Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The world burned.

What was once a mild, tingling discomfort, now a crippling, flesh-raking anguish tearing into his being.

(Despite hooked wires clawing through his flesh, despite his angelic light fraying at the seams, despite the Sinner pinning him down like a pinned butterfly, despite it all—

Compared to his Fall, this was but a minor distraction, barely holding a candle to the holy light he once embraced scorching him in his descent.)

Lucifer, with a silver tongue weaved of lies, had shifted his facade before his daughter ever so slightly; to share a rare bout of honesty uncharacteristic of the Devil: Sinners were untrustworthy. I’ve gifted them free will, and all they’ve done is squander the present.

Charlie, who descended from her parents, the first dreamers and Sin, refused to heed his warning. Her eyes, full of defiance, hope and passion, were painfully reminiscent of the reflections in Eden’s waters countless centuries past, undeterred of what may come their way.

But while the Elders had dismissed Lucifer, casting him aside as they deemed him immature, he would extend the grace he was never given to his own daughter, the chance he himself was never given.

(Charlie believed in the Sinners, and Lucifer believed in Charlie. However, to mend the shaking bridge between them, Lucifer could only hold his tongue in regards to the depravity of humanity’s worst.

But now, as the accursed machine forcibly siphoned his power from his physical body, he wondered if he should have stood his ground after all.)

“I’ll come back for you.”

Lucifer, for all his weakness and confusion, had not sensed deception. Only desperation, despair for her own helplessness and their impending fates.

The cold in his chest was rapidly spreading across his form, rendering even his fingertips frozen, every feather frostbitten. It was a jarring sensation to experience both extremities of hellfire and the void, but his soul wept in agony upon the realization that the world had not stopped burning, but rather him.

As an Archangel, he was no stranger to power struggles, be it political or casual. Adjustments for power were typically accomplished through sealing wards, gifts or sharing – but rarely stolen. 

To possess angelic or demonic magic meant that it was sewn into the very essence of one’s soul. To wield, manipulate or create was to call upon one’s life, their foundations of being, the purest form of magic in the known galaxy, gifted to only a select few. If Mox had captured another Sinner for this infernal machine, it wouldn’t be nearly as effective compared to Lucifer at the helm, which was why he’d gone straight for the head in the first place, great…

At some point, any sensation of pain was but a buzz in his ears. Rather, it was the cold that threatened to return him to the primordial dust he was formed from, the ice in his veins no different than the stardust Father had used for what was now known as ichor.

The former exorcist had not returned, unlike the abyss taking root in his core.

He would not perish, a fact he knew for certain. However vulnerable he was to Sinners and their machinations, they weren’t capable of eliminating him permanently through whatever means they may scrounge up. It was simply not in their make to domineer holy beings beyond their status like the Seraphim, much less a former Archangel.

However, even if he were freed this very moment, he would not be of any use to his daughter. His restrictions have forbidden him from harming Sinners, and he’d only pose as a nuisance and eyesore.

What a conundrum. Lucifer Morningstar, the First Archangel, the Serpent of Eden—whose name invoked terror to those who listened, who disturbed the comfortable and comforted the disturbed; feared by Creation except for the population who’d condemned themselves in the eternal hellflame.

Then again, it’s not as if he’s done anything to earn their respect, has he?

He was feared, once. Many centuries ago, that era forgotten through the passage of time. Hellborn and Sinners alike had once prostated themselves before his feet if he so much as glanced their way, trembling in every limb as their cheeks were smudged with dirt and saliva. His restrictions had still been in place, but it did little to dissuade his preceding reputation. 

The weight of his name lifted gradually over the years, like a thick bog dissipating and finally allowing the damned to breathe. But as his relationship with Lilith crumpled, he never thought to reinstate that fear or make appearances in the Seven Rings. Perhaps he’d given up sometime along the way or gotten rusty; for however many attractions he made, however many flames that spilled from his lips, he knew better than anyone it was one massive hoax.

Mankind preached his greatest Lie was as the Serpent, when he whispered honeyed words into Eve’s ears as he offered her the apple. He would disagree, not when he’s still masquerading as a King in this burning prison when he’s just as stuck as everybody else.

“You look like you’ve seen better days, Lucifer.”

In spite of the ice persisting in his being, Lucifer couldn’t help the chuckle bubbling from his chest, dry as it sounded.

Michael, with his hands folded behind his back, surveyed the machinery around them with a detached regard. “I hope I am not interrupting something.”

