There was a single wooden chair placed in the middle of the white, empty room. Courtroom. Whatever, really – it had as much in common with actual justice as Lucifer had with a magical baby cherub flying around and shooting arrows at humans on Valentine's Day.
And – to clarify things – Cupids didn't exist. Cherubim did, of course – it was simply the second highest order of the celestial hierarchy – but to say they played matchmakers… Well. If Cherubim really were to shoot arrows, they would go right through the heart. Quite literally, though.
As for now, angels were slowly starting to gather in the courtroom to watch the impending trial of their infamous brother. Lucifer had been kept in his old cell for the whole night – which actually had done wonders for him, finally allowing him to sleep – and now he was to be led into the room to be judged and sentenced.
"They will kill him." Remiel gripped her spear as she watched more and more of her brothers and sisters come in. She was trying hard to remain indifferent, even if… if executing someone without allowing them to fight for their life seemed hardly fair to her. "By sentencing him to death. It will happen."
While Remi was clutching the aforementioned spear, Rae-Rae fiddled with a small, yellow note in her pocket. The summoning letter.
She was the last one of the Horsemen after all. Death.
"What are you talking about? It won't." Sure, she didn't believe Lucifer would be spared either, but that didn't mean they still couldn't save him. She would protest, and get Remi to second her in that, and maybe Ezekiel would help them, too, Gadreel as well, and she surely would find other angels who didn't exactly hate Lucifer, or at the very least didn't want to see him murdered in cold blood. There was a difference between despising and looking down on the Young Rebel, and between actually wishing for him to die.
Remiel merely scoffed and shook her head. Azrael was so naïve.
"Look, I'm not saying I want it to happen," Remi turned to face Azrael properly. They really didn't have any time left to talk. She had caught sight of Lucifer being escorted in by Gabriel and Sandalphon, and… and so the trial would start soon. "But we must stay obedient. A true warrior knows when to admit their defeat."
There was an answer about true warriors never giving up already burning on Azrael's tongue, begging to be said, but before she could, there was a louder, much cheerer voice heard.
"…right, and to complete the humiliation, you've made me wear a dress. And, dearie me, a white one at that! I look better in black, believe me."
Even though Lucifer was tied up and led by both Sandy and Gabriel, with his arms gripped tighter than it was strictly necessary, he seemed to be in a rather good mood, given his playful complaint.
And honestly? He was. It was that calmness that came from knowing that the threat of Gabriel starting the War had been averted, and from finally being at peace with his fate. It was almost funny – a day or so ago, Lucifer had truly been scared of dying on that cold, ashy ground of his own realm. Even before that – he had finally snapped after fighting for so long, because he just wanted to live.
But now?
No, no. Of course. He still desired to live. Lucifer actually liked his life, and, truth to be told, after getting Raphael— right, Crowley (…Crowley, Crawly, Anthony, the archangel bloody Raphael – why did his brother have to change his name so many times? …come on now, seriously, it was like Crowley lived to make Lucifer's own existence harder) back in the mix, he finally was… in a better mental and emotional condition. Yes, yes, Lucifer had Amenadiel, and Amenadiel had been doing a lot to help him after that otherworldly – literally – disaster, but Amenadiel's idea of helping consisted mostly of putting his hand on Lucifer's shoulder, giving him worried looks, asking him if he was okay (and what was he even supposed to say to that? Of course he wasn't!), and making him babysit.
Lucifer actually suspected that the last one was more for Amenadiel's own benefit.
With Crowley, it was… different. First of all, Crowley didn't fawn over him. Didn't act too worried, or too serious, either – and, because of that, the demon wasn't treating Lucifer as if he were made of glass. Crowley's approach to him snapping had been to try and knock some sense back into the Devil's head, and then to simply prevent him from being set off again. It was… refreshing.
He also never treated Lucifer as the source of all evil in the world, even though it'd almost be justified in his case. The most Crowley had done, was to spew some insults and act all bitter and hissy.
And when Lucifer really needed his help, Crowley was there for him, time and time again.
It really helped. Sure, Lucifer had a support system with his lovely humans, and even lovelier Detective, but this was about his family. It had started with that – with dear old Dad, manipulating and hurting and killing him; with the other Michael, desiring both to possess and torture him; and ending with Castiel, having good intentions, but manipulating him nonetheless, then… well, turning out to have a lot of their siblings' blood on his hands. Lucifer understood war, yet… it still wasn't something he could get over that easily. Forgive, yes, but not forget.
