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It was probably silly, but Chloe Decker could no longer imagine not waking up next to Lucifer.
It wasn’t that she didn’t remember the feeling per se. No, of course not. It was just that she… missed it. Craved it. Wanted it.
Wanted him.
As she slowly blinked her eyes open, she was surprised to find that she was perfectly aware of her surroundings. She still recalled everything that had happened.
She knew.
The fact that she’d fallen asleep in the first place was weird. Abnormal even. The cave was hardly comfortable. She’d been more focused on trying to figure out a way to get out of here.
She had nothing though.
Her muscles ached. She was hungry, thirsty, tired and restless. She missed her little monkey and her boyfriend (annoying as he was).
And wasn’t that pathetic?
“I have a surprise for you!”
Chloe closed her eyes, trying to take a deep breath. She had to stay calm. Help was on the way. Lucifer would be looking for her. She could figure out something on her own once Michael left to do who-knows-what again.
“Chloe!” He called. She could almost hear the pout in his voice, mocking her. “Are you awake yet?”
She’d woken up because of him. Figures. Had she fallen asleep because of him as well?
Chloe blinked and pushed herself up, wishing that she had any sort of power at all. In a world of angels and demons, what was she, Chloe Decker, almost regular human, supposed to do?
“Like I was saying, I have a surprise for you.” He grinned, the thin, pinkish scar almost gleaming in the semi-darkness.
How long had it been anyway? How did she fall asleep? She’d been working on the bars behind her.
“What do you want, Michael?” She questioned, hoping she sounded more authoritative and powerful than she felt.
She got up, walking towards the bars, her eyes fixed on her kidnapper.
He was kneeling on the floor, tracing something she could neither see nor decipher. He seemed focused on his task, his small grin contrasting with the reverent concentration in his eyes.
“I only want to prove what we all know.” He shrugged, sounding as if he was doing the universe a noble favour.
“That you’re a dick?” She marvelled, feeling a bit juvenile. What else could she do? She had nothing on her except her clothes. Cursing was oddly satisfying. It was the only rebellion she could afford at the moment.
Chloe Decker wasn’t just in love with the first rebel.
“Name calling will not get you anywhere.” He huffed, leaning back and sitting cross legged on the floor to inspect whatever he had been tracing.
She didn’t fail to notice the way his right arm seemed to twitch and the small grimace on his lips.
Attack him from the right, she noted. She knew that, but she had to remember. She was getting out of here.
She had to.
“I am doing you a great favour.” He informed her, “You deserve someone better than my jerk of a brother, you know.”
What was it with angels and this whole “you-deserve-someone-better” shtick?
Was this where Lucifer got his self-worth issues from? Had it been drilled into his head ever since before his Fall?
Anger burned within her; anger for her partner, her best friend, her lover…
“Someone like you?” She sneered, wondering if there was a way she could trick him into somehow opening the cage.
“As if I would ever date a mortal .” He sounded genuinely disgusted, leaning forward to add a line to a strange circle. He wasn’t even looking at her, his entire attention fixed on his small work of art.
It made fear pool in Chloe’s stomach. She was no expert on divinity or witchcraft, but she’d seen a few supernatural movies in her life. Humans didn’t know much about celestials, but it wasn’t like they knew nothing at all.
Was she just exaggerating?
If angels and demons were real...
“What do you want?” She demanded again, wondering why it was so hard to stay calm.
“I am saving your life.” He rolled his eyes, done with her foolishness. “You should be thanking me.”
Thanking him…
Of course.
“Have you ever thought about what would happen after you die?” He mused, finally looking up to meet her eyes, “The forty or so years you have left if you’re lucky are hardly more than the blink of an eye to us, Chloe. You are… disgustingly good. It’s not hard to predict where you’re going.”
What was he doing?
Wasn’t it enough that he’d already gotten into her head, terrorizing her and plaguing her with thoughts about whether or not Lucifer actually loved her?
She knew that she was mortal. Lucifer was immortal. (with two m’s, as she’d teased him all those years ago).
So?
“Oh, don’t be stupid!” Michael whined, “It’s not a very good look on you. Your dear Lucifer is banned from ever entering the Silver City, remember? Busy as the two of you are with your little love story, I suppose one could understand why you haven’t thought it through. Lucifer hasn’t always been the smartest angel either.”
