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Venom of God. Poison, spite, bitterness, hatred, anger. That’s what he was; what he was always designed to be. Father’s weapon.
His siblings had always wondered about his name. In the beginning, they’d thought perhaps the light was dangerous. Then, it must’ve been the explosive nature of his work or simply the power he embodied. For millennia, that’s what they believed. After all, father always had a reason. But now, finally, Samael understood.
He watched Cain bury his brother and Adam and... and Eve... one after the other and he knew that he was responsible. He’d introduced free will to the human race and with it: death. Would all generations still be in the garden together if not for him? Would Cain have murdered Abel if he hadn’t known he could? Would he have even been able to be angry or spiteful towards him if it hadn’t been for the temptation in the garden? Was Cain even Adam’s? How could he know for certain now that Amenadiel discovered that angels can, in fact, procreate with humans? Why not blame him for the first murderer, too?
The snake in the garden, the worm in the apple; rotten bringer of light and death. Reliably ruining what once was good. Tears burned his skin like acid and he squeezed his eyes shut.
No. NO. This wasn’t his fault. He wasn’t evil. And if he was, who’d designed him that way? He’d spent his whole life serving Father; being a good son doing a good job. For that, he was ground under His heel? For living up to his name and giving humans the freedom to choose to live on their terms instead of His? For thoroughly enjoying His creation? Thoroughly destroying it a voice hissed in the back of his mind.
He was the first to fall. The first to hit rock bottom. Hell was a kingdom fit for poison like him. But— well, he was greedy. Hell wasn’t enough. The damage he’d done wasn’t enough. He went to earth again and again and found some sick righteous pleasure in being cast back down again and again. The benefit of ruling hell is that nothing is beneath you.
Millennia went by this way, him begging and scraping for the little pleasure he could find in his trips above, them - truly, every one of them - forgetting he existed save for those moments they were forced to beat him back to hell. Eons and no olive branch, no hint of that gracious forgiveness Dad was so famous for. Not for him. Instead, earth’s pleasure soured as humans spread the distilled and distorted version of his story: Devil = bad; God = good.
Dad was He knows where getting credit for every bit of good in heaven and on earth while Samael... Lucifer, the most condemned of all, was forced to watch the eternal suffering of the damned, all His failed creatures; His mistakes... and who received credit for those mistakes? Certainly not the One who made them! But of course, why not? Everyone knows the Devil is the King of Mistakes.
Maybe he deserved hell, truly. But rejection, abandonment, neglect, a universe of hate and villainization for all eternity? Should he suffer for his sins forever while Dad’s abusive parenting went wholly unaddressed? And what of humanity? They fell, too! If earth was their punishment then bloody well condemn him to that!
Enough. He was done. He’d drown in gin before he ever burned again.
Amenadiel always predictably arrived to carry out Dad’s wishes because where Lucifer was His poison, apparently Amenadiel was His antidote. But after centuries of their back and forth, this time, finally, he evaded Amenadiel’s mission, just when he’d found a real reason to stay. And then... then...
She’d meant to poison him. The Detective had meant to poison him. To... send him back to his eternal punishment. The whole bloody reason he was still on earth in the first place had planned to betray him and send him back to hell. What was that about Dad’s sense of humor? But why... why was he always the butt of the joke?
Trust wasn’t something Lucifer gave freely. So of course the one being he had dared to trust without reservation in millennia would be used against him. The only person he’d ever trusted with his heart would crush it. How could he not have foreseen that the miracle Dad specifically created, blessed and put in his path might be His most sadistic form of punishment yet? The bitter hurt spread through his veins sharper than any poison. Of course Dad was somewhere having a right old laugh at his expense. But how... how could she...?
“Samael,” he told her as she walked away, looking at his bourbon, “means Poison of God.”
Chloe regarded him with her glassy eyes and mouth pinched in fear, feet pointed towards the elevator so she had to twist slightly to see him over her shoulder.
“My name,” he sighed, waving his hand to indicate the connection, “Samael.”
Confusion flooded her features, mental gears snagging and abruptly halting, as she turned to face him more completely, fidgeting like she was as terrified as she’d claimed but allowing her curiosity get the better of her, ever the brave Detective, “not... Lucifer?”
“Lucifer,” he took a swig of his drink, “means Light Bringer,” finally raising his eyes to meet hers under a heavy brow, “it’s the name I chose for myself after I ah... fell out with my father. Didn’t want to keep the family name.”
“So... you chose to be the Light Bringer,” she took a cautious step toward him.
“I no longer desired to be God’s anything,” Lucifer nodded, “so I chose who I wanted to be.”