Lucifer, instinctually, tried to wave him off in dismissal. It was only then he remembered his body was still bound by this machine, and the waves of power siphoned from him had dwindled.

“Eh…” he murmured, every syllable trailing off in exhaustion and defeat. “We both know I could do a lot better. This entire setup has been quite tacky, even for my tastes, y’know?”

Michael didn’t tense, but it was a damn near thing. Instead, his blue eyes narrowed in skepticism, now sweeping over the cables and computers with newfound interest.

“Are you in danger?” he asked in disbelief, like the idea itself was absurd to him. In a way, it was. 

Lucifer sighed. “I dunno.” He shrugged, or at least tried to. To demonstrate his point, he pulled at his left hand, inciting a fresh stream of ichor down his stained sleeves, dripping from the fabric and by his feet. 

Michael frowned, leaning forward to tap at the glass with a gloved hand. “Should I ask why you have yet to free yourself?” He raised an eyebrow at the angelic steel chaining him down. Impure, tainted, perhaps even having less real steel than the chains on Lucifer’s lapels. To Archangels like them, it should be a nonissue. “Another one of your schemes, I assume?”

My daughter would get even more mad at me, was his first reaction, but Lucifer couldn’t even bother mustering up the excuse in front of his twin brother. Michael was the only person immune to his showmanship, bordering on unimpressed. 

Instead, Lucifer only cast his gaze on the floor between them, eyeing the pool of blood gathering on the metallic panels and splattered on the glass walls.

Without hesitation, Michael drew his sword, its handle coming together in his palm. With a controlled, but no less devastating sweep of his blade, shards of glass rained by their feet, a mockery of snowfall gleaming under the artificial lights.

Now freed, the musky scent of starlight, ozone and sweet apples flooded the space, but Michael didn’t so much as twitch. He made quick work of the angelic chains and cables, reducing the binds into useless chunks of metal.

“Really.” Michael caught Lucifer as he fell, allowing his body to sink into his robes, uncaring of the ichor staining the cloth. “What will you do if you’ve gone somewhere I can’t reach?”

He helped Lucifer to the floor, giving his limbs the chance to unwind their tension. Michael’s wings unfurled and expanded, cocooning them for safety and privacy.

“Wither away in silence, I’d imagine,” Lucifer mused, raising his hands to his brother. Steel rods protruded from both ends of his wrists, embedded in his flesh. The ichor had already stopped flowing, the injury healed over the steel. “Would certainly be more peaceful though.”

Michael rolled his eyes, pulling the rods out without much fanfare. Barbed edges ripped through skin and bone—or at least their imitation of it—but Lucifer only sighed through it all.

“Your Light,” Michael started, repeating the process for his other arm and ankles. “I felt it. In Heaven.”

Lucifer scoffed. “Should I expect a trial soon, or are you here to get it over with?”

Michael fixed him with an exasperated look. “Blabber more nonsense,” he warned heatlessly, “and I just might.” 

“Ooh, no. What are you gonna do, Michael? Send me to Hell²? Should I give someone a Forbidden Grape, this time around?”

Michael shoved him, threatening to smear his face with his own blood. Lucifer ducked away, batting the hand away with his tail.

“There will be no trial,” he revealed, as a matter-of-factly. “Not for you, at least. And I suspect this incident will be under Hell’s jurisdiction thereon out.”

Lucifer’s shoulders slumped. “Ha… what’s the point?” He threw his head back. “You take one out, ten more will take its place. They’re not called the worst of humanity for brownie points.”

“Or—” Lucifer didn’t like his brother’s inquisitive tone, “—you could come back.”

It was meant as a joke, it always was. Michael had thrown the possibility out countless times, and each time Lucifer had shot him down faster than a deer in hunting season. At first, it was because of his stubbornness and pride, and they could not pry him from a place where his Creation could finally roam free. Then it was because of Lilith and the Sins, souls so painfully young and naive, in dire need of guidance. Nowadays, as Lucifer so reiterated in their past twenty family dinners, it was to support Charlie and her dream.

So when Lucifer fell silent, serpentine eyes widening in realization and longing, that Michael snapped to him in alarm.

“... What about your daughter?” he asked cautiously, lips pursing. If given the chance, all Lucifer would talk about was his pride and joy, his light in Hell. He’d driven Gabriel up no less than thirteen walls with his manic obsession with Charlie in the last dinner alone. “Do you tire of her already?”

