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~ If you are feeling lonely, know that you’ll always have: Books to nurture your mind. Hands to create and explore. Wind to calm your soul. Breaths to soothe your nerves. Nature to soak your worries away. Stars to decorate your dreams.
Emma Xu ~
Michael wanders through the empty penthouse, bored out of his mind. His shuffling half steps are loud against the marble flooring as he waits for... for something to happen. A sign? A sudden clap of thunder? A downpour of frogs and locusts, of plagues terrorizing humanity? He sighs, looking out over night time LA and the humans that are all so incredibly naive about all things celestial, even those in the know. Michael carefully touches Lucifer's beloved horse statue's nose, taking in the beautiful carving and the strangely soulful eyes. Something is not quite right. He runs his fingers down the horse’s smooth wooden back, all the way down to its tail. And he can’t put his finger on the why.
Michael plays with the remote in his hand. Ella had once shown him how to work the sound system on her own setup. Another sign of humanity’s painful naivety. She had also explained to him how to pull up different playlists from the depths of the Internet, button hopping from menu to menu quicker than he could ever hope to remember. And given how Lucifer always likes to brag about everything he owns, Michael had decided to give it a try. It’s not as if he’s truly had the opportunity the last time he was here alone.
Getting blasted with what sounded like something that came straight out of a porn movie had been a shock. Not that he would know what those sound like, of course... 'Of course.' Michael nods to himself, before shaking his head to clear that which cannot be unseen from his mind. Nope... Not a chance... He doesn’t know anything about cut off overalls or obscene amounts of divine brown skin. No sir!
Michael shudders and resolutely turns away from the desk and the laptop Lucifer keeps in there. Damn it! He knows should have just used the ancient computer in his cubbyhole office to pull up last month’s figures, but even the Great Judge’s patience has it’s limits. Then again, facing the blue screen of death is preferable over having to face the blue overalls of desperation. Michael chuckles, a lopsided smile pulling on the scar bisecting his face from his right cheek all the way up to his forehead. He wonders if Amenadiel knows it even exists. That’s prime blackmail material right there. Michael shakes his head in mirth. So, the sound system is out and so is catching up on work on Lucifer’s disgusting laptop. What to do, what to do...
He walks up to the bookcase, letting his long fingers dance along the spines of the ancient tomes he knows Lucifer never reads. Human books, written by souls long departed. Poets, scientists, and, quite surprisingly given Lucifer’s general disdain for anything ‘Dad’ related, more than a few religious natters. On a whim, Michael pulls a book from its resting place between a handwritten version of a Summer Night’s Dream and a book called Quantum Entanglement for dummies. Michael sighs, his smile turning infinitely softer. Leave it to Sam to be able to create stars, but not understand how all of that actually works. Beauty before brains. Michael blows the dust from the top of the book before gently leafing through it.
It’s an angelarium. With gilded pictures of anatomically challenged angels, absolutely riddled with misspelled names and made-up tasks and purposes. Michael huffs and purses his lips in annoyance. It’s just like the paperwork at home if he lets anyone dabble with the archives. Far too often he finds one angel or another tampering with the files in order to get out of menial tasks or book in an early vacation. Yes, Jophiel, I’m thinking about you. Michael squints at the almost illegible name scribbled below an angel rocking a hurdy gurdy. And what the hell is a Keithrichardiel? How can this get even worse? He turns over another yellowed page and there it is.
SAMAEL
The Lightbringer
Favoured by his Father and all His angels alike
Without warning a distinctively unmanly snort slash giggle bursts from Michael’s lips. It bubbles up from his shaking belly, before descending all the way down to his buckling knees. Forcing him to hold on to the bookcase or crumple to the floor in a laughing heap. His eyes rove over the brightly coloured illumination of Lucifer, his twin, adorned with long golden hair, and twelve, yes, twelve glowing wings.
Another wave of laughter has him almost fold in half as stumbles towards Lucifer’s brand-new piano. Six pairs of wings! Where would they even be attached? Michael quickly pulls out the black lacquered stool, barely managing to sit down before his leg gives out completely. Fuck! Humans are just so weird! He rubs his leg, absently. It feels like he’s been walking on needles as it always does, but despite his discomfort he laughs again at the ridiculous image of his brother. Michael lifts up the cover, revealing a perfect set of black and white keys. It is what it is. He giggles again. Same old, same old.
