Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“May I speak with you a moment about my son, Doctor?”

Linda blinks, startled, and pauses in her stacking of plates to glance up at the man standing across from her. Man? Is that the right term? He’s the Almighty… their celestial Overlord. She’s been mentally frazzled ever since Charlie’s grandfather introduced himself, greeting her with a warm grin and twinkling dark eyes. God. He’s God. Wow, she is never, ever going to be able to get over this.

“Uh… sure,” Linda replies nervously.

God himself wants answers from her. But she supposes nothing could be worse than the awful, tense family dinner she’s just managed to survive through despite sitting at the same table as three Archangels and the Creator of the Universe. The two of them are alone in her kitchen, having just cleared the table; Amenadiel is feeding Charlie, and Michael has flown off, seething and grumbling under his breath about his twin.

“No need to be nervous, my dear,” God assures her, apparently sensing her anxiety. Wait, of course he can do that. He’s omniscient. “I just thought your opinion might be valuable to me.”

“Thank you, that’s very flattering. But, er, given that you’re all-powerful, all-seeing and all… well, all-everything, I’m sure there’s not really much I could tell you about Amenadiel that you don’t already know.”

Leaning against the granite counter, God chuckles amusedly. “Ah, there are many nuances to omniscience. One of which being that my children on Earth occasionally slip from my gaze. In this case, however, I am not speaking about Amenadiel. Samael is more my concern.”

Linda’s stomach flips. Lucifer. God wants to ask her about Lucifer? This is really not going to go well. “You are aware I’m your son’s therapist, correct?” At God’s gentle incline of his head, she continues, “Then you’ll know that anything and everything we’ve discussed in sessions is covered by doctor-patient confidentiality, which means it’s likely I can’t provide you whatever information you seek.”

“I understand.” While God doesn’t exactly look delighted with that response, his lips quirk up into a small smile. “I admire your loyalty to my son, Linda. I’m glad Samael has friends like you to look out for him.”

Linda winces. “Okay, there’s - um - there’s one thing I can actually tell you.” Not wanting to be forced to look at God’s face when she drops this bomb on him, she begins anxiously collecting all of the wine glasses from the table so she can rinse them out and stop them from staining. “It’s - it’s more of a suggestion, actually. Lucifer doesn’t go by the name Samael anymore. To be frank with you, he… he hates it. If you truly want to have a calm and honest conversation with him, you’ll want to refrain from using that name for him. Calling him Samael will just agitate him.”

The frown marring God’s face and the faint drumming of heavy rain on the windows makes her want to cringe. “It is the name I chose for him. Lucifer is his title, his job description. Why would he wish to cast Samael aside?”

She holds her ground, forcing herself to ignore the faint traces of exasperation in God’s voice. Linda bites her to refrain from retorting by asking why he would decide to name his son the ‘Blindness’ and ‘Venom of God’, and expect Lucifer to like it. And then she really hopes that God isn’t reading her thoughts right now, because that would make things awkward.

“I don’t want to break medical confidentiality. Lucifer trusts me as his therapist to keep what we discuss private. But I can tell you are veritably concerned and confused, so instead, I will offer you information. In the medical world, we call it a ‘psychological trigger’,” she explains. “Being called a name which is connected to traumatic memories often leads to emotional distress, and can make patients highly uncomfortable and extremely upset. It’s essentially a form of deadnaming.” She halts and ensures a heavy pause occurs before continuing. The beat is long enough so that her next sentence sounds relatively separate from her previous statement. “Lucifer identifies with the name he chose much more than his old one, so that’s the one he prefers to go by.”

God now looks concerned. “What kind of traumatic memories?”

“It depends on the patient.”

That worry flickers into frustration for a fleeting moment. “In regards to Samael.”

“I can’t tell you that,” she replies apologetically. “If you are serious about avoiding antagonizing him, however, I would make a very strong recommendation to stop calling him Samael. Surely you’ve already noticed Amenadiel and the rest of us call him Lucifer. The only being who calls him his old name is Michael, and I think he does it to deliberately unsettle his twin.”

Once again, she has to wonder why God thought that literally calling his son ‘poison’ was a good idea. It seems unspeakably cruel to her. And if God really has to ask her about what kind of traumatic memories Lucifer has, then he clearly doesn’t know his son at all - or at the very least, is utterly clueless as to the lasting damage he imparted on Lucifer when he cast him out of Heaven and abandoned him in Hell for ten billion years. Which does not make him appear like a good parent.

“How badly have I hurt my son, Doctor?” God questions, his voice steady but a slight waver in his tone exposing his perturbation.

Linda finally meets his gaze head-on. What can she say? How should she respond to that? Deciding to speak candidly, while also respecting confidentiality, she informs him, “Very badly. Hell was... well. Hell, for him. Before you showed up, I would have said that Lucifer was completely lost to you. That nothing you could possibly say to him would reach him.”

“But?”

“But, he turned up for dinner,” she shrugs. “And quite honestly, I did not expect him to.”

“He stayed for less than ten minutes,” God points out, raising an eyebrow.

“That’s still ten minutes more than I thought he would stay in the same room as you,” she admits sheepishly. “Yes, he left early, but he didn’t ‘storm out’ as Michael was whining about earlier. Lucifer left because he reached his limit, and instead of staying to pick another fight with you or his twin, he decided that making an exit would be better for the situation. It was actually quite emotionally mature of him.” And to be honest, Linda was proud of him. When they first sat down to eat, she was worried about an apocalyptic argument breaking out, but Lucifer only had a couple of understandable outbursts, remaining relatively calm and collected the rest of the time.

God looks intrigued by her analysis of the situation. “You do not agree with Michael’s assessment of Lucifer showing up just to throw a tantrum?” he questions.

“No, and I think you don’t either. Lucifer’s words earlier, angry and petulant as they may have sounded, were born of hurt. But also hope. Lucifer wants to be loved by you, even though he thinks he never will be, and likely thinks he doesn’t deserve to be. If you truly wish to reconnect to him, it’s going to take effort. And I think it has to come from your end. Small steps at first, so you can inch closer to him but also give him the emotional space he needs to process.”

God nods slowly. “Small steps like calling him by his chosen name.”

Delighted to have gotten through to him, Linda bobs her head in agreement. “Yes, exactly.” After a couple of seconds of strained silence, she adds delicately, “I would also recommend patience and honesty. Lucifer can be… stubborn, and he despises being lied to.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” God says, his voice quiet and sounding as if he’s deep in thought. “I will… consider your advice.”

Linda nods with a pleasant, friendly smile, while internally screaming, Holy freaking shit, the Creator of the Universe is going to consider my advice. Take THAT, Amenadiel!

Chapter Text

He’s spent an entire day with his father, and Amenadiel can still scarcely believe that he’s actually here. Never in a million, trillion years did he think his father would take physical form and come down to Earth. But now he’s here, and God wants to spend time with him, Linda and Charlie. Well… and Lucifer. That’s not… going great, though. Not that Amenadiel is surprised by that. There is no love lost between Lucifer and his father… well, at least from Lucifer’s side there’s not.

He and his father continue drying the wet plates long after Michael storms out, Amenadiel trying to recover from his shock over their father banishing the black-winged Archangel from Earth. At least Michael being gone means that Charlie will be safer. He’s still furious about his younger brother deliberately giving his son a cold to needle at his fears of Charlie being mortal. Reminded of his rage, his wings rustle in their celestial container, feathers puffing up angrily.

“Be at peace, my son.” Amenadiel freezes when he feels his father’s hand smoothing down his flight feathers soothingly. “You’ll knot more of your feathers bristling like that.”

He can’t help but relax with a faint shudder as God rakes his fingers through his plumage, untangling and ordering his ash-colored coverts. It’s been quite a long time since he’s had somebody preen his feathers like this. It must have been the last time he was in the Silver City after he dropped off Charlotte’s soul, when he was catching up with Haniel and Cassiel. There’s something inherently safe and familiar about it, reminding him of his younger years in the Silver City.

His father huffs. Amenadiel jolts when he tweaks a couple of his secondaries, which have become partially twisted over time, likely due to fast flight. “Your wings definitely need preening.”

“It’s rather difficult to find a grooming partner these days, what with being only one of two angels on Earth,” he reminds him. “Our siblings only ever visit with ulterior motives, and those motives usually involve trying to do harm unto Luci or humans.”

“Yes, it is a shame you have all drifted so far apart.”

Amenadiel tries not to let his vexation show on his face. “Yes, well, you did ban us from ever visiting Lucifer in Hell.” Not that many angels even wanted to visit him; most of their family despise him.

“Nevertheless, the two of you have grown close again, have you not?” God shoots him a puzzled look. “Do you and Samael not allopreen each other's wings?”

Amenadiel raises an eyebrow, peering over his shoulder. “Lucifer doesn’t let anybody touch him like that anymore. He especially wouldn’t let me touch his wings after how I treated him for millennia.” He greatly regrets that now, and regrets even more his lack of remorse and empathy when it had been so clear Lucifer was desperate for reprieves from the torments of Hell. “At least we’re on good terms now.”

“I am glad to see that you and he have resolved your differences, and that Samael no longer holds a grudge against you,” his father comments absentmindedly as he continues to stroke his son’s feathers.

“Lucifer, not Samael,” he corrects his father, and then Amenadiel shoots him a bemused look. “Father, I would deserve any form of grudge from him. The way I behaved towards him was deplorable. He died because of my actions, I placed numerous humans in danger.”

He lowers his head, staring down at his hands as he remembers how terrible it felt to have his brother’s blood staining them red every single time Amenadiel dragged him kicking and screaming back to Hell. Lucifer always fought him like an injured wild animal, growling and hissing as he fought against being caged. Because that’s what Hell was for him: a prison. And he was willing to kill his brother to force him back there, five years ago. What had he been thinking? How could he have been so heartless?

“While I agree your actions were impetuous, no permanent harm was done unto him in the end,” God responds, as if that makes it okay that Amenadiel brought a literal murderer back to life from Hell to torment his brother, and humans were caught in the crossfire. “I resurrected him, after all.”

“That doesn’t matter, Father,” Amenadiel shudders. “I’m lucky Luci wants anything to do with me.”

His father tilts his head. “You believe that?”

“Of course. Back to the topic of wings, Luci rarely uses his, either way, and only flies if he absolutely has to.” He sighs. “It’s a shame, really. He looked so magnificent when he was flying between his stars, igniting them one by one.”

His heart clenches painfully as he finds himself trying to think of the last time his little brother would have had his wings groomed. He can’t imagine Lucifer would have allowed any demon to touch them, even Mazikeen, which means it’s been billions of years. Allopreening is not just done to maintain wings for flight; it’s a bonding activity between angels, primarily driven by trust, love, and affection. Without allopreening, angels can become reclused and emotionally stunted. He knows this to be a fact, because Michael withdrew from the flock after Lucifer’s banishment, becoming bitter and disconnected from them all.

The last time he groomed Lucifer’s wings was a couple of months before his Rebellion. It might have been Lucifer’s last as well - he was ousted from their sibling flock not soon after, when he started questioning and acting disobediently. It’s honestly no wonder that Lucifer has such a difficult time opening up and allowing himself to be vulnerable to people when he’s been cut off from their family for so long.

“Your brother’s wings are beautiful. He used to love fanning and presenting them when he was younger,” his father muses wistfully, drawing his hand away from his feathers.

“Not anymore,” Amenadiel mutters with a sigh. His dad is right; Lucifer’s wings are absolutely stunning, the envy of everybody in the Silver City. They’re delicate and sleek, a remarkable snowy white, and his Lightbringer powers make them glow softly with divine light. Nothing like Amenadiel’s wings, which are stocky and muscular, dark silver-grey in color that glimmer metallic in Heaven’s light, but not at all in Earth’s limited spectrum. “Nowadays he’s more likely to keep them tucked away constantly or cut them off repeatedly.” If he sounds bitter, it’s because he’s still annoyed and disturbed by Lucifer’s past self-destructive behavior.

God stiffens immediately. “What did you just say?” he says sharply.

The Archangel casts him a dubious, disbelieving look. “You must have seen.” He knows for a fact that Lucifer cursed their father’s name the high Heavens every single time he severed his wings. Surely he heard? Surely he watched?

But his father appears deeply troubled. “I saw your brother have his demon cut his wings off five years ago upon his ascension to Earth and decision to settle here. You’re saying he’s self-mutilated since re-gaining them through self-actualization? Why?”

He nods solemnly. “Yes, Father, several times to my knowledge. And as for the reason, he...” he hesitates, but his dad’s piercing look convinced him to admit, “He was doing it because he thought it was you giving back his wings. Forcing them on him. From what I understand, he eventually stopped after Linda confronted him about it in therapy.”

“Linda did not tell me Sam was self-harming when I spoke with her last night,” God mutters under his breath, his voice tinted with disdain.

“She wouldn’t,” Amenadiel shakes his head. “Doctor-patient confidentiality.”

“I’m his father.”

“That doesn’t matter. He’s an adult, and as far as Linda was concerned, he didn’t have any family present in his life except me. And ever since my stupid ploy posing as another therapist to try and spy on Luci by getting information from Linda about his sessions, she is extra careful not to let anything slip.”

