Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Author's Note: I'm simultaneously in love with this show, and mildly irritated. I love Chloe and Lucifer, especially as friends (yeah, yeah, I know they're probably heading towards romance, but I'm really hoping that's a distant future), but I feel like they shove the story along almost too quickly. Like him losing his immortality so soon after meeting Chloe. Honestly, since the source material takes place in the DC Constantine Universe, I'm hoping Chloe is like the character of Zed in the Constantine series, or Angela Dodson in the movie version. Not supernatural, but able to see it.

Anyway, this was written because I hadn't tackled anything in a different genre since last year, and I wanted to explore how Chloe must rationalize the weirdness that is Lucifer Morningstar, assuming she doesn't believe he is the Devil. Read and review!

Finding Chloe in the middle of a pile of papers strew around was nothing out of the ordinary to Dan. When she had a particularly difficult case, she liked to 'map it out' as she called it, spreading all of the data she had across the floor, the table, whatever surface she happened to be working on so she could see all of it, and then toss pieces out as they became no longer relevant.

It was messy, but effective, and he tended to leave her alone while she puzzled things out, occasionally muttering to herself about a piece of particularly difficult evidence.

Except this time when he caught a glimpse at the papers strewn around her in a halo across the living room floor, he saw nothing to do with cases. Instead, it was pages and pages of pictures and archaic Christian lore – pages from the Bible highlighted in several different versions, pictures of demons and devils and winged angels and their righteous wrath. More concerning then the content, however (because hey, with their jobs, it was hard not to question the existence of the hereafter and an Almighty), was that interspersed with the pictures of heavenly creatures were pictures and reports of his least favorite civilian consultant – Lucifer Morningstar.

He sighed, dropping Trixie's forgotten backpack onto the table as he plopped down onto the sofa.

"Chloe, you can't be serious," he said exasperatedly. He knew that guy was bad news. There was something just so…off about the guy. Way too above board for the type of company he kept most of the time. Both him and his creepy bartender with the Spanish word for corn as a first name.

"Hmm?" she said, hardly looking up as she brushed away a paper about a creature made from fire. She pushed together a surveillance picture of Morningstar with the rules of Satanism as written by LaVey.

"You're not really buying into his crap about being the Devil, are you? Because if you are, you really might want to talk to a professional therapist," he said, gesturing to the massive spread.

Chloe shot him a look that clearly said I'm not stupid or crazy, thankyouverymuch. "Seriously, Dan?"

He gestured back at the papers. "Well, what the hell am I supposed to think when this is what I come home to?"

He was very glad looks couldn't kill. He would be dead a hundred times over.

"How about that I'm trying to figure out why he's claiming to be the Devil?" Chloe said.

Dan stared at her blankly, and she rolled her eyes, huffing irritably.

"Of course he's not the Devil, Dan. There's no such thing. Well, maybe, but he's not it. So I'm trying to figure out what would make a person want to be the embodiment of evil," she explained.

"So, why would he?" Dan asked, trying to follow her logic.

Chloe shook her head absently, thoughtfully chewing on her lip. "I don't think that's the version of Lucifer he's attached to. Lucifer doesn't think of himself as evil, he leans more towards…apathetic, but he's got a real Old Testament view of right and wrong. If you did wrong, then you must be punished, and punished according to the crime. When he was talking to Lindsay and her brother, he wasn't so much angry that they wanted to kill Carver, it was like he was angry that they wanted him dead over something that he thought was insignificant."

"Real winner, that guy," Dan said. "I'm still not sure that I follow your logic."

Chloe pointed out various papers from her circle. "I started working backwards from what I knew about Lucifer. He's got daddy issues, that's for sure, and he seems to think he's not at fault for them. He's an amoral vigilante when it comes to most people, and everything he does seems to be more out of curiosity than anything else. People on a whole seem to confuse him, at least where emotions run high." She paused, then shook her head. "No, that's not quite right. He can understand, but not comprehend, like…like he understands killing out of revenge, but he doesn't comprehend the level of emotional reaction people seem to have. Killing over money seems to irritate him more than anything, like it's just too far out of his realm of understanding."

Dan nodded slowly. "For a rich guy, he does seem to be really unconcerned with money…most with money would understand the rationale of killing over it."

Chloe nodded. "But he doesn't. He gets mad over people lying – frauds, fakes…those get to him. And he purposely distances himself from people by never actually referring to himself as a person. It's always 'you people'. And unlike most crazies who do that…I've never heard him slip up. And because he's so convinced, he convinces other people too."

"So you think he's like what, a mentalist? Like the people in Vegas who can make you think you're a chicken for a day?" Dan asked.

Chloe shrugged. "Maybe? But it's people he has never met before, and it's not like he has a whole little speech or charade that he goes through every time he talks to someone. The closest he gets is 'tell me what do you most desire?' except he doesn't use the same exact phrase every time."

"I've heard of 'I just have one of those faces' but yeah, that's a bit of a stretch. So then what's your theory?"

Chloe didn't answer for a moment, and Dan didn't think she was going to answer.

"I think he's a victim," she said finally.

Dan scoffed, thinking she was joking, but frowned when it became obvious she was not. "Really, Chloe? A victim? A victim of what? Narcissism? Sociopathy? He's arrogance incarnate."

"He's obviously delusional, and the delusion he chooses to associate with is arrogant. And he chose a delusion where he can choose not to feel at all, but punishes the wicked. He picked the Devil to portray himself as, but the vigilante half of him – the one that doesn't make people do bad things, but punishes them for their own choices. I think…I think it plays back into his issues with his father."

Dan's frown deepened. "How so?"

She gestured vaguely to her back with one hand, indicating the space between her shoulder blades. "He's got these…these scars, Dan. Huge – right here. Like where there would be wings if he was a fallen angel. He says they're a 'gift from his father', and freaked when I…asked about them."

Dan raised an eyebrow when Chloe's cheeks turned a light pink. "Asked about them? How did you even see them?"

Chloe huffed angrily. "We know Lucifer's personal boundaries are pretty much non-existent and the man has zero shame. He was trying to show me all that I was missing by turning him down. Repeatedly." She glared at him, daring him to challenge her.

Dan wasn't that stupid. He held his hands up in mock surrender. "Hey, just askin', okay?"

"When he turned around, I could see them, and they're these almost diamond shaped sections of skin missing. The first time I ever saw him really lose his composure was when I almost touched them, and then suddenly, instead of flirting and joking, he looked absolutely horrified, and disappeared to change, pretending like nothing happened."

Dan sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "So your theory is that those really were from his father, just not the Heavenly Father? I guess it would make sense, but why not just claim to be any angel? Why claim to be the fallen angel?"

Chloe shrugged. "Maybe that's how he sees it? That's how he sees himself? As a rebellious son, thrown out by his father to suffer?"

"Yeah, but isn't the Devil a bad guy?" Dan asked. "Why would be run around helping solve crimes? Even the novelty of it doesn't make sense. Unless you think he gets his kicks from violence?"

Chloe shook her head. "No, I don't think he's violent, I think he's vengeful. Because he isn't cruel to Trixie, he just doesn't know what to do with her, and she really likes him…for whatever reason. And you know Trix, she's usually a pretty good judge of character."

Dan considered it. "Maybe the reason he keeps the association of the Devil's vindictive justice side…his father was never punished for what he did? Assuming that he wasn't lying about his dad being the reason for his scars?"

"Or that because he feels he was wrongly punished by his father, he now makes sure that others are punished according to their crimes?" Chloe said.

Dan shrugged. "Maybe. It is a bit of a stretch though, you gotta admit."

Chloe gave him the same look of no shit, Sherlock she did before. "And him actually being the Lucifer from Christian lore is so much more likely."

Dan tried not to smile. "Well, you hear those soap box doomsday prophets – The Devil walks amongst us!"

"Get real, Dan." She paused for a moment. "Maybe the reason why this current identity only shows up five years ago is because he had a different identity?"

"Maybe. But it's probably still not going to be his real one. Not at his age, and assuming that his damage happened when he was younger. You're probably looking at more than one fake identity, and maybe even someone who was in an institution. But before you go digging, Chloe – just stop and think about whether or not you really want to know."

"I need to know," Chloe protested.

Dan shook his head, and he couldn't believe he was actually defending Morningstar. "No, you want to know. Big difference. If we're right, this guy went through some serious shit, and he's obviously trying to separate himself from it. You can't just go picking at that kind of delusion without creating more problems. Right now, yeah, calling yourself Lucifer Morningstar and being the dark angel of vengeance is weird. Really weird. But if that's how he copes, and he's not actively doing anything wrong, what is you knowing about his past really going to do?"

"Maybe I could help him?" Chloe said. "He keeps throwing himself into situations that could get him killed. And there's that rather unfortunate habit of trying to punish people."

"You're already helping, aren't you? You agreed to work with him. You can't keep any closer an eye on him than that. And…he's already getting psychiatric help." Dan winced at the murderous scowl Chloe sent him.

"You looked him up?"

"Well, yeah. One, he was going to be working for the department, so he had a background check anyway, and two, he's going to be around Trixie at least a little because it's unavoidable. I wanted to make sure he wasn't a violent offender. Weird make believe I can let slide around a kid. Violent weird make believe wasn't going to happen, no matter what the Captain or you said. He started seeing a licensed therapist about six weeks ago."

Chloe sighed in resignation. "Sorry. That was kind of unfair. I would've expected you to run a check on him."

Dan waved off her apology. "Don't worry about it. Anyway, enough of Morningstar, or whoever the hell he is. Tonight is Taco Tuesday, and I'm starving."

"I'll clean this up if you want to get it started. Trixie can help you, I think she's in her room." Chloe gestured to the papers around her. "I'll find somewhere to put all of this. Maybe it'll help me understand Lucifer's references a little better." She smiled briefly. "Never thought I would wish I'd gone to Catholic school."

"Sad, dark day in history," Dan agreed, standing and stretching. "Hey, Monkey! Come help with dinner while mom cleans up her homework!"

"Coming!"

As Dan made his way to the kitchen, Chloe bent over and picked up a note, one she didn't remember writing. It was her penmanship though, but on it was only one word. A name, actually.

Samael.

She stuffed it in her pocket to look up later as she shuffled the rest of her papers into order to be filed away. She obviously thought it was worth reading at some point, even if she couldn't remember writing it in the first place.

Distracted by the clanging of pans and Trixie's giggling from the kitchen, she paid no attention to the sudden feeling like she was being watched.

This may, MAY have a second chapter with Lucifer wondering why the hell Dan and Chloe are looking at him like he's some sort of broken toy suddenly. But it depends on whether or not you guys want it. Like it, love it, hate it? What do you think Chloe's rationalization of Lucifer's claim to be the Devil is? I love feedback, especially about my favorite show.

Chapter Text

Chloe didn't mean to change her behavior towards Lucifer. She really didn't. She wasn't even aware that she was doing it until Dan called her out on it at a crime scene when Lucifer was out of earshot.

"Chloe, what's going on with you and him?" Dan asked, frowning worriedly.

She bristled. "For the last time, Dan, nothing is going on between us."

He rolled his eyes, and carefully steered her further away from the chalk outline, putting even more distance between them and the night club owner.

"Jesus, Chloe, that's not what I mean. I mean, did you guys like, fight or something?" he asked.

Chloe frowned, shaking her head. "No."

"Then why is he acting like you killed his dog? Or his favorite hooker, or whatever the hell the Devil would care about?" Dan asked. "He's been moping around for the past couple of days and it's beginning to get weird. Even for him."

Chloe glanced back at Lucifer who was absently talking to one of the female crime scene investigators. She could see from the way the woman gestured animatedly she was more than thrilled to be the object of even half his attention, but instead of soaking up the admiration, Lucifer simply nodded and smiled politely at the right moments. He seemed to sense her looking over at him, and he turned, catching her eyes momentarily before she quickly looked away, glancing back down at her feet.

"Wait, have you been doing that to him this whole time?" Dan asked, suddenly pointing an accusing finger at her.

Chloe crossed her arms defensively across her chest. "What?"

"That," Dan said, pointing at her face. "That look is the look you always get when you start feeling bad for something."

"I do not!" Chloe protested.

"Remember when we had to put Trixie's old dog down, and every time you looked at her for a week she would burst into tears?" Dan said. "It was because of that look."

"I do not have a look, Dan!"

Dan threw his hands up in exasperation. "This is because of what you think you figured out last week, isn't it? Instead of thinking of him as the obnoxious, arrogant ass that he is, every time you look at him you think of him as Sally Sobstory."

Chloe could feel her ears turn pink at the tips, but she steadfastly refused to give in. "I'm not thinking of him as anything other than what he is."

Dan nodded, putting his hands on his hips, cocking one leg to the side. "Uh huh. Sure. And, uh, what exactly would that be?"

Now Dan had hit the problem she'd run in to. She didn't know what he was. Maybe he was just a delusional narcissist. He pretended to be the Devil because it got him attention in every way, shape or form that he craved. But something in her, something in her gut told her there was something true to his story. Even if it was only his claim that he wouldn't lie to her, and claiming to be a dethroned archangel was a pretty damn big, obvious lie – so some part of him had to believe it was true.

Maybe he was a kid whose father told him repeatedly that he was the Devil. That he was evil. Maybe he grew up in one of those religious nut job communes and he didn't drink the Kool Aide. Maybe he was in an accident, and he just blocked out the traumatic memory. She couldn't help herself – there was just something tragic about him, and she couldn't put her finger on what or why.

"If that's the look you keep giving him, no wonder he's pouting. I feel like crying and I don't even like the guy," Dan said, bringing her out of her thoughts.

She sighed, pressing the heel of her palm to her forehead. "I know, I know, I just...I can't help it, okay? Now that I know-"

Dan cut her off, putting his hand up to stop her. "No, Chloe, you don't know. You think you know. You have a theory, an admittedly pretty solid one, but you don't know. He could be a guy who's into scarification. They could be a birth defect. They could be make up, for Chrissakes, and he's just that committed to the act."

Chloe didn't protest, because unfortunately he was right. She didn't know, she could only guess.

"Look, Chloe, I'm not saying that he doesn't have some sort of tragic family history of Biblical proportions. He probably does. But you don't think he knows that? He didn't pick a tragic figure out of any religion to make himself into, he picked the Devil. Someone so completely against the archetypal victim that until you started trying to puzzle him out, worked brilliantly. If someone goes through all that to convince you he's not a victim, or some sort of tragic, misunderstood hero, don't you think he might need to convince himself of that too?"

Chloe felt guilt pulling at her gut like a lead weight. God, when Dan pointed it out like that, she felt like she'd just managed to make everything worse. "Have I really been that bad?"

Dan stared at her. "Oh yeah. Trust me. If I noticed, the he noticed." He sighed, scrubbing a hand through his hair. "Look, I know you mean well. Really, I do. I know how you get, all right? But he's not a kid anymore, so stop treating him like one."

Chloe had more than a soft spot of childhood trauma victims. In police work, it didn't matter what department you wound up in, you all started at the bottom as a patrolman. That meant you were a first responder to the 911 calls instead of the back up once the dust had settled. Seeing anyone hurt pulled at her heart strings, but she was never an effective investigator when it came to violent crimes against children. Her emotions ran hot and definitely Old Testament and she knew it carried over to the kids. She'd gotten better at it, hiding her instinctive reactions, mostly after she had Trixie, but she moved to homicide for a reason.

"Crap," she muttered, and risked another glance back at Lucifer who was now chatting happily with another detective. "I didn't think it would be possible to look at him as anything other than a pain in my ass."

"Yeah, well, the terrible burden of knowledge and all that," Dan agreed. "I keep doing it too."

That raised an eyebrow. "Seriously? You found sympathy for the Devil?"

"Hardy har har," Dan said. "I don't have to make it up to him. I already used Trixie as an excuse – I said she made me promise to be nicer to her future babysitter and he looked downright horrified and has been avoiding me ever since."

"Perfect. Then what do I do? I still have to work with him, and I can't get my mind off what his background could possibly be to explain his...quirks." She made air quotes around the word 'quirks'.

"The guy's a club owner. Buy him off with booze," Dan suggested. "The good stuff. Not like Blue Ribbon. And if you really can't get it out of your head...ask him."

"Ask him what? Why he chose the Devil as an identity crisis?" Chloe protested. "That's going to go over real well."

Dan shrugged. "Well, he already knows you don't believe him, so he's going to do one of two things – give you the Biblical retelling of his history, or he'll give you the truth. If he goes with the Bible, then you lost nothing. If he tells you the truth..." He shrugged again. "You got nothing to lose by asking." he clapped her on the shoulder, before going off to talk with the CSI bent over the body with their camera.

"What was that all about?"

And suddenly Lucifer was at her elbow, grinning like an idiot. His insane ability to pop in and out of places was unnerving. He reminded her of a cat – hiding on top of furniture, waiting to pounce as someone walked by.

"Nothing," she said. "We were just talking about you."

"Marvelous! Anything I should know about? Sweet nothings you want to whisper in my ear?" he asked, leaning forwards invitingly.

Chloe paused, considering Dan's suggestion that she simply ask about Lucifer about himself. He always seemed more than willing to talk to her, but never in any form of seriousness. Not even when he was trying to explain he was bulletproof (which she couldn't believe she fell for).

She must've gotten the face Dan accused her of, because Lucifer's smile dimmed, and he took a step back.

"Why do you keep looking at me like that?" he asked. "Like I'm some sort of...wilting flower, or something equally fragile?" He paused. "Like I'm weak."

"I don't think you're fragile, it's just-"

"I'm the prince of lies, Detective. Just because my other charms seem to have no effect on you doesn't mean I can't tell when you're lying."

Chloe rubbed her forehead, massaging away the building headache. "Fine, fine. Look, can I talk to you later tonight?"

Lucifer gave an almost imperceptible shrug. "What's wrong with right now?"

"Because I could use a drink for it," she said honestly.

She watched as he brow furrowed, first in doubt and then in confusion. "Sure, Detective. Lux will be closed to the public after midnight tonight. It's inventory night."

"Fine. That'll be fine. Dan has Trixie tonight anyway." She took a deep, even breath, mentally shook herself, and actively tried to treat Lucifer the way she always had. "Did you find out anything useful?"

Late nights at the club hadn't been her thing since her acting days, but even when she did go to them, they were never ones like Lux.

On the other hand, nothing was quite like Lux. Slick, shiny black surfaces that seemed to absorb the light and reflect shadows, and an air of something she couldn't quite define except as temptation. There was never a trace of anyone left behind when it closed – no empty solo cups (because Lux would never serve its $100 bottle liquor in a cheap plastic beer pong receptacle), no left behind glasses, and for a club that advocated carnal sin, no one ever left anything behind. Even fingerprints, on those shiny blackened surfaces.

True to his word, Lucifer had closed Lux to the public, and she found him sitting at the bar, two glasses and a bottle in front of him. One glass was empty, and the other half full.

"So what is it that you wanted to discuss so privately, Detective?" Lucifer asked, pouring her a drink.

She took a sip before she answered. Holy hell, that was top shelf.

"You, actually," she said. Lucifer had always been honest with her – he deserved the same respect. "More specifically…I wanted to know about you before you opened Lux."

Lucifer frowned. "I told you, I wasn't here before Lux. I was still in Hell. You have my whole history on Earth already."

Dammit. Not the best start.

"No, Lucifer. I mean…before that. I mean, you weren't really in Hell, because you're not the Devil, no matter what you claim. You said you were immortal, but you bleed just the same as I do."

Lucifer smirked. "Yes, the mortality thing is a rather new development, actually. I'm still not sure that I'm happy about it, but it does make life…interesting." He sipped at his whiskey. "But I don't know how many times you want me to repeat myself – I'm the Devil. Lucifer of Olde. Fallen one. Abbadon, Beelzebub and however many other names you people have come up with since last I checked."

Chloe sighed. She didn't really expect him to suddenly break his character if she asked him, but she'd at least hoped.

"Okay, fine. Say you're the Devil. The actual Devil. If that's the case- "

"It is."

She pretended not to hear him. "If that's the case…what are you doing here? Why LA? Why the nightclub? Why any of it?"

"I was bored," Lucifer said, a trace of his old smile back. "Being king of Hell is better than being a resident, but it's still Hell. I needed a vacation."

"And you picked LA because…?"

Lucifer smirked. "I like irony." He sipped at his whiskey. "And the weather is similar to what I'm used to. Contrary to Red Sox fans circa 2004, Hell has yet to freeze over."

"The club?"

"I provide a certain service to people, Detective. I allow…opportunities here that they wouldn't otherwise have available." He was smiling broadly now, the Old Lucifer once more as they bickered back and forth. She knew he lived for it – Lucifer liked a challenge, and from what she had observed from everyone else around him, he didn't run into them often. Everyone tripped over themselves for him. But still, the thought of those scars…they were anything but the intangible daydreams of a possibly deluded man. Those were real, and so was his reaction to them.

And if he wasn't going to give her the real story, then she was going with Dan's plan – decipher his Biblical retelling of his history…assuming she could get him to even talk about it in that context.

"What can you tell me about this name?" she asked, pulling the crumpled and worn post it from her pocket. She smoothed the edges, making it lie flat against the black counter top.

Lucifer, still grinning from ear to ear, glanced down at the neat penmanship. And froze.

His smiled vanished, and his already pale complexion paled even further, making him look gaunt and hollow in the minimal lighting of Lux.

"Where did you get that name?" he asked, voice tight with barely controlled anger.

No, not anger. He was way passed anger. That was hardly restrained rage just beneath the surface.

"So it means something?" Chloe asked. She hadn't found a whole lot on the name when she looked it up. Various completely conflicting stories in various conflicting religions, but the only thing they all agreed on was it was a very old name.

Lucifer was quiet for a long time. He tentatively reached out for the tiny piece of bright yellow paper, and she could see the minute shaking in his hand as he traced the letters with his finger.

"It used to mean something," Lucifer said quietly. And he crushed the paper in his hand. "Where did you hear it?"

"I found it when I was trying to figure out who you were before Lucifer Morningstar of Lux. Who's Samael?"

There was another long pause as he down the remainder of his whiskey, staring at the crumbled piece of paper in his fist. She didn't think he was going to answer, and was beginning to regret ever bringing it up.

"Samael is the name I had when I carried out temptation and death in the name of my Father." Lucifer spun the glass in his hand on the counter, letting it spin wildly on its edge like a dradle. "Before he threw me out and left me alone."

"You killed people for your father?" Chloe asked.

"Millions have killed in the name of my Father," Lucifer corrected. He watched the glass spin on its axis. "For thousands of years. Samael was the angel of death. He doled out punishment for the wicked when they were still on Earth because there wasn't a Hell. He waged war, not to punish indiscriminately, but to punish on behalf of God, with His permission, and for the good of all."

Chloe waited patiently to see if Lucifer would continue on his own.

Impossibly, the glass spun on.

"So how did Lucifer come about?" Chloe said quietly. "What made you rebel?"

"My Father decided that humans didn't deserve to be punished on Earth. He thought they deserved their entire lives to get a chance to redeem themselves. No longer was the Man punished, but the Soul. And if the Man didn't redeem himself, then the wicked Souls had to have a place to go. Thus Hell was created – except this new kingdom needed a king. Who better than the angel who carried out the punishment of God on Earth?"

"And you didn't want to?"

Lucifer chuckled humorlessly. "Angels are supposed to be the will of God. A rebellious angel, never mind a rebellious archangel, was unthought of. My Father tried to tell me it wasn't a punishment – even renamed me Lucifer to try and appease me. From 'God's Poison' to 'Light Bearer'. I didn't care. As Samael at least I'd been able to go to Heaven. I could walk the Earth. As Lucifer the Fallen One, I had to stay in Hell. Thousands of years, millions of Souls screaming out in pain and suffering and fear. And did they blame my Father for what they went through? Did they curse His name? No. It was mine. Did they blame themselves for their choices? No. They blamed me."

"What happened to your wings? Why did you have Maze...cut them off?" Chloe asked. She fought the urge to put her hand on his arm, or take his hand in hers. She was so used to physical contact being a comfort it was second nature, but Lucifer had already made it abundantly clear – unless it was sex, physical displays of affection were unwanted. She clasped her hands tighter around her glass to keep them from straying.

The glass tipped, falling from its graceful dance across the counter to the floor, shattering on impact.

Lucifer watched it go, and made no move to clean it up.

"Angels have wings. Angels are God's children, just as humans are, and my Father had made it abundantly clear I was no child of His." He reached across the bar counter, fishing around behind the table for a moment before pulling up a brand new bottle of very expensive whiskey. He didn't bother to get a new glass though, and simply pulled directly from the bottle.

"Maybe you should go a little easy on that," Chloe cautioned, but he ignored her, and continued to drink like he was a man dying of thirst in the desert. "Or not..."

Lucifer finally put the bottle down, licking the remnants from his lips before finally turning to look at her for the first time he started talking about his father. "If He didn't want me as a son, then I didn't want Him for a Father. Lucifer, the Fallen Angel King of Hell, is no more." He stood, shoving away from the bar. He didn't even sway, even though he'd just downed enough hard liquor to cause alcohol poisoning in an elephant.

He was the owner, though, and she doubted this was his first time drinking that much.

"Let's see you rationalize that into theory, Detective," he snarled. "The only thing worse than not being believed in is being patronized, and I have had millennia of it from my brothers to recognize it in a mere mortal. I assume you can find your way to the door."

With that, he gave her a mocking bow, and disappeared up the stairs to his loft, leaving the broken glass lying shattered on the ground.

Just like her heart.

"My job is to protect Lucifer," a woman said. It was so close Chloe jumped in her seat, hand half way to her gun before she realized it was Maze.

"Where the hell did you just come from?" Chloe demanded, willing her heart to go back to its normal pace. Maze continued as if she hadn't spoken. Or like she hadn't just popped out of thin air. Unless she'd been sitting behind the bar so low even the top of her head wasn't visible. While strange, it wouldn't be the strangest thing she'd seen in this nightclub.

"My purpose is to protect him. Protect him from his brothers. Protect him from himself. And protect him from you," Maze hissed, her eyes narrowing as she leaned across the bar counter. She let her eyes drift the length of Chloe's body, and she fought the urge to pull her jacket tighter around herself.

"By any means necessary," Maze said. There was a flicker of something in her eyes. Something almost feline. And when she curled her lip as Chloe finished her drink and left the empty glass on the table (because she was not going to let Lucifer's bar tender-slash-ninja intimidate her), she could swear she saw a flash of something rotting and twisted, just underneath the surface of that beautiful, flawless mask.

"Good night, Detective," Maze called after her.

The farewell had an edge of malice to it sharper than any knife, and Chloe waited until the door closed behind her before she allowed the shiver to run down her spine.

Chapter Text

Amenadiel was beginning to deeply regret ever answering one of Lucifer's prayers. Ever since his brother figured out that he couldn't ignore them, he'd call him down for anything from asking him to open a particularly stubborn pickle jar (not that Lucifer couldn't he just wanted to irritate his brother more), or try and drag him into a situation that Amenadiel could only describe as deeply pornographic with several aspiring 'actresses'.

He really didn't want to know what he wanted this time, but a prayer was a prayer.

"You know, I'm not yours to summon whenever you want," Amenadiel said, before Lucifer's hand was around his throat and lifting him into the air as if he weighed little more than a house cat.

"Dear brother, I'm going to ask you this once…" Lucifer snarled. His eyes flashed crimson and for a moment Amenadiel saw his older brother's true face. "And know that if you lie to me, I will skin you, and relieve you of yours. Did. You. Take. Them?"

Amenadiel choked, gasping for air, but didn't struggle. Despite having been on Earth and without wings for years, Lucifer was still an archangel – struggling just got him killed faster.

"Take what?" he rasped.

Lucifer didn't budge for a moment, his unblinking crimson eyes focused with deadly intent on his younger brother. Angels could tell lies from truth, intent from conviction, deception from sincerity. Amenadiel gave a quick prayer to his Father that it wasn't one of the abilities Lucifer was losing.

"I don't know what you're talking about, brother," Amenadiel gasped. "If you put me down, I can help."

With a wordless snarl, Lucifer flung him away, not bothering to see if he landed on his feet and angrily hurled the nearest table end over end across the room. "You're the only other one who knew about them, so who would even know what to look for?"

Amenadiel rubbed his throat, clearing it experimentally before venturing a question. "Knew about what?"

"My WINGS!" Lucifer roared, and quite literally burst into flames. The reality of Lux dissolved into flickering images of Hell as Lucifer's temper flared violently, real enough that Amenadiel could swear he felt the heat of the flames on his wings, could hear the screaming above the roar of the Pit. He knew they weren't in Hell – that this was a side effect of Lucifer's temper, one he used to torment humans here on Earth. He couldn't necessarily alter reality, but he could influence how one perceived it. "Somebody stole my wings!"

"Did you speak to Father?" he asked, and barely ducked out of the way of the barstool Lucifer hurled at him.

"And why…" Lucifer hissed, stalking towards him, hands balling into fists, "would I? Father hasn't spoken to me for thousands of years, and you think my first action should be to crawl back to Him, begging for help?"

Amenadiel stepped back, hands up placatingly. "I'm just asking. I'm not making suggestions." And he wasn't. Lucifer was mildly annoying when he was in his truculent child mode, but that was about it. But he was still the archangel who went to war with God himself. When he lost his temper, the reemergence of the apocalypse was always a possibility, and he wasn't about to argue with his Father's favorite son on a rage bender. "When did they go missing?"

Lucifer took a deep breath, closing his eyes and counting to ten…and then to thirty before the cool, darkened interior of Lux melted back into view. When the last of the flames disappeared, he opened his eyes, and they were back to his almost black human ones.

Apocalypse averted. For now.

"The night before last," Lucifer said, his voice back to a normal volume. He pulled delicately at the cuffs of his suit. "I found the human responsible for the actual theft, but he regrettably died before he could tell me anything useful."

Amenadiel raised an eyebrow.

Lucifer scowled. "I didn't kill him, no. There's no tactical advantage to having a dead informant when I can't question him in Hell."

Amenadiel crossed his arms.

"Oh, fine. I didn't kill him, but I didn't put a whole lot of effort into stopping him either."

"You have got to learn to control your temper, brother," Amenadiel cautioned. "And just for future reference, I had no idea what you'd done to your wings, other than you'd cut them off. I didn't think that you wouldn't want to keep eyes on them."

Lucifer looked away. "I couldn't stand the sight of them."

"They're a gift, Lucifer. Just like your dominion in Hell, you're just too stubborn to accept it," Amenadiel said.

"When you said you wanted to help, I didn't think I would have to listen to this again. If Father can't convince me to go back, little brother," Lucifer sneered. "That would be serious pride on your part to think otherwise."

Dropping the subject for the moment, Amenadiel asked, "What about Mazikeen?"

Lucifer rolled his eyes. "She couldn't take them even if she wanted to. They're still angel wings, and she's still a demon."

Ah yes. The technicalities of being an angel king of demons. Wings were the hand of God himself upon his children – demons couldn't touch them without being destroyed on contact.

"But could she have someone else take them?" he asked.

"Maze's entire purpose is to protect me. Unwanted or not, but that doesn't mean that she can pick and choose how. Stealing my wings herself or through an intermediate party doesn't protect me at all."

"Perhaps it was that human you've been keeping as a pet," Amenadiel suggested. "They keep all sorts of strange things as mementos."

Lucifer's eyes flickered dangerously red. "Detective Decker is neither a pet nor suicidally stupid, and she's about the only human who doesn't believe me when I tell her who I am. She thinks I'm some sort of deluded mortal who claims he's the Devil because of some past trauma, and that my wings are a metaphor." He sighed, and the red disappeared. "If I told her they were missing, she would assume I meant allegorically."

Amenadiel shook his head disbelievingly. "See what happens when you tell people the truth?"

"Oh, shut up, brother, would you?" Lucifer grumbled. "If you're going to be of no help, then go somewhere else."

Amenadiel sighed, and gestured towards the round table in the corner of the dance floor. "Shall we continue civilly?"

Lucifer rolled his eyes, but gave a low, mocking bow with an exaggerated sweep of his arm. "Dear brother, would you care to sit? Perhaps I should get Maze to fetch some tea and biscuits?"

"I can't imagine why Father cast you out," he muttered. He allowed his wings to hide, forcing the image of his human form into reality. He could say it was because it's impossible to sit with sixty foot wings attached to your shoulders, but in reality, it was much simpler. He knew his brother, knew his temper when it came to reminders of their Father and the Heaven he was forced out of. Even if his own were smoky black compared to the blinding white of an archangel, he knew every time Lucifer saw them, it set off that mile-wide rebellious streak. His father sent him to negotiate with Lucifer – not antagonize him.

As Amenadiel moved to slide into the bench seat, and almost jumped right back up.

"Aw, you don't want to cuddle?" Maze purred, smiling up at him. "If I had feelings, they would be hurt right now."

"You know I hate it when you skulk around in the shadows like that," Amenadiel said. He pushed her over, and she slid easily across the shiny surface, smirking.

Three glasses appeared before them, and an opened bottle of the house finest.

"You know that's frowned upon," he scolded lightly.

"Whiskey is the devil. This is bourbon," Maze corrected. She poured herself two fingers worth and handed the bottle to Lucifer, who didn't even bother with the glass. "Don't be an impolite guest in the Devil's own house."

He scowled at her, but she smiled sweetly back at him as she took the bottle back long enough to pour him a glass.

"None of us took them," Amenadiel said. "We wouldn't have reason to, and our Father hasn't commanded any of us to interfere with you here. What about your loyal...followers?"

Maze pulled her lip back in a snarl, her beautiful face flickering to her true form momentarily. "We would never take something of our King's. Besides. I'm the only one he allowed out with him."

Amenadiel raised an eyebrow. "Really? You left your army at home?"

Lucifer glared at him. "One, I don't have an army. Not anymore. Secondly, I didn't actually enjoy my time in Hell, unlike demons. They were more than happy to stay behind."

In truth, Maze would've been more than happy to stay behind, but that wasn't her purpose. Her existence was to protect that of her King, and while Lucifer had extended the choice to stay or go, they both knew it was just a polite gesture. She could no more stay in Hell without Lucifer then she could follow Amenadiel into Heaven.

"So if it wasn't angels, and it wasn't demons, then who would stand to gain from stealing from the Devil?" Amenadiel asked. "Nephilim? Hunters?"

Maze suddenly frowned, and Lucifer noticed, raising an eyebrow. "What? Did you think of something?"

The demon carefully met his gaze before speaking. "What about someone who didn't know what they were looking at?"

"And they just happened to steal the container and find the secret compartment with my wings and they decided to take them?" Lucifer asked, disbelief obvious in his voice.

"They're massive – whoever took them, they would've been noticed," Amenadiel pointed out.

Lucifer cringed, rolling his shoulders like he could feel his wings being crushed. "If someone broke them, Father won't have to worry about Souls being punished appropriately in Hell…"

Amenadiel rubbed his forehead, trying hard not to constantly remind his older sibling how highly frowned upon it was to resume his duties on Earth instead of Hell.

"What about someone who doesn't know they're yours?" Maze asked.

Lucifer groaned. "Oh, of all the idiotic…I hate zealots." He pointed an angry finger at Amenadiel. "You really need to get a better Scribe. There's entirely too much open interpretation for something that is supposed to be the law of our Father."

"You lost me…"

"You need to hang out on Earth a little more, Bird Boy," Maze said. "People find Jesus on potato chips and kill themselves over comets. What do you think someone would do if they actually stumbled upon angel wings?"

Amenadiel sighed. "This is what happens when you go around introducing yourself as the real you."

"I can't lie, remember?" Lucifer snapped. "The closest I can get is to tell people the most ridiculous version of the truth and hope they don't believe me, and most of them don't."

"But you're not being even remotely careful anymore," Maze protested. "You're actually out using your powers in front of other people! Just because what's-her-face doesn't believe you, doesn't mean any one of a dozen or more people who witnesses or overhears you talking to her won't."

The look that Lucifer leveled at Maze would have most mortals crying, but Maze stood her ground, folding her arms defiantly across her chest.

The demon was spared by the sudden interruption of a tinny rendition of Heavy Young Heathen's Being Evil Has a Price from Lucifer's phone. He glanced at the call screen, and given the nature of their discussion, Amenadiel assumed he would ignore it and let it go to voice mail. Instead, he answered with a cheerful "Detective! How can I can help you?"

Maze made a cutting off gesture with her hand, and Lucifer ignored her.

"I'll be right there," he said, and promptly hung up. The smile briefly remained, until he looked back at Maze. "Don't ever tell me what to do."

Maze snarled. "She does often enough!"

"No, Maze, you once again completely miss the point. She asks," Lucifer said. "Brother, I assume you can find your way to the door easily enough. Or stay and have another romp with Maze for all I care."

As Lucifer left the two of them staring after him, Maze with a look of sheer disgust and Amenadiel in disbelief, the angel turned back to the demon.

"Do you know who stole them?" Amenadiel asked. "Be honest. I know it's a foreign concept."

Maze shrugged. "I don't know. He gets enough admirers in here that are more than happy to have the chance to tell their friends they had a one-night stand with the Devil himself, but they're the typical groupies. They don't think he's honest about his name. They think it's like a stage name, and the name Lucifer Morningstar has a reputation in this city. He's their claim to fame."

"But?"

Maze shrugged again. "Sometimes…they're a different type of fan."

Could angels get tension headaches? Amenadiel could swear he was getting one. This is new punishment. It was because he hadn't convinced Lucifer to go back where he was supposed to be. "You mean like those zealot nut jobs that think the world is ending every time Hale-Bopp makes a pass?"

"Yeah. They drive me insane. They're always trying to steal whatever they can get their hands on that they've seen him touch."

"Does he know about them?"

Maze rolled her eyes. "Lucifer has the same self-absorbed vanity of all you winged rats. He doesn't remember anyone beyond the moment he's looking directly at them. Not unless he finds them interesting."

"Like that detective?" Amenadiel asked.

"She's the current fascination. But that girl, Delilah, who was murdered in front of the club…he liked her. There's only been a couple that he's helped out, and it's only the ones that actually succeeded. You know how he likes to give them chances?"

He nodded.

"He's a lot happier when they don't fail."

"Has any of these religious…fans…" Amenadiel made air quotes around the word fans, "been around lately?"

Maze shook her head. "Not that I've noticed."

"You're a bit of a hunter, right?" Amenadiel asked. "Go and hunt out some information on them. Make sure they're not starting trouble."

Maze's smile was a little too wide to be human, but she was practically glowing at the prospect. She was more closely related to a hellhound than another demon. "With pleasure."

With that, she vanished – no puff of smoke or anything else so dramatic, but he could smell the lingering scent of brimstone in her wake, faint enough humans probably wouldn't have noticed.

The not-tension headache twinged. He really, really didn't want to have to ask Lucifer's brothers for help. Yes, technically all of the angels were siblings, but the archangels were a different…class. True brothers in every sense of the word. Michael and Lucifer had never gotten along, and Gabriel only slightly less so, but if he or Maze couldn't find Lucifer's wings, they would have to ask for help. He was less concerned about his brothers finding out. He was considerably more concerned about his Father. While He was typically the hands off styled parenting, Amenadiel couldn't be sure he'd take the same approach with this.

Especially since Lucifer had always been his favorite Son…and if anything happened to Lucifer…

Amenadiel shuddered, and it had nothing to do with the temperature.

Chapter Text

"Do you know what this is?" Chloe asked, indicating the bizarre, painted image on the ground.

"Blood," Lucifer answered automatically. "You can't taste that in the air?"

"No, not what it's made out of," Chloe amended. She took a step back, indicating the massive design. "Do you recognize the symbol?"

Lucifer's interest piqued, and he tilted his head sideways so he could look at the image properly. "It's an alpha and omega symbol. Do they no longer teach Greek in school these days?"

"Not outside of AP chemistry and physics classes," Chloe asked. "Do you know what they mean together like that?"

The body had been called in several hours ago, but there were some issues over jurisdiction. Homicide won, but only for now. If it turned out to be a cult killing, they had to call in the FBI. LAPD had only a short window to prove or disprove that it was an isolated incident, unrelated to any religious belief. If Chloe was being honest, the odds that this wasn't cult related were dropping exponentially, but she wanted Lucifer's opinion before they handed it over.

Lucifer glanced indifferently to the body being carted away by the medical examiners, and she wondered how he could regard the destroyed young man with such callousness. He'd been brutally murdered, ritualistically if the crime scene was anything to go off. Patrol had found him when an anonymous tip reported it. The man was dead, crucified on a makeshift upside down cross, his throat and wrists slit almost to the point of severing limbs. He would've bled out in seconds, and it was likely his blood used to create the design on the ground surrounding the grim spectacle.

"Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end. It's in the Book of Revelations, though to be perfectly honest I never memorized it well enough to tell you which version or verse. They're always rewriting the damn thing anyway," Lucifer answered, sounding bored. He kept his hands in his pocket as he stepped delicately over the painted blood. "Overlapped, I'm assuming someone is trying to make a statement."

"Does the overlap mean something in specific?"

Lucifer stepped close to the inverted cross, almost touching but not quite, and seemed…annoyed, actually. He shook his head. "Generally speaking, it's used as an expression of a seal, which is why they used to put it on graves and in catacombs. These...misguided souls, were trying to use it to create a seal to trap something." He frowned, and tilted his head and leaned so far over that she was surprised he didn't topple. "Trap…or bind something."

"You mean like the victim?" Chloe asked.

"There's nothing special about him, dead or alive," Lucifer dismissed. "There is something familiar about this nonsense though. I just can't quite…" He stepped back, again avoiding stepping directly on the blood.

"Wouldn't happen to have anything to do with your persona, would it?" Dan asked.

Lucifer chuckled, apparently genuinely amused. "You think devil worshippers did this?"

Dan gestured to the drawing, and the cross. "Upside down cross, blood sacrifice, Book of Revelations…sounds like Satanists to me."

"That's because you're an idiot," Lucifer said, without malice. "When was the last time Satanists started a Holy War? Or bombed an abortion clinic? Protested funerals?"

"So…then what's your suggestion?" Dan asked, folding his arms irritably. "Publicity stunt gone wrong? Turf war?"

Lucifer didn't answer immediately. He tilted his head, first one way and then the next, like he was trying to judge distance. He shouldered Dan out of the way when he didn't move on his own, until he was backed out of the circle entirely, all while still looking at the ground.

When he started walking the perimeter of the circle, Chloe finally realized what he was doing – he wasn't looking at it from a different angle, he was reading something.

"Wait, what are you looking at?" she asked, glancing down at the symbol. The symbols resembled absolutely nothing like a written language, but from Lucifer's undivided attention, it clearly meant something. "Are these letters? Can you read them?"

Lucifer paused his careful circling, sparing a brief glance at her and she could see he was clearly bothered by whatever it was.

"No, and yes…" he admitted, scratching the back of his head absently.

"That's helpful," Dan muttered, and Chloe elbowed him sharply in the ribs.

Lucifer frowned, and finally stepped back. "They're not letters, exactly, they're Enochian sigils. Some of them, anyway. And I can read them, but they don't say anything." He gestured irritably at the symbols. "Imagine if someone just took random words out of a thesaurus and painted them on the floor. You'd have words like 'truculent', 'cat', 'absquatulate' and 'tree' – words that separately mean something, but together are total gibberish. And then there's these other symbols I think are alchemical binding sigils."

"Enochian? Is that a language, or a religion…?" Chloe asked.

Lucifer nodded. "Enochian is the language of angels."

"And you can read them?" Dan asked in disbelief.

Lucifer smiled brilliantly. "Well, of course I can. It's my language. My first one, anyway."

Before Dan and Lucifer could really start to argue, Chloe jumped in. "Okay, so if it's an angel language…what's with the human sacrifice? Last I checked, angels didn't require blood rituals. And if that's not what the victim was, then what's with the upside down cross that he was nailed to? Why is there a language associated with angels and so many contradictions at the same scene?"

For a moment, it looked like Lucifer was going to ignore the interruption and try and bait Dan again, but one quick glance at Chloe's Startsomethingandyou'redead face, and he relented. "Honestly, I don't think they know what they were doing. In all likelihood, someone got a hold of an occult book at the library and decided to test some of it out."

"People do that with house pets on Halloween," Dan countered. "It's the middle of the winter. What could they possibly be trying to do now?"

Lucifer shrugged indifferently. "I'm not the investigator, Detective," he sneered, turning the term of affection he used for Chloe to a slur for Dan. "You tell me."

"I think it's a cover up for a murder," Dan said. "And all the crazy is just to throw us off, look places that we wouldn't normally to try and make it more difficult to investigate. Maybe someone knows enough to Google jurisdiction on religious crimes and would realize that the LAPD and the FBI would be potentially arguing over it."

Lucifer actually looked mildly impressed, and the sneer slowly morphed to a smirk. "Not bad… you might not be as thick as you look."

Aaand the moment was over.

For a moment, it looked like Dan was going to argue back, but just as quickly as he opened his mouth, he closed it again, and the manic grin on Lucifer's face faded a little. "I'm going back to the precinct, see what the ME's turn up. Maybe the guy's prints will be in AFIS for once. Maybe something in his history will have a lead. I'll see you later."

As Dan walked away, Lucifer's bewildered frown suddenly deepened into an accusatory scowl. "Detective, did you happen to mention to your ex your theory about my history?" His voice remained saccharin sweet, lips still pulled into a smile so false it looked painful.

Suddenly the sky was the most interesting thing in the world. Oh, look at the birds…that cloud looked like a beagle. The smog wasn't so bad today…

"You did," Lucifer said, irritably. "Of course you did. Why am I even a little bit surprised? What is it going to take to believe me? I'm not some sappy childhood trauma victim, I am Lucifer Morningstar – the Devil, the Dark One, Apollyon, The Fallen-"

Before Lucifer could continue, she grabbed him by his arm and dragged him away from the rest of the investigators who were beginning to take notice. She barely got out of ear shot before Lucifer wrenched his arm free of her grasp. "Don't do that," he snarled.

"Lucifer, shut up for a minute, and let me try and explain this to you. You can tell me whatever you want. You're the Devil, you're an angel, you're Santa Claus – I don't care. But if you keep working with the police, you cannot keep telling people that and react when they don't believe you. There's a very big difference between delusional and hiding. If you keep telling people that you're Satan, as if you really, honestly believe that, they're not going to let you keep working for the department," she hissed, trying to keep her voice down and trying desperately to get Lucifer to understand why she cared about this.

Lucifer scoffed. "I convinced your captain easily enough to let me in."

"And if she gets transferred? And it's not a woman that replaces her?" Chloe challenged. "Then what? You don't seem to charm most guys, you seem to just piss them off."

Lucifer's face fell slightly, before his arrogant smile returned full force. "Only because I don't make the same effort. It'll still work."

"Like your immortality?" Chloe said, crossing her arms. It was a low blow, and a dangerous topic she knew, especially with so many other officers around. Especially since she was the one who tested his claim.

Low blow or not, she could tell from the look on his face that she'd made her point.

"Let's say, just for the sake of this argument so I can make it real clear for you. Say you were invulnerable. Fine. I could've sworn I saw you get shot multiple times by Jimmy Barnes and nothing happened, and now suddenly you're no longer bullet proof. What happens if the same thing happens to your 'charming' personality?" She made air quotes with her fingers. "What happens when you can't charm your way out of things? Then what?"

Lucifer's face fell, looking horrified.

Point made.

She sighed. "Look, Lucifer. Belief aside, you can't keep going around telling people you're the Devil. At best, they won't believe you. At worst, they will. True believers are scary, and we already know you're not indestructible. Stop inviting trouble in, okay? We find enough of it already."

Lucifer looked thoroughly chastised, and Chloe couldn't help but think of Trixie when she was caught doing something she'd been warned against and realized her parents might've had a point.

"Come on. We'll go interrogate some people to make you feel better. Maybe we'll get snow cones," she said, and headed back towards the police line.

"What am I, seven?" Lucifer grumbled, but followed her all the same.

He could protest all he wanted. She knew how he felt about desserts – that man had a sweet tooth that would drop a diabetic in his shoes.

She politely held the police line tape up so he could duck underneath – which took considerable limbo technique considering their difference in height.

A fair crowd had gathered at the edge of the tape, people snapping pictures and video with their cell phones, all pushing for a better angle at the crime scene. Or at least what little was visible. The gory scenes always seemed to draw the larger crowds.

As she pushed her way through the group of people, all jockeying for position, she suddenly heard Lucifer yelp in surprise and turned quickly.

An older man had grabbed onto Lucifer's shoulder, pulling him backwards and down so the man's lips were almost pressed against Lucifer's ear. The man hissed excitedly, talking so quickly she couldn't make out what he was saying.

"Hey!" she yelled, pushing back through the crowd that had converged behind her. "Let go of him, now!"

The crowd pressed in close, and then just as suddenly parted, and Lucifer was standing alone. The man she'd just seen pulling Lucifer down – she'd seen what he could do, and without effort – was gone. Lucifer looked confused, but mostly…worried? Scared? What the hell was that look? It was so completely foreign on his face that it took her a minute to realize it was the same look she'd seen when he'd found out his container was missing.

"Hey, you okay?" she asked, glancing over him. He didn't look hurt, but something was definitely wrong. "Who was that guy?"

Lucifer didn't even look at her as he shook his head. He stared, unblinking into the distance, away from her, presumably the direction the man disappeared to. He had one hand up, rubbing at the part of his sleeve the other man touched, as if he was trying to wipe something off, or massage the feeling back into it. That must have been one hell of a grip for Lucifer to feel it.

"Lucifer," she said quietly, gently touching his arm. His head snapped back around so fast she was surprised she didn't hear bones snap. "Talk to me."

"He said it was for me," Lucifer said, sounding awed. Not the awe that someone felt when seeing something beautiful, or the sense of the divine – like the awe that spawned the word awful. He turned dark, worried eyes to hers. "He said 'it's all for you,' and welcomed me home."

"What the hell does that mean?" Chloe demanded. "Welcome home?"

Lucifer barely shook his head, hand still rubbing where the man gripped his arm. "I have no idea…"

Chapter Text

"Nothing on the vic's prints. No priors, no arrests, not even a parking ticket. Nothing that would indicate gang activity, or any reason why someone would do…that to him," Dan said, dropping tiredly into the chair opposite Chloe.

She hardly glanced up from her notes, except to confer with the screen in front of her.

"Earth to Chloe…" Dan tried, and she held up a finger, signaling 'wait one'. He sighed, and glanced around the bullpen. It was mostly empty, in between shifts, and Dan was rather grateful. Occasionally, he and Chloe worked well together, but it was normally when they were alone. Somehow an audience always made them irritable.

Speaking of irritable…it was weirdly quiet.

"Did Morningstar go home?" he asked. The taller man was hard to miss, and almost always drew others into his orbit.

"I sent him home," Chloe said. She finally looked up from her notes, and he could see something was bothering her.

"And he listened?" Dan asked incredulously.

"I know, weird, right?"

Dan paused, studying his wife suspiciously. "Did you drug him?"

There was that patented Chloe Decker 'how are you still alive' glare. "No, smartass. I didn't do anything. There was an incident when we were leaving the crime scene, and it freaked him out enough that I sent him back to Lux. He wasn't paying enough attention to be of any use, and his area of expertise lies in interrogation."

"And we currently don't have any suspects to interrogate. Did you find anything about the whacky drawings? Was Lucifer telling the truth?" he asked.

Chloe gestured for him to come over, and he wheeled around in the office chair until he could see her screen.

"Good thing we're cops and can claim investigative purposes, or we would look like serial killers," Dan muttered. Her ability to think outside the box was what made Chloe an excellent investigator, but her ability to understand the criminal mind enough to make leaps where others wouldn't had always mildly concerned him. At least enough to make him wash the dishes every night and never leave wet towels on the floor when they were still living together.

She'd clearly been researching the occult since she returned from the crime scene. She had half a dozen windows open, all with images of varying symbols, sigils, and blood rituals. Half carved open animals, people in masks dressed in robes, torches raised high…

Who the hell even stopped to take these pictures? That's a hell of a snapchat picture.

Not all of them were photos, admittedly. Some of them were drawings and illustrations from various texts.

"Lucifer was right, these are Enochian symbols. It's a language created in the 16th century by some guy named Dee and his buddy, which they claim was given to them by angels so they could directly communicate with the hereafter." Chloe pointed to the cited text, and Dan recognized at least a few of them from the scene.

"So not real angels?" he asked.

"No such thing," Chloe said adamantly. "At least not for the purposes of the case. And then this other ones, he was also right – sort of. They're runes, and some of them are from an archaic alchemical design, and then there's some from Nordic mythology. He's right about the total gibberish. No combination of any of them amount to anything."

"So now we're back to every day murder with some psycho trying to throw us off?" Dan asked. He reached over and scanned through a couple of the tabs opened in the background, and paused on one for religious cults operating in the US. "You dig up anything with these guys?"

Chloe shrugged, clearly frustrated. "Not really. They're weird, which I suppose is a given since they're cults, but it's FBI territory to cover any criminal activity by them, and there's all these rules and regulations that I swear were meant to make kidnapping legal."

"Why were you looking up missing persons in relation to religious sects here in California?" Dan asked, frowning at the window opened in the background. "You think our vic is from one?"

"Honestly, I have no idea. I thought it was worth a look, at least. Maybe that's why there's no record of our guy, you know? These places attract runaways, the homeless…anybody who is just sort of adrift."

Dan was quiet for a moment, thinking. "What happened at the crime scene? Morningstar doesn't seem to be bothered by much. Were there kids?"

Lucifer's effect on kids was by far the most unexplainable part of his personality. While the man himself seemed completely baffled by children (he couldn't seem to quite grasp that they were not the same thing as puppies), but they loved him. For the most part, Dan chalked it up to the fact that kids were like cats – they seemed most attracted to the people that were least attracted to them. Lucifer wasn't cruel – at least not purposely – but he was mind boggling clueless, and every time Trixie hugged him, Lucifer always seemed just on the verge of screaming 'GETITOFF, GETITOFF'.

Chloe chuckled. "No, no kids. But there was someone…when we were leaving, this old guy grabbed him by the arm and whispered in his ear, that this was all for him, and welcome home."

"Well that's not creepy at all. He say anything?" Dan asked.

"The guy disappeared by the time I got to him, but Lucifer looked…worried. Like maybe he might know what the guy was talking about, but context made no sense?"

Dan shrugged. "You think the vanishing guy might've had something to do with the body?"

"Maybe? I mean, most psychos like to see the fallout of what they've done, but the guy wasn't that big, and he had to have been pushing seventy. There's no way he could've wrestled our vic onto that cross, unconscious or otherwise. He would need help to lift the cross if it was on the ground when they tied him to it, or machinery, and there was no evidence of anything else being there."