“He’s better than you.” She spoke, shoving the platitude of horrid thoughts flooding her mind as far away as she can. She’d get out of here and then have an existential crisis. “He will always be better than you, so don’t you dare insult him.”
Was it just her or did Michael freeze? She saw him tense, something dark flashing across his face. It was there for a moment only before it was replaced by another cocky smirk.
“Oh, Chloe.” He sighed, getting up, “You have no idea, do you?”
He gave her a sad look, his eyes shining with pity and innocent concern. It made her want to throw up. Her mouth was open, a retort on the tip of her tongue.
Light seemed to burst from the floor, bathing them both in a strange, azure glow.
Something was wrong.
“Don’t worry.” He sighed again, “I’m here for you.”
The world went dark.
*cries in Deckerstar*
Lucifer Morningstar was at his wit’s end.
He’d done his best. He’d channeled the Detective, done everything by the book, and caught the bloody serial killer.
Yet, it might have as well been for nothing.
Michael.
He should’ve known. Scarring that git’s face was nothing in comparison to what he was going to do to him once he found him. Lucifer could hardly remember being this angry before.
He supposed he knew where the Detective was now, but something was wrong. Something felt… off.
He was alone, not having bothered to wait for the others, not when he felt it.
He was running to the cave, his blood frozen in his veins as the same fear from when he’d entered the Detective’s wrecked apartment flooded his systems.
He was going to gut his brother.
The Detective was fine. Of course she was. She just had to be.
He couldn't live with himself if she wasn't.
It didn't go the way he planned. He wasn't expecting an easy rescue. Actually, he was prepared to tear his brother apart or to sacrifice absolutely everything to ensure the Detective's safety. Both sounded likely.
The Detective was asleep of all things. Well, he was hoping she was just asleep.
The other alternative…
She wasn't snoring. His heart ached and his knees felt weak. Were his eyes already burning red?
The Detective always snored.
Like an Albanian field wench.
Like a truck driver.
She was breathing though, right?
Why was he alone?
He was running to her, barely capable of conscious thought. He couldn't get any words out, settling for what he would never admit was a whimper.
A growl?
Michael was going to feel the wrath of the Devil.
He tore the bars apart, the metal bending and snapping in his hands like flimsy plastic. He dropped to his knees, almost crawling towards her. For once, no thoughts about the wellbeing of his expensive suits crossed his mind.
"Detective?"
The words felt like burning coals in the back of his throat, his ears straining to hear a response.
She had to be okay.
She just had to.
If his stupidity harmed the Detective… if his carelessness made him lose the one person he loved and cherished above all else…
"D-Detective?"
His eyes were stinging. His vision was swimming and Lucifer…
He was lost.
"Detective!"
He was yelling now, his hands caressing her face and trailing down to her body with softness and calmness that betrayed the inferno of hectic emotions raging within him.
He was so stupid. It wasn't like she'd wake up if he screamed hard enough. It wasn't like anyone would answer.
It wasn't like she was just asleep.
Something was wrong.
No one would ever help the devil.
No one would ever take pity on him.
He could see her breathing. That… that was good. Right?
"I'll get you to the best hospital." He promised, hating the way his voice shook, "I'll… I'll get you help, Detective. I swear. Even i-if it's the last thing I do. The Urchin n-needs you. I… I need you ."
He laughed at that, a small breathy sound leaving his lips. Why did he whisper that last part?
It wasn't like that was a secret .
He needed her. Lucifer had always prided himself on never needing anyone or anything, but she had always been the exception to every single rule that had ever applied to him.
His wings were out in the blink of an eye. Trembling hands reached towards her, cradling her to his chest. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, stroking a finger along her brow.
She wasn't physically harmed as far as he could see and-
"I think your aim is off."
There was no doubt that Lucifer's eyes flashed crimson this time. He was angry enough to totally lose control of his devil form, flinching when he saw his raw, scraggly, red hand on the Detective's face.
Something as pure and perfect and good as she was didn't deserve to be touched by something as monstrous as him.
"Michael." He growled.
"Hello to you too." His brother grinned, as cheerful as ever, "Try kissing your little lovebird on the lips, brother. That's how it goes in those ridiculous movies her offspring makes you watch, right?"
Lucifer bristled.
"What did you do to her?"
He could feel it. She wasn't just asleep.
Somewhere deep inside of him, he could almost tell what her curent predicament was. Lucifer refused to believe it.