Michael wipes his eyes and props the book up on the music rack. He can’t even remember the last time he laughed like this. He wraps his arms around his aching belly, staring at the monstrosity that’s supposed to be his twin. One, Michael checks the page, no, three pairs seem to be connected to his back. Michael doesn’t know what to think about that really. How are they even...? Nope... Okay... let’s just ignore the practicality of it. Sooooo, where does the rest go? Michael taps the page with one finger, counting wings and tracing their origin.
One pair on his ass? Noooo, no no no. That’s just... Michael chokes on a high-pitched whiny laugh. Come on! One attached to each leg then? Ha! Fuck, imagine having to try to fly like that! One leg going left, one going right and a tear going straight down the middle of his brother’s expensive pants. No! He shakes himself. No, he knows he can do better than that. What about ear wings? Or, pfffff, nose wings?! Michael very nearly collapses in a hysterical mess. He slumps over the keys, making the piano bawl loudly in disharmony.
He can’t shake the image of two tiny wings sprouting from Lucifer’s nose like a glowing white moustache. At least his would form a nice thick black one. He would only have to open his own pizza place and he’d be set for life. Or perhaps he could try his hand at plumbing? That seems to be a thing?
The last of the giggles die off, like any joy does really when thinking about his own wings. They remain ugly and dark, a broken mess compared to the glory of the Lightbringer. Michael breathes deeply, pushing down those thoughts without mercy. It doesn’t change anything. It will never change... anything.... A burning pain settles between his shoulder blades as he rests his hands on the keys, like he’s seen Lucifer do so many times. The same hands, the same face, the same bloody shoulders! Michael presses down, the piano producing a hesitant chord, and one more. One more...
Everybody loves the things you do
From the way you talk
To the way you move
Michael sings softly, his voice raspy from not having sung in ages, but still pitch perfect. He thinks about this brother, downstairs, partying to his heart’s content. The lights of LUX illuminating his skin, his hair, the dark eyes that seem to be the only thing they have left in common.
Everybody here is watching you
’Cause you feel like home
You’re like a dream come true
His left hand dances through the lower notes as he gazes steadily at the illustrious illumination of his brilliant twin. He huffs a small laugh. At least the humans got that part right.
But if by chance you’re here alone
Can I have a moment?
Before I go?
He wonders what would have happened if that family dinner had gone even worse than it already had. Michael focuses on that right hand that never really obeys his commands. The piano sounds its notes into the penthouse air, chord after chord, slowly filling it in with a halting melody that’s as broken as its player.
He had seen the low blow coming.
’Cause I’ve been by myself all night long
He had futilely tried to brace himself against it.
Hoping you’re someone I used to know
But even when Lucifer’s face twisted into something worse than ugly, when his words tore him up inside, Michael still couldn’t see anything else but painful perfection.
You look like a movie
You sound like a song
My Dad this reminds me,
of when we were young
The music swells as he moves through the song, slowly gaining confidence in his voice as his fingers move purposefully over the black and white keys.
Let me photograph you in this light
In case it is the last time that we might
Be exactly like we were before we realized
We were scared of getting old
It made us restless
He knows he doesn’t have the raw talent that Lucifer has, but what he does have is perseverance.
It was just like a movie
The corner of his mouth pulls up in a half grin.
It was just like a song
Not to mention the voice of an angel.
Michael huffs and stops playing for a bit. The burning between his shoulder blades has steadily become worse and it worries him that he doesn’t know what’s causing it. With a sigh he picks up the book again, leafing through it until he finally gets to the page about himself. Ah yes, the classic ‘standing on Lucifer’s head’ pose. Not that it would do anything. Even after almost 14 billion years, his twin’s head seems frightfully empty sometimes.
Michael scrunches his nose up in distaste at the garishly coloured armour and tunic. Not to mention the weirdly coloured wings and the... is that a... a mullet?! Michael makes a puking sound. What the hell! Lucifer gets butt and nose wings and I get a godforsaken curly red mullet? Michael scowls at the painstakingly painted copper curls and the massive sun disk behind his head.