His father stares at the wall. Amenadiel shifts uncomfortably - it’s clear God is simmering with internal anger. “Did she at least inform Detective Decker so she could keep an eye on Samael?” he asks in a flat voice.

“I don’t think so,” he responds hesitantly. “I’m… not sure Chloe even knows. Or she at least doesn’t remember or understand, because she wasn’t aware of the truth at the time.” He tries to reassure his dad by adding, “We don’t have to worry, though. Luci doesn’t do any of that anymore. He hasn’t brought a blade to his wings in a long time.”

Exhaling slowly, with a discontented expression on his face, his father ghosts his fingers gently over his feathers again as he responds in a grave voice, “Thank you for informing me of this, Amenadiel.”

He didn’t know. God didn’t know. Lucifer repeatedly mutilated himself, bringing himself to ruin over and over and over again as he was overcome with anguish and pain over what he thought was himself being violated, and not only was their father not involved… he wasn’t even aware of it. Amenadiel can’t help but feel deeply disturbed by that revelation. How can their father claim to care about them if he was blind to Lucifer’s most vulnerable moments, if he ignored his fallen son’s desperate cries calling for absolution for millennia?

But God knows now. The two of them fall quiet as they stand side-by-side, the silence in the room now stifling and tense. Amenadiel can feel worry rolling off his father’s form. For the first time in many, many years, he has hope that his brother might have a chance of reconciling with other members of their family.

Chapter Text

Dan’s sitting at one of the VIP tables at LUX, nursing his third vodka and coke - and well on his way to getting tipsy because yikes on a bike he slept with God’s wife - when said Creator of the Universe slides into the booth next to him. Pleasantly buzzed, Dan just ends up toasting God and throwing back the remains of his glass because what the hell, he might as well drink in the Devil’s nightclub next to the Father of All Creation, right? At least he knows that God isn’t going to destroy him anymore.

Jesus fucking Christ, when did his world get so weird? Oh, right. The instant Lucifer Morningstar entered his life. And for all the chaos and madness Lucifer has brought with him, Dan wouldn’t change a fucking thing about it, because that obnoxious, annoying, crazy Devil dude has somehow wormed his way into his heart and become one of his closest friends.

God heaves a sigh. And Dan just knows he’s about to get dragged into a conversation with the dude, so quickly signals his waitress for another drink.

He follows God’s gaze, interested in what he’s so intently staring at. Ah. Lucifer. Of course. The Devil is standing on the balcony rather than sitting at the piano as Dan would have expected, and there’s an incredibly soft smile on his face as he talks on his cell phone. To Chloe, Dan realizes, because Lucifer is only ever that gentle with his partner.

“Parenting troubles, huh?” is what escapes his mouth before he can realising what he’s doing.

God casts him a long, drawn glance. “I suppose so. Tell me, Detective Espinoza, you have a child… have you ever felt as if everything you’re doing to try and connect with them is driving you further apart?”

Dan blinks, his head fuzzy from the alcohol, and then blurts out, “Okay, you know Lucifer is super screwed up in the head after what you and his siblings did to him, right?”

For a brief, fleeting moment, God appears taken back. “Excuse me?”

“And when I say super screwed up, I mean seriously mentally scarred. When he first started working with the LAPD, we all thought he was this abused, deluded dude who was raised in a crazy religious cult, with C-PTSD and possible dissociative identity disorder,” Dan finds himself rambling, snagging his vodka and coke refill as well as a couple of shots off the tray the waitress - Caitlin, he thinks her name is - offers him.

Those early days when Lucifer joined on as an unpaid civilian consultant had been insane; everybody took bets on when he would finally break from his Devil persona. Dan won; he had bet Lucifer never would. At the time it had been because he’d honestly thought Lucifer had some sort of personality disorder. Now he knows that Lucifer is just… himself.

He slides one of the shots across the table in front of God, muttering, “The PTSD thing is actually real, FYI, so we weren’t all that far off. And even though I suspected he was abused, I was an utter dick to him, so it’s honestly amazing he wants to hang around me now.”

God picks up the shot curiously, examining the contents. Dan resists the urge to burst out laughing in shock when the clear liquid within it darkens within seconds to a rich transparent burgundy. Right… he better warn Lucifer that his dad is capable of turning all liquids into red wine, not just water. “You thought… my son was abused,” he says slowly, swirling the wine in its shot glass.

“Everything he’s told us points to you being… a pretty bad dad. I would say ‘no offense’, but I kinda don’t think there’s any way we’re getting around that. Holy shit, I can’t believe I’m lecturing God on his parenting skills,” Dan whispers under his breath, running a shaky hand through his hair. “The only reason I have the balls to do this at the moment is the alcohol. Lucifer serves top shelf to all of his friends for free and while it’s nice of him, it’s dangerous.”

“Please, Daniel, speak freely.”

Dan eyes him nervously. “You sure? Because even though Lucifer and I are kinda rocky at the moment, I still consider him my friend, and being friends with him comes hand in hand with being pissed at you.” Up until the point he found out Lucifer is the actual Devil, he actually always told himself that if he ever met Lucifer’s dad, he would punch him in the face. Now he’s facing God, and he hopes he’s not as cruel as the Bible describes.

“Didn’t you try and shoot him?” God raises an eyebrow.

Dan chokes on his next sip of drink, pointing at him and frantically saying, “Hey, it was Michael who convinced me to try and do that! I kind of lost my mind after finding out he’s the real Devil. I was raised in a super Catholic family, so my brain short-circuited and got jammed in ‘the Devil is the root of evil therefore Lucifer is evil’ mode, with all of my memories of what Lucifer is actually like flying out the window. An Archangel pretending to come down from Heaven and give me a mission to kill the Devil really fucked with my head. But Lucifer and I worked together to rescue Chloe when Michael kidnapped her, and basically made up. So yeah, we’re… friends, as crazy as it sounds.”

God emits another weighted sigh, looking weary. He stares at his son, who is still on the phone with Chloe judging by his grin. “It has come to my attention that I don’t know Lucifer as well as I thought I did.”

“And you want… me to tell you about him?” Dan asks, baffled.

“Who better to learn about him from than his friends?” Whoa, God is serious about this. And he’s asking Dan for information about his son? “Would you please tell me about why you were under the impression Lucifer was abused when you first started getting to know him?”

The alcohol is absolutely starting to go to Dan’s head now, but he scrunches up his face in concentration as he wonders what he should say. “Well, first thing you’ve gotta know is the dude has major touch and intimacy issues. Like, he has absolutely no problem with casual sex and orgies and whatever, which you probably didn’t want to know being his dad and all, but you clap the guy on the shoulder to praise him or offer him a hug and he bolts. And that’s often a sign in severely neglected kids,” he muses, remembering that first time he brushed up against Lucifer’s back and almost got decked. “That’s not even starting on how Lucifer used to react to being physically attacked. A lot of times during his first year working with us, he was beat to hell by Amenadiel multiple times and he just casually brushed it off like it was normal to be bruised black and blue and have his ribs broken by his brother. Which all points to long-term physical abuse. Which makes sense, having met Michael.” He shakes his head morosely. “Oh, and then there was his lack of self-preservation. He was so reckless out on the streets, jumping in at the first sign of danger.”

God’s brow furrows and he murmurs, “Yes, I suppose that is concerning.”

It is, and Dan used to hate his guts for it. Lucifer’s rashness was part of the reason he turned his displaced guilt onto him and blamed him for Charlotte’s death. Now he just understands that Lucifer has barely any sense of self-preservation, because he cares more about helping and saving other people - cares about them more than he cares about himself. “Did you hear about that time he was so suicidal he was almost begging a sniper to shoot him?” He pauses and then realizes, “Wait, you’re God, of course you did.” Exhaling shakily, he confesses, “Man, that was scary as fuck. Chloe was really freaked out. To be honest, everybody in the department was, because he’s pretty popular with everybody, and we’d all grown to either love him, or respect and tolerate him by that point.”

Lucifer had been so unhinged that even though Dan had been incredibly pissed at the time by his behavior, he’d been more worried than angry. That was when he truly started listening to Chloe’s advice to keep an eye on Lucifer’s well-being, because everybody knew he wasn’t going to take care of himself. The expression on God’s face now appears to be grim and pained as he peers through the sea of humans at his son. It’s difficult to equate the suicidal Lucifer from a few years ago with the angel babbling enthusiastically down the phone at his girlfriend now… but at the same time, not hard at all, because Chloe has always been the center of his attention. It’s disgustingly cute.

After a strained moment, God asks in a terse voice, “Do you know why he felt as if he deserved to be shot?”

Dan casts his mind back, trying to remember. “You know, I’m not actually sure. Although I think I overheard Maze once muttering about a brother dying? Did one of your kids die? I’m so so sorry, man, if that is the case, losing a child is awful.”

God falls quiet. “I did lose a son, yes,” he eventually replies. “It was a tragic loss but sadly inevitable, what with his actions. Lucifer responded the best he could in that situation.” Well, that sounds ominous as hell. “I knew he was likely to blame himself for Uriel’s death, but I did not think he would feel guilty to the point of wanting to die.” His gaze is sharp when it returns to Dan. “Does Lucifer always have such little regard for his own well-being?”

“Well, he’s gotten better for sure when it comes to taking risks in the field,” Dan muses, his voice now slightly slurred, “Although I think that’s more because he realized he was putting Chloe in danger too when he was doing that stuff.” Lucifer values Chloe’s life far more than his own; Dan knew that he would take a bullet for her without hesitation, even if it might kill him. “It must have been weird for you, meeting your son’s girlfriend after billions of years of not interacting with him.”

“Ah, I wouldn’t say weird. She is… quite protective, over him.” Given the expression of wry amusement on God’s face, Dan decides he doesn’t want to know what Chloe said to him when they first met. He can imagine that Chloe would have been particularly fierce in defense of Lucifer and how God neglected him. “But it is clear she cares for him greatly, which is all a father can ask for. She’s good for him.”

Dan toasts again to that. “Yeah, she is. Those two are like soulmates.”

“That they are,” God hums thoughtfully.

A small smile makes its way onto God’s face as the two of them watch Lucifer finally hang up and beam happily down at his phone, texting. After a second, the Devil appears to realize he’s got a dopey grin on his face because he straightens up, adjusts his cufflinks, and vanishes into the crowds of LUX like a shadow.

And then Dan can’t remember what happens after that because man, Lucifer’s top-shelf alcohol is fantastic and exactly what he needs.

Chapter Text

Okay, so Lucifer’s dad isn’t anything like Ella expected him to be. She perches on a stool in her lab and munches on crunchy M&Ms with Mr Morningstar beside her, who seems happy to be listening to her ramble on about the new DNA sequencer they just got. In her mind, she’s always imagined Luce’s dad to be a tall, imposing, and intimidating white British man. Lucifer’s dad being black, American, cheerful and so… father-like, threw her for a split second. He’s definitely Amenadiel’s dad, that’s for sure.

When they first met, a tiny voice at the back of her mind crowed oh, Lucifer’s adopted, that makes so much sense! before following up with holy shit I’ve always wanted to punch this dude in the face for how he’s treated Luce but he’s like the embodiment of sunshine, I can’t do that.

But maybe Lucifer’s dad isn’t the embodiment of sunshine inside. She knows for a fact - and from experience - that even the people who appear to be the nicest and friendliest members of society can actually be secretly malicious. Her mouth keeps moving, her babbling about high throughput sequencing continuing, but her mind swerves in another direction entirely… beginning to ponder on everything she’s learned about one of her best friends so far.

Lucifer, who doesn’t understand the purpose of hugs and flinches back from them as if he thinks they’re some sort of attack. Lucifer, who looks like a kicked puppy whenever somebody shouts at him and is scarily quick to back off or talk his way out of an argument if his opposition starts showing signs of physical aggravation. Lucifer, who has always strongly maintained that his entire family hates him and wants him dead. The dude might not be the actual Devil as he claims - his method acting really is impressive - but Ella knows he doesn’t lie. So when he talks about his dad and family quicking him to the curb...

Ella abruptly changes the subject. “Hey, Mr Morningstar. Um. This is going to sound like a silly question, but I kinda have to ask. Do you - do you care about Lucifer?” she asks cautiously.

Lucifer’s dad doesn’t even blink, just tilts his head with a slight frown and responds in a confused voice, “Of course I do, Miss Lopez. I care for all my children.”

“Right. Okay. Of course you do.” She laughs weakly, tapping her pen against the counter. “Just - I just wanted to check.” She glances quickly out the window to check Lucifer’s whereabouts. He’s outside a couple of feet away with Chloe, deep in discussion. Turning her attention back to Mr Morningstar, she adds quietly, “I… without overstepping my boundaries, I think it would really, really be beneficial if you told him that.”

A beat passes, and then he replies slowly, “Beneficial to Lucifer?”

“Yeah. He, uh.” Ella can’t help but grimace in sympathy. “He, uh... doesn’t think very highly of himself. He has a lot of hidden self-loathing.”

Something ripples across Lucifer’s dad’s face for a second, an amalgamation of guilt and pain. “I was under the impression that my son comes across as very narcissistic to most people.”