He didn't rise from his position on the dusty ground, unable to let go of the Detective. Could he possibly stand with her in his arms when the possibility of another showdown with his brother was becoming more real by the second?
He couldn't bear the thought of harming her more.
"Just a little test from Dear Old Dad." His brother shrugged, "Don't go around blaming me for this."
No.
No. No. No.
"I will tear the entire Silver City apart. I'll burn it all to the ground and-"
"Yes, yes, you're so scary." His brother laughed, rolling his eyes, "Spare me the theatrics, brother. Aren't you interested in saving your little pet human?"
He would do anything.
He would go up to his Father's throne and fall to his knees, begging, promising anything as long as it meant that the woman in his arms would be safe.
He'd done it once, hadn't he?
"Try first." His twin shrugged, "Exhaust whatever ideas your minuscule brain can come up with, Lucifer. You need to understand that the deal I'm going to offer you is your only chance at saving her."
Lucifer wouldn't hesitate. Of course not.
"Don't act dumb, brother." Michael huffed, walking towards them, "Well, knowing you, it most probably is not an act, but still… I know you can feel it."
Feel it?
His incomprehension must have shown on his face. Michael shook his head in mock sympathy, looking utterly gutted.
Shut up.
"I know you haven't had use for this kind of power in millennia, Lucifer, but truly now? You wound me."
What was that asshole talking about?
"Try it." His brother prompted, "You know you want to. It calls out to something in you, doesn't it? Come on. Don't be shy now, brother."
Lucifer closed his eyes, a hushed, frantic voice at the back of his mind reminding him to breathe.
He was the devil. The Morningstar. The Lightbringer.
He couldn't let Michael do this to him. To them. He'd only just gotten the Detective.
Could he lay her down and go fight with his brother again? Fly her out and come back to demand answers? Tear Michael apart and then have Amenadiel help him out with whatever was going on with the Detective?
It was celestial in origin. Obviously. Whatever Michael had done was… strong? Was that the correct word for it?
He tightened his hold on the love of his life, holding back his sobs with as much strength as he needed to keep his anger under control.
His thumb brushed her cheek before he tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear.
He would do anything to have her back.
"This is what you fear isn't it?" His brother mocked, not even bothering to be subtle now that he seemed to believe that he'd done, "Losing your adorable, little Detective? Isn't that inevitable, Lucifer? Humans… they are so… fragile. So weak. So… mortal."
Breathe. He had to breathe. Erasing Michael from existence wouldn't accomplish anything. Not yet anyway.
He tried.
Over and over and over again. He tried everything he could think of, wings out and glowing. Words in a language he'd never thought he'd use again slipped past his lips, melodic and perfect despite his terror and desperation.
He was the fucking Lightbringer.
Why wouldn't she wake up?
Whatever it was… a spell? A curse? Some sort of… prison. Reining her soul in. Keeping her away from this plane of existence. Acting like some sort of barrier between the essence that made her and constituted her on a metaphysical level no one mortal could understand and her physical body that could actually interact with this plane of existence.
His heart shattered, something basic and primal in him screeching at the thought of someone abusing a soul like that.
The fact that it was the Detective's soul, the purest, bravest, and best of souls made it an infinite time worse.
He reached into the light deep within him, shaping and forming it. Over and over again, he tried to get her out, to do something.
It wouldn't work.
He could tell that he was screaming. Could his physical form even handle this much stress? He had his wings now and the added bonus of not being vulnerable around the Detective anymore, but still.
It hurt.
And yet, Lucifer would do anything and everything if it only meant that she would open her beautiful, blue eyes.
He needed her.
She wouldn't be in this mess if it wasn't for him. Why did he have to poison everything he touched? Why did he have to bring harm to anyone he dared to love?
It hurt.
He almost had it. Over and over and over again. A huge, endless, circular wall of pure ethereal light almost came down.
He could almost hear her, calling out for him, crying.
Was she real or was he losing it? Why did everything hurt so much anyway?
It had been a long time since he'd used his powers and it had never been against something this intricate before. Either Michael had spent the last few millennia perfecting this or he'd had help.
Dad.
Was this it? Lucifer wondered, focusing his energy and slamming a brilliant beam of light into the wall. It trembled, sending ripples in the very fabric of whatever reality they were in.
He could almost do it and yet he failed every single time.
Did you orchestra all of this just so that you could take her at the end? I knew you'd always take her away somewhere I could never follow, but this is too much. Too soon, you bastard.
