nephew’s protectiveness. Sometimes he reminds her so strongly of her eldest brother– the best parts that she remembers of him. “But I can’t promise the same of Chloe.”

“I don’t think Aunt Chloe will mind too much, if it means she gets to spend a few days with him,” Charlie smirks, and Raphael shoos him away with a small smile.

He’s not wrong, and Raphael certainly doesn’t begrudge the two of them any time they can spend together. She sees the toll their separation takes on Lucifer daily, and it tears at her tender heart. She can only take solace in the facts that their little team is making some progress here, and Chloe and Lucifer’s separation will end one day. And with it, Rory’s time loop.

Lucifer doesn’t often speak of Rory, but Raphael knows that he worries about her acceptance of him once the loop closes and his enforced absence is over. She gathers her long-limbed brother into her arms and spreads her wings in preparation to cross planes. As she arranges him comfortably on his bed, she spares a hope– not a prayer, they’re all still trying to avoid Amenadiel’s attention, after all– that her mercurial niece really had forgiven her father by the time she had returned to her time and her dying mother.

Because she knows that– after all his efforts in Hell and suffering through the prolonged absence of those he loves best– if Rory’s fury at her father outlasts the Loop… it will likely break her brother’s spirit. To say nothing of his heart.

*

“There’s something different about you,” Michael’s eyes glitter suspiciously as he leans forward, his elbows resting on his spread knees. “I can’t quite put my finger on it, but it feels weird. Does it have something to do with whatever your little pet project is?”

“What do you know of my ‘pet project’, Michael?” Lucifer asks interestedly. Michael had mentioned once before that he’d felt a difference in Hell’s atmosphere, but he hadn’t brought it up again. Now that the Purgatory chambers are coming into service, he’s curious if his twin has been able to sense anything new.

“Pfft, how would I know anything, other than that it exists?” Michael scoffs, leaning back into the couch cushions and crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t get to talk to anyone but you, and you won’t talk about anything but me. I know I’m fascinating, but your fixation is getting a little worrisome there, bro.”

“Talking about you is the entire point to these little interludes,” Lucifer agrees blandly. “We’ve always shared the propensity to make everything about ourselves, Michael, I would have thought you, at least, would enjoy getting to talk about yourself.”

“Maybe with anyone but you,” Michael mutters, but Lucifer pretends not to hear. Michael heaves a long-suffering sigh. “Have you thought any more about my offer?”

“Not really,” Lucifer admits easily, crossing his leg over his knee. “Unfortunately, we can’t trust you not to try plotting something with Gabriel, and I have no need of learning how to See, whatever that skill entails. I fail to see how it can be applied to what I do here, so I’m afraid I’ll have to decline your deal.”

“Should I offer to teach Amenadiel, then?” His twin smiles maliciously. “Should I pray to our Godly brother to see if he would like some lessons?”

“If, as you claim, he doesn’t already have the Omnis, I’m sure he would welcome the knowledge,” Hell’s Healer responds, locking down his anxiety at the idea of Michael inviting Amenadiel into his realm… where the new, slightly less Hellish conditions would most certainly be noticed. “I’d be happy to let you know when he turns up for his lessons, since you can no longer hear prayers.”

“Still a dick move, by the way,” Michael offers bitterly. “Just because you can’t hear them didn’t mean you needed to revoke my communications.”

“I haven’t been able to receive prayers since I was cast out, Michael, we’ve been over this,” Lucifer groans, allowing a little of his annoyance to show. “I didn’t know separating you from your wings would have the same effect, though I won’t deny it’s a handy side effect, since it does make you a tad more chatty for your sessions now that you really can’t talk with anyone else. Or at least, they can’t speak to you.”

“How do I know you didn’t block them while you were God, hm?” Michael muses suspiciously. “Like Dad did to you?”

“Probably because one, unlike you I don’t lie; and two, I wouldn’t have known how to do so, even if I’d been able to think about it.” Lucifer chuckles. “As you’ve mentioned, and I think Amenadiel agrees, there is a rather steep learning curve when it comes to filling Dear Old Dad’s socks and Birkies. In the meantime, though, we should really get back to our original subject matter.”

Michael growls in exasperation, throwing his head back to stare at the ceiling in annoyance. “You know, we might be able to make more progress if we had these little chats more often. It’s like you’re ignoring me on purpose.”

“I’m a busy Devil, brother,” Lucifer smirks, tapping his pen on his notepad. “If you hadn’t chased off all other potential therapists, then someone else might be able to step in when I’m unavailable, but since you’ve insisted on being… well, you, I’m afraid you’ll just have to wait for my availability.”

“You love having an entire plane of existence revolving around you, don’t you? Feeds right into that ridiculous peaco*ck ego of yours.”

“Oh, Brother, I’ve had this plane dancing to my tune for eons now, that is nothing new,” Lucifer snickers. “It’s only the rhythm that’s changed, and I find I’m happier for it. So are the souls in my keeping, for that matter, but I know that doesn’t mean much to you right now. That said… how are you coming along with your self-reflection?”

Michael groans and doesn’t look away from the ceiling, but eventually begins to speak.

Slowly, laboriously, Lucifer crawls along the path of redemption with his brother, eagerly awaiting the day his twin can find his feet again. And maybe one day, his wings as well.

*

Millennia pass with all the speed of molasses flowing in January. New souls arrive while resident ones ascend, and Lucifer slowly puts his new Purgatory into play, moving just a few test cases– the most sensitive souls who had been relegated to Hell by nothing more than the weight of guilt they’d felt for the actions of others– into the ‘sanctuary cities’ he constructs within the divinity chambers.

Frank evaluates new arrivals– sorting out the ones that will do best in a Purgatory apartment versus a regular therapy loop– in addition to holding group sessions for souls that harbor similar guilt.Lucifer teases him by referring to his sessions as ‘attending mass’.

Linda allows Lucifer to give her office space near Purgatory, but continues to work with the more challenging souls in the standard therapy loops. She also allows him to provide her with more vacations– now that he’s no longer draining himself to do so.

Charlie slowly moves into a more active role as one of Hell’s therapists, starting with an office near Purgatory before taking more and more difficult case studies as he gains confidence in his skills and methods.

Raphael really comes into her own once Purgatory is truly ready for her to set up. She flourishes within the chambers, and Lucifer gives her free rein there. Finally freed from Hell’s repressive atmosphere, she no longer needs long breaks in the Silver City and can focus the whole of her Healing gifts on the souls in her care, and more and more ascend to their eternal reward as time bleeds on.

Michael… progresses. Sometimes forward, occasionally backward. Sometimes sideways, or upside down, but as Linda makes sure to remind Lucifer– frequently– progress isn’t always linear. With Lucifer’s guidance, his twin’s journey is certainly smoother than his own had been, though still filled with its own pitfalls and dead ends.

Lucifer exists. He throws himself into his work to avoid thinking about everything he’s missing in his Detective’s and Beatrice’s lives… and in his daughter’s life. He takes his forced sabbaticals and holds those memories dear throughout the thousands of intervening years until the next one. He looks after his friends and helpers as they do for him.

He uses his billions of years of experience with denial to push away his fears and all the what-ifs that swarm around him about what will happen when Rory’s loop closes, and focuses on what he can do right now to make that event– the one he doesn’t want to think about, the one that involves the death of the love of his eternal life– pass as smoothly as it possibly can.

No matter what she chooses.

Because despite Chloe’s assurances that she fully intends to join him in Hell, despite his knowledge and faith that she has no more desire to be parted from him any more than he wishes to be parted from her… he still can’t let himself believe that she will truly come to him in Hell, when she could (should) go to her everlasting reward in the Silver City, to be with her parents, and Daniel and Charlotte.

He can’t allow himself to rely on the idea of her presence at his side, because he knows she deserves that reward more than any other soul he can imagine. He doesn’t want to believe that he’ll be the reason she spends eternity in the dank, dim, ashy corridors of the infernal plane… or at least the length of time it will take her to start to blame him for her presence there. The time it will take for the love that he has come to need more than anything to turn to apathy or hatred.

Hell (like him) destroys everything, and even though he’s poured so much of himself into remodeling it into a place of healing… the idea of it destroying her, destroying what they had built together, is enough to send juddering quakes along the fault lines of his fragile heart.

So he keeps busy. Rare are the moments when he can be found outside of a session, unless he’s consulting with his helpers, or checking the Trees and ensuring his divinity chambers are functioning as they ought.

He’s in the middle of a consultation with Raphael on how to go about expanding the criteria for souls to include in Purgatory when something catches his attention. A tiny… not a sound, but a feeling. Like someone standing in a corner of his mind and politely clearing their throat.

He stops mid-sentence, jerking upright as though he’s been electrified. His mind has been a solitary place since his Fall– no voices other than his own, and of course the ones incessantly reminding him of how evil and unworthy he is– and yet that miniscule, practically-not-there ahem is most definitely not his.

Lucifer, it whispers, exhausted and raspy and intimately– painfully– familiar. Lucifer, it’s nearly time. Rory’s gone. Can you come?

And of course his miracle– his Detective– is the only one who would ever be able to pray to him and be heard. Of course her voice would reach him no matter where he is, no matter where she is…

Deathbed. She’s on her deathbed, the Detective is dying and her choice is coming and she wants him to be with her while she waits for Rory to return to her.

He pulls in a shuddering breath, his wings unfurling before he even has to think about it, and somehow Raphael knows.

“Go,” she urges, resting a calming hand on his shoulder. “Go to her. We’ll manage here for as long as you need.”

He’s gone before she can finish in a flash of snowy feathers, and Raphael closes her brilliant emerald eyes as she steadies her nerves and prepares to spread the word among Hell’s healers.

They’ll be welcoming Chloe to their ranks soon enough. She hopes.

*

“You came,” her voice is weak, but joyful as she holds out a skeletal hand toward him. He gravitates toward her, a satellite surrendering to the sun’s inexorable pull. Their fingers intertwine in a familiar dance, and she tugs him closer, not that he needs encouragement to close the small space between them.

“Of course I came.” A smile trembles on his lips as he takes in her pallor, gaunt shadows robbing the life from her beautiful face. “How on earth did you make me hear you?”

“I wasn’t sure you would,” she sighs, the right corner of her lips ticking upward tiredly. “You never have before.”

“You’ve prayed to me before?”

“Every single day,” her faded blue eyes are steady, though they shine with tears. He tries not to speculate the cause. “I kept a running commentary most days, just on the off chance…”

“Sorry, love.” He lifts her hand gently to his lips, pressing a kiss to her papery skin before glancing around in surprise. The room is empty aside from them. “Where is Beatrice?”

“She’s coming,” Chloe’s fingers drift up, softly stroking the stubble of his cheek. “I’ve been sick for a while now, and she’s been here constantly. One of the Institute girls that she mentors was having some sort of crisis, though, and I told her to go. We’ve got time, still. She’ll be back soon enough.”

“I’ve missed you,” she whispers as he perches on the edge of her bed– her deathbed, his mind morbidly supplies– and she rests her head against his thigh with a soft sigh of contentment. “I’m so happy you’re here.”

“There’s nowhere I’d rather be,” he assures her, and she huffs a quiet laugh that segues into a coughing fit. She waves off his fussing, but takes the offered flask and pulls in a sip, hissing a little at the burn of the whiskey. She settles back against him, and the fingers that aren’t captured by hers wind themselves soothingly through her wispy, silver-white hair. “What shall we talk about?”

“Let’s talk about our time with Rory,” she suggests. “Back then, I mean. I’ve slept since then, and I want it to be fresh in my mind when she gets back so we can talk about it. She’s going to have so many questions.”

“She’s your daughter, after all,” he teases lightly. Chloe’s fingers tighten weakly around his, and he corrects himself without her having to say a word, “Our daughter, I know. But the questions are all you.”

“Mmhm.” She looks up at him, humor shining in her tired eyes. “And the mood swings and music are all you. And the way she goes through women. I think she could have given you a run for your money back in your heyday.”

“I don’t doubt it,” he laughs, remembering having to flash his eyes at the cougar in the next car when he and Rory had been having their day out. “But fortunately, I’m quite content with you, darling, so Rory is welcome to enjoy all the rest until she finds her soulmate.”

“Soulmates,” she breathes thoughtfully. He glances down and meets her gaze hesitantly.

They haven’t discussed it, but it’s how he’s always thought of her, even with the negative connotation of his father’s involvement in her existence. She completes him in a way he can’t understand. They balance each other, so very different and yet similar enough in all the important ways that they’ve been able to keep their footing even as the sands of time and space have shifted and slid around them. Their foundation has remained strong against the onslaught of their adversities, always managing to stay rock solid and allowing them to repair any damages.

“I wouldn’t be me without you,” he admits honestly, and her crackling breath catches in her chest. His sharp eyes can see her pulse fluttering under the creped and sagging skin at her throat. “No matter what you choose, Chloe, no matter where you choose, a part of me will always be with you.”

“Every single bit of you is going to be with me,” she growls fiercely, her fingers tightening on his. “I’ve waited nearly half a century to be with you, and if you think I’m letting you go again, you’ve got another think coming.”

“You wanted to talk about Rory’s time with us way back when, though, yes?” He blatantly redirects, unwilling to waste time arguing when her precious heartbeats are numbered. They can argue for eternity later, if that’s what she wishes, but for now… he wants to treasure every breath she takes. “I don’t think I ever told you the whole story of how she introduced herself to me, did I?”

“Something about looking in her eyes, wasn’t it?” She narrows her own, trying to remember across the intervening years.

“That came a bit after,” Lucifer chuckles, settling in as they tangle limbs together in their familiar way. “First, it was more a matter of looking down at her bladed feathers pressed to my throat.”

“I would say our daughter would never do that,” Chloe heaves a long-suffering sigh, “but I know her far too well for that, and lying on your deathbed is generally considered a bad thing.”

“Yes, can’t have you winding up in Hell for lying, now can we?”

She glares at his attempt at humor, but her lips twitch in her tell-tale attempt at suppressing a smile. He drops a kiss at her hairline, and she rests her cheek against his chest. “All right, tell me everything. There’s too much I’ve forgotten.”

“Well, I stepped off the elevator and much to my surprise found Daniel’s ghost inhabiting my penthouse, desperately trying to warn me about our little murder angel’s agenda to get her revenge on me,” he begins lightly, a small smile toying sadly with the corner of his lips. “Obviously, I was quite confused when she pinned me to the wall beside the lift…”

Chapter 17: Not an Option, I'm Afraid.

Chapter Text

They talk for hours about those brief weeks where they’d managed a fleeting glimpse at a happiness on earth that could never be. Chloe forces her hazy memories to the foreground, and Lucifer gives them a polish with his own perspective so she can be ready to address any questions their daughter might have once she returns.

Lucifer’s heart breaks as he watches his partner start to drift, despite her determination to stay, to wait for her daughter’s return. His anxiety spikes at the sudden realization that they don’t actually know that Rory makes it back before Chloe’s soul crosses the threshold of death.

She will never forgive me, if her mother passes from this life while Rory is in the past with us.

“My love, I need you to come back to Earth for just a bit longer, hm?” He murmurs gently into her hair. She stirs weakly against him, her breath cooler than it should be as it flutters against the skin of his throat. The antiseptic smell of their surroundings suddenly overwhelms him, and he feels short of breath himself as he holds her firmly against him, determined to share his warmth. “Come now, Beatrice isn’t here yet, and Rory is on her way back, I’m sure of it. Don’t you want to say a proper goodbye?”

“S’not goodbye,” she grumbles into his shoulder, and he can’t help but loose a trembling chuckle at her feeble annoyance. “We’ll see them again, you know that.”

“Yes, but not here,” he reminds her quietly. Her soft sigh is all the acknowledgement he receives, but her body grows a little less limp, becoming more solid as though she’s occupying it fully once more. “We’ve got eternity on the other side, darling, you can surely bear just a bit longer here, especially since you’ve got my sparkling company, hm?”

“Anywhere you are is paradise,” she murmurs against him, and his heart misses a few beats. Even after all these years, the way she openly professes her love for him still evokes an overpowering reaction. “So I guess Azrael will have to wait.” Another soft breath paints his neck, and she continues, “Do you think Amenadiel is going to give us trouble?”

“I… was just thinking about that,” he confesses hesitantly. “I think, once we know Rory is returning, that I should make a hasty departure and just… check in with our dear AmenaGod. Remind him of our arrangement, and that he needs to be watching for your crossing and redirection… should you so choose.”

“Stop that.”

“I’m merely making sure you’re acknowledging all your viable options, Detective,” he defends himself, but there’s no heat to it. “You know I expect nothing of you, so if you change your mind–”

“I’m not fighting with you within the hour of my death, Lucifer Morningstar,” she doesn’t sound angry, only amused, and he drops another kiss into her wispy hair. “I think you should be here when Rory returns, though. She’ll want to see you, and so will Trixie.”

“I… would rather put Amenadiel on his guard,” he says again, more sure of his decision now. “Once I know you won’t be alone, I should go talk to him. If I wait until Rory and Beatrice are both here and you… and Azrael…” he can’t say it. “If I wait, you know how much more quickly time passes on the other side.”

“Right,” Chloe pulls away slowly, blinking up at him. “If he decides to keep me up there, he’d have decades to hide me before you managed to get up there, wouldn’t he?”

“I would find you,” Lucifer promises fiercely, and her dry lips stretch into a cracked smile. Her fingers clumsily trace his cheek as she admires his flaming eyes. “If I had to tear the Silver City apart and raze it to the ground.”

“I know you would,” she assures him. She worries her lip, and he watches as she thinks through his points. After a few moments, she sighs and nods. “Let’s try to avoid that, hm? We know people that live there, after all.” Lucifer growls, and she strokes his cheek absently, watching as his eyes fade back to their normal deep brown. “You’re right. I still think the girls would want you here, but… no, you’re right. Let’s head off any drama at the pass and make sure he’s still planning to honor his word. I’d rather be prepared, and once everything is settled here, there’s nothing keeping Rory from coming to see us.”

Nothing but me, he very carefully doesn’t say. He runs his palm over her hair instead, and hums a quiet agreement. She relaxes against him and he lets her drop into a light doze. On the bedside table, her phone buzzes. He glances at the screen and sees that it’s Beatrice calling, so he picks it up.

“Hello, love.”

“Lucifer! You’re there with Mom? Is Rory gone and back already?” Relief heavily blankets the stress in her voice, and he can hear the muffled sounds of traffic in the background.

“I am here with your mother, but your sister isn’t back from her little anachronistic jaunt yet. Are you on your way? I… don’t know how much time your mother has left here.”

“I’m coming,” Trixie says quickly, the words tripping over themselves as they fall from her lips. “I’m so sorry, tell Mom I’m sorry, I never intended to be away this long, and the traffic–”

“Not to worry,” he interrupts smoothly, “I don’t think she’s leaving just yet. You know how stubborn she is, and she’s quite determined to say a proper goodbye to you both. But she’ll be glad to know you’re on your way, Beatrice, I… I think she’s quite exhausted.”

“Yeah, pancreatic cancer isn’t one of your dad’s better inventions.”

“Hm, certainly not,” he agrees sadly, gazing down at the softly smiling, sleeping face nestled against his chest. She deserved so much more from life than this pitiful ending. “Do you know about how long you’ll be? Do you want me to come get you? Or send your sister once she returns?”

“No, stay with Mom,” her answer is immediate and unwavering. “I know she wants you there. And when Rory comes back… well, I think you guys should have some time together, so I’ll just battle through this mess and get there when I get there. I think it’s starting to clear a little. Just… can I talk to her?”

“Of course, let me wake her–”

“Oh, she’s… no, don’t wake her up! I… she told me a few weeks ago the only time she doesn’t hurt is when she’s sleeping, so please don’t wake her. I’ll… I’ll see you guys when I get there, but if she wakes in the meantime, tell her I love her, okay?”

“She already knows that, Beatrice, but I’ll be sure to pass along the message, and let her know you’re on your way.” He hesitates before adding, “I likely won’t be here when you get here. I… need to go have a conversation with my brother to make sure he’s prepared to hold up his end of the deal regarding your mother’s decision.”

“You… you think he’s going to try to keep Mom from coming to you?” The fury that rolls over the line is only outmatched by the ire he harbors himself. “You think he’ll…”

“I certainly hope not,” Lucifer says, as lightly as he can. “He knows the lengths I will go, to make sure the Detective gets what she wants, and I don’t think he wants to poke that bear. But I think a little conversation won’t go awry, especially since I know Chloe will be surrounded by her loving daughters while I’m otherwise engaged.”

“Lucifer…” her voice breaks and catches in her throat

“What is it, Urchin?”

“Will I see you? After?” The words seem to float to him like dandelion fluff, carried on an uncertain breeze. “I… It’ll just be me and Rory, and… and Rory can come see you whenever she wants, and I’ll be…”

Alone.

She doesn’t say it, but he recognizes the word looming just out of reach. He knows the fear and desolation that accompanies it, and he vows then and there that she will never experience the dark depths of that emotion if he has anything to say about it.

Not on his watch.

“Of course you will,” he promises, letting his sincerity be heard loud and clear. “And you won’t be alone. Your sister would never allow that, nor would your mother and I. You’ve all your friends, and Charlie, Miss Lopez and Carl–”

“Carol–”

“Yes, him,” he agrees easily, teasing a watery chuckle from the human who has possibly loved him the longest of any of them. “You won’t be alone, love, and you know this isn’t the end. It’s… only the beginning of the next leg of the journey, eh?”

“I know,” she sniffles, and the background noise intensifies.

“You’re not driving, are you?” He asks, suddenly concerned.

“It’s fine, it’s gridlocked,” she sniffles again, and he winces at the lie.

“I can hear the traffic moving around you, Urchin. Concentrate on getting here safely, and… I’ll see you soon enough, all right?”

“Okay, Lucifer,” she sighs thickly. “I love you. Both of you. Don’t forget to tell Mom.”

“I promise, but you can also tell her yourself when you get here.”

“I will.”

“I love you, Beatrice, and so does your mother. All will be well. Just don’t scratch the Aston, or I’ll see you in Hell.” She laughs in response to their regular joke, and they end the call just as Chloe starts to stir against him. He smiles down at her as she looks up at him with cloudy eyes. “Look who’s back.”

“You’re still here,” she croaks happily, her arm wrapping around his waist and giving a strengthless squeeze. She notices the phone clutched in his hand. “Did someone call?”

“Beatrice,” he supplies, and she smiles. “She was insistent that I not wake you, but she wants you to know that she’s valiantly battling traffic to make her way back to your side, and she loves you beyond all measure.”

“I already knew that last part.”

“That’s what I told her, but she was adamant that I inform you again. I told her that I would, but that she could also tell you herself once she arrives. I’m not a bloody messenger pigeon.”

“How did she sound?” The small smile dies on her lips at the sadness she finds in Lucifer’s eyes.

“Her mother is dying, my love, she sounds like her world is falling apart– because it is.”

“She’ll be okay,” Chloe murmurs, certain of the truth of her words. “She’s strong. And Rory and she can watch out for each other. And Charlie, when he’s here, and–”

“So I reminded her.” He nods, his stubble catching lightly on silver strands of her lank hair. “And I promised that she would still see me from time to time as well.”

“Oh, thank you,” she sighs into his lapel. He feels some of the tension leave her frame. ”I… didn’t want to ask you to leave me so soon after my arrival down there, but… Lucifer, I’m so glad you’re willing to do that for her. I can’t tell you what that means to me.”

“As much as I love you, Chloe, I’m not merely doing it for you,” he looks down at her, and she smiles tenderly at the sheer strength of the love she sees shining in those familiar eyes. “I would never say no to such a heartfelt request from our Urchin.”

“She loves you, too.” They share a smile. “Always has.”

“What’s not to love?” He chuckles, and Chloe joins in until a cough pulls her up short. She licks her dry lips, and he offers her another drink that she gratefully accepts. After she swallows, she leans back against her pillows, looking up at him with peace and affection in her expression.

“Don’t ask me, I don’t have an answer,” she rasps, then clears her throat. “I love all of you, and so does Trix. And Rory does too.”

He shifts uncomfortably, and she lays a skeletal hand on his thigh, squeezing limply. “She does, Lucifer. She told you as much, didn’t she?”

“Detective, that was ages ago, and she was–”

“It’ll only be minutes for her, Lucifer, once she gets back,” she reminds him, her voice firm even in its weakness. “You’ll see. She’ll be barging through our door down there before you know it.”

“I don’t know, darling, she seemed very disturbed by our recounting of our prolific sexscapades. Care to wager that she’ll knock first?”

“You think our daughter is a prude?” A smirk tickles the corner of her lips.

“Hardly,” he laughs, “For all that Mazikeen used to tease you about your ‘granny panties’, I’ve known you long enough to know better… and I love it. But I will wager that she’ll knock. At least in the beginning.”

“You mean the door to your Hell Penthouse isn’t an elevator?”

“Oh, very funny, darling,” he drawls, linking his fingers with hers. The light glints dimly off the opalescent stone in his– her– ring as he toys with it. The last reluctant threads of black had bled from the stone long ago, after an injury of Chloe’s had healed faster than the doctors had thought it should. “No, I’ve learned that lesson quite well, we’ll have a proper door. At least to the outside. A lift was hardly necessary, since Hell is all on the same level, aside from my throne.”

Chloe remembers that lonely spire, rising imposingly from the surrounding pillared corridors, and her heart clenches, remembering her promise to him.

I’ll be with you, always.

It’s a promise she intends to keep, despite his attempts to sway her otherwise. She opens her mouth to tell him so when a sudden crash of thunder rolls outside, making them both jump. Lucifer glances out the window, but Chloe notices the faint sparkles of light dancing around the chair that Rory had been sitting in when she’d winked out of existence a few hours ago.

“It’s time, Lucifer,” she whispers, looking on in awe. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay?”

“I want to stay… I just…” his mouth works as he eyes the threading wisps anxiously, and she understands him so well in that moment. Grief and love and joy and trepidation all warring with one another within his heart and showing so clearly in his eyes. His ancient fear of rejection rears its head and threatens to paralyze him, and she has mercy on him, lifting his hand to her cracked lips. She presses a kiss to it and releases him.

“Go. Talk to Amenadiel. Make sure he intends to honor our deal. I love you, and I’ll see you soon, all right?”

“I love you, Chloe,” he folds himself over her, drawing her to him in a breathless embrace. “No matter what you choose, I love you. Then, now, always. Forever.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” she teases with a gasp as he pulls away, leaving her feeling heavy and cold. “I’ll follow shortly.”

“Take your time, love. I’ve waited this long, I don’t mind waiting a bit longer.” He unfurls his wings carefully, spreading them as the light starts to coalesce into a shape that he hasn’t seen for hundreds of thousands of years. “I love you.”

And he’s gone, just as their daughter arrives, slumping back into her chair with a ragged gasp and a new understanding of her life.

“Look who’s back,” Chloe teases lightly, her voice thick with love and tears.

“Hi, Mom,” Rory leans forward and takes her hand gingerly, seeming dazed. She looks around the room, at the photo reminders of a life well lived, well-loved, and her deep brown eyes linger on the centerpiece, a framed photo of Chloe and Lucifer snuggled together on their last day at the beach. A photo that Rory had snapped herself. Chloe smiles in understanding.

“Hi, honey.” Rory’s eyes snap back to her mother, wide and wet, and Chloe chuckles at the clashing emotions she reads there.

“How did you do it?” She breathes incredulously, a flush of shame filling her cherubic cheeks. “How did you keep all that inside... for so long? I mean…” The hand not holding hers lifts and makes a vague gesture, her dark brows drawing together as she only just starts to realize the depth and breadth of the quite literal Hell her parents had gone through to preserve the daughter they had fallen in love with all those years ago. “All that you had to endure, like my anger... and my yelling and... crying.”

“No parent wants to see their child in pain,” Chloe offers after a long moment of trying to find the right words to say. “But it's part of the job.”

“Yeah, but…” Rory breaks off in a sob, and Chloe aches to comfort her, but the heaviness that stole over her when Lucifer pulled away refuses to abate. She remains pinned to her mattress, and has to settle for a gentle squeeze of her daughter’s hand as she pulls in a steadying breath to continue, “... all that you went through. All just because I asked you to.” Chloe nods at Rory’s questioning glance, and her nearly black eyes fall to their joined hands. Her other hand cups around Chloe’s, rubbing a little as though trying to warm it. “Thank you.”

“Well, like you once told me: I wouldn’t change a thing,” she huffs a weak laugh, managing to restrain her cough this time. “I’m gonna miss you, honey.”

“Mom, I'm an angel, remember?” Rory returns with a watery laugh. “I'll see you on the other side.”

“It's a date,” Chloe promises tiredly, resting her heavy head against her pillow. “You’ll wake me when your sister gets here?”

“Yeah,” Rory agrees easily, squeezing her hand again and scooting closer. “Of course I will, Mom. She’s on her way?”

“Mmhm,” she hums muzzily, too exhausted for words right now, an odd, pressing feeling in her chest, as though something heavy is there that she’s too weak to move. “We’ll talk more then.”

“I’ll wake you when she gets here, I promise.”

It’s a promise she’s doomed to break.

*

“I haven’t forgotten, Luci,” Amenadiel glares down at him from his seat on their father’s– now his– throne. “I apologized for my lapse in judgment in threatening Chloe’s choice after Linda chose to help you in Hell. I certainly have no intentions to come between the two of you now.”

Heaven’s throne room echoes with Amenadiel’s petty irritation, the white columns glaringly imposing against the softly lit walls and white flooring. If one wasn’t used to the surroundings, one might certainly find it intimidating.

Not Lucifer though. He’s been through far worse in this throne room. Bound, beaten, and borne down to his knees to await his unforgiving father’s judgment for his crimes. But he can’t spare a thought for that now, he has too much else to worry about.

“I’m glad to hear it, Brother,” Lucifer smiles, some of the tension draining from him, only to be swept right back in by all the other approaching possibilities that he needs to face, and soon.

The death of his beloved. Facing his estranged daughter. Trying to help Beatrice and Rory manage their grief at their mother’s passing. Preparing for his love’s arrival in Hell, while simultaneously trying to brace himself for the small (but still present) possibility that she might choose the Silver City over him, after all. Not that he would blame her, of course he wouldn’t.

All this, in addition to his usual duties as Hell’s leader and healer.

No rest for the wicked, indeed.

His brother clears his throat loudly, snapping Lucifer back to the present.

Right. Heaven’s throne room. AmenaGod. Conversation to avoid confronting Rory on her beloved mother’s deathbed.

“Sorry, what?”

“I said, something seems different about you, Luci,” Amenadiel repeats, irritated. “Or are you just upset that Chloe’s time to choose is upon her?”

“What?”

“Look, I get it. She made a deal for a choice to join you in Hell, not for the certainty of it.” Amenadiel doesn’t smirk, but Lucifer’s hackles rise nonetheless at the condescending tone. “It’s completely understandable that you’re nervous that she might choose Heaven once she’s confronted with the reality of Hell. I mean… we do have both her parents. Her grandparents. Her ex-husband, and several of her friends already. Not to mention that Trixie will likely wind up here as well.”

The new God– and Lucifer will always think of him that way, never simply as ‘God’– shrugs his broad shoulders and rises regally from his ornate throne, descending the steps like Moses coming down from the mountain, and places his broad hand on his brother’s shoulder with what is likely meant to be a reassuring squeeze. Lucifer doesn’t wince at the excessive pressure, but he has to fight to keep the challenge from his eyes as their dark gazes meet. He can’t afford to antagonize his brother right now, there is simply too much at stake.

Not only Chloe’s choice, but their entire Purgatory setup is still unknown here in the Silver City, aside from Zadkiel and Arael, and what little passing knowledge he’d shared with Daniel and Charlotte in their brief, infrequent chats. Lucifer doesn’t think Amenadiel would have an issue with his workaround… but he also doesn’t particularly want to share what they’re doing just yet.

It’s still new, still in its tender development stages, and he knows Amenadiel is right. Something is different about him, though he can’t pin it down to any one thing. All he knows is something changed when the divinity chambers awoke in Hell. He’d been working with them for so long by that point, that he hadn’t truly noticed their odd… presence is really the only word he has for it. They feel separate from Hell, for all that they only occupy a small corner of it, and… they feel alive. And they’re somehow linked to him.

Their near-sentience hadn’t registered until that session with Charlie where he’d been drained of his divinity once again, and Raphael had been called to intervene. He hadn’t meant to go that far, but when he’d tried to close the connection, he’d been gripped tight and nearly dragged into perdition through the bloody chamber door. He’d fought it, even as he’d felt his own energy being ripped from him with what felt like desperation until he’d lost his tenuous grip on consciousness, and awakened in his bed in his penthouse with a worried, angry Chloe hovering over him.

He’d left out that part in his retelling of what had happened, chalking it up as an odd notion as a result of his exhaustion from the work. Raphael had been suspicious, but had left him to enjoy his recovery getaway with his beloved, and hadn’t allowed him to come back for nearly an entire Earth week.

It had been heavenly, as time stolen with her always was. Rory had even allowed her the getaway, safe in her assumption that her Mom was meeting up with her “man-friend”.

How Lucifer had laughed when Chloe had told him how she’d allowed her daughter to run with her own salacious theory.

“Well, darling, she’s not quite wrong…”

“Shut up and kiss me, Lucifer.”

He’d been more than willing to do exactly that. And so much more. He sighs, dragging himself back to the present once more, baring his teeth at his brother in what might pass as an anxious smile.

“Of course I’m upset that Chloe is about to meet Azrael in her official capacity, brother,” Lucifer sighs, shrugging his brother’s stifling hand away and briefly pinching the bridge of his nose. Even after all this time, something about this throne room feels off to him. Like an annoying thought wriggling just out of reach at the top of his mind. “But you must remember that I’m also about to come face-to-face with my daughter for the first time in hundreds of thousands of years, and… I have no idea what to say, or how she’s going to react. How I should feel or act… It’s rather a lot, you know.”

“Of course I know,” Amenadiel smiles, well, knowingly, and Lucifer manages not to roll his eyes, though it’s a very near thing. “Maybe you should take some time off, Luci. Take a little vacation up here in the Silver City, reconnect with our siblings, and your friends…”

“Not an option, I’m afraid,” Lucifer snaps coldly. “Damned souls aren’t going to stop damning themselves without help, and the more breaks I take, the further behind I fall, Brother. No rest for the wicked, eh?”

Amenadiel’s smile widens and he barks a laugh as though Lucifer had said something funny. Something must flicker in his expression, though, because he sobers quickly. “Oh, Luci, you’re not still angry because I couldn’t create a Purgatory for all your borderline souls, are you? I thought we were past that? I helped with the time conversion, didn’t I?”

“Oh, yes, such a glorious help,” Lucifer growls, but doesn’t allow his tirade to go any further before he schools his expression into something resembling calm. “It’s not ideal, but we’re used to making the best out of a bad situation down there. We adapt.”

“And the demons are still content with your curtailing their torturous hobbies?”

“They’re evolving, as Mazikeen did,” Lucifer nods. “And of course, there are still some souls that are Hell-bent on torturing themselves no matter what… and others that truly do warrant that sort of thing from a justice standpoint, so those that are clinging to the Old Ways still have their outlets, even as they’re learning.”

“Hm.” A sour look flits across Amenadiel’s face, and Lucifer considers himself avenged after Amenadiel’s unwarranted mirth after his remark about no rest. “Well, do you intend to wait for Chloe here, or see if she surprises you in Hell?”

“I’ll return to Hell to wait,” Lucifer smiles, wide and bright, which his brother is clearly not expecting. “The Detective assures me she won’t be far behind me, so I’d best be diligent while I'm waiting… as I doubt I’ll be getting much work done for some time after she joins me.”

His brother grimaces, and now Lucifer laughs, the sound surprisingly light and sincere as he suddenly realizes that his doubts about Chloe choosing to join him really are built on nothing but shifting sand and lily pads. They crumble around him as her certainty fills him with a joy that he hadn’t allowed himself to acknowledge while he’d been confronted with her frail and sickly human shell. Even her strength shining from her exhausted eyes hadn’t been enough to push the doubts aside, but now, in the face of his brother’s backhanded sympathy, he can see the truth.

Chloe has chosen him all her life, and she’s determined to do so for her afterlife as well. Choosing her has never been in question for him.

So why had he been so worried?

He doesn’t know, but his wings unfurl in a whirlwind of snowy white that outshines even the sterile, blinding white of the throne room as he bids his brother a hasty goodbye over his shoulder and beats his wings toward Hell.

He has plenty to keep him busy until his love comes to him.

Chapter 18: Of Course He's Not Here

Chapter Text

It doesn’t take long, less than a century. Just long enough for him to settle back into Hell’s rhythm as his heart eagerly beats out the seconds until her arrival. He’s in the middle of a session– of course– that has somehow managed to include Reese Getty (Linda’s ex-husband), Vincent Le Mec (who has proven surprisingly willing to face his own demons and work hard for his own redemption… even if he doesn’t understand quite how just yet), and a sullen, young Goth lady named Bree who has yet to show any emotion beyond apathy.

Well. Lucifer can understand that. How long had he been drowned by his own ennui after he’d wound up here? She’s not outwardly antagonistic, and he hopes that by including her in this group with these two souls eager for progress that some of that anticipation might rub off on her.

“No, Vincent,” Lucifer chides lightly, hiding his amusem*nt at Le Mec’s misguided attempt to ‘help’ Reese. “No one will be shooting anyone in the face. Clearly, you’re going to need a little more time–” A knock sounds on his office door, interrupting his train of thought. He glances at it, his heart suddenly thundering in his ears until he remembers.

“Ah, that’ll be the donuts.” Of course. Gromos was on delivery duty today, and he was nothing if not punctual. “And the pastries for you, Vincent.”

Le Mec murmurs his approval as Lucifer moves toward the door and yanks it open, already starting to reach forward to grab the pastry box that Gromos would no doubt be proffering… but then the Devil freezes in the doorway, his grip tightening on the door until it would have been groaning under the pressure had it been anything other than a Hell construction.

She’s here.

Standing in the perpetual twilight of Hell, the softly falling ash somehow not clinging to her at all, and looking up at him with vibrant blue-green eyes, shining with love and determination and joy.

The contrast from the last time he’d seen her is vast. She looks to be around the age she’d been when they’d met, mid-thirties, though her hair color is closer to the natural brown she’d favored at their parting than the dyed blonde she’d been touting when they’d first known each other. It falls in soft waves down her shoulders, cascading over the deep crimson and white pattern of her button-down shirt. There are no age lines on her face, no silver strands adorning her head, no lingering illness about her countenance to detract from her devastating beauty and he can do nothing but stare at her, transfixed.

After a moment, he remembers to breathe. “Hello, Detective.” He feels a smile lighting upon his lips, tugging them wider and wider as they stare at one another, taking each other in as they begin this new, eternal phase of their time together.

“I… thought you could use a partner,” she fidgets with the cuff of her sleeve, clearly taking a leaf from his book of nervous tics. She tilts her head in the unconsciously coy way that she’s always had, and he sends his patients back to their loops with a simple thought. She steps into the doorway, closing the small remaining distance between them as he leans in, giving in to their gravity and accepting her offer with a kiss.

His grip tightens further on the door as her fingers come up to stroke his cheek and his free arm wraps around her waist, drawing her in to press against him. Their lips move together and he retains just enough presence of mind to close the door behind them.

The instant the catch snicks into place, Chloe has him pressed against the wall, the switch for the decorative ‘In Session’ light outside depressing under their combined weight.

She’s here. She’s here.

“I missed you,” she pants against his lips, fingers slipping into his hair as she simultaneously pulls him toward her and presses them both against the wall in her eagerness to greet him. “I was so afraid– I love you so much, Lucifer–”

“Chloe,” it’s the only word he can formulate, the only word that matters, that can encapsulate exactly what she means to him. “Chloe.” He breathes it like a prayer, and she hums a hymn in response, her clever, newly-young again fingers already having mostly finished undoing the buttons of his shirt. They trace the skin of his chest, pushing his shirt and jacket off his shoulders in one economical movement.

Or she tries to. He’s still pressed against the wall, and his fingers are locked in the fabric of her shirt, gripping her hips as he desperately holds her to him. They break apart, each heaving desperate gasps of air that neither of them truly need, and Chloe’s eyes are sparkling with mirth as she takes in their current position.

“You’ve got too many clothes on,” she giggles, tugging him away from the wall so she can finish divesting him of his shirt and jacket. Her fingers reach for his belt buckle, but he stills them with his own.

“You should talk,” he breathes against the soft skin of her throat, his own dexterous fingers working at her buttons feverishly, faltering when she moans beside his ear as he nibbles at the sensitive spot where her neck meets her shoulder. “You’ve currently got more clothing on than I do.”

“Do I, though?” She wonders, her breath catching in her throat as his lips follow his fingers, blazing a trail down her sternum. “How does that work? Aren’t I–” she gasps as his tongue finds her nipple and her fingers tighten in his hair. “Aren’t I technically just a soul now? Do souls wear clothes?”

“Yours wouldn’t, if I have anything to say about it,” he murmurs against her skin, and her laughter is breathy and so, so sexy. “Why did you bloody choose a top with buttons? Is this really what you want to discuss right this second, love?”

“No,” she huffs, arching her back so her chest presses against him as he finally manages the last buttons and pulls the fabric apart. Her breath stutters in her throat as his teeth gently scrape the tender skin of her breast. “I missed you.”

“Every moment,” he whispers over her heart, his breath warming her through and through. “Every bloody moment we were apart I felt like most of me was missing. It was with you, Chloe, you had my heart, my mind, my very soul with you the entire time.”

“Lucifer.” He looks up at the catch in her voice, and finds her eyes sparkling with tears. His hands find her cheeks and he slowly moves up, kissing the tears away with a gentle tenderness he’s never been able to exhibit for anyone but her.

Her palm cups his cheek and he rests his forehead against hers with a sigh of contentment, and they take a moment to simply bask in the knowledge that they’re together, this time with no looming threat of ever being parted again.

“I can’t believe you really bloody did it, my love.” The words escape before he can stop them. “That this is real.”

“We’ve always been real, babe,” she assures him, as he lowers his head to rest it on her shoulder, folding himself into her embrace. “It only felt like a dream when we were apart, because… because together we just seem too good to be true.”

“Well, you know I don’t lie,” She feels his lips smile against her skin as they press over the spot at her collarbone where Jimmy Barnes’ bullet had tried to part them forever on their very first case together. She doesn’t have to look to know that the scar is gone, yet that is where Lucifer’s lips are lingering as his nose slowly skims her shoulder, pushing the fabric further down and leaving a deliciously warm trail along her skin that swiftly turns to a tingling coolness as he moves along.

She hums her agreement, too lost in the sensation of being surrounded by him once more to formulate a true response beyond tightening her grip and pulling him still closer. Her knees start to weaken, and she huffs a surprised exhalation when he turns them and lets her sink– only to be caught by the softness of a mattress that she certainly hadn’t noticed when she’d first set foot in the… office?

She blinks down at the very familiar bed she’s sitting on, then stares, wide-eyed at their new surroundings.

Her partner smirks at her, taking advantage of her distraction to gently tug the sleeves of her shirt off her arms, his fingers trailing warmth along her newly exposed skin.

“How?”

“Perks of being the King, Detective,” he shrugs, suddenly shy. “Hell largely answers to my whims. There are some exceptions, but I’ve been practicing some of my newfound skills quite diligently, and reshaping my office to something more comfortable and aesthetically pleasing isn’t as difficult as it seems.”

“So you could have just… vanished our clothes?”

“I could have, I suppose,” a wicked grin spreads across his face as his fingers deliberately trace along the waistband of her jeans. “But where’s the fun in that, darling? Half the fun is in the anticipation.”

“Half, hm?” She challenges, reaching out to cup the straining bulge in his trousers and causing him to take a strangled gasp. His hands tighten on her hips.

“Maybe less than half,” he nearly squeaks, his hips shifting ever so slightly as her hand slowly strokes him. “A quarter, perhaps?”

“Are you sure about that?” She coos, leaning forward and whispering the words against the stretched fabric, the warmth of her breath saturating his trousers.

“Oh, please don’t make me math right now,” he rasps, and she can’t help the laughter that bursts from her.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she teases him gently, then pulls him forward, laying back beneath him, reveling in the way his solid weight presses her into the blissfully soft mattress. “Where were we?”

“Too good to be true,” he murmurs against her jaw as his fingers slide underneath her back and deftly release the clasp of her bra. She spares a fraction of a second to wonder if that is a perk of being the King of Hell as well, or if he’s just that much more practiced than she had ever been at getting the damn things off. The thought drifts away like wisps of fog as his lips traverse the hills and valleys of her body, igniting and fanning flames that lick at her skin before sinking deeper, into her flesh and very bones until she’s burning for him in a way that’s somehow completely familiar and yet entirely new.

He groans against her skin when he finally removes her jeans and his trembling fingers explore, finding her slick and wanting; then again when she whines as he slips first one, then two into her welcoming warmth. Her hips lift of their own accord as he pumps them slowly, his lips tracing patterns of damp warmth over her lower belly as he pulls in a steadying breath, seeking to calm his own rampant arousal.

Time. They have nothing but time now. There’s no hurry.

He’s no sooner registered the thought when Chloe makes it clear that she vehemently disagrees.

“Lucifer, please,” she hisses, her thighs closing around his torso resting between them. “I love you, but I need you, now.”

“But–”

“Now,” she demands, but it comes out sounding more like a plea, and he’s helpless to deny her anything she wants… especially when he wants the same thing just as bloody badly.

She cries out as he pulls away, his own trousers disappearing faster than would usually be possible, and then the next sounds from both of them are panting breaths, followed by a sustained sigh of mingled relief as he lowers himself over her and aligns himself with her. She meets him in his thrust, then pulls him down onto her as she rolls her shoulder forward, tumbling them both until his back is against the mattress and she’s settled firmly over his hips, his hands gripping her thighs as they rock together in a blissful reunion they haven’t been able to achieve in far too long.

He gazes up at her, the light streaming in the windows bathing her body in glowing lines of gold and shadow as she stretches above him, her back arching and her jaw loose, eyes closed as she focuses on the sensations weaving through and around them, emanating from where their bodies are joined.

She’s too far away. He can’t bear the distance another moment. He takes her hips in his hands and steadies her as he sits up, capturing her mouth with his own and swallowing her cry as their angle changes and he’s able to reach deeper within her with each thrust of his hips. Time seems to slow, nothing marking its passing but their hearts beating, the susurration of skin against skin, the harsh panting of their breaths interspersed by soft moans of pleasure. Her fingers dig into his shoulders, and his lips migrate from hers down her jawline and along her throat, nibbling and licking a line of fire that hits all her most sensitive places and sets them ablaze.

“I love you,” he breathes over and over, into her ear, into the hollow of her throat, against her lips; the words shivering in the air as she grips him tighter, her muscles starting to clench around his well-timed thrusts. “I love you so much, Chloe.”

And it doesn’t matter how many times she’s heard him utter those words in the decades they’ve been apart. It doesn’t matter how many times they’ve been together or parted. It doesn’t matter that they haven’t been able to be intimate like this with each other in well over an Earth decade, because all it takes for her to lose all control and topple over the edge into blissful free-fall is to hear those words, spoken in this moment, with him everywhere around and within her.

“Lucifer,” is the only word she can form, and he recognizes it for what it is– a plea and a promise, a vow and an invocation as she holds him tight and pulls him along with her into a supernova of fire and storm and, finally, an ecstatic peace where they can simply collapse together and focus on the other’s slowly calming breaths and heartbeats– and how can one still have a heartbeat, if one is in Hell? Is it merely because she expects herself to have one, and so she does? Or because Lucifer expects her to have one? She doesn’t know, and can’t spare the energy or the brainpower to think about it right now, because in this moment… in this moment, she has everything she’s ever hoped and wished for, all those lonely nights as she’d been dropping off to sleep in her own cold bed and wondering what Lucifer was doing right in that moment.

She doesn’t have to worry or wonder now. All the moments from here forward are theirs.

She doesn’t know how long they lay tangled together, neither willing to move, not even to decouple. They don’t speak, aside from the small sounds of contentment that escape them from time to time. There is no sound of traffic or Los Angeles filtering in from the illusory outside world to interrupt the shushing of their skin brushing together, or the tiny static sparks of their lips meeting.

All she knows is that they’re no longer gasping for breath, and her heartbeat is thrumming at a steady, but normal pace by the time an urgent knock sounds at the door.

A groan so deep it might well be a growl rumbles through Lucifer and into her body.

“The bloody light is on!” He roars at the door, and she can’t contain the giggle that bubbles up into her throat. “Do. Not. Disturb!”

“Would it kill you to knock?” The distant memory of another literal lifetime tickles the back of her mind as Lucifer stubbornly buries his face back into the curve of her neck with a grumble.

The knock comes again, along with a very timid, “I’m sorry Lord Morningstar, but it’s… it’s really important.”

Lucifer pulls away from her gently, despite his fiery eyes, and she manages to stifle the sigh that threatens to escape at the sudden feeling of emptiness at his absence. He storms to the door without bothering to throw a stitch of clothing on and rips it open with a brusque, “What!?”

“Lord Morningstar,” the demon on the other side of the door seems to shrink, then visibly perks up when he sees Chloe, clutching the sheets around her. “Detective! It’s great to see you again! But uh…” he deflates again, anxiously shuffling from foot to foot as he looks back and forth between the two of them. “There’s, uh, something you need to see. Both of you.”

*

Traffic had been the bane of Beatrice’s existence since she’d turned 16 and awakened to find Lucifer grinning at the foot of her bed with a decadent cake and dangling the keys to his– now her– Aston Martin.She sits in the gridlock, her rearview mirror charm swaying lightly in the breeze.

“Don’t drive faster than your Guardian Devil can fly.” She smirks, remembering how much Rory hates that little trinket, wondering if she’ll appreciate the humor once she gets back from her little journey to the past. It had been a gift– a reminder– from Mom.

As Ella would say, what was the point of having a car like this, unless you drive it really, really fast?

Despite her propensity for having a bit of a lead foot (and yes, perhaps a few law enforcement run-ins where her identity as the daughter of then-Lieutenant Decker and their fallen brother Detective Daniel Espinoza conveniently got her out of a written warning or even a ticket), the car had survived with nary a scratch from that date to this. She strokes the steering wheel, anxious fingers drumming as the gridlock around her finally starts to break up. She glances down at her phone, wondering if she should check in again to let them know she was finally on her way.

She shouldn’t have left. She wasn’t going to leave, but Mom had managed to weasel Mariah’s story out of her, and after hearing of the girl’s plight, of her lack of support from her own family and the risk of losing the scholarship she’d been working so hard to obtain… Chloe had insisted.

You’ve spent so much time with me these past few weeks, Monkey, and I’ve been asleep for most of it. Your life doesn’t stop just because I’m under the weather, and this girl needs you, too. Go. I’ve got your sister to keep an eye on me.

Rory had smirked and nodded, dark eyes sparkling with laughter as she unceremoniously shoved her out the door at their mother’s instruction.

When Rory’s phone had gone directly to voicemail, Beatrice hadn’t really expected an answer on her Mom’s, figuring the pair of them were snuggled together in the too-large hospice bed taking a nap, as she’d found them doing several times over the past few weeks while her mother’s condition had rapidly worsened, often with Rory’s wing draped over them like a pink, feathery blanket.

When Lucifer answered, she knew that meant Rory had gone back, and that her mom’s time was drawing near. Though he had assured her that her mom wasn’t going anywhere just yet, her impatience had tripled and she’d found herself considering and reconsidering his offer to come get her.

She would make it in time. She had to. Mom would need her there, and Rory would too, especially once Azrael comes to take Mom to him. Her eyes fill with tears and she blinks them away, finally accelerating to a speed other than what could only charitably be considered a crawl.

Her eyes flicker down to her phone again, but she resists the urge to pick it up. She’s on her way now, no need to have anyone leave the bedside to come and get her. She pulls her gaze back to the road, the cars around her starting to space out a bit now that they’re apparently past… whatever it was causing the delay. Surely just construction wouldn’t be enough to bring traffic to a total standstill for that long?

Her phone rings, and her heart leaps into her throat. She reaches for it before she can think twice, answering without looking at the caller information.

“Lucifer?”

“What?” Rory sounds surprised, her voice thick with tears. “No, he’s not here. Of course he’s not here, I made him promise to stay away, T!”

“Rory, you’re back!” Her sister sounds utterly wrecked, and so very much younger than her years. Worse even than the day Mom gave them her prognosis, and Beatrice had never seen Rory in such a state as then. Her sister is a tactile person, and Beatrice knows that what she needs most right now is for someone she loves to wrap her in their arms and squeeze, hard. She’s always wondered if that’s an angel thing, if the feeling of being enfolded, like by wings, is something soothing for them. She’d seen Lucifer melt into enough hugs to know that it even works on him, despite his early aversion to touch. “Is… is Mom… are you okay?”

“You gotta hurry, T, you gotta get here! She told me to wake her up when you arrived, but I… I wanted to talk to her some more and I can’t wake her up. She just… smiles and mutters. You gotta… I need you. I know she’ll wake up when she hears your voice, T, you’re coming, right??”

“I’m almost there, babe, just breathe for me,” Beatrice blinks harder, clearing her vision, and swallows the dry lump taking residence in her throat. Guilt pulses through her, hot and heady. Why did I leave? I should have stayed. “I’m ten minutes away. You know the meds make her sleepy. We’ll talk once I get there, traffic’s a bear today.”

“Okay. I’ll… I’ll let her rest. Just… hurry up, yeah?”

“As much as humanly possible.”

Trixie tosses the phone into her passenger seat with a curse that Maze taught her that she’s never dared use in front of her mother, even though she’s well past fifty now. Her foot depresses the gas pedal as she moves to change lanes, her focus solely on the cars immediately around her when a blaring horn wrenches her attention elsewhere. There’s a squeal of tires as the cars in front of her scatter in different directions like a covey of frightened quail and she looks up to see an ancient silver Escalade flying at her in a position she never thought she’d see outside of a movie.

Time seems to slow as the SUV gracefully flips mid-air, easily clearing the concrete median and seeming to grow ever larger as it approaches with all the speed and mass of a meteor.

Mom… Rory, I don’t think I’m gonna—

Chapter 19: I Don't Know What To Do.

Chapter Text

“What is it, Gromos?” Lucifer sighs as he turns away and searches for his trousers. The demon diverts his gaze at a pointed glare from the Devil so Chloe can get dressed as well.

“I… uhhh… there’s a new arrival, my Lord, and-and-and–”

“Frank handles the new arrivals, Gromos,” he growls, pausing in buttoning his shirt. “What was so bloody important that you felt the need to ignore the in-session light?”

“I… Frank told me to bring you, now, My Lord,” the demon cowers a little, though Lucifer’s expression is now more intrigued than wrathful. “That’s-that’s-that’s all I know, sir!”

Chloe wraps her hair into a messy bun before tracking down her boots and slipping them on, looking curiously at the demon in the doorway. “You… you said it was nice to see me again? Were you… were you at Maze’s wedding?”

She doesn’t really remember interacting with any of Maze’s siblings in their borrowed bodies (because, okay sure, she’s in love with the Devil, but one needs to draw the line somewhere, and possessed dead bodies are her line), but maybe she had. There’s been a few intervening decades for the memory to fade, after all.

“Yeah,” he perks up, his ravaged face pulled into a parody of a smile. “Yeah, I was, but I, uh, I got to talk to you before that.” His thin chest puffs out proudly. “Lord Morningstar sent me to you with an important message.”

“A mess–” her eyes widen with sudden recognition. “It’s safe–?”

“Where you stored it!” He finishes eagerly, like a disfigured puppy whose tail won’t stop wagging. “You remember me!” The bared tendons in his skinless cheeks draw tight as Lucifer lifts an eyebrow in his direction and he contains his excitement. “Sorry about the, uh, whole gross blood-spitting thing, my Lady. That body was jacked up.”

“No, it’s… it’s okay,” Chloe shakes her head, pulling herself out of the jarring memory of her last case with Maze, before Lucifer had returned. Before Michael had started his play to take over Lucifer’s life and veered them onto the track they’d wound up traveling.

If Michael hadn’t come, Lucifer would still be stuck down here… only he’d still be stuck helping souls torture themselves, instead of realizing he can help them forgive themselves.

It’s the same argument she’s given herself for decades, but now… on the other side of eternity, she wonders if that’s really how it would have happened. Lucifer’s hand rests gently at the small of her back, the warmth of his palm anchoring her as they stride together through the dimly lit, ash-strewn corridors, and she lets her mind wander as her eyes take in the towering pillars that make up the endless and ominous banks of doors. Their footsteps echo eerily in the distorted atmosphere but she feels no fear, because her partner is at her back. Finally, and forever.

Lucifer had told her about Lee– his sometime ‘friend’ Mr. Said-Out-Bitch– and how he had dropped into his loop in Hell and pointed out the root of his guilt. Told him exactly what he needed to do in order to escape.

And Lee had done it. Had greeted Lucifer in Heaven when he’d crawled out of his steaming crater on his way to save Chloe’s life and helped him get to where he needed to go just in time to sacrifice himself for her. She yanks herself ruthlessly from that memory and back to the moment at hand.

If Lucifer had succeeded once– twice, really, if you count Charlotte (and she absolutely does)– surely he would have figured out that he could do it again. Once he’d realized Lee’s loop was empty, he wouldn’t have stopped until he’d figured out how, or why. Preferably both. Nothing distracted her Devil like a good mystery.

So, while their feet had been nailed to the path they walked, now, with the luxury of looking forward to eternity with him, she allows herself to consider what life might have looked like if things had been different. If Michael hadn’t butted in, and Lucifer had stayed in Hell without trying to come back to her.

She shakes her head, a frustrated breath falling from her lips when she can’t even recognize the life she imagines in place of the one she’d lived.

There would have been no blissful interludes with the man she loves. No spirited, sarcastic Rory to get into trouble with Trixie and Mazikeen. Would Michael have taken God’s throne, or would God have stayed? Would she have risen in the ranks the way she had to help combat the injustices of the LAPD, or would she have continued to spiral, spending more time drinking and solving cases with Maze until one or both of them took one too many risks? Her breath catches. Would Dan have lived?

There are too many ‘what-ifs’, and she puts them all away for now as she notices a small, scrubby looking tree along one of the walls. “Lucifer, is this–?”

She lets the question trail off because the words “tree of life” still feel ridiculous to say, which is odd, considering she’d been the one that had actually been killed by the original.

“This is one of the younger models, yes.” He looks down at it, critically. “It’s only half a century old, so it’s not very productive, but the older ones look much the same, only… larger, of course.”

She reaches out and gently trails her fingers along the mint-green, speartip-shaped leaves before carefully rubbing her fingers across the dusty appearance of the purplish-black, broader ones, warily avoiding the already intimidating thorns after she pricks her thumb on one of the wicked-looking points.

“What the–?” She looks down at her thumb in puzzlement as a drop of blood oozes from the tiny puncture. “I… I’m just a soul, right? How–?”

“You’re a soul,” he agrees, brushing the pad over his thumb and smiling as the wound heals instantly. “In Hell. Just as you can touch the walls, the furniture, me,” he breathes in her ear teasingly, “So Hell can… touch you back, so to speak.

“It’s…” She blinks up at him, processing, before redirecting back to her original topic. “The leaves are soft? Almost fuzzy.”

“Yes,” a smile tickles the corner of his mouth at her wide-eyed interest and eagerness to learn about her new home. “Arael thinks the rougher surface of the darker leaves makes it easier for the tree to ‘trap’ the infernal ash, which the tree absorbs then converts to divine energy and releases from the flowers on the green branches.”

“Flowers?” She inspects the tree again, disappointed that she doesn’t see any.

“This one’s not old enough yet,” Lucifer hums, his dark eyes sliding to an anxious Gromos waiting a few paces down the corridor for them to catch up. “I’ll show you the original soon, then you can suffer with the bloody clinging fruits like the rest of us.”

Chloe follows his gaze, flushing as she moves to catch up to them. She returns Lucifer’s soft smile and sighs when she feels the welcome weight of his hand settle at the base of her spine again. Gromos peeks back at them occasionally to make sure they’re following, his black eyes shining in the dim light.

As they walk, Chloe feels a strange sensation creeping up on her, as though an oppressive weight that she hadn’t fully registered is slowly being lifted from her shoulders. Lucifer notices her quizzical expression, and a grin lights his countenance.

“You can feel it, can’t you?”

“I…” she hesitates, shakes her head in confusion. “I feel something. What is it?”

“Purgatory,” Lucifer purrs, pride and satisfaction heavily lacing the word. “Or at least, the closest I can manage to it. I’ll give you the tour later, but you’ll see a bit of it soon. Frank’s office is nearby.”

“Me and Squee are the only demons that can go there,” Gromos interjects proudly. “The others say it’s too bright.”

“Malara seems to come closer all the time,” Lucifer offers contrarily. Gromos grimaces, his sharp, yellowed teeth grinding together and plainly visible between the strings of tissue connecting his cheek to his jaw. “Come now, Gromos, if you’re going to grow a soul you can’t be jealous about the fact that some of your other siblings are doing the same.”

“I’m not jealous,” Gromos grumbles, sounding like a petulant six-year-old. She suppresses a smile at the memories of how many times she’s heard Lucifer sound that way throughout their partnership as well. “Malara’s just annoying.”

“Well, unfortunately we’re all well aware that having a soul doesn’t make a person automatically likable, or even good.” Lucifer chuckles and gestures around them. “Case in point.”

Chloe glances around in confusion before remembering. Right, of course. We’re in Hell. Presumably many of the souls in the rooms we’ve been passing have done some less-than-favorable things.

Gromos stops at a door, knocking briskly and opening it before stepping aside and bowing once to Chloe, then more deeply to Lucifer. “My Lady, my Lord. Father Frank will see you now.”

“Yes, thank you Gromos, we know who we’re going to see,” Lucifer replies dryly, but pats the demon warmly on his thin shoulder as they pass through the doorway. A familiar smile greets Chloe as she enters the office, and she blinks rapidly to clear the mist of tears from her vision.

“Chloe Decker,” her name rolls from Frank’s lips like warm velvet, and she crosses the room to shake his hand. He clasps hers in both of his and his friendly smile lights his face, though his dark eyes still seem shadowed. “I didn’t expect to see you today, but… well, I suppose it’s fitting that you’re here.” His gaze flickers up to Lucifer, and a frown tugs at his smile. “This… is not going to be easy for either of you.”

*

“C’mon Mom, you’ve gotta wake up,” Rory’s voice wavers, her hand trembling as she strokes her mother’s papery cheek. “T’s gonna be here any minute, and… and you wanted to talk to both of us, right? You promised.”

Rory had spent the better part of the hour since she’d arrived back in her mother’s sickroom trying to reconcile her lifetime of flatly denying any connection with the man that had abandoned them with her new knowledge that he’d truly never wanted to leave, just as her mother and everyone in her life had assured her. Even as she’d forced the rushed promise from her parents as she was being ripped back to her own time, their anguish had washed over her, threatening to drown her in their pain.

But they had given their word, and it was too late to take back her request. So she’d watched her mother sleeping fitfully as she’d wrestled with her recent encounter and everything she’d learned about her father. A father that hadn’t known she’d existed when she’d arrived in front of him, pressing deadly steel-pointed feathers to his throat. A father that hadn’t even known it was possible for her to exist, and yet had immediately stepped up and, in his own awkward way, tried to make sure that she felt loved and wanted and accepted.

She shakes her head, dashing away the tears clinging to her dark lashes. She doesn’t have time for an existential crisis right now, she’s got a dying mother that needs to wake up to say her goodbyes to her daughters.

Then she can fall apart over ruining all their lives.

“Mom?” A soft sob escapes as she clutches her mother’s frail, unresponsive hand more tightly, as though she can hold her here by strength of grip alone. She addresses the empty room, on the high chance that the Angel of Death is near. “Aunt Rae, please. She has to say goodbye to T, don’t take her yet. Just… just a little longer, please.”

A low groan escapes Chloe, and she takes a deeper breath than the shallow gasps she’d been pulling in for the past twenty minutes. Her eyelids flutter and a sliver of faded blue comes into view.

“Mom!” The word escapes on a watery laugh of relief. “I thought you were gonna sleep the day away, lazy daisy. I just talked to T, she’s on her way, okay?”

“M’tired, Rory,” Chloe mumbles wearily. “So tired. Where’s Lucifer?”

“He’s not here,” Rory chokes out. Because of me. He’s not here because I told him to stay away, because I was afraid of being changed. “He’s waiting for you, though. I know he is.”

“You’ll come visit.”

“Of course,” Rory leans forward, tears falling onto the pristine white sheets. “I’ll… uh, maybe I’ll give you guys a little time to, y’know, reacquaint? Before I come and see you?”

“Oh, Hummingbird,” the old nickname soothes the jagged edges of Rory’s shattering heart. It had stemmed from Rory’s tendency as a child to hum an accompaniment to literally anything she was doing. She’d grown out of it as she’d learned guitar, preferring to pour her emotions into the instrument instead, but the name had stuck. “It hasn’t been nearly as long for us as you might think. He was here just before you came back, but he had to go and… talk to your Uncle A.”

“He was here?” Her heart swells and sinks at the same time. “But… why did he leave? He couldn’t have waited a few minutes to see me?”

Is he mad at me for making him leave you? For making him leave T? For forcing him back to Hell? She can’t force the words off her tongue. She isn’t sure she wants to know the answers.

“He wanted to remind your uncle of something before Azrael comes for me.” Her mother’s tired eyes slide shut, but a small smile paints her dry lips. A single tear leaks from the outside corner of her right eye, dripping down her temple and into her thin, silvery hair. “He… we are so happy that you’re back, and we can finally be a family, baby. I think he’s missed you a lot.”

“I… Mom, I was so… I’ve been horrible.” She bows her head over her mother’s hand, and weak fingers thread themselves into her sable hair, stroking soothingly. A dry chuckle escapes when Rory presses into the touch. Just like her father. “How… how on earth did you stand me? How did T? And you… you were alone all that time–”

“Not all that time,” the corner of her mouth twitches in a smile, her eyebrows lifting though her eyes remain closed. “We had our… moments.”

“Moments?” Her head snaps up, dislodging her mother’s fingers from her hair. “He’s been visiting? But you– Oh. My. Uncle A. Mom!”

“Yeah, Hummingbird,” a weak chuckle is followed by a hollow cough. “Your dad may not lie, but your mom has no hesitation when it comes to getting what she wants. You get that from me.”

“I got all my best bits from you,” Rory assures her. “You and T both.”

“You’re more like your dad than you know,” she murmurs, her eyes making another brief appearance before blinking closed again. “You never wanted to know, never wanted us to say, but Rory, there is so much of him in you.”

“Tell me now,” she pleads, desperate to keep her mother awake and aware, and here with her. “Tell me what I didn’t want to hear before.”

“There isn’t enough time,” she sighs, but the small smile stays in place. “But I can tell you some while we’re waiting for your sister, and I can tell you more later.”

“Okay, Mom, that’s… that’s fine,” she sniffles, abandoning her chair to curl herself protectively around her mother. “Just… tell me a story. Tell me a story about… about Dad.”

“He has a heart as big and bright as the sun,” Chloe breathes, readjusting a little so her arm can wrap weakly around her daughter’s waist. She drops a light kiss into her hair. “Just like yours. He has the voice of an angel when he sings–”

“We sang together,” Rory admits quietly, tucking her cheek against her mom’s shoulder. “He played piano and I played my guitar, and… it felt like something real, you know?”

“Your father is as real as it gets, baby girl,” Chloe clears her throat, and another tear escapes from under her closed lids, tracing the lines in her face. “Once I met him… there was never anyone else for me. It was always him.”

“Mom… I’m sorry,” her voice breaks as she forces the words out. “You always defended him so strongly. Even when you were finally having some fun with someone else, I knew how much you loved him and I… I didn’t think about what I was putting you through… what I was putting us through. I shouldn’t have–”

“It’s done now, Rory,” she soothes, her arm tightening briefly around her daughter, who suddenly seems so impossibly young. Too young to be left behind, but there’s no help for it now. “It’s water under the bridge, and now we can only move forward with the choices we made. All of us.”

They lie there in companionable silence for a while, broken only by Chloe’s soft coughs and occasional small sounds of discomfort, and the quiet whir of the machines surrounding them.

“I think he’s a little afraid of you, you know,” Rory had allowed herself to fall into a little doze, and her eyes snap open at her mother’s murmured declaration.

“What?”

“Your dad,” Chloe clarifies unhelpfully. The words seem to wander a bit between her mind and her mouth, coming out sounding a bit distant and dreamy. “I… he seemed like he was afraid of… disappointing you somehow.”

“He… Mom, that doesn’t make any sense,” dark brows draw together as Rory shifts to be able to see her mother’s face better, but it looks serene. Her breaths are slow and even, peaceful, but she feels cool to the touch, and paler than she had been when Rory had laid down with her. “He’s done everything I asked him to do– even against his own wants, and yours. Why would he–”

“He takes convincing,” she answers, after a long moment of silence. “He spent so long thinking he wasn’t worthy of being cared for, believing he wasn’t even capable of love. Given half a chance, he’ll convince himself again that he isn’t worth it, that none of us want anything to do with him.”

Rory blinks at her mother, stupefied at this revelation. Suddenly, in a blinding flash of light in her mind, the man she’d met back in 2021 makes sense. His drive to make sure she knew she was loved. Accepted. Wanted. He was trying to give her what he’d never had.

He hadn’t wanted to be like his father, like his family.

And she had blindly done everything in her power to force him into those shoes.

“Gotta tell him,” her mother is muttering, her head tossing fretfully against her pillow. “Gotta tell him all the time, to make sure he knows.”

“I will,” she promises swiftly, vowing to herself that she’ll make sure he knows, the moment she sees him again. “We’ll make him believe it, Mom.”

“Good,” Chloe breathes. “Loves you. Was afraid… you’d still be mad.”

The hand in hers slowly slackens, and her mother sighs as she drops into sleep again. Rory keeps her post beside her mother on the bed, massaging her cold fingers in a futile attempt to restore some blood flow as she counts the jagged heartbeats on the monitor above the bed.

She doesn’t know how long she’s been sitting there when the phone on the bedside table vibrates.

1. It’s gotta be T, nobody else would be calling mom right now. She’s here, thank Uncle A.

But when she picks up the phone, it’s an unknown number. A flash of rage flares behind her eyes.

Seriously? A telemarketer, now??

She answers the call, ready to flay the soul on the other end alive, but the words that greet her brusque acknowledgement freeze her heart in her chest.

“Is this Chloe Decker?”

“This is her daughter.” Her eyes flicker to her mother’s still form and she lowers her voice to avoid rousing her with her anger. “And you’ve got a lot of nerve–”

“Can I speak to Ms. Decker please? I have some information regarding her daughter, Beatrice.”

*

He’s wrong.

He’s wrong. She isn’t. She can’t be…

Rory paces the cluttered confines of her mother’s room, alternately furiously wiping away tears and running her hands through her hair in a stress response that she doesn’t realize she’d managed to inherit from her father.

What do I do? How do I… She can’t be gone. I’d know. Uncle A would have… or Charlie, or… I would know.

She returns to her mother’s side and picks up her hand, suddenly alarmed at her utter stillness. Her eyes dart up to the monitor– only to find a blank line where reassuring peaks and valleys had been before, the alarm apparently silenced.

How long– when had–

While she’d been distracted by the phone call informing her of T’s accident, her mother had silently breathed her last. Heat prickles behind her eyes, but she doesn’t dare lower the floodgates yet.

He’s wrong. And I’m going to prove it.

A faint rustle and her wings burst forth from her shoulders. She looks down at her mother’s shell, bending to press a kiss to her cold forehead. “I’ll be right back, Mom. I promise, I’ll see you soon.”

She spreads her wings, and a heartbeat later she’s in the Silver City, frantically searching for her sister. After visiting the most likely places– namely Dan and Charlotte’s little grotto and the chocolate cake room (T never did grow out of her love for that particular dessert)– she ruthlessly suppresses her relief.

He was wrong. She’s still alive. I’ve gotta go make sure they get her to a hospital. It’s gonna be fine.

It has to be.

She gives a harried wave to her Aunt Gabriel, but heads back to Earth before she can try to engage her in a ‘goss sesh’ as she likes to call them. She doesn’t have it in her to deal with Gabriel the Gabby today.

Not today.

When Rory arrives back in her mother’s room, the reality of her loss crashes over her like a falling anvil. Her chest feels somehow empty and heavy at the same time, her ragged breaths rattling around inside her ribs without the interference of anything so petty as a heartbeat.