"You figure out at least what religion might be behind this, assuming it is a religious cult?"

Chloe smiled faintly. "Lucifer was right again…did you know actual Satanists are like one of the most peaceful religions out there?"

Dan scowled. "No way. Remember those killings in Florida last year? One guy got shot, the other two beaten to death with a hammer around the time of the blue moon?"

Chloe shook her head. "They weren't Satanists, they actually tied it to Wicca, which, apparently is also supposed to be a peaceful religion. But extremist sects aside, because then we'd have way too many statistics to go through, actual Satanists are non-violent – until you insult them. Think of it like a more violent version of the Golden Rule. Instead of 'do unto others as you would have done unto you', it's 'do to others what they have done to you.' So if someone spits in your face, you get to punch them in theirs."

Dan nodded appreciatively. "Not bad. I kinda like that better than turning the other cheek."

Chloe frowned. "I'm not advocating it. I'm just saying that the entire principle of the religion itself is to leave people be and only be concerned with yourself. But technically, I think it could still be one of the extremist groups…except that none of the symbols used show up at all in the religion."

Dan groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face. "So we're again back to square one? Crazy people with a disturbing Google search word trend?"

"I have no clue," Chloe said, shrugging in defeat. "I feel like we're missing something." She clicked back over to the crime scene photos, scrolling through them. As she flashed past one of an aerial view of the symbol, sans upside down cross in the middle, she suddenly grabbed Dan's arm. "What if the reason why there's so many different symbols is because it's a test pattern?"

"Test pattern?"

"Hear me out – you know how serial killers slowly refine their patterns?" Chloe asked excitedly. "What if that's exactly what this is? What if this is a serial killer's first victim, and that's why there's all these conflicting religious symbols?"

"Like a crisis of faith?" Dan asked.

"Exactly!" Chloe said. "He's testing out the different patterns, trying to get a feel for what he wants!"

"One problem with that," Dan pointed out. "There's only one body. And serial killers are usually slow to start, especially smart ones. You, at best, have to wait for another body to show before you can call it a serial killer."

Chloe's face fell marginally, glancing back to the crime scene photos.

"Hey," Dan said, clapping her on the shoulder. "I don't think you're wrong, I just think we need something else to go on now. Do you think he has any sort of predisposition based on what he left behind?"

"The Judeo Christian aspect," Chloe said without hesitation. "More of the symbols have to do with Enochian language than anything else."

"So maybe we start looking into the local churches. Maybe the vic was one of the parishioners. See if we can't get an ID that way."

Chloe nodded thoughtfully, then pulled up one of the aerial shots of the sigils. "We need to see if there's anyone who can tell us what this could possibly mean. Lucifer said something about binding…"

"The guy was tied up. What, they just wanted the added security to make sure he wasn't going to get away?"

"I don't think he meant tied up, or a physical binding. I think he meant like some sort of spiritual binding…"

Dan raised an eyebrow. "And how many episodes of Supernatural did you watch before you came up with that?"

Chloe turned a faint shade of pink. "I actually found it through an exorcist named Constantine…"

"Uh huh. Fine, we'll check the local churches tomorrow, starting with the Roman Catholic ones in the area of the killing. See if someone can shed some light on it, or can at least recognize the vic."

"I'll pick up Lucifer in the morning," Chloe offered as she shuffled her papers back into her files. "He might be of some help trying to explain to the priests exactly what it is they're looking at or for."

"That guy is awake before noon?" Dan said incredulously. "Will wonders never cease?"

Lucifer stared up at the massive oak doors. The gothic styled roof steepled upwards at least three stories, and the bells in the tower were larger than most cars. The stonework was intricate, and very old for the section of town they were in, and absolutely immaculate compared to the buildings around them. Statues of the Virgin Mary and her son graced the front entry way, and the gargoyles on the buttresses leered down from on high.

"Not a fan of church?" Dan asked as he jogged up the stairs past him. "Shocker."

Lucifer didn't even spare the other man a glance. He just stood stock still, neck craned upwards and what Chloe would've thought was an incredibly painful angle.

To say he hadn't been thrilled at the aspect of going to a church, never mind the dozen or so they had listed for being in the area, was an understatement.

Trixie protesting bed time was less dramatic.

Chloe expected it to a certain degree. He claimed to be the Devil – it stood to reason he wasn't a huge fan of attending or even entering a church. But there was something in the way he protested that reinforced Chloe's growing suspicion that a large part of his youth was tied into religion, and not in a good way. When Dan had caught her looking up missing persons from cults in the area, she hadn't corrected him when he suspected she was looking for her victim.

She'd been looking for Lucifer. Or rather, someone who matched his description, starting five years ago to the mid-nineties, which is roughly when he would be turning eighteen. She hadn't found anything, but Dan had interrupted her before she could really start to dig.

She waited patiently for Lucifer at the threshold, holding open the enormous door with her foot.

"I haven't been in my Father's house for two thousand years," Lucifer said quietly. He glanced down at the threshold, and she could literally watch the war of emotions playing across his face. "I don't even know if I'm welcome."

"Only one way to find out," Chloe said.

Lucifer didn't move.

"What, you need an invitation or something?" Dan called from halfway down the aisle. "We haven't got all day!"

Lucifer scowled at the jibe. "I'm not a vampire, you ignorant swine," he growled. A then, so much quieter that Chloe barely caught it, "Just the Devil about to enter the house of God." He closed his eyes, and hunched his shoulders like he was preparing to be struck by lightning, he practically jumped across the threshold. He landed both feet inside the door, just outside the reach of the early morning sun, and paused.

Nothing happened. No apocalypse, no wrathful lightning or shrieking heretics. The church remained quiet.

Lucifer visibly relaxed. "That went better than expected," he said lightly. He eyed the font of Holy Water at the door way and took a wide step around it, keeping his hands firmly in his pockets.

Chloe bumped his shoulder with hers as they walked towards the front of the church where Dan was already talking to an elderly man in a priest's robe and collar. "Thank you for coming, Lucifer."

"The mountain of debt you are accumulating on this case alone, Detective, is going to take an act of God to wipe out," Lucifer said. "Or a reenactment of a scene out of 50 Shades."

She snorted, trying to unsuccessfully mask the burst of laughter. Lucifer had essentially given up on the idea that she would ever sleep with him, and it had now become a back burner jab whenever he felt like mentioning what she owed him for his help.

"Have you seen this man?" Dan was asking the priest, showing the picture of the victim from the morgue. The photograph hid the damage done to the young man's neck. Even though he was quite obviously dead, it didn't show how he'd been sliced through to his vertebrae.

The priest adjusted his glasses, pushing them up further on his nose as he studied the picture. "I'm not sure…my eyes aren't what they used to be," he apologized. "He looks a little familiar, but not like someone who attended regularly. He might have frequented the food pantry or the shelter in the back."

"How about these?" Dan held up the aerial picture of the crime scene. "Do you recognize these?"

The priest frowned, and made the sign of the cross.

Lucifer rolled his eyes, and Chloe elbowed him in the ribs before he could say anything.

"They're Enochian," he said, confirming Lucifer's assessment.

Lucifer smirked arrogantly at the vindication.

"But the over laying symbol isn't one from Catholicism," the priest said. "I've never even seen it before."

Chloe glanced over at Lucifer, who remained oddly quiet. "We were told that the symbols could be a form of a binding ritual," she said. She pointed out the alpha and the omega symbol. "Something about it being put on graves?"

The priest nodded. "The alpha and omega, yes. I thought you were asking about the other symbol."

Dan and Chloe looked at each other. "Other symbol?"

"Yes, underneath both of them," the priest said. He carefully traced another pattern out, extending beyond the blood drawn Greek letters. "I've never seen this one before."

There was a second…or third, depending on how you counted, symbol on the ground. Neither Chloe nor Dan had seen it, and apparently neither had Lucifer, because he actually looked curious.

"See, where it's drawn with the Enochian letters?" the priest said.

Now that he'd pointed it out, Chloe couldn't believe she'd missed it. The letters were in a shape of their own, creating a long, swooping design on the ground, sort of like a circle, but with two sickle shaped outcroppings on either end. The upside down cross the man had been hanging from would've been at the pinnacle of the design then, not the middle. Part of the reason she hadn't noticed was because the natural way that she read was linear – and the symbol was created with both the Enochian lettering and the unrelated alchemy symbols to form separate shapes.

"I see it," Dan confirmed. "Does it mean anything?"

The priest shook his head, handing the picture back. "Nothing at all, as far as I am aware. But I'm certainly not an authority on the archaic or the occult."

"Thanks for the help, padre," Dan said, shaking the priest's hand. "If you hear anything about a missing person from your shelter, or anything out of the ordinary, let us know, okay?"

"Certainly, detectives," the priest said, smiling as they parted ways.

"So we're back to square one," Dan said quietly to Chloe. "I seriously think the symbols are just to throw us off."

"If they are, someone went through an awful lot of effort to do it," Chloe said. She wasn't entirely sure why they were whispering, except that they were in church and felt like they should probably keep their voices down while discussing potentially satanic cult killing.

"Grab Morningstar, we can check out the next church. If the priest was right and the vic was one of the guys who used the food pantry, he might have gone to other churches in the area. Someone might recognize him."

Chloe hadn't even noticed that Lucifer had disappeared – he did it so often, she realized she was no longer surprised when she would turn around and he would be gone.

"Yeah, sure. We'll meet you at the car."

As it turned out, Lucifer hadn't wandered far, for once.

He'd simply wandered to the transept, apparently bored with the conversation with the priest after he'd revealed he knew nothing of interest. He was staring up at the crucifixion statue, but his expression was anything but contemplative. Chloe knew she didn't go to church as often as she should, but she was pretty positive that most people didn't look at Jesus like he was the bane of their existence.

"And for God so loved the world that he gave His one and only Son…" Lucifer muttered under his breath. "No never mind the rest of us, hmm…?"

"Lucifer?" she said quietly.

He didn't even turn to look at her. "You know, Detective, despite what people seem to believe, I don't hate people. I don't wish them harm, and I don't try and trick them. And I really don't like hurting them. My Father made me into a torturer. Can you imagine what it was like? Ten billion years providing a place for dead mortals to torture themselves? And like all masochists, they called the shots. 'Burn me.' 'Freeze me.' 'Eat me.' 'Hurt me.' And we did..."

He broke his stare with the statue, gazing down at the candles on the altar in front of it. "Why do they blame me for all their little failings? They use my name as if I spent my entire days sitting on their shoulders, forcing them to commits acts they would otherwise find repulsive. 'The devil made me do it.' I have never made one of them do anything. Never. They live their own tiny lives. I do not live their lives for them."

The terrible sadness in his voice was breathtaking. That was not an act.

"My brother would have you believe it is a great honor to rule in Hell. If it so wonderful, why did my Father change my name?"

She stepped closer. "What do you mean?" As far as she knew, Lucifer meant 'light bringer', or some variation of that thought. According Lucifer, his previous name of Samael meant 'God's poison'…Lucifer sounded like a step up.

"Ever notice how all angels' names end in –el?" Lucifer asked. "Michael, Uriel, Amenadiel, Gabriel…? El means 'of God'. As Samael, I did everything my Father asked…no matter how horrible it was. And as soon as I questioned my purpose, He stripped me of identity as His son."

"Lucifer, I'm-"

"Don't you dare say you're sorry," Lucifer said savagely, and Chloe fell silent.

He may not want to hear the words, but Chloe couldn't just stand there and not offer something to tell him that he wasn't alone. Annoying as he could be, she really did enjoy working with him, and she was even beginning to consider him a friend.

Before he could protest, she pulled him into a quick, tight hug. She had to stand on her tiptoes, and she didn't hold him any longer than a moment. She pretended not to notice when he flinched – like he'd never been hugged before.

"Come on then," she said, stepping back and gesturing for him to follow. She ignored the look of awe the same way she ignored the flinch – with professional ease. "Dan's probably wondering what the hell is taking us so long. Wouldn't want him to get the wrong idea."

Though it took a moment longer than it normally would have, Lucifer's beguiling smirk returned. It was as carefully crafted as his mask – she knew he was grateful for the open opportunity to break the melancholy.

"Wouldn't we?"

"We have seven more churches to visit, Lucifer. I don't want to listen to Dan complain for the rest of the afternoon."

"So…what you're saying is wait until the last church before giving him ideas?"

As he turned to follow her, in a rare display of completely human lack of grace, he stumbled, apparently over nothing and barely caught himself against one of the pillars.

"You okay?" she asked, starting back towards him before he waved her off.

"Do people not trip?" he said. "I'm fine." But he still glanced over his shoulder as if he expected to see someone. Or something. "Did you hear something just then?"

"You mean besides you tripping over thin air?" she asked. She shook her head. She hadn't heard a thing. "Did you?"

Lucifer smiled briefly, looking slightly nervous. "The Devil hears voices in a church…let's hope not." He cast a quick, uneasy glance upwards. "I shudder to think what that would mean…"

But he had heard something.

Ho en o ra, zamran…

True son, show yourself.

A for a moment, Lucifer would've sworn he had his wings again.

Chapter Text

 A week had gone by. A solid twice damned seven days. A hundred and sixty-eight hours. Ten thousand and eighty minutes. Six hundred and four thousand eight hundred seconds.

Lucifer tapped his fingers against the countertop of the bar, playing with his coin as he made it spin in the air.

Seven days, and neither he, Maze, or Amenadiel found a single, solitary trace of his wings. Not one feather. Not one whisper.

His shoulders ached from the memory of them, constantly – and the longer they were gone, the more he felt them. Like a phantom pain of a missing limb. Even before they were stolen, Lucifer had always been painfully aware of just how light he'd felt without them. Despite what his brothers accused him of, he hadn't kept them as a way out of his current lifestyle. He had no intentions of going back to Hell, either as its King or as its slave.

He had no idea what destroying them would do. Something God had created, something older than life itself – their destruction was nothing to be taken lightly.

If he was honest, which he prided himself on, Lucifer really hadn't wanted to slap his Father in the face quite that hard. Middle finger to the sky would do just as well to convey the point. The last time he had upset his Father even half as much resulted in a very, very long fall.

And if he was truly honest…Lucifer had kept them because whenever he felt truly alone, when the ache from his wings and the emptiness in his heart couldn't be alleviated by all the sex, drugs or denial in the world, he would sit and stare at them, remembering what it was like to once have a Father who loved him, and a family that he loved in return.

And how it had felt when they had turned on him. Cast him out. Made him into the monster that haunted people in the night and mothers warned their children about. Once the most loved in all of Heaven to the most hated creature in creation.

Lucifer spun the coin wildly towards the mirrored backing of the bar, shattering the glass into a thousand spider webbed pieces.

He didn't even have the distraction of Detective Decker's case at the moment. No new bodies, no proof it was something supernatural or occult related, and it regrettably was beginning to appear that Detective Douche was right – crazy people with no other purpose than to confuse the police seemed the most likely culprits.

He hadn't opened the club for two nights in a row – and if he didn't open for a third, his customers would flock elsewhere for their debauchery. A rebellion he could ill afford at the moment.

But he couldn't stand to be around people – not right now. He was restless, and angry, and bored, and he needed to get out.

"Maze, open the club. Keep our guests happy," he said, and vanished to his car. When he'd first arrived in Los Angeles, he'd debated getting a car at all. After all, he could still appear and disappear to wherever he wanted whenever he felt like it. The added bother of a vehicle seemed just that – an unnecessary nuisance.

And then he got behind the wheel of a '61 Corvette and finally understood why people liked them so much. Without his wings, this was as close as he was going to get to flying.

Maze often teased he should have gone with the Lamborghini – after all, one of their models was named after him.

Something in the '61 Vette spoke to him, and he liked the fact that it was a convertible – even if he was almost too tall to put the top up.

As he pulled onto the street, he paid little attention to where he was going and simply drove. Minutes, hours, it didn't matter. LA traffic was hardly conducive to a soul-cleansing drive, and he found himself cursing more people in fewer minutes than he had since his arrival in Los Angeles.

As he waited at a stop light, he dropped his head back against the seat, closing his eyes as he rolled his shoulders, trying to alleviate the growing phantom pain. His shoulders ached. He felt naked, and not in the good way, and he could feel his temper starting to fray.

"Get out of the car!"

Un-fucking -believable.

"Yo, man, get outta the fucking car!"

Lucifer opened his eyes, rolling them as he did so.

A young kid – really, everyone was young compared to him – hand one hand on his steering wheel and the other with a gun, pointed on its side toward his head. At that angle, if the kid fired, the recoil from the gun would knock his elbow into the corner of the windshield, probably hard enough to slice the nerves. The shell casing would eject into his face, quite probably his eye, temporarily blinding him. Really, killing him would be a mercy.

Lucifer glanced skyward. "Really, Father? These are your favorite creations?" he grumbled.

"I said, get out of the fucking car, old man!" the kid shouted, spittle flying and landing on Lucifer's lapel.

He clenched his hands on the wheel, counting to ten, before he looked up at the kid, and smiled brilliantly. "Do you believe in Hell?"

The kid looked like something short circuited in his brain.

"The unbearable lightness of being? The afterlife?" Lucifer prompted.

"Just get out-"

"Of the fucking car, I heard you." Lucifer looked up at the still red light, and made an executive decision. "I'm going to do you the best favor of your life, kid."

He grabbed the kid's hand on the wheel, pinning it there with bone fracturing force.

"I'm going to give you something to believe in."

And he floored the 'Vette into oncoming traffic, dragging the kid with him. Tires screeched as he gunned the engine and cars swerved to avoid him. Lucifer barely heard it over the sound of the kid screaming.

"I know all about wanting the cheap thrills," Lucifer shouted calmly. He only raised his voice to be heard above the roar of the engine and the kid. He wasn't angry. He was annoyed.

He yanked the wheel to the right, almost dislocating the kid's arm.

"It's not worth it!"

He floored it down the wrong way of a one way, weaving in and out of traffic with supernatural ease. He could hear the kid kicking at the side of the car.

"Watch the paint, would you? This is a classic," Lucifer scolded. He wrenched the wheel in the other direction, and was mildly impressed that running the kid into a few plastic trash bins didn't kill him. "You see, I know all about teenaged rebellion!"

The kid's voice ratcheted up another octave, and Lucifer marveled at his lung capacity. The kid should take up free diving with a set of lungs like that.

"But you have to be willing to commit! You have to be prepared to die for your belief that the risk is worth the reward!" Lucifer glanced down at the young man who was clinging like an octopus to the side of his car, shrieking like the Devil himself was after him. "Are you prepared to make that sacrifice?"

He let go of the wheel just long enough to throw the 'Vette into the next gear before pushing the pedal all the way to the floor.

"God, no!" the kid screamed, seeing the wall of the building they were racing towards at seventy miles an hour.

"He never answers!" Lucifer growled.

At the last possible moment, Lucifer wrenched the wheel hard, hitting the emergency brake and slamming his feet on the clutch and the floor brake, spinning hard and coming to a rest mere centimeters from crushing the kid between the car and the brick wall of the abandoned warehouse.

He let go of the kid's arm, and he dropped to the ground, breathless from screaming at the top of his lungs for several city blocks.

"Oh, you're fine," Lucifer snapped irritably. "Now get lost, and if I ever see you again, I won't be so merciful."

The kid didn't need to be told twice – and Lucifer felt his respect for the kid rise a notch when he managed to get his feet underneath him and bolt back down the street in a surprisingly coordinated sprint.

He chuckled. He sometimes missed this. It was cathartic.

He almost missed the smell of copper and iron, amongst the reek of trash and rotting garbage and urine of the alleyway.

Almost. But he'd spent millions of years with that smell. He could taste it in the air, feel the oppressive metallic after bite on his skin. There was blood here.

A lot of it.

There was a brief moment when he considered simply driving away. The dead were of no concern to him, not anymore.

But the Devil was nothing if not curious, and he cautiously left the 'Vette, parked in its near suicidally close proximity to the wall of the building.

Lucifer stepped into the shadows of the building, stepping over crumpled garbage and sweat soaked used mattresses strewn across the floor. He'd spent eons amongst human filth, and the smell here was almost over powering even to him.

It took longer than he would've liked for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, and he allowed them to morph to their true form. No one was here to see the red and black horizontally slitted eyes. The room brightened considerably, not unlike night vision goggles for a human – except he could see in color.

The smell bothered him more than one would expect because by the time people got to Hell, they were no longer a rotting corpse. They were simply Souls, with no mortal meat suit to speak of, and Souls never imagined themselves as dead flesh. All the smells Lucifer was used to were associated with the damage inflicted on living tissue, because that was how Souls imagined themselves.

Lucifer pulled out his phone, and dialed Detective Decker from memory.

It was a moment before she picked up, and he was worried it would go straight to voicemail.

"Lucifer, this had better be good. Do you have any idea what time-"

"I found another one," he said, skipping any pleasantries.

*(*(*(*(*

Lucifer had sat and waited for the police, patiently puffing on a cigarette only because he had nothing better to do and because there was a certain sense of unease about this corpse.

In less than half an hour, the crime scene was swarming with other people, bright flood lights and multiple uniformed individuals that Lucifer mostly ignored. He stayed away from the body. He wasn't the best at analyzing feelings, especially not of his own, but there was something…wrong here. A heavy weight seemed to settle in his chest, making feel like he couldn't quite breathe deeply enough.

The body was different this time. Instead of upside down and his arteries slashed to ribbons, he was right side up on an upside down cross, and instead of frenzied, angry slashes that nearly severed limbs, his blood had been carefully drained, though the investigators couldn't tell for sure how just yet. No question what happened to blood again – it was all over the scene.

Different symbols though. Less experimenting. They were all Enochian now.

"Lucifer?" Chloe asked quietly.

He didn't turn away from the body, but he at least acknowledged her. "Hmm?"

"You okay?"

He most certainly was not okay, but he didn't want to try and explain it to her. It wasn't the body or the death or the sheer gruesomeness to the scene that set his teeth on edge. Death never bothered him. It was his domain, and he'd done much worse on his own then humans could come up with as Samael. It was the strange darkness that seemed to radiate from the scene. An inky blackness that practically roiled and writhed in the shadows, just out of reach of the flood lights, and he was surprised none of the humans seemed to notice. It was pervasive, seeming to seep into his very skin even from where he sat several yards away.

He shook himself, stamping out his mostly ignored cigarette on the ground as he smiled up at the Detective. "Fine. How can I help you?"

"Can you read these symbols? There's a couple that look the same as the last scene, but there's a couple new ones." She paused, and he could feel her questioning gaze even before she said anything. "You sure you're okay? You look a little pale."

"I'm fine," he repeated, and just to prove it, sauntered over to the body, carefully stepping over the sigils on the ground.

Instead of the alpha and omega symbol this time, there was a rectangular design, except like someone had pinched it in the middle. On either end, there were two separate designs – to the left, there was an 'X' along one short end of the pinched box, and on the other a simple strike through diagonal. It was drawn in blood along the floor, same as the previous design, and the Enochian script ran around the outside of the box.

More interesting than the designs on the floor was the one carved into the young victim's chest. It was neat and precise, cut obviously with a fine, sharp blade. One long line that traced the length of his sternum, a sideways diamond in the middle, and an arrow pointing down on the top and an arrow pointing up on the bottom.

"Any ideas?" Dan asked. He stood at the edge of the sigils, almost shoulder to shoulder with Chloe and looking just as tired.

Lucifer kept forgetting humans needed sleep.

"The design on the chest is a spiritual attainment binding rune," he said. "But it's supposed to be used as a way for someone to find religion."

"Well, I guess someone found it for him," Dan said, and Lucifer reluctantly (and silently) agreed.

"It's meant more for people who have lost their way," Lucifer explained. "Like a crisis of faith, and they're trying to find a spiritual path. Here, it's like they were trying to bind him spiritually."

"What the hell does that mean?" Dan asked.

"That someone needs to learn how to do close interpretation readings," Lucifer muttered under his breath. Louder, he said, "it means someone doesn't know what they're doing, and they're trying to force a meaning on to something that they don't understand." He glanced down at the strange box shape. "I think they meant the attainment to be more like stealing."

"And the others?" Chloe asked, before Dan could say anything else. "The new Enochian letters?"

Lucifer glanced to the outside ring of script that circled wide around the pinched box. "They're not letters, they're words. Enochian is a symbol based language when written down…think of it like how you would read Japanese. To you, they're pictures as a written word, but to someone who can actually read the language, they have an actual sentence to them."

"Then what do they say?" Dan asked.

Lucifer took a step towards the outside circle, but drew up short as if he'd walked into an invisible wall. It felt like he'd walked into an invisible wall.

He held his hand out, and found he couldn't stick his hand any further than the edge of the box. He pushed harder, trying not to make it obvious, but he couldn't move past the barrier.

"Detective, could you come here for a moment?" he asked, trying to keep the edge of panic out of his voice.

"What for?"

"I need to see something. Come here…please," he added belatedly.

Surprisingly, it wasn't Chloe who stepped forwards, but Dan, and he walked easily enough into the box.

"What?" he asked, crossing his arms.

"Step back. Two steps," Lucifer ordered, and watched as Dan once again crossed the threshold of the box.

"Are we giving dance lessons now, Morningstar?" Dan asked irritably. "What are you doing?"

Lucifer forced a smile, and chuckled nervously. "Well, I know what this symbol is now," he said, indicating the box. "An actual binding sigil. One that regrettably works." He put his hand up to invisible wall and pushed against it. There wasn't any visible reaction – no crackling energy like some science fiction force field, just his inability to go any further. "I can't cross it."

Chloe frowned, and he could just see her trying to work this into her version of his story.

Good luck explaining how binding wards actually work in your little theory, Detective, he thought snidely.

"You walked across them easily enough to get in there," Dan pointed out. "Sure it's not mind over matter?"

Lucifer pounded on the invisible wall, realizing it made him look like he was pretending to be a mime. His hand made no noise, because there was nothing tangible to hit. It simply stopped midair in the exact same spot, every time. "Pretty sure," he growled.

"Lucifer, so help me, if this is you just playing a trick…" Chloe said, stepping forwards.

"What kind of a trick would this be?" Lucifer demanded. He hit the barrier once more for emphasis. "What point is there to pretend like I'm trapped inside a blood seal?"

"How about you constantly trying to get me to believe you're The Lucifer?" Chloe pointed out.

Lucifer sighed in exasperation. "Fine, fine, fair point. But I'm not. You told me to stop doing that in public, and I'm really, honestly trying to do that." He gestured at the seal. "But circumstances don't allow me at the moment."

"Okay, fine. If you're trapped inside that seal, then how do we get you out?" Chloe asked. He could tell she had exactly no belief in his inability to cross the threshold. She thought he was just being belligerent, and normally, she would be right.

"Just break the seal – draw your foot or something through the line and I should be free to go," he said.

"That's destroying evidence, Lucifer. I'm not doing that. Stop messing around, and just step over it."

"I wish I could, but I can't so just draw the damn line," Lucifer snapped, starting to lose his temper. This box was entirely too small to stay in, and the gnawing idea that someone knew perfectly damn well what this sigil was and what it would do was setting his vindictive nature on edge. He would not be confined.

"Lucifer," Chloe said in exasperation. And before he could protest, she grabbed him by his elbow and pulled him forwards.

He braced for impact, turning his head to the side so he wouldn't break his nose on the barrier, but instead he stumbled through it, like trying to pull himself through quicksand.

"See?" Chloe said confidently. "It's just a drawing. Are you done playing around?"

Lucifer stared at her in muted shock. "How did you do that?" he finally managed, stepping as far away from the binding rune as he could.

"You're not that heavy," Chloe said. "And I work out."

No, that wasn't it. It couldn't be it. He'd been stuck – completely unable to pass through the barrier until Chloe pulled him through. Did she break it without breaking the seal? He honestly had no desire to set foot back in the box to find out. Perhaps she was sent by his Father, or Amenadiel…but if that was the case, she would know it. She wouldn't keep playing dumb, the Heavenly Host had no talent for it.

She really didn't believe. There was no doubt in her mind that he was as human as everyone else. There was nothing different about him other than his fantastical belief that he was the Fallen One – something she disregarded as a delusion, and nothing more. Everyone he had ever met since arriving on Earth…they may not have completely accepted who he claimed to be, but they all had their doubts. Even Delilah. They could lie to themselves, they could even lie to him. But somewhere deep down and far buried was the niggling doubt that perhaps Lucifer Morningstar of Lux really was the Devil.

Perhaps that was all that was needed to break the sigil. Believing it had no power thus gave it no power.

He hated to think what that meant for him.

"Now that you're done playing make believe," Dan prompted, gesturing towards the Enochian words. "Feel like translating?"

Lucifer shot him a less than favorable scowl, but the detective ignored him. Sighing melodramatically, Lucifer stepped around the sigil, not willing to walk between them and risk another trap. The more he read, the more concerned he became, and apparently it showed.

"What?" Chloe asked, looking down and then back at him. "What's it say?"

"It's not gibberish this time," Lucifer said quietly. "They've learned. Solamen miseris socios habuisse doloris," he read aloud, indicating the lettering to the top of the circle of words. "And damnatio memoriae." He pointed to the bottom set of symbols.

"Is that Latin?" Chloe asked. "Why would they translate it from Latin into Enochian?"

"Latin translates easier because it's what was first used to translate Enochian – it's what people spoke at the time," Lucifer explained.

"So what does it say in English?" Dan demanded.

"It is a comfort to the unfortunate to have had companions in woe," he translated. "You would say 'misery loves company' nowadays. And the bottom half is a literal translation of 'condemnation of memory'- generally used to brand Roman emperors as traitors and used to wipe them from history."

Dan gave a low whistle. "Well, damn. Someone was upset with this guy."

Lucifer shook his head. "He's not the one they're referencing. He's simply a part of the message."

"Then who's it for?" Dan asked.

Lucifer didn't answer.

But Chloe did.

"The message is for you, isn't it?" she asked quietly. Sympathetically. Kindly. He shuddered involuntarily. "What does it mean? Who sent it?"

And he didn't have an answer.

Chapter Text

"We're looking for someone with some sort of medical background," Dan said, dropping the ME's report on Chloe's desk.

"They find something?" she asked, quickly flipping through the pages.

"They're pretty positive that what they used to drain his blood are actually IV cannulas – those needle things that they use for transfusions and blood donations, except put into arteries and opened all the way up. They found needle marks on the femoral and the jugular and like 15 other sites. I didn't even know we had that many arteries," he said.

Chloe studied the pictures, flipping back and forth between then rapidly. "No bruising like they had to dig…so probably someone who has done this a lot. Remember how bad my arms looked when I donated blood last time?"

Dan shuddered. "You weren't the only one…I swear that intern stabbed me with the biggest needle they had and then joy sticked it back and forth until I threatened to shoot him."

"But there's no bruising here – not even the beginning signs of ones. There's no multiple sites, no signs of digging around…so someone with a lot of practice. Probably not someone with the donor mobiles, but someone who starts IV's. Surgical nurse? Oncology nurse?"

"There's more," Dan said. "This time, they took their time. No rapid bleed out from serious injuries. The ME thinks that maybe this guy was held for a while – they found traces of ketamine and something called Midazolam in his system. And I mean minute traces, because he had almost no blood at all left. They found some in the muscle surrounding the injection sites."

"Midazolam…" Chloe echoed, and tapped a few keys on the keyboard. She recoiled at the information provided. "I didn't like these guys before, but now I really don't like them."

"That bad?" Dan craned his neck around to read the screen. "Causes conscious sedation…Jesus, you mean the guy was awake when they were draining him of blood?" He twitched involuntarily. He had a serious, serious issue with needles. He'd take death first. Especially after that woman with the American Cross.

"Probably. I suppose the only good thing is that he wouldn't remember it or really be fully aware." Chloe glanced over at her husband. "You going to be okay there, cowboy? You look like you're having a seizure."

Dan almost jumped out of his chair, visibly and physically shaking off the imagined needles. "You know I hate those things. Ugh…makes me twitch just thinking about it."

Chloe laughed, and Dan scowled.

"At least I'm not afraid of an arachnid that can't hurt me," he snapped.

Chloe's smile vanished and she pointed an accusing finger at him. "Spiders can kill you. Brown recluse? They liquefy your skin and eat it. That is a completely legitimate concern, Daniel."

"Yeah, well apparently needles can kill you too, so-" Dan stuck out his tongue, a la Trixie style.

"Now I see where our daughter gets it from," Chloe said. "Truce?"

Dan nodded, sitting back down. "Tentative truce."

"Medical history, working knowledge and access to heavy duty narcotics…" Chloe started listing the things they were sure about.

"Any way we can look up religious affiliations? Like they do in the military?" Dan asked.

Chloe shook her head, and then snapped her fingers. "No…but there is a listing of independent compounds in the US and the facilities they have. They have to be self-sustaining, right? No outside help. At least for some of them."

Dan let his head drop back against the head rest of the chair. "So we're looking for a Satanic cult with an operating hospital?"

"Not necessarily a hospital, but one that would claim to have a professionally trained doctor or something like it."

"Morningstar have any helpful insights on to what type of occult we're looking for?"

Chloe shook her head. "I'm not sure he's even coming back in to consult on this one. He knows something about those markings, and the ritualistic displays, but he's not telling me anything. He keeps repeating that he doesn't know, and last time I asked him about it, he disappeared and hasn't been back since."

Dan didn't answer for a moment, thinking about it. "Your working theory is that he was part of a cult when he was younger, right?"

Chloe looked surprised he'd even been paying attention when she'd started to run ideas past him about the origins of Lucifer prior to the five years of recorded existence. "Well, yeah, sort of…I don't have anything concrete to go off of, but it's what I have for now…"

"Okay, so let's assume you're right – don't give me that look. Let's say he was part of a cult. It fits with his personality choice, right? You said you'd found a separate name that he said he used to go by, right?"

"Samael," Chloe confirmed.

"So let's assume he has a reason to pick Lucifer as an alter ego. Things we're looking for is a son cast out by his father, once fairly important or high ranking, and then decided to go against his father. That's the general story of how Lucifer fell in Christian lore."

"I've been searching cold case missing persons files for a couple weeks and I haven't found any probable leads. His description is too basic – 6'3'' white male with brown hair and brown eyes, and no one with matching description of his scars has shown up in any database."

"You're assuming someone would've reported him missing. The Devil didn't run away from Heaven, he was thrown out. If that's a mirror of his own history, Morningstar isn't going to be a missing persons case." Dan paused. "Who would've thought those years in Catholic school would actually be useful?"

Chloe smirked. "I'm beginning to wish I paid closer attention when we would take Trixie to church."

Dan waved her off. "Nah, I knew it wasn't your thing. I'm not much for evangelizing, and I kinda lost faith in it too."

"So if not a missing person…" Chloe turned back to her computer, and hit a few keys, drawing up a map of the nearest religious sect compounds. "Maybe we're looking for the name Samael in conjunction with one of the leaders?"

"The problem with trying to look it up on a computer is that someone would've had to report something for the police to have it," Dan pointed out. "These guys are like their own separate countries on US soil."

"We can at least narrow it down," Chloe said. "For instance…travel time. Let's assume that someone isn't going to travel more than fifty miles to come into the city to set up a crime scene. For one thing, if it's just about murder, then they have to have a reason for wanting to come into the city to dispose of the body and in such a flamboyant fashion. So we can get rid of these."

She tapped a few keys and the red dots of interest on the map suddenly reduced.

"We're looking for a self-sustaining compound, probably with limited access and exiting of members," Chloe continued. "Anyone who thinks this is an appropriate expression of religious belief isn't going to have an open door policy. We're looking for Manson Families."

A few more dots disappeared.

"You said medical facilities and at least one doc that has to know what they're doing," Dan mentioned.

There went another couple of dots.

"So that's now only three compounds that we have to look at," Chloe said, pointing to the last remaining highlighters. "Better than three hundred and forty-seven that we had ten minutes ago."

"Any chance of reducing them further based on criminal activity or the Feds interest?" Dan asked.

"As soon as we ask the Feds for help, you know they're going to take over, and it'll be over for us," Chloe said. "We can at least ask around before we go to them."

Dan shrugged leaning back and stretching. "Is it so bad for them to handle these guys? I mean, they're a bunch of whack jobs. We got enough of our own."

"Because then they're going to have to talk to Lucifer," Chloe said flatly.

"So? That guy loves to talk to people," Dan said.

"Because at best, they're going to think he's delusional. At worst, they're going to think he's a suspect," Chloe pointed out.

"You did ask if the message was for him," Dan pointed out.

"Yeah, and did you see the look on his face? It wasn't his normal, arrogant 'I'm the center of the universe look at me'…he was legitimately upset that that could be the answer. I think he's finally understanding that people can be crazy when it comes to religion, and he's attracted the wrong kind of person this time around. And besides…if the Feds do think he's hand something to do with it, and they do something to piss him off, I'm not sure how well that's going to go down," Chloe explained.

That caught Dan's attention. "You saying he's dangerous?"

"Everybody can be dangerous, Dan, under the right circumstances. I would happily murder anyone who messed with Trixie," Chloe said. "But even though I don't believe him about being The Devil, he's a master manipulator. You remember the guy who killed Delilah? That case where we first ran into Lucifer?"

"You mean the guy who shot you?" Dan asked. "Yeah, I seem to recall that."

Chloe waved him off. "Anyway, I went to go see him in jail, and he was in the psych ward, and as soon as I brought up Lucifer, he went berserk and started smashing his head into the wall until it bled and the orderlies had to come in and sedate him. Later, that case with the male empowerment speaker? When I got to the scene, he'd done something to have all three of them cowering and practically pissing themselves out of fear."

"Jesus, Chloe, why do you even let him work with you? And you bring him around our kid?" Dan demanded.

"Shut up and listen, okay?" Chloe ordered, holding up her finger. "Lucifer is possessive. He is vindictive. He can be violent. But at the same time – he will never do anything to someone he doesn't think deserves it. Eye for an eye is pretty much his motto. But if you try and make him do something? Something he really doesn't want to? All bets are off. You can ask him to do anything, and he almost always does, even if he doesn't really care about the reason. I don't see Feds asking him to do anything, and I've seen what Lucifer does when he gets annoyed. Upset? Upset is when people wind up in padded rooms, and I would really prefer to avoid that."

"That's the kind of guy you want to work with?"

"I didn't have a choice at the time, remember? Kind of a social pariah here at work," Chloe pointed out. "As strange as his behavior is, he at least wanted to work with me, which is more than I could say for you up until a couple weeks ago."

Ouch.

"And as far as Trixie is concerned, Lucifer likes to avoid her at all costs, but tolerates her affection…even if he does try and get her to play fetch with Barbie dolls, so no, I don't worry about him doing anything to her."

"Fine, fine. We won't call the Feds in just yet. But Morningstar is going to have to start explaining what the hell is going on, and why he seems to be the intended audience. Where is he, anyway?"

Chloe sighed. "Where is he always?"

(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*

"I'm not interested in helping on this one, Detectives," Lucifer said, resolutely ignoring them as he sipped his whiskey. "You'll have to find another consultant."

"Come again?" Dan asked, shouting to be heard over the music.

A heavy dance beat, so loud the base made the floor vibrate drowned out almost everything else. Lux was packed like Chloe had never seen before, and the booze, women and music flowed freely.

"I'm not going," Lucifer shouted back. "Would you like me to put it in writing? I'm pretty good with legally bindings contracts."

"Aren't you always trying to nose in on cases?" Dan demanded.

"Actually, Detective, I'm not," Lucifer said. "I go when asked, but I do not have to do anything." He held his glass up in the traditional 'cheers' gesture. "Thus the beauty of being an independent contractor."

"People are dying, Lucifer!" Chloe protested.

"That's what people do," Lucifer snapped. "They live, they die, and they seem to like helping each other along the way. Far be it from me to interfere with free will."

"Lucifer-" Chloe reached out for his arm as he turned away from her, but he practically jumped backwards, slapping her hand away.

"How many times do I have to say it?" Lucifer snapped. "I'm not going to any insane cultist compound, for any reason. You've survived for years without me or my help, and you don't even believe me about who I am, so what benefit could there possibly be for me to go?"

"How about because your currently our resident expert on crazy religious nut jobs?" Dan said. He looked at Chloe. "Why am I even trying to convince him to go?"

"If you want someone who can get answers from people, take Maze," Lucifer said, indicating the beautiful woman behind the bar. "She's just as knowledgeable on the subject of Hell and its occupants."

Dan actually seemed perfectly willing to accept that trade, but a sharp glare from Chloe brought him back.

"You're the one with the actual clearance to work for the LAPD," Chloe said. "Not your bartender."

Lucifer shot a knowing glance to Dan, raising a suggestive eyebrow. "I think we could agree that Maze is much more than a bartender, right Detective?"

At Dan's bright red flush of embarrassment, Chloe knew Lucifer was now purposely trying to aggravate them into leaving, because a defensive Lucifer was malicious when he wanted to be. She'd ask Dan about it later, but right now, she wanted to know what the hell had Lucifer so adamant about not coming with them.

"Did you come from one of these places?" she asked. "Is that why you don't want to go with us?"

Lucifer scowled. "For the last time, I am not a delusional mental patient escaped from a cult. I am not pretending to be anyone. I am Lucifer. I am The Devil. Everyone else seems to believe me, but not you. But fine, if that's what gets you to go away, sure. You got me. I don't want to go back to my family's crazy farm. Happy?"

Any response Chloe had was interrupted with the appearance of a very beautiful, very drunk woman, draping herself across Lucifer's shoulders, giggling uncontrollably.

"Hey there, handsome," she said, smiling up at Lucifer as she sipped her own drink.

Chloe could smell the liquor on her breath from where she was standing.

"Hello yourself," Lucifer said, his irritation evaporating, replaced by his usual devilish smile.

"Dance with me," the woman said, and pulled an unresisting Lucifer with her.

As they watched him go, Dan threw his hands up in frustration. "Los Angeles has eighteen and a half million people. There has to be at least one other person we can ask to come with us."

"How about Maze?" Chloe deadpanned, folding her arms. "She even comes recommended by our current expert. And I think she's a ninja."

"Wasn't she also the one arranging celebrity death matches between suspects?" Dan asked.

Chloe shrugged. "You seemed perfectly happy to take him up on his suggestion ten seconds ago."

Dan opened his mouth to answer, but she watched as his gaze slid from her to the dance floor in the direction Lucifer and his drunken fan disappeared to. "Something's wrong."

Chloe glanced back over her shoulder where he was looking.

Lucifer and the girl weren't dancing – they weren't even moving. The woman had her face pressed against the side of his, her long, dark hair obscuring most of her features. She was almost as tall as he was, now that she wasn't slumping sideways and leaning on him. But instead of her hands being either wrapped around his waist or over his neck like the dozen other girls' and their dance partners did, she had hers gripped what looked painfully tight around his wrists, nails digging into his skin.

"What the…"

She didn't even finish the thought.

Suddenly Lucifer's head snapped back, his entire body going rigid. There was the bright flash of light from someone's camera phone that briefly obscured Chloe's vision and when the light disappeared, Lucifer was alone. He swayed briefly, possibly jostled by the crowd on the dance floor, stumbling back a step. His now freed hand came up to his lips, briefly touching his skin before pulling them back to look at his fingers.

The woman was gone – vanished in that brief flash of light from the camera. Just like the old man in the crowd at the first crime scene.

Even from here, Chloe could see the bright red of blood, as he stared at his hand in confusion and wonder.

Lucifer coughed suddenly, and there was a spray of crimson that was unmistakable.

That was when others noticed.

"Call 911!" she shouted at Dan, shoving her way through the panicking crowd as they tried to get away.

Lucifer sagged forwards abruptly, pitching forwards to the floor and barely managing to catch himself on his hands before he fell face first to the ground.

Chloe slid to her knees in front of him, gently catching him around his shoulders before he fell. "I got you," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. She was dimly aware of the rest of the crowd, most panicking and trying to get away from all the blood – so much blood – and there were few more flashes from camera phones because those were the types of people Lux attracted. She could hear Dan on his phone, calling for an ambulance in a cool detached voice even as she could see him running his hand nervously through his hair as he paced back and forth in a tight two step circle.

Lucifer coughed again, harder, unable to catch his breath in between violent bursts that just seemed to get worse. He was gasping and choking at the same time, hands gripping onto her sleeves leaving crimson handprints smeared across the cloth.

"You're okay, you're okay, you're going to be fine," she told him, even as she could see blood was coming from more than just his mouth. His entire body shook, even as he tried to keep his head upright but she could see his eyes starting to roll backwards.

"Ten minutes," she heard Dan say and cursed that it might be too late.

"Find the woman," she snapped.

"I already did," a woman's voice snarled. It sounded less than human, and Chloe glanced up briefly, trying to keep her composure as her partner was possibly dying in her arms, choking on his own blood.

Maze stood at the bottom of the stairs to the exit, holding the woman around her throat with one delicate hand. The bartender was perhaps six inches shorter than the woman she held, but with strength belying her small stature, she held the woman pinned against the bannister, her toes barely scraping the floor. Maze's hand clenched briefly, cutting off the woman's air.

"We need her alive," Dan said. "See if she has anything on her, like an aerosol."

The thin, wheezing gasp from Lucifer took her attention away from the bartender and her victim and Chloe found herself trying much of what she used to soothe Trixie when she'd been three with pneumonia, coughing so hard it bruised her tiny ribs.

There was a terrifying rattle to Lucifer's chest as he tried to breathe, but for every tiny breath he managed, he gagged on blood with the immediate coughing fit. She could feel the blood soaking into her jacket where his face was pressed into her shoulder, and she tried to keep his head up an unobstructed.

He wasn't even just bleeding from his mouth, though that was certainly the worst of it. People teared up when they coughed violently, especially for long bouts that were more choking than coughing – it was reflex. Except Lucifer's eyes had tears of blood. It seemed like it was coming from everywhere – from his eyes, from his nose, and his mouth.

She briefly considered it being an airborne pathogen but she was already exposed and so was everyone in the club.

His hands tightened on her arms with bruising force, and she could feel more and more of his weight collapsing on to her as he lost his battle with consciousness.

"Stay with me, Lucifer," she demanded, giving him a light shake. "Come on, keep your eyes open. You're going to be fine."

She watched him struggle, his lips turning blue from lack of air even as blood stained his teeth. He managed to focus on her for a moment, and in that instant she could see the accusation in his eyes.

"Liar…" he gasped. His shoulders shuddered once more before he collapsed, unconscious into her arms.

Chapter Text

"I always knew you were the talented one, big brother," a familiar voice said. "But this pretty much takes the cake."

Lucifer blinked his eyes open, squinting against the overhead light and the abominable headache he had. That's new...and decidedly unwelcome. He brought a hand up, fumbling for the light above his head, wincing at the stiffness and soreness that suddenly seemed to ignite everywhere.

"Yeah, you went full stigmata for a second there," the voice continued, and there was a shuffle of movement and the light was gone. "I'm sure there's something sacrilegious in that."

Lucifer breathed a sigh of relief as his headache abated slightly with the absence of light. "What are you doing here? Don't you have some virgins to deliver pregnancy announcements to?" He could still taste copper in his mouth, though thankfully it didn't feel like he was about to start hacking up a lung…or two…again.

Gabriel laughed, and settled deeper into his chair opposite Lucifer's bed. "Nah, that was sort of a one-time thing. I mostly just run around setting fire to shrubbery on church lawns to give people a sense of purpose now."

Gabriel was Lucifer's decidedly less irritating brother. All of his years amongst humans had given him a rather wicked jokester streak – one which his other siblings couldn't quite grasp but Lucifer always enjoyed. Out of all his brothers, Gabriel was probably the only one who actually enjoyed human company, which was good since he was often the one their Father chose to communicate through. Unlike Amenadiel, who Lucifer swore showed up in all his feathery-bird boy glory to mock him, Gabriel looked just as human as Lucifer did. No wings, no halo, no heavenly choirs or ridiculous displays of power like slowing time. Instead, he was in a LA Angels t-shirt and jeans and looking like he'd just come off the beach.

Lucifer snorted and immediately winced. "Why does my entire face hurt?" He touched his hand to his lips, and was relieved when they came away clean. "Did I get into another fight with Michael?"

Gabriel's grin faded slightly. "Uh, no…Michael doesn't even know I'm here. No one knows I'm here. Well, except our Father, because well…omniscient and all that."

Lucifer let his eyes drift closed. Everything hurt, not just his face, like he was one big bruise. And this bed was not helping. "Where are we?"

"The hospital," Gabriel said cheerfully. "Your humans brought you here when they thought you were dying. I think the popular theory right now is a localized biological attack, but I haven't been listening in on their interrogation."

Lucifer sighed, and moved to sit up, wincing as he did so. It was like being shot, all at once, all over his body – the novelty of pain was officially over. He'd take his immortality status back now… "How do people live like this? No wonder they're so miserable."

Gabriel shrugged. "Well, for one thing, they normally don't test it out quite like you did. Secondly, they don't go from ten million years of feeling no pain at all to suddenly having someone try and rip them from their bodies."

Lucifer frowned. "Someone tried to exorcise me?"

Gabriel nodded. "Apparently."

No wonder he hurt so bad. It was the equivalent of trying to tear someone apart from the inside out. Angels and demons, despite popular opinion in the recent portrayal in pop culture, did not possess people. They were creatures of Creation – older than time itself. They could alter their own shapes and forms and appear just as a human as their distant cousins, but it was ridiculous to believe that something God created could only show up on Earth by invitation only. Lesser demons and ghosts and poltergeists could do it, but it wasn't necessary – they just liked to cause havoc by parading around in borrowed meat suits.

Not that angels in their true forms weren't terrifying. There's a reason why every time one showed up, usually Gabriel himself, their first words to the humans were 'fear not'.

"I hate people," Lucifer grumbled, and slid back down the bed so he was lying flat once more. If he ever got his hands on that woman…she'd whispered something in his ear, but the music had been so loud and he hadn't been paying all that much attention in the first place. He just knew that one moment she'd been very, very affectionate, and then she'd dug her nails into his wrists and whispered something he couldn't hear and the next moment he felt like something was trying to pull him inside out.

"Just remember who decided to come and live with them," Gabriel admonished gently. "Apparently permanently, from what I hear. Did you really cut off your wings?"

Lucifer declined to answer, hunching his shoulders. One side benefit, he supposed, was that after having someone try and throw him out of his own body, he didn't notice the absence of his wings as much.

"Brother, that's like cutting off your nose to spite your face," Gabriel said.

"I'm aware of the consequences, little brother," Lucifer growled. "And I'll take a metaphorical missing nose over Hell for eternity all over a couple angry words."

"It's not that bad," Gabriel said, though Lucifer could hear the lie in his voice.

"Then you do it," Lucifer snapped back. "I'm sure Amenadiel would be willing to trade – king of Hell for messenger boy."

Gabriel didn't answer, carefully avoiding the suggestion. "Father is worried about you, you know."

Lucifer burst out laughing and immediately regretted it when his entire ribcage protested the movement. "Don't make me laugh…" he gasped, but couldn't keep the incredulous smirk off his face.

"Why do you think He let me come down here?" Gabriel asked. "I'm the messenger boy, remember? I deliver messages."

"He could've sent Michael."

Gabriel scoffed. "Yeah. He sends Michael when He wants to make a statement, not to check up on things. But you seem to be in over your head recently, and while True Believers are few and far between, you seem to have stumbled upon some that actually seem to know what they're doing. There's a reason why Father wasn't overjoyed with the idea of any of us kicking around on Earth for any great length of time. You included."

"Father doesn't care about me, and He certainly isn't worried," Lucifer grumbled. "If He was, He would say something. Or do something. And He hasn't for years."

Gabriel sighed. "Look, I know the more someone tries to get you to do something, the less likely you're to do it out of sheer spite. I'm not telling you to go back to Hell, or anything else. I'm just pointing out a few things. Like how you seem unfortunately mortal."

"Am I?" Lucifer asked mildly. "Hadn't noticed."

"Ever wonder what that might mean, brother?" Gabriel asked. "Not just for you, but for the rest of us? What happens if you die?"

"I imagine I'll go up or down, depending on how Father feels at the time," Lucifer said dismissively.

Gabriel was suddenly mere inches from Lucifer's face. "I'm less concerned about where you go, Samael, then I am about what happens if Father's favorite son is murdered. I sincerely doubt that rainbow bullshit promise He made to Noah is going to keep Him from getting creative with some very Old Testament punishment."

"Father isn't-"

"Brother, I love you, but if you say He doesn't care about what happens to you, I will smack the taste out of your mouth," Gabriel threatened. "I don't care what issues the two of you have, but you cannot honestly believe that if an archangel, fallen or not, is killed there won't be some sort of fallout of the Biblical proportion for humanity. Stay here and play cops and robbers for all I care – be judge, jury and executioner if it helps. But do try and understand it's not only you that's affected by your choices, and I, for one, have had enough bloodshed in our Father's name for even our lifetimes."

Lucifer glared at his brother. "Get out."

And Gabriel vanished.

There was a cautious knocking on his door, and Lucifer grabbed his pathetic hospital pillow and fought the urge to scream into it. Instead he yelled, though slightly muffled, "I don't want any more visitors!"

The door cracked open anyway and he picked up the pillow with every intention of throwing it at the intruder until he saw it was Chloe.

"Oh," he managed, smiling sheepishly. "You."

Chloe raised an eyebrow, glancing around the darkened room. "You were expecting someone else?"

Lucifer stuffed the pillow back under his head, readjusting the headboard until he was sitting upright and he didn't look quite so weak. "My brother was just here. I was hoping he hadn't decided to bring anyone else."

Chloe's eyebrows shot almost through her hairline. "Your brother was here? I didn't even think they were letting visitors in yet."

Lucifer waved a dismissive hand. "Yes, well, my family doesn't have to obey visiting hours."

"I didn't even know you had family," Chloe said, trying to sound nonchalant and failing miserably.

"One older brother, and too many to count younger ones," Lucifer clarified. "You just missed Gabriel."

Chloe sighed, stepping into the room and taking Gabriel's recently abandoned post. "Of course your brother is named Gabriel."

Lucifer smirked. Her continued disbelief in his story would be borderline amusing, if it wasn't so irritating. "Gabriel, Uriel, Raphael, and of course Michael. Those are the important ones, anyway. I have one particularly obnoxious younger one named Amenadiel who is quite adamant that I get back to work so he can stop doing my job for me. He's beginning to understand that a gift isn't a gift when you have to accept it."

Chloe didn't answer, but she did turn back on the overhead light and he flinched at the sudden brightness.

"Little warning, Detective?" he said, slowly blinking his eyes to adjust them.

