A/N - One of the things I loved in S1 is the development of Lucifer and Amenadiel's relationship, and also, you know, I wanted to explore the whole wing-cutting thing. So the two things kind of merged together to create this one-shot. Essentially, it's after Maze cuts Lucifer's wings off with Amenadial paying him a little visit, and with some trust issues thrown in for good measure. Hope you enjoy!
Dawn in Los Angeles finds Lucifer Morningstar hunched over a bathroom sink at Lux, retching, his bloodied shirt discarded in a dishevelled heap on the floor next to him.
It's the same position he's been in for a while now, although his perception of time has long since been thrown out the window. The thought hasn't even crossed his mind, in fact. Unsurprising, given that his vision has long since shattered into a hellscape of boiling red spots, flames burning behind his eyelids, scorching through his veins like poison and culminating as a roaring inferno in his ears.
Another bolt of pain lances through him, another wall of agony to set every one of his nerves on fire. A stifled groan tears itself free from the depths of his throat, squeezing past gritted teeth to ricochet off the walls.
Bloody Hell.
His stomach writhes with a deep, gnawing hunger. Not that there's any hope of anything staying down, of course.
Lucifer's fingers grip the rim of the sink until they burn. Until his knuckles turn white with the pressure of keeping himself upright.
Eventually, the waves subside. He swallows, the back of his mouth tingling with the taste of metal as he stares at the mirror in front of him with defiance. His face is undoubtedly several shades paler than it should be which only emphasises the dark circles sitting beneath his red-rimmed eyes.
Huh.
A grimace settles briefly on his lips, edged with sharp, twisted traces of triumph.
He chose this.
The muscles of his shoulder blades abruptly contract but this time, Lucifer refuses out of principal to submit to the storm of agony, as he feels it welling up inside him, spilling over like a waterfall. Despite everything, he feels lighter than he's felt in millennia, and with that feeling comes a newfound reserve of strength that he draws on now to fight back.
He feels something tear.
A tiny stream of blood trickles down his chest, hot and thick against his bare skin. The bandages wrapped around his back and torso are more red than white. They're soaked in his own blood. It should bother him, but it doesn't. The most he experiences, as he watches the crimson liquid glistening back at him is a heated spark of irritation at Maze's absence.
She's out. Of course, she's bloody out. Errands, or something.
He'll have to ask her to change the bandages when she gets back.
Lucifer hadn't cried out during the entire time Maze had worked on his wings. Even as he felt the demon blade slicing through sinew and muscle, severing nerve endings with every movement. Even as his entire body spasmed as a result of the frantic signals shooting through his spine, raw, undiluted agony engulfing his entire back. He'd felt faint from blood loss. Weak from shock. But he'd never cried out.
He stays there for a while longer, waiting for the pain to let up to a point where he feels confident that he won't collapse as soon as he lets go of the sink rim. It's still there, an ever-present ache, but he's the devil and it's nothing to him. Maybe that's an overstatement, but at least the ache is ignorable.
Lifting his head, Lucifer then goes for the shirt in the corner.
There's no point in changing into a fresh one because the blood is still coming. Not heavily, but he's already wasted far too many shirts at this point and he's not going to risk staining another. He holds his breath as he buttons it up roughly, his fingers fumbling on multiple occasions.
His wings had fallen limply onto the covers with a wet thud after the final cut. Lucifer, sitting on the edge of his bed with his legs braced against the floor had barely been conscious enough to register the noise at that point. He heard Maze's sharp intake of breath, but it was distorted as if he were submerged in water. Maze, to her credit, had only paused for a heartbeat before starting to patch up the wounds on his back, crouched behind him as she began to stitch up the exposed flesh.
As soon as he leaves the bathroom, Lucifer heads for the bar. For a drink. If Maze were here she'd probably be manhandling him back into bed, but, the important thing is that she isn't here.
Besides, he needs a drink to celebrate his newfound freedom.
Lucifer can't remember a time when his wings hadn't felt like shackles, binding him to a past life he'd much rather forget. Every time he'd caught glimpses of those pristine white feathers had been a brutal reminder of his fall. Every time someone else had seen them, he could feel them mocking him for his past mistakes.
During his vacation of Earth, every day he'd felt their weight on his back. Chains. Rather than allowing him to fly off into the distance, they'd been the one relic from his past life that he'd been unable to shed.
Until now.
His hands are still a little shaky as he pours the liquid from the bottle into the glass. Needless to say, it takes longer than it should, but he follows it through until the glass is full, careful not to spill any.