Mom doesn’t need one. Neither do I.

But T does.

“Mom… I… I don’t know what to do.”

A soft rustle in the next room has her reacting, mantling her wings protectively over her mother’s body as a solid expanse of white appears slowly around the door frame, followed by a familiar not-quite-stranger in a finely tailored suit.

“Dad?” She can’t believe her eyes. He’s here. He’s here. “Daddy?”

The word leaves her lips before she can even think it, and the utter devastation on his face doesn’t even allow her to feel embarrassment for using such a childish term. Without hesitation, she launches herself toward him, sobs wracking her body as his arms close tightly around her, filling her with the warmth that had deserted her at the loss of her mother.

It’s odd, how familiar he feels. She’s only been in his embrace a scant handful of times, and somehow he feels like home. He doesn’t try to speak to her, letting her simply let go, melt into him and cry herself out against his shoulder. Only when the fabric beneath her cheek is stiff and soaked with tears does she realize that their wings have cocooned around the pair of them, wrapping them in a divine layer of comfort and… and love. She sniffles, rubbing her face against the fine wool of his jacket unashamedly before looking up into his haunted mahogany eyes, the very mirror image of hers, red rims and all.

“Hello, daughter,” he murmurs, and the love pouring from those two simple words nearly shreds her to pieces. Though the words that follow are what finish the job. “I’m… afraid we need to have a chat.”

Chapter 20: I’m not… sure I can do that.

Chapter Text

“Goodness me, Padre, the last time I saw an expression like that, Squee was taking me to Linda’s hell loop,” Lucifer chuckles, a little nervously. When Frank’s face falls, Lucifer pales. “Oh, please tell me Linda isn’t back in her loop.”

“No, no,” Frank sinks heavily into his chair behind the desk, looking up at the pair of them helplessly. “Not Linda.”

“Speak plainly, Frank,” Lucifer draws himself up, and Chloe can feel him bracing himself for whatever news the Father is about to deliver.

“There’s been an accident, and… your daughter wound up here.”

“Well, we’ve been expecting that,” Lucifer blurts, loud with relief. “Granted, I thought she’d give us a bit more time for her mother to settle in, but… why in Hell did she come knocking on your door?” He throws a smirk at Chloe. “Or did she come barging in? Did some demon just give her directions for new arrivals? Gosh, you really had me worried there for a moment.”

“I’m…” Frank sighs, gazing up at Chloe apologetically. “I wasn’t talking about Rory.”

It takes them a beat to understand what he’s saying.

“Trixie?” Her daughter’s name escapes him in a pained exhalation, as though he’s been stabbed in the gut, and Chloe unfortunately knows exactly what that feels and sounds like. He goes rigid beside her, while she’s still lost in confusion.

What does Trixie have to do with this? And since when does Lucifer call her ‘Trixie’?

It’s something he’d flatly refused to do her entire life, maintaining, up until she had made the decision herself to go by Beatrice, that it was a ‘hooker’s name’, and that shortening a wonderful name like Beatrice, ‘Bringer of Joy’, to ‘Trixie’ was utterly unacceptable.

Another odd incongruity that she loves in her partner, as he’d always shown nothing less than utter respect for any sex workers they’d encountered in their cases, always taking care to thank them for their valuable service to humanity.

“Where is she?” The multitonal growl jars her back to the office, where her partner is now glancing frantically around, as though expecting someone to come bursting out from behind a hidden panel, or from under the low couch. “How did she come to be here? That’s utterly impossible! The urchin doesn’t belong here!”

“Many souls that don’t really belong here wind up lost on our doorstep, Lucifer,” Frank’s soothing voice does nothing to warm the block of ice that’s slowly forming in her gut. “I’ve only sat through her loop once, but–”

“You left her in her loop!?” Flame flickers along his jawline, and Chloe struggles to pull her scattered thoughts together, to make sense of the conversation that’s happening before her. She watches in fascination as Lucifer’s skin appears to burn away, leaving the flayed visage that had once sent her fleeing to Rome in its place. “What–”

“You know that souls need some repetitions of their original loop in order to find and face the root of it, Lucifer,” Frank supplies, calm in the face of the Devil despite his rising fury. “It’s not me you’re angry with.”

“Where.”

Chloe startles. The layers of depth to his voice are gone, leaving behind only the cold, clipped tone she’s only heard when he’s ruthlessly shutting himself down. She blinks, and his face is firmly back in place, and utterly blank. Frank stands and gestures to the door.

“I can take you.”

“Wait,” Chloe rasps, her breath coming a bit faster now as she fights to maintain her denial. “What… where are we going?”

“Chloe, I…”

It’s the use of her name that does it, that breaks whatever fog had been holding her immobile and confused.

“Oh, my… Trixie?” She gazes up into Lucifer’s dark, anguished eyes, reflecting every ounce of her fear and anxiety. “Trixie is here… in a loop?”

“We’re getting her out,” he promises, the vow rattling the very room around them like an earthquake.

Maybe a 4.5, some detached part of Chloe’s Southern California mind catalogs uselessly.

She blinks, and they’re standing in front of a seemingly-innocuous door. Frank leaves them there, but not before resting a supportive hand on Lucifer’s shoulder. She tries not to think about the fact that her daughter, her little Monkey with the sparkling brown eyes and sunny demeanor is behind this very door, currently torturing herself.

Why? What on Earth could she possibly have to feel guilty about?

“What are we waiting for?” She finally snaps, when it seems like they’ve hesitated a little too long. “Let’s go!”

“Detective,” Lucifer’s tone is gentle, and Chloe is not having any of it.

“No.” Her tone is harder than diamond, colder than ice, and her partner’s expression only softens further in the face of it. She looks away. “I’m going in there, Lucifer, that’s Trixie in there.”

“I’m well aware, darling, which is precisely why you should consider not going in just yet.” He puts a strong emphasis on the last words, and she relaxes a little at the realization that he doesn’t intend to try to bar her from entry entirely. “You’ve only ever been in one loop, love, and while there was a personal connection there, it wasn’t precisely a positive one. Perhaps… perhaps you’d trust me to scout out Beatrice’s loop first, just… just to prepare you, and perhaps her, before you storm the gates?”

“Lucifer,” her voice breaks, but she takes a step back when he reaches for her, knowing that if she lets him comfort her, she will break down entirely and lose far too much valuable time. “How did she wind up here?”

“Only her loop can tell us that, love, and to do that, we have to watch it through… without interfering. Often more than once.” She doesn’t know how she can feel the blood draining from her face when she’s technically a disembodied soul, but somehow, she can. “It’s… not going to be pleasant. Will you allow me to enter first?”

“No,” this time she’s less certain. Hesitant to witness her daughter’s deepest, hidden guilts and fears, but still unwavering in her determination to help her face it head on and get the hell out of… well. Hell. “We’re partners, Lucifer. We may as well start as we intend to go on, yeah?”

“Right,” he sighs, but it’s fond exasperation she sees on his face, not the resignation she’d feared. He wants her with him… but also wants to spare her whatever pain he can. “I rather expected that, but I suppose I had to try, didn’t I? Here’s what we’ll do: We cannot, under any circ*mstances, interrupt the loop until we’ve identified the root of her guilt. It sets them back far too much when we do, and I don’t want her here any longer than absolutely necessary. We’ll go in, watch the loop in its entirety, then come out to discuss before we go back in with a plan. Agreed?”

The idea of leaving her daughter alone in a Hell loop goes against every molecule of motherly instinct that Chloe Decker harbors in her soul, but… Lucifer is the expert here. He followed her lead… more or less… for years with the LAPD. The least she can do is defer to his vast experience here in his own domain. At least, until she knows more.

“I’m not… sure I can do that.”

“I will physically restrain you to keep you from interfering if you require that level of intervention, Detective. I meant it when I said Beatrice will not be here an instant longer than she has to be.” His tone brooks no disagreement, and she’s torn between knowing that he’s right, and feeling that it’s wrong that Trixie should be in this position at all. “I will need your agreement before we go through that door, my love.”

“Okay,” she sighs, shaking out her anxiously knotting hands, and flexing her head back and forth, though her neck doesn’t give the satisfying crack she’s used to.

Right. No bones. Not real ones, anyway.

“Okay,” she says again, more confidently now. Fake it ‘til you make it Decker, Trixie needs you. “We can do this. One loop, regroup, then form an action plan. Easy peasy.”

“This is your daughter, Detective, I think it’s highly unlikely that this will be easy or peasy.”

“Just… open the damned door, Lucifer.”

*

Whatever she’d thought she’d known about Hell loops after spending some time in Jimmy Barnes’ personal Hell… well, she supposes she shouldn’t be surprised when she finds that Lucifer wasn’t lying when he’d told her that no two loops were the same.

Where Jimmy’s had been chaotic, and even at times (at least to someone that wasn’t the focus) comical, Trixie’s is… quiet.

The door opens onto what Chloe immediately recognizes as an observation room, of all things. Dim lighting, with a large one-way window taking up the opposite wall, where an eleven-year-old Trixie sits at a rectangular metal table, huddled miserably into herself and shaking with sobs.

“Lucifer, what–” she starts to move toward the door, to get to the interrogation room on the other side of the glass.

“Shhhh,” his broad hand closes gently on her wrist, his thumb lightly stroking the base of her palm. “We have to watch, and listen, Detective. This is how we can help her right now, we have to find the root of her guilt, so she can kill it.”

“Why is she in there?” Chloe frets, as Trixie looks toward the not-quite-closed door, fresh tears spilling down her face. “What’s happening?”

Lucifer’s head tilts as he follows Trixie’s gaze, his eyes lingering on the door as well before he moves to the door of their observation room and opens it, poking his head into the hallway. Familiar voices filter in, and Chloe’s breath catches.

“Dan, you said you could take her. This guy is dangerous, and if we don’t find him now a lot more people are gonna get hurt. ‘Taking her’ doesn’t mean you drag her into the police station with you and park her in an interrogation room to wait it out.”

“What did you want me to do, leave her with Maze again?”

“Maze is working with me on this one. What about Linda?”

“Amenadiel told me Charlie’s down with a cold, I didn’t want to burden her.”

On the other side of the glass, Trixie shrinks into herself even more, pressing her hands over her ears and sniffling.

“Trixie–” her daughter’s name falls from her lips and shatters like an icicle. She’d had no idea she’d overheard this conversation. This had been before Lucifer had returned from Hell, while she and Maze were partnered, and they’d been tracking a killer whose methods of choosing a victim had seemed to be utterly random. He’d managed to kill three more beyond this conversation before Maze had finally taken him down, and the cold detachment in his eyes when they’d brought him in still haunts Chloe to this day.

She’s halfway to the door, but Lucifer is already there, blocking the way. “We can’t, love, we have to let it play out. There’s no other way, I’m sorry–”

He keeps murmuring into her hair as she struggles to reach the door, but of course her strength is no match for his. The scene around them fades, and now it’s a slightly older Trixie curled under piles of blankets in her bedroom. Again, familiar voices drift through the door, causing the girl to twitch and shudder.

“But if we’re in Heaven, what about Trixie? Do we… I mean, is this something we can do during school hours? Like… an 8-5 type deal, or… how do we make this work?”

“I probably won’t have to work from the Silver City, Detective,” Lucifer’s low voice rumbles, and Trixie stills, listening harder. “It’s not as though we didn’t know there would be challenges to overcome. We’ll find a way. As hurdles go, this isn’t an insurmountable one, by any means.”

“But… but what if we do? How am I supposed to balance being a single mom to a fatherless pre-teen with being the consultant to the new God?”

“We’ll make it work. Your Spawn won’t be so needy forever.”

Chloe lifts her head, wide-eyed, like a wolf scenting prey. That remark hadn’t been part of their conversation that night. Lucifer had been long past thinking of Trixie as any kind of burden by that point in their relationship, and hadn’t uttered anything of the sort since long before Chloe had seen his Devil face. She looks up at Lucifer, who had also caught the deviation. “Ah. Ha.”

The bedroom fades out, and when the next scene materializes around them, they’re at Dan’s funeral. Trixie sits in one of the tiny folding chairs, clutching the crisply folded flag that had shrouded the casket like a teddy bear, while a sea of people ebbs and flows around her, faces blurred and words distorted. Some stop beside her, but they appear to be addressing their attention to the wooden form with an arm wrapped emptily around Trixie’s shoulders– Chloe. Trixie’s gaze is caught by something and they follow it, seeing Lucifer and Maze striding away from the gathering without a backward glance. Slowly, the people disappear, until Trixie is left with nothing but a folded flag, a gleaming casket, and an unresponsive mother beside her.

“Lucifer, she’s all alone,” her breath catches in her chest. “In… in Jimmy’s loop, he was always interacting with others, but so far she hasn’t said a word. Nobody has even seen her, it’s… like she’s a ghost.”

Lucifer hums as the scene fades yet again, moving on and on, until a familiar room fills their view. The low hiss of oxygen provides some background noise, and Rory and Chloe are arguing while Trixie watches silently.

“She doesn’t need to be here, Rory, I don’t need both of you hovering over me all day every day, just waiting for me to die.” Chloe snaps, and the Chloe in Lucifer’s arms flinches.

She had said that, but it had been light, teasing. Trying to get her girls to smile after so many tears and high-running emotions.

“Maybe she should just go, then, if this girl is so important to her.” Rory flops back into her chair, crossing her arms over her chest with a huff. “It’s not like she’s really part of this family, anyway.”

“Manners, Rory.”

“Fine,” dark, moody eyes find Trixie for the first time as her sister sneers at her. “Let me walk you to the door, T.”

It goes on, and on, seemingly endless scenes, and only in that one moment does anyone in the loop actively engage with Beatrice’s soul. By the time it finally cycles back to the scene they’d entered on, Chloe’s tears have dried in streaks down her face, and she’s simply allowing Lucifer to support her on her feet, having lost the strength to fight long ago.

“Come on, Detective, I think we’ve seen enough. Give me a moment, and we can leave.”

She looks up at him listlessly, but his eyes are closed, his brow furrowed in concentration for a long moment. After a while he nods, as though to himself, and then proceeds to shuttle her out the door and back into the corridor before unfurling his wings and taking flight.

Chloe doesn’t even have the energy to squeak in surprise as their feet leave the stone floor, and the next thing she knows, they’re in a facsimile of Lucifer’s penthouse, and he’s lowering her onto the couch.

“What are we going to do?” She leans forward, pressing her palms to her forehead and running her fingers into her hair, where they grip tightly as though to keep her brain from exploding through her skull. “I… I didn’t see anything that she should feel guilty for? The whole loop she didn’t really do anything, so what–”

“Her guilt is existential,” Lucifer sighs. “It’s a particularly tricky one, and I’ve already implemented the first steps to address it. She hasn’t done anything to feel guilty for, but her final moments, her final thoughts are coloring her perception right now, and she feels as though she’s been a burden for anyone that’s ever loved her. She sees herself as a source of worry, as a reminder of unwanted responsibilities, as a less-than-worthy sister and daughter, because she was unable to be at your and Rory’s sides in your time of need.”

“That’s… ridiculous.”

“It doesn’t feel that way to her, and that’s what we’ll be battling, love,” Lucifer sighs, settling onto the couch next to her and taking her hand. “I’ll have Raphael work with her as soon as her therapy loop has had some time to kick in, she excels with these types of cases.”

He meets her gaze, and suddenly she’s back on the beach where they’d shared their first kiss. His dark eyes burn into hers, and the words had escaped his lips that had made her realize the exact opposite.

“I’m… I’m not worth it.”

“You know what she’s going through, don’t you.” It isn’t a question. Chloe knows too well how low his self-esteem is, how he’d allowed his self-hatred to go so far as to turn himself into a physical manifestation of a true monster… on the outside, at least. “Is… is this how you felt?”

“Partly,” Lucifer shrugs, waving off his own existential crises as though they’re of no matter. “I was hardly guiltless, so of course there are complicating factors, but I suppose you could say it’s one of my foundational blocks. The point is that we’ve dealt with this before, and Beatrice will be on her way to the Silver City soon enough.”

“I want to help.”

“That… is not a good idea, love.” His tone is gentle, but certain, and her eyes narrow suspiciously.

“Why not?”

“You’re far too close to this loop, darling,” he explains softly. “When Mum came to pry me out of my loop, what she saw there nearly drew her in as well. We came so close to never making it back to Earth–” He trails off for a moment while Chloe stares at him in puzzlement, before shaking it off and continuing. “If you go back into that loop, you will get pulled in, and then we’ll have to rehabilitate both of you. And if that happens… there’s always a higher risk you’ll get pulled back in. It’s happened before, and… I don’t want that for you, love. Neither would Beatrice. Or Rory.”

“Rory!” Chloe leaps to her feet as though her seat has been electrified. “Lucifer, Rory’s all alone up there! She’s just lost her mom and her sister, and she’s going to be devastated!”

“It’s all right, she knows how to get here,” Lucifer reassures her, getting to his feet and taking her hands in his. “She’s been here before, and she’ll see that you’re all right, and that Beatrice will be, as well. Though it… may be best not to allow her near her sister’s loop, either.”

“No,” Chloe shakes her head, tears burning down her cheeks again. “She-she can’t be alone right now, she won’t be thinking straight. She’s just like you, Lucifer, when she’s emotional she can’t… she’s self-destructive. She needs someone with her now, she can’t think when she’s like this. You… you have to go.”

“What?” He stares at her blankly, lips parted in surprise. “I can’t just leave you here, you’re hardly thinking straight yourself–”

A knock emanates from the silver elevator doors, and Chloe glances around in confusion. At Lucifer’s automatic, “Enter!”, they slide open, and Chloe’s heart lifts a little to see none other than Doctor Linda Martin, nearly the Linda Martin she’d first met all those years ago, stepping out of the amber light and into the penthouse, her low heels clacking dully on the shining stone floor.

“Linda!” A fresh flood of hot tears unleashes down her cheeks as she somehow manages to sob and smile at the same time.

“Hello, Chloe,” Linda’s hazel eyes are dark with sympathy. “Frank tells me that you’re having a very rough day, and might be in need of a girls’ night.”

“Oh… no, I can’t–”

“Doctor, you are brilliant.” Lucifer’s smile lights his face as he regards his friend and therapist. “I don’t tell you that nearly often enough, do I? I should. Since I can’t exactly pay you anymore…”

“Lucifer.” A small smile tickles Linda’s lips as she gently pulls him back from his pending tangent. “Go to your daughter. Beatrice is in good hands, and Frank, Charlie, Raphael, and I will make sure Chloe is, too.”

“But–”

“Please,” Chloe turns to him, eyes wide and pleading. “Go to her. Take care of… take care of her, of course, but… take care of the arrangements for, for everything. Once it’s… once it’s all done, then you can both come back here. It’s… it’s not like I’m going anywhere. We’ll be fine, but Rory needs you now. You’re the only one that can help her.”

“But, Detective…” He looks lost, and her heart breaks for him. And for herself– just when they thought they’d never be parted again, circ*mstances stand in their way once more.

“She asked for your absence before, and you granted it against your own wishes,” Chloe reminds him. “I’m asking for your presence there now. She’s not angry at you for leaving when she asked you to. But right now she’s lost and alone, And no one knows what that feels like better than you. She needs to know that she’s not.”

His face crumples, and she’s forcibly reminded of his expression on his balcony before he’d left for Hell. When she’d told him she loved him and begged him to stay, but he knew he had to go. Desire and duty warring within those shining eyes as his pearlescent wings had spread behind him so magnificently…

“Please, go,” she breathes, so close to the plea she’d made back then, yet so very far. “Come back the moment you can, but go to her, now.”

His wings unfurl as though obeying her without his consent, but a moment later his head bows in agreement. He steps forward and she meets him in a desperate kiss, the brilliance of his feathers bathing them in divine light as they cling together, blocking everything else out until a small sound from Linda slowly draws them back, panting.

“Do not let her anywhere near Beatrice’s loop,” Lucifer admonishes his therapist, who nods solemnly. She’s more than aware of the dangers, not only from Lucifer’s revelations of his own experience, but from her own near misses with hers. “Keep her informed of Beatrice’s progress, and if Raphael thinks it could be beneficial, once she starts having sessions with the urchin, she can see if Chloe can be of help in her office. Not the loop.” He transfers a soft glare to the blue-green eyes looking up from his embrace. “Are we agreed, Detective?”

She hesitates, and his gaze hardens until she nods. She feels him relax against her before he leans in to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. “I’ll be back as soon as I may. Likely with Rory in tow. Linda, take care of her, do you mind showing her the ropes?”

“Of course, that’s how I intended to fill our time once we’ve had a chance to catch up,” Lucifer steps back with a nod that could be interpreted as a bow, his wings spreading behind him.

“See you soon, then,” he pulls in a steadying breath, setting his expression into smooth determination. “Wish me luck.”

“You don’t need luck,” Chloe smiles tearfully. “You’ve got so much love, and that’s all you’ve ever needed.”

He exhales shakily, and is gone the next moment, leaving Chloe and Linda standing in the room together. The two women share a look.

“I don’t have any wings,” Linda begins with a sympathetic smile, “but you look like you’re still in need of a hug.”

“Please,” Chloe agrees, holding out her arms.

The two women embrace for a long time with no words between them. Eventually, Chloe’s trembling subsides and she pulls away, averting her watery gaze.

“I’ve missed you,” Linda offers, tugging her gently over to the leather couch. “Tell me everything I’ve missed in your life.”

Chloe sniffles a little, but feels a small smile blooming in response to her friend’s familiar eagerness to share and listen. She pulls in a shallow breath and starts to speak.

After all, what do they have now, but time?

Chapter 21: Is It My Fault?

Chapter Text

Lucifer arrives at Chloe’s bedside, but Rory is nowhere to be seen. After making certain she’s not in the house, he briefly wonders if they’d crossed paths and he might find her already in Hell with her mother, but he knows Chloe will not be pleased if he returns to Hell and Rory isn’t there. He settles in to wait for a bit, perhaps she’s already aware of Beatrice’s accident, and has gone to the hospital?

He fixes his eyes on the monitor above the bed, showing a steady, flat line. A small red light blinks urgently on the bottom right corner of the monitor, and he slowly reaches up and switches it off. He swallows hard, then allows his eyes to drift down to the empty shell that had once housed the soul of the love of his eternal life.

He’d never understood the reverence humans held for their earthly remains. He’d even said as much to the Detective once, back in the early days of their partnership when she’d barely tolerated his presence.

He’d seen it first-hand with Father Frank’s death. The way the boy, Connor, had knelt beside the priest’s body in sorrow and contrition. He’d puzzled over it with Charlotte, when Daniel had bulled past him to gather her still-warm corpse in his arms and sob into her hair, that ridiculous silver waffle charm dangling from her limp wrist and shining in the crime scene lights. His grief had been oddly doubled then, as well, as he’d mourned not only the passing of a friend he’d thought he would never see again, but the last vestiges of his mother that she’d kept alive and present in his life.

He’d felt it with Daniel, enhanced by Chloe’s anguish, and Beatrice’s: that sharp, visceral pain of an existence severed. He’d never before grieved as he had for Daniel and yet… the grief and pain he’d felt then is but a grain of sand on the ocean floor compared to what he feels now.

Feeling doesn’t seem to be an accurate description for the utter destruction that grips him when he looks down at the face of the woman he’s loved for nearly two million years. Even though she’s technically alive and well, and perfectly within his reach– just a thought away, really– being here beside her, without her, feels wrong in the most basic way possible.

He thinks of the way her eyes had shone as she stood safe within the confines of his embrace just moments ago, and compares them to the memory of the faded blue eyes now hidden behind closed lids. Has death clouded them yet, or are they still clear? His fingers itch to take her hand, but he knows he’ll find it cold, if not yet stiff. His gaze traces along those features that even time couldn’t change– the exquisite angle of her jaw, the fine, intelligent curve of her brow, the perfect little swoop of her pert nose. Those landmarks had always moored him, each time he saw her again after a parting. She was beautiful each and every time he saw her, in new ways. Life enhanced her beauty, made her ever more dear to him with each moment he could spend in her company.

Her stillness is what shatters him. Even in sleep, his Detective was never truly still. Much like him, when awake she would fidget and twitch, all her little tics well known and loved. In sleep, her face came alive. Emotions would flit across like cloud shadows, as though everything she would suppress throughout the day would take the opportunity to surface while her guard was down, contorting her face into a myriad of microexpressions as she took her nights’ rest.

It’s ridiculous, this grief he feels, when he knows he can have her in his arms again the moment he returns to her, and yet…

He feels it nonetheless. This part of her life– of their lives– is over and a new era is beginning, complete with new problems, new joys, new disasters, and new experiences.

At least they’ll be together.

Even if it is in Hell.

“You deserved better, my love,” he murmurs to the empty shell. He leans over to press his lips to her cold forehead, and two tears fall unnoticed, trickling down and nestling into the silver hairline. “You still do, but I’ve learned not to interfere with your choices. I won’t be trying to chase you away again.”

Unsurprisingly, there is no response, and he finds he can’t bear being so close, yet so far from her. He turns and wanders into the next room, out of sight of the bed and equipment. With grieving eyes, he starts to explore the artifacts of a life well lived.

Photographs and trinkets, keepsakes of happy times and mementos of loved ones lost litter all available surfaces. He thinks of his carefully curated penthouse, and smiles as he surveys the cultivated chaos of Chloe’s space. For someone with so many control issues, she does love a certain amount of soft messiness in her surroundings.

He comes across more photos that he’s seen before on his brief sojourns, photos of pageants and parties, holidays and quiet nights in, celebrations and… family. And there, in the center of all of it, he comes across the photo of the two of them on the beach, on the last day they’d still held onto the belief that they might be able to have a happily-ever-after scenario, and more tears break free.

For once in his long, long life, he doesn’t try to fight them but lets them fall, blazing swiftly cooling trails down his nose before diffusing into his stubble or trickling to the corner of his lips, leaving the taste of salt and the memory of their first kiss there on the seaside.

Something tingles at the back of his mind, immediately followed by a quiet clatter.

“Mom… I… I don’t know what to do.” Her voice is so small, so broken that if his heart hadn’t already been shattered it surely would be now.

She needs you.

He’s moving before he can doubt, and finally he rounds the doorframe and stands face-to-face with his daughter for the first time in nearly two million desolate years.

It should be impossible that she’s utterly unchanged, with her ratty grey t-shirt with the safety-pinned heart graphic and her mustard-yellow leather jacket that had clashed so terribly with his leather furniture in the penthouse. It’s hard to remember that while it’s been millennia upon millennia for him, it’s only been a matter of hours for her since she begged him not to change her, to keep his distance and stay away.

Doubt starts to creep in as she glares up at him, mantled protectively over the body of her mother, but then her wings relax, and she straightens. The steel-tipped magenta feathers fluff in surprise, and some part of his mind that is apparently still functioning notes the dark-stained patches on her wings where Le Mec had ripped her feathers from her with blood and pain.

The uncertainty of his welcome is just beginning to get a foothold, when she blinks, and a shining tear tracks down her cheek.

“Dad?” She breathes, incredulous. Gone is the scoffing denial of using the term, and his heart slowly starts to piece itself together when it comes, impossibly softer, “Daddy?”

She’s all alone. She needs you to show her she’s not.

He steps forward just as she launches herself toward him with a sob and then she’s in his arms, squeezing him harder than even Miss Lopez had ever hugged him and he not only doesn’t mind but he finds himself crying right along with her.

The grief and anxiety and frustration and relief and joy all flow in the burning cascade of their tears, sealing them together in a feathery pod of broken and healing hearts, and all Lucifer can think in that moment is that it was all worth it.

Every single broken heartbeat from that moment to this has all been worth it to have her– his daughter– in his arms, seeking and receiving comfort. His heart is pounding in his ears so loudly that he doesn’t even try to speak– surely Rory wouldn’t be able to hear a word over the noise of it.

He holds her until her shuddering turns to trembling, and when she doesn’t let go he holds her some more until her trembling subsides to a quiet weariness of soul and body, until she melts into him in complete exhaustion. She sniffles, and he feels her rubbing her cheek against his shoulder before she moves her head and looks up to meet his gentle gaze.

“Hello, daughter,” he rumbles, the word feeling alien and yet utterly familiar on his tongue. The corners of her dark eyes crinkle in a happy response to his greeting, and his ridiculously sentimental heart flutters at the sight of it, before sinking at the knowledge of what needs to follow. “I’m… afraid we need to have a chat.”

“We need to go!” She pulls away with a gasp, leaving him feeling cold. “Dad, we… we have to find out where T is, I…”

“Rory–”

“I got a call, there’s been an accident and she… they think she’s dead, but she’s not…”

“Rory, love–”

“We have to make sure a doctor gets to her! She’s not in Heaven, there’s still time…” she’s tugging at his hand now, like an overeager toddler dragging her daddy toward the teacup ride, and he allows himself to be moved a little.

“I’m sorry, Rory, but… there isn’t.” She stops and looks back at him in confusion. He elaborates, as gently as he can. “Time. Beatrice’s time has passed. She… she has moved on.”

“You’re lying!” The accusation flies from her lips, razor sharp with anguish and denial. “T isn’t in Heaven, which means they can still save her! Why are you wasting time lying??”

In his minds’ eye, a different dark haired, dark eyed girl is facing him tearfully, pleading for the truth to be a lie.

Please tell me it's not true, Lucifer. I know you'll tell me 'cause you never lie. So tell me it's not true.

My dear, sweet child. I can't.

“You are correct in that Beatrice is not in the Silver City,” Lucifer says slowly, trying not to show the bleeding wounds Rory’s words have inflicted, “But… I’m afraid that I don’t lie.”

“Then… then what, she chose to come help you? Like… like Linda? And Mom?” Her pinched expression lightens a little, and oh how Lucifer wishes he could let this simple white lie settle… just until they get Beatrice sorted and up to Heaven where she belongs. It would save Rory so much grief on an already grief-stricken day.

But he doesn’t lie. Especially not to those he loves. And he’s seen how allowing someone to believe an untruth can hurt even more in the long run. He sucks in a steadying breath and squeezes the small hand holding his.

“Inasmuch as any soul chooses to come to Hell, you’re not technically wrong,” he begins, watching her face carefully. “But Beatrice is currently one of my tenants being guided, rather than doing the guiding.”

“What do you–” She steps back, yanking her hand away from his soft grip. “She’s not… there’s no way. She’s never even gotten a speeding ticket!”

“Yes, due in large part to her cleverness and her relation to two upstanding police officers, no doubt,” a melancholy smile paints his lips for a brief second before falling away. “It’s nothing that she’s done, simply a frame of mind that she’d allowed herself to slip into. We’ll have her turned around in a trice and up where she belongs, I promise you that.”

“But… good people aren’t supposed to wind up in Hell!”

“Yes, Charlie thought much the same, once,” he grimaces, remembering his nephew’s idealistic vision of scores of heavenly souls lining up to help the damned overcome their guilt and attain Heaven. The ember of hope slowly smothered in the boy’s swiftly aging eyes as the anemic number of volunteers had swiftly dried up and blown away like ash across the sulphur flats.

Rory is so much older than Charlie had been then, and yet she’d been so inured in her own misery and cynicism that she hadn’t quite begun to realize that the universe at large was not, in fact, the fair place she might believe it to be.

Her Uncle A was a kind and loving man, and so he must be a kind and loving God, therefore, the Universe is just.

Lucifer sighs to himself. Less than 5 minutes into fatherhood and he’s already ruining her ideals and upheaving her worldview. That has to be some kind of depressing record.

Father of the year, here I come.

“Is it my fault?”

The question is so quiet, if it weren’t for his celestial senses he never would have heard it. He stares at her in unblinking shock for a beat too long, before blurting, “What? No, of course it isn’t, where on Earth would you get that idea? Hasn’t anyone taught you how Hell works?”

“I… didn’t listen,” she admits, ducking her head between her shoulders. “I… they tried to tell me but I didn’t–”

“You didn’t want to hear about me, or anything associated with me,” Lucifer realizes, nodding in understanding. Just as he had turned his back on anything and everything God or Heaven-related, so his daughter had shunned the Devil and Hell. A cold feeling settles in his stomach, but he does his best to bury it deep. He takes a deep breath and straightens his shoulders, fussing with his cuffs.

Well. He can hardly blame her for that, he’d tried to shun Hell himself for a very long time. Even while he’d been trapped in it.

“Dad, I’m sorry, I–” she takes a step back toward him and reaches for his hand. It takes every ounce of strength he has not to pull away, but the way her shoulders relax a little when he squeezes her fingers back make the effort worthwhile.

“It’s all right Rory, I understand,” and he does, though that doesn’t make it any less painful. “I… I was the same way with my father, as you may know. Though… I’ll admit I’m hoping for a bit of a better turnout for our relationship.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard Grandpa was kind of a dick.” She smiles up at him, though her eyes are still bright with unshed tears. “But I’ve heard nothing but good things about you, so… I guess we’ll see how we get along, huh?”

“I certainly hope so,” he offers with a smile of his own. “You still owe me a viewing of the entire Bones library, including the spinoff.”

Her laughter seems to surprise her, for all that it dies quickly. She glances around, her gaze lighting on her mother’s still form in the bed across the room.

“What do we do, Dad?” She shakes her head, lost and bewildered. Her world has been utterly shattered today, then ground into sand. “T was supposed to take care of all of this, I… I don’t even know where to start.”

“Well,” Lucifer flounders for a moment. “I’m sure we can figure it out. Perhaps… there’s all this medical equipment, I assume there was a visiting nurse service that could guide us. Is Google still a thing?”

Lucifer snags Chloe’s phone to start notifying her contacts, and Rory retreats to her bedroom to browse Bingle (the new search engine created when Google had been acquired by another large tech company) for useful results on ‘what to do after a loved one dies’.

He pauses in his notifications after a while, when the next on his list is one ‘Ella Corbett’. He hasn’t spoken to Miss Lopez since she was Miss Lopez, rather than Mrs. Corbett, and although he knows that she knows the truth of his identity now, he frets about how she might react to hearing from him again, timeless and unchanged.

Quietly, he goes to check on Rory, only to find her curled in a feathery magenta ball in a bedroom that’s clearly hers, if the Clover posters and acoustic and electric guitars hanging on the wall are anything to go by.

“Rory?” He ventures tentatively, unsure if this is one of those ‘silent suffering please help’ moments, or truly a ‘let me grieve in peace’ moment. He takes a hesitant step into the room when he receives a muffled whine in response to his query. “I…” he falters, unsure what to offer. The last times he’d tried to give her anything he’d been rebuffed quite strongly. “Tell me what you need from me. Anything within my power is yours for the asking.”

The long silence that follows indicates that this is a ‘let me grieve in peace’ instance, and he hastily backs away, his hand reaching for the knob to close the door behind him just as her murmured, “Please don’t leave me alone,” reaches his keen ears.

He stops his retreat so quickly that he nearly stumbles, before slowly re-entering the room and perching on the edge of the narrow bed. When she doesn’t flinch away, he carefully reaches out and strokes her dark hair, unsure if she would welcome him touching her wing, even to soothe. Neither of them speak, but the silence feels natural rather than awkward, and after a while he settles back into the headboard, quietly toeing off his shoes and bringing his feet up onto the mattress, stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles.

“Is Mom okay?” The question squirms out from between the feathery blanket she’s wrapped herself in. “I should have asked before but… Is she… is she okay?”

“Your mother is, as always, worried about you and your sister,” he answers honestly, a fond smile crossing his face at the thought of his ever-selfless Detective. “A little thing like meeting my favorite little sister in her official capacity isn’t going to change that. She knows we’re doing all we can for Beatrice right now, so she suggested it might be best if I came to you, rather than wait for you to come to us. She… rather thought all this might be a bit overwhelming.”

“She’s not wrong,” Rory sighs, leaning her head into his palm like a cat begging for pets. “The nursing service is on their way. The lady on the phone said they’d be able to give us a… a checklist of stuff that’ll need to be done.”

“... and for Beatrice?” he hesitates to ask, but there’s likely to be some difference in procedure due to the nature of her death.

“The guy said someone would be in touch. He… he said we didn’t have to… to identify her.”

“Do you want to talk about what happened to Beatrice?”

“I-I don’t… There was… traffic. A car was going too fast and-and ramped off something and flew over the median. It… I guess it landed on her car? Or just slid into it? I… don’t really know. Just that he said she… he-he said it was fast. That she d-didn’t s-suffer.”

Quick as lightning, Rory rolls toward him and for the second time today his arms are full of a feathery, sobbing daughter that has hated the very idea of him for most of her life.

Any port in a storm, I suppose.

He holds her tightly until the nurse arrives. Rory tucks her wings away, but doesn’t pull out of his embrace, so he simply stays still. The nurse pokes his head in the door, reads the room, and exchanges an understanding glance with Lucifer before going about his final duties and beginning the paperwork. After a while, Lucifer hears the clattering arrival of the funeral home. A murmured question to Rory and a headshake are all they need to convey they don’t need any more time with the empty shell that once housed a fount of love and selflessness, and the familiar, muted sounds of a body being prepared for transport slowly fade into the background.

He rouses her long enough to sign the papers, since Lucifer technically no longer exists on Earth, so far as he’s aware… at least not as an emergency contact or next of kin for Chloe Jane Decker. Once the signatures are obtained, the nurse passes his condolences and a thick packet marked Planning after a Passing: What to do when a loved one dies, before doing a final sweep for any remaining equipment and making himself scarce.

Not long after that, Rory goes limp against him, a soft snore muffled by the fabric of his thoroughly rumpled jacket. He thinks of the phone in his pocket and the long list of contacts still to notify, and he thinks of his Detective, waiting for him in Hell. He spares a thought for Beatrice, of course, but she’s in the best possible hands with his sister, and he’s comfortable enough with delegation by this point that he knows it’s most efficient to let her do what she does best for quickest results.

Make the arrangements, give Rory what she needs, then get back to the Detective. Linda and Frank know what they’re doing, and Charlie is no small help, as well.

He gently re-settles his snoring daughter– his daughter!– onto her pillow, and eases himself out of her grip. Her arms grasp blindly, and he slips another pillow between them for her to cling to for comfort as her exhausted mind takes its respite where it can.

He means to get to work right away, truly he does. But instead, he stands mesmerized, looking down at the late afternoon strips of sunlight that ripple across Rory’s sleeping face.

We made that, the Detective and I, he marvels, wondering how Chloe managed to bear this overpowering feeling of awe not once, but twice. We made this beautiful, intelligent, talented, fierce person… and somehow the world hasn’t managed to crush her, despite losing nearly everyone she loves in a single day.

He understands. Of course he does, he’s lived through losing his entire family, his home, everything he’d known, all at once and without the luxury of a warm embrace and reassurance at the end of it… twice, now. But he’s so very glad that he was able to provide his daughter with the softer landing that he never got. Eventually, Rory stirs with a small snort, and he beats a hasty exit rather than be caught watching her while she sleeps.

He moves into another room, Chloe’s bedroom, and pulls out her phone again to make more calls. His thumb finds the photo gallery before the phone icon, and he finds that he can’t resist the siren song of seeing more little snippets of the life he didn’t get to share. He touches the screen, and gets lost in Chloe’s memories.

He scrolls through hundreds of photos of the girls, some with Chloe, some without. Photos of Miss Lopez and Carl’s wedding, photos of Eve and Mazikeen. It’s nice to see that Mazikeen’s devotion to her wife hadn’t waned as Eve had aged. Hopefully that had helped Chloe understand the same would hold for Lucifer’s devotion to her.

He reaches the end of the camera roll and backs out to the gallery home screen, where he notices a folder at the very bottom, simply marked ‘P’ with a generic photo of a beach sunset as the album cover. He tilts his head, curious, and clicks on it, only to be prompted for a password. He shakes his head and enters the same password she uses for everything, only to be denied. Intrigued now, he considers for a moment before entering his password.

Carnal. With a capital ‘c’.

The gallery opens and he’s presented with photos of him. Photos he recognizes from before, from when he’d stolen her phone and hidden away with Cacuzza napping at her desk and taken scores of selfies to pass the time while the Detective was doing the boring paperwork that tied up their cases.

She’d kept them all these years, hidden and secret, transferred from device to device and protected by a password no one would ever guess to keep them from curious young half-angel eyes. And not only those, but ones she’s apparently added throughout the decades. He can’t pinpoint when any one had been taken, but there are very few that he’d actually been posing for. Small, candid moments: A sly smile while preparing dinner, a dim shot of shining eyes staring up at the night sky, his hand cradled in hers, his sleeping face gilded in early morning light, his lashes making black crescents against his cheek and a single errant curl teasing his forehead. There are even a few short videos, humming or singing in the kitchen, cackling with laughter at something, his eyes crinkling at the corners, a video with no visual, only a muffled, distorted mumble, I love you. Chloe, I love you. Stay with me, please don’t go.

That one cuts off with a small sob before it fumbles to an end. Had he been dreaming? Talking in his sleep? He shakes his head. He could ask, but he likely won’t. Let her keep some secrets. He scrolls to the end, then backs out of the album again.

‘P’. He wonders what that means to her. Maybe he will ask. Eventually.

Curiosity sated, he goes back to her home screen and pulls up the contacts again, hovering over Ella’s name, the contact photo shows a finely aged Miss Lopez with several wide, full-length silver streaks in her otherwise still jet-black hair, and a few fine laugh lines around her eyes and mouth.

No time like the present.

He touches the smiling face, and waits as it rings.

Chapter 22: The Loop is Closed

Chapter Text

“Chloe!” Ella practically sings as she answers. "I was just telling Carol that I was planning to come see you this weekend, your ears must’ve been burning! How are you feeling, my friend?”

“Er, hello Miss Lopez,” he manages, after a moment of being struck speechless. “It’s me. Lucifer.”

“Lucifer?” She sounds uncertain for a moment, then raw hope comes pouring out in torrents. “Does that… is Rory’s loop closed then? You can come back now?”

“The-the loop is closed, yes,” he stammers. Oh, why hadn’t he planned out what to say? “But… Miss Lopez, Chloe is… Chloe has… she’s…”

He’s already said it so many times today, to her acquaintances, to credit card companies, banks, and insurance agents. But now, in the face of someone else that loves her, he can’t bring himself to voice the words.

“Oh,” the breath echoes across the line. “Oh, Luce, I’m… I’m so sorry. I mean, I know she was sick, and she was sure this was it, you know how she is. Was. sh*t, I’m bad at this. Are you okay? Are Bea and Rory okay? Do you need me to come?”

Oh. Oh, no. Oh, nononono. Oh, Father, how could he have overlooked the fact that Miss Lopez was close to Beatrice as well?

“Is… Is Carl home, Miss Lopez? Carol,” he corrects himself, wincing. “Is he there with you?”

“Well sure,” she doesn’t laugh, but her tone is wry. “He’s right here with me on the couch. We’re retired, where else are we gonna be?”

“Ah, good. Yes. Good.” He nods, too fast, his mind whirling, trying to find the words. “I… I wanted to make sure you weren’t alone. As to the girls, Rory is asleep in her room. She… today has been rather a lot for her. But Beatrice…” he swallows, hard. “Beatrice has…”

“Is she okay? I know she’s been so worried about her mom and Rory. And she had those fainting spells a few years ago, but they said those were just menopause causing troubles. Did she pass out? Did she hit her head?”

“She-she was in a car accident on her way back here this morning, Miss Lopez. I…" He can barely force the words off his tongue. They cling like those blasted tree of life fruits, as though they’re fighting being spoken aloud, because then they’ll truly be real. Undeniable. "I’m afraid she did not survive.”

And oh, how he wishes to deny them. To defy the evil of them and proclaim that Beatrice will walk the earth until the end times if she so chooses.

“She… what?” Disbelief and anger color her tone, and he can hear Carl/Carol making soothing noises in the background. “You’re… no, I know you wouldn’t joke about something like this but… really?”

“Really,” Lucifer sighs, another tear trickling down his cheek as he hangs his head in grief. “I… it appears that Chloe slipped away while Rory was talking to emergency services when they called about the accident.”

“Ohmigod, Lucifer,” Ella starts to cry now, and Lucifer manages not to flinch at the automatic epithet. “Did she…”

“Rory tells me that it was quick,” he assures her, his voice thick. “I… there will likely be a double service for the funeral. It seems the attendees would likely overlap quite a bit, so this will hopefully make it easier on Rory and the rest of you that… that were beloved by both of them.”

“How is she handling… everything?” The question is tentative, but caring, and he wishes he had an answer to give.

“I… don’t know, Miss Lopez. She has accepted comfort from me, and seems glad of my presence right now. We haven’t had time to discuss… feelings.”

“Right,” Lucifer recognizes that thoughtful tone. “Big day. Okay. What can I do to help you right now?”

“This is new territory for both of us, so we’re currently working off a checklist from the visiting nurse service…” he glares at it with distaste. “I’ve been working my way through Chloe’s contact list, but I’m assuming Beatrice’s phone was likely destroyed in the… in the accident, so I’ve no idea how to… I’ll have to ask Rory when she wakes, I suppose.”

“Okay. I’m coming over in the morning. I’ve been through this way too many times in the past decade, I can help. And I’ll make breakfast.”

“Miss Lopez, you needn’t–”

“Please.” He can picture the wide-eyed look she would be giving him if she were standing before him, her delicate hands curled under her chin. “Let me do this for you guys. For Chloe, and for Bea. I’ll… Please, I’ll feel better if I can make either of your lives just a little easier right now, okay?”

He doesn’t have the strength to argue. “At your convenience, then, Miss Lopez. I… thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet, you haven’t tried my cooking,” she tries for levity, but he suddenly finds himself wondering anxiously if Rory’s half-angel constitution makes her impervious to food poisoning. “I’ll see you in the morning, then. Not too early, don’t worry. We’ll… we’ll get through this buddy, and when I see you I am giving you the biggest hug you’ve ever gotten.”

“That’s quite a promise, you know,” he tries to match her light tone, falling short of the mark, but he supposes it’s the effort that counts at this point in the game.

“I’m up to the challenge,” she promises as they bid their good-byes. A sob floats across the line as she disconnects, and he hopes Carl can offer her some solace. He looks down at the small device in his hands, and scrolls down the dauntingly long list of contacts still remaining. He doesn’t recognize a single name, and, in a split second decision, crafts a group text to all them with the basic information, letting them know that memorial arrangements will be communicated once made.

He touches the ‘send’ key with a feeling of relief then shuts the phone off, stretching briefly as he stands up from the small desk in the corner of the bedroom. The sun is setting, and he suddenly wonders when Rory last had the opportunity to eat.

If his recollection is correct (and his memory is pretty much perfect, and permanent… when he’s paying attention), they’d had a picnic on the beach, and she’d left the pair of them to their own (albeit enjoyable) devices, then had gotten kidnapped that afternoon or evening. They had rescued her, then spent a whirlwind of crime scenes and emergency services and hospital visits, then came back to the penthouse where she’d promptly extracted his promise and disappeared back here, where the rest of her life had immediately fallen apart. He doubts she’s eaten since she’s returned.

How often do half-angels need sustenance? Should he wake her? Can she starve to death in the matter of a day or two? Why has he never asked Charlie about any of this? Or Linda?

He pokes his head through the door and finds her nestled peacefully in her bed, wrapped up in her wings again. He notices the dried blood again and grimaces, figuring they should probably address those wounds as well. If Charlie could catch a cold, Rory might be able to develop an infection.

So much to worry about. How on Earth did the Detective manage this, let alone with two of them?

A wave of admiration for his Detective’s strength of character nearly overwhelms him. He gazes at Rory’s sleeping countenance for a little longer before deciding to let her be. She seems quite capable of managing to feed herself if she’s hungry, but he’ll make sure she eats something in the morning, at the very least. And gets her wounds tended, if they’re not already healed.

He’s sorely tempted to flit back to Hell to check in, but something cautions him against it, instead sending a prayer to Raphael to give her a progress report to pass along. He hopes for another faint whisper of Chloe’s voice in his mind, but she remains silent as he makes his way back to her bedroom.

He removes his tear-stained jacket and shirt, slipping his belt from its loops, and decides he desperately wants a shower. He rifles through the Detective’s closet, and though he does find a couple of his shirts ferreted away at the very back, there is nothing he could sleep in or wear tomorrow.

After checking Rory once more, he flits to his penthouse for supplies. He returns well-fortified, and spends well over an hour in the shower before the water heater cries uncle.

One more quick check (which he acknowledges is already becoming a bit of a nervous habit) shows him Rory is still deeply asleep, and he again resists the urge to visit Chloe and give her an update. He considers throwing his brother a prayer, reminding him that now that Chloe is residing in Hell the double-time deal can be set back to normal, but he decides against drawing the new God’s attention, on the off chance he might want to check in to see how Chloe is settling in.

Plus, a few more millennia head start on his project’s results can’t hurt.

He searches the kitchen for anything to drink, finding a respectably aged Bowmore that probably belongs to Rory… but that doesn’t stop him drinking it. He takes mental note of the pantry and refrigerator, making a list of items he’ll need to pick up if these arrangements are going to take more than a day or two.

He has to make sure Rory’s taken care of, after all.

Once the bottle is empty, he slips back into Rory’s room to retrieve his shoes, then retreats back to Chloe’s bedroom to try to get some rest.

It feels wrong, crawling into a bed that smells faintly of her, knowing that she’s nowhere nearby, but he tells himself that clutching her pillow and burying his face in her scent is far better than anything he’d had during his tenure in Hell.

Except now she is in Hell, waiting for him.

He doesn’t like the role reversal.

Just as he’s about to drop into sleep, her voice rings faintly in his mind.

I don’t know how you’ve borne this all this time, Lucifer. I’ve been trying not to reach out, because I don’t want to distract you, but I miss you so much it feels like I can’t breathe and it hasn’t even been a full day on your end, I don’t think. I hope you and Rory are getting along together. Raphael told me that you are, but… you know how I worry. Tell Ella I miss her when you see her. Take the time you both need, but… come back as soon as you can. I love you.

If her pillow acquires a slight patina of salt water, well, it’s not as though she’ll be using it again.

*

Chloe had lived the past 40-plus years of her life on Earth largely without the man she loves by her side. She had thought she’d be fine without him in Hell. It was only temporary, after all.

It turns out that ‘temporary’ has a whole new meaning once you’re on this side of eternity, and apparently the jet lag is a real bitch.

It takes Linda weeks to go over the bare bones of her new existence in Hell. She explains the duties of the demons and the healers, their progress with the borderline souls in Purgatory. She gives an overview of how Lucifer tweaks the loops from torture to therapy, and how they incorporate their individual and group sessions to supplement the rehabilitation themes that each individual loop utilizes.

When Chloe tells Linda about the online courses she’d taken in psychology in preparation for helping out once she’d joined them, Linda happily shares tips and tricks of the soul healing trade, and, after a few months, allows Chloe to start sitting in on her group sessions.

Time passes, and Raphael keeps her up-to-date on Trixie’s progress, which Chloe follows closely, eagerly pressing for the chance to speak with her daughter. She spends every waking moment learning as much as she can about Hell– asking Gromos (who has apparently decided to become her Hell Encyclopedia) pages and pages worth of questions.

His answers are… enlightening. He fills her in on Hell’s history with no trace of shame– in fact, he seems to take pride in his previous job, just as much as Maze ever had. After a while, Chloe can understand it.

After all, these souls are here because they believed they deserved punishment. Gromos and the rest of the Lilim were only ensuring that they got what they believed to be their due. Words from deep in their past bob to the surface of her memories, bringing her new understanding and sympathy.

No one chooses to be a sin-eater, Detective. No one wants to be custodian of the world's filth. Why would they? Absorbing the worst humanity has to offer, day in and day out. It changes you.

It was a job, Detective. Something I was forced to do.

The demons perhaps weren’t forced to it the way Lucifer was… but Chloe isn’t sure that being born into the position of torturer is really any better a situation.

She struggles to deal with her new reality where the passage of vast amounts of time seems to mean very little. She’s already been in Hell for half the time she’d spent on Earth, and that thought makes her head spin every time it catches her attention.

She knows from Lucifer’s reluctant admissions that a day on earth is over a century here, and experiencing the flip side of that coin is proving singularly difficult to wrap her brain around. Finally, one day she asks Linda about it.

“How do you deal with it?” She swings the hand holding her glass extravagantly. Neither one of them need to eat or drink any longer, and of course they can’t get drunk. But since Lucifer had managed to make their work and living spaces immune to Hell’s influence, there’s no reason why they can’t enjoy a nice drink or meal.

Especially now that calories are non-existent.

Ah, the irony: Carbs, one of Earth’s greatest evils, absent in Hell.

“Well, it helps that I really didn’t need to worry about what was going on up on Earth once I got here,” Linda points out. “Charlie was already here most of the time, and while I love Adriana, she was never around much. We… maintained distance. So I guess it was easier to just… let go of that need to keep track. Here… it all seems to bleed together. The fact that we don’t really need sleep kinda makes it flow a little smoother, so it’s more just a matter of getting into a routine, and trying to stop labeling it with a date and time. You’ll get there, Chlo’, it’s a big adjustment, I know.”

She doesn’t doubt it… but she also knows that having Lucifer beside her again will make the prospect somehow easier. Less daunting. Everything seems more possible when he’s around.

She misses him so much.

She vividly remembers the heartache and confusion she’d gone through as she stumbled her way through the aftermath of her mother’s death from heart disease. The endless tasks and dangling ends to tie up the end of a life. Trixie had tried to help, then in her late twenties, and Chloe remembers with a flush of shame how she, in her grief, had snapped at her that she could handle everything just fine, thank you.

Remorse threatens to choke her, especially knowing what Trixie is fighting right now. Being led meticulously through her loop, plodding along the weary path to realizing that she doesn’t deserve to be penalized for the way she feels, and when she reaches that milestone, to start to work out how to free herself.

She wishes she’d known enough back when Trixie was younger to recognize it before it got to this point. She wishes she’d paid more attention, made more efforts to make sure Trixie knew how loved and wanted she was. More than anything, she wants to go back and take back those thoughtless remarks that had apparently etched themselves so deeply into her daughter’s psyche.

But Linda has been diligent in Chloe’s education, and she can acknowledge that there was only so much that she could have protected her daughter from, even if she doesn’t have to like it. And knowing Trixie’s independent spirit, she wouldn’t have accepted any further efforts Chloe might have taken to insulate her.

On the contrary, Trixie had always pushed her boundaries, often striking out on her own when she felt there was something that needed to be done. Always working to help others, to protect others, even at the risk of her own safety.

Not unlike her parents. And Lucifer.

We become what we behold. Trixie had grown into a wonderful woman who followed her heart and helped as many people as she possibly could, and still somehow felt that wasn’t enough to keep her from Hell’s clutches.

Chloe sighs, mentally railing at the unfairness of life, and resolutely turns her thoughts to her partner and daughter on Earth. She hopes they’re handling the stress of wrapping up not one, but two lives, and that they’re managing to begin to define their relationship, post-loop.

Unable to resist another moment, she prays to her Devil, to her partner, her soulmate. She doesn’t know if the prayer that brought him to her side before was a one-time fluke or not, and she has no way of knowing if he can hear her now, or if he ever will again, but… it makes her feel closer to him, so she pours out her heart.

Even if it’s only in her mind.

“– sure she’s okay?” Raphael is asking when Chloe blinks herself back into company. When had she arrived?

“I’m good,” Chloe provides, laughing lightly before Linda can respond. “Sorry, I was just… talking to Lucifer.”

“Yeah, I guess you’ve had plenty of time to get used to having conversations with him in your head, huh?” Linda pats her arm sympathetically. “I know he’ll be glad when you guys finally have some real time together, too.”

“No, I mean, I was… I guess I was praying to him.” Ugh, it still sounds completely stupid to say out loud. She shrugs a little and empties her glass, reaching for the decanter for a refill. “Just… letting him know that I miss him, and was thinking of him.”

“That’s… really sweet, Chloe, but, um… you know Lucifer can’t hear prayers, right?” Raphael offers kindly. “I mean, I’m sure he appreciates that you’re thinking of him, but… he can’t hear you.”

“Well, I’m not sure how it works,” Chloe admits, bobbing her head to the side uncertainly. “I mean, he heard me when Rory left, before I, uh, died. That’s how he knew it was safe to come.”

“He heard– wait,” Raphael sets down her glass deliberately, leaning forward in interest. “He heard you? Are you sure? I… I thought it was just your soulmate bond, that he’d felt when you were nearing the threshold.”

“No, he definitely told me that he heard me, but he said he didn’t know how I managed it.” A sad smile tugs at her lips. “I didn’t care how, I was just glad he was there.”

The healer narrows her eyes thoughtfully, giving Chloe that unsettling feeling that she’s being x-rayed. Eventually, she sits back in her chair and lifts her glass to her lips, taking a slow sip. “Have you noticed any other differences in Lucifer since he’s been down here? Since Rory asked him to stay away, I mean?”

“Like what?” Chloe shakes her head, puzzled at the question. “I mean… he still seems like himself? Maybe a little sadder, but… I mean, I haven’t exactly been a basket of sunshine either, you know?”

“No, I was…” she shakes her head, frustrated. “I’m sorry, Chloe, that wasn’t a fair question to ask you. You haven’t been able to be together long enough for you to notice anything subtle. It’s not like he’s sprouting an extra pair or two of wings, or anything.”

“He… can angels do that?”

“Well, no,” Raphael laughs, “at least not to my knowledge, but then… Lucifer has surprised me before.”

“You’re not alone in that,” Linda lifts her glass in a toast. “He still surprises me regularly.”

“Have you noticed anything different, Linda?” Chloe asks, curious now. “Why are you asking, Raphael?”

“No real reason,” the archangel shrugs lightly, if not convincingly. “I’ve been keeping a close eye on him, to make sure he doesn’t overdo too often in his efforts. He seems… I don’t know how to put it. Stronger? Or maybe it’s just that he’s developing powers he didn’t know he had. The way he interacts with Hell, and the changes he’s making… There’s something different, and I would swear it started when he planted that tree.”

“The original tree?” Chloe asks, remembering the tiny sapling she’d seen on their way to Frank’s office. “The Tree of Life?”

“The very one,” Raphael replies wryly. “I thought he’d recovered faster than he should have, but then I realized that Zadkiel had boosted his divinity. Something has been just slightly different since then, but… I just can’t narrow it down. It’s very frustrating.”

“What does that mean?” Chloe wonders, glancing at Linda, who looks just as lost. “How does a divinity boost work? Is it… like an energy drink or something?”

“No,” the Healer laughs, shaking her head. “Those things are terrible for you humans, by the way. Not that either of you need to worry about them, I suppose…” Chloe rolls her eyes and Linda chuckles into her glass. “Our wings– archangel’s wings, that is– are… oh, how can I explain this. They’re kind of a… wellspring. They’re the primary source of our divinity, of our essence.”

“And… archangels are different from angels?”

“We’re mostly the same,” she admits easily, “the main differences are a matter of Power and Purpose.”

“So, God created archangels first?” Chloe guesses, but Raphael shakes her head. “Really? I would have thought He’d create the most powerful ones first?”

“Father’s mysterious ways are well known, Chloe,” Raphael smirks, and Chloe rolls her eyes again, recalling Lucifer’s many, many rants on the subject. “Amenadiel was the first of us, that much we know. After that, the successive order is… a little chaotic. The archangels fall somewhere in the middle, with Raguel as the eldest of us.”

“Raguel?” Chloe muses. That’s a new name, Lucifer hasn’t shared any stories or tidbits about this sibling that she can recall.

“The Justice,” Raphael supplies with a slow nod.

“I thought that was Zadkiel?” Linda asks, brows furrowing in confusion.

“No, Zad is the Righteous,” Raphael smirks. “Zad imparts the morals, while Rags ensures they are upheld.”

“And Lucifer enforces?” Chloe suggests bitterly, to Raphael’s surprise.

“Well… yes, in the most basic sense,” she considers her answer, taking a moment to think. “Even aside from his old name, Lucifer has held more Purposes than most of us. He brought the stars into being. He and Michael worked together to bring Father’s vision of Creation to life. He acted as an Arbitrator in the Silver City, coordinating peace amongst our siblings. When he was granted the title ‘Lucifer’, we thought that he would act as… as a beacon. A light in the dark, guiding human souls to the Silver City after living their fruitful and righteous lives on Earth.”

Chloe wants to ask what happened. She wants to ask what Raphael means by ‘his old name’, about what could possibly have called for ostracizing Lucifer from his home and his entire family for all eternity– on pain of literally incinerating if he ever returned.

She wants to.

But she doesn’t.

It feels like an invasion of Lucifer’s privacy, to ask someone else about his personal past, about his rebellion. It was something she hadn’t even had the courage to ask Kinley.

She doesn’t want to know what kinds of lies he would have fed her, to gain her cooperation. She wonders, idly, if the priest’s soul is down here somewhere, or if Lucifer has already rehabilitated him and slammed the door on his backside.

She stifles a malicious smile as she tries to imagine the priest’s reaction to getting therapy from the being he’d attempted to poison and banish from Earth for being evil.

“So, you said the archangels have Power and Purpose. What does that mean?” She changes the course of the conversation a little, steering it away from Lucifer’s personal history and more toward familial history. This, at least, is as much Raphael’s story as Lucifer’s, even if that feels a little like splitting hairs.

“There are seven of us. I’m the Healer,” She winks an emerald eye. “My Power and Purpose are probably pretty obvious. Lucifer is the Lightbringer, and I think you’re quite familiar with his as well. Michael is the Sword, though he also wields fear and shadow. Arael– have you met Arael yet, Chloe? He is the Gardener. Gabriel the Messenger, then Zadkiel, and Raguel. Father put a portion of His power into each of us, that we may act as an extension of His will and fulfill our tasks.”

“But archangels aren’t the only ones with power,” Linda interjects interestedly. “Amenadiel has powers over time. Uriel could see and affect patterns. Azrael can become invisible.”

“It is true that each of my siblings has at least one gift,” Raphael smiles, drumming her fingers on the table between them. “But only the archangels were gifted with portions of Father’s power.”

Chloe and Linda glance at each other, then back at their friend with identically puzzled expressions. She laughs softly, and attempts to explain. “My father was a being of many talents. Some would say all talents. Our particular gifts incorporate the spark of power that Father imbued in each of us.”

“Did your mother give you a similar contribution?” Linda wonders, fingernails tapping her glass idly. “She and Lucifer seemed to have some common characteristics…”

“Mother wasn’t so generous with Her powers, but then, She never had the interest in Creation that Father did.” She shakes her head, a small, fond smile playing on her lips. “Lucifer has ever been a favorite with our parents, it’s likely that any similarities you noticed were mannerisms picked up while he was still in the Silver City with us.”

“Why seven?” Chloe blurts, flushing a little when Raphael raises a questioning eyebrow in her direction. “I mean… Lucifer says you have hundreds of siblings, why are there only seven archangels? Is it… is there some kind of symbolism there?”

“Perhaps,” she tilts her head in thought. "The Christian Bible says that Father created the world in seven days– though of course that’s horribly inaccurate if you base it on an Earth day. Humans also associate the number seven with… completion,” she snickers, “or perfection, but don’t tell Lucifer that, because I’m sure he’ll use it against me somehow.”

“Was he the seventh?” Linda guesses, and Raphael points playfully at her.

“Lucifer was the last of the archangels to be created, though truly that’s a technicality, since he and Michael sprang into being at very nearly the same instant. It could be argued that shadow could not exist without light, but also, how can light exist without shadow?” She considers for a moment, then shrugs off her musing. “I suppose it matters not. Michael claimed the ‘eldest twin’ accolades, Lucifer rolled his eyes and groaned, and Father smiled mysteriously.”

“Why did you ask about the significance of seven, Chloe?” Raphael asks, curious when Chloe blushes.

“I… no reason, really, I just… uh… when Trixie was little she really loved this book series about magic, and… I just remember something about seven being, like, a magical number.”

Linda smirks. Charlie had loved those books, too, though his interest had waned when his cousin Rory had refused to have anything to do with them.

“Hmm,” the healer hums into her glass. “Well, as I said, if there was a reason, Father opted not to share it with me. I do know that on the rare occasions we all needed to work together, we seemed to meld flawlessly. But that was truly only necessary once or twice. Beyond that we worked primarily in singles or occasionally pairs, especially Lucifer and Michael.”

“What happened between them?” Linda asks quietly. “I… Amenadiel had given hints that Michael had always been a bit… problematic… but then Lucifer fell, and– I mean, was Michael always as he is now? Did something happen, or change, or–?”

“Looking back, I can’t pinpoint a single incident or moment that caused the rift between them,” Raphael ruminates, brilliant green eyes narrowed and lost in memories. “They were never particularly close, but I don’t think the animosity was there in the very beginning. Lucifer, for all his changes, is quite often still very similar to the brother I remember from the Silver City– funny, passionate, quick to forgive, and keen to mete punishment when warranted. Michael was always harder to read. Quiet, cold and sharp, not unlike the Sword for which he was named.”

Linda hums pensively, and Chloe throws out another question. “So… Lucifer’s fall didn’t change him much?”

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean to give that impression, Chloe,” Raphael shakes her head in vehement denial. “While he is still absolutely recognizable as the brother I knew, he has changed vastly, both during our time apart, and since we’ve been working closely together here.”

“How so?” Linda prods gently. “How does the Lucifer we know differ from… from Samael?”

“He told you his name?” Raphael’s eyes widen in shock, recalling her brother’s explosive response the one time she’d slipped and called him by that hated label. “Truly?”

“No,” the therapist admits, somewhat sheepishly. “Amenadiel did, back in the early days after I’d first met and started working with him. He… I took some bad advice from him, and pushed Lucifer far too hard before I realized exactly how triggering that old name would be. I didn’t know… I didn’t believe him when he told me who he was, back then.”

“How did he react?”

“He… I’m not proud of how I handled that confrontation,” Linda’s cheeks flush, and she takes a deep drink from her glass. “He asked me not to address him by that name, practically begged me not to talk about his father’s intentions when he cast him out, and when I kept pressing… he broke. He leapt to his feet and punched a hole in my wall, then fled. I was sure I’d never see him again.”

“But he came back,” Chloe supplies, noting the name that Linda used, and vowing to herself that she will never ask Lucifer about it.. “He always comes back, acting like nothing is wrong… Always determined to do better.” Her smile is fond, where once it might have been bitter.

“He’s been fighting to be a better person than his time in Hell would allow him to be since before I knew him,” Linda points out, echoing Chloe’s smile. “Did he ever tell you about Delilah?”

“The singer? The one whose murder we solved when we met?”

“Mmmhm,” her blonde head bobs. “She worked for him at Lux, then asked for a favor to jumpstart her career.”

“And when she died, he wanted to make sure the murderer was found out and he didn’t trust the LAPD to do it,” Chloe’s nose wrinkles at the memory of how right he would have been… if it had been anyone’s case but hers.

“Did he tell you what he asked for, in return for introducing her to the right people?”

“You mean, the person that killed her?” Chloe asks wryly, before shaking her head at Linda’s surprised look. “Sorry, I know that’s not fair. His favors don’t work like that, and everyone makes their own choices, I know.”

“He told me later that she came to Lux that night to ask him if she’d sold her soul to the Devil for her career. She’d told him about the choices she was making, the slippery slope she’d found herself on… and he called in his favor.”

Raphael leans in, enraptured at this glance into her brother’s life on Earth while Chloe lifts her eyebrows, waiting for the answer.

“He asked her to get her life together.”

“That… doesn’t sound very beneficial for him,” Raphael blinks.

“It wasn’t, at least, not directly,” Linda nibbles her lip a little before continuing. “But he cared about her, and wanted to see her happy. Her happiness meant more to him than getting a profitable deal.”

“That sounds like the Lucifer I know and love,” Chloe grins, holding up her glass. Linda taps it with hers and they take a drink in tandem. “He didn’t let me see it for a while, but I think something in me always knew he wasn’t just a rich, playboy asshole club owner.”

“I think we all know how deeply he cares, even if his circ*mstances didn’t really allow him to develop how to show it in a healthy manner,” Linda reasons, before becoming thoughtful again, “But… with as much as Lucifer has managed to grow and change… what happened with Michael?”

“I’ve already used the comparison of light and shadow for the twins, yes?” Raphael says slowly, eyeing her friends as they nod in response. “You know that moment when the sun starts to set, and the shadows spread, seeming to claim the world?”

Chloe’s mouth suddenly feels too dry, her throat too tight.

“That’s what happened with Michael, when the Lightbringer was cast out.”

Chapter 23: Humans Are Not Toys

Chapter Text

“Creation needs light, son, go and bring it forth.”

“How do I do that, Father?”

“Bother me not with the details, Samael, light is your purview, you’ll figure it out.”

Later:

“I’m calling it a star, Father,” Samael’s chest puffs out proudly at his little spark, wavering like a candle in a strong breeze. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

“You must do better than this,” God waves away His son’s offering, snuffing the newborn star with barely a glance as Samael looks on, crushed at his beloved Father’s disappointment in his achievement. “Go. Fill the void with light and don’t return until I can see them filling the heavens from my tower. Take your brother with you, perhaps he can help you make something worthwhile.”

A pang of something he doesn’t recognize chimes in Samael’s chest as his father turns from him without even a smile or encouraging word. He turns and startles a little to find his twin lurking behind him, eyes flat and dark.

“Well, Brother, it sounds as though my project has become our project, hm?” Samael says lightly, proud of how his voice doesn’t even tremble, despite his discouragement and sadness at his poor, extinguished first attempt at a star. “Shall we start further out, then? It sounds like He wants something enormous, and my first few smaller attempts were very unstable. I don’t want to damage anything here…”

“Sure,” Michael shrugs his sloped shoulder and unfurls his crooked wings. “He didn’t even have to try to wipe out that pitiful little thing, did He? Was that really the best you could do?”

“You’ll see that it’s not so easy once we’re out there, Michael,” Samael snaps defensively, feeling as though a band is tightening around his chest. “Working with a gift without any knowledge of how it works… it’s harder than anything He’s asked me to do so far. It took me ages to even make a spark, then again several times over to make one that lasted more than a blink. That one lasted all the way back here, cupped in my hands and throbbing with the beat of my heart. Out there, in the dark, it was… it was beautiful. But here in the Silver City it… it shriveled.”

“Hm,” his twin huffs. “Maybe it realized that Father knew it wasn’t good enough. That it was flawed.”

Something twists in Samael’s chest, though Michael’s tone is bland, uncaring as they fly toward the furthest reaches of darkness. “What are you saying Michael?”

“All I’m saying,” dark eyes glimmer in the void, reflecting the luminescence of Samael’s wings back at him, “is that we’d better get to work unless we want to be forced to stay away from the City forever.”

*

When they finally return to the city, sweating and flushed with the thrill of success, they find things… changed.

A new legion of angels has been created in their absence. They eye the archangels with awe, and no small amount of fear. The latter makes Michael swagger and puff his chest, while the former Samael accepts with a wide smile and a friendly word for their new siblings as they flock around him, leaving a wide berth around Michael.

Everyone is too busy gathering around Samael, exclaiming over his pure white wings to notice the dark flicker of envy in his shadowy twin.

The procession approaches the Tower, the Host growing silent as they draw nearer, and Samael wonders at the growing trepidation of the crowd surrounding them. He glances at Michael, but his brother doesn’t meet his gaze, his eyes roaming the city, noting the new constructions and inhabitants fluttering about.

“My sons!” A soft, golden light swirls around them, caressing them gently as the voice fills their ears like chimes and rustling leaves. “My boys have finally returned! And what beauty you have wrought in the heavens!”

“Thank you, Mother,” Michael replies quickly, before Samael can say anything in response. “It was a monumental task, but well worth the effort.”

“Was it difficult to keep your brother focused, Michael?” God’s voice rings out over the square from where He stands at the door to His tower. “Did he apply himself properly this time?”

If pressed, Michael would have to admit, if only to himself, that creating the stars alone would have been a monumental task, and nearly impossible. Having a second pair of hands to steady the ambient energy into a form ready to be worked would have been necessary no matter how intensely focused Samael had been on his task. Yet he can't resist digging at his twin's accomplishment.

“He needed a firm guiding hand, Father,” Michael oozes, as Samael’s eyes widen in surprise and hurt. “Just as You advised. A little of my power and control, and he fell right into line with his task.”

“Your help was appreciated, Brother, but I needed no handler,” Samael spits, affronted at how Michael seems to be twisting their accomplishment. “You said yourself it was a matter of practice and experimentation. You steadying the power flows certainly helped, but as to the rest of it–”

“Yes, yes,” God waves His hand, and doing so waves away whatever else Samael was about to say. “You are the Lightbringer, Samael, My Lucifer. The light, your ‘stars’, will suffice. I am eager to see what use I can put some of them to. Come. Michael, Samael, come and see what I have been working on in your absence.”