“Never,” Lucifer replied instantly, fully aware he often chased the next fresh idea before finishing the last. “I think she’s grown tired of me.”

He must’ve caught the doubt on Michael’s face, because only Father knew just how much Lucifer adored Charlie, because he then added almost as an afterthought, “After all, she kicked me out of her home.”

Michael stared. “I see…”

No, he didn’t see. 

What could he say in this scenario? “I’m sorry for your loss”? Or was it “She didn’t deserve you”? Or perhaps “There are plenty of fish in the sea”? Father, give him strength.

Michael never liked Charlie, not when she took up so much of Lucifer’s power and attention, but Lucifer did, which meant Michael had to play nice. “You’ve gotten too attached.”

Not an insult, not judgement. Just observation.

Lucifer shook his head, his quivering laugh one of fondness. “She’s something else, isn’t she?”

Michael held his gaze for a moment longer, before turning away with a sigh of disbelief. 

“I’ll inform the others to prepare your room.” He eyed Lucifer’s expression, gauging his reaction with every word. 

Lucifer ran a hand through his hair. “Only for a few days,” he compromised, voice weak from resignation. “Until I’m healed.”

Michael pressed the back of his palm to Lucifer’s forehead, the skin worryingly cold. It said a lot when an Archangel of light ran hotter than the literal King of Hell.

Lucifer’s magic hummed faintly under his skin, barely responsive to the touch. It didn’t reveal much, not when his depression was already eating away at his vitality, but it was a cause for concern when it was externally induced.

What’s even more worrying was that Lucifer wasn’t fighting him. He didn’t hiss at his quips, he didn’t push him away, and now he’s even leaning into Michael’s hand for his warmth. He barely even reacted to the fact he was bleeding into a manmade machine actively draining him dry.

“Let’s go,” he prodded gently, making a mental note to corner Raphael the second they returned to Heaven. “You should get some rest.”

Lucifer hummed, letting Michael help him to his feet. “Sleep… sounds nice,” he agreed absentmindedly.

Michael reached for his phone, dialing up Raphael’s personal number. If he had any doubts things were serious, this was a sign!

He reopened his portal, a four-pointed doorway reminiscent of his birth, only to stop when Lucifer stopped him with minimal level of resistance, refusing to move from his current spot.

“Wait.” Lucifer’s sharpened with newfound focus. “I need to tell Charlie where I’m going.”

Michael’s tongue clicked in irritation. “She’ll be fine,” he snapped, harsher than he intended. 

Lucifer’s eyes dimmed. “But—”

“She kicked you out, remember?” Michael glared, though the anger wasn’t directed at his brother. No, it was for his foolish, bleeding heart, and his creations that often did more harm than good. “Both of you need some space. You need to heal.”

With more force than necessary, he pulled Lucifer through the portal by his healed wrist, the gateway sealing shut behind them.

“Princess?”

Mid conversation with Vaggie, Charlie turned towards the Weapons Overlord, who had taken upon herself to dismantle the weapon she helped to construct. 

The graveness in Carmilla’s voice stilled the relief in Charlie’s body, calling upon the faded adrenaline in her vessels. Hand-in-hand, the couple approached the pit that was once Vox’s weapon, anxiety lapping in their stomachs.

“I thought you may want to see this.”

Carmilla dipped her head into the remnants of the power source: a floor full of glass, steel and ichor. It smelled faintly of apples and angelic burn.

Basically The Fic:

#1:

Lucifer: If anything takes more than 10% of my effort, I can’t be bothered to do it. 

#2:

Lucifer: Sleep? Is good?

Michael, sweating bullets and speed dialing every Healer he knows: Hold that thought, buddy-

Chapter Text

Too bitter.

With barely a thought, two sugar cubes materialized from air and fell into Lucifer’s tea. He stirred the liquid with a silver spoon, eyes never leaving Raphael’s presentation, letting the words settle over him like a comforting blanket.

Much like the one draped over his lap, as his siblings had all confined him to bed rest for the foreseeable future. Which was unfair, considering Raphael’s healing and their own innate regeneration, but he suspected they were using him as an excuse to lie around themselves.

Above him, Gabriel and Uriel lazed about in their hammocks, wings drooping from the cotton for comfort. Lucifer was almost unused to the vast size of his room: with a ceiling taller than his daughter’s hotel, with artificial clouds and sky to emulate nature. A perfect place for beings who lived with the stars.

