Hello! I haven't spoken much just because I'm enjoying writing this and y'all know how to R&R. Thanks for reading so far! I'm dedicating this chapter to fairy goatmother, who followed me as an author for my previous fanfics in 2011 and is somehow stuck still following me despite not knowing much about Lucifer. So thanks for putting up with me!


"Missionaries?" Lucifer asked incredulously, in complete disbelief that the detective – his detective – would stoop so low for celestial information as to discuss it with proselytizing modern-day Pharisees; well, it was practically laughable! He leaned back in the pew and crossed his legs.

Whether he addressed this single-word question to himself, Amenadiel, or Father Kinley on the other side of the chapel, nobody seemed to know. Amenadiel answered it anyway, leaning forward next to him and steepling his fingers with hands on his legs, resting his chin in thought.

"She told me they were Mormons. Which ones are those again? Are they the science ones?"

"No, brother," Lucifer sighed exasperatedly, "those would be the Scientologists. Mormons are the polygamists, I think. At least the majority of the ones I've heard of down here were. Seems to be a common pattern. There's one really bad guy, he's in the VIP section of course, he had over fifty wives –"

"Do you think she can do it?" Amenadiel interrupted, voice low as he turned to stare at Lucifer. Lucifer snorted, letting out a smirk; inside, his insides seemed to start dancing. He didn't want to be caught on the spot for how this thought made him feel. He caught a smirk on Father Kinley's face, the other still within earshot, and he raised his eyebrows. Father Kinley turned his face away quickly, drinking more water, and Lucifer turned back to the discussion at hand.

"I highly doubt I'm meant to go back up there. If this is what Dad wants, then I don't see a way his 'miracle'" – he added air quotes to this word "would be able to help. She shouldn't care, anyway."

Amenadiel stood up and adjusted his shirt. Lucifer followed suit, realizing that his brother wanted to leave.

"Must you go?" Father Kinley pleaded. The siblings turned to him.

"Always," Lucifer said, at the same time as Amenadiel replied "Unfortunately." Lucifer cocked his head and smiled, gesturing for his older brother to lead the way out. He pretended he couldn't hear the quiet sobs that wracked the priest as they left him to his demons.

"Luci," Amenadiel started, "you need to think positively. I think that with time and thought, maybe somebody can come up with a solution. Some of Dad's followers here on earth may have a way to help."

This was a simple slip-up, but it pushed his envy even further.

"Yes, but we're not on earth, now, are we?" Lucifer interjected with a snide voice. There was no way he was letting himself get into this mess of hope and encouragement. That simply wasn't how he operated. He had to accept he was down here forever, as Dad would want. In the end, he had won anyway, despite Lucifer's best efforts to live out his days with the humans on earth.

They were back in Hell now, away from the small escape Lucifer knew he continued to go to just to feel like he was back on earth. They walked down the path back to the entrance, amid the silence, the soft, distant screaming, and the familiar piano. The last was louder than the rest, especially when they walked past the illuminated door his eyes trailed on and lingered. Amenadiel seemed to notice, and he paused momentarily.

"Who's in there, Lucy?" he asked curiously.

"You can't see it?" Lucifer asked in return, voice soft. He blinked and shook his head. "Of course you can't. This, dear brother, is my personal hell, waiting for me to return. Do you hear the piano?"

Amenadiel shook his head.

"What is your hell?" he questioned. Lucifer smiled softly, glancing back one more time at the door.

"The penthouse," he whispered. "And Uriel."

His legs moved forward again, leaving behind his hell. As he strode along, Lucifer forced the desire he felt creeping up back to its subdued position somewhere below his heart. Now was not the time to torture himself again. Amenadiel didn't speak, but he could feel his brother's pitying stare on his back as he led the way.

Once at the entrance, Lucifer sat down on a lower stretch of stone, stretching his legs out in front of him. This position wasn't comfortable, but then nothing really was down here anyway. Amenadiel crossed his arms and stayed standing next to him, eyes still on him. Lucifer avoided his gaze and instead stared into the gates of Hell.

