A/N: Just a head's up this chapter is angstier than the previous two. Please mind the rating & warnings listed in the author's note of chapter 1.
three.
The line to get into Lux was long, filled with short skirts and bare midriffs, stiletto heels attached to long, tanned legs, crisp button-ups and neatly trimmed facial hair. Girlfriends chattered excitedly amongst themselves and alluring strangers flirted shamelessly with one another as they waited eagerly to be let in.
If it had been a typical night, Lucifer might have stopped to entertain his soon-to-be patrons, engage in a little flirting of his own, maybe slip each of his arms around a pair of slim, toned shoulders—or broader, more muscular ones, depending on what he was in the mood for that night—and guide the lucky individuals past envious glares to the front of the line.
But it wasn't a typical night, and he had no interest in playing host or faking cheer. He felt exhausted from the mixture of emotions that had been swirling inside of him all day.
As he entered the packed nightclub, he felt a stirring urge inside his gut to stop and have a drink, something to take the edge off the day, something to muffle the messy tangle of his emotions. It was a familiar desire and he tamped it down. Chloe wouldn't want that for him. He didn't want that for himself.
He weaved through the attractive hordes toward the elevator that would take him to his penthouse. Hopeful hands grabbed at him, urging him toward the dance floor. He shrugged them off, slipping easily out of their grasps, turning their advances down with a small, but firm shake of his head. He softened each blow with a charming smile, practiced enough to appear genuine to anyone who didn't look too closely—no one ever did—and with a gentle shove, guided them into the arms of another beautiful, willing dance partner.
He wasn't interested in them; not anymore, not with the memory of Chloe's kiss still warm on his lips. He lifted his fingers to touch them, smiling a little as he thought of her as the elevator doors closed in front of him.
The penthouse was dark and quiet when Lucifer entered. Shrugging out of his jacket, he tossed it over the back of the sofa and bee-lined for the sleek, gorgeous Steinway in the center of the loft. As he slid onto the bench, he breathed a sigh and closed his eyes, a somber melody taking shape as his fingers danced gracefully over the keys.
Chloe had sent him home, insisting she'd be fine on her own for the night. When he'd tried to protest, she told him it would only make her feel worse if he had to spend the night in one of those uncomfortable hospital chairs.
And so he had acquiesced, unable to deny her anything.
He wished to focus on the kiss they'd shared, on the joy he'd felt as their lips had brushed, on the way it had felt so right—how he imagined coming home after being away for so long might feel. He wanted to replay the moment over and over again in his head until he fell into a deep sleep and inevitably dreamed of her.
Instead, his mind had chosen to linger in places he tried his best to keep locked away. Funny that, the way the mind worked—his subconscious dredging up the past without any input from him.
It had been nice to revisit some of the happy memories from his childhood and he'd enjoyed sharing those stories with Trixie, but those good moments were deeply and unavoidably intertwined with other, decidedly unhappy ones.
Involuntarily, his thoughts returned to that camping trip years ago.
He'd been so excited when they had decided to spend the second day swimming in the lake. His excitement had been short-lived, though.
Brow furrowing, Lucifer recalled the way Chloe had gasped when she'd seen his back for the first time—skin that was supposed to be soft and smooth was instead marred by raised scars, the healed-over cuts and welts forming the shape of feathered wings. John had given Chloe a sharp shake of his head which stopped her from saying anything about them.
But the damage had been done. Her reaction had made Lucifer feel embarrassed and ashamed—things he'd never thought Chloe would make him feel. He'd caught her staring a few times as they swam, and it had kept him from fully enjoying the rest of the trip.
It wasn't until they lay beside each other in the tent that night, as she'd whispered questions about his scars while John snored loudly a few feet away, that he realized her reaction had been borne of concern for him.
He remembered the way her hand had felt wrapped around his as she cried and told him she was glad he was no longer in the Silver City—that she was glad his Father couldn't hurt him anymore.
That camping trip held so many fond memories for Lucifer, yet it would forever be tainted—because that day at the lake had marked the beginning of the end, setting in motion a rather unfortunate series of events.
—January 1990—
Lucifer hissed through his teeth as he dragged the pocket knife through his tender flesh. Rivulets of warm blood tickled his skin, trailing down his back and onto the rubber mat beneath his feet.
