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The dull pattering of raindrops striking the window panes was almost indiscernible beneath the higher pitches of the animated movie currently playing in the living room of Chloe’s condo. In fact, if not for the occasional rattle of branches striking the roof as they swung in the wind, none of the occupants would have even remembered the storm raging outside. Which was more than fine with Lucifer who, despite coming to love plenty of the things Earth had to offer, had never found himself all that enamored by rain.
He was sat dead center of the sagging couch, Chloe curled against him on one side, and Trixie on the other. The movie they’d chosen - some Disney film he hadn’t been paying much attention to - flashed across the screen, irregularly lighting the dim room. This had been their Friday night tradition for some time now, evenings spent at Lux slowly replaced by these quieter evenings in.
Yawning, he slouched further into the couch, long legs propped up on the coffee table and an empty tumbler balanced in his lap. The thick blanket thrown across the three of them was warm and heavy, though not as much as Chloe’s head, which was tucked on his shoulder. On his other side, Trixie had sprawled out some, her foot occasionally kicking him in the hip as she reacted to whatever was happening on screen.
It was a scene he never would have imagined himself a part of until the past year, and even now, a strange sense of awe washed over him every time he shifted the arm currently wrapped around Chloe to keep her close. Trixie, he knew, would eventually end up similarly tucked against his side, now tall enough for her wiry hair to tickle his chin. They both did this so effortlessly, curling up to him like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Sometimes he wondered how his life would have differed if he’d been able to experience these things sooner. The acceptance, the love, they so freely offered to him… And sometimes, it was enough to wash Hell from him completely, scouring his skin of the ash and smoke, the steel and blood.
Chloe and Trixie giggled and Lucifer redirected his focus to the movie. But the joke had already passed and now the characters were breaking out into yet another song routine, this one as obnoxious as the previous.
“How much longer is this infernal thing?” he asked, wincing as one of the voice actors missed a note. Whether it be his trained ear or simply heightened hearing, he always found these musicals to be borderline painful to listen to.
“Hush, you,” Chloe said. Beneath the blanket, her hand resting on his knee squeezed reprovingly. “We let you have the final choice in movie, remember? If you didn’t want singing, we could’ve watched Finding Nemo.”
“No, we couldn’t have,” he grumbled.
He could recall the first time Trixie had conned him into watching the movie while he babysat her. She’d promised him a happy story about fish. And what he’d gotten was an hour and a half of watching a father searching for the son he’d lost, driven by the sort of love parents were meant to have for their children. The same sort of love he had been denied by his own.
Lucifer had managed to sit through it quietly but the moment he’d returned to the penthouse, he’d drunk enough to get himself properly smashed and… well, he didn’t really remember the rest of the night. He thought he’d spent a bit pacing on the balcony and screaming at the Heavens but he wasn’t quite sure. All he knew was he’d woken up actually hungover - a feat all its own - and feeling like he was hovering on the precipice of death. After that, he’d sworn off all children movies but Disney’s, which had the delightful habit of murdering most of the parent characters.
“Why don’t you like the singing?” Trixie asked him, deliberately kicking him in the ribs to get his attention. “I thought you liked music.”
“I do, but music this is not.” He caught her foot, pushing it deftly to the side. Had he been wearing a suit, he might have been cross with her, but another stipulation of movie night was everyone dressed in pajamas for the occasion. And as Chloe had convinced him that his expensive silk pairs were far too likely to draw stains, he was dressed in flannel pajama bottoms and a long sleeved shirt. Hardly attractive they may be - they were shapeless monstrosities that did nothing for his figure - they were undeniably comfortable.
Trixie sighed theatrically, flopping to the side. “You’re no fun sometimes.”
“I beg your pardon? I practically invented the word fun, I’ll have you know. The Silver City was downright depressing until I came along.”
“Was it?” Chloe asked, though there was that delicate tinge to her voice, the one she used when she didn’t want him to feel pressured to answer.
He looked down at her. “Certainly! When I wasn’t around, the others would take their cues from Amenadiel. And he was the sort who thought studying was exciting. If not for my jokes and pranks, I daresay a fair few of us would have withered away from boredom.”