Lucifer sobbed, screaming, pushing himself into never giving up.
She has a Spawn. She has a life. Family. Friends. Why must she suffer this much because of me?
He made another attempt, almost certain that he could do it this time.
Dad, please.
No answer came. He wasn't expecting something else per se, but did his Father design the universe in a way that ensured that Lucifer would never be happy for more than a few hours at a time at most?
What could he do?
What could have been an eternity later, Lucifer collapsed back, panting.
The sky was dark when he opened his eyes. He'd fallen back to the floor, exhausted, wondering if he'd passed out or if he'd just woken up.
The earthly plane was annoying like that. He hadn't had use for powers like these in millennia. The closest thing he could think of was the Flaming Sword. He'd never thought he'd have a need for them anyway.
"Exhausted yourself at last?" Michael huffed, sounding beyond bored, "Took you long enough. You were always too stubborn."
"What i-is it?" He croaked, wishing he had something to drink. He was hungry. Thirsty. His head pounded and his limbs weighed a ton, a strange ache spreading in his chest.
None of it even compared to the ache of the thought of losing the Detective.
"The deal?" Michael asked sweetly, perking up in an instance. Lucifer blinked and found his brother next to him, crouched down and uncomfortably close.
The Detective was basically sprawled on top of Lucifer's legs. One of his hands was still fisted in her shirt, desperately holding on to her. He would've moved her into a more comfortable position, but he could barely trust himself to breathe as it is.
Anything for the Detective.
Lucifer waited, not really capable of mustering enough energy to bicker with his brother or even threaten him.
He was so tired.
What did they want now?
His return to Hell? Had the whole "Hell can take care of its own" thing been for Amenadiel only? Maybe their Father had changed His mind all together.
Perhaps Michael wanted something else? A formal apology? Payback for the scar he'd given him? For their long history?
"I'll tell you the terms plain and simple, Lucifer." Michael stated, "No need to beat around the bush, especially when you look like you might pass out any second."
He glared at his brother through half-mast eyes, wondering if spitting at his face would be a wise idea.
The weight on his legs reminded him that it probably wasn't. If Michael were to hurt her now…
Lucifer would protect her. He'd find a way. Of course he would.
Anything for her.
"I'll undo our fancy light trick and let Chloe go under one condition." Michael began, sounding benevolent and kind, the underlying taste of something rotten in his words making Lucifer's stomach roll, "It's something that has to do with you, little brother!"
"Y-you already know I-I would do anything for her." Lucifer scoffed, closing his eyes to ward off his tears. He would not cry in front of this asshole. Not a chance. "Whole bloody point of this, isn't it?"
"And they say I'm the smart one." Michael grinned, rising back to his feet. He stumbled a bit, bracing himself on one of the bars as he tried to regain his equilibrium.
"No one says that." Lucifer groaned, taking a but of satisfaction in the way his town's eyes flashed.
Jealous. Even after all of these millennia.
Lucifer couldn't wait to break his other arm and wing for putting the Detective through this. He'd find a way no matter what.
"My condition… Nay, our condition, as in Dear Old Dad as you love to call Him and I-"
"Spit it out already!" Lucifer snapped.
"She comes back unscathed, but you lose all your memories of her." Michael stated, pausing for dramatic effect like the little shit that he was.
What?
That's it?
Lucifer didn't get it. What was the point of that? Had their Father seriously organized that…?
Why create the Detective and do all of this so that he could forget her? Lucifer didn't understand.
"It's for your own good." Michael informed him, sighing as if greatly burdened by the task of being the only intelligent person in existence, "You need to understand that it would never work out between you two."
Lucifer wanted to argue.
He wanted to… do something. Anything.
He was so furious already. Lost. Numb. In pain. What was going on? How did they go arguing over his grand revenge plan to this?
"You don't have a lot of time." His brother apologized, "Just surrender into it and your memories will go away. Won't even hurt." He comforted him, "Until later."
Michael disappeared.
He spread his wings and vanished.
Just like that.
Lucifer couldn't breathe. It was too much. Was he dreaming? Hallucinating? Perhaps he was the one entrapped somewhere?
He had no idea how much time passed, but he didn't want to risk it.
There was no time to call for backup. Maybe he should've done something earlier. Amenadiel would've helped, even with everything that was going on with Charlie.
Someone would've helped.
Right?
He could feel a burning wetness sliding down his cheek, dripping to the cold floor.
