Summary: AU of the confrontation between Michael and Lucifer, told from Lucifer's point of view. Was supposed to be a short companion piece but it got a little out of hand. Companion to Heaven's Grief.
Spoilers: Sort of spoilers for 5.19 (The Hammer of the Gods) onwards.
Warnings: Mention of suicide. Violence.
Note: All these opinions are Lucifer's not mine. I am a Christian myself, and do not believe that all people are automatically "blinded by faith" if they are religious.
He'd never imagined this day would actually come. He'd been in denial really, shouldn't have underestimated Michael's stubbornness and determination. But there was still time, he could still get through to Michael and make his see sense. If he could just get into Michael's programming, if he could bypass Michael's many walls and barriers he could make Michael see that it didn't have to end like this. It didn't have to end at all, not for them.
Michael wasn't wearing the right vessel. It was a small thing but it gave him so much hope. If Michael was prepared to accept a vessel that wasn't Dean Winchester, the one he'd been destined for since time began perhaps he'd be open enough to listen for once.
"I've missed you."
It was the truth, he missed Michael since Michael had cast him down. It hurt a little that Michael had been willing to tear Lucifer unceremoniously from his home but he could understand it. Michael had always been a good little solider, too brainwashed to understand that their father was far from perfect. If he could just break through that controlled veneer and talk to his brother, the brother who loved him, the brother who raised him then he could force Michael to open his eyes. To see the world as Lucifer saw it, the Earth beautiful and precious, the humans chaotic and unfit to roam and rule something as valuable as the planet that was his fathers last great creation.
His heart flared with happiness when Michael admitted he'd missed him too. His elder brother was there underneath the layers of duty and responsibility.
"Then why are we doing this?" he asked plaintively, using a soft voice, the one he'd used a fledgling when he'd wanted Michael to explain a concept he didn't understand. He hoped it would jar Michael on some level and speak to Michael's elder brother instincts instead of his soldiers instincts.
"Lucifer" Michael began. The tone was familiar, weary and heavy. It was a big brother talking to his little brother and it was the first sign that Michael may be cracking. So Lucifer interrupted Michael, implored, beseeched, begged, pleaded, desperate enough to shelve his pride and try anything to get Michael to listen. Destiny was an old topic between them and not once had Michael given any ground. Michael had so much faith. It was funny really. Everyone always assumed that he was the fiery one, the rebellious one with a temper that flared easily and burnt with lies and deceit. The one who presided over the fires of hell among ash and bone. And one look at Michael and they'd assume he was calm, controlled, beautiful as ice.
And yet it was Michael in reality who burnt. Michael burnt with faith, bright and strong and untouchable. It was Michael who hid a warm heart beneath a cold exterior, a heart smouldering with protectiveness and love and trust and faith and so many good qualities that were hidden behind the controlled and almost sociopathic exterior. And then there was him. He loved his siblings, loved Michael, loved his father. But he did not trust, did not have the faith Michael had. And because of that he could see clearly, not blinded by faith like Michael or love like his father. He could be clinical in his analysis, cold and he could see the humans for what they truly were.
Since destiny was a topic would get them nowhere he tried a different tactic. He watched Michael carefully, looking for the tiny little tells that would let him know that his hunch that Michael would be repelled by being alone was correct. He kept his tone soft, gentle, reassuring letting Michael know he understood, that Michael shouldn't be alone. That their father was terrible for forcing this on them both, for using Michael as a weapon and then letting him alone. It seemed to work, Michael was lost in thought and then something flickered in his eyes, a flame burst to life. He struggled to work out what the expression was and whether it could be used in his favour.
"I wouldn't have to be alone if you hadn't killed Gabriel." The words were even, quiet, no trace of malice or anger in them but they were intended to hurt and hurt they did. He'd been trying so hard to forget but it all came flooding back and he remembered.
He remembered the white hot rage burning inside him, the feeling of betrayal that Gabriel would side with the humans, would actually try to kill him. Remembered what it was like to thrust Gabriel's own sword back into him and feel it bite through the flesh of the vessel. To see the energy and light that made up Gabriel spilling into the air, dispersing and dissolving. Twisting the knife to feel that same light crystallising and then shattering whenever it came into the contact with the blade, burying the blade deeper, as deep as the blade Gabriel had metaphorically stuck into him. Felt Gabriel die, felt the Earth move, the wind howl for the fallen archangel who lay at his feet.
He remembered looking down at the empty vessel and the scorched wing marks, ash falling throuhg the air like dead snowflakes. He remembered the anger being extinguished in a second by a tidal wave of regret and grief. Remembered the look in his baby brothers eyes as he'd stabbed him. Remembered the sudden feeling of emptiness and fear, the blade cold and abhorrent in his grasp.
