A/N - To be clear, I've still got one or two one-shots that I'm going to post as chapters on my other Lucifer story, based around the events in S1. However, this story came into being shortly after I first watched 2x08, a while back, and, uhh, it very quickly becomes obvious that writing just one chapter wouldn't cut it, given the number of ideas I had swirling around. Hence, this. Hope you enjoy the first chapter of this multi-chapter story , and, uhh, sorry for being so evil, I guess.
I do plan on this having a happy (ish) ending, of course. Eventually. After all, I think we can all agree that everyone in the series just needs a hug, right?
"You tell me to hold on
Oh, you tell me to hold on
But innocence is gone
And what was right is wrong."
- Bleeding out (Imagine Dragons)
For a blade designed to obliterate celestial beings, to simply erase them, there's a far-flung irony, a twisted sense in the fact that Lucifer barely feels it as it slices into him.
Dan's latest thrust has him stumbling backwards as the blade in the Detective's hand glints in the ever-shifting pool lights - but too late, as he feels the pressure against his shirt and the fabric tearing as it gives way to the cold, bleak metal.
The Detective - in full Douche mode, definitely, pauses, as if to prepare for his next strike, and Lucifer takes the opportunity to snatch a look at the damages as his heart hammers frantically in his chest. There's a cold, spine-chilling mist seeping through his conscience, sedating his emotions and coating them in an icy calm that just feels wrong. Even as he grits his teeth, ordering his muscles to obey him, a fluttering coil of dread settles in his stomach.
The lower half of his shirt is already steeped in blood. His blood.
Shit.
Detective Douche is all but forgotten as the world lurches around him, his vision rapidly imploding into nothing more than an incoherent kaleidoscope of murky blues and purples. He knows that he should care, of course, when the blade is still in the hands of someone determined to kill him, when it could come for him again at any time with even worse results. But, regardless, that thought manifests as just a tiny voice, echoing in the back of his paralyzed mind.
Fear isn't a common experience for him.
But now, it grips him like a vice, a yawning chasm that swallows him up, all-consuming, so searing than it shatters the stillness of senses that are quickly marching towards the void, towards unconsciousness, towards nothingness.
"I don't want to die." Lucifer chokes out, suddenly, the back of his throat constricting and strangling his words as they spill out of him, raw, rough and pleading.
His words don't tell the whole truth, though.
Death itself, that's not what scares him. It's what comes after. Not Heaven, or Hell, which have always been lighthouses in the black sea of death.
Nothingness.
It's like a candle being snuffed out, with no evidence left behind of the light ever being there in the first place.
That's what scares him.
His legs crumple beneath him like a house of cards. There's a fence behind him, but Lucifer barely registers the impact as he slumps against it, his head lolling against one of his shoulders. Faintly, in the distance, he hears the unexpected sound of the blade clattering against the floor, following by the Detective's footsteps as they rush up to him. The loud noises are painful, and Lucifer can't pinpoint, can't understand why his ears have suddenly become so sensitive.
He debates squeezing his eyes shut, to block out the noise. To keep it out. The only thing stopping him is the knowledge that if he dares to shut his eyes, he won't be able to open them again.
He refuses to give up so easily.
He did not come this far, just to keel over and die like this. Not here. Not over Detective Douche's pudding, of all things.
The ridiculousness of the situation is laughable.
The darkness calls to him, and he's all-too-aware of his own blood, still riding the waves of his own heartbeat, pulsing out of the deep cut in his stomach and collecting in a growing pool around him. A painstaking turn to look at his hands, lying limply by his side, confirms that they're drenched in the substance. A cruel, gut-wrenching reminder of Uriel's death, except this time, the blood is his.
Oh, hell, is this the universe's way of punishing him for what he did to Uriel?
...
"Lucifer, hey- oh God! Fuck, did..- did I do this?" The Detective - Dan's voice splits the relative quiet.
Devoid of anger, thankfully, Lucifer thinks. He can hear it shaking, dripping with shock and horror, however. In a blur of movement, Dan rips his jacket off and presses it against the wound, the source of the blood that refuses to stop coming - How can someone bleed so much - whilst Lucifer manages to give him a tiny, ironic smile in return.
"I'll- make 'n-note, not t-to steal ...- pudding.. -'gain, right?" His words slur together, despite the massive amount of energy required to piece the words together in the first place.
