As a reminder - in Lucifer, during the Uriel arc, Lucifer explained that any being (Angel or otherwise) killed with Azreal's blade will not just kill an angel, that if they're killed with that blade, there is no heaven, no hell. They're gone-gone.

During this time, it is also explained that only weapons made in heaven or hell can hurt an angel, but it is Azreal's blade specifically that just wipes out their existence entirely. Because of that detail, I like to think that it is possible for angels to lose their 'physical body' or to be severely injured (but just like vampires, it is just really hard and need hell-made or celestial-made weapons to do it), but that they would simply re-manifest in heaven and could theoretically come back down to Earth.


CHAPTER THIRTEEN

COMFORT AND UNDERTHINGS


Carlisle, I need you. Please.

Carlisle rushes to her house the moment that he ends the call - his eyes glistening with worry as her distraught voice still rings in his ears. He knows that type of voice - that tone of breaking, the way your voice shifts when your heart shatters into a million pieces and you scream at the sky. Her voice was slurred with hiccups as she struggled to breathe properly to talk, making their conversation short and vague.

All he knew was that she needed him to get to her house; that she begged him to come help her. Something that makes his heart drop as a rock settles in his gut. It makes him worried about what he is going to be walking into - but he prepares for the worst, braces himself for any fight and it does not stop him from entering her house without hesitation.

The moment that he swings open the door, her birds coo at him frantically as they fly in distress around the ceiling. His eyes dart around for any sign of her, taking in the broken pieces of furniture and the large holes going straight through the concrete wall. He finally spots her in the midst of the chaos, slumped down against the wall near one of the holes, still in the outfit from the day before.

He approaches her immediately, but carefully as if he's scared that he will frighten her away. Her hair lacks its usual life and luster, creating a mess of tangles and shadows that hide her face from view as she tucks her knees to her chest.

"Ariel."

Carlisle's voice breaks through the tense silence as he is immediately at her side, kneeling down on his knee to check her over. His voice makes her stir, but her lack of energy is immediately apparent. He still is not sure if there was some type of fight or struggle or if she did this herself, but either way she must be exhausted.

His doctor instincts kick in first, checking for obvious injuries as the back of his hand goes to her forehead to check for a fever. When there is none, his hand grazes against her cheek as he brushes her hair out of her face. His eyes gleam with concern as she hesitantly looks up at him, her eyes glistening and her cheeks stained with past tears.

He takes her into a tight embrace without thinking, his arms wrapping around her waist. She leans into it and when her arms return the embrace, she squeezes him tightly with soft mumbles that are too incoherent to understand. He holds for her as long as it takes, whispering soft reassurances and rubbing circles on her back until she calms down enough to speak.

"I never really visit with my family," Ariel admits, her voice raspy and barely audible even for him, "I - I haven't always been the best with keeping touch and to be honest, none of them are either. Lucy and Delia are the only ones I ever really see anymore, but -"

"-But when we were younger and we were all at home," she continues hesitantly, "I loved all of my siblings, even if we never got along, even though some of them could be cruel and mean. As kids, everyone picked on little Urie. He was - different from everyone else. Always a bit off."

Carlisle can feel his throat begin to close, a bitter knowing feeling growing in his chest as he begins to understand where this conversation is going. He doesn't stop her, nor rush her, merely settling down beside her to listen. She leans on his shoulder with a faraway gleam in her eyes and he chooses to focus on the glistening swirls of yellows and gold instead of the way his heart aches for her. He can feel the pain powering from her in intense, raw waves that would make him cry if he were able.

"-I always tried to include him," Ariel licks at her bottom lip as she rests her head back, closing her eyes and Carlisle focuses on the way her heart beats slowly as it returns to normal. "But Urie had a very black and white way of seeing the world. He was never good at understanding how complex love can be so in his eyes, because I loved the ones that picked on him, I must've not loved him."

The conversation feels like an open wound - a raw, exposed nerve that is dangerous to touch, dangerous to fix. It leaves a strange static energy in the air, full of tension and emotion that makes a part of Carlisle wonder if it can be fixed and if it is even his place to do so. The other part feels selfish for thinking that her disappearance had anything to do with what they did together - for what he did.

But the fact that he's the one she calls - that she is the one who goes to him for comfort, for reassurance, brings him confidence that he is doing that the right thing in pursuing this. Pursuing her.

