A/N: The poem near the end of the chapter was written by redledgers for this fic.
—January 1995—
Taking a deep breath, Lucifer schooled his features. It took a moment; the emotions he felt weighed so heavy on his heart, persistent in their attempts to pour out of him, but he swallowed them down—he knew panicking wouldn't help anything.
With a final resolute sniffle, he took in his surroundings. He knew he was at 10th and Swanson, but those street names were unfamiliar to him and did little to clue him in on his whereabouts.
It was dark as he walked along the sidewalk, the sun having finished its descent while he'd worked to get ahold of his emotions. He passed by people huddled under tarps in the mouths of alleyways, and scantily clad women working on street corners. They reached for him, their smiles as suggestive as the words leaving their red-painted lips. His heart raced as he dodged their grabby hands, stories from other foster kids about being picked up and pimped out on the streets hastening his stride.
When he came upon a payphone, a surge of hope coursed through his veins, but it was short-lived as he patted his pockets and realized he had no money. Still, he picked up the phone and held it to his ear, holding out hope for a dial tone. All he heard was silence.
The receiver slipped from his fingers, and he left it dangling by its cord as he backed out of the cubicle, his chest feeling hollow as a cold hopelessness dropped into the pit of his stomach.
He thought about Chloe, the image of her face so clear and vivid in his mind. Her bright blue eyes and soft blonde hair; the way her entire face lit up when she laughed at one of his jokes.
Would he ever see her again?
Would her face begin to fade from his memory just as his siblings' had?
Would she even miss him if he disappeared for good?
He didn't want to think about that. He hoped he meant as much to her as she meant to him, but unforgiving voices hissed from the depths of his mind: You're nothing. No good. Worthless. Why would she miss you?
He shook his head, allowing Chloe's own words from just a few weeks ago to echo louder, soothing his insecurities.
You didn't do anything. You don't deserve this.
And then quieter, words she'd spoken long ago.
You're not evil.
She had faith in him for some reason, and while he didn't fully believe it about himself, he trusted her. He wanted desperately to believe her. But those other voices in his head were unceasing and merciless, making it hard to.
If he was a good person like Chloe said, then why did so many bad things happen to him? Why did so many people tell him he was disturbed, or evil, or worthless?
He sank onto the dirty sidewalk, his back to the wall of the payphone booth. People walked past, but no one stopped—no one spared him a second glance. He tucked his feet under his legs, doing his best to keep warm, and hugged the duffle bag close to his chest. Burying his face in the rough fabric, he tried to banish the negative thoughts that were consuming his mind.
He closed his eyes and focused only on her voice.
You can't see me, but I'm right here.
You'll never lose me.
I'll be with you always.
He let himself imagine that she was with him now, sitting beside him. They weren't on a dirty street in a sketchy part of the city, but on the bank of a lake instead. He ran his fingers along the fabric of his duffle, almost feeling the softness of the picnic blanket they would be sitting on.
They'd recline back on their elbows, and he'd point out the stars to her, his favorite constellations and nebulae. He wondered if she'd remember them from when they were young. He didn't talk about the stars much anymore…didn't talk about a lot of things from his past. The memories felt like too much, now tainted and bittersweet, and most of the time he just wanted to forget.
He thought she might turn to him, and with her eyes shining brighter than any of the stars above, she'd whisper, I remember.
What would she do if he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers? He imagined she'd respond first with a small gasp of surprise, but then she'd return the kiss, just as eager as he, and her lips would move so gentle and slow against his.
He wasn't sure how much time had passed when a voice, quiet and careful, brought him out of his daydreams. "You okay, kid?"
He looked up into the face that peered down at him, and his breath caught. For a split second, he thought he was looking at an angel, but then the person moved, stepping out of the direct angle of the streetlight which had given him a heavenly halo.
It was just a regular person, a boy who looked to be college-age. Lucifer met his friendly eyes and immediately felt safe with him. He sniffled, wiping at the dry tear tracks on his cheeks.
"Do you have any change so that I can make a call?" he asked, nodding toward the payphone.
The boy fished around in his pocket. "Aha! You're in luck. I've got fifty cents."
His chest deflated as a sigh escaped his lips, some of his fear and anxiety melting away. He couldn't stop the wide smile that spread across his face. "Thank you," he said gratefully as the warm coins were dropped into his palm.
The boy continued down the street, and Lucifer wondered if he had any idea how such a simple gift might have saved his life.
He climbed to his feet and entered the payphone booth.
There was only one number he thought to call.
.