He stood naked in the tub with his back to the mirror, looking over his shoulder so that he could see what he was doing. The cuts had to be precise, and he followed the outline his Father had set for him, tracing old scars and adding new ones.
With everything he'd been through in such a short amount of time—being so abruptly removed from the Silver City, settling in with the McKees, and getting swept up in being a kid for the first time with Chloe—he'd nearly forgotten all about them.
That day at the lake, Chloe had reminded him of what needed to be done. The concern she'd displayed had given him pause, though—had made him question if it was right, if it truly was necessary. In the end, his anxiety and dread and his Father's voice echoing in his head had won out.
I know it hurts, Lucifer, but you must be strong. If you are to become the Lightbringer, we need to carve out your wings. How else will they know where to grow?
How could he have forgotten?
He didn't know what would happen if he didn't carve them out. Would his wings not grow at all? Or would they grow inside of him with no way out, leaving his back lumpy and bulging? Would they eventually burst free in a mess of torn flesh and gore?
The thought had made Lucifer shudder, only strengthening his resolve.
Contorting his torso, he reached around himself to the center of his upper back and carved a swooping line downward, curving beneath his shoulder blade.
Through trial and error, he'd learned quickly to start near the small of his back and work his way up; otherwise, the blood would smear. When that happened, it was harder for him to see what he was doing. His skin would become slick, making it easier for the blade to slip, and precise cuts became all the more difficult.
He felt quite proud of the job he was doing—felt like his Father would have been proud, too.
When he'd begun nearly three months ago, his hand had been shaky, the cuts short and jagged. He'd had to stop a lot when the pain became too much. He'd dreaded it. When the cuts had mostly healed and he knew he'd have to reopen them all again, he'd feel sick to his stomach.
But now, he almost looked forward to it. His hand was steady and he quickly became numb to the stinging pain of the initial cuts. It was easy to lose himself in it—his mind was clear and free from everything else as he focused on making each cut precise. It gave him a measure of control—with each incision, he got to decide just how his wings would grow to look one day.
The doorknob to the bathroom jiggled, startling him. Lucifer's eyes shot to the door—the door he had forgotten to lock. As it slowly creaked open, he froze in place.
"Sam?" Amy's voice called softly as she pushed the door open the rest of the way. "What are you-"
The blood-curdling scream that escaped Amy's throat when her eyes landed on him would haunt Lucifer for years to come.
After that night, he started seeing his first therapist.
—May 1990—
"Chloe, give me more emotion! Ashley's father just told her he's getting married to someone she hates."
Chloe rolled her eyes, letting the script fall to her side. She and Lucifer stood facing each other in the center of the living room, running lines for an audition she had that weekend for a new Lifetime TV movie.
"We've run these lines a hundred times already!" she whined. "Can't Lucifer and I go play now?" She shot her mother a pleading smile, puppy-dog eyes and all.
From her perch on the couch, Penelope glanced at the clock on the wall. "Let's do one more read-through; really give it your all!" she encouraged. "Channel your annoyance at me into Ashley's character. Let's make this last one count."
Chloe heaved a sigh so big her shoulders sagged.
"And then you and Lucifer can go play," Penelope relented.
The concession had the desired effect, and Chloe did as her mother asked. She read her lines with gusto and nailed every single emotion. Lucifer read the part of Ashley's father, imitating an American accent that had made Chloe laugh hysterically when they'd started rehearsing nearly an hour ago. Now, her features were schooled—she was every bit the professional actress her mom wanted her to be.
Lucifer tried his best, too. Penelope was so glamorous—an actual movie star. Sometimes when they were out, people approached her for her autograph. Chloe always rolled her eyes when it happened, but Lucifer couldn't help but feel a bit star-struck by her.
"Wonderful job, darling! You too, Lucifer." Lucifer beamed with pride, happy to have impressed her. "Alright, I'm going to start dinner. Lucifer, honey, are you staying? We're having spaghetti and meatballs."
Lucifer nodded enthusiastically. He loved being included in the Deckers' family dinners.
Penelope switched on the TV and turned it over to the news, cranking the volume so that she could hear it while she cooked in the kitchen. "Alright then. You two stay close; it'll be ready soon."
"What should we do?" Chloe asked once her mom had disappeared into the adjoining room.
"Well your mom said we shouldn't go far. We could draw or color?" Lucifer suggested.