Another cautious step, half her usual stride, more fidgeting.
“But I see now,” he laughed mirthlessly, “I am poison. There’s no running from that now. Poison was just the weapon for me. Poison to kill God’s Poison. Venom for Eden’s snake, right? Mmm. Well done, Detective. Just the kind of twisted antivenom I’d expect from Him.”
Three quick steps in a row and he almost glanced up but bit back the traitorous spark of hope lurking in his gut.
“No, you’re not. You’re not poison,” Chloe argued forcefully, “Lucifer, I’m the one who— who...” her eyes welled up with tears as she choked.
Lucifer glanced up again to see at least this display wasn’t a lie. He took another sip, staring at the ground by her feet with feigned apathy, waiting for her to compose herself or run screaming.
“Lucifer, if there’s one monster here between us... it’s me.”
He slowly brought his wet gaze to hers and held it there, challenging her, “you... truly believe that?”
“Yes,” her brow creased in grief, “I never should have done what I did. I wish I could take it all back. I wish I’d never gone to Rome. I wish... I just should have talked to you. You’re my partner and I let you down. I t-tried to kill you. Of course you’ll never trust me again. I just want you to know I’m so... unbelievably sorry, Lucifer.”
“And you’re terrified,” he stated, repeating her words.
“Yes,” Chloe blurted, “I’m terrified of The Devil, of demons, of hell, of getting caught in the middle of some celestial war with God. I mean, God , Lucifer. But I’m... I’m not afraid of you .”
“I am the Devil,” he placed his empty glass on the side table and played with his cuff links without looking at her, “if you’re afraid of the Devil, you’re afraid of me.”
“I know. I just... I’m afraid of what that means. All the... evil you’ve seen. Punished. I’m afraid of all the stories of all the evil blamed on the Devil. And you do um... tempt me. So how can I tell what’s... what’s real?”
He scoffed, still avoiding her gaze.
“But when I went to Rome trying to find out more about the Devil... I spent it missing my partner, wishing you were there to help me investigate well, you , or to distract me when I reached a dead end. I kept talking to myself, trying to get your perspective, reaching for coffee that wasn’t there. I wanted you there , Lucifer. I just... I missed you.”
“And then,” he sipped his bourbon, “you came home, to the partner you missed so much,” he stood with a mocking grin on his face, “and immediately tried to murder me!”
“Yes,” Chloe’s tears were falling freely now.
“On our first bloody date!” He turned to walk towards the bar.
“Yes, I know, Lucifer... and I... I know how I feel about the man I’ve known for these last few years but I just didn’t know how to feel about the Devil. All my instincts told me you’re a good man who has my back but all the evidence, Lucifer... You’re asking me to ignore everything that’s ever been said or written about you and to... what? Trust the word of the Devil? The ‘Prince of Lies?’” She huffed, “and the thing is... I wanted to, Lucifer... I-I did. Trust you. I do. But I also trusted Marcus. And I... I guess I just... I don’t trust myself anymore.”
Lucifer kept his back turned to Chloe and there was only the clink of glass and pouring of liquor to fill the silence before he murmured just loudly enough for her to hear him, “I guess that makes two of us.”
Chloe took a deep, trembling breath at that, seeing the writing on the wall, “I’m sorry Lucifer. I will never not be sorry. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness and I understand if you never want to see me again. I know now that I’m even worse than the monster I thought you were: I tried to kill my partner,” she turned again and walked to the elevator, “Just... know that I’ll regret what I almost... what I did to you... until the day I die.”
Lucifer closed his eyes, tipping his head back, and heaved a world-weary sigh before turning on his heel to catch the elevator doors as they closed behind her.
“What... Lucifer?” the odd mix of hope and fear was another poisoned arrow through his heart.
“I can’t allow you to do that,” he sighed.
“Leave?” She asked, eyes widening.
“Feel guilty.”
“Oh,” her eyebrows shot up.
He sighed and turned back to the bar as she trailed behind him, still fidgeting. They sat next to each other on bar stools, facing each other.
“Detective,” he met her eyes, “hell is run on guilt. If you feel guilty about this when you die, then I’ll feel guilty about you going to hell and then where will we be?”
“But... isn’t hell what I deserve?” A fat tear spilled over her eyelashes as she looked at him.
“No,” he reached for her to wipe the tears away but thought better of it and clasped his hands in front of him, “you deserve the Silver City, Detective. You deserve to see your father again and spend eternity experiencing every good thing your heart desires, not wallowing in your own guilt on an infinite loop.”