When John pulled up to the curb, sirens blaring and lights flashing, Lucifer's knees nearly buckled, a small sob of relief bubbling up his throat as he stumbled toward the road.
John flung the car door open and rushed over to him, grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him into his chest.
The need to put on an act, to come off as tough and unaffected, disappeared under the weight of his relief, and Lucifer sank into the embrace immediately, his arms winding around John's back and holding on tight. He felt like a child again, small and scared, but John had always made him feel safe, secure, and loved.
"Are you okay?" he asked into the top of Lucifer's head. "Are you hurt?"
Lucifer shook his head against John's shoulder. "I'm fine."
The older man let him go, slipping out of his jacket to wrap it around Lucifer's shoulders. Pulling the worn leather tighter around himself, Lucifer inhaled the familiar scent that lingered on the fabric.
John's eyes dipped to Lucifer's bare feet. "You must be freezing. Come on, get in the car."
The ride home was a quiet one. John blasted the heat, and Lucifer warmed quickly, his gaze fixed on the passing world outside the window. He couldn't help wondering where he'd end up next; he knew he wouldn't be able to stay with Maria, not after this. He didn't feel worried about it, though, in the way that he had before. He just felt numb.
When they pulled into the driveway, the front door flew open and Chloe ran over to them. She had clearly been waiting for their arrival.
As soon as he climbed out of the car, her arms were around him. "Are you okay, Lucifer?" she murmured near his ear.
I am now. The thought fluttered through his mind. As long as I'm with you.
Humming quietly, he nodded against her shoulder. Tentatively, his arms came up to hold her waist, and she tightened her grip around him in response.
"Come on," she said softly, as she pulled away.
Her hand ran down the length of his arm until she grasped his fingers, and she led him into the house, where the lights were dimmed and blankets were piled onto the sofa. A cozy fire crackled in the fireplace.
"It's movie night," she told him.
Penelope came in from the kitchen, taking her turn to pull him into a warm hug. "Thank God you're alright, Lucifer. You'll stay right here with us for now, okay? John is going to call DCFS tomorrow, and we'll get everything figured out. You're safe now."
Lucifer sighed. As reassuring as her words were, they weren't quite the reassurances he wanted to hear. He wished to be safe with them forever. It was his deepest desire to be a part of their family, to belong to them. But wishes didn't come true—not for him.
He knew they cared about him, but since they hadn't taken him in yet, he didn't think they truly wanted him as a member of their family—and why would they?
You're incapable of love, Amy McKee's voice reminded him.
He shook her voice from his head as John entered the room. As he passed him on his way to the recliner, he handed Lucifer a pair of thick wool socks. "Why don't you pick the movie tonight, Luce?"
Lucifer wanted to feel embarrassed by their sympathy and the way they fussed over him, but he didn't. They didn't make him feel ashamed of all that had happened to him. They only made him feel included and cared for and safe. They made him feel like he was home.
And even though he knew it wouldn't last, even though he knew this wasn't his home, not really, and that as early as tomorrow he'd be placed somewhere else, maybe even somewhere far away from them, he let the warmth of the feeling spread through him.
Tonight, he'd pretend like they were his family, like he was home, like he belonged to them.
He glanced at Chloe, wondering if she was okay with him choosing the movie. She nodded encouragingly to the cabinet filled with their collection of VHS tapes. "Pick one!"
As Lucifer went to scour the options, John turned toward Penelope. "Come here, love," he murmured, holding his hand out to her.
Lucifer paused to watch them for a moment, feeling a longing deep inside his chest as John pulled Penelope onto his lap and settled a blanket over them. She curled into him, her head resting against his.
His eyes darted back to Chloe who was busy arranging blankets on the sofa. One day, when they were older, he wished to have that with her. He wanted it so badly, even though the voices in his head reminded him that he'd never be good enough for her.
Lucifer settled on Jurassic Park, popping it into the VCR. Chloe patted the spot next to her on the couch, a warm, inviting smile on her face. His stomach somersaulted at the sight of it.
He sat beside her, pulling on the warm socks John had given him. Once he finished, Chloe abruptly threw her arms around his shoulders again, giving him a quick sideways hug. When he looked at her, she smiled sheepishly, her cheeks a little pink as she shrugged.
"I'm just glad you're okay," she whispered. Then she lifted the edge of her blanket and settled it over his lap, too. They didn't touch, but she was close enough that he could feel a comforting warmth radiating off of her.
As the movie began to play, she settled a big bowl of popcorn into the space between them. And though neither of them acknowledged it, every so often they'd reach into the bowl at the same time, their fingers brushing softly together.