The "gates" were actually a single dark entrance not adorned by specific ornate markings, but rather just another hole in the endless world of doors and stone and heat. Lucifer wished he could hover here, a step outside the door, ready to escape to what he thought was his home once more. He envied Amenadiel's ability to leave greatly. And yet, the company that he craved and the news from the outside world were a welcome distraction from the repetition and utter boredom that enveloped him here. The note from the detective, tucked safely into his pocket next to the first (which was rapidly becoming worn and hard to read every time he took it out), seemed to burn softly against his flesh, as if her fingertips were touching him.

Amenadiel looked ready to continue the discussion about how those on earth could help, but the sudden sound of rustling wings and a new face entering through the gates caused both of them to stop, startled. The only living beings who ever entered the gate were both already on this side of it.

"Rae-Rae?" Lucifer's jaw dropped slightly as he stared at his favorite sibling (he wouldn't admit this to Amenadiel, but he had a sneaking suspicion the eldest brother already knew). He mentally cursed himself and tried to cover his moment of weakness, rising to his feet. "Azrael. What are you doing here? Have you finally come to visit me after all these eons of waiting?"

"Azrael, what's going on?" Amenadiel added, voice full of concern. Rae-Rae's eyes were impassive but darted around, face letting more emotion through than Lucifer imagined his favorite sibling wanted to show.

"I'm sorry I couldn't come sooner, I was…doing research," the younger angel said quickly. "I had to make sure before…well…" she shrugged and looked at Lucifer for a long, silent moment, before turning eyes towards Amenadiel and addressing him.

"I felt a presence on earth," Azrael announced in her innocent voice, which seemed pitched up a bit higher than usual. "I hadn't felt that presence since…well…you know," hands gestured vaguely towards Lucifer, who realized he wasn't being included in this conversation by anything more than a subject. He narrowed his eyes and stared at Azrael. A presence? Well what the bloody hell did that mean?

"Well clearly I'm down here and haven't seen your precious earth in what feels like forever." Lucifer let out a dry laugh, crossing his arms and leaning back against the uncomfortably hot stone as he directed his next question to Amenadiel. "How long has it really been, brother?"

"Almost two weeks," Amenadiel answered, distracted. That was despairing news to Lucifer, who was certain it had been much, much longer. He hated Hell and how it affected time. He opened his mouth to voice his complaint, but before he could speak his siblings were talking like he wasn't there once more.

"And you're sure," Amenadiel was saying slowly. "Absolutely sure. Where?"

"Los Angeles," Rae-Rae said meekly. "Definitely at the precinct."

Amenadiel didn't normally pale, but Lucifer thought he saw the other turn a lighter shade before his eyes. His oldest brother didn't even look in his direction. Lucifer began to think through the fast conversation, trying to put the pieces together. What was going on? A presence in LA, and at the precinct, no less? This thought forced a small memory to the front of his mind: an image of the detective, hard at work at her desk, surrounded by boring paperwork, while he came striding down the stairs to interrupt that important thought with his own more important existence. This memory felt oddly comforting, despite its meaningless and repeating exchange.

"Ella mentioned somebody looking for Chloe," Azrael explained then. "A charismatic person. Made the entire front desk calm and collected."

Calm and collected? He sucked in a deep breath, eyes darting back and forth between his siblings. Those were very specific words. It couldn't be…

"We'll need to take shifts to keep an eye out," Amenadiel rushed in. "And I can…confront him, you know. I don't think it will help but I can certainly try."

"I can't be here too much; you know, work to do, but maybe we could get Remy –"

"Michael," Lucifer seethed through gritted teeth, voice coming out deadly even. The other two stopped their talking as if having been struck mute, eyes turning to face him. He stared, eyes wide, between his two siblings. "You're talking about Michael."

He said the name like it was a curse word, a dirty taste in his mouth. The brother he had taken care to spend eons avoiding even just the name, avoiding the memories, and now it all came plunging back into the forefront of his suddenly very crowded mind. He remembered the day as if it was yesterday. Yes, God had kicked him out of the Silver City, instigated his fall, but Michael had been the one to, as the modern humans put it, "pull the trigger." Michael had acted out their father's orders to purge heaven of himself, all for an act of wanting to stand for his own truths. Michael had personally given him the boot, with a smug expression and a reminder of who was more important in Dad's eyes. Michael, the two-timing son of a bitch.

"Yes," Rae-Rae said gently, holding his hand out as if to place it on Lucifer's shoulder and calm him down. But Lucifer wasn't through with his very-busy mind. He had just realized the second point.

