Chapter Text
When they arrive at the zoo, neither Chloe nor Michael are there.
They have been, though, Lucifer can tell. They must have only just left - the dull throb of a divine presence is still here, though it won’t last much longer.
His fists clench and unclench, over and over, as he tries to control his anger. He stares at the bars, looking at where Chloe has obviously tried to dig out one. To escape through the hole? To wield a bar as a weapon?
He puts his hands around two of them, thinking about how easy it is for him to bend them to his will. She would have struggled, he thinks. Even she, as strong as she is, is still mortal, still bound by the rules that make their bodies weaker than his.
By the door, Maze and Dan are talking quietly.
“We’re running out of time,” Dan is muttering, shaking his head.
“Obviously,” Maze hisses. “But we don’t exactly have any information right now.”
“Can’t you like . . . track her? Use your demon powers or something?”
“You’re an idiot. I don’t have any powers, I track people the same way you do. Just better.”
Lucifer grits his teeth, trying to tune their bickering out. He needs to think. He needs to find her.
Where on Earth where Michael take her? It’s not like he knows much about the place. Michael has never liked humanity, and has never seen any point in walking on the planet their Father created. He’s always been a righteous bastard, and Lucifer just can’t imagine Michael making himself familiar with any aspect of the world.
Of course, the internet exists now, and he could just find somewhere with the click of a button. They could be anywhere. And it would be just like Michael to take her somewhere random, remote, somewhere he’ll never find her.
Though it’s unlike him to refrain from bragging to Lucifer about it. That will probably change soon, but by then it could be too late.
“Seriously, Maze,” Dan is saying, “the longer she’s gone, the higher the chance that she’ll get really hurt, or even killed.”
The bars groan under Lucifer’s hand as he rips them from their place in his anger.
“Don’t,” Lucifer warns, turning to face them both. He drops the debris. “She’s not going to die.”
He doesn’t realise his eyes are burning red until Dan flinches, and Lucifer struggles to get them under control.
“We need to keep looking,” Maze says, arms crossed. “I’ll get in touch with my contacts again, see if anyone knows anything new.”
“I’ll see if I can get any security or traffic cam footage from the surrounding area,” Dan says, his eyes still averted.
Lucifer gives them a barely there nod, then spreads his wings and leaves.
When he arrives at the penthouse, Amenadiel is there, pacing behind the lounge.
Azrael sits on the lounge, her chin resting on a bent knee.
Lucifer feels his knees buckle. No. No, no, no, no, no -
“She’s not dead, Luci,” Amenadiel says, hands clamped tightly around his arms, keeping him standing.
Lucifer pushes down the panic that had risen at the sight of Azrael. Not dead, he tells himself. Not dead.
“Why -” He has to clear his throat. Amenadiel lets him go, and continues pacing. Lucifer pulls his jacket, fixing it so it sits right. “Why are you here, Azrael?”
Azrael fidgets on the lounge. “Alright, Lu, don’t freak out, but -”
That obviously has the opposite effect, because why would she need to say that if it wasn’t something freak out worthy?
Not dead. Not dead, not dead, not dead.
“She really isn’t dead,” Azrael says, fingers twisting together. “But she’s . . . uh . . . not on the earthly plane anymore.”
Not on the . . .
“Well what does that mean?” he demands, stalking towards her. “Tell me, Azrael.”
“Michael took her to Heaven.”
This time his knees do give out.
He stares at Azrael, feeling numb for a long moment. He blinks, long and slow, and then all of sudden he spits, “ What?!” so loudly it surprises even himself.
“Still not dead!” Azrael rushes to explain. “Trust me, I would know. Michael brought up a mortal soul earlier this afternoon and no one understood what was going on, and when I went up to drop some other actual dead souls off, I heard the gossip and went looking. I was curious.”
“Get to the point,” he says through gritted teeth.
“I saw her,” Azrael says, lowering herself from the couch to sit in front of him. “I recognised her from that time I was hanging with Ella.”
“I don’t understand,” Lucifer says, and the words feel heavy, slurred. His head feels like it’s whirling. ” How can she be . . .?”
“Lucifer,” Amendaiel says from beside him. “When I was in the Silver City last time, you remember that I said things were . . . different. That Father wasn’t there. And we know that Michael has been isolating him, that he’s the only one that talks to Father anymore. What if . . . what if Michael is planning something big? Or maybe he’s already done it.”
Lucifer stares at Amenadiel. He knows what he’s saying is important, but Lucifer can’t think about that right now.
He turns to Azrael. “Can you bring her back?” he demands.
Azrael bites her lip, then slowly shakes her head. “Even if I could get to her, I don’t think it’s a good idea. I don’t know how my powers and Heaven would interact if I were to touch a mortal soul that’s still alive but that deserves to be there eventually.”
It is fairly unprecedented, he’ll give her that, but -
“Amenadiel?” Lucifer asks.
“Lucifer, I need you to listen to what I’m saying,” Amenadiel says. “What if Michael is making himself God?”
Lucifer scoffs. “That’s impossible,” he says. “And besides, dear old Dad can take care of himself. Now will you help me or not?”
“We need to know more,” Amenadiel says. “I’ll get in touch with Gabriel, see if she can tell us anything.”
Lucifer pushes himself to his feet, glaring fiercely at his brother. “As Azrael said, a living mortal soul has never been to Heaven before. She could be dying just because she’s there.”
“She shouldn’t have even gotten through the gate!” Amenadiel says, in that infuriatingly firm voice of his, and he stands to grab Lucifer’s arm. “How did Michael have the power to do that?”
Lucifer shoves Amenadiel’s chest, hard, and watches as he goes flying through the air and crashes into his bookcase. He’ll be upset about that later, he’s sure.