Ella shakes her head vehemently. “I think he can be pretty vain and a little arrogant sometimes, and yeah, he can sometimes be blind to other people’s personal issues, but I think he just struggles to initially connect with people emotionally.” She gives him a shaky smile. “Once he knows them well, he’s super attentive and kind. I also think a lot of his egotism is actually exaggerated and he puts it on as a front.”

Mr Morningstar leans towards her, now highly interested in what she’s saying. “A front for what?”

“... I’m pretty sure Luce actually thinks that he’s a terrible person, which is super depressing and totally not true,” Ella confesses in a sad whisper. “He tends to push away people who get too close, and I reckon that’s because he doesn’t like being vulnerable in case they exploit him. I think too many people might have taken advantage of his trust before. So now he maintains a distance to try and protect himself. Add that onto the fact that he doesn’t think he deserves to be cared about, and… well…” She trails off, lost for words and embarrassed by her blabbering about her own thorough analysis of Lucifer’s character.

The smile Mr Morningstar gives her is incredibly soft, but there’s a glint of heartache in his dark eyes as he takes in the information about his son. He casts his focus out of the window, towards Lucifer and Chloe. “That’s incredibly insightful of you, Ella.”

Ella follows his gaze, grinning herself when she sees how close her two friends are to each other as they talk, probably seconds away from kissing. “Yeah, uh, please don’t tell Lucifer we had this conversation?” she requests sheepishly. “He probably really wouldn’t appreciate me telling you things like this. I just wanted to make sure that, as his dad, you know. Because he’s like my older brother and I…” she shrugs helplessly. “I worry about him.”

“May I ask why?”

“Well, from what I can decipher from what he tells us, he’s estranged from almost everybody from your family except Amenadiel. When he vanished suddenly months ago to deal with your family business stuff, at first I was really angry that he left without even saying goodbye.” She scowls at the memory, but then her expression shifts into one of commiseration. “But then my concern took over, because I realized that meant he was probably completely alone.”

Lucifer’s dad peers at her with knitted eyebrows. “And that… concerned you?”

“Well, yeah, obviously! Lucifer’s one of those people who really doesn’t cope well when he’s alone. He’s one of the most social people I know and he enjoys being around others, vibing off their energy. He’s always, and I mean always, happiest when he’s spending time with the people he cares about, who care about him. He thrives on attention and affection. He gets lonely so easily. It’s like, he needs his pack, right?” She throws her hands up into the air, trying to emphasize her point. “I mean, yeah, he knows literally millions of people because of all the favors he dishes out, but he’s only got like, seven close friends in LA! And one of them is his therapist. Who’s gonna make sure he’s okay and taking care of himself and not slipping into one of his self-hatred spirals - those happen wayyy too often, by the way - if he’s not got any of us around?”

Mr Morningstar inclines his head, murmuring, “I see. His personal support network is very small. And you worry that it’s not enough.”

Ella nods and her voice turns slightly pleading as she continues, “So if - if you’re here to drag him back to Florida, can you just let him stay here in LA and work remotely? Or can I please just ask that you keep an eye on him? And maybe let him stay in contact with us?” She probably sounds embarrassingly desperate, but she just can’t stand the idea of Lucifer disappearing on them again.

“I have no plans to force Lucifer to leave his home and the family he’s found here,” Lucifer’s father reassures her, resting his warm hand on top of hers and squeezing it in a fatherly motion. “I… was not aware of how large an impact his past isolation had on his mental health. I do plan on spending some time with him while I am here to hopefully rectify my ignorance.” His gentle expression morphs into one of remorse. “It’s come to my attention that I did not… treat him particularly well when he was younger. I punished Lucifer too harshly for his rebellious actions, which were born out of his frustration over being too strictly controlled but also neglected at the same time.”

A tense beat passes between them as Ella processes that. She’s always known that Lucifer was treated badly when he was younger, but Lucifer’s father is actually admitting to mistreating him. She doesn’t quite know how to feel about the man now. But she can see guilt contorting his face, which triggers a tiny glimmer of hope to spark in her heart.

“Do you believe in a higher power, Mr Morningstar?” she asks. “And do you believe in divine absolution?”

Lucifer’s dad doesn’t laugh, but a small smirk appears on his face. “I would say I do, yes, on both counts. Do you?”

“To an extent,” Ella answers, tilting her head. “I believe you can redeem yourself in the eyes of God if you seek forgiveness from the people you’ve wronged, but I also don’t think that forgiveness should be freely given. There’s this whole concept of offering forgiveness being part of the healing process, where you forget or excuse the harm done to you, or make up with the person who hurt you, and I don’t feel like that’s fair. Forgiveness isn’t a requirement for healing; it doesn’t have to be earned and it’s not something owed, it’s about feelings and conscious choice. But I do feel like in order for somebody to deserve forgiveness, that person has to feel genuinely bad and sorry about what they did to hurt the other.”

Lucifer’s dad regards her warmly, with a moisture in his eyes that tells her he has been affected by her words. “I think I understand what you’re saying.”

Ella nods. “You’re here to try and fix things between the two of you?” she prompts knowingly.

Mr Morningstar nods, his expression solemn.

She exhales and admits, “I’m really happy to hear that. If it’s any consolation, I can tell you do seem genuinely regretful about how Luce was treated in the past.”

“I am. And I am trying my hardest to make amends,” he confirms.

“Well, if you want my advice, just be patient and give Luce plenty of time to process, because sometimes he can get stuck in a funk when he's upset and doesn't understand his emotions,” Ella offers. “And I would really respect his boundaries where he sets them, don't pressure him. If Lucifer wants to talk about things, then he'll eventually talk.”

“Thank you, Ella. You're a wonderful friend to my son and he's very lucky to have you. It's been lovely talking to you.” With one final smile to her, Mr Morningstar rises from his stool, briefly grasping her shoulder in thanks before taking his leave.

Watching as Mr Morningstar greets Lucifer and Chloe outside the lab, and chuckling at Lucifer’s clear indignation at his father interrupting their intimate moment, Ella muses, “A regretful God. Huh. He and Lucifer are really taking their characters in unique directions.”

Chapter Text

Trixie peers up at Lucifer’s dad in pure curiosity as he walks her home, holding her hand and behaving like they’re friends, rather than an adult and kid. When he found her at the train station alone, ready to run away, he didn’t shout or tell her off as any other adult probably would have. Instead, he sat down next to her, gave her a donut to enjoy, and they had a conversation.

Trixie has always thought that Lucifer’s dad would be a horrible strict man, after everything she’s heard Lucifer say about him. But his dad seems super nice. He’s taking her back home himself instead of calling her parents or the police, like most adults would.

“Are you gonna tell my mom and dad that I tried to run away?” she asks, wrinkling her nose. “I wasn’t serious about it. I was gonna go and stay in one of Grandma’s spare houses but then I realized I don’t have the key and Mom’s Uber account isn’t connected to my new cell phone yet.”

Maybe Mr Morningstar hears some of the nerves in her voice, because he just chuckles and informs her, “I won’t tell them, but only because I think you should, dear one.”

Trixie hums and nods, staring intently at the pavement to make sure she doesn’t step on any of the lines and get bad luck. It’s a superstitious thing, but she and her Dad have always done it, and it’s kinda fun. “They’re probably going to be mad at me.”

“I think if you explain what feelings you’ve been having and how your emotions drove you to make the initial choice to run away, your parents will be very understanding,” he reassures her. “If we get you home soon, they might not even notice you’ve been gone.”

“Did Lucifer ever try and run away when he was a kid?” she wonders aloud.

“Hmm, not really, from what I can remember,” Mr Morningstar replies after a moment of thought, his brow furrowing a little. “He preferred to hide. There were a couple of places he would frequent - he was predictable when he was young, and he loved the gardens and the little nooks and crannies formed by the support beams in the roof of the barracks. He would squeeze himself into the smallest of spaces to avoid being found. If he wasn’t hiding somewhere, he was hiding behind someone.” He grins and winks at Trixie, making her snicker, fake whispering, “He liked to use Amenadiel as a shield.”

The pair of them continue walking down the street, which Trixie notes is far less busy with traffic and pedestrians than usual. It’s quiet and peaceful, by LA standards, and how nice it is almost makes it worth how her feet are starting to ache in her shoes. Her mind wanders and she begins thinking about Amenadiel and how hilarious it is that he knows even less about humans than Lucifer, although he is better with children. Thinking about Lucifer and Amenadiel brings her back around to thinking about Lucifer and his old home, and the grandfatherly man swinging their arms back and forth merrily as they walk.

Her voice is small and tentative as she asks Lucifer’s dad, “Is it true that you forced Lucifer to leave home when he was younger, and you and all his siblings didn’t speak to him for his whole life?”

Lucifer’s dad doesn’t reply for a few seconds, pursing his lips as he stares ahead. Finally, he glances back down at her, and his eyes are stony with guilt despite his voice being gentle. “Yes, it’s true. Lucifer made some very bad choices that caused a lot of disturbance and problems, so I had to punish him by sending him away, to make sure nobody got hurt.”

Trixie tugs him to a stop, so they can face each other. “But… Lucifer got hurt,” she emphasises, narrowing her eyes.

“... yes, Trixie, you’re right, he did. I hurt him with my punishment.”

Tears threaten to spring into her eyes, so Trixie scrubs at them angrily, refusing to sniffle as her brain conjures up images of a kid version of her friend with huge sad eyes, all alone without anybody to love him. With a mighty yank on Lucifer’s dad’s arm, she pulls away and crosses her arms, standing off in front of him with a defiant expression.

Lucifer’s dad doesn’t seem like a bad person. But it seems as if he has wrong ideas about how to treat his kids. “My mom says there’s a difference between discipline and punishment. Discipline is when you teach somebody what they did wrong, why it’s wrong, and why they shouldn’t do it again. It’s about teaching somebody to make a better choice next time,” Trixie explains clearly. “Punishment is when make somebody do something they don’t like to make them pay for their bad behavior, so that they won’t do it again to avoid being punished again.” She pokes Lucifer’s dad hard in the chest. “And there’s a difference between good punishment and bad punishment too. Good punishment teaches consequences and accountability, but bad punishment is all about making the person hurt and feel bad about themself.”

Mr Morningstar’s gaze is soft and fond. “Your mother is very smart, so I have reason to believe she is probably right,” he replies. Reaching out to smooth back some unruly locks of her hair, he adds in praise, “And you are too, Trixie, for remembering what she told you and explaining it so well to an old man like me.”

They start walking again. Thankfully, Lucifer’s dad keeps a firm grasp of her shoulder so she can stare up at him and not have to pay attention to where she’s placing her feet. “The punishment you gave Lucifer was a really bad one, wasn’t it?” she accuses. The wince that brings to Lucifer’s dad’s face makes her deflate, because he appears to know that already. “I can tell, because he’s still angry and sad about it now even though it was years ago. It’s why he has to go to therapy with Doctor Linda, and Mom and I have to teach him how to be part of a family again.”

He looks bemused. “What do you mean by that, child?”

“Well, Lucifer was by himself for a long time, with only Maze for company. And while Maze is a great friend, she and Lucifer are kinda different, and sometimes they butt heads, so they don’t get along so well,” she shrugs. “So Mom and I had to re-teach him how to do things like family dinners and movie nights and days out. And other things too, like hugs, and couch cuddles, because he’s not used to affection. And Lucifer had to learn how to be Amenadiel’s brother again, just like he’s re-learning how to be your son.”

Lucifer’s dad’s smile turns wistful. “I think you and your mother have taught him very well. I think times are coming though where Lucifer is going to have to learn how to be a brother to more than just Amenadiel. He’ll be meeting his other siblings again soon, and it might be strange for him.”

The mention of siblings rapidly turns Trixie’s focus to something else she’s been wondering about lately. “I wish I had a sibling. Do you think once Lucifer and Mom finally figure out their feelings and properly get together, they might have a baby so I can have a brother or sister?”

If Lucifer’s dad were drinking something, Trixie thinks he might have spat it out in his shock. Instead, the man laughs, and it sounds deep and jolly, like she imagines Santa’s would sound like. “I think that’s a question best posed to your mother, Trixie.” Leaning in, he drops his voice to a theater whisper, winking. “Not Lucifer, though. I think you might give him a heart attack.”

That makes Trixie giggle, because he’s totally right. Lucifer would freak. “Lucifer doesn’t like most kids, but he likes me. Oh, and he pretends he doesn’t like Charlie, but he’s a really good uncle. I’m sure he’d like a baby with Mom. He’d probably be terrified at first, but I think he would make a good dad.” She pauses before questioning in a cautious tone, “Did you and Lucifer’s mom used to fight in front of him a lot when he was a kid?”

“Yes, unfortunately we did,” he replies quietly, his face twisted with regret. Trixie’s heart throbs, for the man holding her hand also for Lucifer. She knows how awful and scary it can be when parents fight in front of you. “We always tried to keep our arguments away from our children, but Lucifer worked with me very closely and often ended up watching and hearing. Sometimes our arguments were even about him.” A tense beat later, he prompts, “Why do you ask?”

They stop, and Trixie blinks up to realize that they’re a few steps from her apartment building’s door. Instead of entering straight away, though, Lucifer’s dad takes a seat on the steps, offering her another paper bag from the bakery. Trixie takes it excitedly and beams when she sees a chocolate croissant inside. It might be a bribe for her to answer his question, but she’s all too happy to answer.