“... and that concludes my life for the past ninety-six years,” Raphael was saying. “If there is no more unwarranted commentary, we may move onto the Q&A section.”

He flicked his wrist. The holographic, blue-lined screen in the air shifted to an image of a screaming hummingbird, flapping its wings in a repeating animation. If they looked closer, they could still see the watermark lining on the image, because despite being all powerful and knowing, they still couldn’t be bothered to pay for these overpriced subscription fees like anybody else.

The healer, with the patience of a thousand saints, clasped his hands together and addressed his siblings hanging on the hammocks around Lucifer’s room. “Does anyone have any stupid questions?”

From Lucifer’s top right, Uriel lazily raised his dominant left wing, head tilting as he met Raphael’s glare with a shit-eating grin of his own. He laid on his belly, kicking his feet in the air and cradling his face, a perfect imitation of a teenage human girl dreaming of her crush.

“About Slide 428,” Uriel hummed, swiping his finger to change the presentation to his designated topic. “The case about the cherubs. You said they got sick from moonshine?”

Raphael squirted at the case file that had been so absurd he couldn’t not include in their Century Updates. The slide featured a selfie of Raphael in his clinic, frowning with his assistants running for buckets in the background.

“A cocktail of… things,” he confirmed, turning back around with a sigh. “Even the labs couldn’t accurately determine what was in there. There’s holy water, ginger ale, Wrath’s tap water and who knows what. Father himself must’ve intervened because I certainly don’t know how they haven’t perished.”

Gabriel yawned, the sound reminiscent of a bird-filled forest. “Praise Father.” He rolled his eyes. 

Raphael clapped his hand once. “Right! Moving on.” He fluffed his wings out, straightening his spine. “Gabe, you’re up.”

With a snap of his fingers, the two Archangels switched places. Raphael fell into Gabriel’s hammock the same time Gabriel fell on his face where Raphael once stood.

Lucifer snorted into his tea, raising his wings to shield himself when Gabriel began throwing stationery at the healer, rolling his eyes when pens and staplers harmlessly bounced off his feathers.

“I think we should wait for Michael for Gabriel’s,” Uriel spoke up, voice cutting through their bickering. “Any idea when he’ll be back?”

“He has been gone for a bit,” Gabriel agreed, mid-throw of his newly conjured sharpener. “I’d hate for him to miss out on all the juicy gossip.”

The piece of stationery sailed an impressive arc in the sky before it collided directly in Raphael’s forehead. “Hey!”

Lucifer pursed his lips, lowering his half-finished cup of earl grey. Michael had offered to inform Charlie of his absence in Lucifer’s place, and in return Lucifer would rest obediently in their home. Despite his worries, his twin had given him his word to not bring harm onto his daughter and those she deemed worthy of her time. 

He trusted Michael, but only let him go if he’d make it back in time for their updates. He’d already missed Raphael’s, but since they met closely on a regular basis, it was nonconsequential to their knowledge. Gabriel and Uriel’s, on the other hand, was where things got more obscure, as their duties often whisked them far from the bounds of Heaven.

“We can wait,” Lucifer suggested, finishing the rest of his tea. “I’m sure he’ll be back anytime soon.”

A part of him remained tight with anxiety, worrying about how Charlie would react to the news. Michael wasn’t exactly known for his diplomatic nature, and Charlie… could be a lot! He loved her, he really did; but he wasn’t about to ignore all the faults she’d developed!

Gabriel and Raphael capitalized on the break by launching themselves on each other, sending them both toppling out the window (a remarkable feat on its own, with its tried and true sturdiness) and into Heaven’s public skies below. 

Even from a distance, Uriel and Lucifer could already hear faint screams from Heavenborn, who had the unfortunate fate of witnessing Heaven’s highest order of angels engage in a brawl much better suited for toddlers.

Some things never change, regardless of time.

After Hell’s failed invasion and redemption’s reveal, the Hazbin Hotel was swamped with a surge of guests unforeseen in its previous years of operation. Plans for expansion were drawn, detailed activities and exercises were scheduled; and between the crowds of Sinners clamoring for second chances, the sudden influx of responsibilities swamped the existing hotel staff, leaving them breathless everyday.

However, try as they may, it was nigh impossible to know every resident personally and keep track of their every move. Sinners checked in faster than they were redeemed, and with their inexperience in handling large capacities of guests, it was only a matter of time that they mishandled some paperwork by accident alone, or miscounted the number of residents taking part in a specific activity at any given time.

