Chapter 36: Tearing Away

A/N: Graphic descriptions of physical injury.

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The price to pay for returning home was running the gauntlet of everything that irked her in modern medical care. Cloying hospital people; even though she knew they meant well, she detested being the focus of attention…the only role she was comfortable with was caregiver. Canaan had newfound respect for her non-medically trained patients in dealing with the blitzkrieg of paperwork, instructions and follow-up that consolidated into her ticket to freedom. Since she refused a stay on the rehab floor, she accepted and signed for care including transport from a visiting nurse service. Thankful for the elevator in her building, four-point cane (and the sturdy wheeled walker with basket and seat), she was grateful to arrive in her own foyer, shedding the transport person…just to see Ms. and Ms. Cailleach ensconced on her overstuffed chairs with a plethora of tinfoil-wrapped casseroles. Artery-cloggers in free radical shells. And Lucifer. He was leaning on her front door with a patiently chivalrous look on his face as the older women's chittering bathed him in refined archaic mannerisms. He'd told her briefly of his guise as plumber: apparently they accepted him in a 'Guy Friday' role as well…although Canaan was sure there were some clandestine looks exchanged between the two adorable biddies. It took some time, some fussing and some placating with sherry she kept just for them but at last she and Lucifer were alone in her house.

Canaan lay on the loveseat in front of the fire he'd stoked for her, different damaged parts cushioned on pillows. The snow falling outside pulled the winter afternoon into dim evening quickly. She could hear him puttering about in her kitchen and tried to crane her neck over the back of the sofa so she could see him – no luck.

"What are you doing?"

"Quit being such a busybody. You shall know soon enough."

She groused to herself. It was a hard truth to learn: clichés are such for a reason. Medical people DID make for awful patients. Overly accustomed to independence and bad memories she had found being cared for at the hospital a trial, and had fought to come home early – threatening to leave AMA if necessary. A hellish two weeks, present company excluded; not that she'd seen him before now, although it was a welcome change to again have written exchanges to share. Canaan had thought she'd feel better here, but it was almost worse as her current state was so incongruent with her normal home routine. And it had only been a few hours…she was not relishing weeks of slow recovery. She already had plans for telecommuting and setting up her hospital office differently.

What the hell (hahaha) was he doing in there?

Maybe trying to organize the multitude of frozen casseroles from her elderly neighbors. If they didn't have access to pasta, canned goods and Cream of Some Damn Thing soup Canaan was convinced they'd starve, bless their little hearts.

At a louder clatter she managed to successfully hitch herself up over the upholstery to observe. Mayhem ensued in her kitchen. Pots, pans, a few dishes and dry staples were all out of her upper cabinets and lined up on the countertops.

"Lucifer!"

"Settle yourself. You're in no condition to go up on stepstools anytime soon, and this way you can access everything to get by. Of course, you'd not need ANY augmentation if you would just stay with me, or 'your people' but you do insist on acting the stubborn git."

She flopped back down on the couch, smiling. He had her pegged. Still…

"Just please stop…you've done enough. Come by me. You'd probably feel rotten if I wind up having to go back in for fractured vertebrae from trying to ogle you from here." She was teasing him, clearly being in no prime condition for the kind of sport he preferred, but the effect was diametrically opposed to the intention.

He froze where he stood.

They'd never finished the conversation they'd started when she'd first awoken. He had no idea what she remembered, and she had no idea how critically she'd been injured before Raphael's care. Without his brother…she'd be worse than dead. He could feel how close she'd come to that annihilation. And wasn't out of danger yet simply because he was here.

And he did feel rotten. Moreso now because of Phae's warning to him that he was ignoring just by being here…but where else could he be on her first night out? This stubborn, strong person who was so weak…maybe in the morning.

Struggling to push these thoughts from his mind, he brought over his other little project to her: a steeped teapot, two cups and cheese with fruit on the same tray she'd taken to him in her bath. Seemed a lifetime ago, his, not one of theirs, and he thought circumstances were complex then. What a fool he'd been. Was still. He settled down in front of her on the fire-warmed rug with long legs stretched under the coffee table and made a show of listening to little stories about Life as Irritable Patient co-starring Flamboyant Steve, Laissez-Faire Lois and Asshole Orthopod with Awfully Rude Moniker. He made the right 'attentive noises' and nodded along to her anecdotes…but his mind was on Raphael's words. He didn't even realize she'd stopped talking until he felt her brush her left hand over his neck. He looked up at her, having no idea how haunted his eyes seemed in the firelight.