What were Miss Lopez and Daniel doing? Had they found him yet? Why did he even come here alone?
Maybe it had been for the best.
He should stop overthinking. It couldn't be that bad, right?
Life had never been fair to him. This was nothing new.
He'd get up and go back to his old life. Orgies and drinking and a never ending supply of drugs. Bodies and bottles and more money than anyone could even imagine.
The best life.
This strange ache in his chest, growing and metastizing with lightning speed… what was it?
It settled into his bones and soul, feeling like chains around his very being.
It would be for the best.
The Detective would tire of him and send him away. It wasn't like she was going to stay with him after the stunt Michael pulled. He'd been wondering why she'd even bothered finally getting together with him. Lucifer had been hoping for a bit more time before she inevitably came to her senses and left him like the unworthy monster that he was.
He would move on, these invisible chains dragging behind him as he spent night after night in a never ending party.
He didn't deserve love.
He didn't deserve the Detective's love.
He didn't deserve her.
Lucifer managed to sit up, hugging the Detective to his chest one last time. She was so cold. Pale and tired. Almost lifeless.
He pressed a kiss to her frozen lips, hating the tiny droplet of misery that seeped from his eye and splattered on her perfect skin.
He wiped it away, his heart breaking when he realized that this would be his last time touching the most amazing being in all of creation.
Michael was… sort of right.
Well… it was complicated. His time with the Detective was pathetically finite. It would have probably never worked out considering who he was, but Lucifer was just so desperate, so in love, so helpless…
He'd needed her and he'd selfishly allowed himself to have her.
Look at where that got him.
He placed a soft kiss to her forehead, burying his nose in her hair, a wretched sob erupting out of his lips before he could contain it.
Did he seriously think that he, the Devil, would get a happy ending?
"I'm sorry, D-Detective." He whispered, rocking her just a bit as the pain behind his eyes intensified, "I… I know you can't hear me, b-but, darling, I… this is my last chance to say it, huh?" He laughed, a broken, insane, short sound of despair.
Why was he so pathetic? How could he have Fallen so far?
"I love you, Chloe." He whispered into her ear, almost afraid that anyone would hear it.
He knew that he loved her. Of course he did. However, he'd never thought that he'd actually be able to say the words again.
It had all been for nothing.
Perhaps he should have been grateful for the time he got with her. He couldn't even have that, considering that his Father or brother or whatever was going to forcibly rip the memories out of his brain or something.
A bit too biblical for his liking. How was he the cruel one? How did humanity end up villifying him and begging Michael for protection?
He supposed he deserved it.
The Devil didn't deserve good things.
He allowed himself to look at her one last time before he closed his eyes, surrendering, knowing that he was going to lose everything but not being able to do much else.
*cries in Deckerstar*
The next time he woke up, Lucifer wasn't sure where he was exactly.
His body ached and he was tied, lethargic as he sometimes ended up being when he stayed up partying for several days in a row.
He felt… wrong? What was going on? Where was Mazikeen?
He opened his eyes, blinking against the harsh light (which was, in this case, any light). Lucifer registered a hand on his cheek. Someone was urging him to do something, their voice almost sick with a mixture of worry and relief.
"Come on, Lucifer, please wake up."
He blinked, his eyes focusing on a blonde, beautiful woman that was half on top of him, her eyes shiny with unshed tears.
Oh. He was in his own bed. Nice. A lot of people were milling about in his Penthouse. It was sometime around the wee hours of the morning.
Sleep was overrated anyway.
She kissed him just then, soft and sweet and full of so much of something that he couldn't quite place. It made his heart soar and his mind all fuzzy.
He'd never felt like that before.
This woman was special…
He grinned at her, hoping that he didn't look as pathetic as he felt. Ugh. Maybe sex could make him feel better? He was sure he still had quite a lot of cocaine somewhere…
"You're beautiful. You look familiar..." He smiled, wondering how his Father could create something this perfect, "Have we met before?"
"What?" She almost gasped.
Lucifer could feel the pain in her voice. He had no idea why, but he never wanted her to be anything except happy.
She was crying, her face buried in his chest.
He patted her back awkwardly, not sure what was going on. She was sobbing something about him waking up like this before, clueless.
"N-no… please. No. No. " She kept whispering, sobbing into his bare chest saying that he should've remembered this time.
Oh well. He'd had weirder nights and she seemed… interesting.
Lucifer had always loved a good challenge.