It all flooded back into him: the regret, the sorrow, the anger amplified now as he grew angry with Gabriel for trying to stab him and making him kill him, Michael for bringing up Gabriel, himself for killing Gabriel, his father for everything.
He managed to spit out a response, even managed to keep it sounding level and nonchalant but he was reeling. He tried desperately to shelve his emotions, to force them aside but it was near impossible with Gabriel's shocked, hurt and maybe slightly relieved expression burnt onto his vision. His chest felt icy, the anger intense and that was Michael's fault too, for bringing up Gabriel.
He threw words at Michael, no longer needing to break Michael's preoccupation with destiny but needing to break Michael, needing to hurt him because their father may have ordered it but this was all Michael, Michael cast him out, Michael was the one who was about to kill him. And break Michael he did, he finally saw Michael's ice melt in an instance replaced with a fire, accusing him of not loving Gabriel. He thought about the pain he'd been burying and denying, the anger at himself for killing Gabriel. How much it hurt that his brother had gone.
"And I still do!" the words left his mouth before he was even aware he'd been thinking it. He struggled to get himself back in check, tried to ignore the pounding in his head and his heart as they battled to claim his tongue. He longed to tell Michael with all the words he knew how much he loved them all, how much he'd loved Gabriel, how angry he was at everything.
"I loved you all, more than anything." he'd reined his voice back in, forcing it back to the controlled tone he favoured.
"That's not true. You didn't love us more than yourself, or your pride. You could have just held your tongue and learnt to put up with the humans and we'd have all been together. You've always been selfish Lucifer. You made dad leave, you made Gabriel leave -"
"No one makes us do anything." the words almost fell out of his mouth, an automatic response to the accusations Michael was throwing his way. They sounded familiar and with a rush of something painful he realised that they were the words Gabriel had said to him, his baby brother's last words. It felt like something broke inside him and the corresponding rush of love and horror and guilt that rose in him diffused his anger, diffused tensions he wasn't even aware he'd been carrying. He felt guilt as sharp as a knife pressing into the very centre of his being. He could deny Michael's accusations all he wanted, could come up with another excuse but Gabriel had been right, no one made them do anything. He was responsible for Gabriel's death, for causing the fighting that had made Gabriel leave in the first place. It was he and he alone who was responsible for falling.
He didn't have any regrets. He'd never had any regrets
But then he'd never meant to kill his baby brother.
He'd never meant to leave Michael all alone.
He'd never really meant to tear apart his family.
He'd never meant to force Michael to face a destiny where he had to kill his younger brother.
But he'd come too far now. He didn't regret it. He'd made his choices.
"Is it too late to say I'm sorry?" He tried to keep his tone light and carefree but the question was real enough. He was sorry, sorry for Gabriel at least. All the other things he couldn't ask for forgiveness for, not now, not ever. They were choices and they were his and if he could do it again he would do it again. He was sorry he'd hurt his family but he'd never take it back. But killing Gabriel had been wrong and more than anything he longed for Michael to offer him some kind of forgiveness and comfort. He didn't expect any, knew Michael wouldn't believe him or trust him. And sure enough Michael's response was carefully guarded and detached.
"Better get on with it then." he said. Michael offered him a sad smile and his blade appeared in his hand. Lucifer laughed mirthlessly and drew Gabriel's blade. The metal felt wrong in his hand, cold yet burning him at the same time and he felt the knife of guilt inch deeper into him. He fought the desire to throw the blade aside.
Music blared and things moved quickly after that as the world was upended by a car, a rebellious angel, an old man and a Winchester. He should have expected the interruption. Should have expected the eldest Winchester would not give up. It felt satisfying to beat the Winchester, the physical exertion and the feeling of causing pain drowning the way his grace was screaming at him over Gabriel's death, over the way it ached that he would have to fight Michael. He had never been so at war with himself and he lashed out over and over, pummelling the Winchester's face while he felt himself tear in several different directions. He was so uneasy that it almost wasn't a surprise when his vessel suddenly clawed back control of his body.
He was thrown back and he was so dazed it wasn't until he was at the edge of the door back to the cage that he realised what was happening. Michael was near, furious at the interruption, terrified that he wouldn't fulfil his destiny.
He loved Michael, loved them all, so much it hurt but that wasn't enough couldn't ever be enough.
He grabbed his brother's arm. He could take away Michael's guilt and maybe that would be enough of a start. If Lucifer, the one who rebelled took away Michael's opportunity to carry out his task maybe that would offer some sort of peace of mind to Michael.
They fell.
They hit the ground far below.
The cage locked, slammed shut behind them. Lucifer looked up, and saw in a split second he saw Michael, open and honest. And the look in his eyes wasn't anger that dad's plan had thwarted or fury that he hadn't killed Lucifer when he'd had the chance. It was relief.
Thank you for reading.