He holds the glass between both hands as he lifts it up to his mouth and tips it up in one sharp, fluid motion.
But the liquid never reaches his lips
...
Lucifer's breath catches, freezing in his chest.
Along with everything else. Time, itself. The liquid in the glass still moves, but so sluggishly that it's almost imperceptible. Less of a steady stream, and more of a stagnant trickle, like grains of sand, slowly falling in an hourglass. The first droplet hasn't even reached the halfway point when Lucifer pulls the glass away and sets it down hard on the counter, swearing under his breath.
He collapses onto one of the seats by the counter and looks up, already knowing what, or rather, who, he'll find waiting there.
...
Amenadiel's wings are on full display as they fan out behind him, soft grey feathers arrayed like dusky clouds caught in the transition between day and night.
Brushed with soft rays of starlight, they almost seem to glow. It's just an illusion, but a striking one that captures Lucifer's attention for all of a second.
Lucifer's admiration for them is short-lived, however, and rapidly morphs into an unbridled contempt that he makes no effort to conceal as he meets Amenadiel's gaze. He knows his brother well enough to know that the presence of his own wings isn't an accident, seeing as Amenadial could have chosen to keep them hidden. The fact that he hasn't is its own message, delivered with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer to the face.
Amenadiel's disapproval floods the room. It's suffocating, or at least, it might be if Lucifer could bring himself to care.
He doesn't have the patience to bear it for very long, though. Nor does he have to patience to even pretend to be civil.
...
"What do you want, you feathery bastard."
The world sways around him, although his opening words are sharp enough to shatter the smothering silence, he knows that there's not enough weight behind them for them to actually sting. Amenadiel doesn't even flinch. His gaze travels around the room, lingering for an uncomfortable amount of time on Lucifer himself. In response, Lucifer just glares back at him.
"I heard."
The angel side-steps the question, his words vague even though they both know what he's talking about. Lucifer doesn't grace him with a response. The silence starts to settle again, and makes no effort to stop it.
His brother, however, isn't so willing to concede, although when he finally does elaborate his tone is weighed down by reluctance. As if, to him, saying the facts will actually make them real.
"Your wings.."
"Not attached to me anymore, no." Lucifer finishes his sentence for him, flatly and without a trace of emotion. He holds Amenadiel's gaze for a moment, relishing the way that they widen in shock at his lack of hesitation before flitting to the full glass beside him. A hint of exasperation enters his tone as he adds, in an effort to lighten the tension, "Please, just let me pour my damn drink."
"Why?"
Lucifer can feel the angel's stare trying to pierce his skin; longing for understanding and burning with curiosity. The heat of it doesn't bother him, but it does give him an insight into his brother's intentions. He exhales, feeling his throat tighten with the effort.
"Why not."
"Luci..."
His brother's voice softens as he uses the old nickname. Amenadiel's intentions are clear, but its use has the opposite effect on Lucifer. All it does for him is to cause unwanted memories to surface and in an effort to bury them again, Lucifer is able to hear his own anger rising inside him until it eventually spills over, an overflowing sink, released into the world as his eyes dance with a momentary burst of fire.
"They were more trouble than they were worth, alright?" He snaps back with an audible growl vibrating in his chest. He hopes that Amenadiel doesn't catch the way his hand suddenly grips the edge of the counter behind him as his body protests at the sudden exertion. The ache of his back has grown, now, it's a constant throbbing, but he's determined to not let it affect him for the sake of appearances.
He fully expects Amenadiel to press the issue further.
It's his turn to be surprised when the angel doesn't.
...
"Lucifer." Amenadiel murmurs instead, taking a step back. His wings fold up behind him and disappear from sight, as he rubs his nape uncertainly with one hand. "I won't pretend to understand you, brother. You must have had reasons. We lead very different lives, you and I."
"You think?" He snorts, turning away from his brother.
"I know."
"You don't know anything." Lucifer swallows hard, his fingertips drumming against the counter impatiently as he adds, bitterly, "Why are you still here."
"You're bleeding."
"How observant of you." He snorts. "If you're waiting to escort me to hell because you think this is going to do me in, you're going to be sorely disappointed, dear brother.
"I'm not-" Amenadiel catches himself mid-sentence. Lucifer registers the angel's footsteps, in sync with his own heartbeat as it thumps all-too loudly in his own chest, as Amenadiel moves towards him again, causing his skin to prickle.