"…and John forgot to turn on the oven," Frank recalled, his deep chuckle reverberating through the small hospital room. Lucifer watched him wipe a jubilant tear from his eye as he told the story. "He went to check on the chicken to find it hadn't even started roasting yet."
"He felt so bad," Penelope added from her spot near the window. She turned to look at Chloe and Lucifer. "And it didn't help that these two were moaning that they were starving."
Trixie giggled and tilted her head up against Chloe's shoulder to see her mom's sheepish grin. "So what did you do for dinner then?"
Chloe pressed a kiss to Trixie's forehead. "Dad started the oven—he refused to let us order out." She shrugged. "His heart was set on making that particular recipe for us—and while we waited for the chicken to cook, we found the perfect way to entertain ourselves."
"You did? How?"
"At the piano," Frank answered, drawing the little girl's attention back to him. "I played a few songs, and then we convinced Lucifer to play something for us. He'd just started lessons."
"Lucifer's the best piano player ever!" Trixie exclaimed.
Lucifer chuckled at the enthusiastic praise. "Why thank you, Urchin. But back then, I was only just learning."
"You were good, though," Chloe remarked with a smile that said she wouldn't let him get away with being modest. "Even back then."
"He was a natural!" Frank clapped him on the back, pride shining in his eyes. A pleasant warmth flowed through Lucifer at the sight of it, his chest expanding a little.
"We had such a blast that night," Penelope said. "It became the first of our Cabaret Nights. We turned it into a monthly tradition after that."
"I miss those evenings," Frank said, his joyful smile slipping into something smaller and sentimental. "Lively conversations over John's wonderful cooking. Heading to the piano afterward—Lucifer always accompanying," he bumped his shoulder to Lucifer's, "Penny delighting us with her lovely voice."
Penelope blushed and waved him off, though she sat up a little straighter at the compliment. "Oh, stop it, Frank."
Frank smiled and continued. "Sometimes Lucifer would sing too if we were lucky. And then, after a few songs, John would always request-"
"Heart and Soul," Lucifer and Chloe chimed in together. Their eyes found each other's, a soft wistfulness passing between them.
"And then he'd drag Chloe off the couch-"
"Always trying to embarrass me," Chloe cut in with a small laugh, shaking her head.
"-and spin her around the room."
"He knew I hated dancing." She feigned annoyance, but Lucifer could hear the fondness in her tone.
The lighthearted laughter that had been the soundtrack to their afternoon faded into a quiet moment that was thick with nostalgia, each of them lost in their own memories from times past.
"What else?" Trixie asked in a whisper as she snuggled a little deeper into Chloe's side. Chloe hugged her daughter tighter as Frank met the child's curious gaze.
"Well," the older man continued, "we'd play for a bit, everyone requesting the songs they wanted to hear...and then, as the evening wound down, we'd always end the night with another of your grandpa's favorites."
"Unchained Melody," Chloe murmured as she let her cheek fall to rest against the top of Trixie's head.
As Frank began to hum the tune, Lucifer's eyes drifted toward Penelope. She had a far-off look in her misty eyes, a slight smile tugging at her lips.
At the end of each of their Cabaret Nights, Frank and Lucifer would transition into the slow notes of Unchained Melody, and John would pull his wife close. They'd move around the room, their foreheads pressed together, lost in their own little world.
Invariably, Lucifer's eyes had been drawn to Chloe. Her expression had always been so open as she watched her parents dance. They'd been at the age where everything Penelope did had driven Chloe crazy, but in those moments, there had been no resentment in her gaze, only a simple fondness that had warmed his heart.
"Those were some wonderful nights," Frank concluded, his voice a deep rumble. Everyone in the room echoed the sentiment with soft hums and nods of affirmation. "John was something else, wasn't he? I never knew a better man. You know," he turned toward Lucifer, "when I first submitted my application to foster you, he paid me a visit."
"He did?" Lucifer's brow furrowed in confusion. "I didn't know that."
Frank nodded. "Showed up on my doorstep out of the blue one day and told me that you had been through a lot, and that you deserved a good home and a family that would love and care for you. Prove to you that good people do exist. He asked me if I could be that for you. That day, he earned my respect immediately, and I hope I earned his when I assured him that I'd do my very best to do right by you."
"But if it was before you took me in, how did he even know?"
Frank shrugged, and Penelope cleared her throat.
"We never told you this," she began as she leaned forward in her chair. "But John and I always wanted to foster you, Lucifer." The confession hit him like a blow to the chest, taking his breath away. "When you and Chloe told him that the McKees were sending you back, we started the application process that day."