"You'll be happy to know that they can't find anything permanently wrong with you," Chloe said, and Lucifer noted the irritability in her tone. "No signs of poison, pathogens, or other forms of biological warfare. Other than some bruised ribs from prolonged, violent coughing, you're fine as far as the doctor is concerned. One thought you might have a pulmonary embolism, except that didn't account for the bleeding from everywhere, and the second suggestion was that you have a bizarre form of hemophilia that the woman set off with an aerosolized irritant. But nothing conclusive, and they say you're cleared to go."

"You seem rather upset by that," he said.

The look she shot him was positively murderous and Lucifer found himself less worried about Gabriel's visit than Detective Decker's.

"Upset?" she repeated. "Upset? I'm upset when the line takes forever at the coffee house. I'm upset when the Angels lose the pennant. You, coughing up more blood than I have ever seen in my lifetime, in my arms from some unknown reason in the middle of your club? I don't think there's even a word for what I feel right now."

"Sorry?" Lucifer apologized, though not entirely sure why he was apologizing or even what for. It just seemed like he should offer something and that was what most women seemed to prefer – apologies, even if he didn't mean them.

Wrong choice of words, apparently, because Chloe practically exploded.

"Sorry? Sorry for what, Lucifer? Sorry because you almost fucking died? Sorry because you refuse to tell me the truth about who you are and where you come from even though now it's threatening your life? Sorry because someone is now very obviously targeting you based on your delusion?"

Lucifer shrank back further into the unforgiving pillow. "If it'll keep you from murdering me, yes. All of it."

And just as quickly, Chloe's anger was gone, and she pressed her hand to her face.

Lucifer edged toward the other side of the bed. Perhaps she was possessed. That would explain a lot, actually…maybe he could just – slip out the door when she wasn't looking.

"I'm sorry," Chloe said, dropping her hand to her lap. She sniffed, and for the first time Lucifer noticed that her eyes were suspiciously red.

"Have you been crying?" he asked, frowning.

She didn't answer, but looked deliberately away from him.

"What for?"

Finally she gave a response he recognized – that half head tilt to the side, mouth partially open like she wanted to say something so much more sarcastic than what actually came out, eyes narrowed in disbelief. The one she always gave him when she was torn between slapping him and questioning his sanity.

"Seriously?" she said.

Lucifer shrugged. "I always thought I was more of a bother than a delight to you, Detective. I apologize for causing undue duress with my untimely almost demise."

Chloe continued to stare at him for a moment before she shook her head. "I thought you were dying, Lucifer. I don't care how irritating someone is, watching them cough up more blood than I've ever seen and practically choking to death on it is a little distressing, okay?"

Lucifer grinned. "But I'm fine now. See?" He went to move his arms and immediately winced.

Chloe shook her head. "Those would be the bruised ribs. You should consider yourself lucky. It could've been worse. And no one seems to know what the hell happened."

"According to Gabriel, she tried to exorcise me," Lucifer said helpfully.

"I thought that was for demonic possession," Chloe said, frowning. "Like in the movie."

Lucifer relaxed slightly, knowing he'd thoroughly distracted her from her worry about him. "It is. That's the only way it really works, at any rate. It kicks creatures out of bodies that aren't their own, like a supernatural eviction notice."

"So why would she try it on you?" Chloe asked, crossing her arms. "Supposedly you're the Devil, not a demon."

Lucifer gave a half shrug, trying to avoid pulling at bruised muscles. "Because thanks to pop culture, people seem to believe we need to inhabit someone else's body in order to walk the Earth, which is complete nonsense. Gabriel used to deliver messages all the time in his own form. It's even in that stupid book they keep quoting."

"Okay…so why would she want to exorcise you in the first place?"

Lucifer shrugged again. "Hell if I know. The one to ask would be Señorita Psychopath, if she was still alive."

"Maze caught her on the way out of the club," Chloe said.

"I'm sure that was a mess to clean up."

"The woman is currently in holding down at the precinct. Dan's keeping an eye on her," Chloe said.

Lucifer felt his jaw drop in shock. "Maze left her alive?"

"There were two cops less than six feet away from her. What did you think she was going to do?"

"Not that," Lucifer said, still trying to process the idea that Maze had left a would be assassin alive.

"Well, she and Dan are currently down at the station with her," Chloe said, and dropped a pile of clothes on the end of his bed. "I'm supposed to take you home before checking in with them."

"Several things wrong there that I need to point out," Lucifer said, holding up a finger. "One, why is Maze with Detective Douche at the station; two, why would I be going back to Lux instead of to the station with you; and three, what in my Father's name are those?" He pointed to the clothes, which looked like the reject pile from the local homeless shelter.

"One, Maze is with Dan because you yourself recommended that we use her instead of you as our new occult specialist because you suddenly decided you were no longer interested in the case. Two, because you're being released from the hospital but that doesn't mean you're up for doing anything more strenuous than going to bed, and three, these are what we found that will fit you until you get home," Chloe explained. She nudged the pile with her foot. "That'll teach you to be almost a foot taller than everyone I know."

"Where are my clothes?" Lucifer protested, eyeing the sweatshirt.

"The same place mine are," Chloe said, and for the first time Lucifer realized she was wearing gym clothes instead of her shirt and jacket as usual. "Evidence."

Lucifer gingerly picked up the overly large hoodie. "I wasn't aware you were friends with a Sasquatch, Detective. Are you wearing this with me?"

"It's what Dan grabbed from the precinct, okay? I'm going to go sign you out into police custody, so get changed so we can leave when I get back. And no, walking out of here naked is not an option."

Getting dressed was more painful than he would've liked, but the more he moved, the less it hurt. One of the women he'd slept with had shown him all sorts of interesting stretches meant for relieving muscle stiffness, which they'd proceeded to misappropriate in the worst of ways. Who would've thought they actually worked the way they were intended…

When Chloe came back to get him, she promptly burst out laughing, and as much as he would've liked to, he couldn't blame her.

"I look ridiculous," he grumbled, spreading his arms as far as he could without it hurting. The sweatshirt had to be a XXXL, and he was by no means a small man, but he was practically swimming in it. The hood, if pulled over his head, hung almost to his chin, and if he didn't push the sleeves up to his elbows, he couldn't use his hands. In stark contrast, the gym pants she'd grabbed were absurdly short and came almost above his ankle, and the pull on dock shoes were probably from the dollar bin at a thrift store. He'd punished Souls cleaner than these shoes, and he shuddered, vowing a thorough scrubbing when he got back to his loft. "What'd you do, raid the Short and Wide instead of Big and Tall?"

"I'm pretty sure the nurse just called you adorable," Chloe pointed out, trying and failing miserably not to laugh.

"She has a homeless fetish?" Lucifer remarked snidely. "Well, judge not and all that, but I am the Devil. I don't do adorable." Just to spite him, his hood fell back down over his face and he shoved it back angrily.

"Well, apparently today you do," Chloe admonished lightly, before steering him towards the exit.

*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*

"This isn't Lux," Lucifer accused.

Chloe sighed, parking the car underneath the car port. "No, Lucifer, it's not." She hadn't heart or the energy to tell him back at the hospital that she couldn't return him to the club. For one, it was still under lockdown until they were positive that whatever the woman hit Lucifer with wasn't spreading or contagious. Of course, since the hospital was at a loss as to what would cause something that looked like something out of the chemical warfare version of stigmata, the CDC probably wouldn't find anything either. Secondly, Lucifer had officially been placed in police custody, and given his unfortunate habit of never doing anything that he was told, she'd figured she would wait until she'd gotten him back to her house before she told him that the home she'd mentioned returning him to was hers, and not his.

"So I can't go to the precinct, and I can't go back to my own home, but I'm healthy enough for a sleepover?" he protested. "How in the world does that make sense?"

Chloe sighed, pressing her forehead against the front door for a moment before she unlocked it. The lights were still on, and the baby sitter was up with Trixie watching cartoons.

"Hey, Miz D," Stephanie said around a mouthful of popcorn. "I swear, there's some education to be had here."

"Mom!" Trixie cried, leaping off the couch, popcorn bowl forgotten as she wrapped herself around her mom's legs. "Did you bring Lucifer home?"

"And she's here?" Lucifer grumbled from the threshold. "I thought we just established that I was the victim of bio terrorism. Why do I have to be in the proximity of a child? Isn't that an ethics violation?"

"Lucifer!" Trixie let go long enough to launch herself at her new favorite toy, but Chloe caught her mid jump. From the way Lucifer had flinched away from the airborne assault, one would think he found the idea of a second 'exorcism' a better alternative to a hug from a child.

One day, she would have to ask why he disliked children so much.

"Honey, Mr. Morningstar is only here for a little while, while we clean up his house, okay? And he's not feeling very well, so be extra quiet, and extra nice, right?" Chloe said, swinging Trixie up onto her hip.

Trixie glanced at Lucifer, lower lip jutting out in a pout. "Is he sick?"

"No, sweetie. Just not feeling well. He's supposed to get plenty of rest, so I want you to play in your room as much as you can, okay?"

Trixie looked torn, and she kept glancing back and forth between the two of them before heaving a dramatic sigh. "Okay…"

"Good girl. I'll be in in a minute, okay?"

As Trixie ran off to her room, Lucifer skirted around Chloe and the baby sitter, sleeves pulled down over his hands like makeshift mittens, hood almost covering his face and face planted on the vacated couch, looking all the world like a petulant teenager home from college.

Stephanie leaned over to whisper, "New boyfriend, Miz D?"

Chloe crinkled her nose. "No. God, no."

"I heard that," Lucifer protested from the couch. He was tall enough that his now bare feet hung over one side of the sofa, and that was pretty much all she could see.

Stephanie smiled, and waved off Chloe as she pulled out her wallet. "Nah, don't worry about it. Little monster and I had fun, and you look like you could use a break. I'll catch you next time."

As soon as the door clicked shut behind Stephanie, Chloe made for the couch and moved Lucifer's feet so she could sit on the other end.

"My couch," Lucifer protested, half-heartedly pushing at her, until he seemed to realize that she was a lot warmer than he was and shoved his ice cold feet behind her back. "Never mind, you can stay."

Chloe tried not laugh, but wound up shaking her head. "This isn't my first choice of arrangements either, Lucifer. But the LAPD doesn't have a hell of a lot of safe houses or areas that they can stick someone on a whim, and especially not as well-known as you. You're not contagious according to the CDC and the hospital, so you don't pose a risk to civilians, which is why they released you in the first place. However, I can't take you directly back to Lux because the CDC and CSI division are still going over it, and I can't let you occupy an active crime scene."

"I couldn't go to a hotel?" Lucifer complained, shoving back the hood of the sweatshirt.

"Hospital rules – I couldn't sign you out unless you were going to have supervision just in case the hemophilia case was the right one, they didn't want you bleeding out by yourself. And the department doesn't really want to risk the life of a fairly useful consultant by leaving you by yourself just in case your attacker had friends. And no, I was not going to wait with you for potentially hours at a seedy hotel."

Lucifer made a 'hmph' noise, but stopped asking questions and let his eyes drift shut, though she wasn't sure if it was because he'd given up or because he was just too tired to continue arguing.

He looked ill – for being a resident of LA for at least five years, Lucifer was always on the pale side, which she'd attributed to the fact that he was British. Though his color was beginning to return, his skin still had a deathly pallor to it making him appear almost black and white. His personality wasn't dimmed, so she took that as a sign he was eventually going to be okay. He did lose a lot of blood, and she remembered how long it took before she felt normal after getting shot on their first case together. Swamped in borrowed clothes that were pennies on the dollar compared to what she normally saw him in (unless it was when he wore nothing at all), Lucifer looked more human than ever. And he was freezing cold to the touch, which was probably why the objections to the hoodie were minimal – another symptom of the massive, inexplicable blood loss.

She grabbed the blanket from off the back of the couch, draping it over the almost asleep Lucifer who made some sort of grumbling noise she assumed was the half-asleep Devil version of 'thanks'. She doubted he was up for anything more ambitious than sleeping for the next several hours, and she still needed a shower – she could still taste the coppery flavor of blood, real or imagined, and she could swear she still felt it on her skin where it seeped through her jacket.

She dimmed the table lamp, but left the cartoons on just for background noise, made sure the blanket was settled over Lucifer's surprisingly foldable long frame and headed for the bathroom.

*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(

Something was right next to his face. Lucifer was aware of another presence before he as even fully awake, pulling back further into the couch, jolting suddenly awake.

A tiny human stared back at him, unblinking as she crunched on another kernel of microwave popcorn.

Hooker, he thought blearily, before realizing that was wrong. Hooker name – Tramp. No. Trixie.

"Hi Lucifer," she whispered loudly, like only children could.

"You," he groaned, and buried himself further under the blankets. He didn't remember getting a blanket, but the extra warmth was welcome. He didn't remember Chloe living in an icebox, but it sure as hell felt like one now. "What do you want? Didn't your mother tell you to go away?"

Trixie ignored him, offering him a handful of popcorn. "Want some?"

"No," Lucifer said testily. "Shoo. Or whatever command it is to get you to go away."

Trixie smiled, a large gap in front where her teeth were growing in. Lucifer always found it disturbing how human children shed their tiny, pincer like teeth for new ones every few years. Sharks shed teeth, and he was pretty sure the similarities didn't end there.

"Mom says you weren't feeling good," Trixie said solemnly.

"She's correct," Lucifer said.

When Trixie suddenly leaned forwards, Lucifer had a brief flash of those sharp, tiny shark teeth sinking into his skin and he jolted backwards, surprising her and she looked…hurt.

"Was someone mean to you?" Trixie asked.

Lucifer sighed, wondering what exactly he'd done to deserve occupying space with children and if he could apologize for just that bit so he wouldn't have to suffer through it anymore. "Yes. Very mean. They tried to throw me out of my own body."

"Did it hurt?"

"Very much," he said honestly. If this was a conversation Chloe didn't want him to have with her spawn, she should've made sure the door was locked to its room.

"I was going to kiss and make it better," Trixie offered, touching a small finger to his forehead. "That's what mom does to make me feel better when I don't feel good."

Lucifer chuckled grimly. "I appreciate the sentiment, but no thank you."

The lower lip jutted out, and Lucifer braced himself for tears, but she just seemed annoyed that he spurned her offer for help. "Why not?"

Lucifer sighed, pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders. Being mortal had officially lost its novelty. As soon as he felt better, he was going to make a concentrated effort to fix whatever the hell it was…except he needed his wings to do that, and he still had no idea where they were.

"If I tell you, will you go away?" he asked.

Trixie crossed her arms in a way that looked so much like her mother it was unnerving. That was the other part that was creepy about children – their incessant need to mimic others. "Well?"

"You believe me when I say I'm the Devil?" he asked, and she nodded. Score one for the little monster – at least she had unquestioning belief in who he was. "I reigned in Hell for ten million years, creating a place for humans to torture themselves. How many children do you think wound up there?"

"None," she said confidently.

"Wrong. Not many, but some. Now just imagine what you know of Hell, and the people who go there."

He watched her as she scrunched her face up in concentration, picturing what he was sure was probably the fiery pit and the cartoonish devil with goat legs and a pitchfork laughing maniacally in the background.

"Now try and imagine how bad those few children had to be to wind up there before they were ten."

Trixie cracked an eye open, disbelief clearly evident. "You're afraid of kids?"

Lucifer scowled. "You shouldn't tease people about what they're afraid of. And you would be scared of children, too, if the only ones you ever knew were those children."

Trixie pondered that for a moment, face still scrunched up in concentration. She huffed. "Well, I'm not scary, and you shouldn't be afraid of me." Before he could answer, she leaned forwards again and he was out of couch to shrink back into. Her lips brushed against his forehead in a butterfly kiss, and she made an exaggerated smacking sound. "You're not scary either, even if you are the Devil."

Lucifer was too stunned to respond as she picked up her bag of popcorn and headed back to her room. He heard the bathroom door open as Trixie opened hers, and Chloe asked what she'd been doing.

"Were you bothering Mr. Morningstar?"

"Nope. I kissed him and made him better."

"Trixie, honey, that's very nice of you, but I said he wasn't feeling well."

"You do it to me when I'm sick."

"That's different, honey – that's to show love."

There was a pause, and Lucifer could hear the stage whisper from Trixie's answer. "I think he needed love too."

Chapter Text

She didn't look like domestic terrorist.

Kaitlyn Kincaide of Chicago looked perfectly ordinary, sitting across the table from Dan and Maze, her hands cuffed to the tabletop, her club outfit replaced by generic police issued coveralls. They'd made her scrub down, unsure of what chemical or biological agent she might've used to take down Morningstar, and her hair and face were clear of makeup and product.

She looked young – she was only twenty-five.

She looked empty.

Perhaps that was what bothered Dan the most. Maze claimed to be a demon (and after dealing with her over Lux's accounts, Dan was hard pressed to argue). Lucifer claimed to be the Devil. But looking at the two of them, no one would ever think to call them hollow.

Kaitlyn hadn't spoken a word since the club. It had nothing to do with the impressive bruising around her neck from Maze, either, according to the medical staff that cleared her of contagions before bringing her to interrogation.

She hadn't fought either, not after Maze caught her. She'd passively gone along with the arresting officers that showed up after the 911 call, and hadn't said a word one way or another to the staff that checked her over. She'd been read her rights, and the closest thing she'd given as an answer was smile and nod when they asked if she understood them.

"I can get her to talk," Maze had said, flexing her long, elegant fingers that Dan thought looked abnormally sharp.

"Screaming isn't the same thing as talking," Dan pointed out.

"Maybe not to you…"

Seriously. Where did Morningstar find his hired help? The League of Assassins?

Dan pinched the bridge of his nose. "No torture. No capital punishment. No maiming, stabbing, bruising, shooting, burning, or anything else that might be categorized under that first one."

Maze's eyes flashed irritably. "What does he see in you humans?"

Oh good. Two deluded psychos in one room. There was no way for this to go seven ways to hell in a handbasket. Bright side though? Apparently Maze was already well acquainted with all the different roads there.

Dan glanced around, though he already knew they were by themselves. Something else Morningstar and Maze shared – their ability to get the chief to look the other way on letting them 'help' with investigations.

"Vague threats. Good cop," he pointed to himself. "Bad…whatever," he pointed to her, and Maze gave him a genuine smile.

A sadistic one, but genuine. He'd take what he could get at this point.

"Ooo, role playing. I can get onboard with that," she purred.

Dan felt his face flush what was probably a darker red than Maze's lipstick and turned back to the coffee machine. "Okay, so when we go in there-"

The crackle of the recording machine made him turn and curse. Violently. Maze was sitting in the interrogation room with the other woman. How the hell did she get in there so fast? He hadn't even heard the door open.

As he entered, he'd half expected to hear the tail end of a not so vague threat from Maze, but the ninja bartender was unexpectedly quiet.

"Oh good," he said, dropping his case folders on the table, setting his coffee mug next to them as he grabbed the other chair next to Maze. "You didn't kill her. I'm pleasantly surprised."

Kaitlyn seemed to ignore him, smiling serenely as she had since they arrested her.

"What brings you to LA, Miss Kincaide?" Dan asked conversationally. "The weather? Probably a lot nicer here at this time of year than Chicago, right?"

Kaitlyn's empty eyes slid over in his direction, but she remained mute.

"Look, I know you can talk, we've spoken to your family. Who, by the way, is really worried about you. Said you'd left home a year ago and they hadn't heard from you since."

More silence.

Dan sighed. "Look, Kaitlyn…can I call you Kaitlyn? We don't need your confession to put you away. There were more than half a dozen witnesses to the incident at Lux, including myself. Mr. Morningstar is expected to make a full recovery, but that doesn't mean that we can't have to tried for attempted murder, domestic terrorism, public endangerment, and those are only the first things that come to mind." He flipped open the casefile folder. "There's at least seven more charges here of varying degrees of severity that alone could get you five to ten years. With all of them, you're looking at twenty-five, minimum."

Again, he was met with silence.

"I'm not interested in a confession. I'm interested in a reason," Dan said, and he could see the flicker of something in Kaitlyn's eyes. "What did you do to Morningstar?"

Nothing.

Dan sighed, glancing over at Maze to see if she planned on making good on her role playing, but Maze wasn't paying attention to him. She was eyeing Kaitlyn with an intensity usually reserved for actual fires, and Dan was honestly a little surprised that Kaitlyn wasn't at least beginning to smoke.

"What is that I can't see,

With ice cold hands taking hold of me,"

Dan couldn't have been more surprised if Elvis and a T Rex had showed up to dance the macareña. Why the hell was Maze singing? Was she trying to serenade her boss's attempted murderer?

"When God is gone and the Devil takes hold,

Who'll have mercy on your soul?"

There was something in her voice, something that Dan couldn't quite describe – a rhythm under the melody that made goosebumps stand out on his skin and his hair rise on the back of his neck. He imagined this is what sailors heard before they crashed into the rocks to drown. He was about to question her sanity along with Kaitlyn's, when he looked back at the prisoner and realized that finally, something was beginning to get through to her.

Kaitlyn hadn't moved, but Dan could see the awe on her face, completely enraptured with Maze's voice. He'd seen men show less interest in porn stars than Kaitlyn showed the bartender.

"No wealth, no ruin, no silver, no gold

Nothing satisfies me but your soul."

"You're beautiful," Kaitlyn breathed.

Dan had said that with less conviction on his wedding day. But at least she spoke.

"What did you do to Lucifer?" Maze demanded, voice now cold and dark as shadow.

"Why don't you show your true face?" Kaitlyn asked. She sounded genuinely confused – as though she wondered why Maze would wear a party mask the day after Halloween.

Maze looked unimpressed, folding her arms and crossing one leg under the table, bobbing her foot up and down impatiently. "I don't feel like listening to you scream." She paused, tilting her head to the side, considering. "Yet."

"I wasn't trying to hurt him," Kaitlyn said, petulantly. "I must have said the wrong words."

"What did you say?" she demanded. She tapped her sharp nailed fingers against her arm impatiently.

Kaitlyn looked away. "If they're the wrong ones, they'll hurt you too," she said.

Dan felt his skin crawl. There was something indescribably wrong with Kaitlyn's voice. Contrite and simpering and oil slick and without true feeling.

Maze didn't say anything, arching one delicate eyebrow expectantly.

"I was trying to get him to show himself," Kaitlyn protested.

The words meant nothing to Dan – they'd officially detoured into Crazy Town, but at least Maze and Kaitlyn seemed to be headed in on the same road, because she seemed to follow the train of thought without issue.

"What you see is what you get with Lucifer," Maze said.

Dan doubted that.

Kaitlyn shook her head. "I didn't mean Lucifer, I meant Samael."

There was that name again. Dan recognized it as the one Chloe had pegged as a prior identity for Lucifer.

The name obviously meant something to Maze because her eyebrows almost disappeared into her hairline. "You tried to do what?" she said, and Dan tried to subtly move his chair away from her.

"I was just wanted-"

"I heard what you said," Maze snapped. She uncrossed her arms, slowly putting her foot back down to the floor as she stood. "Let me get this straight…you tried to get Samael to show himself? You tried to undo God's command?" Maze leaned forward, dangerously close to Kaitlyn but Dan wasn't about to get between them. He'd rather break up a fight between a scorpion and a cobra.

Kaitlyn had the sense to lean away from the bartender. "You can't undo God's will – He renamed Lucifer as the Morningstar. Samael no longer exists. The angel of death is gone."

Was it just him, or did she sound a little upset about that? And was this still a metaphor? Did Lucifer fake his death to become who he was now? Is that why there was no record of him?

"What were the words you said?" Maze demanded icily.

Kaitlyn flinched away, as if Maze had raised her hand to strike a blow, but the woman's hands remained firmly on the table top. "If they had that reaction on him, wouldn't they do the same to you?"

"Angels and demons, honey…we're not the same," Maze purred. "Besides – an acquaintance of mine owed me a favor. Very little hurts me."

Kaitlyn's gaze shifted left and right rapidly, trying to decide whether or not to answer Maze.

"I doubt the same could be said for you," Maze said mildly. "And I'm about to test that theory, if you insist on testing my patience."

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus-!" Kaitlyn blurted out, but was interrupted by the completely inhuman snarl of rage from Maze.

"You tried to exorcise him?" Maze snarled. "And you thought that would bring back Samael?" She raised her hand, fingers out and bent like claws, and were those actual claws he saw? No – a trick of the light. Or he was losing his mind. "I should've snapped that pretty little stupid neck of yours the moment I laid eyes on you."

Oh shit. She wasn't joking or trying to scare her, Maze was really about to kill her.

"Aaaand that's enough," Dan said, jumping to his feet to catch Maze's hand before she could slice Kaitlyn's face to ribbons. "Time to bring it back down."

The look Maze shot him was murderous.

"I thought you wanted her to talk," Maze growled.

"Talk, not scream," Dan reminded.

"Same thing," she said.

"No, no, no it's not, and no matter how many times you say it, it doesn't make it true. So…down, demon." He pointed to the chair.

There was a flash of something in Maze's eyes – something as inhuman as that sound, but there was something else. Was that…respect? No, that was pushing it. Maybe just appreciative interest.

With a huff, Maze sat back down, folding her arms as she resumed her original position as if nothing out of the ordinary happened.

Crazy people. He was dealing with crazy people.

"Sorry about that, Ms. Kincaide," Dan said, taking a seat again. "But could you possibly elaborate on that? Why would you want to…exorcise Morningstar?" He'd decipher this conversation later with Chloe. Crazy aside, he didn't want to run the risk of Kaitlyn clamming up again after she'd suddenly decided to talk.

Kaitlyn glanced nervously over Maze who pulled her lip back to show teeth.

"I wasn't trying to hurt him!" she said. "I didn't know that's what the words were!"

"The first one is exorcizamus – literally has the word exorcize right in it. If you couldn't figure that out, then you're dumber than you look," Maze said snidely. "And that would be a trick."

"We tried other ways, but it didn't seem to have any effect on him at all," Kaitlyn protested. "I didn't think this one would do anything either, and if I'd known it would do that, I wouldn't have tried!"

"We?" Dan echoed. "Who's we?"

Kaitlyn continued as if he hadn't spoken. "We weren't trying to hurt him, we were just trying to free him!"

Maze frowned. "Free him? Free him from what? He's already abandoned Hell."

"From his earthly vessel."

That sounded ominous.

Maze shook her head, making a disgusted noise. "Whoever came up with the idea that we need hosts to walk the Earth should be shot. That's not a vessel, you ignorant twat. That's him. Same as this is me."

Something occurred to Dan. "Wait, are you the one that's been murdering people with all those religious symbols?"

Kaitlyn looked affronted. "We didn't murder anyone. They were sacrifices. They were perfectly willing."

"Who's we, Kaitlyn?" Dan repeated. "Who else is working with you?"

"The Order," Kaitlyn said.

"Of what, the Phoenix?" Dan asked. "Names, Kaitlyn. I need names."

"The Order of Samael," Kaitlyn said, as if it explained everything.

"You're not helping yourself," Dan warned. "I need the name of somebody, Kaitlyn. Who told you the words for the exorcism? What the hell is your endgame?"

And almost as if a switch was turned, Kaitlyn's talkative mood vanished, and she turned to Maze, that same, empty and serene smile slowly spreading across her face like the Cheshire cat. "To touch the divine," she said, smiling. "Touch the divine, and be touched in return. We want to be saved."

She bit down, hard, and Dan launched forward thinking she'd just bitten off her own tongue. But it wasn't blood that bubbled from her lips – it was white foamy bubbles, tinged pink.

"Are you fucking serious?" Dan shouted. "Cyanide?" He threw open the interrogation room door and shouted for an ambulance. If it was cyanide, then it would be pointless, but he couldn't not try.

Maze looked wholly unimpressed by the woman's choking and seizing on the floor, and remained unmoving in her chair.

The woman was dead in seconds, and the two of them were left staring at her body.

Shock kept Dan there. Indifference stayed Maze.

"Who the hell are these people?" Dan demanded. "Exorcisms? Sacrifices? Suicide pills in their teeth straight out of a Cold War spy movie? Who does that? And that bullshit at the end? What the hell was she talking about, and don't you dare try and tell me you don't know."

Maze frowned, not necessarily concerned, but at least marginally unhappy about this development. "She's a True Believer."

"What the hell does that mean?"

Maze sighed, rolling her eyes. "It means, Detective…we have some very serious problems on our hands."

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

"I think he's coming around."

Dan groaned, putting a hand to his aching head. "Ow…"

He wasn't in the club anymore – he was on a couch. A surprisingly comfortable couch. What the…? He blinked awake, and slowly, his vision came back into focus.

Maze was leaning over him, almost nose to nose with him and she smiled brilliantly.

A flash of memory, of missing skin and inhuman face. He shoved himself back and away from her until he ran into the arm of the sofa he was lying on.

And Morningstar burst out laughing, clapping his hands in delight as he pretty much jumped off the other arm of the sofa where he'd been perched like his favorite team had just scored the winning point. "That, Detective, was hands down, the best reaction I have ever seen. My Father, I thought you were going to break glass – tell me, have you ever considered a career in the opera?"

"What the hell did you do to me?" Dan demanded, and winced as the volume drove a spike through his head. "I didn't even take the drink!"

Maze shook her head in disgust. "We didn't drug you," she said, rolling her eyes.

"Then why does my head hurt?"

Lucifer, who was still laughing like an idiot, took a moment to try and take a breath. He couldn't keep the shit eating grin off his face though. "That's from when you hit your head on the floor when you passed out like a princess. I think you hurt Maze's feelings."

"Guess good looks are only skin deep after all," Maze said, her lower lip jutting out in a mock pout.

Dan pressed a hand to the back of his head and sure enough, there was a sizeable goose egg just above his hairline. "If you didn't drug me…then what the fuck was that?" he said, grimacing as he probed at the bump.

"Maze's true face," Lucifer said impatiently. "We just went over this. Not ten seconds before you screamed like a dying pterodactyl and reverse face planted on the floor."

"What are you?" he demanded. His head hurt, and once again – he could explain absolutely nothing of what he saw in Lux. At least he wasn't naked this time…small favors.

He was never coming here again. Not without a chaperone.

Lucifer rolled his eyes, dropping his head almost straight back like a melodramatic teenager. "Again – we've been over this. I'm the Devil, and Mazikeen here is my…" he waved his hand in the direction of the woman. "Former public relations officer."

"Are you a devil too?" Dan asked Maze bitterly, still rubbing at the back of his head.

"Only one of me, I'm afraid," Lucifer said. "She's a higher class of demon."

"Like an archdemon?" Dan guessed.

There was that look again – like a surprised appraisal – as Maze and Lucifer glanced at each other.

Dan sighed, throwing up his hands in resignation. "I'm first generation American. My entire family is from Mexico and very Catholic. I spent a lot of time in church."

Lucifer rolled his eyes, but he gave a half nod. "I suppose that explains why you're taking this slightly better than most."

Dan shook his head, immediately regretted it, and held up one finger. "No, no…don't think I'm handling this better. I'm still not convinced I'm not suffering from a concussion."

"Oh for the love of…." Lucifer grumbled, and in three quick strides was next to Dan. He reached out a hand, pressed three fingers to Dan's forehead before he could protest, and suddenly…

His headache was gone. Just like that. Hell, he felt better than he had in days. Dan reached a quick hand up to the back of his head, and there was nothing. No lump, no bruise, no sore spot.

"Better?" Lucifer asked irritably, gesturing towards Dan's head before he shoved his hands back in his pockets.

Dan couldn't think of an appropriate response. He just stared at Lucifer, mouth open in shock.

Lucifer's thinning patience seemed to be waning, and after several seconds of no answer, he reached his hand out again, lip curled into a sneer. "I can just as easily give it back, if that's what it takes to get an intelligent response out of you, Detective. If you react this poorly over a cured headache, I suspect you're not going to be of any use to me in this case."

Dan reared back, well out of reach of the club owner and almost rolling off the side of the couch as he did so. "No, no, no…" he said, finally finding his voice. "I just didn't know you could do that."

Lucifer frowned. "What?"

"Do something nice. Something…good?" Dan floundered for the right word. "Like I said – raised Catholic. Never heard any mention of the Devil actually helping anyone. Even if it was just the divine version of Advil."

Lucifer actually looked slightly mollified at Dan's reasoning. Doubting his ability to do anything nice for someone was apparently more acceptable than doubting his identity.

"Yes, well, still an archangel," Lucifer said dismissively.

"Besides," Maze piped up from her corner of the couch. "How do you think he tortured Souls?"

Dan took a moment for that to process. "You took away pain…just to give it back?"

Lucifer smiled, but it wasn't his normal, exuberant grin. He bowed stiffly, more mocking than showing respect. "The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away. Lord of Hell still counts in this case."

"You're really the Devil?" Dan said. He knew he was repeating himself. But no matter how many times he said it, it still sounded insane.

"Maze, I think we've made a terrible error in our judgement of suitable help," Lucifer said. "This one is stuck on repeat."

The familiar irritation at the constant dismissal by Lucifer helped more than anything. "Look, sorry, okay? It takes me more than ninety seconds to wrap my head around the fact that you're really the Lucifer Morningstar my nana used to warn me about when I was a kid, alright? I'm still expecting horns and a tail and cloven hooves."

"Would this help?" Lucifer said cheerfully, cocking his head to one side. His almost black eyes suddenly shifted, sliding sideways until his now rectangular pupils were horizontal, the whites of his eyes darkening to black and his irises flashed crimson.

To his credit, Dan didn't scream this time… but he still couldn't help the reflexive sign of the cross.

Lucifer's eyes flicked back to human, looking mildly offended. "Please tell me you're not actually trying to ward me away."

"Habit. Sorry."

Lucifer hmphed, shoving his hand back in his pocket. "At least you're adapting. Maybe not a terrible choice after all."

And like just like that, Dan's brain kicked back into detective mode. Overcome. Adapt. He'd lived in LA his entire adult life, and the actual Devil running around the city was not actually the strangest thing he'd ever seen.

He could also be totally losing his mind, and for now…oh well.

"Wait, why haven't you told Chloe about this?" he asked. "I mean, I know you keep telling her you're the Devil, but why not do that – that thing you just did? She's totally convinced you're making it up."

"Because unfortunately for your ex, she's a great, inexplicable neutralizer – and considering what she's seen me do so far, and the effect that I have on people that displease me, and still doesn't believe me, it would take an actual act of God to get through to her that I'm not an act," Lucifer growled. "And as we've already mentioned…humans don't do well when they see the real me."

"Ok, so why tell me?" he asked. "Why now? Is it because of the case?"

"Precisely," Lucifer said, seemingly relieved to get onto a better topic than questioning his identity. "Maze and I have stumbled onto a bit of a problem. Someone else seems to have figured out who I am, and they don't seem to be interested in being friendly."

"All those murders…are they really because of you?" Dan asked.

Apparently, it was the wrong question, because suddenly the temperature skyrocketed in the penthouse, and Lucifer's eyes flashed crimson.

"I have nothing to do with this," he snarled. He'd lost the British accent, his voice sounding like the thing of nightmares – as if a dragon tried to speak. "I am not the one to blame, Detective – I am not the villain of this story, but I can change that quick enough."

"Lucifer," Maze said, putting a hand on his arm. "He's not saying it's your fault, he's saying someone's is doing them because of you – for you. Wanted or not."

Lucifer turned red eyes on his bartender, lips pulled back in a sneer and Dan would swear under oath his teeth didn't look human.

"We need him," Maze said firmly, not backing down.

There was a brief moment when it looked like Lucifer was going to ignore her, but almost just as suddenly reality snapped back into place. The temperature dropped, and his human mask was back in place as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

Except this time, Dan noticed that the club owner looked…tired. Which was odd by itself, considering he'd never seen Lucifer look ill at ease, except in the company of children. The man ran a night club that was literally open all night, and then spent his days with Chloe. Usually, he was obnoxiously enthusiastic about everything and everyone – corpses made him positively gleeful. Knowing who and what he was now, it made even less sense.

"Something's wrong with you, isn't there," Dan said. "This case…these people, whoever the hell they are…they're actually on to something, aren't they?" He glanced over at Maze, who was keeping quiet. "When we were in interrogation with that woman, with Kaitlyn. You mentioned something about an exorcism, but like it was a bad thing. What exactly would it do to either of you?"

"Hurt," Maze said. "Really badly."

"Would it have that effect normally?" Dan asked, looking back to Lucifer. "If anyone said those words at random, would it have sent you to the hospital?"

Lucifer shrugged indifferently. "The strength of the belief in the person saying it is what makes it work. If you're repeating them because they're line from a movie, but you think it's made up – it would do nothing. Maze actually wouldn't be bothered either way, but that's an oddity all her own. Lots of things that normally would affect her kind don't affect her at all – I made sure of it. For the rest of us…it's sort of like being torn inside out. Like someone reaching down your throat and grabbing hold of your soul and trying to pry it free."

"So if someone said it to any angel, or archangel or demon or whatever…you would have the same reaction?" Dan asked. "It's not specific to you?"

Lucifer frowned, but nodded. "No, it's not specific to me. If that woman said it to any of us, it would be the same reaction."

"And at the crime scene…you weren't screwing around, you were legitimately stuck in the binding sigil, weren't you?"

"Wait, someone actually managed to trap you?" Maze demanded angrily, turning on her boss. Lucifer gave her a withering scowl, an obvious sign of I'm not in the mood.

"How many others have you told?" Dan asked. "Not like you keep telling Chloe, either, like it's some fucking cosmic joke, but like you just showed me. How many people have seen what you can do?"

Lucifer again shrugged dismissively. "Maybe fifteen or so. Most people don't really know why I affect them, and most don't care. And, just for the record, I have nothing against people in general. Usually."

"Right. Just punishing the wicked," Dan said, recalling the years in Catholic school. "But everyone in LA knows there's something odd about this place, right? Those are the rumors. Lucifer of Lux is the guy you go to when you're out of options, and he'll make you a deal. I mean, shit – Lux is even at a crossroad."

"Your point?" Maze asked.

"Is there any reason why someone would want to prove you are who you say you are?" Dan asked. "That you're not just putting on an act, and you really are the Devil?"

"You sound like you're trying to steer this conversation, Detective. Enough with the twenty questions," Lucifer said. "Just get to the point."

Dan glanced at Maze. "When we were in interrogation, Kaitlyn said she wasn't trying to hurt you, but she also said she was trying to free you. No, wait…" he stopped himself. "She didn't actually call you Lucifer. She called you Samael, and Maze said Samael didn't exist anymore. Were you Samael?"

Lucifer pinched the bridge of his nose, leaning tiredly up against a wall. "Highly abbreviated angelic history: before I rebelled, I went by the name of Samael. I was God's wrath on Earth. Flipped Dad the bird, got kicked out, banished to Hell, renamed Lucifer, and until five years ago reigned as Lord of Hell when I decided to quit and relocate."

"So when she says trying to free you…what the hell does that mean?" Dan asked. "If you're the same person, then I don't think you can get much freer than abandoning your throne and hanging out on the Sunset Strip."

"Free may not have been the word she meant to use," Maze said. "Or maybe that's just whatever her puppet master said it meant. We know whoever it was lied to her about what the exorcism would do."

"Lied, or didn't know what would happen?" Dan asked.

"No," Lucifer said, shaking his head. "Anyone that would know that an exorcism would have any effect at all would know that it would be bad."

"So we have someone who knows what they're doing…but they're telling their followers something else?" Dan asked. "But it still comes back to why? Free you, kill you…what would be the purpose behind that? I mean, can you be killed?"

Lucifer rubbed his hand against his forehead, looking distracted. "Yes, technically. Our Father can kill us, and we can kill each other. But no one in the history of humanity has ever managed to cause harm to an angel and definitely not an archangel. We're second only to Father."

"Except for recently," Maze pointed out. She raised an eyebrow, tapping her fingers on the arm of the couch. "Blondie managed to shoot him not a month ago."

"Blondie..." Dan echoed. "Wait…you mean Chloe shot you at that crime scene? I thought you said the kid – whatever the hell his name was, the brother – I thought he shot you!"

Lucifer shrugged. "If I'd told the truth, what would have happened?"

Dan shook his head. Different problems for a different time. "So wait, I thought you just said nothing could hurt you?"

Again, Lucifer shrugged. "Detective Decker obviously can, and like we've already established, so can an exorcism ritual in the wrong hands. The bleeding thing is a new and very unwanted phenomenon."

"Does that mean you're mortal?" Dan asked.

"Yes and no? I haven't been inspired to push it, Detective. Getting winged with a bullet hurt enough and having someone trying to split me in half was very unpleasant."

Dan paused, wondering about the possibilities in the madhouse he suddenly found himself in. A fallen archangel who was decidedly not invulnerable anymore, his demonic assistant, and some batshit crazy angel groupies that were possibly trying to kill him – possibly unknowingly.

"When you said you needed me…you seem to have most of this already figured out," Dan said slowly. "Why did you decide to bring me in?"

Maze and Lucifer shared a look, and it was like watching a silent, damn near instant conversation.

"Lucifer's wings went missing," Maze said, without breaking eye contact with her boss. "That storage container that went missing? They were in there. When we got the container back…they were gone, and we haven't been able to find them. Not me, and not Amenadiel."

Dan raised an eyebrow at that name. He'd never heard it before, but then again, not a whole lot of angels were given names in the Bible.

"Younger brother," Lucifer clarified, sighing. "One who's not very happy with me and my choice to abandon Hell because now he has to keep an eye on all the Souls there to make sure they don't escape."

"You don't have wings?" Dan asked.

Lucifer rolled his eyes, and finally gave up on standing, dropping gracelessly down into a chair opposite them. "Have I mentioned how much I hate recaps? When I left Hell, I had Maze cut them off. I had them in storage, and they're gone. There. Cliff notes."

Dan involuntarily shuddered at the idea of letting someone hack off an appendage. "So those scars Chloe mentioned…those were really where your wings were?"

Lucifer nodded.

"Why would anyone want them?"

"People are strange about divinity," Lucifer explained. "Some people ignore it even when it's staring them in the face. Others will make everything a sign from God. And then others…others just sort of…"

Maze splayed her fingers out from her head, miming an explosion. "Ka-boom."

Lucifer continued. "Sometimes when people see the truly divine, something God created – like an archangel's wings, it just sort of fractures their reality. True Believers – those are the ones you want to watch out for. They're the ones that become crusaders and madmen. It's like they can suddenly justify everything, no matter how terrible. Life and death mean nothing to them because they lose the context of it. They suddenly think that they understand the 'big picture', but that's not what life is about. Not for humans anyway."

In that moment, it suddenly struck Dan just how little of humanity made sense to Lucifer. Maybe this is what Chloe always saw in him – he wasn't actively trying to be a jerk, he just honestly didn't understand. Maybe that was the explanation behind why Lucifer just seemed to throw himself entirely into an experience – for him, it was something new, novel and until very recently – completely unavailable to him.

He almost laughed.

The Devil was envious of humans.

The realization spurred another thought. If Devils could be jealous of humans…could it go the other way too?

"Maze…" Dan said slowly, trying to connect the dots laid out before him. "You said Kaitlyn was a True Believer. Right?"

Maze frowned, but nodded.

"Do they show up on their own? Or does it take the sight of something truly divine to push them over that edge?" he asked. "Something…like the sight of angel wings?"

Lucifer's jaw actually dropped for a split second in surprise. "Fuck me raw…" he whispered. And then suddenly he was on his feet again, hurling the nearest object against the wall where it shattered. "Those self-righteous bastards stole my wings and now they're using it as an excuse to kill?"

That was not the argument Dan was prepared for.

"This is your fault!" Lucifer snarled, looking skyward. "This is on you, notme!"

Was he…yelling at God?

Lucifer kicked the coffee table with surprising force, cracking it in half. "How do they always get it wrong? I don't want Souls, I don't want sacrifices! I hate when people use me as an excuse! I hate when you humans try and pin all your evil on me! I am notevil, I punishevil!"

"What if that's the point?" Dan asked suddenly. The thought was so out of the blue, he surprised more than just Lucifer, who turned smoldering eyes on him.

"What did you say?" Lucifer snapped. His voice crackled, alternating between the suave British accent and the voice of the Beast.

"What if they're trying to piss you off?" Dan said. "What if that's just another way of trying to prove you are who they think you are? This cult…this Order of Samael…what if they're trying to prove that that is exactly who you are? Think about it – LA has doomsday prophets and soapbox preachers on every corner. Everyone is always claiming the world is ending. What if these people are trying to prove it by proving that the Devil walks amongst us?"

"Then they're doing a pretty fucking good job – they're good enough at sigils and bindings that they can trap me, which means that they've probably figured out shielding as well – which would explain why Maze can't find hide nor feather of my wings. Something like them, they would radiate power. You couldn't hide it without a shield or a repelling sigil."

Before Dan could push further, his phone rang, interrupting any further questioning. "Yeah?" he answered without looking at the caller ID. "Shit. Seriously? Yeah. Okay. I'm on my way." As he hung up, he glanced over at Lucifer. "That's Chloe. Good news and bad news."

"What's the bad news?" Lucifer asked curiously.

"They found a body."

Lucifer frowned. "There's good news to that? How incredibly morbid of you, Detective. I might actually have to rethink working with you instead of Detective Decker."

"It means more evidence – it's another sacrifice."

Chapter Text

Unlike the last couple of bodies, this one wasn’t hanging on a cross. This time, he was splayed out on the ground, golden hair around his head like a halo. His pale face looked serene enough to only be asleep instead of dead, dressed all in white without a drop of blood on him.

Except he was a little too pale. A little too serene. That type of peace was only found in death, when one was unafraid to die.

There was another sigil, different than before, and no words this time. It looked like two upside down triangles, one smaller than the other, the edges of the smaller one extending out beyond the edges of the larger one in straight lines. The larger one, where the top point of the triangle met, continued to form two curled scroll-type ends. Another V was superimposed going in the other direction across the top of the intersection of the larger V’s ends.

At the young man’s bare feet was another symbol – again, without words. It looked sort of like someone tried to write symbols in cursive, connecting several together. Starting with a cross, the thin line of dried blood traced upwards into a loop, then dipped into almost a horse shoe shaped downward curve, then down into a lopsided V, with the far end being several inches longer than the other – Chloe thought it sort of looked like a backwards Y, and then there was another odd shape drawn through it on the down angle of the V – it looked like a hat pin as far as Chloe was concerned.

She wished she could say that the new body was the biggest surprise, but nope. The world had decided it was going to screw with her today, and when Dan showed up, he had an unexpected tag along – Lucifer.

Even stranger than the two of them arriving together was the fact that Lucifer actually referred to Dan as simply Detective instead of adding Douche to the end. Stranger still, Dan didn’t seem to notice.

“Since when did you two hang out in your off hours?” Chloe asked, teasingly. She was actually rather proud of Lucifer. She knew he wasn’t a huge fan of Dan from the moment they first met, but she could hardly blame him. For a while, Lucifer seemed to take a lot of his social cues from her – if she liked someone, he liked them – even if it was sort begrudgingly and didn’t extend to kids. When she’d first come across Dan on the very first day she’d met Lucifer, she was in a less than charitable mood and Lucifer picked up on it instantly.

The enemy of my friend is also my enemy.

And yet…here he was, showing up to a crime scene that she hadn’t called him about, only Dan, which meant that either they were together when she called, or Dan had purposely gone out of his way to not only tell Lucifer about the body, but go and pick him up from Lux.

Seriously. Personal growth aside…what the hell?

“I thought we could use his help,” Dan said by way of explanation. Lucifer had walked right past her without even a hello, going straight for the body.  

“He just got out of the hospital the other night, and you decided bringing him to another crime scene was a good idea?” Chloe hissed.

“And since when have you been successful at telling Morningstar no?” Dan said, crossing his arms.

Begrudgingly, Chloe had to concede at least that point. Lucifer pretty much did whatever he wanted whenever he wanted to. “Fine. Fair point.”

“Besides,” Dan said, keeping his voice low enough that the club owner couldn’t hear him. “Isn’t it better to keep him where the two of us can keep an eye on him?”

Chloe’s argument wasn’t with the logic – Lucifer had flat out refused police protection when she’d dropped him off at Lux once the CDC had cleared it for him to return. At this point, she wanted to be able to keep him within direct line of sight until they caught whoever the hell was behind this.

At the same time, Lucifer was looking…tired. She’d never known the man to sleep unless the rest of the phrase involved sex. He burned the candle at both ends, partying long into the night and following her around during the day. Never once did he look like he could use some sleep – usually he was the polar opposite…practically ADHD enthusiastic about everything.

It hadn’t been that long since Kincaide did whatever it was to him that put him in the hospital, and try as she might, she couldn’t get shake the image of a hemorrhagic Lucifer gasping for air amongst the blood. Right now Lucifer looked superficially alright – he was back in his Prada suit, with that devil may care style that most GQ models strived for. But she could see the beginnings of dark shadows under his eyes, and maybe she was being a little bit of a mother hen, but he still looked pale and lacked his normal exuberance…which she could probably attribute to the fact that maybe he was finally understanding what they were dealing with.

“I want him safe,” Chloe said. “I mean, I know you don’t like him very much, and he’s kind of a jerk half the time, but these people…whoever they are…they’re seriously messed up. I don’t want him here at the scene because I can tell it’s bothering him, but at the same time...” She shrugged half-heartedly.

“Just because I’m not a fan, doesn’t mean I want him dead,” Dan pointed out. “Besides. We had a…revelation over bourbon. He wanted to come to this, he wants to help. He’s taking it personally that people seem to killing in his name. Real or imagined.”

Chloe nodded. “All right then. Keep an eye out for the crowd. There was that guy from the first scene, and Kincaide walked right up to him at the club…who knows if there’s more?”

“Got it.” Dan clapped her on her shoulder before heading off to talk to the uniformed officers addressing crowd control as Chloe turned back to Lucifer and the body. 

“What can you tell me?” Chloe asked, pulling on her nitrile gloves.

“I think I’m losing my mind.” He rubbed absently at the side of his head, like someone trying to massage away a headache. “You don’t notice that?” he said.

Chloe glanced around, not seeing anything. “Notice what?”

Lucifer shook his head, and winced as he did so. “I think that exorcism is still affecting me. I swear I’m hearing voices.”

Chloe raised an eyebrow. “You sure you’re okay to be out here?”

“I’m fine,” he grumbled. 

She sighed in resignation. If he didn’t want to talk about it, far be it for her to make him. She concentrated on the scene. “Do you recognize these symbols?” she asked, gesturing at the ground.

“Regrettably, yes,” Lucifer said. “The one that’s inverted triangles?” he pointed to the first symbol. “That’s the one for me – for Lucifer. And the other one…the cursive drawing?”

He traced the outline in the air for the second one. “It’s a little lopsided, but that’s the one for Samael.”

“Which is also you, right?” Chloe pointed out.

“Old me. Not the current me. You’re sure you don’t hear something?” he asked. There was something off in his tone. He rubbed again at his ear.

She carefully edged up next to him so no one else could hear them. “Hey, are you okay? You just got out of the hospital. Are you sure you want to be here?”

Lucifer chuckled darkly. “Want to? No. No, I most certainly do not. But someone is trying to get my attention, and they’re going about it in all the wrong ways. Contrary to popular opinion, I do not appreciate worship or sacrifices – of animals or otherwise.”

Chloe bit her lip, trying not to again point out that he wasn’t really the Devil, and these murders or sacrifices or whatever he wanted to call them weren’t because someone was offering him sacrifices. In all likelihood, she strongly suspected they were actually death threats.

The Enochian sigils and words – Damnatio memoriae, and the Latin phrase of ‘misery loves company’ and now flat out calling him by name? These were all the signs of a stalker turned deadly that got their hands on a darker side of Google search. Or, if her theory about him once being a part of these cults was right? Quite probably these people actually knew him. The real him – the one before the persona of Lucifer Morningstar that suddenly popped into existence five years ago. The messages were angry and accusatory. Whoever they were, they seemed to blame Lucifer for something, even if she didn’t know what.

“Lucifer…do you know who the people behind this are?” she asked quietly.

He raised an eyebrow at her, looking thoroughly concerned about her mental health. “Of course not. Don’t you think if I knew, I would be hunting them down to punish them?”

“You’re sure?” she asked, trying not to push, but at the same time – she needed Lucifer to break his persona, if only for a minute. These messages, these murders, were getting strangely personal. The more research she did, the more she was convinced that whoever was behind the elusive ‘Cult of Samael’ had to know Lucifer on a personal level. The sigils, the symbols…she could find none of it online, or in books or in any database she could think of, but Lucifer always seemed to know, and they seemed to be leaning towards the promise of retribution against a rebellious son.

And it all kept going back to Lucifer’s self-admitted prior identity of Samael, a name so old it wasn’t mentioned in any Bible she could find.

“I keep trying to tell you, Detective,” Lucifer protested. “Just because I’m the Devil doesn’t mean-”  

“Stop trying to convince people you’re the Devil!” she snapped, interrupting him. “At least until we catch the people behind this, okay?”

“Fine,” he growled. “We’ll do this your way, shall we? What was your theory again? Right. Poor Lucifer, the delusional runaway. Let’s go with that then. If that were the case, these people are likely part of a group that believes that God’s Wrath is sorely lacking here on Earth and are those types that believe self-flagellation is the path to enlightenment.”

Chloe sighed, pressing her hand to her forehead before counting to ten. “Lucifer, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be an ass about this, but I’m really worried, okay? Someone already tried to kill you once. They have people prepared to die for their belief that you are an actual fallen angel. Kincaide obviously wasn’t working alone, and just the word cult gives a whole new dimension to the level of crazy we deal with.”

Lucifer smirked. “And that right there is the reason why I don’t try to convince you the same way I convinced the others.”

Chloe assumed that was Lucifer’s version of ‘apology accepted’. “And why’s that?”

This time, the smile he graced her with looked almost…sad. “Because I didn’t want you to look at me like I was a monster.”

“You’re not a monster, Lucifer,” Chloe said, returning the smile. “Even if you were the Devil, I’ve seen enough of you to know you’re not the bad guy.”

Lucifer glanced down at the body of the young man. “Too bad other people don’t seem to understand that.”

“That makes them monsters,” Chloe said gently. “Not you.”

Lucifer smiled wanly. “I’ll still get the blame. I always do.”

Rather than let Lucifer continue down his self-recriminating path, Chloe turned back to the crime scene. Therapy later – now was not the time.

“Besides your two former names, is there anything else here? Anything like a message that we saw at the last few?”

Lucifer shook his head. “There’s no words. No letters, no anything. All they are, are symbols. Like you writing your own name. But there’s something…different here. Something malicious. More so even than the last one, and that one was practically roiling with it. I can’t believe you don’t notice it.”

