Chapter Text
From the moment Michael left the cabin, Lucifer curled on the bed, his head between his knees with both hands tangled into his hair. He tried to take deep breaths, really tried, but every ounce of bravado he had walked out the door with his brother. The fact he even had to think about it was making his stomach do backflips, and immediately had him regretting even offering the option of visitation. No sane person would need to actually consider between having a comfortable, arm's length relationship with someone they cared about or raping them.
What was he even thinking, offering either of those things? He didn't want anything to do with Michael now. He didn't want him anywhere near him or his kids. The guy was absolutely unhinged, and the fact he had to think about forcing himself on him or being normal for fucking once was proof of that. Lu had quite literally spent more of his life in Hell than in Heaven and he was better adjusted than him; how did that even fucking happen?
He brought one hand down to the anklet he'd tampered with first, trying to dig his claws into it, testing how resilient the metal was. He barely left scratches, the metal unyielding under his grip. He tried kicking his leg at the wall to smash it, but the cobblestone only dented on impact, earning a frustrated growl from the king.
…Wait.
Dented?
He stared at the spot in bewilderment, his brows furrowed in confusion. Okay, he was strong, but he wasn't that strong. Stone didn't dent like that from a little kick. He shifted to his knees, crawling over to where he'd kicked the wall, smoothing his hand along the surface. It felt like a normal stone. Hooking his claws, he dragged them down, watching dark gray flake off under his touch to reveal the milky white underneath. That… wasn't stone. What the hell was this cabin made of?
The fallen angel slid off the bed, staring at the stone he'd marred before turning his attention to the door. Was all of it like that? Striding his way over, he brought a fist up and smacked his wrist against it with the same force of his kick. Sure enough, the stone there dented under the impact too. He growled softly, flexing his claws and starting to rake them against the 'rock', digging into the material that made the cabin, tearing it away in little chunks that bounced across the floor. He was getting out of here one way or another, with or without Michael's cooperation.
~
Emily led the way to Maman's shack, her fingers tangled into his as she gave him a reassuring smile. "We'll grab a couple bowls of jambalaya, then we'll go… where he is, and bring him home," she said. "Together," she pressed, squeezing his hand. "You don't have to do this alone."
The Archangel of War gave a slight nod, returning the squeeze. "...Okay," he agreed, letting out a nervous breath he didn't realize he was holding. He still wasn't convinced he would actually be forgiven for what he'd done, but… maybe she was right. Maybe it was better to try and fail than to keep on his current path.
As they approached on the wooden walkway, the young seraphim hummed thoughtfully. "The open sign isn't on…" she muttered before lightly knocking on the door. "Miss Hartwell?" she called. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"
Inside, the doe glanced to the door. "T'ere's t'e sweet ange now," she remarked, rising to her feet and making her way over to answer it. Her tuft of a tail flicked as she opened it, though her gaze automatically moved from the silvery angel in the doorway to the blonde standing several feet back. "...Everyt'ing alrri, cher?" she asked, motioning for her to come inside. "Who t'is be?"
"Oh, this is Michael," she introduced him, stepping into the building and waving for him to follow her. "I know your open sign isn't on, but could you pretty please make an exception for me, just this once?" she requested, clasping her hands together and giving the vodou queen her best pleading puppy gaze.
The moment the muscular angel stepped into view, a screech of feedback split the ear drums of all present. Alastor's eyes had shifted into ticking dials, boring into the newcomer, his antlers heavy as they stretched to shoulder-width. He blinked, and his eyes were back to normal, his rack still broad as he moved his left hand to curl around the staff of his microphone, holding his head up proudly as he schooled his temper. He regarded the blonde with a level of disgust, tuning static still buzzing around him
Flo stared at her son for a moment, then at the poppets currently resting on her shelves. Some of them appeared to be glowing, a warning viridian surrounding their silhouettes. "...Bad trouble," she whispered under her breath, returning her focus to the archangel and his accompanying seraphim as Raphael and Abel watched in silence. "What ya needin', sweet ange?"