Which was why Vaggi wasn’t the least bit surprised to find a wandering soul in the lobby, when they had split the guests up into their respective activities for the day. Sheepish, perhaps. Frustrated, possibly, if only for the paper trail she’d need to chase to find any mixups in schedules.

With a sigh, she walked down the stairs and approached the blond Sinner, dressed in a white and blue suit and cape, sporting shoulderplates of silver. Not in the Vees’ colors, but not exactly Hell’s either. They looked out of place in a backdrop of crimson and gold, but she, out of all people, was in no position to judge one’s appearance. As long as they weren’t one of Vox’s reporter spies trying to infiltrate the building in search for negative negative press, they were already in a marginally better position in her books.

She tapped his shoulder, just barely taller than herself if not the same height. “Hello, sir, may I have your ID and room num—Lucifer?”

Lucifer, or rather his doppelganger, glared back. His arms were crossed, his brow raised and sorely unimpressed; if not by Vaggi’s introductions then by the decor itself. He looked as if he’d rather be anywhere else than the hotel, baby blue eyes narrowing in distaste.

“You’re not it,” he said, scanning Vaggi’s form as its very existence displeased him. “Damn, I was hoping to get this over with.” 

From a miniature cloud of sharpened stars, a golden phone fell perfectly into his waiting palm. He squinted at the screen and conjured a pair of reading glasses before turning back to Vaggi.

“Do you know anything called Char?” he quizzed, adjusting his glasses. “Or Char-Char? Father’s Grace, he needs a better system.”

That was most definitely not Lucifer, but he shared his face, only with significantly less red in his palette. Hell, he even sounded like him, but he wasn’t giving off any aura when even the youngest of Sinners should have a recognizable air to them, so who…?

Vaggi shifted on her feet. “Well, uh, sir.” She cringed. “Pardon me, but do you know Lucifer, perchance?”

The man’s face collapsed into annoyance. “Can you help me or can you not?”

Excuse you? The sudden urge to bat her clipboard over the man’s head bloomed in her gut, only held back by her desire to see Charlie’s dream come to fruition. It wouldn’t do well for business or their reputation if their Manager was known for slamming clipboards in places where it didn’t belong. So instead of doing just that, she grit her teeth and asked in a tight voice, “Have you checked the Lost and Found, sir?”

Not-Lucifer’s eyes flashed pure blue, leaving a white iris drowning in its wake. “I don’t have time for your nonsense,” he snarled. His phone dented and cackled in his vice grip. “You’d do well to silence yourself and do as you’re told!”

A bright, glowing light emerged from his back, its very existence itself scalding Vaggi’s skin. Subconsciously, she was abruptly overcome with the desire to fall to her knees, clasp her hands over her chest and subject herself to divine presence. 

But as quickly as it arose, the pressure dissipated in an instant, leaving behind only a dreadfully familiar, yet uncanny sight: a pure white halo carved from the primordial stars itself, sitting behind the man’s head rather than over it, as if it were a mere backdrop to his presence; like he was divinity itself, unneeding for something as trivial as a halo to dignify his purpose.

The Archangel sighed, waving her off and breaking her trance, as if that display of power and position was no more than a fleeting mistake. “Forget it.” He pinched his nose, walking past her with purpose. 

By the time he reached the stairs did Vaggi remember to breathe.

Fuck. She spun around, eyes widening at the Archangel scaling the stairs, his halo on full display. They were in some deep shit.

“Wait!” Vaggi gave chase, forcing her jellied knees to move. “You can’t go there!”

Heaven may be aware of redemption, but a portion of the Court remained skeptical at large, and their residents were just as wary. If this Archangel interrupted the activities or stepped into anything unsavory, he could potentially undo all their efforts! One negative word from an Archangel would send their entire operation back into the ground from whence it came. 

But why show up now? After all this time and out of nowhere? Even Adam himself never knew if the Archangels still existed, since he assumed they left with God to another plane of existence. If they were still here, why leave Heaven scrambling for answers and let them think they’ve been abandoned?

However, as the Archangel reached the top of the stairs with Vaggie hot on his trails, Charlie came barreling down the corridor, out of breath and panicked from the ruckus.

“He- Hello! Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel!” she stammered, straightening her spine and brushing dust off her lapels. “I’m Charlie! I wasn’t aware we’d be getting any visits from Heav—DAD!?”

