The Sword of Damocles

~ "I smell change." The demon is fidgeting nervously, looking intently at the door their King just slammed closed behind him. Justice for damned souls, anathema! And yet, Lucifer seemed to be searching for it nonetheless. Even going as far as telling a human soul how to escape! He looks at his brother's beautiful yet rotten visage in question. Belios looks thoughtful though. Gromos had come back from earth when his hijacked body had died, but not before meeting up with their sister. Mazikeen reeked of light. Belios gags at the very thought. She had been up there for far too long. Creation without Will has no soul; their Lord had taught them that since the birth of the first demons. Hell does not need change. The demons love it just the way it is. ~

Lucifer's fingers dial the number before he's even aware of the phone in his hand. "Detective, we may have a problem."
"What do you mean the sword is missing?" Amenadiel looks ready to explode. It's enough that his idiot brothers made him lose control in front of father, but to let loose another celestial blade upon the world. His whole being is shrieking in fear and he's suddenly incredibly happy Michael seems to be 'detached' from his Twin right now.

"Doctor!" Lucifer blows into her office unannounced like most days. This time though, he's dragging along his reluctant Twin.
"Lucifer!" Linda looks at the dark angel in worry. "Michael, come in." She scans his body for any signs he did something stupid after leaving her house the other day, sighing in relief when she doesn't see any. "Please, sit." She gestures to the couch and takes note of their positions. Lucifer drapes himself over her couch artistically like normal and she has to swallow some very naughty thoughts. She's a full-grown woman, thank you. She shakes her head minutely. Knowing Lucifer saw her look anyway, she turns her attention to Michael instead. He takes up far less room than his Twin, but he looks relaxed in Lucifer's presence. "So," She settles on her own chair, making sure everything looks as normal as it can be when facing two angels as old as time. "What can I do for you today?"

She had been looking at Michael, but of course it's Lucifer who speaks first. "I would like you to help keep my brother alive for now." Her eyes widen in shock, her eyebrows almost up in her hairline.
"For now?!" She stares between the Twins, struck by how two identical sets of dark eyes seem to see right through her. "Michael, when you left my house, I got worried you might do something to harm yourself. Are you…? Are you planning on killing yourself?" Her pitch rises throughout her sentence, all pretence of professionalism flying out the window. "Can angels even do that?" She shakes her head again. That's not the point. She opens her mouth again to speak, but it's again Lucifer who speaks first.
"Of course not, Doctor!" His laugh is hard edged, and he leans forward. His expression unyielding. "I will..."

"It's quite all right." he adds as an afterthought at seeing her reaction. "It's unavoidable really." Linda looks at Michael wide eyed, but he won't meet her gaze.
"You would..." She gasps like a fish on dry land. Lucifer looks solemn, though his body language screams confidence. False cockiness... "Michael, you don't deserve to die!"
"It's not a matter of what he deserves, Doctor. It's a matter of what will happen if I don't kill him first." And in that moment his mask cracks, just a little bit.
"Lucifer." She whispers his name. He swallows, but he seems to have lost the will to speak. She watches the Twins lean into each other. Two broken souls, hanging on to the other for support. They tell her what will happen should Michael lose control of his powers. If his Grace becomes non-existent and his heart ceases to beat. Fear grips her heart. Fear for Charlie, for herself and all their friends, for Amenadiel who would once again be alone. Likely losing not one but two brothers in the process. She doesn't understand the white knuckled grip Michael has on his knees. The way he has to force his walls up to stop from feeding on her fears. Lucifer rubs his brother's leg, his side and back, wincing every time Michael clenches his jaw in pain. "Let me in, Mi." He whispers softly. Michael releases a shaky sigh and lets Lucifer take the fear, letting him siphon it off and release it into the nothing, denying himself the pleasure.

"So, you're saying you had Michael's heavenly sword, the sword belonging to the angel of Fear, in storage somewhere and you never bothered to check on it?" Amenadiel is going to throttle the devil, Hell be damned!
"Yes, that's exactly what I've been saying. Do keep up." They quickly walk through the precinct. If the sword turned up, this would be where they would first notice its effects.
"And where is your Twin now?" Amenadiel tries to grab onto Lucifer's arm, to stop him.
"I left him at Linda's of course. If there's anyone who can keep him sane, it's her."
"You did what?!"

