Chapter Text
The rain in Hershey, Pennsylvania, didn't wash things clean, it just made the mud stick.
Inside the sterile waiting room of the pediatric ICU, the air tasted like copper and despair. Phillip and Margaret Buckley sat on plastic chairs that were bolted to the floor, holding hands so tightly their knuckles were white. They weren't praying. They had run out of prayers weeks ago when the leukemia came back, aggressive and final.
They were past God now.
They were waiting for the other guy.
The double doors didn't open so much as they surrendered, swinging wide to admit a man who looked entirely too expensive for a Pennsylvania hospital at 3:00 AM. He wore a three piece charcoal suit that absorbed the harsh hospital lighting rather than reflecting it. He didn't carry an umbrella, yet he was perfectly dry.
Phillip stood up, his legs trembling. "You came."
"I always keep my appointments, Phillip," the man said. His voice was rich, a smooth baritone wrapped in a clipped British accent that sounded like it belonged in a boardroom or a bedroom, not a place of dying children. "Though I must admit, the summons was... creative. A crossroads at midnight is a bit cliché, don't you think? An email would have sufficed."
"Can you save him?" Margaret asked, her voice cracking. She didn't care about the man’s sarcasm. She didn't care that his eyes were dark, almost black, until the light hit them and revealed a terrifying, burning amber. "Our Daniel. Can you save him?"
Lucifer Morningstar adjusted his cufflinks. He looked at the couple with a mix of pity and mild distaste.
He saw their souls gray, fearful, desperate things. "I can. The illness is biological, boringly so. A nudge here, a cell repair there. Consider it done."
Margaret sobbed, collapsing against her husband. "Thank you. Oh, thank you. We’ll do anything. Name your price. Our souls? You want our souls?"
Lucifer laughed, a short, sharp sound. "Heavens, no. Your souls are incredibly tedious. I have no use for them in my world, they’d just clutter up the place."
His expression sobered, the playfulness vanishing instantly. "No, I have a different payment in mind. A trade."
He stepped closer, the temperature in the room dropping ten degrees.
"There is a woman," Lucifer said, his voice lowering. "Sasha. A brief... acquaintance of mine. She is currently in labor in a private ward across town. It is not going well."
"What does that have to do with us?" Phillip asked.
"The child is mine," Lucifer said, the words heavy. "And she is human. The mixture... it is volatile. Sasha will not survive the night. The doctors can save the child, or they can try to save the mother and lose both. She has made her choice. She chooses the boy."
Lucifer looked away, a flicker of something raw and unreadable crossing his face grief, perhaps, or guilt.
"I cannot raise him. My life... my environment is not suitable for a child. I am surrounded by demons, punishment, and debauchery. I do not want him growing up in the dark."
He turned his burning gaze back to the Buckleys.
"You love your son Daniel so much you were willing to summon the Devil to save him," Lucifer said. "That suggests a capacity for love that is rare. So, here is the deal. I heal Daniel. He lives a long, healthy life. In exchange, you take my son. You give him the one thing I cannot, a normal, boring, suburban life. You raise him alongside Daniel and your daughter, Maddie. You love him as your own."
Margaret looked at Phillip. It was an impossible ask. To raise the Devil's spawn. But then she looked at the ICU doors, behind which her Daniel was fading.
"We'll do it," Margaret whispered. "We'll take him."
Lucifer studied them for a long moment. He seemed to be weighing their intent, searching for cracks in the porcelain. "Understand this. He is to be loved. Protected. If I find out he is mistreated... well. You know who I am."
"We promise," Phillip said.
Lucifer nodded once. "Then it is done. The deal is made."
He turned on his heel. "Daniel’s fever will break in ten minutes. I will bring my son to you in the morning. His name is Evan."
Lucifer stopped at the door, his hand on the push bar. He didn't look back. "Tell him... tell him his father is traveling. Tell him whatever you must. Just make sure he is happy."
Three Years Later
The Buckley house was a shrine to perfection. The lawn was manicured to within an inch of its life, the siding was a pristine white, and the noise level was strictly regulated.