The Archangel blinked, his facial features slacking with realization. He pulled out his magically repaired phone and referenced his screen once more, before clicking his tongue and dismissing his glasses.

“Alright, let’s get this over with.” He raised his phone and Vaggi finally reached Charlie’s side and- was he recording? “Your creator wants me to tell you he’s safe, snuggled up in no less than four blankets, and to take care of his duck collection for the foreseeable future.”

Charlie grimaced. “What?”

“You are Char, right?” The Archangel tilted his head, frowning. “Char-Char? Charles? Charlotte? Charcoal? Lucifer’s newest project? Ring a bell?”

“She’s not a project!” Vaggi jumped to her defense. That’s what he was talking about? Archangel or not, no one got away with addressing Charlie like one would with common furniture! “She’s his daughter!”

Mr. Not-Lucifer clicked his tongue. “Hmm, sure.” He tapped away on his phone, unbothered. “Your Creator also says, and I quote, ‘I love you very much, Char-Char! Don’t listen to anything the busboy might say! Lots of Kisses, XOXO!’”

His deadpan expression and monotone did little to convey the actual intent behind the message, and his identical voice only drove the point to no return. 

“Wait!” Charlie cried out, reaching out as the angel was mid step through the conjured portal. “Who are you? Where’s my dad? Is he okay?”

The angel’s shoulders slumped, his teeth grit in irritation. “My brother is recovering from that little stint your infernal realm pulled,” he snapped, thoroughly fed up. “If he returns—for some unholy, misplaced sentimentality—you would do well to watch your behavior. There are only so many transgressions we’re willing to overlook before we stage an intervention in this misguided pet project.”

Charlie’s gaze hardened. “Where is he?” she demanded, eyes flashing red. “Where is my dad?”

“Isn’t it obvious, or did he give you subpar intelligence in exchange for stubbornness?” The Archangel sneered. “He’s home, princess. Get that through your doll head.”

The hotel door slammed wide open, the hinges creaking with strain. A crowd of reporters dressed in the Vees’ colors flooded the lobby, flashing cameras and waving microphones in their direction like banshees.

“The False King has returned!” a reptilian reporter clamored, stealing the camera from their coworker to scale the pillar and point the camera directly in the Archangel’s face, smushing his cheek with the lens. “May we get some words, bitch! What do you have to say about your pussy ass leaving the rest of us to rot!”

Hot blood and sharp skeletal pieces spattered on Vaggi and Charlie’s faces. The bulky camera crashed into the puddle of gore where the Sinner once stood, its circuits sparking and lens shattered on impact. The air smelled faintly of ozone and storm, despite the roof over their heads and Hell’s sulphuric atmosphere.

“Does anyone,” scowled the pristine Archangel, untouched by the explosion of gore, “have any more stupid questions?”

The crowd erupted in screams and bolted out the door, trampling over their equipment and each other to make their escape.

The angel rolled his eyes. “Good,” he sneered, returning to the still-open portal. “Now. If you’ll excuse me, I have a presentation to catch.”

Charlie’s eyes flew wide open. “Wait! Please—!”

But the portal had already closed.

“Where’s my dad!?” Her raised voice stirred murmurs around the hotel, confused Sinners trickling into the hall. “Come back, please!”

Michael returned to Lucifer and Uriel playing UNO on Lucifer’s bed, and Gabriel and Raphael were nowhere to be seen.

“... did I miss anything?” he asked dumbly, watching as the two continuously place down a plethora of +4 cards one after the other, without any signs of stopping anytime soon.

Uriel paused for a moment, two +4 cards held between his fingers. He and Lucifer both have a single card remaining. “Not that I know of,” he said. 

“Michael!” Lucifer beamed, wings fluttering. “How was Charlie? Isn’t she sweet? What’d you think of her?”

The corner of Michael’s lip twitched, as if he were wondering how to cushion the blow of his honest opinion. Then he decided it wasn’t worth the effort of trying to deceive the Origin of Deception. “You could do better.”

Lucifer gasped. “Give it time!” he promised. “You’ll love her after spending some time together, I know it!”

Michael transformed his clothes into a sweatshirt and shorts before joining them on the bed. He unfurled his wings, letting them rest on the mattress behind him.

“Doubtfully,” he muttered, peeking at Lucifer’s remaining card of a Red 6. Of all the times Lucifer dragged them around in his wayward attempts to share his creations, rarely did any of them end well for all parties involved. He still remembered the time he revealed Beelzebub after its creation—they were finding remnants of melting cotton candy in their garments for days.