He's drawn to Ella when she calls out the prayer to Saint Michael. Lucifer is startled by the sudden unfurling of his wings and his disappearance from the penthouse. He finds her crying in the middle of her living room, and he is struck with the scent of lilies and purple coloured terror. He sweeps in and pulls her into his arms. Hiding her from the world in his wings. He hadn't been prepared for the way her fears start pulling on his very being though, and he has to fight not to give in to his addiction. It's been so long… It wouldn't take much really. Just some pulling on the right strings, ramp up her fears and let it wash over him. It leaves him breathless. 'No, no, no... please Father, give me strength.' He can't look her in the eye lest she sees what's lurking behind his.
Ella looks up at him with teary eyes. She feels his body shiver with suppressed need, though she doesn't understand it right away. "Ella..." He calls her name like it's his salvation. Desperate to give in, fighting to hold back. His body calling for the Gift he'd rather blame.

"What is happening?" She grabs his head in both hands forcing him to look at her. Michael gasps and tries to pull away. He can't explain it to her, the ecstasy he feels when he feeds someone's fears. She'd hate him forever. In the end he's too weak to hold himself back. He lies his weakness at her feet and is preparing himself to be sent away.
"Please" He groans through gritted teeth, so close to being pulled under. "I… I need… I can't…"
The only way to combat fear is to go through it. He came for her when she prayed. He's protecting her even now, despite needing protection from himself.
"Take it!" There, she said it. There's no going back now. Her fear flows through her like a tidal wave, flooding her senses and his. His pupils widen until they are completely black, and he throws his head back with a moan. She holds on to him like a lifeline. Through the terror, the memory of what happened to her with Pete. Being connected to Michael still feels the safest she's ever felt, even though she knows he's the reason she is feeling this much fear right now. They hold on to each other during the shaking aftermath. He apologizes into her hair and he gasps in pain when she rubs his back. A new layer of bruising, another round of self-flagellation. How could God do this to his own sons? Does he not feel their pain?

"Who knew about the sword? Wait, does Michael know it's here?"
Lucifer sighs and rubs his face. Only Maze and himself know where it was, though he couldn't imagine the demoness taking a risk this great. She may be angry at him yes, but she wouldn't put her human family in danger. Not like that. Not for something as stupid as a soul, would she? "There might be someone who could know about it, detective. He holds the sword's twin blade. They tend to call out to each other." Black and russet. Fear and the Voice.
"You can't possibly think Gabriel had anything to do with it?" Amenadiel looks sceptical.
"Can't I? He still owes me fifty dollars. Who knows what else he's capable of!" The devil throws his hands up in the air dramatically.
"Lucifer, be serious for once!" Chloé hits him in the arm, hissing angrily. "So, you are saying we have a missing sword and potentially a rogue angel on the loose?"

"I will protect you." He whispers it into the night air, but he doesn't know exactly to whom he is referring. Their search for his daughter had turned up nothing as expected. Not even the LAPD's greatest forensic scientist could magic information out of thin air. There is no way of knowing where or even when she had been born. Uriel's letter had been decidedly unhelpful on the topic and he doesn't think he'll see Azrael any time soon. He had destroyed everything, and he had only himself to blame for that. Michael had held Elaine's little lifeless body in his arms he knows he did. He kept her with him for days. He'd slaughtered scores of humans in vengeance, threatened to rip Creation apart. How could nobody have noticed that? He had searched the archives, the heavens. He had left no stone unturned, but it was as if she had never even existed. He doesn't even know where and if she had been buried. Amenadiel had come to take him back 'home' and he had been alone in his grief. Nobody had asked him anything. They had all been too afraid of him still. Why had Father made him this way? Was he supposed to fail? Had the deck been stacked against him since the beginning of time?

He couldn't help himself, holding this tiny human woman in his arms felt right. She fits right under his chin his wings wrapped around her like she belongs there. Michael didn't mistake it for love though. He is beyond love… But, he can still protect them all. He's the protector of Heaven, isn't he? He has seen the little Saint Michael statuette prominently featured on her little corner altar. He knows the police have him as their patron and it feels nice to see it here in Ella's small apartment. Tucked in snugly between the symbols of human religion and various movie collectables. Humans have turned to him for protection since the beginning of history.