“Thanks for your help, brother,” Lucifer spits, and extends his wings.
Michael has taken Chloe to the one place that Lucifer simply cannot go.
He’ll go anyway.
Lucifer lands at the Gates of Heaven, breathless.
Haneil stands at the Gates, as she always does.
“Lucifer,” she greets, a small frown between her brows. “You can’t enter these Gates.”
He has to take a second to catch his breath. He hasn’t been up here in . . . in eons. He’d almost forgotten that it can take a moment to adjust.
Almost.
Haneil, as the Angel of Grace, has her calming effect on him. Lucifer has always thought it was rather manipulative of his Father, to place her here as the Warden of the Gates. Her mere presence calms the human souls that cross into Heaven, and Lucifer has always thought that they should be allowed to be more aware of their death, their grief.
Though he supposes that doesn’t even happen in Hell.
“Michael has brought a living human up here,” Lucifer says. “I’m here to bring her back where she belongs.”
Haneil steps towards him, biting her lip like she wants to say something, but then Raguel arrives at her back.
Lucifer stamps down the need to just push past them both and go through the Gates. He can’t fight every angel in Heaven, much as he likes the idea. Besides, he’s always been more of a talker than a fighter.
“Lucifer, you can’t come in here,” Raguel says, with all of the righteousness the Angel of Harmony usually embodies.
Lucifer scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Yes, yes, Haneil was just saying. Can we skip to the part where we discuss the things that actually matter? Like how Michael has kidnapped a mortal and brought her up here, body and all?”
“Your human,” Haniel says. “The gift Father made for you.”
Lucifer prickles. “She’s more than that,” he spits. “And she doesn’t belong here. Not yet, at least.”
Raguel places his hand on Lucifer’s shoulder. “Go back to Earth,” Raguel says. “You don’t understand what’s happening.”
“Get your hand off me,” Lucifer hisses, shrugging out of Raguel’s reach. “And I understand perfectly. No one wants to help the brother who rebelled, even if it means letting Michael break the Laws!”
The Gates creak open behind them.
“Sorry, brother!” Michael says, gleeful, standing just beyond the now open Gates. “But I can’t break the Laws if I’m the one in charge.”
He would be listening, would be more concerned with what Michael is saying, but -
“Detective.”
Chloe looks amazing, of course. Her hair is luscious, her skin is glowing, and everything about her is made up to perfection, from her nails to her clothes. The effect of being in Heaven, Lucifer supposes. If she’d been divine to him before, now she looks otherworldly.
And yet . . . When she smiles at him, it’s a small, forced thing, and the light in her eyes is dimmed. There’s no trace of exhaustion under her eyes, or in her general appearance, but from the defeated slope of her shoulders he can still tell that she is.
Lucifer reaches for her, but his hand hits something hard and solid, singeing his skin and making him shout in pain. He whips his hand away to see his fingers and hand red and blistering. There’s nothing to see, but Lucifer can guess what’s there anyway: some kind of forcefield, designed to keep him, the fallen archangel, out.
It’s not even Chloe’s proximity that’s caused such damage. This is a divine wound, and it would have happened anyway. He’s never actually tried to get back into Heaven since his banishment, and he’s wondered, sometimes, what would happen if he did.
He has his answer.
“Michael,” Raguel says, looking rather subdued in Lucifer’s opinion. “Perhaps we should give Lucifer what he came for and send him on his way.”
Michael pays Raguel no mind, and neither does Lucifer.
“Well, that was just embarrassing,” Michael tsks, a smirk on his lips. “But, I’m feeling rather ambivalent, actually, so, here.”
Michael shoves Chloe forwards, through the barrier Lucifer can’t pass, and she stumbles into his arms. He catches her, because of course he does, and on this side of the barrier the truth can’t be hidden from him.
She looks terrible. Bags under her eyes, hair limp, and the exhaustion must be hitting her hard, now, because she can barely stand up.
He doesn’t understand. She’s only been gone a day, spent even less time than that in Heaven.
“Lucifer,” she whispers through cracked lips.
He cradles the back of her head to his chest, resting his chin on the top of her head.
“Chloe.”
Lucifer smooths his hand down her hair, closing his eyes briefly as he takes in her presence.
“Lucifer,” she says again, against his chest. “How’s Trixie?”
He gives a small laugh, trying to lighten her mood. “She’s fine, darling. Worried about you, of course, but I promised her I’d bring you back, and you know my position on lying.”
Against his shirt, Chloe sniffles, though not as if she’s laughing.
“She’s still alive?”
Lucifer frowns. “Well, of course. She can’t get up to much trouble in a day.”
She gasps, a strangled, sobbing kind of noise. “It’s . . . it’s only been a day?”
Lucifer freezes.
Of course. Of course. He’s so - so stupid. How much time has passed for her? He doesn’t remember the difference with Heaven, had never gone to Earth before he’d fallen, but if it’s anything like Hell - . . .
It could have been a hundred years.
“I’m taking you back to her, detective,” he says, voice hard. “I promise.”
He steps back, taking her with him, and spreads his primaries, ready to take her home.
“Ah, ah,” Michael says, stepping through the Gate too. “Not so fast, brother. Ibriel! Raziel!”
The two angels arrive immediately, appearing on either side of Michael. They look weary as well, though more determined than Haniel and Raguel.
Lucifer eyes them all, wary. He can’t fight this many of his siblings and keep Chloe safe too, and she very clearly can’t protect herself right now. She’s barely able to stay awake and he’s mostly carrying her weight while she whispers his name against his chest over and over.