He watched with a smirk as Uriel delivered the final blow: forcing Lucifer to draw 84 cards from the scattered stack. His theatrical whine all but shook the room’s foundations.

Raphael and Gabriel returned to the windows at this very moment, appearing as if they’d rolled around in no less than four trees and lakes. They repaired the glass with a snap of their fingers, and cleaned themselves from any foliage staining their clothes and hair.

“Ahem!” Gabriel coughed into his fist, taking center stage and pulling up his presentation of 634 slides. “Please, sit back and lend me your ears- all sixteen of them! Before we begin, do you still remember that scandal about that couple stuck in reincarnation paperwork?”

The four siblings took their seats around Lucifer’s bed, making no move to return to their hammocks. Instead, they dismissed the cards and nestled into each other, resting on each other’s wings in clouds of fluff and comfort softer than any existing pillow.

“The two chasing each other across all the planes?” Raphael prodded. 

Gabriel nodded. “So a few decades ago, they finally found each other!” Everyone cheered and clapped. Uriel whistled. “But!” He turned to the next slide. “The wife made a murder suicide pact with her daughters and now they’re in Hell! But at least they’re reunited!”

Lucifer choked. “WHAT?” he demanded. “After four hundred years, and now they finally found out!?”

“They fucked around too much, I suppose,” Raphael snorted. “I was so invested, too.”

“Now they’re doomed to eternity in hellfire without any hope for salvation, but at least they have each other and their children,” Gabriel concluded. “So unless they fancy redemption, that concludes this specific piece.”

“How bittersweet,” Uriel mourned. “But at least Azrael can stop ferrying them back and forth all the time.”

Michael clenched his fists, teeth grating with fury. “Don’t start. If I have to hear him wail about another lost love at the table, I will personally wring his neck like a sponge.”

Lucifer grabbed his wrist and lowered it by force. “Ay ay, no violence at the dinner table!” he snipped. “We aren’t in Hell anymore, you know?”

A thundering clap pierced through the air, silencing their bickering in an instant. “Ladies!” spoke the Messenger, pointing to the arduous backlog they were about to witness. “Settle down, you’re all very pretty!”

He ducked in time for a duck-shaped cushion to sail harmlessly over his head.

“Moving on,” he said, gesturing to the next slide, which featured a fuzzy picture taken of the Court, presumably taken during the meeting after Adam’s death. “This shitshow!  You should’ve seen it!”

The four sobered and paid full attention to their brother’s presentation, summoning popcorn and soda to busy their mouths and hands. At some point, Azrael had joined via video call on Uriel’s phone, and they placed him on some cushions so he could get a front row seat. (It was his turn with Father for their decade-ly tea, and he couldn’t escape this one after cashing in far too many favors over the years.)

“... and that’s why I’ve fully digitalized my work through e-mails and the occasional tweet.” 

The powerpoint switched to a screenshot of Gabriel’s new social media account, sporting a profile picture of a nesting pigeon and the handle @G4BR13L_OFFICIAL_1. He was still fighting for his original name, seeing as he was, the Original Gabriel.

“Any questions?”

Raphael raised his wing.

“And that’s it for my updates! ‘cifer, you’re up!”

Raphael lowered said wing.

Lucifer blinked, and suddenly his siblings were all across him, huddled up on the foot of his bed as they awaited his presentation. He knew they said he wasn’t to leave the bed, but sometimes he wondered if their brain cells (or the angelic equivalent) had merged into one colossal entity some time ago. “Ah—” He coughed into his fist, blushing gold because of the sudden attention. “It’s been a while since I’ve done this! Let me…”

He dug through a list of mental notes before finally finding the old, dusty file he’d compiled a few years ago. Only 324 slides long, but he always made new ones on the fly anyways. Long-term preparation was never his thing, often preferring spontaneous creation.

The very first slide was a picture of him and Charlie: with his arm thrown over her shoulders, as he held a Charlie-shaped duck to the camera. Collectively, his siblings groaned in unison.

“Hey! Zip it!” he hissed heatlessly, creating a cushion that slammed into their faces each. Even Azrael, who ducked from his camera out of instinct, suffered a mini pillow to the screen. “First order of business! For the first time in two hundred years, I’ve finally gotten around updating the Sins’ Aggro mechanics…”