"Michael needs to apologize to somebody, and we were hoping that apology could come with a bowl of your famous jambalaya," she explained, still giving her hopeful eyes. "Pretty please?"
"Ya in luck," she said, lightly tapping her nose. "I got some leftovah from my son visitin'. I'll put a take-it box toget'er for ya." With that, she strode off to the kitchen. Alastor stood up from the table as she passed, following close behind her.
Once they were apart from the rest of the angels, he let out a decidedly buck-like snort. His mother chuckled, smirking at him as she scooped jambalaya into one of two plastic clamshells. "If I didn' know bettah, I say ya don' like t'at one," she mused.
"That is the individual holding my fiance hostage," he replied primly, his right ear flicking in irritation. "I would just as soon pluck his wings feather by feather than permit him to continue existing in my presence. Though as I hear it, I'd have an odd number of wings to pluck."
"Now, now, cher," she chided. "Dwan be makin' a scene en me restaurant. I still livin' here. Ya can level it t' de groun' when I be gone, an' not a day earliah," she stated firmly.
"Maman…" he growled, both ears folding back against his head. "You're not really going to serve that cretin, are you?"
"I got one box for t'e girl an' one for t'e king," she replied, closing the two filled boxes and grabbing some disposable spoons from a box in the corner. "I en' feedin' t'e one t'at stole me son-in-law." Flo strode out of the kitchen with boxes in hand, her son following close behind with both hands clasped behind his back, his staff in hand. She held the boxes out to Emily, setting the spoons on top. "Ya gwan take t'ese t' da one ya wounded?" she asked, her eyes locked on Michael rather than the seraphim.
"Yes, ma'am," the archangel mumbled.
"Speak up nex' time," she barked. "Ya dwan come t' my restaurant an' disrespect me by talkin' unda ya breath t' me."
"Sorry, ma'am," he said a bit louder.
The doe gave a sharp nod. "T'at's more like it. Now. Ya gwan lead t'e way t' da king." His eyes widened, locking on her face when she said it. "T'at's right, I know who ya done it to. T'at be me son-in-law soon, t'anks t' dis one," she explained, thumbing toward Alastor. "Now ya gwan take me t'ere, an' ya gwanna let 'im go. He en' for ya t' keep."
"I… I didn't hurt him…" he tried to defend himself.
"Oh!" Alastor cut in, marching forward and spinning his staff with a flourish. "Well, all's well that ends well then! You didn't hurt him, so everything's fine, of course!" His grin sharpened as he stared the angel down, having to tilt his head back slightly to look him in the eye. "Which, to be clear, I don't actually believe is the case, and the only reason I'm not tearing you limb from limb to broadcast your screams across Heaven and Hell is because I'm in my maman's house."
The archangel's shoulders hunched. "I'm not afraid of you, sinner," he stated, taking a half step toward him.
Reality seemed to warp around Al as shadows opened up at his ankles, crawling up the backs of his legs to form tendrils at his back. They slid down to the ground, lifting him up so he could be at equal height to the taller male. "Oh, I'd be delighted to remedy that," he all but purred, his eyes growing dark.
"Not en my restaurant, ya not," his mother growled in warning, stepping between the two and pushing them apart. "Keep ya temper in check," she said, pointing directly at the deer demon, whose ears folded back as he lowered himself back to the ground. Her attention then moved to the archangel. "An' you, ya alrri in deep. Dwan be testin' me patience. Now get gwan!" she snapped, marching back to the counter to grab the bowl she'd been infusing, passing the amulet resting on it back to Alastor. "Lead t'e way."
"Wait… you're all coming with?" he asked, arching a brow.
"I'm comin' t' meet my son-in-law. Best get t' know him; only time between me an' fallin' t'anks t' ya vultures," the doe snipped, strolling out the front door.