Chloe raised an eyebrow in surprise, glancing back down at the body. By comparison, this one actually had the least signs of violence. He wasn’t tied, he had no bruising, no signs of struggle. It looked simply like he had laid down and never gotten back up again. Even his clothes looked pristine – the other victims were borderline hobo-chic. Even the sigils were carefully drawn, looking more like penmanship than blood drawings.

“Lucifer…humor me on this one,” Chloe said carefully. “Ignoring my belief about who or what you are…do you think these people really believe you’re the Devil? Or are they trying to prove you’re not?”

Lucifer glanced up, frowning, but shook his head. “I honestly have no idea, Detective. Detective Espinoza and I were discussing that possibility earlier. He seems to believe that they’re purposely trying to upset me by doing the exact opposite of what I believe in. These murders, these sacrifices…they’re more than that, it’s like they’re trying to insult me.”

“What do you mean?” Chloe pressed.

Lucifer pointed out the two names. “When I was Samael, I was my Father’s executioner. At the time, it didn’t really bother me, because that was how we all were. Angels, even Archangels, don’t get free will. All of us have a purpose. We’re designed that way, created to have one job, and one job only. No deviations, open interpretation or thinking for yourself. Michael was His general. Gabriel was His messenger. Archangels are absolute. These people are trying to appeal to someone who simply no longer exists. These are sacrifices from the Old Testament version of my Father. The God who demanded sacrifices of children from his True Believers, like Abraham and Isaac. And even if you weren’t a Believer, look at what happened in Egypt. Every first born son in the land of the pharaohs, in one night, slain in their beds.”

“So…these are for your father, not you?” Chloe asked.

“Not what I said,” Lucifer said irritably. “Heaven is all about destiny. Preordained, unchangeable fate. There’s a reason why the church-y types always say it’s my Father’s will when someone dies, or some tragedy befalls them. I decided I didn’t like having the entirety of an immortal life span planned out for me, and I chose my own path. Cost me dearly, but I like free will more than I like a favored position in Heaven. The insult, Detective, lies in that fact that these people aren’t being murdered so much as someone is convincing them to give up their free will. That’s what cults are. Someone lecturing from on high about how much you need to give up in the name of God. I believe in free will. I don’t believe in worship, or sacrifice, and that is where the insult lies.”

Something Lucifer said suddenly clicked. “They’re not interested in you as Lucifer, are they? They’re interested in your other name. They’re not looking for a rebellious son; they’re looking for a favorite son.”

Lucifer huffed. “Which makes no sense because one, most people have completely forgotten that’s what I used to be, and two, no one ever called on me when I was Samael. There’s no prayers or invocations for the angel of death, I only answered to my Father.”

He rubbed again at the side of his head, grimacing as he did so.

“You okay?” Chloe asked, frowning. She wasn’t sure if he’d noticed, but he was starting to tilt to one side, like his balance was off.

“You don’t hear that?” he asked. His voice sounded strained, and she could see him start to blink rapidly.

She strained to listen, hearing nothing except the usual movement of the crowd just beyond the yellow tape or the other police officers on the scene.

“I don’t hear anything….what-” She didn’t get to finish her sentence, because suddenly Lucifer pitched forwards, clapping both hands to his ears.

Not again, Chloe thought frantically, her mind immediately conjuring up the memory from Lux. Nobody was standing near them, there hadn’t been anybody close to them. There was nothing that she could hear, but Lucifer was reacting as if someone had an air horn next to his ear.

“Lucifer, talk to me,” she said, trying to get his attention but not having any idea what she was supposed to be doing. Lucifer had his eyes squeezed shut, breathing rapidly like he was trying not to scream but she couldn’t tell why.

“How can you not hear that?” he ground out without opening his eyes.

“Hear what?” she said, and suddenly found herself with an armful of Lucifer as he almost shoved himself into her.

“Make it stop,” he demanded, sounding desperate.

She floundered, not having a clue what the hell he was talking about or what she was supposed to do. His head was tucked down so far his chin was practically on his chest, and she couldn’t see his face. “Lucifer, I don’t know what you want me to do, I don’t- Dan!” she shouted as Lucifer staggered sideways falling to one knee.

She heard someone call for an ambulance, and the pounding of running feet and Dan slid to a stop next to her.

“What the hell happened?” he asked, looking just as stunned as Chloe felt. “No one got by us, I know.”

“He was complaining about a sound ever since he got here, and-” Chloe shrugged helplessly. “Lucifer, I have to see your face.” She tried to pry his hands away from his ears, are at least force his head up so she could see, while trying to duck her head far enough she could get a glimpse of his face. She needed to see if it was the same thing as at the club.

“Lucifer!” Dan said, firmly grabbing the club owner’s chin and pulling him upright.

Lucifer’s face was free of blood, except for where he’d bitten into his lip, trying to stop himself from screaming.

Thank God…Chloe thought. Not the same thing as the club, but it meant it was something new.

“Get him away from the sigils,” Dan ordered, and without waiting for Chloe to help, he grabbed Lucifer under his arms and forcibly dragged him backwards until they were almost fifteen feet away.

“Dan, what-”

Dan ignored her for a moment, looking down at Lucifer as if trying to gauge something. “Better?” he asked.

Lucifer gasped, opening his eyes, blinking rapidly. He carefully moved his hands, barely lifting them away from his head.

Whatever the hell he could hear before was obviously gone now, because he heaved a sigh of relief and collapsed backwards, completely ignoring the fact that he was leaning against Dan’s knees.

“Ow,” Lucifer managed. He rubbed absently at his ear, and his hand came away bright red. “Well that’s not good.”

“What happened?” Chloe looked from Lucifer to Dan, who shrugged.

“No, no, no, don’t you dare tell me you don’t know what the hell is going on,” Chloe threatened, taking a step closer to her ex, waving her index finger like she was scolding Trixie. “Why did you say get him away from the sigils? You don’t seriously believe they actually do anything, do you?”

Lucifer ignored her, working his jaw back and forth like he was trying to get his ears to pop.

Dan just looked exasperated. “Look, maybe it’s a psychosomatic thing, okay? He thinks they cause issues, therefore they cause issues. I was actually thinking that whatever the Kincaide woman did to him at the club only affected him, right? Maybe he has some sort of allergy or sensitivity or I don’t fucking know…but everything else seems to be tailored to him, so I figured just get as far away from it as possible.” He gestured triumphantly down at Lucifer who had yet to say anything. “And it worked!”

Chloe knew he was hiding something, but she didn’t have the energy to pursue it just then. And Lucifer still hadn’t actually said anything, which was a more concerning matter. “Lucifer?” she prompted.

When he still didn’t look up, she waved her hand in front of his face.

“What?” he said, much louder than necessary.

“Well, now we know what the blood is from,” Chloe sighed. She was used to Lucifer’s level of weirdness. The constant insistence that he was in fact the Devil was one thing. So was his bizarre ability to get people to tell him their darkest secret. But hearing sounds that apparently were high pitched enough to rupture eardrums that only affected him? Mystery hemorrhagic allergies? This case was getting weird even for her newly defined level of acceptable strange. “Can you tell me what you heard?” she asked, speaking loud enough for him to hear her, enunciating carefully.

Lucifer frowned. “As crazy as it sounds…I think I heard voices.”

And that bar of acceptable strangeness? Just kept going higher.

“They say anything in particular?” Dan asked, folding his arms. Lucifer was still leaning against him and showed no signs of moving. It was a testament to Dan’s tolerance for the club owner that he didn’t protest or really seem to care.

Idly she wondered just what the hell ‘revelation over bourbon’ was a euphemism for.

Lucifer touched a finger back to his ear, which was still bleeding sluggishly, wincing as he did so. “Surprisingly, yes…ho en o ra, zamran. Repeatedly. And very, very loudly.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

Lucifer looked up, glancing between the two detectives before back at the body now several feet away. “It’s Enochian,” he said bitterly. “And it means ‘true son, show yourself.’”

Chapter Text

“You know, if you stop touching it, it will probably stop hurting,” Dan said, flipping through a parenting magazine that predated Trixie.

“What would you know?” Lucifer grumbled, rubbing at his still aching ears. Well, he’d stopped touching it when he realized just how much direct contact actually hurt, but that didn’t stop the idle habit of massaging just behind them.

Dan snorted, not even bothering to look up. “I’ve been human for over thirty years. I think my experience surpasses yours on this particular subject.”

They were stuck waiting at the hospital – much to Lucifer’s annoyance, but Chloe wasn’t backing down. Her ‘mom face’ seemed to worked better on the Lord of Hell than it did Trixie, which Dan vowed never to let Morningstar live down.

Despite numerous protests that he was fine, Chloe hadn’t let him avoid the ambulance ride, or the battery of tests that the hospital wanted to run after she described his symptoms, and his previous experience with unexplained bleeding. Now the hospital staff was talking possibility of hemophilia or a possible pathogen that no one had ever heard of.

“I could just check myself out, you know,” Lucifer protested.

“You want to tell Chloe that? Be my guest. But I don’t actually want to need to be hospitalized. But if you have some other way of…making it better or whatever, go right ahead.”

Lucifer scowled momentarily before popping his jaw again, trying to alleviate what felt like Swimmer’s Ear. “I didn’t realize people could use names as focusing sigils or I wouldn’t have stood so close.”

Dan glanced over the top of the magazine. “So what exactly happened?”

“What?” Lucifer asked, again rubbing at his ear. “You mumble something fierce, did you know that?”

Dan rolled his eyes, and really wished that Chloe believed Lucifer about his identity. It wasn’t necessarily that he minded having to be the one that Lucifer had to explain what actually happened to. It was just aggravating that he now was the only one on both sides of the field – trying to translate Lucifer’s supernatural issues into a believable real world counterpart to Chloe.

“I asked what happened?” he repeated, enunciating carefully and louder than necessary.

“Near as I can tell?” Lucifer grumbled. “Whoever keeps trying to call me out is upping their game. They’re taking things very literally, and if this is the side effect, I really wish they would knock it off. I heard those words before, when we were in the church. But those weren’t nearly as loud, and I only heard them once. And there wasn’t anything sinister about them.”

“So the sigils…you said they were used as a focusing symbol? How does that work?”

Lucifer sighed, swinging his long legs over the side of the exam table. “Focusing sigils work the same way as everything else. The more belief behind it, the more powerful they are. The binding sigil at the other scene – it worked because someone believed it would. Focusing sigils are for things like prayers or even curses. The more people that say them, the more that believe them, the stronger they are.”

Dan frowned. “Ears bleeding are a side effect of praying?” He suddenly felt mildly guilty over every prayer he’d ever said. “No wonder no one ever answers.”

“No, no, no…not like that. From what my brothers describe, prayers are usually like someone whispering in your ear. Not screaming through ten megaphones with a direct line into one’s brain.”

“So the focusing sigils…weaponized prayers?” Dan asked. “Are these people trying to kill you or talk to you?”

Lucifer frowned. “No idea. Even if it was the latter, I’m beginning to fear I’m not going to survive the conversation.”

Dan set the magazine down, clasping his hands together as he leaned forwards. He’d drawn the short straw for keeping an eye on Lucifer at the hospital while Chloe went to check on Trixie at home. He suspected it had just as much to do with the fact that she thought Lucifer had opened up to him instead of her about a traumatic past, and she was hoping Dan would be more successful at getting a straight answer from the club owner.

“Okay, so what do you think is going on? Let’s just go with hypotheticals for the moment – someone has obviously already figured out that you’re Lucifer. They also have to know you were once Samael – how would someone know that? You don’t seem all that eager to talk about that half of your life, so how would they ever make the connection?”

Lucifer shrugged absently. “It’s not that it’s not written anywhere. It’s just…not mentioned.”

“Fine. But who do you know directly that knows who you are?” Dan paused. “Or who you were?”

Lucifer almost shrugged again before he stopped mid motion. “Detective Decker obviously knows, but I’m not entirely sure how she found out about it. She asked me weeks ago – before my wings went missing, and she showed me a scrap of paper with my old name on it. I’m not sure how she found it out, but she did. And someone told Doctor Linda about –” Lucifer stopped mid-sentence. “Sonofabitch.”

“What…?” Dan barely managed to ask before there was a sudden burst of air, as if someone had left the windows open during a hurricane, and there was a third person in the room.  “the fuck?”

The new person looked sort of like Lucifer, in so far as they shared the same physical attributes – dark hair, pale skin and narrow features. Probably the largest difference was the choice in clothing. Whereas Dan had never seen Lucifer outside of a suit that cost more than his car, the new one looked like he’d been pulled from a surfer magazine cover.

Hell, he was pretty sure that was sand on his feet.

“I didn’t call for you,” Lucifer snapped, sliding off the exam table. He tilted slightly to one side as his equilibrium sorted itself and he grabbed onto the table for balance. “I distinctly called for our younger, soon to be dead brother.”

“And that would be the reason why I came instead of him,” the younger man said. “You know how our Father frowns on fratricide.”

“Gabriel, I called for Amenadiel for a reason,” Lucifer growled. “He’s been a rather naughty fellow, and if you’ll recall, Father put me in charge of punishment.”

“Amenadiel apologizes that he can’t be here, but he says he’s busy keeping an eye on your abdicated throne. He would also like to point out that you wouldn’t be in this mess if you hadn’t left in the first place. He also says something very impolite that I’m not repeating.”

“Any other messages, dear brother?”

“Yeah. Michael says stop trying to get yourself killed. If you’re so eager to die, he can come up with something much faster that doesn’t put the rest of us in jeopardy,” Gabriel said, dropping into one of the waiting chairs. He kicked his bare feet up on to the table, using his toes to brush the sand off them.

Gabriel, presumably, glanced over at Dan, and gave a short half wave with a waggle of fingers.

“Hello,” he said cheerfully. He turned back to Lucifer and jerked his chin to indicate Dan. “I take it from the lack of surprise at seeing me just appear out of nowhere you’ve explained to him the way of things?”

Lucifer rolled his eyes, gesturing between Dan and Gabriel. “Daniel Espinoza, Gabriel the Archangel. Gabe, Dan. Happy? Introductions made. Do you have anything useful or not?”

Gabriel sighed, staring at his toes as he wiggled them to and fro. “You really dug yourself into a hole this time, brother. I hope your friend here is really onboard with helping you, because we can’t.”

Lucifer’s jaw dropped momentarily, as did Dan’s, but Lucifer recovered much quicker. His entire face shuttered, clenching his jaw before he turned away. “Of course you wouldn’t.”

Gabriel snapped his fingers, gray eyes flashing. “Not the word I used, brother. I didn’t say ‘won’t’ I said ‘can’t’.  We can’t help you. Trust me, Michael is fully prepared for Father to bring back the Old Testament version of dealing with problems, but you know the rules. We can’t harm humans. And guess what you picked a fight with?”

Lucifer didn’t look at all pacified by the explanation. Instead, he hopped back on the bed, crossing his arms irritably.

Dan held up a tentative hand. “Um, question from the new guy – what do you mean you can’t harm people? I’ve seen him throw people through glass. Pretty sure Chloe said he drove a couple people insane.”

Gabriel waved a dismissive hand. “That’s a technicality. I should say we can’t kill anyone. No one can. Not even Lucifer – not anymore, anyway. But seriously – whoever these people are, they know exactly what they’re doing. If you know what’s good for you, stop poking around. Let your pet humans deal with this, and keep your head down for once in your existence.”

Lucifer bristled, and Dan could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as the temperature steadily started to climb.

“Dearest brother,” Lucifer said through gritted teeth. “These people are killing in my name. They attacked me in my home. They are trying to call upon the wrath of our Father, and your solution is for me to lay low? Do tell, brother – where do we draw the line? When the victims are no longer part of their cult? When they start picking truly innocent bystanders? How about when it’s not just one at a time? What if next time they try to get my attention, it’s a church? What happens then?”

Gabriel didn’t look even remotely apologetic. Instead, his face darkened, and the temperature that had been climbing towards eighty started to inch back down.

Dan had a sudden insane desire for popcorn to watch this drama.

“I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, Lucifer. People die. That’s what they do. Father will forgive them their trespasses against each other like He always does. But what do you think will happen if something happens to you? If you thought Egypt had it bad, how do you think Los Angeles will fare if Father decides it’s responsible for the death of His favorite son? You may not be our Father’s sword anymore, but the Horsemen can still carry out His demands. Are you prepared to let all those innocents that you just proclaimed to care about suffer? Because that’s exactly what’s going to happen. Let the humans figure this out, and stay away from any more scenes!”

And in three quick and easy steps, Lucifer was across the room, shoving the table to one side and knocking Gabriel over backwards still in the chair, pinning him to the floor with one foot on his chest as Dan scrambled to get out of the way.

“In. My. Home, Gabriel. When I refused to help the detectives anymore, they didn’t leave me be – they came after me in my home. They have my wings, brother. You’ve seen the madness they inspire. They’re not going to let this drop. And while you may be okay with the larger picture of things, I’m not. If they want God’s Poison so fucking badly, who am I to deny them?”

Instead of getting angry, Gabriel looked annoyed. “Fine, Lucifer. But if you take up Samael’s duties again, then what?”

Lucifer’s face froze, mid snarl, faltering.

“If you go back, then what?” Gabriel pushed. “You hated being Samael. No matter how miserable you are in Hell, you never hated it as much as you hated home. You think Father is going to give you the same chance twice?”

When Lucifer didn’t answer, Gabriel pressed further. “Let’s pretend like this message isn’t from Father. Let’s just say it’s from me. I don’t want you to die. Heavenly war aside, I don’t want you dead, which is how you’re going to wind up.”

“Your concern is noted,” Lucifer growled. “And completely ignored.”

“Lucifer-” Gabriel began, but Lucifer leaned over, pushing more of his weight onto the foot that held him down.

“No, Gabriel, enough. You and the others – you don’t get to ignore me and then tell me what to do. If I didn’t obey our Father, do you honestly believe I’m going to obey you? Or anyone else for that matter? If you’re not going to help, then stay away. Om?”

Gabriel didn’t answer, but in the next instant, he was gone. Lucifer stumbled slightly, grabbing onto the wall as his footrest disappeared.

“Are all of your brothers like that?” Dan asked mildly.

Lucifer sent him a glare that would send most mortals running, but Dan had been married to Chloe.

Lucifer had nothing on her.

“What was he talking about, with you going back to being Samael?” Dan asked, nonplussed.

Lucifer sighed, flopping back onto the exam table like a melodramatic teenager, wincing as he did so as he touched his ear. “Think of Samael as a dormant personality. If I start behaving like him again, then I turn back into him.”

“The Angel of Death,” Dan clarified. “What’s the difference between you then and you now?”

Lucifer gave him a scathing look. “Samael could be argued as being actually evil. I’m not evil. I don’t carry out evil acts anymore. I punish people appropriately, and the kicker of it is that I don’t actually do anything. Souls in Hell torment themselves, they just give me ideas.”

“I guess that’s where that creepy mentalist thing comes from, huh?” Dan mused idly. “If you can get someone to tell you their greatest desire, you can turn it around to use it to punish them.”

Lucifer made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat.

“Well, personal history aside, I think your brother actually gave me an idea,” Dan said. “He said nobody could find these people. If you and Maze can find beacons of the divine, can you find dead zones?”

Lucifer scoffed for a moment before sitting bolt upright, hissing in pain but mostly ignoring it. “You are full of surprises,” he said in wonderment. “Call Maze. Tell her to look for a suspiciously void area.”

As Dan dug for his phone, he asked, “So if it’s dangerous for you, why isn’t it dangerous for her? She said something along the lines of very little being able to hurt her because she had friends in high places. I assumed she meant you, but if that’s the case, why are you more vulnerable than a demon?”

“She wasn’t talking about me. I can’t do anything like that. One of those checks and balances rules I never really cared for. Most likely she meant Constantine – an exorcist acquaintance of mine who I sometimes do business with. He took a real shine to Maze, and when I asked he was more than happy to set her up.”

“And he can’t do the same thing for you?” Dan asked. When Maze picked up the phone, he told her about the void area Lucifer mentioned and before he could say anything else, she’d hung up on him. Presumably on her way to cause some damage.

To be honest, he really didn’t want to know.

“Checks and balances,” Lucifer said, as if it explained everything, which it really didn’t.

However, before he could ask anything further, the waiting room door opened, and a short, matronly looking woman stepped in, looking harried.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Mister…” she frowned when she looked at the name on the chart. “Lucifer Morningstar? Seriously? That’s your given name?”

Dan tried to smother a laugh at the face Lucifer made and failed miserably.

“Your parents were all sorts of cruel, weren’t they?” she said, shaking her head. She pushed her glasses back on her nose as she glanced at the overturned chair and haphazard table. If she cared, she didn’t say anything. “Well, I have good news and bad news for you, Mr. Morningstar. The good news is all of your panels came back clean, just like your last ones. No signs of hemophilia, no signs of infection, irritants, or diseases.”

She snapped on a pair of nitrile gloves before setting down her clipboard and grabbed the otoscope from off the wall. With a smooth professionalism, she glanced quickly at Lucifer’s ears, frowning as she did so. She glanced back at her chart.

“I thought the nurse in here before said you’d ruptured your eardrums,” she asked. “They’re inflamed, and look like you might have a bad ear infection, but that’s it.”

“That’s what she said,” Lucifer amended. “I didn’t make any such assessment. I’ve been trying to check myself out for hours, but my keeper won’t let me.”

“He’s a police consultant, and when he was at a crime scene, he started to complain about a loud, high pitched sound, and his ears started to bleed,” Dan explained. “No one else heard anything, and no one else was affected.”

The doctor glanced over at Dan, as if noticing him for the first time. “Does he often hear things that others can’t?”

“Not usually,” Dan said, smiling briefly.

The doctor cocked her head to the side, drumming her fingers against the table. “Did they run you through an MRI last time you were here?”

Lucifer shook his head. “Not that I’m aware of, but I was unconscious most of the time. Shouldn’t that be in the chart?”

“It should be, yes, but the chart also said you had a ruptured eardrum, which you obviously don’t. I hate to start from scratch, but…” the doctor shrugged, and put the otoscope back, and picked up her stethoscope. “Shirt off.”

Lucifer rolled his eyes. “I never actually thought I would get tired of women saying that to me.”

As he pulled the scrub top over his head, turning slightly because he knew from experience she was going to have to reach his back, both Dan and the doctor inhaled sharply.

Dan knew the scars were there – Chloe had mentioned them before as part of her argument of Lucifer as a past abuse case. But somehow, seeing them and knowing what they were from made them so much worse.

They were old – obviously healed over long ago, but they were huge, stretching almost the entire length of his shoulder blades on either side of his spine. He could see how Chloe thought they were sections of skin that had simply been flayed off. The skin was puckered and zigzagged, but considering what he knew they were, they didn’t look like bone and muscle had been cleaved off, too.

“Ouch,” was all the doctor said. “What happened here?”

Lucifer opened his mouth, to answer, but caught Dan shaking his head warningly. Instead, the bar owner gave a short, tight smile. “Had a birth mark removed. It was a hack job.”

The doctor snorted. “That’s putting it mildly. Why don’t you just have someone graft them over? This is LA. Plastic surgery is the new black.”

“I like the reminder,” Lucifer said. He followed her instructions on inhale, exhale, inhale again, growing more irritated by the moment. “Look, we just did this, not a few hours ago. You said there was nothing wrong with me except possibly an ear infection. Couldn’t you just hand me antibiotics and send me on my merry way?”

The doctor sighed, shaking her head as she motioned him to put his shirt back on. “Yeah. I don’t know what the nurse was thinking. Usually they’re better than us docs about diagnosing. I don’t know how she would’ve messed that up. But yeah. Sure. You’re good to go, Mr. Morningstar. I’ll leave you a script at the pharmacy for antibiotics for your ear and you can go home.”

“Finally,” Lucifer grumbled.

Dan followed the doctor out so Lucifer could change. Not that the Devil seemed to have issues with personal boundaries, but Dan sure as hell did.

“If he has any other symptoms or reactions, bring him back in,” the doctor said. “And I know it’s unlikely since both write outs say his symptoms were almost immediate instead of brought on, but if he has anything else go wrong with him, bring him back in while he’s experiencing them.”

“Any idea what’s going on?” Dan asked. He knew, sort of, what the ultimate problem was. There was someone out there who was either trying to bring the Angel of Death back, or they were trying to kill him outright.

The doctor shrugged. “Not really. But people show strange symptoms for strange things. We once had a kid that took us six months to diagnose – we ran every test imaginable. He would get better, he would get worse, nothing seemed to stick. Finally, after he’d lost like eighty pounds and looked like he was a POW refugee, we found out he simultaneously had mono and lyme disease. We had to write a case study for him. So maybe he’s got more than one thing going on with him, but by the time we get him – the irritants or whatever it is causing symptoms are gone.” The doctor shrugged again. “I’ve been a doctor all over the world. I’ve seen some strange cases. Your friend doesn’t rank that high, which is a good thing.”

Being told that Lucifer Morningstar as a patient wasn’t the weirdest thing a doctor saw actually made Dan feel slightly better.

Dan’s phone rang, and when he saw it was Chloe he apologized quickly to the doctor who waved him off with a quick reminder to go to the pharmacy before leaving.

“How’s Trix?” he asked as soon as he picked up.

Chloe sighed. “She’s a little upset that I won’t bring her to the hospital to see Lucifer, but I think I managed to pacify her with chocolate cake.”

“You know, that’s never going to work when she’s a teenager.”

“Thank god that is a long way off,” Chloe said, chuckling. “But how’s he doing?”

“Doc just released him. Said he has an ear infection and that’s it.”

“So what, it was just an infection that burst?” Chloe asked. “Eww.”

Actually, that made perfect sense if he didn’t know better. It would even explain high pitched noises right before excruciating pain. The voices, not so much, but Chloe seemed strangely accepting of Lucifer’s on again off again schizophrenic tendencies.

“Yeah, I guess so. I was gonna drop him off at Lux, leave him with Maze before heading home. You haven’t eaten yet, have you?”

“Pick up Chinese. Trixie is demanding egg rolls.” He heard her move the phone away from her mouth. “How can someone so tiny eat so much and still be hungry?”

 “You have any luck on your end?”

“Actually, yeah. They managed to find an ID on this one. Michael St. John, originally from Minnesota. Went missing a few months ago and his parents put out a missing person’s report.”

“Any religious affiliation? Signs of distress? Bizarre behavior?” Dan asked.

“Not really. They said he was always a bit of a drifter, never really had much direction in life. They didn’t file the report until he’d been gone for almost a month. No signs of mental illness though.”

“Still goes back to cult recruiting profile,” Dan pointed out. “They even know he was headed for California?”

“They didn’t seem shocked, but they also said they weren’t exactly sure where he’d gone. But I did find out some similarities between him and Kaitlyn Kincaide. They’re both middle children, and they were . Was Lucifer a middle child in the Bible?”

“Depends on what version you read. One says he’s the oldest, another says second youngest. Take your pick. You think birth order plays a role in how they’re choosing victims?”

He could hear her shrug even over the phone. “I have no idea. Run it past him and see what he thinks. Did you two come up with anything useful?”

“Maybe. You know how he used to have a different name? I’m thinking they’re buying into his delusion as much as he does. All this dog and pony show is just them trying to get a rise out of him. This Samael persona, seems like he’s a real piece of work. Maybe Lucifer trying to reinvent himself made them mad?”

“Do you think he’s going to revert back?” Chloe asked worriedly. “Or go back?”

Dan scoffed. “Uh, no. No, I think you have a better chance of him going back to Hell then you do of him doing anything these guys want. He seems pretty adamant about not being Samael, so take that as you will.”

Chloe breathed a sigh of relief. “But he seems okay?”

Dan glanced over his shoulder as he heard the exam room door open, and Lucifer stepped out, adjusting his cuffs. “Yeah, Chloe. He’s fine. Quick trip to the front desk, and I’ll be home soon. Tell Monkey her favorite Devil says hi.”

“I most certainly do not,” Lucifer protested.

“I’ll see you later,” Dan said before hanging up. “You set to go?”

“Unequivocally,” he said. “Detective Decker have any insights?”

“She thinks the selection of victims might have something to do with birth order. Are you the middle child or the oldest?”

Lucifer shrugged. “Depends on where you count from. Second oldest is a more apt description.”

After they’d picked up the prescription, much to Lucifer’s annoyance because he apparently had no intention of taking them, as they were headed for the car, something occurred to Dan.

“Hey…can I ask you something?” he asked.

Lucifer looked mildly startled, as if he didn’t expect someone to ask permission to question him. “Sure?”

“What happens if they succeed?” he gestured aimlessly in Lucifer’s general direction. “What happens if you go back to being Samael?”

There was that look again. The momentary shut down of emotion as Lucifer’s mask slid back into place before he offered a wicked grin that didn’t meet his eyes.

“Nothing good, Detective. Nothing good at all.”

Without further explanation, he slid into the passenger seat, leaving Dan to wonder how bad it must be for the Devil to be worried about it.

Chapter Text

“Are you sure you want to come on these visits?” Chloe asked for what was probably the hundredth time, but she didn’t care.

Despite being okayed by the hospital as being perfectly healthy, Lucifer had done little more than fidget incessantly since she informed him they were going to go an investigate some of the known religious compounds near the city.

She actually hadn’t asked him to come along. She was almost positive his answer would still be no, since that’s what he’d say days ago when originally asked. But that was before Kaitlyn Kincaide tried to kill him, and before whatever happened at the last crime scene that landed him back in the hospital.

Most people didn’t want to actively pursue someone who might want them dead.

Lucifer, however, wasn’t most people, and he seemed to take it as a personal insult that he needed to repay in kind.

She’d told him no punching people, throwing them through windows, dangling them off the side of buildings, or anything else that would fall into the realm of assault and battery.

He’d agreed, but in that same way he agreed to most things – with zero intent of actually doing it.

“Well avoiding them doesn’t seem to be working in my favor, now does it?” Lucifer grumbled. “And I’m getting tired of winding up in the hospital, it’s very dull, very annoying, and the novelty of pain has long worn off. Besides,” he huffed, tapping his long fingers against his knees. “Now I’m curious.”

“Can you at least move your seat up?” Dan grumbled from the back seat.

“No.”

Deciding two could play at this game, Dan pushed back in his seat and shoved his knees up against the back of Lucifer’s, pushing the club owner forwards several inches.

“How about now?” Dan said, grinning smugly.

“Forward you say?” Lucifer asked, fumbling with the release handle underneath the seat. He pulled it loose, but instead of scooting forwards so Dan could have some leg room, he slammed it back as far as it would go, pinning Dan so that he was almost folded in half. “How’s that?”

Not about to be outdone, Dan stuck his finger in his mouth before jamming it in Lucifer’s ear. “Perfect,” he said glibly, before throwing up his arms in defense as Lucifer twisted around in his seat to either punch him or return the favor.

“Enough!” Chloe shouted, and quickly tapped the brakes long enough to unseat Lucifer and throw him off balance and bonking the top of his head against the car roof. “I think I liked it better when you refused to be in the same car! You’re worse than Trixie and her friends and they’re actual children!”

“But –” Lucifer and Dan both started to protest.

“I swear to God, I will turn this car around. Do you want that? I will go an investigate the compounds myself because then at least I would know that I was going to get somewhere. So shut up, sit down, Lucifer – move your seat up, Dan - keep your hands to yourself and both of you - no more fighting.”

“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” Lucifer grumbled, but reluctantly moved the seat forwards.

“She gets like this when she’s been in the car too long,” Dan said, massaging his knees where Lucifer’s seat had rammed into them.

“Not a fan of road trips, Detective?” Lucifer asked, smiling broadly. “Wasn’t it you who waxed poetic about how patience is a virtue?”

Without warning this time, she grabbed the road atlas jammed into her door side pocket and smacked the back of Lucifer’s head, and then because he thought it was funny, she reached back and swatted whatever she could reach of Dan – all without taking her eyes off the road.

“Shut up!” she snapped. “You wanted to come, remember? I told you that you didn’t have to, but you wanted to come anyway.”

“Had to lead with the fact that you plan on abusing us with geographical aids, I would’ve reconsidered,” Lucifer said.

In truth, as irritating as they were currently being, Chloe was just happy that the old Lucifer seemed to be back. Gone was the sullen and withdrawn personality he’d fallen into since the first body showed up. Now he was back to annoying everyone within ear’s reach and more importantly – he looked healthier. She couldn’t really explain it, because she hadn’t really been able to put her finger on it when it was happening, but it was like the last few weeks, Lucifer was looking…duller. She’d noticed he’d been looking unhealthy, but she hadn’t realized just how bad until now. The difference in him was night and day and she still didn’t know what the change was.

Dan maintained he had no clue, and Lucifer looked at her like she was the one losing her mind when she noted how much better he looked.

Because according to Lucifer, of course he looked fantastic. To suggest otherwise was clearly a sign of dementia. Vanity, thy name is Lucifer Morningstar.

At long last, they were finally at their last destination. The entire morning had been spent investigating the other two compounds and finding nothing of interest. The residents at the Zion Church and the Holy Trinity were closer to what Dan immediately deemed hippies than religious cultists. They had less to do with religion and more to do with living off the grid in a communal neighborhood – growing their own food, homeschooling the children there, and practicing sustainable living, not human sacrifice.

Even Lucifer cleared them, and that man had a rather disturbing ability to determine the guilty (even if he was often wrong about the motivations).

Which lead them here, to the very outskirts of their search area, to a compound called Three Rivers Community Church. Besides its street address, Chloe hadn’t really been able to find anything on it. There was a basic webpage, with a picture of the front gate they’d just driven to, and proclaimed all were welcome and that was about it. A vague mission statement of living in peace and harmony with God, and that was it. Not even a ‘like us on Facebook’ button.

 “This is the last of the compounds that made our list of possibilities. Our last vic, St. John, had a lot of credit card activity in the area and supposedly sublet from someone in the area. So keep an eye out for anything unusual, and Lucifer…please, don’t wander off.”

“When have I ever done such a thing?” Lucifer protested, stretching as soon as he got out of the car. The unmarked car they’d taken wasn’t nearly as roomy as the Crown Vic cruisers, but Chloe decided she’d rather sacrifice the leg room in favor of subtlety.

Besides, her leg room wasn’t getting compromised, because she called driver.

“How about at every crime scene you’ve ever gone to?” Dan grumbled, popping his back and grimacing. “I call shotgun on the way back. You can sit with your knees up your nose for once.”

“I can’t help that you’re more appropriately travel sized compared to the rest of us,” Lucifer replied glibly.

“I am three inches shorter than you,” Dan protested snidely. “Not exactly a lot.”

“And those three inches put you in the backseat.”

Before Dan could protest any further, or before Lucifer could make any other comments, they were interrupted by the sudden appearance of another person.

“Can I help you?”

The middle aged woman hardly looked the part of deranged cult serial killer. She was average height, a little taller than Chloe. Her brown hair was swept back in a bun that was starting to come unraveled, wisps that were starting to gray coming loose around her face. Thin framed glasses hung on a chain around her neck, and pale gray eyes were edged with crows’ feet. She had no makeup, and everything from her jacket to her shoes were plain and sensible.

“Hi, I’m Detective Decker of LAPD, and this is my partner, Detective Espinoza,” Chloe gestured to Dan, who inclined his head slightly in greeting.

“Delilah,” the woman introduced. “And he is?” she asked, looking pointedly at Lucifer when Chloe failed to introduce him.

After the last couple of introductions not going so well, Chloe hesitated to give Lucifer’s real name, but the club owner had no such problems.

“Sorry about that, she’s not intentionally rude,” Lucifer said, smiling charmingly. “People tend to react poorly when given my name…Lucifer Morningstar, at your service.” He gave her a quick tip on an imaginary hat. “Yes, it’s my real name.”

The woman shrugged, but Chloe caught the beginning of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “We have a girl here named Heavenly Messiah and a young man named Arrow. Lucifer is not the strangest name I’ve come across.”

She turned back to Chloe. “Detectives? What brings you out here?”

“We’re investigating a case that involves someone who may be from this community. Do the names Kaitlyn Kincaide or Michael St. John sound familiar?” Chloe asked.

Delilah shrugged again. “We have a lot of people come and go through here on a regular basis. Not a lot of them even give their real names. It’s more like a way station than a final destination for most folks. You’re welcome to come and check the entry books though – the owner likes to keep track of how many people come and go for tax purposes. This way.” She gestured for them to follow her, and she lead to the small, cottage looking building to their left.

The compound, from what little she could see, didn’t seem exactly ominous. Less church-y than she would expect, too. It looked more like a hostel, which would back up her story that it was more of a passing through point than a long term occupation.

The inside of the building wasn’t any more sinister than the outside. Sparse, with few decorations and a check in desk like one would find at a hotel. A young man sat behind it, writing in a handmade notebook.

“Julian,” Delilah greeted, smiling pleasantly. “These are detectives from the city. Do you have the guest registry so they can take a look?”

Julian glanced nervously between the two detectives, but smiled when he saw Lucifer. “Hey, man, been a while!”

Chloe and Dan simultaneously glanced back at Lucifer who was hanging back unobtrusively, and he looked just as confused as they did.

“Pardon?” he asked, frowning. “Do I know you?”

“Dude, I know it’s been a long time, but seriously? You forgot me? It’s only been five years,” Julian said, smiling broadly.

“Lucifer?” Chloe asked. “Do you know him?”

Lucifer shook his head. “I most certainly do not. Not unless he was at Lux at some point, and you can hardly fault me for not remembering every face that walks through there.”

“Julian?” Delilah asked, prompting the young man who was looking thoroughly dejected at not being instantly recognized. “How do you know Mr. Morningstar?”

Julian looked just as baffled as Lucifer did, and as Chloe felt. “That’s Sam,” Julian protested, pointing back at Lucifer.

“What?” Chloe asked, echoed almost simultaneously by Delilah.

“Sam?” Delilah repeated, frowning. She looked back at Lucifer, studying him carefully. “You mean the director’s son?”

Julian nodded fervently. “Yeah!”

“Sam as in Samael?” Chloe asked.

Lucifer flinched, hard, at the name. “That’s not my name,” he growled. “It’s Lucifer.”

“Julian, go get Mr. Anwar,” Delilah ordered. “He can straighten this out. But get us the book before you go, okay? The detectives would still like a look at it, I’m sure.”

Julian nodded mutely, digging a large lime green hard bound book from the desk’s drawer. “This is all the entries for the past couple of months, Doc,” he said, opening to the last entry page. “From this morning back to January.”

With that, he took off out the back door, not quite at a run but not exactly walking either, presumably to go and find the mysterious Mr. Anwar.

“What the hell was that about?” Dan asked, looking worriedly at Lucifer.

Chloe couldn’t blame him. Upset would’ve been the understatement of the year to describe Lucifer right now.

Incandescent with rage might be more appropriate.

“Someone’s poor idea of a joke,” Lucifer snarled. “I have never been here before, I have no idea who that little bastard was, and I am most certainly not anyone’s son.”

 Chloe felt a little torn – on the one hand, Lucifer was more than convincing that he had no knowledge or memory or even hint of a connection to this place. But the rational half of her, the part that wasn’t blinded by the fact that she considered Lucifer a friend (one of her best friends, if she was honest), was perfectly aware of just how good an actor he could be. Or, more accurately, how firmly rooted in denial he could be. The name Samael clearly meant something to them and to Lucifer, and she already knew he had Daddy issues. Was this where he came from?

Except, that didn’t really make sense either, because if he spent so much time trying to get away from his family and that identity, why would he willingly come back? Had the church changed names? Did he just not know? Or had he completely blocked it out? And if the people here were lying…why?

“Who’s Samael?” Chloe asked, ignoring the way Lucifer shuddered at the name.

Delilah shook her head. “Mr. Anwar’s son, the director of Three Rivers. I personally never met him, and the director doesn’t like to talk about him, but they had some sort of a falling out years ago. It was before I even got here. Julian’s one of our longer term residents, though, and he’s not normally prone to flights of fancy.” She picked up her glasses, studying Lucifer through them before letting them drop down again. “Your friend looks like he could be related, but that’s a convincing accent if it’s fake.”

“It is not,” Lucifer snapped.

“The book?” Dan said, clearing his throat and pointing to the ledger. “It is why we’re here, right?”

Chloe shook herself. She was a professional. She didn’t normally let herself get distracted by things like this. “Right. Sorry.” She turned it around so she could flip through it, scanning quickly through the names. Several Kaitlyns, more than a dozen Michaels, but no matches. It was a long shot, especially since they were both considered runaways and at risk – in all likelihood, if they had signed the book, it wasn’t their given names.

“How long have you been here, Delilah?” Dan asked.

The older woman scratched the back of her head, causing more of her hair to come loose. “Maybe three years? I don’t live up here, I just come up every couple of weeks.”

“So you don’t know the day to day people? The ones who are possibly only here short term?”

Delilah nodded. “I know Julian, and a couple of the families, and of course, Mr. Anwar…but sorry, no. I’m not here often enough to know everyone.”

“Do these two look familiar?” Dan said, showing her the pictures of Kaitlyn and Michael, as well as the other two victims who they hadn’t identified yet.

Delilah peered closely at them, but she eventually shook her head. “Sorry. I don’t recognize any of them.”

“Why did he call you ‘doc’ just now?” Lucifer asked suddenly, dark eyes narrowing suspiciously.

 “Who?” Delilah asked.

“The spindly one who has memory problems and seems to think he knows me,” Lucifer said, gesturing towards Julian’s vacated seat. “Are you a doctor?”

Delilah frowned, but nodded. “Yes. What of it?”

“What’s your specialty, Doc?” Lucifer said, making the title sound like a slur. “It wouldn’t happen to be phlebotomy, would it?”

It suddenly occurred to her what Lucifer was getting at. He’d been over the case notes enough, had been at all the scenes – he knew that the person they were looking for was suspected of having a medical background and Delilah was the first medical professional they’d come across at any of the compounds.

“General practitioner,” Delilah said, her own eyebrow rising in mirrored suspicion. “I was with Doctors Without Borders for several years, but now I have my own practice just outside the city. Why?”

“Where were you on the nights of March fifteenth, thirtieth, and April twenty-first?” Dan asked.

“No idea,” Delilah said, her frown deepening. “Probably the same thing I do most nights. Stay at home with the cat, a book, a falling asleep by eight thirty because I’ve been up since five in the morning treating everything from nosebleeds to broken bones.”

“That can’t really be it, can it Doc?” Lucifer said, devilish grin spreading across his face as he stepped closer. “Is that what makes you happy? Is this really what you want to be doing? Treating scraped knees and expired vaccinations in some dingy little backwater church cum hostel?”

Delilah blinked, and shook her head. Chloe recognized that look in her eyes – that same ‘what the hell’ look everyone got that Lucifer tried his bizarre tricks on.

Sure enough – “No, I think you’re far more ambitious than this,” Lucifer said, almost sweetly. “Tell me – what do you really desire?”

Delilah half shook her head before she was already replying. “To make sure that no one loses a child through something I can prevent. That no family has to suffer because they can’t afford a doctor.”

Lucifer’s smug little smirk evaporated as he rolled his eyes, sighing irritably. “Wonderful. An actual goody two shoes with good intentions. Just perfect. She’s not the one you’re looking for.”

 All four of them jumped when the back door slammed open, almost knocking a nearby framed picture off the wall.

A man, dressed head to toe in white stood on the threshold, one hand still on the door and breathing hard like he’d run the whole way to get there. Julian stood just behind him, looking anxious. His dark eyes flitted from Delilah to Chloe to Dan before they rested on Lucifer.

Chloe could see what Delilah meant by the resemblance. The man had the same dark eyes, the same dark hair – even though the area around his temples were starting to gray – very close in height and similar facial features.

“Mr. Anwar?” Chloe asked.

The man didn’t answer, but he didn’t really have to. As soon as his eyes met Lucifer’s, she could see them start to look suspiciously glassy.

“Samael?” he said, voice shaking. “Is that really you, son?”

Chapter Text

Lucifer, in ten million years, had never been at a loss for words before. It was a new feeling.

It had even less novelty than suddenly feeling pain.

As soon as the man, whoever the hell he was, stepped forwards, Lucifer immediately stepped back, putting Chloe between them.

“No,” he said, seething and trying to keep his temper under control. “It is not.”

There was a part of him that really, really wanted to show these pathetic fools who he really was. Not some wayward, errant human child but Lucifer – Fallen Angel and Lord of Hell.

And if Chloe and Dan hadn’t been in the same room, he would’ve in a heartbeat. But he hadn’t been lying about his true form inspiring madness, and he liked Chloe…and was tolerant of Dan. The last thing he wanted was for either of them to see him.

The man, Anwar, stopped short, brought up by Chloe’s hand. “Samael?”

“Lucifer,” he spat, hating that awful name. “My name is Lucifer. I am not your son, I am not anyone’s son.” He half expected a lightning bolt for that last one, but it seemed he and his Father actually agreed for once. Or at the very least, He didn’t seem willing to smite a bunch of mortals just to teach him a lesson. 

“Sir, one moment,” Chloe said, her voice no nonsense and professional. “I think there might be some confusion here. This is Lucifer Morningstar – he’s a consultant for the LAPD, and he’s helping us with a current investigation that might involve someone from your church. Could we speak to you for a minute?”

Anwar had yet to look away from Lucifer and he found it most disconcerting. There was a sort of desperation in the man’s eyes that Lucifer, for being able to bring out anyone’s desire, didn’t quite understand.

“Sir?” Chloe asked again, and Lucifer could hear the edge in her voice.

At the very least, it seemed Mr. Anwar unnerved more than just him.

Anwar finally shook himself out of his stupor, forcing himself to look over at Chloe. “I’m sorry, did you say detective?”

“LAPD,” Chloe repeated, clarifying. “Can we speak?”

Anwar glanced between Chloe and Lucifer, and he had to fight the urge to let his eyes change. On the one hand, it would certainly convince the man they were not related, but on the other hand, if this man was possibly involved with the murders – Lucifer had no burning desire to prove to him that he was exactly who he thought he was.

At least, not at this very moment.

Anwar took a deep breath, composing himself, before offering a wan smile at the detective. “I’m sorry. Julian here said Sam had come back, and I just…forgive me, I was being rude.”

“You think Lucifer is your son?” Chloe asked. “Why?”

Anwar didn’t immediately answer, instead fishing into his pocket. He withdrew a faded and worn wallet, and from there pulled an equally faded and worn photograph. “This is my son, Samael,” he said finally, holding the picture out to Chloe. “He left home…about five years ago now. We had a falling out, and I haven’t heard anything from him since. When Julian…when Julian came and told me he was back, I didn’t question it. I apologize.”

Curiosity got the better of him, and Lucifer craned his neck over Chloe’s shoulder to see the picture.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered before he could stop himself. He could see why Anwar thought he was the same person.

Samael Anwar could’ve been a twin. Perhaps fraternal, but a twin nonetheless. He had the same dark eyes, the same facial construction, the same dark hair. But the more he looked at it, the more the differences, subtle as they were, started to show. There was a scar across the bottom of Samael’s chin, barely visible in the picture and faded from age – something he would’ve gotten as a child. His hair wasn’t quite as thick and obviously wasn’t as curly.  His ears were the same shape and size, but unlike Lucifer’s, the lobes were attached at the bottom – a genetic issue he shared with his father, it would seem.

He knew what Chloe had originally suspected – that at long last, she’d found out the truth about his origins, and they were exactly as she believed: a prodigal son, run away from home and a rational reason why he clung to his supposed delusion of being the Devil. But even she could see the picture was of someone else, even if they looked eerily similar. The fact that this was actually really rather convenient to fit into her perceived view of him made him wonder if it was chance they found this place, or…

He glanced skyward, glaring not at the ceiling, but through it. Father, if this is you – not funny.

“You can see where Julian made the mistake,” Anwar said apologetically. “Even when I first saw him, I was sure your friend…Lucifer, is it? Had to be my Sam.” The man offered an apologetic shrug. “The heart sees what it wants to, am I right?”

That quiet desperation Lucifer saw in the man’s eyes suddenly made sense. The longer he looked at Lucifer, the more he saw, the more obvious it became that he was not the son he so desperately wanted to see. The desire to reunited with a long lost child was something Lucifer didn’t have much experience with – he was much more familiar with carnal and forbidden desire than that of hope.

“They do look similar,” Chloe agreed, and Lucifer could tell without seeing her face that she was doing that thing again. That look that was somehow both caring and concerned, and still professional enough that she left no doubt that she was still in charge. “But your son isn’t actually why we’re here. We’re investigating a case – one that might involve past members of your congregation?”

Dan held up his phone again, allowing the minister to see the pictures of both St. John and Kincaide as well as the yet unidentified first two victims. “Do any of these people look familiar to you?”

Anwar carefully took the phone from the detective, studying the photos. They were all of the victims in the mortuary, very obviously dead. The doctor showing no outward reaction to being shown the deceased wasn’t unexpected. She was a doctor, presumably at some point she dealt with death – even if simply through cadavers at school. The minister, on the other hand…his complete lack of response wasn’t what Lucifer would expect.

“The girl doesn’t look familiar, but I’ve seen the last boy before,” Anwar confirmed, handing the phone back to Dan. “He was here for a few weeks, maybe a month. Disappeared maybe a week ago?”

“You didn’t think to report it?” Chloe asked.

Anwar shrugged, spreading his hands. “There was no evidence to suggest foul play – he was a legal adult, and I’m not his parent. I have no say in where or when people go. If I reported every person who left without warning, I would have a concierge service with the police department.”

“Anything about him strike you as odd?” Chloe pressed. “Sudden changes in behavior, friends, activities?”

“Any hint that he’d suddenly found God and planned to sacrifice himself?” Lucifer interjected, smirking.

Chloe elbowed him, hard, without looking backwards at him to do it.

Anwar raised an eyebrow. “Beg pardon?”

Ignoring both Dan and Chloe’s warning glares, Lucifer pressed on. “He was found not a week ago, as a human sacrifice in an alleyway in the city. Had the symbols for Lucifer and Samael scrolled in blood, his blood, at his feet and head. Tell me, Mr. Anwar…or do you prefer Father Anwar? What kind of religion do you peddle here?”

“Michael was…sacrificed?” Anwar echoed, looking green around the edges. He sat down, hard, on the edge of the desk.

Chloe shot Lucifer a murderous scowl that promised retribution later, but Lucifer didn’t care. He was tired of being in the dark about what the bloody hell was going on. If this was an accident that they stumbled upon a cult where the director’s missing son bore an uncanny resemblance to him, and had his old name, then it was the pièce de résistance in an elaborate cosmic joke. Either the man before them was guilty, or someone was playing them all for fools.

“Yes, sacrificed,” Lucifer said, smiling brilliantly and without humor. “All of them were. The first one was almost decapitated from someone severing his throat, the second one pinioned on a cross and the third one,” Lucifer pointed to the picture of Michael, “looked like he was simply put to sleep after being drained of all his blood. So I ask again – what kind of religion do you practice here?”

“Lucifer!” Chloe snapped at the same time as Anwar answered “none.”

Of all the answers possible – that was the last one he was expecting. Hell, he would’ve accepted Builders of Adytum before none.

He wasn’t the only one who was stunned speechless. Chloe and Dan’s jaws dropped and almost immediately clacked shut in unison.

“What do you mean, ‘none’?” Lucifer demanded. “You’re advertised as a community church, you still dress like one of those awful televangelists…”

Anwar suddenly looked very tired. He scrubbed a hand over his face, fingers lingering on his chin before he spoke, not meeting anyone’s eyes. “I used to practice. Unitarian Universalism. I was the minister here, and it was a community, just as it was a church. But after my son…after Sam and I had our falling out, and he left…I just couldn’t. I’d already lost his mother, and when he left, I just couldn’t find the solace I once did in my mission.”

Lucifer felt his heart lurch at the man’s admission. He wasn’t lying. It explained why the community looked more like an abandoned summer camp allowed to go to pot instead of a thriving church. It even explained why there wasn’t anything on their website that Chloe had discovered before they came out – there wasn’t anything left to advertise. Anyone who came here would’ve likely found it by word of mouth through other drifters and the like that had once been here.

“He’s not the perpetrator,” he realized. “He’s another victim.”

Chloe caught on before Dan, which was expected, but not by much. “I’m sorry Mr. Anwar, I think we’ve made a mistake-”

Lucifer didn’t stay to hear the rest of her apology, storming out of the small cottage and letting the door slam behind him.

“Gabriel,” he snapped, looking skyward as he walked, putting as much distance between himself and the cottage as he could. “Get your feathery ass down here, now.”

There was a faint puff of wind, and Lucifer could smell the sea, and he knew before he even turned around Gabriel was there.

“Aren’t you full of surprises?” Gabriel said, scrubbing a hand through his hair and sending salt water flying. “I think this is the most we’ve spoken in centuries.”

His younger brother looked like he’d been swimming off the Great Barrier Reef this time instead of just dipping his toes in the sand, and he was still dripping wet, clad in tropical themed board shorts and rashguard shirt.

Contrary to popular belief, angels, even archangels, had hobbies and they liked to indulge in them whenever they didn’t have anything more pressing to engage in.

“No one was trying to kill me in those years,” Lucifer said irritably. “You still keep a list of the dead?”

Gabriel cocked his head to one side, frowning. “Of course I do. What name are you looking for?”

“Samael,” Lucifer said. “Samael Anwar.”

“Seriously? Someone named their kid after you?” Gabriel said incredulously, eyebrows shooting almost into his hairline. “Did they even know what it meant?”

Lucifer gritted his teeth. “Humans name their children after snacks and satellites. Samael is hardly the worst they could do, whether they knew the meaning or not. Is he on the list or not?”

“One second – it’s a long list,” Gabriel said, waving him off. He held his finger up, as if scrolling down an invisible sheet of paper, which Lucifer supposed he was. Being the scribe as well as the messenger of God meant he had a lot of papers floating around and a lot of information to keep track of. Gabriel had once described it as a mind palace rolodex.

After a moment, Gabriel smiled. “Right here. Died four years ago. Does that help?”

“Shit,” Lucifer swore, running a hand through his hair. “You’re sure?”

Gabriel’s smile faltered. “Yeah, dude. I’m sure. Why? Not the answer you were looking for?” Gabriel glanced around, as if suddenly realizing where they were standing. “Aw, come on, bro – what did I tell you? I said stay out of it and you’re still investigating!”

Lucifer scoffed bitterly. “And you thought I would listen to you because…why, exactly? Following orders isn’t exactly in my nature, Little brother. Not anymore. And yes, I am still investigating because I’m no longer sure it’s about me or my past. Are there any other Samaels on the list, around the same time?”