“Michael,” Lucifer says, trying to be as forceful as he can. “I’m taking the Detective back to Earth. She doesn’t belong here. Then you and I can sort this out ourselves.”
Michael sighs, like this whole thing is simply entertainment to him. “Sorry, brother, but I’ve decided to keep her. A little gift to myself, now that I’ve assumed Father’s position as God.”
Lucifer’s stomach plummets.
“You . . . what?”
Raguel and Haniel look away. Lucifer can see Haniel’s lower lip wobbling, and Raguel’s face is pinched in devastation.
Ibriel and Raziel hide themselves better, but Lucifer can see even they are unsure about Michael’s new . . . position. How the fuck did this happen?
Sure, Amendaiel had gone on about it a couple times, but his brother certainly has a flair for the dramatic when it comes to their Father. Lucifer had thought Amenadiel’s worry misplaced, had even thought it odd that he would doubt their powerful Father in such a way. But obviously Amenadiel hadn’t imparted the true seriousness of his suspicious to Lucifer, because his fears were actually, somehow, correct.
“And speaking of people being where they belong!” Michael crows, obviously delighted. He steps forward and places his hand on Lucifer’s shoulder. Lucifer tries to get away, take Chloe with him, but suddenly he finds he can’t move. At all. “It’s time to send you back, brother!”
Horror unfurls his gut, makes a scream that can’t come out curl up in his throat.
No. No, no, no, no.
Oh, he’s felt this before, right before - right before . . .
His arms fall limp to his sides despite his wishes, and Raziel takes Chloe from him, gently picking her up and cradling her. She’s about passed out, and Lucifer is glad. He wouldn’t want her to see what’s about to happen.
Lucifer tries to scream, tries to plead with his brothers and sisters, but his mouth won’t open.
Take me instead! You can do whatever you want with me but please, please, let her go home!
Michael shouldn’t have the power to do this, he isn’t - isn’t their Father .
“I rather enjoyed watching Father cast you out last time,” Michael says, presses the hand he has on Lucifer’s shoulder down, and Lucifer drops to his knees, unable to stop himself as the power of God flows through him and makes His will known. “I think I’ll like doing it myself more.”
The sky falls out from under him.
Lucifer wakes with a choked gasp.
Hell. He’s in Hell.
Quite literally.
Ash falls gently around him, as it always does, and the stink of sulphur makes his chest feel heavy.
It takes Lucifer a long, long moment to gather his thoughts.
Michael as God is just . . . just . . .
Why haven’t any of his siblings stood against him? How have they let it get this far? Sure, Michael has the power to make them fall, banish them from Heaven - obviously, as he’d just done it to Lucifer (and isn’t that a delightful thought? Lucifer is the only angel ever to have fallen, and now he’s managed it twice) - but at least they’d be standing for something.
Instead, they’ve all withered under his power, and Lucifer feels like everything he’d ever thought about them is true. They’re cowardly, and think themselves special. Despite knowing they self-actualize, knowing they have the free will to do and think what they want, they still stand by the side of God.
Even when God isn’t their Father.
His anger makes his skin burn, so Lucifer lets his thoughts turn to the detective.
His beautiful, darling detective. Outside of Heaven, she’d look so worn down, so . . . so broken. She shouldn’t look like that. Tired and exhausted is one thing - but she seemed like Michael had crushed her under his boot, and Lucifer can’t handle that.
It’s likely due to the sheer amount of time she’s been there, Lucifer knows. Fuck he hopes that time works differently to Hell. It obviously still moves faster, but for the couple months on Earth Lucifer was gone, almost two thousand years had passed for him.
For the couple Earth hours she’s been in Heaven, it could have been a couple years.
He wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if that were the case. If she’d been up there that long. So long she could have lost hope that he was coming for her. Forgotten what being on Earth feels like. Thought . . .
His breath lodges in his throat.
She’s still alive? The detective had asked.
He has to get her out.
If Michael has touched her, harmed her in any way, Lucifer will make sure that the punishment he bestows upon Michael will be the worst punishment he’s ever inflicted.
Beneath him, Hell has started to tremble.
Lucifer reaches out, lets Hell into his mind a little more. Lets it guide him to his throne. He pushes to his feet and extends his wings, then takes flight. He soars over his old dominion, barely taking note of the sprawling corridors, of the demons hurrying about to do their duty.
When he reaches his throne, Lucifer flies to the base. He tucks his wings away, and descends down into his castle.
He hasn’t been down here in a long time, but the ash that coats everything above can’t reach down here. It’s exactly how he left it - not that he’d ever really personalised anything. There’s a bed in one room, though it’s not anything like the ones he has on Earth, and a dining table. He had another throne, one that he’s sat on a handful of times in all his millenia down here.
What he’s after, though, is weapons.
While he’d never trusted hell-forged blades to many demons, especially not for any extended time like Maze, he still has a few hidden down here.
Because while an angel can hurt another angel, it takes a lot to kill one. Azrael’s blade is one way, perhaps the most effective, because it completely smites an angel from existence. No Heaven, no Hell, no nothing.
A Hell blade won’t do that, and, well, Lucifer can’t be sure it can kill Michael because Uriel is the first and only angel to ever die.
But it doesn’t hurt to be prepared.
Lucifer lands back in his penthouse.
Only a few minutes have passed, here, but that’s longer than any of them were expecting. Lucifer thinks he must have spent a few days in Hell, passed out and healing from the force of his second fall.
“What happened?” Amenadiel asks immediately. “You didn’t find her?”
Lucifer drops his armful of weapons to the ground.
“Oh, I found her,” Lucifer replies, and his voice is shockingly calm. If he were in Hell, it would be shaking beneath him. It could still be; it was when he just left. “And I found Michael, too.”