Like he had said, it was different with Crowley. And maybe what Lucifer was truly in need of in order to heal, was a healthy sibling relationship.
"It's a robe." Gabriel's voice snapped Lucifer out of his thoughts and back to reality. Right! He was also going to die, so healing could probably wait. Lucifer flashed the other archangel a winning smile. "You even ought to recognize it as one of your own."
"Why, brother, are we suddenly taking a trip down memory lane? First my old cell, now my old dre— fine, fine, robe?" Because Gabriel was telling the truth - it really belonged to Lucifer. The white, formal robe had been tailored to him and embellished, rather than being sensible like Amenadiel's dark one. Lucifer remembered turning heads as he had strolled down the silver streets of Heaven. The Prideful One. Well, maybe also The Only One With Great Fashion Sense. "What for?"
Gabriel stood there for a moment, oddly hesitant, before glancing first at Sandalphon, at then back at Lucifer. He held his head higher.
"To remind you what you're going to lose if you don't listen."
"Listen?" Lucifer frowned in confusion. Listen to what? Before it was possible to ask for clarification, he was suddenly yanked down by Sandalphon, rope wrapped tight around the angel's fist. Lucifer staggered, brought to his knees, but when he wanted to get back up, though, Sandy stepped on the rope. With Lucifer's wrists being held near the very ground, he was trapped there not unlike a naughty dog with a chain around its neck.
What was the bloody chair for, then?!
However... Trapped was such a big word, wasn't it? Especially since Lucifer knew very well he was much, much stronger than dear, thin on top Sandy. And if they wanted to humiliate him even further… Well. Since Gabriel had already walked away to join Michael standing in front of the crowd… Two could play that game.
The Devil grinned, slowly, before casually running his tongue over his teeth.
It wiped the smugness of Sandalphon's face right away. The angel swallowed, a tad paler than he had been just a moment ago, and loosened his grip on the rope, allowing Lucifer to stand up gracefully.
"Thank you very much, brother dearest! I knew you wouldn't let me stay on my knees for too long," Lucifer whispered while leaning forward as if he were sharing a very important secret with Sandalphon. "I heard that kneeling on hard surfaces increased risk of injury later in life."
"I don't think you need to worry about later in life," Sandalphon sneered a mere second before Gabriel finally took the floor, and everybody's attention – including both Sandalphon's and Lucifer's – was drawn to the archangel.
Speaking of Gabriel, he was standing straight like a soldier turned senior executive in some corporation, with his hands clasped in front of him, and bright purple eyes shining even brighter now. He didn't look too excited, though. Strangely, much less excited than Michael, who was simply waiting for his brother to speak, calm and silent.
"Welcome!" His loud voice carried across the room. "Welcome to the trial of Lucifer, Bringer of Light, formerly known as Samael, God's Poison. His sins have already been listed and are known to all of you after our first failed attempt to bring him to justice. We can, however, add another three crimes to that long list. I'm talking here about attacking all of us with the clear intention to hurt as many angels as possible; about attacking his own twin, the archangel Michael; and about…" Gabriel paused for the better dramatic effect, "…imprisoning our Father, God Almighty, in an unknown location."
There was a collective gasp heard, and Lucifer rolled his eyes.
"As if you really loved Him that much," he murmured under his breath. Bunch of hypocrites. But, when Lucifer looked up, irritated and yet still – or maybe, ah, finally, because all of this started to feel real – apprehensive, Gabriel seemed as uncomfortable as Lucifer felt.
What?
Well, it wasn't as if mattered anyway. Lucifer was going to be prosecuted and judged by Gabriel and Michael, and what, he wasn't even going to get a lawyer? Pass.
"Right, brother. Where's the person defending me? If this is a fair trial—"
"It's not. Doesn't have to be," Gabriel answered Lucifer right away. Heaven had never held a fair trial in its whole existence. With an omniscient and omnipotent celestial being for a judge, and with goody two-shoes angels, how could they ever make a biased, unjust decision? Unthinkable, surely. "You are guilty, are you not?"