Gabriel’s eyes got that faraway look again as he mentally went over the list. “Huh,” he said after a moment. “I didn’t think it was that common a name, but…yeah. There’s two more, couple years apart. What’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” Lucifer said honestly. “The first Samael I had you check…we could’ve been twins in another life.” He took a shuddering breath, trying to keep any semblance of control he possibly had to cling to and failing miserably. “I thought this was all something…new. Something because of my wings going missing, something Amenadiel did, something I did…but what if it’s not? What if it’s been going on longer than that?”

It felt like he couldn’t breathe, like he couldn’t get enough air even though he was gasping. Was this another attack?

No. No, this wasn’t like at Lux, or even at the last crime scene. This wasn’t someone attacking him, this was his own body attacking itself.

The words ‘panic attack’ flashed briefly in his memory. Who knew being human was such constant misery? No wonder they killed each other.

“Hey, whoa,” Gabriel said worriedly, dropping any pretense of being cool and distant. He put a gentle hand on Lucifer’s arm. “Calm down, okay?”

“Did Father do this?” Lucifer demanded, realization dawning with growing horror. “Is this just some elaborate ploy to get me to go back where He thinks I belong? Is He punishing me again? He already cast me out, He took my name -”

“No, no, of course not!” Gabriel interrupted, face scrunched in disbelief. “This is not Father’s doing, Lucifer. I keep trying to tell you, He’s not mad at you, He’s worried. How could you think He would do this to make a point?”

“Job. Abraham and Isaac. Noah. Moses. Adam. Eve. The entire cities of Sodom and Gomorrah.”

Gabriel winced. “I walked right into that one, didn’t I. But no, brother, Father isn’t trying to punish you. He’s wants you to go back where you’re safe.”

“I am not going back to Hell,” Lucifer growled. “No matter how nicely or how cruelly He commands.”

His brother sighed in exasperation. “That’s not what I meant. I honestly don’t think He even cares anymore where you decide to go as long as you don’t wind up dead. Benefits of being the favorite child, I guess. But seriously…what is going on here?”

Lucifer didn’t answer for a moment, glancing back at the door of the cottage. It was still closed, and he could still hear Chloe talking with the minister and the doctor.

“I thought whoever was behind these killings, these…sacrifices, was trying to get to me, to somehow come after me, in this weakened form,” Lucifer said quietly, waving his hand absently to indicate the now regrettably mortal body.  

Gabriel managed a grin, even though it was forced. “Well, they were doing a pretty bang up job so far.”

“But what if that’s not the case? What if they’re not trying kill me?” Lucifer asked. “I thought this started with my wings vanishing…but what if it started as soon as I crawled my way up?”

Gabriel tilted his head to one side, considering carefully before answering. “Well, you weren’t exactly subtle with your arrival, dear brother. I mean, you didn’t announce it on television that you were the recently arrived Devil, but something like you, something like us…it causes ripples. People may not even be aware of it, and if they are, they don’t always know what it means. It’s why people are still afraid of us, even in our human forms. We can hide all we want – but things like us?” Gabriel shook his head. “People will always know there’s something not quite human about us.”

“The others I asked about – the ones with my old name…what if they weren’t killed on purpose? What if they were accidents?” Lucifer asked.

His younger brother frowned, running a hand through his already ruffled hair and making it stick up in every direction possible. Lucifer fought the urge to pat it back down to something less resembling the ‘I just stuck my finger in an electrical socket’ look – old habits die hard.

“You mean because someone thought they were you?” Gabriel asked. “I mean…I guess it’s possible, but Samael was kind of written out of history. And what little remains has you as a separate entity all together. How many people would be able to figure .that out?”

“Anyone who studied apocryphal lore,” he said. “Or anyone Amenadiel felt like telling, apparently, because that’s how Detective Decker found out, and same with Dr. Linda. I wouldn’t put it past him to tell anyone willing to listen in hopes that Father will actually make me return to Hell – and if He wouldn’t, someone else would.”

“He wouldn’t dare kill you,” Gabriel said, and the vehemence in that one sentence was almost tangible. “He knows what Father would do to him. To anyone who would try. He may not like you very much, but Amenadiel isn’t suicidally stupid.”

“If he does it indirectly enough, Father can’t punish him. If a mortal does his dirty work for him, he can’t be held responsible,” Lucifer pointed out.

“Subtlety like that isn’t in Amenadiel’s repertoire,” Gabriel countered. “He’s more brawn than brains, and you know it. If it wasn’t you who was suffering, you would be my first suspect.”

Lucifer glared at him, but Gabriel smirked unapologetically.

“You were always the smart one,” Gabriel said. “And as much as you like to call our Father a manipulator, you definitely share His affinity for it, at least on a personal level.”

Lucifer stiffened, hands clenching into fists before he could stop himself. “I am nothing like Him.”

“All of us are like Him, in one way or another. Rapahel has His mercy, I have His humanity, Michael has His will, and you…” Gabriel faltered, realizing what he’d done. “Sorry.”

“Have His temper?” Lucifer supplied. “His ability to deceive? You and Michael keep insisting that I have a favored position – if that’s true, does that mean He values His wrath over His kindness? His mercy? No, I wasn’t cast into Hell because of anything I did, He did it because He was ashamed. Worse than casting me out, He stole my name and made it sound like Lucifer destroyed Samael –” He stopped abruptly.

No. That couldn’t be it.

The binding sigils, the Devil’s Trap, the exorcism…they would all make sense. They were actually trying to split him apart, like he as Lucifer was only a temporary phase – a costume to be shed, a demon to be cast out.

The other Samaels, they were just unfortunate victims – accidental deaths in the pursuit of their ultimate goal. They had the poor luck to share a name with the only archangel to be unmade – God’s only mistake that He’d tried to correct. Likely, they died in the tests to prove their divinity. Memories of witch trials across history flickered dimly in his mind.

Stumbling onto this compound, with Anwar and his missing – dead – son, this wasn’t an accident. This was His Father’s hand, in His not so subtle way of trying to get through to him. God had no more say in what Lucifer did as He did in what all of humanity did, and He hadn’t spoken directly to any of them outside of Gabriel in millennia.

This was as close as he was going to get to a warning from his Father.

“What?” Gabriel asked, brow furrowing in concern.

“They’re trying to bring back Samael,” Lucifer said. He felt his heart clench at the thought of it and he sat down, hard, on the trunk of the car. “That’s what this stupid nonsense is about, they think he’s still here, still me…”

 Gabriel’s jaw dropped in horrified realization. “They think Samael is a victim. They think you’re what, possessing him? But you’re not different people! That’s not a vessel and…” Gabriel floundered for words, something the messenger of God wasn’t used to. He sat down next to Lucifer, hands on his knees as he tried to come up with anything that would help. “Don’t they know what that will do?”

Lucifer chuckled darkly, covering his face with his hands and trying not to laugh outright at the cruel irony of it all.

Apparently, he was to be the villain in his own story.

“I somehow doubt they care.”

Bringing back Samael was more than just the death of Lucifer. It meant that something worse would take his place. When he’d explained his story to Chloe so many weeks ago at Lux, he downplayed the worst of it. It wasn’t a simple refusal to do as he was told that started everything, as much as he liked to pretend.

It was a war.

If Samael returned, it was the beginning of The End. 

Chapter Text

“I actually thought we’d already established they were trying to kill you…” Maze said dubiously. “That whole exorcism thing and all.”

Lucifer leaned back, head tilted against the cushion of the couch as he swirled the remains of a Jim Beam’s ‘Devil’s Cut’ around the bottom of the bottle he held. It was a mid-shelf quality, but all he really wanted out of it was the bite of the 90 proof. If one couldn’t get drunk, he could at least pretend.

Or perhaps he was now human enough that he might actually succeed. He had every intention of putting the theory to the test, even if he had to drink the whole bar to do it.

“Not necessarily,” Lucifer said absently. “You said so yourself – that wretched woman who killed herself at the station – she didn’t want to cause me harm, she said she was trying to free me. At the time, I assumed she’d simply bought into the idea that we are not occupying our own skin. Unfortunately, it now seems that they’ve finally caught on to the idea that Samael is more like a dormant personality than a separate entity.”

“So…are we going off the idea that someone out there knew what an exorcism would do and was simply trying to cause you pain?” Maze said, scrunching up her face. “Or are we back to the assumption that someone knows what they’re doing, and they’re just trying different ways of bringing Samael out?”

While Maze had in fact been Lucifer’s right hand for much of his reign, humanity remained as much of a mystery to her as it did to him, though even that statement wasn’t wholly accurate. Maze understood their need for debauchery, to seek hedonistic pleasure even at the expense of their immortal souls. She could understand how it never became boring or dull because it never became dull or boring to her. She fed off sadism and masochism like others fed on air. And as much as he loved her, she – like all demons – had exactly no concept of long term planning, because she existed in the here and now and that was all that mattered. In a very unfortunate way, Amenadiel was much the same way. They had their short term goals, and that was it. Long term consequences didn’t occur to either of them until it was too late.

Lucifer rubbed his forehead, trying to will away the lurking ache that plagued him for the better part of the last two days. His brother had been of no further help – at least not immediately. He promised he would speak to Michael on Lucifer’s behalf, because at least Lucifer would accept Michael’s interference. Even if it was begrudgingly.

But Lucifer adamantly refused to ask his Father for anything, no matter how many times Gabriel tried to convince him that if he would only ask, He would give Lucifer whatever he desired.

The cruel irony of that made Lucifer laugh loudly enough he caught the attention of one of the community’s residents, who simply stared at him like he was a mad man.

“I’m not entirely sure Detective Espinoza’s assumption that they’re trying to cause pain is accurate, either. I think perhaps they didn’t necessarily know what was going to happen, I think it was like a trial run – to see if I had any reaction at all. I think they assumed that there would be a reaction, I just don’t think they expected the one they got. In all likelihood, it was a test to see if perhaps I was going to be different than the others they already discovered.”

And killed.

Maze shook her head, sliding down the back of the sofa into the seat opposite him, and snatched the mostly empty bottle from his hand.

He let it go without protest.

“Okay, so the symbols and the writings, and the binding sigils…” Maze listed off, ticking off her fingers as she did so. “Those were to see if you were the real deal? Why even bother with the murders then? Why not just come to Lux and try it on you here? You’re oblivious to most of the things that go on here anyway.”

She downed the rest of the bottle in one go, looking disappointed when she realized there’d hardly been a mouthful left. “Why run the risk of getting the police involved when they obviously didn’t do anything so elaborate with the other Samaels?”

It was something that had bothered him the entire trip back from Three Rivers. Whoever this, or they, were, had changed tactics drastically. Four quiet deaths that no one had ever discovered – the only reason Lucifer knew was because he had Gabriel’s Ledger to consult, and now suddenly they were creating violent, grotesque caricatures of ‘honored sacrifices’, like he was some pagan god that demanded offerings.

There was really only one conclusion that he’d come up with that made any sense. “They had to run the risk of the police, if they wanted to get my attention. They couldn’t do it here because they simply wouldn’t have the opportunities – here I have security. Here there are cameras, and doors and locks and hundreds of other witnesses at any given time. It was easier for them to create something they knew would get my attention, somewhere outside of Lux. Somewhere where they could control the environment.”

And, Lucifer suspected, away from Maze. If these people understood how to muddle through hundreds of years of different texts with different interpretations of who and what the Devil was, or – more importantly – that Samael even existed in the first place, and now maybe were one and the same…they likely knew there was something not quite human about Maze, either. 

If they didn’t know before, they certainly did now simply from her interaction with Kincaide at Lux. Even if they hadn’t physically been present, hundreds of phones with social media capabilities were. It would be like their own private viewing with guaranteed anonymity.

Maze tapped the lip of the bottle against her own thoughtfully. “But why change the search criteria? How would they even know to make the leap from Samael to Lucifer? You said so yourself – the other victims had the name Samael. Why would they suddenly go from targeting people with that name to you?”

Lucifer shrugged. He didn’t know. Not for sure anyway. “I think I have my brother to thank for that, actually. Doctor-patient confidentiality aside, I’m fairly positive Amenadiel let slip my old identity to someone he probably shouldn’t have. Or – and I don’t think I prefer this – someone out there is very well versed in biblical lore. According to Detective Decker, there’s stories about how Samael and Satan are the same creature, and then people could easily make the jump from Samael to Satan to the Devil to Lucifer.”

Maze raised a scarred eyebrow. “Blondie is on the Believer bandwagon now?”

Lucifer scoffed. “No. That woman remains endearingly obstinate that I am nothing more than human. But Detective Espinoza somehow managed to spin the theory to appeal to her sensible nature. Something involving serial killers having their own rituals they need to practice. I wasn’t really listening.”

Maze huffed irritably. “I don’t see why we can’t just show her the same way we showed Dan.” She allowed her face to flicker for a moment, the macabre death mask visible for a split second.

Lucifer’s reasoning for not using more undeniable methods of proving his identity to Chloe were entirely selfish – and there were many of them. None of which he trusted Maze with.

Perhaps because the one he clung to the hardest was that as long as she didn’t believe him, as long as she thought that he was just strange and perhaps a little crazy, she wasn’t afraid of him. Her tolerance of him without a sexual interest wasn’t just a novelty it was…refreshing – a feeling so foreign he still wasn’t sure that was the word for it. That she still chose to work with him without being under the effects of him, was something of wonder. He’d been bored by everything, for thousands of years – interest in things and people and creatures were fleeting at best…but Chloe Decker continued to intrigue him.

No. He would rather she thought of him as being insane than see him for what he really was.

“Don’t you dare,” Lucifer snapped, surprising even himself with the anger behind the words. “Her belief in who I really am doesn’t matter in this. Detective Espinoza is enough for now. It might actually be of some use to us that she has an outside perspective.”

“Except whoever if after you, or the old you, doesn’t have the outside perspective,” Maze argued. “They know who you are.”

“They might know who I am – clearly they thought the other Samaels were something else, too. As near as they can figure, I’m at the very least not human. Whether or not they’ve figured out that Samael isn’t another entity remains to be determined because they keep going back and forth on whether or not they’re trying to separate us, appeal to him or kill me. Their tests, however, leave a lot to be desired as far as definitive proof of their end goals,” Lucifer pointed out. They seemed to alternate back and forth what their end game was – were they trying to convince Lucifer that his true nature was Samael’s? Thus all the melodramatic ‘true son – show yourself’ commentary? Or were they convinced that they were two completely separate creatures? Lucifer simply a place holder, or occupant in the same body that controlled it? Neither were true, so what was going to happen with their further ‘trials’?

Lucifer didn’t particularly like the idea of dying, but he preferred it over going back to being Samael.

Maze hopped back off the couch and heading for the penthouse’s bar. “Seriously though. Why would they even want Samael? We’re talking about the original villain of the story. The guy that actually did all that you get blamed for. I mean, Samael was the guy who had a hand in pretty much every major catastrophic disaster in human history until your Father made you. Who would want an angel so awful even God went ‘ah shit’ and got rid of him?”

If Lucifer was honest, there wasn’t a whole lot about being Samael that he actually remembered. At least, not where Samael ended and he began. The irony in this misery was that Samael actually enjoyed causing the pain that Lucifer was blamed for. The Angel of Death reigned over duplicity of the human spirit, and the misery he caused. Nothing delighted Samael more than the battlefield, the indiscriminate killing and carnage – setting brother against brother and father against son.

Somewhere in the Fall – Samael ceased, and Lucifer began, and that was all he really knew.

That, and his Father who once spoke to him as an equal hadn’t uttered a word to him since. Not in explanation, not in condemnation. Simply radio silence for thousands of years.

 “No idea,” Lucifer said, taking the offered bottle she handed him. “The question is whether or not they want him loose, or they want him dead. Neither of which hold much appeal.”

Maze pondered the predicament for a moment. “You said there were binding symbols at the first scene, right? And at the second one?”

Lucifer took a long, slow drink from the bottle. “Yes. Well, first one was a binding symbol used primarily on graves that doesn’t do anything. Second was an actual, functional trap.”

Maze nodded slowly. “Do we think they knew what they were doing? Or were just trying shit off Google search?”

“Get to the point, Maze,” Lucifer grumbled.

“Those first couple of attempts, they didn’t really seem like they were trying to kill you or anything else like that. They actually were pretty passive. Maybe the reason why they threw everything into the first scene was because they just needed to make sure they got your attention. If it’d been any old murder, they couldn’t guarantee the Detective would call you in. And then with the second sacrifice, they removed all the bullshit, and left a functional binding sigil. Maybe they weren’t expecting you to wait for the police to show up to get trapped. And the woman? Maybe she was another part of trying to figure out why you weren’t reacting the way they wanted. Maybe the exorcism was because at that point, they thought they’d figured out why you didn’t like their ‘gift’. And then when she almost killed you, they realized that you’re not separate people.”

Lucifer sat suddenly bolt upright. “And then the third one was because they were trying to test their theory of Samael being merely dormant. Or, at the very least, that maybe some part of him was simply repressed and I needed a reminder.”

Maze snapped her fingers. “There was that guy, the one at the first scene. You said there was some old guy who told you it was all for you, and welcome home or some bullshit, right? Maybe they’d finally gotten mad at being ignored, or because you weren’t reacting to what they considered a gift the way they thought you should.”

Lucifer raised an eyebrow. “Those were flattery? Why does everyone think I care about death in my name? It’s not like anyone gets out of life alive – if you’re bound for my realm, you’ll get there eventually. I don’t need them kicking down the door like Jack bloody Torrance.”

Maze shrugged. “You have to admit. How you get represented in lore and how you actually are, is kind of a significant divide. Maybe they really are admirers, and they went from trying to catch you like a Pokèmon to trying to bring about the part of you they think would appreciate them and their efforts. Because nothing of Samael was even brought up until like the third victim, and that was after Señorita Psycho tried to kill you by accident.”

He frowned. “I’m not sure if that makes more sense or less sense. So they go from assuming what most people do in the beginning – that I would appreciate death in my name. And then they decide that since that didn’t get the reaction they wanted, they made another sacrifice. And then…what? Decided that maybe they were unappreciated because they were trying to appeal to something that isn’t there, so they’re now trying to remind me of who I used to be?”

Maze only offered another shrug. “People are crazy. Who says they have to make sense? Isn’t that their deal? Being able to change at the drop of a hat? We have purposes that we are designed for. Humans may be simple minded, but their motives rarely ever are. But that Kincaide woman was the first mention of Samael.”

“What was it that she said she was after?” Lucifer asked. “Besides the part that she got wrong with the idea that she was trying to free me of my earthly vessel.”

Maze scrunched her face up in concentration, trying to remember the exact words. “Something like…she was trying to get you to show yourself, and…something insane. Oh!” she snapped her fingers. “She said she wanted to ‘touch the divine, and be touched in return.’ And that she wanted to be saved.”

Lucifer drummed his fingers along the back of the couch. “I’m beginning to wonder what exactly they think Samael represented. The few mentions of me in history at that point weren’t exactly what I would call flattering or remotely pleasant. It’s Samael that’s listed as being the Serpent in the Garden. What could possibly make anyone want to have that back?”

Maze didn’t answer right away, and when she did, her voice was much quieter, and she didn’t look directly at him when she spoke. “They have your wings. Not Samael’s. Yours. Somewhere, they have the history wrong. They figured out that you and Samael are the same person…but they don’t understand that Samael is the bad guy. Not you.”

Lucifer clenched his hand into a fist tight enough he felt bones crack. “Perfect. So they’re inspired by divine madness. That never ends badly, does it?”

It also meant any attempts at trying to logically figure out their next plan of attack were pretty much a waste of time and effort. Lucifer liked to think he was a pretty good strategist. He understood long term consequences better than most of his siblings. He could predict a lot of behavior because his dominion was over desire. All desire. Forbidden ones were definitely more his forte because that’s what he had the most experience with, but anything that one wanted and couldn’t have – those he could understand.

Unfortunately, no one in the Heavenly Host could predict the behavior of a True Believer because True Believers were insane. There was no predicting batshit crazy.  

“Well, if they succeed they’re going to figure it out real quick that it was a bad idea,” Maze quipped.

Lucifer couldn’t help the grim chuckle. “Yes…no better way to jumpstart the Apocalypse than by breaking one of the last spoken Words of God by bringing back the archangel that was trying to start it on his own.”

Chapter Text

Sometimes, nothing tasted better than cold leftover Chinese.

 “Are we even still pursuing the cult aspect?” Dan asked around a mouthful of lo mein.

It was supposed to be Chinese food on Friday, but Dan and Chloe agreed for once – they were stuck, and sick of being at the precinct. They were essentially back to square one of their investigation, and neither could remember the last time they sat and had dinner with Trixie. Now that she was finally off to bed, the conversation again turned back to the case.

Dan had badgered Lucifer about his outright refusal to use Maze again to prove to Chloe that what he said was true – that he wasn’t delusional, but the club owner had shut down every attempt. The last time Dan even tried to bring it up, Lucifer informed him in no uncertain terms that he had several thousand years of inspiration of how exactly to torture Dan if he didn’t shut up about it.

It’d been several days since their sort of enlightening trip to Three Rivers, and thanks to Lucifer now knew there were other murder victims, most likely by the same group. Maze had actually been the one to call and tell them to look up other Samaels going missing in the LA area – Lucifer apparently had a way of dealing with impending doom that didn’t include keeping his ‘pet humans’, as Maze continued to refer to them as, apprised of the situation.

Knowing Lucifer, Dan really, really didn’t want to know what he was up to.

So far, the only good news that they had was no more bodies. They’d gone longer, admittedly, between victims in this case, but as far as Chloe and Dan were concerned, no bodies meant that the perpetrators had likely run into a similar wall.

Chloe looked ready to beat her head against the table, and she might’ve if it didn’t hold the rest of dinner.

“I don’t even know anymore,” she admitted tiredly. “Because on the one hand – everything points to some religious nut job. Ritualistic sacrifice, archaic languages in blood, crosses…whole nine yards. But that’s just this time. The other Samael victims, they were just back burner unsolved murders. This is LA. We have a higher violent crime rate than the rest of the country. While tragic, nothing out of the ordinary. If the same people who killed the other Samaels are the ones killing our victims, what the hell changed? There weren’t any other murders, sacrifices or otherwise, tied to the other deaths. And now they’re suddenly risking not only the LAPD noticing, but the FBI? That doesn’t make sense either. Because that’s not insanity, that’s stupidity.”

“Because they think he’s the real one,” Dan pointed out, indicating with the set of chopsticks. “The other ones were just unfortunately named. This time, they think he’s really the Devil. Or whatever the hell Samael was in lore, because I can’t find anything concrete to tell us what they’re after.”

Chloe shook her head in agreement. “Yeah, neither can I. All I can find is that he’s simultaneously the greatest good, and the worst evil. And something about being the father of all monsters, but sometimes that gets changed to the creator of demons, which is also interchangeable with being a general of some sort of horde in Hell. There’s even this super creepy story that goes along with him – when Metatron describes him in the Talmud lore, he says that he is ‘Samael who takes souls away from Man’ while talking to Moses. And you know how Lucifer said there weren’t any prayers for Samael?”

“Yeah?” Dan asked, not liking where this was going.

“There’s one. And only one: ‘Oh may it be Thy will, my God and the God of my fathers, not to let me fall into the hands of this angel.’ Apparently it was like some sort of warding or whatever to keep Death away. Which, I guess would explain how he could be both good and bad. Also how the Devil got the reputation of acquiring souls for Hell.”

Well that wasn’t reassuring. Especially not when Dan recalled the conversation between Gabriel and Lucifer at the hospital – no angel could harm or kill a human…except Samael.

“Chloe, can I ask you something?” Dan asked, carefully not looking up from his takeout container.

“Yeah, sure. What’s up?” she asked.

“How come you don’t believe Lucifer?” he said, genuinely curious. “And not just because it sounds crazy, because I know it does. But you seem to believe him enough to look into all this angelic lore crap, which is more than I would’ve done.”

Chloe smiled, and not like she was about to laugh at him. Chloe reserved that smile for few people, and he would know. He used to be one of them. “You too, huh?”

“What?”

“You’re starting to think he might not be delusional after all. It’s not crazy – there’s a couple moments where I’ve wondered about him too. But…” she trailed off, but that smile stayed on her face. “He can’t be all that bad if he helps us out, right? I know you don’t hang around with him as much as I do.” She paused again, raising a calculating eyebrow. “Or maybe you do. You’ve been awful buddy-buddy with him ever since that last victim was found.”

Dan shrugged, stuffing more lo mein into his mouth to avoid a real answer.

“Anyway, he’s changed. Well, changing. I think he’s spent most of his life being blamed for things beyond his control that now that he’s actually helping, he’s finding out that maybe he’s not as far removed from the human race as he likes to believe. I figured he had something like Asperger’s or something like it – you know, his complete inability to relate to people? He’s not supernatural, he’s not divine, he’s just a person that’s gotten the raw end of a deal one too many times. Maybe I’m the only one he lets see that part of him, but I refuse to be like everyone else and see the devil in him. All I see are his incredibly human moments…even if they are a little misguided.”

“So you don’t think there’s even one little tiny shred of a possibility that maybe he’s…not lying?” Dan asked carefully. “I mean, he does that weird Jedi mind trick on everyone. And he’s not exactly what I would call a muscle bound guy, but he can lift people with one hand without it looking like there’s much effort on his part.”

Chloe frowned. “I think he’s spent his entire life being told he’s evil. That he’s done bad things, but it’s like he does them because that’s what he’s supposed to do. He’s got zero impulse control, and it’s all or nothing, so when he finds as much ‘bad’ as he can because that’s what people expect of him, and I think it’s even what he expects, now. Even if Samael was his legal name, it means that some sick parent named him after the Devil’s version of Mr. Hyde. And I think no one has ever given him a reason to not play that role.”

Dan jabbed at the last strand of noodle. “You do,” he pointed out.

Chloe shot him a grateful smile. “I try to. There’s some things I let him go with. Like his issue with his stolen wings.” She made air quotes around the word wings. “I don’t really know why he’s so attached to a costume set, but if it’s important to him, then I at least make an effort not to argue with him. Much. But I don’t like letting him vilify himself, especially not when he’s finally beginning to understand that maybe he doesn’t have to do what people expect of him. He can change just as easily as the rest of us.”

“The Devil is becoming human,” Dan said, smirking. “How about that?” And as soon as he thought it, a much darker thought sprung up. “Chloe?”

“Mmm?” she muttered around a mouthful of pork bun.

“There’s no way these psychos are going to draw a line between Lucifer and you, right?” Dan asked.

“Well, if they were at the crime scenes, or were at Lux when Kincaide attacked him…” Chloe said, shrugging. “It’s easy enough to find out he’s a consultant with the PD, which is probably why they started with the insane rituals to get his attention.”

“Yeah, but what happens if their new trial involves you?” Dan pressed. “Maze said they’d figured out that they were likely trying to appeal the to the darker half of him, but they keep changing tactics when he doesn’t react the way that they think he should. So what if they make the jump that the reason why Lucifer doesn’t behave like the Devil is because of you?”

Chloe shrugged again, looking unfazed. “Well, so far they’ve only drawn lines on the ground, and things that only affect Lucifer. I’m even usually standing right beside him when something happens. So the odds of them coming up with something that might actually do something to me are pretty slim.”

Dan wasn’t convinced, and apparently it showed, because she sighed and put down the rest of her dinner. “Look, I appreciate the concern, but I’m not an idiot. I have my vest on most of the time I’m even at a scene thanks to that case with Jimmy Barnes. And it’s not like I go anywhere alone with him that isn’t somehow related to this case, or another one – and there’s always a ton of other people or police. There’s no greater chance of them being able to do anything to me than any other criminal I’ve investigated. And if they think our connection is something ‘mystical’,” she raised her fingers in air quotes, “then they’re going to try something like a magic spell. And unless they have a Hogwarts diploma, I seriously doubt they’re going to do any damage.”

Actually…she had a point with that last one. She thought that everything that effected Lucifer was based in her reality. Biological warfare. Chemical agents. But Dan knew otherwise…and it was strangely reassuring. Magic…or whatever the hell you wanted to call it…didn’t seem to affect people. Dan was standing generally just as close as she was when something went wrong with Lucifer, and he had no side effects either. Whatever their next attempt at him would be, it was likely to be rooted in the same supernatural world that the others were. Binding sigils, weaponized prayers…they obviously weren’t going to cause Chloe or Dan or any other human problems. 

But…they weren’t always the ones around him. And if they figured out who Maze was…

They would know Maze wasn’t human.

He remembered her saying that very little affects her, but that didn’t mean she was indestructible…though a dark part of him really wanted to see the damage Maze would inflict if she ever caught the people responsible for tormenting her boss. Surely that had to have occurred to at least one of them?

“So basically we’re back to really only being able to use the medical background as a clue,” Chloe said, sighing irritably. “It’s the one thing that can’t be faked out of the things we supposedly know.”

“We may want to look into someone with history with exotic diseases, or someone who worked for the DoD in bio engineering,” Dan suggested, polishing off the rest of his food.

The nice part about takeout? You get to throw away all the dishes.

Chloe shook her head. “No. Exotic diseases, maybe, but we’re not looking for a scientist. Think about how much practice you would have to do before getting that good at IV’s. The science side of medicine doesn’t interact with patients enough. Whoever this person is, they probably do a lot of shots, lots of IV’s, and they would likely be doing it with some amount of care for the patient.”

“So Red Cross interns are out,” Dan muttered darkly.

“You should ask Dr. Grace.”

Both Dan and Chloe almost broke their necks snapping them around to look over the back of the couch.

Trixie stood in the middle of her doorway, clutching her stuffed rabbit in one hand as she rubbed absently at one cheek, hair ruffled from tossing and turning.

“You, young lady, are supposed to be in bed,” Chloe admonished lightly. “What’re you doing up?”

Trixie yawned, and pointed to the sink. “I was thirsty. And I could hear you talking. Is Lucifer still sick?”

“He’s doing much better, baby. We’re just worried he might get sick again,” Chloe explained carefully. She wasn’t stupid, and neither was Trixie. Trixie was fully aware of what her parents did, but that didn’t mean that she wasn’t going to sugarcoat it as best as possible without flat out lying.

Dan got up to grab a glass of water from the sink as Trixie hopped onto the couch in his empty spot.

“You should take him to see Dr. Grace,” Trixie repeated confidently.

Dr. Grace Taylor was Trixie’s pediatrician – a woman who was old enough to have treated Chloe when she was Trixie’s age, but every child who ever went to see her loved her. She let Trixie play with the otoscope before she used it herself, carefully explaining what it did, and how it would help her see what was wrong. Not once had Trixie ever cried over getting her shots from Dr. Grace – not even when she’d needed stitches in her foot after stepping on broken glass at the beach and having to have it debrided first.

The woman was magic as far as Chloe was concerned. The medical version of Gandalf.

“I think Lucifer is a little old to be seeing a pediatrician, Monkey,” Dan said, holding out the small glass of water to her.

Trixie bobbed her head in agreement. “But you said you were looking for a nice doctor,” Trixie said emphatically. “And no one is nicer than Dr. Grace.”

“We’ll keep it in mind,” Dan said, smiling at their daughter. “But you have your water, and it is way past your bed time. Off to bed, Monkey. Let’s go.” He picked her up with ease, and even though she occasionally protested she was too big to be carried, bed time was an exception.

As soon as Dan was past the threshold of Trixie’s door, Chloe almost tripped over herself to get to the stack of papers on the counter next to her laptop. She hadn’t wanted to scare Trixie, or worse, wind her up now that she was being put back to bed – and ever the detectives’ child, Trixie loved a good mystery to solve.

The thought had hit her like a ton of bricks as soon as Trixie pointed out that they were looking for a nice doctor – and brought up her own.

“Where is it, where is it, where is it,” she hissed to herself, flipping through the stacks of papers that were everything from coroner statements to symbology reports.

“What are you looking for?” Dan asked, voice in a stage whisper as he clicked Trixie’s door shut again.

“What Trixie said, about Dr. Grace. I think she’s right. Who has to be good at being gentle with their patients?”

Dan cursed, swinging one of the stacks around so they could tag team it. “Anybody who works with kids.”

“What the hell was that doctor’s name?” Chloe demanded. “The one who was at Three Rivers.”

“Delilah something,” Dan said. “She even said she worked with Doctors Without Borders – there’s your exotic disease connection. And what was it she said? When Lucifer did that mentalist trick of his?”

Chloe growled in frustration, shoving her pile of papers to the side and spinning the laptop towards her, bringing up the search engine. “Dammit, how could we so stupid? Do you know what Three Rivers is reference to?” She turned the screen around to face Dan. “The Three Rivers of Eden – from Talmudic lore, the same goddamn legends that include Samael. We should’ve looked into it sooner – I mean, the damn priest named his kid Samael.”

Dan showed her his discovery – the profile of Delilah Rogers that neither of them had bothered to really look at because they’d grown complacent with Lucifer’s assurance that she was fine. Yes, she was a general practitioner, but that was only recently. In much, much smaller print was a byline – a three-year stint in the neonatal unit of a hospital in a country Dan would never be able to find on a map.

“I’m calling Maze,” he said, already pulling out his phone.

“Maze? Just call Lucifer,” Chloe said.

“He doesn’t even answer you half the time, there’s no way he’s picking up for me. Shit,” he cursed before launching into a speech that meant he’d obviously gotten the voicemail. “Maze – we think we know who’s behind this – a doctor by the name of Delilah Rogers who frequents the Three Rivers compound we just got back from. Do not leave Lucifer alone, and do not pursue it on your own. Chloe and I are on our way.”

“We can’t leave Trixie by herself. You go, I’ll stay,” Chloe pointed out.

And as much as it pained him to disagree, because despite being separated, he still loved Chloe – he shook his head. “No. I’ll stay with Trixie until the baby sitter gets here. You go. Lucifer will actually listen to you. And it’s not like we know for sure she’s going after him – at least not right this second. We have enough for me to issue a warrant and I’ll call it in from here. You go. I’ll stay.”

She was already halfway to the door, her jacket pulled over one arm as she grabbed her keys. “Call me as soon as the warrant is issued,” she said, before quietly closing the door behind her.

Dan offered a quick glance skyward. “I don’t know how this works, but if you care half as much as you claim you do about your brother…you might want to step in.”

(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*

Lucifer didn’t sleep. Well, not necessarily true. He didn’t need to sleep. Dreams were often unpleasant and he usually had other things he’d rather be doing. Usually it worked immensely in his favor – he could work with Chloe during the day, and still manage the club at night.

Tonight, however, he didn’t really feel like participating with the normal patrons of Lux. Maze was heading the bar and making sure everyone was happy and sinful as always, and he knew she much preferred running the club lately.

The same influence he had on people when he was in a good mood was just as bad when he was in a bad mood. He was never sure if it was just him of effected people with his moods, or if it was all angels. No one else ever stayed on Earth as long as he had, and most of them – Gabriel excluded – didn’t interact with humans on a regular enough basis to tell. If he was in a good mood – orgy in the penthouse. But when he was in a mood like the one he was currently in…a lot of Lux patrons wound up spending the rest of their night jail.

Usually, Maze was pretty good about keeping people out of the penthouse area, but she couldn’t be everywhere at once and the occasional fan would slip past, so when someone knocked on his door, he wasn’t all that surprised.

Even if he was more than a little annoyed.

He half expected it to be Chloe – she was the only one who could possibly be blowing up his blatantly ignored phone for the last ten minutes, and he didn’t feel like playing detective tonight. 

The woman that greeted him as soon as he opened the door looked strangely familiar, but was most certainly not the Detective. Almost familiar, but not quite.

“Mr. Morningstar,” she greeted coolly. “So nice to finally get a chance to talk to you.”

“Do I know you?” he asked, blocking her way from the door. She was pretty enough, but he really had no interest in being social or civil tonight.

She smiled, and there was a familiar emptiness to it. “You probably don’t recognize me without all the makeup, do you?” She gathered her loose brown hair into an unkempt bun with one hand. “Now picture gray hair and about ten more years.”

Lucifer frowned. “Sorry, but no.”

Instead of being insulted that he didn’t remember her, she laughed. “We really don’t matter to you, do we? I suppose with the amount of whores you parade in and out of here, one probably loses the ability to tell one from another.”

Ouch. Maybe he did know her.

“Whores would involve cash exchanges. Everyone invited here has been consenting and willing adults of their own free will,” he bit back.

The woman shrugged one shoulder indifferently. “To-may-to, to-mah-to. Allow me to reintroduce myself, since I didn’t really get a chance at our first meeting. My name is Delilah. We met at Three Rivers several days ago. Pleased to meet you,” she said, smiling sweetly as she batted her eyes at him. She grabbed his hand in both of hers with almost bone crushing force. “Samael.”

Lucifer immediately shoved back from her, but instead of letting go, she merely followed with him, pushing them both into the apartment.

“You know, I really did try and be nice about this,” Delilah said irritably. “At first I was convinced I was wrong about you – just like I’d be wrong about all those others. But I wasn’t. Kaitlyn proved that well enough. She also proved you weren’t invincible.”

Something sharp stung his hand, and before he could wrench it away from her, a wave of dizziness slammed into him and he stumbled.

“You don’t look so good, Lucifer,” Delilah said, still smiling, but it looked more like a snarl. “Maybe you should sit down.” He hand tightened on Lucifer’s, and another wave of dizziness swept over him.

Lucifer risked glancing away from her face, trying to focus on his hand which was surprisingly difficult.

Delilah had a strange contraption around her hand, just beneath the cuff of her shirt which was barely visible. It reminded him of a derringer sleeve, except instead of a gun, this one had a spring loaded needle. Why she needed to be covert at this point was a mystery Lucifer’s brain refused to focus on. Realization was painfully slow, but as soon as his muddled thoughts processed what he was seeing, he again tried to rip his hand away from her.

“Let go,” he managed, but to his surprise it came out slurred and more like ‘le guh’, and Delilah’s hand remained clasped firmly around his.

The doctor pushed him back one more step and he felt the back of his knees hit the couch and he staggered, dropping heavily onto the furniture.

“That’s it,” Delilah crooned, bringing one hand up to caress his cheek.

He still had the presence of mind to snap at the unwanted touch, but Delilah easily avoided his teeth, laughing softly.

“Perhaps there is some of the real you in there after all, Samael. I was worried you were more human than divine. I didn’t want it to be like this, but you didn’t give me a whole lot of options. You didn’t seem to appreciate my gifts to you, and then worse – you tried to help the police stop me. But don’t worry. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Lucifer supposed that was meant to be reassuring, but his already laboring heart skipped a beat. Considering the damage this woman had managed to inflict already, he didn’t want to consider her definition of ‘hurt’.

Darkness started to encroach on his vision, and he tried to push her away from him and to stand, but she easily pushed him back down.

“You’re so strong,” she said, sounding awed. “The others barely managed to stay away for a few seconds. But you…you’re still fighting.”

The images of the victims flashed across his vision. Maybe they weren’t willing sacrifices at all. They’d just been murdered in their sleep.

The door to the penthouse, left open but had almost closed again, swung open, and Lucifer managed to swing his head drunkenly towards to the two men standing there.

Even his muscles betrayed him, and his head dropped back against the couch, unable to keep it up any longer.

“There you go,” Delilah crooned. “Just go to sleep.”

Lucifer wanted to scream. No, he wanted to do more than that. He wanted to do worse than that. A well of rage he’d all but forgotten surged forwards, and he imagined all that he was going to do to these people. Thousands of years in Hell, inspired by the very worst that humanity had to offer, and he was going to put them through every, single, flesh searing moment of it.

“Take him outside. Down the fire escape so no one notices. You made sure that demon of his was out of the picture, right?”

There was a mumbled response that he could barely understand, but Delilah seemed pleased.

“Good. Don’t stop for anyone, and dose him again when you get to the car. Understand?” The softness in her voice was gone, mocking even as it was, and the doctor sounded like a drill sergeant issuing orders.

Lucifer wasn’t sure which he preferred, and as he was lifted by the two men, he finally felt the needle slide out of his skin.

“Damn, Doc, he’s still awake,” marveled a voice uncomfortably close to his ear. “What’re we going to do if he tries to talk to someone? Call for help?”

“He’ll be out completely in a moment,” Delilah assured. “He won’t be able to talk to anyone. Hell, I’m pretty sure he couldn’t speak right now, even if he wanted to. Otherwise he would yell for help right now, wouldn’t you Samael?”

The unwanted hand was back, ruffling through his short hair. Lucifer managed a growl in the back of his throat, the only form of communication he was capable of.

Delilah laughed. “Spirit! I like him! Best one so far. Take him out. I’ll make sure no one follows.”

The darkness closed around his vision, his last fleeting thought was that maybe Chloe would be able to find him before he wound up dead.

Or worse.  

Chapter Text

Chloe wasn’t unused to seeing dozens of people in and out of Lucifer’s apartment. She didn’t care to count how many times she’d called him for a case and heard things in the background she couldn’t unhear even if she tried to. Even when there was no one in the apartment except the club owner, there was a certain vibrancy to it – a strange, intangible pull to it that Chloe had grown to accept as part of Lucifer’s home just as it was a part of the man himself. When Lucifer was in Lux, it was like the place had a life of its own.

Perhaps that was why now, despite the numerous investigators, including Dan and herself, and the forensics team, it seemed empty. Just a place, with no life or pulse of its own.

Lucifer was gone.

His phone was left on the table by the sofa, untouched with her 37 missed calls and numerous texts and voicemails.

There was no sign of violence. No blood, no broken furniture, and no one had heard anything over the pulse of the club members down below so unlikely there had been gunfire – even suppressed. Besides, guns didn’t seem like this particular group’s MO. Strange sigils and signs etched in blood, sure – but there wasn’t even a trace of that.

The only sign of foul play was the disturbingly lifeless penthouse with its door left open.

That, and an absolutely livid ninja bartender, who was currently gesturing wildly and very, very angrily at Dan, who seemed to be failing miserably at keeping her calm enough to give an explanation as to what happened, and from what Chloe could overhear, sounded like utter nonsense.

“It was his wings,” Maze hissed angrily. “Whatever they’ve been using to hide them, they lifted it enough that I could sense them. It was a distraction – as soon as I was gone, they must’ve taken him.”

“Did the cameras get anything?” Dan asked.

Chloe knew the answer before Maze gave it.

Lux didn’t have cameras. Lux didn’t have any form of security, aside from Maze and Lucifer themselves. She knew that from her very first meeting with him and she wanted camera footage for the drive by shooting. Lucifer had looked at her like she had eight heads and asked why on Earth he would have security cameras because no one would ever dare steal from him – and if they did, he hardly needed cameras to find them.

She wondered if he ever thought there was a possibility someone would steal him.

“Anything?” she asked as the forensic team passed her.

One held up his phone in a plastic bag. “We dusted the place, but either he’s got a helluva maid service or they didn’t touch anything else. Nothing showing signs of a struggle, but we’re gonna see if we can find anything on this. Sorry, Detective,” the young man shrugged helplessly, and she waved him off.

It wasn’t his fault that these people – whoever they were – seemed to be professionals at making people disappear. She stared at the door way, noting the absence of splintered wood or broken frame. Lucifer had opened the door for whoever it was, and if they were right about it being Delilah Rogers, it meant it was likely she was the one he opened it for.

Lucifer was nothing if not curious, and as soon as she found him again, she was going to give him an earful about the idiom of what happened to curious cats. He would’ve easily opened the door just to wonder what the hell the doctor was doing on his doorstep, and after that…it wouldn’t be that difficult to take him.

Scratch that. She was making assumptions. Any time she’d ever seen Lucifer lose his temper and get into a fight, he relied heavily on superior force, which didn’t make a lot of sense to her, considering he wasn’t exactly the body building type. But she’d seen him easily lift people his own size with just one hand and not look like he was straining himself. She had no idea if he was capable of self-defense, because he rarely took it seriously.

If he hadn’t taken Delilah seriously – which she doubted he would, because he never took threats seriously – he would’ve been entirely off his guard when she opened the door.

She glanced back to the room, which looked pristine despite the numerous people.

No fight. No altercation at all.

She turned back to the door. 

So Lucifer opened the door, curious and possibly surprised to see Delilah there in the first place – or anyone at all, really, given the statement Maze had given about him not being in a partying mood, and then…what? Went with her willingly? Did these people really have that kind of sway?

No. That didn’t make sense. Lucifer was taken. He didn’t go anywhere, and considering the bitch fit he threw when he didn’t want to go somewhere with her because he could be an obstinate child when he wanted to be, if he didn’t want to go with Delilah, there would be some evidence of something.

Now the question was: how did anyone get Lucifer to do something he didn’t want to do?

She gritted her teeth, forcing the gnawing worry in her gut to not explode into full blown panic. She snapped her fingers at Dan. “What the hell was it we found in the other victims? Midas…” she snapped her fingers again, getting angrier at herself for not remembering it off the top of her head.

“Midazolam?” Dan said, looking curious. “What about it?”

“You!” Chloe pointed to the unfortunate forensic technician who was putting the last of his gear into the evidence container. “What are the symptoms of Midazolam?”

The kid looked like a deer caught in the headlights, but he answered almost instantly. “It’s an anesthetic used mostly for pre-ops, anti-anxiety and causes drowsiness and short term memory loss.”

“Is it fast acting?” she asked.

The kid shook his head. “No, ma’am. You’d have to use something else with it, like…doxacurium or ketamine or something else like that.”

“You think they drugged him,” Dan said. “That’s why there’s no evidence of a struggle.”

“It’s the only possible explanation for him just disappearing with them,” Chloe said. “You know what he’s like when he doesn’t want to do something, or if he doesn’t like you. He would’ve opened the door, and we know he did because no one broke it down, and then before he could do anything, they would’ve had to hit him fast, with something just as fast acting. Think about all the other victims – no sign of struggle, no signs of being restrained. We know they had at least Midazolam and ketamine in their systems –”

“It would make sense if he was unconscious when they took him – and it would have to be more than one person. Lucifer’s not exactly a small guy, and dead weight he’d be even harder to maneuver around.”

“No blood or sign of struggle – so they didn’t hit him over the head, or shoot him or anything else like that. But…” she trailed off, not really wanting to pursue her next train of thought but knowing that she had to. “The side effects for anything that can knock a person out like that is decreased breathing – and if they gave him enough to knock him out fast – fast enough that they wouldn’t get a chance to fight, because Lucifer would’ve won any sort of physical altercation, they would’ve had to overdose him.”

Maze watched the exchange go back and forth, her eyes narrowing as the two detectives talked about her boss without giving any real clue what they were talking about. “English, human. What does that mean?”

“It means there’s a really good chance they might’ve killed him accidentally,” Dan explained grimly, and immediately pulled out his phone. “It also means that in the off chance they didn’t, they’re going to need a life support system.”

“Which means hospital, or missing or stolen equipment in the last couple of hours,” Chloe said. She jabbed at her phone, refusing to accept that it was too late. Lucifer was not dead.

He couldn’t be.

As she turned away, phone pressed to her ear as she waited for dispatch to pick up, she heard Dan mutter quietly to Maze.

“What about his brothers? Can’t they do anything to help? Gabriel seems to find him easily enough.”

“Lucifer is like a beacon – just like his wings. Normally, you couldn’t lose him if you wanted to. Same with any else divine. But these people…” Maze spat the word out like it was something rotten. “They have some way of blocking them from me. They only lifted it long enough for me to get far enough away from Lux that when Lucifer’s presence disappeared, I was too far to get back in time. I’m good, but I’m not that good.”

Something in her just snapped.

“Enough with these stupid games, Maze!” she snapped. “I’ve had it! It’s not cute anymore, it’s not fun or quirky or some weird tic – it’s dangerous. I don’t care why you two picked role play – maybe it helped with the club, maybe you’re both trying to hide from something, I really don’t care. But thanks to it, and your complete inability to let go of your ‘alter egos’ or whatever the hell you want to call it, Lucifer is gone and there’s a really good chance that if he’s not dead already, his body is going to be the next one we investigate. So drop the goddamn act, and be helpful for once and knock it off with the damned devil crap and angel wings!”

Maze looked fully prepared to punch her square in her teeth, except as soon as she raised her fist, Dan grabbed it and used her own momentum to spin her around to face the door. “I’ll handle this. Get contact info for his brother.”

If she was to be perfectly honest, she was a little disappointed to see Maze listen – however begrudgingly – and storm off, her stilettos clicking angrily on the marble before she disappeared into the elevator. Her last view of the smaller woman was a nasty sneer and the middle finger as the doors closed.

“Chloe-” Dan started, putting a hand out towards her, but she didn’t want sympathy. She didn’t want Dan to tell her the same empty, stupid promises they both made to the victims’ surviving friends and families.

She slapped his hand away. “He’s not dead.”

Strangely enough, Dan looked skyward, looking slightly nervous. “No, he’s not. I think there’d be considerably more commotion if he was. But Maze is going to get in contact with his brothers, and maybe they can help out some way we can’t.” He took a deep breath, raising his hand like he wanted to pat her shoulder but instead settled for awkwardly shoving it in his pocket. “Chloe – I know you don’t believe in Lucifer’s…game, or whatever you want to call it. But we can’t look at this anymore like he’s not really the Devil because the people who took him? Delilah Rogers, or whoever the hell else is involved with this – that is exactly what they believe. So we can’t think about what people would do to another person, we have to think of what people would do to an idol. You’re good at thinking outside the box – if you wanted to prove Lucifer was exactly who you said he was…where would you go?”

Chloe chewed on her lower lip. “They’re not going to go back to Three Rivers. They’re going to find a place that has some sort of religious significance to the Samael lore. Something like – like a garden, or an actual meeting of three rivers, or…I don’t know, Dan, I don’t fucking know, alright?”

Dan was quiet for a moment. “Do you think they’re going to make him another sacrifice?”

Chloe shook her head. “No. No, that wouldn’t make sense. But I think it’s going to be something worse than that. They think he’s this other guy, right? This other personality? Lucifer said he wasn’t a good guy before becoming Lucifer. I’m more worried about what they’re going to do to get that part of him back.”

*)*)*)*)*)*)*)*)*)*)*)*)*)*)*)*)*

It was freezing.

That was the first thing he noticed.

The second was that everything hurt. His brain sluggishly tried to draw comparisons.  Slightly less than when he fell, definitely more than the exorcism.

“Ah, Mr. Morningstar…you live.”

The voice was feminine, which was not unusual for him to wake up to, and the fact that he couldn’t recognize it also wasn’t much of an oddity either.

His teeth chattering from the cold? That was new, and decidedly unpleasant. He blinked his eyes open, raising a hand to wipe he residual tackiness from the lids, wincing in the bright light and the stabbing pain it shot through his head.

That, and at the heavy weights around his wrists that clanked hollowly against the floor, banging against his joints.

Waking up in chains? Not…common, but not the first time, either. Usually there were some fluffy cuffs on them, but…

“Why do you sound surprised?” he asked, and winced at the dryness in his throat. “I’m not even entirely convinced you’re right.”

It took longer than he would’ve liked, but the world slowly bled back into focus…sort of. He seemed to be having trouble adjusting to the stark contrast of light and dark in the room.

“Well, for a while, we didn’t think you were going to. My fault, really. I wasn’t expecting you to be quite so…”

“Delicate?” Lucifer grumbled, closing his eyes against the bright white light above him.  He could assess his position well enough without opening his eyes he decided, and let his head drop back against the floor. Bright light, dark room, no bed, and very, very cold floors. Beyond that, he ached too much to care.

“Human,” the woman answered. 

Lucifer actually chuckled at that, though without humor. “Mmm, yes…people are often surprised to find out how much of them is reflected in me.”

 “You don’t seem that concerned about your position,” the woman mused. “The other ones were usually in a panic by now.”

Refusing to even sit up, Lucifer actually laughed out loud at that one, and he knew he sounded drunk. Bloody hell, what did she give him? “Disappointed?” he laughed. “Get in line.” He waved his hand disjointedly in the direction behind the woman. “It starts back there.”

This time, it was the woman who laughed. “Quite the contrary, Mr. Morningstar. It just proves I was right about you. You’re exactly what I’m been looking for.”

“Tall, dark and handsome?” he quipped. He jostled one of the chains. “Conveniently chained to the floor? You could’ve just asked.”

“Your Father’s son.”

Of all phrases, that was the one that reminded him exactly how he got here. Well, sort of. Most of it was still a blur, but he dimly recalled the woman from the pseudo church showing up at his doorstep.

He grumbled non-committedly. “I wouldn’t let Him hear that if I were you. It’s liable to get you struck by righteous lightning.”

 “It hasn’t happened yet,” the woman said.

There was a click, and the bright light from overhead dimmed considerably, and Lucifer risked opening his eyes again.

The overhead light dimmed to the same level as the rest of the room, and he could finally see where exactly he was, and he almost groaned out loud.

A relatively bland, damp stone room without windows, a heavy wooden door in the far wall. Lining the other walls were large plaques with the alpha and omega sigils carved into the side, stacked in neat little rows. Soot stained the ceilings and walls from years of candle use before the electric lights were fitted to the crypt, the floor worn smooth with use. The lights were new, and so were the chains around his wrists, but everything else reeked of age and mildew.

“You must be joking. A church?” Lucifer growled irritably. “What is it with you people and trying to get me into my Father’s house?”

The woman – whose name he’d completely forgotten because he hadn’t even been paying that much attention when they met – smiled. “I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but anything touched by God gives off a certain…light. You’re much too powerful to hide…not completely, anyway. We learned that almost any church, but especially the old ones – particularly the tragic history ones – has a similar light to it. Enough to cover up what the wardings couldn’t, anyway.”

Lucifer struggled to sit up, wavering slightly as the world swam in and out of focus. “You’re trying to tell me that the reason why we couldn’t find my wings is because you hid them in the basement of one of my Father’s churches? Have you no decency?”

The woman – something with a D, if he remembered correctly – shrugged with one shoulder. “It’s the last place you or your pet demon would look. And no one else seemed to be able to find them either, did they? Do all of your kind have that kind of arrogance?”

“More like a shared trait between distant cousins,” Lucifer answered flippantly. He scrubbed one hand across his face, trying to force himself into some semblance of coherency. “It’s a common attribute of my Father’s creations, considering the arrogance it takes for you to think you can contain me.”

“For long periods, I would have to agree,” the woman said, her tone just as dismissive. “Even Hell couldn’t keep you prisoner, could it? But as far as temporary standards go…I think you’ll find we’re more than capable of keeping the Devil in his dungeon for just a bit longer.”

Lucifer didn’t have an answer for her, so he ignored her.

“You don’t deny who you are?” the woman asked.

Doris. No, that wasn’t right. Daisy. Dimwit. Douchenozzle. Delia. Delilah. That was it. It made sense, he supposed – the awful woman in Sorek with her boyfriend that she betrayed for money set a precedence, it would seem.