“When Lucifer first met me, he tried to make Mom and Dad stop fighting whenever they were around me,” she tells Mr Morningstar. “Sometimes, when Dad was too busy with work to spend time with me, he would come over and we would have Game Nights, and he would let me use face paints on him even though I knew he really didn't like it. Mom said that it’s because you and his mom didn’t spend enough time with him as a kid, so he always felt like he wasn’t good enough to be loved, and he doesn’t want me to feel like that. But if he sees me upset, Lucifer always tries to make me feel better. Whether that involves baking me a huge chocolate cake, or telling me a story from his past, or just listening to me rant, he'll do anything to make me happier.”

"Yes," Mr Morningstar says, his voice distant as if he's lost in his head. "Lucifer can be very empathetic. I suppose fulfilling other's desires plays a large part in contributing to that."

She pats his knee. “That’s how I know he’ll be a good dad. Well, step-dad for me, of course. Because I know that even though sometimes Lucifer will make mistakes, he'll always try his hardest to be the best person - the best dad - he possibly can be. Even if that means admitting he's wrong, which he hates. Even if that means putting other people's happiness above his own. He does that anyway though.”

Lucifer’s dad looks pensive, as if her words have caused an epiphany to strike. “Yes… yes, he does. Thank you, Trixie. You’ve been incredibly helpful.”

And if Trixie invites him to her next birthday party… well, Lucifer doesn’t have to know until his dad turns up with those awesome donuts.

Chapter Text

Maze is entirely aware of how big a dick Lucifer’s father is, which is why she rolls her eyes and chugs down the rest of her bottle of tequila the second God slides into her VIP booth with an annoyingly bright smile. It’s the middle of the day so it’s not at all busy at LUX, and Maze reckons she might be able to get away with stabbing him with a demon blade without too many witnesses if she fancies it.

Yes, the dude is the one who finally enlightened her to the fact that she’s somehow grown a fucking soul, but she’s infernal while he’s celestial - The Big Kahuna - which means they are never going to get along. Especially not after what he did to Lucifer.

Maze might be mercurial in her feelings towards the Devil, but billions of years of hell spent together mean that their bond is deeper and more intense; petty betrayals and fights barely even scratch the surface of their loyalty to each other, and Maze knows that whatever dimensional plane they’re on - even if they’re on different ones - that will never change. Which means that she will always be wary of God.

The greatest thing she and Lucifer have in common is the fact that their parents abandoned them. God cast aside his son for defying him, and the Mother of Demons Lilith dumped her daughter for a mortal life.

“Am I interrupting?” God asks innocently.

“Urgh. I’m drinking, obviously.” Maze squints, peering around for Lucifer, but can’t spot him anywhere; given that it’s during the day, it’s likely he’s with Chloe rather than in LUX. “Lucifer isn’t here if you’re looking for him.”

God cocks his head sideways like an obnoxious cocker spaniel. “I was actually looking for you.”

“The hell do you want with me?” she grouses, shooting him a glare.

“Precisely.”

Maze stares at him, irritated and confused. “What?”

“As you can imagine, it’s been several billion years since I took a visit to Hell,” God says conversationally. As if they aren’t the weirdest pair in the whole Universe having a discussion right now, the Divine Creator of Everything and a demon. “I was wondering if you might indulge an old man in telling me what it’s like down there these days.”

Her jaw dropping in shock and realization, Maze immediately bursts out laughing. “Holy crap, I thought Linda and Amenadiel were making shit up, but you’re actually trying to get back into baby boy’s good graces, aren’t you!? What, you wanna know about Hell so you can sympathize with him or something?” She can barely control her laughter now, because the irked expression on God’s face is hilarious. “Please, let me be a fly on the wall when you bring up Hell in conversation to him. I’ll bring popcorn. It’s not every day you get to watch God get decked by the Devil.” But when God just continues looking at her, frowning, she sits back with a huff. “Shit, you’re serious about this.”

God does not appear particularly impressed with her. “Is it really so unbelievable that I would want to learn about my son’s life?”

“Uh, yeah,” Maze replies flatly. “And before you ask why, it’s because you abandoned him for billions of years and Lucifer spent a good couple of those literally screaming up at Heaven for mercy and forgiveness, and was completely ignored.”

To her utter disbelief, God flinches. “It has come to my attention that I have been… neglectful,” he says, in a quiet and relatively steady voice. As a demon, though, who inherently can detect weakness in people, Maze can see his guilty conscience. It stuns and disturbs her. “I allowed my anger to overtake me, and by the time I recognized I made a mistake, it was too late. And in regards to Lucifer’s prayers… nobody in Heaven heard them. Using the analogy of a radio, Hell is not one of the stations Heaven is automatically programmed to tune into. One of Gabriel’s duties is also to relay messages from her siblings to me, and when I received no word from Lucifer, I presumed it meant he was determined to give me the cold shoulder.”

Maze lets that information to wash over her and feels a deep pang of agony tear at her heart on behalf of Lucifer. “So what you’re saying is that you didn’t shut Lucifer out… you just didn’t care enough to put the effort into tuning in? And that shit about Gabriel delivering you messages from your kids is so bogus it isn’t even funny; we didn’t get any visitors from Heaven, apart from Amenadiel when he was dragging Lucifer back down to Hell over and over, every time he popped up here for some R&R. But I bet that was real convenient for you, not having to care or worry about the son you threw out because you didn’t hear from him.” She laughs bitterly. “Wow, dude. You’re even more of a two-faced celestial prick than I thought.”

“Speak carefully, Mazikeen,” God replies sharply, a hint of that Old Testament wrath glinting in his eyes. “I may not be your King, but I am his father, and I expect a modicum of respect.” Maze would usually be terrified of being smited by the guy, but considering that he’s trying to make up with Lucifer, she knows he won’t hurt her - because it would hurt Lucifer. “I am also fully aware that you have a habit of betraying my son, and I am not feeling particularly merciful.”

“Lucifer and I have our issues, and yeah, sometimes we turn our blades on each other, but that’s the demon way,” Maze scoffs. “Betrayals are trivial. I swore an oath to protect, guard, and serve Lucifer for eternity, and even though he released me from that, I still… care about him.” She spits the word like it’s poisonous. God-fucking-damn Linda and how she’s helping her understand stupid human shit like feelings and love. She swirls the very last drops of tequila in its bottle. “Alright, go on then. Ask what you wanna ask about Hell. Just don’t tell Lucifer you got this info from me.”

She anticipates questions about what Hell is like, how many demon uprisings they had to fight, how many human souls Lucifer tortured. God bewilders her, however, by asking in a faintly curious tone, “How did you and my son first meet?”

It takes a brief moment for Maze to cast her mind back far enough to draw up the memories, and it’s with an internal wince that she recalls the event. “It was around a thousand years after he Fell. When I first met Lucifer, he smelt like scorched, rotting flesh, and he didn’t look much better than that. His wings were the only part of him that was still… whole, but they were broken and stained black with soot. He was fighting off Hellbeasts trying to feed on him, attracted to him by the scent of divine blood and death he was giving off.”

The only word to properly describe the expression on God’s face at hearing this is devastated. “He was that badly injured?”

Just thinking about the stench the fallen angel gave off as she dragged him from the Fire Lakes makes her shiver. It had been delicious to her at the time, but now she thinks she actually feels slightly sick. “Oh yeah. He was too weak and injured to do anything but curl up and cry or lash out like a wild animal. It was pitiful, honestly. He was pitiful. If I hadn’t been there, he would have been easy prey to the feral Hounds and other Lilim. I protected him while helping him gain control of his new powers over Hell, in exchange for a place by his side and certain privileges that came with that position.”

Nodding with a mild frown, the Almighty’s next inquiry is, “How long did it take for Lucifer to settle into living there?”

Maze snorts and drains the last dredges of the tequila. “See, if you’d asked me that question a couple of years ago, I would have told you it took a few decades or so for him to make it his home. But now, I know that Lucifer never settled. Hell was never home for him like it is for us demons, and he never lived down there.” She spits the words like the venom Lucifer’s name used to be, hating how thoughts of belonging are tearing the abyss in her chest wider. “Hell was a prison for him. He just did what he had to do to survive. To establish his rulership those first few millennia… Lucifer had to fight wars, torture demons, torch everything with Hellfire. I was there by his side for every second of it. Not once did he enjoy it. But that’s what you wanted, right?” She smirks at him viciously. “You wanted him to struggle. You wanted him in pain.”

“No, Mazikeen,” God replies sadly. Shit, she really wants to punch him. “Perhaps at first I wanted him to feel bad for his actions, but I never wanted Lucifer to suffer.”

And that makes her laugh, the sound aborted and strained erupting from her throat. Bullshit. “He’s an Archangel. The Lightbringer, ringing any bells?” she sneers. “You imprisoned a celestial being composed of divine light in infernal darkness. Of course he suffered. What did you expect when you banished him down to Hell?”

“‘And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not.’” Oh fuck, she really needs another bottle of tequila if God is going to be quoting the Bible at her. Gross, she might throw up. “Only a celestial being of light can rule over the realm of eternal darkness and damnation. I expected my Morning Star to prevail and illuminate the shadows.”

His frustratedly cryptic words slam into her with the weight of a semi. She stares at him in utter horror and disbelief as the implication sets in, bolting to her feet. “Oh, you son of a - you intended to make Lucifer the King of Hell from the very beginning, didn’t you? Regardless of what he did. You always planned to send him down there.”

God says nothing in response, just looks up at her sullenly. She resists the urge to kick those perfect teeth of his in, only because she wants to avoid being smited.

“You’re sick,” she hisses.

“Lucifer wanted to rule,” God says quietly, morosely. “I thought that… gifting Hell to him and giving him the chance to run his own kingdom would provide him the authority and independence he desired. I was blinded by my anger that he staged a coup in the Silver City when I made my decision to spare his life and send him down there early. I never intended to harm him as badly as I did.”

Vibrating with rage at his pure audacity to claim that he was trying to give Lucifer what he wanted when he banished him, Maze grinds out, “Are you going to tell him?”

“How do you think Lucifer would react, if I did?” God asks calmly.

“He’s already been abused and neglected by you; learning that you always intended to send him to Hell would destroy him.” And she can’t see Lucifer go through that level of pain again. He might be an asshole of a friend, but he’s her asshole of a friend. “I’m not talking to you anymore - you wanna learn so much about the torment you put your son through, go to Hell,” Maze snarls. “And I mean that figuratively and literally.”

The demon snags another tequila bottle as she storms out of LUX. All these dumb, emotionally stunted celestials are seriously driving her on a bender, and she needs to beat some shit up before she does something she regrets.

Chapter Text

Chloe is honestly not expecting to see God again in the LAPD precinct given how disastrous the police sting about a week ago went, and also because she’s highly aware of the fact that the Almighty Creator of the Universe is retiring. Lucifer won’t shut up about it and has been irritatingly distracted all day trying to help plan his dad’s retirement.

So when she spots the man - being? celestial? - standing on the staircase balcony, leaning against the railing as he peers down fondly at his son - who is sitting across from Dan and annoying him about care homes - Chloe approaches him warily.

She hasn’t had a one-to-one conversation with Lucifer’s father yet. The Archangel seems to be determined to act as a buffer between the two, always making sure they’re not alone together. Maybe it’s because Lucifer doesn’t trust his dad with her, or maybe it’s because he doesn’t want them talking about him. Both are highly probable. While her boyfriend is so clearly distracted, Chloe figures that she might as well take the chance to have a conversation with God.

He obviously notices as she sneaks up to him, head twitching in a minuscule turn towards her, but keeps his focus on Lucifer. Chloe can understand his interest. Lucifer is a truly captivating individual; she thinks she could watch him for hours without getting bored. Resting her forearms on the railing next to God, she leans in to murmur to him, “If you keep staring at him like that, he’s eventually gonna notice. Lucifer has eyes on the back of his head.”

“Am I staring?” God asks mildly. His attention remains on his son.

“Yeah. I don’t wanna be rude, because it is nice to see you, but why are you here?” she questions, curiosity getting the better of her. “Lucifer told me you were busy having retirement parties and planning how to spend your divine 401k, if even such a thing exists.”

That makes God chuckle. Chloe feels something strange flutter in her chest; she just made the Creator of the Universe laugh with a shitty joke. “They do not, but I do have my eye on some lovely beaches in the next universe along,” he winks at her. But then, the amusement drops off his face, leaving him looking resigned. “In truth, I’m here to spend as much time as possible with him before I retire. He doesn’t like tailing him around at his job, I’ve learned, so I’m content with watching from afar. I will admit, seeing the pair of you work together as partners up close is truly fascinating, and I wanted to see it one last time.”

He reaches out to clasp her shoulder in a fatherly motion, giving it a light squeeze. Chloe tries to summon a smile to her face but finds it tremulous. Still, God can’t seem to tear his gaze away from the Archangel, who is adorably offering the now irritated Dan a pudding cup as a peace offering.

“Lucifer’s given me a chance, these past two weeks,” God continues, his voice deep and somewhat solemn. There’s a glimmer of something akin to longing in his dark eyes, though, that causes Chloe’s breath to catch in her throat. “It’s more than I ever would have expected from him, and I wish to accept it in its entirety. But I fear he hates me, and I fear he always will.”