And… there was no possible answer to that. Lucifer was indeed guilty of everything he was accused of. It wasn't really up for any discussion. His motives were, yes, yet they never concerned Heaven anyway. Only the results counted.
"So what? What's it going to be?" Lucifer held his head high, eyes blazing red like the most brilliant flame of Hell. They could punch their hands into his chest, rip out the beating heart, and the Devil still wouldn't give them the satisfaction of hearing him beg. Lucifer was the one whose mere presence made condemned souls writhe in agony and terror. Whose voice and step shook the very foundations of the Pit, and caused the skies to be parted with lightnings. He was the beginning of the end, the first star of the morning and bringer of dawn. He was enlightenment and dread alike.
He would not stand afraid.
"Hmm?"
"The verdict, Your Honor," Lucifer said, impatient, while he looked around. Every angel averted their eyes the moment Lucifer's burning ones fell on their faces. Very well, then. They wouldn't defend him, but they also didn't want to have his blood on their hands. How convenient, truly. "What is it? Death, surely?"
"No! No killing!"
It was Azrael, standing there, unflinching, and with her hands clenched into fists. Remiel stepped forward in silent support. A few of other angels started nodding as well, much to Lucifer's surprise. Were they the same ones that had yelled "monster!" at him the last time he'd been here? Or were they the always silent ones, too scared to speak out, to have their own opinions heard?
"No," Rae-Rae repeated calmer. "No, we can't do this. This isn't right! Lucifer can't be sentenced to death just like— that. We don't know what his reasons were, we don't know why he did what he did, we—"
"Azrael. Sister." Maybe the serenity in Michael's voice should be admired, but to Lucifer it sounded like fingernails scratching on a chalkboard. It wasn't soothing at all, it was maddening. Or maybe it was like this because apparently some of his siblings cared enough to— to protest on his behalf, and yet Michael was about to disregard it all. "We're not going to kill Lucifer."
"No?" Rae-Rae blinked at him, while Remi, at the same very moment, demanded: "Wait, what?"
This time even more angels protested and Lucifer turned to bare his teeth at them, his eyes still ablaze. It silenced the crowd pretty quickly.
"Then what the bloody verdict is, Mikey?" Lucifer snapped. That was enough. They wanted to kill him? Fine. Bring it bloody on. But to make a show out of— No. He refused to be paraded like a bull before slaughter, a prized pony about to be shot in the head for entertainment. "You want me to do what here? Sweep the floors for all eternity?"
The smile of Michael's face was nothing but calculated.
"I want you to free our Father. To bring Him home."
The laughter in Lucifer's throat didn't build up slowly, no.
Lucifer simply burst out laughing, laughing so uncontrollably that all of sudden he found out that he couldn't stop.
Him choking with laughter while gasping spasmodically for air was actually the only sound in the otherwise silent room.
"Are you done?" Michael asked, completely calm. He stood as still as a bloody statue. "What's so funny, brother? You will obey. You will listen. You will, or you put the Apocalypse back in motion."
"Oh, nothing is! Especially the Apocalypse part." Lucifer managed to get out between his unstoppable giggles. "I just think this is the grandest joke that I've heard in all my time. And the best part? It's on me! You don't want to kill me yourself, you just want dear old Dad to do it two seconds after the door's opened. Dearie me, Mikey, really? Are you really this much of a coward? A bloody spineless archangel with no balls to show off, a candy-ass— STOP!"
The sirens that erupted straight into a deafening noise in his head brought Lucifer to the ground right away, making him drop to his knees like an angel puppet with its wings clipped. There was a moment when he pressed hands to his ears, trying to block the noise somehow, but it kept digging into his brain, into his whole body, tearing it apart with razor sharp blades.
stopstopstopstoppleasepleasejuststopnonono
There were screams around him - or maybe it was just one long agonizing scream tearing itself raw out of his throat, causing even more of the excruciating pain. He wasn't sure. He couldn't be sure, not when even thinking hurt like salt rubbed into open hot wounds. The last things Lucifer remembered were Rae-Rae's hands on him, Michael's shoes coming into focus, and his own blood drip drip dripping on the white floor.
Then he finally remembered nothing, just the darkness swallowing him whole, pushing its sticky black fingers into his eyes and ears.
Lucifer actually welcomed it with relief.