"Oh yeah! Great idea. I'll go get the spirograph! We can make some new designs for each other's rooms."
Chloe's voice faded out mid-sentence as Lucifer's attention was pulled to the newscaster in the center of the TV.
"Breaking News: Larry Johnson, the man who made headlines months ago as the leader of the Silver City cult, was found dead in his prison cell from an apparent suicide. Authorities are investigating for any signs of foul play.
Johnson once owned his own small plumbing company and was a well-liked member of his community. Interviews with people who knew him back then claimed the change to his personality had been sudden."
The program cut to footage of an interview with a former employee. "Larry was a good guy, a good boss. Humble, modest, hardworking. And then one day that all changed. He became paranoid and delusional—convinced he was God. It doesn't-"
Lucifer didn't notice Penelope hurrying back into the room, sudsy rubber gloves dripping onto the carpet as she rushed to turn off the television. She turned to face him, sympathy in her soft blue eyes.
"Lucifer," she began, but she was obviously at a loss for words.
Lucifer stood frozen, staring at the television.
His father was dead.
His mind went blank. There were no thoughts, just a rapid surge of emotions so complex he struggled to untangle them—confusion followed by quick denial, a wave of sadness, the swell of relief—and then guilt because of it. The weight of his feelings was too much, his chest tight and heavy. Tears filled his eyes and his lower lip began to tremble.
Chloe stared at him in shock, her concern for him evident in her expression. She moved to hug him, but he took a step back. Turning, he ran from the house.
Lucifer sighed, his fingers stilling on the piano keys. He let his head roll back and gazed at his distorted image in the reflective surface of the ceiling.
There were documentaries about it now. The Silver City religious cult led by Larry Johnson, the fanatical and delusional man who had believed himself to be God; the susceptible and naive women he'd conned into marrying him with an empty promise that one day he'd make them goddesses; and the many children they'd birthed for him—his little angels.
Other than Amenadiel, Lucifer didn't see most of his siblings often. While they hadn't exactly been safe in the Silver City, they'd had each other. Though the rest of Lucifer's childhood had been a hard one, there had been pockets of joy amidst the adversity. Some of his siblings hadn't been so lucky.
Just as the angel Samael had fallen from grace in religious lore, so had Lucifer, snubbed and vilified by the very siblings he'd fought so hard to protect. They needed someone to blame for the way their lives had turned out, and Lucifer was a willing scapegoat. He had been the one who'd made the call to DCFS after all, and so he felt as though it was the least he could do—and shouldering the blame helped him alleviate some of the guilt he felt because of it.
The elevator dinged and Maze let herself in, striding easily over to him.
"Hey," she greeted, leaning her elbow on the lid of the Steinway. "I saw you sneak in a while ago. Came up as soon as I could catch a break."
"I wasn't in the mood for company. And I needed to be away from…all of it." He gestured vaguely with his hand as he shot her a meaningful look, knowing she'd understand. They were alike in that way.
She nodded. "How's Chloe?"
"Banged up. But she'll be okay."
"She's a tough broad," Maze said, attempting to reassure him in her own way.
"That she is."
Once upon a time, Maze hated Chloe; claimed she made Lucifer boring. Lucifer would venture to say they were friends now, though. He knew she was truly concerned for Chloe's well-being.
"And Trix?" She had a soft spot for the urchin, too.
"Worried, of course. But she's handling it; she's strong."
Maze nodded, pride clearly written across her features—almost as if she were taking credit for Beatrice's strength. "Okay." She tapped her knuckles on the lid of the piano. "I just wanted to see how they were doing...and to check in on you."
Lucifer scoffed at the idea of needing to be babysat. "You know I don't keep booze up here."
"Still. We look out for each other."
He smiled, though it was small. Even through his annoyance, he appreciated the sentiment. "That we do, Mazie."
They stared at each other for a moment until her split eyebrow raised expectantly.
"I'm fine," he insisted, emphasizing the word in his annoyance. "I'm not about to go on a bender and replay some of our greatest hits."
Maze looked at him thoughtfully. "So, no breaking into airplane hangars and taking a Cessna for a joyride?"
"And no reenactment of that scene from Titanic at the top of the Library Tower, either."
"I won't get a call tomorrow morning begging me to pick your naked ass up from the zoo after you've spent all night trying to liberate the animals?"