The inflection in his voice as he states that, as if he’s sad and can’t understand why Lucifer would despise him, grates on Chloe like nails against a chalkboard. Tensing, she slides away from God, squeezing her hands into fists and clenching her jaw in anger. What right does he have to feel hurt? God essentially neglected and abandoned Lucifer for billions of years and he has the fucking audacity to feel sorry for himself? When Lucifer will be affected for the rest of his immortal life by how his father treated him?

Flooded with red hot rage, before she is fully aware of what she’s doing, Chloe snags God by his sweater sleeve and drags him away from the stairs and down the corridor towards Homicide’s second interrogation room. It’s rarely used anymore due to its small size and lack of a two-way mirror and updated CCTV, and should therefore be perfect for the heated argument she’s anticipating.

God doesn’t struggle at all - in fact, he’s all too docile in allowing her to haul him into the room, simply standing and watching her with a slightly raised eyebrow as she checks outside the door for any potential eavesdroppers before slamming it shut.

Wheeling around to face him, Chloe strides up to him and stabs her finger into God’s chest. "“We need to talk about the way you’ve treated your son, because you still don’t seem to realize how badly you’ve hurt him." Her protectiveness over Lucifer surges forwards and fuels her anger while also evaporating any nerves and fear she feels. Yes, she is confronting God, but she doesn’t care. All she cares about at the moment is her boyfriend and how much his father’s willful, harmful ignorance has traumatized him. "To be completely honest, I have run out of patience waiting for you to figure it out.”

“Alright,” he replies steadily. “We can talk.”

“Are you going to smite me if I speak my mind?” she asks, crossing her arms over her chest.

God looks taken back. “No, of course not. Do I give off that impression?”

“Lucifer seems to be scared of it,” Chloe points out. “And he knows you a lot better than I do, so I consider it a valid concern. He thinks that standing up to you is a capital offense. I can’t even begin to tell you how disturbing I find that given you’re his father.”

“My son might be a tiny bit biased when it comes to me. I can take constructive criticism,” God informs her, and then with a slight tilt of his head, adds, “And any other criticism you deem necessary and appropriate. Speak freely, Detective.”

“Okay. I’m not going to pull any punches then. Lucifer hates himself more than he hates you,” Chloe says, forcing herself to speak steadily despite how she’s nearly shaking. “And you know what? That means Lucifer might, might forgive you. He’ll never forget, but he’s such a wonderfully compassionate, kind-hearted person that he’ll forgive.” The smile slowly forming on God’s face is wiped away in an instant, however, when she finishes by stating shortly, “But I never will. I will never forgive you for what you’ve done to him.”

God blinks at her, and despite his calm expression, she can tell he’s shocked by the vehemence of her words. Backing away from her, he perches on the metal table and crosses his arms across his chest. “Despite all my omniscience and omnipotence, my children are still able to surprise me,” he admits. “Please, explain it to me, Detective. And that’s a sincere request,” he adds quickly when she narrows her eyes at him suspiciously. “How is it that my Miracle despises me more than my Adversary? Why is it that I am forgivable to my son, but unforgivable to you?”

He does seem genuinely bemused… and tired. His submissive behavior and composed demeanor softens her fury towards him; Chloe heaves a sigh and rounds the table to take a seat in one of the chairs. God settles into the other chair on the other side - and suddenly Chloe feels like she’s in an interrogation setting.

“Because you’re going to leave. And I’m his partner, and he’s my soulmate, and I’m staying.” She shakes her head, trying to remain strong even as tears threaten to brim in her eyes. “You aren’t going to be the one who’s going to look into his eyes every day and see pain and misery when he hears the Devil being called evil and sinful. You aren’t going to be the one holding him through his nightmares, trying to convince him that he’s safe and loved, when he feels like he’s never going to stop falling and burning.” Shuddering, Chloe runs a hand over her face, angry at herself when her fingers brush away wetness. “You won’t be here to see his everyday suffering. His constant battles to accept and overcome his traumas. And you and Michael and the other angels, you’re the ones who did that to him. Because I love him, and I will never, ever, for as long as I exist, forgive you for it.”

She honestly hates the way God is now looking at her, with pity and patience, because he should not be so relaxed right now after everything she just said. “Chloe. While I greatly appreciate your devotion and faith in my son, I do not think you entirely understand -” he starts gently.

“Ten billion years in Hell,” she cuts him off, her voice a growl as she slams one hand flat down on the table. God doesn’t jump, but he does appear startled by her sudden violence. “The Lightbringer, forsaken for simply asking if he could choose for himself, to want for himself, to be himself, as is in his nature as the Angel of Desire and Will. What you created him to be - created him to feel. He encouraged Adam and Eve to use Free Will, because he wanted humans to appreciate the gift they’d been given, that he’d been denied.”

“It wasn’t something as simple as influencing Adam and Eve to pluck a fruit off the Tree of Life as the Bible states,” God responds. He’s beginning to sound a little exasperated, how fucking dare he - “He had sex with Eve, Detective. It was forbidden for angels and humans to copulate.”

“Did you tell him that?” Chloe demands. “Did you inform him of the rules or did you just expect him to know and obey them without question?”

“I’m God. My angels always know my Will and Power without me having to tell them,” he says, as if that means anything when he’s basically confirming that he never communicates aloud with his kids.

“Not true. I’ve heard Lucifer and Amenadiel complaining too many times about you being cryptic and mysterious and non-communicative,” she scowls.

Instead of being annoyed as she expects, God just exhales subduedly. “What are you trying to say, Miss Decker?”

Yes, what is she trying to say?

It takes Chloe a good five seconds of strained silence to figure it out. And then another five seconds to calm herself down enough so she doesn’t raise her voice. “You punished Lucifer without any sort of discipline, without explaining to him what he did wrong or even giving him a chance to explain and apologize for his actions. You just threw him down into Hell. That’s not disciplinary correction, that’s enforced compliance and assault. It’s corporal punishment, and abuse."

God is shaking his head, clearly still in denial.

Chloe powers on, her voice getting stronger, powered by her bitter anger. "The brightest angel, ostracized by his siblings, abandoned by his father, condemned to eternal darkness, angry and hurt and scared and alone. And on top of that, forced into becoming humanity’s scapegoat, blamed for every bad thing that has ever happened so people don’t have to take responsibility for their evil deeds.” Her eyes burn with unshed tears. “How is that retributive justice? Physical, mental, and emotional torture are not atonement. No decent parent would ever want their child to feel pain like that.”

Finally, finally, she seems to be getting through to him. God is regarding her with glossy eyes, his lip quivering ever so slightly with emotions.

Overcome by her own, her voice emerges shaky as she carries on, “So... no, I don’t need to fully understand to know that he’s suffered. Far more than anybody else in the entire Universe. Unfairly, and unjustly. And you know what? I will admit some of his suffering is my fault. Before I found out his true identity, I was impatient, sometimes ignorant to his pain. I lost my temper with him far too often, and didn’t listen to him. Partly because I was half-convinced he was insane. Because of that, I didn’t have a full understanding of many situations involving him and I often blamed him for things going wrong that either weren’t his fault, or were accidents.” Chloe squeezes her eyes shut in shame. “I judged him for not understanding human behaviors and emotions when he’s not even human in the first place. And when I did find out who he really is, my reaction was terrible. Not only did I completely ghost him, but I betrayed him. I nearly poisoned him and handed him over to an evil priest.”

“I was not best pleased when I found out that had occurred,” God mutters. As if what she nearly did, but came to her senses and stopped herself doing, was worse than that he did to Lucifer. When nothing will ever come close to the terrible things God put his son through.

So Chloe ignores him and continues as if he never spoke. “I will regret how I’ve treated him in the past for the rest of my life. I didn’t deserve his forgiveness, but he gave it to me anyway, because that’s who he is. A wonderful, sweet person with far more compassion, fortitude, and merciful than most think him possible of. And what’s worse is that he acted as if I was justified in my actions towards him, because he thinks it’s normal for people to fear and hate him. He’s used to people trying to hurt and kill him when they find out who he is. Do you not understand how completely messed up that is?"

Lucifer's father shifts uncomfortably, peering down at the table that's acting as a barrier between them. "I am not the one who perpetuated that," he murmurs.

"You did nothing to stop it. And you are the one who originally caused him to feel as if he deserves pain and punishment. You sentenced him to billions of years in Hell just for speaking out and standing up for himself; of course he's going to think anything anybody else does to hurt him is barely a scratch in comparison." She leans forward and down, forcing him to meet her gaze. His dark eyes are blazing with regret. "Lucifer feels as if he’s worthless. That he’s incapable and undeserving of love. So tell me, knowing what he’s gone through, knowing what you put him through…” She shakes her head at him hopelessly. “How the hell am I ever meant to believe that you’re a benevolent God?”

Both of them fall quiet, and the tension between them is so thick that it could be sliced like butter. For the first time, Lucifer’s father appears uncertain. Chloe would feel some satisfaction in the fact that she’s kicked him down a couple of pegs if God didn’t look so dejected. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, suddenly unwilling to meet her eyes.

“I may be God, but I am not infallible, Chloe,” he finally replies, his voice hushed and downcast. “I make mistakes. How I treated Lucifer, that was, is, and will be the greatest and most devastating mistake I’ve ever made.”

He sounds sincere. But Chloe doesn’t know if she should believe him. There’s a difference in saying the words and actually meaning them. God can look remorseful and guilty, but that doesn’t mean he genuinely feels that way. She had to deal with many abusive and neglectful parents when she was a beat cop doing house calls who were fantastic at putting on a show for police officers, but didn’t care about their kids at all.

Thinking of Lucifer as a child turns Chloe’s thoughts to something else; something that causes a boulder of dread to form and sit heavily in her gut as she questions warily, “The Universe is approximately 13.8 billion years, right? And when you said ‘Let there be light’ on the first day, that’s when Lucifer was created, I’m guessing, because he’s the Lightbringer. And he’s told me he was in Hell for ten billion years. And that’s with the time distortion, because he’s also told me that Hell’s time runs a lot faster than Earth and Heaven. So how old was he when you kicked him out? Relatively, that is, to human age,” she adds, when he frowns.

“Angels do not age or grow up as human children do, Chloe. Lucifer was never a child or a teenager,” he explains. But when her cautious look morphs into a glare as he avoids her question, God rubs a hand over his chin and admits, “He was… 9.6 billion years old when he Rebelled. Earth had just formed and was mostly covered in primordial soup. I’d created Eden as a… test environment of sorts, for the intelligent lifeforms such as humans I was designing, before I kickstarted evolution. If Lucifer were human, he would be around 24 years old right now.” Chloe’s heart leaps into her throat. Holy shit, she’s dating a guy who’s technically only in his mid-twenties? No wonder Lucifer acts like an overgrown teenager sometimes. “If you do the math, that’s approximately 1.73 billion years for one Earth year.”

Chloe’s stomach twists with debilitating nausea as soon as the numbers lock in, and she has to swallow down the bile that leaps up into her throat. “... He was sixteen? Oh god, I think I’m going to be sick. I can’t even look at you right now.” Sixteen. Sixteen years old. A teenager. Holy shit, her entire perspective of Lucifer is changing. Of course he struggles with expressing love and affection if he was abandoned as a child.

“Chloe…”

She knows what he’s going to say, and she lurches to her feet, fury overtaking her as she snarls, “I don’t care if angels never go through childhood. Lucifer has shown clear signs of mental and emotional maturation in the years he’s been on Earth with us, which means that like human kids, he learns with time and experience.” And no wonder Lucifer was so immature when she first met him if he’s been raising himself since he was a child. How the hell could God have thought that was okay?! “My daughter Trixie is a pre-teen right now. She’s starting to act out as she gets older, because that’s a normal part of development. If she lashed out at me wanting more independence, I would sit her down and explain to her why I couldn’t give it to her for her own safety as a child, but then compromise to give her some control over smaller parts of her life, to help her feel more confident.” Overwhelmed by her outrage, she can’t help but raise her voice to an infuriated yell as she shouts, “I WOULDN’T THROW HER OUT OF THE HOUSE AND ABANDON HER FOR THE REST OF HER LIFE.”

God is quick to respond, raising his hands into the surrender position. “I’ve wronged him. I understand now to what extent I harmed him, you and Lucifer’s other friends have helped me realize that. I have tried to reach out to him before, with varying degrees of success, but I see now that maintaining a distance and giving him space just made things worse.”

No shit, Chloe feels like spitting back at him. She sinks back down into her seat slowly. “You owe him what might be the biggest apology in the entire Universe. And what do you mean, you’ve reached out to him before?” she demands. Her memories of every time Lucifer mentioned his dad are dragged foggily to the forefront of her mind. From what she can recall, every time her partner has talked about his dad involving himself in his life, it’s been via very distant manipulation, or things they have since worked out were self-actualization and not actual contact.

“Malcolm Graham,” God states simply. Chloe’s eyes widen and she motions at him to explain, because she’s baffled as to what he could mean by that. “Lucifer died when that man shot him, and I brought him back to life in exchange for a deal where he would deal with his mother at my behest. I thought communicating with him via a trade would be the perfect opportunity to extend a hand, due to how he prefers to work in deals.” His gaze softens as he focuses it on her, making Chloe feel incredibly uneasy. “And then… you. I created you. A Miracle immune to my son’s powers whom he therefore had the chance of forming a genuine connection with.”