Canaan had been about to apologize for prattling on incessantly, but that expression didn't match an indulgent caregiver. It was the face of someone lost.

"What's wrong?"

He belatedly realized how he must appear and glossed it over with adept change of expression and mild banter about overly self-absorbed invalids but she wasn't having it.

"Lucifer. You don't lie, remember?"

In an instant all the blithe words dissolved on his tongue. All he could see was the pulped mess she'd been in the fouled snow: leg crushed and twisted nearly free from the rest of her, forearm shattered through ribboned flesh, back torqued, choking on the blood pouring from her fragmented jaw and sick, horrifically wrong depression over her right cheekbone and temple. Destruction. Deconstruction. All those hellish tortures superimposed on the (relatively) healthy image before him now. Relatively. His brother had warned him all that was nothing compared to what lay within. All he could hear was Raphael's voice, "She has to heal this…to withstand you. Sustained, we're often too much for them at their best, much less as battered as this one is. And - she has to do it herself…" and by the knot in his gut he knew with staunch conviction that he was going to leave her. Maybe not in the next five minutes, but very soon: well before he'd risk anything horrendous happening like that again.

And she'd not forgive him for it, never, how could she - because there could be no explanation, no further contact between them. She'd feel deceived and abandoned and he was powerless to stop that pain. Powerless yet again. Powerlessness as he was tasked to experience over and over again, in any myriad of ways. The same lessons repeated, crushing what was left of him.

The realization was searing. Anything he did, any kinship he truly experienced with these creatures he was trapped with here – Delilah/Father Frank/Chloe and her daughter/Gideon - now Canaan. It always went so horribly wrong and the same ending transpired - he was impotently alone - although the reasons were unique to each. He covered his eyes with one hand, the same position she'd seen him in when she'd woke a week ago.

"Lucifer..?" Her voice was gentle, but frightened. Not of him. For him. She stretched to touch him, and he heard the low expression of pain as she did so. That soft sound was the death knell, the line carved in stone between what he desired and what he felt he could risk to get it.

If he couldn't have everything he wanted, he'd take something….some last good memory with him to leach hurt from the terrible ones. For as clouded as his recollection before it, he never, never forgot anything after his fall. Ever. And time never dulled inflicted pain or terror…none of it. To constantly be swamped by old and new with no rudder, without his wings few ways to control the ever present influx of sensation – his own and others'….well, just another 'gift' from his father as his own personal Hell locked inside his head. The 'gift' that surely could only end in madness…the final unequivocal result of the long destruction of this rebellious son. He pivoted to kneel in front of her, his cheek going down on her chest, facing away from her eyes and his arms folding between them.

He felt her startle. "Hey now…it's all right…"

It most certainly was not. And could never be for them. Never for him. Maybe for her if could just bring himself to leave this little comfort he'd unexpectedly found. He cut her off -

"Lay your hands on me. Please. Not sex…just let me feel you..." Not saying 'one last time', not saying her name – it wasn't her given one after all, just as 'Lucifer' wasn't his only. She'd never brought the change up herself and rebuffed any attempts at his queries after the first time he'd asked on the park bench. It mattered so very little anyway, didn't it, when this connection was beyond articulation? He closed his eyes, waiting. Needing. Hearing her heartbeat under his ear, feeling certain he would not again.

His silent farewell.

Canaan petted him, unsure of why he was so distressed but loath to ask again when he clearly wasn't ready to answer. She moved her casted right arm so she could press her fingertips against his forehead, as one would comfort a feverish child. Left hand stroking over his hair. Down his neck. Across his shoulders as far as she could reach and along his near arm where it rested beside her. It hurt to realize that instead of soothing him, she could feel tension building. He was trying to gather strength to leave, but she did not interpret it as such. Canaan tried to pull him gently to face her, but he refused, locking his body. Afraid that if he looked in her eyes he would fail to depart. Fail again. Fail her. Certain of it when he heard a soft voice.

"I am so sorry…"

He gritted his teeth. How in Heaven could she think she'd done something wrong? He had to go now, right now, before things became dangerous. Before the shadows always trailing him came for her pain again.

He stood abruptly, still facing away. "It's time for you to rest. Close your eyes."

"Will you be here after if I do?"

He was silent. He had told her he didn't lie. Promised it. Of course he'd promised he wouldn't hurt her, either. He was already failing.

"Lucifer. Tell me what's going on."

"Shhhh. Sleep now." He turned halfway back, glancing over her body as he waved his hand down. Pulling stillness and calm from the air to envelop her with lassitude. It wasn't the first time he'd augmented the energy around her and she reacted to the change, wary of what it meant.