“Learning can be fun,” Trixie commented and he glared at her.
“Anything ceases to be fun the moment someone demands you do it,” he informed her.
Trixie gave him a devious, toothy grin. “Then how come you get all excited whenever Mom says it’s your turn to make dinner?”
He sputtered. “I don’t get excited!”
“Yeah, you kinda do,” Chloe said, pulling away from him enough to see them both properly. “You rush right to the store to buy ingredients because apparently mine are never good enough.”
“You don’t even have extra virgin olive oil! I can’t possibly cook with subpar food.”
“And it’s not just cooooking,” Trixie sing-songed, and he whipped his head around to face her. “Whenever Mom asks you to do chores and stuff, you don’t even complain.”
“Of course not. Why would I? Your mother works extremely hard and deserves help. She’s not making me do those things, I want to.”
Trixie wrinkled her nose. “You want to do chores?”
He shrugged. “I want to do whatever makes her happy.” And twisting his head to face a slack jawed Chloe, he leaned over and kissed her, lips just grazing over hers before he pulled back. “Like that,” he smiled.
Chloe rolled her eyes even as she returned the smile. “Don’t even pretend you did that just for me.”
“No, that really was for you. And this is for me.” He leaned towards her again, ignoring the cooing noises Trixie was making, when a boom echoed through the house.
The three of them jumped in unison, exchanging wide eyed looks. Chloe was the first to break the silence. “Just thunder,” she said lightly, already settling back into the couch. “I can’t even remember the last time we had a storm this bad. You okay, Monkey?”
“Mom, I’m fine!” Trixie protested, though the way she was now sheltering under Lucifer’s arm said otherwise. Instinctively, he tightened his hold on her, body tense.
“Lucifer?” Chloe said softly. “You okay?”
He nodded, forcing himself to recline against the back of the couch again. It had just been thunder, no big deal. He’d been startled, that was all-
Boom
This time was louder and his heart jumped in his chest, his breath catching in his throat as he froze, paralyzed.
“Samael! What have you done this time!”
The words echoed in his head as fiercely as the thunder had, two deep explosions of anger and fury-
“Hey,” Chloe’s hand settled on his arm, gentle fingers stroking the inside of his wrist, “what’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he murmured, but his voice sounded strangely small. “I’m fine. It’s just a storm-”
Boom
“If I’ve told you once, Samael, I’ve told you a thousand times! When will you ever listen instead of messing up?”
“It’s nothing,” he repeated. His jaw felt heavy, his throat gummy.
Chloe was leaning into his space, one of her hands cupping his cheek as she drew him to look at her. He blinked, unable to vocalize the fear driving through his veins at hearing the noise, at hearing His voice.
Boom
Pictures rattled on the wall from the force, and Trixie whimpered, burrowing deeper into Lucifer’s side. But he knew none of this, a purposefully forgotten memory dislodging to avalanche down on him-
The chains bit into his wrists and ankles as he was dragged and kicked into the Great Hall, struggling to keep his feet under him. For seven days and nights he had been forced to kneel, bound and blindfolded in a cell he had never before seen in his life. His joints ached in a way they shouldn’t, body stiff and fragile in a way no angel was meant to be.
He left a trail of bloody footprints as he stumbled to the middle of the room.
“Michael,” he gasped, imploring his twin who held the end of his chain. “Michael, please-”
He cut off at the vicious backhand, the inside of his cheek ripping against his teeth as he fell to the side, ears ringing. Unable to catch himself, he crashed into the floor. Stunned. Michael had never hit him, he would never-
And then the jeers began. Slowly at first, they gathered strength as they echoed mercilessly in the space, flowering around him.
Shaking his head, he tried to regain his footing, only for Michael’s strong hands to force him to once again kneel. One of those hands wrapped in his hair, yanking his head back until he was looking up into an identical face. But these brown eyes, that had once brimmed with warmth and kindness, were cold as the far edges of the universe.
“Do you hear what they call you now?” Michael taunted. “Traitor. Deceiver. Snake.”
“Brother,” he whispered.