Dan gives a short frantic laugh, but there's no amusement in it. Just pure, undiluted panic as he whips his phone out, Lucifer thinks that's what he's doing, anyways. He can't be sure, following the Detective's movement's is so draining, a waste of energy that he really should be trying to preserve. However, his suspicions are confirmed when he hears the phone ring.
Once.
Twice.
"Dan?"
Lucifer gives a sharp intake of breath, a last-ditch effort for oxygen that isn't coming- as he hears Detective Decker on the other end of the line. Her voice inspires a sudden spark of resistance to flare up inside him. It buys him the possibility of a minute or two more of snatched consciousness, although unconsciousness tugs persistently at him, and his resistance is weakening with every second, with every fading beat of his struggling heart.
"I need you at the pool, now!" Dan practically shouts down the phone, in a tone drenched in desperation as he twists back towards Lucifer and murmurs to him, insistently, "C'mon, Morningstar, pay attention, stay with me!"
"Can..-t'" Lucifer swallows, hard, a thick, metallic taste settling on his tongue as he whispers "S-ry, t..t-tell the d'-tect've I-"
"Oh no, don't you dare die on me, Lucifer, tell her yourself, " Dan snarls back through gritted teeth. Lucifer vaguely feels the pressure against his stomach increase, but it feels like it's happening to someone else. It feels unreal. Despite everything, he hasn't once felt the wound itself, only the wet stickiness of his life force leaving through it.
He's fighting an unwinnable battle to resist the darkness as it creeps forward, calling to him, lapping at him like the dark, unstoppable tide of a boundless black ocean. The fight in him is waning, and there's nothing he can do about it.
Nothing.
"Keep your damn eyes open, you-" Dan's still talking, only to suddenly break off. Anguish seizes his heart, as he realizes.
Lucifer's already gone limp.
...
...
"Dan, I- Oh my God, what happened?"
Dan hears Chloe's voice cut through the suffocating silence, the painfully bright lights of the pool, as he continues to press his jacket against the ragged tear in Lucifer's shirt. There's something haunting about the situation, he doesn't dare remove any of the pressure against the wound, meaning that he hasn't had time to check for a pulse or to keep an eye on the rise and fall of Lucifer's chest. As a result, the only evidence he has, the only proof that Lucifer is still clinging on to life is the spreading stain creeping across the floor.
"I don't know, I don't remember." Dan fumbles out, as she crouches down behind him, her eyes widening, "I-"
"It doesn't matter right now." Chloe interrupts, sharply, visibly holding her breath as she leans towards to grab one of Lucifer's wrists. Dan lets out a choking breath as he sees Lucifer's hand flop down, limply.
For him, Chloe's partner has always seemed to be in control of any given situation. Confident and assertive. His position now, slumped unconscious at the edge of a pool, eyes shut, in a puddle of his own blood, breaks every one of those standards.
And it's killing him.
There's a gaping hole in Dan's memories. He remembers a red haze coming over him, like a spell, but he doesn't remember what happened when he was under it.
He only remembers the words that broke the spell.
"I don't want to die."
The words had been in a familiar voice, but that voice had been begging, and had been filled with a desperation that he hadn't ever, in a million years, imagined hearing from Lucifer of all people. The same case applied for the choking sob that had followed straight after. Those two things combined had thrust him right back to reality, just in time to find his ex's partner bleeding out on the floor next to him.
He turns to Chloe.
"Well?"
"There's a pulse." She replies, not even trying to keep her voice steady. Every syllable is wrapped in layers of fear, and Dan doesn't miss her wet eyes as she adds, "It's faint, but it's there. There's something else-.."
"What?"
Chloe bites her lips as she glances at him, taking a series of rapid, trembling breaths.
"He's too cold."
Dan understands, immediately.
Every physical interaction he's ever had with Lucifer, he's felt the heat radiating off him like an aura. The first time, Dan had wondered if Lucifer was running a fever, given that his body temperature seemed far too high to be healthy. He'd quickly dismissed that idea, given how little it seemed to bother Lucifer himself.
He, like everyone else, had gotten used to it. It had become a part of the nightclub owner, a fact that people just accepted. A quirk, even. When confronted about it he always brushed it off, usually with a snarky remark, occasionally with a hint of sarcasm. Given that it wasn't even high on the list of mysteries surrounding his character, people rarely pressed the matter.
He understands Chloe's concern, though. Because it is a part of Lucifer. And its absence is terrifying.