In the living room, ten year old Daniel Buckley was sitting on the floor, surrounded by Lego sets. He was healthy, vibrant, the color high in his cheeks, a walking miracle. Twelve year old Maddie was sitting on the sofa, reading a book, but her eyes kept darting to the corner of the room.
There, sitting silently on a small rug, was Evan. At three years old, Evan was a striking child. He had a mop of chaotic, dirty blonde curls and eyes that were so blue they looked like pressurized gas. But there was a stillness to him that was unnatural for a toddler. He didn't play loudly. He didn't crash trucks together. He stacked blocks with surgical precision, his movements careful, as if trying to disturb the air as little as possible.
Margaret walked into the room carrying a tray of lemonade. She walked past Evan. She didn't step over him, she walked a wide arc around him, her eyes fixed firmly on the wall above his head, as if he were a smudge on the lens of her life that she could edit out if she tried hard enough.
"Daniel, sweetie, here’s your drink," she cooed, ruffling Daniel’s hair. "Maddie, sit up straight."
"Mom," Maddie said, her voice tight. "Evan is thirsty too."
Margaret’s smile didn't falter, but it didn't reach her eyes. It never did when the subject came up.
"There’s water in the tap, Maddie. He knows how to use a cup."
"He's three," Daniel said, looking up from his Legos. He glared at his mother with a fierceness that had developed over the last two years. "He can't reach the tap."
"Then help him," Margaret said dismissively, turning back to the kitchen. "I have to get the roast started. Phillip will be home soon."
As soon as she was gone, the atmosphere in the room shifted. The tension broke.
Maddie dropped her book and slid off the sofa, landing on her knees next to Evan. Daniel abandoned his Legos and scooted over.
"Hey, Evan," Maddie whispered, pulling the toddler into her lap. Evan stiffened for a second, a reflex that broke Maddie’s heart every single time, before melting into her hug. "You okay?"
Evan nodded against her chest. He didn't speak much. He had learned early that speaking drew attention, and attention from Margaret or Phillip was a cold, withering thing. It was better to be a ghost.
"I saved you a cookie," Daniel whispered, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a slightly squashed chocolate chip cookie wrapped in a napkin. "Mom counted them, but I said I ate two."
Evan’s eyes lit up. He took the cookie with small, careful hands. "Thank you, Danny."
"You're welcome, buddy." Daniel stroked Evan’s hair.
The three of them sat there, a huddled island of warmth in the freezing ocean of the Buckley household. Maddie and Daniel knew something was wrong. They knew Evan wasn't their biological brother, the blue eyes were too bright, the birthmark, and the way he healed from scrapes overnight was... weird. But they didn't care. He was their brother in every way that mattered. And they hated how their parents treated him.
It wasn't beatings. Phillip never raised a hand. Margaret never yelled. It was worse. It was total, absolute erasure.
They looked through him. They bought him clothes that were gray and nondescript. They forgot his birthday. They didn't set a place for him at the table unless Maddie did it.
They were waiting for him to disappear.
"It's his birthday," Maddie whispered to Daniel, her voice trembling with suppressed rage. "It’s today. He is three. They didn't even say good morning."
Daniel’s jaw tightened. "They aren't going to do anything. They’re pretending he isn't here."
Maddie looked down at Evan, who was contentedly eating his squashed cookie, unaware that he was supposed to be celebrated. She remembered the man.
She had been nine when Evan arrived. She remembered the tall man in the dark suit who had stood in the foyer, handing the baby carrier to her father. She remembered the way the man had looked at the baby, like he was handing over his own heart. She remembered him slipping a business card into the diaper bag.
If you need me, he had said to the room at large, but his eyes had caught Maddie’s. If he needs me.
Maddie had stolen that card. She had kept it taped to the underside of her jewelry box for three years.
"I'm going to do it," Maddie said suddenly.
Daniel looked at her. He didn't ask what. He knew. "Mom and Dad will be furious."
