"Son."

The word slid to Lucifer in some deep, dark place.

He ignored it this time.

"Son, wake."

The word was a command, one he had to obey.

With a soft moan of protest, he surfaced, opening his eyes to find himself surrounded by light.

The light was warm, loving, the usual deal. Holding him, filling the reserves he had depleted in his rage.

The blanket of comforting thoughtlessness was torn away with the understanding, and the memory of his actions and their consequences flooded him.

He shrank away, curling into a ball, shielding himself with his wings.

He wished to be nothing. To fade again to the dark.

But the light would not let him be.

"Son."

"Father... leave me alone."

"No."

Lucifer curled tighter, trying to keep the light out.

But the light found him anyway, unfolding him in the space of his Father's love.

"Your home is restored. All is returned."

Lucifer's brow crumpled. He would still grieve for the lives he had taken, the destruction he had caused, no matter how brief.

"I am sorry," he whispered.

"I know."

"I do not understand what happened," he said again, his voice wavering. "I knew she would die. We had talked of such things. We had a plan."

The light merely bathed him, comforting him, replenishing him.

Closing his eyes, he allowed it, opening his arms and stretching his wings.

It felt wonderful.

"Talking is not experiencing, son. What you experienced was shocking. You were not ready. You will never truly be ready for the death of the one you love. It does not matter that you know where she will go and that you can follow."

Frowning, Lucifer drew his arms back over his chest.

"I no longer know who she is. She has changed."

"She has not changed, son. She is merely more aware of what she is. Which could make things... difficult."

The light slowly withdrew, drawing back from his senses, leaving him sitting on the couch at the Cliff House, surrounded by his siblings and facing his father as Beatrice.

Lucifer's arms crossed tighter.

The loss of the light always left a soft pang, no matter how much better he felt. The loss was harder to ignore this time, and twined tightly with the distrust he felt over Chloe's transformation.

Distrust was such a familiar landscape.

"How did she stop me," he asked, his voice flat. "What is she."

"I had to create someone with enough power to control me," Trixie said with a small smile. "But who would remain unknowing about it, so that that power would only be used for that purpose."

What is she, Father. A direct answer, please.

"The demiurge."

"I knew it!" Azrael yelled triumphantly, before growing quiet again. Amenadiel's eyes bulged.

Lucifer's jaw fell. The revelation was an anvil on his chest.

Trixie giggled. "That's a funny expression."

"Father," he said, slowly shaking his head. "You did not."

She smirked. "I did. Although I should clarify. She is a fragment of my creative force, not the whole thing."

"But, Father..."

"Yes, she could cause irreparable damage with a thought, I am aware. Up until this point there was no danger of that."

"Up until this point?" Lucifer echoed, his gaze wide with shock. "You mean, until I destroyed Los Angeles and she had to stop me? This is my fault then, is it?"

"Son," Trixie said, reaching out to grasp his hands. "That's not what I am saying. The emergence of the Third caused her to wake for the first time. He is the cause, and, ultimately, that's on me. Your pain," her expression dipped into sorrow, "and the damage it caused, brought her awareness forward again."

"Make her forget," he whispered quickly, not even looking at Trixie anymore, but down the hall to where Chloe had gone last. His heart pounded within his chest. "Please, Father, you must."

Trixie snorted. "Oh, so now it's okay to wipe her mind?!"

"But she cannot handle this, Father," Lucifer pressed, leaning forward, "this power! She will not be the Chloe I knew any longer! She will be-"

"Changed?" Trixie said with a young girl's smile. "Like you were?"

Lucifer scowled, dropping back against the couch. "I am not changed."

From Beatrice's mouth came Chloe's voice, carrying the exact words she'd used in the warehouse.

"You aren't completely yourself, are you? Because, you do all of these things now... and... your speech is different..."

Rage made Lucifer's eyes burn, and the leather beneath his hands began to smolder.

"Never," he growled in warning, "ever, do that again."

Trixie sighed, her young gaze falling briefly. "I'm sorry, son. Do you see what I mean though?"

"Not using contractions is a little different than reshaping the world with a thought, Father!" he cried. "How could you do this?!"

"With some effort," she yelled back, her small fists cocked against her sides, "and the hope of reconnecting with you!"

"The price is too high!"