She blinks, needing to take a few seconds to process that. It’s very different hearing from God himself that she was specifically brought into the world for his son, than hearing it from Lucifer, Amendadiel, and Michael. Probably because God’s the one who ordered her to be created. “Right. Okay, well, if you talk to Lucifer about this, you might not want to bring up you creating me as a gift or a peace offering or whatever to him, because from what I gather, his mom tried to use that to influence his feelings towards her. To… exploit his feelings about me to make him more sympathetic to her, and angrier about you. I think he’s suffered enough parental manipulation for several dozen celestial lifetimes, don’t you?”

If she sounds accusing, that’s because she is. Lucifer feels like he’s been toyed with his whole existence and to some extent, it’s true that he has been. He deserves the Free Will he fought and Rebelled for, and he deserves to feel as if he can live a life without having his father breathing down his neck.

He nods, actually agreeing with her, to her shock. “For what it’s worth, Detective, I am very sorry I made you feel as if I was using you to garner goodwill from my son,” God apologizes, his voice achingly earnest. “And while I am sorry about the fear and pain it caused Lucifer to discover you are a Miracle, in the manner he did from his mother… I am even more sorry for the distress it caused you to find out in such an awful way from Michael, making you feel as if your life was completely out of your control.” He reaches across the table carefully and, once she gives him a sharp nod of consent, rests his warm hand on top of hers. “It was never my intention to upset either of you.”

“Whether you intended it or not, you still did. But… I do appreciate the apology,” she concedes begrudgingly.

Nodding, God pulls back and informs her wearily, “If it’s any consolation, I have never influenced any feelings between the two of you. I really do find it incredibly admirable how much my son obviously loves you, and far he is willing to go to protect you. And I am… very relieved to know he is happy and safe with you.” His smile is small and sad, but Chloe can tell that it’s from the heart.

Before she finds the words to respond to that, her phone chimes with a message. It’s from Lucifer, asking her where she’s vanished too accompanied by dozens of begging eyes emojis. When Chloe raises her head to tell God they need to head back to the bullpen before his son panics and thinks she’s been kidnapped again, so sends out a search party to find her, the Creator of the Universe is gone.

Chloe huffs. She hopes she managed to get through to the celestial and knock some sense into him so that he does apologize properly to her partner, but that’s all she can do. Hope. She exits the interrogation room and begins making her way back down to join Lucifer and Dan, who are now bickering over the British vs American way of writing the date, of all things. No God to be found.

Well, at least she knows where the hell Lucifer got his habit of sudden disappearances from.

Chapter Text

The double date dinner was a complete and utter disaster, Lucifer is willing to reluctantly admit. It was certainly a mistake to spring it on Chloe without warning - a dick move to imply that it would be a lovely evening for just the two of them, and invite her mother and his father to join them without telling her or asking if it was okay. Lucifer has felt her annoyance; Chloe came back to the penthouse with him after he insisted, but after working him up and stringing him along the edge of climax for over an hour, left him sorely unsatisfied by claiming she needed to go home and relieve her offspring’s babysitter. Lucifer is fully aware she did it entirely on purpose and honestly cannot blame her.

One bracingly cold shower later, Lucifer towel-dries his hair with one hand while grumpily pouring himself a glass of scotch, dressed in his silk pajamas and robe. He drains the glass and discards the towel before chugging down the next. He would usually fuss over his hair to ensure it’s immaculate, but given that he’s just planning on heading to bed, he leaves the dark, untamed curls alone, deciding he can sort them out in the morning. Or maybe he won’t - the detective loves his messy hair, and it might encourage her to be more forgiving tomorrow when he apologizes for screwing up.

Speaking of messy, Lucifer huffs and rolls his shoulders as his supracoracoideus muscles in his upper back and shoulders twinge annoyingly. He’s been flying a lot more often using his wings recently, and as a result, some of his feathers have become twisted and ruffles. He’s been ignoring how uncomfortable it feels, knowing that as soon as he starts straightening a couple of crumpled feathers, he won’t be able to resist grooming his wings entirely.

But there’s no way he would risk unfurling his wings currently, not with so many of his resentful siblings hanging around LA who might be waiting for a chance to attack him when he’s most vulnerable. Wings are an angels’ greatest weapon but also weakest point, after all.

Lucifer feels his dad’s sudden appearance in the penthouse before he sees him, sensing a distortion of space coupled with an immense increase of celestial power that causes a shiver to run through his wings and down his spine. “Really, Dad?” he sighs, turning to find his old man sitting on his couch. “Urgh. I’m not in the mood for a father-son talk tonight, thanks.” He takes another swig of whiskey, this time not even bothering with pouring it from the bottle.

His dad’s answering smile is friendly and calm, which only irritates him further. “I sensed some tension between you and Miss Decker at dinner earlier,” he comments. “I hope everything is okay between the two of you.”

Oh, his father is just asking to get kicked out. Bristling, Lucifer leans back against the bar and snaps, “Yes, throw salt on the wound, why don’t you? If you truly wish to know, then yes, she is somewhat displeased with me currently. It’s not a problem… I know what I did wrong, and I’ll apologize and make it up to the detective tomorrow.” God’s expression does not change, remaining carefully schooled into one of mild interest. Emotionally drained, Lucifer runs a hand over his face exhaustedly. “Look, I’m tired and I can’t be asked to try and work out why exactly you’re here, so please can you spare me from the mental gymnastics I usually need to do to understand what you’re saying, and just tell me?” he mutters.

Shockingly forgoing his mysterious ways, his father doesn’t beat around the burning bush and simply questions, “Why are you so determined to be my successor, Lucifer?”

Lucifer almost chokes on his scotch, staring at him in disbelief. “Oh come on. You don’t need me to answer that; you are omniscient, after all.”

“I think you just don’t want to say it aloud,” his dad replies, raising a challenging eyebrow.

“I’m not the one with the bloody communication problem in our fucked up family, Dad,” the Archangel scowls. His father says nothing, his eyebrows just raising higher. His wings twitch in their celestial container with the urge to flare and puff out defensively. Finally, Lucifer gives in to his indignation. He stalks away from the bar towards the balcony doors, hissing, “Fine. Well, it’s rather obvious that it has to be either Amenadiel, Michael, or I to take up the mantle. Amenadiel because he’s your First Born, and Michael and I because we’re the Demiurge. Amenadiel has a son who he wishes to raise on Earth with Linda, and he wants to be here for every single moment, so he doesn’t want the job. And there’s no way I’d ever let Michael take over. He hates humanity and is nothing more than a selfish, jealous, power-hungry snake in the grass, who couldn’t give a rat’s arse about the rest of the universe.”

“Oh, that’s a little bit harsh,” God scolds.

Lucifer barks out a laugh of disbelief. “Clearly you don’t know your own son! Not that that’s a surprise. So Amenadiel’s out, Michael’s out -” He wheels around, holding his arms out as if to present himself sarcastically. “Which leaves me! Easily the most qualified for the job, with the most experience ruling, the most powerful, and therefore ideal! Not convinced yet? Would you perhaps like a glimpse at my rather extensive CV? Should I put connoisseur of sins under work experience or hobbies? I certainly won’t have any issues getting it up for Big Bang 2 Electric Boogaloo - will you take my word at that, or will you require references?”

His father hums thoughtfully, standing and striding over to join him on the balcony. The two of them step outside, gazing out over the beautiful city of Los Angeles at night as a light salty sea breeze tousles Lucifer’s hair and feathers. After a peaceful moment of silence, his father shatters it. “You don’t need to do this to prove yourself worthy of anything or anybody, Lucifer,” God murmurs.

A cold chill washes over Lucifer’s body. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says sharply.

His father regards him wryly. “Your reminder of my omniscience barely a minute ago was meant as just a sarcastic jab, but you cannot deny that I do know what I’m talking about.”

The sensation of total exposure is not one he will ever enjoy when it comes to his dad; in fact, Lucifer hates nothing more than feeling like that young, naive angel he used to be who trusted in his father implicitly and thought he could do nothing wrong. His defensive instincts overwhelm him. Lucifer’s wings spread out intimidatingly, shimmering pearl white in the moonlight even as they remain in the ethereal dimension. He bares his teeth as he growls, “Then keep your you-awful commentary on my thoughts and feelings to your bloody self!”

Normally he loves lounging out here on his balcony to bask in the light of his star being reflected off the moon, but he’s so full of tension and wariness because of his father right now that he can’t wait to get away. Stalking past God, he tucks his wings in so that he can maneuver them through the doorway; yes, they can pass through solid matter when they’re on the other plane, but it’s not particularly comfortable, and his wings already feel pretty shitty.

But it’s a mistake. Because contorting his right wing brings it perilously close to his father, and before Lucifer is able to recognize what’s going to happen, God is reaching out and grabbing a hold of one of his primary feathers, tugging firmly. “Sam-”

Rough, cold hands. Agonizing pressure, fracturing bone, cracks spidering down until the break splinters with an echoing, deafening crack.

His chest and throat raw as he screeches hoarsely like a wild animal snagged in a trap, pinned to be slaughtered.

“Father, please -”

The razor-sharp tip of a sword pressed first to his chin, and then down into the hollow of his throat, drawing thick rivets of hot blood that trickle down his chest, burning like acid. The bite of scorching shackles on his hands and ankles, his knees scrapped and throbbing as his legs are kicked out from under him.

“Silence, not-brother. You address Father only when he speaks to your traitorous hide.”

A thousand pairs of cold, heartless eyes, staring at him in disgust, nobody willing or wanting to help him.

“Do you repent, Samael? Do you rescind your illegitimate demand for Free Will, and renounce your Rebellion?”

“Father, PLEASE! All I want is to be able to make my own choices, decide my own Purpose! Just - please explain to me why that is so wrong and I will make an effort to understand my place here!”

“You show no remorse, no penitence. My Judgement stands.”

Fear. Debilitating, all-encompassing fear, and anger, and bewilderment. Dulled by paralyzing, crippling pain.

“Samael the Lucifer, I cast you OUT.”

Weightlessness. Helplessness. Unyielding and merciless gravity.

FIRE.

The Morning Star screams, and the Universe trembles.

He blinks, dazed. Brought back to the present by the concerned, wary noise his father emits from where he’s got his back against the wall. Why? Because Lucifer is keeping him trapped there with his wing, his primary feathers sharpened into deadly blades and trained on his dad’s throat. Just like how Michael’s sword was aimed at his own in his flashback.

It takes a moment or two for Lucifer to come back to himself completely and then realize what he’s doing with a rising horror. His breathing is incredibly heavy and jagged as he hyperventilates; panic holds him firmly within its grasp, squeezing his chest to the point where his lungs feel tight and his heart races within his aching ribcage.

Slowly, he takes an unsteady step back and withdraws his wing. It folds in behind him like the other, rustling anxiously. Choking back his nausea, Lucifer grits out shakily, “Don’t call me that. And don’t - don’t touch me. Not if you want to keep your hand.”

His father gives a short nod, and waits patiently for Lucifer to situate himself safely across the other side of the room so he can calm down. It’s only once Lucifer glances back at him, his breathing now under control and feeling less as if he’s about to lash out at every sudden move made towards him, that God begins to approach him again. Gradually, cautiously, like Lucifer is some injured, cornered half-feral creature.

Lucifer watches him with narrowed eyes, only tensing when he gets within ten feet of him. God immediately backs away another foot or so, accommodating his need for space. The most accurate word to describe the look on his face is stricken. Lucifer hates it.

“Are you alright?” God asks quietly.

Although Lucifer can’t bring himself to meet his eyes, he bows his head in a nod, trailing and tapping his fingers over the lid of his piano nervously. “Bad memories,” he mumbles, his voice small and quiet against his will, but he can’t bring himself to speak any louder.

He ruffles and puffs his feathers out in a raw, subconscious self-soothing behavior - one he replaced with adjusting his cufflinks when he was wingless, but has picked up again now. He always tries to stop himself, though, as it reveals how anxious he feels to keen-eyed observers. The pain in his chest from his frenzied breathing has dulled to a faint throb, but remains present, tugging at his heart.

His father risks a step closer. “I apologize. Both Linda and Amenadiel warned me off calling you your original name and touching your wings. I admit I did originally think that they were exaggerating your distress and you were simply being petulant. I see now I was wrong. I’m sorry.” His voice is remarkably soft in tone, exactly how it used to sound when Lucifer was only a few decades old and struggling to learn how to use his powers. There’s some of that classic be at peace vibe laced through, which upon hearing makes the Archangel instinctively relax.

Bitterness fills him, however, upon hearing his father mention his brother and therapist. “You know, if Linda keeps breaking my confidence like this then I really should start looking around for another therapist,” he mutters frustratedly, sliding onto the piano stool. “I’ll have to fry their brain and go through the entire process of acclimating them to divinity all over again, but at least they probably won’t go blabbering about my personal issues to every celestial with a goofy smile and a talent at roasting chicken.”

God raises his hands into the surrender position, once again advancing towards Lucifer until he’s standing at the end of the piano. “Linda told me absolutely nothing about your sessions, Lucifer,” he reassures. “She merely asked me to consider calling you by your chosen name, I think out of concern for you after observing your reactions at dinner.”