He raised an eyebrow at her. “What would be the point? You already ran me through your gauntlet, and if that hadn’t convinced you, I wouldn’t be sitting here now, would I? Besides…” he smirked, even though it was a fraction of what he usually offered. “I have never lied to anyone about who I am.”

Delilah smiled, leaning back against the wall, just out of reach of the binding sigil on the floor.

If Lucifer had to guess, his chains probably didn’t even allow him to cross the edge of it, even if he wanted to.

“I suppose you and I have a different definition about lying then, Samael,” Delilah said, drawing out the last word.

“Don’t call me that,” Lucifer snapped.

“Why not? It’s your real name, isn’t it? This Lucifer persona you seem to have adopted…it’s a mask to hide behind.”

“No more than the one you wear while playing doctor.”

Delilah smiled. “It’s Hollywood. Everyone has their roles to play. But I at least know that my mask is just that – a mask. You…” her lip curled upwards in a sneer. “You seem to believe that this is the real you. This…simpering, wannabe human, who runs around the city solving crimes and trying to pretend that you’re someone else.”

“I didn’t change who I was. The only thing I can agree with you on is that yes, as much as I loathe to admit it – I am my Father’s son. I am as I was created,” Lucifer growled. “This isn’t a mask, or some alternate personality – this is me. So sorry I don’t live up to expectations.”

“You’ve let yourself be blinded,” Delilah said. “You’ve been playing pretend so long you forgot what you really are.”

Lucifer banged his head against the wall. “It’s like talking to Amenadiel…listen up, you amoral twat waffle. Samael is long gone. That’s not me anymore. And even if I was, what could you possibly want from him? You think the Devil is wrathful? I just let you talking monkeys punish yourselves. I didn’t create Hell. I didn’t send you there. But Samael? God’s Poison? You think you want that part of me back? What in the bloody Hell for?”

Delilah didn’t say anything, simply standing quietly with her arms folded in front of her, looking expectant, as if she expected him to drop his ‘act’.

Lucifer pushed himself to his feet, and was grateful he managed to stand upright without tilting, carefully stalking towards the barrier line of the seal, his chains dragging behind him. “Didn’t you ever wonder at the name, Samael? Names have meaning when they come from my Father. Samael wasn’t just the Angel of Death, he was…” Lucifer struggled to come up with a word that could describe what he’d been like those many years ago. The misery and suffering that he was responsible for along with his brothers. “Cruel in a way humans can’t understand. You think Death is unfair now – when he simply ferries souls from one place to another.”

He let his forehead thunk against the barrier, resting it there as he willed the world to stop its slow spin around him. “I wasn’t an impartial executioner. You think I could what, be a weapon? I was a punisher. A wicked angel who delighted in what he did. I am the reason you humans are still afraid of the dark.”

Instead of recoiling, instead of understanding just why what she wanted was a terrible idea, Delilah smiled – a wide, empty smile with empty eyes, and stood herself on tiptoes to whisper in his ear: “I know.”

Chapter Text

“You can’t know, or you would realize how incredibly stupid whatever plan you have is,” Lucifer snapped, and without thinking, hit the barrier with his closed fist.

In fairness, he’d been aiming for Delilah, but she was faster than he gave her credit for and she was back on her protected side. Instead of breaking her cheek bone like he wanted, his fist landed millimeters from her face, stopped by the warding.

Delilah raised a delicate brow. “And what, exactly, do you think my plan is? What part of this do you think I don’t understand?”

Lucifer took a step back in his unbearably small cell, allowing some slack in the chains as he tapped a finger to his lips in mock contemplation. “Oh, I don’t know…perhaps you seek what a lot of people desire – one of God’s perfect killing machines at your beck and call. Which, by the way, you have the wrong man, if that’s your concern. Death is the official Reaper of Souls now. All of our nasty little purposes were created into Horsemen when my Father took them from us.”

Delilah folded her arms across her chest, head tilted to one side as she studied him through gray eyes. There was something…off about her. He couldn’t get a read on her, and it wasn’t because of whatever she gave him. Most people had a certain…vibe to them, for lack of a better word.

She felt like the crime scene he’d stumbled upon by himself while out for a drive. A roiling black sickness in the air around her that reminded him of the Souls in Hell.

No, that wasn’t accurate either.

She reminded him of Maze.

Or at least, the rest of her kind. So empty and hollow that all of the hurt in the world couldn’t begin to fill that void.  

 “You really think I’m arrogant enough to think I can control the Angel of Death? An Archangel? I’m not sure if I’m flattered or insulted,” Delilah said. “You think I’m stupid enough to even try?” She gestured to the small room. “Do you have any idea of the warding required to keep just a piece of you hidden? I had to go through four hundred years of Californian history to find a place with enough residual spiritual energy that could manage to hide your presence for even a few weeks. I would never be able to sustain it.”

Lucifer threw up his hands in frustration, clanking the chain links together. “Then what? I hate guessing games, so get on with it! You want to kill the Devil? Think that will eliminate evil in this world? Did I somehow wrong you personally, and this is some sort of revenge trip?”

Delilah’s unblinking gaze met his, and Lucifer fought the urge to shudder. There was nothing behind those eyes. Not even a shred of evidence that there ever was. “Nothing so dramatic. I want you to do your job.”

“Amenadiel is currently on the throne of Hell. Any customer service complaints will have to be brought to new management,” Lucifer quipped. “Though I hear Remiel has been known to hold the fort while Amenadiel is topside with the rest of us.”

Delilah’s eye twitched, and he could tell she was losing patience, but bloody hell, so was he.

“Did I mention Hell? Did I mention I wanted you to go back there? Did I?” Delilah said. “This is about Samael. This is about the ruler of the fifth Heaven, not the Lord of Hell.”

“Not possible,” Lucifer growled, pacing back towards the wall, spinning on one foot and falling back against it with his arms folded defiantly.

“And why not?” Delilah demanded.

“Several dozen reasons come to mind, but namely because I don’t want to. For all of the suffering endured for choosing free will over all the powers of the Heavenly Host, I get to say no,” Lucifer snarled. “And just in case you missed it – no.”

“Why not?” Delilah shouted, so abruptly and so loudly Lucifer almost jumped. “Isn’t this,” she gestured wildly towards Lucifer. “Exhausting? Pretending for years, for damned millennia to be something you’re not? To feel something you don’t? Isn’t it maddening? You were designed by a divine hand for a divine purpose!”

Lucifer’s temper flared, and he knew his nastier side flickered into existence. “You cannot make someone do something they don’t want to do!” he shouted back. “Thus the basis of free fucking will!”

“You don’t want to?” Delilah said, ignoring Lucifer’s temper. He hadn’t expected it to have any effect on her, not if she knew what he was, but he wasn’t the most even tempered creature. Especially on the subject of freewill. “I find that hard to believe. You’re still doing it, even if you hide your face and cower under the pretense that your Father makes you a torturer. Is that really what you are? A puppet in the Divine Comedy?”

“Nobody chooses to be a torturer,” Lucifer snapped. “Nobody chooses to be the villain. No one chooses to be a Sin Eater.”

“And yet here you are on Earth,” Delilah said. She suddenly smiled. “Running around with your Detectives, solving crimes and punishing those who commit them. You didn’t change at all. All you did was change locale.”

“That’s different,” Lucifer protested.

“Really?” Delilah said, clearly disbelieving. “What was it that Samael did that you do not? All he did was carry out punishment on Earth. When you became Lucifer, you just waited for them to come to you, and you let them punish themselves. But apparently that wasn’t enough for you, because you left, came here, and did exactly what you did as Samael.”

Lucifer faltered. No he didn’t. Did he? Is that what people thought?

“Hit a nerve, did I?” Delilah purred. “You know that in Talmudic lore, and in Gnostic legend, Samael carried out temptation in the name of God? Whispered in Eve’s ear to take the Apple. Stole Adam’s first wife and made her the mother of monsters. The modern equivalent, one might argue, would be to offer a place where mortals could indulge in Sin and be told that it was acceptable, and even good. Perhaps a place like a night club, one with a reputation of ‘anything goes’?”

That made Lucifer bristle. He didn’t need anyone to recite his personal history to him, he was there. Especially not if they were going to get the damned story wrong again. “You’re getting it wrong, again. I have no control over what people do or do not do. You humans are acting like I advocate murder and rape and pedophilia and every other sin you’ve dreamt up in the past thousands of years. How many times do I have to tell you I’m not evil, I punish evil!” he shouted, abandoning any pretense of being disinterested in the woman’s ranting. He’d spent thousands of years taking the blame for them and their stupidity. “You think I want you to commit sin? That I want you to wind up in Hell? What for? I hate it there, and I wouldn’t have to be there if it weren’t for people like you. 

“Exactly my point,” Delilah said, smiling. “You’re not evil. Never have been. Death is the high cost of living, and death isn’t a punishment. Otherwise there wouldn’t be such a phrase as ‘only the good die young.’ I’m not asking you to go against your nature. I’m asking you to stop fighting it. You’re still punishing people, aren’t you? I just want a little less restraint, a little less ‘let the law decide’. Is that really so against your newfound sense of morals? Bad people deserve punishment.”

“Yes, you idiot, and they get it,” Lucifer seethed. “In Hell.”

Delilah clenched her hands into fists, and he could see the angry flush of pink in her cheeks. This was like arguing with Michael. Or worse, his Father. Nothing but endless circles until it eventually came to blows.

“It was only that way because people were actually atoning for their sins on Earth,” Delilah spat. “People were afraid of your Father. They were afraid of Divine Justice because they actually believed in it. Threat of punishment only works if they think you’re going to do it. No one believes anymore. Not in you, not in your Father, not even in something as basic as good and evil. Everyone thinks they can just run around and do whatever the bloody hell they want because they want to and that’s good enough for them. Sodom and Gomorrah weren’t even half as bad and they were razed to the ground in righteous fire. Eve at an apple and was cast out of Paradise for eternity. God slaughtered all the first born sons of Egypt in one night. And you’re telling me that today, right now, we don’t deserve worse?”

“You seem to know only the parts of the story that fit your narrative,” Lucifer snapped. “You’re also missing the part where my Father, in a show of mercy, promised not to send plagues and wide spread destruction upon the Earth – and not only did He promise it then, He made it between every generation to follow. God does not go back on His word.”

Delilah suddenly screamed in frustration, whirling and slamming her hand into the wall of the crypt. “What is wrong with you?” she shouted, the perfect mask of indifference gone, replaced by apoplectic rage. She slammed her fist again into the wall, and a bright spurt of blood splashed across the mildewed stones. “You committed more horrific acts at your Father’s side than you ever did beneath His heel. If God so loved you then, how could you say He does not prefer Samael to Lucifer? His Poisonous One to His Son of the Morning? Samael the Serpent wasn’t cast out, it was His Light Bringer! If God makes no mistakes, then how do you fit into this? Was He wrong to create you the way He did?”

“My Father has nothing to do with how I am!” Lucifer shouted back. “You ignorant bitch, He didn’t make me this way, I did! This is what I chose! I wanted free will and He gave it to me and I chose not to be His Sword! Just like I choose not to be the Archangel of Death, and I choose not to be the King of Hell!”

Delilah’s lips pulled back in a snarl, any trace of humanity gone from her features. If he didn’t know better, he would’ve thought she was something escaped from The Pit.

“Fine,” she growled, in a voice that made his skin crawl. “If that’s all the difference between you and Samael, I’ll fix that easily enough.”

She held her bleeding hand in front of her, the skin across her knuckles raggedly torn and split almost to the bone. Bright red blood welled from the damaged flesh as she squeezed her hand shut, and blood splattered onto the ground at her feet.

“Adiuro vos hic et nunc. Nunquam liberentur, utcunque non minime,” she hissed and in a moment of clarity that was too late to be of any use, Lucifer remembered the blood sigils.

She knew blood magic. She knew how, and she was physically capable of it.

“No!” he shouted, charging forwards only to be brought up short by the chains and the barrier.

“Adiuro vos hic et nunc. Nunquam liberentur, utcunque non minime,” she repeated, louder this time. As she chanted, she drew a finger through the blood pooling in her palm, creating the runic R shaped binding sigil. “Adiuro vos hic et nunc. Nunquam liberentur, utcunque non minime.”

“You don’t understand what you’re doing!” Lucifer yelled, pounding on the barrier with enough force he felt his bones crack.

Come on, Dad, if ever there was a time to make yourself known… he cursed as he hit the barrier again. This time, he felt the warding give just a fraction. Delilah said she knew it wasn’t strong enough to hold him for long, and but it was still going to be long enough. He hit it again the same place, felt his bones give beneath the skin even as the warding flickered.

“Adiuro vos hic et nunc. Nunquam liberentur, utcunque non minime,” Delilah shouted, and just as the barrier gave way, she lunged forwards – blood covered hand outstretched – and with the wet sound of tearing skin and splintering bone, tore through his chest like a knife.

He couldn’t even scream.

“So the Devil does have a heart,” Delilah snarled, clenching her fist around it. “Is this the heart your Father gave you?” She squeezed violently. “Or was it that Detective of yours?”

Lucifer couldn’t even breathe. Couldn’t think. The entire world faded out of existence.

“No matter,” Delilah said, her voice far away and all around him. “I need the Angel of Death, and if this is what keeps him from me, then I shall bind it from you!”

A vicelike grip that wasn’t Delilah’s seized his heart, and Lucifer threw his head back – he might’ve screamed, he didn’t know. All he could hear was the roar of blood in his ears, and felt himself falling.

“I don’t care what delusions and lies you’ve told yourself, Samael. You are the Serpent, the Accuser, and the Destroyer!  The Beast of the Pit is what I seek, and that is what I shall have, even if I have to unmake you myself! Adiuro vos hic et nunc. Nunquam liberentur, utcunque non minime!”

)*)*)*)*)*)*)*)*

Delilah imagined iron manacles encircling his heart until it could no longer beat, blood pooling around her as it soaked into the knees of her pants as she kneeled over her fallen angel.

Lucifer threw his head back, arching off the ground in a seizure, bent, pushing against the ground with his heels and neck, a howl of agony and loss so startlingly human Delilah almost believed it hadn’t worked. But as it went on, the pitch and the volume changed, and what began as a human cry of pain became the roar of the Beast, the anger reverberating off the nothingness and making the very earth move. And just as suddenly as it started, it was over, and Lucifer went limp, his body collapsing like a marionette whose strings were severed.

His fingers relaxed, curling gently over his palms, and his eyes slowly opened. For a moment, the brown lingered, before slowly fading to matte black, as if the ocean was evaporating leaving nothing behind but ancient and total darkness.

Delilah felt herself smile, brushing a stray strand of blonde hair behind her ear, ignoring the smear of blood across her face. “There you are, Samael. I knew you were in there somewhere.”

Chapter Text

Samael blinked, eyes adjusting rapidly to the dimness of the crypt. The familiar smell of copper and iron was a welcome one, even if it was his own, and he inhaled deeply.

"Samael?" the woman asked, sounding unsure despite the confidence she'd exuded when she'd torn through his chest.

He pushed himself up on his elbows, ignoring the pool of rapidly cooling blood beneath him. It was of little concern to him, outside of ruining his clothes. He held his hand up, noting the play of light across the glistening crimson sheen across his skin. Everything felt strangely…detached. Like he was here, but he was somewhere else, too.

The second odd thing was how very loud it was. He could hear her blood in her veins, her rabbit quick heartbeat, even her shallow breaths of air. Or perhaps his hearing was finally back to normal, instead of muffled like it had been like the rest of his senses. Everything seemed brighter, more vivid, more…real than it had in what felt like eons.

Just how much of himself had he started to lose?

"Samael?" the woman asked again, sounding less sure than she had before.

He rolled his eyes, finally looking up at her where she stood near the door, obviously prepared to run away if this didn't go as she planned.

"What?" he demanded, before coughing to clear his throat. His voice even sounded different.

The woman's face lit up in a smile, and Samael got the sense she had to physically restrain herself from trying to hug him.

Oh that she would come that close…

His fingers flexed reflexively, imagining crushing that windpipe with a satisfying crunch.

"It is you," the woman said, and Samael tried to remember her name. He'd had it – at least, he thought he did. It was one of those strange, fleeting thoughts that didn't really seem his own.

He pushed himself to his feet, testing the chains around his wrists as he stood, noting the Enochian sigils etched into the cuffs. She even was smart enough to put the binding rune on them, which explained how he couldn't escape.

Yet.

"My Lord Samael," the woman – Delilah – said, dropping to her knees in front of him.

"Don't do that," Samael sneered, slapping her grasping hands away from him. "That's revolting."

Delilah bobbed her head, as if she understood his disgust even though he knew it was a lie.

"I'm sorry," she apologized again, and before she could say another word, he thrust his wrists out to her.

"If you're truly sorry, unbind me," he growled. "Now."

"Yes, of course…I'm sorry, it was just that – I had to know it was you."

As she fumbled in the locks, Samael leaned in abruptly, so quick she actually dropped the key and it clattered against the stone floor.

"Interesting," he rumbled, and grabbed her by her shirt front as he pulled her closer. He tasted the air around her, the familiar tang of fear thick. "You weren't afraid of me before."

Delilah tried to break his grip, but he only tightened his fingers further, his nails scraping at her skin beneath the clothes.

"Am I not all that you expected?" Samael asked. "Am I not what you wanted?"

"N-no," the woman stuttered, and he could see her knees shaking. "It's just – just….I didn't understand."

Samael laughed at that, and released her. She dropped to the floor, her eyes downcast even as her shoulders shook. "Didn't think the writings about how people trembled before the wrath of God were true, did you? That perhaps the reason why you pathetic creatures were in awe of us was because we inspired it?"

"Lucifer didn't-" she began, but she didn't have a chance to finish. He formed a fist with his hand, imagining her air supply being cut off as she gagged, fingers scrabbling uselessly against his invisible grip.

"Do not speak that name," he snarled. "Lucifer was weak. Lucifer was broken and fragile and wrong."

A pathetic creature, created by his Father in a moment of weakness of His own.

"I'm sorry," Delilah gasped, her lips turning blue.

It wasn't pity that moved him to release her. No, it was something much less…human. She was valuable for the moment, keys aside.

"You said you had them," Samael demanded, releasing her. "Somewhere in this church is something you stole from me."

Delilah choked and sputtered, a shaking hand reaching for the key as she undid his chains.

"It was necessary," she said. "I needed them so people could see. So they could know."

Samael ignored her, flexing his wrists as the chains fell away, watching as the bruising underneath healed before his eyes. His lesser half really was fragile, wasn't he? One could hardly expect anything less when lopping off a divine part of oneself, but really…this bordered on suicidally stupid.

On the other hand, the woman had put him through the ringer as of late. Even if he had his wings, that exorcism would've been less than pleasant.

"I don't care about your excuses, insect," Samael spat. "Bring me to them. Now."

"I can't move them on my own – it will be easier to bring you to them," Delilah said hesitantly. "The others are waiting for you."

Chloe was ready to pull her hair out by the roots. Delilah Rogers, which surprisingly enough was the woman's real name, had all but vanished in the last twenty-four hours. The last time anyone had seen her, she was getting into her car to return to the city from Three Rivers, just like she did every weekend, and somewhere between the camp and Los Angeles, her car disappeared.

They could track it for a while on the traffic cams on the highway – Three Rivers was so far out in the middle of nowhere it was easy to find the white sedan traveling amongst the other vehicles on the road. And then – poof. Like magic, the car was on one traffic camera, and then never reappeared on the next one. They could guess at the off ramp she took, but it was rural enough that they couldn't narrow it down enough for a solid lead, and there were no other cameras because the back roads didn't have enough traffic to warrant them.

The preacher, Anwar, didn't have any other information about her. No idea where she spent her time when she wasn't at the compound, he could offer little in the way of help, other than to promise to call if she showed up again.

Rogers's apartment was also of no help, and clearly only a place for her to have her mail sent, and to sleep. She didn't even have dishes, and her bed was little more than a cot. All she had in the way of personal mementos were pictures of her and her patients in the various countries she'd been to, piled next to the bed in a neat stack.

Nothing to suggest a religious cult. Nothing even close to being religious at all – no Bibles, no books of lore, no crosses on the wall, rosaries at the bedside, or even a prayer card on the fridge.

Twenty-four hours, and she didn't know if her closest friend and partner was even dead or alive.

A hand touched lightly on her shoulder, and she almost jumped out of her skin, turning to take a swing at the person behind her.

"Dan?" she demanded angrily, not quite ready to put her fist down. He'd vanished hours ago with Maze, with an incredibly cryptic message of going to talk with Lucifer's brothers. He wouldn't even tell her how the hell he knew how to contact Lucifer's family, considering on paper the man was still only in existence for the past five years. "What the hell? Where have you been?"

She frowned when she actually stopped to really look at him.

Dan was about as transparent as glare ice – he was awful at undercover work for just that reason. Their marriage hadn't fallen apart over lies like every one of her female coworkers seemed to think – Dan wasn't capable of it. And right now, it looked like he'd just stared into the abyss…and saw something staring back.

"Are you okay?" she asked, lowering her arm. "You look…"

"A little shell shocked?" Dan said, his right eye twitching. "Yeah, yeah you could say that. I'm having…a very, very strange day, and I might need to take a drug test. But…I found Lucifer's brothers."

Chloe perked up at that, crossing her arms in front of her as she sat on the edge of her desk. "Seriously? How?"

Dan's eye twitched again, and he rubbed at it as he chuckled nervously. No, not nervously. Disbelieving? Bordering hysterical? Somewhere closer to that.

"So fun story," Dan said, clapping his hands together and glancing around the bullpen. It was late – most of the other detectives had gone home, and night shift was primarily patrol. The few working Lucifer's case were still at Lux or somewhere in the building trying to catch a few winks before going back to the grindstone. "I think I've lost my mind. It sure feels like it, anyway. But yeah…I met his brothers. Two of the four, anyway, but I already knew Gabriel because we met at the hospital when I had to take Lucifer. Gabriel wasn't half bad, you know? Kinda goofy. Looked a little like a beach bum version of that pirate on the live action Disney show you watch with Trixie on Sundays. I liked him."

"Wait, seriously?" Chloe protested, putting her hand on Dan's as he was clearly wired. "You've actually met his brother, and his name is really Gabriel?"

Just how far did Lucifer's family take this religious alter ego stuff? Had his dad actually renamed himself God? Or Yahweh, or something else equally ridiculous? Were all of Lucifer's siblings named after religious figures?

Dan nodded his head vigorously. "Mmhmm….there's even a Michael," he said, putting his steepled fingers up to his lips. "Did you know angels have different effects on people?"

Chloe raised an eyebrow. "Uh…no?"

Dan closed his eyes, abruptly nodding again, looking like a bobble head. "Yep. All of them. Some of them are worse than others. Gabriel is apparently kid friendly, being the Messenger and all that. But Michael? Michael?"

Now she was beginning to worry. Dan was acting like he'd straight up swallowed a week's worth of espresso. Or possibly shot up on meth, considering the topic of conversation.

"Dan, take a breath," she ordered, and waited until he did. "Start from the beginning. What the hell happened?"

There was that twitch again.

"It's not really something I can tell you," he said cautiously, taking a shuddering breath. She wasn't sure if he was completely freaking out, or if he was…giddy. Simultaneously happy and terrified, which made even less sense than him being on drugs.

"Okay then, can you…write it down?" she suggested, and glanced around for pen and paper.

"I really think it's just better if I show you," Dan said, voice suspiciously high pitched.

Now this would be interesting.

She nodded, fixing her expression to carefully neutral as if she was heading into interrogation. "Okay. That works too. Where are we going?"

Dan shook his head, and this time, it was a straight up giggle that escaped his lips, even as his cheeks turned bright pink from embarrassment. "Nowhere. They'll come here."

"All right…we can go greet them at the front desk," she said, turning around to lock her computer when there was a sudden gust of wind, like someone left a window open in a hurricane, and her papers and files went flying, scattering across the bullpen.

"Dammit," she cursed, and when she turned back to Dan, she jumped again, banging the back of her legs against her desk and almost falling back over the other side like a cartoon.

Two men stood flanking Dan that had most certainly not been there point two seconds ago.

"What the…"

"Don't say it," the one to the left cautioned, holding up a hand. He had to be Gabriel. He looked a lot like Lucifer, and Dan was obviously right about them being family. They had the same color hair, though Gabriel's was slightly longer and a far cry from Lucifer's normally pristine appearance. Same dark eyes and narrow features, but Gabriel was a bit shorter – actually, a lot shorter - than Lucifer. He was only a few inches taller than she was. His skin was tanned from the California sun, his Los Angeles Angels raglan shirt seeming like a strange sort of joke considering what Dan was claiming he was. Stranger still were the cargo shorts and bare feet covered in sand in the middle of a police department bullpen.

"Gabriel?" she hazarded, and he smiled brilliantly. Holy crap – he even had the same smile as Lucifer.

"The one and only," he said cheerfully, waggling his fingers at her in greeting. His accent wasn't quite the same as Lucifer's, though, which she thought was strange, if they grew up together. Lucifer sounded like upscale London – Gabriel sounded more like Boston Irish than proper English.

Her gaze slid to the other man, who Dan was subtly trying to step away from as though he was afraid of him.

There was something…off about Michael. Something…ancient. He was taller than Lucifer, but not by much, and where Lucifer and Gabriel shared dark features, Michael was almost dirty blonde, hair shot through with gray and the palest amber eyes Chloe had ever seen. A long, thin red line of scar tissue cut across his face, stretching from just above his left eyebrow, across the bridge of his nose, and down to the corner to his lips. He stood ramrod straight, shoulders back like a soldier standing at attention, and unlike Gabriel who looked perfectly at ease standing there, Michael had a look like he would rather be anywhere but here.

And not like most people who were in the precinct – that sort of unsettled discomfort that even people who hadn't done anything wrong seemed to feel. Michael looked like he was trying not to curl his lip in disgust.

Unlike Gabriel who looked like he'd just wandered off the boardwalk, Michael looked like he was either a movie version of an international hitman or a stylistically updated Johnny Cash. Head to toe in black, from his leather jacket to his boots, Michael gave off the exact opposite impression of Gabriel…or even Lucifer. She doubted anyone would purposely want to interact with Michael.

Actually…

"Do I know you?" Chloe asked, curiosity getting the better of her. There was something strangely familiar about the man, even though she knew she'd never seen him before.

"In a manner of speaking," Michael rumbled, and Chloe almost did a double take. Considerably deeper than either of his brothers', Michael's accent wasn't even remotely close to the same. It didn't even sound like English was his first language – more like his third or fourth. He sounded like her father's grandfather, actually – who came from somewhere like Norway or Denmark.

"This is Michael," Dan said, and Chloe noted he'd managed to shift entirely to Gabriel's other side, edging further away from the two of them.

She wasn't entirely sure why Dan seemed to be wigging out over Michael – he was intimidating, sure. Especially the way he towered over the three of them, looking like he would be much more at ease on a battlefield than an office. But Dan had been an officer even longer than she had. They'd dealt with suspects twice his size on a 'roid rage bender, people actively trying to shoot them, and everything in between and not once had he reacted like he was now.

"Did you do something to him?" she demanded, gesturing towards her ex.

Michael smiled – at least, she thought it was a smile. The scar pulled at his lip and made it more of a sneer, but he seemed more amused than annoyed. "No, Detective, I did not. I tend to have that effect on people with a guilty conscience." His pale eyes slid over to Dan who was looking everywhere but at Michael. "I have tried explaining to him I do not pass judgement, but he remains…unconvinced."

Guilty conscience?

As if hearing her thoughts, Michael shook his head. "It is nothing bad. Guilt can be a good thing. It causes you to change your actions, to think about them in the future before reacting the same way in different circumstances. Daniel is someone who is struggling between guilt and justice, and I think it is causing distress."

"You're Lucifer's brothers?" Chloe asked skeptically. "I mean, I can see the family resemblance between Gabriel and Lucifer, but…you don't much look like them. And none of you sound the same. What, were your parents missionaries? Militants? Gypsies?"

Michael glanced over at Gabriel who responded like Michael had actually posed a question.

"She's talking about our accents," Gabriel clarified. He looked back to Chloe and offered a winning grin. "Humans don't process our language as we speak it – they hear a heavily accented version of their own. The accent gets thicker the less familiar we are with human language. Lucifer and I spend a fair amount of time with people, that's why ours sounds the way it does. Michael doesn't, so his is harsher."

"So…you're like the TARDIS?" she asked, raising a disbelieving eyebrow.

Michael stared at her like she was speaking in tongues before looking back to his brother, clearly waiting for an explanation.

"It's from a TV show," Gabriel said. "Alien spaceship translates everything within earshot to explain why aliens and different species all speak English."

"Then yes," Michael agreed, completely straight faced. "We are like the TARDIS."

Chloe would love to meet the people who raised these men. She wasn't sure if she wanted to slap them or lecture them.

"We're here to help you find our brother," Michael said, clasping his hands behind his back. "Your perspective is limited and hindering what help you would otherwise be."

"And how do you propose to help with that?" Chloe asked. "Do you have some sort of connection with the cult that likely took him? Some sort of network that we don't know about? Not even his bartender, who I swear is part bloodhound when it comes to him, seems to be able to find him. Or anything about the Cult of Samael."

That seemed to get Michael's attention. "Cult of Samael? There is no such thing."

Odd. That was exactly what Lucifer's reaction had been.

"Well, maybe not before, but there sure as hell seems to be one now," she replied. "The woman we're looking for, Delilah Rogers, we think she built it specifically towards your brother."

Dan had managed to edge his way to her side, and now that he wasn't next to Michael, seemed to be less manic and giddy. "There's been several murders we think linked to her and Lucifer – all with the name Samael, and only starting up since your brother's appearance in LA. It's like she knew when to start looking, but didn't have much of an idea beyond that. Lucifer and Maze seemed to think she wasn't interested in him as Lucifer, but some other alternate…personality…of his. Samael. And from Lucifer told me, that's bad."

Michael frowned. "Depends on your perspective. Samael was in the middle of trying to incite the apocalypse."

"I would call that bad," Dan deadpanned.

Michael cocked his head to the side, and Chloe was struck by how much he reminded her of a bird. It was that same look of indignant ruffled feathers Lucifer always gave her when she jokingly accused him of something.

"It depends on perspective," Michael repeated. "You are familiar with our story, yes? The floods, the plagues…"

He was talking about Biblical history, Chloe realized. She fought the urge to scream or facepalm. How much help were Lucifer's siblings going to be if they had the same problem with reality?

Dan apparently nodded, and Michael didn't notice her irritation, because he kept going.

"The apocalypse is ultimately a good thing – all of the bad, wiped out, and there will be paradise on Earth as it is in Heaven."

"That's the Cliffnotes version," Gabriel piped in. "But you get the idea – lots of people die, but in the end, the good is what's left. You can see how it's not really something you want to push ahead of its time."

"So Biblical metaphors aside," Chloe interrupted, holding up her hand. "What would this woman want with Lucifer? Or Samael? Obviously he's not going to cause the apocalypse, not really. He's just a regular guy who…pretends to be something else. Something supernatural. But he bleeds, he breathes, he…lives just like any other human being. And eventually this woman is going to figure that out, and she's going to do the same thing she's done to her other victims, and she's going to kill him."

Michael's eyes widened in alarm, shooting another one of those looks that spoke a thousand words to his brother. "She does not know?"

Gabriel shrugged. "I've never actually met her before. I know Lucifer has told her a bunch of times, but apparently…" he shrugged again. "She doesn't believe him."

"You mean about him being the Devil?" Chloe demanded. "No, no I don't. Why? Because it's ridiculous. The Devil is supposed to be this…this threat hanging over people, like that's the boogeyman coming to get you if you do bad things. Lucifer is…" she struggled for the right word, because she had never tried to describe Lucifer to anyone. Not the way he made her feel, not what she saw in him, not how he looked at her with that incredulous amazement whenever she told him she valued him – as a friend, a partner, or otherwise – or how it broke her heart every time because it meant he'd never heard anyone say it to him before.

"He's kind," she finally said. "And I don't mean that he's nice and friendly and this great person because he's not – he's actually usually a jerk. But he behaves like that because that's what people think he should do. But when he's not pretending, when he's not screwing around and playing the part he thinks he has, when he makes his own choices…"

"He makes the right ones?" Michael said quietly.

"Yeah," she said. "And that doesn't sound like the Devil. That doesn't sound like evil."

"That is because he is not," Michael said. "I am sure you have heard him say it – he is not evil. Lucifer punishes evil. In way, that is also what Samael did. But Detective…I need you to believe. Lucifer needs you to believe. Not that he is the Devil – but that he is something more than human. That there is much more to this than what you ever thought possible."

"That's not how belief works," Chloe said, shaking her head. "You can't just tell someone to believe something and…expect them to magically believe in it."

Michael nodded, one quick decisive movement, and unclasped his hands, moving his arms to his sides. "You are quite right, Detective. Which is why I am going to show you."

"Wait," Dan protested, holding up his hand. "Lucifer said your true forms would inspire madness. That people weren't meant to see you like that."

Gabriel agreed. "He's right. But we're not going to show you everything that we are. Just…enough."

"Enough for what?"

"For you to believe," Michael said.

And with that, he held his arms wide, and like an enormous eagle – great, brilliant white wings unfolded from his back. They moved slowly, stretching out until the white tips almost touched either side of the bullpen, spanning almost thirty feet from end to end.

Chloe put her hand to her lips, stifling the gasp – or possibly a scream – she could feel threatening to come out.

Because those were impossible wings.

And they looked almost identical to the ones at the religious artifact auction. The ones Lucifer claimed were fakes and would fool anyone but the real owner.

"Holy…" she breathed through her fingers, staring unblinking at the massive wings, undeniably real and right before her very eyes.

"Very," Gabriel said, offering a hesitant smile.

"Fuck."

Chapter Text

Samael allowed the woman to lead him through the dark, rotting innards of the church, stepping much too close to her heels so that she almost had to run to keep from being trod on.

He cared little for the 'others' she was prattling on about – worshipers, fans, whatever she wanted to call them. Nuisances was a much more appropriate description.

She was right about one thing, though, and as much as he was loathe to give her credit for anything, he had to hand it to her. She wasn't lying when she said that this church's history was tragic.

He dragged his fingers along the charred and ruined walls, leaving long lines in the ash and soot, listening to the horrors that took place here so many years ago. It was a massacre. Not once, but three times, on three separate occasions, decades apart. The Tongva people against the Spanish started it all…he could hear the echo of their bones beneath the earth.

The most recent deaths cried the loudest – resonating within the very walls themselves as the nuns and their Spanish flu patients were burned alive to ward off the sickness that threatened the rest of the village.

And now he could hear the heavy beating hearts of those who came to worship at the altar of Death itself, uncomprehending of what forces they were dealing with.

Oh, how he loved people…

Or was it loathed?

Little difference.

Delilah almost tripped over herself in order to open the door for him and he didn't bother to even look at her as he passed.

The stairs exited at the transept, just to the left of the altar and Samael immediately looked up, pausing for a moment as he stared at the night sky through the burned out hole of the roof. He half expected a bolt of lightning, but the skies remained clear and dark – the moonlight trickling through the gaps in the rafters as though the church was meant to be without a roof. Nothing between the Earth and Heaven except a breath of air.

It was beautiful.

"Is that him?" someone whispered in the darkened nave.

"It must be him," came the hissed reply as more voices rose from the shadows, overlapping and growing louder as they clamored over one another, fingers scraping in the dirt beneath their feet, pulling at each other's skin as they pushed one another aside.

"My brothers and sisters," Delilah called, voice surprisingly steady as she forced it above the others. "Our mission is complete! Before you stands Samael, Ruler of the Fifth Heaven…God's most favored Son and Lord of the Dead."

The wave of people that filled the nave fell to their knees, hands clasped together as if their prayers had been answered, the occasional 'praise be to Him!' and other praises floating up from the crowd.

Samael rolled his eyes and fought the urge to vomit. Always with the theatrics, people. They didn't hold his attention for more than a moment, however, because in the middle of the apse where the altar was the object of his desire.

His beloved wings, mounted on the wall with all the care a hunter showed a prized trophy. The white of them seemed to glow in the dimmed candlelight of the church, illuminated by the moon and their own divinity.

How could he have ever thought to sever them? When did he decide suffering was the path to spite his Father?

In three quick strides, he stood before them, fingers splayed out towards the downy white, almost afraid to touch them and find out they were a lie – just like before.

"We took them from the auctioneer," Delilah said quietly. "He begged us not to. Told us he couldn't live without them." She paused for a moment. "We made sure he didn't have to."

Samael traced one of the long secondary feathers with a finger.

"They have that effect on people," he said. He cast a sidelong look at the woman, who stood staring at the wings, a familiar light of madness starting to flicker in her dead eyes. "But obviously you know that."

"I would have returned them sooner," she said, "had you only accepted my invitations. But I needed to make sure you weren't a fraud like the others."

Samael felt the familiar well of rage starting to form as he bit out his reply. "Oh yes, quite thoughtful of you. Try to kill me in the name of helping me. Sounds familiar, actually."

The argument was an old one. You only hurt the ones you love.

If ever there was a reason to stab Michael in the heart…

"That's not –"

"Shut up," he snapped, and her mouth immediately clacked shut. "I know perfectly well what you were using them for. Using a gift from my Father as a party trick to amass followers for your ridiculous crusade is more than insulting as you lying about doing so."

He turned back to the wings and reflexively rolled his shoulders at the memory of their comforting weight. "No matter. I'm taking them back."

"How do you-"

"What did I tell you?" he growled, pulling his lips back in a snarl. "Do not speak again, or I'll remove your lying tongue and feed it to your flock."

Delilah stepped back, her hand going to her mouth at the idea.

"Consider yourself one of the fortunate, human. You get to witness a miracle." Samael waved his hand, etching into the air before him a fiery figure eight, drawing a reverse hook through the middle of it. "Reversus est ad me," he commanded.

There was a gust of wind, and like a mirage in the desert, his wings slowly dissolved into the air like particles of sand and a cry of protest and dismay went up from the crowd.

The feeling of his flesh being restitched and remade, the crunch of bones and squelch of muscle made him stagger – he'd been so long without them he'd forgotten their weight, without their presence, it was almost like being struck by lightning. The surge of power that suddenly flooded through him was electrifying and as the wings reformed in their proper place and for the first time since he awoke he felt alive instead of half smothered under the pretense of humanity.

He felt whole.

He could hear the sharp intake from the crowd as if they were one, and he smiled to himself.

Vanity aside, witnessing the rebirth of an archangel was a miracle for the ages, and so far beyond the grasp of human perception he doubted they truly understood what they were seeing.

Samael shot a glance over to Delilah who was remarkably still standing, though judging by the wobble in her knees, it wouldn't be for long.

"Am I all that you imagined now?" he asked, holding his arms wide as he stretched his wings for the first time in ages.

Delilah nodded mutely.

He stepped forwards, dipping his head so that his lips grazed her ear as he spoke. "Then you have a very poor imagination," he whispered.

Samael stepped forwards, forcing her to step back.

"You thought your vision was beyond the scope of my Father. You had the arrogance to think that you understood the world better than He, better than us."

With every accusation, he forced her back a step until she was against the charred ruin of the wall.

"Had that been your only sin, I might not have cared. Far be it from me to judge against lack of perspective of my Father's creation. But you didn't seek me to right perceived wrongs, did you?" he growled.

Delilah remained silent, unwilling to meet his gaze, or even raise her head to try.

He slammed his fist into the wall next to her head, his entire hand going through the rotted wood and plaster.

"Did you?" he roared.

Delilah's head jerked away from him, but she didn't meet his eyes. He could hardly blame her.

"The moment you laid eyes on these wings, when you first realized that they were real and all that that knowledge entailed, you wanted some of it for yourself, didn't you?" he whispered, soothing. "You knew there were such things in creation deserving of worship, and you wanted to be one of them."

The woman shook, but she finally raised her head, finally meeting his gaze.

Strength of madness in the face of Death.

He almost liked her.

"Your crusade was a foolish one," Samael said, voice just loud enough for her to hear and no one else in the congregation. "It was an act of vanity and personal pride. And worse, you thought you could lie to me about it. Perhaps you repeated it so often you actually believed it but I can see, Delilah. I know what's in your heart. I know how you feel when you command and others obey. I know the way your heart beats at the sight of blood. How powerful you feel watching someone else's life fade away because of you. You thought yourself a god."

He pressed his forehead against hers, closing his eyes and cupping his hands to either side of her face.

"Allow me to show you what happens to false gods," he whispered. He touched his lips to her forehead, his fingers sliding along her neck.

In one quick movement, he pressed his fingers down and snapped her axis vertebrae, severing her spinal cord.

Her entire body went limp, but he didn't allow her to fall. He kept his bruising grip around her neck, holding her up like a ragdoll.

"I'm not going to kill you," he said pleasantly. "Though perhaps I should – it would be a mercy, gratitude for all that you've done. But you, Delilah Rogers…are deserving of no such consideration. You can live, bound as I was, reminded of the power you once had and are now deprived of. Your lying tongue cannot poison anyone else's mind."

He released her, and she dropped in a boneless heap to the floor, unable to do anything more than blink and breathe.

"I'm going to give you one last gift, Delilah," Samael said, turning his back on her and facing the congregation that stood with bated breath in the shadows.

"I'm going to give you the perspective of God," he said as he paused at the front of the church, moonlight casting onto his beautiful wings and making them shine. "By letting you watch as I make your beloved flock destroy themselves."

And with that, Samael allowed all of his hate, all of his anger and rage and desire to flood the congregation. The roiling black sickness seeped in through their skin, into their bones and into their hearts as their eyes flashed black as night.

"Tell me humans," he shouted above the crowd. "What is it you most desire?"

And the sea of people turned on one another like the animals he knew they were. Nails tore through skin, teeth clamped down on muscle and sinew and bones snapped like brittle twigs as the humans literally consumed one another.

Samael smiled to himself, inhaling deeply and savoring the taste of blood in the air. He supposed he should be grateful that so few mentions of him remained. Eliciting desire was such a bland term for what he did.

He controlled hunger. The darkest part of the human soul was his domain and he knew what to pull and what to push and how to make them bend and snap and tear themselves apart. Death was a mercy he bestowed upon the masses. His ability to take a life was not what earned him a place in the Pit.

It was the ability to make them destroy themselves in their pursuit of desire. He hardly needed to lift a finger – all he had to do was whisper in their ears, and they ripped each other apart.

Desire was a fluid thing. People often confused it with lust. But it was so much more than that. Power. Love. Hate. Hurt. It was the human spirit unconstrained.

It was what he loved about them. They were so eager to destroy each other, they happily destroyed themselves.

He stepped off the crossing, uncaring of the blood that pooled beneath his feet, ignoring the bodies as the fell to the floor.

No one touched him.

No one even noticed him.

With a spin on his heel, he pushed open the doors of the church, stepping out into the cool California desert night.

The skies were clear. Stars twinkled in the velvet darkness, barely visible with the full moon out in all its glory. The entirety of his Father's beloved creation lay before him, bathed in silvery moonlight bright as the sun. He could hear the beat of its corrupted, festering heart beneath his feet, hear the whispers of dark desire on the air.

"So much work to do," he muttered to himself, smiling happily. He stretched his arms, his wings expanding behind him as he unfurled them in their entirety for the first time in what felt like centuries.

He spared a glance skyward. "Dearest Father, have you no words for your beloved Fallen Star? Speak now, or forever hold your peace."

The heavens reverberated in silence. Not a sound from the Silver City.

"That's what I thought," he said. "You and I always did have an understanding."

And with a flap of his magnificent wings, he vanished into the night.

Chapter Text

Chloe stared in disbelief at the two men before her, one hand over her mouth.

Wings. Fucking wings. Wings the width and breath of the bullpen that were attached to the back of an otherwise normal looking human being.

Goddamn – God bless? – angel wings.

On angels.

Not even like lower tiered angels, like, oh – Muriel, the angel of June – and God only knew why she knew that one.

Nope.

Fucking Michael. And fucking Gabriel.

Fucking archangels.

Could she even swear about angels? Could they hear her thoughts? She thought of all the times she took the Lord's name in vain and wondered how bad she looked on paper to Saint Peter.

"Uh, Chloe?" Dan asked hesitantly.

Without turning away from Michael and Gabriel, she risked a glance over at him.

He didn't even look concerned. He didn't look even remotely shocked about the fact that bird people of Jesus Land were standing not six feet away from them. His earlier nervousness around Michael seemed to have gone, or at least tempered itself, and he looked calmer than he had before they even showed up.

Which meant that little shit knew.

"When?" she demanded, and Dan at least had the decency to look sheepish.

"Since right before the third victim showed up," he said wearily. "Lucifer didn't show me anything about himself – just Maze. Who, by the way, totally a demon, which admittedly, didn't shock me as much as it should've…"

She looked back at Michael, who folded his wings back to wherever it was that he hid them because they were not fitting underneath the contoured leather jacket and pants without some seriously questionable bulging.

"So you're telling me…everything Lucifer told me was true? Down to the last detail? No creative euphemisms or metaphors – he really was cast out of Heaven and made to rule Hell?" she asked quietly.

"Well, yeah-" Gabriel said reluctantly, looking mildly remorseful.

"All of it?" she pressed testily. "All of the stories he told me?"

"Presumably," Michael answered. "Lucifer makes it a point of honor never to lie."

"Oh," Chloe said calmly, nodding. "Okay."

A true testament to how well Dan knew her was the split second when he realized what she was about to do and launched himself backwards, out of arm's reach as she grabbed the closest thing she could get her hands on - which just so happened to be an umbrella – and solidly thrashed both angels upside the head.

"You two are asshats," she shouted, and took another swing at Michael. He at least had the sense to duck the second time around. "You mean to tell me that this entire time – when he was getting death threats, when people were coming after him and trying to kill him, you just what – sat on your fucking cloud and watched?"

Michael easily plucked the umbrella from her hands before she could hit either him or Gabriel again.

"I do not know what you think you know of our laws, or our abilities, but I assure you – we did not ignore our brother's plight," Michael growled, holding the umbrella out of her reach. "Without Lucifer's direct request, or our Father's permission, we could not interfere."

"Is that what you meant?" Dan asked Gabriel abruptly. "That day we met, when Lucifer asked for help?"

Gabriel frowned. "No. That's exactly the point. Lucifer didn't ask for help. All I said was we couldn't kill anyone – I didn't see we couldn't do anything. The only time Lucifer asked me to do anything was to check the Ledger for the names of Samael, and the second he did – I did exactly what he asked for."

Chloe wanted her umbrella back. Instead, she clenched her hands into fists, took a deep breath, and counted backwards from ten in her head. In German.

"Full disclosure. Now."

"We cannot interfere with Lucifer without express permission from him. Or, in the event he can no longer ask of his own accord, our Father can…" Michael snapped his fingers, struggling with the words and looked to Gabriel for help.

"Dad can override," Gabriel explained. "If Lucifer is unable to give permission for us to help him if he really needs it."

Chloe felt her eye twitch. "Lucifer is the least likely person on the planet to ask for help, point blank, in those words. You're trying to tell me that with all those cosmic powers, you can't help your brother when he needs it? No wonder he hated home."

Michael's face darkened, and she felt the temperature drop so fast it raised goosebumps across her arms. There was an electric tang to the air as if at any moment, a lightning storm was going to break out in the bullpen.

"Do. Not. Presume," he snarled, the ugly red scar pulling at his lips. "Lucifer has free will. A gift he demanded of our Father. It means we cannot interfere with him and whatever path he chooses, whether it be for ill or for good. Tell me, human, when you see someone make a poor decision, even having been cautioned against it, do you presume to hold them back? Physically stop them from going through their chosen course of action?"

Chloe bit her tongue at her immediate sarcastic retort because as much as she wanted to argue with Michael, he had a point. No, she wasn't going to physically stop someone from making bad choices. She didn't even do that with Trixie, even if she badly wanted to. She could only give advice and hope to hell she would listen to her.

While maybe it was unfair to tell Michael and Gabriel to do otherwise for Lucifer, she couldn't help it. Lucifer wouldn't ask for help because he had no reason to think he would get it. Trixie knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that if she asked either of her parents for help, she would have it in a heartbeat, and that made all the difference.

"So you know what's going on right now? You know where your brother is?" Chloe demanded. "What do you mean, unable? You mean he's dead? I thought people couldn't harm angels."

"Normally, you're right," Gabriel said darkly. "And trust me, you would know if he was dead. But Lucifer hasn't been acting like an angel lately. He's been acting like a human. He's been on Earth too long. He's hacked off his own wings – his last source of true divinity. He did it to spite our Father, to prove that he didn't need anything from Him, but he also knows damn well how much it weakens us. An angel without wings…" he trailed off, letting the threat hang in the air.

Suddenly, a lot more of the past weeks with Lucifer made sense.

"That's what those rituals were for," Chloe breathed. "All of it – they were trying to weaken him even further. Even cast out, without his main source of power, he was still too strong. Why? Why would they want him weaker? This isn't like some cannibalistic ritual where people believe you get the power of those consumed, is it? They told him it was all for him – that it was a welcome home thing. He kept saying it has something to do with his other name…Samael. When I asked him about it, before any of this even started, he said Samael was the name he had before he was Lucifer." She stopped abruptly.

"What?" Dan asked.

"Was he actually someone else?" she asked Michael.

Gabriel answered again for his brother. "No. Not the way you're thinking of it. The only difference between Lucifer and Samael is the name."

"So why does he hate it so much? Why does he act like Lucifer and Samael are two different people?"

Gabriel shrugged. "I don't know why my brother makes the choices he does. But they're still his choices to make."

"It's his way of distancing himself," Dan said quietly, interrupting Chloe before she could speak again.

She turned to look at him, waiting for him to go on, and he suddenly flushed with embarrassment. "Sorry," he apologized. "I was just thinking out loud. When I was with him at the hospital, after the second attack, he said Samael is like a dormant personality. Maybe he thinks of it like that because it's his way of trying to separate himself from what he did when he went by a different name…and it just sort of became in his own head, they were two different people. Like former criminals or WITSEC that pick up and leave their old lives behind, change their names and basically become someone else."

Chloe's head spun with the possibilities – but one thing still stuck out in her mind over everything else. "Is the only difference between Samael and Lucifer choice?"

Michael nodded. "Samael was jealous of humanity. They were allowed to make their own choices, right or wrong. And he was no longer allowed to punish them for their trespasses. He thought our Father loved them more than us because that was more than we were ever allowed. Samael was very good at convincing others to see things the way he did…turning our brothers against one another in fits of jealousy. He started a rebellion…he started a war he knew he could not win." Michael's lip pulled back in a sneer. "When he Fell, it wasn't just him. It was Azazel and Sariel and Gadreel and almost two hundred others. All over a petty jealousy of the talking monkeys' right to choose."

That sounded like the Biblical story of Lucifer's Fall, but it didn't sound like the one she knew. He didn't dislike people, that much was obvious. Otherwise he wouldn't have a place like Lux. It was pretty much the exact opposite from what Michael just described. He reveled in their company. He liked helping them – people like Delilah, the murdered singer he helped get started in music. People like Ty Huntley, and hell – even people like her and Dan. There was nothing sinister in his continued help in cases, even if he was still a pain in the ass sometimes when she had to remind him it wasn't a game.

Perhaps, to an immortal, that's exactly what it was, but he seemed to make an effort to be more serious at the crime scenes.

"No," she said, shaking her head before Michael even finished speaking. "It's not jealousy. Not the way you're thinking. Lucifer doesn't get angry over people making choices, even bad ones. He gets mad over being blamed for what they do wrong. He -" and she had to stop mid-sentence as realization hit her.

Oh, Lucifer…she thought. That's what he'd been getting at. Not that he was being blamed for what others did, but because they would deny something that he was prepared to go against his Father for. When Lucifer did something wrong, he almost immediately apologized…once he'd figured out what it exactly it was. Maybe she was sort of a phenomenon in that area – having the Devil apologize to her – but she doubted it. Lucifer was just someone who'd basically been left to figure out his own sense of right and wrong without other people around for hints. He wasn't a bad guy he was just badly behaved. But he took serious, almost over the top offense to people blaming others for what they did because it meant they were denying free will. They were denying responsibility for their own choices and that is what he was angry about.

"I know why he started a war he couldn't win," she breathed. "He's just like a little kid who has nothing and sees someone with everything throw away something he would've given anything for."

But that explained then. Which was quite literally thousands of years ago. Now Lucifer seemed just as happy to stay in LA in his club having fun with people. He admittedly hadn't been like that when they'd first met – in fact, Lucifer was a little scary. He'd pitted two people against one another in a deranged version of Battle Royale justice between the two paparazzi.

"Is there any reason why someone would want…Samael instead of Lucifer?" she asked cautiously, because seriously…the whole 'Lucifer is actually proof of a higher power and he may or may not be dead right now' was still a little mind boggling.

"What do you mean?" Michael asked, frowning.

"I mean, what's the difference? All of this keeps bringing up Samael, and you already said they're the same person. So why would you want Samael instead of Lucifer? If they just wanted any angel then it wouldn't matter, would it?" she asked, gesturing wildly with her hands. "And you said you would only be able to interfere if Lucifer couldn't otherwise tell you to screw off, so I ask again – what's so special about Samael?"

"Samael can kill people," Dan said. "Samael was the original Angel of Death. That's what he was famous for. Not being the Tempter of Men, he was known for being the Collector of Souls." When she gave him a curious look, he shrugged. "We had a conversation. It was weird."

"But Lucifer can't kill people?" she clarified.

"Not can't," Gabriel said reluctantly. "But he won't."

"So physically, he's capable of it," Chloe said, trying not to tear her hair out with these half answers and partial truths. It was like pulling teeth. She was so used to Lucifer and his oversharing that it was taking all of her willpower not to pick up the umbrella again and beat the whole story out of his brothers.

"Correct."

"So…these people, they knew this, right? Why would someone want a super powerful, supernatural being who can kill people? I mean, fine, they've been slowly breaking him down over weeks, but still. It's Lucifer. He's an archangel, assuming the Bible stories are right. They had to know that they wouldn't be able to – to imprison or contain him, right?"

She suddenly thought back to the night Lucifer called her about the second victim. She thought he was screwing around at the time, but maybe there really was something that could keep him caged? Which meant that these people would know that, and all they would have to do is draw some circle on the ground, and Lucifer would be effectively jailed.

"Why would you want to catch Death if he wasn't actually killing people?" Chloe mused out loud. "I mean, this is like that Twilight Zone episode where they catch the Devil and lock him in a castle dungeon. It would make sense to want to imprison Lucifer if he was going around still as Samael. But he wasn't. He was basically being a normal human being with a poor grasp on socially acceptable behavior."