~
The journey back to the archangel's penthouse was a quiet one. Flo kept herself between Michael and Alastor, the demon buzzing with irritation the entire walk. Abel and Raphael followed close behind, more for emotional support at this point than anything else. Emily flew on ahead, getting half a block ahead, only to stop and wait for them to catch up, then hovering forward, leading the way.
High above, the overlord took notice of the masked angels perched on the rooftops. His mother's description of vultures seemed apt, their gazes tracking every movement they made. Occasionally, one would drop off and fly away, replaced by someone else. He guessed they were flying away to report to the lieutenant, warning her that there was a demon in Heaven, and were it not for the angels escorting him he was certain they would have attempted something already. It wasn't as if his name wasn't known among the exorcists; he'd gone toe to toe with Adam, after all.
As such, it was no surprise to him when they arrived at their destination to find one such exorcist waiting at the door, flanked by two more. She took her helmet off, marching straight up to Michael. "High General," she huffed, glaring behind him. "I demand an explanation as to why this demon filth is freely walking the street," she snarled, pointing at the deer. "Why is he even here? Don't try and tell me this monster got redeemed."
"Perish the thought!" Alastor scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. "I'm simply here to retrieve something that was stolen from me. Then I'll happily head home, never to darken your doors again. Heaven's not to my taste."
"Of course it's not," she growled, hand on the hilt of her sword. "Sir, do you know who this is?"
Michael glanced over his shoulder, then returned his attention to the exorcist. "My future brother-in-law," he replied simply, gently pushing her out of the way to continue toward the door of his penthouse.
"You're joking," she accused, gawking at the Archangel of War before she glared at the overlord. "This fucking maniac?" She glanced around, noting which of the trio was missing. "Where is the Messenger? Has he been taken captive? I told Sera allowing him to go down there was asking for trouble," she pressed. "Let me scramble the exorcists. I'll have him back up here in an hour."
"My, what acrobatics! Do you get tired jumping to all these conclusions?" the deer taunted.
Abel stepped forward, laying a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Lute, take your friends and go rest. You guys aren't supposed to be out on patrol at all," he reminded her.
She ripped her arm away from him, jabbing a finger in his chest. "Just because you don't see Hell for the threat it is doesn't mean I don't," she argued, moving her focus back to Mike as he pushed in the door. "Sir, please, listen to me. Let me get them out of here. Why are you even leading them to your house?"
"I believe your commanding officer has given you instructions to disperse," the archangel bit, looking over his shoulder at her. "You wouldn't be engaging in insubordination in front of me, would you, lieutenant?" he rumbled, his tone dark and warning. Her eyes widened, though her fists clenched, and she stubbornly turned her head away. "I didn't think so. Return to your dorms and rest for the day. That's an order." The exorcist hesitated, glancing between the archangel and the group following him, before she spat on the ground at Alastor's feet, spreading her wings. A single flap carried her away, and the two that were standing at her side soon followed after.
Once Lute was gone, Michael held the door open, watching the rest of them enter his home before closing the door behind Abel. The archangel led the way to the door with the duck carved into its lower panel, but paused, furrowing his brows as his hand hesitated over the doorknob. Emily stepped closer, tilting her head. Finally, he took a deep breath, pulling the door of the room open.
"Not very creative with your chosen hiding place for me," came a voice from inside the room. There was a hole next to the door in the little model cabin on the table, the plaster that formed the structure having been clawed and torn apart until its captive could squeeze through.
The damage he'd done to the bracelets hadn't been much, but it was enough that he could create a portal, if only one large enough to get out of the tiny pocket dimension inside the cabin in favor of lounging on the bed in the room. His wrists and ankles looked chafed from where he'd been trying to get out of them, scales rubbed raw from his attempts to get loose before he must've given up.
Lucifer's eyes widened when he saw the crowd outside the room, however. "...Alastor?"