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The blade goes in easy, like a hot knife slicing through butter. It nestles right between his third and fourth ribs, angled just so that it drives right into his heart. Around it, the flesh screams, but Lucifer ignores it. The dagger feels too... right , sheathed in his chest. Good. Just. A proper punishment for fratricide.
He crumbles to the ground beside Uriel's grave, his legs unable to hold up his weight any longer. Badly, he wants to curl up and sleep, but he holds onto consciousness a little longer. He's still not quite done.
Pushing himself up with the last dregs of his strength, he pulls Azrael's blade out with a wet shulk , then tosses it aside. Then, he does his damndest to piece together a coherent enough prayer so Azrael comes and picks up her Father-forsaken blade. He might be a monster, but he's not so careless as to leave something so dangerous within mortal grasp.
Well, to willingly leave something so dangerous within mortal grasp. He has no idea whether or not Azrael actually comes before the darkness claims him.
--o--
Lucifer comes to groaning softly and thoroughly confused. There's a haze over his mind, more than usual for when he wakes up, but he's aware enough to know that he shouldn't be aware at all. Instinct finds him pushing himself up anyways, rising to his feet just in case he needs to defend himself (as if he won't happily take whatever punishment is given, as if he doesn't deserve whatever pain that could be inflicted).
The world around him is dull, not so much grey as it is simply colorless. Empty. There's no distance to look into, only more void. He can't distinguish a horizon line at all, but he has a feeling there isn't one there to begin with. He turns, and nothing lies behind him either.
Perhaps this is his own personal hell dimension, handcrafted by Father himself as punishment. The silence certainly on par with, if not worse than, his own cell. There's always a constant thrum in hell, an undertone of something he's never been able to name, an aura of life, albeit horrific life. Here, there's nothing. His own breathing sounds muffled as if he isn't softly inhaling and exhaling. He takes a step, and he can't even hear his heels against the ground. It's solid, but silent. It's off-putting, sends a chill up his spine for reasons he can't quite name.
Still, with nothing else to do, he walks.
--o--
He's not sure how long it is before Uriel finds him.
He knows it's long enough that the guilt starts to gnaw at him, sharp, jagged teeth tearing into his soul. Thick claws pierce into his arms and drag him down to the ground, and Lucifer does his best not to cry out. They're burning hot, scalding his chest as they rip apart his heart. A soft whine worms out of his throat, then a choked sob, then a wail. He squeezes his eyes shut and curls into a tight ball.
Part of him, a part that isn't keening in agony, knows this is exactly what he deserves. He did this to himself the moment that blade pierced Uriel's chest and that last breath left his lips.
“Lucifer?!” Uriel's voice, distant and panicked, echoes through his skull.
That tiny, composed part of him gives a bitter chuckle. How fitting, hearing not only Uriel's voice, but hearing Uriel concerned . For him of all people! As if he would feel anything but rage and contempt if he weren't dead.
And then gentle fingers settle on his shoulders, and Uriel's voice, still worried but far closer, says, “Lucifer. Look at me.”
Against his will, his cries soften to muted sobs, relaxed by the familiarity of the voice and the fingers -- the illusion of voice and fingers. Because Uriel is long dead, and in no world would he ever comfort his murderer. No, this is merely another hell, his own plane of torture with wisps of things he can't have taunting him.
“Lucifer, please .”
The distress puts him off some -- he doesn’t like hearing any of his siblings upset like that, not even after his fall -- but the fact that it’s there at all serves a salve for his heart. Even if he knows it’s not real, the idea of Uriel caring in spite of it all, forgiving in spite of it all, is something so comforting he doesn’t want to break the illusion by looking up.
There’s a soft whine, and then the fingers are forcefully pulling his face out of his knees, and then he’s staring at Uriel’s fretful expression.
For just a moment, Lucifer’s frozen. He drinks in the image of Uriel before him, memorizes all the lines of his worried face and the vibrancy of his hazel eyes and the fall of his curly hair, then waits for it to vanish.