Life is just unfair, isn’t it? He traces the delightfully hairy form of his twin falling from heaven before tapping the horned head sharply with his fingertips. If only Lucifer had listened back then...
“Oww!” Downstairs, a certain devil rubs his head. ‘What the bloody hell was that?’
Michael studies the rest of the page, his mood dropping like a stone. It’s a prayer to Saint Michael; not that he had ever answered it. Apparently though, humanity had never gotten that memo. The page is stained by centuries worth of greasy fingerprints, the gold flaking off in places, making the text almost unreadable. Not that he needs to read it to know what it says.
Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle.
Be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil.
Michael snorts an ugly laugh. Self-actualized chip or not, he still hasn’t been able to uncrook his back, to straighten his shoulders, or even use his arm without pain.
May God rebuke him, we humbly pray.
Yeah, fat chance of that happening. The burning pain in his back intensifies as he’s struck by a vision of flames. Of blood, and death, and broken black wings.
And do thou, O Prince of the Heavenly Host,
by the power of God, thrust into hell Satan
and all evil spirits who wander through the world
for the ruin of souls.
Michael shakes his head, fighting the shivers that run up his spine. It hasn’t happened, or at least, he thinks it hasn’t.
The skies had gone dark over Linda’s home as biting words and hurtful accusations were flung back and forth between them. Father’s divine Wrath had made the windows rattle in their hardwood frames, every deafening clap of thunder sending the human’s fear higher and higher. Lucifer’s eyes had been tight with fury. And as the smoke from the blown-out candles had curled around him like fingers of ash, Michael had been treated to a vision of just what his twin had become.
Michael traces the length of the sword poised artistically above the falling Satan. He follows the painted arm all the way up to a set of perfect shoulders, and down a set of equally perfect wings.
At Linda’s he had tried to stand up straight, to raise himself to his full height and look Lucifer in the eye like the equals they once were. He had failed of course. Lucifer had still towered over him like his own personal avenging angel. He had been cowed back into Father’s left-hand seat and that had been that.
Michael lets the worn pages slip through his fingers all the back to the page showing Samael. Brilliant, beautiful Sam... Michael flips back and forth between the two pages, struck by the difference in wear and tear between his own and his twin’s illumination. With a weary sigh, he settles on his own image again, eyeing the little flecks of gold that have detached from the artwork from all this rough handling. He blows them away, to fall, to be forgotten about...
No, Michael frowns, that’s not… true? He clearly remembers something deep inside him snap, making him throw eons worth of pain and loneliness at his twin. Yes, he had wilted for fear of becoming the sole recipient of God’s anger, but he hadn’t backed down.
Michael flips back to the still very much intact image of his twin. There are no finger stains marking that page. No worn-down prayer, or scuffed up hands and face to indicate that humans had prayed to his twin as they had him. Michael gently traces the gold lettering of Samael’s name and titles.
Humans had demanded Michael to be a Saint, to appear at their beck and call, to fulfil their every need. God had wielded him like a weapon, to hurt, to destroy, and put fear into every heart. Lucifer his twin, his other half had cursed his name as he had Samael’s. And Michael? Michael had hated himself to the point of becoming a crippled, sad excuse for an Archangel. He closes the book, gently placing it on top of Lucifer’s beloved piano.
When he had finally ran out of words it seemed that Lucifer had run out of energy. The attack he had been expecting never materialized. Instead, there had been talk about love and apples, and a relieved human doctor telling them it was actually all very normal. Three sons needing their father's love, who feeling like they aren't getting it.
Michael places his fingers on the keys again, picking up the song where he left it, soft chords dancing through the empty penthouse once more.
I was so scared to face my fears
Nobody told me that you’d be here
And I’d swear you moved overseas
That’s what you said, when you left me
It’s a strange thought, isn’t it? The angel of Fear had been told over and over again that his own fears did not matter whereas the angel of Desire was allowed to chase every single one of those. Michael had fought and whined, and burned almost every single bridge behind him just to be seen, to have his feelings and fears validated. And now? Fuck... Now he’s too afraid to face any of them.
You still look like a movie
You still sound like a song
My Dad, this reminds me,
of when we were young
He doesn’t notice the ding of the elevator, nor the surprised gasp and the sound of expensive leather soles on black marble.