"Sadly, no. I'm keeping my own snake locked up for the night."
Maze smirked. "Now that was a fun weekend."
Try as he might, Lucifer couldn't contain his small laugh of agreement.
She righted herself and took a step toward the elevator. "Well then, I'm gonna get back to it."
"Goodnight, Maze."
—May 1990—
Lucifer ran straight toward Chloe's treehouse without looking back.
He'd kept his promise to Jeff and Amy and hadn't snuck out there to sleep anymore, but he still drew comfort from the familiar space. He found it a little easier to process his thoughts and feelings there, the peaceful quiet something he wouldn't get over at his foster home.
He wondered if the McKees knew about his father. Would they try to talk to him about it? He didn't know if he wanted them to. They couldn't possibly understand how he felt, so how could anything they'd say make him feel better?
He wanted Amenadiel—he needed his big brother. Amenadiel would know what to say to make him feel better. But his older brother was lost to him and their father was dead and it was all Lucifer's fault.
An hour later, he was still there, watching the sunset from the window, his mind on death and Heaven and Hell.
"Lucifer?" Chloe's voice was soft and tentative behind him.
Quickly, he wiped his tears before turning to face her. She pushed a Tupperware container across the floor and then heaved herself up into the room.
"I brought you some spaghetti," she said, bending to pick up the container. Then, with an apologetic shrug, she admitted, "but I forgot a fork."
He chuckled softly, eyeing the container with little interest. "That's okay. I'm not hungry, anyway." He appreciated that she'd thought of him, though.
She made her way over to him, setting the container of spaghetti on the windowsill. "Was that your dad they were talking about on the news?" she asked.
He nodded. A fat tear escaped his wet lashes to roll down his cheek.
"Can I give you a hug?"
Lucifer swallowed. When Chloe had tried to hug him in her living room, the shock of his father's death had been so fresh—he'd felt raw and exposed. Penelope's pitying gaze on him had felt heavy. He hadn't wanted the attention, compassionate as it might have been, and physical touch would have only brought more of it.
But there in the treehouse, Chloe's eyes shining with sympathy and concern, he realized at that moment, he desired her comfort above anyone else's.
The lump in his throat was too big to form a reply around, so instead, he threw himself into her arms.
"Oof," she huffed, the force of his embrace knocking the air out of her lungs. A giggle escaped her lips despite the heaviness of the moment.
Lucifer began to laugh too, and together they sank to the floor in a heap of limbs. It felt good to laugh after the heavy sadness he'd been feeling.
Chloe untangled herself from him and leaned against the wall, stretching her legs out in front of her. He moved to sit beside her, their shoulders bumping every now and then as small giggles continued to escape sporadically as they calmed.
"I'm sorry about your dad," she said sincerely.
He didn't know what to say, so he only nodded.
After a moment, Chloe ventured, "You never talk about him anymore. You never really talk about any of it—creating the stars or becoming the Lightbringer."
Lucifer shook his head. "That's because it was all just a bunch of lies."
For weeks after he'd begun to see his therapist, he'd felt so lost. Learning that none of what his father had told him was true had been a shock to the system. It had taken him a while to fully believe what Dr. Stein was telling him. But he'd come to trust her quickly, and soon, there was no doubt in his mind that he was just a regular human—not destined to be anything as special as the Lightbringer.
"It was?"
"People don't just grow wings," he parroted her words back to her from the first night they'd met. "Or become angels. I was stupid to believe him."
"You weren't stupid," Chloe said vehemently. "We're supposed to trust what our parents tell us. And if you're stupid then so am I because I believed it too."
Lucifer's smile was small. He appreciated her solidarity, but feeling stupid for believing his father's lies wasn't the focus of his thoughts. "Why do you think he lied about it? Do you think he made it all up just so he could hurt us? Do you think he liked hurting us?"
Navigating a world where his father had hurt him and his siblings for no reason at all had certainly been difficult for Lucifer to grasp. Especially when he saw firsthand the care with which John took to being Chloe's dad.
By now, the cuts on his back had fully healed. He hadn't carved out his wings since the night Amy found him in the bathroom covered in blood. But the scars would remain—a reminder of his painful past and his father's deception for as long as he lived.
It all seemed so unfair to him.
Chloe shrugged. "I don't know. Do you think he did?"