"No! What are you doing? Why won't you tell me what's wrong? Tell me what's happening!" Struggling. Making everything worse. He pulled harder, unwilling to tax a damaged body and spirit too far…just wanting her to sleep so he could leave. Escape so she would be safe.

Her eyes flared with brilliant green and blue sparks as she resisted his influence. That fire of energy and power she was unaware of possessing brimming over as she fought, agitation changing to fear. He could feel the charge grow around her body as she reacted.

No.

NO.

NO!

It was as if she was creating a siren call for anything to come feed on her weakness. He'd have to hurt Canaan with the amount of power he'd need to quiet her now – nothing to him, but too much for a human, especially one so near ruin. He tried not to break down himself…it would only invite disaster more quickly. He pulled more power and she fought harder. No longer seeing him but resisting the restraint itself with savage strength. God, why? Why would she not stop struggling? Energy crackled with singeing snaps over them: her fight to be free and his to dampen her. Lucifer was nearly beside himself; it was too much disturbance and surely had already drawn unwanted attention. He was going to be the element of her destruction despite his best efforts otherwise, and he keened in agonized desperation as he pulled ever more painful capitulation down to little avail. He was going to break her with this and now darkness was surely coming to complete her obliteration…when would it ever be enough pain? When?!

As sensitive as he was to her, so others were for him.

"Attend, Mazikeen. Be silent and watchful. This is how you will learn the lessons of sympathy, nonmaleficence and beneficence."

Amenadiel's voice brooked no quarter in compliance. Angel and fluxing demon may have traveled some strange roads together, but he was powerful, commanding – far more so than she by dint of creation despite their occasional play otherwise. He looked at his brother to seek agreement. Not a dark head, but a light one nodded acquiescence. Amenadiel and Raphael joined the plane where their eldest brother struggled with the human neither had realized was quite what she'd seemed.

Linear time slowed to a crawl with their arrival.

Canaan's body arrested in mid-lift, and Raphael's hands came to rest on her temples, wiping free the tangled snarl of desperate élan. Soothing her. Clearing the pain away and blurring the memories of it. The rapid flicker of his wings distorting any trail of disturbed energy the filth may have sought to trace and lulling her instantly to deep sleep. The archangel cradled her back to rest on the cushions and looked up to see Amenadiel kick the coffee table away from where he stood behind Lucifer's raging manipulation of energy.

Their oldest brother was nearly crazed.

"Enough!" ...ragged inhale… "ENOUGHENOUGHENOUGH!" Tearing his palms and forearms bloody, ribbons of flesh fluttering grotesquely from bone as he shook, screaming, staring at his hands in horror. "I wasn't made for this! I WASN'T ANDI CAN'T ! NO MORE! Oh please no! This is not what I am! THIS CAN'T BEALL I AM! …I just…"

Ebony arms closed from the back and grappled the devil, taking them both down to their knees on the floor; not fighting him, just holding on. Amenadiel flared his wings out, creating a concave shell around his brother, who was stunned out of his ferocity for the moment into stillness.

"Now, Phae."

Raphael enmeshed one hand fully with the harvest of power he was capable of wielding…all that he knew Lucifer needed and angling his many layers of wings washed him with it. The surge ricocheted between the iridescent wings of the healer and the raven ones of the warrior, lighting the edges of both as they concentrated. The whole room, sleeping Canaan included and even Maze in observation elsewhere felt the brilliance of it, as well as the splashback of pacification from the healer for his brother. Lucifer slumped down against Amenadiel's chest, panic blessedly rescinded, wounds healing. The warrior kept his grip with a dark hand on a fair face, and one strong arm around his brother's chest. Not because he was afraid of violence, but he knew succor was needed. It was a testament to how intense that need was that Lucifer did not fight him off, or even speak for several minutes after the glow abated. When he finally did, his beautiful voice was quietly calm, full of the relief he'd received unbidden.

"Thank you, brothers. Thank you, ever so, once again."

Maze joined them to observe from a closer vantage point. They all, especially Lucifer and Amenadiel were capable of such destruction and display of raw power. She had never paused to think that Raphael's invocation of peace could be just as powerful…and the aftermath far greater in scope. She hadn't been privy to such an occurrence before now, and hadn't considered the consequences. For a moment she was halted by the silent tableau of three angels and the now-still human. So much to learn…and perhaps more to atone for than she'd thought. She disappeared silently to seek comfort in the one who could truly understand the metamorphosis she was undergoing.