“And?” Amenadiel says, bending down to pick up a scythe.
“And you were wrong, brother!” Lucifer says, and he can feel his eyes go red but he has no control in changing them back. “Michael isn’t making himself God. He already is! I’m fairly sure he’s fucking killed our Father.”
Amenadiel doesn’t move.
Lucifer pulls a dagger from his belt line, flips it between his fingers. He’d favoured it in Hell, once upon a time, it’s ruby encrusted hilt something that had caught his eye as soon as it had been forged.
Azrael practically titters where she stands, wringing her fingers together. She laughs, short and nervous, then says, “That’s impossible! I’d know if that had happened . . . Or, I think I would know. I suppose I didn’t know when Uriel died.”
“Lucifer,” Amenadiel interrupts. “What happened? Is Father really . . .?”
“I don’t know, brother,” Lucifer replies, toeing at the weapons on the ground. “If He were, He’d about deserve it. The fact I didn’t do it myself is an awful shame, too. But - and I can’t believe I’m saying - His replacement is worse. So, here we have it: rebellion 2.0.”
Of course, a rebellion is easier in theory - and Lucifer would know.
He has an army at his disposal, and is fairly sure he can convince an angel or two to join their side as well. But there’s the not so small issue of Lucifer being physically unable to enter Heaven, and then Michael’s newfound omniscience.
So it’s a shockingly easy decision to go back to Hell.
He can’t go into Heaven, and Michael will be watching him too closely if he’s on Earth. Any chance he has of getting Chloe back rests on Michael not being able to fight back, and that’s easiest if he’s surprised. Which means the only chance Lucifer has of being involved in planning is if it happens in Hell, where Michael can only see so much.
Of course, it also means he can minimise Chloe’s time slippage as much as possible.
It will still take a few days to plan, but they’re Hell days. She will have a couple more Heaven days to endure, but if they spent even a few hours planning on Earth, years could be passing for her.
She can’t spend more years up there.
So he sits on his Throne in Hell, and waits for Amenadiel to quietly send angels his way.
Raguel is the first to come.
Lucifer leads him to his underground Palace and treats with him in the unused dining room.
They eye each other warily, his brother and he. Before their recent meeting at the Gates of Heaven, they hadn’t seen each other in eons. And, of course, Raguel had been fighting against Lucifer in his first rebellion.
“Amenadiel sent me,” Raguel says finally.
“That was his job,” Lucifer replies, wishing he had a smooth whiskey to wet his throat with. “He did actually tell you what we’re doing, right?”
“That you want things the way they were. Father back on the Throne.”
Lucifer’s eye almost twitches. “ No,” he says, wondering if his eyes have gone red after Raguel flinches back. “I want the Detective back on Earth, and I want Michael to pay for his crimes. That Father will be God again is an unfortunate byproduct.”
Lucifer doesn’t add that he doubts whether their Father is even still alive.
Raguel says nothing for a long moment, watching Lucifer closely. Lucifer refuses to back down.
“Your first rebellion sowed disharmony amongst the angels for a thousand years, Lucifer,” Raguel says, hands folded in his lap. “In some ways, it never left. But Michael . . .”
Raguel lets out a long breath, and Lucifer feels that prickle of guilt he spent a long time wishing he didn’t have.
“At least you had a reason,” Raguel says finally.
Lucifer’s brows raise, and he opens his mouth with a smirk, ready to take advantage of the small concession.
“A stupid, selfish reason,” Raguel hastens to add. “You coveted something that you shouldn’t have, and wanted it in a way that tore our family apart, but ultimately what you fought for was real. It had . . . it had meaning.”
Lucifer blinks. He would never have imagined that a sibling of his could realise such a thing, let alone admit to it.
Lucifer spent a long, long time in Hell, alone. He had many eons to ponder his rebellion. Why he had felt the need to fight so viciously for what he wanted. Why he’d even wanted it at all. He’d thought himself in circles for a long time. How could he long for free will, if he was designed to not have it? How could he have broken from his Father’s mould and wanted something more himself, if his Father hadn’t made him to be that way? Did that mean he’d always had free will - or at least enough to think things through and want more?
And if he did have free will, or some inkling of it, then why did the other angels not? And why wouldn’t Father just tell him? Why let him fight against his siblings and then be cast down to Hell, if what Lucifer fought for was already there?
Or perhaps they were all born with free will, but brainwashed into thinking that Father’s word meant everything, and then Lucifer was the first - perhaps only - to give it any further thought.
Amenadiel’s realization that angels self-actualise had been so world-shattering that Lucifer had spent a long time pretending it wasn’t true. It was easier than facing the truth: that he had fought and been banished for nothing.
That his Father would rather have sent Lucifer to Hell for fighting for something wasn’t even real, rather than sit down and explain to his wayward son the truth.
To think that any of his brothers or sisters have given the concept of free will any further thought is slightly shocking.
“Michael has overthrown our Father because he wants to be God. All of the Host is in disarray, and it’s very . . . uncomfortable.”
As the Angel of Harmony, Lucifer can imagine that it is.
“I think it would help you, if I were to stay here and assist you in convincing the other angels,” Raguel suggests suddenly. “You did a terrible job of convincing me, and you’ll need all the help you can get.”
Lucifer scowls. “This is mutually beneficial, brother, I needn’t have to convince anyone.”
Raguel gives him a hard look as he stands. “For my own peace of mind, then,” Raguel says, though Lucifer is sure that’s not what he really means.
“I’ll never turn down some company,” Lucifer agrees. He feels slightly wearing of his brother, but it’s true. Hell has always been lonely. “Hell is a rather dreary place, wouldn’t you agree?”