"I left home not too long after," Ariel breathes in through her nose and out slowly through her mouth as she focuses on the way Carlisle's palm rests on her, "Lucy did too. I never went back. Never got a chance to say goodbye or apologize. Urie - Urie did some bad things, I don't blame anyone else for what happened to him. But I can't help but think that if I stayed home with him or I got back in touch sooner, then I could have stopped it."

But she does blame herself. Carlisle can see it in her eyes when she glances up at him, her eyes wide with guilt. He's seen that look before, when he arrives too late. When he debates if he can or should change someone. When he wonders what he could have done - what he should have done. His fingers dip into her shoulder tightly as he squeezes her - harder than he intended to, but when she doesn't complain nor does anything break, he swallows thickly and loosens his grip.

While there are a million things he could have said, he thinks back to his faith and falls back on the traditional saying for someone grieving.

"I'm sure that he's in a better place," Carlisle says simply, but sincerely.

Ariel's voice turns bittersweet with a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. Something about her expression, her tone of voice shifts into something almost unreadable - as if she knows something that he doesn't, as if there is so much more to the story that she simply can't say.

"If only it was that simple."


Carlisle stays to help her repair the damage that she did to the house's walls and furniture despite her insistence that she could do it herself. He even pays for the supplies needed, making a quick trip to town as she cleans herself up before getting started.

She appreciates the distance and the help; she knows that he takes longer than he needed to give her space, time to wrap her loose threads together, but even as she catches glimpses of herself in a shattered mirror - a mirror that she doesn't even remember breaking - she can't help but just simply feel tangled in those loose threads.

She was so blind with rage and hurt that coming home to break everything she could seemed like the better option. Better than going off on Lucy - she couldn't bring herself to yell at him, hit him, or even fight him. She wanted to be mad at him directly, but she was almost mad at herself for not being mad at him; she understood why he did it so deeply. She hates that she would have done the same thing in his shoes; sibling or not, if someone was threatening to kill the person she loved, threatening to kill Mom on top of it, she would have done the same thing.

She did hit Amenadiel when he tried to stop her from leaving, with tears running down her cheeks as it only proved that she made the right choice in running back home.

Few words are exchanged as they make quick work of throwing out the broken pieces of furniture and applying plaster to the holes in the wall, all the while her birds coo and watch them curiously. More than once, they land on her shoulders to watch her actions with tilted heads and soft noises.

It does not take long before they're done - most of the time is spent waiting for plaster or paint to dry before continuing to the next step. When they were left in those waiting stages, they spent in silence with her simply resting on his shoulder as he pressed comforting kisses to the top of her head. It is a simple gesture - something not as hot nor passionate as their previously shared kiss, but it is enough. More than enough.

The final product is a big improvement to what she had done to it; her plants remain intact, not having the heart to do any damage to them even in her grief. But even with the touches of green, the room just looks newer. Emptier.

Less homey.

The dirt and grim from the day cover her skin, sweat gleaming off of her brow and chest. She glances at Carlisle as their work is finished. His hair is only slightly more ruffled, looking soft and fluffy, but still clean. Still relatively perfect. He had discarded his jacket and rolled up his sleeves to work, but neither his shirt nor his trousers have an ounce of paint or dirt. He still looks perfect - like he stepped off a housewife's magazine.

A small laugh bubbles in her chest, but it grows before she can stop it. The simple release of the emotions that had been built up in her chest burst through as her laugh turned infectious and boisterous. Carlisle can't help but feel the warmth that spreads through his chest - almost as if he had a heart - at the sound of her laughter, the tension in the room dissipating as a soft, more welcoming energy spreads through the room.

"May I ask, just what is so funny," Carlisle raises a brow, his eyes twinkling in amusement.

"You." Ariel states simply, taking a step forward. Her hand raises toward his face, pausing with a brief moment of hesitation, but when he doesn't stop her, she ruffles her fingers through his hair. "Here I am all grimmy and somehow covered in a majority of the paint, and there you are, still looking like so - perfect."

The fingers in his hair turn more playfully aggressive, "Hopefully this will fix it."

He lets her continue to mess up his hair, watching her in amusement as he notes the spark coming back in her eyes. She steps back to admire the final product, grinning from ear to ear with mischief. He returns the smile and takes a step forward. He almost puts a hand to her waist. Almost brings her in closer. The domestic, mundane, familial energy to the whole situation reaching him in ways that he didn't expect to. He bites his tongue, swallows thickly, and settles for just smiling.

"You must be hungry, by now," Carlisle offers and she shrugs, almost nonchalantly, but not denying the offer of food, "My wallet is on the kitchen counter. Why don't you order what you'd like and I'll fetch you a fresh shirt?"

