Monster

Author: Dino76
Type of work: Fiction
Title: Monster
Fandom: Lucifer
Spanking Pairing(s) or/and Main Characters: Charlotte Richards/Lucifer Morningstar, Chloe Decker, Dan Espinoza, Trixie Decker, Amenadiel
Type of Spanking: Adult, Punishment
Implement(s):
Summary: Alternate ending of the episode S2-6, Monster. Lucifer is shot while stepping in the path of the sniper. Mum and Chloe are not happy about his attempted suicide.
Rating: T
Word Count: 15100
Notes & Warnings: Consensual spanking of an adult
Spoiler up to: Season two episode six
Author's Note: I changed the ending of the episode "Monster" because apparently I like to hurt people and then make them feel all better and cared for. Be aware that this story contains the spanking/corporal punishment of an adult, so if this is not your cup of tea, don't read it. For all the rest: Enjoy!

Chapter 1

He'd made the connection. The doctors were going to be his next victims. He'd called the station and confirmed that the Detective and Dan were on their way there after having come to the same conclusion. He didn't know what he was going to do once he got there; how he could be of any help to the Detective. He just knew that he had to. This gut-wrenching guilt was tearing him apart from the inside. He couldn't function properly. His mind kept getting distracted, racing over punishments for his despicable act – things he had done to murderers back when he had ruled Hell. He was grouching at everyone and everything – goading them to a reaction – a punch, a beating, anything that would lift this burden off his soul. But he knew that it also needed to be a punishment his father would deem appropriate for murdering Uriel. And somewhere in his head he just knew that the only solution was death. Why should he get to live while his little brother was swiped from existence?

If he died, he would be back in Hell where Dad wanted him all along. He'd serve his sentence for eternity and Dad would be appeased. There was no other way.

Functioning on autopilot he entered the open-spaced lobby and immediately spotted the female doctor getting herself a cup of coffee. He stepped forward positioning himself to shield the doctor with his body. He sensed that the sniper was already in position and if someone deserved to die, it was him – and not the doctor. He looked around with a grim expression – the detectives where nowhere to be seen.

"I know you're out there, Mr. Sniper!" he called out loudly looking around the building. Lucifer knew that he would never see the shooter – he had already shown that he was a prodigy with the rifle. He'd be hiding somewhere further away – out of sight, but not so far that he wasn't certain he could make the shot. Lucifer wasn't disappointed as the first shot rang out throughout the clinic hitting the small coffee joint directly behind himself and the doctor. People panicked, rushing around, looking for cover. The female doctor opted for staying right behind Lucifer. Good for her. It also meant that the rifle would stay pointed at him. As if this unknown doctor could read his mind – could sense that he would not duck for cover.

"Come on!" he yelled. "You can do better than that! – Shoot me!" He spread his arms. "Go on then! What are you waiting for? Just shoot me right now! Please!"

"Lucifer, what are you doing?" he heard the Detective calling out looking at him from the gallery above. He saw her worried expression as she searched the premises with her eyes for their shooter. He had to ignore her – couldn't look at that pain-stricken face. He had made a decision and the Detective was probably the only one who could change his mind. He needed to aggravate the shooter – make him lose control. Otherwise he'd never get rid of this horrible feeling.

"Uh oh, police are here. You're gonna have to hurry up, Mr. Shooter, Sir." A second shot hit the glass to Lucifer's right. He was still not angry enough. The sniper was trying to scare him off instead of aiming at him. "Seriously? I am standing right here!" Out of the corner of his eye he could see the Detective rushing away. She must have a fairly certain idea of the shooter's location based on the two missed attempts. A third shot rang through the hall. He needed to hurry up! If the Detective got to him beforehand ... the guilt would never go away.

"You're just embarrassing yourself now. I mean could you be any worse of a shot?" Three shots were fired in rapid succession. Yes, getting close. Lucifer turned around slightly to the woman cowering behind his back. "It's like he's not even trying." He was just about to turn back around as the next shot hit him in the back. Going straight through his shoulder blade and emerging again at the front. Just like that time the Detective had shot his leg, there was no pain – at first. He looked down at his chest – at the point where he assumed the wound would be. There was no blood – maybe he had imagined it. Maybe he wasn't hit. But then again his suit and waistcoat were of a dark colour. He lifted his left arm to touch his shoulder – the right arm felt awkwardly heavy. He pushed his suit jacket back slightly and his hand touched something sticky – and oh hell, it hurt! He stared wide-eyed at his bloody hand and sank to his knees. He was hit – he was bleeding – would it be enough? Would it be fatal? It hurt – a lot – but other than that he was feeling relatively fine. Still staring at his hand in astonishment, he didn't hear the hurried footsteps approaching or the frantic shouting all around him.

