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“I’m a monster.” The words flutter past Lucifer’s lips, sounding light and airy as though they aren’t a deceleration of hatred, an admittance of despair.
As though there isn’t a blade pressing against his throat, as though Chloe and Dan aren’t trying in vain to get him to lower it.
She peers at those hands; a deep, vicious red seeping down the handle as the skin - generally immaculate - glows red with harsh use. Strands of hair stand unfixed and uncared for atop his head, none of the usual gel to clasp them back into their general style.
Those clothes that he would so often complain about donning a single speck of dirt are stained with so many grim colours it’s hard to pick out a single recognisable piece of mess.
Chloe settles on blood and mud, once again.
Chocolate brown eyes swim with whatever knowledge brought him to believe he was such a vile creature, his realisation shocking him into tremors and trembling as short, helpless pants that are so unlike him are uttered through every breath.
His tremors are visible. His guilt is visible. His helplessness is visible.
She reaches a hand out to hold one of his and her eyebrows furrow in fear as he snaps his hands back closer to the skin.
“No! I can’t let you take it.” He speaks to the ground - as though she isn’t really even there - while she clutched her hands back to her chest. Her lips are parted as though to give some comfort but no words come to mind. She can’t help him.
“No. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty.” He repeats the word as he sways dangerously, the blade cutting into the flesh, drawing a small prick of blood. The most unsettling part, though, is that he doesn’t even seem to realise that the blood coating his hands is now his own. Would he care if he knew?
“Lucifer, please... You don’t need to do this.” Dan’s words don’t even seem to get through to him. Chloe doesn’t seem to know that tears are coating her cheeks.
“I’m doing this for them.” He whispers, nodding to himself. “Don’t you see?” Does he even know that they’re there?
Maze walks into the penthouse. She raises an eyebrow at Lucifer. She quietly walks up behind him and tries to snatch the blade from his hands, almost swiping it before his face fills with rage. He clutches her arm until she grunts in pain and he turns to face her, his face dark with unfocused and darting eyes.
“You can’t kill them!” He cries, the genuine horror and fear in his voice sends chills through Chloe. She wants to hug him until he forgets whatever is p hurting him so badly.
“Kill who?” Maze shouts through gritted teeth. Chloe cant think of any other time that she’s seen the woman in real pain.
“Chloe and mum! I can’t let you-“
Maze’s hands grasp his face and her eyes search his. For what, Chloe isn’t entirely sure.
“Is this about Uriel? Lucifer, he’s dead. He’s not here anymore. You know that.”
He gapes at her, pained shock evident on his terrified face.
“I killed him. I killed him!.” Maze nods warily as he gives an exasperated laugh, forced smile stretching as he drops the knife. She smiles in confusion before he begins to frown, brows furrowing as he seems to cave in on himself.
“I killed him.” There’s no manic glee, no righteous celebration. There’s just guilt.
Tortuous and infectious guilt. As soon as his eyes darken, Chloe has to look away. She can’t bear the tears pooling in his helpless eyes.
She can’t bear not being able to help as his shockingly fragile mind shows it’s need - desperation - for help.
Dan is rooted to the spot. Maze looks like her whole body is itching to leave but she makes no move to escape. Chloe takes one step forwards and clamps a hand over her mouth, trying not to sob as he drops to his knees and sways, lips parted to let the slightest breaths of air in and out while tears silently stain his face.
She takes a few more shaky, uncoordinated steps before surging forwards and kneeling before him, throwing the knife across the room as she takes him in her arms, pressing his head to her shoulder as her hands soothingly brush through his hair. Her other hand strokes his lower back as she leans her own head against his own, trying not to cry as he makes no move to show recognition.
He only sobs like a heartbroken, abandoned child. She thinks of Trixie, of how she’s never cried like this. She thinks of children from cases who have seen too much and HAVE cried like this. Lost children who will go on to carry heavier burdens than anyone should ever have to.
There’s nothing she can do.