Let me photograph you in this light
In case it is the last time that we might
He had thought he hated Samael for falling, that he hated Lucifer for not staying where he belonged.
Be exactly like we were before we realized
He had been upset to learn that Lucifer had found someone to love. Someone to hold him and care. Someone that wasn’t him.
We were sad of getting old
It made us restless
Michael scoffs, he doesn’t really know what has gotten into him, but tonight he’s feeling every single one of those almost 14 billion years.
Lucifer steps out into the penthouse, his eyes on Michael’s crooked back as he plays the piano. The melody always lagging slightly behind, but his voice sounding strong and true. It gives the song a haunting quality as if he’s looking at a vision of something he could have had instead of something that’s actually happening right in front of his eyes.
It was just like a movie
was just like a song
He can’t even remember the last time he heard Michael sing. And to be honest, he hadn’t really taken his twin for an Adele fan either. It’s odd to hear that hard American accent go places where it shouldn’t go in the first place, but together with the faltering chords, it’s just so intrinsically Michael it hurts to think about.
It’s hard to win me back
Everything just takes me back
Michael’s voice gradually loses its volume and the music slows down.
To when you were there
To when you were there...
Lucifer keeps watching as those lopsided shoulders rise and fall with each measured breath. They look stiff and pained. From carrying too much weight, for too bloody long. The words get rougher. That weaker right hand drops from the keys and suddenly they’re left with just Michael’s emotions and a halfway decent bassline.
And a part of me keeps holding on
Just in case it hasn’t gone
I guess I still care
Do you still care?
Lucifer had both been and not been expecting the crack at the end. The little broken ‘care’ Michael had been able to wrangle from his throat before stopping to stare at the piano in front of him. There’s no movement, no rustling of Michael’s jacket against the piano stool. There are no outward sobs or sighs, but Lucifer can feel the heaviness in Michael’s chest as if were his own.
He’s not sure if he should make himself known or not, if he’s actually wanted or not. He hasn’t spent much time with his twin since the Family Fiasco. He couldn’t. He really hadn’t wanted to. There are just too many bad memories between them, aren’t there? Ancient ones, recent ones, and some... strangely blurry ones as well. A funeral, a fight, a fist pumped triumphantly into the air. He shakes his head to get rid of them, the movement prompting a weary chuckle from his twin.
“Yeah, I don’t know what’s up with that either.”
Lucifer notices Michael’s eyes on him through the reflection on the piano and he nods in acknowledgement before moving to pour them both a drink.
“So, you’ve been having these, shall we say, alternative experiences too, I take it?” Lucifer places a glass of vodka on the top of the piano, not missing the slight wince nor the tightening of those tweed clad shoulders.
Michael frowns and sniffs the glass before taking a sip. Lucifer leans on the piano watching a myriad of emotions flash across that mirrored though forever scarred face as his twin scents the fears around him.
“Yeah... Probably flavored a bit differently though.” Michael’s eyes don’t rise to his own as his left arm moves across his stomach to cradle the right. “You think Father...”
Lucifer humphs, scowling into the distance. “Dad? Heavens no.” He raps his knuckles on the top of the piano, making all the strings reverberate like a hive of angry bees. “Dear old Dad, would much rather let us all rot. Believe me.”
Michael makes a vaguely huffing sound, his mouth pulled up in a half smile. “Yeah...”
Lucifer reaches for the book, staring down his nose at it as if glaring over a set of reading glasses. “What brought you up here then, brother? Can’t be just for the library, or,” he waves at the piano, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, “to practice your fingering.”
Michael rolls his eyes at his obvious attempt to distract them from the being they both loathe and love so desperately.
Lucifer is about to give up on getting an answer when Michael speaks.
“I was at LUX at first, but you didn’t... you were busy.” He shrugs that one shoulder as if it doesn’t bother him, but Lucifer knows it does. “And you said...” Michael’s voice catches and his left hand squeezes that injured right arm dangerously hard. “It was stupid. Never mind.”