Memories of nights on the compound flashed vividly through his mind. His father had always been stoic and resolute when making each cut for his wings and stern and disciplinary when punishing them, but he'd never seemed to enjoy it as far as Lucifer could tell.
"I don't know." Lucifer craned his neck up to look out at the sky. "Do you think any of it actually exists? God and Heaven and Hell and Angels? Or is it all just another lie?"
Chloe thought for a moment. "If none of it exists, then where would we go when we die?"
"Maybe we'd just…disappear. Forever."
Chloe shuddered. "I don't like that. We'd never get to see our friends and family again."
Even though she made a good point, Lucifer found the idea appealing. To just not exist, to be free from pain, to not feel anything at all? He thought it sounded peaceful.
"If all of it does exist, where do you think my dad is?"
She chewed on her lip. "Well…he did some really bad things, didn't he?"
"Yeah," Lucifer murmured. "He did."
"He probably deserves to be punished for them, don't you think?"
He did deserve to be punished, Lucifer thought. But the idea of his father burning in Hell for all of eternity didn't bring him the relief he thought it would.
—August 1990—
Lucifer's eyelids fluttered open, his room coming into focus. It was nowhere near as dark as it used to be and he smiled sleepily up at the glowing, plastic stars that dotted the ceiling above.
Smacking his lips together, he tried to swallow to wet his dry throat. He climbed out of bed and crept quietly up the stairs so that he could grab a glass of water. At the top of the stairs, he paused when he heard Amy's hushed voice. Curious, he peered around the doorframe.
His foster mom was pacing the kitchen, her hand resting on her belly. "I mean for God's sake, Jeff, he insists on being called Lucifer! And the therapist expects us to go along with it? It's not right. I don't understand why she won't work with him on warming up to the name Sam."
"He's been through a lot," Jeff replied calmly from his seat at the table. "You know that he associates the name Sam with abuse."
Rubbing gentle circles on her stomach, she continued to express her concerns. "We've tried for so long for a child of our own. What if he hurts the baby?"
Lucifer's brow furrowed in confusion. He couldn't believe that Amy was talking about him. He'd always loved having siblings and taking care of them. He'd never hurt them.
"Amy." Jeff reached for her hands. "The therapist has always said he's not violent."
"Not violent?!" She pulled her hands out of his grip to resume her pacing. "He carved wings into his back! And he's so impulsive. He just does what he wants and doesn't think about the consequences."
"He's still young and the therapy is helping. He's learning." He placed his elbow on the table and rested his head in his hand. "He's smart, too. He does really well in school."
"But he doesn't have any friends!" she exclaimed. "That's odd, Jeff. No matter which way you slice it, that's odd."
Jeff sighed and shook his head. "I thought he was close to the Decker girl—Chloe?"
"He is," Amy confirmed. "And it terrifies me to think of what might happen when he hits puberty. With how impulsive he is? The last thing I need is some kind of sexual assault scandal to deal with."
"You really think he's capable of that?"
Amy heaved a shrug and shook her head, seemingly resigned. "I just think it's too late for him. I've been reading about these orphanages in Romania. The children were abused and neglected, deprived of love and nurturing, and they just aren't right afterwards. They're not able to form loving attachments with others." Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. "When I was reading it, I just couldn't stop thinking about Sam and how much it reminded me of him. When he looks at me, there's nothing behind his eyes, Jeff—they're blank. I think he's too far gone. He's incapable of love."
Tears stung Lucifer's eyes. He blinked rapidly in an attempt to hold them in. Was that true? Was he incapable of love?
His father had said he'd been difficult to love due to his evil nature, but Lucifer had never questioned his own ability to love. He thought he loved lots of people—his siblings and his father, the Deckers, even his foster family.
Jeff grabbed Amy's hands and pulled her to stand in front of him. "He needs us, Ames. We can't just give up on him."
"Do you think this is easy for me? It breaks my heart to send him back. But they'll find him another home—one that's better equipped to handle his specific issues and give him what he needs." She sighed heavily in frustration. "You know, they weren't exactly up front with us about his history, otherwise we wouldn't have signed up for this. We've already got one child with special needs and the baby is gonna require a lot of our attention. And I'm afraid—I'm afraid of what he might do to the baby. I can't risk putting our child in danger. Sam has always made me feel uneasy."
Jeff stood and pulled Amy into a hug. "Let's sleep on it at the very least. We can talk more about it tomorrow."