A scoff escapes his mouth before he can stop it. “And Amenadiel? Should have known he’d fall into place at your side as your loyal little lap dog as soon as you offered him a pat on the head. Once the favorite, always the favorite. Why the hell were you two talking about my wings?” Lucifer demands, said limbs fanning behind him guardedly so the tips of his long tail feathers barely sweep the floor.

God shrugs. “His were untidy and ruffled, and I inquired as to why the two of you do not allopreen.” Lucifer blinks at that, baffled. They discussed allopreening of all things? Hell, he hasn’t had an allopreening session with somebody in literal eons. His recall of the last time is murky, which says a fucking lot considering his immortal memory is impeccable. Spotting his confusion, his father continues to explain, “He told me that you do not let anybody touch or groom your wings. I confess, I was surprised. I fully expected you to have formed a new flock here on Earth.”

That throws Lucifer for a loop. His bewilderment rapidly transforms into aggravation, making all of his feathers fluff up angrily. “Why in the name of YOU would I do that?” he snarls. “My flocking instincts were quite literally burned out of me after several billion years of being alone and flockless in Hell.” And he tried, he doesn’t say. He tried to form a new flock in Hell with some of the demons he considered loyal subjects, but the only one he ever got close to forming that sort of bond with was Mazikeen. Demons were very physiologically different from angels, though, and did not have that congregation drive. “I have absolutely no urge to succumb to that ridiculous pack mentality. I am not a pathetic fledgling anymore.”

His father sighs. “I thought you didn’t lie.”

“I don’t!” Lucifer shouts, affronted at the accusation.

“Then you’re in denial,” God responds, his voice insistent. “It has become completely clear to me after speaking to both Miss Lopez and young Trixie that you have been subconsciously organizing a flock, and started acting as the head of your drove.”

Ice spreads through his veins. Lucifer shakes his head vehemently. That’s not true… is it? He hasn’t formed a new flock, with primarily human members… has he? That’s not possible. Yes, he enjoys their company, and yes, he does regard them with quite a significant amount of affection and fondness to the point where he would protect them without a second thought - oh. “That’s not - that’s - oh shut up!” he splutters. And his father smirks, because he knows he’s caught him. Yes, okay, fine, I have formed a new flock without even fucking realizing what I was doing, let it go! “For you’s sake, what else have my so-called friends been tittle-tattling about to you?”

That smirk drops off his dad’s face instantly. “All of them, especially your brother and Daniel, seemed rather concerned about your self-destructive behaviors and lack of self-preservation,” his father says gravely.

Lucifer stiffens. Oh, no, they are not talking about this now. The sudden urge to fidget overtakes him, probably a result of his oncoming anxiety. He tips the lid of his piano up and begins tapping out quiet, gentle notes, trying to think of a song to play that won’t give away his emotional state. “Well, my self-preservation isn’t a problem anymore, what with me gaining control over my self-actualization so I can remain as invulnerable and immortal as I want,” he says, ill at ease.

“And that gives you the excuse to recklessly jump into dangerous situations?”

He lifts one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “Of course. Bullets literally bounce off me again, which makes me the perfect devilish shield to protect the detective!” Judging by the unimpressed look on his father’s face, his falsely jubilant little statement is not going to fly. Lucifer barely suppresses his wince. He’s starting to annoy his dad, he can tell, and he is really not looking forward to facing down Mr Old Testament Wrath by himself.

“Like how you used your wings as a shield to protect her from gunfire when Cain attacked you both?” God crosses his arms over his chest. His shoulders and wings draw in out of instinct as he braces himself for his dad’s rage. “How many bullets did your wings take? A hundred? Two hundred?” The vexation leaches from his dad’s voice and his entire demeanor softens when he appears to catch sight of how wired Lucifer is. “Must have left some significant scars. Not as significant as scars from severing your wings entirely, though, I can imagine.” Lucifer flinches. “Oh yes. Amendadiel told me about that.”

Wait, Amenadiel ‘told’ him? Lucifer’s fingers come to an abrupt halt, a haunting C sharp ringing through the air as he removes his hands from the piano keys. His father is omniscient - but he’s implying that he was completely unaware of him repeatedly cutting his wings off after getting them back.

“You didn’t… know…?” he asks, puzzled, finally looking up at his father. Oh no. God looks upset. “Don’t look at me like that. I stopped, didn’t I?! It became far too much of a hassle to keep hacking them off again and again when they kept growing back, and they have been quite useful, I will admit.” His voice trails off at the end, sounding small and hesitant, because he still expects his father to begin ranting at him honestly. His father had the tremendous habit of raising his voice to a threatening level when he was younger and he somehow displeased him.

But God doesn’t yell. He doesn’t even raise his voice. Instead, he just asks, sad and bemused, “Why would you even harm yourself like that?”

Lucifer’s stomach flips. This is not something he likes to talk about; he doesn’t even discuss this with Linda without struggling. “It doesn’t matter,” he bites out, very uncomfortable with this line of questioning. “I stopped and I have no plans on doing it again, so end of discussion!”

But his dad won’t take no for an answer. All of his patience appears to evaporate upon hearing Lucifer’s defensiveness, and the Archangel resists the urge to jump up and scramble back when his father storms up and looms over him. “Chloe told me that you hate yourself. In fact, my Miracle had quite a lot to say to me about you.”

“Don’t call her that,” Lucifer spits viciously, pointing at him. “Chloe is so much more than just a Miracle, and she’s not yours! She does not belong to anybody - not me, and certainly not you! You don’t get to talk about her to me. I will never forgive you for essentially creating her just to try and use her as some kind of screwed-up form of a peace offering. It’s bad enough that you made her feel as if she was designed specifically for me and therefore isn’t her own person - did you really have to go interrogating her about my life?”

“I did not interrogate - fine. If you don’t wish to discuss the detective, then we’ll discuss your self-loathing instead. Why do you see so little worth in your own life?” he demands, thunder in his voice but also echoing as it rolls over the Los Angeles hills a few kilometers away in response to God’s rising anger.

“Why do you even care!?” Lucifer cries out, shoving the stool back from the piano. It screeches along the floor with the force of his push, probably leaving deep scratches, but the Archangel can’t bring himself to care. He stumbles away to the bar, his hands shaking. He’s so fucking desperate for a drink; he could do with downing a whole bottle of vodka right now and passing out, anything to get out of this conversation. “It’s not like you gave a flying fuck about whether I was alive or dead up until a week ago!”

It’s God’s turn to recoil, stunned. “Lucifer, I have always cared about your life,” he insists.

“Sure, that’s why you’ve been a deadbeat for the past couple of eons,” Lucifer scoffs bitterly.

His father sighs in exasperation. “How many times do I have to explain this to you? You wanted more independence, so I took a step back, because I wanted to let you make your own choices. I didn’t want to influence your thoughts or actions in any way - you had to become your own man.”

“Oh, and to stop influencing and controlling me, you had to completely abandon me and not talk to me after banishing me to Hell?” the Archangel hisses. “That’s called neglect, Dad, and the good doctor has informed me that it’s a form of abuse.”

“I’m your father. How dare you accuse me of such a terrible thing?”

“Because you don’t love me, Dad! You never have and you never will!” Lucifer cries. “By being the universe’s all-loving overlord, that basically means you don’t love anybody. It’s like saying that everybody is special - if everybody is special, then that means nobody is! Just admit it. You don’t love us! Not as individuals! You’re incapable of it.”

“I know you think that is true and that is why you’re saying it, but I assure you, son, that is not the case,” God replies sadly.

And before Lucifer can stop it, it all spills out of him in a frantic rush. “Mum told me that you wanted to destroy me. That she had to convince you to be merciful and send me to Hell, as if billions of years suffering alone in the infernal realm was a more lenient punishment. Was she being truthful? Did you want to kill me? Please, just be honest,” he pleads. “Give me a straight answer for once.”

After a frigid beat of silence, his father acquiesces. “I… I did contemplate it,” he confesses. Lucifer feels tears brim in his eyes; he feels like Azrael’s blade has just been slammed into his heart. His dad wanted to kill him. “You waged a war, Lucifer. And at first, it was fine - you only ever fought with your elder siblings, and your little group of rebels was far smaller than Amenadiel’s garrison. But after Michael informed me of your assassination attempts on Samandriel and Zachariah, I was highly concerned that your younger siblings were at risk -“

“What are you talking about?” Lucifer interrupts, his distress flipping to astonishment in a split second. “I never attacked anybody. There was barely any physical fighting, and the only ‘fights’ that occurred were scuffles, when Amendadiel and the others became aggressive. I would never purposefully hurt any of my younger siblings. I would certainly never try to kill them!”

And now God looks baffled as well. Lucifer doesn’t know what his dad is talking about, and it’s clear that his dad doesn’t know what he’s talking about. So that means they’ve both been deceived. And the only person who would tell such a callous, cruel lie is -

“That foul-feathered smarmy little PRICK,” Lucifer seethes. “Michael was actually telling the bloody truth. He has been manipulating me since the dawn of time. He planted the idea of disobeying in my head, played me like a fiddle throughout my whole fucking Rebellion, and lied about my actions and intentions. Not just to get me thrown out of Heaven - to try and get me smited from existence,” he realizes, his eyes wide as he runs a trembling hand through his curls.

And as if that revelation is not enough of a gut-punch, his father actually looks appalled and heartbroken as he processes it. “Lucifer, I’m sorry. I had no idea Michael held such hatred for you. I suspected he was jealous, as you were Light and he naturally fell into your shadow as the Dark, but I never considered...”

Never considered he would try and hurt you. Never considered HE could be the evil twin. Lucifer had to be the bad seed, right? With a harsh laugh, he seethes, “No, of course not. Michael, the perfect son, your Sword, can’t lay a finger wrong, can he?! Meanwhile Samael, your venom, he’s the poisonous weed amongst your blossoms.” He snatches the bottle of scotch he abandoned earlier to take a hefty swig, needing the acrid burn to force away the tears he can feel coming. “Well, you know what, Dad? You and Mum never listened to each other about anything after the Big Bang, except, apparently, when it came to my punishment. And I wish you hadn’t listened to her.”

“Lucifer…”

He hunches over the bar, his legs weak beneath him as he rasps, “You should have wiped me from existence. I would have preferred death to Hell. Because execution would have been less agonizing than eons forced to rule the darkness, wanting to kill myself for being the supposed root of all evil. Death would have been a mercy.”

His father rests a hand on his back. “You don’t mean that, son.”

All of Lucifer’s pent-up outrage and pain from the last ten billion fucking years explodes out of him in a millisecond. The bottle in his hand goes flying, smashing against the wall as he rounds on his father, shoving his hand away violently. He feels Hellfire blazing in his eyes as he spreads his wings to full span, like an eagle about to swoop in for the attack. “No, no, no - YOU DON’T GET TO TELL ME HOW I FEEL, OR HOW I FELT! I am BROKEN BECAUSE OF YOU! LOOK AT ME!” he screams.

The sensation of his own skin melting off his face as his Devil face takes hold is enough to send him careening into uncontrollable sobs, especially when his father flinches away from him.

“You had my own twin break my wings and cast me from Heaven in front of our whole family to humiliate me, and then I Fell, for thousands of years, through every dimensional barrier until I was so shattered I couldn’t even breathe. And when I crashed into Hell, where did I land? In the Lake of Fire, where I BURNED ALIVE for a millennium! I screamed and begged and prayed for help, AND NOBODY CARED!”

His father is crying now as well. “I’m so sorry.”

“I will never be able to live a normal, happy life with Chloe and our family without Hell hanging over me like a fucking axe ready to slice me apart the moment I let my guard down. Is that truly what you think I deserve?” Lucifer croaks, hoarse and broken. He drops his head into his hands, digging his fingernails into the painful, burned flesh on his skull that accompanies his Devil face. “Millennia being vilified and slandered by humanity, being told that I’m evil and not worthy of redemption? Eternal mental torment, nightmares and flashbacks, the taste of ash and blood and death in my mouth every time I feel guilty and know my Loop is down there waiting for me?”

“Lucifer, no,” God pleads, anguished.

His skin reforms over his scorched, torrefied face slowly as his wings droop, blade-like flight feathers softening with his misery. “You wanna know something else? Nobody seems to understand what it means that Hell’s time runs faster than Earth and Heaven,” Lucifer says shakily. “It fluctuates, but it means I was in Hell for ten billion years. Probably even more, because I lost count after a while. There’s a likelihood it’s nearer twenty, because there are terrifying gaps in my memory, and even Maze can’t remember what I was doing during those times. I was the Light, being slowly snuffed out by the darkness - I lost myself. And the worst part of it all is I know I deserve it.”

He slides, shattered, down the front of the bar so he curls up on the floor, barely propped up as he quivers with the sheer overwhelming force of his sorrow.

“You asked me why I chose my Devil face. Well - there you go. That’s why. Because I’m broken, Dad. Not only that - I’m a monster. I killed Uriel, I murdered Cain. So YES, Chloe was right: I hate myself. I don’t want to and I try so hard not to, but I do. I don’t know how to stop.” His voice drops to a devastated whisper as he confesses, “And I don’t think I ever will.”