“No!” Michael roared. “You are no brother of ours! Not anymore. You have questioned, broken this most sacred rule and Father will not look upon you with love again!”
His head ached, ears still ringing in such a way that made it difficult to discern the continuous chanting. Seven days and nights of darkness. Of silence. Of pain. He shivered there on the floor, forcibly reduced to something powerless against his will.
When the doors on the far end of the room opened, only then did the chanting cease, silence dropping like a boulder, the weight tangible.
He looked up eagerly, desperately, awaiting the appearance of who could only be his father. Not once since Michael and Gabriel had locked him away had he even glimpsed his dad or gotten the chance to speak. But now he would. Now he could set things right-
“DO NOT LOOK UPON ME!”
The words came from everywhere, dispelled by the very columns of the room themselves. All the angels cowered in their seats, frightened by the raw fury as He stalked forwards.
“HOW DARE YOU STAND AGAINST I, SAMAEL! YOU HAVE POISONED YOUR SIBLINGS MINDS WITH YOUR SERPENT TONGUE AND HEAVEN WILL NO LONGER TOLERATE YOU!”
“Dad,” he whispered, stricken eyes sweeping the floor before him. He dared not look up, dared not check for his mother who was surely here too. Why wasn’t she doing something? “Dad-”
“I AM NO FATHER OF YOURS!” the words thundered. “AND YOU ARE NO CHILD OF MINE! FOR YOUR TRANSGRESSIONS YOU WILL BE PUNISHED! STRIPPED OF YOUR STATUS, YOUR DUTY, YOUR VERY NAME! THE LIGHTBRINGER IS NO MORE!”
“The lightbringer is no more! The lightbringer is no more!” The chant was once again taken up as he crouched there, bleeding onto the floor.
“AND AS SUCH,” God continued, “YOU SHALL NOW REMAIN WHERE THERE IS NO LIGHT! THE DARKNESS IS ALL YOU DESERVE NOW, IT’S CREATURES AND DEMONS YOUR BRETHREN NOW!”
Michael was grabbing onto the chain again, hauling him backwards, and now he did try and struggle, spewing nonsense as he babbled apologies and begged for forgiveness. But God simply walked away, retreating through the doors.
And harder still he fought, blind panic seizing him. What was happening? What were they-
A hard yank, he hovered in space, and then he was falling. Endlessly falling as chains sliced into already broken wings and there was not enough air to even scream-
Lucifer staggered to his feet even as yet another crack of thunder cart-wailed overhead. He sent Trixie tumbling as he moved, the blanket catching around his legs and almost sending him crashing into the floor.
“Lucifer-” Chloe was following him but he waved her away, skin prickling with the desperate need for space.
“I’m- I’m fine,” he muttered, dazed, seeking anywhere that wasn’t here. Somewhere away from the loud noises and the touching and the blood. He could taste the blood in his mouth.
Swallowing back the urge to spit, he lurched towards the stairs, ignoring Chloe’s pleas for him to stop. He climbed the steps two at a time, feet dragging him in a familiar direction. He shouldered open a door, crossed a room, and he was in a bed. A familiar, creaking, lumpy bed.
Safety.
Dragging the blankets high over himself, he curled up tightly on his side and dragged Chloe’s pillows to him, holding onto them fiercely as the storm continued to rage. He should have stayed with Chloe rather than run. She was safe too, he knew that now. But it had been so long since safety had been another person. Safety was being alone. Was hiding. Was somewhere small and dark where nothing could reach him.
His breathing was harsh in his ears, nearly hard enough to drown out the irregular crashes of thunder that had begun to lose their intensity as they faded. Yet, he flinched at each one, drawing himself up tighter and tighter until his knees were nearly touching his chin, Chloe’s pillow crushed between his bent legs and his chest as he pressed his face into it firmly and waited for the memories to stop.
The blankets were warm but the air rushing past his head was sharply cold. He could feel the bed beneath him, but he could also feel himself falling.
Falling.
Falling.
Falling.
The door opened.
Gasping for air, lungs feeling empty, he stilled himself aside for the relentless shaking he could not control. Who was here? Was it Michael again? Michael with his sword and his sneer and his-
“Lucifer, honey, what happened?”