“I’ll return soon, brother. Haniel has already decided to fight with you, and I think Metatron, Sandalphon and Zadkiel have, too. Remiel will need some persuasion because she hates you, but she hates Michael and what he’s done more.
“You have a few harder sells, like Saraqael and Jophiel. Raphael will be the hardest, I should think. He and Michael were close, before all this happened. And don’t even think about contacting Gabriel - she has no loyalty to anyone. She’ll side with whomever she fancies, and that can change from moment to moment. Trusting her will be a mistake.”
Lucifer takes that in. Having Metatron and Sandalphon - the only other angelic twins - on their side will be a huge boost. They’re strong fighters, some of the strongest. Remiel is surprising; she used to adore Amenadiel, and follows their Father implicitly. Perhaps she struggles with her loyalty to God, and whether that remains no matter who fills the position.
Saraqael, too, because she’d supported him in his first rebellion. Johpiel is an idiot, but boosting numbers is important, too - though more important is having the fewest number of angels to fight against.
Raphael is unfortunate - okay, worrying, he’s a very strong fighter - and Gabriel . . . is surprising. She’s a sweet woman, in Lucifer’s opinion, though he’d never spent much time with her growing up, she too busy delivering her messages across Heaven.
“Alright,” Lucifer says, standing too. “I shall see you soon, then. With a few members of the Host, I hope.”
Raguel smiles at him, then spreads his wings and leaves in a breath of wind.
Lucifer sits back in his chair, spreading his palm wide on the table top and staring at the reflection on the shiny black veneer. He needs to be patient, needs to plan this so carefully, but he’s never been good at that.
And he wants her back in arms so fucking much.
The look on her face when she’d been pushed through the Gates and into his arms, the way her body had barely been able to handle its own weight . . .
Just a little longer, my love. Please, just wait a little longer.
Chloe has never really been in a kidnapping situation.
She’s had training, of course, she knows what to do. Has helped find kidnapping victims, even had Trixie taken from her.
But never herself. Not like this.
Not where the days drag on, and on, and on. Where she can’t sleep, can’t eat, but has to in order to stay alive. Where everything is so foreign, so other, so divine that just thinking about her situation and where she is is enough to make her lightheaded.
Where the only person in the entire Universe who has the inclination and the ability to come and save her is the one person who is banished from this place.
That is, if he and their friends can even figure out she’s here. Why would any of them think that Michael could bring her, alive, into Heaven? It feels like it should be impossible.
And from the way the other angels had regarded her when Michael had dragged her through the Gate, kicking and screaming, she thinks it did used to be. Maybe is, for anyone else.
At the beginning, she’d thought it was just because she was God’s miracle. She was special, made for an angel, which must have given her the ability to live where an angel lives.
The longer she’s here, though, the more she see’s of Michael and Heaven and the way the other angels look at him - well, she’s become sure it’s something very different entirely.
That thought becomes confirmed one day, a few months into her captivity. At least, she thinks it's a few months. There’s not exactly a day and night the way she knows it on Earth. More a . . . waxing and waning of the energy in Heaven. She can’t really put it in words, but she can feel that it’s true, at least in the way her mind can comprehend.
But the day she knows something in Heaven is very, very wrong, she’s dragged from her cell - a room in God’s Palace that is the exact replica of her house on Earth, but a cell nonetheless - and made to put on a white dress. It’s long and silky, hugging her body in a way that would be unflattering on Earth but looks nice here, and it leaves her shoulders bare.
Then she’s made to stand in a hall with a large silver throne, Michael sitting in it, looking comfortable and rather pleased with himself. There’s a chair next to his, not anywhere near as ostentatious and quite a bit smaller, but clearly a matching throne.
“Chloe!” He greets, a vicious smile on his face. “Come, my queen, come. Sit here, next to me.”
Chloe’s heart constricts in her chest. No. No, this can’t be happening. She’d been admittedly worried, for the first few days of her captivity, that Michael would display, uh, eagerness to resume where they’d left off when he’d posed as Lucifer. That he’d ask for things from her she would be repulsed to give him, things that would be forcibly taken from her instead.
But she hadn’t seen him. Not for those first few days, at least, and not much since then. Here and there, when he’d decided to start slowly introducing her to his siblings. When he’d been in a particularly victorious mood, and invited her - forced her - to dinner with him and he’d crow about his victory over Lucifer, how he’d stolen Lucifer’s cute little gift from Father.
But he hadn’t so much as stepped into her personal space since bringing her here.
“What?”
“Chloe,” he repeats, much firmer this time, extending a hand towards her. “Come. Sit.”
The power emanating from him is palpable, and encourages her to follow his orders.
“There, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”
Chloe keeps her mouth shut.
He fills the silence instead, turning in his throne to face her. “I’ve been thinking about Father.”
“Mm?” Chloe hums, looking into the eyes he shares with Lucifer and wishing she could pretend she were about to listen to another distribute from him instead. Though they are almost physically symmetrical - aside from that scar, and Michael’s wounded shoulder - there is such a difference in the depth of their eyes that Chloe sometimes wonders how she could ever have been confused about whether he was Lucifer.
Lucifer’s eyes are so expressive, such beautiful windows into his thoughts. Michael’s are cold, calculating. Terrifying.
“His best years were when Mother ruled by his side,” Michael reveals. “He was a worse ruler after she left. Weaker. Now that I’ve assumed His position, I think I should learn some lessons from Him.”
Chloe gasps, almost chokes on her breath. “Sorry, what? You’ve . . . what?”
He looks at her oddly, like he doesn’t know what she’s asking.
“What?”
“You assumed His position?”
He looks at her as if she’s an idiot. Like she’s supposed to know anything about divinity!
