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It had taken him entirely too long a time to begin to properly appreciate the ocean. He’d known the theory, had witnessed its birth at His hand, but Samael had always found other, more interesting things about Earth to enjoy. And Lucifer? Well, his escapes from Hell had always been so brief, and natural beauty could rarely be appreciated when the warriors of Heaven were dogging his each and every step as they hunted him.
And yet, despite this, the ocean knew him well.
His first time coming to Earth, wings ragged from the trip, soul weighty and tattered, he’d crashed into a beach, leaving behind deep imprints in the sand. Struggling to his feet, he’d stared upon the marks with morbid fascination. And his footprints, so decisive, followed him, a trail for his siblings. Because, he knew they were coming for him. It was inevitable - the Heavens wanted him punished and few things could sway their favour. But even as despair had crept into his chest, the heft of invisible manacles dragging at his limbs, the gentle rolling waves surged forwards. Hardly as tall as his shins, the water swirled across the evidence of his passage, the sand growing wet. And as they retreated, inhaling, the impressions lost their definition.
It was the first time in a long while anything had ever been on his side.
In the end, perhaps it hadn’t mattered in the least. He’d been found by Amenadiel not three days later, impaled, and tossed back into Hell, back into the muted grey world devoid of even song that he inhabited. But when the centuries bled together and the time in between took on a sensation he wasn’t even real, that was the thought that kept him grounded.
The ocean was on his side.
So, then there was ceremony. His each escape to Earth was marked by him landing in the sand, the mighty flaps of his wings muted by the dull roaring of the waves. And when he had decided this time would be the last, when he decided to take a permanent vacation and retire from his punishment, it was naturally the beach where he had felt most comfortable cutting off his wings.
The salty air had stung something fierce against his newly carved out wounds, his body swaying on the sand as he fought to remain on his knees for this last act of defiance. Gone were the days he would kneel for Him, but he had no issue with kneeling for himself.
His blood had trickled into the sand, darkening the grains as it puddled and congealed. The sight had threatened to possess him, his vision darkening on the edges as his mind clouded. He had seen blood a hundred thousand times. Splattered across blades. Dripping from the stones of Hell. Flicking through the air from whip strikes. But he had never before bled for his freedom, the fat red droplets greasing his ankles so he may, finally, slip free of his bonds.
The waves were gentle that night, slow in their creeping roll, whispering against the sand as they wore at the landscape. They stole the blood, his blood, from the sand, washing away this sin. Perhaps the grandest of all he’d committed. It granted him the determination to rise, unsteady as he’d been, and stagger off in search of a new life, a new identity. One he had forged rather than been forced to accept and bear.
And it was where he had first kissed her.
As he stood on the nearly deserted stretch of beach, he wondered at how similar today was to that afternoon, nearly a lifetime ago now. It was bright but overcast, the weather warm enough to encourage him to remove his jacket and accept the welcoming breeze fighting to wrangle control of his hair from the products he used. His shoes sank into the fluffed, dry sand as he watched the waves crest beyond him.
The urn tucked beneath his arm was unwieldy, its dark patterns of swirls unnaturally modern here, a land so deftly crafted by His hand. Despite not weighing much, especially for a celestial such as himself, Lucifer leaned sideways, dragged down by the urn and its contents.
Repositioning the cool ceramic to a more comfortable position, he meandered forwards, the soft sand beneath his feet turning more solid as he approached the surf.
The ocean knew him well enough. But it had also known them. He and Chloe.
They’d visited a thousand times during her lifetime. Spent those fleeting days long ago here when Trixie was still young and day trips were exciting. It was where he had attempted to propose, fumbling through a human custom he scarcely believed in so that Chloe understood his feelings. It was where she had said yes, accepting the ring he’s presented even if no real wedding did follow. It hadn’t seemed all that important to them. They had eternity now.
It was where they had gone each year on Dan’s birthday, sitting in the sand and watching the surfers, wondering if this was what Dan’s Heaven consisted of. If he were surfing his waves while Charlotte looked on and sunbathed, the two of them patiently waiting for the rest to join them.
