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Another day, another criminal sent to face justice.
Though, being Lucifer Morningstar, he knew exactly what kind of justice criminals received in the end .
He takes his coat off, pours himself a drink, and saunters out to his balcony overlooking the city. He supposed that his activity with the detective was a tiny mirror of what had been doing for years and years and years...
And years.
Not that Hell ever crossed his mind ever since he got here, but he had to admit - what the hell was going on at hell?
Not that he missed the place. He could never miss it. It served as a reminder of how unjust his Father had always been. How He had always seemed to create, but did nothing when it was destroyed .
To have him rule over destruction and to be blamed for every single thing that befell his most precious creation .
He admonishes himself for letting his mind wander back into such thoughts. He was here, in the City of Angels, a far cry from the Silver City that he could remember. Almost parallel were both cities , that he could only laugh at the absurdity. Crowds gathered to be in awe and praise the fairer, powerful ones. Those of the low ranks tried their best to climb up without even asking why.
The crimes committed and the victims of such were almost sickeningly familiar to him, no amount of double entendres could mask how he felt .
Still, he day had been long, and with him nursing a headache, the Morningstar tried to lessen his pondering. Lucifer took another sip of his preferred poison - Maker's Mark - chuckling to himself at how far he had gone in disobeying what Father Dearest desired . He had sent Amenadiel to bring him back to the depths of Hell - but his brother had rather enjoyed his time here on earth. He had fashioned a mortal immune to his powers, and for a while, he had been burdened of thoughts as to how she would ever react to the truth .
Lucifer had once thought that the detective - Chloe, he really must be used to calling her by her name - was another angel sent by his father to bring him home . While she was certainly created through a wider definition of divine intervention, she remains to be annoyingly human . He has yet to know her desires, but this much he knows about her:
He was immune when she was around.
Their celestial bodies have withstood time, needing nothing much to survive. He had made the mistake of assuming the same with the detective, until he had been proven wrong - at a price.
Lucifer has never been the kind to shun challenges, but there were times that everything proved to be too much, he had to take a few steps away . What shocked him was that the detective always found a way back to him.
What surprised him was how he had always found comfort whenever he was with her once again.
He wonders what the Heavenly Father has plans for her - had He really put Chloe in this earth for him? And if she was, did He ever intend for her to be always in harm's way?
He had rebelled once because he had envied the creations his Father had devoted his time to, ignoring his own family . He would not hesitate to rally again to protect Chloe from whatever Heaven had in mind for her.
Lucifer raises his glass heavenward, hoping his smirk would annoy Father Dearest. "I'm still here," he tells no one in particular. "Hell's doing fine as far as I'm concerned, and I am quite enjoying my time with Chloe - so if you don't mind, be an absent father and just fuck off and leave us alone ?"
Another sip, and it sends a jolt of pain straight to his brain, this current headache quite refusing to leave him be. Not that it didn't happen before; Hell knows how many times he woke up confused after a night of orgies. But for headaches to happen after a week of investigating crimes?
That was certainly new.
He takes a quick look at his watch, and decides to be sensible this fine midnight. He leaves his unfinished drink on his bar, loosens up his dress shirt and calls it a day.
Lucifer barely hits the bed when his eyes drift off to sleep.
Gravel.
Children.
Guns.
A witch and a finder.
A whore and an old man.
Bikes - of both varieties.
THE HORSEMEN.
And in within everything, an angel and a demon trying to stop it all.
The faces were unclear, but there was that unmistakable aura of two beings that seemingly merged into one .
He sees himself, in the midst of it all.
Though, not quite himself - he looks at his hand, and at everyone else and -
Why does he feel so small?
He says something, and he doesn't quite understand what they were, and THE HORSEMEN laugh.
They taunt him, and before he can say anything, a child comes forth. And another. And the last one.
The children claim him as their own.
The last Horseman warns him, but he can't make out his words.
Then, stillness.
He hears lightning striking the ground, and the very same ground cracking open.
Violet eyes.
Red eyes.
Both familiar.
Both pairs tell him that it is his duty to - did the violet pair tell him to start a war?
No - HE MOST CERTAINLY WILL NOT.
The eyes disappear.
And then - DARKNESS.
He feels rumbling around him, certainly more powerful than the previous one.
And he finds himself rising above the earth once more, facing all of them, and them facing him.
He tries to make sense as to where he was. He barely makes out something when he hears his own voice, somewhere in the field.
He sees the boy, a boy, with the softest curls and the surest of faces.
He swears he's seen that boy before.
He's yelling, and he can't quite hear what he's saying. The boy repeats it one more time, but instead of a boy's tiny voice, he hears his own.
"YOU'RE NOT MY FATHER! YOU NEVER WERE THERE!"
And with that, the boy raises his hand -
Lucifer awakens with a jolt.
Demons didn't have the same kinds of dreams as humans did. Humans had always assumed dreams were some kind of premonition of what was to come. Lucifer was pretty sure that wasn't the same case with divine beings.
He rubbed his eyes, willing himself to try to remember the details. Certainly , he did not know who the children were, nor the other adults in the field.
The Horsemen, he had some vague idea - but they more like vague concepts enshrined into forms that any divine being can talk to .
The Angel and the Demon. He could not recall their faces, nor did he remember a time when auras could not be distinguished .
The Eyes. The Purple belonged to only one brother in heaven, The Red belonged to a lieutenant he had placed in an important position .
And then there's the boy.
He stood in his body - felt the insignificance flowing into the boy's veins. He had felt that way before, once, and he was made an example of.
So why did it feel like the boy was yelling at him because of something his Father Dearest Himself was prone to doing?