"You don't give her enough credit!"

"You cannot CONTROL HER!" he roared, standing.

And his Father, in the form of a little girl, nodded.

"No, I can't."

She smirked. "But I can't control you either. And I find it a little ironic you're the one worrying about control."

That silenced him.

He stared down the hall again. The bedroom door was closed.

Pieces of drywall were scattered on the floor where his sister had thrown him.

His brow furrowed in regret. Yes, he had been exhausted, and afraid, and horrified at what he had done. But he should not have spoken to Chloe like that. She had not understood.

She had been hurt.

"Where is she."

"Unconscious, in the bedroom. Which is best for now."

Trixie released a heavy breath.

"We must discuss a plan, all of us, on how to proceed, now that... son?"

Lucifer walked away.

The doorknob was cool against his hand when he reached their door, and he stared at it for a moment, feeling a rare reservation.

But his heart dissolved the feeling with concern for Chloe.

With his fear for her.

With love.

He opened the door. Chloe lay on the bed, her body straight, in the same clothes she had been wearing.

Her collar was soaked in red.

A flash of memory came, unbidden, of her body on the floor with eyes empty and staring.

That terrible wound.

Her shimmering soul staring back at him in confusion and shock.

I thought you were dead!

Lucifer shook his head sharply with a soft noise of pain, dismissing the scene.

Not now.

Slowly, he approached, watching her features for the first signs of waking. She looked pale, her eyes shadowed.

Strained and lost, even in sleep.

That pulled him. Slowly, gently, he laid himself down on the bed beside her, drawing in against her side.

Unfurling his wings, he folded one over her protectively. Comfortingly.

The creases around her eyes eased, and she shifted slightly, curling into him.

A tear rolled from the corner of her eye down her cheek.

"You are awake," he whispered, wrapping his arm around her.

She nodded gently, curling in closer.

"I am sorry," he said softly, closing his eyes. "I should not have spoken to you like that. I was afraid."

Chloe began to cry.

"Nothing makes sense," she sobbed, her hand grasping his side desperately. "I don't want any of this. I feel things, I hear things. There's so much out there now... I can't pull myself back."

Frowning, he stroked her cheek. "What things?"

"The cells moving through your heart. The tapestry of atoms in the wall, the air, your eyes. I can hear stars singing in tones of pure light. The land here holds a history and its so terribly sad. I don't... I can't take all of this..."

She pulled in tighter, and he looked over her shoulder, his eyes wide.

So very different, and so much greater, than his own transformation. He could hear the thoughts of everyone near, and tap into the love expressed by every soul no matter how far. It was so much, but he could cope.

There was a way she could too.

"Then do not, Chloe. Leave it where it is. Close yourself from it, for now."

"How?"

With her need, suddenly everything was clear. A path through it all that would protect her.

And everyone that shared this world with her.

"Decide that you are simply Chloe," he said softly. "Decide that your daughter is simply Beatrice. Make these decisions and so it will be."

Her beautiful blue eyes opened, drowning with tears, and found his.

The sight stole his breath, and he fell into them as he always did, willingly.

"That's it?"

Smiling, he nodded.

"That's what I want."

"Then will it."

Those beautiful eyes closed, and she nodded, her brow furrowing in concentration.

"You are simply Chloe. Your daughter is simply Beatrice," he whispered. "It is no more complicated than that."

The frown eased, and the softest smile played at her lips.

And she snuggled in close and fell asleep.

He rested with her as his heart eased its thundering, until the door opened and Amenadiel stepped in, holding the sleeping form of Trixie.

"Father is not responding, brother? What happened?"

"Take Beatrice back to Dan's, Amenadiel," Lucifer whispered. "He will worry if she is not there when he wakes. And as for Father... he is exactly where he wished to be."

And he grinned, because he could not help himself.

Frowning and uncertain, Amenadiel turned away and flew from the house with his small, once more human, charge.

Azrael waved from down the hall with a smile and did the same.

And curled up with the woman he loved, Lucifer let the night pass in peace, awash in the murmuring dreams of his neighbors nearby, and the small and grand gestures of love exchanged through the great web of life across the Earth.

Smiling, the smallest embers alight in his eyes, he held Chloe close.

And finally allowed himself to truly rest.