Author's Note:

A couple of warnings:
1. In this chapter, something will be mentioned in passing about Limbo and Purgatory – specifically, it will be stated that they do not exist.
I'm not making this up; both claims are based (or half-based) on historical studies and theological documents.

More specifically, for Limbo, I'm referring to a 2007 document issued and then approved by the Pope, in which it's more or less stated that Limbo is hypothetical.

As for Purgatory, according to the historian Jacques Le Goff, the concept was introduced at the end of twelfth Century (see "The Birth of Purgatory") and didn't exist before. The book I mention explains the reasons in detail (I remember studying this at school.)

So, history lessons aside. If you're here, it means you're a fan of the show, so chances are you won't be offended by any of this; yet, the existence of both Limbo and Purgatory is common belief among Christian-based religions, and everyone is obviously entitled their own belief.
As I said before, all of this just gets mentioned in passing, and it is not relevant to the plot, so you can just thoroughly ignore it; but, if you think it might offend or upset you in any way, please, skip the chapter.

2. Also, some swearing in this chapter (someone drops the f-bomb. Just once but, well, you've been warned.)

Chapter 5: Deal with the Devil

Lucifer woke up with a start.

The first thing he noticed was that it didn't hurt anymore, a change that was definitely welcome. The agony in his side that had made even the mere act of breathing torturous, was gone. Completely. He gave an experimental tug to his upper body muscles, and they promptly obeyed – not even a twinge. Nice.

The second thing he realized, was that he wasn't trapped in a wreck with the Detective's offspring anymore. He was alone, now, standing in a…

…where exactly was he?

He looked around, but there was nothing to see. Just a wide expanse of pearly white, soft-looking nothing, if 'nothing' could even be described as soft-looking. Like some weird impalpable, fluffy substance spreading in every direction as far as he could see.

It definitely wasn't Hell, of that he was sure – which was a rather curious development. It obviously wasn't Heaven either (and thank goodness for that. He'd rather die than go back to the bloody Silver City, pun intended. Not that there was any chance of that happening.). It was just too empty to be Heaven. Besides, it simply couldn't be, for, if it had been, he'd been smitten on the spot - the perks of having been banned by the Almighty in person.

Some sort of Limbo, perhaps. Too bad that Limbo didn't actually exist – as didn't Purgatory, both imaginary places born out of bouts of human creativity.

He patted himself down distractedly, only to find out that the wound on his side was gone. His clothes were back in pristine condition: no tears, no blood, no child's snot, no treacherous pieces of rebar sticking out, nothing.

He was dead, that much was unfortunately obvious. But, if he wasn't in Hell and he wasn't in Heaven, well, where the heck was he?

Also - why wasn't he in Hell?

He let his gaze wander again, hoping for some sort of clue, but none came. Just the same peaceful nothingness that was probably supposed to be soothing.

Truth be told, he found it awfully dull.

With a practiced tug of his shoulders, he conjured his wings, and there they came. Just as the rest of his body, they were back in perfect conditions, clean of blood and dust, the white feathers glowing and vibrating slightly, even though there was no breeze.

And as much as he loathed the bloody appendages, he felt a surge of relief. He might not be able to really return to his life on Earth – no one to revive his mortal body this time, unfortunately – but he could at least try to go back in some other, incorporeal form, to make sure the urchin would come out unscathed; that both she and the Detective would be fine…

But the relief was short-lived: much to his horror, in facts, when he tried to unfold the wings and leave towards Earth, he found that he couldn't. More specifically, the things did unfold – but he was unable to cross the planes of existence.

Panic, real and unadulterated, rose like bile in his throat, and he gave another desperate try, and then another – but to no avail. He could fly about around the place like a bloody pigeon, but not through the place. He was stuck.

Well, fuck.

"Hello, my son."

The voice came from behind him, out of the blue – or one could say white, nearly making him jump out his skin. He pivoted on his heels and found himself face to face…

with his Father.

For a second it was like millennia hadn't passed – He looked exactly the same, from His stupid inconspicuous clothes to the placid, loving expression, feigning affection for all His creation. Ha! Like Lucifer didn't know any better…! He was even smiling slightly, as if He was delighted about Lucifer's presence –

Oh, the nerve.