*

“You’re the one that gave me the idea, Michael,” Samael smirks up at his brother from where he sprawls under the enormous canopy of the tree where he always meets the human woman. “You said that if I wanted to find out why Father was so fascinated with these humans, that I should go see for myself. You can’t really be upset that I’m following your advice, now, can you? I’m following Father’s orders, learning to love them as He instructed.”

“I’m pretty sure that this kind of ‘love’ isn’t what He had in mind,” Michael lifts a sardonic eyebrow. “You’re starting to act like them, Samael, and while they look something like us, they are not the same. They have Free Will and so can do whatever they like. That is not the case for us, Father’s true children.”

“I’ve been chatting about that with Eve,” Samael’s grin is sharp and shiny. “You know, in our free time. The poor dear has loads of desires that she’s barely even begun to tap. Bit of a shame, really for Father to shackle her to that useless lump he calls a ‘man’. She could surely do much better than that for herself. I find it nearly cruel for such a bright flame to be smothered by a wet blanket.”

“Right, I’m sure you’d have done much better than Father if you’d been in charge of designing humanity,” Michael replies, turning away and pretending not to notice the spark of mischief in his twin’s eye. The seed won’t grow, not yet… but now it is sown and needs but a bit of water and nurturing.

*

“What’s even the point, Michael?” Samael sneers, prowling the room with feral restlessness. “Why even bother to create us to only do His bidding and no more than that? And then to create humans and give them the gift of Free Will? It doesn’t make sense that Father wouldn’t want us to have the option of doing something more with our lives! We would all serve Him anyway, why keep us chained at His side? We’re His children, shouldn’t He want us to be happy?”

He continues to pace, considering the little he’s seen of Eve and her useless lump of a husband after they’d been cast from the Garden due in part to Eve’s choice to dally with Samael. Eventually, her stomach had swollen with child, and in the rare glimpses Lucifer has seen of the little family, they– or at least Eve– seem to put the chubby, sandy-haired boy’s well-being and happiness second only to their survival. Samael frowns. He can’t ever remember his parents caring about his happiness, or indeed, requiring anything of him other than obedience.

“We are not like the humans,” Michael sighs, exasperated and not bothering to hide it. “He rules, we follow. That’s how it works.”

“Why is that how it works?” Samael demands passionately, lost in his own frustrations. “Why are we left to chafe under His watchful eye, His constant direction, when the humans are allowed to wander and explore? Why are we bid only to obey, never to live?”

He catches his breath, dark eyes widening in sudden fear at the thoughts that had just spewed forth. He hadn’t even been aware of them, not truly… not until now, when they’d fallen from his lips, dark as the poison for which he’d been named. He can’t take them back. To retract his question would be tantamount to a lie, and he knows now that Michael does enough of that for the both of them.

“It doesn’t matter why, Samael,” Michael’s cheek twitches. “He’s always watching, so it’s not like you’re ever going to be able to do what you want. Just obey. He doesn’t ask anything of you anymore, anyway, not since you became ‘the Lucifer’.”

“I still have duties,” Samael growls, “and I perform them without complaint.”

“Sure sounds like you’re complaining to me,” Michael smirks, amused at his twin’s slowly simmering rage.

“I have no complaint about my duties,” Samael insists, “but there is more to existence than duty! There is… light, and freedom, and-and laughter! You remember laughter, don’t you?” He turns to his twin, beseeching. “When is the last time you heard anyone laughing in the City? We deserve more than this. I… I want more than this.”

“What you want will never matter to Father,” Michael hisses, allowing a small smile to play across his lips when his brother’s gaze falls to the floor, stricken at the truth ringing in his words. “What we want will never matter one whit. And Father will never allow us to act on our own desires.”

“Then… then why give them to us at all?” Samael challenges weakly, hoping against hope for a reasonable answer. “Why… why can I desire, why is my gift desire if I am never to be allowed to fulfill it?”

“You ask too many questions, Samael,” Michael scoffs, walking away. “Maybe you should ask yourself, what it is you truly desire? Because right now, it sounds like whatever it is, you’re never gonna get it.”

*

Samael kneels before his father’s throne, bound and bloodied, and bloody furious at his entire family. He glares up at the throne where his father sits, stone-faced. His mother drifts nearby, not bothering to take a form, but making her presence– and her inaction– blatantly clear. His twin’s malevolent presence hovers at his back, drawing his attention again to the blood trickling down his throat from where Michael had pinned him by pressing his blade to the tender flesh just under his chin. It coagulates and chafes under the celestial steel collar they’ve placed around his throat to anchor the chains around his wings, despite the fact that they’re too broken to move without excruciating agony lancing through him.

“I tolerated the questions,” God begins, His voice rolling like thunder throughout the Chamber. The golden pillar of divine light that is Goddess twitches uncomfortably beside Her husband, but She says nothing. “I was amused by your little temper tantrum, your pitiful little… rebellion.”

Samael bares his teeth, shining with blood, but no hint of expression touches God’s face. It may as well be carved from the marble of the columns surrounding them for all the emotion He shows.

“Odd that I don’t hear any laughter, then, Father,” Samael spits, a glob of blood landing on the shining white floor before him. “Odd that I haven’t heard any laughter in the Silver City for far too long now. Why can’t You see… why won’t You acknowledge that Your children are miserable under Your thumb? Are we truly nothing more to You than… than servants? Than mere extensions of Your Will? The humans claim You love them, that You are a kind and caring God. Is that not true for Your children as well?”

The silence rings heavy in the room, and Samael is certain that his siblings don’t even dare to draw breath as the thunder signaling their father’s wrath crashes and rumbles until the very floor beneath him shakes.

“Do You not love us as well, Father?” Samael challenges again, his words echoing stridently and warring with the cacophony around them. “Do You not think we deserve the gift of choice?”

Still no emotion scratches the surface of God’s indifference.

“Michael, you and Raguel have done well tracking down Samael and bringing him to Me for judgment. Raguel has provided his input on this matter, but My Word is what matters here, no other.”

The Host seems to shrink, huddling together against the onslaught of the unrelenting thunder of their father’s rage as God looks on, impassive.

“Samael has made it clear he has no wish to live amongst us without sowing discontent and disorder,” His voice rings out over His children, and He gives no indication that He notices the flinch that ripples through the huddled mass of them. “Therefore, he is now and forevermore shall be cast out. Michael, see to it that your Brother is installed in the Shadow realm.” God glares down at His bound and disbelieving son, His Morning Star, and His upper lip twitches in what appears to be a restrained sneer. “Let him bring light there, if he can.”

*

Michael rests on his laurels for millennia after being the one chosen to cast Samael from the City. It had given him no end of satisfaction to roughly grasp the shattered, shining wings and drag his twin from the chamber, smearing the glass-smooth floor with streaks of blood as his brother writhed in agony within his grip.

He hadn’t screamed though. Not once, no matter how tightly Michael had clung to his shredded wings, or how his fingers had dug into his bleeding wounds, no further sound had passed his brother’s lips once he had uttered his final question.

At least… not until he had fallen so far that he’d caught fire… and then he was so far away that Michael could scarcely enjoy the agonized screams before they faded enough that even an archangel could no longer hear them.

The rest of his siblings carefully give him the respect he is due. Only Gabriel – naive, optimistic Gabriel– is brave enough to approach him for casual chatter. She kindly assumes that he must have been devastated, to have to choose between their father and their brother, and she reaches out to him to help soothe whatever sorrow he must surely be feeling.

Michael knows exactly how much Gabriel knows, and fosters the relationship in order to keep his fingers on the pulse of everything that happens in the Silver City.

Eventually, he even starts to feel a little fond of her, though he makes sure to always keep her a little on edge around him.

Fear is his domain, after all, and it wouldn’t do to be regarded without at least a little wariness.

He uses the knowledge that Gabriel brings him to further his own position in the City. Sending Amenadiel the Eldest down to ‘keep the Fallen One in his place’ is disappointingly easy when his brother believes the order comes from God himself, and then Michael’s influence slowly starts to spread throughout the city like a creeping vine.

The kind that makes the humans so very itchy.

He worms his way into their mother’s confidence and feeds Her own discontent with quiet sympathy and nothing more complicated than the appearance of the son She had lost to Her husband’s wrath. It only takes a few plagues, earthquakes, and a single river running with blood before She too, is cast out– though Uriel gets that task, along with little Azrael to guide him through the labyrinth that the Shadow realm has become.

The humans call it Hell, and Michael grinds his teeth in frustration when he learns that his twin has somehow managed to get himself declared King of the entire plane. He’s torn between annoyance that his brother is still managing to come out somehow on top, even without their father’s support and attention, and smugness in the knowledge that while his brother may be a King, it’s still nothing at all like Michael’s position.

Though really, if anyone was going to be King of the Shadow realm… shouldn’t it have been Michael? Shadows were his birthright, after all, an unfortunate side effect of being twin to the Lightbringer.

Well.

Why should he sulk over not being King… when his plan is to become God?

*

He lays the groundwork carefully, sprinkling seeds so small that most of them will never take root, and those that do will be so delicate, no one will notice until the entire foundation of heaven is rife with thick, thorny overgrowth.

Doubt is the easiest of the weapons in his arsenal to use, and he wields it with the precision of long practice. Small, whispered concerns at his father’s shoulder, and God is delegating more and more responsibilities to him, confiding in him things that He possibly never even shared with His wife–

Like how not even He can be all, see all, wield all. That little revelation, while not exactly explicitly admitted, nearly causes Michael to break character. With a little more played-up worry, Michael gets his explanation.

“It’s difficult to explain, son. I can See, and I can Know, and I can be anywhere I choose to be– but even for Me, there are limits. Seeing and Knowing– they’re not constant, all-consuming rivers of information coursing through my mind. I must… there is a mindset, a… not a ritual, but a manner of thought, of existence that allows me to use those skills. They must be targeted to a specific subject. Trying to See or Know all… well, that just wouldn’t work. There is simply too much, even for Me.”

That conversation had paved the way for Michael to be taught just how to See, and Know.

As for Knowing… he’d quickly found that in most cases, Gabriel was every bit as useful, if not more so. If anyone could Know all, he’d lay odds on that little bundle of gossiping archangel. He tries to use Sight to find Samael– who has dropped his old name and now chooses to answer only to his title– in Hell, but finds that Seeing through 2 planes of existence is apparently also something that just doesn’t work.

When Gabriel tells him that his twin is swanning around on Earth, in the City of Angels, no less, with Amenadiel unable to return him to Hell… well. Who could blame him for checking in.

It’s not long before his father is obsessively watching over His Outcast son, and Michael uses his distraction to rock the boat just a bit more… taking the opportunity to solidify his footing near the wheel, ready to grab hold when his father’s hands tremble just a little too much to hold the course steady.

When Goddess joins Lucifer and Amenadiel on Earth, discovering and revealing that Chloe is a Miracle placed on Earth by none other than God himself, Michael grinds his teeth until he’s certain his father can hear it.

“Father, what drove You to do such a thing?” Michael mutters urgently, unwilling to allow any of his siblings to overhear their conversation. “I thought You were done meddling with humanity?”

“I Saw something that showed me what needed to be done,” God’s smile is knowing and secretive, and Michael hates it. “Your brother is changing, and this human… this human will help him find his way.”

“You’re… giving him a toy?”

“Not a toy.” The smile drops, replaced by a disapproving frown, and Michael murmurs a quick apology. “Humans are not toys, son, you know this. But… a partner. Someone who will see him for who he is, a soul who will challenge and match him in every way possible.”

“If she matches Samael, then she also matches me,” the words fall from his lips without his permission, his dark eyes widening in surprise as his father turns to regard him solemnly.

“No, Michael,” He shakes His head slowly, His gaze roving His son’s face. “You are your own catalyst, My son. You will be your own challenge.”

Michael’s probing to get a further answer to that little non-sequitur goes unanswered, and he finally gives it up as a lost cause, settling for readying himself for his father’s imminent collapse.

It will happen. And when it does, everyone will finally see him. Standing strong and proud, and perfectly placed to take the helm.

The fact that nothing happens the way he’d planned so carefully all those millennia… Well.

Isn’t that just the story of his very long life?

Chapter 24: Just Like You

Chapter Text

Lucifer doesn’t so much sleep as shut down. When his eyes open the next morning, he feels entirely unrested, as though he’s blinked and the sun has suddenly switched on like a particularly obnoxious lamp. The house is silent, so he assumes that Rory is still sleeping off her traumatic life changes. He blinks a few times as his brain comes back online, then scans the room around him with a curiosity that he hadn’t been able to spare the energy for yesterday.

Hearing Chloe in his mind last night had lifted his heart, reminded him again that she isn’t gone, but is merely waiting for him to return to her. He tells himself that she is in the best possible hands (barring his own, of course) to help her gain her footing in Hell, and he pulls in a deep breath as he rolls over and swings his legs off the bed, sitting on the edge and gazing down at the low table beside him.

There, carefully arranged in a small silver tray, he finds an old friend: the bullet pendant he’d gifted her a lifetime ago for her 36th birthday. The chain is new, the old one (and probably several more over the course of their decades apart) long broken, but the pendant itself is well-loved, with a patina that can only be attained by the frequent brush of fingers day in and day out over the course of time. He reaches down unthinkingly and plucks it up, fingering the malformed bullet as the chain wraps around his hand like a warm embrace.

He stares at it, lost in the memory of finding her in his bed after abandoning her on her birthday, how her eyes had sparkled when she'd laughed so freely at his anxious joke about penetration. The warmth of that memory is lost in a wash of anguish as he recalls how she had worn it constantly until she removed it just a few months later, as her relationship with Cain had progressed.

He'd been willing to let her go to ensure her happiness… and he'd nearly destroyed himself in the process. He shakes his head, scoffing quietly to himself as he rolls it tenderly between his fingers. He can't remember exactly when she'd put it back on. Had it been before, or after he'd returned to Hell?

"She never took that thing off," Rory's voice, thick with sleep and tears, croaks from the doorway. His eyes meet hers, both dark and shining with grief, and he offers her a small smile and a waved invitation to come and sit beside him. She pushes herself off the doorframe she'd been leaning on, and settles a small distance away.

"I used to rag on her so much. I couldn't understand why she'd be so faithful to you… to a guy that had abandoned us. Left without a word." Lucifer stiffens, sliding his mask in place to hide the hurt, but Rory is her mother's daughter, and she sees. She scoots a little closer to him, ducking her head to meet his downcast gaze. "Dad, I… I have so much to apologize for. I… I can't even imagine how hard it must have been for you to make that promise. How hard it had to be for Mom and T to have to lie all the time about where you were… about why you were gone. How the Hell did they put up with my whining about you without completely going off on me?"

"Probably the same way they put up with me," a wistful smile touches his lips, and Rory leans into him with a heavy sigh. He puts a tentative arm around her shoulder and squeezes. "Because they love us."

"Yeah," she sniffles, her voice small and timid, nothing at all like the fierce young woman that had pinned him to his penthouse wall and threatened him with her deadly wings. She hesitates before continuing. "I woke up last night and couldn't get back to sleep. I kept listening for the machines, but it was just… so quiet. When I listened harder, though, I could hear you breathing, and I knew I wasn't alone. I… I can't believe you left her there, for me."

He looks down at her in surprise, finding her red-rimmed eyes looking up at him in confusion. "Why would I not come to you in your time of need, now that my promise to stay away is fulfilled?"

"You… you don't even know me!" She bursts out, voice breaking. "You met me when I wanted to kill you for abandoning me, we spent a few weeks going back and forth where I kept picking fights, and then I forced you away from everyone you love for more than forty years! I know I said it’s just a blip, but now I realize… Dad… it’s a lifetime! It’s my lifetime. How… why would you leave her now, just when you finally got her back? I’m… I can’t be worth that, to you."

Forty years. His heart thuds in his ears. She doesn't know. She doesn't know about the time difference, she'd never wanted to hear about Hell. Forty-plus years here on earth, yes, but she doesn't yet realize that for him… Ah, but now is not the time.

"Because, daughter, as much as I love her, I love you, too. As I love Beatrice," he says slowly, carefully feeling out his reasoning. "Everything that she is– that they are– so, too, are you. You are her daughter, Beatrice's sister… and you are the very best part of me. You are worth every sacrifice we made to keep you just as you are."

"Dad," she sobs, burying her face in the shoulder of his robe as he holds her closer. His heart swells in his chest, and he hopes beyond hope that he's managing to say the right things, that he won't break her even more than she's already been broken in recent days. After a moment, she pulls back, sniffling again and trying a hiccuping laugh to shrug off the heavy emotions. "I love you too, but if I'm the best of you, then you've got some issues, dude."

"I didn't say I had the best material to start with," he chuckles, still marveling at how tightly she's clinging to him even as his heart takes flight at her words. "But we should count ourselves fortunate that your mother and sister were able to contribute far better qualities in my stead."

"No," she shakes her dark head, her pink-threaded hair tickling his chin. "Mom says you and I are just alike. If she and T love us so much, then we definitely have something worthwhile."

"You'll let me know when you figure it out?" He whispers, and now she really does laugh, though it's small and sad. He reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, cursing a little when the chain gets tangled and he has to carefully unravel it. "I, um… do you want to wear this?"

"Wh… no, Dad, that's Mom's. You can take it to her." Rory looks down at it wistfully. "I know it's special to her. You gave it to her, right?"

"Mmhm," he hums softly, cupping it in his palm. "But she has it on already. Or at least, a manifestation of it. I… think she would want you to have it, if you want it of course. A little bit of us both, but also something special in its own right. Just like you."

"Really?"

"Well, I didn't manage to salvage the bullet that you shot me with, so I suppose this hand-me-down will just have to do, eh?"

"I…" she trails off, her eyes blankly staring at the small lump of mauled metal in his hand, and he shifts uncomfortably, looping the chain into his palm and moving to tuck it into his pocket.

"Of course, I understand if you don't, it was just a silly– "

"No!" Her protestation is loud and vehement, shocking them both into freezing for an instant before she reaches for his hand, gently scrabbling at his closed fingers. "I would… I would be honored to wear it. W-will you put it on for me?"

She pulls away and turns her back to him as he unclasps the catch, draping it around her neck and fastening it there. Her fingers find the pendant, the places where her mother's fingers have worn familiar shiny patches into the metal, and a small smile tugs at her lips.

"It's warm," she looks up at him, tears standing in her eyes, "like you."

"Guys? You awake?" A hushed, familiar voice comes from the entryway. "Lucifer?"

"Be right there, Miss Lopez," he calls, after a quick clearing of his throat. "Just… ah, give me a moment to dress."

"Nothing I haven't seen after our case at that nudist colony, buddy," she teases, causing Rory to groan loudly in disgust. "Oh sh*t, sorry Rory! I totally haven't seen your dad's birthday suit. What?"

Lucifer can hear Carl's low rumble, then Ella's low, laughing response, "That was like 50 years ago, Carol, relax." Her raised voice drifts back to them again, "I'll just start breakfast, okay? I figured waffles would be safe enough."

Waffles. He glances at Rory, who has a watery smile on her face.

"Waffles are great, Ells, thanks," she calls, standing up to go change her clothes as Lucifer does the same. She rolls the pendant between her fingers as she leaves the room, and he swiftly moves to get dressed.

His daughter loves him. He huffs incredulously.

Waffles are pretty great, really.

*

"So what about Michael?"

The question seems to take Raphael by surprise, because she stares blankly at Chloe for a solid minute before wetting her lips and asking, "What about Michael?"

"That's what I'm asking. I've been here for ages, and no one has said a word about him."

"That's because no one can work with him but Lucifer." Raphael shakes her head and grimaces."Linda and I tried, but he used his gift on us, and now Lucifer is the only one that can do it. Charlie helps."

"Lucifer has been gone for over a hundred years, though?" Chloe asks, confused. "And no one has had a session with Michael in all that time? What is his loop like?"

"He can see through the loops, and started harassing the demons, so he's in solitary confinement when he's not in session." At Chloe's aghast look, Raphael winces, acknowledging the less-than-ideal circ*mstances. "I know, Chloe, but he's difficult at best. And you have to remember, he's not human. Time is… different… for us."

Time isn't different for you, she thinks furiously, remembering all the times that Lucifer had clung to her hard enough to make her ribs creak, trembling at the thought of having to part from her yet again for millennia. Just because you've survived more of it, doesn't mean it passes any differently.

She still doesn't know how he's managed all this time. She keeps reminding herself that it's been less than a day on Earth, and she misses him so much she can hardly breathe. She supposes, in her darker moments, that it's a good thing she's dead, and doesn't really need to breathe anymore. She pulls herself out of her thoughts with a wrench, focusing on her anger as an anchor. She doesn't let herself wonder how often Lucifer had done the same while he was stuck down here.

"As I recall, wasn't that part of your Dad's excuse for tossing Lucifer down here alone for what amounted to billions of years?" Chloe challenges, and the Healer pales at the comparison.

"I would think you could appreciate how dangerous Michael is, Chloe," Raphael co*cks her head, green eyes narrowing thoughtfully as she returns to the previous topic. "He's finally starting to open up to Lucifer a very little, but he can't be trusted."

"I don't intend to trust him," Chloe scoffs, "But solitary confinement is a form of torture. And I thought we were getting out of that line of work?"

"What do you suggest?" Raphael sighs, casting her eyes toward the ceiling in silent supplication. "It's not like we can provide Michael with a companion. He'll terrorize them."

"Let me talk to him."

"Not a chance," Raphael's answer is instant, a knee-jerk reaction. "He's dangerous."

"And I'm already dead," Chloe points out rationally. "What more can he do to me?"

"Ask Linda," Raphael growls, causing Chloe to draw back. The gentle Healer has never looked so fierce in the years Chloe has known her. "Ask Linda what he can do. You've felt his power when you lived, yes? How easily he planted the seeds of doubt about how Lucifer felt about you? If you think he can't do that, and more, even though you no longer have a pulse, you can think again."

*

"Michael?" Linda asks breathlessly, when Chloe takes the question to her. "Chloe, after what he did to you, after what he did to Lucifer, why do you want to talk with him? Keep your distance, he's dangerous."

"That's what Raphael said," Chloe grits her teeth, impatience warring with her need to do something useful. "But Linda… I'm dead. What do I have left to be afraid of?"

"He can find something," the therapist says shakily. "He always does."

"Linda, I need to do something. I'm going crazy down here being unable to really help. I'm not doing anything. Nobody's working with Michael. Maybe I can get through to him."

"Lucifer– "

"Told you to keep me out of Trixie's loop," Chloe interrupts smoothly. "Which I have cooperated with. He didn't say anything about any other loops. Come on, Linda, I know you can't be satisfied with solitary confinement as a therapy technique. Raphael says Lucifer uses Charlie as backup to keep tabs on Michael's emotional state and sort of nudge him during Lucifer's sessions with him. Let me talk to him, with Charlie nearby to monitor."

"Charlie can't pull you out of there if there's an issue," Linda shakes her head stubbornly. "He hasn't had any direct contact with Michael, and we're keeping it that way."

"What if I had a demon for backup?" Chloe suggests shrewdly. "Someone Charlie could send in as cavalry if needed?"

"You don't know what you're asking," Linda sighs. "Wait until Lucifer gets back, and talk it over with him."

"I think I deserve the right to confront my murderer in his Hell loop," Chloe says, after a moment's consideration. "Last time I kicked his ass. The time before that I played him hard, then shot him. I think I can handle it, Linda."

"Raphael and I thought so, too," Linda says wryly. "If anything happens to you, if Michael…"

"If anything happens, Gromos can pull me out and I'll never bring it up again," Chloe promises, sensing victory. "Please, Linda, I have to try. Lucifer has been working so hard down here, you all have. I… I need to make a contribution, and I think I can do that by working with Michael."

"We'll see how you feel about that when you're a shivering, anxious mess after he's done with you," Linda's mouth twists bitterly. "It took Raphael and Lucifer months to put me back together, and it took poor Raphael over a year to be able to see anyone but the very gentlest souls we have here after Michael got hold of her. You need to think about this very carefully, Chloe. If you go in there, and Michael gets inside your head…"

"I know, he's dangerous– "

"That's not where I'm going with this, Chloe." Linda's voice is dead serious. "If Michael gets inside your head, and we can't put you back together before Lucifer gets back, he will kill him."

Chloe's eyes widen as Linda's gaze meets hers and locks. "He's already had to kill one brother to protect you. What do you think it would do to Lucifer if he had to do it again? To his twin, no less, that he's been working diligently toward redemption for almost two million years." When Chloe can't seem to produce any words, Linda nods, satisfied that she's made her point. "Think about this, Chloe. Very carefully. More than just your sanity rides on your decision, okay?"

"Okay," Chloe mouths silently, then gets up to leave the office.

She has a lot to think about.

*

Chloe winds up taking the same corridor back to Lucifer's base, his 'penthouse', that they'd taken on her very first excursion, when Gromos had summoned them to Frank's office about Trixie's arrival. She hasn't been back this way since then, but when she comes across the tree, she blinks in surprise.

At first she thinks she must be misremembering. This can't be the same tree, she's seen them at various stages now, and by her reckoning, this one can't be more than 200 years old, but it's enormous. Nowhere near as big as the first of course, or even the second, but it's easily three times the height that it had been when she'd first seen it, in only a little over a century of growth.

Even more strangely, she can see tiny swellings on the thorny branches that look like the beginnings of the little, burr-like fruits.

But that can't be right. Lucifer had told her that only the original tree that he had planted with the Staff of Life bears fruit. The others are sterile. Her hand drifts up to stroke the draped mint-green leaves, then skirts over to lightly rub the soft fuzz on the deep, purplish black ones.

The tree is healthy, there's no doubt about that, and when she breathes in, she can sense just the slightest hint of the tingling of divinity she feels when she's around the older trees. She puzzles about it for a moment before she shakes her head and walks on, determined to consider Linda's warning in the privacy of her own eternal home.

*

Ella's waffles are certainly not in the same league as the ones Dan serves in his little grotto that he shares with Charlotte in the Silver City, but Lucifer finds that he doesn't mind a bit.

Miss Lopez's light still shines every bit as brightly as it ever had, and it makes his heart happy to see her so content and comfortable with Carl. She tries to keep her natural ebullience at bay in deference to Beatrice and Chloe's passing, but her insider knowledge of the existence of an afterlife and her excitement at seeing Lucifer again keeps buoying her back up. It helps that Lucifer can give an update on how Chloe is doing in the afterlife, though he remains vague about Beatrice, which Ella simply accepts to mean that Bea is in Heaven. The fact that he and Rory both speak of them in the present tense doesn’t hurt, either.

All in all, breakfast is a subdued, but happy walk down memory lane; almost like a wake (though Lucifer is the only one drinking alcohol) with Ella sharing stories of times with Chloe and Bea, and Lucifer and Rory both drinking them in eagerly, getting to hear about parts of their lives that they hadn't gotten to see.

Once breakfast is eaten, Carl offers to clean up, and Ella appropriates the checklist from Rory on what needs to be done to plan the memorial. They're deep in discussion, with Lucifer watching them fondly, when he feels Chloe in the back of his mind again. He smiles and quickly excuses himself to the patio so he can listen properly, then has to restrain himself from unfurling his wings in front of the neighbors walking their pomeranian and returning to Hell right then.

Lucifer, I'm… I'm sorry, but I'm going to ask for a favor. Her voice is hesitant, and he wonders what she could possibly be so shy of asking him about. She should know he'll give her anything he's able–

He freezes, his heart stilling in his chest as his mouth dries and fear forms a lump in his throat and a roiling pool of acid in his gut.

Is this it? Is he to have less than a day by her side before she asks to be transferred to the Silver City?

Perhaps Beatrice has already ascended, and she wants to be with her… Yes, that would make sense. He squares his shoulders and prepares for the worst. Whatever she asks, of course it is hers.

I've been talking with Linda and Raphael, and… I want to talk to Michael.

What?

His heart stutters a few beats before stumbling to a stop again.

No.

His wings flare in the ether and he forcibly holds them back, though he'd be willing to bet his eyes flash red. He's about to go make his excuses for a quick return to Hell, when she continues.

You're probably getting ready to come roaring back here, and I'm going to tell you right now, Lucifer Morningstar, don't you dare abandon our daughter. She still needs you there. I'm not going to talk to him yet, I'm still working out safeguards and stuff… but I didn't want to do this behind your back.

He grumbles, but settles reluctantly into one of the low Adirondack chairs to listen.

I want to help, and I think this might be the best thing I can do right now. Charlie is going to monitor closely while I'm with him, and Gromos is going to be at the ready to help me get out if it seems like Michael is going to be troublesome.

I know he's dangerous, and I know he got into my head once before, but… Lucifer, all my worst fears have already come true. Trixie is dead, and I wasn't there for her when she died. Rory is alone on Earth if you come back, and you and I are still apart, even when we thought we'd be together.

There's nothing left for him to play on, so I think I'm immune to anything he might try.

She's silent for a while, and he starts to wonder if she's resting her case, but then the beloved voice is back, whispering into his soul.

Please let me try. One of the things I've always loved most about you is how you've always supported me in what I've needed to do, and I need to do this. Trust me, okay? I love you. Tell Rory I love her, too. I'll… I'll see you soon. I miss you. I love you.

He leans forward and rests his face in his hands, rubbing his palms along his cheeks and listening to the soft shushing of his stubble.

"Anything I can do to help?"

Lucifer jumps. He'd been so distracted that he hadn't heard Carl's approach. He eyes the former Detective, taking in the physical changes that time had ravaged him with: a brazen scar running horizontally across his forehead under a receding silver hairline, narrowly missing his shaggy white eyebrows. Deep laugh lines wreath his eyes and mouth, accentuated by matching lines on his cheeks. His faded hazel eyes haven't lost an ounce of their kindness or intelligence, but he would expect no less of the man honored to be chosen as Miss Lopez's husband.

"You've already been helpful with soothing Miss Lopez's grief after I had to break the news, Carl," Lucifer waves him off gently. "I thank you for that."

"Okay, look, Lucifer." He leans forward earnestly and rests his elbows on his knees. "I know we don't know each other all that well, but I know that you know Ella is my wife, and I know you know my name is Carol. I'm not gonna call you out on that, because I also know you're going through a lot, even for an immortal angel Devil Healer guy, okay? Ella thinks the world of you, and if she loves you that much, then I do too. Now how can I help?"

"If…" he hesitates, unsure how to approach the subject. Yes, the man is willingly sitting and engaging the Devil in frank conversation, but Lucifer isn't sure where the line is here, and he doesn't want to be responsible for breaking Miss Lopez's husband. "If Miss Lopez expressed a need to do something reckless and entirely unnecessary that would jeopardize her mental well-being… how would you, er, respond?"

Carl considers for a moment while Lucifer watches him carefully. "Something unnecessary, but she needs to do it?"

"Mmhm," Lucifer agrees sourly. "She feels compelled to try to help, despite the risk to herself."

"She's aware of the risks?"

"As aware as she can be without actually experiencing them, yes."

The old man sighs, and leans back in his chair, squinting up at the sky with pale, watery eyes. "Nothing to do then, but support her as I can and help her put herself back together if she breaks."

"Bloody hell, that's what I thought you'd say," Lucifer scowls. "I was hoping for a more palatable answer, Carl."

"Sorry, man," he chuckles. "Chloe's already pushing her limits in Hell?"

"When has she not?" A small, fond smile tugs at his lips. "She was praying to me just now, telling me of her plan to– "

"Dude, people can pray to you??"

"No, Miss Lopez, unfortunately– " but his explanation trails off because in the back of his mind is another familiar, beloved voice, and he doesn't know how to react.

I can't believe you never told me about this! I could have been talking to you all this time like I have Amenadiel? The Big Dude never answers though, even when I'm just saying hi, like… not cool.

"I…" he stares back at his grinning friend, utterly stunned. "I suppose it is rather rude of him to never respond, Miss Lopez. Though I can't reply in kind, of course, I will do my best to… correspond however I may in future."

"Oh, this is awesome. I've missed you so much, it's gonna be great to be able to talk to you again!" She crosses the little patio and wraps her thin arms around his shoulders from behind, pulling him back into the reclining chair with a low grunt.

"I've… missed you as well, darling," he replies, distracted by his inner turmoil. After a moment of her excited gushing, he shakes himself free. "Er, right. So, what is next on our list, then?"

As she launches into what she has Rory researching, Lucifer sends a reluctant prayer to his sister about Chloe's proposal.

He doesn't mention that she might be able to respond.

Honestly, he's not sure he can deal with any more voices in his head right now.

Chapter 25: Surely You're Joking

Chapter Text

Chloe stands outside the nondescript door, trying not to be obvious about taking deep, calming breaths. She stares at it warily, reflecting on how she'd wound up here.

She wasn't even sure if Lucifer would be able to hear her prayer, so she couldn't tell if she or Raphael had been more surprised at Lucifer's acceptance of her request. Honestly, Chloe had expected a fight. She'd half expected him to show up in a flare of brilliant wings and red eyes, in a towering rage of determination to protect her from his psychopathic twin. She'd been prepared for shouting, and tears, and defensiveness.

In short, she'd been ready for a fight like the many she'd had with Dan after they were married. Where he'd nearly suffocated her with advice and denials and "Chloe, be reasonable", all under the loving guise of keeping her safe and protected, and she'd felt like a wild animal on the verge of gnawing off its leg to escape a trap.

Dan was a good man, and she's sure that he had believed he was keeping her safe.

She's known for a long time that Lucifer is far, far better for her. Maybe he hadn't been at first, when he was still learning how to trust, how to love. He'd protected her from situations beyond her knowledge by keeping her in the dark and unaware, and knowing now what she didn't then… she really can't blame him for that.

Especially since he's put so much effort into being better. She isn't sure why she expected Lucifer to react as Dan had any time she'd suggested something risky… maybe because it's obvious to her that Lucifer loves her so differently, and so very much more than Dan ever had. But when Raphael had appeared at the penthouse door with a blank look of utter surprise still plastered on her open face and told her that Lucifer had asked her to allow Chloe to speak to Michael, she'd nearly cried in relief.

He trusts me to do this. He trusts me not to mess up all his efforts here.

So she'd started studying, looking over Lucifer's notes (and there were so many, all studded with barbed comments that made her chuckle) about his conversations and observations with his brother. Once she'd felt like she had an idea of where Michael was mentally, she'd started making the arrangements with the others.

Linda's lips had set in a thin line of disapproval, but she hadn't spoken against it once Lucifer had granted his permission. Charlie had added his own insights based on his readings of Michael's emotional states, and Raphael had circled the discussions anxiously, adding pointers, precautions, and reassurances wherever appropriate.

So, when Chloe finds herself staring at the door she's been preparing to cross, she's understandably nervous, but working hard to hide it.

Because Michael is dangerous, and he will use any weakness he can ferret out to his own advantage.

This is just another interrogation. Deep breath. I can do this.

She glances at Charlie, who is watching her encouragingly, no doubt reading her turmoil, then at Gromos, who is grinning at her confidently.

"We've got you, Chloe." The demon nods, yellowed teeth flashing through his flayed cheek in a confident grin. Getting him to call her Chloe rather than ‘Detective’ had taken the better part of 30 years, and had felt like a true victory during her time here. She loves it when Lucifer calls her Detective, but at this point it feels like a pet name, and it's strange coming from anyone other than her partner. "And you've got this."

She nods, pressing her lips in an approximation of a smile. She considers sending Lucifer a prayer, but… she doesn't want him to worry, or be distracted from Rory right now. One more deep breath, and she reaches out to twist the handle.

She blinks at the sudden brightness, taking in her surroundings in an instant.

She isn't sure what she'd been expecting. A dank cave? A castle dungeon, with her partner's emaciated doppelganger hanging from chains and moaning pitifully? Maybe even a psychiatric ward, with a metal bed frame and a maniacally laughing archangel chained to it, wrists bleeding where cuffs were cutting into them with the force of his struggles.

She blinks those expectations away with a rising tide of shame. She knows Lucifer better than that. Though she's sure all of that and more has existed here, probably still exists in some loops, she knows that it's not Lucifer's doing.

The room she finds herself in is simple, but comfortable. There is a single chair, a bed, a low table beside it and a slightly higher one beside the chair, along with a small wall shelf of books. It takes her a moment to realize that the far wall is entirely, disconcertingly taken up with an enormous mirror. After a moment of confusion, Chloe realizes that it only reflects one thing in the room: Michael. Everything is in tones of white and silver, a stark contrast to Lucifer's preferred ebony and earth tones. She has a strong feeling that's based on the preference of the occupant, who turns in surprise at the sound of the door opening.

"Why, Detective!" The scar across his face pulls as he smiles, and though the voice he uses is her partner's, the lack of warmth in eyes would never fool her again, even without the scar. She rolls her eyes, and he drops the accent, continuing in his own flat, somewhat nasal voice. "Fancy seeing you here! How are you settling in?"

She'd been a little worried that, once faced with her one-time murderer, she would fall apart. That the memory of the staff being viciously plunged into her midriff, of seeing Lucifer disintegrate in front of her eyes, of coming back to life only to realize that the love of her life had given his life for hers would overwhelm her. Instead, she feels a familiar icy calm stealing through her as she regards his familiar features with an alien look of feigned concern directed at her.

This is nothing more than an interrogation room, and she feels suddenly at home. Confidence washes over her and she pulls in a slow breath that feels like it actually fills her lungs. She had been right. She can handle this.

"You knew I was here?" Lucifer had told her that Michael had claimed God had taught him how to ‘See’... Which is a skill she doesn't fully understand yet. She's hoping to get some clarity today.

"I know things, Detective," he smirks, and it's so different from Lucifer's that for a moment they look nothing alike. "Sight is limited here in Hell, but I can still See, if I work at it. Even if it’s only the Infernal plane. And really, what else do I have to occupy my time, when I tire of my 'self-reflection'?"

"Are you fishing for pity, Michael?" She lifts an eyebrow and steps closer as he turns from where he'd been staring into the mirror. "That doesn't seem like you at all."

"Not pity," he waves off her suggestion as insignificant, "Though I wouldn't have suspected you for being one to condone solitary confinement. Or is it okay because my crime was against you?"

She barks a laugh, which seems to surprise him. He co*cks his head, bird-like, and regards her with interest.

"Solitary confinement is really the only option for someone that wields fear and uncertainty as a weapon. Are you having some difficulty with being in only your own company, Michael? Maybe we can get you an emotional support hellhound." She sits down in the only chair and leans back, leaving him standing beside the mirrored wall. She's a little surprised at how comfortable the chair is. This is Hell, after all. He grimaces, but doesn’t turn away from her frank appraisal. "If you find it so unpalatable, then I hope you're using your free time to consider how to change that."

He seems disappointed that he doesn't get a rise from his thrown accusation, but quickly moves on to his next sally. "It's a little rude of my brother to drag you here and immediately abandon you for Earth," he oozes, all false sympathy and mock outrage. "It must be difficult for you, to be left behind again so soon. I thought he would last a little longer before leaving, especially with how fixated he was on you for a while there."

"So I take it your 'Sight' is a little limited." She rolls her eyes and snorts. "Or do you just suck at it?"

"Really, Chloe, now you're baiting me?" He scoffs, a wry smile twisting his features. "If you have questions, just ask. I am an open book."

"Right. Written in code. In Sanskrit." She shoots right back, and he chuckles darkly. To her surprise, he sits down on the floor, his back resting against the mirror. "It seems like you're still playing games here, Michael. What I don't understand is why."

"Why not?" He parries quickly, his lip curling in a sneer. "It's not as though any of my siblings would actually believe I could change. I killed Remi.”

"And you apparently planted the seeds for Lucifer's Rebellion and Fall, then plotted against your father," Chloe nods disinterested. "Quite the track record to overcome."

"So why bother?" He averts his gaze to the wall behind her. "I'm never getting out of here."

"I think Lucifer might have felt that way too," she shrugs, resolutely pushing aside the thoughts of exactly how long Lucifer had been trapped down here, without hope of escape. "And at the time, I'm pretty sure his transgressions were nowhere near as bad as yours."

"And look where he is," Michael crows triumphantly. "Right back here in Hell, right where Dad wanted him. He hasn't made any progress at all!"

"I think you're wrong," she says quietly, a small, proud smile on her face. "He left Hell behind and came to Earth, where he worked hard to grow into the person he wanted to be. He forged a mostly-healthy relationship with a brother that had terrorized him for years. He made Los Angeles safer in so many ways. He became God, despite all your machinations, then realized he had something else he needed to do, and he cared enough to give up everything he wanted in order to make it happen."

Michael stares at her, speechless for possibly only the second time in his very long life. (Chloe stifles her smug smirk when she realizes she had also been responsible for the first.) She looks back at him, her blue-green eyes clear and questioning. “So I guess the question I want you to answer most, Michael, is this: Who do you want to be?"

His mouth works, but no sound comes out, and Chloe stands to go. She looks back at him when he makes no move to stand. He suddenly looks incongruously young, sitting on the floor with his knees drawn up to his chest. "Once you have that answer, then you need to figure out what you need to change to make that happen. Lucifer did it, with a little help. I think he's determined to help you break his record."

When Michael still doesn't speak, she smiles. "And I'm determined to help both of you."

She turns and walks out the door. Gromos looks bored, but Charlie is watching her with pride and a little awe swimming in his dark eyes.

Chloe grins. She didn't get the answers she wanted, but somehow it still feels like a good start.

*

"Surely you're joking," Lucifer stares at Miss Lopez, waiting for the punchline.

"There aren't many, but there are a few people still around that could recognize you." She looks up at him with wide eyes. "I think we need to give you a cover story."

"Darling, I've never needed a cover story besides, 'I'm the Devil.'" He waves off her concern, "I hardly think I need to start now. Besides, if they knew me then, they've been told that I'm the Devil and immortal, so it should hardly be a shock for them."

"Do you really want to be responsible for giving Cacuzza a coronary?" Ella presses insistently. "At Chloe and Bea's memorial??"

"I'll not lie," he protests, affronted. Really, she should know this about him.

"I'm not asking you to lie, just… talk about yourself in the third person. I'll make sure that someone is with you all the time to introduce you."

"And who am I going undercover as?"

"Well, obviously you'll have to be your son." Ella suggests. Then, playfully, "Damien?"

"Really, Miss Lopez?" His lip twitches. "I'm to be my daughter's brother? Or… I assume these people would know that Rory is mine?" Concern blooms. "Well, they're not likely to welcome my presence, if they think my ‘father’ ran off and left Chloe to raise his child alone, then sired ‘me’... Perhaps it's best if I maintain my distance."

"And leave Rory to face it alone?" Her lips purse in disapproval. "Chloe was very clear that you had no choice in leaving. These people aren't going to hold anything against you, because you're not going to be Lucifer. Are you?"

He sighs, considering allowing himself to bend to Miss Lopez's will. "Damien? Truly?"

"You're a method actor, what else would you name your son?"

"You have an odd sense of humor, Miss Lopez."

"You love me anyway," she teases, giving him a hug. He returns it with a low chuckle, murmuring into the top of her head,

"I do indeed."

Rory enters the room, then, fidgeting in her mourning clothes. Not that black is out of her comfort zone, but usually it's not so… demure. And she prefers a leather jacket as an extra layer. She has the distinct, haunted look of someone about to be sent to the gallows.

Lucifer catches her eye over Miss Lopez's head– not difficult to do, as she's only gotten shorter with age– and gives her a reassuring smile. She's become more and more fidgety over the past couple days as arrangements have been made, and he knows she's as anxious to go see her family as he is.

"Not long now, love," he offers, as Ella pulls away and yanks Rory into a hug instead. "We can be away just as soon as you like once this spectacle is done."

"You'll… come back and visit, won't you?" Ella pulls back from her tight grip on Rory, dark eyes flickering from father to daughter and back again. "I mean, now that you can?"

"I will be happy to come and visit, darling, but my time is somewhat limited… work to be done, and all."

"I know you're busy, but Rory will be here too, and…" she trails off suddenly, realizing that Rory may well decide to spend the majority of her time elsewhere now. "You will, won't you, Rory?"

"I'm… not sure yet," she admits. "I haven't really had time to think about the future. I…" she swallows, her gaze avoiding her audience. "I want to help. In Hell. But… I don't know how."

"Oh, that's easy," Ella waves off her concern. "I'll give you the name of the school where Chloe and I took our psychology courses. If I refer you, they'll even waive the application fee… not that that's really a problem for you, I guess," she shrugs.

"You took classes as well?" Lucifer asks, puzzled. At the same time, Rory blurts,

"What courses?"

"Right, I guess you wouldn't know," she hesitates, biting her lip. "When Linda told us what she was planning to do, we… we decided we wanted to help, too. So she recommended a school with great online courses in psychology. Linda helped us a lot, even giving us extra books and access to the materials from her own courses that she taught at USC. Charlie, too, of course."

"You were all conspiring together?" Lucifer doesn't know whether to be touched or appalled, and finally settles on some uncomfortable combination of the two. "Why on Earth–?"

"Didn't we tell you?" Ella asks slyly, when he can't continue the thought around the lump in his throat. "We all kinda figured you'd try to talk us out of it, like you did Chloe."

"I would have!" He shakes his head in disbelief. "Miss Lopez, Hell is no place for any of you."

"Look, buddy, I get that you want the best for us, I do. But I also know that you're the biggest advocate ever for making our own choices. I'm pretty sure my brothers are heading your direction soon, and I want to help them, but that's not the only reason I'm coming to help you. Carol is too, by the way, but I think he wants to go see his parents before he comes Downstairs. Chloe told us what you did for Dan. And Charlotte. And what you’re doing for all those other souls." Her eyes are wet now, and he blinks away the haze of tears that brighten his own. "We’re helping. Get used to the idea."

"You guys have all had to keep so many secrets because of me," Rory whispers. She startles as they turn to face her, eyes wide as though she hadn't realized she'd spoken aloud. Her eyes are brimming with tears as well, now. "I mean, I lived here with Mom, how did I not even know she was taking classes? How much extra work did she have to do to… to keep that stupid promise?"

"She never regretted it for a minute," Ella is quick to reassure, so that Lucifer's silence isn't as obvious. "She told me that she would do it all again, because you were worth it."

"That's what she told me, too," Rory wraps her arms around herself, and wordlessly seeks her father's gaze.

"It wasn't easy, but life rarely is," he says quietly, holding out a hand to her. She takes it, and he draws her into a soft embrace as Ella looks on, beaming. "We wouldn't have changed you for the world, Aurora Morningstar."

"You guys about ready to– oh, for Hell's sake, more tears? Is Amenadiel trying to flood LA?"

"Like you haven't been crying the past couple of days, Maze," Rory mutters into Lucifer's jacket, as the Devil aims a smirk over his daughter's head at his best fiend.

"I just had… something in my eye," Mazikeen protests, playing self-consciously with the white stone ring on her finger. Lucifer averts his gaze. It had been his idea to give Chloe’s ring to the demon after her passing– it had belonged to Lilith first, after all– but that doesn’t make it hurt any less to see it adorning another finger than Chloe’s. Maze clears her throat pointedly. "We going, or what?"

"Now hold on just a minute," Lucifer says incredulously, "just who is Mazikeen supposed to be?"

"Me, duh," the demon replies, nonplussed. "Why?"

"Why does Mazikeen get to be herself, but I'm supposed to pretend to be someone else?"

Ella looks imploringly at Rory, who shrugs. "Honestly, probably nobody will ask. This is LA, and it's not like he was exactly normal when he was living here. Memorials aren't really a place for social introductions, are they?"

Ella looks unconvinced, but allows the subject to drop with a fervent prayer to Lucifer's brother that they can avoid any scenes if Lucifer's identity comes to light.

*

The memorial affects Lucifer far more than he'd thought possible. When the podium is opened for guest eulogies, the stories that flow forth have his heart swelling in his throat and he suddenly finds it difficult to breathe.

It's far worse even than the pain he'd felt at Daniel's funeral, when he'd had the added anguish of discovering that his friend hadn't made it to Heaven, not to mention that the Detective had been furious with him about his reasoning behind his bid for his father's throne.

He knows that unlike Daniel, Chloe lived a full and largely happy life. He also knows that he's only a wingbeat away from folding her into his arms, and somehow that knowledge only makes the grief and longing worse. He keeps to the fringes of the gathering, never stopping to chat longer than necessary to avoid being rude, and concedes to Miss Lopez's wishes by never offering his name. He manages to avoid a few of Beatrice's more aggressive single and divorced friends by pretending not to speak English (or Spanish), and finds himself slumped on a bench at the end of it all, feeling strangely empty. The piano before him beckons, and he tentatively picks out the opening notes to a familiar song.

Miss Lopez materializes behind him, her small hand a comforting weight in his shoulder, and starts to sing in a soft, rich alto.

Triste es, decir adiós

A lo que fue

The good times that made us laugh

Outweigh the bad

Creí tener lo que es eterno

Pero eterno se me fue

Triste es, decir adiós a ayer.

Lucifer joins her in a harmony in English, and somehow they manage to make it through the song until Rory joins them for the ending, her trembling hand gripping his other shoulder tightly.

And I'll take with me the memories

To be my sunshine after the rain

It's so hard, to say goodbye

To yesterday.

It's so hard, to say goodbye

To yesterday.

Their voices resonate in the nearly empty reception hall, leaving a throbbing silence hanging above them.

"Why don't you two go?" Ella suggests gently. "Carol and Maze and I can finish up here, and… I think you have people waiting for you, don't you?"

"I think we do, Miss Lopez," Lucifer replies in a voice now choked with longing. He stands gracefully from the piano, their hands falling from his shoulders. "I'll go say my farewells to Maze. If you need me, you know how to reach me, hm?"

"I do, so go on. They're waiting for you both."

"Thanks, Ells," Rory whispers hoarsely, giving the older woman a tight hug. "I'll come see you soon."

"Make sure your dad comes too, sometimes, hm?" She murmurs in her ear, "I have a feeling he doesn't take any time off unless he's forced to."

"No promises." A watery smile splits her face. "I've heard he's almost as stubborn as I am."

"Then I know you can convince him."

"If I can't, Mom can."

"Your mom could convince that man to do anything," Ella shakes her head fondly. "All she had to do was ask, and he was falling all over himself to make whatever it was happen."

"Why didn't they get together sooner, then?" Rory asks, shaking her head in puzzlement. "Why did it take them so long?"

"She wouldn't ask," Ella snorts, "and he was too afraid to prove who he is and risk losing her to offer."

"Idiots," Rory smiles again, but a tear skips down her cheek. Lucifer approaches, then, fidgeting with his cuffs.

"Ready, Rory?" She looks up at him thoughtfully, and he lifts an inquiring eyebrow.

"I um, need to talk to Maze, I need her to take care of some… stuff. While I'm gone. And I need to talk to Ella about getting me the information on those classes." She bites her lip, her cheeks flushing a little. "Why don't you go ahead, and, uh, I'll be there in a couple hours? Give you guys some time to… catch up?"

"Rory, that's not necessary, I know your mother is looking forward to seeing you–"

"I'll be right behind you," she promises earnestly. "Just… she's been waiting for you for like 45 years. You can have a couple hours before you've got to be a… a family. Okay?"

"Hours," Lucifer repeats slowly. "Rory, there's something–"

"Are you still here?" Maze laughs, approaching. "I figured you'd be working on making another dent in the wall by now!"

"Go," Rory encourages again, and Ella nods her agreement. "I'll be there soon."

"All right," he allows, unwilling to inform her about the time difference with an audience. "Don't be surprised if she sends me after you if you take too long."

Rory laughs weakly. "Honest, I'll be a couple hours. That's all. And, uh, I'll be sure to knock."

That pulls a full-throated laugh from the Devil. "I'll be sure to let your mother know."

Rory pulls Maze alway with her, and Ella closes the distance between them.

"Don't you be a stranger, you hear me?" She reprimands, poking her friend in the chest fiercely with an arthritic finger before yanking him into another hug.

"That could never happen," he assures her. "I'm sure Chloe will want frequent updates on your well-being."

"Yeah, well, same," she sniffles and pulls back with a trembling smile. "You'll hear from me if I go too long without seeing that handsome mug of yours. ¿Me entiendes?"

"You have my word, I will visit," he promises, glancing after Rory and Maze.

"Don't worry, I'll keep her busy with school details for as long as I can," she smirks. "Give you guys a chance to really catch up."

"Miss Lopez, that's really not nec–"

"Enough, go! You'll feel better once you're with her." She waves him off, already turning away to gently herd off some stragglers near the buffet table.

Lucifer glances around, taking in the large portraits of Chloe and Beatrice smiling benevolently, and silently agrees.

He's barely out of the room before he manifests his wings and crosses the dimensional plane to make his way home. To make his way to Chloe.

Chapter 26: It Used To Be Worse

Chapter Text

Decades pass into another century, and Chloe slowly finds her footing in Hell. She starts first by helping Raphael with the more timid souls in Purgatory, slowly working her way up to helping Charlie and Linda on the more challenging souls while Frank continues to handle the new arrivals and the spiritual fanatics.

She continues to visit with Michael. Surprisingly, he never tries to use his fear mojo on her, though as time passes she realizes that Lucifer had been right… Less seems to be more when dealing with his petulant patient. If she plants a seed at one visit, then drops in for another consultation too soon, it never seems to take root the way she wants it to. If she waits for a while between visits, though, she seems to notice a small change.

Charlie agrees with her, when she asks him about it.

"Is it because he's an angel?" She finally bursts out in frustration. "I mean, even Lucifer seemed like he learned much faster than this! He was on Earth for less than 10 years, and he grew so much– " her voice chokes at the unfairness of the brevity of his time there, of their time together that still managed to change them both so profoundly. “Even stuck down here, he’s still managed to learn and… and grow, but…”

"Lucifer wanted to change," Charlie offers, after a moment of thought. "He already thought he was flawed, broken, and he wanted to be… worthy. Michael… well. He doesn't see his flaws, only his failures. He wants out, but he doesn't particularly want to change. He has to want it for himself, not for the reward, and he doesn't yet."

"But you think he is making progress," Chloe asserts, and Charlie nods. She huffs out a frustrated breath.

"I know Michael is a special case, but… you seem to be taking this really personally, Chloe," Charlie observes hesitantly. "Do you want to talk about that?"

"That obvious, huh?" Chloe runs her fingers through her hair and sighs, sinking down into one of the chairs in their penthouse. She stopped thinking of it as a copy decades ago. It's now simply 'home'. Or at least, it will be, once Lucifer is back.

"Maybe a little," he teases gently. "But to be fair, I am a trained psychologist. And I've known you my entire life."

"So, what, you think that gives you a pass to go poking around in my brain?" She narrows her eyes in mock accusation, and Charlie laughs, bright and bold.

"Yep. That's how it works down here, Aunt Chloe." He gestures around, indicating their surroundings. "We all have to check in with each other to make sure we don't go too deep, or wear ourselves down too much. Lucifer's usually the worst about it, but Raphael and my mom are nearly as bad. Now, tell me what's on your mind."

"Your bedside manner is terrible," she snipes half-heartedly, gathering her thoughts. "It's a good thing you never tried to go into practice."

"You're not in bed," he remarks, deliberately misunderstanding her sarcasm, "and besides, since there are lots of therapists on Earth, and a shortage down here, I thought my skills might be better put to use here. So?"

"So, Lucifer's been stuck down here for so long," she begins, threading her fingers together and staring down at them intently. "And I know he spends a lot of time working with and fretting about Michael. I… I think he sees the person he could have been, when he looks at him. The person that Hell could have made him into, if he hadn't been… him. Does that make sense?"

"And you hope that, by helping Michael redeem himself, that this will in turn help Lucifer?"

"Don't you think it will?" She pleads, her blue-grey eyes shine in the dim light as she looks up at him. "They're twins, Charlie, how can he not see himself when he looks at Michael? If… if he can be redeemed, then maybe Lucifer will truly realize his own worth."

“Michael has had billions of years for his bad habits to settle, and he only got taken down a peg or two less than two million years ago, for him. It’s going to take time, and lots and lots of concentrated effort.” He sighs, and when his nearly black eyes meet hers, they are kind. "Lucifer knows the value of the work he's doing here."

"But he still doubts his value," Chloe points out, frustrated. "He's still measuring himself by what he can offer, and he's so much more than that. I want that realization for him. He deserves to be seen for himself, because who he is, is breathtaking."

"I agree with you," Charlie confirms easily. "Mom has always said that Lucifer is one of the best men she's ever known, even with all his flaws. But we can't make him see himself the way we do."

"I know that." She waves off the insinuation. "But that doesn't mean I can't try to help. If Michael finds a better path and straightens out… surely that can't hurt how Lucifer sees himself?"

"No, I suppose not," he replies, but she has the feeling he's humoring her. "He's been struggling alone for a long time, Chloe. It'll take time– "

"Time," Chloe sighs. "Time has been working against all of us for far too long. Do you think we can ask your dad to drop this double-time deal that Lucifer made?"

"Why?" Charlie asks in surprise. "Now that you're here, the only ones it would really affect are me and Rory, and we can come and go as we please."

"But… I thought Lucifer only asked for it so he could… try to make some progress before I got down here?” A sick feeling twists in her gut, because one of the first things she’d asked of him once she did make it here was for him to leave her behind again. “Because he… didn't want me to be 'stuck' down here longer than absolutely necessary?"

"Yeah, I mean, that's why Dad offered to do it in the first place," Charlie admits, "But even though it wasn't what Lucifer wanted– and it was really, really hard on him enduring all that extra time away from you– it has made our jobs way easier. Now that you're here… it makes just as much sense to give us as much time as possible to work with the backlog while also managing the new arrivals."

Chloe considers this, biting her lip pensively. "How do you manage this time difference, Charlie? Balancing between here and Earth? Isn't it hard?"

"It's not easy to maintain my friendships there," he admits with a shrug, "But I don't mind the effort it takes when I can make such an enormous difference by spending most of my time here."

His words are casual, but his eyes shine with the same purpose Chloe had seen glowing in Amenadiel's when he'd talked about fixing the LAPD, and Lucifer's when he'd realized his calling as Hell's Healer.

Never mind the fact that she had wound up doing all the legwork for rehabilitating the LAPD while Amenadiel had become more and more distant, and now here she is, one of a small but dedicated team of Hell’s Healers. She wonders briefly if they should get matching polo shirts, or jackets or something.

"Rory and I aren't human, Chloe, not the way you are," he offers in explanation, breaking her out of her thoughts. "Spanning spiritual planes is in our blood. We'll be fine. You'll see, once she visits."

"I've been wondering when they'll arrive, actually. It usually takes a few days to get everything in order, but if Trix's accident is being investigated, it might take longer."

Charlie's shoulders hunch at the reminder. She knows he feels a little guilty for not attending the memorial service, but she'd been the one to ask him to stay and continue his work with Trixie here instead. Plus, she had needed his help with Michael.

She’s still surprised that Michael has yet to try to use his mojo on her. She smirks to herself as she briefly wonders if he’s more afraid of being left alone with no one to chat with but his therapist twin, or of her kicking his ass all over again. She’s never brought up the reason for her superhuman strength during their fight, and she isn’t sure if Michael ever put two and two together while he was getting his feathery ass handed to him. She sincerely doubts that he’s wanted to dwell on it since.

"I have no doubts that the moment they're able, they'll be here," Charlie assures her evenly as she pulls herself back to the conversation at hand. And though she already knew that, of course she did, she appreciates the affirmation. A knock at the door interrupts whatever he was about to say next, and Chloe looks up, her heart pounding hopefully.

"Enter!" She calls around the tightness in her throat. She stands, eagerly approaching the elevator doors as they slide open. She tries not to let disappointment color her tone too heavily when the entrant is not a certain beloved, besuited Devil. "Oh, Malara. Hello, did you need Charlie for something?"

"Raphael sent me, my lady," Malara's gravelly voice announces, her ash blonde head dipping in a nod of respect. "She says she's ready for you."

"Trixie," Chloe breathes, looking over her shoulder with wide eyes. Charlie nods encouragingly.

"Go," he urges. "This is much sooner than I would have expected, that's a good thing, Chloe." She bobs her head, and hurries through the doors, the demon scurrying along in her wake.

*

She bursts through Raphael’s office door with the barest courtesy knock, looking around the neatly organized room eagerly. “Trix?”

“She’s not here yet, Chloe,” Raphael smiles sympathetically, her green eyes crinkling as Chloe’s shoulders slump a little. “I wanted to talk to you first, give you the game plan, so to speak, and make sure you don’t have any questions to address before I bring her here.”

“Charlie said it’s sooner than he expected…” She tries to stamp down on the hope that snakes its way around her heart and coils tightly.

“She’s making remarkable progress, helped along by the fact that she already has an understanding not only of how the human mind works, but also of how Hell works,” Raphael smiles. “Did you teach her that, or did Lucifer?”

“Lucifer taught both of us, though Linda helped a lot in his absence,” Chloe shakes her head impatiently. “How long until she’s ready to ascend?”

“You know I don’t have an answer to that, Chloe,” the Healer’s green eyes dim a little with sympathy. “But she’s making wonderful progress, and I think she’s nearly ready to move into one of the purgatory rooms. I hope that our conversation today can jumpstart that process.”

“Do we have a plan?” Chloe sinks down into one of the comfortable chairs, rubbing her temples with trembling fingers. She’s about to see her daughter for the first time in over four centuries, and even though she’s managed to keep herself busy, it’s been her own personal Hell. When combined with her longest-ever separation from Lucifer, and Rory as well... No one can blame her for wanting a reunion. She’s having a hard time settling her anticipation into the calm frame of mind she’ll need to follow along with Raphael’s treatment. “Topics to avoid? Anything to reinforce?”

“You’ve been doing this long enough that I trust you not to misstep too badly,” she soothes, pushing a little of her gift into it. Chloe feels it as a pleasant, soothing tingle that courses through her, calming her trembling and leaving her alert and focused. “I think if you tried to stick to a script, or at least to scripted points, Trixie would know, and likely suspect that you’re hiding something.”

“She would,” Chloe agrees ruefully, thinking wryly of how perceptive both her daughters are. Keeping the secret of Rory’s involvement in her father’s absence had been excruciatingly difficult up until Rory had decided that she didn’t care anymore and mostly stopped asking.

“This is primarily a visitation today,” the archangel tilts her head as she regards her friend. “Let her ask you questions, answer them. Reassure her that she’s loved, but I know you’ll do that anyway. I haven’t told her where Lucifer is… but when she asks– and she will– it’s okay to tell her now.”

“Why didn’t you tell her before?” Chloe wonders, puzzled at why such information would be withheld. “I would have thought that the idea that Lucifer was with Rory would– oh.” Her eyes widen with realization as Raphael nods slowly. “Because she feels guilty for not making it back?”

“Mmhm,” Raphael’s nose wrinkles. “It wasn’t the driving factor for her presence here, but it might have been enough to put her over the edge, so to speak. I thought, at least for her initial rehabilitation, it might be best to avoid any new triggers so she wouldn’t wind up entrenched even deeper. Especially with Lucifer busy elsewhere and unable to tweak the Loop unless I went to get him.”

“Which would still leave Rory alone on Earth, yeah,” Chloe sighs. “It makes sense. You’re sure she’s okay to talk about it now? I don’t want to undo all the hard work you two have done–”

“She’s made wonderful progress, and I don’t think she’s in any danger of being sucked back into her guilt now,” the Healer muses. “Lucifer was meticulous as ever with the tweaks to her loop, and they’ve held up wonderfully as she’s come along. If I notice the conversation veering into dangerous waters, I’ll intervene, but otherwise I’ll probably just let the two of you have a visit.”

“Okay,” she takes a deep breath and releases it slowly, butterflies leaping in her stomach. “Okay. Okay, okay. I’m ready.”

“Chloe, relax,” the Healer’s smile is warm, and she must be using her gift again, because the butterflies slowly come to rest, gently opening and closing their wings rather than fluttering frantically as they had been doing. She stands up from her desk and crosses to the door, tossing over her shoulder, “I’ll go get her. I know she’s eager to see you, too.”

Chloe takes another deep breath as the door closes behind Raphael, and sits back, crossing her left leg over her right. She feels something soft and squishy around her ankle, and looks down, grimacing as she notices a bevy of the greyish-brown, berrylike fruits that have started falling from the Tree of Life near the penthouse. She’d been in such a hurry to get here that she hadn’t taken her usual care to avoid the little clingers. She pulls them off one by one, brushing her fingers absently over the fine hairs that seem to act like velcro and cause the berries to be swept along with any fabrics they come into contact with.

There isn’t a trash can in the office– why would there be, after all, it’s Hell, it’s not as though there’s a janitorial service here– so she places the fruits into the little decorative dish on Raphael’s desk. She’ll pass them off to a demon so they can be scattered somewhere that doesn’t have a tree yet.

That has been one of Chloe’s projects while Lucifer has been gone: she’s assigned a few volunteer demons to collect the fallen fruits from both fertile trees and scatter them about in the hopes that they’ll take root. The more trees they have converting infernal energy into divine energy, the more divine energy they’ll have to funnel into their purgatory plans. That means Lucifer won’t have to invest as much of his own energies into maintaining the neutrality of the chambers. Anything she can do to make this herculean task even a little easier, she wants to do.

She removes the last of the fruits from the hems of her jeans and stands, unable to sit still any longer. She paces the office, her hands nervously wringing in front of her as she tries to plan what to say. Will Trixie be angry that she hasn’t visited her? Will she feel betrayed that Chloe let her stay in her loop for so very long? Will she be a ghost of her former self, so entrenched in her perception of herself that she’s allowed herself to believe it?

No. No, that won’t be the case. Raphael said she’s doing well, and Lucifer fixed her Loop before he left. It’s no longer a Hell Loop, but a Therapy Loop. It’s been helping her, not reinforcing those negative self-images that she’d witnessed so very long ago. She tugs anxiously at the lapels of her blazer, fidgeting every bit as badly as Lucifer does when he’s discomfited by something.

After what feels like forever, the door opens, and Raphael enters, smiling encouragingly at the young woman walking closely behind her. She glances around the room for a moment, her deep brown eyes widening as she spies Chloe, who freezes.

Trixie appears as she was in her early twenties, her face long and lean, sable hair pulled back into a high ponytail like her mentor, Ella. Her willowy frame trembles a little as her beautiful face breaks into an enormous smile.

“Mom!”

That solitary word breaks Chloe’s stillness, and the two women leap across the room, meeting in a mutual tearful embrace. Raphael skirts the room and settles at her desk with a satisfied smile, immersing herself in the lists Frank had provided her with earlier and giving mother and daughter some time to reacquaint themselves.

It takes a long time before either one of them is ready to let go.

*

She can’t stop touching her daughter. A brush of fingers over her forearm, a touch of her hand, squeezing her fingers, guiding a wisp of hair away from her eyes, every movement a much-needed affirmation that Trixie is right here with her.

Her eyes are a little haunted, her demeanor a little subdued, but it’s Trixie, and Chloe feels as though her heart is going to escape her ribcage and flutter around the room like a confused starling that’s fallen down a chimney. They talk about nothing and everything for hours, maybe days. Chloe doesn’t care to keep track, and Trixie seems just as eager to be here as she is.

At one point in the conversation, Raphael chuckles quietly at something Trixie says, and they both glance over, having forgotten the archangel was even present. She waves them off, going back to her files, but Trixie’s eyes catch on the dish full of fuzzy fruits and her eyes light up.

“Ohhhh, are those dates? I am starving!” She reaches for some fruits and pops them in her mouth before Chloe can say anything, making a sour face as she swallows. “Okay, definitely not dates. What on earth are those?”

“Sorry, baby,” Chloe suppresses a smile. “They grow on a couple of the trees here, and they catch on everything like burrs. I picked them off the cuffs of my jeans while I was waiting for you. The demons told us they don’t taste very good.”

“They’re not wrong,” Trixie smacks her tongue against the roof of her mouth, then chuckles. “But at least I’m not hungry anymore. Whew. Those are nasty.”

“Yeah, they’re kind of a nuisance,” Chloe shakes her head, “but the trees that we can grow from them are worth the mess, since they’re the source of power we’re using for this new purgatory idea.”

“Yeah, you gotta tell me about that!” Trixie leans forward, wiping her mouth with her sleeve. “Raphael was saying that I’m going to be moving there soon, and it’s… different?”

Chloe hasn’t spent a lot of time in Purgatory yet, so she turns to Raphael with a questioning glance. The archangel looks up with a pensive twist to her lips.

“It is, but it’s a little difficult to explain for someone who wasn’t here before Lucifer managed to plant the first Tree,” she begins slowly, green eyes dark and thoughtful. “I don’t know if either of you have really noticed how… heavy the atmosphere is here?”

Chloe had noticed a weight descending on her any time she’d been walking the corridors, or working within the loops, but she’d thought that was just a side effect of the depressing nature of her surroundings. When she was in the offices, or the penthouse, the weight had lifted, and she hadn’t thought any more about it. Trixie’s brow furrows beside her, and Chloe turns to her, curious.

“I have, but… I thought it was just me feeling the weight of my guilt.” She leans back in her chair, curiosity written plainly on her face. She presses a hand to her chest. “I don’t feel it now… You’re saying that’s just… Hell?”

“It used to be worse,” Raphael explains gently. “When I first got here, it nearly crushed me. It took a long time for me to adjust, and it’s why so many of the souls that wanted to come help us in the beginning couldn’t stay. It pressed the hope right out of you.”

Chloe’s gut lurches as she pictures Lucifer down here alone for billions of years, perched listlessly on top of that bleak spire he calls a throne and pining for sunlight and freedom. What would it have been like for him to have a brief taste of that freedom, of happiness, only to have to return here again, knowing he had to stay? Had it helped at all, knowing that this time it was his decision, to preserve their daughter as she was? Knowing that this time he was helping people?

“Lucifer has arranged it so the offices and work areas aren’t as affected, but Purgatory was beyond anything he’d ever attempted before,” Raphael continues, tapping her fingers softly on her desk. “After that first attempt drained him so badly, I nearly forbade him from trying again, but he snuck back and planted that tree, and… well. That’s made all the difference. Now that he only needs to feed the chambers with his own energy periodically when he’s funneling more of the divinity from the trees into them, it’s created a little of a snowball effect. The trees are spreading throughout Hell, and with them a low level of ambient divinity that’s slowly counteracting the infernal energy– the guilt multiplication.”

“So if Hell is less, uh, Hellish, then what is Purgatory for?” Trixie tilts her head, eyes bright with interest.

“Hell is definitely still Hell,” the Healer shakes her head with a rueful smile. “It’s just that now Lucifer has some extra energy to help him make those necessary changes to transform Hell loops into rehabilitation loops. The default is still rooted in using the guilt that souls carry to create the punishment they think they deserve. Lucifer is the one that has to ferret out that guilt and craft the loop to point souls in the right direction to start addressing it and freeing themselves.”

“Lucifer has to do that with every loop?” Chloe asks, puzzled. “I thought Frank was the one that screened the new souls?”

“He is,” she agrees, “but sometimes the source of their guilt isn’t obvious, and Frank can’t manipulate the loops. Frank helps a lot, but Lucifer still has plenty to do. Honestly, I think he kind of likes it. He’s mentioned in passing that it makes him feel close to you, Chloe, like he’s working a case.”

She smiles, a small, sad little twist of her lips as she remembers the time they’d come down here to Jimmy Barnes’ loop, and how Lucifer had used young Jimmy’s desire for his mother to stay to create a sort of temporary haven for him. She wonders if Jimmy’s soul is still down here, watching cartoons with the illusion of his mother. Which makes her recall another soul she knows that wound up here…

“Is Kinley still down here?” She asks suddenly, warily. “I know he wound up here, because his body wound up possessed…”

“Oh, that one.” Her lips press into a thin line of disapproval, green eyes going flat and cold in an instant. “All it took to get rid of him was his realization that Lucifer was back in Hell for him to let go of his guilt from failing to send Lucifer back himself.”

“That’s the priest we met in Rome?” Trixie darts a cautious glance at her mother’s stricken expression. “The one that tried to get you to poison Lucifer?”

Chloe nods tightly. Trixie had been filled in on most of the truth over the years. Maze would occasionally bring up old hurts as a barb, and Trixie would ask about them later. Chloe, who had more than enough of lying to one of her daughters, had resolved to tell Trixie anything she wanted to know, with the caveat that Trixie not divulge anything sensitive to Rory.