As they made their way down the hall to their room, Lucifer slid down the steps, his thirst all but forgotten. He didn't want another home. He wanted to stay there—surrounded by the people who had made him feel cared for and safe for the first time.
That night, Lucifer buried his face in his pillow and cried himself to sleep.
.
Chloe dug a folding table out from underneath two tarps and an empty duffle bag. "A little help here?" she grunted at Lucifer as she yanked on the unwieldy piece of furniture.
Together, they slid the table out of the garage.
"Will you hold it up," she asked, moving to pull the legs out. "There," she said as they righted it. "Perfect for our lemonade stand."
They carried the table to the end of the driveway, running back and forth to the house to grab chairs, cups, and a poster board to complete their set-up.
Chloe pulled a sharpie from the front pocket of her overalls. Shoving the cap between her teeth, she yanked on the marker to pull it free.
"Alright," she spoke to herself as she leaned over the table and wrote in big block letters on the poster board, "LEMONADE 5¢". She stood back to look down at her work and then turned to Lucifer. "Okay! How's it look?"
Lucifer peered down at her neat handwriting. "It looks good," he replied, but he lacked the same enthusiasm Chloe had shown for their new venture.
She frowned at him, her eyes narrowing in curiosity. "Will you tape it to the front of the table while I go check on the lemonade?"
Lucifer nodded. Chloe sped off, shouting as she ran back toward the house, "Julie! Is the lemonade ready?"
She returned moments later carrying a large pitcher of the bittersweet drink. It sloshed around, nearly spilling over the edge a few times. She set it onto the table and took a step back, gripping the suspenders of her overalls as she surveyed their lemonade stand with pride.
She sat down on the chair next to his. "Do you think anyone will stop?"
He shrugged, his mind still on the conversation he'd overheard the night before.
"What's wrong, Lucifer?" she asked softly, swinging her legs where they hung over the edge of the chair, just tall enough for her toes to skim the pavement. "You've been mopey all afternoon."
Lucifer swallowed as tears filled his eyes. He looked away so that Chloe couldn't see. He didn't want to talk about it because once he voiced it, there was no going back. It would make it true.
She placed a gentle hand on his arm. "Whatever it is, you know you can tell me."
He sniffled, his eyes watery as they connected with hers. Meeting her warm, caring gaze, he was unable to hold it in any longer. "They're sending me away."
Chloe's brows furrowed. "What?!"
"I overheard them talking last night. Amy's gonna have a baby and…they think I'll hurt it." He shook his head a little, still not fully understanding why they'd think that of him. He shrugged, wiping at the tear that had escaped down his cheek, and came to the only conclusion he could. "I guess it makes sense; I am evil after all."
"No you're not, Lucifer. Those were all just lies your dad told you, remember?" Chloe's arms snaked around his shoulders. "You're not evil! Remember when I fell off my bike and scraped my knee? And you let me lean on you all the way back to the house even though we were two streets over? Would someone who's evil do that?"
Lucifer took a shaky breath as he pulled out of her hug. "Probably not. It doesn't matter, though. They're sending me away whether I'm evil or not." A fresh wave of tears welled up in his eyes as he came to a realization. "I'll never see you again." It would be just like what happened with his siblings last year. "I wish I could just live in your treehouse."
Lucifer watched Chloe's features harden as she got that determined look on her face—the look that meant she'd set her mind to something. "I've got a plan."
.
"Shhhh," Chloe warned as Lucifer shifted beside her. They stilled as the muffled sound of John's easy whistling reached their ears. "He's coming."
"I'm trying," he hissed back. In an attempt to get comfortable in the compact space, he pushed up onto his elbow, banging his head on the low roof in the process. "Ow."
Chloe snorted, and soon they had both erupted into fits of laughter.
"Shhhh," Chloe kept saying in between chortles. Lucifer tried to bite down hard on his lip, but it was fruitless.
Suddenly, light flooded into the tiny space as the trunk popped open. Squinting against the brightness, their giggles faded and they looked guiltily up at John.
"What are you two up to?" he asked, bringing his hands to his hips. He stared down at them, perplexity and amusement written clear across his face.
Their heads rolled to the side to look at each other. John cleared his throat expectantly.