He should really get up from the floor now. His side and back are starting to cramp up, but Ella finally fell asleep in his arms and he cannot bring himself to wake her up. He sighs and tries to find a better position with his back leaning against her couch. She may not be his daughter, but he is still feeling some kind of kinship with her. Is it too late to start fighting again? If not for Elaine, then perhaps for Ella?

He looks in through the third story window and what he sees there sickens him. His brother, curled protectively around the human woman. God has never allowed any Nephilim to remain alive. They don't belong here. And yet, he allows this one to live. And Amenadiel's son too. So much darkness he has forced upon them all. How could they not care? How could they let him corrupt humanity and his own Divinity like that? Father said that he should have been cast into Hell. His word is law and his Voice shall be heard. The sword will find its way into the right hands. Justice will prevail and his brother will pay.

Michael is standing in front of the Catholic Church where Ella likes to attend Mass. No amount of cajoling from her could convince him to ever step foot in one of his father's houses again. Not after... Lucifer and Chloé are back at the precinct. Really...? On a Sunday! What happened to; Six days you shall labour, but on the seventh day you shall rest? He doesn't really know why his Twin spent so much time there these last few days, but it's beginning to grate on his nerves. They all are! There is something going on and they are keeping it from him. Oh yes, he would recognize Samael's half answers anywhere. Not to mention the sudden hearty pep talks from Amenadiel. He's been fading, not going senile. He likes to think that there is at least some fight left in him. He sighs. Oh, how he longs to have a go at his feathers right now, but he knows Ella doesn't approve. She had even taken to grooming them when he was asleep, not knowing if he'd allow it when awake, but unable to keep her fingers to herself. He chuckles; humans... Pacing seems to be frowned upon here so he eventually settles for wandering around the church cemetery.

All these humans, all those grave markers. Some more elaborate than ancient Greek temples. Showing that money can really buy anything, but won't stop Death from coming. He had never understood this need of them to revere corpses, to wash them, clothe them and then let them rot in the ground. He walks between statues of crying angels, their wings stretched unnaturally behind them, and he scoffs; the nerve... He had walked through his eternal life without really living it and now that there's finally an end in sight, he suddenly understands it. The need to remember. "Memento Mori"

He comes across an elderly man in ragged bomber jacket enjoying the sun. With a weary sigh he sits down beside him, his arm dropping in his lap limply.
"You're a soldier?" Michael looks at the man from the corner of his eye, but doesn't answer. "You are ain't you. I can always tell." He taps his nose in a gesture Michael doesn't really get, so he just turns his head to regard the human fully. This brings back memories he'd rather forget, but he can't help but listen. The man must have caught whatever emotion had flashed across his face because he nods and leans back. "At least, you were. I know that look. Been there, done that, never came back fully, left some of myself behind." He taps his head and his heart. He winks at the archangel beside him. "You ain't much of a talker, are you? That's fine, I can talk fer two." The man regards him with warm brown eyes. "You should let go of that guilt, son. You're still young, far too young to be as run down as you look." Michael's eyes widen in shock. Surely, father would not do the same trick twice? But, that sneaking feeling of Divinity just isn't there like last time. No, this man is human, just at the right time in the right place. He thinks of Uriel and his gift for patterns, but these are too many variables for his brother's tastes. Michael hums in agreement, not knowing what else to do. "Take it from me son, where we are goin'..." the man glances at the ground meaningfully, "you better enjoy the life you got left before the end." And that's when he sees it. The fault in his father's design. Guilt trapping souls into Hell undeservedly. The sun catches on the little medallion the man is wearing. 'oh, saint Michael, defend us in battle...'

"If you do go down, I will come look for you." Michael forces his bad hand to lie on the humans arm, squeezing the muscle underneath to strengthen him. The man's breath catches finally recognizing the Otherness in Michael's eyes. His hand drifts to the medallion and tears gather in his eyes. With a final squeeze Michael leaves the man on his bench, the shadows around him warping into a whisper of wings.

If Hell is unjust, he wonders what his Twin thinks of that.