God drops to his knees in front of him. It’s with a gentle but cautious hand that he sweeps Lucifer’s curls out of his face. Even when he flinches, his father doesn’t pull away, simply waiting until he relaxes enough to grasp his shoulders. “Oh, Lucifer. You’re not broken, I swear, son. And I cannot express in proper words how incredibly sorry I am that I ever made you feel like you deserve to suffer.” He leans down so Lucifer is forced to look him in the eye before he announces, his voice firm and sure, “I made a mistake. I acted irrationally and in anger when I punished you. You had such an exasperating way of getting under my skin when you were younger - and that’s not your fault, that’s on me, for not being patient enough with you.”

“But why? What did I do wrong!?” Lucifer clenches his fists in his hair, yanking at it until it becomes painful. There must be something terribly flawed with him, a malignant mutation, that triggered him to deviate from God’s path.

His father tuts and shushes him tenderly, his hands easing Lucifer’s own away from his head. “I knew how powerful you were as the Lightbringer, and you were starting to Create by yourself, when it came to designing your stars,” he begins to explain. “You began Questioning, and were becoming more and more independent. When you started disobeying me and wanting Free Will like the humans, all I was concerned about at the time was how you were managing to defy my orders, when I didn’t think that was possible of angels at the time. You were Created with the capacity for Free Will. But I did not expect you to be able to access it without my authorization. Humanity was an experiment for it, and it scared and concerned me that you were skipping past my trials.”

“Is - is that why you threw me out?” Lucifer murmurs, clenching and unclenching his hands in the air as they rest on his thighs, feeling dazed as he comprehends what his father is saying. “Because you figured out that I’m… defective, and you wanted to get rid of me? Two birds, one stone. You needed me gone, but you also needed somebody to rule Hell.”

God falls quiet, and the silence between them is deafening. “Do you really want the truth?” he finally asks.

“All I’ve ever wanted is for you to be less bloody cryptic with me and actually explain things.”

“The truth will hurt you,” his father confesses. “More than anything else up until this point. Mazikeen was ready to rip my throat out when she figured it out.”

Curling up tighter, Lucifer blinks through tears to grit out, “I just can’t handle any more lies.”

“Alright.” God carefully sits on the floor in front of him, one leg curled inwards and the other splayed out, in a shocking show of getting down on the same level as Lucifer. His expression, however, leaves the angel wary and bemused, because it’s shifted from one of sadness to downright despair. “Then you deserve to know. Lucifer, I never needed or wanted you gone, but I did need you out of Heaven, and you’re right in that somebody did need to take over the throne of Hell. As it’s the Realm of Eternal Darkness, I always thought that you, as the Lightbringer, would have the best chance at establishing your power there. I also thought that it would give you the sense of independence and control that you wished for. Therefore, I always intended to grant you rulership over Hell, even before your Rebellion. That just sped things along.”

Lucifer feels like he’s just had a line of semis slam into him one by one with each sentence his father speaks. His vision is blurred and hazy because of the uncontrollable tears streaming down his cheeks. “I hate you,” he whispers, and like everything he says, it’s not a lie, and it breaks his heart to admit. “I hate you so much.”

His father won’t look him in the eye now, as if overcome with shame. “In my blind rage and upset over your attempted coup, I did not attempt to explain things to you. In all honestly, I did not want to - I felt as if what I perceived as your insolent behavior meant you didn’t deserve an explanation, but I also didn’t want you to feel as if I was controlling you when you were so desperate for Free Will. But what I did instead took away your choices altogether when I cast you out. And I’m truly sorry for how short-sighted and oblivious I was to how harmful it would be to you.”

Lucifer feels like the final tiny spark of hope that’s managed to survive ten billion years of being suffocated by darkness is spluttering out. His father always intended to send him to Hell. Always intended for him to rule as King. Never gave him the choice, and turned what he supposed was meant to be a cruel, convoluted gift into his diabolical punishment.

Lucifer can almost feel the protective walls slam up in his mind, shutting him off from his feelings as to shield him from his impending emotional breakdown. It’s something that happens often, and usually results in him using humor as a defense mechanism instead, as it comes to him easily. But this time, Lucifer doesn’t just feel numb. He feels empty. Like everything that he’s always known to be him has been scooped and scraped out of him with a dull metal spoon.

“So I’ve always belonged in Hell, is what you’re saying,” he says in a dead voice. When his father opens his mouth to protest, Lucifer cuts him off with a fake careless laugh, hollow and heart aching, as he continues, “It makes sense. I belong in Hell, so what better way to ensure my imprisonment there than to force me to become ruler? You thought I was so evil that I would harm my siblings. Turns out you were right, I erased one of your sons, my brother, from existence. I committed fratricide.”

“Lucifer -”

“There must be wickedness rotting my soul,” he mumbles. “My stars have the potential to collapse and go supernova or implode and form black holes.” He raises a shaking hand, resting it over his chest. It feels empty, his despair having carved out a gaping abyss there, leaving a Void behind. “Maybe that’s what I am, at my core. I drag everybody into my darkness, and swallow up and destroy everything good around me.”

“That is not true, Lucifer.” The vehemence in his father’s voice startles him for a brief second, but is quickly soothed by God squeezing his shoulder supportively. “You are perhaps the brightest of all of us.” Something akin to heartache contorts his expression. “Son, what happened to Uriel was not your fault and I do not blame you. It was self-defense.” Lucifer starts to shake his head, because no, it was all his fault, how can he say that it wasn’t when Uriel is dead and he’s still alive, but his father gives him a gentle yet firm shake to focus his attention back on him. “Listen to me. Uriel acted without my knowledge, against my orders, and placed your mother and Chloe in danger. You were backed into a corner and you reacted the best you could in that horrible situation, ensuring their safety in the process. And you know how I know you’re not evil? Because of how you grieved after. You felt so awful that you attempted to get yourself killed. Your Hell loop also proves that you felt genuine guilt. Nobody who is truly rotten down to their soul could feel that depth of remorse, Lucifer.”

“I didn’t regret killing Cain and I still don’t now,” the Archangel says quietly.

God nods. “And you shouldn’t. Cain was a terrible person, a psychopath who found pleasure in causing pain. You punished him as is your right.”

Lucifer just wants to wrap himself up in his wings and hide from the world. His voice breaks as he admits ashamedly, “I enjoyed it. I’m no better than him.”

“You enjoyed making sure somebody truly evil was going to pay for the damage and harm he inflicted on humanity,” his father says, emphatic and resolute. When Lucifer keeps his eyes trained on the floor, God shuffles into place beside him, making sure not to touch him as he does so. “You enjoyed ensuring he went to Hell, protecting those you care about. There’s a difference, Lucifer. I will not pass judgment on you for doing what you felt needed to be done by ending Cain’s life.”

Shuddering, Lucifer pulls his knees up to his chest, huddling in on himself. He finally gives in to the desire to cocoon himself in his wings, but keeps them unmanifested in the ethereal dimension so he gets to shield himself without the bulky limbs risking making a mess. “Why?” he croaks.

“You’ve been punished enough. You’ve suffered enough. You have already displayed penitence, and there is nobody you need ask forgiveness from,” God informs him gently. A blanket of warmth settles over Lucifer, covering his wings. At first, the Archangel panics and wants to lash out, but then a sense of soothing calm washes through him, and he recognizes it for what it is: his father’s presence, extended over him like a protective, reassuring quilt, in an attempt at comfort. “I’m sorry for acting so harshly towards you in the past that you thought I would penalize you for meeting out divine justice. For making you think that I would want to punish you again, to hurt you. I don’t want to inflict any more pain of any kind on you. In all honesty, if I could rescind your ban from Heaven, I would. But the strength behind that Proclamation was so colossal, powered by not just me, but your mother and siblings as well, that I do not think I alone would be able to revoke it.”

And Lucifer desperately wants to trust his father again. But he doesn’t know if he can. “I don’t know if I believe you,” he says, his voice blank. “And I don’t know if I can forgive you. I don’t know if I want to.”

His father looks upset, but understanding. “I know,” he replies. “I don’t blame you and I won’t hold it against you at all. But please, son, don’t hurt yourself any longer. You may think you deserve it, but I promise you, you don’t. You deserve every happiness in the universe. You just have to allow yourself to accept it.” His father gingerly rests a hand on his knee, leaning in closer to add seriously, “And Lucifer… Chloe loves you immensely. Don’t fight it - let her. She is the dusk to your dawn.”

“If you’re aiming for the Sun cycle symbolism, I feel like it should be the other way around,” Lucifer mutters. “She’s always the one dragging me out of my darkness.”

“And yet you are the Lightbringer, shining truth upon those who have trespassed, while she is the one who calls you in to rest, to take care of you and make sure you don’t burn yourself out.” God slowly clambers to his feet, brushing his hand over Lucifer’s curls in a fond, fatherly gesture that the Archangel hasn’t experienced in eons. He doesn’t even have to suppress a flinch, instead yearning to raise his head up to revel in the affection. “I’ll take my leave. It’s late and you are exhausted, both physically and emotionally. You need time to process what we’ve discussed. I wish your mother were here… she always knew exactly how to take care of you when you wished to be alone with your thoughts, without smothering you.”

“I miss Mum,” Lucifer admits in a small voice. And he really does - he didn’t quite remember how much he does miss his mum before his dad brought her up. Despite all of his misgivings and manipulations, his mother did love him.

“Me too, son,” God smiles sadly. “Try and get some rest. Pray to me if you need me. I’ll come.”

“You will?” He despises how he sounds like a scared, desperate child.

“Yes,” his father assures quietly. With one last stroke over Lucifer’s hair, God adds, “Don’t deny yourself what you need, Lucifer,” before he vanishes.

Dazed and overwhelmed by everything that’s just happened, Lucifer remains pooled on the floor a few moments longer, his right shoulder throbbing from where it's holding him upright against the front of the bar. His entire chest aches. He hasn’t felt fatigued like this in an incredibly long time.

Don’t deny yourself what you need.

What does he need?

He’s up and throwing himself off the balcony, wings spread wide to full span, before his brain is capable of catching up with his body in its state of emotional exhaustion. Seconds later, he’s landing in front of Chloe’s front door, tucking his wings against his spine as he fumbles with the handle. The lock gives way to his desire to enter immediately, and he makes sure to secure it behind him as Lucifer stumbles through to Chloe’s bedroom, as quietly as possible to avoid waking Trixie. A sense of numbness overtakes his body; it’s likely he’s in a state of mental shock, because his mind feels disconnected from the rest of him, almost as if it’s floating, lost at sea.

The detective is curled up in bed, deeply asleep and snoring adorably, when he reaches her. For a couple of minutes, Lucifer stands there helplessly, not knowing what to do. He’s terrified of waking her up and frightening her, but there’s also a gnawing desperation in his gut demanding that he still do so. His wings, still unfurled, cast a soft glow throughout the room, highlighting Chloe’s hair and making it glimmer gold. It just makes his longing for her stronger.

In the end, he doesn’t have to wake her. The detective stirs slowly, gradually coming back around to consciousness, and her groggy, half-lidded gaze lands on him almost instantly. Instead of bolting upright with a yelp of astonishment like Lucifer is expecting, Chloe just blinks at him sleepily, her eyes skimming over his wings briefly before landing on his face.

Whatever she sees there, whether it’s the dried tear tracks on his cheeks, his red-rimmed eyes, or his disorientated expression, must alarm her, because she props herself up on one arm. He can sense no lingering irritation from how he messed up their evening in her body language, just concern for him. “Lucifer? Hi,” Chloe greets him gently.

“Hi,” he parrots back, swallowing.

She holds a hand out to him, drawing him closer. He takes her hand cautiously. “Are you okay?”

“I had a talk with my dad,” he rasps. “It was… intense.”

She appears to instantly understand, face contorting with sympathy. “What do you need?” It’s such a simple question, and yet Lucifer’s heart clenches painfully upon hearing it. Given that it’s an insane hour of the night and he’s just broken into her apartment and woken her up, Chloe has every right to be annoyed at him, but she simply sounds curious and worried.

His voice cracks and tremors as he pleads, “Can you - please can you just… hold me?”

Her expression softens and she beckons him over, shuffling to make room next to her on the left side of the bed - the side he usually likes to sleep on. “Of course, babe,” she murmurs, kissing the palm of his hand. “C’mere.”

Almost collapsing with relief, Lucifer shrugs his wings away, drops his robe on her dresser chair, and crawls onto the bed next to her. Chloe adjusts the comforter around them both before snuggling close, his thigh slipping between hers so she can wrap her legs around it possessively. A tender kiss on the lips with a loving caress of her thumb over his cheek is all it takes for Lucifer to shatter. He shakes silently as his partner wraps him in his arms, tucking his head into her chest so she can shield the front of his body.

“I love you,” she whispers.

I love you too, Lucifer desperately wants to reply. But he can’t bring himself too.

Chloe’s gentle hand rubbing his back lulls him into relaxation, his coiled muscles releasing so that he falls boneless into her embrace. Within minutes, the two of them can barely keep their eyes open, their weariness making it difficult to remain awake.

He feels safe.

Lucifer sinks into the darkness of sleep knowing that tomorrow will be a better day, and that he’s taking a step forward to a better future.