And with Chloe’s voice came the ability to breath, his body sucking hungrily for more oxygen. The mattress dipped as she sat beside him, a tentative hand settling on his hip.
“Lucifer?” she repeated, worry straining her voice.
He couldn’t have that. He couldn’t allow her to feel fear. Not when he knew what it felt like too.
“Sorry,” he whispered, unsure whether he'd even said the word aloud or simply thought it. His head ached as flashes of past events flickered through his brain. Yelling, there had been so much yelling in the Silver City. So much anger…
“No, no.” She was leaning over him, he could sense, though she was careful about touching him. “Don’t be sorry. I just… are you okay?”
He wanted to tell her about all the terrible things in his head, the memories that made him want to claw off his skin or stop existing entirely. The hatred. The yelling. The falling.
But all he could manage to squeeze out was, “I don’t like thunder.” It was all could say, all he could share. All he could handle reliving to her.
He waited for the questions, the ridicule. Adults weren’t meant to be scared by frivolous things like storms, and he was far older than most. She wouldn’t understand what he really meant.
“Okay,” she said softly, accepting all he could offer her. “Lucifer, that’s perfectly okay.” Her hand moved higher, running up his side until it settled on his head. “We checked the weather report. It’s almost done.”
“How soon?” he asked, almost desperate for it to end.
“Not soon enough,” Chloe murmured, mostly, it seemed, to herself. Louder she asked, “Is it okay if I stay here with you? And Trixie? Or do you want to be alone?”
It wasn’t even a question. “Stay. Please, stay.” For all the people that hadn’t. For all those who had walked away.
Chloe called to Trixie before peeling back the blanket slowly to expose him. He titled his head, watching the sorrow flower across her face as she fully saw his position.
And the urge to apologize returned tenfold. He’d ruined the movie night, caused everyone fear and pain. All he wanted was to make her happy. Why couldn’t he only make her happy? Why was he the cause of so many of her frowns and tears?
Chloe laid down beside him, snuggling up to his back as she threw an arm around his waist before pulling the blankets high again, leaving only his head exposed. He hadn’t released his death grip on her pillow, didn’t think he was capable of it now.
Another low rumble came from somewhere far away, but he couldn’t help but tense even further, his muscles threatening to tear from the strain of being so tightly wound. And then Chloe’s hand was rubbing against his stomach, up to his chest. Her lips pressed against the back of his neck, undemanding, unwanting. Giving instead of taking.
Trixie came into the room, her hesitant steps growing stronger once she realized everything appeared to be okay. She’d brought their movie and popped it into the dvd player for the smaller bedroom tv set.
“Is it okay if we finish the movie?” Chloe asked. “I’ll tell her to keep it low.”
Each breath he took still hurt, like he was fighting for every bit of air. His ankles and wrists itched from long healed over wounds. And still, Chloe rubbed his chest, her breath tickling his ear.
He wasn’t falling, not anymore. He’d landed. Here. Nine long years ago.
He’d stopped falling.
Trixie climbed into the bed on his other side, keeping a bit of distance between them. He remembered how he’d shoved her out of the way and pain throbbed in his chest. Was she upset with him?
He reached out from under the blanket, intending to do… something - to assure her at the very least - when Trixie abruptly grabbed onto his hand and held it tight.
“I don’t like storms either,” she whispered, like it was a secret meant for just the two of them.
He stared at their hands, her fingers so small and fragile when compared to his own. Trixie slid closer and Chloe tightened her grip on him as the movie played and the thunder began to truly fade.
The tension he carried oozed away, each twitch of Trixie’s hand in his, each breath of Chloe’s taking with it a bit of the fear until enough had chipped away for him to dare move and stretch into a more comfortable position.
He never saw the credits roll, drifting off sometime before, with a new family holding onto him. And similarly, he missed the moment when the clouds retreated and the stars were exposed again. Blurry dots who had never forgotten whose hand had truly brought them into existence.
But what he did hear, even in his slumbering state, were two whispered “I love you” before the three of them all succumbed to sleep, still linked hand in hand, back to chest in such a way he had no intention of ever letting go.