“Seriously?” Trixie leaps to her feet, outraged. “How is it that that asshole gets to go to Heaven after lying and manipulating and killing people, and I wind up here because…” she chokes up, tears flooding her dark eyes. Chloe reaches out to her distraught daughter, but Trixie dances away, dashing the tears angrily from her eyes. “I thought Amenadiel was supposed to be working on fixing the system, but it sure still feels broken to me. Why should I have been dragged down here just because I felt like I was holding the people I loved back from doing really important stuff? Why would he get a free ticket to Heaven because he realized he succeeded in sending one of the best people I’ve ever met to Hell?”

“It’s not about right or wrong, Bea,” Raphael says quietly, though her tone says that she doesn’t disagree with Trixie’s assertion. “It’s about what the soul feels. You know that.”

“Yeah,” she spits bitterly, “I do know that, and I can tell you exactly how wrong that is. But I also know that doing something horrible just because you feel it’s right, doesn’t make it right. There should be consequences if you do something that hurts others. Especially if they’re innocent.”

Chloe reaches out and gently grasps Trixie’s shoulder, and this time she turns and allows herself to be folded into a hug.

“Kinley was in Hell for a long time, Bea,” Raphael points out, her voice still flat. “Some would say he was punished long enough.”

“But did he actually regret what he did?” Trixie challenges, pulling away from her mother’s embrace. “Was he actually sorry, or was he just happy that he got what he wanted? Was he just happy that he destroyed so many lives and achieved his stupid, twisted goal?”

The Healer purses her lips, and her non-answer is more than enough for Trixie’s eyes to catch fire. “That’s not right. I shouldn’t be here. I don’t know why I didn’t see it before, but I shouldn’t be here, and he should.” She glances around, wild-eyed, her gaze catching on her mother’s compassionate expression. “Not that I wouldn’t have come down here to help, Mom! You know I was going to, I’m still going to help– but you guys shouldn’t have had to waste so much time pulling me out of my loop. I shouldn’t have been there to start with! I didn’t do anything to deserve–” She staggers back, her hand going to her head.

“Trix?” Chloe steps forward, hand outstretched to steady her. “You okay, baby?”

“I’m–” she shakes her head, rubbing her chest. “Mom, I feel… kinda weird.”

“Bea?” Raphael stands, green eyes widening in surprise. “You’re okay, it’s just, um–”

She’s interrupted by a flare of white light emanating from Trixie’s chest. Chloe flinches back in surprise, and when Raphael blinks the flash sparkles from her eyes, she’s alone in her office.

“Oh, sh*t.” She unfurls her creamy wings. “What the Hell just happened?”

Another blink and the office is empty, a lone, gold-blotted feather floating down to rest on the desk.

Chapter 27: Oh my... Dad!?

Chapter Text

Lucifer lands in Hell just outside his penthouse, straightening his jacket and cuffs anxiously before barreling through the door with a wide smile.

“Detective?” He calls tentatively, unsure if she’s home or not. “Rory sent me on ahead, she wanted to give us some time while she had some discussions with Mazikeen and Miss Lopez–”

He trails off, because it’s obvious the penthouse is empty. Well. He knew she wouldn’t just sit around waiting for him. Now… where to find her? He closes his eyes and extends his senses, but feels nothing resembling her.

It would just figure that she would elude my talents even here.

With a sigh he turns on his heel and takes flight, heading for Linda’s office. Linda’s ‘in session’ light is on, so despite his impatience, he moves on to Frank’s office, where he finds his friend chatting with Charlie.

“Uncle, welcome back!” They greet him with wide grins. “How was the memorial?”

“Dismal,” he grimaces, “but I think Rory handled it well. It was good to see Miss Lopez and Mazikeen again. Rory sent me back a little early while she has a little chat with them. I wanted to prepare the Detective, do you know where I can find her?”

“She’s been sequestered with Raphael for a few days,” Frank supplies. “Apparently, Miss Beatrice is making good progress and they’re about to move her to Purgatory for her next stage of treatment. This was their first meeting since they both arrived here.”

“Beatrice is ready for Purgatory already?” Lucifer breathes, lighting up with relief. “Oh, that’s bloody brilliant, we’ll have her in the Silver City in no time! I wonder… I should probably give them some time together then. No sense barging in when they’re only just getting to see one another again.” He deflates a little, but when he notices the other two men starting to protest, he comes further into the room, talking briskly. “How has the Detective been settling in? She told me she wanted to work with Michael, but I haven’t heard anything since. Bring me up to speed on what I’ve missed. How long was I gone?”

“Not long,” Charlie offers, exchanging a glance with Frank. “A few centuries, maybe a little over four. Chloe’s handled her transition really well.”

Lucifer flinches a little at the mention of how much time had passed here without him but settles himself quickly, his expression darkening. “And how much trouble has Michael given her?”

“Surprisingly little.” Lucifer is surprised, and Charlie grins at him. “She studied your notes before she started seeing him, and talked to all of us beforehand as well. He hasn’t tried his fear powers on her once, and he’s almost cooperative with her. I think he’s lonely.”

Charlie’s glance is pointed, and Lucifer sighs, rasping his palm over his face. “I know you don’t like keeping him solitary, Charlie, neither do I. But I don’t see another choice for him. Do you?”

“Chloe jokingly suggested we get him a Hellhound.” Lucifer groans as his nephew’s eyes dance with humor. “But unfortunately, you’re right. He just hasn’t come far enough to trust anyone else to work with him one on one. He is making some progress, though. Something about Chloe seems to be making him want to try.”

“Hmm,” Lucifer growls a little, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. “And you don’t get the feeling he’s plotting anything?”

“It’s Michael.” Charlie shrugs, “He could be plotting any number of things. I can only read emotions, Uncle Luci, not thoughts. You know that.”

“I do know that, but you can usually get a feeling when he’s hiding something,” the Devil presses pointedly. “Has he asked her for anything? To see Gabriel again?”

Charlie shakes his head, much to Lucifer’s surprise. He’d been sure Michael would press Chloe for concessions, and he’s not sure what to do with this revelation that he hadn’t. The corner of his mouth tugs down.

“Well, since the Detective is reuniting with the urchin, perhaps I’ll nip back to the penthouse and review her notes.”

“You should go see them, Lucifer,” Frank suggests gently, but Lucifer avoids his gaze. “Raphael told me that Bea asks about you at every session, and I know Chloe has been missing you like crazy. They would welcome your presence.”

“No, I… I think I should give them some space. Some time together after all those centuries apart, you know.” He startles when a hand comes to rest on his shoulder and turns to find his nephew standing close behind him, eyes warm with concern.

“It’s not your fault they’re here, Uncle,” Charlie murmurs, and Frank nods his agreement. “They don’t blame you for that, they were both planning to come here to help us, though in T’s case, perhaps not quite the way she arrived.”

“Yes, well.” He clears his throat and looks away quickly. “I’ve been gone a while, so it won’t hurt to give them a little extra time and catch up a bit in the meantime. Is there anything urgent I need to address before I go review those notes?”

“There are some loops you’ll need to review, of course, but nothing that needs immediate attention,” Frank assures him, “but you should at least let Raphael know you’re back. She can tell Chloe and Beatrice so they won’t be worried about you.”

Lucifer hums noncommittally as he stands and tugs at his cuffs. He decides to walk back to the penthouse, rather than fly. The ash has diminished since the introduction of the trees, but he still swears that it gravitates to his feathers just to annoy him. He turns the corner nearest the entrance to his home and stops in surprise, gaping up at a tree that is much larger than the last time he’d seen it.

Charlie said I haven’t even been gone five centuries… how is this much growth possible?

He approaches the tree, only to find another surprise– an abundance of the clinging berries that he’s only ever seen on the First Tree, the one he’d planted himself.

What in Hell is going on here?

He glances up at the tree again, wondering if this means the others have started sprouting fruits as well, and if so, if they’re also growing as quickly as this one has. He considers going to check a few of the others, but Chloe’s notes are waiting in the penthouse, and his curiosity about Michael’s recent sessions with his Detective beckons more forcefully than his interest in the trees right now. He throws a glance back over his shoulder as he walks away, making a mental note to follow up with Arael when he gets a moment.

*

A couple of days pass before he starts to get restless. He’s read over Chloe’s notes from her sessions with Michael, and though Charlie had already told him, he’s surprised at the lack of antagonism he’s displayed with her. He hadn’t hesitated to do or say terrible things to her in the past, why is he curbing his tongue now? He holds tight to the burgeoning hope that perhaps his twisted brother is close to making some real movement toward his rehabilitation.

When the humming silence of the penthouse starts to crawl inside his brain and nest there, he sends a quick prayer to Arael. By the time he makes it out to the tree, the Gardener is already there, exclaiming over the new developments and gathering squashy samples of the fallen fruits.

“When did this start?” He demands energetically, “Have any of the others started sprouting them? This tree is so much larger than I expected, from the growth of the others! What have you done differently? Do you think it’s because it’s so close to your dwelling?”

“Arael, I called you down here because I have no bloody clue,” Lucifer shakes his head in fond exasperation. “I’ve been on Earth, dealing with… with an issue that arose. When I came back, I found this and knew it was odd. If anyone can find answers, I trust that it’s you.”

“This is fascinating, Brother!” Arael’s cerulean eyes sparkle with unbridled enthusiasm. Lucifer chuckles as he leaves his brother to his information gathering and goes to check in with his truculent twin.

Michael barely bothers to turn when he enters the room, instead grimacing at his reflection in the mirror with an aggrieved, “Come to blame me, have you?”

“Blame you for what?” Lucifer asks lightly, “Starting to reflect on things that you’ve done?”

“Oh, you don’t know yet, do you?” Michael sneers as Lucifer leans against a wall. “You really should have taken me up on my offer to teach you to See.”

“According to Chloe’s notes, right now you can only See what’s going on in Hell, so why would that be of any interest to me when I can already find that out with very little effort?” The question is bland, devoid of any malice or antagonism, but Michael huffs in annoyance.

“Because if you could See, you’d know that your precious Detective and her progeny have flown the coop off to the Silver City.” His eyes are dark and flat, his mouth twisted in a leer. “They’ve left you behind, Brother, just as you must have known they would.”

Lucifer doesn’t allow his surprise to show, doesn’t allow himself to react to Michael’s words in any way other than the stuttering of his heart and a low exhalation. His twin isn’t lying, but he can’t allow himself to think about it now, because showing any weakness with Michael is beyond dangerous. He forces himself to draw in a steady breath, and takes no little pride in the fact that his voice is even when he replies, despite his inner turmoil.

“Well, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised; the spawn has always been terribly precocious. It only makes sense that she would manage to work her way through her guilt faster than anyone has before.”

“There was something odd about it, Lucifer,” Michael does turn to him now, and the earnestness in his expression takes the Devil by surprise. “I don’t know what, exactly, but something happened in that office. When the girl made the crossing, Chloe was pulled along with her. She didn’t ask Raphael to take her up there after the girl was gone.”

“What do you mean, she was pulled?”

“I just told you I don’t know,” Michael huffs petulantly. “Whatever it was, I couldn’t See, but there was something weird. Maybe Raphael can tell you.”

“Why are you telling me?” Lucifer narrows his eyes suspiciously. “I mean, I get telling me that they’ve left me, that’s just more of your usual petty attempts to get under my skin, but what are you trying to accomplish by telling me Chloe was caught in a celestial riptide? Why not just let me think she left of her own free will?”

“I… don’t…” Michael’s brows draw together, his scar puckering around the movement, and for a moment he seems unsure. “Chloe has been coming to talk with me, and… some of the questions she asks are…” he hesitates, his lips pursing as though he’s tasted something bitter. “There’s something about her that gets under my skin.”

“Don’t I know it,” Lucifer chuckles a little, though his concern is growing and it’s becoming harder not to flee the chamber and follow Chloe and Beatrice to the Silver City to make sure they’re all right. He forces himself to focus for just a little longer. “Have you thought about the things she’s been asking you, then?”

“It’s not like I’ve got a lot of other things to focus on,” he snarls, gesturing around the mostly-empty room.

“By which, you mean contemplating your past actions and their consequences?” Lucifer asks leadingly, allowing just a touch of blatantly false sympathy to color his tone. “Yes, I can see where that would be uncomfortable all around. I know I didn’t enjoy it when I had to re-examine mine.”

“You actually spent time on this ridiculous self-reflection crap?” Lucifer can hear the disbelief dripping from his brother’s flat tone, and allows a small smile to curl at the corner of his mouth.

“There are no shortcuts in this, Michael,” he says quietly, as calmly as he can with his heart starting to race in his chest. “I believe I’ve mentioned that before. I’ve walked this part of the path before for myself. All I’m trying to do now is help you avoid the missteps I made my first time through. I’m not saying we might not make different ones, but I suppose what you need to consider is whether or not you even want a guide. Take it from one who knows quite intimately, brother, this process takes a Hell of a lot longer and is vastly more painful when you try to undertake it alone and blind. It is my greatest hope that you’ll eventually allow yourself to accept the help you’re being offered.”

“I don’t understand why you’re spending all this time on me.” Some of the annoyance fades from his brother’s expression, a flicker of bewilderment passing over his marred features. “I know you don’t trust me. And Chloe… after I… after what happened to her, I haven’t been able to figure out why she even bothered coming to talk to me at all, let alone try to help.”

“She is one of the best, most compassionate souls I have ever come across,” Lucifer shrugs, but he can’t keep his respect and love for her from bleeding into his words. “She found it in her heart not only to accept me for what I am, but also to love me. I think sometimes that her vast well of forgiveness and patience is the true miracle of her existence.”

“That doesn’t explain why you’re so stubbornly insisting on ‘helping’ me along this little stroll of Remorse Avenue.” Michael’s left hand comes up and rubs his stiff right shoulder reflexively. “It’s not like I’ll ever be free of this place.”

“When I said that everyone deserves a second chance, I meant it,” Lucifer meets his brother’s gaze, identical eyes locking for a long moment before Michael’s dart away. “Earning trust takes time, just as taking steps to make amends for past malicious actions does. It’s not going to happen overnight, Michael, but I’m not going to give up on you.”

“Ugh,” he groans, turning his head so that Lucifer can’t see his expression, even in the mirror. “That’s so predictably… noble. I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Well, then, I’ll allow you to recover without my nauseating nobility to trouble your tender constitution,” he turns to go, and Michael twitches toward him, as though he’s about to say something. Lucifer waits, but when Michael only shakes his head, he exits the room and seals the door before spreading his wings and making his way to Raphael’s office.

*

Chloe blinks away the dazzling stars the flash of unexpected light had ignited behind her eyes, and stares at her surroundings blankly. Instead of Raphael’s modest and familiar office, she’s surrounded by people, and light so bright that it seems to be shining directly into her brain after so long in the now-comfortable dimness of Hell. Someone jostles her and she turns, surprised to find that she’s surrounded by people that all seem very confused. She takes them in, locates Trixie beside her looking every bit as perplexed as she is, then glances up in awe.

Towering above them are fanciful buildings, edifices that gleam silver and white, that blazing light glinting aggressively from the edges and whorls of the embellishments. There’s only one place this can be.

The Silver City.

But… how? She shouldn’t have been able to cross the planes without an angel to take her. No one has mentioned travel via light beam– in fact, Lucifer had scoffed at the very idea of anyone being ‘beamed up’ to Heaven. And where had that light even come from? Raphael?

Chloe shakes her head, confusion making her a little woozy until she notices a voice just starting to come clear.

“Any recent transfers from Hell? Anyone? I know you’re here, I can smell you, come on now, you’re not in any trouble, I just need to make an accounting. Any recent transfers from Hell, please step forward–”

Chloe’s stumbling toward that unfamiliar voice when another, more welcome voice sounds from behind her, “Chloe! Bea! What in Heaven happened?”

“Raphael!” Chloe whirls in relief, Trixie doing the same beside her with a lost expression pasted on her face. “You have to take me back!”

“I will,” the archangel promises, and Chloe feels a little of the tension drain from her. If Lucifer returns to Hell and finds her gone, he’s going to assume the worst, and she can’t do that to him again. “But, Chloe, we have to find out what happened. That… that is not how this usually comes about.”

“What do you mean?” Trixie asks curiously, pulling away and glaring at the people swarming all around them. “Where did all these people come from?”

“You’re in the Entrance Hall,” Raphael glances around, her eyes widening. She cups her hands over her mouth and shouts, “Zerachiel! I’ve got them over here!”

“Oh, thank Dad,” the voice Chloe had heard before sounds again, closer now. Its owner is good-looking, as all angels are, but Chloe can’t help but think it’s in the most generic way possible. She’s seen a thousand humans like him, attractive extras on hollywood sets and roaming the streets of Los Angeles. Fine features, short, sandy hair, and pale, empty eyes. “I was afraid it was going to be another hide and seek scenario.”

“Hide and seek?” Chloe asks, distracted.

“Hmm,” the harried-looking angel glances at her, and she feels as though she’s being weighed and measured. “You’re coming from Hell? How is that possible, there’s barely a spot on your soul.” He glances at Trixie, and his expression clouds a little as he nods. “This one I can see, but you? That seems strange.”

“Hey,” Trixie protests indignantly, but Raphael lays a calming hand on her shoulder.

“Zeri, this is Chloe Decker, and her daughter, Beatrice,” Raphael’s dark eyebrows rise meaningfully, and Zerachiel’s grey eyes flicker between the two human souls again in surprise before focusing back on Raphael. “Yes, that Chloe Decker.”

“Oh.” He swallows, hard, making a few marks on his clipboard. “I, um… I’ll just let you handle this, shall I?”

“Yeah, I’ve got it,” Raphael smiles tightly as her brother turns away, guiding the rest of the people– souls, Chloe realizes– toward an elevated dais which he climbs and begins to speak, the cadence of his words rising and falling in a way that makes Chloe realize he’s given this talk before. He sounds like a tour guide, or a flight attendant.

“Raphael, you have to take me back,” Chloe says again urgently, while Trixie nods fervently beside her. “I have to be there when Lucifer gets back with Rory. I can’t– he can’t think I’ve abandoned him for Heaven.”

“I’m going, too,” Trixie echoes stubbornly. “Now that I’m free of my loop, I can start helping you guys.”

“I will take you back,” Raphael assures them again, but there’s an undercurrent of unease in her demeanor now. “But, there’s a… process to it. I can’t just fly you back now that you’re here and Zeri has tagged you in. We have to go to Amenadiel for approval, and that… might take a little time.”

“What do you mean, it might take time?” Chloe growls. “I’ve had an arrangement with Amenadiel, I’m not supposed to be here.”

“Well… you are supposed to be here, but Amenadiel allowed you to choose your destination instead. Now that you’re here, we have to follow the process,” Raphael sighs, anticipating Chloe’s argument. “It’s something we put in place when we started accepting volunteers to go down to Hell to help rehabilitate souls. We needed to make sure we didn’t lose track of anyone– that no one accidentally got sucked into a loop and stranded there. So, the process. It shouldn’t take long, Amenadiel already knows both of you, so it will just be a matter of getting an audience.”

“I need to tell Lucifer what’s going on, then,” Chloe huffs impatiently, “maybe he’ll just come get me.”

“He might come up here to be with you, but he won’t be able to take you back without going through the application process, Chloe,” Raphael warns, distracting Chloe from focusing enough to pray. The Healer lowers her voice and glances around furtively. “He’s trying to avoid Amenadiel’s full attention on Hell until Purgatory is a done deal and fully operational. We don’t want to give him a chance to say no.”

“Why would he say no when it’s helping people redeem themselves?” Trixie blurts, offended. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

“We don’t know that he will, but it’s something new, and Amenadiel has been… a little reluctant to try new things, so we’re being careful, okay?” Raphael lowers her voice again pointedly, and Trixie’s eyes widen as she closes her mouth with a snap. “It’s only a little extra time, and we can definitely let Lucifer know what’s going on. He’s not chained to Hell anymore, he can certainly come up here to stay with both of you while we’re waiting for approval.”

“Okay, let me just tell him–”

“Chlo’!” A familiar voice breaks into her thoughts, and her single-minded focus goes out the proverbial window when a pair of painfully familiar grey eyes meet hers from across the room. “Trix! I got the notification that you were here, what the Hell happened?”

“Dan?”

“Dad?” Trixie’s voice breaks beside her just another voice– one engraved on her heart from so many treasured memories– rings out from just behind him,

“Monkey? Chloe, honey?”

“Oh, my… Dad!?”

She exchanges a glance with her daughter, tearful blue meeting watery brown, and then both of them are pelting across the room to be wrapped in the loving embraces of the men who had raised them.

Chapter 28: Lucifer's Not A DJ

Chapter Text

Lucifer isn’t surprised to find his sister’s office empty. It’s a little odd to find the dish on her desk full of the fuzzy little clinging fruits from the Tree of Life, but he shrugs that off easily enough in the wake of despair that rolls over him.

Michael was right.

But even Michael had admitted that Chloe hadn’t asked Raphael to take her away– and wasn’t that an odd bit of information for Michael to offer up?– so, what had happened that both Beatrice and Chloe had made the transition?

Maybe, because she was here only through Amenadiel’s interference, the mere wish to follow Beatrice had been enough to allow her to cross? He huffs impatiently. Should he go to the Silver City to look for her? How long ago had they crossed?

He hadn’t thought to ask Michael that question. And she hadn’t prayed to him, so… maybe she was exactly where she wanted to be. Should he give her some more time?

Maybe she was counting on him being on Earth for a while longer with Rory. He’d abandoned her here for centuries, after all, he can’t blame her for wanting a change of scenery from this depressing place. A flicker of hurt shadows his face before he wipes it resolutely away. He nods to himself, his decision made.

He’ll wait for Chloe to contact him. He trusts her to either return to him, or to tell him herself that she doesn’t intend to return at all. He’s waited this long for her, what’s a little while longer? Let her enjoy some time in the Silver City with Beatrice and her other loved ones.

He furls his wings away and walks back toward his penthouse, stubbornly turning his attention to every tree he passes on the way, though the observation that none of them are sporting unusual growth or fruits doesn’t even scratch the surface of his apathy. He gives his findings to Arael, who is still poring over the unusually large and bountiful tree with laser intensity, and enters his penthouse with a heavy sigh.

He settles down onto his couch with a glass of amber liquid that is most definitely not his favorite whiskey, but is at least far better than what he used to manage down here. The surrounding silence shouldn’t feel so wrong. He’d had Chloe here with him for less than a day, so he shouldn’t miss the tiny sounds that her presence brings; her breathing, the rustle of fabric on skin, her heartbeat.

But he does. And it takes far too much effort to stop himself from obsessing over what he’ll do if she decides not to come back.

She won’t do that. I already know that, so why am I even thinking about it?

I’m not thinking about it. I’m very carefully not thinking about it.

He rolls his eyes upward in exasperation at himself. Right, then. He can either head for the Silver City, thereby proving that he doesn’t trust her, or he can get back to work just like Chloe’s been doing for the last few centuries here without him.

His wings twitch restlessly in the ether, but he doesn’t unfurl them. Instead, he moves to his office and clears his mind, preparing to lose himself yet again in his calling.

*

It takes a long time for Chloe to pry herself from John Decker’s arms, but she still manages to compose herself while Trixie is still simultaneously laughing and crying into Dan’s shoulder.

“Dad, I…” she trails off speechlessly. She’d missed him so much her entire adult life, and now that they’re here together, she can’t think of a single thing to say. Finally, she settles on, “It’s so good to see you!”

Granted, she’d seen him before this, when she’d wound up here after Michael had stabbed her. But her memories of her time in Heaven had faded and degraded to almost nothing by the time she’d awakened the next morning, wrapped tightly in Lucifer’s embrace and her face sticky and tight with dried tears. The only lingering traces she’d held onto was her father’s laugh, and the love and desperation in Lucifer’s eyes. The crack in his voice as he’d whispered those words she’d so longed to hear before she’d come to the realization that they were only words and what they had was so much deeper than those could ever go. The strange flickering of light blazing from under his skin and fading everything into a whitewash until she’d opened her eyes to Michael standing over her, stunned.

The stab of fear and the crushing knowledge of what she’d lost once she’d awakened, that memory had never faded. The fury that had raged through her muddled her memory of what she’d done to Michael, but she remembers the incomparable surge of relief she’d felt when she’d heard his voice calling out to stop her from murdering his villainous twin.

“It’s good to see you too,” John chuckles, snapping her out of her unpleasant reverie, his hazel eyes glowing with warmth and welcome. “Even if it is a lot sooner than I expected.”

“Sooner?” Chloe frowns, puzzled. She had died when she was well past 80. “I mean, I think I lived a pretty long life…”

It had certainly felt long, without Lucifer by her side. She sucks in a breath. Oh sh*t, Lucifer. She focuses her thoughts, only to be interrupted by Dan again,

“Yeah, what happened, Chlo’?” She turns to find his grey eyes watching her in concern. “Did you guys get in an accident or something?”

“No,” Chloe protests, brows drawing together. “I mean, yes, Trixie did, but I was just old, and sick. What… why are you guys so surprised we’re here? Why are you here to meet us if you weren’t expecting us?”

“Well, Rory was up here a couple days ago. She was a frantic mess, looking for Trixie,” his arms tighten around his daughter as he continues. “But Amenadiel set it up so that you get alerted when someone arrives that wants to see you, so I knew she wasn’t here.” Dan explains as Trixie slowly starts to pull herself together. “I thought you were going to help Lucifer, though, so I’m a little surprised to see you here. Did something happen between you two?”

“Lucifer?” John blurts, his sandy brows quirking. “Did you wind up with another DJ, baby girl? I thought you learned your lesson with that first one?”

“Lucifer’s not a DJ, Dad,” Chloe sputters indignantly, repressing her memories of Lucifer’s reaction to meeting Jed and his overall contempt for DJs in general. “You met him, well, sort of. He came to get me last time I was here. He’s the one in charge of healing souls in Hell, and I was there helping, but wound up here when Trix–”

She shakes her head, trying to piece together what had happened. “What did happen? How… I thought the rehab process took longer than that?” She turns to Raphael, who clearly doesn’t have any answers yet. “And how did Trixie winding up here pull me along, too?”

“Maybe Amenadiel arranged it so you could be here when Trix arrived?” Dan hazards a guess before transferring his gaze to his daughter. “You’ve grown so much! I’m sorry you wound up here so soon, though, Monkey.”

“Well…” Trixie glances at her mother, a slight frown on her face. “I mean, yeah, it was unexpected, but Dad, I was 57. It’s not like I’m as young as I look.”

“Time moves faster here than on Earth,” Chloe explains, when Dan only looks confused. “So it probably seemed a lot longer to you guys, but it was really only 45 years or so for us.”

“No, I… I know time is different here, but…” he hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck before shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter, I must have lost track of time. It’s easy to do up here. Do you guys want to check out your havens now, or would you like a tour?”

“I need to talk to Amenadiel about getting back to Hell,” Chloe straightens her jacket and glances around. “Raphael, can you take me to him?”

“And me!” Trixie pipes up immediately, followed by vehement protestations from both Dan and John.

“Look, we’ve got plenty of time, right? Why don’t you take a little breather and just… catch up with us?” Dan suggests, glancing at John for support. “I know Charlotte would love to see you, Chlo’, and John might want a chance to get to know his granddaughter a little, not to mention spend some time with you.”

Chloe’s mouth opens to argue, but Raphael steps in, ever the peacemaker. “He’s not wrong, Chloe. Let me go to Amenadiel and explain what happened. I’ll get the process started, and you can take some time here with your family, which you know Lucifer would never begrudge you. We’ve got plenty of time. He’s on Earth with Rory, so you can stay as long as you like and be back before he can miss you.”

Chloe sucks in a frustrated breath, unable to articulate the feeling she has that she needs to go back right now in a way that will make sense to the people around her. Finally she nods tersely, and Raphael squeezes her arm before flying off to talk to her brother.

John’s eyebrows have nearly disappeared into his sandy hair, and he’s staring at her as though he’s never seen her before in his life. She draws herself up uncomfortably. “What?”

“You…” he seems to realize that he’s staring and seems to shake himself a little. “Honey, you just arrived here from Hell, and you’re on a first-name basis with an archangel and God? I know I was gone for a while, but what on Earth have you been up to?”

Her mind freezes. She hadn’t planned out how to talk to her dad about any of this, because she hadn’t intended to make a Heavenly visit for quite some time, but now… how in Hell can she distill four and a half centuries into their first real conversation this side of death? Eventually, Trixie steps in and saves her from her paralysis.

“Um, hi Grandpa,” she says, a little shyly, but still her bubbly self. “I’m Beatrice, but Mom and Dad still call me Trixie. I can also go by Bea, or T, if you prefer. It’s… I’ve heard a lot about you, and I’m glad I finally get to meet you.” She glances around hopefully. “Where’s Grandma?”

“Penny got all fluttery when she realized you ladies were here, but she’s told me a whole lot about how proud she is of you. Both of you.” John’s smile warms his eyes. “I’m looking forward to hearing all about your lives. She told me to come get you while she ‘straightened up’.”

“You mean while she primped for company,” Chloe laughs, knowing her mother’s habits well. She shakes her head as Dan comes to stand beside her, offering a hand on her shoulder in support. “Dad, have you met Dan? He’s Trixie’s dad.”

“I haven’t had the pleasure,” John eyes Dan coolly, but offers his hand to shake. “Penny has told me a little about him, though.”

Chloe closes her eyes and gathers her strength to navigate her own family drama for the first time in a very long time. She reminds herself that no matter what tales her mother has told her father, Dan made amends for his sins, and he was a good father to Trixie. He’d supported her with Penelope’s dramatics for a long time, now it’s her turn to return the favor. She can do this.

“If Mom’s expecting us, then we’d best head that way,” Chloe sighs. “Dan, do you need to get back to Charlotte, or–?”

“I can come with you, if you want,” he offers easily when Trixie turns her dark, pleading eyes on him. “I’d rather spend some time with you and Trix while I can, especially if you’re going to be leaving again soon.”

Chloe gestures to John to lead the way, and Dan pairs off with Trixie. She smiles when she hears him talking about his grotto with Charlotte, and what she might enjoy in Heaven if she decided to stay for a little while.

“What have you gotten yourself into, Chloe?” John asks quietly. “Who is this Lucifer that you’re working with in Hell?”

“Dad, are you really telling me that Mom hasn’t mentioned Lucifer to you at all? He was my partner on Earth for years, and he’s Rory’s father, after all.” It’s true that Penelope had never been brought into the Celestial insider’s circle. It had been nothing short of a miracle that Rory had never unfurled her wings in front of her grandmother, and Chloe had suspected Amenadiel’s intervention a time or two, though he’d never confirmed anything.

Of course, that had been back when she’d just assumed he’d had all the Omnis, which she now has reason to doubt. Chloe had been careful not to let anyone talk badly about Lucifer in her hearing, and it had resulted in several ugly fights with her mother when it became obvious that Lucifer was Rory’s father, and he’d disappeared.

It turns out, it’s hard to explain to someone not in the know that the father of your child and love of your life has to make himself absent at that future child’s own request, and that he’s just as utterly miserable as you are while he’s trapped in Hell trying to help guilt-ridden souls win their way to Heaven.

“She only ever referred to Rory’s father as ‘that partner’ of yours,” John admits sourly. “Said he was a charming party boy that took off and left you heartbroken when he knocked you up.”

“Nice to know Mom thinks so highly of me,” Chloe says dryly, feeling a familiar anger starting to boil in her gut. Behind them, Trixie’s voice rings out stridently.

“You’d better not be talking about Lucifer, Grandpa, because you have no idea what you’re talking about if you are.” Chloe turns and finds her daughter staring daggers at her grandfather, her fists balled at her sides. “I’ve never seen two people more in love than Mom and Lucifer, and you don’t have a clue what they’ve been through together– and apart! Rory’s the one that asked Lucifer to stay away, it’s not his fault he had to leave.”

“Well, he couldn’t have been much of a father if he let his own daughter tell him what to do,” John shakes his head, his tone patronizing. “And I don’t see how she could have asked him to leave, Penny said he was long gone before she was even born.”

“It all starts to make sense once you know that Lucifer is an archangel,” Chloe intervenes before Trixie can explode, “and our daughter Rory is a half-angel with self-actualized time-traveling powers.”

Her dad turns to her with a wry twist to his lips as though he thinks she’s trying to play a joke on him. When he finds no trace of humor on her face, his eyes scan Trixie’s, then Dan’s. They all return his gaze solemnly, and watch as his face slowly pales.

“Lucifer. So,” he swallows, watching his daughter warily, “You’re on first-name basis with an archangel and God… and, uh, a little bit closer than that with the actual Devil?”

Dan snigg*rs, and Chloe turns a baleful gaze on him. “Please tell me that ridiculous ‘Lucifer is evil’ crap isn’t still going around up here?”

“Hey, we can sing the truth all we want, Chlo’, but we can’t make people listen. This might be Heaven, but people are still people.” He throws up his hands, and Trixie scowls. “Even with all the souls he’s helped rehabilitate, people are still gonna believe what they want.”

She groans, scrubbing her face with her palms. She doesn’t have the strength for this idiocy right now. Or the time. All she wants to do is get back to Hell. She rubs her palm over her chest. His absence feels like a physical ache, and she knows the only cure lies in his arms.

“How far away are we?” She finally asks, impatient now. “We’re going to talk this out, and then I am going home.”

“Home?” John parrots, surprised. “What–”

“Home,” she repeats firmly, and Trixie nods supportively beside her. “To Lucifer.”

*

He manages for a few years, while his sanity feels like it slowly frays at the seams. Some days it’s all he can do not to unfurl his wings and make the leap to Heaven just to throw himself at her feet and beg her to end his misery. Her silence in his mind makes the time seem to creep by even more slowly.

He trusts her. She promised she wouldn’t leave him. Therefore, she’ll be back. She’s… probably busy in Heaven trying to drum up more volunteers to come serve as therapists.

He wishes her luck.

So he stays busy, making sure Raphael’s cases still get their sessions, along with his own chosen caseload that he balances along with making sure Purgatory is topped up with divine energy and coming along smoothly. He takes Frank’s notes and tweaks loops for new souls. He listens to Arael’s rants about how nothing about the only two trees that have developed those annoyingly clingy fruits makes any sense.

He does all this in an attempt to stop counting the passage of time, and none of it does any good. It’s as though there’s a stopwatch in his brain that he can’t manage to click off.

He ruthlessly stomps on the idea of going to check in on her every time it pokes its head above the surface of his thoughts. She can reach him if she needs to. If she wants to.

If she wants to, an inner voice sneers at him that sounds far too much like Michael.

He sighs and squeezes his eyes shut for a long moment before turning back to Frank’s most recent observation regarding new arrivals. He stares at them blankly for a while before a quiet knock on his office door snaps his head up in a hurry. He knows that knock.

“Enter!”

“Lucifer, you’re back!” Raphael bursts into his office with a wide smile. “Where’s Rory?”

“She decided to stay on Earth for a couple of hours to have a little chat with Mazikeen and Miss Lopez,” Lucifer replies coolly. “Had a little development down here, have we? Something you’d like to fill me in on, perhaps?”

Raphael’s smile fades as she takes in her brother’s disheveled state. “What’s wrong? Was the memorial more difficult than you thought? Is Rory handling everything okay?”

“She’s doing as well as she may, though she’s riddled with guilt for asking me to stay away, then blaming me for it because she didn’t know it was at her own request,” he shakes his head. “What happened with Beatrice?”

“You know about that?” She seems surprised, which only irritates him more.

“Of course I bloody know about it, Raphael,” he huffs in exasperation. “I came back and Charlie told me you were hosting a reunion between the Detective and her offspring, so I decided to give them some time. Then I went to see Michael a few days after that and he told me that they both ascended. I’ve been patient for years now, Healer, but I would have appreciated an update from the Silver City before now.”

“Michael?” Raphael’s eyebrows climb higher on her forehead, nearly disappearing in her dark shock of hair. “Years? Lucifer, what are you talking about, it’s been less than a day.”

“I can assure you it has most definitely not,” he growls, allowing his eyes to flare red. “I’ve been back for nearly four years, and Michael told me about their departure a few days after I returned.”

“Lucifer,” the Healer approaches him carefully, her vivid green eyes wide and earnest. “I swear, we were in the Silver City for less than a day when I left to come back here to check in. Charlie told me you were back, but he didn’t say…” she blinks at him in confusion. “Dan did mention that time has seemed a little strange up there. I wonder…”

“Time?” Lucifer pauses, taken aback by her confusion. “What are you on about?”

“It’s been less than a day in Heaven since Bea and Chloe made the transition,” Raphael repeats emphatically. “Chloe was adamant on coming back the second she realized what happened, but you know how the Process goes…”

“Yes, yes, the whole ‘no soul left behind’ rigamarole,” Lucifer twirls his hand to urge her on. “But that doesn’t make any sense, time in the Silver City doesn’t move quite as quickly as here, but it’s still far faster than a day to years ratio.”

“That’s just it, Lu,” the Healer starts to pace as she turns the pieces in her mind, reminding him of Chloe with a pang. “When we got there, both Dan and Chloe’s dad were surprised to see them, like they felt like it had been too short a time to expect them. Which, for Bea would make sense since she was in an accident. But Dan knew Chloe was ill. Granted, he thought that Chloe wouldn’t be showing up in Heaven at all, but… something still seemed odd. And now with this? We’re missing something.”

“I’d say we’re missing lots of things,” he hums, intrigued despite his renewed desire to fly to the Silver City to retrieve his Detective. Knowing she had wanted to return to his side immediately had soothed the insistent ache in his chest that had been present since he’d returned and found her gone. “How did you manage to redeem Beatrice so quickly?”

“That’s another weird thing,” she bites her lip thoughtfully. “She was only just barely ready to move into Purgatory, she shouldn’t have been ready to move on for a while yet, but after a few hours of chatting with Chloe– not even working out therapy plans, just… catching up, really– she suddenly burst into light and took Chloe with her.”

Lucifer huffs, his brows drawing together in thought. “Has Chloe been present at any other crossings? Maybe because she’s a Miracle she just got tugged along to where she’s supposed to be?”

“She hasn’t been there with any others,” Raphael considers this before shaking her head. “There was something else, but I don’t know what it is. Like I said, Bea wasn’t there yet. She was close, but she hadn’t quite accepted that she truly wasn’t the burden she felt she was. Then suddenly it was like it clicked. And poof.”

“Poof.” Lucifer repeats, quirking an eyebrow. “Odd, indeed.”

“I haven’t gotten to talk with them yet to break it down,” she admits. “Lu, I’m really sorry, if I’d realized the time difference had changed, if I’d known you were back down here rather than on Earth… I would have made sure you knew what was going on. Are… are you okay?”

“I’m…” he hesitates, weighing himself. “Okay. I would have gone up to the Silver City to check in, but I wanted to prove to Chloe that I trust her to… to…” He swallows hard, not meeting her gaze.

“You wanted to show her that you know she wouldn’t just abandon you,” Raphael’s worried expression melts into understanding. “I can tell you she is not pleased about having to wait for the process in order to get back here.”

“Well, then,” he stands with a trembling smile, adjusting his cuffs and running fingers through his hair in an attempt to tame it into something less wild. “Being one of Hell’s essential workers has to have some perks, eh? I suppose I’ll just have to go retrieve her.”

“I thought we were trying not to–” the Devil unfurls his wings and disappears in a flash of brilliant white before she can finish her sentence, and she finishes with a drawn-out sigh. “– draw Amenadiel’s attention.”

A small smile tugs at her lips as she turns and exits the office. Amenadiel might take offense at Lucifer’s high-handedness or he might not, but she has no doubt that Lucifer can handle whatever their brother might throw at them.

*

“Pumpkin, I’m sorry, I… I just had no idea that you were dealing with all this on top of everything else!” Penelope’s wide blue eyes start to water, and Chloe uses her vast well of experience with Lucifer to refrain from rolling her own.

“Of course you didn’t know, Mom,” Chloe explains patiently… at least on the surface. “We very carefully didn’t tell you because you can’t keep a secret for anything. But now that you know, I hope you can at least see Lucifer’s side of it, a little bit.”

“Oh, that poor boy,” Penny bleats, reaching out for John’s hand with her trembling one. “I knew he’d had some kind of past trauma, just from the things he would say, but… Oh, Chloe, the things I said about him! The things I thought!”

“I don’t want to know,” Chloe holds up a hand to stop any pending confessions. “It’s enough that you know the truth now, and I don’t ever want to hear any of it again. Are we clear?”

John looks unsure, but folds under the combined, unwavering glares of his daughter and granddaughter as Penelope nods tearfully. “Oh, I owe him such an apology–”

“Yeah, that might be a good idea, Mom, but I don’t know when you’ll see him next. He doesn’t come here very–” she’s interrupted by a frenetic knocking at the door to the beach house.

They all glance at each other in surprise, then Chloe surges to her feet. “It’s probably Raphael, maybe she’s gotten permission to take me back–”

A flare of eager anticipation ignites in her heart. She’s so close to being back with Lucifer, she knows it.

She crosses the room in two bounding steps and throws open the door with an anxious, “It’s about t– Lucifer!”

He’s standing on the other side of the door with his shining wings out and ruffled, practically radiating anxiety. His eyes are wide and glittering, and his hair looks as though he’s been running his fingers through it impatiently. He stands there for a moment, his jaw hanging a little slack before he breathes, “Chloe.”

It’s the last sigh of a man dying of dehydration before he stumbles into a well. Before her name falls completely from his lips, she catches it with her own, pressing the sound of it back into his mouth with the force of her kiss. The cold ache in her chest dissolves into a radiant warmth as his arms and brilliant wings close around her, and for a while nothing exists but the two of them, ensconced in their own little world of mingled air, soundless whispers, and two hearts thundering as one.

Chapter 29: You Want Me To Come To Hell?

Chapter Text

Lucifer doesn’t go directly to Chloe. As much as he wants to, he needs answers from his brother about something first. His suspicions are confirmed when Amenadiel only sighs when he appears.

“What have you done with time between the realms, Brother?” Lucifer asks, unwilling to waste any of the very commodity he’s here to discuss.

“I haven’t done anything beyond what you asked for, Luci,” Amenadiel replies wearily. “You wanted more time in Hell to sort out your souls, I made it happen.”

“First off, they’re not my souls,” Lucifer snipes back, looking up at his brother perched on his pretentious throne. “Secondly, when I asked you for more time in Hell, why did you change the flow here? And why in Dad’s name didn’t you say anything when you did it?”

“The time had to come from somewhere, Luci, it’s not like I can just make more.” He rolls his eyes, rubbing a palm over his head in exasperation. “And as for why I didn’t say anything– do you know how much our brothers and sisters complain when anything changes? In case you’re curious– it’s a lot. I made the change back when I doubled the time difference in Hell, and not one of them has even noticed… but if I’d made an announcement, they would have bickered about it for centuries.”

“So, better to simply make the change and pretend nothing happened than ask permission,” Lucifer proposes dryly. “Did you think to warn me? You had to know Chloe would come up to visit eventually. Were you just planning to let me think she’d abandoned me down there for centuries while she spent a leisurely two weeks up here with her loved ones?”

Amenadiel only stares at him blankly, and he sighs. Obviously that thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. Lucifer studies him for a moment, noticing something off. “Are you all right, Brother? You seem… burdened.”

“You’re not my therapist, Luci,” he waves his brother off and rubs his eyes.

“I certainly wouldn’t want you for a patient,” Lucifer scoffs, fidgeting with a cuff. “One brother is more than enough on my roster, not to mention keeping an eye on the well-being of my team. Speaking of,” he lifts his chin defiantly, “I’m taking Chloe back with me, if she wants to go. She didn’t mean to come here, and she’s made it very clear to Raphael that she has no desire to wait for your ridiculous process before she rejoins me.”

“Fine,” Amenadiel chuckles darkly, “It’s not as though you’d lose track of her, anyway. Trixie will need to go through the process, though, since she was an ascended soul and she’s officially in our logs now.”

“Deal,” Lucifer agrees perfunctorily. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you? Why Beatrice’s crossing would drag Chloe along for the ride? You didn’t have anything to do with it?”

“I didn’t even…” Amenadiel stops mid-sentence, obviously rephrasing what he had been about to say, and Lucifer’s suspicion about Michael’s accusation of Amenadiel not possessing the Omnis blooms anew. “I didn’t have anything to do with it. I can see if I can look into it for you–”

“That’s quite all right,” Lucifer waves off the suggestion quickly, unwilling to have Amenadiel poking his Godly nose into Hell’s business. “You have more than enough to attend to. I’m sure if my team looks at it together, we’ll be able to figure it out so it doesn’t happen again.”

“Was there anything else you needed?” He sounds exhausted, and the Devil scrutinizes his brother once more.

“Are you sure you’re all right, Amenadiel?” Genuine concern tinges his voice, and his brother looks down at him with a real, if tired, smile. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

“I’m God, Luci,” he says, a little arrogantly. “If I need your help, I’ll let you know.”

“Hmm.” He allows doubt to creep into his response, but Amenadiel only shakes his head.

“Please ask Charlie to visit when he can,” Amenadiel offers quietly. “I haven’t seen him in a while.”

“I’ll pass along the request,” Lucifer nods. “You won’t keep Beatrice waiting too long?”

“The wait list to get down to Hell isn’t exactly long,” he groans. “As soon as her petition is reviewed by Raguel, I’m sure it will be approved.”

“Rags is the one approving the petitions?” Lucifer asks, surprised. “Did he volunteer for that?”

“It was the best way to make sure the process was fair,” he shrugs, unconcerned. “Though the program didn’t turn out to be as popular as you’d hoped, did it?”

“Yes, well, unfortunately Hell is a bit abrasive on souls.” Lucifer snorts bitterly before prodding, “Should have seen that one coming, honestly. Any progress on creation of a Purgatory plane?”

“I’m still searching the annals for any information on creating planes of existence. I’ll let you know when I find something.”

Lucifer hums again. He’d only asked to hold up the ruse that nothing was changing in Hell. He asks every time he sees his brother, it would have raised suspicions if he hadn’t. He strongly suspects Amenadiel isn’t even trying to look, if his inaction in other areas is anything to go by.

“Well then, I suppose you’ll be seeing me much sooner than I’ll be seeing you, Brother.” He considers asking him to set time back the way it had been, but he has to admit that having the extra time in Hell has helped them immensely when it comes to balancing their influx with starting to handle their backlog. If he can get Purgatory up and running, they might actually start making some real headway in the next few millennia. Maybe by the time Amenadiel notices the influx of souls from Hell has increased, he’ll have a reasonable explanation for why he didn’t mention his experiments beforehand. He turns to go, waving a hand casually over his shoulder. “Have fun running the universe.”

He nearly runs into Gabriel passing by as he’s leaving the Throne Room, and she staggers backward, muttering a distracted apology. Something flickers in the corner of his mind as he reaches out to steady her. “Gabriel! Just the Messenger I was hoping to see! Do you have a minute to chat?”

“Hey Lucifer.” She perks up cheerfully, “yeah, sure what’s up? I heard Chloe made an unexpected trip here– is she planning on staying?”

“No, I’m actually here to bring her back with me, if she’s ready to go.” He doesn’t doubt now that she is, but he wants to make it glaringly obvious that he’s leaving her destination entirely in the Detective’s hands. Dad knows he doesn’t need any more bad press, especially after the ridiculous stories that had abounded after that Greek girl had begged him to help her escape her overbearing mother. “I’ve been meaning to ask you… when Mum and Dad left, did either of them give you any messages for our siblings?”

“Dude, are you seriously asking me if I’m doing my job?” She lifts a thin eyebrow at him and tosses her curls away from her face to give him a glare. “Because I always deliver my Messages.”

“I know you do,” he soothes, holding back an eyeroll with a force of will that would rival the Detective’s. “It’s just that Michael was wondering if either of them had left any word for him.”

“Nope, they didn’t have any messages for anybody. The only ones they even talked to while Mom was here were you and Amenadiel.”

“Right.” He nods pensively. “Well, I also wanted to ask, Michael has been… well. Not cooperating, really, but he’s asked if you would come and have a chat with him. Would you be interested in coming to Hell for a little conversation? I’m afraid it would have to be supervised. He’s still in the early days of his therapy.”

He’s taking a risk tendering this invitation. Gabriel is an archangel, and there’s a chance that she might sense the divinity in Hell’s landscape. But he’s been thinking about this since Michael made the request, and when he spoke to Linda about it, she had agreed that showing him some small degree of concession might encourage him to take a step or two along the path to redemption.

He’s also counting rather heavily on the fact that Gabriel has never once set a feather in Hell, and so has no idea what the atmosphere should feel like. So long as she doesn’t get near the Trees, he thinks they should be just fine.

“You want me to come to Hell?” Gabriel squeaks, her dark eyes widening.

“I’m not asking you to come stay or work with souls, Gabriel,” Lucifer purrs, “only to make a little visit to your favorite brother at his express request. He misses you.”

“Really?” She tilts her head endearingly. “Well, I… I’m not sure when I’ll get a minute, but… yeah, I’m sure I could come and share some goss with Michael.”

“Wonderful,” he coos, clapping his hands briskly. “Just, er… arrange your visit with Raphael, all right? That way we can make sure we have a monitor handy.”

“Sure thing!” She chirps happily, “Wow, I’ve never been to Hell just for a visit, it’s always just been for work! This is gonna be interesting. Am I gonna need any special equipment?”

“Just your wings will suffice, Sister,” Lucifer supplies dryly, well aware of her lack of prior visitation. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to retrieve my partner.”

She waves him away with a laugh, and only then does he realize he has no idea where to look for Chloe. Would she and Beatrice be in Dan and Charlotte’s grotto, in their own personal havens, or somewhere else entirely? He sighs, and calls after his gossipy sister once more for the information.

It takes him a few stressful hours, but he manages to track down the location of John and Penelope Decker’s shared haven. He smiles when he realizes it’s the beach house that Chloe and the urchin had lived in when he’d first met them. He dithers at the door for a moment until he hears Chloe’s voice from inside. “I don’t know when you’ll see him next. He doesn’t come here very–”

He knocks rapidly before he can lose his nerve– and why is he suddenly so anxious? He knocks again when the door remains closed, then runs his fingers roughly through his hair in a vain attempt to straighten it into something presentable. He’s considering knocking again when the door is thrown open and a familiar, beloved face is beaming up at him with an impatient, “It’s about t– Lucifer!”

His name from her lips is the most beautiful music he’s ever heard. The last time he’d seen this face, it had been nearly 50 years older, pale, still, and waxen with death. Seeing it now before him, young, hale, and hearty with vibrantly sparkling eyes and a dawning, joyful expression is more than enough to render him mute.

“Chloe,” he breathes, the cold, hollow space in his chest finally filling with air that he hadn’t been able to properly breathe in for far too long. He tries to think of what else to say, but before he can even finish her name she’s in his arms, her lips devouring his and all he can think or feel is that he’s finally home and he never, never wants to leave again. His wings mantle around them without his conscious direction, sealing them into their own blissful world for what seems like the blink of an eye yet also a small eternity. Neither one is eager to break that spell, that connection, until finally a conspicuous sound of a male throat clearing breaks into their shared awareness, followed quickly by a girlish giggle that could only have come from Beatrice.

“Hello, my love,” he breathes into her ear, enjoying the shudder of her body against his as the warmth of his breath washes over her skin. “I missed you.”

“I missed you more,” she whispers into the hollow of his throat. “Lucifer, how did you bear all that time alone? I thought I was going to shatter into a million pieces before the first century was over!”

“Practice, love,” he sighs regretfully, holding her tighter but allowing his wings to relax a little around them. “Something I hope we can manage to avoid for you. But you were late getting home, so I’ve come to see if you’re ready to go?”

“I’ve been ready to go since I figured out where I was,” she snorts adorably into his jacket. “Where’s Rory?”

“She’s back on Earth speaking to Mazikeen and Miss Lopez about psychology courses. She’ll meet us later. Miss Lopez says hello, and that she misses you already.”

“Psychology courses?” Chloe tries to look innocent, and now it’s his turn to snort.

“Oh yes, all your sordid little secrets are out in the open now, darling,” he pulls away reluctantly and folds his wings when another throat clearing sounds, closer this time. Chloe lets him move away, but loops an arm possessively around his waist, keeping him close. “And Rory is apparently as determined to be of service as the two of you are. Hello, Urchin. It’s good to see you on this side of the afterlife.”

“Hi Lucifer,” Beatrice runs forward for a hug, looping one arm under his wing and around his waist and the other around her mother’s, drawing them in close. “Thank you for helping me.”

“Raphael and you did the hardest bits, love, all I did was tweak your loop. You got yourself out of it.”

“About that–” Chloe looks up at him with curious eyes.

“Yes, Raphael mentioned something was odd. We can talk about it later.” He glances around, and Chloe understands that he’s wary of discussing potentially sensitive Hell business in Heaven where Amenadiel may hear. “Beatrice, are you still determined to try to come back and join my team of therapists?”

“Yep,” she squeezes him tighter before releasing him and stepping back. “Can you take me now?”

“I’m able to take your mother now because she’s already officially part of my roster. You, my dear, will have to go through the proper channels.”

Trixie sticks out her tongue at him, and he laughs, glancing up and catching Daniel’s eye. “Hello Daniel. Looks like you’ll have your daughter with you for a bit before she takes a sabbatical down south.”

“I can’t say I’m sorry for that,” he fires back, but his tone is friendly. “You’re gonna make sure she comes back to visit, right?”

“I’ll do my best, but you may have noticed that the Decker women can be a bit stubborn when it suits them.” He winks at Penelope, who flushes. “Hello Penelope, you’re looking lovely.”

“Hello Lucifer,” she stammers, completely discomposed in his presence. Her wide blue eyes are locked on his wings. He glances down at Chloe, concerned, and she nods up at him.

“Ah… I see you’ve been apprised of my… identity,” he clears his throat awkwardly, unable to fidget with his wardrobe as he normally would due to the two women determinedly attached to his person. His dark eyes find the tall, sandy-haired man standing protectively beside Penelope. “Mr. Decker, I presume?”

“That’s me,” John lifts his chin, appraising the Devil challengingly.

“We didn’t get to properly meet the last time I saw you, but I hope you’ll allow me to congratulate you on raising one of the purest, most beautiful souls I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting,” his arm tightens around Chloe’s shoulders as hers grips his waist more tightly. “She holds you in high regard, and her opinion carries great weight with me.”

“And yet, you’re intending to drag this pure soul to Hell with you,” John comments mildly. Lucifer’s breath freezes in his chest, his pleasant mask locking in place as he works to deflect the blades that the words send flying toward his heart.

“John!” Penelope scolds, her hand loosely resting on her husband’s arm. Chloe’s arm tightens around him and he strokes the small of her back soothingly. “Chloe just told us that she made that decision herself.”

John sets his chin mulishly, and Lucifer suppresses a chuckle with a low cough, because he looks exactly like the Detective when she gives him that expression, and he knows how she reacts when he finds her stubbornness amusing. He doesn’t want to test their synchronicity in this, not when he’s only just met the man holding such a dear place in his Detective’s heart.

“Do you want some more time, love?” He asks her instead, and when he glances down this time he can’t restrain his bark of laughter, because she’s giving her father exactly the same look. “Now that I know you’re all right, I’m quite willing to wait for you–”

“I don’t need more time,” she blurts, her fingers digging desperately into his hip. “And I don’t want you to leave without me.”

“Well that works out nicely,” he murmurs, “because I’d much rather not leave you behind.” He glances up again, clearing his throat as he remembers their little audience. “But if you want some more time, I can wait.”

“No,” Chloe replies evenly, her eyes locking defiantly with her father’s. “I’m ready to go. We’ve got work to do.”

“Always,” he sighs, turning to Beatrice, who is clinging just as tightly to his left side as Chloe is to his right. “Beatrice…”

“Go,” she urges, looking up at him with bright, unshadowed eyes. His heart surges in his chest as he registers the lack of any lingering guilt there, and marvels again at her quick turnaround. He looks forward to talking with her about whatever had happened in that office that had so unsettled his sister. “I’ll handle things up here, and I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Enjoy your time up here, Spawn,” Lucifer chides lightly, and her lips twitch in a suppressed smile. “Spend time with your father and grandparents, or anyone else you like, love. You’re under no obligation to return to Hell, you know that, yes?”

“I know, and I’m going anyway,” she retorts, reaching up to tweak his chin. “You’re not getting rid of me so easily.”

“I wouldn’t dare try,” he rumbles softly, pulling her in for a hug before releasing her. He catches Daniel’s gaze as she steps away, and smiles. “Daniel, do give Charlotte my regards, won’t you? Tell her Linda and Miss Lopez send their love. I would say it’s been good to see you, but…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dan laughs, waving him off. “You love me, it’s okay, I know. You don’t have to say it.”

Lucifer’s eyes sparkle with humor. He’d never admit that he does miss his bracelet bro at times, but it’s nice that they can fall back into their usual spirited banter on the rare occasions they do have to socialize. His gaze flickers over John, choosing not to engage any further at the risk of provoking the man again, and lands on Penelope, who is still watching him with wide, pale blue eyes. He shifts uncomfortably, wondering how long she’s known about him. He didn’t think Chloe had told her before she’d died… had she only just found out today?

“Well, Penelope,” he says with forced lightness, “it’s been lovely seeing you again. You’re certainly looking like the Silver City is agreeing with you. I’ll… I’ll try to make sure that the Detective takes some regular holidays to come visit, shall I?”

Chloe snorts beside him, and he rubs her shoulder. He knows visiting her mother was never on Chloe’s list of having a good time, but he also knows she’s a dutiful daughter, and that she will most certainly want to visit her father.

Even if the man is still currently staring daggers at him. He lets out a resigned breath and gently pushes Chloe away, toward her parents. She shoots him a look, and he holds up his hands with a gentle laugh. “I’m not going anywhere, but… you should say goodbye, at least.”

Go, he begs with his eyes, don’t leave them when you’re angry. He knows it will only weigh on her if she does, and no-one needs to carry extra weight while in Hell. That’s just courting trouble. She squeezes his hand and crosses the room, reluctance written in the way she stiffly holds her shoulders and the measured cadence of her steps. He turns back to Beatrice to give Chloe some privacy for her farewells, only to feel gentle fingers on his right sleeve.

Penelope Decker has chosen to look just as she did during the height of her cheesy, sci-fi career, and Lucifer has to admit that the silver screen didn’t do her beauty justice. As she looks up at him, her bottom lip starts to quiver, and he swallows a sudden urge to back away from the apparent oncoming flood of emotions.

“Lucifer, I owe you an apology,” her quiet admission takes him by surprise. He’d been expecting a plea to leave her daughter behind, to leave them alone, to never darken their doorstep again. An apology… that was new. “Chloe filled us in on… well, probably not everything, but the bigger picture, I suppose.”

“Ah,” he breathes eloquently, at a loss for words. Trixie suppresses a giggle beside him, and he shoots her a narrowed gaze. She looks back at him, unrepentantly amused.

“I blamed you for leaving Chloe to raise Rory alone,” Penny confesses, her fingers trailing down his sleeve until she grips his hand tightly in hers. “I blamed you for breaking her heart, for taking the easy way out and running away. I… I probably wasn’t as careful as I should have been with my thoughts and words around Rory.”

“You definitely weren’t,” Beatrice pipes up, giving her grandmother a hard look.

“Chloe told us today about Rory’s, um, talent? And how she showed up before and asked you to stay away, to… to allow her to grow up to be the beautiful, strong, independent young woman she is, and…” She shakes her head, auburn hair catching the bright golden light. “Lucifer, I am so sorry to have misjudged you so easily. It… making a sacrifice like that for a daughter you didn’t even get to raise…” she chokes up, and Lucifer finally finds his tongue again.

“Penelope, you haven’t blamed me for anything more or less than I’ve been blaming myself for, for the entire duration of our separation,” he assures her gently. “And I knew my reasons all too well, I’m afraid. No apology is necessary for only speaking the truth.”

“I should have… had more faith in Chloe’s faith in you,” she presses earnestly. “After hearing what she’s told us today, I think she’s right.”

“Of course she is,” Lucifer agrees automatically, “the Detective is nearly always right, but… which instance are you referring to?”

“She told us that your capacity for love is infinite,” Penelope murmurs, her eyes flickering to her husband and daughter, locked in a heated conversation. “And that you would do anything for those you love.”

His gaze follows Penelope’s and his heart beats harder until it thrums in his ears, drowning out whatever it is that Beatrice says just after that. He gets lost in watching her, something inside him relaxing as she leans in and wraps her arms around her father. He hugs her back, his face collapsing in something like grief before fading into acceptance. Lucifer can just barely make out the low, “I’m proud of you, Monkey,” as Chloe pulls away from the embrace.

When he pulls his attention back to his own conversation, he glances down to find Penny looking up at him with an all-too-familiar knowing gaze. “You’ll take care of her.”

It’s not a question, but he nods his agreement anyway with a wry smile. “As much as she’ll allow me.” He shrugs his acceptance of his own limitations. “We like to challenge one another in that regard, I think.”

“What regard is that?” Chloe asks as she approaches, her eyes narrowing as they move between him and her mother.

“The challenge of who is taking care of whom,” he offers blithely, chuckling as she groans in response. Penelope’s lips twitch in a smile, and he notices Beatrice’s doing the same. Chloe gives her mother a hug, and as she pulls away, Beatrice chimes in again, “They take care of each other. They always have.”

“Always will,” he assures them all, as Chloe lends her agreement.

Dan approaches to give Chloe a hug, and Lucifer a playful clout on the shoulder that elicits a good-natured scoff (“Surely you can do better than that, Daniel.”), and Chloe wraps Trixie in a hug so tight that he’s fairly certain the younger woman wasn’t able to draw a breath for the entire duration.

“I’ll see you guys soon,” Beatrice assures them cheerfully, stepping back as Lucifer’s wings spread a little in anticipation of flight.

“Are you sure you’re ready to leave?” His eyes search Chloe’s and he finds only determination and love in their sea-blue depths.

“Let’s go home,” she replies easily, relaxing into his movement as he sweeps her into his arms. She breathes a sigh of relief once she’s there, knowing that even before he spreads his wings and they wind up in the penthouse, she’s already home because she’s with him.

Chapter 30: She Should Have Known

Chapter Text

Rory drags Maze away from her dad and Ella, trying to ignore the burning behind her eyes. The light that had kindled in Lucifer’s eyes when she’d offered to send him ahead only affirmed everything she’d learned while she’d watched her parents together over the past few weeks, and settled everything else her mother had told her before her death.

She had not only single-handedly, selfishly destroyed her own family’s happiness, but had also deliberately waved it in the faces of those that she loved every single day. She swallows hard against the bile rising in her throat, and settles into one of the benches in the deserted entryway of the funeral home. Mazikeen stands in front of her, looking down at her with her arms loosely crossed over her chest.

“What’s up, kid?”

Rory knows better than to try to address any of her swirling, chaotic mass of emotions with the demon. While Maze is a wonderful person as long as no one is pointing out that fact, trying to discuss anything remotely squishy with her is like talking to a brick wall that’s mounted with broken glass. So instead, she pushes the emotions away and leans forward.

“I need you to tell me about Hell.”

“Why didn’t you ask your dad before you sent him back?” Her scarred eyebrow lifts curiously. “He knows a lot more about what it’s like now than I do.”

“He…” Rory stops, pulls in a trembling breath. “Maze, I just made him spend almost 50 years there away from everything he loves. I… He came back to help me through this even though he finally could be with Mom again. I couldn’t… it was hard enough admitting that I didn’t know anything about how any of it works. I just couldn’t make him tell me about it, too.”

“What do you mean you don’t know how any of it works?” The demon rolls her eyes. “You might be able to lie to your dad, kid, but you can’t fool me, I taught you myself.”

“I had my earbuds in, and just agreed with you whenever you asked me something,” Rory mutters, fixing her gaze on her shoes. One of the stainless steel studs on her boots is working its way loose. She should have that repaired.

“Wow,” sheer disbelief wars with anger in Maze’s tone, and Rory hunches her shoulders a little against the onslaught that she suspects is coming. “And I thought your dad had a corner on the stubborn market. Do you know how dangerous that was? Someone with your powers, with so much guilt and anger weighing on you, not knowing how it all works?” The demon shakes her head, annoyed. “What am I talking about? Of course you don’t know, you wouldn’t let anyone tell you.”

“Sorry, Maze.” She means it. She is sorry. More sorry than she ever thought it was possible to be, but she’s determined to make up for her lack of knowledge and attention, starting right now. She just doesn’t want to show up on Hell’s doorstep again completely ignorant of all of its workings. “Can you… can you tell me again?”

“You’re still not listening,” she growls, and Rory’s gaze snaps up in confusion. “I don’t know much about how it’s working now. Your dad apparently changed it all when he went back and became a Healer rather than a torturer. I can give you the basics of what drives souls down there, and how it used to be, but before your mom died, I hadn’t seen Lucifer since he left. I can’t give you the current information you need.”

“Right.” That had been the whole point, hadn’t it? That she sent Lucifer to Hell to change it from a place of eternal torture to a place of redemption… all alone.

Okay, yeah, he’s the Devil, but honestly, how much progress could one person make on an entire plane of existence in less than 50 years? He has to have barely scratched the surface of such a vast change… but maybe he has help? She allows herself to hope a little. That has to be the case. Uncle A wouldn’t just leave his brother struggling to redeem billions of souls, he’d be sending squads of her aunts and uncles down there to help, and of course none of them would have said anything about it to her, because she didn’t want to know, and… and now she knows Linda went down there to help. And Mom. He’s probably got a ton of helpers. Maybe…

“Can you tell me what you know? Maybe… start with the basics? Do you have Cliff’s Notes?”

The demon snorts and glances around. “If you think you’re going to get a useful crash course on Hell in a couple of hours without a serious mental breakdown, let me just tell you, you are so wrong. Hell is vast, and ancient, and complicated, little angel. You should have been paying attention long before now instead of nursing your little grudge against your daddy.”

“I get it Maze, I’ve been a royal pain in the ass,” Rory bursts out, near tears again for what feels like the thousandth time today. “I’ve got a lot of catching up to do, now will you help me, or not?”

Maze snorts again, but this time there’s a spark of something that might be pity in those dark, ageless eyes. “Sure. But I don’t think you’re gonna like it.”

“There’s been a lot that I haven’t liked over the past few weeks,” Rory sighs, tugging absently at one of the pink strands in her hair. “I think I can handle learning about Hell. It’s not like I haven’t already seen the place.”

“Yeah, you’ve seen it,” she scoffs, fingers twitching as though she longs to be holding one of her blades. Rory sends a silent thanks to Ella for insisting they be left behind just this once. “For all of five seconds.”

“Oh please, I was down there for days, looking for Lucifer,” Rory scoffs right back. “I get it, it’s depressing.”

A twinge of regret plucks at her heart strings like an out-of-tune guitar. She’d sent her dad there for her entire life. And now her mom is there too. And T. And here she is, still on Earth and useless, having to play catch-up because she was too petulant to pay attention to what her family had tried to teach her.

“Right, like I said, five seconds,” Maze laughs, but the sound has a bitter edge to it. “Two things you need to know about Hell, front and center: One, guilt drags you in. If you feel enough of it, when you die you get worst-class service right to your very own Hell loop door, designed specifically to illustrate and showcase your guilt for all of eternity. The demons are just there to add a little spice, and for the sick f*cks that don’t feel any guilt but get caught in Heaven’s naughty filters and shunted down there anyway. Those were the best shifts…” her eyes go a little misty, and Rory remembers the demon she had spoken to in Hell’s hallways, with the blood-streaked apron. The one that had stopped her from talking to Michael.

“What’s the second thing?” Her voice croaks, and she clears her throat before repeating the question. Anything to avoid thinking of her Aunt Maze– the one that gives Aunt Eve doe eyes every chance she gets and has a slightly dark sense of humor– covered in blood and enjoying it. The demon looks down at her from beneath lowered brows.

“The second thing…” a smile tugs at her lips, and there’s more than a hint of malice to it. “Oh, little Morningstar, if you had listened to your lessons, if you had known about the second thing… you never would have asked your father to make that promise.” She draws back, something flickering in her eyes. “Or maybe you would have, if you were really that pissed off. You are his daughter, and it’s not like Chloe pulls any punches when she’s angry.”

Rory glares up at her aunt, familiar with this taunting behavior and knowing that if she does anything other than wait for a response, Maze will only drag it out further. Like torture. Oh. Right.

When she doesn’t get any further rise from her niece, Maze smirks and shifts her weight, crossing her arms more tightly across her chest. “Time in Hell works different. Thirty seconds here feels like thirty years if you’re stuck in a loop. If you’re not in a loop, it’s a little different again, more like decades for every day. It really helps draw out that whole eternal punishment thing.”

“Yeah, okay Maze, I get it. I did a sh*tty thing and cost you your best friend,” Rory snaps, suddenly feeling a cold, leaden weight settling in her stomach. “Now really, what’s the second thing I need to know?”

The demon laughs again, the bitterness so strong now Rory can practically taste it, like ash at the back of her tongue. “Go ahead, go ask your parents, they’ll tell you. Chloe’s been dead for a couple of days, and it probably feels like a century, maybe two. If Trix is in a loop, it’ll feel like five, at least. You better hope your dad has a good handle on that assignment you gave him, huh?”

“Maze!” Rory barely registers Ella barreling down the hallway, let alone any words that follow. She’s careening down a tunnel in her mind, like one of those stupid Saturday morning cartoon montages with calendar pages flipping past at the speed of light.

Or apparently, the speed of Hell.

It can’t be true. There’s no way he would have done that for her. Sure, there’s a time difference for Heaven, but everything she’d been told about her dad (before she stopped listening) had led her to believe he was the ultimate ADHD poster-boy, unable to stay in one place or attend to one thing for more than a few blinks of an eye. He… no way would he have chained himself to rehabilitating Hell for… for how long? If a few days is a couple of centuries…

No.

She blinks, and she’s standing up with Maze and Ella looking at her in surprise. Had she said that out loud? Her wings twitch restlessly in the ether, longing to go verify with her parents that Maze is obviously lying to make her feel even worse for forcing her dad away from his life on Earth.

But… if Maze was warning her about guilt being what sends souls to Hell, then why would she lie to try to make her feel guilty?

“Rory?” Ella’s voice sounds warbly, like she’s speaking above water while Rory is submerged. “Hey, c’mon back Rory.” Then, more distantly, “Maze, what did you say to her?”

“Obviously something she didn’t want to hear.” Blurred movement swirls around her, and next thing she knows she’s seated back on the bench with Ella’s worried expression hovering a few inches away, gently patting her cheeks. “But she needed to know. She should have already known.”

“What was so important that you needed to drop it on her at the memorial, Maze?”

“Hey, if the kid’s about to go flying off to Hell, then she needs to know about the time difference. She needs to know that Lucifer’s been working down there for literal ages, not just a paltry 45 years.”

She comes back to herself with a deep, whooping gasp, ignoring Ella’s flurry of anxious questions.

“You said… you said he was… that he never stuck to anything. That he was allergic to responsibility.”

“Yeah, so?” Maze shrugs at Ella’s glare. “He was, but not when it comes to the people he cares about. Not when it mattered. He hated Hell. Hated being King and having to wrangle demons and all their petty problems. He just wanted to live his life, not be chained to the little project his dad forcibly assigned him. That’s why he moved here in the first place. If you’d been listening, maybe you could have put some of this together on your own instead of pouting about being left behind and unwanted.”

“Uh, I seem to recall a certain demon pouting about being left behind and unwanted when Lucifer had to go back to Hell that first time,” Ella points out dryly, earning a scowl from Maze and a puzzled look from Rory. “There was a demon uprising, and Luce had to go back for a couple of months. We didn’t think he was coming back, but he managed it. I didn’t know he really was who he is back then, I thought he’d just ghosted us all for Florida.”

“A couple of months,” Maze laughs. “Yeah, that’s all it was for us. Had to be about 5,000 years for him.”

Ella flinches a little, but Rory is still too much in shock to react. She feels her jaw drop open, but lacks the energy and will to close it.

“Anyway, I didn’t give her anything she didn’t ask for, which seems to be a running theme for her now, to ask for something, then immediately regret it.”

“Maze, that’s not fair,” Ella begins reasonably. “You said she didn’t know about the time difference. I know you miss Lucifer, so do I! But Rory didn’t know what she was asking, and she didn’t even know she’d asked until–”

“She should have known!” Maze bursts out, fingers reaching for a blade that isn’t there. “I gave her all the information she would have needed to know exactly what she was demanding from him! But the spoiled little brat decided not to listen, and then spent her entire life bitching about how her daddy didn’t love her enough to stay!” She whirls on Rory now, a feral snarl contorting her ageless face. “We had our fights, your dad and I. We had our disagreements, and our breaks, and our make-ups. But he is my best friend, and he will do anything that someone he loves asks of him. Anything. I told you that, too, but obviously you either weren’t listening again, or you decided I was lying because it didn’t fit the neat little horns-and-pitchfork picture of him you’d built in your head to throw your petty little darts at.”