“What did you think was going on?”
Chloe doesn’t have an answer, couldn’t talk through her shock even if she did, so she just shakes her head. What did he do? Has he . . . did he kill God? She didn’t know He could die! Or that His powers or position were transferable.
Her head is going to explode from this conversation, she can already tell.
“So you’re . . . God now.”
“Yes,” he says impatiently. “And you’re going to be my queen. Keep up, would you?”
Her head spins as she swallows and looks away from him.
Queen, he says.
Trophy, she hears.
She’s been in Heaven a long time when Lucifer arrives at the gate. A couple of years, she thinks, in moments when she’s thinking clearer. Thinking harder. Other times, she wonders if it's perhaps been centuries.
It’s been long enough that she’s become convinced that he’s not coming. Sometimes, she wonders how long he looked for her. He probably won’t ever stop, not really, because that’s not the kind of man he is. But eventually he’ll have to realise that she’s gone. Dead, because she might as well be up here.
She has no idea how much time has passed back home. She spends a very, very long time thinking about Trixie, how much of her life she’s missing. Has she gone to middle school yet? Had her first crush? Her first period?
Graduated high school? Gotten married?
It doesn’t do her any good to think about that, though. Thinking like that gets her so despondent that she can’t leave her room.
She tries to avoid thinking about her old life in general. In the beginning, it was a good way to hold on to hope. Now, it only makes her hurt so deeply she can’t move.
And then . . . then he comes.
When it happens, Michael is sitting in his throne, with her by his side. She doesn’t do much. Doesn’t do anything, really. Her title of queen is a sham, in every way. Her worries of him touching her were unfounded - he seems to display no interest in her in that way at all, despite his interest in her on Earth.
He doesn’t ask her opinion on anything, if she’s allowed to speak at all, which she usually isn’t.
There is no reason for her to be there, other than that it pleases him to look at her and know he’s taken something precious from Lucifer. As if that is her only purpose, her only meaning in the Universe: her association to Lucifer.
It really is, to Michael. The Celestial is the only thing that has true meaning, to him. Things to do with Earth are small and trivial, including, apparently, the fact that she had an important job, a child to raise.
Suddenly, Michael shifts in his chair.
Chole looks over at him. He doesn’t often move, and never so nervously. She watches him closely, trying to figure out what’s happened.
His face darkens, drawn down in anger, and then he stands and turns to her. He says nothing, just unfurls his wings and grabs her by the arms to force her to stand.
“What -”
And then they’re by the Gates she came here through, and -
“ - wants to help the brother who rebelled, even if it means letting Michael break the Laws!”
Lucifer. He’s here. He’s here, he’s here for her, oh God, she’s missed him so much, so much, he’s going to take her home.
The Gates open, and then she can see him, too. He looks . . . a bit dishevelled, actually, like he hasn’t slept in a few days. Certainly stressed, too, but she can see the moment that he realises she’s there.
“Sorry, brother!” Michael says, but Chloe is barely listening to him. She’s heard enough talk from him to last her a lifetime or two, and Lucifer is right there. He’s so close, she’s so close to being able to go home.
“But I can’t break the Laws if I’m the one in charge.”
Lucifer’s jacket is sitting slightly askew, and his hair is mussed, a curl hanging over his forehead, and he’s drinking her in the same way she’s drinking him in.
“Detective.”
She can’t help but smile at him.
Oh, she’s stopped thinking he’d be coming for her a long time ago, due to the sheer impossibility of him following her up here, but she couldn’t help but hope. Couldn’t help but wish. And now here he is. He’s done it, he’s made it, he’s come to Heaven for her even though he’s banished.
Lucifer reaches for her, hand outstretched towards her, and Chloe sways on her feet because he’s so, so close. She can barely hold in a sob as she watches from where she’s standing behind Michael.
But then his hand stops moving, hits something, and he shouts with pain and pulls his hand away, away from her, but Chloe can see his hand is burnt and bright red.
No.
No.
Please, no. He needs to get her, she can’t stay here any longer. He’s so close, and she so, so desperately wants to go home.
She really can’t stay here, she needs to see Trixie, see Dan, if they’re even still alive and she can see them. And she needs Lucifer, too, needs to see where it’s going between them, needs more than the few nights together they’ve finally, finally been given. She wants to be able to love him freely, openly, be able to give him everything he’s been missing.
Chloe lurches forward, pushed by Michael, through the Gates and into Lucifer’s arms.
Oh, oh, he’s so warm, so lovely, and he cradles her to him so gently, so softly, and wow, she didn’t realise she was so tired.
“Lucifer,” she sighs, because he has her. He has her now, and she’s going home.
“Chloe.”
Her name feels like a soft caress, and a shiver goes down her spine. She’s leaning on him heavily, because she suddenly feels so tired. But it’s okay, because she knows he’ll support her.
He’ll get her home, to her daughter.
“Lucifer,” she says, thinking about Trixie, about how much she wants to see her and how scared she is that it’s too late. Around the lump in her throat, she asks, “How’s Trixie?”
He laughs once, a rumble in his chest that rustles her head. “She’s fine, darling. Worried about you, of course, but I promised her I’d bring you back, and you know my position on lying.”
Chloe can feel herself crying with relief. Oh, thank - well not God, because the current one is a dick, but she’s so, so grateful that she’s okay.
“She’s still alive?” Chloe asks, just to be sure.
Lucifer pauses for a moment, then says slowly. “Well, of course. She can’t get up to much trouble in a day.”
Chloe feels like her world drops out from under her. “It’s only been a day?”
He goes stiff under her touch.