"If you wanted him to start again," Gabriel groaned, face palming hard enough he left a mark on his own face. "Oh, for the love of…Lucifer and I were talking about why anyone would want the Samael half of him out and about again. It hadn't really occurred to either of us that they wanted Samael as the Angel of Death. He thought someone had just misinterpreted the writings – like they thought Samael was his better half, or just didn't want the Devil around anymore. That maybe they didn't realize what starting the Apocalypse really meant."

This was getting too fantastic. Too unbelievable. Too…supernatural. But in some ways, this was more plausible than being an escaped cult member, because, well…there wasn't that much of a difference, was there? An all-powerful, all-knowing Father that demanded obedience and blind faith, with a multitude of followers that worshipped him.

But hey. The Apocalypse sounded like fun.

"So it's a pretty good guess that these people are those overzealous zealots that think that the world has gone to shit, and they need to clean it up?" Dan said warily. "Because that's about the only thing that would make sense. Lucifer said he didn't kill indiscriminately. He punished the wicked. What would you do if you had God's personal assassin within your reach? I mean…think about it."

Chloe felt her stomach clench. If everything was true…then Dan was right. It was the only thing that fit everything. Samael – or Lucifer – would be the perfect way to rid the world of the 'bad'. Nothing like a war, or a plague, or genetically engineered science fiction whatever – he would be pinpoint accuracy on killing only those who deserve it.

"Why wouldn't Lucifer kill anyone?" Chloe wondered. "You didn't say he can't, you specifically said he wouldn't. Which means that Samael would. Why would one and not the other? What's the difference?" Because there had to be. Something they were all missing, and she felt like it had to be something painfully obvious.

"Choice?" Dan suggested, gesturing with one hand. "Isn't that the difference between Lucifer and everyone else in Heaven?"

"But what's that even mean?" Chloe snapped. "Why would removing choice from the equation make Lucifer into some sort of killing monster? How would you even presume to do such a thing? From what you two idiots are saying, not even God can interfere with free will! No one can make someone do something that they don't want to do, which means they would've had to come up with something to fundamentally change who Lucifer is to make him want to kill people!"

And just like that, they weren't in the bullpen.

In less than the span of time it took Chloe to blink, the four of them went from standing in the LAPD's bullpen to the middle of the dance floor of Lux.

And it was freezing. So ungodly cold she felt the hair rise on the back of her neck as her breath formed in icy puffs.

"What the hell," Chloe cursed, and before Dan could even open his mouth she jabbed her finger in his face. "Not. One. Word."

The building was empty. And it was dead silent. Not just quiet, because it often was when she came her after hours to talk to Lucifer, but muffled, as if the entire place was covered in snow. You wouldn't even hear a pin drop.

The complete absence of sound was unnerving enough, but what was by far more disturbing was Lucifer standing on the other side of the room. Simply standing, one hand behind his back and the other holding a glass.

He looked…fine, actually. He looked better than he had in weeks. He didn't look tired anymore, and the pinched, worried look that never seemed to leave was gone. He even stood straighter, and Chloe was briefly reminded of his more militant brother. There was something taut about his entire frame, a forced relaxedness that made him look anything but. Like he was physically trying to hold himself back, but Chloe couldn't even begin to imagine from what.

"Hello, brothers," he said, his voice sounding odd and not quite like his old self. It sounded slightly deeper, which may have something to do with the strange muffled atmosphere, but probably more to do with the fact that he was gritting his teeth so painfully tight Chloe rubbed her own jaw in sympathy.

And suddenly he smiled, inhumanly wide, and his eyes flashed a glittering black.

"Did you miss me?"

Chapter Text

"Lucifer," Michael said, barest hint of a nod in greeting.

"Samael, if you please," Lucifer said mildly. "I hardly feel like a light bearer at the moment."

"You're looking well," Gabriel said, and Chloe could hear the relief in his voice. She could tell Gabriel hadn't been expecting to either one, find Lucifer so easily, or two, looking better than he had the last time they'd seen him.

Lucifer – Samael – shrugged his shoulders, and Chloe could hear the faint rustle of feathers, even if she could see nothing. She immediately thought of the horrific scars on his back and wondered what she'd see now instead.

"Hale, whole, and hearty, my dear brother," Samael said, in that same forced easiness. He spread his arms wide, giving a quick spin on his heel in a move Fred Astaire would be proud of. "Surprised?"

Michael pulled back his lips in a snarl, but before he could say anything, Gabriel slammed his elbow into his ribs, cutting off any sort of reply.

"What happened to you?" Gabriel asked. He glanced around the room, looking for something but Chloe didn't know what.

"I was reborn," Samael said, and Chloe would've sworn he sounded…disappointed? His head suddenly snapped to one side, almost tucking in his chin to his chest as he grimaced, rubbing at one ear.

"Lucifer," Chloe asked quietly, taking a cautious step forwards but immediately stopped when Lucifer took a step back. "Are you…okay?"

"I asked before – it's Samael," Samael corrected. "Don't make me ask again."

There was a finality to the request that made Chloe shiver, and it had nothing to do with the temperature.

"Okay," she agreed, and took a half step back. "I can do that. But you didn't answer my question. Are you okay?"

Samael raised an eyebrow, and the reptilian gaze looked absolutely alien on Lucifer's face. "Well enough," he said with a dismissive wave.

But Chloe ignored the words. She could see the way he stiffened when he moved, the taught pull of muscles and tendons just below the skin, the way he continued to clench one hand white knuckled or the way he hardly moved his mouth when speaking.

"How did…what happened to Rodgers? What happened at your loft?" Chloe pressed. "You've been gone for hours, and suddenly you're back?"

Samael's lips pressed into a firm line, rolling his head as if trying to work a particularly bothersome kink out of it. "I'll assume you're moderately up to speed with the way of things, since you've clearly been talking to my brothers. Miss Rodgers made the mistake of thinking she wouldn't fall into my domain if she managed to resurrect me. She's been...taken care of. As well as her flock."

"You…killed her?" Dan asked, frowning.

Samael scoffed. "Of course not. I spoke to them….and then they devoured themselves."

Chloe felt her heart stutter. Not so much the words, but the completely uninterested tone, as if he was giving a weather forecast.

"Please be a metaphor..."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night," Samael dismissed. "I doubt Delilah is dead, but she won't last long. She'll have enough time to contemplate her poor life choices, try and bargain for her life, realize that the only one coming for her is the Ferryman."

"What's with the sound proofing?" Dan asked, turning a faint shade of green and rapidly changing the subject. "And the ice box?"

Samael actually seemed relieved at the question, and turned the darkened gaze towards the other detective.

"Humans are very loud," Samael said, tracing a finger along the wall and watching as a trail of frost formed in its wake. "And there are very, very many of them. As for the temperature, it's what one might call a side effect of being this close to me. People often think I burn hot – always with the fiery allegories, but it's quite the opposite. Heat requires passion. Feeling. And I am the absence of those things."

"Why did you bring us here?" Michael demanded. "And how did you return?"

Samael shrugged. "Not by choice, I assure you. No matter. As for the why…I didn't bring you here." His darkened gaze shifted skyward, a sneer pulling at his lips. "Father remains as impotent as ever on this plane, but it seems He can still move pieces on the board." The archangel cast a wayward glance down. "Or perhaps it's not me He brought you here to see…"

Samael drew a sigil in the air with one finger, a fiery trail left behind in the air like the after burn of one of Trixie's Fourth of July sparklers. "Patefacio," he said, and dragged his fingers through the sigil as if he was clawing open a wound.

Somewhere in the back her mind, Chloe knew that what she was looking at wasn't physically real – it wasn't possible – but there were only so many mind-bending world shifts her brain could take in one day before it just gave up on logic. She and Dan simultaneously clapped their hands over their ears, wincing at the sudden cacophony of screaming, wailing and crying of a million voices in pain and anger. Sounds that were impossibly human and otherworldly and languages that were most certainly not of this world. She knew where that portal went – the vortex that looked like an angry wound in the fabric of reality itself. The temperature skyrocketed. She could feel the heat prickling her skin, stinging her eyes, and the smell.

She gagged, pressing her sleeves to her mouth as she tried not to throw up. It reeked of sulfur and copper and something rotted that she didn't want to imagine.

"Little brother, little brother," Samael called, voice pitched like he was reciting the Big Bad Wolf. "Won't you come out to play?"

Something in the back of Chloe's mind was still screaming at her that none of this was possible. None of this was real. But a much louder, more dominant half found it hard to continue denying the very real things she was looking at.

"Amenadiel, do not make me come and get you," Samael snarled.

"Amenadiel?" Michael echoed, and turned a curious glance to his brother.

Samael chuckled mirthlessly. "Oh, poor Michael. Always the soldier, never the scholar. You wanted to know who to point the blame at for my return?"

Impossibly, the screaming grew louder, and Chloe thought of Lucifer at the St. John crime scene and sympathy surged to the forefront. She didn't want to imagine what he heard that could make an angel's ears bleed.

Without warning, Samael reached through the doorway, lunging forwards so that more than half his upper body disappeared before he reared back, pulling somebody with him.

As soon as the other person's feet cleared the edge of the portal, it snapped shut with such force it made Chloe's ears pop and Samael threw the body at his feet. At first, it was hard to see past the massive wings, and Chloe had to duck out of the way as one of them almost collided with the side of her head.

"None of that now," Samael growled, and in one quick movement, pinned the errant wing beneath his foot as he slammed it down on the pollex joint. There was a crack, a stifled grunt of pain, and finally Chloe could see the man – angel – that Samael dragged in.

"You've been a busy little boy, Menny," Samael chided, and even though his voice was pitched in that same creepy sing-song lilt, she could hear the barely restrained rage just beneath it.

"Wait…he's really your brother?" Chloe sputtered before she could stop herself. "I thought you were kidding!"

"Ah, the benefit of being celestial beings formed of thought rather than biological evolution," Samael said. "We're a bit of a mixed bag, the further on down the hierarchy you get. Sometimes even I wonder if we're actually related."

Amenadiel actually looked more like what Chloe expected of an angel – dressed in clothes that looked more like a monk than a surfer bum or Prada model. Even the cross around his neck and the cloth gauntlets seemed more angel-esque than anything she'd seen of them so far.

"Hullo, brother," Samael sneered, and pressed down in the broken joint. "We haven't been properly introduced, have we? I'm Samael. I hear you thought it was a wise idea to bring me back." He suddenly reared back, pulling his leg up as high as he could before slamming it down on the wing beneath his foot, and this time Amenadiel couldn't hold back the cry of pain.

"Samael," Michael growled, taking a step forwards but Samael held up a warning hand.

"Don't interrupt," Samael warned. "You wanted to know how I got here? Why I'm back? You have your little brother here to thank for that. Do you want to confess your sins, Little Brother, hmm? I told you once I looked forward to eating your heart. Do you want to tell the Ferryman what you've been up to? Or do you think Saint Michael will be more forgiving?"

There was something close to manic in Samael's voice, in his movement. Something childish and gleeful and empty and black that bubbled just beneath the surface of his skin.

Amenadiel remained silent, mouth pressed into a grim line as he glared balefully up at his brother.

"Tell them what you've done," Samael growled, bending forwards without leaning until he was almost nose to nose with Amenadiel, "or I will make a trophy of your spine."

"I told the woman how to find you," Amenadiel ground out between clenched teeth. "I whispered in her ear that you were in plain sight. That you were weakened in your current form. That she could reach you."

"And was she the only one you told?"

"No."

Samael shot a smug grin over to his older brother. "No?"

"I told her," Amenadiel confessed, gesturing with a jerk of his head towards Chloe.

Chloe blinked. No, he hadn't. She hadn't even seen Amenadiel since the auction, and he hadn't mentioned anything to her there.

"That piece of paper you were talking about," Dan asked slowly, not turning away from Samael and Amenadiel. "The one with Samael's name on it, the one that put this idea in your head that he was some cult escapee...where did it come from?"

Chloe started to shake her head. "I don't...know? Does it matter?"

Michael was the one who answered before Samael could even open his mouth. "Belief, Detective. Belief is a strange thing. You would have never gone looking for Lucifer's origins if you had never been handed that piece of paper. Not his real one, anyway. You would have gone looking for a very human past, which does not exist. You would have never started trying to figure out the name Samael. You may not have believed what he was, but you most certainly started to believe who he was. It was like a foothold, something for the idea to take hold and grow, and that is all that is needed to bring something back that was long forgotten."

Samael waved a scolding finger towards Michael. "Gone, maybe, but not forgotten."

Amenadiel growled up at his brother, lip curled back over teeth in a feral snarl. "I was supposed to return you to your duties in Hell. It didn't matter how. And it didn't matter which one of you went. It was chaos. The barriers were weakening. The demons weren't keeping Souls where they belonged. You're so defensive of this world but you didn't care that your selfishness was going to ruin it. I had my orders. And like a good Son, I obeyed."

"Oh, little brother mine," Samael sing-songed, shaking his head in disappointment. "You really are inept, aren't you? I don't for a moment believe our Father sent you, and if He did, I would have to wonder what you did to piss Him off."

Amenadiel's scowl deepened, but he said nothing.

Samael's dark eyes glittered, and suddenly his grin was a little too broad. "It didn't even occur to you, did it? What must it be like in that silly empty head of yours? I bet it's quiet. Or an endless loop of the Benny Hill theme…Did you really think our Father would send someone like you to deal with someone like me?"

Amenadiel's scowl turned to a frown, and Chloe could see the doubt play across his features.

Samael laughed, clapping his hands together as he spun around on his heel like Fred Astaire on the dance floor. "You poor, pathetic thing. You may be able to stop time, but in all those extra moments, did it not occur to you to think? To wonder why God would send a third string nobody to try and force an Archangel back into his box? I mean, I know you were young when I was thrown out, but surely you must've heard the stories. Did you not believe? Or were you so arrogant to think that you, all by your lonesome, could put me back in my cage?"

Samael's smile suddenly vanished, and he pointed to Michael, snapping his fingers. "Saint Michael – did you put that thought in his head? Did you make him think that he was more than he is?"

Michael shook his head. "I am not one to send my brothers on fool's errands."

Samael's black gaze didn't leave Amenadiel's face, locking eyes with his younger brother. "That, little brother, smacks considerably of pride. To think, to dare have such notions that you alone could achieve what it took four archangels and God combined to do. You thought I went gentle into the Pit? That perhaps I threw myself down in Judgement?"

He stepped closer to Amenadiel, who took a step back.

"Did Father simply stop making an effort when He created you? Set the cosmos on auto pilot and let it go? Were you simply not worth an effort?"

The younger angel's fists clenched at his sides, but he didn't raise them. "Shut up. I'm not the one who was named the Serpent. Or cast into Hell."

"Oh, but weren't you?" Samael said. "Let's recap, shall we? I was thrown out for corruption. For creating dissent amongst the ranks. And yet…" Samael spread his arms wide, encompassing all of Lux. "Here I am. On Earth. Unfettered and unburdened of my Divine Purpose. Hell, I pay taxes. I have a social security number. You think if our Father wasn't perfectly fine with all of that, He would send you and not, say, oh, Michael?" He gestured towards his older brother. "Or perhaps Gabriel? Or Raphael? Or any combination of the Archangels? Or how about showing up Himself? He's made no such promises not to interfere if I posed a threat. Our agreement is only if I left the Earth alone. Which means, dearest brother, you not only are guilty of pride you are guilty of lying. Perhaps it is you who should have my abdicated throne after all."

At that, Amenadiel notably flinched, and Samael's grin widened inhumanly far.

"Ah, that's it, isn't it?" he said, voice sickly simpering sweet. "You know that's where you belong. Perhaps not even on the throne, hmm? Hell has a way of making you believe you deserve to be there. And the only way you thought you were going to get out of there was if you found someone more deserving."

"If you're going to put him on trial, let him up," Gabriel said, taking a step forwards.

Samael's blackened gaze turned to his younger brother, and Chloe could see the war of emotions flicker across his face. "Trial?" Samael echoed. "Is that what he gets?"

"It's your law, brother," Gabriel reminded. "Not ours. Not even Father's."

Chloe saw Samael's eye twitch and realized Gabriel was telling the truth, and so did Samael. With a snarl, Samael stepped back, finally allowing Amenadiel space to push himself to his feet, even as one wing hung awkwardly and obviously broken. Unlike Michael's, or even the fake wings she'd seen of Lucifer's, they weren't blindingly white. They were smokey black, shorter and not quite as long but definitely broader.

It was the difference between a falcon's wings and a vulture.

As Samael turned away from Amenadiel, he accidentally bumped his shoulder against Dan's, who was scrambling out of the way to avoid Michael as he stepped forwards towards his younger brother.

Samael turned to Dan, his eyes flickering from the matte black to familiar brown for a moment.

"Oh, well now…isn't that something?" Samael mused, sounding genuinely interested. "Aren't you a complicated fellow?"

Dan's gaze shifted sideways as he folded his arms across his chest. "Really not."

Samael's head cocked to one side, studying Dan with an intensity that even Chloe found unnerving. "It's not an insult, Daniel. Very few things in this world…or the next…interest me."

"Oddly enough, not making me feel any better," Dan grumbled.

Samael's gaze flicked to Michael and then back to Dan. "I don't make you nervous, do I? Which means you don't feel like you deserve to be punished. It means you're feeling judged. Huh."

Now it was Chloe's turn to look questioningly at her ex, who resolutely avoided meeting her gaze.

"Enough of the mind games," Dan said half-heartedly, clearly not expecting Samael to listen.

"It's not 'mind games'," Samael snapped irritably, making finger quotes. "Far be it from me to judge someone exacting justice on the deserving. Besides, you didn't kill him – you just put him into a coma. I mean, intentional or not, that's actually quite brilliant. It's not murder. And even better – you made sure he couldn't harm anyone else."

"What the hell is he talking about?" Chloe demanded.

"Nothing," Dan said, and then almost immediately corrected himself. "I shot Malcolm."

"Hard to lie in our presence, isn't it?" Samael said, almost sympathetically. "Don't judge him too harshly, Detective – he didn't shoot him until Malcolm was about to kill you. And in my Father's eyes, even if he did kill him, that's not murder."

"How is that not murder?" Chloe demanded, her head whipping back and forth between Samael and Dan so fast she thought she might get whiplash. "What the hell, Dan? Seriously? You let me believe I imagined the whole thing at Palmetto? That I was wrong about Malcolm being a dirty cop?"

"Really?" Dan said, waving to the archangel before them. "You think now is a good time to discuss this?"

There were a million things that Chloe wanted to shout at him – for lying to her, for making her believe she was seeing things, for ostracizing her from the entire police department for being right.

And thank you. For making sure she went home to Trixie that night. For not making an easy decision but one she was grateful for because she knew she would've done the same thing, if it came between shooting Malcolm and letting him shoot someone else when she could stop it.

But something else actually bothered her more than his actions.

"Wait…I thought you were a punisher?" she asked Samael.

He bowed low, sweeping his arm out. "I am."

"If Michael has an effect on Dan, why don't you?"

Samael actually smiled at that, and it looked so much like the old him Chloe felt her heart stutter.

"Because I punish the guilty, Detective. What's Daniel guilty of that I would punish? Defending a loved one?" He waved his hand at Dan. "He doesn't feel guilty about shooting Malcolm."

"Then why do you freak out about being near Michael?" Chloe asked, struggling to make a connection that made sense.

Dan shrugged helplessly, and surprisingly enough, it was Samael who came to his defense. "Daniel doesn't feel guilty about shooting Malcolm. He feels guilty about letting it come to that. For not turning him over in the first place when he first knew about his duplicitous nature."

The archangel shrugged indifferently. "As I said – far be it from me to judge someone who balances out something like that. Malcolm was a bad person, but not bad enough to act upon – or so he believed – but the moment he realized Malcolm was going to take that step into true evil, he acted with little regard to himself." Samael held his hands out, mimicking a balanced scale. "The balance is maintained."

"But –" Amenadiel began, and Samael shot him a glare that silenced him mid protest.

"Looking the other way isn't a permanent stay in Hell. It's a quick detour to Purgatory, but that's if you don't atone for it while you're here." Samael tipped his head to Dan. "Congratulations, human, on figuring it out." He held out his open palm, and there was a puff of glitter tossed into the air. "Mazel tov."

"He attempted to kill another," Amenadiel protested, and Dan shot him an incredulous look.

"Seriously, dude?" Dan growled. "Whose side are you on?"

"Ignore him," Samael said dismissively, his smile pulling tight in warning. "My brother likes to think himself above the duties of Hell, and yet he still tries to throw in with the rest of the big boys as if his opinion matters. Newsflash, Menny – it matters slightly less than not at all."

Amenadiel's mouth twisted into a mocking smirk. "Say all you want about not mattering. Father may not have made me an archangel, but at least He didn't make me a freak. A monster He was so ashamed of that He threw down in disgust where no one would have to lay eyes on the mistake that was you."

There wasn't even a warning. It happened so fast that if Gabriel hadn't spun away from Amenadiel to slam her into the ground, Samael's wing would have thrown her across the bar on the other side of the room as he hurtled towards Amenadiel.

"Freak, am I?" Samael roared, using one massive wing to fling Michael out of his way and slammed full force into Amenadiel, knocking them both back against the wall with enough force the entire wall shook as it cracked. "Me? One who was once so powerful that even Father was afraid of me?"

Amenadiel twisted around in Samael's grip, bringing up both arms between Samael's to break his hold, but Samael didn't let go. The fabric of Amenadiel's tunic tore in his hands as the younger angel tried to get away.

Samael didn't give him much of a chance, anticipating the move and reaching out for Amenadiel's broken wing.

There was a crunch and a brittle snap, and the already damaged limb dropped uselessly to the ground as Amenadiel shouted in pain.

"I was a general, you insignificant worm," Samael shouted, and Chloe clapped her hands to her ears.

"I was more feared than any creature our Father created. I was second only to Him. Do you know why there was no other like me?"

"Keep your head down, and stay out of the way," Gabriel hissed in her ear, pushing her away from him and out of sight behind the bar. "And whatever you do, don't let his wings hit you. You won't survive."

Amenadiel snarled in rage, throwing a left hook at Samael's face, which was about as effective as swatting a dragon with a fly swatter.

Gabriel and Michael, who had thrown Dan clear of the fighting but to the opposite side of the room, were barely able to stay clear of the wide swinging arc of Samael's wings, and one nicked Michael's arm as he threw it up in front of his face. There was a spurt of red, and Michael winced, but ignored the wound. 

One of Samael's wings sliced through a decorative column as easily as a knife through butter and Chloe realized why Gabriel warned her about them. Not just because they were strong, but because they were weapons and suddenly Chloe wished she'd never met angels.

"I am all that our Father was!" Samael's wing slammed into Michael's with a crack like thunder. Gabriel managed to duck underneath the other one, spinning at the last second to latch on to it, wrapping his arms around the massive limb and bracing his feet against the ground, furrowing the marble like sand.

"Sammy, stop!" Gabriel shouted. "He didn't mean it!"

Samael ignored him or didn't hear him, but shook his brother free with a snap that sent him tumbling across the floor.

"When He looked at me, all He could see was everything about Himself He hated in His perfect Creation. I was a mirror to reflect all of His cruelty, all of His wrath. But do you know what else He realized?"

Samael didn't throw fast punches, because he didn't need to, and dimly Chloe realized just how impressive his tactics were – he could fight all three of his brothers simultaneously, or at the very least, could keep Michael and Gabriel at bay enough to concentrate solely on Amenadiel. Michael couldn't extended his wings in the tight confines of the club, not with Samael's and Amenadiel's already out, and Gabriel was more preoccupied with trying to deflect debris and anything else that might come her way – or Dan's.

Now would be a good time for Maze to show up, but honestly, Chloe had no idea where the hell she was, or how to call her. For all she knew, she was gone on purpose. She knew she wished she was anywhere else.

Amenadiel was already down one wing before the fight even started, and Chloe had to wonder if he knew what he was doing when he insulted Samael. And if he did, what did he stand to gain from getting killed by his brother?

"That I was necessary. It took Four Horsemen to carry out what I did alone!" Samael blocked a halfhearted punch from Amenadiel, and landed a solid kick to Amenadiel's solar plexus, sending the other angel backwards and into one of the support columns. "He could never get rid of me, not completely."

"He may have made me a monster, but our Father doesn't make mistakes. I have purpose. I have meaning. Which is more than I can say about you. One could even argue those wings you're so proud of would be better served on a rodent than you."

Amenadiel, face washed in red and one eye swollen shut, cuts and bruises and abrasions where whole sections of skin were rubbed raw, met his brother's eyes defiantly. He spat a glob of blood and Chloe would've sworn she saw a tooth come loose in the mess of red that landed on the floor.

And then he smiled.

"Say all you want about me," Amenadiel slurred, wincing as the smile pulled on bruises and cuts. "But at least I'm still welcome in the Silver City. Kill me if you want, but all it's going to do is assure you are never going home. You may be needed, but you aren't loved. You're not wanted. And no matter what you do down here, no matter what you do on that throne down in the Pit – look at your wings. You think something like you belongs in our Father's home?"

Chloe hadn't even realized it until Amenadiel mentioned them – she was too busy trying not to get killed.

Samael's wings were changing color.

The once pristine and divine white wings now looked like someone dipped them in oil, the long primary and secondary feathers inky black along the bottom and dripping darkness like smoke.

"Kill me, brother," Amenadiel taunted, the drunken smile still pulling painfully on his lips. "Send me home. At least I won't be where you're going."

"Oh, Amenadiel..." Gabriel whispered. "You idiot."

It took an even longer moment to realize that you could hear a pin drop in the completely destroyed main floor of Lux. Chloe could hear the harsh panting from all four of the angels, the creak and groan of the remaining support beams struggling to hold the building up.

Neither Michael or Gabriel moved, and Chloe wasn't about to break the silence. It was like sitting the eye of a hurricane.

One that could turn on you.

Samael stood frozen, one hand raised to deal another blow to his brother, but she couldn't see his face clearly from the angle she was at.

But she could hear him clear as a bell, even though his voice was barely above a manic whisper.

"Oh...oh brother...I'm not going to kill you," Samael hissed. "Death is a kindness I don't think you've earned."

Amenadiel's smirk faltered. "W-what?"

"You think I'm going to give you a one-way ticket home? Was that your great big plan from the start? When you couldn't convince me to return to Hell, you thought you could at least get yourself out?" Samael said, barely cutting off the snort of laughter, as if he'd told the world's greatest inside joke. "You are simply marvelous."

Samael ducked his head so that he was looming over his younger brother, his raised fist now bracing himself against the wall. "Oh Father tell me, we get what we deserve..."

Kaleo had never struck her as being particularly menacing, but she felt a thrill of icy dread run up her spine and couldn't suppress the shiver.

"And way down we go!" Samael roared, and suddenly the room tore itself apart at the seams.

Michael dove towards Dan, covering the other detective with his wings like a shield as Gabriel scrambled for Chloe, barely reaching her in time to deflect a flying piece of rubble.

The floor split at Samael's feet, ripping the world open like a rancid wound, and the temperature rocketed upwards.

"I hope you were a merciful king, Amendiel," Samael thundered, hauling his brother up by his neck. With one swift movement and a crack of bone and squelch of ripping flesh, Samael wrenched Amenadiel's wings from his back. "Because the only way you're going home is if Father comes and gets you Himself!"

With that, Samael hurled his brother through the chasm into Hell, screaming until it blended with the other howls of rage and anger as the hole fused shut behind him.

Samael whirled on the others, and Chloe saw the matte black eyes glow red, broken wings clasped in his hand like a bloody trophy.

"I may not be my Father's favorite son," he snarled, his lips pulling back to reveal not quite human teeth. "But I am his True son. Thy Kingdom Come, Thy will be done." He raised the shattered wings. "On Earth, as it is in Heaven."

He turned his blackened gaze skyward, lip curling up in a mocking sneer. "Hollow be Thy name."

And with that, there was a ruffle of feathers, and Samael vanished.

Chapter Text

"Could that have possibly gone worse?" Chloe demanded, brushing rubble out of her hair with a quick, one handed run through. "Because I'm thinking no."

"It could've gone much worse, actually," Gabriel said, fluffing out his wings with sound like a parachute catching. "At least he didn't create his own pocket dimension to lock us in, or kill Amenadiel outright, or rip a hole in the fabric of reality and let in all the Old Ones, or –"

Chloe held her hand up warningly. "That was one, utter sarcasm that I didn't need an answer to, and two – can he seriously do all that as Samael?"

"He can do all that as Lucifer, too," Gabriel said bluntly, rearranging a few of his damaged feathers before making them disappear once more. "He just doesn't."

Dan groaned, pushing himself up from the floor. From the way he was moving, and the wince on his face every time he did, Chloe guessed Michael had hit him with all the delicacy of a freight train to get him out of the way.

"Wait, you're trying to tell me that he's been able to do all this…" he waved around at the ruin of the night club. "The whole damn time?"

"And more," Michael confirmed. "Lucifer was second only to our Father. Look at demons. He made them in our image to mock Father's creation. Except, he did not give them anything close to his own power, because Lucifer was not about to leave himself open to the same treachery he had just committed. He was God of his own domain, and so he made mockeries of us in his new realm."

Gabriel snorted, trying to smother a grin when his brother shot a baleful glare in his direction. "Ignore Michael. He's just mad about who Lucifer made in his image."

"Not one word, Gabriel," Michael warned, holding up a cautioning finger.

Gabriel mimed zipping his lips shut, holding up three fingers in a scout's honor.

However, as soon as Michael turned away, Gabriel put his hand to his mouth to stage whisper: "Maze."

And that was when Chloe lost it. She couldn't help it. It was just one too many absurdities she'd seen or heard in the last hour that just made her double over in uncontrollable laughter. Part of it was the ridiculous image the idea brought to mind, because all she could picture was Michael in Maze's form fitting leather giving lap dances to the patrons in Lux.

The other part was that she'd simply reached her threshold of 'laugh or cry'.

This was too Big Picture. She understood, at least a little, why Lucifer wouldn't try and prove who he was. Obviously, he could, and had done so with Dan, but Dan was Catholic. He was raised in the belief system. Showing him everything he'd been raised to believe was on some level true wasn't that much of a leap. It was a validation. One that he couldn't do for Chloe. Chloe had gone to mass with Dan a few times while they were married, but it was never something she fully bought into. That there was an all-powerful, all-knowing being that created life and the universe as they knew it but still allowed such horrible, awful things to happen to his supposedly favorite creations. It made more sense to her that there was nothing. Lucifer didn't lie, but she could see why he hadn't made much of an effort to really convince her. It was more than just accepting that he was the Devil. It meant accepting everything else, too.

She thought it would hurt more than it did to realize that while he hadn't lied, he hadn't been completely honest, either. He told her the truth but that was it. He made no further effort to convince her. She thought she would feel the sting of betrayal. She thought it would be that same familiar pang of not being trusted…like she'd felt after the Palmetto case. After Dan told her it'd been weeks since he'd found out the truth about Lucifer and Maze.

And it did hurt. But it wasn't for herself.

It was for Lucifer.

Because it meant as confident as Lucifer portrayed himself, as much as he boasted about all his attributes and his reflexive flirting with anything that moved, he was still afraid of what she would think of him.

Of what anyone would think of his true self.

No wonder Lucifer bothered her all hours of the night and day when they first met. Why he continued to work with her even after they solved Delilah's murder.

Lucifer's entire existence could be measured by what purpose and value he had to others.

And he had none for himself.

Chloe wasn't sure when she'd gone from laughing to crying and maybe it was still a little of both.

A gentle hand touched her shoulder and she looked up through blurred vision, expecting to see Gabriel or Dan and was more than a little surprised to see Michael.

The aloof and moderately disdainful look was gone, instead replaced with something that looked suspiciously like Lucifer's apologetic one.

"He is not lost," Michael said quietly. "Even though it is hard to believe."

Hard? Chloe thought. Try impossible.

Michael smiled, and Chloe wondered not for the first time if angels could read thoughts, or if she was really just that transparent.

"I see why he likes you, Detective," he said, his head tilted to one side, like he was measuring her worth.

Chloe heaved a shuddering sigh, trying to force her emotions back into their carefully guarded box. She could have a meltdown later. Much later, when Lucifer was back and she could hug him and wring his neck herself.

"Yeah, well, for the most part, I like him too," Chloe pointed out as she allowed him to pull her to her feet. She scrubbed a dirty hand across what was probably an equally dirty face, smearing the dust from the ruined nightclub across her cheeks.

"Most do not," Michael said flatly, though the curious look remained. "Even when they are affected by him. But you...you are not."

She thought of Dr. Linda the first time she'd met her and the positively drug like effect Lucifer had on her. Or Dan's neurotic behavior around Michael. "Is that...common? For you to not to effect someone?"

"Most definitely not," Michael answered, looking affronted. "It is not...unheard of. It is just not common."

"So what does that mean about Chloe?" Dan asked before Chloe could. "I mean, Lucifer doesn't have the same effect on me as he does on most women, but he's more polarizing to guys. Either they can't stand him or they try to jump him. There's not a lot of middle ground. Do all of you have different effects on people?"

"What, like angelic mood rings?" Gabriel suggested, grinning like an idiot, and ridiculously enough, his lighter mood seemed to be catching. She caught herself wanting to smile back, even though it felt like the last thing she should do. "Not really. We have effects on people who share the same traits as we do. Or the ones who need what we offer. You, Detective," Gabriel said, gesturing towards Chloe. "I saw your face when you first met us. You recognized Michael, right? But you couldn't think of why?"

It seemed like a lifetime ago, even if it was barely an hour. Chloe nodded mutely, glancing back at Michael. There was something familiar about him. Just not his face. Which made no sense whatsoever.

"Michael is the archangel of justice. He's also the patron saint of police officers. That's why he makes Dan go all googly-eyed like that, because Dan didn't uphold his oath. No offense," he said, shrugging apologetically at Dan who waved him off. "You, Detective, on the other hand…you're not even tempted by Lucifer himself. Not that Lucifer is bad, but his dominion is desire, and most humans, well...what they desire is usually carnal and things that are otherwise cultural taboo – they desire what they are told they cannot have. Your desire is to help people. To make the world a better place. Lucifer doesn't have an effect on you, because there's nothing in you that's pulled in by anything Lucifer represents."

Suddenly Dan grinned, turning to Chloe. "I think he just called you a stick in the mud."

Chloe returned the smile, batting her eyes for good measure. "I think you just called Michael a stick in the mud, too."

Dan abruptly paled, shooting a sidelong look at the Archangel, and took a step back behind Chloe.

"I look familiar, because to you I am familiar," Michael explained.

Chloe didn't answer for a moment, considering the information as she would any other case, because if she didn't – if she allowed herself to be swallowed up in all that believing in God and Archangels were real and just as flawed as the rest of the world entailed, she didn't know she could keep her mind from spiraling down a dark path.

"So...question for the both of you..." she began slowly, trying to consider the best way to ask what she wanted to.

Gabriel and Michael looked at her expectantly.

"Is it just because he's been on Earth for too long without his wings that Lucifer started changing?" She didn't want to say weakening, because that wasn't right at all. He still possessed superhuman strength, and what she'd always thought was his mentalist trick to convince people to confess their desires to him. And, more importantly, Lucifer seemed to be finding a strength of his own by finding value in the work they shared. But…he didn't have the same effect on people. Nothing beyond the fact that Lucifer was good looking, flirty as hell and charming when he made the effort. Women weren't practically orgasming during interviews, and even Lucifer himself seemed a little toned down. She'd been attributing it to their current case, and hell, it probably was because of their current case. Just not the context she'd been assuming.

Gabriel offered another shrug, absently scruffing up the back of his head so that his hair looked like ruffled feathers. "A little. You mean how he could get caught in a binding trap, or kidnapped by Delilah?"

Chloe hesitated. "Well, that...but I kind of, maybe sort of...shot him in the leg to prove he was human?" She winced hearing it out loud. It sounded even worse than it had in her head, and the many, many times she'd played the moment over. "And I actually shot him. And he looked really surprised that I even could, and that it hurt. But before, on our very first case together, he threw himself in front of a gunman and I know he got shot more than once, but nothing happened. So...am I what's making Lucifer..." she floundered, trying to come up with even a halfway decent word for what she wanted and came up empty.

Michael frowned. "You have as much of an effect on Lucifer as he lets you."

Now it was Chloe's turn to frown, because seriously, what the hell did that mean?

Gabriel came to her rescue again, and Chloe absently wondered if this was the part about him being the messenger for his father.

"Lucifer takes things literally. Whether he notices or not. And you are the first person in a very long while that has looked at him as something besides a monster. You don't make him weak, if that's what you're worried about."

No, Chloe thought. It is so much worse than that.

It meant she was at least in part responsible for what happened to Lucifer now. If she'd done something, said something that made him unable to fend of someone like Delilah and her followers...she'd once told him he made her vulnerable. The look he'd given her was something between awe and horror, which she attributed at the time to male ego and Lucifer's general squeamishness about emotions courting anything close to commitment. What if she was the start of all of this? For Lucifer becoming someone he hated?

Michael said all an idea needed was a foothold. Amenadiel said he'd given her Lucifer's old name in hopes of it becoming exactly that. Maybe it didn't matter that she hadn't believed the supernatural half of the story, as long as someone else did.

Michael, in a disturbing trend of seemingly able to read her thoughts put a comforting hand on her arm. He offered her a smile that pulled slightly at the edge of the long scar across his face. "Detective, no. It is not a bad thing. You gave our brother something no one ever could. Not even our Father."

Chloe sniffed, and pretended like she believed she hadn't lead her partner to ruin. "Which would be what?"

"What he has desired since the day you were created," Michael explained gently. "You let him be human."

Dan raised his hand, interrupting. "Uh, no offense…none of that looked remotely human. So I'm taking a wild stab that whatever humanity he got through Chloe is gone. And if that's the case…now what?"

Gabriel went to shrug again, but stopped himself midway. "Dammit, I have to stop doing that…" he muttered. "Anyway, you're right. He's basically in factory default mode right now. So he's going to go back to doing what he was doing before he Fell and probably try to kick start the apocalypse. Again."

"Again?" Dan echoed.

This time it was Michael who shrugged. "It happens more often than you think."

Dan glowered at him. "Just so you know? Not comforting at all."

Chloe shook her head before they could start bickering. "No. No, he wouldn't do that. You said it yourself, he and Lucifer are the same person. Angel. Whatever. Why would he come here for Amenadiel if the apocalypse was what he wanted? Why wouldn't he just skip to that? Why run the risk of running into Michael and Gabriel if they could stop him? Samael told us himself – he's second to no one but your dad. God." She shook her head. Nope. That wasn't happening. "Dad. We're sticking with 'dad'. Why do…what he did…to Delilah? Those aren't big, grand, world ending things. Those are personal. This isn't ending the world. This is about revenge. This is about punishment. This is still Lucifer. It's just Lucifer…"

Chloe stumbled over the realization, one hand going to her mouth.

"What?" Gabriel prompted, eyes wide and worried. To him it probably looked like she was about to be sick and she wasn't so sure she wouldn't be.

"You said Lucifer takes things literally. Is there anything else in the…supernatural world…that's meant literally?" she demanded.

Michael frowned, looking to his brother for translation but Gabriel didn't look like he understood it any better.

"I'm not sure – "

Losing her patience, Chloe snapped. "Listen hear, buddy. I have for the last few weeks been dealing with a bunch of psychos that believe in magic. Today, I have found out that my partner, my best friend, was kidnapped, tortured, and possibly brainwashed by the same people. What I want to know is if magic is as real as you idiots are, and can it be used to do something like remove a heart?"

She hadn't realized she was shouting until she noticed that both Michael and Gabriel had taken a step back from her and Dan looked torn between terrified and proud.

Gabriel actually looked a little green. "Enochian magic," he breathed. "That little-"

For a moment, it looked like Gabriel was about to finish the job Samael started with Delilah, but his brother put a hand on his arm.

"Samael said she has been dealt with. We know what that means," he said. He turned back to Chloe, and for the first time, Michael looked worried. "He means Enochian magic can affect angels. Even Archangels. It is why many of us were not…pleased with it being handed down to humans."

"And?" Chloe prompted, waiting for him to answer the last part of her question.

"Yes," Michael admitted simply.

Chloe though she was going to throw up. Because now all her vivid imagination could think of was some perverse reenactment of Temple of Doom, and found herself vindictively glad Samael had done something to her for what she'd done to him.

Self-defense wasn't murder.

"Samael is Lucifer…without a heart?" Dan asked, voicing what he had to have already guessed from Chloe's pointed question. He sounded like he felt the same way as she did about the idea.

"It's not that literal," Gabriel offered, sounding grim. "But that doesn't make the reality any better. You can't physically remove it, that would kill him outright. But you can bind it, which is even more cruel."

When Dan and Chloe looked at him expectantly, Gabriel sighed, and explained. "You noticed how he looked like he was in pain? Or maybe like he wasn't really…all here or there? It's because it's like having a tourniquet on an arm. He knows it's there, but right now it's just causing him pain. And the longer it's there, the more pain it's going to cause, and the harder it's going to be to undo."

"You're Archangels," Dan protested. "You're telling me you can't do magic of your own to unbind him? Or something?"

Gabriel cringed. "I wish. Lucifer-slash-Samael was the only one of us who could."

"So where does that leave us?" Chloe demanded. "Just leave him to suffer? What happens in this tourniquet analogy if it's just left like that?"

"It may not matter. When the others hear Samael is back, we will have much bigger problems," Michael said. "Us, and everyone else."

"What does that mean?" Dan asked. "What 'others'?"

Michael raised a curious eye brow. "There is a long line of those who would be more than happy to see Samael gone for good. And unfortunately, some of them are his own brothers that fell with him."

"There's also Ragiel to worry about," Gabriel reminded. "Hopefully, Father stops him from going after Samael, but those two have a long history. We need to find him first, and after that…then we'll worry about how to unbind him. Maybe there's others who know Enochian magic somewhere on the Earth, but that's second."

Chloe wasn't exactly thrilled with their plan, but she didn't have anything better to suggest. "How do we find him when he can clearly hide from you when he wants to?"

"We ask someone who can find anyone," Gabriel said, suddenly grinning from ear to ear even as Michael rolled his eyes, looking less than thrilled.

"Homeland Security? A Ouija board?" Dan quipped.

"Death."

Nope. That didn't sound like worst, most ominous plan ever.

Chapter Text

Chloe wasn’t sure where she expected when Gabriel and Michael suggested they go looking for Death. Maybe a field trip to hospice care, or a funeral home, or even the middle of a battle.

Even in her wildest imagination, this never even made it on the list.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Chloe said, looking around at the crowded room. It was standing room only, and even then, it was edging near fire hazard occupation levels. “We’re going to find Death at a stripper club?”

The building was lit up like its own personal Vegas strip, a converted neo-industrial warehouse now adorned in neon lights promising girls, girls, girls, and the neon silhouette of the woman atop the roof flashed from an angel halo above her head to devil horns and a forked tail, and because no part of this trip could not involve a double entendre, the name was of course Saints and Sinners. There was a line out the door, and the bouncer’s checklist seemed longer than Lux’s inventory report. Apparently, it was some sort of celebration for one man, who looked like he belonged in the financial district behind a desk with a double tall espresso than in the ridiculously themed club with enough empty shot glasses around him, it suggested divine intervention that he wasn’t dead from alcohol poisoning already.  

At least, the balloons tied to his chair seemed to suggest the party was for him. Chloe was pretty sure the balloons said something like ‘Happy Retirement’, but there was also one with a unicorn on it, and another one had a ‘It’s a Boy!’ message, so either his co-workers were cheap and raided the dollar store, or they shared the same sense of humor as Lucifer did.

“Well, not Death Death. Death the Horseman is kind of hard to get ahold of, and he’s not big into picking sides, so he probably wouldn’t help anyway,” Gabriel clarified cheerfully. He paused, looking thoughtful. “And there’s that whole weird relationship between Death and Samael anyway, because the Horsemen had to be made to carry out Samael’s jobs and he’s kind of like a weird Adam’s Rib creation, soo …that makes it pretty awkward.”

“We are lucky she was nearby,” Michael said. Chloe almost felt bad for him. Gabriel seemed perfectly comfortable no matter where he was, and had already made friends with at least six different people and was currently chatting up another in between bits and pieces of explanation that explained nothing useful. Michael, on the other hand, was trying to avoid touching people at all costs looking thoroughly disgusted – whether by the people or the venue was a toss up, since Chloe was pretty sure she remembered one of his brothers mentioning Michael didn’t actually like people. Whereas his personality effected Dan to the point that he still refused to stand near him (even after Michael prevented him from getting killed in their argument with Samael), it didn’t seem to have any effect on the people of the club.

Apparently, no one feel the need to be judged at a strip club.

However, Chloe was finally beginning to see the similarities between Lucifer and Michael – especially when a particularly drunk older woman flung her arms around his neck and whispered something in his ear that made the archangel turn an electric pink in embarrassment. He had the same horrified ‘NOW WHAT?!’ Lucifer had when children would approach him – and both brothers had the same level of tact for getting rid of unwanted affections. Michael had snatched the first drink within reach, holding it aloft like a dog treat and using it to lure his admirer into releasing her grip around his neck and then handed it to the first available male he could grab. The woman followed after it like a cat with a laser pointer, and Michael heaved a sigh of relief.

“So who exactly are we looking for then?” Dan asked, his head turning to watch a particularly fine looking young woman who was dressed similar to Maze walk by as Gabriel mirrored him.

“Not her,” Michael snapped, and swatted his younger brother upside the back of his head at the same time Chloe elbowed Dan.

“That hurt,” Gabriel whined, rubbing at the back of his head, glowering at his older brother.

Michael was completely unmoved. “Do not ogle, and I will not hit you.”

Gabriel stuck his tongue out for a brief moment before turning back to Chloe, still rubbing his head. “Anyway, we’re looking for Azrael,” Gabriel explained. “She took over as the actual angel of Death when Samael was retired.”

“She?” Dan echoed. “I didn’t think there were any female angels.”

“What the human race knows of angels could fit on the end of a pin,” Michael sniffed indignantly. “Of course there are.”

Gabriel waved off his brother’s gruffness. “Azrael is sort of like Aphrodite. She’s one of us, but she’s not exactly a relative. After the fiasco with Samael, Dad sort of rewrote the job description. There’s Death the Horseman – the one who is responsible for everyone and is an unbiased third party, and then there’s Azrael. She also wasn’t made specifically for her job, she actually won it in a contest so she’s kind of…” Gabriel glanced to his brother for help. “How would you describe her?”

“An agent of chaos,” Michael deadpanned.

“She isn’t that bad, Negative Nancy,” Gabriel protested. “I’d say more…free spirited.”

“Whatever she is,” Chloe interrupted before they could start arguing. “The question is where she is.”

Before Gabriel could answer, the lights dropped down low over the crowd and they began to cheer.

It wasn’t the stage that lit up, however. It was the bar.

In a completely over the top theatrical poof of smoke, a woman appeared, standing in the middle of the bar as the spotlight hit directly over her, the top hat keeping her face obscured in shadow. In a costume somewhere between a Gothic ring master and a magician, she wore satin gloves up to her elbows, boots with heels that could kill a man that laced up past her knees, and a black Playboy Bunny bodice, she looked less like a stripper than some crossover with burlesque and coyote ugly style performance. Midnight black hair cascaded down her back in waves Chloe couldn’t hope to achieve in a hundred years, and with a sly toss, the light finally hit her face. Decorated like a Dia de los Muertos sugar skull that looked more realistic than artistic, when she winked, it looked more like an empty socket than simply makeup, and when she smiled, her lips pulled back what seemed inhumanly far.

“Hello, boys and girls,” she purred, her voice like smoke and shadow, sultry, dark, and inviting.

Chloe had to clap her hand to her mouth to smother her immediate giggle as the crowd whistled and cheered because as soon as she heard the first lyrics to Sia’s Reaper remixed into Southern Gothic style, and the woman began her routine on the bar counter, she knew they didn’t have to look any further.

“Ah. Knew she was around here somewhere,” Gabriel said cheerfully, before putting his fingers to his lips and whistling loudly in support. “Yeah, go RaeRae!”

Dan looked like he was about to give himself whiplash looking from Gabriel and Michael to Azrael. “That’s your sister?!”

The way that she fed off the crowd, the way that they seemed to feed off her, the almost electric tang in the air made Chloe think of Lux, when Lucifer was in his good moods and had the entire club on their feet and inhibitions gone.

“Actually,” Chloe mused, “this is the first relative of Lucifer’s I totally buy.”

And same as she felt when watching Lucifer in his element like that, Chloe was a little jealous of Azrael’s obvious confidence even with every set of eyes in the room on her as she continued through her routine.

As the song started to come to an end, at the far end of the bar, Azrael spun on one of her impossible heels, grabbing onto the supporting metal pole in the corner and bending backwards, her free hand holding her top hat out and away from her in a “that’s all, folks!” pose, she placed a theatrical kiss on the birthday man’s cheek, one leg lifted high in the air in a vertical split for balance.

“Happy retirement, honey,” she said, before hooking her leg around the pole to pull herself back upright.

The man was too stunned to do more than touch disbelieving fingers to the black lipstick kiss on his cheek.

Yep. Lucifer’s sibling.

Azrael gave one last bow before tipping her hat to the crowd and vanishing in much the same way she appeared to the roar of the crowd.

Chloe couldn’t help the smile, or joining in with the clapping – it really had been an impressive show – and she wondered idly if this was Azrael’s hobby in the way Lux was Lucifer’s, or if she was here for someone in the crowd, and just enjoyed theatrics.

Dan took a minute to actually remember how to speak. “Got any other sisters?”

As Michael shot him a scathing glance, there was an ear piercing squeal of delight before someone bodily shoved past Chloe, hurling herself into Michael’s arms with such force he stumbled backwards even as his hands came up to catch her. Apparently, Azrael was a bit of a quick change artist – she was completely changed out of her costume and in much less conspicuous party clothes and no one seemed to make the connection she was the woman who’d just been on stage because no one batted an eye.

“Michael!” Azrael cried, wrapping her legs around her brother’s waist and her arms so firmly around his face it was a fairly effective gag. She planted one black-lipsticked kiss against his cheek with an audible smack before she hugged him even tighter. “Oh em gee, bro! What’re you doing here?! I haven’t seen you in like, ages!”

Michael may have answered, but considering his mouth was completely obscured by Azrael’s arms, it didn’t matter.

For being so non-touchy feely by comparison to his brothers, Michael didn’t try and push his sister off or extricate himself from her octopus hold even as she chattered a mile a minute in a language Chloe didn’t understand. Even if she couldn’t see his mouth, she could tell he was smiling affectionately at her.

Out of her getup, Chloe hadn’t realized just how short Azrael was. Admittedly, she’d been on a bar four feet off the ground and in stilettos that had her almost on tiptoes, but still. She didn’t look like anyone in Lucifer’s family tree – not even Amenadiel. All the guys – at least, out of the whopping four she’d met – were all well over six feet and physically imposing. Lucifer often used his height to loom over suspects, and she had a feeling he actually enjoyed the fact that on the few occasions she’d hugged him, she came to just beneath his chin.

Azrael was maybe five foot three without her heels, and without her makeup and the costume or even the harsh overhead lighting, she reminded her more of Dan’s cousin Esperanza. There was no mistaking her for being an ex-patriated Brit. Long, absolutely jet black hair was held up with an elegant twist of a comb, and where her brothers – especially Michael – seemed to be solid muscle mass, Azrael looked practically pixie like.

She seemed to make up for size in enthusiasm though.

“Hey! How come Michael gets all the love?” Gabriel demanded, holding his arms wide. “What am I, chopped liver?”

Pausing long enough to bend her head impossibly back to look at him upside down, Azrael stuck her tongue out, mirroring him from earlier. “I saw you last Wednesday in Budapest.”

“So?”

Rather than roll her eyes, Azrael flashed that impossibly wide grin, hopped down from Michael and immediately bounced back up into Gabriel’s waiting arms.

Considering the last family reunion Chloe and Dan witnessed, she was thoroughly relieved that they seemed on better terms with their sister than their other brother. She really didn’t want to see another throw down between angels.

“So what’re you two doing here?” Azrael asked, not releasing her hold on her older brother. Gabriel seemed unbothered. “Especially you, Mike. I know how you feel about people.” And then, as if just noticing Chloe and Dan – or perhaps just noticing that they were with her brothers – she offered a cheerful wave. “Hi Chloe! Hi Dan! Nice to meet you!”

Dan didn’t seem quite recovered from Azrael’s performance, and given some of the moves, Chloe could hardly blame him. Hell, she was a little starstruck after that. All he managed was a half strangled “Hi” that made her think of Stitch from Trixie’s favorite movie.

“Hello,” Chloe said, offering a short wave of her own because she wasn’t entirely sure how to greet Death. Especially not a super affectionate one who talked like Malibu Barbie.  “You…know us?”

Azrael waved her hand. “Of course, silly. I know everyone.”

“Everyone?” Chloe echoed. Maybe she’d misinterpreted what Michael and Gabriel meant about there being two versions of Death. They’d made Azrael out to be more like a Valkyrie than a grim reaper, but maybe she had it backwards?

“Well, yeah…Death comes for everyone, right?” Azrael explained cheerfully. “Well, I come for the ones who believe in Dad. I don’t get involved in other’s sand boxes. That’s just rude. And a violation of union laws…”

It was really hard to take anything she said seriously when she was still wrapped around Gabriel like Trixie used to do when she didn’t want to be put down for bed. Angel of Death or not.

“So what are you doing here?” she asked. “Do you run the club, or…?”

Azrael laughed. “No. No, I do not. Bart over there and I have an appointment tonight, around 1:13 AM. And I really quite like him, and he’s been really nice and it seems kinda shitty to die the night you retire, so I thought I would give the old guy one last thrill before he goes, you know?” She sounded wistful, craning her neck over her brother’s head – the only chance she had to see over the crowd from ground level -  looking for ‘Bart’ in the crowd.

Currently, he was hard to miss, standing on one of the table tops with another dancer, awkwardly trying to match her moves and failing, but it didn’t look like he cared.

“We have a favor to ask,” Michael said. “We were hoping you could oblige.”

Azrael extricated herself from Gabriel’s hug, driving one fist into her opposite palm. “Excellent! Who we gonna fight? Is there money on it? Is it a cage fight?”

Both Michael and Dan snorted simultaneously.

“Ah, about that,” Gabriel hedged, scruffing up the back of his head. “We don’t need you to fight anyone. We need you to find someone. Someone who is going through a lot of trouble to avoid us.”