“I…” Rory stammers, paralyzed between indignance and shame, between defending herself and accepting that what Maze was saying was nothing less than the bald, bleak truth. “I should have known. I should have listened. I screwed up, and I’m sorry, and I want to help, now that I know!”

“Then you’ve got a lot of catching up to do, cousin,” a new voice enters the conversation, smooth and calming. “So let’s talk about how you can begin, hm?”

“Charlie,” Maze greets evenly, not removing her glare from her niece. “How’s Hell?”

“Evolving,” he supplies with a smile. “Hello Ella. I hear you’re thinking about joining our ranks one day as well.”

“Yep,” the tiny woman glances around, relaxing a little now that some of the venom seems to have bled from the conversation. “Carol, too.”

“We certainly appreciate the willingness,” he nods respectfully before turning back to his cousin, whose jaw has dropped even further.

“I thought you had some graduate school thing in London?” Rory sputters, “You’ve been in Hell?”

“You didn’t want to know.” He shrugs. His expression is bland, but Rory grew up with him, she knows when he’s annoyed with her. “But now you do, and you say you want to help. So. Are you ready to prove it?”

“Yeah,” she nods, a little too fast. “But first, I need to talk to my parents.”

*

“Chloe,” her name rumbles against her back where Lucifer’s chest presses against her, and whispers across her skin where his lips brush the hollow of her shoulder. She’s nearly asleep, but his voice gently tugs her back enough to hum a soft response.

“How is it that our daughter knows virtually nothing of Hell?” It isn’t the subject she was expecting, and the surprise pulls her the rest of the way into wakefulness. She tenses, but his voice and hands on her remain gentle as he continues, “I didn’t get a chance to educate her at all, but… love, I’m afraid of how she’s going to handle some of the truths she’s going to have to face.”

“Maze taught her, the same time she taught Charlie.” She had thought it odd, at the time, that Rory hadn’t come home from those days brimming with more questions, but that had been around the time that her anger toward her father had been intensifying, and bringing him up was always a sure way to start a fight. So Chloe hadn’t followed up. “Maze isn’t typically one to blow something like that off… what didn’t she know?”

“She knows nothing,” Lucifer says again, sighing as he rests his forehead against the back of her neck. “She didn’t know that guilt sends souls here. She doesn’t know… she thinks it’s been 45 years apart for both of us, Chloe. She has no idea about the time difference, and I didn’t have time to explain…”

“Are you sure she wasn’t just playing with you?” Chloe turns so she can see his face peering at her over her bare shoulder. “You know she likes to do that.”

“No, I’m sure.” She nods, accepting his certainty. “She said she would give us a couple of hours to catch up before she joined us, and… I didn’t think your memorial was the best place to have that conversation.”

“Well, it hasn’t even been a day, maybe she got sidetracked with something?”

“That’s another thing entirely.” His arm tightens around her waist. “It’s been years down here since you and Beatrice crossed into Heaven.”

“It…” she lifts herself up on an elbow, turning more so she can see him better and judge that he truly isn’t joking. “What?”

“It’s true,” he murmurs, and she notices that his eyes are haunted. “I came back and you were gone. Michael told me where you’d gone, and… I wanted to show you that I trusted you to come back, love, so I didn’t follow. I waited, and kept working. And… when I didn’t hear from you…”

“Lucifer, you were back for years before you came to get me?” She reaches out to cup his cheek, and he nuzzles into her palm, closing his eyes with a sigh. “That must have been…”

“I will admit it was a little stressful,” he confesses, his hand moving up to hold hers in place while he presses a kiss to the center of her palm. “But I trust you, Chloe, I knew you must have been dealing with something.”

“You weren’t afraid I’d abandoned you?”

His silence speaks volumes, and she lowers herself back into his arms. “I had my moments of weakness, love, but I knew that if you had indeed changed your mind, you would have told me so. You wouldn’t have left me wondering. And I wouldn’t have blamed you, if you had changed your mind.”

“Never gonna happen,” she murmurs against his throat, and his chuckle vibrates against her lips.

“Never is a long time.”

“Not long enough,” she nips him, and he sighs into her hair. “So how long do we have before she arrives? How long were you down here waiting for me?”

“Well, I suppose it depends. If she stays there for a couple of hours, It could be another 5 years or so? Perhaps not, I’m not certain of the new time conversion between Heaven and Hell yet, so I don’t know how much time passed here while I was up there.”

“That is such a weird thing, has that ever happened before? The… time change?”

She feels his quiet laugh. “It’s hardly Daylight Savings Time. But no, apparently it’s been going on for some time and I just never noticed. Amenadiel says it’s how he managed to stretch our time here, by siphoning some of the extra from the Silver City. And he did it without discussing it with our siblings to avoid arguments.”

“And no-one noticed?”

“None of them spend time outside the Silver City, Detective, how would they know?”

“But doesn’t Raphael go there pretty regularly?” She asks, still trying to wrap her mind around something as fundamental as time changing and no-one bothering to notice. “Wouldn’t she notice? Or wouldn’t she be gone for longer than usual?”

“I don’t police my volunteers’ PTO options,” he draws back indignantly. “She is free to take all the time she needs to rejuvenate and decompress, just as everyone else is.” He presses a kiss to her forehead. “Just as you are.”

“As long as I’m with you, I’m happy,” she hums against his chest, smiling as his arms tighten around her. “But I did promise Dad I would visit on occasion.”

“Whenever you like, love.”

“Not for a while. I just… need to be with you for a while.”

“Well, I suppose it’s a good thing that Rory sent me on ahead, then, eh?” He folds himself around her, and they get lost in the sounds of each other’s heartbeats.

It’s not long afterward that the door to the penthouse chimes with a visitor.

“Dad?” Rory’s voice calls raggedly, “Mom? I– oh, Uncle A, c’mon you guys!”

“You said you would knock,” Lucifer points out shamelessly, as Chloe scrambles for cover and Rory claps a hand over her traumatized eyes. “You also said you would be a couple of hours, and by my count, it certainly hasn’t been that yet.”

“Yeah, well,” Rory turns away and carefully feels her way out of the room and down the steps, continuing the conversation from the next room, “that was before I knew that couple hours was probably a couple of decades, Dad.”

“Yes, I was just discussing that with your mother,” he says easily as he slides from the bed and slips on his robe and matching trousers. “She was under the impression that Mazikeen had handled your Hell-ucation, as it were. How did you manage to play hooky with a demonic schoolmarm?”

“Oh, please call Maze a schoolmarm to her face when I have some popcorn handy,” Chloe mutters under her breath as she rushes to dress, and Lucifer chuckles.

“Do you guys need me to come back later?”

“No, love, we’re on our way out,” Lucifer smirks at Chloe as she struggles to fasten her bra, reaching over and gently batting her hands out of the way to do it for her. “You didn’t catch us in the middle of anything other than a conversation.”

“A naked conversation!” He can’t help but laugh at the indignance in that declaration.

“Please, we’re in phenomenal shape, all conversations should be naked,” Lucifer purrs as he swans down the steps and into the sitting room, where Rory is huddled in the corner of his couch. “But I do understand the… psychological trauma of seeing a parent au naturale. I would apologize, but you’re early and… you did say you would knock.”

“How long has it been since you left the memorial, Dad?” Rory blurts after a moment of fidgety silence.

“Well, you said you would be a couple of hours behind me, and I know it hasn’t been quite that long, so–”

“How long for you?”

“Ah,” he lifts his chin and nods lightly. “Mazikeen told you, then? How did that not come up in your initial lessons?”

“It did… Or, well, I guess it did.” Rory glances down at her boots so she doesn’t see her father flinch at her next words. “I wasn’t listening.”

“Do you hate me so much, daughter?” He asks quietly. He feels a soft hand at the small of his back as Chloe pauses beside him for a moment, then crosses the room to Rory. “That the very mention of my realm was anathema?”

“No!” She cries, her wide, wet eyes lifting to meet his even as Chloe envelops her in a tight hug. “I—thought I did. But I was wrong Dad. I don’t hate you all! I’m sorry, and… I just… I was angry and I didn’t understand, and… and I wanted you to teach me. I wanted to hear it from you.”

She melts into her mother’s embrace, and no one says anything for a while until she finally sniffles and says, “Hi, Mom. I missed you.”

“Hey baby.” Lucifer can’t see Chloe’s expression because Rory is still staring at him from over her shoulder, but he can hear the watery smile in her words. “I missed you, too. Welcome to Hell.”

Rory hiccups a laugh that might be a sob and buries her face in her mother’s blouse. After a minute, she reaches out a beckoning hand to him, still frozen in the doorway to his bedroom.

And of course, he’s never been one to deny a desire. He crosses the room and allows himself to be pulled into their arms as he presses kisses into brown and sable hair alike. He can hear Rory’s ragged breathing, and feel Chloe trembling against him, and his own heartbeat pounds in his chest, and he wonders if he’s ever felt so complete in his very long life. He wonders, too, how he’ll be able to bear the anticipation of Beatrice’s arrival, so they can finally all be under the same roof.

“Well,” he sighs heavily. “I know you probably have loads of questions and things that need to be addressed, but there is one thing that I have absolutely needed for a bloody long time, and I hope you will both indulge me.”

Chloe looks up at him and tilts her head, but he only smiles as he pulls away and crosses the room to rummage below the bar. He comes away with a small black box in his hands and places it carefully in the center of the glass-topped coffee table. Rory peels herself away from her mother and approaches, curiously looking at the box.

“Cards Against Humanity?”

“Game night,” he explains simply, an odd, fluttery feeling in his chest. “We’re family, and we’re adults, and the Detective would never let us play this one while the urchin was small.” Chloe huffs, but he can see her fighting a smile. “You seemed… rather put out when you realized that I’d been invited to Decker Family game nights when Beatrice was small, Rory, so… I thought perhaps we could reinstate that tradition?”

When neither of the two women say anything, he fidgets a little. “Of course, we don’t have to, I only… You’re right, it’s… we’ve got too much to do. I’ll just…” he bends to gather the box, but he suddenly has an armful of Rory, and his Detective is beaming at them both, and he’s so confused.

“So… are we playing, then?”

“Oh, we’re playing,” Rory croaks into his shoulder, but when she pulls away, her eyes are shining with something more than tears. “And I’m gonna kick both your asses.”

“Ah, good then,” he breathes a sigh of relief, then lights up and produces a small deck from his robe pocket. “And I have an organized religion expansion pack.”

Chapter 31: Trust Me, It's A Good Start.

Chapter Text

Lucifer wins the first and second rounds. Rory takes the third by a hair, but by the fourth round, they’re so busy laughing that they forget to keep score. Chloe counts herself out by the seventh and curls up on the couch, content to watch two of the three people she loves most face off in a game of wits and raunchiness.

Rory grows quieter as the night passes, and a glance at Lucifer tells her that he’s noticed it too. When their current round ends, he clears his throat awkwardly. Rory looks up from where she’d been watching his long fingers gently tap the cards into a neat stack.

“It’s been… rather a long day, Rory,” he offers tentatively. “Are you tired? If you’d prefer to go back to Earth to sleep, you can, or…” he hesitates, his own dark eyes suddenly riveted on the stack of cards he’s tucking back into the black game box. “I, er, I’ve put together a room for you here, if you’d prefer to stay for a bit.”

Chloe co*cks her head curiously. She’s been here for centuries, explored the entire flat many times, but has never come across a room, or set of rooms that looked as though they were guest quarters. She purses her lips as she remembers that Lucifer had been back here for several years waiting for her since she’d been hijacked to Heaven earlier today, though, and she glances around, wondering where he’s put the addition as he continues self-consciously.

“I thought you might want to be near your mum, but if you’d rather go home–”

“I am tired. I’d like to stay, Dad.” She looks up at him, and while her smile is small, it’s real. He doesn’t seem to know quite how to react, so he slides the lid back onto the box and stands, fussing with the belt of his robe.

“Right,” he murmurs, almost to himself as he returns the box to its place under the bar and gestures through a doorway that Chloe hadn’t noticed between the bookshelves. Had it been there before, and she’d just never seen it? “I’ll… just show you to your room, then?”

Rory stretches as she stands and smiles as Chloe does the same, the two women walking arm-in-arm behind him.

“You okay, baby?” Chloe murmurs, though she knows Lucifer can hear her perfectly well.

“Yeah, Mom, just tired,” Rory returns with a stifled yawn. Chloe knows it’s not the whole truth, but gives her a little slack. It’s been a long day for all of them, really, topping off an extended emotional upheaval. They all need some rest before diving into the heavy conversations that are bound to follow when they wake. Rory echoes her thoughts, “It’s been a long couple of days.”

“Tell me about it,” Chloe laughs without thinking, cursing inwardly when Rory stiffens beside her. Dammit. We were having a good evening.

“How long has it been for you, Mom?” Rory asks, and Chloe sees Lucifer’s shoulders tighten ahead of them, though he doesn’t look back. “Since Dad left to come to me?”

“We can talk about everything in the morning, okay?” Chloe prevaricates, trying to preserve the warm glow she still feels from having a good part of her family here with her. “We’ll answer any questions you have, but let’s just… get some sleep and pull our thoughts together so we can tackle it fresh.”

Rory’s frown says that she isn’t happy with her mother’s avoidance, but Lucifer stops in front of a dark wooden door– an actual door, which surprises Chloe– and chimes in with an overly-cheerful, “Ah, here we are!”

He swings it open and gestures grandly for them both to precede him inside. Rory walks in slowly, but Chloe stops at Lucifer’s side, her arm snaking around his waist and squeezing him tightly.

It’s not a recreation of her room on Earth, but somehow he’s managed to capture the essence of their daughter’s eclectic spirit in this one. She does spy some photographs that she recognizes, of Rory and friends from concerts and vacations, of Rory and Trixie messing around together, reminders of their family and friends on Earth. The room is airy and upbeat, but not saccharine. The walls are the same light blue color as her room at home, but the floor is pale grey stone with darker veins winding through it rather than ratty grey carpet. There’s something missing, but it doesn’t occur to Chloe just what it is until Rory looks back at them and brushes her fingers along the foot of the queen-size bed where her guitar would usually rest.

“I love it, Dad,” she smiles, wide and bright, but Chloe can see she’s wondering about the absence of the instruments as well. “I can’t believe you did this for me.”

“You’re always welcome here, Rory,” Lucifer assures her earnestly. “Any time you like, and for as long as you’d like to stay.”

“It’s a good thing Ella made me promise to visit, then, or you might never get rid of me,” she jokes, but Lucifer’s soft smile tells them both that he’d be perfectly fine with that situation, and Chloe’s heart swells in her chest. They’re so close to finally having their family together that it nearly physically hurts. Rory toys with the cuff of her shirt, suddenly unsure. “So, we’ll talk in the morning?”

“Well, time is… odd here,” Lucifer hesitates. “No sun, you know, so no actual morning, but for our intents and purposes, yes. We can have a chat once we’ve had a nice rest. And when you’re tired of talking, we can give you a tour.” Rory nods, and Lucifer gestures to a chest of drawers and another door. “There are clothes in there, if they’re not to your taste I can manifest something else for you, but I took what I’ve observed you wearing and went along that style and–”

“I’m sure it’ll be great,” Rory breaks in gently, a real smile creeping across her face. “I can always pack a bag from home if I need to, right?”

“Right.” He straightens, nodding briskly and returning her smile hesitantly. “Sorry, I… I hadn’t allowed myself to hope that you might actually want to come and stay. To-to visit.”

“Dad,” Rory’s expression tightens, and she swallows hard. “I–”

“Well. I’ll let you get settled in.” He pulls in a breath and sets himself in motion, backing toward the door with a slightly uncomfortable smile for them. He’s fled halfway down the hall before Chloe registers that he’s slipped out of her grip on his waist, and he calls over his shoulder, “Good night, Rory. Sleep well.”

“So…” Rory looks at her mother, who lifts a curious eyebrow. “I get the emotional avoidance from him, too?”

“Oh no, baby, you get that from both of us,” Chloe huffs a rueful laugh. “We’re getting better about it. You can, too.”

“Great, something else to work on,” she mutters under her breath, but Chloe has the hearing of a mother, and stifles her smile. Rory wanders over and glances at the shelves lining the walls above her bed. “Are these psychology textbooks?”

“Are they?” Chloe moves closer, scanning the titles. “Well, you did stay behind to talk to Ella about the courses we took, didn’t you?”

“Yeah… but we got a little sidetracked once Maze figured out that I kinda tuned out the Hell 101 course she gave me and Charlie.” Rory winces a little, remembering the pain in the words the demon had flung at her. If only I had listened. I would have known what I was asking. Would I still have asked him to do it? She doesn’t know, and that only makes her feel worse. “Why didn’t he add any of my guitars, Mom? He knows I play.”

“Well…” Chloe glances down the hall and sighs. “You noticed the piano is missing, too?”

“I thought something seemed different,” Rory’s eyes widen as she realizes what was missing from the penthouse replica. “Doesn’t he play here?”

“I’m sure he would love to,” Chloe shakes her head sadly. “But I guess music doesn’t fare so well here. I… asked him about it once, and he says everything sounds… warped. Out of tune, or just plain wrong. It’s something that he misses about Earth very much.”

“How long has he been down here, Mom?” Her gaze is intense, and Chloe knows she won’t be turned aside so easily this time. “I know it hasn’t been 45 years or so like it has for us.”

“I honestly don’t know,” she shakes her head, blinking rapidly to stave off the tears that are burning behind her eyes. “He would only ever give me a vague estimate every time I asked.”

“Okay, fine, I’ll ask him tomorrow, then,” she snorts. “But tell me this: How long has it been for you?”

“I’ve been down here a little over four centuries,” Chloe admits quietly. Her heart clenches at the way her daughter’s face pales and tightens.

“Mom,” she breathes, horrified. “How long did you get together before you sent him to me?”

“Less than a day.” She pulls in a shuddering breath. “But it couldn’t be helped. We couldn’t leave you up there to deal with this mess all alone, and… and I had plenty to learn and keep me busy down here while I was waiting. I had Linda and Charlie, and Raphael and Frank to help me.”

“Who’s Frank?”

“You’ll meet him later. He’s amazing, you’ll love him,” she promises easily. “But for now, sleep, hm? It’s… been a long day, and you don’t know the half of it yet.”

“Yeah, okay,” Rory steps toward the closet before turning back. “Mom… how’s T doing? She’s not… um…”

“Your sister is fine.” Chloe’s happy to finally have a positive answer to share. “I met with her earlier today, and she’s actually in Heaven right now with Dan, and my parents.”

Probably still lecturing her grandpa on his prejudices against her step-Devil. Or maybe she’s graduated to lecturing God about his inherited broken system that he’s put zero effort into fixing.

She smirks, because she knows her Trixie wouldn’t hesitate on either count; be it defending the Devil in Heaven or taking God to task for his corrupt sorting system. She’s too much like her mother to let injustice stand.

“But…” Rory turns back to her, confusion written plainly on her face. “I thought… I checked Heaven, and T wasn’t there! Lucifer said she was here.”

“She was,” Chloe confirms, noting the use of Lucifer’s name versus her previous use of ‘Dad’, and wonders about it. Is he ‘Lucifer’ when Rory thinks he’s lying? “She only just ascended this morning, and Raphael says it’s the fastest rehabilitation she’s ever seen. Trix has to go through an application process for approval to be allowed to come back down here to help with the soul therapy, but she should be here sometime soon, we’re just not sure when. You can go visit her, if you want. Your dad can take you to her.” When Rory’s eyebrows draw together, Chloe crosses the room and rests her arm over her shoulders. “Let’s talk about it in the morning, hm?”

“Okay,” Rory sighs, melting into her mother’s side. “She’s really all right, though? And you, too?”

“As well as we can be, in the circ*mstances,” Chloe smiles and presses a kiss to her temple. “We’re that much closer to all being together, and once I’ve got that, I can’t imagine what else I could possibly need.”

“Goodnight, Mom. I love you.” Rory turns and buries her face in Chloe’s shoulder again, her chest hitching in a repressed sob. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, sweetie,” Chloe whispers in her ear as she strokes her hair. She knows that she means more than just in the few days since Chloe’s death. Rory had been in the past for weeks with parents how weren’t quite her parents. “I’m so glad you’re here. Get some sleep. Do you want me to stay?”

“No, I’ll be fine.” She pulls back, hastily wiping her face. “I… think Dad needs you right now more than I do.”

“You know where to find us if you need anything,” Chloe rests a palm on her cheek, swiping away a lingering tear with her thumb before drawing away and closing the door behind her. She rests against it for a long moment, listening to the small, familiar sounds of Rory getting ready for bed before drying her own tears and going to find her Devil.

She knows she’ll find him on what passes for their balcony, staring up at the swirling grey clouds that replace the sky here in Hell.

*

He wasn’t trying to hide, so he isn’t surprised when she finds him on their balcony. She steps up and leans on the railing beside him, her arm brushing his as it has so many times before, and though he doesn’t shift his gaze from the maelstrom above, he can feel the warm weight of her gaze on him.

“She’s all settled in, then?” He asks eventually, both because he wants to know, and because he wants to put off talking about whatever unpleasant subject he’s sure she’s about to bring up. He wants to hold onto the light, fluttery happiness he’s enjoyed most of this evening for just a little longer.

She hums an affirmative and he nods absently, sliding his gaze down until it skims the basalt towers and columns that make up the catacombs, the endless corridors where the soul chambers exist. He’s managed it so the ash can’t actually make it to their balcony, but watching it drift and eddy is like watching a heavy snowfall, if snow could survive in 120 degree heat. Unfortunately, their physical consummation of their relationship all those years ago had not, in fact, resulted in Hell’s temperature dropping at all.

He gazes across the way, where the anomalous tree stands proud and tall, watching as the ash is drawn to it like iron filings to a weak magnet: slowly, but inexorably. Arael still hasn’t been able to figure out why only this tree of all the others is producing fruit like the original, despite his lengthy explorations and experimentations.

“What are you thinking about?”

“I’m thinking… that it’s been a Hell of a week, love,” he sighs and slips his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close and dropping a kiss into her hair. “I find myself wondering what the future will bring, specifically tomorrow when Rory wakes up and starts in on what are bound to be many, many uncomfortable questions. What on Earth can we tell her that will make her okay with… with all this?”

He gestures at the dull Hellscape spread before them with a look of frustrated disgust on his face. Chloe follows his gesture with her eyes, trying to see it anew through Rory’s perspective. Truth be told, she’s found it somewhat soothing over the centuries, the falling ash having a bit of a calming effect, something like a snowglobe.

“We’ll tell her the truth.” Chloe shrugs against him. “That’s nothing new for you, but it’ll nearly be a first for me. I’m looking forward to clearing the air and setting everything straight so we can get started with our future. Aren’t you?”

“Did we do the right thing?” His dark eyes search hers hesitantly, as though afraid of the answer he might find. “I know my absence was what she wanted, but… but she barely knew what she was asking. She’s been so angry and hurt for so long. I wanted to save her from becoming a lost soul, but… Chloe,” his voice breaks and he pulls her closer, “did I damn her instead?”

“You know perfectly well that you don’t damn anyone,” she snaps, snaking an arm around his waist and holding him tight when he tenses as though he’s about to move away. “Rory made her choices and we made ours, and despite everything we’ve been through, we managed to come through them mostly intact. You love her enough to spend over a million years here– in this place that was your prison for billions of years– so she could hold onto that version of herself that she knew, and loved. Love like that could never damn anyone, Lucifer. You’ll never convince me of that.” He can’t lift his gaze to meet hers so she reaches up and palms his cheek, turning him gently until it does. “I asked myself that question every day, babe. Every time I had to lie to her. Every time I saw the hurt flash in her eyes. The only truth I could tell her was that her father loved her more than anything, and that he never would have gone if it hadn’t been incredibly important.”

“She stopped believing that,” Lucifer reminds her quietly, sorrow brimming in his eyes.

“Probably because she knew I was lying to her about everything else,” Chloe shakes her head, blinking back the tears threatening to spill over. “She’s nearly as good as you at ferreting out lies.”

“I… suppose we did the best we could in the moment,” he allows, his broad palm painting a line of warmth along her upper arm as he strokes it absently. His movements slow, and when she looks up she finds him looking down at her with curious concern written plainly on his face. “And how are you settling in? You’ve had an eventful day, on top of at least a few centuries of mastering Hell’s disturbing inner workings. Are there any concerns we need to address for you?”

“No,” she replies, a little too quickly. She nibbles her lip as he arches a brow at her. “I mean, no, I’m fine. I’ve been keeping busy between working with Raphael and Linda and Frank, and working with Michael with Charlie and Gromos as backups. I just… we’re okay, right? I know you probably didn’t want me anywhere near him, and–”

“You’re certainly right about that,” Lucifer growls, but the glare he levels into the distance isn’t for her. After a moment, he sighs and turns back to her, his expression softening. “I’d rather you not subject yourself to my brother at all, but I know better than to try to stop you doing something that you’ve decided you need to do. And you told me about it before you did it, which… Chloe that means so much. Raphael or no Raphael, I know you would have found a way to weasel yourself into his cell when you put your mind to it. I’m glad that you included me in that decision, even if it was somewhat one-sided. Michael even seems a little different, somehow, since I’ve been back.”

“Charlie and I were just talking about that this morning,” she says cautiously, wondering if Charlie has mentioned anything about her other motive for wanting to work with Michael. “Your notes on how to handle him were really helpful.”

“You read them, then did it your own way until you saw for yourself how accurate they were, didn’t you?” She glares up at him, but when he only smirks back she has to cede the point. “Michael is a twisty one, but you’ve managed to push him farther along this path in a paltry few centuries than I have in millennia. If he weren’t so bloody dangerous I’d be tempted to have you work with him exclusively, but… I think I’ll just keep checking in on him as well. I told you that he offered to teach me to See, like Dad could?”

Chloe hums agreement, resting her head on his shoulder as they continue to look out over Hell. “In exchange for a meeting with Gabriel, right?”

“Exactly.” He leans his cheek against her hair, his scruff catching lightly in the strands. “I’ve decided I’m going to take him up on it.”

“You… what?”

“Mmhm, I spoke with Gabriel after I talked to Amenadiel earlier. She’s willing to come and speak to him. She can’t pray to Michael, so even though he can pray to her, Charlie can watch for any emotional fluctuations from her if he tries. And if he succeeds in teaching me to See… well, maybe I can figure out a way to make it useful down here.”

“You’ve been figuring out all sorts of things lately, haven’t you?” She turns into him, wrapping both arms around his waist and squeezing tight. “Does it feel a little bit like nothing is the way we thought it was?”

“Let’s just say you’re not the only one learning new things every day, love.” He presses a kiss to the top of her head and hugs her back, swaying them a little in place. “Are you tired? I know you don’t technically need sleep now, but it really has been a long day, and a mental rest is every bit as important as a physical one now and then.”

“Especially since tomorrow is probably going to be taxing, too?” She lifts her head, rests her chin against his chest and grins up at him.

“Indeed,” he smiles, but it morphs into a bit of a grimace. “Shall we?”

“Yeah, I could sleep.” He steps back and gestures for her to go ahead of him. He slips off his robe as they enter the bedroom, but in deference to Rory’s presence he leaves his silk sleep pants on as they slip between his sheets. Chloe waits until he’s settled then rolls into him, resting her head against his chest with a contented sigh so she can feel his heartbeat against her cheek. “It’s gonna be okay, you know, tomorrow. She’ll ask, and we’ll answer, and it’ll all get sorted out. It’ll be fine.”

“Of course,” he murmurs into her hair. She closes her eyes and relaxes, letting the gentle rhythm of his breathing lull her into sleep. “Of course it will.”

*

He misses Chloe’s snoring. Apparently, whatever minor internal physical abnormality that had caused her to impersonate an Albanian field wench while unconscious hadn’t carried over to her incorporeal form here in Hell. His mind is too full to allow him to sleep, so he listens to the sound of her too-quiet breathing and toys gently with the tips of her hair between his fingers, wishing that he had his piano here.

He misses the feel of the keys beneath his fingers, the cool glide of the ivories as they bend to his will, spilling forth gentle sonatas or tempestuous compositions from his own mind straight to his hands. He misses the music itself, resonating not only in the air surrounding him, but within his chest, striking his heart until it hums with a sweet song of his choosing.

Most of all, he misses the way he could simply pour himself into something so much greater and cease to be for a while. It was a way to quiet the voices, to soothe the beast within and give himself an outlet for all of his inner turmoil to flow freely without harming or frightening anyone. Music had ever been an outlet only available to him while on Earth, and the blatant corruption of it made Hell an even more unbearable torture than it already had been. He’s grown resigned to it over the eons, but he can never truly overlook it. It’s as though he’s missing part of himself, even more so than that feeling of loss when he’d been wingless.

So when he catches himself playing soundless melodies on Chloe’s back hours later as she sleeps, he gently disentangles himself and shrugs his robe back on before making his way silently to the sitting room, intent on pouring himself a drink. He stands at the bar and stares at the empty space where a piano should be, if this were anywhere other than Hell.

He manages to lose himself in his mind for a time, drifting on what-ifs and what-nows and drowning in doubts and regrets as he struggles to cling to the sharp and slippery rock of hope that somehow Chloe is right and everything will work out.

He’s never been great at optimism, really. Denial, absolutely. Blatant hope? Not so much. Hope hurts too much when it’s crushed. At least denial is more hardy, more adaptable. He doesn’t have music to lose himself in, but he does manage to go so deep into his thoughts that he visibly startles when he feels a light touch on his elbow. He twitches away and glances down at a rumpled, wide-eyed Rory. She stares back at him, apparently just as surprised at his startled reaction as he is, and after a moment she blinks and clears her throat.

“What were you playing?” She nods at the bar, and he glances down, puzzled, only to see his hands spread as if they were resting on a keyboard at the end of a song.

“Nothing you’d recognize.” He shakes his head with a wry laugh, curling his fingers into loose fists and rubbing his fingers together before reaching for his glass.

“Oh come on,” she urges lightly. “Just because guitar is my instrument of choice doesn’t mean I don’t know music.”

“Of course you know music,” he scoffs, looking fondly at her over his glass. “It’s in your soul, as it is in mine. I knew that the moment I stepped off the lift and found you playing one of my guitars. I didn’t think I’d ever heard anything as beautiful, and when you started to sing, I knew I never had.”

Her cheeks flush pink at the compliment and her mouth opens wordlessly. She closes it, then clears her throat again and says, “That doesn’t tell me what you were playing, though.”

“It… doesn’t have a name,” he murmurs, taking a deep draught from his glass. “I was just… clearing my mind.”

“Okay then, what does clearing your mind sound like?” His brows draw together and he tilts his head curiously as he regards her. She settles onto the stool next to him and nudges him hesitantly with her shoulder. “Come on, Dad, think of it as a… a getting-to-know-you exercise. What does the inside of your head sound like?”

He slowly sets down his glass and spreads his hands on the bar before him again, his head still tilted as he regards them. “I can hum it for you, but it’s going to sound entirely wrong.” His tone is melancholy. “Hell is deadly to any kind of enjoyment, music included.”

“Mom was telling me that,” Rory’s expression twists into something sour, and Lucifer flicks his gaze away. “But… didn’t you say something about the atmosphere changing? Have you tried lately?”

In answer, his fingers start to move, and he starts to… hum. Rory hesitates to designate it as humming at first because the sound is so odd, but it’s the closest descriptor she can come up with. The melody rolls from him in rippling waves, sometimes seeming as though he’s emitting several notes at once. The sound seems to twist in her ears, as though she wants to hear one thing, but is presented with something just slightly different, something that tickles the edges of her consciousness and pulls at her heart.

His face crumples in frustration and she knows what’s emerging is nothing like what he’s hearing in his mind, and yet what she hears is beautiful in a hauntingly broken way. Eventually she reaches out and stills his fingers, and the humming fades into silence. His eyes are closed, his head bowed, and he releases a heavy exhale.

“That was beautiful,” she tells him, because it’s true. Even though it obviously didn’t sound the way he wanted it to, what she heard was enough to draw tears to her eyes and a tightness in her chest. He only shakes his head, pain and frustration written in his posture, in his drawn expression. “It sounds like you’ve got a lot to think about. Do you want to be alone?”

“No,” his protest is soft, but immediate. “No, you’re welcome here, Rory, always, for as long as you want to be. I’ve had more than my fill of being alone.”

Her shoulders draw in and up, as though she wants to hide, and the impact of his words occurs to him a little too late. “Dad… I… I’m sorry. I didn’t– this is all my fault. Maze was right, if I’d only just listened when I was younger, when she was giving me important information… I shouldn’t have asked you to leave. I still can’t believe you actually did it.”

“It wasn’t an easy undertaking,” he replies slowly, feeling as though he’s stumbling in the dark, trying to find a truth that won’t scar his daughter any more than his actions already have. “First the only thing you wanted from me was to stay. That I would have gladly done. Then, you needed me to leave, and… well. I felt the result was worth the price, in the end.”

“The result?” Rory’s brows draw together in confusion, her little swoop of a nose wrinkling, and a smile tickles the corners of his lips.

“You,” he explains, with a loose gesture in her direction. “You’re… perfect, just as you are. You wanted so desperately to remain unchanged. How could I deny that desire, just to sate my own? Unmaking you… it would have torn me apart.”

“But… it wasn’t just what you would have wanted, it was Mom and T, too. And Aunt Maze and Ella… they’ve obviously missed you. Everyone I know that knows you has defended you my entire life, and… and I’m the reason you had to stay away.” Anger creeps into her tone now, but it’s not directed at him. “If I’d just listened to Maze, maybe I… if I’d known what I was asking… Maybe it wouldn’t have changed me so much, if you’d stayed.”

“Well, unless you have another hidden talent of seeing alternate futures, I think we’re rather stuck with never knowing,” he offers with a small smile. He proffers a glass that she accepts and they sip their drinks in silence for a long moment. He pulls in a deep breath, unable to ignore the guilt rolling off her in waves. “You mustn’t blame yourself for what was, Rory. As I said, you made your request, but your mother and I are the ones that chose to implement it. I’m quite sure I’ve done you the best favor I could by keeping my distance. I would have been a terrible father to you.”

“I mean, granted, you had a few false starts– the Christmas thing was kinda cringy, and what was with the glittery tux and the dancers?” She turns to face him, a strange light flickering in her eyes. “Why do you think you’d have been a bad dad?”

“I was never meant to be a father, Rory.” His dark eyes meet hers earnestly, and she can easily see that he believes that with his entire being. “I thought if any of my siblings could manage it, Amenadiel could, but even he wound up mucking things up with Charlie and Linda. I’m sure I wouldn’t have lasted a month with dirty nappies and spit up. As to my little show, and Christmas… Well. You made it crystal clear when you arrived that you wanted nothing to do with me beyond making me pay for my absence, so I thought, well, if you didn’t want me, perhaps you might want something I could provide, instead.”

“Wow,” she breathes, her heart clenching in her chest. “Mom was right. You don’t see yourself very clearly at all.”

“What is there to see?” He scoffs, rolling his eyes. “You don’t truly know me yet, so let me warn you now, darling: My father named me His poison upon my creation, and I’m still not certain He was wrong. I chose to be the Lightbringer, but I still manage to destroy far more than I’ve nurtured. I hurt people close to me. I run away when things get difficult. I… my mistakes have hurt your mother more times than I can count, and I worry about doing the same to Beatrice, and you…”

“You don’t look like you’re running now,” she counters, catching his gaze steadily despite the trembling in her soul at his pained admission. “Ever since you realized who I really am, all you’ve tried to do is show me that you never would have wanted to abandon me. Which turned out to be nothing but the truth, even though you didn’t even know it at the time. That’s not something a bad father would do. I always thought…” She hesitates and takes a deep drink from her glass, thoughtfully licking the whiskey from her lips. “I was always afraid that you just didn’t care. About Mom. About T. About me. But you did. You do, and… knowing that? It makes a difference. It doesn’t make growing up thinking you hated me hurt any less, but what you gave up for me puts it into better perspective, and… Well, I still haven’t wrapped my brain around all of this, but I think you’re doing a pretty good job.”

“Well, I’ve managed three days without any major co*ck-ups,” his lips twist in a wry smile. “Should we keep a calendar?”

“Four days now, Dad,” she reminds him, ironically saluting him with her glass. “Trust me, it’s a good start. And for what it’s worth… I think you probably would have been a great dad when I was growing up, but I’m looking forward to seeing what kind of a dad you can be now. What kind of a daughter I can be, once we get this mess I made all straightened out.”

“Very well,” he sighs, his gaze flickering past her and into the bedroom. “I’d like your mother to get some more rest, she had a very eventful day yesterday. But I suppose we can start with the Hell Q&A now. If I feel she should be involved in an answer, we can make a note and put that question off until she’s ready to join us.”

“Deal,” Rory grins, setting her glass down with a quiet clink and leaning forward with new intensity. “I want to know everything.”

Chapter 32: Bring-Your-Daughter-To-Work Day

Chapter Text

Chloe is dragged into wakefulness by a strangled “How long?” followed by desperate shushing noises. As she blinks sleep away, she can hear voices in the next room and notices that Lucifer is no longer beside her.

Oh no, they started without me.

She doesn’t hear another outburst, so she takes a moment to get dressed before approaching the stone doorway. They’re sitting on the couch and Rory is hunched over with her head in her hands, staring at the floor. Lucifer is leaning in and tentatively resting a hand on her shoulder, shaking his head gently and murmuring something.

She’s not left wondering for long.

“It was the only action that made sense,” he’s explaining. “Amenadiel couldn’t give us the new workspace we needed, so when he offered extra time I had to accept any advantage we could get. It’s made an enormous difference in our progress.”

“But two million?” Chloe winces a little at the plea in her daughter’s voice, for that unpalatable answer to be an exaggeration, a miscalculation. But the Devil doesn’t lie.

“Not quite two million, at least, I don’t think,” Lucifer lifts his chin for a moment, considering, and catches sight of her. His eyes plead for help, and she moves to his side. “But more than one and a half.”

“Wait until you see what he’s done with his time, Rory,” she supplies lightly, even though her heart is breaking. “Raphael has been working in our new purgatory, and it’s really something.”

“Purgatory?” Rory straightens up, and Lucifer’s hand falls from her back. Chloe sits beside him, supporting him with a nudge of her shoulder.

“Ah, we hadn’t gotten to that bit yet,” Lucifer glances at her before looking back at Rory. “We’ve mostly just been addressing the questions she has. I thought perhaps a tour once she’s exhausted those, if she’s interested.”

“How long have you guys been up?”

“A few hours?” Rory guesses, turning uncertainly to Lucifer, who nods. “I made him start with the stuff Maze would have told me, and then we were talking about Heaven and what Uncle A has been up to, and… and hasn’t been up to.”

Chloe presses her lips together to prevent herself from snarling at how spectacularly unhelpful Amenadiel has been throughout this entire ordeal.

“Which led to me explaining the deal to help us gain some ground here by manipulating time rather than planes, and… here we are. Did you get enough sleep, love?”

“More than either of you, obviously.” Her mouth quirks in a dry smile. “I’m fine. What’s the next topic of discussion?”

“You guys said T was coming down here, too? Do we know when?”

“With time in Heaven being more comparable to Earth than Hell now, it’s going to be hard to estimate,” Lucifer considers, running his tongue along the inside of his cheek in thought. “She has to wait for Raguel’s approval, then someone will have to bring her. It’s been a while since we’ve had any new volunteers, but usually Raguel prays to Raphael to let her know we’ve a pickup. I don’t want anyone else down here until we get Purgatory up and fully running.”

“Okay, so what’s up with Purgatory, then? Is it some kind of secret?” She shakes her head, confused. “I thought Uncle A couldn’t create one?”

“He says that he can’t, but I’m not convinced he’s even tried,” Lucifer admits, frustration heavy in his tone. He leans back against the couch, resting his head against it and glaring at the ceiling. “He’s afraid to change anything for fear of a cosmic meltdown. Apparently my siblings are an argumentative lot, which surprises me since none of them would dare utter a peep against our father and His bloody mysterious ways.”

“So if Uncle A couldn’t make one, how did you get it?”

“It was your mother’s idea, really–”

“It was not,” Chloe denies flatly. “You’re the one that nearly killed yourself trying to do it all alone first, don’t put that on me.”

“You did what?” Rory’s eyes widen as they flicker between her parents worriedly.

“I was fine, just… exhausted,” he assures her, narrowing his eyes at his partner. “And I was talking about the successful attempt being your idea, my love.” He sighs at their combined gazes, one lost, one annoyed, and continues his explanation. “Since Amenadiel couldn’t create a new plane to cut down on our soul burden here, what I wanted to try to do was create a place in Hell where the atmosphere wasn’t quite so crushing, not unlike the penthouse, and other living and workspaces I’ve managed to carve out. So I focused on an empty loop, and started feeding my energy, my divinity into it. It took bloody ages, but I finally got it to the point where I could make a test run.”

“So you… made a Heaven room in Hell, out of your own energy?” Rory’s eyebrows lift in interest. “What did you do with it? To test it?”

“I gave Linda a well-earned and much-needed vacation,” he smiles, and his eyes light up. “I’m told she spent it on a pristine beach with fruity co*cktails and attractive pool boys.”

“Of course she did,” Chloe chuckles, shaking her head fondly. “But you nearly burned yourself out for it.”

“Well, I didn’t know that was going to happen, did I?” He waves off the concern, but Rory leans forward anxiously. “Anyway, Charlie found me a little loopy from a massive divinity hemorrhage, and ratted me out to your Aunt Raphael who took me up to Earth to recover for a few days, and that’s when your mother gave me the idea to help make a self-sustaining Purgatory.”

“What was the idea?”

“I needed something divine to power the chambers, but… I was hesitating to ask Amenadiel for something to help, because of how reluctant he has been to try anything new, to make any changes. But your mother made… a few chance comments that made me remember Zadkiel’s staff, that got broken during the battle with Michael over the throne to Heaven.”

“You fought Michael with a staff?” Rory asks incredulously. “Didn’t Maze say he had some kind of magic sword or something?”

“Oh you listened to that lesson?” Chloe interjects, lifting an admonitory eyebrow at her daughter, who has the grace to look ashamed.

“Magic swords are cool, okay? But…” she squints as she tries to remember that long-ago lesson. “I know Michael wound up with his wings cut off in Hell after he almost killed Dad, but there was something else.” She glances between her parents again, suspiciously. “Maze didn’t mention what you did in that fight, Mom, and somehow I can’t imagine you hiding out and staying safe while Dad went to fight a bunch of angels.”

Chloe flickers a look at Lucifer, her fingers flying to her ring, glossing over the smooth stone in an anxious gesture. The staff hadn’t left a scar, so they hadn’t told anyone that wasn’t present (except Linda) what had happened to Chloe that day.

“She was there,” Lucifer answers easily, but Chloe can feel how tense his shoulders are. “She had a gun loaded with bullets that had been forged by melting down one of Maze’s demon blades, and she managed to clip a few of my siblings’ wings during the fight. Eve, too.” He lets his pride show in his expression. “We managed to win the day, in the end.”

“But if your weapon broke, how did you win?” Rory’s chin lifts stubbornly, and Lucifer recognizes the expression from his years of memorizing Chloe’s. “I know Michael didn’t just concede. Maze said he almost killed you.”

“Well,” he hesitates. There really had been no almost about it, though technically Michael hadn’t killed him. He’d willingly sacrificed himself to bring Chloe back. The world had needed her far more than him. Chloe’s hand tightens on his arm but she doesn’t say anything, letting him choose how much to reveal. “Yes and no. That’s not… entirely accurate. Michael never really wounded me beyond a few scratches.”

“Then how is the answer yes and no?” Rory turns so she can glare at both her parents, her arms crossing tightly over her chest. “Either you almost died, or you didn’t.”

“I didn’t… almost die,” he sighs, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “It was fairly chaotic there at the end. Michael… gravely injured your mother, and I went to Heaven to save her. I was still banned from Heaven at the time, and so it… er… essentially activated its defense system against me.”

“What kind of defense system does Heaven have?” She wonders warily. Lucifer breathes a sigh of relief that he doesn’t need to go into Chloe’s first death right now. He’s not sure how Rory will react, and he certainly doesn’t want to put any more stress on Chloe by dragging her through that fraught memory again.

“A very effective one,” he grimaces, resting a hand over Chloe’s and squeezing tightly. They never had discussed those brief moments he’d spent in Heaven’s vortex as he’d been pulled between oblivion and Godhood. He’s fairly convinced that if it hadn’t been for Chloe’s voice ringing in his mind that he would have surrendered to it and allowed himself to be consumed.

I’m not going without you.

Lucifer. Lucifer!

“The point we were discussing was that the staff was broken, and therefore wouldn’t be noticed if it were to be taken from Heaven.” He shakes off the memory of that overbearance of light, of the feeling of his very self being burned away, of his soul unraveling and being rapidly woven back together like a perfectly tailored jacket. “So I asked Zadkiel if I could use it, and he agreed. The staff became the… the seed for Purgatory.”

“So you brought it down here, and it’s just kind of what, acting like a… divinity diffuser?”

“Something like that. That was my intention, anyway, but… the staff had its own idea.” A smile tugs at his lips and he stands, holding out a hand for a befuddled Rory to take. “I’ll show you.”

She takes it and he tugs her up and out to the balcony, directing her gaze across the way to the odd-looking tree there. “Before I brought the staff down here, nothing had ever grown in Hell. When I made a space for the experiment and went to plant the staff in the center of the open area, it… reacted strangely. There was a huge burst of energy and light and when Zadkiel and I blinked the stars away, there was a tree like this one. It was small, but entirely new, and it started ingesting infernal energy and divesting itself of divine energy. Over time, it started dropping fruits that started sprouting new trees in other places, and after a few millennia the divinity level in that courtyard had risen enough that I could start powering up Purgatory based on the energy from the trees, only needing to use my own to channel and shape it into what I wanted.”

“The staff became the tree, which became trees, that are feeding Purgatory with divinity so you can help souls faster?”

“You’ve got it,” he grins proudly, gazing down at the tree. “I just wish the fruits weren’t so bloody tenacious. They cling to everything.”

They go back inside where Chloe waits, smiling fondly at the pair of them. “What question do you want to ask next?”

Rory laughs and shakes her head, running her fingers through her pink-streaked hair. “I… I know I’ve got more questions, but I don’t know if I can handle any more answers right now. I need to move.”

“Would you like the tour, then?” Lucifer offers graciously. “We can fly if you like, though the ash makes it a bit less enjoyable than it is on Earth.”

“Flying would be great,” Rory’s look of relief makes them both chuckle, and Lucifer looks to Chloe.

“Are you coming along, love? Or do you have something you need to do?”

“I’ll go with you,” she decides, taking his hand and allowing him to pull her to her feet. “I haven’t had the aerial tour yet either. We can check in with Raphael too, and let her know we’re back.”

“I already let her know last night,” Lucifer smirks as he unfurls his wings and makes his way back to the balcony, Chloe still clinging tightly to his hand. “She’ll have informed the others by now.”

“How much time does Charlie spend down here?” Rory wonders as she unfurls her own wings. Lucifer’s eyes immediately search for the bloody spots he’d noted on Earth. They’d cleaned them, but he wasn’t sure about her rate of healing. His sharp eyes don’t see any fresh blood, though, and Rory doesn’t seem uncomfortable, so he doesn’t question her ability to fly.

“It depends on what he’s got going on,” Lucifer shrugs, his wings rippling and stretching with the movement. “Quite a lot, really, but he’s pretty good about taking breaks before he truly needs them. The boy is disturbingly mentally healthy.”

Chloe snickers as Lucifer gathers her into his arms. “Are we ready? It’s a little difficult to talk while we’re flying, but I’ll hear you if you shout.”

Will you hear me if I pray?

“Well, that’s a good question,” he replies without realizing that her lips hadn’t moved. “I’ve never–” he trails off in surprise, while Chloe tilts her head at him quizzically. Rory simply grins. “Well, I’ll be damned. That’s three now.”

“Three what?” Chloe asks, completely lost.

“I found out while I was on Earth that I can hear Miss Lopez if she prays to me,” Lucifer explains distractedly. “And now it appears I can hear Rory, too. In addition to you. It feels so strange to be able to hear prayers again.”

“You’re not going to, like, start hearing Satanists’ prayers, are you?” She asks worriedly, but he only scoffs and shakes his head.

“Prayer only works if you have the true concept of who you’re praying to,” he explains, shifting Chloe in his arms so his grip is more comfortable for the both of them. “People who are praying to the Devil aren’t praying to me, they’re praying to what their idea of the Devil is… which is never anywhere close.”

“Does that mean that prayers to God don’t go through either?” Rory wonders. “I mean, people pray to him all the time, but it never seemed like Uncle A was dealing with a billion voices in his head.”

“Well, again, the idea of God is so… nebulous that it would be highly unlikely that any of them would go through to him. Maybe some went through to Dad, but even then I would have been surprised. There used to be a giant receptacle up in Heaven to catch and hold them, though as far as I’m aware, Dad never really did anything with them. Remember when Miss Lopez thought the world was ending because my siblings decided to ‘help out’ and decided to start granting some of those prayers, Detective?”

“Yeah…” Chloe groans, glancing up at the swirling sky. “People apparently pray for some really weird things.”

“Desires are incredibly unique to individuals,” Lucifer smirks. “But, to go back to your question, Rory, it appears that I will hear you if you pray.” A thought occurs to him and he gazes at her, curious.

But can you hear me?

Rory only glances up at the sky eagerly. “So, are we ready to go, then?”

“We are,” Lucifer replies easily, hiding his small pang of disappointment. It would have been nice to communicate with Rory while she was on other planes, but at least now he knows she can contact him if she needs to. “I won’t be able to respond in kind if you pray to me, so it may be best to stick with questions that only require yes or no answers, or a gesture for a response.”

She nods and doesn’t wait a moment longer before launching into the air, ash swirling around her as her wings beat powerfully in the dense atmosphere.

“All set, my love?”

Chloe kisses his cheek. “Let’s fly, baby.”

*

Chloe watches Rory as they fly. Her wingbeats are sure and strong, her eyes constantly scanning the Hellscape below them with interest. She feels Lucifer’s solid heartbeat against her shoulder, and their slight rise and fall with each stroke of his gleaming, powerful wings. Once she’s sure Rory’s okay, she turns her own attention to the winding, column-lined pathways below. From above she can see just how many trees there are, and she wonders how many of them (if any) are results of her own project to distribute the seeds more widely. She’s not sure if any of those would be tall enough to see over the columns yet.

Lucifer suddenly stops short, wings stuttering as he switches from a glide into a hover. He calls out to Rory, who glances over her shoulder and banks slowly back to them, backwinging into a graceful hover of her own. Chloe looks a question at him and he nods below them.

“Frank.”

She glances down and sees him in the corridor near the base of Lucifer’s throne, waving up at them. He must have been on his way to the penthouse. Rory spots him too, and nods. Lucifer carefully modulates his wingbeats to lower them to the ground without jolting his precious burden. Frank greets them cheerfully once everyone’s feet are on the ground.

“This must be Rory,” he grins, white teeth flashing in the dimly lit corridor. “I’ve heard wonderful things about you, young lady.”

Introductions aside, Frank asks to speak to Lucifer about some new arrivals that need special handling, and Chloe watches Rory glancing curiously at one of the trees down the path.

“Do you want to take a closer look?”

“Yeah, if that’s okay?”

Chloe glances at Lucifer, indicating with a bob of her head where they’re going, and he nods before turning his attention back to Frank. The two women pace down the hall until they reach the canopy of the tree.

“It really is just one tree?” Rory asks, glancing at the twined trunk that appears both dead and alive.

“It really is,” Chloe laughs. Rory reaches up toward the nearly-black leaves of one of the wizened branches, and Chloe reaches up to knock her hand away on instinct. “Careful! Ow!”

“What happened?” Rory steps closer, worried, but Chloe waves her off and sucks on the side of her hand.

“You’ve got to watch out for the dead-looking side. It’s covered in these thorns, and they are sharp. See?”

Rory looks closer and sees the vicious, needle-sharp thorns that had been hidden beneath the thick black leaves and hisses as she notices the reddening scratch on her mother’s hand. “You’re bleeding!”

“I’m fine, it’ll heal up in no time, it’s not even the first time one of these trees has marked me,” she laughs and waves her hand. “But I didn’t want you to get scratched.”

“Jeez, Mom, I can handle a little scratch from a tree,” Rory laughs, but her brows still don’t relax. “Sorry, I’ll be more careful.”

Chloe nods, and Rory goes back to warily inspecting the tree, giving the thorny branches a wide berth. “I don’t see any thorns on the branches with the flowers? Are they… poisonous or something?”

“No,” she chuckles, “but I can see why you’d ask. Arael says the flowers are the outlet for divine energy. On the trees that produce fruit, eventually the flowers turn into the fruits, but for the rest of the trees, they just serve as… I dunno… emitters? He probably has a name for what they do, but I’ve never asked.”

“Only some of the trees produce the fruits, then?” Rory glances around, noticing the lack of any of the pesky fruits her father had described on or around the tree.

“Yeah, only two of them,” Chloe shrugs. “We have no idea why, but they produce enough of the fruits that I’ve set demons to start collecting them and scattering them around Hell so we can hopefully get more trees to grow.”

“Cool,” Rory looks up into the canopy one more time before turning away and pacing back out from under the spreading green-and-purple branches. “I thought being close to one of them might feel different, but… it still feels really heavy.”

“This one isn’t very old yet,” Chloe watches her daughter carefully. “So the change isn’t very strong. The older they get, apparently the greater the exchange and effect. Are you holding up okay?”

“I’m fine,” Rory scoffs. “I’m not some fainting flower, Mom.”

“I know that,” she rolls her eyes fondly, “but this is Hell, and Hummingbird, don’t take this the wrong way, but Hell is really rough on souls that are carrying guilt, and… I think you might be one of them.”

“I’m fine Mom.” Rory pins her with a glare, but Chloe can see it lurking in the depths of those familiar dark eyes. She doesn’t push, but squeezes her daughter’s shoulder in support.

“Right,” Lucifer’s cheerful voice emerges from behind them. “Are we ready to continue our tour? I’ve got a couple of stops to make, if you ladies don’t mind. Just some loops that need tweaking.”

“Sounds good,” Rory replies eagerly before Chloe can say anything. “I’d like to see you at work, Dad.”

“Well, then!” He smiles, drawing Chloe into his arms once more. “One Bring-Your-Daughter-To-Work Day, coming right up!”

Chapter 33: I'm Not Going To Pick A Fight

Chapter Text

They continue in this way for a week before Rory admits to being out of her depth. She can see that there is so much that needs to be done here, but none of it can be done by her right now, and she confesses her impatience to her mother in a fit of near-tears of frustration.

“I was so stupid, Mom, seriously, how did you not murder me in my sleep?”

“You weren’t stupid, you just didn’t know what you didn’t know, baby,” Chloe reassures her again. “Have you been reading those books your dad put in your room?”

“I’m trying to, but… they don’t make a lot of sense. I think I really am going to need to take those classes that Ella told me about.” Rory grimaces. Taking classes means that she can’t use the time difference in Hell to work for her. She can’t just study here and be ready in a year or two of Hell-time. She’ll have to attend lectures and ask questions and do stupid projects– all in Earth time– which means she won’t be useful in Hell for literal ages.

And yes, Linda had offered to teach her, and Raphael, but any time spent teaching her was time taken away from the souls they should be helping, and Rory knows now that she can’t allow herself to be that selfish. Her mom is right, she doesn’t know what she doesn’t know, and it’s time she took some responsibility and started working on how she can help. It’s time to really grow up.

Maze can teach her anything else she doesn’t know about Hell– once she gets over her annoyance that Rory hadn’t listened the first time– and she has plenty of support and resources for any questions or problems that might arise.

She also realizes now that her mom was right about another thing– guilt is heavy in Hell. She hasn’t wanted to admit it, but she’s seen her parents watching her worriedly. She knows she hasn’t been hiding the signs of the crushing weight of it as well as she’d hoped. She might have to take Linda’s offer to help her start addressing that so that when she is ready to come back, she won’t be sucked into a loop or crippled into uselessness after a month or two.

She tells them that she misses T and wants to get a start on her studies, and they nod and smile like they believe her, but still the worry lingers in their eyes, and the guilt weighs more and more.

She clings first to her mom, then even more desperately to her dad before she prepares to cross into Heaven to go visit T. Lucifer had offered to go with her, but she couldn’t bear to pull him away from her mom again so soon after their reunion.

So instead she offers to tell T to try praying to him, so at least he’ll have some updates on her application process while she’s waiting. She promises to come back soon– but of course soon is relative when a day for her is over a century for them– and reminds him that he can always come visit her, too.

She needs him to know that her door is always open for him, too.

Leaving is both easier and harder than she thought it would be. Not physically, crossing planes is as simple as it’s ever been, but mentally– emotionally– the whirling sensations nearly throw her off-balance.

On the one hand, knowing her mother can never come back home again hits her hard. And leaving her dad behind just as they’re starting to get to know one another is more painful than she’d ever imagined it could be.

On the other, the sheer relief from the weight of the guilt that Hell’s atmosphere had amplified leaves her reeling and a little giddy, as though she’d been underwater too long and only just made it to the surface in time for a life-sustaining gasp of air. When she arrives in Heaven, she takes a deep breath and shakes the ash from her wings, earning her odd looks from nearby souls.

“What, you’ve never seen the Devil’s daughter arriving from the infernal plane?” She snarls at the gawkers, and they quickly avert their stares and go about their business. Rory feels a rush of warmth at referring to herself as being the Devil’s daughter. She’d never felt any pride in her father before. Well, at least, not once she’d started feeling abandoned and unloved by him. She’d done everything she could to distance herself from him, in fact, but now she’s learning to appreciate new facets of herself and of him.

Like music, for example. She had known it was important to her. And of course her mother had told her when she was younger about her dad’s affinity for the piano and singing– she’d even seen videos of his performances, and she’d watched them over and over and over when she was little.

Of course, now she realizes that was probably a hell loop of sorts for her mother, to have been constantly inundated with the voice of the man she loves on repeat… but she’s not thinking about that right now, thank you very much.

No, what she’s thinking about is just how deep her connection is to the music. She’d known she loved it, but with his comment about how it was part of her, that it was in her soul as it was in his, she realizes that he was right. She doesn’t just love music, she is music, at least in part. It beats in her heart, sings in her thoughts, flows in her blood. She lives it, in the little rhythms that make up her daily habits, and now that she’s aware of that she feels herself settle just a little more comfortably in her skin.

She also tries not to think about how miserable it must have been for her dad to stay in Hell for so very long, where the only music is warped and tortured just as much as the souls in his care… and how hard it will be for herself once she’s ready to return.

But for now, she’s determined to concentrate on learning– not only about herself, but also how she can help those souls laboring under the guilt of their existence.

The family business. She snickers to herself as she launches back into the sky and glides her way through the Silver City, occasionally stopping to ask directions toward her grandparents’ particular haven. Her parents had told her that was where they’d left T, and it’s barely been any time at all for this plane so that’s where she’s most likely to find her.

She lands and folds her wings in front of their door just in time to run into Dan, who jumps back as though he’s been burned.

“Uh, heeeyyy Rory,” he eyes her warily, and she rolls her eyes.

Okay, so she’d yanked him from his ping-pong purgatory and brought him up to Earth where he would miserably have to watch the people he’d loved in life go about their own lives without him until he figured out his issues. But he’s here now, so obviously she’d helped him, right?

And yeah, she’d probably worried him a little when she’d burst into his grotto after she’d gotten the call and demanded to know where her sister was, but it’s pretty clear now that T is fine. There’s no reason for him to be all rabbity.

“Is T still in there?”

“Oh, you… you already know, huh?” Dan seems surprised. “Yeah. She’s giving John an earful about how great your dad is.” A flicker of panic crosses his face and he launches into a torrent of words. “I mean, you’re, uh, you don’t still want to kill him, right? Chloe said you guys were okay now, and… uh… I mean, he is a good guy and all, so you should really give him a chance.”

“We’re good, it’s fine.” Rory waves him off. “Are you okay? You seem a little twitchy. Kinda freaked out by seeing your ex-wife and daughter arrive on the same day?”

“Well, yeah, a little.” He shrugs, still watching her carefully. “I mean, any day two people you love die is definitely a bad day. But it’s good to see them.”

“Then why are you all… mousy?”

“Look, last time I saw you, you yanked me out of Hell and stranded me on Earth where only like two people could see me or hear me. I think it’s understandable that I’d be a little leery of you.”

“Me?” She barks a laugh. “How do you know you even would’ve gotten here if not for me?”

“Lucifer would have figured it out,” Dan replies loyally, lifting his chin. “He helped Charlotte, and that Lee guy. He would have figured out what I needed to do to get out of there.”

“He didn’t have a clue what he was doing then,” Rory points out, but a smile plays with the corners of her lips at Dan defending her dad.

“He’s doing pretty well now, though, even with almost no help. We get new arrivals from Hell all the time up here now.”

“Yeah, I’ve been learning the process down there for the past week. They’ve got a system, all right.”

“A week?” Dan’s grey eyes narrow in confusion. “Well that can’t be right. Lucifer and Chloe only left a few minutes ago.”

“Yeah, that’s because Uncle A made a crappy deal with my dad to fix it so they get more time down there to handle all the incoming souls and get them up here faster.” Rory manages not to snarl, but it’s a near thing. She’s really tempted to stop in and have a word with her uncle, but she knows her parents are trying to keep their current projects off the heavenly radar for now. “But anyway, you don’t have to worry about me. I’m not going to kidnap you from Heaven, I’m just here to see T.”

“Good to know,” Dan relaxes a little, but doesn’t move any closer. “Well, I’m… uh… just gonna go let Charlotte know what’s going on. Later, Rory.”

“Yeah,” she says to his back as he hurries away. He can’t honestly be afraid of her, can he? She shakes off those thoughts and walks through her grandparents’ door, finding her sister waving an admonitory finger under their grandfather’s nose.

“– and you literally saw him give his life to bring her back, and you still think he’s evil?” T is saying as she walks in. Rory stops cold and stares at her sister. She looks so much younger, about the age Rory herself looks, even though she’s well over forty. She’d known to expect her to look different– look at Mom after all, back to how she’d looked way back in 2021– but she hadn’t known what to expect beyond that. She gives herself just a moment to take in the sight of her sister releasing her righteous wrath on their grandfather, and is about to announce herself when Penelope’s voice rings out.

“Rory, pumpkin! I haven’t seen you in ages!”

Rory suppresses a wince. It’s true, she hadn’t, aside from the obligatory deathbed visit, she had kept a healthy distance from her grandmother whenever possible. After her death, well… She doesn’t like coming to Heaven all that much, and with Penelope not being in the know about her angelic ancestry, it had been quite easy to stay away. She’d been an adult by the time Penelope had passed, but something about her had always rubbed Rory the wrong way. She’d always felt a little bit like her grandmother had blamed her for every little thing. Even if she’d never outright said it, there was always something in the set of her mouth, the ice in her eyes that wasn’t there when she looked at T, or Mom.

And maybe it was just Mom’s dislike of Hollywood rubbing off, but Grandma had always struck her as insincere. Like she was acting the part of a caring mother and grandmother, but never quite living it.

Rory never could stand being lied to.

Her grandmother’s wide blue eyes take in the steel-tipped magenta wings folded behind her, and Rory realizes she should probably have folded her wings away before entering… and maybe knocked on the door. She gathers herself, but before she can respond to her Grandmother’s greeting, T whirls to face her, a smile spreading on her youthful face.

“Oh, please tell me Lucifer sent you to collect me!” She launches herself across the room and wraps her little sister in a tight hug. Rory’s wings mantle automatically around them, and she feels the sting of tears nipping behind her eyes as her big sister speaks into her shoulder. “I missed you so much that I even miss all your lame jokes!!”

It takes Rory a couple of hard swallows to get her heart back in her chest and out of her throat before she can croak, “My jokes aren’t lame, your sense of humor is just too crude for them.”

“Whatever you say, kid,” T squeezes her tighter before letting her go. “Are you here to take me to Hell? Because I can go anytime.”

“Uh, I thought you had to go through some kind of process with Raguel?” T’s face falls a little until Rory explains, “Dad said it would probably be a few days, so that’s why I came to visit.”

She rocks back on her heels, her eyebrows nearly touching the sky in surprise as her smile revives and widens. “Dad?”

“Yeah,” Rory smiles shyly. “I, uh, I know now. I just spent a week down there learning the basics, and man do I have a lot of catching up to do.”

“Catching up?” Her puzzled expression fades into affectionate pride. “Oh, you mean with Lucifer. Yeah, you guys are going to have so much fun getting to know each other!”

“No!” Rory backtracks at her sister’s obvious surprise, “I mean, yeah, I’m looking forward to that, too, but I meant you guys all have your freakin’ degrees in psychology already and I’ve got to start at the beginning. I’ve wasted so much time!”

“Psychology?” T shakes her head, truly confused now. “What are you talking about? Lucifer’s complex, but he doesn’t require a degree to figure out. He just needs love and understanding. And probably some patience. He’s never had a chance to be a dad.”

“Yeah, I know.” She winces a little at the reminder. “I made a huge mess of this, and I don’t know how I’m going to fix it yet. Do you know what he wanted to do on my first night down there?” T’s brow creases, but she shakes her head. “He wanted a game night, because he remembered that I was upset that he’d had them with you when you were little. Like, two million years, and he remembered that I was hurt that I never got a family game night with him.”

“Okay, wait,” she holds up a hand in a ‘stop’ gesture. “First of all, that is totally typical of Lucifer. He can be utterly oblivious or incredibly thoughtful. Sometimes both at the same time. But second, what do you mean you’ve been down there a week? Were you down there while I was there? I thought Lucifer said you were still back on Earth talking to Maze and Ella? And what are you talking about, two million years?”

“Right, you don’t know about the time thing yet.” She lifts her chin in understanding. “Uncle A messed with time up here so he could mess with time in Hell. Dad needed more time to help all the souls down there, so I guess Uncle A slowed down time here so he could speed time down there.”

“That’s why you guys were so surprised to see us?” T turns to look at their grandparents, who stand together, talking in low voices halfway across the room. “You said it seemed really soon, but it’s been decades. And… time is usually a lot faster here, right?”

“It used to be,” John shrugs a little. “All I know is that about twenty or thirty years ago, we started getting arrivals a lot more frequently than before.”

“So you’re saying time here is slower, but time in Hell is faster, as in more time goes by? Like where a month on Earth is like two thousand years in Hell?”

“Yeah, but Raphael told me it’s more like four thousand,” Rory shrugs, but T goes utterly still.

Two million. Her mouth forms the words, but she doesn’t utter them aloud, instead turning to start pacing the room restlessly. “Why would he do that? Why would he ask for that?”

“Dad said something about wanting a third plane to make into a Purgatory, but Uncle A couldn’t do that, so he offered Dad this time deal instead. Dad figured he’d take any help he could get at that point, since nobody else was offering anything.”

“Right, so he just doubled the length of time Lucifer had to spend away from Mom?” T’s face floods with color, and her eyes glitter dangerously. “That’s it. I’m going to talk to Amenadiel.”

She’s nearly to the door before Rory realizes she should stop her. She chases after, spreading her wings to block the door. “Whoa T, easy girl! Dad says they’re trying to stay out of Uncle A’s line of sight. Picking a fight might not be the best move right now.”

“I’m not going to pick a fight,” T growls, struggling to shove Rory’s wing out of her way. “I’m going to tell him exactly what a dick move that was– on top of threatening to keep Mom from going to Hell to be with Lucifer after Linda died and chose to help down there rather than come up here!”

“I fail to see how telling God he’s a dick on behalf of the Devil isn’t going to pick a fight, T,” Rory points out wryly. Then her own brows lower ominously. “But if he really did threaten to do that, then you’re not wrong.”

“Oh, he definitely did. I was there when Lucifer told Mom about it.” She shoves against Rory’s wings again in frustration. “Get out of the way, Rory!”

“Yeah, that’s gonna be a no.” T glares at her, but she doesn’t back down. “I know I’m not usually the sensible one, but Mom and Dad will not be happy if you give Amenadiel a lecture, and then he goes down to Hell and sticks his nose into their Purgatory project before they’ve even got it up and running.”

“Fine,” T growls and gives one more shove before falling back in an uncharacteristic pout. She glances over at their grandparents and her scowl deepens. “Let’s go see Charlotte. I want to spend some time with Dad before I leave.”

Rory spares a glance at the couple across the room, and Penelope gives a small, awkward wave. “Come and see us again soon, girls! Rory, your wings are lovely.”

Rory and T share a glance, then turn to leave as one.

“So, those are our baby girl’s baby girls, huh?” John observes laconically once the door closes behind them. Penny startles a little as she realizes that this was his first meeting with both his granddaughters, and he’d spent most of it being lectured by one, and hadn’t exchanged a single word with the other during her brief visit. “Seems like the one with the wings takes after her father.”

“John, she’s a sweet girl, really,” Penny soothes, resting her hand on his forearm. “I’ll introduce you two properly next time, everyone was so wound up just now with… with everything going on. She’s very musically inclined, and clever! She was the most precocious little girl–”

“I don’t like it, Penny,” John grunts. “I don’t like that he’s got Chloe down there, or that Chloe’s girls are so keen to get down there either.”

“We have to trust them, John,” she reasons. “Chloe has a solid head on her shoulders, and Trixie and Rory are intelligent and good-hearted girls.”

“Yeah, but when the Devil is trying to keep God out of Hell, you have to wonder what he’s plotting.”

*

“I’m not plotting anything!” Michael presses a palm to his chest in the very picture of offended innocence. “I just want to talk to the one member of my family that actually cares something for me. Is that so bad?”

“It’s not bad, Michael, and you know I didn’t say a damn thing about plotting,” Lucifer sighs, closing his eyes for a moment and pulling a deep, steadying breath. When he opens them his twin is smirking at him, the expression slightly skewed by the pulling of the scar across his face. “I was simply letting you know that your conversation will not be unmonitored.”

“Will we get a booth with those phones attached to them like the incarcerated humans get?” Michael feigns excitement. He’s been utterly annoying since Lucifer told him Gabriel had agreed to visit when she had the time, and he’s already starting to regret his concession, especially since he has yet to make any progress in his lessons in Sight.

“Can we just get on with this?” Lucifer settles back into his chair, refusing to rub his temples to ease the pressure he feels there every time he works with his twin.

“I really think this would work better from your throne,” Michael says, as he has at the beginning of every session. “That’s where Dad always worked from.”

“My throne has been unoccupied since my return. I’m not a king, I’m a healer,” Lucifer hisses. “If you can manage to See from your cell, then we should manage just fine here in my office.”

“I didn’t learn in my cell, though,” Michael points out, and damn him but he actually does have a point. “I learned from the throne room in Heaven, which is the easiest place to See that doesn’t involve actually sitting on the throne itself. It’s always easier to See from a position of power.”

“Then perhaps I’ll try practicing from the throne later,” Lucifer allows, annoyed at having to cede the point. “But I’m not taking you there.”

“Afraid I’d try to take it from you, brother?” Michael sneers. “I hate to break it to you, but this plane isn’t exactly coveted real estate, kingship or no.”

“I’m not taking you there because it’s a bloody 20-story high spire with a chair on top, and I’ve no desire to cart your arse up there. Nor to have you parked on me like the universe’s least desirable lap dance.”

“Ah.” Michael’s mouth opens, then closes. Obviously, he hadn’t taken that little fact into account. “Right. Is there… somewhere nearby? Another office, or maybe an open area at the base?”

Lucifer considers. Michael actually seems to be trying to make good on his end of the deal, so the least he can do is make concessions to that. He’d been unwilling to hold these little lessons in the open, but there is a decent-sized tree nearby with a full canopy that would shield them quite well from sight of anyone passing by…

The problem there is that– at least as far as he knows– Michael isn’t aware of the trees or the particulars of his Purgatory project. And he very much wants to keep it that way. But Michael is right, it’s been months and he hasn’t caught a glimpse of anything. Perhaps it’s time to try something different.

“Alright then, let’s go on a little walkabout, shall we?” Lucifer stands, and Michael gapes up at him in surprise.