"I don't care," Maddie said. She stood up, lifting Evan into her arms. He was heavy for a three year old, dense with muscle and bone, but Maddie was strong. "They aren't keeping the deal, Danny. I heard them talking about it once. They promised to love him. They lied."
Daniel stood up too. "I'll keep watch. Go to the study. Use the landline."
Maddie carried Evan into the study. The mahogany desk was imposing, covered in Phillip’s paperwork. She sat Evan in the leather chair, hushed him gently, and picked up the phone. Her fingers shook as she dialed the number on the faded black card. It had no name, just a string of digits and a stylized 'L' embossed in gold.
It rang once.
"Speak," a voice answered. It wasn't a hello. It was a command.
"Mr... Mr. Morningstar?" Maddie squeaked.
Silence on the other end. Then, the voice changed. It became sharper, more alert. "Who is this?"
"I'm Maddie. Maddie Buckley. You... you gave us Evan."
The sound of a glass shattering came from the other end of the line. "Maddie. The sister. Is he hurt? Is he alive?"
"He's alive," Maddie said, tears finally spilling over. "But... they don't want him. They pretend he's invisible. Today is his birthday and they didn't even look at him. They treat him like a ghost. You have to come. Please. You have to come get him. He deserves better than this."
There was a pause, a silence so heavy it felt like the pressure drop before a hurricane.
"I'm on my way."
The arrival of Lucifer Morningstar was not subtle.
Twenty minutes later, an impossibly short time to travel from Los Angeles to Pennsylvania, though the Buckley's would never figure out the logistics, the front door of the house didn't just open. It burst inward, the lock shattering under a force that felt like a localized explosion.
Margaret screamed from the kitchen. Phillip dropped his newspaper in the living room.
Lucifer stepped over the threshold. He was wearing another suit today, his hair windswept, his eyes glowing with a terrifying, ancient rage. Behind him stood a woman clad in leather, holding a curved blade that looked illegal in seventeen countries.
Maze.
"Where is he?" Lucifer roared. The sound shook the framed photos on the walls.
Phillip scrambled back against the mantle. "What? Who...you? You can't just break in here!"
"I can do whatever I damn well please," Lucifer snarled, advancing on them. "I made a deal with you, Phillip. A simple trade. A life for a life. A home for a home. And I told you what would happen if you broke it."
Margaret was trembling, clutching a dish towel. "We... we fed him! We clothed him! We kept him safe!"
"Did you love him?" Lucifer asked. His voice dropped to a whisper, dangerous and cold. He leaned into Margaret’s space. "Did you hold him when he cried? Did you read to him? Did you look at him and see a child, or did you see a transaction?"
Margaret couldn't speak. Her silence was a confession.
Lucifer’s face shifted. For a split second, the human mask slipped. The skin burned red, the eyes became pools of fire, and the Buckleys saw the Monster they had bargained with. They screamed, huddled together on the floor.
"Pathetic," Lucifer spat, his face returning to normal. "You are unworthy of him. You are unworthy of the air he breathes."
"Lucifer?"
The voice cut through the violence in the room.
Maddie. The girl.
Lucifer froze. The rage evaporated instantly, replaced by a desperate, heartbreaking softness. He turned.
Standing at the top of the stairs, holding Maddie’s hand, was Evan. He was wearing oversized clothes that used to be Daniel’s. He looked small, wide eyed, and terrified.
Lucifer dropped to his knees, disregarding the debris from the door. He held out his arms.
"Hello, Evan," Lucifer choked out. "Do you... do you remember me?"
Evan hesitated. He looked at Maddie. Maddie nodded, tears streaming down her face. "Go, Evan.
He's your real dad. He's the one who wants you."
Evan took a step down. Then another. Then he started to run. He collided with Lucifer, his small arms wrapping around the Devil’s neck. Lucifer buried his face in the boy’s curls, inhaling the scent of cheap baby shampoo and sorrow. He squeezed his eyes shut, letting a single tear track through the soot on his face.
"I've got you," Lucifer whispered into Evan’s hair. "I'm so sorry. I thought... I thought I was protecting you. I was wrong. I've got you now. I'm never letting you go again."