How could it only have been a day? That doesn’t make any sense. No, no, that doesn’t make any sense. She’s felt it change from day to night and back what feels like a thousand times. It hasn’t - it can’t have been -
“I’m taking you back to her, detective,” she vaguely hears Lucifer say. She can’t focus on him though, her head is spinning too much. “I promise.”
She stumbles back with him, clinging to him as tightly as she can, trying to breathe through her panic.
“Lucifer,” she whispers, but she can barely hear it. She needs him to explain this to her. She needs to hear him say again that it’s been only a day. Has she imagined the passing of time? “Lucifer. Lucifer.”
His chest rumbles under her cheek again, and he says something, his voice harsh, but she can’t quite make out what it is over the ringing in her ears.
“You . . . what?”
It snaps her back to reality. She looks up at Lucifer, at the rage and fear on his face. She wishes she could wipe it away. Wishes she could protect him from the truth of what Michael has done.
“And speaking of people being where they belong!” Michael says, and she doesn’t understand the context, but oh she knows that tone of voice. It’s his proud voice, the victorious voice, the one he gets when he can’t help but gloat. She hears it most often when he’s discussing how delighted he is to have her in the Silver City.
“It’s time to send you back, brother!”
Send him . . . back.
Chloe tries to tighten her fingers in the jacket at his back, but then his arms have fallen from around her waist and she feels like she’s falling.
Then she’s being cradled in strong arms, and her head is lolling back.
She pries her eyes open.
“Raziel.”
The angel looks down at her, eyes sad.
“I’m so sorry, Chloe.”
Chloe tilts her head, trying to see Lucifer, find him, see what’s happening.
She hears him scream, and it’s enough to make her head lift a little, trying to see what’s wrong, how she can help.
But a bright light fills the space, so bright she has to squeeze her eyes closed and cover them with her hand. And it’s so hard to open them again, too hard, and so she doesn’t.
Chloe wakes with a choked gasp.
Her hand flies to her throat, where she feels like a scream should be bubbling up. Her stomach is twisting with that terrible feeling of falling, and she thinks that if she weren’t in Heaven she’d have leaned over the side of the bed to throw up.
It takes a long, long moment for her head to stop spinning enough for her to think clearly.
When she can, she almost wishes she’d just forgotten the entire thing.
Lucifer was here. Lucifer was here. He was so close, he’d held her in his arms. She’s missed him so much, so much.
And Trixie! To know that it’s only been a day, that her little baby is perfectly fine and safe and still exactly how she remembers is both so reliving that it feels like she can breathe again, and yet mortifying, too.
It has been longer than a day here, Chloe is sure. She’s unsure exactly how much, but she knows it's been some time for her. She feels like a completely different person.
Lucifer walked straight back into his life on Earth after what he said was thousands of years stuck in Hell. Chloe has no idea how he did that, and is quite sure she won’t be able to do it herself. She may be in Heaven, but her time here hasn’t exactly been peaceful.
For so long, she’s wondered whether she would be able to get out of here. For just as long, she’s been sure that she won’t. That she’ll be here forever, trapped as Michael’s trophy queen.
And to see Lucifer, to see him reach for her, to feel his arms around her . . .
She can’t afford to hope. If anything, seeing him has proven that she was right. She isn’t getting out of here.
The door to her room opens suddenly, and Chloe scrambles back when she spots Michael at the door.
His usual smug grin is missing, and in its place is a dark and unhappy look. He doesn’t greet her, doesn’t say anything.
He just pulls a chair up beside her bed, then temples his fingers beneath his chin. Chloe has nowhere to go, aside from between the other side of the bed and the wall. She doesn’t want to turn her back to him, so she stays where she is, muscles tense.
“My brother is predictable,” Michael starts, eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he stares at her. “It’s how I’ve so easily manipulated him time and again.”
Chloe clenches her fist.
“I knew he’d find out you were here eventually, and I wondered what he’d do. Would I be able to get to him to pray to our Father, beg Him to have you released? I hoped for that, truthfully, so I could see the look on his face when I answered his prayers and he realised I’m God.
“I considered the possibility that he would come to get you himself. Try to enter Heaven, despite the fact that doing so would kill him. I had to consider it, because that’s what you do in war. That’s why I tightened the Gates, made it so that he can’t even get through them to burn. I didn’t want to take the chance that he could be protected from Heaven’s force, somehow.
“But my brother is inherently selfish, and truthfully I didn’t think he would actually do it. Actually come here for you. Risk his life for a human. ”
Chloe’s ears are ringing, and there’s only one real thing she’s taken in from Michael’s monologue. “In . . . war? ”
Michael gives her an odd look, like he doesn’t understand why that’s what she focussed on - but how could she not?
Chloe stopped believing Lucifer would come for her because she thought it was just physically impossible for him to get here, or anywhere near it. If she’d known he could stand outside the Gates, or could even come inside even if just to burn, then she would have always believed he’d come.
It’s not surprising to her that he came once he figured out where she was.
But that Michael thinks they’re in a war?
Maybe they are. Maybe Chloe has been frightfully stupid yet again, thinking that she had a handle on all this celestial bullshit. Thinking that Michael messing with Lucifer’s life was just a fun way to pass time for him.
Taking the position of God was admittedly a more serious move, but even so . . . he’s already done it. Any war to take his Father’s role has already happened.
Apparently not, though.
“ Anyway, ” Michael continues, shooting her a glare, “the point is . . . Lucifer came here for you, despite what I thought and despite what he knew would happen. I think sending him back to Hell is an appropriate measure for now, but -”
“You did what?” Chloe interrupts, voice high and loud in her outrage.
She expects Michael to be annoyed at the interruption, and he does seem to be so, for a moment, and then he obviously remembers he loves to brag and that smug smirk that Chloe would love to punch off his stupid face pulls at his lips.