“What, seriously? You’re just… okay with this idea now?”

“I’m not trying to trick or trap you into anything,” Lucifer rolls his eyes. “If you really think it will help, then we’ll try it. I’m not afraid to try something new if it has a chance of working.”

“Wow,” Michael says sarcastically, clapping his hands on his thighs as he stands. “I’m impressed, Brother. Maybe you would have made a decent God after all.”

“You’re not going to succeed in starting another rebellion, Michael, so you might as well just stop that nonsense right now,” Lucifer snaps, opening the door and standing aside, unwilling to allow Michael to walk at his back. “Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me, and I’ve more than enough deeds of my own to be ashamed of. As do you. Let’s be off, shall we?”

Michael grimaces at the falling ash, his nose wrinkling as he surveys the stone walkways. He nudges the flagstone with his blunt brown shoe. “You know, setting me to scrubbing these with a freaking toothbrush was really over the top.”

“You killed a human yourself, had other humans killed on your order, killed Remi and the Detective, and tried to kill me, Michael,” Lucifer reminds him clinically. “If you had won, and I had done half of that, what would you have done with me?”

“You kinda did do half of that, you know.” Lucifer only lifts a brow in response, unamused, and Michael snorts. “I didn’t want to obliterate Remi, you know. She didn’t give me a choice.”

“Oh? She was going to obliterate you, then? Or Gabriel?”

“What? No,” he scoffs. “She was going to tell you my plan.”

“We already knew your bloody plan, assemble the sword and threaten the rest of the Host with it so they wouldn’t argue when you declared yourself God. Did I miss any important bits?” Lucifer shakes his head incredulously as Michael only grumbles in response. “You really don’t feel any remorse at all?”

“Of course I do,” he grouses. “I just told you I didn’t want to wipe her from existence. I just needed her contained, but she wouldn’t–”

Lucifer lifts his head as a thought occurs to him, but he doesn’t speak it out loud. He waits to see if Michael will continue as they travel the corridors toward the towering spire that is his despised throne.

After a few turns and twists taken in silence, Michael huffs. “She tried to take the blade from me, and we fought. She managed to make me drop it and I shoved her away so I could lunge for it. When I stood up and turned to face her–” His right hand flexes at his side, a gesture Lucifer is familiar with, as his left hand clenches around the non-existent blade the way it does every time he thinks of what happened with Uriel. Michael swallows hard and blows out a heavy breath. “By the time I realized what happened, she was gone. I thought… I hoped maybe it had only been a glancing blow, but when I looked at the blood on the blade, I knew.”

“Remi was a fighter,” Lucifer offers, more than a little stunned. It’s more of an admission than he’s gotten out of Michael in all their sessions combined, and he’s afraid to say more for fear of stemming whatever confessional flow his brother has finally connected with.

“Yeah, and stubborn as Hell,” Michael growls. “I never would have thought she’d side with you. Using her as a spy was a good move.”

“Well, I suppose that depends on whose point of view you take,” he replies wryly. “It got her killed, after all.”

“She was a warrior. She knew we were headed for war,” Michael’s grim tone echoes flatly in the hallway. “She knew the risks, and there was no way she would have ever avoided a fight.”

“All the same, I wish she hadn’t…”

“Yeah, me too.” Lucifer looks at his brother in shock, but he doesn’t meet his gaze. Instead, he focuses upward, his scar furrowing as he squints against the falling ash. “I can see why you don’t want to fly me up there. Looks uncomfortable. Are we working here, then?”

“No, up the way a bit.” He gestures, and Michael’s eyes follow.

“What the Hell is that?” Michael stops dead, but Lucifer keeps moving, gesturing him on impatiently.

“It’s called a tree.” The sting of his barely-repressed laughter seems to goad Michael out of his surprise.

“Alright, Samael, I know it’s a tree.” He steps forward, then moves to catch up with his twin. “What is it doing here? Don’t those things feed on light or something?”

“Not these,” Lucifer says shortly, and doesn’t elaborate. Michael eyes it warily as they approach, but settles as they near it. Lucifer tenses, waiting to see if his brother will comment on the difference in the atmosphere, but he doesn’t. “Have a seat, if you want. There won’t be any ash on the ground here.”

Michael huffs in annoyance and slumps to the ground before leaping back up with a startled “Ow!” His hand pops to his mouth and he sucks on a small wound before he pulls his hand away and spits, disgusted. “It bit me! Oh, oh this is disgusting! What is that, did it sh*t on me!? Lucifer, what the f*ck, that isn’t funny!”

“What are you talking about?” Lucifer asks, stepping closer and stifling his laughter. His brother is dancing around, waving the hand he’d just brought to his mouth and Lucifer can make out a tiny, bleeding pinprick and a faint, brownish-grey smear on the skin.

That’s odd. None of the fruit-bearing trees are anywhere near here.

He supposed that some of the berries could have been tracked this far– after all, that’s how this tree wound up here. When he glances up, though, he finds that’s not the case, because this tree is now bearing fruit. Michael had managed to sit right where a thorny branch had fallen and placed his hand directly on it… and when Lucifer looks down he sees that there are fallen berries strewn liberally the entire width of the canopy.

Pushing aside his puzzlement, he coughs to hide his snicker as his twin vigorously tries to spit the acrid flavor of the smashed berry out of his mouth. “Relax, Michael, trees don’t have any bowels to void, it’s only some squashed fruit. I’m sorry, I didn’t know this tree had started bearing them or I would have warned you.”

“Would you have?” Michael asks disgustedly, wiping his hand on his trousers. He spits again, his lips pursing at the cloying taste of the fruit.

“I absolutely would have, because these little fruits are bloody nuisances, and I don’t want them tracked back into my office.” Michael seems slightly mollified by that assurance. “I know they don’t taste very good, the demons say they taste like ash.”

“If that’s what Hell ash tastes like, then I’m glad there’s none in my quarters,” he complains bitterly. “That is foul.”

“I’d offer you something to drink, but I assure you that it would likely taste every bit as bad unless we were back in my office.”

“Ugh.”

“Well, shall we get started on this lesson then,” Lucifer asks lightly, “or has the bad taste in your mouth spoiled you for teaching today?”

His twin gives him a sour look and he lets a low burble of laughter escape. “All right, let’s… let’s give this a try, and I’ll get you something to drink before I send you back to your room.”

“Fine.” Michael’s nose is still wrinkled, but Lucifer manages to suppress his eyeroll at his brother’s dramatics. “I’m holding you to that.”

“I wouldn’t dream of going back on my word,” Lucifer murmurs, a smile still tickling his mouth as he closes eyes and breathes deeply, working on clearing his mind as his brother has instructed him many times before. It’s not unlike what he does when he’s working to funnel the ambient divinity into purgatory, opening himself up to his surroundings, although right now he’s a little more focused on the infernal energy than divinity.

Hm. Perhaps doing this under a tree that photosynthesizes divinity isn’t the best idea if I’m trying for infernal energy.

“You already have a connection with Hell, because you use it to manipulate the loops and your offices and living spaces,” Michael advises, surprisingly patient. “What you need to do is focus on convincing it to show you what you want to See.”

“I still don’t understand how this is supposed to help me at all if I have to know what I want to See before I can even bloody See it,” Lucifer mutters in frustration.

“You don’t have to give an exact destination,” Lucifer can hear Michael’s eyeroll, though his own eyes remain closed as he focuses. “Basic instructions work best. It’s like working with you.”

“Shut up, Michael.”

“Then focus.”

Basic instructions. An idea occurs to him. What happened when Beatrice made the crossing?

He focuses his mind sharply on that thought, sending it out into Hell in a questing tendril. Nothing happens for a long moment, and he releases a slow breath of apprehension when suddenly a flicker of light appears in his mind, and an image forms of Raphael’s office. It’s blurry, and skips and jags like an old movie, but he can see Chloe and Beatrice embracing in the office with Raphael looking fondly at the pair of them. Once the two women break apart, they settle into the chairs across the desk from Raphael, and–

He breaks out of the blinding light of his vision with a gasp, his wings emerging and flailing wildly as Michael skips backward in alarm.

“What the–” his expression lights with understanding. “You Saw something!”

“I… I Saw something, all right.” His legs are shaking as he folds his wings away. “I… I’ll try again later, Michael, that was… that was disconcerting.”

“What did you See?” He asks curiously.

“Nothing much, it was blurry and jittery. It looked like one of the offices.”

“It gets clearer as you get better at it,” Michael assures him, and Lucifer is too shaken to even wonder at how supportive his brother is being. They start to move back toward his office for Michael’s promised drink, and he tosses a glance back over his shoulder at the innocuous-looking tree.

He needs to practice Seeing more. And he needs to talk to Arael again.

Chapter 34: Isn't That A Bit Biblical For You?

Chapter Text

“And you don’t spend any more time here than any other part of Hell?”

“For the last time, no!” Lucifer throws up his hands in exasperation. “I haven’t spent any amount of time on my throne since I put down the last demon rebellion, and that was well before I came back to start this whole project. While I’m interested to find out why, I’m even more curious about what these fruits are capable of other than sprouting new trees, potentially seeding souls in demons, possibly triggering transfers, and acting as stage five clingers all over Hell’s half-acre.”

That’s what they’d come up with, after an extended brainstorming session, and interviews with many, many demons.

Lucifer had Seen the incident in Raphael’s office: Beatrice chatting with her mum, noticing and eating the berries, then mere minutes later ascending in a flash of divine light. He wasn’t positive the fruit was a causative agent, but it was quite a coincidence, especially after they’d learned that all of the demons currently incubating vestigial souls had been brave (or stupid) enough to sample the berries that had grown on the first-ever tree in Hell.

He’s still not quite sure what to make of any of it. He desperately wants to talk to Beatrice, but he’s reluctant to draw Amenadiel’s attention, and another visit to the Silver City so soon would certainly do that. Arael takes dozens more berries from each of the three trees now producing them, and retreats back to his garden with a zealous light in his eyes once Lucifer convinces him that he has no other information to share. He wonders idly how long his brother will be holed up studying them this time before he’s back demanding more samples and information that they simply don’t have.

“You’ve got to respect his dedication,” Chloe murmurs after Arael leaves, reading his thoughts as she comes to rest against the railing beside him. He reaches out and tugs her into his side, resting his cheek against her hair with a contented sigh. They’ve had precious little time alone together since he brought her back from Heaven, and he’s quickly learning to savor every moment they get. “He’s very thorough.”

“I knew you two would get on,” Lucifer chuckles. “Arael is easy to get along with, but when it comes to plant life, he is relentless in his interests.”

“I noticed,” she deadpans, then relaxes into a smile. “Is that an angel thing? I mean, Raphael is pretty one-track when it comes to healing, and you always get lost in your, um–”

“Desires?” He suggests playfully, bumping her hip with his.

“Quest for justice,” she continues doggedly, making him laugh again. “And Amenadiel seemed all gung-ho on reforming the LAPD until he got lost in all his God-duties. Do you… maybe have a tendency to get tunnel vision?” He lifts an eyebrow and opens his mouth only to find her fingers covering it as she gives him a narrow-eyed glare. “Do not make a joke about a tunnel you’d like to see right now, Lucifer Morningstar.” She softens the chastisem*nt with a quirk of her lips as she traces his bottom lip with her thumb. “I’m serious. You said before that you were all created for a purpose. For a while, you even thought you were incapable of love– which is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard by the way– so… how much does your purpose really guide you?”

“Have you been talking with Linda about angels?” Lucifer wonders, fond exasperation in his tone. “She asked me something similar once upon a time, only it was more about our powers, and how they define us, or rather how we define them.”

“Did you ever figure it out?”

“No,” he laughs. “I learned long ago that trying to figure out the reasons Dad did anything would only wind up with a headache for me at best. It was all I could manage to keep my own self-actualization in check, and you know how messy that got before I got a handle on it.”

“I was so proud of you that day, for taking that step,” she confesses, stroking his cheek absently. “Did I tell you then? I can’t remember.” He only hums in response, so she knows that she didn’t. Not then, at least. “Well, I was. I still am. You give me new reasons to be proud of you every day.”

“You’re one to talk,” he huffs. “Look at what you’ve managed! All your work with Michael, organizing the demons to spread those nasty little fruits so the trees will proliferate faster, managing to single-handedly raise two of the most spirited and intelligent women in history–”

“Okay, now you’re exaggerating,” she giggles as his fingers press briefly into the ticklish spot on her side. “But I see your point. I told you before, the two of us are just incredible.” He pulls her in for a hug and her hand slides from his cheek to cup the back of his neck as her ear rests over his heart. “How long do you think before Trix is back?”

“I’m not sure,” She can hear the frown in his voice. “With the time difference between Heaven and Hell now… I wonder if that’s why we haven’t seen any new volunteers for such a long time? I’ll have to ask Raphael if anyone said anything to her about the typical waiting period during any of her visits. I let her handle all that. She’s better with newcomers than I am, and my skills are better utilized elsewhere.”

“Do you think she’ll have a hard time when she comes back? You said Linda had some issues early on with nearly getting pulled back into her Loop?”

“If our suspicions about the fruits are correct, I don’t think Beatrice will have an issue,” he pulls in a breath to continue, then pauses thoughtfully. She glances up and catches the gleam in his eye. “Well, now there’s an idea.”

“Would you like to share it, or are you going to make me dust off my Detective skills?” She arches an eyebrow up at him and he smirks back at her.

“While your skills are always welcome, love, I… don’t quite know if this is a valid idea yet, but… here’s what I’ve got: Linda got here on a technicality, not unlike Beatrice. She shouldn’t have been here, but she purposely clung to her guilt to get here so she could help. The reason she kept getting drawn back toward her Loop was because even once I got her out, she was still clinging to that residual guilt, and Hell could tug on that.”

“The same way you were pulled into your Loop when you came down here to get that antidote for me?” Her arms tighten around him and he nods, pressing a kiss into her hair.

“Linda clung to that guilt for a long time, because if she didn’t, she’d have popped Upstairs and I think she was more than a little afraid that Amenadiel wouldn’t approve her to come back. She still won’t take a proper vacation up there like Frank does, you know.”

“I know,” she murmurs, wondering if she should be worried about Trixie being allowed to come back down. “But she doesn’t still hold that guilt now, and she’s still here?”

“I finally managed to figure out how to insulate her from her Loop, while we were treating her after her attempt to work with Michael.” Lucifer’s lips thin, and Chloe recalls Linda’s immediate, visceral reaction to Chloe’s request to be allowed to speak with the twisted archangel. Fear. “I know she truly does blame herself for some of the things I saw in her Loop, though… and I wonder if she would agree to being my guinea pig once more.”

“What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking we can see if Linda would be willing to risk the worst taste-test ever to see if these fruits do what we suspect they do.”

“Lucifer!” Chloe’s torn between being horrified and laughing. “What if we’re wrong?”

“Well, several demons have eaten the disgusting little nuggets, and so far no ill effects aside from minor soul manifestation. Linda already has one of those, so no worries there. Beatrice ate one, and while we haven’t been able to really speak with her about that yet, she nearly immediately experienced an unprecedented bout of clarity and ascended to Heaven millennia faster than most souls. So far those are the only case studies we’ve got, love. I’ve already got Linda insulated, so if the nasty little bonbon does let her see her situation clearly, she won’t ascend unless she wants to, so she shouldn’t need to worry about not being allowed to come back. And if it does nothing, well… at least we can say we tried. I’d like to have Charlie handy if we try, though, to see if he can sense anything after ingestion.”

“Why Linda, though? Why not one of the other billions of souls down here we’re trying to thin out?”

“Well, I can think of two reasons right now, and I could probably come up with more with some effort. But for right now, because A: I want Linda to let go of that ridiculous burden she’s carrying. She doesn’t deserve to bear it, and even though she’s insulated from Hell it’s still heavy. And B: if I’m wrong about her insulation and she does bounce up to Heaven, she’s not going to go rabbiting around and telling everyone up there what happened. We’re not ready for Amenadiel to come poking his blunt nose around this place yet. If he thinks the Devil is down here offering souls the bloody Fruit of Knowledge–”

“The Fruit of Knowledge?” Chloe smirks. “Really? Isn’t that a bit Biblical for you?”

“Well, believe me when I say it’s much more accurate now than as a euphemism for anything I offered Eve–”

“Okay,” she lightly punches his shoulder, then reaches up to kiss him when he chuckles at her. “You really think this will work?”

“Only one way to find out.” Her questioning blue eyes meet his steady brown gaze as he waits for her verdict.

“We can ask,” she decides. Lucifer’s face lights up with a smile and she draws him into another kiss. “Tomorrow.”

*

“This is so stupid,” Bea growls as she paces around the grotto her dad shares with Charlotte. “Amenadiel knows who I am, and he knows Lucifer isn’t going to lose track of me. What’s the point in making me wait? I could be doing something useful right now!”

“C’mon Trix,” Dan says quietly, gesturing toward a wicker chair. “Is it such a hardship to hang out in Heaven with your dad for a little while before you go off and help souls forgive themselves? Lucifer’s kept me up to date on the big stuff, but I haven’t gotten to talk to you since you judo-flipped me at science camp!”

“Science camp?” She stops pacing long enough to stare at her dad until she realizes that he’s not joking. “Dad, you were already… you were gone when I went to science camp for the first time. Mom almost didn’t let me go, but I remembered how proud you were when I got in, because it was for accelerated students, and I… I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

“I was dead,” Dan says softly, smiling wistfully. “But I wasn’t gone. And you could never, ever disappoint me. Did your mom ever tell you what happened? When I died?”

“She said that she got to talk to you afterward, and that you told her you knew she was strong enough to make sure I was strong enough, even without you.” She settles into the chair and gives him a trembling smile. “I’m glad you were here for her then. I’m sure she was upset until Lucifer got here to bring her back.”

“No, I meant, wait, what do you mean then? She left just a few hours ago, Trix, and you were with her the whole time. Yeah, she was upset, but I didn’t do anything to help, really.”

“No, then, I meant when she died the first time.” At Dan’s blank stare, she laughs a little anxiously. “When Michael killed her, and she wound up here until Lucifer came to take her back. When she talked to you after you died.”

“I did talk to her after I died, but it was on Earth,” Dan shakes his head, thoroughly confused. Charlotte, who has remained quiet as she watched Trixie aggressively pacing, reaches for his hand and squeezes it. “In her apartment, right at the breakfast bar. I managed to snag a body and went to talk to you a little while after that, but you didn’t recognize me and went all ‘Stranger Danger’ alert, just like we taught you. I was so proud of you.”

“But… how were you on Earth? Lucifer said ghosts aren’t a real thing.” Trixie’s brow creases. “He said there was no way you could have come back.”

“And he was right,” Dan assures her quickly, flicking a glance at Rory, who is shifting uncomfortably, deep in thought in her own chair across the garden. “S-someone decided to… uh, play a prank and brought me back, but once I was on Earth no one could touch me to take me back where I’d been, so I got stuck for a little bit.”

“So, you were there, but no one could see you? Or hear you?” Her eyes widen in horror. “That sounds awful. Who did that to you? Was it Jophiel?”

“Uh, no. It doesn’t matter who did it, it was… it was really nice to see you and your mom again, and I got to tell you both some things that I hadn’t said out loud enough when I was alive. That made it all worth it, I promise.” He looks around his grotto and laces his fingers with Charlotte’s. “Maze and Lucifer could see and hear me, just like the other demons could in Hell. Even though it was mostly just playing ping pong with Belios, making it up here means it was all worth it.”

“Oh,” Trixie says uncertainly. “Did you… were you one of the volunteers that tried to help out in Hell, but couldn’t?”

“Uh, no, Trix. I did do some recruiting for that project, though!” He tries to change the subject, but now his daughter’s eyes are locked on him thoughtfully. He recognizes the look: it’s her mother’s, from when she’s about to crack a case wide open. “I’m sorry, Munchkin, I… didn’t know what all you’d been told. I was in Hell for a little while after I died. Lucifer fixed it so I wasn’t torturing myself, but he didn’t know how to help me get up here yet so I was… really bored.”

“So… you were in Hell, too?” Her voice wavers and her dark eyes brim with tears. A single drop escapes, sparkling briefly on her thick lashes before splashing down her cheek and onto the fist that’s clenched in her lap. She sucks in a sharp breath, and the next words she utters are a low growl. “This has got to change. The system clearly doesn’t work the way it should, and Amenadiel needs to fix it.” She jolts to her feet and wheels toward the open garden gate, and before Dan can register her words, Rory is up and physically restraining her older sister.

“Let me go, Rory!”

“No way, T, you gotta stay cool! Remember? No attention so you can get where you need to be?” Rory’s struggling to hold her sister in her towering rage, even with her half-angelic strength, and Trixie nearly slips her grasp when a new, very unwelcome voice sounds from the other side of the hedge.

“Dan? Charlotte?”

Everyone freezes, and gazes flicker between the grotto’s current occupants before Trixie redoubles her efforts to win her way free.

“Rory, get her outta here,” Dan hisses soundlessly. “I’ll… I’ll figure out something, but she… she can’t be here right now. Go!”

Rory stares at Dan blankly for a moment before nodding, unfurling her wings and renewing her grip on her sister before escaping in a rush of steel-tipped magenta feathers.

A heartbeat later, God himself comes to the gate with a tight smile on his face and a terse greeting on his lips. “Dan, my friend. It’s been too long. Charlotte.” His smile warms a little when his gaze flickers to the attorney, but cools again quickly. “I’d very much like to speak to my niece and her sister. Do you know where I might find them?”

“Oh, you just missed ‘em, man,” Dan smiles anxiously, “Trix was really eager to get started helping souls down in Hell, I think maybe they went to talk to Raguel about her application process.”

“Well, he’ll certainly be able to set her straight on the length of time it takes to process these applications. Can’t have anyone getting lost between the cracks, it is Hell, after all.”

“C’mon man, you don’t really think Lucifer’s going to lose Trixie,” Dan gives his friend a goofy grin, but it fades as he slowly realizes this isn’t his friend Amenadiel standing before him. It’s God. And God appears to be Displeased. Charlotte stands close behind him, her eyes narrowed in speculation as her fingers dig into his leather jacket. Her voice is cold when she asks, “What’s going on?”

“You were the first soul to make it up here from Hell, Charlotte,” Amenadiel says thoughtfully, his shoulders drawing back, as though remembering how he felt upon regaining his wings. “And Dan, you were the third. I know Lucifer comes to visit you both often on his visits here. I’ve had a visitor myself recently that shared a few suspicions with me, and I think we should have a little chat about what you know.”

“And what do you think we know?”

“About what my brother is plotting in Hell, of course.” He gestures to the seating arrangement before them as though it’s his garden to host, and settles into the chair that Trixie had recently occupied. “Let’s talk.”

*

After her recent reminder of what happened with Dan, Rory knows better than to take T to Earth to cool down. But if Uncle A is looking for them, and T is spoiling for a fight, Rory doesn’t have time to try to figure out a solution, so she takes her to the one place she knows will calm her sister down.

The penthouse is empty when Rory lands on the balcony and folds her wings away as T stumbles away from her. “Why did you bring me here?? I wanted to yell at Amenadiel!”

“Uh, yeah sis, that’s exactly why I brought you here. Hard to yell at God from Hell, though I’m sure it didn’t stop Dad from trying.” She smirks a little at her sister when she turns to gape at her.

“Wait, you brought me to Hell? This isn’t Earth?”

“Your dad just told you that if I brought you to Earth no one would be able to touch you to help you change planes again, remember?” Rory shakes her head. “I’m not doing that to you. The first t–” she cuts off quickly before continuing with a slight change of course. “The first time I was here, you know, uh, last week, Dad showed me the room he put here for me. Do you… wanna check out yours?”

“You were about to say something else.” T lifts her chin and gives her sister a suspicious look. “Are you hiding something?”

“Right, ‘cause that always works so well with you, O Wise One,” Rory smirks, retreating into snark to try to salvage this conversation. “If you don’t want the tour, that’s fine. We can talk about how Matt Stevens tried to hit on Maze at your memorial instead.”

“Oh my God, he didn’t,” T’s eyes widen, and Rory feels a surge of satisfaction. Distraction achieved. “Is he okay?”

“I think he should count himself fortunate that Ells banned blades at the service,” Rory snickers. “Maze would eat him alive on a good day, but Eve is very possessive of her wife.”

They step inside, and T looks around, smiling wistfully. “It’s just like his penthouse at home, but… something–”

“It’s the piano,” Rory supplies immediately, nodding. “I know, it took me a while to notice it. Music is weird down here, apparently, it doesn’t sound right. He tried to show me, and I think it just made him sad.”

“That kinda makes me sad, too,” T eyes the space where the piano should be, tugging her bottom lip between her teeth and chewing on it. “First he’s stuck in a place he hates, then he doubles his time alone here so he can help more souls, and he misses out on music…” she trails off when she notices the flush of shame on Rory’s cheeks. “Sorry, I’m not blaming you for him being stuck down here. He’s made it really clear to me that this was his decision. It’s just… have you ever heard him play? Or sing?”

“A little,” she admits quietly. “I used to watch those videos when I was little, remember? And we played and sang a little together when I went back.”

“He loves it so much,” Bea smiles sadly. “You should see him play at Lux sometime.”

“Oh, right. Well, he did kind of put on a show at Lux while I was there, but… he was kind of, I dunno, trying to make me like him, and it was just really awkward.”

Bea turns and regards her sister. “You kinda got thrown in the deep end the past few weeks, didn’t you?”

“I’m fine,” Rory lifts her chin stubbornly, and Bea laughs in the face of it.

“If you were fine, you’d be curled on the couch rocking with your wings wrapped around yourself so tightly you’d probably suffocate,” she counters gently, earning a sniffle from her little sister. “Come on. It sounds like you need to talk about what’s happened. And I need to know what went on when you were back there. Mom didn’t tell me the story til ages later, and I’m sure she forgot most of the interesting stuff by then.”

“T, I was absolutely horrible,” Rory groans, sinking onto the golden leather couch. “I wanted to kill him, I was so mad at him for ditching Mom, even on her deathbed–”

“Well, obviously you didn’t kill him, so points for you for good sense, for once,” she nudges her with her elbow as she sits close beside her. “And also, you should know that the moment you left, he was at her side.”

“He told me,” she sniffles again. “While we were working on planning the memorial.”

“Good,” she nods, satisfied. “You needed to know that. He visited as often as he could, even though it wasn’t nearly as often as any of us wanted. Now. Tell me everything.”

“When I traveled back, I didn’t wind up on Earth,” Rory sighs, figuring she might as well really get everything out in the open. “I wound up here, and the first person I tried to talk to was Michael. One of the demons wouldn’t let me near him, but she pointed me to someone else who’d apparently gotten even closer to killing Lucifer than Michael had…”

It’s a good thing there’s so much more time in Hell… because she’s got a long story to tell.

Chapter 35: Haven't You Been Listening?

Chapter Text

Chloe wakes to find the bed beside her empty and Lucifer already up and dressed, much to her surprise. He freezes in the act of fastening his left cufflink, guilt flashing across his face.

“I’m sorry, darling, I didn’t want to wake you, but I told Raphael I would be by to discuss some cases with her today, and you were sleeping so soundly I thought perhaps I could make it back before you woke.”

“It’s okay,” she stretches and groans a little as she sits up, then laughs at the appreciative look in Lucifer’s eyes. “I should probably check in too, since I still haven’t caught up after I was away for a few years.” She shakes her head in disbelief. “I’m so glad you came to get me. Thank you for not convincing yourself that I wanted to stay in Heaven.”

“Well, you’ve told me often enough that you truly desire to be here helping.” A flicker of uncertainty quickly softens into a loving smile. “Really, giving you the benefit of the doubt was the absolute least I could do.”

“What do you think the odds are of us having a nice, normal week together? Or maybe even longer?” There’s a hopeful whine in her words, and Lucifer only smirks and shrugs.

“Who knows how long we’ve got before Gabriel makes her appearance. Or Beatrice,” he adds as an afterthought. “Either of them are likely to make a stir. And I wouldn’t put it past Beatrice to drum up a fresh wave of volunteers to help the damned. It seems no matter what, we’ll be busy, love.”

“When are we not?”

“Be careful what you wish for, you just said you wanted normal.” She snorts at him, and he boops her nose because he knows it annoys her and he thinks she’s beautiful when she glares at him… which she does. He only smiles wider and leans in to whisper, “I’m still in awe that my new normal finally includes being with you every day again.”

“Me too,” she pretends to whisper back. She pulls him in for a lingering kiss– one nice thing about being an incorporeal soul: no need to worry about morning breath– before gently pushing him back and shooing him on his way. She goes to dress, mentally running through her to-do list. Lucifer will obviously be with Raphael, so she decides to check in with Linda. If Charlie’s around, she’ll probably see if he has time to help out while she goes to have a session with Michael.

She wonders briefly what Trixie and Rory are up to in the Silver City. She hopes Trix takes the opportunity to spend some time with her dad before coming down here. As much as Chloe understands why she wants to come help– even knowing how badly they need the help– she’s still worried about Trix returning here. She’ll have to ask Linda and Raphael what signs to watch for, to make sure Trixie doesn’t get drawn back into her Loop.

Thinking of Loops leads her to Rory, like her very own thought loop. Emotionally, she’s still very young and vulnerable. It was something they noticed a little with Charlie, that his adolescent stage seemed to stretch longer than normal, but he was (and still is) a serious soul with a kind, calm temperament. When Charlie had started spending more and more time down here, he’d seemed like he was catching up to his demographic, emotionally speaking, and Chloe had hoped that Rory might be the same.

She’d forgotten to take into account that Charlie spending so much time in Hell meant he was literally aging while time for them was virtually standing still. He wasn’t catching up, he was just maturing at a half-angel’s usual speed. Poor Rory has so much catching up to do, in so very many ways.

She’s passing by the spire and wishing she’d thought to ask Lucifer for a lift when she spots the tree… or rather, the fruits spread on the stone beneath it. She’d known that a third tree had started sprouting them, of course, had even known it had been one near Lucifer’s old throne, but somehow she hadn’t put it together yet that it was the one that she and Rory had inspected that day while Lucifer was talking with Frank during Rory’s tour of Hell. A flash of memory surfaces, of Rory reaching for the thorny branches and Chloe knocking her hand away, scratching her hand in the process.

Again.

She glances up at the tree and squints thoughtfully. Has it grown? She can’t be sure. Her fingers rub together as she considers yet another oddity.

Because it is strange. For millennia, only one tree was sprouting the little berries. Then she arrives in Hell and two trees she’s personally touched start growing them, too? She shakes her head. That can’t be right, she’s touched loads of these trees.

But she’s bled on these two. The thought strikes her and she freezes as she processes this new thought, looking down at her hand thoughtfully before drawing her mouth tight and turning to walk away. That can’t be right either. Lucifer planted the original Tree and it was sprouting fruits long before she even got here. He’d snuck away from his recovery with Zadkiel and the pieces of… his…

Staff.

Oh, no way in Hell. She presses her hand over her stomach and catches her breath, but now the thought has surfaced, there’s no shoving it back down. She bites her lip and keeps walking, eagerly watching for the next tree.

If Lucifer is right about what these berries are capable of, they’re going to need more. Loads more. Between needing to grow more trees and potentially using the berries to try to help souls see their guilt more clearly to win their way to the Silver City, those berries are going to be more valuable to them than just about anything in the damn universe.

So when she comes up on the next tree, she doesn’t even hesitate before reaching out and pricking her fingers on one of the viciously pointed thorns before moving on down the corridor. She doesn’t know if her theory is right… but she intends to find out.

*

“You want me to do what, now?” Linda’s expression says that she heard him perfectly clearly and wishes very badly that she might be mistaken.

“You don’t have to,” Chloe is quick to reassure her friend. Beside her, Lucifer wisely remains quiet. “But you seemed like the best first choice.”

“Right,” Linda says slowly, seeming a little dazed as she warily eyes the bowl of tiny fruits on the desk in front of her. “Because of my pre-existing Hell buffer.”

“It’s okay to say no, Mom,” Charlie chimes in soothingly, slouched comfortably on the couch beside his mother. “We can take a volunteer from somewhere else, but Lucifer’s right that you’re holding onto guilt that you shouldn’t be. What’s the worst case scenario?”

“That the fruit does to me what it did to Trixie, and your father doesn’t let me come back.” Linda answers instantly, making Chloe’s gut clench with worry again for Trixie. It’s been weeks and no news yet, but Chloe is certain that if Trixie were being held there that Rory would have come to warn them.

“Then one of us can fly up there and bring you back, just like Lucifer did with Chloe,” Charlie shrugs, but Chloe can see the tension behind the put-on relaxation he’s exhibiting. “You’re on the roster as one of our helpers. I know Lucifer can’t risk pissing him off, but Dad can’t stop me or Raphael from bringing you back here if it’s where you want to be.”

She opens her mouth to argue that he certainly can, he’s God, but Lucifer gently butts in. “It doesn’t have to be today, Linda. I merely wanted to present the idea to you so you could think about it. We’re ready to get Purgatory into full swing starting tomorrow, and that is bound to help ease our workload. But if these fruits truly do help with clarity, if they can help souls see the truth of their situation, put a light to their path… I think that truly may be our best tool. But until we know for sure, it’s still just us and Purgatory against the billions of souls in our keeping.”

Linda’s worried expression softens at the sincerity in his words, and she glances at the little bowl again. “I want to help,” she offers, her fingers toying with the sleeve of her blouse. “But just in case something goes wrong and I wind up stuck in Heaven for a little bit, let’s get Purgatory started first. The goal was to keep Amenadiel oblivious until we had it up and running, so… so before anything else goes wrong, let’s get that done. We’re so close, we can’t afford to screw it up now.”

“Very well.” Lucifer runs his tongue along his teeth and nods thoughtfully, while Chloe sits back in her chair and sighs in relief. “I’ll start the final preparations tonight, and we can start moving the souls in the morning. Once we’ve got them settled into a routine, we can revisit.”

“Okay,” she nods, aware of the weight of their hopeful gazes. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”

*

“I don’t think he was really trying to keep it a secret,” Dan explains anxiously, eyeing Amenadiel’s darkening expression. “You’ve got your hands full with, like, everything, and you said yourself that Hell is Lucifer’s job, right? It sounds kinda like he’s just trying to do his job, and help out all those souls. Right?”

“Yes, Lucifer has been very busy, seeding Heaven with souls from Hell,” Amenadiel’s broad brow furrows in thought. “Souls that owe him something.” His fist clenches for a moment on the little table before he moves it into his lap and out of sight and smooths his expression. “Thank you for enlightening me, Dan. You’ve been a good friend to me all these years. And to Lucifer.” He stands and nods solemnly to both of them as he unfurls his wings. “I know if the time comes, you’ll make the right choice.”

Before Dan can ask what he means, the new God is gone in a rustle of gunmetal grey feathers and a gust of wind. He glances at Charlotte, who had remained conspicuously silent throughout the conversation unless directly addressed. “What was that about?”

“It sounded like God is a little afraid that our friend the Devil is planning a new rebellion,” Charlotte mutters into his ear. “And I think we were just put on notice that we’re going to be expected to pick a side.”

“Pick a side?” Dan sputters indignantly. “What does that even mean? You know as well as I do that Lucifer doesn’t even like visiting Heaven. What does he have to rebel against, aside from the fact that he can’t get any help down there?”

“Dan,” Charlotte sighs, fond exasperation written plainly in her slate blue eyes. “I love you, but you do have peculiar blind spots for someone who was a detective. Haven’t you been listening?”

“Of course I have,” he lurches back, stung. “I’ve been listening to Lucifer for years about how he’s working to try to help souls like us that are still stuck in Hell. I don’t see what Amenadiel’s cranked up about, now that Lucifer’s finally starting to make some progress–”

“I think that’s exactly it,” Charlotte says slowly, quirking an eyebrow pointedly. “Lucifer has been doing new things– changing the status quo– and Amenadiel isn’t wrong, those souls that have ascended do feel like they owe Lucifer a debt, even if that’s something that would never even occur to him to try to collect. If it was, he’d already be up here asking them to try a stint at rehabbing damned souls.”

“Then what’s Amenadiel worked up about? He’s God.”

“Well, Lucifer did rebel against God once before,” Charlotte muses, letting herself think through all the potential factors in Amenadiel’s behavior. “I don’t know what that was about, but from what Lucifer’s told us, he’s been… learning how to do a lot of new things recently. First the rehabbed souls, then the Tree, now building a Purgatory after Amenadiel told him it was impossible? I could be wrong, but… don’t those skills sound a little… Godly to you?”

“I mean,” Dan hesitates, his brows drawing together a little in thought, “yeah, I guess it doesn’t really sound like stuff that should be in Lucifer’s skill set, but he won the fight with Michael and the rest. He had the throne, but he decided to fix Hell instead.”

“And gave Amenadiel the throne,” Charlotte reminds him bluntly. “Amenadiel is his father’s son. He knows what was given can be taken away, and I think he’s a little worried about what might happen if Lucifer does get tired of being in Hell. He’s got Chloe to think of now, too, and Rory, not to mention Trixie. He might not be so keen on them being trapped in Hell with him for eternity, struggling to keep patching the holes in an incredibly inefficient system. Amenadiel’s God, so what if he saw something that makes him think Lucifer’s going to be a threat?”

“If he saw something…” Dan muses aloud, “then why did he need to come to us for information on what’s going on in Hell? I thought he was omniscient, but if that’s the case then why did he need someone here to tell him that something was going on?”

Charlotte’s mouth opens, but no answer emerges. Her eyes widen and flicker from left to right, as though she’s browsing a case file that only she can see. Finally, she looks back at him with troubled eyes. “I don’t know.”

They sit in silence for a long while, considering. Unfortunately, it’s long enough for Heaven’s negativity filter to gently nudge the urgency from their thoughts. They slowly segue from worrying about a potentially angry God and what that might mean for the important work going on in Hell, to appreciating the quiet beauty of the grotto around them until eventually Dan reaches out and touches Charlotte’s hand with a small smile.

“I’m hungry. You want some waffles?”

*

Amenadiel doesn’t know what to do. He scowls, because that’s the problem, isn’t it?

That’s always been the problem.

He had always been happiest, the most sure of things when he was a simple soldier, God’s Fist, following orders and making sure his father’s edicts were followed. Until he’d been assigned the task of watching over Lucifer.

He sits uneasily on the Throne of Heaven. It’s cold. It never warms to his body heat, and it’s always just a little uncomfortable. Had it been this way for his father? Was it intentional, this reminder that the wielder of power should never rest easy in that responsibility?

Is it because he didn’t earn the throne? He’d fought for it, certainly, but for Lucifer, not for himself. No, his decision to take the throne had come later, when he’d seen how much difficulty Lucifer was having with assuming their father’s mantle and how much his siblings needed a leader.

And Lucifer– the outcast who had once led a rebellion in an attempt to rule Heaven himself, or at least to undermine their father and try to get Him to admit that He had made mistakes– had simply stepped aside. Draped the mantle over his shoulders and sauntered down to Hell to heal souls instead of run the universe, leaving Amenadiel to clean up his mess, as usual.

Granted, Amenadiel hadn’t wanted Michael on the throne either. That was just a recipe for disaster, but despite his initial reluctance to take the position, Amenadiel had quickly warmed to it, enjoying taking the ‘bigger picture’ view while still managing to keep himself anchored in the small day-to-day joys of a life on Earth with his family. Seeing the forest and the trees, as it were, at least in those bright early days.

As time had passed, though, the bigger picture had taken up more and more space as Charlie needed him less and his siblings needed constant guidance to avoid causing further issues by taking it upon themselves to ‘help’ wherever they saw fit. The trees that he had loved so well slowly shrunk to the size of shrubs, then wildflowers, then grass until all he could see was the forest that rapidly dwindled to a satellite view. He could still see the trees, but individuals were nearly impossible to pick out from his vantage point.

And it wasn’t enough that Lucifer had won the throne, then shunned it. No, that would have been bad enough, but then he had the audacity to ask Amenadiel for help. With Hell. As if Amenadiel’s hands hadn’t been full enough with Heaven and Earth, Lucifer was trying to put Hell back on his plate as well?

And not only that, but insinuating that the system that their all-knowing father had designed was faulty and needed to be completely renovated! It was utterly ridiculous, but nothing Amenadiel said would make Lucifer see sense. So he’d bought some time by putting off the requests with the claim that more research was needed, and it had worked for a while.

But Lucifer wouldn’t just let it go. He continued to harass him about changing the soul sorting system. As if that was something that was even possible, everyone knows the souls sort themselves, that was the whole point! And when he wouldn’t (couldn’t) do that, pestering him to create a new plane just for those souls that were unfortunate enough to feel just enough guilt to relegate themselves to Hell but didn’t really need the intense level of help that the other souls did.

Leave it to Lucifer to take on a project only to find that he couldn’t manage it and proceed to make it everyone else’s problem.

But as time had gone on, Amenadiel had found that he enjoyed being God. He was good at managing his siblings, and he enjoyed the deference they showed him. Earth virtually ran itself, and he rarely needed to do anything down there, only keeping half an ear for prayers that were directed specifically to him from his family.

Those came less and less often as the years passed. Granted, he’d had to ignore a few summons, but they obviously hadn’t been too important or they would have gotten in touch again. But then Linda had died, and he hadn’t been there. He’d been busy managing Hanjobadiel’s latest caper, followed by a hundred other minor inconveniences and by the time he’d really had a chance to follow up with Charlie’s desperate prayer, Linda had been in Hell for over a thousand years and had no intention of leaving.

He’d had to do some serious maneuvering in order to quell his siblings’ suspicions about that little slip, citing distractions and dedication to his duty as God over his own loved ones.

It had always been assumed that all the Omnis their father had exhibited had been part and parcel of the throne… but that was apparently not the case, because Amenadiel hadn’t gotten them. He’s been flying blind since day one, and he daren’t let anyone know that he’s desperately watching for the bridge in the fog because if his siblings even suspect that he isn’t the all-knowing, all-seeing God they expect… it will be utter chaos within the year.

And now this.

When Chloe Decker’s father had stood before him and introduced himself, apparently forgetting their brief meeting back when Amenadiel had first returned to the Silver City with Charlotte, Amenadiel had kept his face smooth, working to maintain his calm, authoritative presence. Knowing Chloe’s respect for the man, he’d assumed that perhaps he too would want to visit Hell and try his hand at rehabilitating souls while spending time with his daughter and grandchildren. The story that had spilled from his lips had tested Amenadiel’s poker face to extremes, but he’d managed to hold his temper and his tongue, only asking questions that would imply that he already knew the answer. He had thanked John for his concern, assured him that it was all going according to plan, and kept him only long enough for the man’s bitterness to dissolve in the soothing hot springs of Heaven’s calming influence.

No sense allowing the man to spread negative ripples that might reach the wider populace, after all. He leans forward now and rests his head in his hands, groaning as he rubs his face. He needs to think.

Was Lucifer trying to keep secrets? Did he assume Amenadiel was all-knowing like the rest of the host did, and so just figured that since Amenadiel hadn’t stopped him from working on his project that it was tacit permission?

But no, he doesn’t think that’s the case. Suddenly he’s recalling remarks Lucifer has made throughout the past years, knowing looks, a general oddness to their interactions. He shakes his head, sure now that Lucifer knows that he’s been lying to the entire host since he took the position of God. He’d always been too good at ferreting out the truth.

Why hasn’t he said anything? It’s prime blackmail material, and he hasn’t mentioned it once, yet Amenadiel is now utterly certain that he knows, somehow. Unless… had he said something? Zadkiel has been acting a little off lately, though if he gave Lucifer the pieces of his staff and knows what Lucifer intended to use them for, then he’s been keeping secrets as well and Amenadiel has to wonder again, why. There’s also the fact that Gabriel had mentioned that Arael keeps disappearing intermittently… Though he’s never gone long, it’s not something that he’d ever done before and that should have raised a red flag for Amenadiel long before this.

As his siblings go, those two aren’t ones that he feels would particularly pose a threat to his throne, or to Heaven in general, but then Lucifer has never been a conventional threat. Part of the reason he could be so dangerous was his tendency to think and act outside the box, his likelihood to be utterly unpredictable.

If Lucifer really has succeeded in creating a Purgatory– something Amenadiel made it very clear to everyone that was impossible to accomplish– it’s going to cause more than sideways glances and murmurs. There were enough of those when Lucifer had handed over his hard-won throne with little more than a brusque announcement of, “Amenadiel is your God now, I have other work to do.”

There had been a few shocked gasps, some whispers, and off looks, but nothing more. The Host had been unsure about having the Devil at the helm anyway– worried he would hold a grudge for their millenia of silence and absence, for their tacit acceptance of his Fall and the shunning that came after. But, for all his faults, the Devil always tells the truth. How would the Host react if they knew their God was lying to them… even if it was only a lie by omission?

He’d never claimed to be omniscient, after all, not in so many words. He’d implied, yes. Let them assume without ever bothering to correct those assumptions. But it had been necessary. He’d done what he’d needed to in order to ensure their cooperation. He couldn’t have done this with them constantly questioning him and arguing with his decisions.

Easier to let them assume and save them all the trouble. No one knew their father better than he did, so obviously he was the best choice for the job of keeping everything running just the way Dad had left it.

In perfect order.

Unless you believed Lucifer.

He can’t let himself believe that their father had designed a flawed system. Granted, in his opinion, Dan hadn’t belonged in Hell. But Dan was surely an outlier, a fluke caused by Michael’s interference. If Dan had died in due course, at his natural time, then he would have been able to let go of his guilt and rise to Heaven as he should have, without Lucifer’s guidance.

Lucifer has to be wrong. He’s God, after all. He can’t fix what isn’t broken, and if he can’t fix it, then it must not be broken in the first place.

Now, he just has to think how to handle this Purgatory situation.

He just has to think.

Chapter 36: Challenge Accepted.

Chapter Text

Purgatory’s grand opening has been a smashing success. They have five ‘rooms’, which can each house nearly two hundred thousand souls for now. Granted, it’s only a drop in the bucket compared to Hell’s total population, but these are the souls that Raphael and Frank have determined to hold either the least deserved guilt, or the guilt with the most shallow roots. In Raphael’s opinion (and Lucifer’s hopes), just freeing these souls of the crushing weight of Hell’s guilt amplifications along with regular therapy should be enough to tip them into an ascension fairly quickly. (Quickly being months or years, rather than millennia.)

He had taken Raphael’s suggestions and given each ‘room’ a different aesthetic. One resembles a cityscape, with tall buildings (apartments for the souls), and most of the amenities one would usually find there. One is an idyllic pastoral countryside, with villages scattered about and loads of open spaces. One is a mountainous region with small, isolated communities, and one a coastal paradise, with smooth beaches, crashing waves, and comfortable, shaded huts.

The last one, the one they’ve termed ‘The Last Stop’, is modeled after the Silver City– loads of shining buildings and gleaming streets. It was Frank’s idea, to help prepare the souls for the culture shock that he’s noticed in other souls that have ascended, and Lucifer has to admit it’s probably a good one. Anything he can do to help ease the transition, he wants to try.

It’s been months, nearly a year since they opened the rooms and started moving souls in, and he’s noticed a greater pull on the ambient divinity since the chambers have been occupied. It’s been a challenge keeping up, but today it all feels worth it. Months of concentrated effort with progress but no payout and today, today they had not one ascension, but three. Three!

He’s nearly giddy as he flies Chloe home, and he can feel her heart thundering alongside his with the thrill of success. He backwings smoothly and their feet are barely on the balcony before she’s kissing him, murmuring in between, “Three! Lucifer, I can hardly believe it! You’re making such a difference baby, this is going to change everything…”

He returns the kisses with heat, growling as her lips move down his throat before he whispers in her ear, “We’re making a difference, I never would have had the idea for the staff if not for you, love–”

But she’s unbuttoning his shirt and his hands are lifting her up, and as they nearly fall through the door into the sitting room, they’re greeted with a burbling giggle and a cry of “My eyes!”

He feels as though he’s just stepped into a cold shower, though Chloe’s heat is still pressed against his now-uncomfortable erection. He takes a moment to regulate his gasps for breath before clearing his throat and looking over the golden-brown head now buried (and probably adorably flushed) against his chest. Her legs unwrap from around his waist and she tries to discreetly button his shirt back up. Once he has composure enough to speak without sounding breathless, he gives their guests a genuine smile. “Hello girls, it’s about time you visited! We were just, ah, celebrating a rather momentous day.”

“I see that,” Beatrice laughs, her eyes twinkling as they always have when watching the two of them together. She glances over at Rory, who is still covering her eyes with her hands. “Knowing you two, I should have known what to expect as a greeting. We’re lucky you didn’t give us a full show from the balcony.”

“While I don’t doubt it would have been well worth watching, I know the pair of you well enough to know you would have fled or made yourselves known if we’d kept on,” Lucifer snickers and Trixie’s laughter chimes in, but Rory only groans disgustedly.

Chloe turns to face her daughters, schooling her expression into a welcoming smile while trying to cool the hectic flush of arousal staining her cheeks and chest. “Did you enjoy your time with your dad, sweetie? Rory, it’s safe to look. Weren’t you the one mercilessly teasing me about my exploits while we were back on Earth? It’s not my fault you can’t stand to see proof of them.”

Rory’s jaw drops at her mother’s mention of her occasional trysts back on Earth, until she glances at her father and sees a knowing smirk lighting his dark eyes. Her eyes widen as her brain grinds into gear and she connects the dots to create an image she really doesn’t need to ever see. “Oh my Uncle A!”

Lucifer grimaces and mutters “Oh, please don’t bring him into this…”, but Rory is already continuing.

“You!” She cries, and her expression lights up with hope. “She’s been hooking up with you at the penthouse, hasn’t she? You guys managed to see each other without letting me know?? Right?”

Lucifer grins proudly, but Chloe flushes again though she holds her chin high. “I didn’t lie to you about that. I was meeting with someone special, and he wasn’t able to come see me very often. I just… didn’t tell you that it happened to be your father.”

“I get it,” Rory says fervently, and Lucifer watches as she relaxes against the back of the couch. “That… that actually makes me feel a little better, that you guys were able to work around the promise you made me.”

Lucifer and Chloe carefully don’t make eye contact with each other, each silently vowing never to let their daughter know the difficulties they’d faced with their sporadic, too-brief visits and the visceral pain they’d each experienced when it came time to separate yet again. They link hands, their fingers intertwining as they go join their daughters on the couch. Chloe clears her throat and reaches out to take Trixie’s hand. “We were starting to get worried. Lucifer was considering sending Raphael up to check on you in a few months if we hadn’t heard anything.”

“We were only up there a few hours, Mom,” Trixie assures her, glancing at Rory, who carefully looks away. “We’ve only been here for a few hours waiting for you, and Rory’s been filling me in on what happened while she was visiting the past, and her week here once she got back.”

Lucifer reclines against the back of the couch and stretches his long arm along the top of it behind Chloe and toward Beatrice. She reaches up with her free hand and takes his, squeezing it. Her dark eyes dart toward her sister, and Lucifer understands that Beatrice has already spotted Rory’s issue and had taken the chance to get started on addressing her burgeoning guilt. He has a sinking feeling that it’s likely going to get a bit worse before it gets better as she gets more and more details about what had happened during their so-called ‘blip’, but he has faith that they’ll manage to help her through it.

He’s found that love is capable of a great deal of impossible things, and he’s never been more glad for that discovery than he is right now in this instant, where his family is finally together under one roof. He swallows hard and blinks back the burning sensation in his eyes as he returns gentle pressure to her fingers. Rory’s chatting obliviously with Chloe about their visit with John and Penelope, and he just takes a moment to bask in this, what he hopes to make into their new normal, what he’d wanted to have all along: time with his family to just be. To share their lives and experiences, and build new ones together.

For the first time in nearly two million years, he allows himself to hope that the future looks bright. It’s a glorious feeling.

Beatrice squeezes his hand again, bringing him back from his blissful meanderings. He glances at her, then past her at Rory. They’re both watching him with matching deep brown eyes and hopeful expressions, and he realizes he’s missed something while his thoughts were otherwise occupied. “Sorry, what?”

“I was saying that Rory promised me a tour of the penthouse, and our very first full family game night. Care to make that desire happen, Lucifer?”

“My dear, sweet children, do you have any idea how long I’ve been looking forward to this moment?” His expression melts into a wicked grin, mirrored by the two younger women as Chloe watches the three of them fondly. “I can finally give you the trouncing you deserve for all those times you, Urchin, wiped the board with me with those bloody hotels in that entirely inaccurate representation of the real estate market.”

“Tour first!” Beatrice smirks and bounces up onto her feet with Rory close behind. “Rory says there’s some extra rooms here that your penthouse at Lux doesn’t have, and I want to see everything.”

“Very well,” he stands and holds out his hand to Chloe, who takes it to stand, but doesn’t let go once she’s on her feet. “You’re already familiar with the penthouse proper, so let’s start in this direction and we’ll work our way around. It’s all fairly open and this corridor just leads right back around to the doorway in the center of the bookshelf, so you needn’t worry about getting lost if you wander a bit. Now, your mother’s study is here. This one, your room and Rory’s have doors. The rest are open.” He glances around at them apologetically. “Eons down here have given me a distaste for them, I’m afraid. If the openness bothers you, we can get you other accommodations, of course, but I… I wanted you all to know, and feel that you are welcome here for as long as you’d like to stay.”

Trixie sidles up beside him and wraps an arm around his waist as one of his comes around her shoulders. “I’ll probably wind up in my own space eventually, but for now, and until I’m really settled down here, I’d like to stay. Plus, if I live here, I get to annoy you as often as I want.”

“And I well know that’s one of your favorite pastimes, Spawn,” he grins down at her before stopping at the nearest door and glancing at Rory. “Would you care to show your sister your room, Rory?”

Rory excitedly drags Trixie into her room like a little kid eager to show off, and Trixie knows Lucifer well enough to truly appreciate his eye for details in the room’s composition. Rory had already told her about the issue with music, so she lets the absence of the guitars slide without mention and appreciates the efforts to incorporate music without being able to play it. The images of Rory’s favorite musicians, the way the bookshelves are arranged to resemble sheet music, even the way the room seems to hum soundlessly around them all work together to invoke some of the feeling of music, even if it can’t be heard. She feels a twinge of sadness in her chest at this evidence of Lucifer’s efforts to make sure Rory could be happy here.

He would have been such a good dad.

After a few minutes of sincere admiration, Lucifer clears his throat and leads them down the hall and stops in front of a door, his hand hovering over the handle anxiously.

“If you don’t like it, Beatrice, it’s quite alright,” he assures her solemnly. Her heart twists again at the fear he’s trying to hide, and the underlying certainty that nothing he could offer would be enough to make her existence here tolerable. “It only takes a bit of time and some thought to make changes, so please don’t hesitate to ask if there’s anything you require that I’ve overlooked.”

“I’m sure it’s going to be great,” she smiles and he returns it before turning the handle and gesturing her inside. The light inside is brighter than that in the penthouse, and she blinks as her eyes adjust. At first, the walls seem rough, almost cave-like, but when she looks closer they’re perfectly smooth, only embedded with bits of shimmering rock that shine like stars when they catch the light. She smiles at the effect, and continues to explore. She finds a similar collection of photographs that she recognizes from her mom’s house, including an assortment of family and friends. Tucked in a far corner of one of the heavily laden bookshelves, she comes across one that she hadn’t been aware existed.

The memory is hazy, gently frayed by time and overlaid with other, more recent occurrences, but she’s nearly positive this is from their very first game night– mostly because of the glittery unicorn painted proudly on Lucifer’s cheek. Lucifer is the only one looking at the camera, and the look of confused contentment on his face is frankly adorable, though she’s sure he would argue that sentiment. She’s looking down at the board and moving her piece, her tongue held between her teeth as she counts her spaces. Her mother is looking at her affectionately, her flower crown-painted face clearly visible despite being faintly obscured by shadow. They both have enormous smiles on their faces, and Lucifer has a lollipop stick tucked into the corner of his mouth, turning his grin into a mischievous smirk. She picks it up and turns with it in her hands, offering it up for inspection wordlessly because she’s a little afraid that if she tries to speak, she’ll cry.

“What’s that one?” Chloe asks, stepping forward to see it better. Her breath catches in her chest as she reaches out to trace the silver frame with her fingertips. “Lucifer, is that a real photo? I’ve never seen it.”

“It was a real photo, yes,” he answers quietly as Rory steps into the room as well, looking around interestedly. “It was one of the first I took after I’d gotten a cell phone, and I had it saved on my phone until I left for Hell the first time. I printed out a copy and brought it back with me, though it didn’t last past the first century.” He sighs and looks down at the photo with a wistful smile. “By the time I came back, I didn’t know what Amenadiel had done with my phone, so the original was lost. I have a perfect memory though, so recreating it down here was easy enough, once I had a reason to do so.”

She peruses the shelves some more until she comes across another one that surprises her. She picks up the frame and stares at it, blinking back tears. It’s a selfie she took of the two of them, the night she turned sixteen and he’d appeared at the foot of her bed with an enormous chocolate cake and a jingling set of keys to her new antique Aston Martin. He had held the driver’s side door open for her, and the moment he’d settled into the passenger seat, Trixie had set her GPS to take them out into the desert. She stares down at the mirrored black frame and can’t hold the tears back anymore. Their beaming faces are lit by the dim illumination from the dashboard and the joy in their eyes, the stars shining brightly in the sky above them. He notices the photo she’s poring over and she hears him release a small, “Ah.”

“I never showed you this picture,” she knows she hadn’t, because he would have deleted it. He was always so careful about leaving any evidence of his visits behind, terrified that Rory would find it and the entire loop would be destroyed by some tiny thoughtless act on his part. “I sent it to Mom, then deleted it until I could download it again after you left. How did you–”

“What–” Chloe asks, peering over her daughter’s shoulder. She stops cold, her cheeks flushing. “I, uh, see you found my pensieve.”

“Your… pensive?” Lucifer blinks at her, nonplussed, as Rory cranes her neck to see what they’re all staring at. “I’m not sure I follow, love.”

“Not pensive, pensieve,” she laughs a little. “It’s a… thing, from some story Trixie used to love when she was younger. They would… take memories and store them somewhere safe. The pensieve was this… bowl they would put them in so they could experience them again, vividly. I had a folder on my phone that was passcoded–”

“And marked with a ‘P’!” Lucifer crows, grinning. “Is that what it stood for? I admit I was a bit puzzled by the choice, since the photos were all of yours truly. I thought perhaps it had been for ‘partner’. I was impressed that you remembered my password.”

“It didn’t stand for that, no,” her cheeks flush a deeper hue, and she licks her suddenly dry lips. “It was, um, ‘p’ was for paradise.”

He stares speechlessly at her, his lips parted in surprise and his eyes full of love. She moves in and presses a kiss to his cheek, whispering in his ear, “I told you, Lucifer, you are my Heaven.”

Beatrice gazes around the room to give them a moment as Rory moves away to do the same, appreciating the level of thought and care that had been put into it. It’s windowless, but with no sunlight or fresh air outside, the window would be a bit depressing anyway. She loves everything about the room, and turns to tell him so when he suddenly clears his throat, deciding to fill the silence.

“I wanted to give you a telescope, you know, something to remind you of your time working at the observatory… but since we don’t have a real sky down here, I thought it might make you a bit sad. So, I, uh, did something else, and again, if you don’t like it, it’s quite easy to–”

“Lucifer,” she interrupts gently, smiling as he gazes at her, wide-eyed and so eager to please. It’s so very clear to her that he wants her to be happy despite his belief that it’s impossible here in Hell, even though she’s with the people she loves best. “Why not just show me?”

“Right,” he sighs and reaches over to a light switch on the wall that she knows he placed for her, because he could put out the light with merely a thought if he so chose. He flicks it off, and for a moment the room is only lit by the reflected illumination from the hallway. But then, the walls seem to come to life.

First tiny flickers of light, then they bloom silently into swirling nebulae and glowing clouds of gas and dust– billions of stars being born before their very eyes. A sigh escapes her along with a stray tear that had been hovering at the brink of her eye, and she thinks that she’s never in her life seen anything so thoughtful, or beautiful. This rivals even the observatory.

“Lucifer, this is… this is fantastic,” she breathes, awe-struck. “How… what is it?”

“It’s…” he hesitates, glancing around the room. She sees his tongue flicker out to moisten his lips in the light from the corona of a star he’s standing near. “It’s a memory, I suppose.”

“This is a memory?” She recalls so many conversations they’d had about space and the stars that inhabit it throughout the years. She recalls his explanation for his knowledge, and feels again the sheer wonder she’d experienced the first time he’d told her. “Are these the first?”

“Not the first, no,” he smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Nebulae didn’t come into being until a few billion years after the first stars, but that was right around the time I was finishing lighting the skies. So… I suppose you could say these were the last of the first. They’re all likely long gone, now, but… they burn brightly in my memory, and always will. I thought you might appreciate them. There’s another setting on the switch so you can turn them ooooff–”

He can’t finish the sentence because Beatrice hits him like a freight train, squeezing for all she’s worth. “I love it,” she whispers hoarsely. “I love it, and I love you, and I can’t believe you did all this for me.”

“It’s beautiful,” Rory murmurs, her dark eyes glinting in the light of the stars. Lucifer clears his throat and reaches out his hand to flick the lights back on. Instead of flickering on at once and blinding them all, it comes up slowly, like a sped-up sunrise, and Beatrice appreciates his thoughtfulness all the more. “Dad, this is wicked. It’s perfect for T.”

“It is,” Beatrice assures him eagerly. “You know me so well, this is… just… thank you.”

“You like it,” he breathes, relief sweeping over him like an avalanche. “Good. That’s… that’s good.” He coughs again, and shuffles in place a little. “Do you want some time to acquaint yourself with the room, or… shall we continue the tour?”

“Yeah, I’m,” she glances around again, appreciating the tiny winks of light emanating from the walls once more, “I’m good. Let’s finish the tour, so we can shoot down your dire hopes of trouncing us on our game night.”

“Oh no,” he says, leading the way down the hall with a co*cky tone coloring his voice, “I’ve already thoroughly beaten Rory and your mother. Tonight is all about besting you, my dear.”

“Hey,” Rory protests behind them, as Chloe and Trixie laugh. The music of it warms his heart– finally a song that Hell cannot warp. “I beat you in the third round, and we lost the score after that!”

“I believe a two to one win ratio counts as a thorough beating, love,” Lucifer chuckles, turning to catch Rory sticking out her tongue at him. “But you’re welcome to try to even the score tonight.”

Once the tour is concluded, the card battle is fierce, and incredibly funny. In the end, even Beatrice has to admit that when it comes to irreverent humor, Lucifer is unmatched. He sweeps every round but one, where Chloe comes from nowhere with a rush of perfectly raunchy and hilarious responses. The game leaves them breathless and aching from laughter, and even though physical weariness isn’t something any of them but Rory now has to deal with, it’s been a mentally exhausting day and they agree to rest before they reconvene for their much needed talk about exactly what had transpired with Beatrice’s ascension. The girls take their leave, leaving their parents settled comfortably together on the couch, and bringing him back to the still-novel feeling of having her in his arms with no looming separation in sight.

His dark eyes follow them as he slowly rubs Chloe’s back. His girls. Finally here, under his Hellish roof, and already the place feels more like Heaven than the Silver City ever did. He swallows against the pressure in his chest as he considers them, bursting with pride at the tiny facets of Chloe, and of himself that he can see in them.

Beatrice, with her determination and sharp with, her love of learning and the cosmos, and her deep, unfaltering loyalty to those she loves. Rory, with her fiery temper and soul-deep affinity for music, her tendency to act before thinks and regret it deeply, and yet… an innate ability to admit to her mistakes and work to make up for them.

They truly are the best of me.

“I think this was a perfect day. Is that even possible in Hell?”

“I think we’ve just proven that it is possible, love.” He laughs into her hair. “We’ve finally got our family together. Purgatory is starting to get off the ground– figuratively, of course. Your little experiment with the trees is starting to bear fruit– literally. And soon Linda will be able to perform our first round of testing as to their abilities.” Now it’s his turn to heave a sigh as he lets his head drop back against the couch. When Chloe looks up, his smile is beatific. His profile is limned by the twinkling lights from the root-shaped fixture above, and it’s so beautiful that it makes her heart swell in her chest. “I should have known everything would start to come together once you arrived, Chloe. You’re a bloody miracle.”

A smile tugs at her lips, and a moment later it seems to register to him what he’d just said because his eyes pop open in alarm. “A miracle-worker! I meant–”

“I know what you meant, babe,” she soothes him, cupping his bristly cheek with her palm and drawing him down for a kiss. “It’s okay. We’ve put it behind us, right? We made our choices, and I don’t know about you, but I am pretty damn happy with mine.”

“I have many regrets, Chloe, but none of them are heavy enough to make me wish to change anything we’ve done to reach this point in time. This,” he gestures between them, then widens the gesture in the direction the girls had taken, “we are worth all of it. We’re finally at a point where we can start truly moving forward, and I cannot wait to see what we can do.”

“We can do anything,” she whispers against his throat, and he hums in contented agreement. “But right now I have a question.”

“Hmm?”

“How soundproof are those doors?” She feels his chuckle reverberate through her, and his hand finds her hip, pulling her tightly against his side. He turns and presses his lips to her temple.

“Very,” he breathes into her ear, causing her to shiver. “Care to test them out, love?”

“May as well begin as we intend to go on, hm?” She giggles as his fingers find the ticklish spot on her side and she moves quickly until she straddles his lap. “And I know you appreciate hearing exactly what you do to me.”

“Challenge accepted,” he hums, lifting her effortlessly. “Bedroom it is.”

*

Amenadiel realizes his problems are even larger than he thought when he finds out the next day that Trixie is no longer in Heaven. The secret-keeping he could overlook– he was keeping secrets too, after all. The Purgatory thing, and the trees… that would have been a little harder to fudge, but they might have been able to spin it so that it was a joint experiment.

But now Lucifer was flouting the rules as usual, skirting the soul transfer process, and that cannot stand. Those safety precautions are in place for a good reason, and while Amenadiel doesn’t really believe that Trixie would ever be in any danger in Hell– not with Lucifer, Chloe, and everyone else there likely keeping a close eye on her– he can’t let Lucifer get away with removing her from Heaven without the proper process on top of everything else.

It sets a dangerous precedent, and Amenadiel is well aware of how slippery Lucifer can be. How many times had he wheedled extra time on Earth, away from his duties? He’d even managed to back him into that deal to let him stay on Earth indefinitely. Amenadiel can’t allow it, and now he has to take drastic measures to assert his authority. He doesn’t like it, but surely Lucifer has to understand that something must be done.

He stops by the armory on his way out, and carefully chooses a weapon.

Something has to be done, and he’s the only one that can do it.

Chapter 37: Run

Chapter Text

“She’s really coming?”

“She really is.” Lucifer would bristle at the disbelief in his brother’s tone if there wasn’t also an equal amount of trepidation lacing it. “I do think it’s only taken this long because of the time difference between Heaven and Hell. She seemed flattered when I told her you were asking after her.”

They’re walking back to Lucifer’s office after his most recent Sight session. Gone are the days where Lucifer’s Sight is blurry and stuttering. Now he can See the length and breadth of Hell if he needs to, and he’s starting to be able to catch glimpses of Rory, Charlie, Maze or Miss Lopez on Earth if he puts forth the effort. That’s what they had been working on today; Lucifer had been attempting to watch Maze put on a self-defense class for domestic violence survivors.

He’d caught a few snatches here and there, including a particularly wrathful knee to the dummy’s groin by a middle-aged woman with silvering brown hair and wide, determined green eyes. Michael had called a stop to the lesson when Lucifer’s brow had broken out in beads of sweat. It was harder to See Earth from Hell because of the time difference, anything he Saw had to be… mentally filtered, for lack of a better word, otherwise it would crawl before his eyes in Hell-time, far too slowly to be of any use at all. Lucifer wonders, briefly, if it would be easier to See Earth from Heaven, since their time conversion is nowhere near as drastic now.

Not that he would be unwise enough to try. He’s certainly pushing his luck enough as it is, with the Trees, and the Purgatory project. He sighs to himself as they pace through the corridor, shoulders occasionally brushing. Now that it’s up and running, he really needs to bring it up to Amenadiel. He and Chloe have been discussing the best way to do this for the past year or two, and he thinks they’ve nearly got the winning approach. He shakes his head, dispelling the coil of unwarranted anxiety that tightens in his gut.

There’s nothing to worry about. Amenadiel will be delighted that he’s found a way to side-step the need for creating an entirely new plane. Now he only needs to worry about how to convince his siblings or more souls to come down and give Raphael a hand. Hopefully, since the Purgatory chambers aren’t so onerous as Hell proper, they’ll have a better chance of getting some semi-permanent helpers.

“Did she say when?” Michael asks eagerly, and Lucifer carefully doesn’t let his smile show. It’s… nice to see Michael excited for something, and that feeling takes him a little by surprise.

His twin has been making steady progress in his sessions– not exactly in leaps and bounds, but nowhere near the glacial, nearly-backward development they’d seemed to be stuck in before– for the past few years now, ever since Lucifer had undertaken his first Sight lesson under the Tree near his throne. Michael is certainly still his most difficult patient. He’s as sarcastic, prickly, self-righteous, and downright malicious at times as he ever has been… but something indefinable has changed. Lucifer has his suspicions about the reasons behind that change, but doesn’t want to say anything to Michael in case he decides to self-sabotage.

Lucifer’s been through that quite enough on his own, he certainly doesn’t want to have to watch his brother go through it if he can help it.

“She just told Raphael ‘soon’,” Lucifer shrugs helplessly. “We won’t know until she arrives, I’m afraid, but I don’t think it would be unreasonable to expect her in the next few years.”

His twin huffs a sigh beside him, but doesn’t utter a complaint. Another sign of personal growth, or is he merely biding his time until a new plot begins? Lucifer is still wary of the mental gymnastics Michael is capable of when it comes to plotting, but between observations from his and Chloe’s sessions, and Charlie’s insights on his emotions, he is more than a little surprised at how much less strained his interactions with his brother have become. He catches Michael glancing at him as they near his office. “Am I having a session with you today, or Chloe?”

“Chloe is busy in Purgatory today, so you’re stuck with me, I’m afraid,” Lucifer chuckles at Michael’s put-on groan, and ushers his brother into his office. “Come now, brother, it’s only fair. You’ve put me through the wringer already today, now it’s my turn, eh?”

*

Raphael sends Malara to alert Lucifer when Gabriel arrives a few months later– right into Raphael’s office, as requested. They don’t need the Host’s biggest gossip learning about the trees before they have a chance to bring God into the know, after all. He quickly wraps up his meeting with Frank about his notes on some new arrivals’ loops, and makes his way to the nearest Tree– the First Tree– to settle in and monitor Michael’s visitation with their sister.

They’ve already discussed the procedure for this visit– Raphael will wait outside Michael’s cell with Charlie, who will be keeping a close eye on emotional states within the cell. Lucifer will watch with his new skill of Sight, and Raphael will listen and report anything troublesome she hears to Lucifer afterward.

He scans the area under the tree carefully, noting with satisfaction that the demons assigned to tending the area have been keeping up with their workload. Only a few, freshly-fallen berries are present on the stones under the canopy, and Lucifer carefully sets them aside so he won’t squash them as she settles against the smooth, willowy cluster of trunks of the living half of the tree. He closes his eyes and pulls in a steadying breath, concentrating on the infernal energy coursing into the tree and diverting some of it to help him ‘tune in’ to Michael’s cell just as Raphael ushers Gabriel inside with an anxious smile, then quickly retreats before firmly closing the door behind her.

Lucifer watches and allows himself a cautious glimmer of hope as he watches his siblings interact, oblivious to his immediate surroundings and the shadowed, familiar figure slowly approaching.

*

“Hey, Mike, it’s good to see you!” Gabriel chirps cheerfully, perhaps trying a little too hard to act casual as her dark, curious eyes rake the room eagerly. She ignores his groaned, automatic response of, “It’s Michael.”, and keeps talking. “You know, this… isn’t what I pictured when I thought about what your cell would look like. It’s…”

“Not all that different from my place at home? Yeah, I know,” Michael shakes his head, glaring ruefully at the mirror. “Samael has a good memory, apparently, but I could definitely do without the shiny little addition.”

“Yeah, that’s a little, uh… different,” she says diplomatically. “How come it only reflects you?”

“The Devil thinks he’s clever,” he smirks at his reflection, dark eyes glinting. “He said I needed self-reflection, so that’s what he’s trying to give me. It’s a little too literal for a metaphor, but it’s… effective, I suppose.” He turns away from the mirrored wall to face his sister, and his gaze warms a little. “Thanks for coming to see me. I, uh, wasn’t sure if you would.”