“...Lucifer?” Uriel tries again, and his face wrinkles in just that way Lucifer remembers from whenever he realized someone was going to get hurt, but couldn't figure out how to prevent it.
Lucifer resists the urge to reach out, to respond, lest the illusion be ripped from him or replaced with something awful. He wants it, though, wants it so badly, but he doesn’t think he can handle having this tiny bit of good ripped away from him.
Uriel’s frown deepens, but he doesn’t speak again. Instead, he lets his wings out. His feathers are an illustrious grey, like pure silver. and they're real . Real wings oozing with grace and power, coming off in waves that not even the best illusion could mimic.
Lucifer stares, speechless. He's vaguely aware of a rising hurricane of emotion -- shock, relief, guilt, fear. Too many, too much, too fast; All he can do is stare silently at his brother.
"Lucifer," Uriel tries again, fingers -- real, warm, living fingers -- starting to reach out.
Before he realizes it, Lucifer's arms are wrapped tight around his very much alive brother, and his face is buried deep in his curly black locks. He's still sobbing lightly, body shuddering as he clings to Uriel like he's going to disappear if he loosens even a hair. Father knows that's what he truly deserves.
It takes more than a few minutes before his arms loosen, and he steps away from his brother.
“Uriel…” he murmurs, almost too quiet to hear in the oppressive silence. It’s the only word he can snag from the maelstrom of emotions whirling in his chest. He desperately hopes it's enough. It needs to be enough; he doesn't have anything else.
Uriel's face softens as if he can see the storm inside, can see him barely holding on as it batters his limp body. He doesn't speak, not with his mouth or with his eyes; he merely pulls Lucifer close and buries his face in his chest again.
"I forgive you," he mumbles, but he might as well have shouted it from Mount Sinai.
Lucifer crumbles, any sort of composure falling to pieces. Tears pour from his eyes and a stream of I'msorryI'msorryI'msorry pours from his lips.
Uriel lets the tears wet his hair and the words flood his ears without complaint. His fingers are warm points on his body, rubbing little circles on the small of his back and stroking the hair at the nape of his neck.
Lucifer doesn't know how long they stay like that, but he comes out of the haze of catharsis when Uriel murmurs a soft, "I'm sorry," and then he feels the near non-extant tremors of his brother's body, hears the near-silent sobs.
Pulling away, he reexamines Uriel's face. His eyes are puffy and red, tear tracks on his face, and he looks… guilty. Not hurt like he should be, not upset like he should be. Guilty. And Lucifer feels at a loss because he honestly and truly does not know why Uriel is apologizing, why he's crying. All he knows is that he cannot listen to his brother weep any longer.
"You have nothing to apologize for," Lucifer answers, fingers carding through his brother's hair.
Uriel stares at him, and an odd, small smile spreads across his face. It's a sad smile, and such a strange look upon Uriel's face. It's almost as disquieting as the silence.
"Yes, I do," he insists, pulling Lucifer into another bear hug. "I… I was jealous. Angry. I forced you into an impossible choice. I'm so sorry, Lucifer."
"But…."
Uriel pulls away to cut him off, tears welling up again. "That human was one of the few beings to show you love after… after you fell. And I… I would've stolen that from you over some stupid ploy to gain Father's favor!"
By the end of it, he's near shouting. He runs his fingers through his own hair, looks up at Lucifer's confused face, and all the passion in him crumbles. "And you don't love yourself enough to understand why I was wrong." His voice is quiet, a stark contrast with before. "You don't believe you can be loved."
"Dear brother, I am the devil. Satan. Evil incarnate. Of course I can't." Lucifer hesitates a moment, since that skates a bit too close to implying he doesn’t care about Chloe. "Even still, that mortal meant quite a lot to me. And she had a family. I couldn’t let her spawn grow up motherless.”
Uriel stares at him for a long moment, face caught in an ugly median between upset and appalled. It doesn’t look good with his soft features, and Lucifer hopes he never has to see it again.
“Lucifer…” His voice hitches, but he swallows the sob. “You can be loved. Of course you can be loved. You deserve to be loved. You’re not evil. You were never evil. You were never evil, and you didn’t deserve anything that happened to you….”