"You," Lucifer hissed . He took an angry step towards the old man, immediately folding away his wings with a roll of his shoulders. He couldn't say what annoyed him the most right now – Father's umpteenth manipulation or the fact that he'd been caught using the wings. "What did you do to me? Where am I?"

His Father just cocked his head to one side. "Where do you think you are?"

Of course – a surge of irritation went through Lucifer – of course his father would answer a question with another question. A plain, clear answer was too much to ask for.

"And how would I know? There's nothing," he retorted.

God raised an eyebrow, His gaze pointedly trailing to a spot behind Lucifer's shoulder for a couple of seconds before focusing back on His son's face, but said nothing. With an impatient sigh, for he was loathe to humor his Father in any way but had no time to dawdle, Lucifer turned to look again into the nothing and, surprise surprise, he found out there was actually something now.

His eyes widened as his brain registered what that something was.

A silver gate.

And not any gate – but Heaven's bloody Gate.

And then it dawned. He was in the freaking antechamber of the Silver City.

He couldn't believe his eyes. What was this, another one of Father's sick jokes? A new punishment, maybe? Eternity in Hell wasn't punishment enough anymore, now he was supposed to be stuck alone forever in the void just outside Heaven?

"Nice touch, Dad," he spat. "Forcing me here – very classy."

"I did nothing of the sort. You got here on your own," God objected. He was standing close to him, clearly unperturbed by His son's evident aggravation, hands loosely clasped behind His back as He let his gaze travel around – the epitome of contented relaxation.

Lucifer felt like throttling him.

"Yeah, sure, why wouldn't I want to spend the rest of eternity just outside the place I'm banned from?" he mockingly asked, sarcasm bleeding freely in his words – hoping for some kind of reaction.

"Oh, you are, aren't you?"

What did that even mean? But no, he refused to play his Father's game. They wouldn't go there. "So, this is your great plan for the day? Coming here to gloat in my face after watching me die?" he asked instead, not caring to mask the accusation in his voice. "Did you enjoy the show?"

"I thought you didn't want me to interfere. After all, you didn't ask for my help," God mildly observed. "Not this time," He added, as an afterthought.

Lucifer felt his temper flare at the last remark. While not clearly spelled out, it was obvious that Father was referring to the whole Malcolm debacle – and the following mess with Mother. Trust Him to breezily forget millennia of neglect and rub in his face instead the only favor Lucifer had ever asked.

"Yeah – and look how well that turned out," Lucifer hissed, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

"Well, your Mother is now rendered harmless, in another universe entirely," God pointed out in a placid tone – the verbal equivalent of a carefree shrug.

"Which, by the way, would be thanks to me," Lucifer retorted angrily. Mother, walking around Earth undisturbed, had been a bloody menace – and of course he'd been the lucky one given the sorry task of containing her, obviously without any proper suggestion or indication on how to proceed. Oh no, Lucifer had had to come up with a plan all on his own.

"My point exactly," God beamed, and Lucifer felt his frustration rack up a notch – something he hadn't believed was possible.

He closed his eyes briefly to calm himself – though patience had never really been his strong suit – and opted to go back to the main point.

"So, what am I doing here? You still haven't told me. What did you do?"

"I told you. I had nothing to do with your current predicament, though I cannot truthfully say I am entirely unhappy with it," God replied. "This is your doing, son. Your choices, if you will."

"And what does that mean?"

"You shielded the child, didn't you?" his Father asked, pinning him with an intense stare. His voice had that bloody encouraging tone He used whenever He wanted His children to come to an important conclusion on their own. The sudden memory came unbidden; and it was so remote and yet familiar at the same time that Lucifer felt his breath catch.

He gave a curt nod, not trusting his voice enough to speak.

"And then your body sustained irreparable damage in the blast. You died," God explained.

This time, Lucifer actually rolled his eyes. "Aaand thank you very much for stating the obvious! I know I bloody died – even though I was trying to –" he cut himself off abruptly when he realized what he'd been about to say.

Something personal. Something he didn't want to share. A weak spot he couldn't risk his Father taking advantage of.

"…to hold on until help arrived so the child wouldn't be scared?" God said softly.

Damn omniscience. So much for keeping that under wraps.