She blinks up at him in surprise before a genuine grin lights up her fox-like features. “Hey, of course I was gonna come! I was a little afraid you’d be mad at me for, like, not baking you a cake with a file in it or something, but it really is good to see you. Is, um… are you being treated okay?”

“It’s Hell, Gabriel,” Michael grimaces, flexing his shoulders self-consciously. It’s the first time he’s faced one of the siblings that had supported him since his loss in the bid for Dad’s position, and he’s feeling his missing wings keenly. “It’s not supposed to be pleasant, but…” he huffs a wry laugh and glances away. “I think Lucifer’s doing the best he can down here. They’re actually trying to… to… I don’t know, rehabilitate me or whatever. It’s weird… don’t you dare tell him I said so, but he might actually be good at this whole… Hell’s healer thing.”

“We’ve been seeing a ton of souls coming up to the Silver City from here, so they’re doing something right, I’d say,” Gabriel grins, making a ‘lips closed’ gesture in response to his glowering look. “But you didn’t ask me down here to talk about Lucifer… you probably want to hear all about what’s going on at home?”

“Lucifer’s told me a little,” he shrugs, and Gabriel’s finely sculpted eyebrows lift in surprise. “I just… I guess I wanted to see a friendly face, and I wanted to ask you if, um, you’d gotten any Messages from Dad? Or Mom?”

“Lucifer asked me about that a day or so ago,” Gabriel’s face screws up sympathetically. “They didn’t send anything with me the last time I saw them, when Dad went to stay at Mom’s place, but when Lucifer asked me, I went back. You know, to see if they did have anything they wanted to say.”

“Did they?” He manages to sound cool and collected, but there’s a light of hope that flares in his mahogany eyes.

“Mom said to tell everybody that she loves them and misses them,” Gabriel intones easily. Michael blinks when Gabriel uses her official Messenger voice, taking on the vocal characteristics of the Message sender. “Dad… had something a little different.”

Michael sighs and rubs his face, the stiff skin of his scar still pulling uncomfortably under his palms. “Let me guess, He wanted to relay how very disappointed He is–”

“No,” Gabriel cuts him off quickly, and pulls something from her pocket. “He… He said I should give you this, and that I should tell you it’s ‘Just in case you need some support’.”

She doesn’t use the voice this time, and though Michael feels a little bereft at that, his attention is caught by the trinket she offers.

“Is that…?” Michael looks down at the item she’s holding out to him and blinks in disbelief. “It’s one of mine.”

“Yeah, I think it is.” She offers it carefully, a ragged, dull black feather a little shorter than her forearm. “Not sure what it means, but I guess that’s kinda the norm for Dad, huh?”

“Support?” Michael repeats, puzzled. He reaches out and takes the feather, running it gently between his fingers and feeling again the sting of the loss of his wings. “What kind of support is a feather?”

“I dunno, bro,” Gabriel shrugs. “But hey! At least He had something for you, right?”

“Right,” he says distractedly, still focused on the quiet zip of the barbs as he runs his fingers over the vanes. “I guess that’s–”

They’re interrupted by a piercing, otherworldly sound that can only be described as a shriek. It seems to emanate from everywhere and nowhere, an unending siren with no origin. Gabriel claps her hands over her ears, while Michael reels back in surprise. By the time his cell door bursts open and a wild-eyed Raphael staggers inside to retrieve her sister, Michael has managed to pull himself together and has invoked his own Sight. He blinks at Raphael as he comes back to himself and practically shoves the two of them out the door.

“Go!” He shouts, herding them ahead of him. “You have to go to Lucifer! He’s at the big tree, the one in the open area! Hurry!”

Raphael grabs Gabriel and pulls her along, closing the door securely behind them and leaving Michael to pace the length of his cell, trying to ignore the banshee-like wailing vibrating in his mind as he tries to clear it and See more. He growls and tosses his head, trying to shut out the cacophony. He needs to know what happened before the scene he’d witnessed, but to do that he needs to focus.

Trying to push aside the vision that had swam before his eyes mere moments ago proves hardest of all.

*

Amenadiel lands clumsily in front of Lucifer’s office, due to the disorientation that slams into him once he crosses into the plane. He had hoped that Dan had been mistaken, or that Lucifer had exaggerated his accomplishments in order to make himself look better to his friends… but judging by the difference Amenadiel can feel in Hell’s oppressive atmosphere, that is certainly not the case.

If anything, Dan may have understated the situation here. Granted, Amenadiel can still feel the tickling of the guilt that he’s buried deep within himself, just as he always has when he’s visited before– but now it’s more of a light tug versus a deadly riptide. He knows that it would still work on human souls here, but to him it feels more like Earth than the Hell of old. He swallows hard and squares his shoulders, bursting in the door without knocking only to find it empty.

The office feels the same as it has since Lucifer set himself up here– a neutral environment, without divine or infernal energies to interfere with Lucifer’s sessions. Amenadiel glares at the couch, remembering how he’d slumped there after he’d realized that Linda had passed and chosen to come here rather than to her just reward in the Silver City. A pang of guilt prickles him as he remembers what he’d threatened Lucifer with if he didn’t get Linda out of here, but he brusquely shoves it away in favor of what he’s come to do.

No sense dwelling on the past. Now he needs to worry about preserving the future, because if his first impression of Hell is any indication, Lucifer is doing his best to tear everything apart. Rehabilitating souls is one thing– and even that had been a source of wariness amongst the Host for quite a while– but changing the very foundations of Hell? It shouldn’t have been possible. It had never been done, and Amenadiel can’t believe that his father would have allowed it. He’s sure that it can’t spell anything good for the cosmic balance. The Silver City is Divine, Hell is Infernal, with Earth in the middle a fair mix of both. If Hell is gaining divinity… what will that mean for the Silver City?

He doesn’t know, but he can’t take any chances with his father’s creation. It’s his responsibility now, and while he doesn’t want to believe that Lucifer is maliciously trying to cause harm, he has to protect the fabric of the universe from being ripped to shreds by Lucifer’s careless flailing about as he makes his futile attempts to empty Hell.

He turns and leaves the office with a huff, taking to the air to find Raphael’s office. It’s not long before he comes across a Tree. He circles it carefully, spilling air from his wings to get a closer look. The tree is the most unnatural thing he’s ever seen. It’s a mishmash of life and death, a botanical Frankenstein’s monster. He wonders if he should consult Arael about the best way to eradicate it, but then he recalls that Arael has been disappearing at intervals for a while now, and suspicion blooms hot and bitter in his heart.

Et tu, Gardener?

He beats his wings angrily and gains altitude, scanning the column-lined hallways below and becoming more and more concerned as he notices just how many of the trees there are, in various sizes. How long has this been going on right under his nose? How did this come about? Lucifer isn’t smart or patient enough to come up with something as convoluted as this… is Michael involved?

He had counted on Lucifer’s animosity toward his twin to keep the two from conspiring together, but perhaps that had been short-sighted of him. Lucifer has always been opportunistic, and Michael isn’t above plotting against anyone, obviously. He’d gaslighted their father into believing He was going senile, after all. He loses count of the number of trees as he flies, until he spies a canopy that towers above all the others in the distance. It just happens to be the direction he’s flying in. How very fortuitous.

He feels the divinity around him growing thicker, nearly palpable. He swallows a wave of panic that threatens to swell in his throat as he glides to the ground, landing in a wide courtyard that he’s never seen before. The tree’s discordant canopy shelters the entire expanse, the dead leaves coated in a fine layer of ash while the longer, living leaves nearly glow with an eerie green. As he nears the tree he notices blood-red splashes of flowers and deadly-looking clusters of thorns adorning the abomination. A shudder runs down his spine at the dissonance before him. It’s unnatural, and the ringing silence in the courtyard once he steps under the shelter of the creepy canopy is somehow worse than the ominous clanking and distorted echoes that used to stalk him whenever he dared to walk the corridors of Hell before Lucifer had returned.

His wings twitch restlessly as he unsheathes the weapon he had retrieved from the armory. He hadn’t anticipated anything this large when he’d made his decision, and he certainly hadn’t thought there would be so many to deal with, but… perhaps if he starts with this, the original? Maybe if the First falls, the others will crumble like dust. Or perhaps he has a lot of work ahead of him.

Either way, this seems as good a place to start as any. He hefts the axe– no woodsman’s tool, this, but Remi’s old battle axe was the best choice for the job– and cleaves it down with a powerful stroke, biting deep into the gnarled, twisted black trunk with a sickening thunk. Golden sap gushes from the strike, and Amenadiel has to grapple with the weapon to free it before he can swing it up again. The sap slides down the shaft and covers his hands, and Amenadiel feels the fiery warmth of righteousness burning in his fingertips. He’s mid-stroke on his second downswing when a familiar voice cries out, “What the Hell are you doing?”

The second strike lands just as the celestial equivalent of a truck hits him in the face and bowls him over. The axe sinking even deeper into the surprisingly soft wood near the root, causing a second flood of ichor to burst from the tree. He looks up, his face contorted with rage, to find Lucifer sitting on his chest, his fist co*cked back as though about to strike a second time but a look of stunned surprise on his face obviously holding him frozen.

“Amenadiel? What have you–”

He doesn’t finish the question, because then all Hell breaks loose. The stones beneath them tremble as a low keening seems to surround them. The branches above them quake as though sheltering them from a hailstorm, and Amenadiel can feel the energies around them shivering and quivering in response. The keening rapidly builds to an excruciating wail, and Lucifer turns his attention to the tree, his eyes widening in horror as though he can see something that Amenadiel cannot. The next thing Amenadiel knows, Lucifer is running back to the tree, pressing his palms against the wounds in the trunk, scrabbling to pull the axe from the heartwood.

“What have you done, Brother?” The words are barely audible above the screaming that whips around them like a tornado, seeming to send needles of ice and fire into Amenadiel’s brain. “You idiot! Do you have any idea–”

He glances frantically at the doors around them and Amenadiel wonders vaguely, around the throbbing pain in his mind from the unceasing sonic assault, what could possibly have the Devil so worried. He struggles to his feet just in time for the aural attack to be redoubled. His burning hands fly to his head as the sound suddenly fills his entire being with splintered shards of glass, and all he can bring to mind is a single thought.

Run.

His wings unfurl and before he makes the conscious decision, he finds himself back in his empty throne room, where he sinks to his knees. He pulls his hands away from his ears and finds his palms stained and sticky with crimson blood and golden sap. The sap burns his hands, and he feels it scalding his face as well where it made contact when he’d moved to protect his ears from the sonic blast. He tries to will the mess away with a thought, but the crawling fire remains as he slowly loses consciousness. He slumps on to his side, resting against the base of his uncomfortable throne.

Chapter 38: A Great Deal of Trouble Indeed

Chapter Text

Lucifer had been jolted from his Sight by the trembling of the trunk against his back. By the time he’d stood and rounded the tree, the second strike had nearly landed and the only thought he could summon was to get the bastard away from the tree. He’d launched himself at the axe-wielding maniac, and had nearly unfurled his wings in a threat display when he realized just who his aggressive intruder was.

“Amenadiel?” He suddenly feels as if all the air has been sucked from his lungs.

No. All our work, all our hopes and he’s trying to destroy it? Why?

“What have you–” he cuts off when a massive wave of infernal energy washes through him toward the tree, pulling a great deal of his own divinity along with it as well. All the work he’s put into the tree, all the effort, the channeling… it’s linked them, and now it calls out to him to help me. He turns back, and sucks in a ragged gasp as he takes in the enormous battle axe sunk deep into the heart of the tree. It’s weeping a thick, shining gold fluid, and he knows somehow that it’s bleeding. He shoves himself off the inert form of his brother and bolts to the tree, wrenching the axe from the tender root– it had landed just where the two divergent halves were most closely mingled. Lucifer faintly hears a wailing around him, but his mind is clear as he assesses the damage, his hands pressing to the wounds as they had to Delilah’s, to Father Frank’s, to Uriel’s… to Chloe’s; trying to stem the pulsing, golden flow of lifesblood.

No. He can’t think about them now. He lost them. He can’t… he can’t lose this, not now, not when they’re so close to making real progress!

“What have you done, Brother?” Lucifer shouts frantically, looking away from the tree for a scant moment in a panic as he senses it pulling the surrounding energy back toward itself, away from the Purgatory chambers. The chambers that are full of souls now. What will happen if the chambers are drained of energy while the souls are still inside? He doesn’t know, and the dry, metallic taste of panic fills his mouth. “You idiot! Do you have any idea–”

The slight tremble of the stone below them suddenly bucks and the sound around them intensifies, though from Amenadiel’s pained reaction, Lucifer seems to be protected from the brunt of it. His brother’s wings unfurl and he disappears in a stroke of steel-grey feathers, so Lucifer turns back to the tree, unsure what to do. He feels a pull, and he willingly follows it, pressing his hands back against the gaping wounds in the trunk. The sap coats them, and his heart pounds in his chest as he feels again the slippery heat of Uriel’s blood, the coppery scent of it coating his tongue as his breath heaves in his chest and tears burn in his eyes.

“No,” he murmurs to it, feeling the thready pulse of its life beneath his palms. “No, no, no, you’re not going anywhere. We’ve got work to do, you and I.” He glances up again, his eyes scanning the doors. They need to get the souls out. The tree is calling back as much energy as it can to try to save itself… to heal itself.

When he tries to pull away, he finds that he can’t. His hands might as well be melded to the tree, for all he can move them, and though panic flutters in his chest, he knows that he is exactly where he needs to be.

Raphael–

“Lucifer!” His sister’s panicked voice cuts through the ragged beginning of his prayer and he heaves a jagged sigh of relief. “What happened??”

“Later!” He barks, the strain in his voice rendering it raspy and nearly unrecognizable. “The Tree has been attacked and it’s drawing energy into itself to heal– we need to get the souls out of Purgatory before it pulls all the energy from the chambers!”

“Okay,” Her green eyes are clear and steady, the Healer stepping up for an emergency. “There are four of us, each of us takes a chamber and whoever finishes first gets the last one–”

“I can’t leave,” Lucifer grits out, feeling the steady drain of his energy as the tree struggles to save itself. “I… I’m needed here. Go. Hurry!”

“But–”

“Raphael, now!”

She grabs a wide-eyed Gabriel by the elbow and drags her toward the first door while Charlie bolts for the second. She gives the Messenger a few rough directions and shoves her through the door before leaping for a third, and then Lucifer is alone in the courtyard, hissing increasingly labored breaths through clenched teeth as the Tree of Life draws on his energy to battle its celestial steel injuries.

The door to the second chamber bursts open and souls start to flood out of it, a rumble of panicked voices accompanying them.

Bloody Hell, they can’t stay here. I don’t know what’s going to happen.

He gathers himself and focuses, transporting the lot of them into his office for now, since all their loops have already been repurposed. Charlie glances around and stops when he spies his uncle, now terribly pale, gasping, and slumped against the tree.

“Uncle Luci!”

“We need Arael, Charlie,” Lucifer grunts. “See to another chamber, then please go get him. I… I hope he has a trick up that dirty sleeve of his to fix this.”

“Uncle–”

“The souls first, Charlie, then Arael,” he groans and leans a little more heavily against the tree. “Quickly now, there’s a good lad–”

Charlie spares him one more concerned glance, then bolts for the fourth chamber just as the door opens to the first chamber and a horde of vastly confused souls boil forth. Lucifer doesn’t know what Raphael told Gabriel to tell them, but at least these don’t look panicked, only baffled. He draws deeper into his well of energy, gritting his teeth as he feels how very rapidly it’s dwindling, and screws up his face in effort as he sends this batch to Raphael’s study. Gabriel is the last to leave the chamber, her eyes scanning the now-empty courtyard in confusion. She slowly crosses to the tree, eyeing her brother carefully.

“You don’t look so good, bro,” she tries for levity, but worry weighs heavily in her tone. He can’t muster the strength for a response, so he simply levies a withering glare at her. This only seems to worry her more. “What… what happened? What can I do?”

His eyes flicker desperately to the last door, back to Gabriel, then to the door again. Her gaze follows and she seems to grasp what needs to be done. She nods, her fluffy curls bobbing as she runs to the door, throws it open, and skids to a halt just before she slams into the stone wall blocking the entrance.

A pained groan escapes Lucifer, and his eyelids flutter shut. The doors to the third and fourth chambers erupt, spilling thousands more souls into the courtyard, but he has no further reserves to do anything about them, Raphael will need to find a place for them.

Too late. We’re too late for the last chamber. What happened to them? Are they trapped in there? In a… limbo, of sorts? Are they entombed in the rock, screaming silently?

The last chamber– the one they hadn’t managed to empty– had been the Last Stop; those souls that were closest to ascending. Did they still exist? Were they wiped from the Universe when the last of the energy had been sucked from the chamber, as Uriel had been? He doesn’t know, he has no bloody idea how to find out, and right now he’s too exhausted to do anything other than silently grieve for their likely loss as he slips into unconsciousness.

*

Raphael ushers the last of the souls out into the courtyard and stops short as she finds the courtyard jam-packed with them.

Right. We need to get them somewhere else. She closes her eyes and realizes that her office is already full, as is Lucifer’s. Fortunately, Frank is working a group session with Linda, so she sends half the souls to his office, and the other half into Charlie’s little workroom. It’ll be cramped, but the atmosphere there is filtered like the rest of the offices, so at least they won’t be exposed to Hell’s caustic atmosphere while she and Lucifer try to work out what’s going on.

She glances around and finds Gabriel standing beside the door to the Last Stop. It’s wide open, but instead of gleaming silver and a midnight blue sky studded with illusory stars, there is a wall of stone blocking the doorway.

No.

“Did you get them out?”

“It… it was sealed.” Gabriel’s wide eyes stray back to the tree, and Raphael’s gaze follows to where Lucifer lies slumped against the trunk, pale and still.

“Where’s Charlie?” She throws over her shoulder as she hurries to her brother, kneeling beside him and narrowing her eyes in concentration. “Dammit, not again.”

“I don’t see Charlie now, but I saw him come out of that other room,” Gabriel says, her voice small and hesitant, nothing at all like her usual boisterous chatter. “I– what are you doing?”

“He’s drained,” Raphael explains shortly as she yanks a few feathers from her wings. “Worse than I’ve ever seen him. He needs a boost, he put everything into the tree, but why– what in Hell?” Raphael notices the gashes in the trunk, the golden ichor, and the sap-stained axe thrown a half-dozen feet away. Gabriel peeks over her shoulder and catches her breath.

“That’s Remi’s old axe,” she observes. “Remember? It was her favorite before Dad gave her that spear.”

The tree has been attacked… That’s what Lucifer had gasped before sending them in to empty Purgatory. Someone had come to Hell with a celestial weapon and attacked the Tree of Life. But why? Who? Raphael absently presses a few feathers to Lucifer’s chest, tiny flares of mint-green light bursting them into sparkling motes. She bites her lip, new concern blossoming in her chest. A few more feathers and his head twitches a bit, allowing her to release a small sigh of relief.

“Lucifer?” She doesn’t truly expect a response, so she’s beyond surprised when his lips part and a mumble escapes.

“Mnd’l.”

Her blood runs cold.

He’s never asked for their brother once when he’s been incapacitated. If anyone, he’s asked for Chloe. Her green eyes stray back to the axe, coated in golden ichor like it had been cast away after killing one of the gods of the old Greek pantheon. A celestial weapon. An attack on the Tree of Life, that they haven’t told their eldest brother about yet. And Lucifer mumbling his name.

Oh, this does not bode well.

Behind her, Gabriel shuffles her feet awkwardly. “What… what do you mean he needs a boost? What is this place? I… I didn’t even know anything grew here, and… and this tree is huge,” she puts out a hand and pricks a finger on a thorn before pulling back quickly. “And super-pointy. Ow.”

Raphael closes her eyes with a deep sigh. There’s no point now, Gabriel’s seen the tree. Even if Amenadiel wasn’t behind the attack, he’ll know about the tree within minutes of Gabriel’s return to the Silver City. The damage is done, but if she tells Gabriel their story now, maybe they can control the narrative a little. She launches into the short version of Hell’s recent history, leaving the Messenger gaping in wonder and staring at their brother with concern.

“He’s done this before?” She glances around, but her eyes are drawn back to the Devil lying on the stone floor of the courtyard below the Tree of Freaking Life that he’s been nurturing for millennia… all without telling anyone so they wouldn’t try to stop him from helping souls faster.

“Too many times,” Raphael scowls down at her brother, but her hand resting on his brow is gentle. “He recovers faster on Earth, but if this was an attack… I’m not sure he’d be safe there. He’s going to have to stay here this time, I think. I need to find Chloe.”

“Where is she?” Gabriel asks, straightening her shoulders. “I can go get her. I’m not sure you should, uh…” her dark eyes dart down to their brother and she bites her lip anxiously. “I don’t think you should leave him alone.”

“Chloe was working in– oh Father–” Raphael’s eyes go wide and her head snaps back, toward the stonewalled door that had once been The Last Stop. “She was planning on working in Purgatory today, but I don’t know where. I… I need to go check the evacuated souls. Stay with him!”

Raphael is gone in a flash of cream and gold feathers before Gabriel can say another word, and she finds her own eyes drawn to the blockaded door as she kneels beside her brother where Raphael had recently been. Her memory is drawn back to the time just after their father had left, when Lucifer had decided to campaign for his position. She remembers how different he’d seemed, still the brother she had known all those ages ago, and yet somehow more… well. More. He’d seemed lighter. Happier. Stressed, and snarky too, and obviously she was always going to side with Michael, but… if she hadn’t, she would have felt okay about supporting Lucifer.

A shiver had run down her spine when the sound of his devastated denial rang across that stadium, how she had whirled in the sudden silence of the fighting to see Michael driving the broken staff into their father’s miracle’s body, how Chloe had crumpled to the ground in a leaking crimson and beige heap. How she had twitched when Michael had yanked the staff free and tossed it aside, then how Lucifer had skidded to her side, completely ignoring the threat of his twin at his back as he had cradled the broken mortal shell in his arms and sobbed a few brief words before she had stilled.

She looks down at him now, just as still as his Chloe had been, save for the slight flutter of life at his throat, the faintest rise and fall of his chest to indicate his continued existence. She shudders again and glances away, her gaze finding the axe before twitching back to her brother, sudden fear surging through her.

He needs a boost, Raphael’s voice rings in her ears, nearly as loudly as the klaxon still sounding off around them.

A boost. Well. She can do that too, right? She unfurls her shadowy wings, carefully sifting through and finding the secondaries that she’d seen Raphael pluck. She isn’t sure if the type of feather matters, but better safe than sorry. She hesitates a moment before she applies the feathers– do they need to be one at a time? Is it only Raphael’s feathers that can help?

In the end, she shrugs and presses the entire handful over her brother’s heart, gasping when a fountain of silvery blue light erupts from them before sinking into his body. The feathers themselves dissolve into a shimmering cascade of incandescent sparks, and though she isn’t sure, she thinks maybe his breathing seems a little steadier, a little stronger. She doesn’t know what else to do, so she casts her eyes upward out of habit and notices the tree again.

She keeps her hand on Lucifer’s chest, the reassuring– though a little thready– thrum of his heart keeping her calm as she allows her curiosity to surface just a little. She studies the tree. It’s not like anything she’s seen before, beautiful and deadly and mysterious, and she wonders how Lucifer had known that bringing the staff here would result in this. The leaves are tossing and shivering violently, as though trapped in a windstorm she cannot feel, and her eyes trace the trembling trunk down to the gaping, golden hole that Lucifer’s hands are clamped over.

She can’t make sense of it, so she turns her attention to the doors ringing the clearing, now opening into nothing more than solid walls where entire worlds had seemed to exist just moments ago. She hadn’t gotten a chance to explore in the chamber that Raphael had shoved her into, but it had felt nothing like Hell, and she hadn’t known that was possible, either. She shakes her head, unsure what to think about the things she’s seen but eager to learn more.

Time passes, but she has no idea how much before a rush of wings announce the arrival of Charlie, with Arael in tow. Charlie drops to his knees beside Lucifer, his fingers pressing at his pulse point as he heaves a sigh of relief while Arael gives an inarticulate cry and kneels beside the tree.

His sturdy fingers glide along the roughened trunk, gently caressing the weeping edges of the wounds left by the axe where Lucifer’s hands still rest, held in place by the leaking sap. “What happened? Who did this?”

“We don’t know,” Gabriel shakes her head, her dark gaze moving from one brother to another. “Lucifer said the tree was attacked, but we didn’t have time–”

“What did Raphael do with the rest of the souls?” Charlie asks suddenly. “Did we get them all to safety?”

Gabriel’s eyes find the walled off door again, and something in her face must give it away, because Charlie’s gaze follows. His face crumples as he takes in the walled-off door. “Did any of them get out?”

“I– no,” she stammers, suddenly ashamed. “I tried, but when I opened the door, it was… like that.”

Grief chokes him, and Gabriel reaches out to rest a supportive hand on his shoulder. His dove-grey wings twitch in response, but his head bows under the weight of their loss. After a moment, he rasps, “Where is Raphael? Does she need help with the souls?”

“She… er, went to go look for Chloe.” Charlie’s head snaps up, his nearly black eyes narrowing on his aunt.

“What aren’t you telling me?” He doesn’t try to veil the accusation in his tone. “I can tell you’re hiding something. Raphael wouldn’t have left Lucifer like this just to find Chloe. Not unless she was in more… danger… than…” He trails off, his eyes following Gabriel’s gaze back to that walled-off door. “Oh, Dad, no. She wasn’t– was she?”

“Um,” Gabriel hesitates. “I don’t think Raph knew. She said Chloe was supposed to be working in Purgatory today, but, uh, she wasn’t sure exactly where.”

Charlie’s stricken gaze drops to his uncle before it hardens into determination. “No. We’ve been through enough. We’ve… he’s lost enough. This is too much. I’m going to help Raphael find her.”

He’s gone in a flash of smoky grey feathers, leaving the Messenger and the Gardener kneeling in Hell’s courtyard. Lucifer shows no signs of waking, and Arael slowly feeds some of his feathers to the tree, but the wounds remain, still oozing the golden sap.

“Lucifer was… really worried about the tree,” Gabriel offers awkwardly. Arael has never been much of a talker, and certainly never one for gossip, but she feels the need to offer him something. “He… Raphael said he, um, gave it energy to help it.”

“He risks much of himself in his efforts,” Arael says shortly, sparing a concerned glance for his brother. “I have seen him drain himself once before, though not to this level.” His blue-green eyes stray to where Lucifer’s palms are still pressed to the tree, encased in sap, and his brows lower. “It seems that the tree is…” he trails off, glancing up and around curiously. He tries to pull Lucifer’s hands away, but they seem to be stuck fast. He stops before he harms his brother… or the tree. “Of course.”

“What?”

“This tree is of both Heaven and Hell. It has pulled the divinity back to itself, and my supplementation as well as Lucifer’s– but it needs more infernal energy than it can siphon from the surroundings. It’s grafted onto Lucifer as a conduit.”

“But…” Gabriel co*cks her head in puzzlement. “Lucifer’s an angel.”

“It’s not pulling infernal energy from him, it’s pulling infernal energy through him. Lucifer himself doesn’t have infernal energy, but he can wield it. The tree needs him.”

“Is this tree that important?” She lifts a skeptical eyebrow. “Can’t they just… I dunno, grow another one if this one dies?”

Arael shoots her a dirty look, and she shrugs, chagrined. “Look, I don’t know, okay? I didn’t even know this thing existed until a few hours ago. I’m just saying that Lucifer looks really bad right now, and if this tree is… is doing something to him, then… I’d say we should choose him over a tree.”

“I don’t know what Lucifer would think,” Arael admits slowly, his voice low and thoughtful. “But this tree is the First. It sprang into being when he planted the staff here, and all the other trees have sprouted as a result. We don’t even know if they’re linked somehow, although I suspect they are. The ambient divinity has been rising slowly in Hell since the trees started spreading, but it has been concentrating here, where Lucifer has needed it to feed into his Purgatory project. He obviously felt that saving the tree was important enough to offer himself, so I am… reluctant to separate him from it so long as he is only being used as a conduit.”

“If it’s not draining him, then why is he still unconscious?”

“I don’t know, but I hope he wakes soon.” Arael shakes his head, his coppery curls rippling. “The sooner we know what happened here, the better we can prepare for whatever trouble is to come. And...” he hesitates, his worried eyes flickering to their brother and back to the tree again, "if Chloe is not found, I fear we will need to prepare for a great deal of trouble indeed."

Chapter 39: You Guys Are Like A Family

Chapter Text

Sylvia and Jonathan Flynn are challenging cases, and sometimes Chloe wonders if it wouldn’t be easier to work with them separately. She does work with them separately, at times, but the guilt for one is so closely wrapped up in the other that it makes joint sessions a necessary addition to their treatment plan. She sighs internally and keeps her professional expression in place as she heads off yet another derailment into a minor bickering session.

Sylvia and Jonathan are what Chloe would consider a somewhat typical couple. They love each other, but they also drive each other a little mad. In life, Sylvia had cheated on Jonathan once with a manipulative ex, after a bad fight. The truth had come out when they’d bumped into the man on the street while they were going out for coffee. Sylvia had wanted to wait until they were back at home to have the discussion, but Jonathan hadn’t wanted to let the subject rest while they hurried home, making a loud and attention-grabbing scene the entire time.

Sylvia had been so upset that she hadn’t noticed the crosswalk had turned, and walked straight into oncoming traffic. She’d never seen the truck coming, but she’d certainly felt the guilt crushing her along with the impact of the grill.

Jonathan had been devastated. His friends’ attempts at talking him ‘round had been less than useless (“C’mon mate, the bitch cheated on you! She got what she deserved, didn’t she?”), and Jonathan hadn’t been the type to seek out therapy when alcohol and wallowing in his misery seemed to do just fine, thank you. He hadn’t lasted a year before he’d wound up on that bridge at 3 AM, drunk as a skunk and falling serenely into the rocky waters below, sinking with the weight of his culpability in her death.

If only he’d been paying attention. Why hadn’t he let it go, just for the walk home? She’d obviously felt terrible, why had he hounded her so, in public?

Chloe gets it. If Kinley had succeeded in whatever he’d planned for Lucifer with her help… she doesn’t know that she would have made the choice Jonathan did– she had Trixie to think of, after all, but… she does know that she never would have forgiven herself for losing him to her own actions. But this isn’t about her, it’s about them. So she gently redirects their minor argument and points them back toward the point at hand– that they’ve forgiven one another, but haven’t yet forgiven themselves.

She knows they aren’t going to have any breakthroughs today. She’s considering ending the session and letting them have the fight they both clearly want to have right now when she feels a strange tug toward the apartment door. The others seem like they feel it too, as their heads swivel as one in that direction and they’re all up and moving before Chloe can ask about it.

She’s working in Los Demonos today (a pun that Lucifer just couldn’t resist, flatly refusing to use Cityscape like the rest of them until they’d all caved and adopted his name for this particular chamber), and the population here is as densely packed as any major city on Earth. She’s swept into a sea of confused souls, all steadily but briskly moving toward the exit. She looks up and sees an angel flying above. It’s high enough that she can’t make out features with any certainty, but from the smoky wings, dusky blue robes and shock of fluffy black hair, she thinks it’s probably Gabriel.

Gabriel is here? And emptying a Purgatory chamber? What’s going on?

Worry flashes through her. If Gabriel knows about Purgatory, there’s a good chance Amenadiel does, too. She tries to attract her attention by waving, but no luck. Only the Message ringing in her mind, Proceed to exit. Remain calm. Proceed to exit. Remain calm. She’s swept along on a tide of souls, and finally relents in her struggle against it. She’ll ask Lucifer about it when she finds him.

The Message is strong enough that even at the bottleneck of the door, souls pour out quickly. Chloe blinks when she transitions from the bright ‘sunlight’ of Los Demonos to the dim blue-grey lighting of the courtyard, which is teeming with souls. There’s an unearthly, multitonal shriek filling the air that makes her wince as she works her way through the sea of souls toward the Tree, skimming above the heads around her, watching for her partner.

She makes it halfway to the tree before there’s a strange shuddering of reality and she finds herself packed into a room with thousands of other souls. After a moment of disorientation, she recognizes it as Raphael’s office.

Okay. That’s… weird. The siren-like sound is still audible, but not as uncomfortable here, and she pulls herself together as she threads her way through the packed room toward the desk, which is tidy as ever. Raphael likes a little clutter, but she’s always meticulous about her case notes, putting them neatly away when not in use. The chair is occupied by a rotund little man that Chloe doesn’t know, but she sweeps his propped feet off the desk with a glare. He returns it, but doesn’t try to put them up again. She glances around for anything that might give her some information as to what’s going on out there, trying to block out the confused hum of voices around her.

“Oooh hey, are these kiwis?” The exclamation catches her attention and her head snaps in the direction of the little glass bowl that Raphael has started keeping a supply of berries in. She’s been randomly testing them– for what, Chloe doesn’t completely understand, maybe to see if they have any healing properties?– and prefers having some on hand when an idea strikes rather than having to venture to the nearest tree to gather more.

Well, so much for running clinical trials, she thinks with a grimace as her cry of protest is drowned out by the voices around her. She blinks and the bowl is empty, and she wonders how many were in there, and how many souls actually ate them. A low chorus of disgusted sounds gives her a vague idea, but she can only shake her head and hope that none of them have some kind of allergic reaction. Surely that’s something that can only happen if you have an actual body, right?

The crowd around her mills restlessly, and Chloe starts to feel a little claustrophobic. She pops up to stand on top of the desk, and her jaw drops in shock. Raphael’s office– her snug, cozy office– has somehow expanded… without actually seeming any larger. Chloe’s eyes argue with her mind as she simultaneously sees the office that she knows well, and the hundred thousand or more souls that had likely been in Los Demonos with her when it was evacuated. She feels like a pop star up on stage without a routine to perform as all those faces turn to her expectantly, suddenly visible above the crowd. Silence falls, and she needs to fill it before she loses their attention.

“Okay,” she begins tentatively, before steeling her resolve. “Okay. Did anyone get a Message other than to stay calm and move to the exit? Did anyone see anything once you were out the door?”

A soft negative susurration sighs through the crowd until a voice pipes up, a few hundred feet away. “There was someone on the ground, by a tree.”

Chloe scans the crowd, trying to find the soul that had spoken. They see her looking and lift their hand in a half-hearted wave. Chloe motions them closer, and the crowd shuffles aside to let them through.

They’re young, or at least they look like they’re barely out of their teens, with sharp, fox-like features, and completely androgynous. Clear blue eyes meet Chloe’s without hesitation, and she wonders briefly who has been working with them, why they wound up here. Their next words completely wipe those idle thoughts from her mind, though.

“It was really weird, because he was, I dunno… looked like he was almost praying to the tree or something. His hands were pressed against it and his eyes were shut, and he was on the ground in a stupid-expensive suit. There was something else there, too, like… honey or something? But it was all over his hands. And then we were here.”

A man in a suit beside a tree. Well, that can only be one person. If Lucifer’s involved, then it can’t be too bad. Maybe… maybe it’s a safety drill?

But Gabriel was in Los Demonos, and she is definitely not someone Lucifer would involve in something like that. Especially not since it would mean revealing so much of their work to the biggest gossip in the Silver City. There would be no controlling the narrative if Gabriel got to Amenadiel before Lucifer could. She pulls in a deep breath and nods her thanks at the observant soul.

“Why are we here?” A querulous old man asks. “This isn’t Frank’s office.”

“No, it’s Raphael’s,” another soul chimes in helpfully. “Maybe we’re going to have a group session?”

“This en’t a f*ckin’ group session, it’s a bloody crush,” complains another. This sets off a wave of mild complaints, and Chloe prepares herself to use crowd control skills she hasn’t needed for centuries when another strident voice sounds out from nearby.

“Why are we here?” Her eyes rake the crowd and settle on a pocket of stillness off to her left. A middle-aged man with stress lines around his pale green eyes and a receding sandy hairline glances around at them with a sour expression. “I mean, not in this office, but here. I’m not a bad person. I didn’t kill anybody, or steal anyone’s life savings, or-or trophy hunt endangered species!”

She looks closer at him, notices that he’s standing near the now-empty glass bowl on Raphael’s little side table. Her heart starts to thrum in anticipation, and she calls out, “Then why are you here?”

“I–” he looks up at her, slack-jawed. “I’m here because I… I couldn’t take my daughter to the doctor.”

Chloe doesn’t need to ask to have a guess at what happened, but he needs to see it through. “What happened?”

“We didn’t have insurance, and my credit was sh*t,” he admits softly into the now-quiet room, his soft, southern accent breaking over the last words. “I couldn’t find a doctor to see her, and the emergency rooms made us wait hours and hours every time we would try to go because her symptoms weren’t severe. By the time they were…”

“It was too late,” she sighs, and he nods, swallowing hard.

“She died because I couldn’t provide for her,” he lifts his gaze to meet hers, and his eyes widen with understanding. “But she also died because she was sick, and the medical system failed her.”

“You tried to get her help,” Chloe offers a fact, hoping he’ll latch on. “How many times did you take her to the emergency room and come away with no answers?”

“I don’t know,” he shakes his head, but his shoulders straighten ever-so-slightly. “It felt like it went on forever. And then it went on forever here, until Charlie came and started talking to me.”

Chloe smiles as others around him nod in agreement. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“It… it wasn’t my fault,” he breathes in relief, a tear sliding down his jowly cheek. “It wasn’t.”

A soft light blooms from his chest, nothing like the brilliance that had burst from Trixie, and Chloe watches breathlessly as the corona fades, leaving the space he had occupied standing empty but for a few motes of light that quickly dissipate into nothingness.

“What the Hell was that?” A soul from across the room demands. “What just happened?”

“I’ve seen it before,” Chloe shouts over the surprised sounds now filling the room. “What that man just did is what we’ve been working with all of you to do: he let go of his guilt, and now he’s in Heaven about to receive his welcome speech from Zerachiel. He’ll see his daughter again soon.”

“What do you know about it?” Someone else demands impatiently. “You don’t look much like an angel.”

“That’s because I’m not an angel,” Chloe scoffs, “but neither are Linda and Frank, and we’d be lost without them. I’m one of the healers on Lucifer’s staff, and I have seen this before. What he just did, you can do, you just have to face your guilt, whatever’s holding you here. You just need to work through it, work to make yourself better so you can let it go and move forward.”

“If it’s so easy then ‘ow’s come you’re down ‘ere?” The question comes from a 60-something woman with ratty, late-1800’s attire, stringy brown hair, and suspicious brown eyes. “‘Ow’s come you’re still ‘ere wi’ us, instead o’ livin’ it up on Nob ‘ill?”

“I’m here because I fell in love with the Devil,” Chloe grins at the astonished murmur that sweeps the room. “He’s my partner and I wouldn’t leave him to do all this alone, not when I can help here, and get to be with him in the process.”

“You knew it was possible in theory before this, but you’ve all seen it now.” The expressions stretching out in front of her range from doubtful to hopeful, but she doesn’t spy any that look outright hostile. That fits well for their Purgatory demographic. The ones that are combative are still in individual therapy loops, since none of their team were willing to let bad apples taint the rest of the batch. “It isn’t easy, learning to forgive yourself, letting go of your past and working to make a better future for yourself. But the reward is worth the work. The only one that can do it is you.”

Another flash of muted light flares to her left, a dozen feet from where the man had been and a startled shuffling in the crowd around it shows her another newly empty space where a soul had been. Hot satisfaction burns in her chest, and she can’t wait to bring this to Lucifer. She wonders how many fruits they have on hand, and if they would work as quickly on souls still in their therapy loops. Maybe they’re only working this quickly because these souls are already nearly innocent, already so close to ascension. Her mind hums louder than the souls around her, and she doesn’t notice immediately when one of the souls nearest her lights up like a candle… until the light reaches out and ensconces her as well.

Oh sh*t, not again–

*

Michael sits, hunched on his bed. His eyes are fixed on the feather he’s twirling idly in his hand as he tries to puzzle out the message from his father. What kind of support is a feather supposed to offer? And one of his own, besides? If it had been someone else’s, perhaps it could have boosted his divinity enough to restore his wings, but he doubts it. When Lucifer’s demon had used his feather on Amenadiel, it had only healed his infernal wound, not kept him from losing his wings a short time later.

Michael’s wounds have long since healed. Lucifer had them tended by Raphael before Michael had been escorted to Hell, though there hadn’t been much to do. The flaming sword had cauterized the wounds almost immediately, leaving behind only the phantom pain of missing limbs and the stench of burned flesh and feathers.

The memory of the searing pain of the separation rips through his mind and he flinches, wondering if Remi had had time to register the pain of her wound. She’d managed to warn Lucifer about his plan, so he has to accept that she had. His hand clenches around an invisible hilt, and he lets the regret wash over him. He knows he can’t change the choices he made, but he struggles now with the consequences of them, now that he’s being forced to confront them. It had been easy at the time to put on an unconcerned front. To tell his followers that it had to be done, to preserve their victory, to keep the Devil from seizing control of the universe.

Now, though… he’s been watching what the Devil has done with Hell, how hard he has fought to help the souls under his care and guidance– including Michael himself, despite all the intentionally malicious things he’d done to him personally– and he wonders if it would have been so bad if Lucifer had become God.

Not that he would ever tell him that, the smug bastard.

He’s been trying to See what happened just before and after he’d shoved Gabriel and Raphael from his cell and sent them to his twin, but all he’s been able to come up with is a blurry vision of Amenadiel approaching the Tree and unslinging a battle axe from his back while Lucifer sat against the trunk in his Sight pose. Amenadiel had swung the axe and then the vision had abruptly cut off. The inability to extend his senses beyond this room had begun to be very claustrophobic before the wailing had finally subsided and he’d been able to See again.

Despite his attempts, he still can’t see what had happened immediately after Amenadiel had swung the axe. His vision here is never exactly clear, especially when he’s tried to see anything near the largest of those hostile trees, but since the incident it’s been fuzzy, at best. Full of static and more than a little out of focus. He’s been able to see Lucifer sprawled at the foot of the Tree with Gabriel and Arael hovering nearby, but not the condition he was in. Raphael has only been there sporadically, and he can See that she and Charlie are scrambling to do something with souls that for some reason don’t seem to have loops of their own.

So he’s held his silence until things calm down. Lucifer had mentioned the dilated time difference now between Heaven and Hell, and though Michael doesn’t know why Amenadiel would choose to come to Hell, attack, then apparently leave, he does know that they should have time to deal with it once things settle down again.

Unless Amenadiel reverses the time difference.

“sh*t,” he grumbles aloud as he considers. Which side should he be on, here? He doesn’t have enough information to make a decision, so he goes over the facts again and again in his mind.

Michael knows that their father hadn’t been infallible or as omni-everything as most of the rest of his siblings had believed, so he knows that Amenadiel can’t be either. It’s not something that could be passed with the throne, since it’s not something that his father had even possessed to begin with, at least, not inherently.

He knows that Amenadiel seems to have made no efforts to disabuse their siblings of the notion that he does have the Omnis, and that– according to Lucifer– he has made almost no attempts to help tweak the soul-sorting system, despite his initial promises to do so.

He’s grudgingly starting to accept that Lucifer’s vision of Hell has a true function in the universe besides torturing the damned, and he’s also come to the realization that he himself has benefited from Lucifer’s help here, however reluctantly it was accepted.

His lip curls at this silent admission, and he twirls the confounding feather more aggressively in his grip, the small thwip of the vanes cutting through the air the only sound in the room. He had Seen what Lucifer had done to himself after his fall– the scorched, monstrous appearance of evil– and he certainly doesn’t want to fall so far himself. The scars he already carries are far more than enough for his taste. He can admit now(even if not out loud, not yet) that even though facing his misdeeds is far from pleasant, he does feel somehow lighter now that he’s been able to acknowledge some of them.

Even if he can’t yet accept the consequences of them, or seem to move on from them. Lucifer and Chloe both keep reminding him that it’s a slow, often meandering process.

He sighs, and wonders again if he should reach out to Raphael, or Gabriel about what he had Seen.

But Raphael has refused to interact with him since he’d tried his mojo on her back in the early days of his ‘rehab’. He does feel badly for that, but she’d been so ridiculously earnest and well-meaning. He was sure he’d seen pity in her eyes, and he wasn’t about to stand for that. He was the Sword of God, for Dad’s sake, no one pitied him! So he’d pulled out his fear mojo, and she’d run like he’d set her on fire. He’d felt a smug satisfaction at her reaction until a few days later when he’d Seen her trembling in her office, with Lucifer solicitously beside her. Perhaps he’d let himself forget how very sensitive his sister could be.

So he waits, because Raphael seems to be under enough stress at the moment and doesn’t need his voice ringing in her mind to distract her. And Gabriel… he’s not sure why Gabriel is still here. He’d thought she’d only come to visit him, but now she’s been at Lucifer’s side for the past week without showing any inclination to leave. He wonders if she’s just waiting to get the rest of the scoop; Gabriel never could resist a good story. It’s what made her the perfect tool for spreading the whole ‘Lucifer is Evil’ narrative all over Earth. He’d barely even had to get his own hands dirty for that.

He still isn’t sure where the goat thing came from, though. He wonders if she’d improvised that on her own, but he can’t deny its brilliance. Lucifer had been livid when he’d first realized how pervasive that particular connotation had become, and oh, how Michael had laughed.

He grimaces again as he hears Chloe’s words echoing in his memory.

Who do you want to be?

The irony of it is, he wants to be what he thought he had been: free. “I do what I want,” he had boasted to Amenadiel at the bar of Lucifer’s nightclub once upon a time. But he hadn’t been free, then. He’d been fettered by what he had done, by what he was planning to do. He’d been locked into a vicious spiral of malicious action that had cost him so much, and several of his siblings even more.

Here, with nothing to do besides reflect and play silent witness to the close friendships and partnerships that have been forged on Earth and continue on in Hell, he’s realized that he no longer wants to be feared above all other things.

Can he do it? Can he turn his back on his father’s plans for him the way Samael had rejected being Father’s poison? Can he turn away from being the fearsome Sword of God and reforge himself into something else? Maybe not a plowshare, but something that others would be able to accept, and trust?

For the first time, he starts to have hope that perhaps he can. But first, he has to be able to accept and trust himself, and decide who it is he wants to be.

He continues to stare at the feather as though hypnotized, and finally starts truly reflecting.

*

The tree’s agonized screeching slowly tapers into a tortured whine over the days following the attack, and Raphael and Arael check in with one another as they pass. Raphael pops in frequently to check on Lucifer, who shows no change, and Gabriel hovers, feeling useless and yet reluctant to leave without learning more about what’s going on. After nearly a week, Charlie returns, his wings slumping heavily behind him.

“Is he awake?”

Gabriel doesn’t need to ask who he’s asking about. She shakes her head, her keen eyes raking over her nephew. “Did you find her?”

“No,” he replies shortly. “There was a rash of ascensions while the evacuated souls were in Raphael’s office, but Chloe isn’t with any of the groups.” His nearly black eyes stray to the stonewalled doors, all hanging open, and the lines of grief and exhaustion deepen around his eyes. He drops down beside them in a cross-legged position. “We’ve got Bea and all the demons we can spare doing a census of the evacuated souls, but I popped up to Heaven to check with Zerachiel, and he hasn’t seen Chloe either. She… she must have been inside the Last Stop.”

“So the souls that were in there–?” Gabriel asks tentatively, afraid to finish the question. She knows that Raphael had hoped they’d been given a boost into Heaven, but if Chloe was in there and she didn’t make it, then the others…

“They’re not in Heaven,” Charlie responds listlessly, his eyes swimming with tears. “We don’t know if they’re walled inside, or…”

Or if they were simply snuffed from existence, he doesn’t need to say. Gabriel lets out a shaky breath. Over a hundred thousand souls, erased? She glances anxiously at the tree, then lets her gaze fall to Lucifer, as it has so often over the past week.

You have to go to Lucifer, Michael’s voice rings suddenly in her memory, jarring her. She blinks in confusion, because she hadn’t considered it before, but… how had he known? Was it some… twin thing?

“Has anyone checked in with Michael?” She glances at Charlie, who shakes his head. “He… I was visiting him when this all started, and he seemed to know that we needed to get to Lucifer. Maybe he knows what happened? Or did you find out while you were in the Silver City?”

“I didn’t stay more than a moment, just long enough to check in with Zerachiel,” Charlie shakes his head. “With the time difference there now, I didn’t want to be gone too long when I’m needed here.”

“Time difference?”

“Right, Lucifer said you guys hadn’t noticed,” Charlie lifts his head a little in a nod of understanding. “It’s not important right now. You said Michael seemed like he knew what happened?”

“Not… exactly,” Gabriel struggles to explain when she doesn’t understand herself. “The siren or whatever it was started up, and Michael went blank for a minute. Then Raphael burst in and he was shoving us both out the door saying that we needed to get to Lucifer.”

Memory surges in his mind from the time that otherworldly scream had rent the air around them, and Charlie realizes now that he’d felt that peculiar blankness before– when Michael was teaching Lucifer to See. Worry blooms in his chest, wrapping tight around his heart. Was this all some scheme to get Michael free? Had he been planning this? Was this why he’d become so… so almost cooperative lately? Had he used the opportunity to escape his cell? He jolts to his feet like a marionette being yanked up by its strings. He has to know.

“Where are you going?”

“To talk to Michael.” He lifts his wings, but Gabriel pushes to her feet and rests a restraining hand on his shoulder.

“Umm… I’m pretty sure Raphael told me that nobody’s allowed in there without backup?” Gabriel looks to Arael, who shrugs, uncaring about Hell protocol. “I mean, he’s my favorite brother and I love him, but… I don’t think Lucifer and Raphael would appreciate it if something happened to you while they were busy.”

“Everyone is busy,” Charlie shakes his head. “Frank and Linda are trying to juggle the new arrivals and keep up with existing cases so we don’t get horribly behind again and lose ground. Bea is busy with the Purgatory census while she tries not to panic about her mom being among the missing. And Rory’s on Earth, applying for school. There’s nothing she can do down here right now, with the amount of guilt she’s carrying, it’s dangerous for her to be anywhere outside of Lucifer’s penthouse, the offices, or…” his eyes fly to the dead doors surrounding them and his face crumples. “Well. She would have been safe in Purgatory, but… that’s not an option right now. I haven’t told her anything yet.”

“She could go to Heaven and look for Chloe again?” Gabriel suggests. “Maybe Zeri’s just overwhelmed and missed her coming through?”

“Rory in Heaven would probably be a bad idea right now, especially if she’s trying to find someone. She… might not be welcome there.”

“What? Why?”

“She… might have brought Bea down here before her application to relocate went through the proper channels.” He grimaces and shakes his head. “Bea mentioned that she was pissed at my dad for something and when they almost ran into him, Rory grabbed her and brought her here before she could cause a scene.”

“Well, but…” Gabriel’s brow pulls down, “I mean, it’s not like Bea is going to get lost down here. I mean, not with everybody down here keeping an eye on her. It’s… you guys are like a family.”

“We are a family,” Charlie asserts fiercely. Gabriel retreats, lifting her hands in a surrendering motion. “I’ve spent more time with Uncle Luci than I ever have with Dad, and even though he can’t drop what he’s doing most of the time to listen to me, he always tracks me down when he can and tries his best to listen, and help.”

“But, Amenadiel knows that Bea isn’t going to slip between the cracks here, so why wouldn’t Rory be welcome in Heaven because she brought her down?”

“I don’t know,” Charlie admits, rubbing the back of his head in frustration. “I just… I have a bad feeling when I think about her going up there.”

“Huh.” Gabriel considers for a moment. “Well, can I be your backup? I… don’t want to leave, but I don’t think Lucifer particularly needs me here. I don’t know the first thing about helping with souls, but I do know Michael. Can I help?”

He pauses, pulling on his talent and reading her intent. He can see the jagged electric blue spikes of anxiety and the softer oranges and pinks of worry, but he doesn’t see any hint of the darker hues that indicate deceit or subterfuge. Slowly, he nods. “All right. Let’s go see what Michael knows.”

Chapter 40: He’s done something, hasn’t he?

Chapter Text

Lucifer now has intimate knowledge of what a straw feels like… and not in the pleasant, bedroom way. He feels the tree drawing the infernal energy through him with a grating, raw pulling sensation that leaves him feeling hollow and helpless.

He doesn’t like it, but he’s terrified of what will happen if he tries to pull away. His consciousness ebbs and flows, never allowing him enough energy to open his eyes or do more than twitch. The gnarled bark of the Tree grates against the palms of his hands, and he can still feel the viscous warmth of the sap holding him in place. He has vague impressions of people around him, familiar voices, and an occasional brushing touch, but there is one voice, one beloved touch that is conspicuously absent.

Chloe.

Her name comes to him on the tide of his awareness, and drifts away again into darkness. Eventually, the darkness seems to lighten, and he can see. Or perhaps, dream.

A luminescent pathway of glowing, interwoven fibers opens before him. He follows it, and slowly he begins to See. He watches a frenetic Beatrice making notes as she moves from soul to soul in a seemingly unending line. Raphael and Charlie search for something desperately among the evacuated Purgatory refugees. Linda and Frank struggle to keep Hell running as smoothly as they can, and he lays inert and useless, nothing more than a pipeline to funnel energy for the Tree to try to heal itself.

He dreams that he’s been swallowed by the tree, traveling the deepest roots and highest branches on Paths made of shimmering light that eagerly show him how life and death and eternity intricately lace together to form the delicate fabric of existence. An overwhelming sense of peace floods through him at the beauty of the vastness of creation, and then the dream shows him the flaws: the tiny– and not-so-tiny– snags and distortions in the pattern here and there that he longs to smooth over.

Hell is several of those snags, he knows, and he can see where the actions that they have taken have translated into tiny tugs that are slowly helping to pull those aberrant looped threads back into place. He spies others– catches and tiny rips that seem to be something about Heaven, though he can’t quite make it out from his position. A noticeable tear that he thinks is the current system for sorting souls. A black mark on the fabric that he can’t identify, but looks suspiciously like a burn. The parts of the tapestry that seem to reflect Earth are another texture altogether– knobbly and whorled– and yet seem to be more or less intact, or at least, not in any danger of unraveling.

He thinks time passes, but he has no way of marking it. He gets fleeting glimpses of Rory and Miss Lopez on Earth, but sometimes they’re joined by Chloe and Beatrice and Linda, and he can’t make out any details of their surroundings.

Are they memories? Is he Seeing Earth, but in the past? Is he glimpsing the Silver City once all his friends have passed out of Earthly life and they’ve finally finished their work in Hell?

He doesn’t know, but the visions soothe him, allowing him to remain quiescent as he fulfills his function as a conduit for the energy the Tree needs. He needs the Tree to reconstruct Purgatory, and the Tree needs him to conduct the energy. It’s a win-win, and all he needs to do is… allow himself to be used.

Hardly a new experience for the Devil.

He sinks into the dark waters of his mind, and allows it to show him what it will.

*

Chloe curses once she blinks the spots of light from her eyes, drawing the attention of the souls packed around her. She looks around sourly, avoids Zerachiel’s searching gaze, and sees herself out. She’s already been checked in once, surely she doesn’t need him to take her name again?

Once she exits the entrance chamber, she realizes that she doesn’t know where she needs to go. She’s only been here twice, and the first time she really can’t remember much. The second time, the only place she’d gone had been her parents’ place, and she really only wants to talk to Dan or Amenadiel right now.

She needs to get back.

But she doesn’t know where Dan is, or how to find him. Finding Amenadiel… She scans the city around her and bites her lip.

If I were God, where would I be…

There. Her eye catches on the tallest, most elaborate tower and she sets out toward it without hesitation. As she pelts through the city, she has time to reflect that one of the perks of being dead is that you can run for an indefinite period of time without getting a stitch in your side… though apparently running in Heaven earns you some odd looks from the inhabitants.

She slows to a walk as she approaches the tower. Her heart is thundering in her ears, but not from the exertion: she needs a lift back to Hell, but she’s not sure how to ask for it not to be Amenadiel himself. Maybe she can ask for Zadkiel, or Arael… on the grounds that Amenadiel is too busy to bother with ferrying her about.

There are no guards on the door, but she supposes that shouldn’t surprise her– this is Heaven, where everyone is happy. Guards wouldn’t be necessary. As she pushes the door to the tower, it opens soundlessly. Her footsteps echo loudly on the stone floor in the eerie silence within. The throne is empty, and a quick glance around shows no other exits from the chamber.

She huffs in frustration then pauses when she hears a faint rustle, followed by a low groan. She follows the sound, skirting around the dais to find Amenadiel sprawled on the floor with his wings draped loosely around him, apparently unconscious. She calls out his name as she races toward him, concern blooming at the raw, roughened patches of skin over his ears. She kneels beside him and gently shakes his shoulder, but he doesn’t wake. Her hand hovers over his… wound? She glances over the rest of him, spotting similar burned-looking areas covering both of his hands, and a strange, golden gel coating them. Some kind of healing salve?

What could wound God? She shakes her head and pulls away a little as she thinks. Was this a coordinated attack on Hell and Heaven? But if that’s the case, then why is no one here in a panic? She casts her mind back to this morning in Hell. The evacuation, the strange wailing, the relocation to Raphael’s office, a safe place. The soul that had seen Lucifer under the tree, what had they said?

On the ground, beside the tree, with his hands pressed to it. There was something else… honey? They had mentioned that it had been all over Lucifer’s hands, but why would there be honey in Hell? She’d never seen any bees or other insects around any of the trees. Her eyes snag on Amenadiel’s hands and face, and the golden gel encasing the wounds there.

Like honey. She rakes her gaze over him again, catching her breath as something demands her attention. Slowly, she reaches out and plucks a single, clinging fruit from the hem of Amenadiel’s silvery robes. Her mind whirls into gear. The only place Amenadiel could have picked one of these up is from Hell. The golden gel on Amenadiel could easily be the ‘honey’ that the soul had noticed after their evacuation from Purgatory, the same substance that Lucifer had also been covered in. If Amenadiel had been in the presence of the Tree, and this substance, there’s a good chance that he was there when… whatever happened, happened.

Which begs the question, what did happen? Why had Amenadiel been in Hell? As she’s staring down at the new God, she notices something else– the gel only covers the wounded areas of skin. She looks closer and sees that they look like chemical burns, a deep, bubbled thickening of the skin that almost reminds her of Lucifer’s Devil face. Around the edges the gel seems to foam, like peroxide on a scab, and she has a horrible feeling that she knows what caused the wounds. She grabs the hem of Amenadiel’s overcoat and uses it to wipe away the ichor, but when the skin threatens to slough away under her gentle ministrations, she backs away in horror.

There is no uproar in Heaven, despite God being unconscious and wounded. God had been in Hell, at the site of some unknown, chaos-inciting event prior to becoming unconscious, and probably before he was wounded. Had he fought with Lucifer? Somehow suspected that they’d been hiding something from him? If Amenadiel is in this state… what had he done to Lucifer?

She’d seen the aftermath of a few of their fights written on Lucifer’s skin, back on Earth. Her trained eye had noted the lack of defensive wounds on her partner at the time, but looking at the dark swelling around Amenadiel’s nose and left eye, she’s willing to bet that wouldn’t be the case if she were looking at Lucifer right now.

He was on the ground by the tree. She swallows hard, then pushes her worry aside. She needs to get back. Time moves so much faster there…

Why now? Why, when they’d been so close to being able to bring Amenadiel a successful rehabilitation program… Her father’s clenched jaw and distrustful hazel eyes flash through her mind and her heart stops.

He wouldn’t have. She doesn’t want to believe in the suspicion that springs fully-formed into her mind, but now that it has, she needs to know. She glances down at her friend, still sprawled on the floor. She’s done what she can for him. He’s God, and this is Heaven. He’ll be fine.

She has a case to solve, and a partner to get back to.

After backtracking to the Entrance Gallery, she’s able to find her way to her parents’ Haven. She gathers herself for a moment, breathing steadily with a reminder that the evidence so far is completely circ*mstantial, and there’s no need to go barreling in and accusing her father of tattling on the Devil’s secret plans to rehabilitate Hell to God. One more deep breath and she pastes on a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes before she knocks on the door.

It opens a moment later, Penny’s blue eyes widening in surprised greeting. “Chloe! Honey, I didn’t expect to see you back so soon, come in!”

“I wasn’t expecting to be back so soon,” she says ruefully, stepping through the door. “Never a dull moment, I suppose. Is Dad around?”

“He wanted to go fishing this morning,” Penny smiles fondly. Chloe follows her into the sitting room, and she keeps speaking over her shoulder. “I’m so happy you’re here, Pumpkin, your dad was so worried about you down there in Hell. Will you be staying a while this time?”

“I don’t think so, Mom,” Chloe sighs. “This was a surprise visit, and there’s something going on back in Hell, so I need to get back as soon as I can catch a ride.”

“Well, I’m sure Lucifer will be here after you shortly, then, sweetie,” her mother giggles, and Chloe barely refrains from slapping her forehead in exasperation.

How had she not already thought of that? She doesn’t usually need to, but she presses her palms together and closes her eyes, focusing as hard as she can.

Lucifer, I got caught in another ascension. I’m back in my parents’ Haven, can you come get me?

She holds her breath for a moment, but when no swirl of gleaming feathers is forthcoming, she has to admit that he’s probably busy dealing with… whatever happened. Unless…

She twines her fingers anxiously as worry resurfaces. That soul had mentioned that the ‘honey’ had been on Lucifer. If it’s the same substance she found on Amenadiel, the one that seemed to be burning him… could he be injured from that as well as maybe fighting with his brother?

Too many possibilities to consider. She closes her eyes and reminds herself to focus on what she can do right now… question her dad. So, until he gets back…

“So what did you and Trixie talk about after Lucifer and I left?” Chloe asks, settling down into one of the chairs. “Did you have a nice visit?”

“She didn’t stay very long,” Penny pouts, sitting across from Chloe with a sigh. “Rory came by a few minutes after you left and interrupted the lecture she was giving your father.”

“What was she lecturing him about?”

“He wasn’t happy about how eager you girls were to leave,” she waves a dismissive hand. “I think he just wanted some more time with you, Chloe, and up here we’ve… gotten used to getting what we want. But he got over it quickly enough.”

Chloe hums noncommittally, her fingers tangling in her lap as she tries to remember what all she’d told them about her work in Hell. It’s difficult, because she hadn’t thought to guard her words with her family, it had never even crossed her mind. Why would it? It’s not as though they have Sunday dinner with God…

But her dad had never been one to let something go if it bothered him– that’s how he’d wound up being targeted by Perry Smith, after all. Her heart sinks as she works to accept the fact that all of their hard work– all of Lucifer’s hard work and sacrifice– might be at risk now, just because she’d wanted to show off for her father’s approval.

She lets her mother natter on about life in Heaven like she’s trying to sell Chloe a time-share, and tries to consider all possibilities. Even without the Omnis, there are other ways Amenadiel could have wound up with the information. Dan could have slipped. Or Charlotte. Amenadiel is friends with both of them… but Dan was a police officer and understands discretion, and Charlotte was a die-hard attorney. She doesn’t think either of them would have gone to Amenadiel with anything to raise his suspicions about their activities in Hell. Especially since they had both benefited personally from Lucifer’s work there.

A hand on her forearm breaks her out of her thoughts, and she looks up to find her concerned mother perched on the arm of her chair. “Chloe, are you okay? Did something happen to you? Is… did Lucifer–? How long have you been down there since I saw you last, sweetie?”

“I’m fine.” She shrugs off her mother’s worry. “I’m worried about Lucifer and what’s going on down there. I… I think something bad happened and I’m wondering now if Lucifer got hurt, because I prayed to him when I got here and asked him to come get me, and he’s not here.”

“Is there anyone else you can ask to take you down there?”

“Zadkiel or Arael might, but I don’t know where to find them,” she huffs in frustration. “I stopped to talk to Amenadiel, but he was… unavailable. What did Rory say when she came to get Trixie? How long did it take her transfer approval to go through?”

“Oh, I don’t know anything about the transfer,” Penny shakes her head. “Rory didn’t stay long either, because Trixie got really upset about… oh, something about time, and two million years. And there was something about not talking to Amenadiel because Lucifer didn’t want him in Hell–”

“sh*t,” Chloe breathes. He really did it. Dad sold us out. Just then, the man in question breezes in the door.

“Chloe!” His hazel eyes light up like he hadn’t just ratted out her last four centuries of effort to God. “Baby girl, I’m so glad you came to your senses and decided to come back!”

“What did you tell Amenadiel, Dad?” Chloe demands, her voice cracking. “What did you tell him, because I need to know exactly how bad a situation I’m in right now.”

“Bad situation?” The smile lines around his mouth deepen and flex into a frown. “What has the Devil dragged you into now?”

“This isn’t about Lucifer right now, this is about you, taking information that I trusted you with and sharing it with malicious intent.” He reels back at the fury in her tone, but recovers quickly.

“Is it malicious intent to try to keep my daughter and granddaughters out of Hell, Chloe?” John challenges, his gaze hardening. “I didn’t even have any real, useful information for God– not that he wouldn’t have already known, anyway. But if going to him is what brought you back to us, then I’m glad I did.”

“Useful information…” Chloe repeats slowly, her heart sinking at the confirmation that Amenadiel had known something about what they were trying to accomplish. He’s right, she hadn’t given him any real details, including what they were doing with the trees. Maybe Rory had mentioned something? So… if Amenadiel came to Hell and found the trees, he probably would have felt the divinity coming from them. What would he have thought? What would he have done? That golden gel… she closes her eyes, frustrated. She’s still missing too much information. She needs to talk to Dan while she’s stuck here. “I’ve gotta go.”

She feels time slipping away like water through cupped hands. With the time difference, she’s already been gone far too long. Is Lucifer okay? Have they noticed she’s missing yet? What kind of havoc had Amenadiel wreaked? She doesn’t know, and it sends a dull throb of panic streaking through her. Her parents look surprised when she stands and moves to leave, and between that and the gentle, soothing nudges at the edges of her mind that tell her Heaven itself is trying to calm her, her annoyance flares brightly. She clings to it gratefully, because it distracts her from the worry gnawing at her nerves.

“Where are you going?” John asks, and suddenly she feels like she’s 18 again, chafing against her father demanding to know her whereabouts.

“Why?” She demands angrily, “Are you gonna run to Amenadiel and let him know, Dad? I trusted you with information that very few people up here have, and you immediately turned it over to the one person that can destroy all our efforts. I don’t have time for this right now, I’ve got work to do.”

“Honey, this isn’t your problem,” John starts to follow as she moves toward the door, reaching out to take her hand and turn her back toward him. He’s worried, she recognizes the tic in his jaw, the tightness of his eyes, because she sees them every time she looks in the mirror when she is worried. “This… this Heaven versus Hell stuff, it’s too big for you. Let God handle it. He knows what he’s doing.”

“It isn’t Heaven versus Hell, Dad, that’s what I was trying to tell you before!” She bursts out, yanking her hand from his grip. “I’m willing to bet that’s what Trixie was trying to tell you, too! I don't remember you being this closed-minded when you were alive. All Lucifer has been trying to do is help the souls in Hell that don’t deserve to be there, and try to get the ones that maybe do deserve to be there right now a chance to redeem themselves. Your granddaughter was one of those undeserving souls, Dad, and thanks to Lucifer and our tiny team of helpers, we helped her work her way out. It was her choice to come back and help other souls– one that I am incredibly proud of, by the way– and… and it makes me sad that you can’t see that what we’re trying to do, what we’re trying to build isn’t against Heaven, it’s what Heaven should have been doing all along.”

She wants to shout that the New God doesn’t have a damned clue what he’s doing, that none of them do. She wants to scream at the unfairness of the slander that has been heaped on Lucifer for thousands of years, and how he has to fight so hard against the damage it has done him in order to continue to do what he feels is right. She wants to hug her father and never let him go, but she also wants to slap him for failing to understand something so important to her, for not trusting her to know what’s right, to know her own mind. Instead, she blinks and a white-hot tear leaves a cooling trail down her cheek, and she turns away before she loses her resolve to leave.

She doesn’t have time for a mental meltdown right now. She’s got to find Dan. She turns away, ignoring the spluttering from her father and the plaintive cry of her name from her mother. Swallowing her tears, she focuses her thoughts on the person she most wants to see right now.

Lucifer, if you can hear me, I hope you’re okay. Please come get me when you can, but know that I’m finding my way back. I love you.

*

In a sheer stroke of luck, she spies Charlotte on the street less than an hour later. The former attorney lights up at the sight of her, then confusion slowly clouds her ice-blue eyes.

“Dan said you left?”

“I did,” she assures her friend, glancing around furtively. “Do you know where he’s at? I think I need to talk to both of you, and it’s a little sensitive.”

Charlotte’s mouth tightens in understanding, solidifying Chloe’s suspicions that Amenadiel had gotten information from them after speaking with her dad. Her chest aches, but she keeps up with Charlotte’s ridiculously long-legged stride as she leads the way to the grotto she shares with Dan.

“Dan, company,” she calls lightly. When he appears from around a corner, his expression is apprehensive, but it quickly turns to delight, followed closely by puzzlement.

“Chlo’, I didn’t think–” he trails off, taking in her grim expression. “What happened?”

“I don’t know yet,” she admits, her fingers threading together to keep her hands from trembling. “But I need to know what Amenadiel knows.”

“sh*t,” he mutters under his breath, then sighs. “He’s done something, hasn’t he?”

“I don’t know,” she says again, but at his off look, she sighs and admits, “but my gut says ‘nothing good’. I know you wouldn’t lie to him if he came asking, Dan, I just need to know what you told him, so I can try to put the few pieces I have together into something that makes sense.”

“Okay,” he nods affably, sharing a glance with Charlotte. “Come on, sit down. Is Lucifer coming, too? You want something to eat? It’s probably going to be a long conversation.”

Chapter 41: Let Me Help

Chapter Text

Michael surfaces from his introspection when the door to his cell opens quietly, admitting his nephew and sister. He feels the pull of the scar across his face as he lifts an eyebrow at this unexpected development. “Well, if it isn’t the Son of the New God. What brings you to my humble cell?”

“If you know what happened, Michael, you need to tell us,” Charlie says calmly, without preamble. “We need to know what to look for, and what to expect. I know you have Sight, so I’m sure you’ve been watching us scramble.”

“My Sight hasn’t been incredibly helpful lately,” Michael grumbles, flexing his shoulders in a habitual attempt to loosen the tightness there. “And whatever that claxon was messed with it even more. I’ve been trying to See since it happened, but all I’ve gotten is fuzzy visions of Lucifer under that big tree.”

“Lucifer can See into the past.” Charlie nods thoughtfully. “Can you?”

“I can’t see anything that happened while that screaming was going on,” Michael shakes his head and curls his lip in annoyance. “I Saw a little before that, though. I haven’t been able to make a lot of sense out of it: Amenadiel was walking toward Lucifer, who was sitting at the base of that giant Tree. He was pulling out a weapon, but it looked like an axe. I saw him swing it, but… from what I could See afterward… he didn’t hit Lucifer.” Dark eyes dart between them when no answer is forthcoming. “He didn’t. Right?”

“We found an axe.” Charlie glances back at Gabriel briefly. “It looks like he hit the Tree. We found Lucifer beside it, but he didn’t seem to be wounded.”

An emotion that Michael doesn’t quite understand sweeps over him, and Charlie’s eyebrows lift in surprise. Silence descends on the room for a long moment, the three of them merely staring at one another until Charlie asks another question. “Have you Seen Chloe?”

“No, she hasn’t been to see me for a few weeks now, but that’s not unusual,” Michael replies, running his blunt thumbnail across the vanes of his feather with a small zipping sound. “She and Lucifer take their visits in turn, mostly.”

“No, I meant…” he hesitates, then re-emphasizes the question. “I meant, have you Seen her? She… she’s not here, and she’s not in Heaven.”

“She’s missing?” Dark brows pull in, puckering his scar. “What’s Lucifer been doing with that tree when his friggin’ soulmate is missing?”

“He’s–” Gabriel begins, but Charlie steps in smoothly.

“– been busy. That’s why we came to ask.” A shadow passes over his face. “At least now we know that Dad was behind the attack. That’s more information than we had.”

He turns to leave, and Michael surges to his feet. “But… wait! What about Chloe? What are you doing to find her?”

Gabriel tilts her head like a curious puppy, but again, it’s Charlie that answers. “If she’s not in Heaven or Hell, then there’s not a lot we can do. We know she’s not on Earth. We’ve got a crisis to handle here before we can start trying to figure out what happened with... with her.”