“Cast him out,” Michael says, obviously very satisfied with himself. “Threw him into Hell, the same way Father did.”
Chloe’s nausea returns, full force. Oh, Lucifer . She can’t even imagine how he must be feeling right now. Back down in that awful place, all that heartbreak and trauma that he’ll always feel about what his Father did likely hitting him all at once, all over again.
“Brilliant, don’t you think?”
And suddenly Chloe just can’t take it anymore. She can’t sit and listen to him talk. She can’t stare at the face he shares with Lucifer and wish things were different. They’re never going to be different.
She’s never fought back against Michael or the other angels. It always felt pointless - on the off chance she won, what would she do? Where would she go?
She knows enough of angels to know that none of them were ever going to take her back down to Earth against Michael’s orders, no matter how much she cried or screamed or begged. She’s not stupid. She physically can’t get back down to Earth without help.
And when she’d inevitably be found, she can imagine that Michael would punish her, in one of his thousands of ways.
Fighting back just never felt like an option. But sitting around isn’t either. And she’s starting to realise that she really is going to be here forever. It’s time she accepts that.
So she lunges across the bed. Oh, she doesn’t have a plan from there. Not at all. She’s not even wanting to escape. She just wants to hurt him, like he hurts everyone.
Turns out, she didn’t need a plan, because she doesn’t even get close to him before he’s gripped her wrists and pushed her down. He pins her arms above her head, and rests a knee over her stomach - not hard, she can still breathe, but she can’t even think of moving.
“You’re both as stupid as each other,” Michael informs her, rolling his eyes. “What exactly did you think was going to happen?”
Chloe spits in his face.
Michael’s face goes as close to murderous as she’s ever seen from him, but she recognises the expression from Lucifer.
“You little . . .”
He shifts, and then both her wrists are held in only one of his hands, and his other is wrapped around her throat.
Chloe’s eyes immediately widen as she struggles to breathe, to move. He has her pinned so effectively, his strength and weight meaning she can’t even wriggle under him. She knows his shoulder is weak, and she would try to take advantage of that, if she could move at all.
“I’m not going to kill you,” he says, even though she feels very much like he is. “You’re still my sweet little queen. But if you ever disrespect me like that again, know that I wouldn’t even need to use my hands to kill you.”
He releases her throat, and Chloe coughs on her inhale, wheezing as she tries to get air back in her lungs. Her chest is burning, her throat is aching, and she feels light headed and hot.
She turns her head, uselessly trying to hide the tears in her eyes from him.
“I had some conflict over what I was about to do,” Michael murmurs, reaching up with his now empty hand to wipe her spit from his cheek. “But now I see I’ve been treating you too well.”
Chloe presses her eyes closed. Whatever he came here for, she knows that, at best, she won’t like it. At worst . . .
But he lifts himself off her. Once released, she immediately runs her fingers over her bruised throat, trying to soothe her pain. But truthfully, it’s already nearly faded. The perks of being in Heaven, she supposes.
Michael grabs one of her forearms and yanks her up. She stumbles to her feet behind him and tries to catch her balance even as he yanks her out of her fake bedroom, out of her replica house and into the corridors of the Palace from which God rules.
She follows behind him - though, no, she’s not following so much as being forced to stumble behind him. She hasn’t really seen much of the Palace, let alone Heaven, so she has no idea where she’s going. Mostly she stays in her room, seeking the familiarity of it, and the peace of being away from God and angels and just pretending nothing is wrong.
Of course, she knows the way to the throne room too, but this is definitely in the opposite direction.
Michael says nothing, just continues to pull her behind him. They walk for what feels like about ten minutes, and then Michael just stops and opens a door.
Chloe peeks in. It’s a dark staircase, leading down.
Chloe tries to step back, determined not to go down there, but of course pulling against an angel - against God - is so ridiculously ineffective that she shouldn’t have even bothered.
“Down you go.”
He pulls her by the wrist, and then pushes her into the door. She has to catch herself on the walls either side of the stairs to stop herself from tumbling down.
“Michael -” She starts, turning back to the door. Chloe is unsure what she’s going to say, but she really doesn’t want to go down there.
“Lucifer won’t find you down here,” Michael says, and then he shuts the door in her face.
Chloe lifts her fist, ready to start pounding against the door and shouting for Michael to let her out, but a voice from downstairs stops her.
“Michael? Is that you?”
The voice is deep, and calm, despite being down in what Chloe would describe as a basement.
“Who’s down there?” she calls, instinctively reaching for her gun. It’s not there, of course, and she hasn’t wished for it more since getting here.
The stairs creak as she takes a step down - and somebody else takes a step up.
A man fills up the space at the bottom of the stairs, a tall man with obviously broad shoulders. She can’t see his face.
“Chloe,” he says warmly, like she is a completely unexpected and yet delightful addition to his cell. “I’ve been so looking forward to your arrival. Tell me: how’s Lucifer?”
Chloe peers down at the man in confusion. He doesn’t . . . seem like he’s going to hurt her, but he’s stuck down in a basement in Heaven, for fucks sake. Why would he be in Heaven’s dungeon if he wasn’t a bad dude?
“How do you know Lucifer?” she asks, though it’s probably a stupid question because, well, Lucifer is an angel. Everybody probably knows him.
“Why, he’s my son, of course,” the man says with a big smile, and Chloe blinks.
Once, twice, then a third time, wondering if she heard that right.
He’s my son. That would make this Lucifer’s Father. But he can’t be Lucifer’s Father, because then He would be . . . God.
Holy shit.
“Come down now, my dear miracle. We have so much to discuss.”