He lets out a tired, humorless huff of a laugh. “If anything, I deserve to be punished. I was too quick to judge and too slow to change. There was… a possibility you’d actually storm the Gates with Mother. A minuscule chance, born from a set of circumstances that were even less likely, but it was a chance all the same. I thought Father might appreciate it if I made certain there was no chance at all.”
Lucifer bites his lip, processing the confession. “I… I could’ve found another way. A better way.”
“We both know you couldn’t. I would’ve seen it coming.”
“But--”
“But nothing. Okay?” Uriel interrupts, pulling Lucifer into another tight hug. His eyes are still puffy, but he seems more determined now. For what, Lucifer isn’t quite certain, but he lets it be.
“...Okay.”
--o--
They start walking, for lack of things to do to fill the silence. All their tears have been cried and their emotions returned to relative baseline. Their footsteps don’t echo, but they’re there, and it’s something.
There’s no concept of time in this place. It could’ve been seconds or years since they started walking; Lucifer can’t tell. It muddles his senses, makes him feel dizzy and nauseous.
He tries to shake the unwell from his mind (which only roots that vague sense of wrong even deeper) and focus on his brother. All that does, though, is make him realize exactly how uneasy the silence is -- at least for him. It feels delicate, still, like one wrong move will make Uriel realize exactly how much he hates him.
Either the silence is getting to him, too, or he can sense the rises disquiet, since the other angel eventually murmurs, “We missed you, you know?”
Lucifer blinks at him. “...Really?”
Uriel nods. “Michael couldn't live with himself for a long time, and Gabriel was never really the same. Even little Ariel closed off. No one was happy with Father's decision, but… well, no one was willing to say anything after that.”
“Did he bar you from visiting?” There's a touch of bitterness in Lucifer’s voice, just a hair. He’s too eased by Uriel’s presence to be truly angry, but he most certainly will be later when he properly processes what Father deprived him of.
“For a time. Then, it was just fear.”
“Of hell?”
“Of you,” Uriel answers. “Of how angry you'd be. Of what you might do. You were always the strongest of us, except for maybe Michael. He was the one who always convinced us not to go after Father stopped caring. I think he was projecting some, but you know how hard he is to argue with.”
“Well, he was right,” Lucifer snorts. “I definitely would've punched him in the face.”
Uriel chuckles, a warm sound that Lucifer hadn't known he missed.
The air is more amiable now, less tense. Lucifer thinks he prefers it this way.
--o--
The dizziness fades, but the nausea doesn't. It's not just a matter of physical sickness, though; he can feel words bubbling up in his chest, filling his throat.
“I have a cell in hell now.” The words tumble out without permission. It feels like something he has to say, a confession that he can’t keep inside. It feels like lying to leave it unspoken, and Lucifer does not lie.
The look Uriel gives him is an odd mix of despair, concern, and sympathy. He doesn't say anything, but uses a wing to pull him into a tight hug. Lucifer basks in his warmth, his grace, and holds him like he'll disappear if he's not careful.
And if he starts sobbing unbidden into his shoulder, well, neither of them acknowledge it.
--o--
“Remember when you taught me how to fly?” Uriel asks.
Lucifer chuckles. “I do. I especially remember how you hated it.”
“It was scary! I could've fallen!”
“I would've caught you. Or Raphael would've. Father knows he had a sixth sense for falling fledglings.”
“It was still terrifying.”
“It was terrifying until I showed you the stars.”
“Of course they changed everything.” Uriel smiles, and his voice takes on a note of awe. “Your constellations were… gorgeous. Are gorgeous. What fledgling in their right mind would miss the chance to see them up close?”
“Barachiel.”
The laugh they share is a genuine one, nice and warm, and, if he ignores that persistent unwellness, Lucifer thinks that an eternity here wouldn’t be as terrible as he first thought.
--o--
It’s decidedly not an eternity later when Uriel collapses.
It comes from nowhere; one moment he’s fine, the next his legs give from beneath him and he crumbles soundlessly to the ground.