“That doesn’t sound like Lucifer,” Michael argues doggedly, stepping forward and locking gazes with his nephew. Charlie doesn’t give any ground, meeting his eyes steadily, and Michael has to hand it to the kid, he’s got guts. “He literally gave up the fight to be God and risked his own destruction to save her. There’s no way he’d be messing around with a tree if he didn’t know she was safe. What aren’t you telling me?”

“I didn’t come to give you information, Michael, I came to get it,” Charlie snaps. “And now I’ve got work to do, so–”

“Lucifer hasn’t woken up yet,” Gabriel blurts loudly, shifting anxiously as both turn to stare at her, one incredulous, one suspicious. “He… we don’t know exactly what’s going on, but he hasn’t been conscious since just after the attack on the tree. He doesn’t know about Chloe, that she’s, um, that she’s gone.”

“He’s been unconscious for over a week?” Michael asks, his voice dripping in disbelief. “Pull the other one Sis, because I’m not buying it.”

“It’s true,” she insists, and when Michael’s gaze moves back to Charlie he reads the resignation there. Truth, then. “We’ve been supporting him the best we can without moving him. Apparently the tree needs him to heal.”

“What is the deal with these damned trees? Lucifer treats them like they’re made of gold.”

“They’re… important to his plan for Hell. That’s more than you need to know,” Charlie grits his teeth and turns to leave again, ushering Gabriel before him.

“I’ll look for Chloe,” Michael offers quickly as they reach the door. Charlie spares a narrow-eyed glance over his shoulder. “I can’t see into Heaven, or even Earth from here, but I’ll try to see if I can find where she was before the attack, and maybe where she might have wound up. I can watch to see if Amenadiel comes back too, okay? I can help.”

When Charlie only continues to regard him suspiciously, he sags a little, closing his eyes with a sigh. “Look, I’m not a hero. I’m not good. But even I can acknowledge that Lucifer and Chloe… I might owe them a little bit. So. I’ll keep watch. Check in with me every so often, or I can just send a prayer to Gabriel, or Raphael, if she’ll listen. Let me help.”

“Okay,” Charlie agrees, with the annoyed air of someone giving a toddler a toy tool and letting them ‘help’ with a project. “Yeah, you keep looking, and one of us will check in with you periodically.” His expression softens a little. “Thanks for your support. I’m sure Lucifer will appreciate it, when he can.”

He’s left alone in his cell again, staring wide-eyed down at the coal-black feather in his hands and his ears ringing with Charlie’s parting words.

“Thanks for your support.”

*

Lucifer finds himself aware more often as time passes, though he’s not entirely certain that’s a good thing. He’s only present, not awake; he’s not able to interact, to ask the questions that are clamoring to be answered in his mind. That in itself is its own kind of torture, and he’s had so much more than his fill of that in his long life.

Once or twice, at the very edges of consciousness, he thinks he hears Chloe’s voice, just the slightest snatches, barely enough to even be words. He doesn’t prod at it too deeply once he’s able, though, because he knows from the conversations that he’s overheard around him that Chloe was in the Last Stop when it was sealed. He feels the tug of guilt because while he grieves for all the souls lost that day, just when they’d been so close to their everlasting reward, the loss of that single precious soul is the one that crushes him into something far less than dust.

The pain of knowing that she’s gone– truly gone, the way Uriel and Remi are gone (also his fault)– hurts far beyond any experience of pain he’s come up against before. From the angel that quite literally fell from Heaven and ignited Hell with his entry, that is saying quite a lot. He would be glad that he’s unable to move or respond to those around him, if he were able to feel anything beyond the rough bark under his palms, the cold stone against his body, and the razor-sharp agony of losing her. He wants nothing more than to curl around the base of the tree and be absorbed. Let himself go and allow the tree to use him as fertilizer, if that will allow it to continue seeding Hell with hope in the aftermath.

Lucifer himself has no more hope to offer. His light has gone dark, and he has no desire to step back into the shadows he’d emerged from so briefly while she’d been in his life.

Just a blip, after all. Something prickles behind his eyes and in his throat, but no tears escape. Rory. Does she know her mother’s fate? Does she know that it’s his fault? Does Beatrice?

Amenadiel. Will he be satisfied with destroying the First Tree? Or will he return with a garrison of axe-wielding siblings, with the intention of a Hellish deforestation project? Why had he attacked the Tree to begin with? Lucifer’s mind can’t formulate any answers from the bottom of the well of grief it’s currently drowning in, but that doesn’t stop the questions from churning the water into dark froth around him.

The next time he surfaces, there is a small hand on his cheek and for a moment he can almost believe– but no. The tearful voice that drifts into his ears– or is it into his mind? He can’t tell– isn’t hers, but it is beloved all the same.

“Lucifer, you gotta wake up,” Beatrice sniffles, and the warmth of her palm burns against his frozen face. “We need you here. We haven’t figured out what happened yet, and… and we need to find Mom. Please, if anyone can do it, you can.”

No one can. You can’t find what no longer exists, love. She always had thought better of him than he deserved. He hates to let her down yet again.

“It’s been months,” she continues, her voice steadying a little as her fingers continue to scratch along his cheek, straying up along his hairline as though sweeping it away from his face. She’s warm, and he wants to lean into that. His own fingers twitch against the tree, held within their amber casing. “There are so many new arrivals that need their loops seen to. No one else can do that, Lucifer. The demons are trying, but they just can’t quite manage it like you can. Arael says the Tree is healing, and that maybe it won’t, um, need your help for much longer. I’m sure you’ve been bored, stuck here for so long, but… we really need you to wake up, okay? I need you to wake up.”

He can’t. He can’t. He isn’t even sure he wants to, but he knows that it’s well beyond his current capabilities.

She’s not wrong about the loops, though. No one else has the control over them that he does. No rest for the wicked has been his mantra for longer than he cares to remember, and he supposes it still holds true now. As he slips back under the still black waters of his mind, he reaches out to the Tree, and it eagerly shows him the new loops. He loses himself amongst the guilt of other souls– less painful by far than wallowing in his own– and goes about the tedious task that Beatrice has placed upon his shoulders.

*

Chloe drapes herself across the little patio table, groaning as she rests her head on her crossed forearms. Dan and Charlotte look on, worry and sympathy writ heavy on their faces.

“So we have an annoyed God who’s apparently decided that Lucifer is… is seeding a new rebellion by planting souls indebted to him all over Heaven?” Her voice is muffled because she’s speaking into the small shelter of her arms, but Dan and Charlotte understand nonetheless. “And his first thought isn’t to talk to us, but to go to Hell and for some reason stage an attack on the Tree of Life?”

“We don’t know that’s what he did, Chlo’,” Dan tries to reason, but his doubt is clear. She lifts her head to glare at him, and he sighs, settling back in his chair. “But… that is what it sounds like, at least for now.”

“Dan, if anything happens to that tree, I don’t know what that will mean for Hell. For Purgatory.” She stifles a hitching breath and lets it out slowly. “I don’t even know that Lucifer is okay.”

She’s sent him a couple more prayers since they’ve been talking, and still no response. She thinks it’s only been a few hours since she arrived, but last time she’d been here for less than half a day and it had been several years in Hell. They need her there, and she’s stuck here. She really wishes that other angels were able to hear her prayers the way Lucifer can. Or even half-angels. She knows Charlie or Rory would spare a moment to come collect her, if they only knew where she was.

If it’s been months for them… what do they think happened to her? Why hasn’t anyone come looking? It doesn’t speak well for the situation in Hell, and not knowing what’s going on leaves a sick churning in her stomach. The nausea isn’t helped by the fact that she can still feel Heaven’s soporific effects sniffing at the edges of her consciousness. Maintaining her focus when it’s causing her so much stress gets harder the longer she stays, because the higher her stress level the more Heaven asserts itself. It’s part of the reason she’d been so eager to share some of the details of their progress in Hell with her parents. Telling them about their successes had helped keep her mind in the positive frame that it needed to be instead of getting lost in the insidiously pleasant trappings of nostalgia.

She can’t afford to forget. She won’t let that happen. Too much depends on her getting back there: her happiness, his happiness. All their plans and projects. She grits her teeth and reins in her wandering thoughts.

Focus on what needs to be done, Chloe. Time is not on your side, here. She sits up, flexing her shoulders with a deep sigh. “I don’t suppose either of you know where I can find Arael?”

She’s met with a pair of utterly blank stares, as though she’d just spoken in Japanese. Finally, Dan glances at Charlotte, then back at her. “The, uh… the mermaid?”

“Mermaid?” What the Hell? Are there mermaids in… oh. Right. “Not Ariel, Arael,” she clarifies, pronouncing the name carefully. “The Gardener? He’s an archangel. Although, he does have bright red hair and blue eyes. No fins, though I’m sure he’d happily grow leaves if he could.”

Could he? Would self-actualization really– No. Focus, Chloe.

“So… big Garden? Ring any bells?” She looks hopefully at her friends’ thoughtful expressions.

“I mean, there’s the Garden,” Charlotte muses, nodding. A lot of peoples’ Havens are kind of garden-y, like ours, but the Garden is beyond all that. It’s… kind of a popular place.”

“Eve’s Garden?” Chloe asks, curious now.

“She spent a lot of time there, before she left,” Charlotte confirms. “Sweet girl, but really naive. Sounds like she found Lucifer, if you know her, huh?”

“Yeah,” Chloe grimaces, then shakes her head with a low chuckle. “She wound up marrying Maze, though.”

“That’s right, Dan said he was at their wedding.” Chloe notices that the pair are holding hands under the table and stifles her smile.

“Did you two ever think about it?”

“Nah,” Dan waves his free hand, but his eyes don’t leave the blue-grey eyes of the woman beside him. “Marriage is ‘til death do us part. We don’t have to worry about that here, ya know?”

“No, I guess not,” she agrees, taking a moment to consider how life had parted her from her own love… and even in death they’ve barely been able to enjoy one another’s company yet. No rest for the wicked, my ass. I don’t see the good getting much of a break, either, except for the ones lazing about up here.

She reminds herself that there’s no point in thinking bitter thoughts. She’d get bored if left to her own devices up here for too long… but she wouldn’t mind taking some time to just be with Lucifer, if they can ever catch a break. Maybe once Purgatory– if Purgatory…

sh*t. The tree. Lucifer. She yanks herself back to the problem at hand. “So, the Garden? Can you show me where it is? Arael will take me home, if I can find him.”

“Yeah,” Dan smiles, “C’mon, we’ll show you where it’s at. You haven’t really had a chance to see much of Heaven yet, have you?”

“I’m not here to sightsee, Dan,” she huffs as she stands, impatiently waiting for them to lead the way. “I’ve got–”

“Work to do, I know.” He grins, and she forces a thin-lipped smile in return. Taking out her frustration on Dan and Charlotte just because she’s here when she wants to be home with Lucifer… Well. That’s not fair. And it’s only natural that they’d want to show off their home a little. She can surely manage some ooohs and ahhhs while they’re heading for the Garden.

She’s twitchy during their little guided walking tour. She keeps catching herself glancing around, waiting for a claxon to sound somewhere once Amenadiel is discovered unconscious in the throne room, but they make it to the gated Garden without incident. She gazes around, wide-eyed, taking in the lush greenery, cascades of sweet-scented flowers of every possible hue, and the perfectly cultivated not-quite-wildness of it. Dan and Charlotte hadn’t been kidding– this place is hosting more souls than Chloe has seen in any one place in Heaven, aside from the crowded Entrance Hall.

They’re everywhere: strolling across the thick, springy grass, lolling about under wide-canopied trees, frolicking– no really, she’s never seen anyone actually frolic before, and she has to wrench her eyes away from the strangeness of it– through sun-dappled meadows, even a few comfortably lounging up in the higher branches of trees. And maybe it shouldn’t be strange, but she’s surprised by how many of them are entirely naked.

She’s reminded of the nudist colony that she’d visited with Lucifer and Ella (literally) ages ago; these souls have the same nonchalance, the same comfort at showing their bodies as those colonists. Unlike then, though, this time Chloe isn’t uncomfortable. Maybe it’s the fact that these are souls, not actual flesh. All of them are, to a greater or lesser degree, beautiful, and simply enjoying themselves.

She thinks perhaps it’s more the fact that she isn’t going to turn around to find her partner and friend joyfully stripped bare behind her, then striding off without her while she looks on, burning with jealousy and shame. Okay, and lust. That had definitely been there, too.

She blinks a few times, pulling her mind away from wandering curiosities like, How can that guy possibly be comfortable straddling that tree branch? She recognizes them for what they are: Heaven’s unwelcome, gentle attempt to redirect her thoughts away from her stressful situation. She sharpens her gaze, scanning the crowds now for angels, but she doesn’t notice any, let alone the copper-haired, aqua-eyed giant she’s looking for.

She turns to ask Dan if he knows if Arael has a workshop, or a toolshed, or some kind of gardening base of operations, only to find that he and Charlotte have meandered off hand-in-hand. She growls under her breath and stalks off, keeping her eyes open for anything that might lead her where she needs to go. Dan hadn’t even known who Arael was, there’s no reason to believe he’d know his favorite haunts. After some wandering, she comes across a wide, open meadow with a strange, burnt-looking hollow in the center.

Do they have bonfires in Heaven? She approaches the hollow curiously. It’s the only place she’s seen in the garden that’s anything less than utter, natural perfection, and her detective’s mind can’t help but wonder why. She leans in, mesmerized by the scorched darkness of the hollow.

“Careful,” calls a voice from the edge of the clearing. “The hole’s deeper than it looks.”

She jerks backward, startled, and suddenly a figure is at her side, a steadying hand on her elbow. She whirls to face him, only to be greeted by a wall of tawny wings with white mottling, and a familiar, chiseled face with muddy green eyes looking back at her in surprise. “Chloe?”

sh*t. Which brother is this? She hasn’t seen him in ages, not since the battle, in fact, and they really hadn’t spoken then. But… her hand drifts across her stomach and she remembers the staff he’d thrown to Lucifer just as the fight with Michael had begun. “Zadkiel!”

“I’m surprised to see you here,” he says, gently tugging her back away from the burnt depression. “I… I thought you were going to be joining Lucifer, after all you two had been through.”

“I am. I did. I mean,” she pulls in a flustered breath, her eyes raking the burned area before them again. “I’m supposed to be down there now, but I… kind of accidentally hitch-hiked up here again, and something’s happened that Lucifer can’t come get me so I came to find Arael to see if he would take me, but I don’t know how to find him and I really need to get back because they need to know what’s going on and so do–”

“Chloe,” he interrupts with a wry smile. “I know you’re dead, but you should take a breath, okay? A nice deep one, then slow down a little and we can talk.”

“Yeah, okay,” she does, sucking in a lungful of sweet-scented air and loosing it slowly. She pulls her eyes away from the hole again. “What… what is that?”

“It’s where the Tree of Life used to be,” Zadkiel surveys the stark black earth sadly. “The original, that is, not the… interesting new version you guys have there in Hell.”

“What happened to it?” She wonders aloud. “How does the Tree of Life die, in Heaven?”

“It… was a message.” He looks away for a moment, swallowing heavily before turning his gaze back to her. “Lucifer used the Tree as a meeting place for his followers. Thought it was clever, you see, he said that the Tree of Life was the perfect place to plan the strategy to gain lives of our own, to pull ourselves out from under Father’s thumb.”

“Our?” She clarifies. She hadn’t thought that Zadkiel, the archangel of Righteousness, would have supported a rebellion. Especially with how antagonistic Lucifer said he had been when they’d met before the battle to discuss his vote.

“Well, I wasn’t really involved.” Zadkiel’s tongue flickers out to wet his lips, and he belatedly removes his hand from her elbow. “It was more… professional interest, you know. Lucifer… he had a point. I would come and listen sometimes.”

“So, what happened to the Tree, then?”

“Father smote it.” His voice is even, inflectionless, but his eyes rest on the crater and they’re glassy with sorrow. “Just before he cast Lucifer out. My… the staff was the only bit that wasn’t incinerated, and he gave it to me to guard, to keep it safe.” His gaze flickers to Chloe’s stomach so quickly she nearly misses it before he returns to staring at the cavern before them. “The roots ran deep, and he smote every splinter. Said it was his way of burning out the rebellion, and Lucifer’s followers got the message loud and clear.”

Comply or share the same fate. Chloe’s lips thin grimly. What a stellar parenting strategy. She clears her throat to keep from making the observation aloud. “Why hasn’t it grown over? Lucifer’s rebellion was ages ago.”

“Nothing will ever grow here again, lest the Message be forgotten.” The grief in his eyes makes more sense, now. In all of Heaven, this place that had held life itself is now and forever barren. She thinks of Lucifer, and how very full of light and life he is, and how very (very) long he had been barren– rejected and unloved– and her heart aches.

“Maybe it will again,” she offers her hope tentatively, scuffing the grass beneath her with the toe of her boring brown boot. “One thing I’ve learned since I met Lucifer is never say never.”

“Ah, but Lucifer isn’t here, and Heaven does not change.” The corner of his mouth twitches upward, but it’s more sad than a smile. He shakes himself, dragging his eyes away from the fissure and turning back to Chloe. “You said you needed a lift back to Hell? It just so happens Arael asked me to bring him something, and he’s there as well. Would you like to come with me?”

“Really?” She can’t keep the relief and excitement from her voice, and this time his smile is real. “Yes! I’ve been gone too long already, and not knowing what’s happening is just…” her hand flutters anxiously in front of her chest as she flails for a word before giving up. “Bad. It’s really, really bad.”

“Well, let’s leave this depressing gravesite then. I’ll get what Arael sent me for, and we can go.” He steps back and gestures in the direction they need to go, and Chloe eagerly moves along. “How did you say you wound up here?”

She smiles, perfectly willing to fill the time with idle chatter now that she has a way to get back home.

I’m coming, Lucifer. I don’t know what’s happened, but I’m coming back to help. I love you.

Chapter 42: Do We Trust Him Enough For That?

Chapter Text

He’s dragged toward awareness like a wave cresting over a beach of broken glass, frothing and fighting the pull the entire time, and desperately trying to get back to the peaceful sea of unconsciousness.

Eventually, an unwilling sound escapes him, and soon on its heels he feels the warmth of a hand on his cheek, a tentative whisper of, “Lucifer?”

Beatrice.

She’s worried about him, he knows, and yet he clings to the void, because that’s where he can almost hear Chloe’s voice beckoning him. But the delicate hand on his cheek is insistent, and the tears thickening his name are sprinkling his neck as they fall, and she sounds so utterly miserable that he can’t bear to contribute any more to her concerns.

“Urch’n,” he mutters muzzily, turning his face toward the sound of her choked laugh of relief. “M’fine, pr’ms.”

“Yeah, I know you are,” she assures him with a muffled sniffle. “You’ve been tweaking the loops of the new arrivals, haven’t you?”

He hums an assent, unable to form anything more coherent. A small sound breaks into his limited attention, a rhythmic tapping, and he makes a small questioning sound.

“It’s just Arael,” Beatrice explains, correctly interpreting him. “He says the Tree shouldn’t need you to help it siphon off any more infernal energy, so he’s breaking you free of the… uh, sap.”

“I’ve asked Zadkiel to bring me a patch from my workshop,” Arael’s low, pleasant tone reaches his cotton-filled ears. “That should keep the Tree from losing any more energy or sap once we’ve got you free.”

He hums again, only just able to follow the meaning of the words burrowing into his mind. The sparkling trails of light from the Tree still blaze brightly before him, beckoning him to come and explore some more, but he’s just so tired. He feels mentally wrung-out, physically depleted, and spiritually devastated, and he wants more than ever to truly retreat into those shining pathways the Tree is offering and never come out again.

But Beatrice’s tears have yet to cool on his skin, and Arael’s gentle hands are working to help him, and even though she is gone (and that knowledge has crushed him into nothing more than a hollowed out husk) there is too much resting on him for him to give up now. Trixie’s hand drifts toward his hair, and he welcomes the wave of oblivion that crests over him yet again, even as it drags him back over that bed of razor-sharp shards. At the edge of consciousness he almost hears her again, a promise that he knows she can’t keep, but one he desperately wishes she could. Something tugs at him and he takes a spectral step back toward the incandescent Paths of the tree, her voice trailing along after him like a tranquil breeze.

I’m coming, Lucifer. I love you.

He is the Devil. And though the Devil rarely wins, he never truly gives in.

*

Michael paces the confines of his cell restlessly, like a tiger with only one stripe to its name. Well, three if you count the scars where his wings used to be in addition to the one across his face. His gaze alternates between the feather that never leaves his hand and his own reflection in the damnable mirror-wall, with occasional forays to the door, eagerly watching for a visitor. Any visitor, really.

Just in case you need some support.

Thanks for your support.

Those words have been dancing in his head for weeks now, probably longer. There’s no real sense of time here, especially when he doesn’t have someone popping in from time to time to tell him how long it's been.

He’s used his limited Sight to search every square inch of Hell for Chloe and she’s definitely not here, though he really hadn’t expected her to be. He’d tried until he’d developed a headache– a true feat for an archangel, even a wingless one– but no matter how much effort he’d poured in, he still can’t see Earth, not even in brief, out-of-time glimpses like Lucifer was achieving before he started getting a grip on the skill. And Heaven is as far out of his reach right now as the stars he’d helped his twin create.

He did manage to See her heading for that same damn clearing with the giant tree, but that had been a while before the screaming blackout. He couldn’t See her inside the door she’d entered, or See her leaving, either before the siren or afterward. His mouth pulls into a tight frown, inwardly cursing how his Sight wavers down here. The only link he can make is those damn trees, but he can’t put his finger on exactly what it is about them. They feel strange, or maybe it’s that Hell feels different when he’s near them. It’s familiar, but not, and it’s incredibly disconcerting. Not to mention the fact that he still hasn’t been able to fully clear the foul taste of that fruit from his mouth. He’s sure at this point that it’s got to be his memory playing tricks on him, but the ashy bitterness seems to linger at the back of his tongue, no matter what.

So what does it mean that Charlie and Gabriel think that she’s not in Heaven? She has to be somewhere. He understands why they wouldn’t think she was on Earth, but Heaven? If she’d been nearby when Amenadiel had swung the axe toward Lucifer, Michael knows that her ridiculously noble self would have leapt into the fray. Had Amenadiel taken her? If so, why? As a hostage? That doesn’t make any more sense than the rest of this ludicrous situation.

He glares at the feather clasped loosely in his fingers, and wrestles with this new feeling in his chest that he’s becoming grudgingly familiar with. He’s not positive, but he thinks it might actually be worry. He snorts softly, but he’s sure enough now that he can’t even deny it to himself. At first, he’d thought it was overexertion, after all, he’d never tried to See for such long periods at a time. Then he noticed that the fluttery feeling intensified when he was searching for Chloe, or watching Lucifer’s still, staticky image at the base of the tree. Nose wrinkling in disgust at himself, he glances away from the feather, snagging instead on his reflection slumped against the opposite wall as he sits on his bed.

“Going soft, Michael?” He snarls at himself. When his reflection smirks back at him, he blinks in blank surprise. “What the Hell?”

“What the Hell indeed,” his reflection responds thoughtfully, glancing down at its hands, flexing and wiggling its fingers entirely independently of the stunned archangel that is casting it. “It appears I’ve gained a way to communicate, though this is less than ideal.”

And while the reflection is undoubtedly his, the voice has a certain lilt, a familiar cadence to it. “Lucifer?”

“Hmm?” His reflection responds, distractedly still looking itself over.

“Why are you in my reflection?”

“Oh, is that what we’re doing?” The mirror blinks back at him, seeming to suddenly recognize the rest of its surroundings. “Interesting. Well, I was just… keeping myself busy, tweaking the loops and such from inside the tree. I suppose I was led here by your little self-accusation, eh? Having some concerns, are we, Brother?”

“Inside the tree? Concerns? What–” he stands up and approaches the mirror uncertainly, staring at his animate reflection.

“Emotions aren’t a weakness,” it lectures gently, ignoring Michael’s immediate scoff. “I know it’s hard to believe, but they… they truly do make us stronger, in all the ways that matter.”

“The only thing that makes you stronger is power,” he argues bitterly. “Everything else is just opening yourself up to manipulation.”

“You would definitely know about manipulation, Michael. And yet, without pain, without love, I never would have been able to light the sword in the first place and send Mum to her new home.” The words echo gently from the mirror, falling strangely from his own lips in Lucifer’s voice. “Without my friendships with Daniel and Charlotte, I likely would have never figured out how different Hell could be, or worked so diligently to make it so. Without my friends here I certainly wouldn’t have succeeded as far as I have. And without Chl–” he stops, swallowing hard before plastering a painful-looking smile on his scarred face, “– my family, all of it would be utterly empty. Those bonds don’t weaken me, Michael, they couldn’t. Never, not in billions of years could they do anything other than sustain and fortify me. They burn as brightly as our stars, only far more enduring.”

“If you’re so fortified, then why are you trapped in my mirror?” Somehow, it’s easier talking to Lucifer this way. They always share a face, but for some reason, the barrier of the mirror lets him lower his defenses in a way that he can’t seem to manage when other people are near. “If you’re so very strong, why are you here in Hell cleaning up the filth of billions of souls’ worth of guilt when you could be sitting on Dad’s throne and having someone else do the grunt work for you?”

“I don’t expect you to understand yet. Or maybe ever, Dad knows hardly any of our other siblings do.” The nearly-black eyes staring back at him are soft, the smile tugging at the twisted lips sincere, and Michael experiences a strange lurch in his stomach. Something about the gentle, knowing expression, that wise, ancient tone rings familiar. “Amenadiel was the obvious choice for Dad’s throne, and I…” he sighs, looking into a distance that perhaps only he can see. “I had too many other obligations to be bogged down by the minutiae of running creation. I had things to do, Michael. Things so vital that even now– even when I want nothing more than to curl up and embrace nothingness– I can’t help but attend to them. If that isn’t strength, continuing to get up again and again in the face of overwhelming odds, then I’m afraid I don’t know what is.”

“That…” he loses track of whatever smart remark he’d been about to make, disarmed by the candor his brother is showing him. His jaw works a time or two before he settles, lamely, on “That still doesn’t explain why you’re trapped in my mirror.”

Right, because the fact that you’re having a conversation with your sentient reflection that’s channeling your twin brother isn’t the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to you.

“I’m not actually in your mirror, nor am I particularly trapped.” The frustrating response makes him grit his teeth, and the dark eyes in the reflected image twinkle with a hint of mischief. “I’m not sure how to explain it, since I don’t quite understand it myself. I’m…” He hesitates, considering. “I suppose that I’m sort of in Hell. Not in the sense that we’re all in Hell, as in the plane of Hell. But… woven into the fabric of Hell. My physical self is still back at the Tree. Last time I was conscious, Arael was chiseling me free of it. I think he’s hoping it will help me recover more quickly. But while my body has been… otherwise occupied, my mind has been busy keeping up with other tasks, like tweaking the new loops.”

The damn tree.

“What happened at the tree, Lucifer?” Michael asks suddenly, urgently. “I could See Amenadiel approaching, but everything after that was just… unreachable. I got a glimpse of you punching him in the face, and then nothing. I think he might have taken Chloe back to the Silver City when he went– did you argue?”

“He attacked the Tree.” His likeness shakes its head, scar wrinkling as its brows draw together. “I don’t know why, or how he even found out about it, but that’s what started all this. And Chloe–” he chokes, the word barely emerging from suddenly quivering lips. He continues speaking, but it’s clear that his words are directed solely at himself. “It’s entirely my fault that she’s gone, and I haven’t the faintest idea how I’m going to explain it to Beatrice and Rory.”

As Michael watches, his reflection judders in the mirror, flickering between reflecting his actual stance before the wall and the hunched posture of his brother, fingers roughly gripping his hair.Belatedly, he realizes that he should have prayed for Raphael already, surely she has questions that she should be asking. He sends a quick prayer, unsure if she’ll listen, let alone respond before Lucifer loses his connection with Michael’s cell.

“Lucifer,” Michael calls urgently, and when their eyes meet the flickering steadies for a moment. “If you’re in the fabric of Hell, how do we get you out? Can you… were you injured? When Amenadiel swung the axe?”

“Not injured, only drained.” The image waves its hand, that unnerving flicker returning. “It’s of no consequence. We’ve gotten off-topic, Brother, we’re supposed to be having a session, aren’t we? Or have you had enough self-reflection for now?”

“I’ve been watching, Lucifer, you haven’t moved for months, at least.”

“Perv,” the reflection mutters, but the teasing note that would normally be present… isn’t. He’s going through the motions, but he’s stilted. Empty.

“What happened to drain you? Raphael will want to know so she can fix it.”

“She already knows.” He sidesteps the question impatiently. “It’s not the first time it’s happened, it’s just the first time I’ve been cemented to a tree and couldn’t recover on Earth.”

“It’s not the first time?” Michael’s jaw drops in stunned surprise. “What have you been doing down here?”

“Redeeming souls, haven’t you been paying attention?” He snaps back, the reflection wavering even more violently now, like a classic television image with a faulty aerial. “If I could have gotten some more bloody support, it wouldn’t have been such a–”

The sudden, ringing silence is accompanied by Michael staring into his own befuddled expression. He takes a step back, and his image does the same. Glancing down at the feather still clutched in his hand, he sends another prayer to Raphael, requesting her presence again but dialing down the urgency this time.

The feather seems to burn his fingers as his twin’s parting words burn in his mind, and he doesn’t know what to make of any of it.

*

“We need to tell her,” Charlie insists grimly. His eyes scan the room, finding understanding gazes, most of which are reluctant. “She deserves to know.”

“She’s too impulsive, Charlie,” Linda argues gently. “She hasn’t had thousands of years down here to mature the way you have. If we tell her what we suspect now, she’ll be in Heaven trying to give your father a black eye before we can stop her.”

“Please,” Trixie huffs. “She was trained by Maze. If you think she’d be aiming for a black eye, you don’t know either of them very well, Linda.”

“I don’t see how that’s a very convincing argument to tell her what’s going on, Bea.” Raphael’s dark eyebrows lift wryly. “I agree with Linda, but I also think Charlie has a point. We’re talking about her parents, here.”

“Lucifer is starting to come around, right?” Frank offers thoughtfully. “Maybe if we wait a little longer, he’ll be well enough to talk some sense into her before she can do anything rash.”

Something flickers in Raphael’s expression, and Bea’s sharp eyes catch it. “What?”

When Raphael hesitates to answer, every gaze locks onto her. Finally, she says, “Lucifer has been fairly aware a few times. Enough to communicate a little, even if only with Bea.”

“Okay,” Charlie replies slowly, his brows furrowing.

“But?” Linda worriedly prompts.

“His recovery is going to be terribly slow,” the Healer admits. “It took hundreds of years last time, nearly a millennium down here… and that was after we moved him to Earth, where he could recover faster. Here, even more drained than he was then, and especially with the Tree re-absorbing most of the ambient divinity it had provided? He’s going to be an invalid for a very long time.”

“But he’s…” Trixie trails off, unsure what argument she was going to try to make. She settles for, “He’s going to be okay, though, right? I mean, he’s still tweaking the loops, even though he’s not really awake, and… he talked to me a little bit.”

“I don’t know how he’s even doing that,” Raphael shakes her head in exasperation. “Every time I’ve examined him, he’s been utterly unresponsive, the worst I’ve ever seen him run down. Arael and I have both given him multiple feathers, but I haven’t noted any improvement. It’s like he’s not even…” She sighs and drops her head into her hands to rub her face. “It’s like he’s not even there. I can’t feel him.”

“What does that mean?” Frank wonders, concern heavy in his tone. “Can he die?”

“Once upon a time I would have laughed at that question,” she mumbles into her palms. “But things have changed drastically… Lucifer has done so much that none of us could ever have dreamed of. I… I don’t have an answer.”

“He can’t die,” Bea declares, but her voice wavers fearfully. “He can’t. Mom just got him back. I just got him back, and Rory barely even knows him! We’ve only just become a family, he… he wouldn’t leave us!”

She sounds terribly young and broken, and both Frank and Linda move to comfort her, taking care not to agitate her further with any reminders that Chloe is very likely lost now, as well. Charlie keeps his gaze steadily on Raphael as her bleak face emerges from her hands. She turns to him and asks quietly, “Have you been to see Michael again?”

He shakes his head, watching the trio across the room as Raphael continues. “He… prayed to me. He said he talked to Lucifer in his cell. I… I think he’s trying to lose himself in Hell, Charlie, and I don’t know how to bring him back if he doesn’t want to come.”

“He hasn’t moved from the Tree, Raphael,” Charlie leans closer and lowers his voice further. “He hasn’t been left unattended.”

“No, I know. Michael said that they talked through his mirror. I might need you to talk with him and gauge how truthful he’s being. Can you take Gabriel with you again?”

He nods quietly. They’d arranged this meeting specifically while Gabriel was running an errand to liaise with the demons that were nominally in charge of tracking the souls that were still in the tedious process of finding the roots of their loops. She had been keen to prove herself useful, but none of them were willing to really trust her yet, especially with God himself as a potential antagonistic force against them now.

“Have we heard anything from Dad?” Charlie asks, the question seemingly pulled from between clenched teeth. Raphael’s lips thin, and she gives a bare shake of her head. "Should I go talk to him? Maybe it’s some kind of misunderstanding?”

“A misunderstanding with an axe?” Raphael lifts a skeptical eyebrow before giving him a melancholy smile. “One of us will need to go speak with him eventually, but I’d like to wait until we can at least talk with Lucifer, and I don’t think it should be you, Charlie. I don’t want to put you in a position of conflict with your father.”

“If he did this,” Charlie swallows, his face paling by a shade or two, “if he truly attacked our project without speaking to any of us first… Aunt, it may be past time for a conflict. How much longer will we wait to speak with him? Why would he do this?”

“If he attacked the tree without asking us what we were doing first…” Raphael trails off, biting her bottom lip in thought. “He must have found out about our project. That’s the only reasonable explanation, though how he found out, and why he would choose to attack the tree rather than just talking to us–”

“Because he’s God,” Linda interjects bitingly, “and if he thought we were plotting something against him, he would act first and talk later… if at all.”

“Mom?” Charlie turns to stare at his mother in surprise. He’d known she was irritated with his dad, but he’s never heard her speak so bitterly of him before.

“It’s the same reaction he had when I chose to come here to help instead of letting Azrael take me to Heaven,” she snorts indignantly. “He flew in, all righteous wrath and thunderclaps, and just told me what he thought was going to happen. Never mind that he’d all but ignored us in my last decade of life. Never mind that he took over a thousand years to notice that I had died and come here, even after you prayed to him, Charlie. No, it wasn’t His Will, and he did not take kindly to being thwarted, as he put it.”

Every eye in the room is riveted on the tiny psychologist as she paces the room, her fingers dancing and tangling together as her tirade continues. “This? This… if someone up there found out and leaked it, without our point of view to back it up? He would probably consider this a runner up to a declaration of war.”

“War?” Raphael pales, her wispy brows now standing stark against her sheet-white face. “Linda, really, we can’t just assume–”

“Can’t we?” The question comes not from Linda, but Frank, and now all eyes turn in shock to the priest’s grave expression. “Raphael, if he did come down here armed with an axe, and attacked the tree unprovoked as we suspect… could that not also be considered an act of war?” He shakes his head, sadness and worry weighing heavily on his shoulders. “I don’t understand, though, I had thought he and Lucifer had a solid relationship, an understanding. God’s plan– the old God, that is– is still in effect, and I really thought Lucifer was on the right path. I still do.”

“Uh… when is Armageddon supposed to happen, again?” Bea asks timidly, with a small sniffle.

“Nobody really knows for sure,” Raphael answers absently, her green eyes distant. “We thought it was supposed to be when Lucifer and Michael fought, but… now I think about it, that particular prophecy could apply to Amenadiel and Lucifer just as easily, especially with the power dynamic the way it is now.”

“You mean because Meni doesn’t have the Omnis,” a new voice enters the fray and the room’s occupants freeze and slowly turn to the Messenger, standing plainly in the doorway with a grimace on her face. She glances behind her before turning back to them, puzzled. “What?”

“Uh…” Linda offers helpfully, before Raphael catches up.

“We didn’t realize anyone in the Silver City knew about that,” she supplies smoothly. “How long have you known, Gabi?”

“Well, I’ve only like known-known for a few weeks,” she grins, pushing her fluffy hair back as it bounces into her face. “Michael told me while I was sitting with Lucifer under the tree. Before that, I guess I just thought the same as everybody else, that being God just comes with the whole ‘Mysterious Ways’ package, ya know?”

“Gabriel…” Raphael slides her palms over her face again to hide her panicked expression. Gabriel is the biggest gossip in Heaven. What she knows, everyone will know, if they don’t already. This could be utterly disastrous. “If Amenadiel thinks we’re trying to undermine him, on top of making these changes without consulting him…”

“Oh! Right, yeah. No, I’m not gonna say anything. Michael pointed out that if Meni is in a snit over whatever you guys were doing with these weirdo trees, then releasing sensitive information that God maybe doesn’t know anything more than our Eldest Brother Amenadiel knew would probably be a Bad Idea.”

“Really, really bad, Gabriel,” Charlie adds helpfully, somehow not as surprised as he feels he should be that Michael had cautioned her to keep the news to herself… though that argues why he’d felt the need to share that theory with her in the first place. “Does he talk to you a lot?”

“He hadn’t spoken to me at all after Lucifer hacked his wings off until I got down here to visit,” Gabriel shudders delicately, her dusky blue robes shivering around her. “Since I’ve been here, not too often. Sometimes he’ll just need to talk something out. Even though I can’t respond, I… think it helps him.”

“You’re sure you can’t respond?” Raphael’s emerald eyes pin Gabriel suspiciously, but the Messenger only nods sadly.

“Sure, I’m sure,” her mouth tugs down at one corner. “I respond, but it’s clear from his side that he’s not hearing me. He sounds like he’s talking to himself. Dad knows I’ve heard him do that often enough.”

“What else has he told you?” Linda asks, her hands coming up to massage her temples as though she’s getting a headache. She sinks back down onto the couch beside Bea, who wraps an arm around her shoulders.

“That Raphael’s been ignoring him.” Nearly black eyes narrow in the Healer’s direction, who sighs. “He says he wants to talk to you guys, that he thinks he knows how to help Lucifer.”

“Do we…” Bea swallows hard and glances around at her friends. “Do we trust him enough for that?”

Raphael gnaws on her lip some more, considering. Michael had told her where to go to find Lucifer when the tree had started screaming. He hadn’t tried to use his fear mojo or to manipulate his circ*mstances for his own gain for quite some time now. Lucifer was allowing him to give lessons in how to See, which he’d been complying with, and even Chloe had mentioned that she thought he was starting to make slow progress. She sighs, hating that this decision has come to rest in her lap. She’s a healer, not an administrator. Not a negotiator. Certainly not a general in anyone’s war.

“We don’t trust him,” she decides slowly, looking up in time to catch Gabriel’s crumpling expression. “But we can hear him out, once we’ve taken some precautions.”

Chapter 43: I'm Here

Chapter Text

Rory has never been one for self-flagellation. She’d always snickered when she’d watched movies with her aunts that involved priests practicing it. Seriously, if you were that conflicted about whatever you were doing, just change what you’re doing, it’s not rocket science.

As she stares at the blank submission form before her, though, she starts to wonder if it is rocket science. Or at least, social science, which might actually be more intimidating. The blank box mocks her, with the innocent prompt sitting starkly atop it, like Uncle A on his throne.

Describe a person you admire.

It’s ridiculous that this prompt is the one that’s giving her trouble. She’d blown her way past the one about why she wanted to attend this school (hint: her essay had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that she desperately wants to join the family business helping to rehabilitate the souls currently torturing themselves in Hell). She’s waxed eloquent about the topic she finds so engaging that it makes her lose all sense of time: music, duh. (And oh Uncle A, her dad loves music too, and he’s been without it for almost two million years because of her.)

This prompt isn’t a hard one. She’s been surrounded by fantastic role models her entire life. Her mom is her hero. Her sister is her best friend. She has the most supportive aunts and uncle she could ever imagine. And now, she has her dad. Her dad, that she barely even knows, who has only spent a few paltry weeks in her presence– her antagonistic presence, at that– and gave up literally everything for a request she’d recklessly made without having any of the relevant information at hand to know what she was truly asking.

And she’s hated him for it her entire life. For as long as she can remember, all she’s wanted is for him to be there, to have wanted her, to have loved her. And the whole time, the fact that he wasn’t, that he couldn’t… it was all her fault. He’d dropped his entire life for a spoiled brat that he didn’t even know, like it was the most natural thing in the world… and she doesn’t know how to accept the fact that he put her desires– her existence, just as she is– above his own happiness for so long.

She’s been so desperately wrong, and everyone around her has paid the price as well. Watching him interact with Ella, with Maze… even she can see the ghosts of the relationships they’d had, the closeness they’d shared. Maze’s fury when she’d realized that Rory hadn’t been paying attention to the information that might have made her change her mind about making the request in the end… that hadn’t been feigned in the slightest. She knew Maze had respected her Dad, but she’d always thought it was more of a Ruler/Subject bond than friendship. Obviously, she’d been wrong about that, too.

Maybe one of the most important things about maturing is realizing how little you actually know. In Rory’s case… she’s beginning to see that there’s quite a lot, and she doesn’t know how to even begin to make up for the time she’s lost.

She blinks several times, and the box swims back into view, a vast white expanse waiting to be filled. Instead of typing, she leans forward and rests her head on her crossed forearms and groans. Loudly, because there’s no-one else here to come and ask her if she’s okay, if she needs anything. There’s no-one here to care. Everyone she loves is trapped in Hell, and that’s probably her fault, too. After all, if Lucifer weren’t there, her mom and sister certainly wouldn’t be. And Lucifer is only there because she essentially banned him from her life before she was even born. All because she was afraid of how she might have been changed.

And now she’s dipped into self-pity. Great. That isn’t going to get this essay finished any faster. She considers popping down to Hell for a visit, knowing that it’s been a while for them, even if it’s only been a day or two for her. But that won’t get this essay submitted any faster, either. Her laptop wouldn’t survive the journey, and even if she took the time to scribble out the essay down there, by the time she got back up here, she’d forget what she’d written down and trying to decipher her handwriting (even for her) is no small challenge.

She lifts her head and glares at the accusing white box. When it simply stares back at her, she sighs and squares her shoulders, flexing them as though spreading her wings in a threat display. She’s not going to be beaten by a stupid essay. If she’s going to help at all, she has to start somewhere. She twists her neck to stretch it, places her fingers on the keyboard, and lets the words flow.

*

Amenadiel awakens slowly. His ears have a muffled ringing sensation, his mind feels blurry, and when he reaches up to rub his temple, he hisses as the pain triples. He pulls his hand away, bringing it before his puzzled eyes and studying the warped, burned flesh where his smooth palm should be. A quick check shows the second matches the first, and he blinks in confusion at the tacky mixture of blood and something resinous coating them before realizing he’s lying on a cold stone floor.

What in Hell–

Hell. He bolts upright, swaying a little when his body refuses to fully cooperate. He stares down at his hands, at the rippled flesh that so resembles what Lucifer refers to as his Devil face, save the color. Instead of a raw, flayed red, his skin is a deep, furrowed reddish-brown, like decaying heartwood.

Heartwood. The tree! That’s right. He had gone to Hell to stop… to stop Lucifer from implementing another rebellion, and he’d found divinity there. It was unnatural, wrong, and he’d made the most reasonable move he could come up with: Send a message by striking at the root. He’d gone to what appeared to be the oldest tree and embedded Remi’s old axe at the base, and then… then what?

A fuzzy memory of Lucifer atop him, fist co*cked back to strike with a look of confused horror on his face. Lucifer had attacked him!

Is that how he’d been burned? Had Lucifer conjured a star? In Hell? If so, that was immensely worrying. He’d thought Lucifer’s lightbringer powers had been revoked when he was cast down… but perhaps they’d returned when he’d broken through Heaven’s defenses?

Oh, Father, what do I do now?

His father, of course, doesn’t answer. He never had, not even when he had resided in this universe, why would now be any different? He drops his hands onto his lap, careful not to brush the tender flesh against the soft fabric of his robes as he leans against the side of his throne. His ears throb dully, and the skin around them feels tight, as though his skull has been shrink-wrapped. Is he burned all over? Does he have a face like Lucifer’s now? Why? He’s done nothing to deserve that!

A quick check tells him that he’s not burned all over, only his hands and seemingly parts of his face. He breathes a soft sigh of relief that rapidly fades back into worry. He needs to think about his next steps. He had never officially filled Michael’s position as Sword, since the only other natural choice for the position had been Remi. Balthazar had happily taken up leading the training, but no one else really fit the rest of the duties; it certainly wasn’t something he could trust to Jophiel, or Hanjobadiel. Not even Lezmegadiel had shown any interest in the vacancy, and he had always been the opportunistic sort.

A sick feeling nests in his gut as he contemplates what Lucifer might be planning, and he pulls in a horrified breath as he realizes that Lucifer could have had hundreds of years to scheme by now, depending on how long he’s been unconscious from his attack. He forces himself into a calm state of mind, releasing the breath slowly as he concentrates on his powers.

First things first. He can’t focus enough to tip the time scales back in his direction, but he does manage to level them. At least now Heaven and Hell are running on the same calendar. No more time advantage for Hell. He struggles to his feet with some difficulty, being unable to use his hands to lever himself up. His head rings painfully as he settles onto the edge of his uncomfortable throne, weighing and balancing his next moves against whatever Lucifer might be plotting.

He must tread carefully. Sounding an alarm, or really any wrong move could trigger whatever backup plan Lucifer has in place with the souls he’s been redeeming. A small part of his consciousness wriggles at his line of thought– if Lucifer was so bent on gaining the throne of Heaven, why would he have given it to Amenadiel in the first place?– but he pushes that part aside. Lucifer has never wanted to be in Hell, and has been adamant that Chloe doesn’t belong in Hell. If that’s not motivation, he doesn’t know what is.

Beatrice, Charlie, and Linda are out of his grasp. He feels a pang of regret as he realizes just how distanced he’s become from his son, but that too gets shoved aside. He can’t worry about it now, he’ll have time to make up for it later. He narrows his attention on his options. Chloe will be too well protected, as Lucifer would be unlikely to let her out of his sight now that he’s all but declared his hostility toward Heaven. Dan and Charlotte are here, but while Lucifer cares for them, he likely won’t care enough to drop this new rebellion to keep them safe. Lucifer had said that Rory was on good terms with him by the time she’d left the past… but had that good will carried over past the death of her mother? His wide brow furrows as he explores that path.

Perhaps it’s time I pay a visit to my grieving niece.

*

Securely swaddled in the fabric of Hell, Lucifer feels it when Amenadiel makes the time change. The threads relax around him, from a condensed (if snagged) silk to a loose linen weave, making those little loops and tears less noticeable. He still knows they’re there, slightly rough patches in otherwise smooth cloth, so he makes a mental note of their locations before turning his nebulous attention elsewhere, trying to See what’s happened, and what’s causing it.

He follows the rippling movement, this tide of unbinding, back to the source, his consciousness surfacing with what equates to a mental gasp in what appears to be Heaven’s throne room. Amenadiel sits gingerly on the throne, eyes distant, his face and hands appearing reddened and burned. Concern flares in Lucifer’s incorporeal chest. What had happened to him?

This can’t be right. I can barely see Earth from Hell, there’s no way I could glimpse Heaven.

Perhaps he’s finally lost himself in the luminescent Paths of the Tree, and from here on out he’ll simply be wandering them alone, seeing nothing but nonsense and fantasies, like Alice in a Wonderland all his own, though sadly lacking the LSD. Though if that’s the case, maybe he can See her?

He sends a questing thought, finding himself wafted on a gentle breeze over the glittering spires of the Silver City, and into the Garden.

No, not here! This isn’t where he wants to imagine his Detective; not in this place that he’d spent so much time with Eve, and trying to plan his failed rebellion. Why would his imagination place her here of all places?

And yet, here she is, walking through the Garden of Eden with Zadkiel. Perhaps he hasn’t managed to lose himself in the Tree after all, perhaps he’s simply gone insane with grief. He’s seen it happen to humans, and Chloe has always made him more human, even though his invulnerability fluctuations are long since past.

He can’t hear what they’re saying, of course, but the Detective is chattering along while Zadkiel’s expression remains even and politely interested. This might be a solid check in the insanity column, because of the many, many fantasies he could have envisioned, having her on a walkabout through the Garden with the archangel of righteousness is certainly not one he would have chosen if he were sane.

He doesn’t even try to tear his mental eyes away from her, of course. He’ll never see her again so he’s going to enjoy every sight he can get, even if his unraveling mind is doing nothing but showing him images of her traipsing through the perfect wilderness that is the Garden, chatting the ears off his brother. He watches her movements, noticing that while her expression seems determined, her hands are tangling together in front of her the way they do when she’s anxious. Her eyes seem to be scanning the wooded area around them, as though she’s searching for something. He wonders what it is, and wishes that his insanity would at least give him the courtesy of hallucinating sound as well as sight. It isn’t fair that his madness should have the same limitations as his actual skills. He would have thought that being delusional would be more freeing than this.

Zadkiel stops at one point and stares at her with wide eyes. Her lips thin grimly and she nods, adding something that makes him go pale. After a moment, she gestures ahead of them impatiently and Zadkiel seems to shake off his surprise. His expression of polite interest has morphed into worried concern, though, and his pace picks up until they’re nearly jogging down the well-traveled trail. They pass a distinctive, ancient red oak, and he suddenly recognizes where they are: it’s the trail leading to Arael’s favorite workspace.

They reach it while he’s still puzzling out why his mind would place them there, and Lucifer’s gaze follows Chloe as she explores the jars arranged chaotically on one of the benches. Zadkiel rattles about before he picks up what appears to be a roll of… moss? He tucks it under his arm and unfurls his wings, ivory highlights glinting in the tawny expanse of feathers, before he opens his arms. Chloe turns from one of the workbenches with something clutched in her hand and runs to him eagerly, and Lucifer’s spectral heart clenches in his bodiless chest as his brother wraps her in his embrace before they disappear, leaving him observing Arael’s empty headquarters.

Well that was certainly odd. Were you truly mad if your madness seemed crazy, even to yourself? He wonders again about Amenadiel, sitting burned upon their father’s throne and suddenly he’s back in the throne room, just in time for his brother to stand and spread his wings to leave as well.

Bloody Hell, if no one else is sticking around, neither am I. Since he seems to be marginally in control of who he sees, if not what he sees, he casts his thoughts to Rory and finds himself in Chloe’s– Rory’s now, he supposes– living room, where Rory is curled on the couch, typing furiously on the keyboard in her lap. He smiles to himself. At least this vision makes sense. Rory has been determined to enroll in school to study psychology so she could be of use in Hell, naturally he would imagine her hard at work in her studies.

He wonders idly if anyone has told her yet, about her mother’s fate. He wonders how she’ll handle it when she realizes that it’s his fault. He should have planned for this, should have protected her better. He doesn’t know exactly what triggered Amenadiel’s attack on the Tree, but he’d obviously been tipped off about their Purgatory project and clearly did not approve.

He watches her typing for a bit, wallowing in regret at how her life is about to be torn apart by upheavals yet again, until her head snaps up. He stiffens, thinking she’s looking at him until he realizes she’s looking through him, toward the front door. An odd flicker of emotion crosses her face, too quick to identify before she slowly closes her computer and crosses to open the door, revealing Amenadiel. His hands are tucked in the pockets of his hoodie, and the hood is up over his head, but it’s most definitely him.

Lucifer moves to hover at her shoulder, wondering why Amenadiel would be here before he reminds himself that it’s only a hallucination. Of course Amenadiel isn’t here. Lucifer isn’t even really here. None of this is real, so why does he feel an odd churning in a gut that he doesn’t even properly have right now? The feeling intensifies as Amenadiel brushes past Rory, who steps back to allow him entry with a smile that looks a little forced. She follows him into the living room and settles back onto the couch, though less comfortably than she’d been before. Amenadiel sits in a nearby chair, and they converse silently. Unable to read lips, Lucifer settles for reading body language. He’s more familiar with Amenadiel’s, of course, but he quickly finds that Rory’s is far from a mystery. She shares too many traits with her mother and sister, and he surprisingly even sees a few of his mannerisms from her as they speak. When had she picked those up? Or had she always shown them?

Overall, the feeling that he gets is that Amenadiel is looking for something, or perhaps assessing Rory for… bah, who knows what. But Rory seems nervous, not entirely at ease in her uncle’s presence. She hadn’t been that way when she’d interacted with him back in 2021– she’d been quite comfortable, teasing him the same way she had Mazikeen.

There is no teasing in her demeanor now, only a stiffness that he’s witnessed in Chloe when she’s trying to hide something. He wonders what it is before he reminds himself once more that this isn’t real. He’s trying to solve mysteries that don’t exist, and it’s probably going to drive him even more mad. Sighing in frustration, he turns away, just catching something in Amenadiel’s expression that makes him glance back a second time. What was it?

Amenadiel’s hands are still tucked in his sweatshirt pockets, and he hasn’t lowered the hood since he’s come inside. Unusual, but again, Lucifer reminds himself, also not real. There’s a look in his brother’s eyes, though, that he doesn’t like. It reminds him of something that he can’t quite place, and he worries at it until it comes to him.

The look in his eyes right now is a pale shadow of Michael’s, after their fight at the precinct when Dad had shown up and Michael was putting on his ‘golden son’ face. When he’d approached Lucifer with open arms and hidden malice sparkling in his eyes. Amenadiel’s expression isn’t as obvious as Michael’s had been, but it sends a chill through Lucifer nonetheless, especially aimed at his daughter.

He feels a sudden shiver in his surroundings and glances around wildly. It feels like an aftershock, but the vision is completely unaffected. The walls aren’t trembling, and Rory and Amenadiel are utterly oblivious, adding to Lucifer’s sense of unreality. The fabric of Hell wraps more tightly around him, and he retreats into it, exhausted. The vision of Earth fades, and he finds himself blinking in the dim hallways of Hell, watching an anxious Raphael and Charlie flanking… Michael? They’re marching with an escort; he sees a few demons trailing a little way back, and Gabriel following along after them.

He’s too tired to think, but he watches as the procession makes its way through Hell and toward the first Tree. He wonders what strange sight he’s about to see now. Michael is holding something dark in his hand, but he can’t make out what it is, and he’s too listless to worry about it. His view widens, then moves closer as though he’s gliding above them on invisible wingbeats, passing through the drooping boughs of the Tree and into the deeper shadow of the canopy. He stops short when he notices himself lying on the ground, with Beatrice and Arael sitting nearby talking.

His ears are ringing in the stifling silence surrounding him, and it’s starting to feel like sensory deprivation. Only being able to see is tortuous. He has to keep reminding himself that what he’s seeing isn’t reality, and it’s starting to wear on him. He longs for the soothing, glowing Paths of the Tree, but they’re nowhere in sight. He’s apparently trapped in this wasteland, doomed to see but not understand. He’s too tired to struggle with the material wrapped tightly around his consciousness, but at least that unsettling tremor has settled.

He watches as the little parade led by Michael and his escorts reaches the canopy. His twin eyes the Tree warily as he steps underneath and stops short when he catches sight of Lucifer’s still form, something oddly like grief flashing across his scarred face before the emotion is wiped away. Lucifer snickers to himself for dreaming that bit up. Madness indeed to think Michael would feel anything other than a mild satisfaction at the idea of something happening to his twin. He may be making progress, but Lucifer certainly isn’t delusional enough to think Michael will be feeling anything like grief for him.

As he looks on, though, his friends gather around and he suddenly feels like he’s watching his own funeral. Is that what that tremor had been? Had his connection with his body finally frayed and snapped, and now he’s doomed to drift forever in the folds of the fabric of Hell? Is this what had happened to Uriel, or Remi? To… to Chloe, and the thousands upon thousands of souls in the Last Stop with her? Were they all just drifting around like dandelion seeds, invisible to anyone and everything in the known universe? Perhaps they were all wrapped in their own shrouds made out of the fabric of creation, watching life go on without them… or whatever nonsense their scraps of remaining consciousness throws at them, like this drivel.

Michael kneels beside his body, and Lucifer can see now that he’s holding a black feather, twirling it restlessly in his fingers. What in Hell–

Michael looks to Raphael, who nods tersely. Michael leans forward and presses the feather over Lucifer’s heart. A heartbeat passes where nothing happens while Lucifer looks on, puzzled, and then several things happen at once– or very nearly so. Lucifer’s consciousness suddenly feels as though it’s trapped in a vacuum, compressed on all sides as though the fabric of Hell has suddenly become a giant boa constrictor. At the same time, his body arches on the ground below him, the small crowd of demons scattering as a tsunami of shadow-streaked golden brilliance– like late afternoon sunlight shining through a forest– bursts from him in a torrent as everyone else nearby flinches away. His mouth opens and his chest expands in a ragged gasp and Beatrice leaps to her feet with a scream.

He feels as though he’s being shoved through a funnel, much like the one he’d created when he was channeling divine energy into purgatory… only this time he’s the energy being channeled. He’d thought it was bad when the Tree had been using him as a straw to draw infernal energy into itself… it’s a thousand times worse when he’s being drawn through the straw himself. It reminds him fleetingly of when he’d burst through Heaven’s defensive walls– that winnowing feeling of his very self being peeled away layer by layer– only… not. This is the reverse. After that initial narrowing, constricted feeling he suddenly has a sensation of openness, of freedom.

Which is odd, because he suddenly realizes that his consciousness is now firmly encased back in his body, and while he suddenly can’t see he can finally hear and feel.

And oh, he feels very bad indeed. He feels like the body Gromos had told him about, the one he’d inhabited to give Chloe the message about the storage facility all those long years ago. He feels as though every abuse he’s ever experienced since the dawn of his existence has been revisited upon his body all at once, then again once more just for funsies. He hurts, and the air that he sucks into his lungs burns like fire and ice, even as he revels in the sensation of feeling anything at all again.

His ears are assaulted by what feels like a thousand voices all at once, after so long submerged in silence. In reality, it’s only half a dozen at most, but he doesn’t have the wherewithal to focus on them, because suddenly there is only one. Even without sight, even in more agony than he’s ever experienced in his eternal life he would never wish to tune out that voice, and even better, it’s calling his name.

“Lucifer!” She cries frantically. “Oh my– what has been going on down here?”

“Chloe,” his lips move, but no sound emerges beyond a dry click. He feels her drop to the ground beside him and the warmth on his cheek brands him as she presses her palm against his scruff with a sob then trails it down to his throat. He wants so badly to open his eyes, to see which expression she’s wearing– is it worry? Fury? Despair? He wants to soothe her, to assure her that if he must be mad, then at least his addled consciousness is supplying him with her presence. A herculean effort rewards him with a fleeting glimpse of her tearful, sea-green eyes, but it extracts its price nearly immediately; pulling him down into a calm ocean of tranquility.

“I’m here.” Her voice follows him down, and he grasps desperately at it like the drowning man that he is. “I’m here, it’s okay. Rest. We’ll be here when you’re ready.” Then, echoing in his mind, I’ve got so much to tell you. I love you.

Chapter 44: Maybe Not Nothing

Chapter Text

Chloe stares at the semi-organized chaos of Arael’s workbenches and her heart sinks. “Please tell me you know what you’re looking for, and where it is?”

“Uhh, nearly,” Zadkiel’s uncertain attempt at reassurance falls wide of the mark, but Chloe doesn’t exactly have a backup ride, so she leaves him to his search as she peruses the surface of one of the tables that Zadkiel moves away from. She spies an apothecary jar with something familiar inside and she smiles to herself, remembering Arael’s frustrated disappointment that he hadn’t been able to coax any of the trees to life here in Heaven. She’s sure it would have been the jewel of the garden, had he succeeded… but then she remembers the burnt-out hollow where the original Tree of Life had once thrived.

She wonders if it looked like the ones in Hell, but then realizes that it must not have, otherwise Arael wouldn’t be so fascinated with them. She pops the lid off the jar and reaches in, her fingers closing gently around one of the soft, if slightly bristly fruits. It looks even sadder here in Heaven, amongst the vibrant greens and violets and… well, the veritable spectrum of flowers and fruits that surround them. Just a drab, lumpy little thing, covered in a fine coating of clinging fuzz. She rolls it around the palm of her hand, lost in thought as Zadkiel rifles through Arael’s equipment, looking for whatever he’d been sent to retrieve.

She ponders their hopes for the fruits, what they’ve accomplished so far, what they have the capacity to do in the future, and hopes beyond hope that they get the chance to test their theories. Sighing, she tries to consider what they could have done to avoid this situation, but she honestly doesn’t think she would have advised doing anything differently.

They could have asked Amenadiel’s permission before starting their project, but she has serious doubts that he ever would have granted it. He was fine supporting her as she did the work to help renovate the LAPD from within, but when it came to making changes to his own inherited broken system he’d proven to be less than willing.

Chloe knows Lucifer well enough to know that he wouldn’t have backed down from an idea just because Amenadiel vetoed it, and being denied permission and doing it anyway would likely have been worse than simply implementing a new idea without running it past God. Especially when Amenadiel had made it very clear that Lucifer could expect no further assistance beyond that horrible time manipulation.

She needs to get out of Heaven and back to Hell, and sooner rather than later… but now that she’s holding one of these miraculous little fruits in her hand in the middle of this lush garden, something occurs to her. She finds herself thinking of the giant Sequoias, and almost doesn’t hear Zadkiel’s triumphant exclamation.

“Found it!” He calls over to her, pulling her from her contemplation. She looks up as he tucks a roll of fluffy green material under his arm. “Ready to go?”

“Actually,” she grins, emptying the jar into her hand before jogging over to him. “Can we stop back at the meadow, where the Tree of Life used to be? You have a blade, right?”

“Yes… why?” Zadkiel asks suspiciously, as he gathers her into his arms. Chloe tries not to compare her simple relief to be going home now to the joy she’d felt returning home in Lucifer’s arms, and focuses on answering him instead.

“I want to try something.” She looks up at him hopefully, and though his lips pull to the side suspiciously, he spreads his wings and next thing she knows, they’re landing gently beside the gaping, blackened hole in the open meadow. She opens her hand and reveals the dull little fruits nestled in her palm. Zadkiel peers down at them.

“Those are some of the fruits from the Tree in Hell, aren’t they?” She hums an agreement, and holds out her right hand in a mute request for his blade. He narrows his muddy green eyes at her. “What are you going to do?”

“Maybe nothing,” she admits, pursing her lips in thought. “But… we found that the trees in Hell don’t produce fruit until they’re exposed to my blood.” Zadkiel, who had been reaching for his blade, freezes.

“Chloe, I’m not going to let you harm yourself for a tree.”

She rolls her eyes and wiggles her fingers in a ‘gimme’ motion. “It only takes a drop, I’m not going to hack off a limb like a melodramatic archangel.”

“Like– what?”

“Nevermind,” she shakes her head, realizing Zadkiel is probably blissfully unaware of how many times Lucifer has removed his own wings for the sake of his perceived independence. “All I need to do is prick my finger, I promise. Now, blade?”

His fingers brush the hilt of his blade, hesitating for a moment as he weighs her sincerity. She heaves a put-upon sigh, and he draws it, handing it to her hilt-first and proceeding to hover anxiously as she gently breaks skin and spreads a small smear of blood over the handful of berries she brought with her.

She only gets one chance to try this, so she figures… well, the more the merrier, right? Zadkiel takes back his dagger and she steps carefully toward the hole and stretches out her arm to drop them inside it. She glances around, wondering if she should try to kick some soil down over them, only to find herself staggering toward the hole as the ground beneath her bucks and rolls.

“Not again,” she hears faintly from behind her as strong hands find her shoulders and yank her back several steps to safety. “What was that?”

“Maybe not nothing,” she allows, with a smile once the ground beneath them stills. “I don’t want to get ahead of myself, but I hope it might mean my idea was a good one.”

“Even if it works, what do you think is going to happen, just from growing a tree, Chloe?” He asks earnestly.

“I honestly don’t know,” she shakes her head slowly, brows lowering as she considers her answer. “It just felt right. This–” she gestures at the blackened wound before them– “is wrong. It shouldn’t be here.”

“My father apparently disagreed,” he points out dryly, but there is no accusation behind the words, and she recalls how sad he’d sounded when he’d told her the story of the tree’s demise earlier.

“Then maybe nothing will happen,” Chloe shrugs nonchalantly, though she hopes that isn’t the case. “But I felt like I had to try.”

“You sound like Lucifer,” Zadkiel rumbles, and her chest warms at the compliment. “He said the same, about his rebellion. ‘If we never try, then we are simply accepting our role as his servants, not his children.’”

“You don’t think he was wrong to try,” Chloe realizes, looking up at him curiously. “Do you?”

“I think perhaps Father could have considered his actions a bit more, rather than acting in the heat of his anger,” he admits, not quite willing to say his father had been wrong… but it was likely closer to an admission of fault than any other angel would have been willing to offer. She supposes that being the angel of righteousness, Zadkiel would have to admit fault where it was due, even if he had to be diplomatic about it when it pertained to his creator. “And I don’t think Lucifer’s request in itself was a bad thing. I think Lucifer’s heart was in the right place– as it so often is.”

Chloe hums, satisfied with his answer, and eyes the hole once more before turning back to him. She’s a little disappointed that she’ll have to wait to see if anything comes of her idea. When Lucifer had planted Hell’s first tree, he’d at least gotten a dramatic immediate result. She steps toward Zadkiel and notices her legs are a little wobbly, and supposes that maybe an earthquake in Heaven could be considered a dramatic enough result to be going on with. And if Amenadiel is going around attacking trees, well… maybe it’s best if this one waits a little bit to poke its shoots aboveground, after all. She sighs, running over everything she needs to tell Lucifer about what she’s learned, and what she suspects. The archangel watches her steadily, and she nods. “I’m ready to go, if you are.”

“Well then,” he grins, holding out his arms again, the roll of moss still tucked underneath one. “Let’s go to Hell.”

He lifts his wings with a soft rustling that obscures the almost indiscernible sounds of charred soil giving way to tiny, threadlike roots.

*

This stupid essay, Rory thinks, pounding out her fifth attempt to put her thoughts into words. Why is she even worried about getting this right? These application essays are basically just platitudes, it’s not like they even think about what you’re saying in them when they’re admitting you. They just want you to go through the motions. Her fingers still, and she sighs as she reads through what she’s written, then despondently backspaces yet again to that Uncle A-damned blank box. She takes her fingers off the keyboard and is about to rub her eyes with a groan when a knock sounds at the door.

She fixes her gaze on the doorway. She’s not expecting company, and while it’s not what she would call late, it’s not exactly standard visiting hours, either. Charlie doesn’t usually knock… She stands and crosses the room, allowing herself to hope for a moment that maybe her dad had decided to check in on her. She peers out the peephole and swallows hard when she recognizes the hulking form standing on her porch, shrouded in a boring grey hoodie. Her throat constricts as she swallows, and she gives a little cough before pasting on a smile and opening the door to her Uncle A.

Speak of God, and he’ll appear…

“Hello, Rory.” His rich voice rolls out from under his hood, teeth flashing in a grin. “I know I missed the memorial, but I wanted to stop by and make sure you were doing okay.”

“Oh,” she stifles her disappointment and steps back as he brushes past her and into the living room. She closes the door softly, gathering herself as she follows and settles warily back onto the couch.

Does he know that I took T out of Heaven? Does he know I’ve been in Hell? It’s been ages since he just stopped by for a chat.

“Yeah. I, uh, I guess I’m okay,” she replies belatedly. “I went down to see Mom and Dad for a little bit, then went up to hang with T, and now I’m just… here.”

“Is your mom adjusting to Hell?” His tone is concerned, but his expression is intent, like a cat waiting at a mouse hole. “I hope she knows that if she’s changed her mind, I’m more than happy to bring her to the Silver City myself. She’s already been down there longer than I thought she’d last… but I suppose she’s always been tenacious.”

“No, I… think she’s pretty good.” Rory lifts her chin, but keeps her expression smooth, her mind racing. “She’s helping people, like she wanted, and she and Dad are together again.”

“Dad, is it?” His eyebrows lift, and she registers that he’s left his hood up. She tries to remember if she’s ever seen him wear a hood, let alone inside. “So you’ve forgiven Lucifer for abandoning you?”

“Well, I did kind of ask him to, so I can’t really fault him for giving me what I said I wanted, you know?” She bares her teeth in what’s supposed to be a smile but feels more like an anxious grimace. She clamps her hands into fists to keep her fingers from lacing together nervously and tries to find something else to say, but Amenadiel beats her to it.

“I spoke with your grandfather the other day,” he offers, leaning forward a bit. “He seemed… concerned that you girls and your mother were so very eager to get to Hell, and I noticed that Beatrice is no longer in Heaven even though her application is still pending with Raguel.”

“Right, that.” She pulls in a deep breath and squares her shoulders. “T was so upset about… you know, not making it back when Mom was… when Mom was sick, and she just needed to do something, so, um, I took her to Hell a little early.” Amenadiel’s brows lower now, and Rory pictures thunderclouds over his head. “I mean, it’s T. There’s no way she’s getting lost in Hell, and I knew she wasn’t going to stop bothering you guys until she got to go, so…” She trails off, gesturing helplessly and they sit in silence for a long moment before her uncle leans forward once more.

“Did Lucifer send you to Heaven to retrieve Beatrice, Rory?” He asks earnestly. “Is he using your mother and sister to get you to run reconnaissance for him?”

“Is he what?” Rory blinks, confused at the sudden severity in his tone. “Dude, no. What the Hell? I needed a break from Hell for a little bit, and I wanted to see my sister. Once I got there, I wanted to help her, that’s all.”

“Hm.” He sits back until the hood casts his face back into shadow, though his dark eyes glint from its depths. “It seems you really have forgiven him. I am… glad to hear it.”

He doesn’t sound glad, but she’s not stupid enough to say so right now. Rory’s reckless and impulsive, but she isn’t usually stupid.

“Yeah,” she laughs a little breathlessly, forcing it out around the fluttery feeling in her stomach. “It turns out it’s kind of hard to hold a grudge against the guy that gives up his entire life just because you ask him to… especially when he only just met you.”

“So what did you think of Hell?” The question takes her off-guard, it seems like such a deviation from his previous topic, but she answers easily enough.

“It’s… pretty depressing. I was there before, you know, back when I first came looking for him. Kinda grim, kinda ashy. I can see why he ditched it and tried to settle here instead. It gets into your head after a while… that’s why I needed a little break.”

“Hell is toxic to divinity Rory, you should be very careful if you visit.” He stands, pushing his hands deeper into the front pocket of his hoodie and she narrows her eyes as she realizes that he hasn’t removed them the entire time he’s been here.

“Are you okay, Uncle A? I mean, you knew Mom and T a long time, too.”

“It’s different for me,” he smiles, a glimpse of white teeth flashing in the deep shadow of his hood. “They were my friends, but they’re your family. It’s a shame that they’re stuck in that joyless place. They certainly don’t deserve to be.”

Rory thinks about their game night, of the laughter and love that had filled the penthouse. She thinks of the painstaking details that Lucifer had put into her room, and into T’s. She thinks of watching her parents together, how even when they were interacting with their daughters, they were never far apart, and nearly always touching.

Maybe Hell had been joyless once… but she doesn’t think that’s true anymore. Something is decidedly off here, but she’s not sure she wants to be the one to tell her uncle that.

“I don’t want to be a bother, but I hope you know you can always come to me, for anything.” He stands and strides toward the door, turning back to look at her as he reaches for the doorknob behind him. “I’m always happy to help.”

I’m pretty sure Charlie could have used your help when Linda died, she thinks, but she carefully pins the words behind her tight smile. A sudden flare of warmth in her chest reminds her that her father had come to comfort her the moment he could, the moment his promise had been fulfilled… even at the cost of leaving his soulmate behind in Hell without him.

“Thanks, Uncle A,” she croaks, when she realizes he’s waiting for an answer. “I know you are, and I really appreciate it.”

He nods and exits quickly enough that she barely gets a glimpse at the hand that grips the doorknob, so she only wonders for a moment at its odd appearance. Maybe the porch light is flickering again. Mom asked me to change that bulb ages ago.

She glares at her laptop for a moment before she sighs and reaches for it, opening it to stare once more at that damned blank box. The words come easier now, and this time, they feel right.

Her heart seems to lighten as her fingers fly across the keys.

*