Lower lip jutted out briefly in a pout at the idea of not getting to fight someone for her brothers – though that thought alone made Chloe wonder, because Michael and Gabriel were archangels and her older brothers, she now could only picture Azrael as a honey badger in pocket sized pixie form – Azrael heaved a sigh. “Laaaame…” she groaned. “Fine. Who do I need to find?”

“Lucifer,” Chloe said at the same time as Michael, Gabriel and Dan all answered “Samael.”

Azrael cringed. “Uh, you wanna run that by me again?”

“Lucifer wound up on the wrong side of Enochian magic and some whackadoo people trying to use him as their own personal assassin,” Gabriel explained. “Long story short: Samael is the one you’re looking for, so we can fix what they did to him.”

Azrael shook her head, waving her hand at Gabriel. “Nope. Nuh uh. No way, dude. I never even met the guy and I don’t want to find him. I mean, judging from the stories Amenadiel, and Ragiel, and Metatron and – you know, everyone who knew the guy – you shouldn’t even need me. Just look for some place where the population has gone berserk and he’s probably standing in the middle of it.”

“It is not the real Samael,” Michal offered. “Chloe was right. You are looking for Lucifer. And we need to find him before Ragiel does. Or worse, before Lucifer does something he will truly regret.”

Azrael didn’t seem moved by her brothers’ plea, folding her arms across her chest. “No.”

Chloe couldn’t believe it. So much for thinking the siblings were on better terms with Azrael than each other. “Why not?”

Azrael turned to look at Chloe, mouth opened to protest loudly, but when she caught Chloe’s eyes, she faltered. “You really like him, huh?”

“Of course I do,” Chloe said, not seeing a reason to lie or try and downplay it. If time was of the essence, denial was not the game to play here. “He’s my partner, and probably my only real friend.”

Azrael’s face fell a little at the last word. “You know you’re his, too?”

Chloe fumbled for words, because she really didn’t have any. She knew, on a peripheral level, that Lucifer, despite his lifestyle, was incredibly lonely. Things like family didn’t quite compute with him, even though she now knew he had one of the largest extended families of anything in creation, and friends were…well, usually restricted to one night stands. It just seemed so much more painful when someone else voiced it.

“You talk to him?”

Azrael offered a small, genuine smile. “Yeah. Lucifer and I talk a lot actually. Usually it’s just business. He did this gig way longer than I have, but he’s also really the only other one of us who hangs out here on a semi-permanent basis. Gabriel is here a lot, but he’s sort of like an inter-office messenger between Dad and a select few. Lucifer’s a pretty decent older bro. Which brings me back to my previous answer. No.”

Chloe opened her mouth to protest, but Azrael stopped her.

“Look, it’s not what you think. This isn’t just me being an unhelpful bitch. If you were looking for Lucifer, then I would totally help. In a heartbeat. But you’re not. You’re looking for Samael, and Samael isn’t Lucifer. If I look for Samael, he’ll know. And he’ll know it’s me.” Azrael shuddered, rubbing her hands against her bare arms. “And I don’t particularly want to die.”

“Look?” Chloe echoed. The emphasis Azrael kept putting on the word made her suspect it was more than just glancing around a crowd and pointing him out. If it was that simple, she could think of no reason why Michael or Gabriel couldn’t manage it before.

Azrael huffed, blowing a wayward strand of hair out of her luminous eyes. “It’s like Professor X and Cerebro. I can find anyone – comes with the job description. No one can hide from Death. But when I have to go specifically looking for someone, they can feel it. Humans tend to refer to the feeling as ‘like someone walked over your grave’. But while you don’t know how to explain the feeling, Lucifer will know, and since I’m the only one who can do it, he’ll know who, too. And while I’ve got a pretty solid relationship with Lucifer, I don’t know how well that holds with his evil alter ego.” She gave a scathing look towards Gabriel who suddenly found the ceiling incredibly interesting. “And considering what he did to Michael’s face when they were kids, I don’t particularly want to test the theory. So…no.”

“So this was just a waste of time?” Chloe snapped, unable to stop herself.

Azrael’s eyes flashed threateningly, and it wasn’t just a metaphor. They really flashed like lightning strikes, and Chloe felt a chill spread up her arms that had nothing to do with the temperature. “I know I’m not as intimidating as the rest of my family, human,” she snarled, her tone dropping several octaves. “But don’t forget what I am, or what I can do.”

It was actually harder than Chloe would’ve thought, remembering that Lucifer, or his siblings, weren’t humans. Lucifer was so very human, it was difficult to reconcile with what she knew of him now. But not with Azrael.

Azrael’s eyes flickered back to her deep brown, and she visibly shook herself, a brilliant smile painted on her face. “Anyway, not a total waste. I am, after all, the smart sibling. I’m not going to stick my nose where it doesn’t belong, but hey. I can’t stop you. Free will, and all that jazz. If you want to find Samael so badly…he is still an angel. Same rules apply. He’d answer for you.”

At first, Chloe had no idea what she was playing at. From the earlier fight, and even from earlier discussions, Lucifer or Samael weren’t like the other angels. None of the rules applied, even the ones his own father enforced. And if she was perfectly honest, it had taken embarrassingly little effort to take on all three of his siblings, and from what she gathered, the damage done to Amenadiel had been no minor thing. She doubted ripping off an angel’s wings was remotely close to pulling those off a fly.

And then something in the way Azrael met her gaze made something click into place. She could kick herself for being so stupid, but she generously chalked it up to the fact that the supernatural had only been real to her for a few hours, not a lifetime.

But she didn’t want a repeat performance of last time Samael was around his family. And if she was wrong about what Azrael was implying, she didn’t want anyone else to get hurt either. A crowded room with two of Samael’s least favorite siblings at the moment was not where she wanted to try it. “Can you…” she started, but Azrael’s grin widened, and suddenly Chloe was looking at the Death’s head makeup again. Except it wasn’t makeup.

“Of course I can.” She suddenly reached up with both hands, which were unbelievably cold to the touch, placing them on either side of Chloe’s face. “See you later,” she whispered, and planted an audible kiss on Chloe’s cheek.

And just like before, in the space of a heartbeat, she was miles away, back at Lux. Not in the bar, but hundreds of feet in the air, twenty stories above LA, standing on Lucifer’s balcony, and this time she was alone. She wondered for a moment if Lux was the greatest place to try this, but it was Lucifer’s home. Maybe Azrael had a reason for picking it out of all places in the world. She really hoped she knew what Azrael had been implying, because if it wasn’t, this was going to be a really short conversation.

Chloe ducked her head, chin almost touching her chest, and did something she couldn’t ever remember doing before.

She prayed.

There wasn’t a whole lot of tangible thought to it – just that she wanted to know that Lucifer was alright. That he was safe, and...how much she wanted to be able to talk to him again.

She almost screamed when she heard the ruffle of feathers, but managed to keep it to an undignified squeak of surprise.

Samael stood on the railing, standing silently and little more than a shadow against the starry night sky.

“Detective,” he said mildly, sounding more curious than angry. “You rang?”

Chapter Text

Chloe clutched at her chest in surprise, her heart in her throat more from surprise than fear. "Really?" she snapped before she could stop herself.

Samael offered a one shouldered shrug. "You called me," he said. "I fail to see why you would be surprised to see me."

Chloe harrumphed. "To be perfectly honest, I wasn't sure if I really expected it to work. Or…you know…how."

Samael chuckled without humor. "Mmm, yes. My sister does have a habit of failing to explain things properly. I suppose it comes with the territory, Death being a great mystery and all that."

"How did you know we'd been to see Azrael?"

"Logic," Samael deadpanned, in the same tone Trixie used when she meant an unspoken 'duh'. "You're not one I would call spiritual, Detective, and even if you were, this sudden addition to the perfectly ordinary world you occupy is relatively new. Magic, angels, demons, et cetera. There is no reason why a woman without faith would suddenly arrive at the conclusion that to attract an angel, all one must do is pray. Considering you've never done it before in your life, that would be one hell of a leap, if you'll pardon the expression. Obviously my brothers didn't clue you in, because as far as they're concerned, I answer to no one. Azrael, on the other hand, is relatively local, and more importantly, she knows that I couldn't ignore a direct summons. After all, that's how we wound up in this mess, isn't it?"

Chloe didn't immediately jump in, waiting to see if Samael would explain beyond just a 'she was dealt with' in regards to Delilah Rogers, but when he failed to answer, curiosity got the better of her.

"What…" she hesitated slightly, unsure exactly how to ask what she wanted to know. As much as she gave Lucifer crap about his less than delicate interrogation techniques, she was pretty crap at it too. At least, when it came to friends that she wanted to help without being obvious. Not to mention the whole 36 hours without sleep, and her world view being upended like a card table by an angry toddler. Tact was not high on her list of priorities right now. "What happened after she took you?"

On the other hand, blunt was sometimes the only way to go.

"Not much," Samael said, clasping his hands behind his back as he strolled across the thin railing as easily as one would the sidewalk. "Drugged me, chained me to the wall, asked me to pick up my old duties, and when I refused, used Enochian blood magic to tear open my chest to bind my heart and call out me."

At least he'd sort of stopped referring to himself as two separate people.

Even though he was right, and she called him, and she'd been so sure that this is what she was supposed to do according to Azrael, now that she was standing in front of Not-Lucifer, she realized she had no real plan for what exactly to do next. Samael confirmed what Michael and Gabriel already pointed out- she was very, very new to this. She didn't really believe in magic, even now with it staring her in the face. What was she supposed to do now that she had Samael here?

"Your brothers said there are people capable of helping you," she started slowly, gauging his reaction. Not that she thought he would do to her what he did to his other brother, but she also didn't want him to disappear again. "People here on Earth who know how to undo what Delilah did to you."

Samael cast a dark look over his shoulder without pausing his casual stroll across the glass railing. "I'm aware. I even know where they are."

"So…you don't want to be helped?"

"Help in this context is a little subjective, wouldn't you say?" Samael asked. "Who says I want to be crammed back into my box? Who says this isn't the better version of me?"

"You do," Chloe said without thinking, folding her arms across her chest. "Repeatedly, actually."

Samael blinked in surprise, but then smiled with inhuman teeth. "Touchè, Detective. However, there are extenuating circumstances and I've rethought my position on the matter. I was concerned that being this…restored version of myself meant I had to obey certain rules. I see no righteous lightning, nor life ending floods or swarms of locusts or marks on doors for first born children. Who's to say my Father who art in Heaven doesn't give His blessing for my change of heart?"

"Since when did what your father want have anything to do with what you want?"

Samael's step hitched at that.

"Is this what you want?" Chloe asked quietly. "If it is…I mean, there's nothing I can really do about it. And truthfully, I don't know that I would even if I could. I wouldn't be happy about it, but…" she trailed off, hugging her arms around herself as she glanced down at her feet. "I can't make you do something just because I don't like it."

The silence that followed was almost tangible, and when she looked back up, Samael had turned fully to face her, his head tilted to the side in that quizzical bird expression he often had when people baffled him.

"What?" she asked, fidgeting under his black gaze. "Could you at least blink if you're going to stare at me like that?"

"Could you…" Samael began, then shook his head as if to clear it before starting again. "Could you repeat that?"

"Stop staring?"

"No…not that bit." In three quick strides Samael stood in front of her again, abruptly bending at the waist to lean down to look her directly in the eyes. "The other part."

Chloe tried not to flinch away from the proximity. Samael's face was mere inches from hers, and more than a little invasive of her personal space, but she got the feeling he was looking for something. "Is this what you want?" she echoed. "Is this really what you prefer?"

Samael recoiled as if he'd been slapped, jerking back so quickly she was surprised he didn't fall off the railing, supernatural powers be damned.

"Sorry," she apologized quickly, though she wasn't sure what she was sorry about. "I didn't mean – "

"Don't be," Samael interrupted. "I was just…surprised, I think." He frowned at that, like he wasn't sure that was the word he meant.

Chloe waited for an answer before she carefully prodded. "Well…?"

"I don't know," he answered, too confused for his reply to be anything less than truthful. "No one's ever asked me before."

Ouch.

"Well…" she offered a small, hopefully encouraging smile. "I'm asking you now."

The blackened gaze was void of any of Lucifer's normal tells, and Chloe absently thought of the old superstition that eyes were the window's to the soul.

If she was honest with herself, she wasn't actually expecting an answer. Not a real one, anyway. Existentialist questions weren't supposed to be easy, immediate answers. She was sort of hoping to hear at least a wisecrack about desire or something else so distinctly Lucifer that she would know for sure that somewhere behind those darkened windows, her friend was still there.

"It's easier this way," Samael said. "It's not really a…want. It's just less complicated. Less messy."

Chloe snorted before she even had time to think about it. "Since when have you ever wanted to do anything the easy way? You don't even like taking the elevator half the time if stairs are an option."

Samael's lips twitched in an aborted smirk. "True enough, I suppose. But that's not what I meant."

She shrugged. "Then what did you mean?"

"You wouldn't understand."

"Probably not," she agreed, and was rewarded with another one of those strangely avian, curious looks. "But I want to. You're my friend, and I want to understand this. I won't know if you don't tell me."

"Ha," Samael scoffed derisively, though the smile was genuine. "I've been warned away from bearing fruit of knowledge. I don't fancy another scolding."

"I'm not Eve," Chloe said. "I know what I'm asking. And I know who I'm asking. So…try me."

And there was that look she'd been waiting for. She wasn't entirely sure just what Lucifer was thinking when he did it, but it was just so him that she almost sagged in relief. The closest thing that she could think of to describe it was somewhere between 'you're joking' and 'wait, you're serious – isn't that fascinating' – almost smiling but not quite like she'd done or said something that was so opposed to his embittered world view he was never sure if she was for real.

And just as quickly, it was gone, those fathomless black eyes shuttered once more.

"It's easier to understand if I show you. May I?" he asked, holding out his hand as if he was asking her to dance.

"Uh…sure?" she agreed cautiously. She wasn't a huge fan of flying Angel Air or whatever method of immediate transport they seemed to use, but if that's what it took for her to get Samael to keep talking to her, then fine.

That wasn't what he'd meant.

As soon as her skin touched his, freezing cold and like dipping her hand in ice water, the world shrieked at her.

The maelstrom of voices, the kaleidoscope of colors and sounds and want were like a physical blow she couldn't help but flinch from.

Oh…oh but it was so much worse than that.

It wasn't just any voice. It wasn't just any colors.

It was that sickly green of envy and vibrant red of lust and black as darkest night.

It was wantwantwant and give me and need and hurt.

It was hate like fire and jealousy like knives and greed like oil.

It was –

Samael released her hand.

And just as suddenly as it came it was gone, leaving her reeling and gasping like she'd run a marathon for her life and sick to her stomach, the clawing, itching feeling of wanting to scrub those thoughts from her very being making her skin crawl.

"Apologies, Detective," Samael said, sounding distant but sincere.

"What the hell was that?" she demanded when she found her voice again, pulling her arms around herself once more to ward off the sudden chill she felt – not in the air but in her bones.

Samael watched her, looking strangely…sad? No. Resigned. Like she'd helped him prove a point he hadn't hoped to.

"People are loud," Samael said, echoing his words from Lux. "Especially with their most bases desires."

Her brain struggled for clarity in the explanation. "You….you can hear that? Is it always like that?" The soundproofing of Lux made sense now. She'd just thought of it like Superman's super hearing – just being able to hear the rest of the city.

Not that.

Samael shrugged. "Yes. It's louder now, because I'm less…human. But yes. Always." His wings rustled on his back as he raised them slightly. "I didn't cut them off just for the sake of symbolism. I ask people what they desire because it helps me tune out the rest," he explained. "And I wasn't lying when I said I can't read minds. I don't get specifics if they're not spoken aloud – just the general idea that there's something they desire and are currently denying themselves. And unlike people seem so ready to believe – I don't make them think those things, much less act on them. I just…eliminate inhibitions. Sometimes people don't act on them, even after. Most do." He offered a brittle smile. "It's amazing what people will do when they want something they know they're not supposed to. And it is so much easier to punish them when I don't have to care about them."

Chloe's breathing was slowly returning to normal but the sheer, dark…evil of all those thoughts and desires still clung to her like tar. She felt chilled, even in the LA night heat. "Do…do all of you hear that? You and Michal and Gabriel…and however many others of you there are?"

Samael scoffed. "No, no. Just me. Part and parcel for the job I suppose. Dominion of Desire and all that. It's not exactly what I wanted for a birthday present, but it wasn't so bad when humans were younger. There were fewer of you, for one thing. And fear of my Father and His wrath kept most of you in line."

"I thought the pillar of Christianity was that God loved people?"

"Strange sort of love, wouldn't you say, considering He drowned a fair bit of you to wipe the slate clean. No one loves unconditionally," Samael said. "Not even my Father. And when He couldn't bring himself to love you, He sent me to tell you just how disappointed He was."

Right. Old Testament was a real thing. Ish. At least not entirely a metaphor. She shuddered, and it had nothing to do with the temperature.

"Would you like me to fix that?" Samael asked curiously. When she blinked owlishly up at him he made a vague gesture encompassing her entirety. Presumably he meant the headache and the bone chilling cold, but he didn't clarify.

She shook her head. "No," she said, her voice shaky. She frowned, cleared her throat and brushed the stray piece of hair behind her ear. "No," she repeated firmly. "I asked to understand. I'm fine. Just cold. I'll warm up eventually."

Samael sighed in exasperation. "Fine. Suffer needlessly. You know, I must say – you're handling this all considerably better than most."

"How did Dan react?"

The grin that lit up his face was incandescent. "Screamed like a dying pterodactyl and passed out on the floor. I wonder if the security cameras at the bar caught it…"

"So why did you tell him and not me?" she asked.

Wrong thing to ask.

Samael stiffened, his entire frame going rigid down to his wings before his entire face darkened, black eyes narrowing. "Come again?"

Chloe tried to backpedal but it was too late. "That's not –"

"What did I tell you when we first met?" Samael roared, stepping off the balcony and forcing her to step back. "What have I been telling you from the very moment our paths crossed? Did I stutter when I said my name? Did I mumble when I told you not only who I was but what I was? Should I have tried another language?"

Chloe stumbled back, almost tripping and falling but managed to catch herself on the wall she found herself backed against.

Samael's open palm smashed into the concrete next to her head, making her flinch and close her eyes against the flying bits of debris.

"Did I ever lie to you, Detective?" he snarled, looming over her. "Did I? Why would I tell you the truth about everything only to spout off such a fantastic lie about who I was? To spend half of every conversation reiterating exactly what I just told you? To tell you every, single time the truth and you scoff and accuse me of lying? For fun? I told you a hundred times and more, Detective. What was I supposed to do to convince you? Terrify you? Show you the True Face of God's Sin Eater? Fine. So be it."

There was a flash of light so bright she had to shut her eyes.

When he spoke again, his voice was back to normal. "Go on, Detective. Have a look. Open your eyes."

Curiosity, more than anything, got the better of her. She knew Samael wasn't Lucifer – at least, not the one she knew now. Samael was more like Lucifer when she first met him. The Lucifer that believed in punishment more than justice and thought there was little saving grace to humanity.

But despite Samael's rage, despite what she'd seen him do to his own sibling or the anger he'd just thrown at her…

She wasn't afraid of him.

But he sounded like he thought she would be.

Chloe cautiously opened her eyes and couldn't help the small gasp as her hands flew to her mouth.

Samael's face was a burned ruin, shiny and raw looking even in the dim of the night sky. Deep gouges carved into his skin as if he'd tried to peel off his own face. His cheeks were hollowed and lips were ragged and torn. Eyes no longer black but burning, fiery red.

All she could think of were the carved out hollows on his shoulders from his purposely destroyed wings and without thinking, she reached one hand out towards his scarred cheek.

"Oh…Lucifer," she breathed, not even noticing the name and he didn't correct her. Her hand stopped, hovering above his ruined skin, wanting to offer some form of comfort but not sure if she would just cause him more pain because the burns were obviously old but so were the ones where his wings had been, and he was adamant about her not touching them. "Why would you be afraid to show me?"

Did he really think she thought so little of him that his appearance would drive her away? Did she really make him believe that?

In the blink of an eye, the wounds were gone. Lucifer – Samael – looked as he always did.

"I don't understand," he said, abruptly pulling away from her, almost tripping over himself to put as much distance as he could between them. "Why aren't you afraid?"

Chloe wanted to go to him. So badly it ached. But he already looked like it was taking all of his willpower not to take off right then and there and she didn't know if he would ever answer another prayer of hers. So she held her ground, forcing herself to stay where she was and to give him as much space as he needed without retreating either. Because she wasn't afraid of him.

"Why would I be scared of you?" she asked gently. "Because you've obviously suffered?" She didn't mention that the gouges looked self-inflicted. "Scars aren't scary, Lu-" she caught herself. "Samael. They're just…proof that you survived."

Samael scoffed incredulously. "Father certainly broke the mold with you, Detective…" he muttered. "People don't normally sympathize with my nastier side."

"What happened?"

Samael frowned in momentary bewilderment. "I happened."

"You did that to yourself?" Chloe blurted out. "Why?" She knew Lucifer had…issues with self-worth, but mostly he just seemed full of himself rather than self-loathing. In spite of her suspicions that yes, it was a self-inflicted injury, she was hoping she was wrong.

"Because of you," he snapped. When he saw her confusion, he explained. "Not you personally…you." He swept his arm out to encompass the skyline of Los Angeles and beyond. "Admit it, this face isn't exactly one to make you quiver in your boots. Quiver somewhere else, yes. But when I didn't want to be the object of desire, I wanted be feared. This," his face flashed momentarily back to the burns, "before it was the face of the Devil, it was the face of Death."

Chloe remembered Azrael's too realistic looking 'makeup' at the bar. Apparently it was more than occupation Samael shared with his sister.

"After the Fall, it worked just as well. Perhaps even better. I wanted to be as ugly on the outside as I was on the inside, to show my Father just what He'd made me into. I couldn't do anything to Him, but I could convince Him to break His favorite toys. And those were the ones He would let me have."

"Lucifer, I-"

"Will you stop that?" Samael snapped irritably. "How many times must I tell you – Lucifer is gone. Only I remain."

And they were back to the split personality. Which made her remember she was quite literally on a ticking clock if what Gabriel and Michael said was true. The longer she messed around, the longer the two of them talked without really saying anything, the worse the binding would get. And the harder it would be to undo. She'd already caught him absently flexing his left hand like it'd fallen asleep on him, or rolling his shoulders uncomfortably as if to loosen them, and considering his…volatile behavior, she could make a pretty educated guess that it was starting to bother Samael, too.

"No," Chloe said, shaking her head firmly. "I don't really believe that, and I don't think you do, either. You already said it yourself. You, Lucifer – you're the same person. Nothing has changed except whatever that woman did to you. That means you have all of the same experiences, all of the same history – it's not like you've forgotten it. Or like it didn't happen. Something made you into who you are today. Your Father didn't do anything more than rename you. You changed. Why?"

"What difference does it make about the hows and whys and wherefores? It's utterly irrelevant. This is me now. A rose by any other name and all that wax poetic nonsense," Samael said. He spread his arms wide, his darkening wings mirroring the motion behind him. "I bear no light – metaphorically or otherwise."

Chloe could feel frustration mounting, building like a lead weight in her chest because how could Samael not see that he was proving her point? This was the Lucifer she knew – the one she met months ago at one random drive by shooting that changed everything. "Something changed," she argued. She pointed a finger at Samael's chest to make her point and the archangel's mouth curled up into a smirk.

"More like reset to default," Samael said flippantly.

"Oh my God, you haven't changed at all," she said irritably. This was like trying to explain consequences in their case with Benny Choi. Maybe she wasn't explaining this right – she had a limited experience with the church and all of its history and angels and who ran what and how what happened. But maybe that was for the best, because no one else seemed to realize what she did. "I don't mean now. I mean years ago. When you were in Hell. When you saw nothing but the worst of us, the worst of humanity, what happened to make you decide we weren't so bad? There had to be something in us that you thought was worth it – worth defying your father, worth leaving Hell. If you hated people so much, why would you leave a place where all you did was torture them? Why leave a place where you didn't have to worry about the law or whether or not someone deserved to be punished? Something had to change. If you just thought people were blanket statement evil…why would you want to live like one of us?"

Samael stared at her with those onyx eyes unblinking, head cocked to one side as he considered the answer. When he didn't speak for several moments, Chloe thought he wouldn't.

"Fine, what -" she began but Samael interrupted.

"You are such funny little creatures, you humans," he said, a small smile pulling at his lips. "I'm never sure if I love you or hate you. Is it possible to do both?"

That was...not what Chloe was expecting as an answer. She shrugged, not sure what else to do.

"Music."

"What?"

Samael mirrored her shrug, and with a ruffle of feathers, his wings vanished. "You asked what made me change my mind. Music."

That...that explained a lot, actually. Lux. Lucifer's love of the history of the building he occupied with Frank Sinatra. His rather oddly extensive knowledge of children's movies – specifically Disney with all their songs. Why so many myths about the Devil involved his interest in music.

"Souls in the Pit are kind of funny, really. They punish themselves – reliving their worst nightmares over, and over. They can stop it, and they know it. All part of the welcome package. Hell isn't supposed to be permanent. After all, the only way I was getting out of being king of it was if it was no longer necessary." He chuckled without humor. "I doubt that's ever going to happen…but some of them, in vain efforts to comfort themselves, to prevent their descent into true madness – they would sing to themselves. I wasn't imprisoned there. How else would I procure all those favors over the years? I could come and go as I pleased – just never to the Silver City. I couldn't go home, but I could come here. And music was about the only thing worthwhile about you."

Chloe knew that casually dismissive tone. She'd heard it many times. Lucifer – or Samael – may not lie to her. But he sure as hell lied to himself. Something else that hadn't changed.

"So naturally…the first thing you did when you left Hell for good was start a club, rather than, oh…I don't know…opening a music store."

He rubbed absently at his chest again, and Chloe resisted the urge to look at her watch.

Tick, tick, tick, she reminded herself. But if Samael wasn't going to let someone help him, she was going to make him help himself. Lucifer could be told something a thousand times, but it never sunk in until he came to the same conclusion on his own.

She just had to get him to do it in a matter of hours, not days.

And she was really, really hoping that an archangel was strong enough to break even an magical (and that still sounded weird to even think it) hold if he really wanted to.

"Yes, well," Samael huffed. "If I was going to be stuck around humans one way or another, I was at least going to be able to pick and choose them. And given human fascination for money, I wasn't about to purposely choose something that only made minimum wage. How else was I going to get out of speeding tickets?"

"No other reason?"

Lucifer's hand clutched compulsively, and she could see a brief flash of discomfort flash across his face, not unlike when he'd convinced her to shoot him in the leg. "Uh, no…" he said absently. "I mean, Lux put me in a position to…" he trailed off, eyes a thousand miles away.

Come on, Lucifer, she thought. I know you can do this…

"To fulfill desire," Samael said, this time pressing his left hand, hard, against his chest above his heart. "To see what people would do if…if given a chance. To see if they would prove me wron-"

The last of the word was lost in strangled shout as Samael staggered. "What the –" he suddenly sucked in a sharp breath between clenched teeth, falling to one knee as he half caught himself on the railing, his other hand clenched white knuckled at his chest.

Chloe abandoned caution as she rushed forward, keeping him from falling face first onto the deck. Rather than shoving her away as she half expected him to, he clung to her like she was his only lifeline.

"What's…" he flinched, hard, "happening?" He choked off another gasp, clenching his jaw so tightly she could see the muscles and tendons in his neck stand out in stark contrast.

Crap. Crap, crap. Maybe she'd made it backfire instead? Instead of getting him to break it, did she just make it speed up instead?

"I'm sorry!" she apologized, not sure where to put her hands, or what to do or what to say. "I didn't mean to make it worse, I just –"

What? Wanted to trick you into wanting to be something else? Someone else? What a hypocrite I turned out to be…

"I didn't want you to die."

"You did this?" he gasped, his fingers digging sharply into her shoulder with bruising strength.

Before she could open her mouth to apologize again, to try and make up for what was an apparently terrible idea, his eyes widened and for a split moment they were Lucifer's.

"Move!" he snapped. Without waiting for a response or even for it register in her head what he'd said, he shoved her backwards with a strength he'd never used on her, sending her skidding across the floor with enough force she hit the table in the living room of the penthouse before she came to a stop.

There was a blinding flash of lightning followed by an immediate crack of thunder and something slammed into Samael, hard enough to crush the marble beneath them where Chloe had just been kneeling and sending them both rolling across the deck, wrestling for control.

No, wait. Not something. Someone.

Someone else with wings, but not Gabriel or Michael – these wings weren't blinding white like the archangels', but so deep black they absorbed light instead of reflected it.

Samael landed a kick to their chest, launching them halfway across the balcony, but instead of hitting the opposite wall, spun with the force of the kick to land on their knees, one arm thrown out for balance as they skidded to a stop.

A tiny, irrational part of her brain that sounded an awful lot like Ryan Reynolds just then chimed in. Superhero pose…

"Long time no see," the newcomer snarled. "Brother."

Samael snorted, touching a hand to his newly split lip. "Ragiel," he said, smiling through blood stained teeth. "You're late."

Chapter Text

The new arrival, presumably Ragiel, straightened, fluffing his jet black wings out with a snap like a deployed parachute before they disappeared.

“After watching you with Amenadiel, forgive me if I wasn’t eager to come and see you,” Ragiel said dismissively.

Samael sneered, though the disdain seemed forced. “Since there was no Heavenly wrath, I’ll assume dear old Dad approves of my harsh parenting tactics. Or, if He doesn’t, He doesn’t disapprove enough to step in and stop me. So then what are you doing here?”

Ragiel huffed, looking all the world like a put upon older sibling asked to discipline his brother. “You and I both know, the rest of us don’t have ‘options’,” he said, making air quotes around the last word. “Dad says jump and we don’t even get to ask how high.” He shot Samael a scathing glare. “Thanks for ruining it for the rest of us.”

“Me?” Samael bristled, pulling himself up with the help of the railing.

He staggered slightly, and Chloe could see the momentary frown on Ragiel’s face. Maybe he wasn’t aware of what was happening? She couldn’t ever remember even hearing the name Ragiel – not in church and not when she was originally looking into Lucifer’s past, but from the way Luci-Samael was talking to him, he seemed sort of like an unwilling errand boy. Chloe could only assume another brother, but probably not an archangel considering the dark wings and the fact that he looked absolutely nothing like any of the angels she’d seen thus far. She remembered Samael’s comment about being brother brothers and how less alike their siblings looked. If she had to guess though, he reminded her a bit of Azrael and wondered if the newcomer was a ‘free agent’ like their sister. Though apparently. ‘free’ was debatable.

“Why is this my fault? You and the others are so quick to tout God’s Big Picture Plan, what makes you think I wasn’t an unwilling part in it? Maybe He knew what I would do and just used me as an excuse not to give the rest of you Choice.” Samael spread his wings out behind him in emphasis. “Maybe this is what He intended all along.”

This time Ragiel definitely frowned, and for a moment, Chloe thought it was because he was considering Samael’s accusation, but then she noticed where he was actually looking.

Samael’s wings, spread wide behind him, were now noticeably darker. Less than 10 minutes ago, the inky blackness had barely stained the edges of his primary feathers. Now it was halfway up his primary and secondary coverts.

Chloe didn’t really know what the darkening of the feathers meant, other than something ‘not good’ given how Amenadiel made it sound like an insult. But judging by the look on Ragiel’s face, it wasn’t just a cosmetic issue.

“Samael, you need to come back to the Silver City,” Ragiel said, taking a step forwards.

Definitely not just a cosmetic issue. That was the tone negotiators used on hostage takers and people on the edge of a bridge. Whatever the darkness meant, Samael’s brother was more than worried about it.

Samael’s grip tightened on the railing, splintering the reinforced glass. “And why on Earth should I do that? So when Dad kicks me out again, I have further to Fall? So I can wind up in a cage like the rest of His mistakes? No, thank you.”

Ragiel took another step forwards, his hand out. “Samael, I can’t fix this. I can’t fix you. If you want to live, you have to come home with me now because the only one I can think of to ask is Father.”

Samael’s eyes flashed angrily, the matte black reflecting fire. “I’m not broken,” he snarled. “And I’m not being dragged to His feet like some errant child asking for a band aid.”

“I don’t care,” Ragiel spat with equal venom. “I’m not taking the blame for your idiotic selfishness. And if you don’t come willingly, I will make you.”

Samael full on laughed at that, sounding less than sane. Actually, he sounded disturbingly like Archimedes the Highly Educated Owl. He leaned back against the railing. “Really, little brother? You’re going to drag me home? All by yourself?”

Ragiel bristled at that, his wings fluffing out behind him like an angry bird. “Don’t be stupid. I’m not about to go against Samael the Destroyer alone.”

With that, Ragiel put his fingers to his lips and blew one sharp, loud whistle that made Chloe duck her head and cover her ears. It was more than just loud – she felt it like she could feel a rumble of thunder, or the tang of lightning in the air in the middle of a storm.

Like the one that was starting to form above their heads that she hadn’t really been paying attention to until now.

Angel fights trumped the weather on the level of importance, as far as she was concerned.

The now familiar gust of wind heralding the arrival of angels blew her hair into her face, and in the blink of an eye, Gabriel and Michael were standing on either side of Ragiel, luminous white wings spread out behind them.

Gabriel looked like he would rather be anywhere but there, but as soon as he saw Samael, his jaw dropped in horror.

“Sammy – dude, you gotta come home,” Gabriel pleaded, taking a step towards his wayward sibling. “Now.”

Samael snarled, lips pulling back into a feral sneer, revealing less than human teeth as his eyes flashed dangerously.

“Stop. Telling me. What. To do.”

The black on the wings edged slightly further up. 

“Gabriel – ” she tried, except her voice was decidedly more like a whisper, dry and paper thin, lost in the steadily growing wind. She wondered if the change in the weather was Samael’s doing. If he could do all that Gabriel said – or even he admitted to – altering the weather to suit his mood didn’t seem that much of a stretch.

Michael stepped in. “Put your vanity aside for one moment, brother. We are not telling you anything except to save your own skin. Just look at yourself – look at your wings. We are not asking you to return home as a command from our Father, we are asking so that you stop killing yourself.”

Chloe didn’t particularly care to know the hows and wherefores of what exactly Michael meant, but she could make some wild guesses with her limited knowledge of magic and angels. If Delilah had bound Lucifer’s heart – literally – she could imagine no creature could live like that for long. Maybe the black on the wings was the equivalent of gangrene, or spreading poison. All she could tell was that it wasn’t good, and it was spreading faster the more the brothers argued – like the more determined Samael was to tell them to fuck off, the more the toxin set in.

She didn’t know if that meant that Lucifer would die and all that would be left is the alternate personality of Samael, or if something else was taking their place. Samael didn’t seem heartless, he seemed…dismissive. Cruel perhaps, but not unjust. And all she could think of was Lucifer’s own opinion of his prior self – that he was a monster. If everything with him was literal, not some colorful metaphor…

“The only way I’m going home is if you make me, dear brothers. And as I recall, you alone weren’t enough to do the job,” Samael hissed, gesturing pointedly to the vivid scar across Michael’s face. “And I don’t care if this is my final stand. I make it as myself, and not someone’s puppet. In other words –” he stood up straight, splaying his arms and wings out to either side as he smirked. “Come at me, bros.”

You little shit…

Michael collided with Samael like a linebacker, slamming into him so forcefully the glass of the balcony shattered. Instead of bracing for the impact though, Samael did the opposite – he bent over backwards, going with the force of Michael’s attack, right over the side of the building.

Away from Chloe, and away from his other siblings, and right for the busy streets of downtown LA.

Samael and Michael twisted through the air, exchanging blows as they fought for control of the fall and the upper hand.

Michael’s fist collided with Samael’s jaw, snapping his head back as Samael twisted in midair, tucking a wing and spinning them dizzyingly in a tight circle, forcing Michael’s back to the ground as they slammed into it.

The concrete gave way like sand beneath them, cratering a hole several feet deep as the rubble and dust exploded outwards.

People screamed, running in every direction without any clear sense of what was happening or what they were seeing – because what they were seeing was impossible.

Cars honked and swerved, brakes screeching in protest as people slammed them to the floor, trying to avoid the massive crater and the fleeing people, not always successful.

One car swerved miss a fleeing woman and her husband, the former clutching at a bloodied forehead from the debris while the latter stumbled in the haze of shock, slamming into a telephone pole. The transformer sparked, a shower of fiery gold raining down on the street and the people before the entire street flickered and went dark, the only light coming from headlights and the arcing sparks of the downed power lines.

“I beat you once before,” Michael warned, touching a thumb to his bloodied lip as he shoved Samael off him with a kick to the chest, launching the younger angel high enough into the air that Samael had to use his wings to catch himself, landing several feet away with a slide that carved grooves into the already ruined tarmac. “And that was when you were at full power. Do not push me to do it again.”

Samael laughed, his voice undulating between derisive chuckle and the cackle of the Beast. “You had an army behind you, brother. I see no such aid this time.”

Michael snarled, and his right hand flicked slightly to the left. In his open hand, a flicker of flame flashed brilliantly, and when it faded, a gleaming broadsword was in his hand, a tongue of flame licking about the blade.

Samael put both hands to his cheeks in a mockery of shock. “Oh no, not the Sword of Michael! Anything but that.” He dropped his hands and cocked his head to the side. “You should call it Back Biter given your history with it – you’ve got more scars from it than I do.”

“Lessons,” Michael corrected, swinging the sword as he charged towards his brother. “And unlike you, I learn from mine!”

Samael’s grin broadened in the dimly lit street, the flickering of the sparking cables and the car engine fire casting macabre shadows across his face, his eyes flashing hellfire red in the darkness.

“Oh, but haven’t I?” he hissed. He spun on his heel at the last possible second, sweeping his leg out low and wide to drop almost to the ground as he ducked under the flaming blade, spinning away from the backswing he knew his brother would attempt.

Michael’s primary battle strategy was brute force, and for good reason. He was physically larger, stronger, and had the more powerful weapon at his disposal. Samael might mock it, but the Sword of Michael did more than sting when it struck an enemy. It could actually do a lot more, depending on what Michael wanted it to, but suffice to say they’d skipped over the time for pleasantries.

Samael was never going to beat him toe to toe – never had, never would. Especially not now, with half his power constricted in a vice that cinched tighter with every beat of his heart.

But Samael didn’t fight traditionally.

Samael fought dirty.  

Before Michael could take another swing at him with his damnable sword, Samael vanished with a beat of his wings, instantly to the other side of the street into the throng of onlookers – humans too stupid or unmindful of the danger they were in that had their phones out with cameras rolling. Maybe living in the heart of the film industry dulled their perception of reality, but Samael didn’t rightly care what prevented them from running for their lives, because he could sense in them what he sensed in Delilah’s followers.

Samael didn’t need a sword or a scythe to fight his brother - he needed a weapon he would be unable to or too afraid to strike against.

Samael put his hand out to the nearest human, his eyes flashing hellfire red once more and whispered in his ear, “show me what you desire.”

The man stiffened under his fingers, but instead of flinching from the roiling black sickness of desire, he sucked in a breath like a man long starved of fresh air, even as the darkness rolled over him like a shadow on his soul that stained his very skin, his eyes blackening to mirror Samael’s own.

People who saw darkness and were fueled by it instead of repulsed were his weapon of choice.

The man turned, throwing a wide haymaker punch at the man nearest to him, and where his fist collided, the black poison spread to the other’s skin – as people tried to pull him off the other man, as their skin brushed against his the darkness spread…again, and again and again, like a wildfire fueling itself on their own morbid desires to see violence and bloodshed.

Even if it was their own.

Or Michael’s.

LA was a crowded city – even at this hour, even despite the carnage suddenly erupting in the streets, and more importantly, the ones remaining were Samael’s dominion.

Dark, forbidden want. Thirst and need. Whipped into a frenzy by the display of violence and the promise of more if only they would just give in, and even Michael’s presence would have no effect on them as they turned on each other – and the current object of Samael’s rage: his own brother.

And the beauty of it all?

Michael couldn’t harm a hair on their twisted heads.

The Law was the Law, and Michael was nothing if not beholden to his own dominion of justice and order.

Rearing back from the sudden onslaught of humans - biting, kicking, clawing at each other as much as they reached for him – Michael was forced to retreat away from Samael as the flood parted around him like an island in a river, unable to do more than block or shy away from the human attacks.

“Guess it’s time for you to decide which Law you’re willing to bend, hmm, Saint Michael?” Samael shouted over the chaos. “Save your Father’s favorite Son? Or protect His favorite toys?”

“Neither!” someone shouted, and a split second later, a heavy force slammed into Samael, plowing them both into the earth once more, except unlike Michael, Ragiel didn’t let up when they hit the ground.

Samael wasn’t a petulant little brother needing saving to the younger angel – he had no need for restraint. Ragiel slammed his fists into any available patch of Samael he could reach, blocking Samael’s wing strike with his own as he pinned his older sibling to the ground, trapping one of Samael’s smoldering wings beneath them as he pinned him on either side with his legs.

“I don’t care what Dad says!” Ragiel roared, delivering a staggering blow to the side of Samael’s head, splitting the skin across his temple. “Because of you, we don’t get a choice!”

Blood smeared across Samael’s bruised features, which were looking less human by the moment.

“I hate you!”

Samael thrashed sideways, bringing his knee up to slam into his brother’s back just below where his winds connected, unbalancing him enough that when Samael pushed with his trapped wing against the ground, he managed to flip them both, smashing the blade side of his hand against Ragiel’s exposed throat.

“Hate me all you want, Little Brother, but I’m the reason you even know what Choice is!”

Samael wrapped his hands around Ragiel’s neck, fully intent on choking the very life out of him except Ragiel wasn’t ready to die – he brought his hands up between Samael’s arms, breaking the chokehold as he reared up and slammed the crown of his head under Samael’s chin, rocketing them both backwards once more, exchanging blows and they continued to roll across ground.

Samael brought one of his wings up just in time to block Ragiel’s jet black ones with a crack, and his younger brother sneered, “You and I will be a matching set in no time, Sammy.”

The black of Delilah’s curse was now almost completely engulfing the incandescent white of the archangel’s wings, eating away at them as surely as it ate away at his heart, almost matching the light absorbing darkness of Ragiel’s.

“You’re a cheap imitation,” Samael growled, and with a blinding flash of light, forced a wave of energy up and out, hitting Ragiel square in the chest like a semi-truck, hurling the younger angel away from him and into the side of an abandoned vehicle with enough force he crushed the engine block, skidding into the parked car next to them in a pile up of broken glass and twisted metal.

Samael pushed himself to his feet, staggering slightly on legs that didn’t see too eager to support his weight anymore. He touched the back of his hand to his nose, which was bleeding freely now, though he wasn’t sure if the blood he tasted on his teeth was from that or inside his cheek. Probably both. He swayed drunkenly, putting a hand out to balance himself even as he doubled over, fighting to breathe normally. He could feel that cursed woman’s Binding cinching the proverbial noose and he almost laughed out loud at the irony – of God’s Poison being done in by poisoned words.

Oh, cosmic poetic symmetry.

His wings were almost as black as Ragiel’s now, except instead of his brother’s inky black of night sky, his looked sickly and rotted, like necrotizing skin dying off from underlying infection. There was a brief moment of considering cutting them off once more, but dismissed as easily as it came. He may be dying, but he was dying whole.

He cast his gaze homeward, glaring balefully at the gathering storm that had yet to break, the thick black clouds looming ominously overhead as the tang of electricity mingled with the taste of blood in his mouth. “If You’re going to do something, now would be the time,” he growled. “Because if You don’t, I’ll gladly go to my death with everyone thinking You wanted this.” He gestured widely to the wanton destruction around him – his own private apocalypse.

The Silver City remained silent.

Then so be it.

Chloe grabbed Gabriel’s arm before he could join the melee down below, latching onto his sleeve with a vice like grip. “Seriously? You think the best course of action is to fight him?”

Gabriel didn’t look convinced, but also like he didn’t know what else he could do. “Samael or Lucifer aren’t big on self-preservation, Chloe. The more energy he expends, the faster Delilah’s magic spreads, the harder it is to break. If he can’t…or won’t…help himself, then we have to get him to the Silver City because I don’t know anyone else that can stop this.”

Chloe’s breath caught. “What did you just say?”

Michael must’ve had more tricks up his sleeve than Samael gave him credit for, because somehow he managed to evade the angry mob – maybe he called in a favor with Dad.

Samael was too busy fighting with Ragiel to notice his return until Michael’s arm snaked around his neck in a chokehold, his other hand grabbing and holding onto Samael’s right arm that he was about to slam into Ragiel’s face.

“Come quietly, brother, and nobody has to die here today,” Michael snarled in his ear as he pinned his younger brother to chest.

“Bite me,” Samael snapped back, twisting fast and hard to spin both of them around, dropping one shoulder as he hefted his wing up underneath Michael’s arm to break his hold and throw him several feet to the side. Michael landed easily on his feet, bracing himself with his wings even as Samael staggered from the effort.

It was a temporary victory and the three of them knew it – Samael was flagging, and the blood from his injuries was no longer red – it was tainted oily black. Spider webbed veins of poison spread, mottling already bruised skin as it raced towards his heart.

But dying wasn’t dead, and Samael would be twice damned before he went peaceably with his brothers to beg for his Father to spare him.

With his back turned to him, Ragiel took the opening and surged forwards, slamming bodily into Samael and knocking them both sideways as Michael charged from the other side. There was a brief scuffle, but combined, Ragiel and Michael managed to pin Samael to the ground, arms and wings splayed out on either side, his brother’s feet pinning his blackened wings outstretched so he couldn’t use them to knock them away or push himself up, their arms pinning his while Michael’s hand pressed against his chest, just over the livid scar from Delilah’s curse.

“Enough, brother!” Michael demanded. “It is over!”

Samael spat a glob of mixed red and black blood at his brother’s face, narrowly missing.

“It is never enough!” Samael growled. “Besides – you haven’t won anything – this is just a stalemate. Either you let me die and face Father’s wrath, or you kill me yourselves. I am not going back to the Silver City.”

“The Silver City isn’t the only place we can take you,” Ragiel snarled. “We just have to take you some place where the spread of curse is limited…where moment can last an eternity.”

Samael’s bloodied, smug grin flickered. “What?”

“If you’re so adamant about not asking for Father’s help, so be it. The Pit was an adequate enough cage for you for centuries. It can hold you until you see reason,” Ragiel sneered, leaning closer. “And I have a sneaky suspicion that might be a while, Sammy.”

Samael’s face faltered, matte black eyes flashing momentarily brown as they flicked to meet Michael’s pale gray. “You wouldn’t…”

“Samael, I can offer you no help if you will not help yourself – if my options for you are prison or death, you must know which one I would choose,” Michael said quietly. “You cannot ask me to watch you die.”

“You ask of something worse,” Samael growled, and bucked against their grip – folding in his wings so abruptly he staggered them both, and twisting violently beneath their hands, almost managed to break free, wrenching his right arm out from underneath Ragiel to throw a devastating punch at Michael’s throat.

Except Ragiel came prepared. Even as he lurched under the abrupt movement, he slipped a loop of chain around Samael’s wrist, yanking it back before he could deliver the blow.

Being the Angel of Mysteries as well as Samael’s replacement had its perks – he could conjure anything he needed when he needed it most.

Samael’s arm audibly popped, but it barely slowed him down as he whirled on his younger brother. But rage aside, Samael was fading fast. The tendrils of darkness raced towards his heart with visible progress now, his power diminishing with every beat of his slowly dying heart. Ragiel easily caught his fist as he threw it, tethering his other arm as well.

Samael roared in anger, frustration and pain, and as much as Ragiel didn’t like his older brother, it still pained him to see him in so much anguish that wasn’t entirely his own doing. But as much as he worried for Samael, he worried more for the Earth and her people if Samael died – killed by his own stubbornness or not, a human started this.

Michael took hold of the second chain even as Samael reached for the binding on his other arm, wrenching it back so he couldn’t free himself and pulling him to his knees. Samael may be losing ground, but he was not about to yield, still fighting against the chains with everything he had left in him.  

“Stop it!” a voice shouted.

The brothers turned in equal stages of surprise to see Gabriel standing several feet away, Chloe at his side, looking thoroughly horrified at what she was seeing, but equally determined.

“You’re making it worse!” Chloe yelled. “You’re making him worse! The more you treat him like he’s just a monster you need to stuff back into a box, the angrier he gets and it looks to me like you’re losing this fight.”

“We do not need your input, human,” Ragiel snapped, throwing the word ‘human’ as if it were a slur.

“I think you do – because anyone who knows Lucifer knows that trying to make him do something makes him do the opposite!” said Chloe. “You’re his family – he wants to fight you as much as you want to fight him!”

Chloe stepped forwards, her heart surprisingly steady.

Samael – Lucifer’s – face was twisted in animalistic rage, looking less human as his anger grew. The soft brown eyes were gone, replaced with glittering black and gold. Blunted teeth were traded for almost lupine points that had no business being in a human mouth. His once beautiful, pristine white wings were ragged and black, seared from fire and smoke. They didn’t even look feathered anymore so much as reptilian hide.

Not just any reptile, Chloe thought. A dragon.

Maybe that was where the rumor of the serpent in the Garden began.

No matter what face he wore, it was still Lucifer beneath the mask. And that’s all this was. A mask.

One of the chains binding him creaked and groaned under the force of Samael’s struggles.

“Detective,” Michael snarled. “Back away.”

Samael’s eyes flashed blinding white and glittering gold. “Get away from me, human,” he snarled, voice rasping like bone on bone.

Chloe didn’t budge. Didn’t blink, even as she felt her eyes begin to blur and a stray tear found its way down her cheek. The great, terrible wings that spread out on either side of him rose, straining and pulling at the chains his brothers bound him in. 

She could smell brimstone and sulfur, could feel the heat radiating off of him like a furnace. The tangible cold cruelty of unabashed hatred that roiled off of him like smoke.

“You,” she said, her voice wavering, and she stopped. She took a breath, and started over. “You are not a monster, Lucifer,” she said.

“Lucifer is gone,” Samael said, in that same, awful voice. “Only I remain.”

Chloe shook her head, partly to convince herself, but just as much to prove to him that she didn’t believe that. “No, you’re not. You once told me you were given a choice, Lucifer. To stay a monster, to remain a beast, or to turn your back on everything you knew. You are not a monster,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady and quiet enough that it remained between her and Lucifer. “You made that choice once, Lucifer-”

“Stop saying that name!” Samael shouted, and yanked his arm hard enough that Ragiel lost several inches of his tether as it slid through his fingers.  “Lucifer is no more!”

Chloe dropped to her knees in front of him, wanting so badly to reach out to him but afraid of how he would react. She wasn’t in danger from him – Samael already said as much. Only the wicked need fear him, but even his own brothers were acting like he was something dangerous. Something that needed to be destroyed, or contained, or imprisoned.

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t see what they saw – a weapon. A demon. A monster that deserved to be in a cage.

She saw the blood dripping from his nose and his mouth, the bruising around his eye and the scar on his chin. The burned wings that were once so magnificent.

He wanted her to be afraid of him. He wanted her to look at him the way his own family did. The way humans always had.

The way he did.

“Lucifer and Samael are the same person,” Chloe gently reminded. “You don’t become a different person just because they changed your name. Your Father let you make a choice – something He never offered to any of the others. I have to believe it’s because He knew the choice you would make.”

“I was cast out,” Samael snarled. But it wasn’t anger she heard. It was betrayal. “I was made a freak.”

Chloe shook her head, offering him a small smile. Because it was smile or cry, and right now she wanted to do both. “No, Lucifer. Not a freak. Just because you’re different, doesn’t make you wrong. You didn’t let your Father tell you who to be. Don’t let Delilah.”

“I am as a I was created,” Samael snapped, but his voice was losing its edge.

“You are who you choose to be,” Chloe said. “Not what others think you are. They do not define you.” She leaned in close, and gently cupped her hand to his bruised and bloodied cheek, using her thumb to trace the contour of his face. “No one can take your heart from you, Lucifer. I know who you are.”

She smiled gently, and whispered so that only he could hear her.

“Lucifer…what do you desire?”

Samael flinched, hard, jerking backwards as if she’d struck him across the face, which given his reaction on the rooftop wasn’t wholly unexpected, but it still made her flinch with him. She hoped against all that she had that this was right, that she hadn’t made a horrible error in judgement when she heard Gabriel say that Lucifer could save himself. She’d almost had it on the roof, she was sure of it now – if Ragiel hadn’t shown up, she might’ve convinced Lucifer sooner.

Because Samael and Lucifer reigned over desire.

Including their own.

Just no one had ever asked.

“I want to be me,” he croaked slowly, almost questioning, working his mouth as if tasting the words on his tongue for the first time. He shuddered, a ragged scream tearing through him, a rattling breath in his chest that made Chloe’s heart skip a beat at the breathlessness of it, as if it could be his last.

But it wasn’t.

His eyes flashed between matte black and soft brown, his features softening as he suddenly collapsed forwards, the tension bleeding from his limbs as the chains loosened and melted away, coughing and choking and for one horrible moment all Chloe could think of was that night at Lux – which felt likes years ago – as she caught him in her arms. Except instead of his breaths growing shallower, she could feel him sucking in air like a man long starved of it, and his hands clutched desperately at the back of her shirt, his fingers digging painfully into her shoulders but she didn’t care.

The other brothers remained at a distance, silent but watchful.

The rain that had held off for so long finally began to fall. Gently, softly, slowly sinking into her clothes and his as he tried to stifle his screams of pain as he fought Delilah’s binding with what little he had left of himself.

She held onto him as tightly as she could, feeling his entire body shake as he almost seemed to shrink into her embrace, the coughing turning to great, shuddering sobs as she felt something finally snap beneath her fingers. She watched the poisonous darkness leech from his wings, dripping off of them like tar to hit the ground with a faint sizzle of acid before evaporating in tiny plumes of smoke and sulfur. The tainted black lines running through his veins retreated like venom extracted from a wound leaving behind pale, untainted skin in their wake and she wanted to cry from relief.

And when he allowed her to tilt his head back to look on his very human face, the eyes that greeted hers were Lucifer’s to his very soul.

“You found me,” he rasped, his voice a little roughened by emotion she wasn’t about to judge him for, but his.

Chloe planted a chaste kiss against his forehead, her thumbs wiping gently at his cheeks. “You weren’t that hard to find,” she said, smiling fondly at him.

Lucifer let his forehead drop against hers, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. Lucifer broke the silence between them first.

“Yes, I was.”