He makes it too easy to tease him and the odd energy of the room, the release of pent up emotions, have left her feeling surreal. Light-headed. Emotional. Her eyes twinkle as a sly smile goes across her lips.

"Are you looking for an excuse to look through my underthings, Carlisle?"

Oh if a vampire could blush. Ariel almost cackles at the expression that spreads across his face. She doesn't miss the dangerous, hungry gleam dancing in his eyes as they darken. She knows what she's doing, but with the reminder that life (even an angel's life) can be cut short, the restrictions that bind her are off. She admits that with the grief clawing at her for further relief, it becomes harder and harder to restrict the temptation in front of her.

"My shirts are in the top drawer," Ariel continues, her eyes still twinkling, "I'm afraid that this shirt was one of the nicer ones, so as long as you have no plans of making fun of my more casual shirts, then a new one will be much appreciated."

Carlisle can only nod and Ariel watches him depart. Despite the fact that he's a vampire - something that he knows that she's aware of - he does not simply zip away, moving at a more human pace. His shift in posture and the stiffness in his shoulders doesn't go unnoticed and she eyes him for a moment before continuing to the kitchen.

She gets halfway to the counter when she realizes - with an almost comical horror - that her bedroom is not the only room in the house. While most of the other rooms are fairly bare and void of personal touches, there is one particular room that is a bit too personal all thanks to Lucifer. The very room that she has not even ventured into since she moved in; with the exception of the one time that she got a bit curious about the lingerie.

She finds Carlisle in a second, her speed becoming inhuman in hopes of stopping him before he opens the wrong door. Her heart pounds in her chest as her eyes widen. Akin to a perfect statue, Carlisle stands in the hallway, door ajar. His eyes are dark, shadowed and hooded as he gives no reaction to her presence beside him. She notes the crushed door knob in his hand.

Carlisle's eyes are fixated on the room in a mix of horror, confusion, and mostly, surprise. While spending so much time to know and understand Ariel, he knows that she is complex - like most beings. She has many sides to her personality that he has enjoyed unraveling as she tells him more about her life. He even has to say that her playful teasing and flirting is even welcomed and refreshing.

But she still manages to surprise him with something that he did not expect. This being her bedroom is one of the biggest surprises. He spots the cage first and it takes him a moment to realize what it's for, but then as his eyes swept across the entire room, each piece of furniture or decor is more surprising than the last. The openly displayed toys and the lingerie in full-view on a rack makes the door knob crush against his palm.

He can't manage to tear his eyes away from it - his mind going dark as his eyes become shadowed. Something in him - the primal part that makes every vampire more of a monster than a man at times - crawls to get out from his chest. Some part of him is reminded that he was supposed to go for a hunt after work and with the hunger itching at his skin, it makes it harder to resist the other form of temptation. This dangerous game that Ariel is starting.

Ariel could give him a half-assed explanation of her brother's twisted sense of humor and his ability to feel no shame. She could even explain that it was her brother's idea of a 'housewarming gift.' She could have said a lot of things that were not the first thought that left her lips.

"I thought you weren't going to look through my underthings."

Her tone is light-hearted despite the panic in her eyes. When there's no clever retort, no excuse, nor any reaction from Carlisle other than his grip becoming tighter on the door handle, Ariel pauses. She takes a calming step forward with understanding eyes as she gently puts her hand on his shoulder. Her touch startles him as he turns suddenly, like a cat raising its shackles. She can see the struggle in his darkened eyes as his body stiffens.

She pushed too much and she can see the result of it clearly. There is no fear nor judgement as his eyes become dangerously shadowed. She gently places her hand on him again, on his shoulder and gently leads him closer for an embrace.

"It's okay, Carlisle."


Lucifer couldn't simply let Ariel go back home - not without at least trying to apologize. She insisted that she wasn't upset at him, but she should be. She has every right to be and he would gladly accept any punishment she throws his way - at the risk that it would destroy their bond - if it meant that she would forgive him.

It takes him a moment to find the right house - accidentally flying over a similar house not far from hers that seemed to be the host for the coven she's spoken so fondly of.

He is about to knock on the door - feeling too careful and hesitant after the note that they left on. His hand raised, he spots his sister in the hall through the large windows and low light. Her silhouette stretched against the wall. He pauses and squints his eyes to see the other figure with her; the man has his arms tightly wrapped around her waist, his forehead pressed against her chest.

Oh. With a devilish grin, knowing that she is in good hands and resisting the urge to break up the moment, Lucifer is gone before anyone knew he was there.