Lucifer isn't a stranger to intimacy but, usually, he prefers it to be on his own terms.
Scratch that, only on his own terms. Only when he's in control of the situation. As Amenadiel moves closer something in him flutters, the instincts of a cornered animal rise from a deep crevice in his mind, making him overly conscious of the unyielding wooden surface behind him, the cold panels as they suck the warmth from him, during the time that he needs it most.
Despite his dulled senses, dull from painkillers, dull from the lack of blood inside his body and dull from the pain that won't leave, Lucifer stares down his brother, his pupils alternating between brown and shadowy crimson, his irises shifting like moon cycles, waxing and waning into slits, completely disappearing for a moment before filling out into a facade of normalcy once more.
"Your wounds need tending, brother. Your bandages need changing. I can tell."
Lucifer narrows his eyes.
"First of all, that's none of your business. Second of all, you can piss off. And Thirdly-"
Amenadiel pauses, waiting for him to finish.
Lucifer falters.
"...I'll get Maze to do it when she returns."
"How about me.
Lucifer's first impulse is to laugh. But the laughter dies in his throat as he spins around, and realizes, with a sudden revelation, that his brother isn't joking.
That's worse.
"Okay." His voice hitches with uncertainty as he turns his whole body to face Amenadiel, "For lack of a better expression, why the hell would I do that. We're clearly on a different page here, dear brother. No offence, I wouldn't trust you to be in the same room as me. Why the hell do you think would I trust you with something like that." His voice cracks slightly near the end, and raw emotion trickles through those cracks, like sap from a tree when the bark is torn away. A concoction of doubt, mistrust and suspicion churned together in a blender.
Amenadiel gets the message. But he doesn't give up, either.
"I swear to God, I won't tell anyone."
"To God." Lucifer snorts, shaking his head, an ironic grin twisting his features. "That means so much more to you than it does to me."
"Well?"
The atmosphere between them is thundering, as Lucifer abruptly looks up and gives Amenadiel a long, searching stare. Unconsciously, he can feel his guard crumpling like paper. Unwillingly, even. It dissipates like mist, even as he tries in vain to cling onto it. His muscles relax, and not just because of the fact that half of his body is riding a cresting wave of pain that he's trying to ignore, with little success.
He clears his throat, and slowly annunciates every syllable so that there's no chance of his next words being misheard.
"My terms, then, brother. No owed favours. No I-owe-yous. No telling anyone, Not. A. Word. Clear?"
Something almost unreadable glistens in the angel's eyes. Something that might just be relief.
"Got it."
...
Lucifer can't help but flinch at his brother's touch. The angel's fingers are unexpectedly cool against his skin, almost like an electric shock in the way that it creates tiny contractions in his muscles as Amenadiel peels away the bandages. They've stuck to his half-moon-shaped wounds on his back, and Lucifer squeezes his eyes shut in the by-now familiar routine of blocking out the torrent of pain as it comes rushing back in.
He hears a sharp intake of breath as Amenadiel finally uncovers the mess that Maze created, acting under Lucifer's command, of course. Dried blood, exposed flesh and muscle, and a web of stitches and creams smeared over his worst injuries. Amenadiel has already retrieved those same creams from where Maze left them, along with fresh bandages.
Despite everything, a soft chuckle escapes his lips at his brother's reaction.
"You didn't think I actually had the balls to do it?" Lucifer teases his brother, in a voice that has no real weight behind it.
"I never said that," Amenadiel murmurs back, softly, as he gets to work, deftly re-applying the creams. They sting like hellfire, and Lucifer bites down hard on his tongue as a result. However, although he'd never admit it, at the same time he's actually pleasantly surprised by Amenadiel's skill in the field. Maze, Maze has experience, he knows she does. She was always the one to patch him up back in Hell.
In retrospect, entrusting Amenadiel with those same responsibilities feels stupid. Maze has earned the right to see Lucifer vulnerable. His brother hasn't done anything to deserve that.
It doesn't bother him as much as it should.
"You alright?"
"Are you going to believe my answer?"
"Probably not."
Lucifer relaxes, ducking his head in a show of amusement, as he hears Amenadiel starting on the bandages. He's missed bantering with his brother. Amenadiel can be a prick, sometimes, but at the end of the day, he's still Lucifer's brother.
The brother who watched as you were thrown out of Hell, a tiny voice whispers intrusively inside his head. You shouldn't feel so comfortable around an angel, one of your sworn enemies.
Lucifer dismisses it without a second thought.
He's never been one to play by the rules.