She shook her head and continued, "But the system was a mess—the process took months, and it was nearly impossible to request a specific kid, especially once you'd been placed somewhere else. So nothing came of it. You got placed in a new home, and we were at a standstill. And then you found your way back to us, and it seemed like things were okay at Maria's. You seemed happy. Obviously, we missed the signs that something was wrong." She smiled, though it wasn't a happy one, guilt evident in her features.
"After Maria's boyfriend left you in Van Nuys, John pulled some strings to get you into the group home at St. Morgan's. It was just supposed to be a temporary arrangement while we got the paperwork updated and waited to be approved to foster you. When the social worker told John that Frank had put in an application for you, he was devastated. He thought he'd failed you again." She turned to Frank, her smile now sincere. "But then he met you, and he liked you right away."
Turning back to Lucifer, she finished, "When we saw you together, the bond you had formed was clear, and we knew that you belonged with him. You belonged with each other."
"He—you both—wanted to foster me?" Lucifer asked, his voice a whisper of disbelief.
"John loved you like you were his own son, Lucifer. He loved you from the moment you moved in next door."
He nodded, his eyes brimming with tears as his heart swelled with affection for the first man to ever be something of a father to him. He wished more than anything that he could be there with them now, give anything to be able to throw his arms around him one more time and sink into that warm, familiar embrace. Sniffling, he struggled to keep the tears from falling, embarrassed to be so emotionally vulnerable with so many eyes on him.
Chloe reached for his hand and brought it to her lips, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles. She moved his palm to her cheek, turning her face into it with a gentle nuzzle, and looked up at him through her lashes. "That would have made you my brother," she teased softly.
Lucifer laughed, happy that Chloe had broken the heavy moment with a lighthearted joke. She always knew just what he needed.
"Well, it's a good thing Frank came along then, isn't it?" He shifted his gaze to Frank, hoping he knew how much he meant to him. That while hearing that the Deckers had always wanted him to be part of their family was something he'd always dreamed about, he was also grateful for the way things had turned out.
Two of the best men he'd ever known had wanted to be his father, and he suddenly realized just how lucky he was that he'd gotten to have both of them in his life.
—February 1995—
As the clock chimed noon, the boys of St. Morgan's group home erupted into cheers. It was Saturday, and they'd spent the morning tidying the church to ready it for Sunday services. They began to file out, some with brooms and dusters in hand, others carrying buckets of murky water that sloshed with their excited movements.
One of the staff members, Brad, a volunteer from a local college, ushered them out of the chapel and toward the cafeteria.
The smallest boy paused in the doorway, turning to look over his shoulder on his way out. "Are you coming to lunch, Luci?"
"I'll be along in a minute, Pat. Grab me a bag of cool ranch puffs will you?"
Pat nodded dutifully and then scurried off. Brad sent Lucifer a wink and then left him alone in the chapel.
He eyed the doorway for a moment, making sure that none of the boys returned because they'd forgotten something. When the chatter was no longer audible and he was certain that he was alone, he rounded the pews and made his way up the aisle toward the sleek piano at the front near the pulpit.
He ran his hand along the smooth wood finish as he passed, sliding onto the piano bench, the velvet seat cushion worn and flattened out.
Closing his eyes, he let his fingers dance over the keys, bringing to life a slow and somber melody that prior, had only existed in his mind.
He enjoyed bringing the music in his head to life, found it to be quite effortless. A catharsis for the feelings that sometimes got so big and heavy in his chest that he thought he might burst.
The group home wasn't so bad, really. It was safe. He was fed. And he liked having people around all the time—it reminded him of how things used to be in the Silver City. The staff for the most part were young and maybe a little naïve and hopeful in their attempts to make a difference, but they had good intentions and their hearts were in the right place.
Some of the boys had issues, but many were there only temporarily, waiting for new foster placements. For the most part, Lucifer kept to himself, the one exception being little Patrick, whom he'd taken under his wing. Some of the older kids had been picking on him for crying at night—the sound of his blubbering did make it hard to fall asleep—but he was young and scared, and Lucifer's heart went out to him. He reminded him of his siblings.
It had been six years since he'd last seen any of his siblings. Little Rae Rae would be eleven years old. Would he even recognize her if he passed her on the street? She would have grown so much. He thought of sweet Zadkiel, so earnest and virtuous. Did he still believe the world was a fair and just place? Or was his innocence stolen the same way Lucifer's had been?
He closed his eyes and tried to picture Zad's face in his mind, but his features were blurry. Were his eyes blue or green? Was his hair the shade of straw or did it have more of a golden hue, like honey?