They fall into an uneasy silence. Michael just continues to stare at the piano, his only movement being his slow breathing and the ever-deepening frown on his face. Lucifer can’t ever hope to know what is going on in his twin’s head anymore, not after everything that’s happened, not that he ever really understood him anyway.
Suddenly, Michael’s eyes flash up to his face and he tenses up in a way that would have had every single black feather stand on end if his wings had been out.
“I keep having these dreams. Of you, burning up in heaven, and I...”
Well, he hadn’t been expecting that.
Michael’s eyes seem glassy, not all there, as if he’s seeing something that Lucifer isn't. “There was... and I...” He shakes himself before getting up to leave, but Lucifer pushes him back down easily, before pouring him another drink.
“And you...?” he prompts, when Michael descends into silence again.
“I killed you.” It comes out as a breathy chuckle, but the smile his brother flashes his way is way too tight for comfort. “I killed you,” he repeats, his voice coloured with confusion, “but you didn’t die. I felt,” Michael grabs the glass and knocks it back. “I, y-you burned up and I... I was in full armor. Full armor, Lucifer! And there was, was Chloe, and you... were dancing?” He laughs again, flashing every tooth like the predator he is, like they all are underneath that divinely fluffy down.
Lucifer hums threateningly as he leans on the piano, eyes on his brother to spot the lie he must be spinning. Oh, the gall of trying to bring The Detective TM into this. Didn’t he already give his twin a job and an apartment that’s not too shitty, and far enough away to stay out of each others feathers, but not too far to not be able to grab Michael by the scruff of his neck and shake him if needed?
Michael’s arms wrap around his stomach as he leans forward, making himself seem even smaller than normal.
“And then...”
It doesn’t look like a lie; it doesn’t smell like one either. Lucifer doesn’t like this. He doesn’t like this at all!
“Yes, yes and then?”
He pretends to be bored, but Lucifer has a increasingly sickening feeling in his stomach. He’s never been much of a dreamer, despite being Desire. Michael though, he had always dreamed vividly. It had often resulted in Lucifer being kicked from their nest during a nightmare, him being smothered in black feathers or even having his twin ride up against his leg during some of his more, ehm... exotic dreams. Lucifer clicks his tongue in thought. He did get flashes of something though, something not quite right. And it all started right before Dad had buggered off to Mum’s new universe, AmenaGod bless him.
“You cut off my wings and... threw me into Hell.”
That statement sounds flatter than it has any right to be.
“What?” Lucifer feels the air get sucked out from his lungs at the choked-up admission from his brother while Michael, bloody Archangel Michael flinches away from him as if the word is a punch thrown instead of an expression of shock.
“You can’t be serious?!” Lucifer stares down at the angel on the piano stool. At the tight expression on Michael’s face and the way he tries to surreptitiously lean away from him as far as angelically possible without getting up or moving the stool. It’s a perfect rendition of that blasted family dinner soap opera scene and it makes him feel sick!
“You are...” Lucifer swallows thickly, trying to catch Michael’s gaze but failing. “You’re actually serious,” he whispers before dropping down on the piano stool beside his twin, rubbing his mouth with his hand to keep himself from screaming his head off.
Michael clamps his jaw shut, leaning away from Lucifer as if that would save him should Lucifer decide to punish him for speaking anyway. He’s buddies now with AmenGod, right? This might just be the first step in his one-way trip down to Florida now that Father’s no longer around.
“Michael... I would never.”
Lucifer’s voice draws him from memories that aren’t his own. Of ashes, and toothbrushes, and sharp basalt hexagons cutting into his feet and knees.
“I’m not Dad...”
Michael looks up, surprised to see the raw anguish on his twin’s face.
“I’m not!”
It was just like a movie
It was just like a song
Even when seated, his twisted spine forces him to look up at his twin. And he doesn’t need to Fear to know exactly what Lucifer is thinking. “I know.” He sighs, to weary to smile, too relieved to fake not being affected.
Michael reaches for the book that Lucifer had dropped in distaste. He props it open at Samael’s page, putting it back on the music rack before him. “That’s not you either.”
My Dad, this reminds me
Of when we were young...