"Yeah, well, I obviously failed," he snapped. "And I'd be glad if you stayed out of my mind, thank you very much."

God stepped even closer, invading Lucifer's personal space and, while Father's body language wasn't threatening at all, Lucifer felt himself stiffen at the undesired proximity, his mind screaming at him to run, hide or fight…

"Samael-"

"Do not call me that!"

"It's your name –"

"A name I rejected eons ago – when you got rid of me. Remember?" Lucifer seethed, cutting his Father off. "But as much as I'd love to stay here and reminisce about the oh-so-happy times, I'd like to be on my way as soon as possible – the farther away from you, the better. So, just answer my fucking question. What am I doing here?"

"Enough with the disrespect," God said sharply, a hint of warning finally appearing in his tone and Lucifer felt himself flinch against his will. But he refused to stand down – or step back.

"What am I doing here?" he asked again through gritted teeth, his tone more civil, if only marginally so. "Do I have to stay here?"

"Well, that's one option," God replied. "Or, I could send you back."

"Send me…back," Lucifer repeated slowly, uncomprehending.

"Yes, back. To Earth. To your body, just before you died. Undo your death, so to speak," his Father clarified.

Lucifer just stared at Him with his mouth open, speechless. This, he definitely wasn't expecting.

"But…why?" he finally recovered enough to ask.

"The child."

Lucifer bristled at the cryptic answer. "What about her?"

"Weren't you trying to keep her safe?"

"Well, yes, but…" he trailed off, bewildered.

He truly had no idea what all of this was about. Saying that his Father was unpredictable was the understatement of all time, sure, but this was obscure even for His standards.

"Then, perhaps you wish to go back to where you were before you died," God went on, unaware, or perhaps just unmindful of his son's perplexity.

Silence fell upon them, thick as a blanket. It was, no kidding, the last thing Lucifer was expecting. No, scratch that, it didn't even appear in the list of things he would've expected his Father to say.

"And you would just send me back? Just like this?" he asked, not bothering to mask the distrust in his voice.

"Yes," God confirmed. "Just like this - no strings attached."

"There's always strings attached with you," Lucifer commented bitterly, giving a disbelieving huff. The prospect was tantalizing – another chance on Earth, another chance with people he cared for – but he couldn't give in to temptation. Everything always came at a cost, especially with Father; and what if, this time, it would be a cost he wasn't willing to pay? What if, later on, God asked him something in return, something he wouldn't be willing to give? To do? Too great a risk.

Lucifer shook his head curtly. "Thanks, but no thanks. I don't trust you."

Something flashed on God's face at his words, something Lucifer couldn't quite identify. He was expecting anger, annoyance, but he could've sworn it looked like hurt instead. Weird.

His Father's voice was tight when He spoke again, with careful, deliberate words. "Would you consider accepting if we made a proper deal out of it? I hear deals are your thing."

The devil studied his Father with narrowed eyes. "With clear, explicit conditions? No fine-print, last-minute clauses? A good ol' what-you-see-is-what-you-get?"

His Father nodded curtly.

Lucifer barked a laugh. "A real deal with the Devil, I like it! Quid pro quo – now I recognize you, Father. I'm in – bring it on, do your worst."

God's serious expression clearly stated that He didn't share His son's mirth. If anything, His frown deepened.

"I'll send you back where you were just before dying and make sure help will get to you and the child in time. In exchange, you'll give me your word that, when the time comes, you'll accept your fate. No tricks, no evasive measures – you will go, and stay, where you belong."

Of course. Hell. Lucifer's smirk died on his lips at the thought, even though he had half expected it. Of course, Father would take the chance to force him back to the underworld- and making it a deal, no less, so that he'd be bound by his word.

Yet, absurd as it might sound, it almost seemed too easy. Make no mistake, the very idea of going back to Hell, permanently, was enough to send cold shivers of dread down his spine. Still, this was Father's original bidding; why was He using it as a bargaining chip, when it was supposedly already decided? Why wasn't He asking for more?

Lucifer eyed God warily, adjusting his cuffs to buy himself a few more seconds, half-expecting for the other shoe to drop – in the form of a last-second condition that would undoubtedly make the deal unbearable for him.

None came. Father was just staring at him expectantly, waiting for an answer.