A tear slipped down his cheek as he struggled to remember, trying to will the image of his brother's small face into focus.
When it remained blurry, he let himself get lost in the music flowing from his fingertips. Softly, he began to recite a poem he'd written, his voice taking on a gentle cadence as he sang the lines in time to the melody.
i wonder where they are now,
wonder what breath has been stolen from them,
what joy they have lost,
scattered like seeds and none the wiser.
do they have mothers to sing them lullabies,
to rub dirt from their cheek,
to chase nightmares away?
or has that been stolen, too?
i have no mother, no lullaby,
only the sounds of anger and sadness
and your voice—
breaking through the static
as if it might lead me
back.
The sound of a creaking floorboard snapped him out of it. His eyes blinked open quickly, his mask of indifference already slipping into place before his gaze had even landed on the intruder.
One of the priests stood in the doorway. Lucifer could tell by the sheepish look on his face that he hadn't intended to make his presence known.
Lucifer's lips pulled up into a practiced smirk. "See something you like, Padre?" he flirted, the tip of his tongue poking into his cheek suggestively.
He'd expected the sordid implication of his greeting to fluster the priest, send him stumbling away stuttering and embarrassed, but the priest only smiled, a little amused, and took a step into the chapel.
"As a matter of fact, I do."
Lucifer's eyebrow raised in surprise, but he kept up the act, though his heart pounded apprehensively in his chest. He hadn't expected the holy man to respond to his flirtation, certainly not in the affirmative.
While the thought of a priest taking advantage of a minor gave him a sick feeling in his stomach, Lucifer wasn't entirely opposed to using sex as a bargaining chip. And having a priest in his pocket could be beneficial to his time at the group home.
"How long you been playing?" The priest nodded toward the piano as he took another step into the chapel.
As Lucifer realized the priest's interest lay in his piano playing, his apprehension waned, replaced by an impressed sort of respect for the way the man of the cloth had turned the tables on him. He shrugged. "Oh, I was just mucking about. I don't play."
"You've never had lessons?" His surprise was evident in his tone.
Lucifer tilted his head to the side sardonically. When he spoke, his voice dripped of condescension. "Come now, Padre. Do I look like someone who's had piano lessons? You'd have to have a family with money for something like that—and I've got neither." His face brightened. "Though, I suppose I could pay for lessons in other ways if the right teacher were to come along."
The priest chose to ignore the snarky innuendo. "You've got some natural talent, kid. What's your name?"
It always gave him such a thrill to shock the holy leaders and patrons of the church with his name, and a delighted smile stretched across his face, curious to see this priest's reaction to it. "Lucifer. Lucifer Morningstar."
The holy man looked at him with obvious disbelief etched in his features. "Your given name?"
"Lucifer is my given name. God given, I'm afraid. Well, delusional-man-who-thought-he-was-God given if you wish to be precise."
The priest's eyes widened with recognition. "The Silver City Cult?"
"Mhm," Lucifer confirmed with a smug sort of satisfaction. "The one and only."
"And the song you were singing before…it was about your siblings?" the priest asked softly, finally closing the last of the distance between them and standing to the side of the piano.
Lucifer's smile fell. He didn't know why he felt compelled to open up to this stranger, why he felt like he could trust him already. But he did. He nodded. "I haven't seen them in years." He turned his gaze to the keys, unable to look the priest in the eye as he spoke so open and vulnerably. "I don't know where any of them are...or if they're safe or happy."
The older man slid onto the bench beside Lucifer, leaving plenty of room between them. "I met one of your siblings once."
Lucifer's head snapped toward him, curiosity and hope shining in his eyes.
"Remy," he clarified.
A tentative smile inched across Lucifer's face. "Remiel. Remy." He let out a shaky breath as he debated whether or not he truly wanted to know the answer to the question that had perched on the tip of his tongue. In the end, his curiosity won out.
"How is she?" His voice wavered as he spoke the words, his heart pounding in his chest.
"She's wonderful. Adopted into a lovely family. She's got an older sister and a dog and a big yard to play in." The priest nodded reassuringly. "She's happy."
A wave of emotion washed over Lucifer. He struggled to contain his emotions in front of the stranger, his teeth digging into his wobbly lip as tears filled his eyes, threatening to escape. A few broke free as he nodded. He turned away to wipe them discreetly from his face, before taking a deep breath and swallowing down the lump that had formed in his throat.
He turned back to face the priest. "Thank you, Father…?"
"Frank. Frank Lawrence. It's nice to meet you, Lucifer."