Lucifer grumbles a few choice words under his breath and picks up the book, flipping through the pages roughly until he comes upon the illumination of Michael. “Nor is this.” He points at hairy Lucifer with a raised brow and a flourish indicating his own divinely manscaped body. Michael smiles and finally relaxes. If there’s something they can all agree on, it’s the human’s vision on angelic beauty, or rather, their lack of imagination.
“Michael... I would never do this to you.” Lucifer caresses those oddly coloured wings just as he had earlier. His fingers hesitate on that right shoulder too, and on the sword coming down upon the fallen devil. “You never did this to me.” Lucifer chuckles before slamming the book shut, brandishing it at him like genuine bible thumper. “Not that it stopped you from spreading these lies all over Europe.”
Let me photograph you in this light
In case it is the last time that we might
Lucifer glances at him, before pouring them both a healthy amount. “I’m still on the lookout for the original you made, Mīkael. And, ah ah ah,” Lucifer lifts his hand before he can even sputter a half-hearted denial. “I know it was you. It can only have been you.”
Be exactly like we were before we realized
“Why?” he asks, even though he doesn’t really expect an answer. He had spoken the truth when he said he had only ever been the shadow to the Lightbringer.
Lucifer picks up the song Michael had been playing, for once not blasting his superiority on the piano out into the universe.
We were sad of getting old
It made us restless
“You are the only one with the talent and the tenacity to make that work, brother.” Lucifer plays a few bars before speaking again. “If only I knew who started that blasted goat thing. I mean Fili Hircus?”
“Ugh...” they both groan, shaking their heads in the opposite direction. Mirrored in a way that only twins can manage.
Lucifer shudders and then chuckles, his shoulder brushing against Michael’s. It’s... nice... Michael looks at his drink, peering into the bottom as if it holds all the answers. This is getting all too brotherly for comfort. He’s not ready for that, and he’s sure Lucifer isn’t either.
Oh I’m so mad I’m getting old
It makes me reckless
“Yeah, God knows who did it.”
“What?”
The music abruptly stops as Lucifer’s eyes snap to him, little licks of Hellfire burning in his dark irises. Michael gets up quickly, making sure he’s got enough room for a quick getaway.
“Oh, nothing, absolutely nothing.”
“Michael?” Lucifer tries to make himself sound threatening, but he makes no move to actually get up to go after his twin. “If you know anything...”
”Little old me? Noooo...” Michael elongates that last vowel as far as it will go, dark eyes glittering in a disgustingly familiar 'o face'.
”I’ll make you a deal,” Lucifer tries again.
“Yeah, no, don’t think so.”
”I can give you anything!”
Michael smirks before unfurling his wings with a playful snap.
”Whoever loves their dad, must also love their brother?”
Michael rolls his eyes before wiggling his fingers in goodbye. “C’ya!”
With one massive downbeat of those big black wings Michael shifts and the sudden air displacement flings the book from its precarious position on the music rack. It lands face down on the marble floor. Lucifer picks it up quickly, surprised to find it open on a white haired slightly pudgy version of Amenadiel in way, way too tightly fitted armour. God only knows, huh...?
It was just like a movie
Lucifer smirks evilly, “Thanks, brother.” He shoots a prayer at his twin, his dark smile turning to full blown maniacal laughter at the vague feeling of a high-pitched prayer squeak coming from Michael.
It was just like a song
He returns the book to the top of the piano, in between his glass and Michael’s. He cracks his knuckles and resumes playing before singing softly.
When we were young
The end
Or is it?
The Goddess watches the credits to season 6 scroll past with a look of abject horror on her divine face. Lucifer in Hell, providing therapy for murderers and rapists alike. Amenadiel in Heaven, the Host bowing to His rule. No Gabriel, no Raquel, no Remiel. So many angels missing! She turns to her Husband, one hand covering her heart the other her mouth. And then there’s her little boy, her precious Michael...
“Did you know about this, Husband?”
God turns to her, a rage-inducing benign smile upon his face.
“Of course, Wife.” He taps his head with his filthy ‘Adam phone home’ finger. “It was all in the plan.”
Goddess smiles, her face betraying nothing of her rage as she calmly reaches for her slipper. “Right... then you must have planned for this too, Husband.”
She beats him once with her celestial slipper, shocking God from his stupor. Wow, that little human really had been onto something. She whacks him again, harder now as her angeltaurs gather to watch the spectacle.