Lucifer’s next to him in an instant, palpating for a pulse. “Uriel?!”
He finds one, and he’s fairly sure that’s the most relieved he’s ever been in his entire life. It’s weaker than it should be, but strong enough that he finds comfort in it. His hands move from there, searching for some injury he might have missed, but he finds nothing beyond the bump on the back of his head.
As if to prove his point, Uriel’s eyes flutter open a few moments later. He tries to push himself up, groaning, and Lucifer helps him ease upwards.
“I’m fine,” Uriel grunts out. “It’s not the first time it’s happened.”
“And you didn’t think it prudent to mention your newly-acquired narcolepsy?” Lucifer glares at him,
“Well, it hadn’t happened since I found you,” he huffs. “I didn’t think about it.”
“I assume your premonition doesn’t work here, then. Otherwise, you would’ve foreseen exactly how idiotic that was.”
Uriel snorts. “It’s not my fault there’s no sense of time here.”
Lucifer opens his mouth to reply, and then Uriel collapses again.
This time, Lucifer manages to catch him, though he almost goes down himself; Uriel’s not exactly feather-light. It certainly doesn’t help when Uriel’s wings pop out and completely throws off his balance. The fact that he manages to get them both to the ground without giving either of them a concussion is a miracle.
He carefully pushes his brother off of him, and comes away with… feathers sticking to his clothes. Feathers.
He immediately turns Uriel on his front, revealing decaying wings. Sickly pale flesh peeks out from beneath the crumbling grey feathers; the feathers themselves lack… a brilliance that they had… however long ago. They’re fragile, fall apart in his fingers.
“Mm.. Luc’fer?” Uriel murmurs. Hurriedly, Lucifer turns him back over, placing his head on his lap. “What’s goin’ on?”
“I’m… not certain.” Lucifer runs his fingers through his brother’s hair. There’s nothing here that could be causing such a rapid decline, nothing but the lack of something. He doesn’t have his wings, so it’s not like he could grab his own feathers -- not that he even knows what’s going on, still. “What… what did you do before I got here?”
“I.. walked. Cried. Was lonely.” Uriel leans into his fingers. Nothing that would’ve caused him to Fall.
Lucifer bites his lip. There’s still no hints as to what’s going on, but Uriel is practically barreling downhill. “You didn’t hurt yourself?”
Uriel chuckles. “Nothing to hurt m’self with.”
“Your feathers are falling out, Uriel. That doesn’t just happen . ”
“They… are?” Uriel tries to crane his head to look, but gives up quickly.
Lucifer just about falls apart. Uriel’s getting weaker by the moment, dying in his arms a second time. The guilt starts gnawing him again, murmuring that you did this and if it weren’t for you, he wouldn’t be here, dying from nothing . He fights back a sob; Uriel doesn’t need him breaking down right now.
“‘S not your fault,” Uriel mumbles, apparently more than able to see straight through his straight face.
Lucifer isn’t sure whether to cry or smile. “I--”
He cuts off suddenly as Father’s presence barrels into him. The sudden shift from nothing to something, and something so powerful damn near makes him jump out of his skin. He’s not corporeal, and Lucifer isn’t certain if that’s worse or better.
“Father…?” Uriel murmurs from the ground, sounding so much like a lost child.
Father doesn’t speak so much as he just exudes relief and concern. Clearly, he’s here to pick up Uriel, and Lucifer doesn’t have the will or the want to fight him about it. He just shifts back as the energy wraps around his brother, coating him in a faint, holy light.
Or he tries to shift back, anyways. Uriel clings to his shirt, fists clenched so tightly around the fabric Lucifer’s almost afraid he’s wasting energy he doesn’t have. “‘S for you, too,” he says.
Lucifer can’t help the instinctive suspicion. Nothing is free when it comes to their Father. Leaving here is going to cost him dearly, he’s certain. But…
His brother is staring at him with a mix of hope and relief and love that he can’t shoot down. “Fine,” he mumbles.
For Uriel’s sake.