“But I... hurt you.”
“I’m the Devil. Hurting me will get you special treatment where you’re going,” he joked humorlessly.
“No... no, Lucifer, I don’t want divine brownie points,” more tears, rivers overflowing their banks until her whole face was glistening, “I want to fix it. I want to undo what I did.”
“Detective, you could spend an eternity wishing for that and all it would bring you is more pain. I don’t want that for you. I’m not wor—”
“If you say you’re not worth it, I swear to G—“ she caught herself, “no, you know what? Yeah, I do swear to God and at Him and anyone else who’s ever made you feel like that. Including me. You are worth it. You don’t deserve to be in pain any more than I do, Lucifer.”
He chuckled darkly, “Detective, pain is a fact of my life since,” he waved his hand as if to include the existence of everything surrounding them, “Hell is no vacation either, I assure you, but I survive. Don’t allow your misplaced sense of morality or pity obligate you to concern yourself with what the Devil is due.”
A distressed sound escaped her throat and she croaked, “but you don’t... I know you don’t deserve that.”
His gaze softened, “who does, Detective?”
“No... no... you,” she swallowed thickly and swiped at her wet face, “you’re a good man, Lucifer. You don’t deserve to be in pain. You don’t deserve hell.”
“Well then, Detective,” he smiled sadly, handing her his pocket square, “neither do you.”
She dried her eyes and face and she cradled her aching head in her hands, blessing the dark for relieving the worst of her growing headache for a moment.
“I’ve lost you forever, haven’t I?” she mumbled into her hands, more to herself than to him, still shutting out the light.
A long silence stretched between them as she held her head in her hands and Lucifer considered.
“Isn’t that what you want?” He asked gently.
She finally removed her hands and peered up at him from bloodshot eyes and splotchy red face, black crumbles of mascara under her eyes. Dad, she was beautiful.
“No,” she croaked, “whatever stupid mistakes I’ve made, Lucifer... I want you in my life.”
He haltingly reached for her wrists, pulling her off her stool and into a hug. She sagged against him bonelessly but she lifted her hands to the backs of his shoulders to pull him closer all the same.
“Then I will be right here, Detective. As long as you want me.”
He mistook her shivering frame for fear rather than sobs wracking her body and he released her, but she grabbed his lapels and pulled him back in.
“I won’t hold you to that, Lucifer,” she sniffed, muffled against his shirt, “you don’t have to stay just to make me feel better but... I really hope you do it because you want to.”
“Chloe,” Lucifer rubbed her back, “the Devil... is not one for self-sacrificial nonsense. I desire to stay because you make me feel better.”
“Even after everything I’ve done?” She pulled away enough to search his eyes, still clutching his lapels.
“Well I’ll admit,” he hesitantly lifted his hand to card through her now tangled, tear-soaked hair, “I would have preferred to skip the whole homicide-detective-turned-Devil-murderer sitch, but ah...”
She laughed and it wasn’t right , a strangled, nervous thing. He ached for her signature silent laugh and eye roll.
“But yes, even then. If you still desire my partnership after all I’ve done, then I still desire yours.”
A small, hopeful smile lit her face.
“Provided, of course, that you’re done... trying to kill me?”
“Yes,” she broke then, laughing and crying and shaking, “yes, Lucifer, I promise. I don’t want you anywhere but by my side.”
“And if that changes, you’ll inform me? Rather than forming a secret murder pact with an unhinged religious zealot?”
Chloe nodded like Daniel’s bobblehead, a chuckle mixed with a sob as she sniffled.
“Good, because honestly, Detective, if you want me in hell... all you have to do is ask. I came here to do as many drugs, people and favors as I could, not steal souls or eat children or bring Armageddon upon us. Alright? And I only stayed... I only truly stayed... for you.”
Chloe’s eyes widened and slowly, she rose on her tip toes, cautiously wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing his stubbled cheek for a long moment, whispering as she held him, “I’ll make it up to you... all of it, Lucifer, if you’ll let me. You deserve so much more than this. More than me.”
“And you deserve more than me, but... here we are.”
“Yes well, I’ll take what I can get,” she laughed, slightly closer to that music he desperately wanted to hear again, touching her forehead to his.
He grinned, “Hmm, I suppose we’ll just have to make do.”
They stayed like that for a long moment before she slipped her fingers between his and led him to the couch. He’d prepared himself for more conversation, more awkward silence, more guilt and regret, but both of them seemed to be too exhausted for another word more. The Detective quickly fell asleep on his shoulder, wrapped in the arms of the Devil, and for the first time, he thought maybe they would be ok.