"We need medical backup, now."
"On its way." Chloe jerks her head up, "One was already called for Jenson. I told them to bring an ambulance. It should be here any moment."
"Lucifer's not in any state to wait."
"I know." Chloe grits her teeth. Dan watches as she turns her attention back to her partner, her gaze overflowing with something undecipherable as she murmurs, thickly, "Fight this, Lucifer. Please."
...
Guilt worms inside Dan, festering inside him like a sore. He doesn't quite understand it, but his words, straight after being shaken from his trance, ricochet inside him, always out of reach, mocking him, taunting him, refusing to be suppressed no matter how hard he tries.
"Did I do this?"
He twists his head, glancing behind him. The unmistakable glint of metal catches his eye. His throat tightens as he focuses on the object. He can see a blade, now. A hilt, a wickedly sharp edge that leads into a point, glistening with-
blood.
Fuck.
Instinctively he stares down at his own hands, still clinging to the jacket as he applies pressure. His arm muscles are beginning to ache with the continued force he's applying, which is the only way has of telling how long he's been in this position. The seconds drag on like minutes, and the minutes drag on like hours. And still, the blood continues to come.
And still, Dan can't stop thinking about the damn knife.
He doesn't think twice.
"Can you hold this for a sec?"
With Chloe's eyes locked on him, he indicates the jacket. Given the current situation, however, it resembles less of an item of clothing, and more of a bundled-up wad, drenched in Lucifer's blood. Chloe's gaze flickers with confusion, but, thankfully, she doesn't question him for the time being as she shuffles up to him and places her hands down next to his. Close enough for the two of them to brush fingertips, briefly, before Dan releases his grip.
He catches a painful glimpse of Lucifer's ashen face as he stumbles to his feet, The club owner's expression, frozen in the last emotion he must have felt before blacking out. Fear. Raw, undisguised Fear. The same sort that Dan remembers coating his words.
"I don't want to die."
The guilt returns. A solid lump, gnawing at him, a physical weight in his gut that he can't ignore.
There's one thing that doesn't make sense, though.
Since when did Lucifer fear death?
...
Hell, Dan saw him literally shouting at a sniper, asking him to take the shot, to kill him just days earlier. He's seen Lucifer wandering carelessly into the line of fire more times than he can count. He's never exactly acted with caution, far from it. Dan's even seen his reaction to his own injuries before. Not even slightly unnerved by the sight of his own blood, he remembers Lucifer probing his own wounds, in fact, remembers the way those dark eyes had glinted with morbid fascination as he did so.
So why?
Why is this time different?
...
He moves, almost without willing it, towards the blade lying on the floor, looking so deceptively innocent.
It's small, yet viciously sharp. He can see the razor-sharp edges, even despite the fact that they're coated in a thin layer of blood. He imagines how easy it would be for those edges to cut through flesh. Like butter.
Why does he think that?"
Fuck- no, it's stupid. It feels like the blade is calling to him.
He can feel the red haze returning. A mist. A tiny voice, a voice that's always been there in the back of his skull, urging him on.
Take the knife.
All you need is a second shot.
Finish him what you started.
Kill Lucifer Morningstar.
You know you want to.
Kill him-
...
Dan recoils, his mind exploding with horror as he staggers back. His breath is ragged, rough and gasping as he struggles to comprehend what just happened. The spell, the illusion - whatever he calls it, dissapates. But the memory lingers. Echoes of emotions that don't -shouldn't exist in him. A murderous rage. Blinding fury. The red haze, guiding his actions, guiding the blade.
A red stain blossoming like a firework on Lucifer's shirt as his- no, as the blade sliced into him.
He hears muffled voices behind him. The ambulance must have arrived. There's a flurry of activity behind him. But he doesn't dare to look. With a pounding heart and fumbling movements, before he even he time to process his thoughts, Dan grabs the blade and stuffs it frantically into his pocket, where no one can see it.
He hears a low beeping sound in the distance, muffled, its source unclear.
Dan still can't bring himself to look back at the scene though. He can't bring himself to face Lucifer's cold, limp body, barely clinging onto life, now that he knows the truth.
Admitting it to himself is even worse.
...
Oh God-
I-
I did this.
A/N - I hope you enjoyed the first chapter, unfortunately, (or fortunately, I guess, if you're me), there's a lot more angst on its way :v I'll try to update soon, and I hope you enjoy~