"Come on, get out of there." He helped them climb out of the trunk of the car, closing it behind them. "Alright, tell me what's going on. You weren't really planning to hitch a ride in the trunk were you? That's really dangerous, you guys."
Like a mirror image, they both hung their heads in tandem.
"Chloe," John pressed.
She nodded. "We were."
"Why?"
Lucifer sniffled, realizing that their plan had been foiled. He hadn't had much faith that it would work anyway, but like with everything Chloe put her mind to, she did it whole-heartedly, without doubt or reservation. Her optimism had given him false hope.
She grabbed his hand in a show of support. "The McKees are getting rid of Lucifer," she told her dad angrily. "We were gonna run away. Well, not really run away. Just find a place for Lucifer to hide out until he could sneak back here and live in our treehouse."
Lucifer's eyes shifted up to see John's reaction.
His face softened, his lips pulling down into a sympathetic frown. "I'm sorry to hear that, Luce."
"I don't want to go," he said, his voice small. "I like it here."
John crouched down in front of him. "Change is scary, isn't it?" Lucifer gave him a small nod as he cast his eyes down to the pavement. "I bet you were scared when you first moved in with Jeff and Amy, too." Lucifer nodded again. "Well look how good that turned out! You met your best friend." John tipped his head in Chloe's direction, and Lucifer followed his gaze to his partner in crime. They smiled sadly at each other. "You got to go on your first camping trip and try your first s'more," he continued. "You got to experience your first real birthday party and Christmas. You gained a new foster brother in Andy."
Lucifer smiled, remembering all the good things that had happened over the last year.
"Change is always scary, but you can't run away from it just because you're afraid of how things might turn out. There's always the possibility that really good things can come from change, too—and that's what you have to focus on."
"But I'm gonna miss Chloe…and you."
John pulled Lucifer to him, wrapping his strong arms around Lucifer's small frame. "No matter what happens, Lucifer; no matter where you end up or how much time has passed, you will always have a home here with us," he said. Lucifer's arms wound tight around his neck in response.
As Lucifer began to cry in earnest, Chloe collided into him from behind, her arms sliding around his shoulders. She lay her head on his back, her body shaking with sobs, and John held them both as they cried.
.
The next few days were bittersweet.
He spent an afternoon with John and Chloe relocating their glow-in-the-dark constellations from his bedroom to Chloe's treehouse. His telescope (secure in its case) found a new home in the corner by the bookshelf.
He'd considered taking the stars and the telescope with him, but in the end had decided against it.
Before the McKees, he'd bounced around from home to home for a short time, never staying in one place long. It had been hard to keep track of his belongings when he moved around so much, not to mention some of the other foster kids he'd met had "sticky fingers". So, he'd decided to leave the important stuff in Chloe's possession for safe-keeping.
He memorized the Deckers' telephone number and Chloe made him promise to call once he'd settled into his new home.
And then the dreaded morning was upon them.
It was drizzling again, same as the day he had arrived. It seemed poetic to him in a tragic sort of way. He trudged slowly behind Jeff and Amy on his way to the car.
"Lucifer!"
He turned to see Chloe emerge frantically from her house, the front door slamming behind her. She ran across the yard still in her pajamas—barefoot, too.
"You can't leave without saying goodbye," she said tearfully, flinging her arms around him.
They hugged each other tightly. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes, but he did his best to hold them in. He was so tired of crying. John and Penelope joined them, taking their turns giving Lucifer a hug goodbye.
"I'm gonna miss you," Chloe said as he climbed into the backseat.
"I'm gonna miss you, too," he replied, a hot tear rolling down his cheek at her words.
"You'll always be my best friend, Lucifer," she told him. "To the stars; don't forget."
"I won't," he promised as more tears streamed down his face. Jeff came around and gently closed the door.
As Jeff backed out of the driveway and onto the road, Lucifer looked down at the duffle bag in his lap, a little bit fuller than it had been when he'd first arrived. He clutched it tightly in his arms, his few precious belongings nestled safely inside: a few new pairs of clothing; the Gabriel figurine from his father; the snapshot of him with John and Chloe on their camping trip with flowers in their hair now joining the one of him with his siblings; and one small glow-in-the-dark star.
He turned in his seat to look out the rear window. Chloe stood in the middle of the street with John beside her, his arm wrapped around her shoulders.
And then they turned into traffic and Chloe disappeared from his view.
:(