Lucifer stood up, effortlessly lifting Evan onto his hip. Evan clung to him like a koala, burying his face in the leather jacket.
Lucifer turned to Maddie and Daniel, who were standing on the stairs, holding hands.
"You two," Lucifer said, his voice gentle. "Maddie. Daniel. You called me."
"We didn't want him to be sad anymore," Daniel said bravely, though his voice shook looking at the man who had just kicked down a door.
"You are good children," Lucifer said solemnly. "Better than your parents deserve. You have the favor of the Devil, for whatever that is worth. Call me. Anytime. I will always answer for you."
He looked at Phillip and Margaret, who were still cowering. "If you ever try to contact him," Lucifer said, his voice devoid of emotion, "if you ever try to claim him, or use him, or hurt these two children upstairs... I will drag you down to the deepest pit I have, and I will be very, very creative."
He turned to the woman with the blade. "Mazikeen. The car."
"On it," Maze said, sheathing her knife. She winked at Maddie. "Nice call, kid."
The private jet was quiet, soaring somewhere over the Midwest. The interior was cream and gold, a stark contrast to the gray house in Pennsylvania.
Evan was asleep on one of the leather recliners, covered in a silk blanket that cost more than Phillip Buckley’s car. He was clutching a small stuffed wolf that Maze had inexplicably produced from her jacket pocket.
Lucifer sat across from him, a tumbler of whiskey in his hand, though he hadn't taken a sip. He was just watching the boy breathe. watching the chest rise and fall.
"He's got your nose," Maze said, kicking her boots up onto the table. "And the brooding thing. He's definitely got the brooding thing down."
"He was invisible, Maze," Lucifer murmured, the anger simmering low in his gut. "They looked right through him. Three years. I left him in a purgatory of my own making."
"You didn't know," Maze said, surprisingly soft. "You thought humans were better at the whole 'family' thing than we are. Turns out, humans suck."
"Not all of them," Lucifer corrected, tapping the rim of his glass. "The siblings. Maddie and Daniel. They saved him."
Evan stirred. He whimpered in his sleep, his little brow furrowing. "Maddie..."
Lucifer set the glass down and moved instantly to the seat beside the boy. He placed a hand on Evan’s back. "Shh. It’s alright. I'm here."
Evan blinked his eyes open. The brilliant blue met the amber. "Are we going home?"
"Yes," Lucifer said. "We are going to my home. In Los Angeles. It’s very bright there, and very loud, and there is a piano. Do you like music?"
Evan nodded slowly. "Maddie sang to me."
"Well, I shall sing to you too," Lucifer promised. "And we will get you your own bed. And toys. Not hand me downs. Your own."
Evan sat up, rubbing his eyes. "What is my name now?"
Lucifer paused. "What do you want it to be? You are Evan. You are my son."
"Evan," the boy whispered, repeating the name he has always had. He looked at Lucifer. "Can I keep Buckley?"
Lucifer bristled. "Why would you want to keep that name? After what they did?"
"So Maddie and Danny can find me," Evan said simply. "If I change it, she won't know who I am."
Lucifer felt his heart, an organ he usually tried to ignore crack wide open. This child, this three year old boy, had been neglected and ignored, and his first thought was how to make it easier for his sister to find him.
"You really are a miracle, aren't you?" Lucifer whispered. He smoothed Evan’s hair back. "Very well. Evan Buckley Morningstar. A bit of a mouthful, but we’ll manage."
Evan smiled, a small, tentative thing that lit up the cabin. "Evan Buckley Morningstar."
"Go back to sleep, my little devil," Lucifer said, pulling the blanket up. "We have a lot to do when we land. I have to teach you how to play the piano, and Maze wants to teach you how to throw knives, though I think we’ll wait until you’re at least four for that."
"Three and a half," Maze corrected from across the aisle.
Lucifer rolled his eyes, but he stayed right where he was, his hand resting on his son’s back, guarding him as the plane chased the sunset west, toward the City of Angels.
For the first time in eons, the Devil didn't feel alone. And for the first time in his life, Evan Buckley wasn't invisible.