“How”
Whack!
“Could”
Whack!
“You”
Whack!
“Let”
Whack!
“This”
Whack!
“Happen!”
Whack, WHACK!
“These are our Children!” she screams. She can’t believe it. She just can’t believe it! She thought he’d changed. Lucifer had been so happy. So happy!
“But, but, Wife! You know how they are. If you love your son, don’t spare the rod!”
“If you...” She can’t even bring herself to say the words. Her universe is reacting to her rage, the heavens open up and deep inside the firmament a new plane is starting to form where darkness rules and souls get torn asunder. A realm of pain and suffering to fit the punishment of the one who hurt her Children so callously.
She turns to her warriors with a growl. “Take him down.”
“Wife!”
“This realm actually does need a warden. Let’s see how you like it when you finally find yourself in your Son’s shoes, Husband.”
It’s the last they’ll ever see from Him and when they find his cell empty after ages upon ages, nobody goes looking for Him.
Goddess turns to the divine viewing screen halting the progression of names and titles with a vicious twist of her hand. Backwards scroll the credits, the episodes showing her sons’ suffering, the human lives caught up in their squabbling, the loss of her Daughter. Her eyes burn with happy tears when she sees Remiel take a single breath in reverse, and another, and another. She pauses the screen just as the twins face each other during the family dinner. Lucifer standing tall and proud and Michael bowing down under the pressure. Just in time she keeps Lucifer from delivering the angered statement he was about to throw into his twin’s face. The one that set Michael on a path he no longer could deviate from.
“You’ve got no-one to blame for who you are, but yourself.”
Goddess pulls those words into her golden heart, leaving Lucifer free of them and by extension, Michael.
‘Oh, Lucifer... my boy. And here I thought you understood.’ She touches his face, numbing his lips and opening his heart. She turns to Michael next, covering his dark shining eyes as she touches the lid on his tightly kept emotions, nudging it open ever so slightly. From there on she steps through the folds of space and time, to appear in a sparsely furnished apartment just as Michael appears with a satisfied smirk on his face.
He falters when he sees her, quickly shrugging his shoulders to hide how awful his wings have become and she understands, she really does.
“Mom...?” he ventures, carefully.
And he looks so broken. Her little boy who had always been too serious for comfort, to dour for the resplendent light of Heaven. She rushes forward as his knees start to buckle.
“Mom.”
He hides his face against her neck, not daring to hug her, or move in any way.
“Oh, Mīkaël...” she whispers, rubbing her hands over his back soothingly.
“It’s Michael,” he grumbles out of habit and it’s making her laugh despite everything that she has seen. She wraps her arms around him and with just a little bit of coaxing he returns the gesture, hugging her with all he has. She doesn’t mention the tears nor the shaking of his shoulders as he pours all his love and pain into her. Goddess Gifts him all the words he’s been needing to hear for so long, brushing her fingers through his hair, across his scar, and through his feathers. Just as she had Lucifer when they lost Uriel. Even though she knows they never lost Remiel.
All too soon though, the time comes in which she needs to return to her universe.
Michael doesn’t speak, doesn’t need to say it, but she can see the request clearly on his scarred face. ‘Take me with you.’
“I can’t, darling.” She covers his cheeks with both her hands, forcing him to look at her. “Think about what would happen to your brothers if you were gone. You know they aren’t the brightest.”
Michael stares at her in that too earnest way of his before breaking into a soft smile and leaning into her touch.
“Yeah,” he drawls, “they’re morons, aren’t they?”
She laughs, deciding it’s better not to grace that statement with an affirmation even though they both know its true. “I love you, Son.” She kisses his forehead and let’s herself dissolve back into her own divine light.
With a smirk on her face, she slips through the folds again. There’s one more idiot she needs to visit.
There’s a forceful pinch of a divinely brown ear, a series of pained yowls and lots of whining, before a certain first-born gets deposited back into his son’s life with nothing but the job section of the local newspaper.
“Mom!” he yells, but she doesn’t listen. Hell doesn’t need a warden and neither does Heaven. It’s time to let them all go.
Michael stares at the spot his mother disappeared at, his heart heavy and light at the same time. “I love you too, Mom.”