Suddenly a hand gripped his good shoulder, but he couldn't tear his eyes from the blood on his hand. He heard voices – they were shouting – calling him maybe – but his ears felt like they were stuffed with cotton. Every sound appeared as if it came from somewhere far, far away. Another hand grabbed his chin and his head was steadily turned to look at Detective Douche. His lips were moving but Lucifer couldn't make out what was being said. He wanted to look back at his hand – at his blood – but the hold on his chin wasn't relenting. Dan's expression was anxious and his voice urgent – if only he could hear what he said! Lucifer sank back onto his backside, sitting down on the cold tiled floor – Dan never leaving his side, but letting go off his chin. Detective Douche looked serious – worried – as his hands roamed over Lucifer's chest.

Lucifer looked back at his hand – he'd smeared the blood on the floor; the dark red in stark contrast to the pale tiles. It looked grotesque, and it was a lot of blood – maybe it would suffice to end him. He was ready; ready to face his creator, his father, to await his judgement. A sudden searing pain in his left cheek made his head snap to the side. And somehow that seemed to rattle him out of his shocked state. Suddenly his senses returned; his ears hearing the noises around him and his eyes seeing the people frantically running around. Unfortunately the pain in his shoulder was acutely reminding him that he had just been shot.

"Lucifer!" Dan called him loudly. "Are you with me?" He nodded absent-mindedly. He was now. His shoulder and back ached – burned even. And it wasn't healing, he could feel it. The Detective must still be close.

"It hurts," he said mostly to himself, just as astonished about the simple fact that it hurt as he had been when the Detective had shot him. Maybe pain in death would propitiate his father?

"Of course it hurts! You've been shot!" Dan replied loudly while he viciously and without any regard to the expensive material tore his suit jacket, waistcoat and shirt from his body, leaving him bare-chested and cold. There was a lot of blood on his chest and he noticed Dan cursing – a lot.

"Yes, yes, I know. No need for profanities," Lucifer mumbled. He was starting to feel a little light-headed.

"Paramedics are on their way," Dan explained and Lucifer wasn't sure for whom. He was hardly listening – or cared. "Let's hope they get here before Chloe. You could use a bit of extra protection – she's gonna skin you alive."

"The Detective's angry?" he repeated sluggishly. His head felt weird – slow – as if he had finally reached that state of inebriation that he'd so craved. Dan looked up from his task of giving first aid.

"Oh yes. She is seething. She was practically screaming into the radio. – Are you hurt anywhere else?" He shook his head slightly and Dan moved him – dragged him across the floor actually and in another time he would have bristled at that, but right now he couldn't care less. He was made to lean back against something hard and cold while Dan pressed his shirt and waistcoat on the bleeding wounds – one hand on his chest, the other on his back. He could see his once white shirt held tightly to his chest now blotched with a lot of red. 'Shooting someone made a bloody mess,' he thought and chuckled at his own wit. Dan looked at him as if he'd lost his mind. He didn't care.

"Here, help me quench the bleeding," Dan said and grabbed his left hand pressing it firmly onto his own chest. "Press tightly." He knew that Dan was trying to push him out of his shocked state by making him help. He just didn't see how it would help anyone. He felt weak and even if he tried he could never stop the steady blood flow – or wanted to – which meant that Detective Douche was holding his hand quite tightly and pressing it down onto his chest. A rather queer moment for them both and Lucifer would surely protest if he had any will to live left.

A more pressing matter on his mind was, that sitting up was exhausting, he'd much rather lie down and attempted to do just that. Unfortunately Detective Douche's strong grip prevented it.

"Oh no," he said. "You stay upright. If you lie down, the bleeding will be worse. I'm pretty sure he missed your lung but he must have hit an artery. – Just a bit longer now, I can hear the paramedics."

"But I wanna lie down," he mumbled drowsily, again trying to curl onto his side. "'m tired... and cold." Curse Detective Douche and his freakishly strong arms, keeping him upright.

"Stay with me, Lucifer!" His cheek was slapped again, albeit more gently this time. 'How many hands did the Douche have?' But his eyelids felt so very heavy and he had to fight to keep them open. He looked up at Dan's worry-lined face.

"Tell ... the Det'ctive ... 'm sorry," he mumbled while he fought a losing battle against the blackness that was creeping into his line of sight, blurring out contours and shapes.

"You tell her that yourself when she gets here," were the last words he heard Dan say before everything went black and he was surrounded by a blissful numbness. 'I hope this will suffice, Dad.'