"Michael is going after the detective?" he snarled. Hands balled into fists. He pushed off from the wall and started for the gate, ears pounding. This was the last straw.

"No, Lucifer!"

Amenadiel's demanding tone stopped him momentarily, and a strong arm caught his own. Lucifer tried to shrug it off, feeling rather than seeing his eyes glowing. This was the last straw. Michael had been the unnamed source for his less than ideal position for all this time, and now that he was back in Hell, where his brother would have assumed he belonged, Michael was going after Chloe. This was completely unacceptable. Punishments fluttered in the back of his mind, punishments that didn't seem brutal enough for just how much hatred he felt for his brother.

"Lucifer, you need to stay here," Amenadiel cautioned. "Listen to me." He pulled on Lucifer's shoulder and Lucifer whipped around, taking an offensive stance. But Amenadiel put his arms up, palms forward, a sign of peace. This was maddening!

"Michael must know about your connection to Chloe. But you're down here now. Perhaps he'll lose interest now that you're back where he thinks you belong."

"She's in danger," Lucifer insisted with an angry snarl. "I need to stop him."

"Let us handle Michael," Azrael put in then. She looked forlorn but eager to help. "Please, Lucifer. You need to stay here. Michael's the only one who could defeat you."

"I know!" Lucifer roared. He threw up his hands and turned around, pacing up the hallway. "I can't just stay here!" He felt desperate – similar to when he had been given that horrible ultimatum between Mum and the detective. He couldn't just sit idly by.

"There has to be a way to get you out of Hell for good," Amenadiel said strongly. "After all that we've learned over the years about the punishments we make for ourselves, isn't it time for you to stop being punished for a crime you committed thousands of years ago?"

"You'd think," Lucifer muttered. He could barely hear through the steady thrum of thoughts that threatened to overpower him. He hadn't felt a cascade of emotions this strong in quite some time. Perhaps since Uriel died? It was not a pleasant experience. "But what is Michael going to think of redemption? Of me being a 'changed man'?" He asked this rhetorically, because they all knew what Michael would think. Michael, God's "perfect" son, obsessed with status quo and not interested in developing changes. There was less a chance of Michael changing his tune than of Amenadiel joining Broadway. Lucifer took in a deep breath through his nose, a small part of him noting the ashy, sharp smells that accompanied Hell and seemed stronger than he'd ever noticed before. It was like he was a new man, after all. Everything finally seemed to focus for him down here.

"Let us at least look, work with Chloe," his eldest brother replied. "Please, Luci. You can't go back up there. You can't provoke him. You know how he is."

Lucifer sighed and turned around, silently conceding defeat. He would remain for now. Any attempt to get to Chloe would potentially make things worse, he could see that. He felt a sting of his pride being questioned, but silently agreed that he couldn't take on Michael. He couldn't win in the Silver City, and he knew he couldn't win on earth.

"Thank you," Amenadiel said with a sigh of relief. "Give us a bit of time. Maybe you can write a note back to Chloe, pass a message along. Offer her words of encouragement."

Lucifer shook his head. He didn't want to get her hopes up that he would ever get out of this forsaken place for good. He didn't want to get his own hopes up, either. He was trying not to, but those letters burning a hole in his pocket made him feel warm and happy again, a feeling so rare here.

Azrael left shortly after, Amenadiel following. They were still working on a shift schedule to keep an eye on Chloe. They had decided not to tell her about Michael, not yet, which Lucifer vehemently voiced his opposition to. The detective had a much better shot at staying safe if she knew whom she was up against. Michael, the conniving son of a bitch, knew how to manipulate and lure. Just the thought alone of his least favorite brother anywhere near the detective – his detective – almost made him shudder. And Lucifer was not the type to shudder.

Left alone to his thoughts, Lucifer stormed up the path and started opening doors to Hell. He looked into each one, seeing if he could find a familiar place that would take him back without actually making the mistake he desperately wanted to make. Each door revealed bleak, horrible hells, none of them revealing the warm salty air, the blinding sunlight, and the Los Angeles skyline. For a moment he was tempted to go back to the penthouse of his hell, a shadow of the LA evening he remembered, but he knew that this was a bad move.

He stormed back to the hell he visited most, desperate for company and for somebody to convince him staying was the right thing. He was beginning to believe it wasn't best for all involved, after all.