It was where Chloe had made him promise that when she died, he wouldn’t go off to Heaven immediately. That he would stay for a few days and take care of things. Make sure Trixie was okay. Console their friends. Ensure her possessions were donated properly.
There hadn’t been a funeral. Instead, Lucifer had quietly gotten her cremated. And now, all that was left to do before he rejoined her in Heaven was to spread her ashes.
The beach, it had seemed the only proper location, really.
Removing his shoes and socks, leaving them piled and forgotten in the sand, he set off towards the ocean. His toes twitched as the sand shifted from soft and warm to dense and cold, sticking to his skin. The breeze was stronger, rumbling deep in his ears as it billowed around him, plucking at his button up shirt.
Where the water met sand, he hesitated a moment, just beyond where the rippled little waves ended their encroachment.
Chloe had never explicitly asked to be cremated rather than buried, but Lucifer hadn’t been able to handle the thought, her body shoved into a box and covered in dirt. She deserved more than damp darkness. She deserved light.
Unscrewing the urn cap, he reached inside and scooped out a small handful of ashes. Immediately, the wind tried to steal them, the particles flying away. He let it.
The beach was where he had found his freedom. It would be where she found hers as well. This lifetime. These memories. Part of Chloe was in Heaven, but part of her was right here. Within his hand were the nights they’d danced in circles around her living room, drunk and giggling as nothing. Were the mid-afternoon naps they’d taken, entwined around one another. Were the nights he’d read to her quietly as she rested in the hospital bed.
Within his hands was her graceful aging and her subsequent decline. In Heaven, she would be perfect, unblemished and young, but he mourned the loss of this too. He mourned her growing old with him.
With sudden abandon, he launched himself forwards, sprinting into the ocean. Freezing water immediately soaked his trouser legs but he kept going, until he stood thigh deep. There was a dizzying sense of weightlessness here, each wave rolling past threatening to upend and send him tumbling. Of all the forces - Earth, Air, and Fire - the ocean alone was stronger than he. With little effort, it could bowl him over, drag him under.
He panted, widening his stance to keep himself upright as tacky saltwater dripped from his face, stinging his nose.
Chloe had always tried to get him to swim but he had refused unless it was a heated pool. He regretted that now. He regretted a lot, as it so happened. Spending eternity in Heaven with Chloe did not scrub free his transgressions, his shortcomings. He’d failed her a hundred times.
He could go swimming for her.
The urn tipped precariously within his grasp, more ash escaping. Instinctively, he righted it, protecting this last bit of her. After so long, his natural inclination was always going to be to save her. Even in moments like now when she didn’t need saving.
But now wasn’t about holding on. It was about letting go. One final promise to uphold before he could go back to her.
Raising the urn, he pressed his lips to the ornate side. The design had caught his eye a few days ago, the black ceramic interlaid with smoky swirls. And even fainter, nearly lost, speckles of white. The stars on an overcast night.
It had seemed fitting.
“I love you,” he whispered, lips barely moving, before titling the urn and spinning, allowing its contents to escape.
They fluttered and dispersed, carried away to a thousand places he hadn’t found the time to explore with her.
She’d found her wings.
And there being nothing left to do, he unfurled his own, the golden streaks he had acquired as God glittering as he launched himself into the air. It was a sloppy take-off, water scattering in his wake, but he didn’t care. He was returning to her.
As his wings beat, the Earth shrinking below him rapidly until it was lost entirely to the clouds, he thought he knew where he might find her.
Dan surfing his waves. Charlotte sunbathing on her towel. And Chloe in her rusty beach chair, book in hand as she waited for him.
He couldn’t wait to see them all again. For Dan to groan, knowing his peace was finally over. For Charlotte to smirk with that somewhat mischievous look of hers. For Chloe to rise and cast aside her book.
For her to take his hand, as they walked across the beach again…