"That's it?" Lucifer eventually scoffed, suspicious.

"That's it," Father confirmed.

"Just… 'go where I belong and shut up'? No other unpleasant tasks in the meantime? Nothing, say, about Cain?"

It was God's turn to frown. "What about him?"

"You do know what he's doing," Lucifer punctuated.

A single, curt nod. "I do."

"And what am I supposed to do with him?"

"That is your decision entirely, son."

Silence fell again.

Lucifer carefully considered the situation, doing his best to decipher Father's angle, but try as he might, he was unable to find the scam. He turned away from his Father, deep in thought, his gaze staring unseeing at the never-ending void.

As much as he loathed it, giving his word now meant committing himself for eternity to the task his Father had cast upon him – Hell, with no loopholes, no more L.A. holidays, no more escapades. And yet, what other options did he have?

Staying here, in the void, with no chance to go back and no knowledge at all about the fate of the Detective and her offspring? He couldn't even fly to Hell, let alone Earth!

"Very well, then," he announced after a while, turning back to face his Father. With a grimace, for he definitely loathed the very idea, he extended his right hand – after all, a deal was a deal, and a deal required a handshake.

His Father promptly took it to shake, the first time they touched in millennia; and then, instead of letting His son's hand go, God held on to it.

A flood of thoughts, memories, feelings assaulted Lucifer's mind at the touch, a whirlwind of emotions that was making him dizzy, and a powerful, encompassing sensation coming in waves from his Father; warm but not uncomfortable, it made his skin tingle as it trailed from his palm, up along his arm, his neck, and his brain, a sensation he couldn't quite recognize…

It was confusing. It was overwhelming. It was too damn much.

Lucifer jerked his hand away and staggered back a step, his breath coming in panting gasps. The onslaught immediately ceased as the contact was severed.

What the hell…?

He stared at his Father, really meeting His eyes squarely for the first time since this weird encounter had begun. There was something odd in his Father's gaze, in the way He was looking at him; something vaguely familiar, something Lucifer was sure he had already seen somewhere else recently, but that he couldn't quite place…

And then God opened His mouth to speak, only to hesitate and Lucifer felt his eyes widen in surprise. His Father, hesitating? It had to be a first.

"Samael – son," He finally began, hastily correcting Himself as He captured Lucifer's rebellious glance at the mention of his old name. His features still wore that soft look. "I- I heard you sing, before, to the child. In our tongue."

The Devil shrugged, suddenly feeling very self-conscious, and broke eye contact; if He'd heard him sing, no doubt He'd eavesdropped the following conversation with the spawn too – and his unfortunate moment of weakness. "Yes, well, the Detective's spawn was afraid. It brought her comfort," he said dismissively, tugging at the cuffs of his shirt.

It had brought him comfort, too - but it was something he definitely was not about to share. Just like it had always done, eons ago – Father singing softly to him whenever he was upset…

He gave a curt shake of his head, to drive away the unwanted memory. He so didn't want to go there. Not with Him. Not now. Not ever.

So, he flashed a megawatt, confident smile in Dad's direction instead. "Well, time's a-wasting, tempus fugit and all that stuff, so if you want to do the honors…" he said, gesturing with a flourish towards himself.

His Father's gaze lingered on him for a second, as if He wasn't quite ready to put an end to the conversation. It only lasted a second, tough, and then His blank expression slipped on again and He nodded. "Very well, my son. Well… good luck."

And then He snapped His fingers.

Lucifer suddenly felt himself falling in the darkness, the white mist disappearing from sight, and panic gripped at him for a second – memories of another Fall, remote and yet so vivid, and then it would hurt, and then he would burn…!

But no – he suddenly realized it was a different feeling: he was falling, yes, but not plummeting. More like something was pulling at him, at his very core, pulling him back…

And in the fleeting instant before his soul was finally reunited with his body, realization unexpectedly dawned. And it couldn't be, it had to be wrong, and yet he was sure at the same time…

That familiar, weird expression on his Father's face…he hadn't been wrong, he had seen it already: it was exactly the same look he had often witnessed on Chloe's face whenever she looked at her offspring – it held the same feeling that emanated from the Detective whenever she held her child in her arms.

Love.