Amenadiel was very, very lucky.
The first time he'd returned Samael to Hell, his younger sibling had cursed and screamed in rage. He hadn't fought, though – he'd never fought, not once in thousands of years. He'd whined, huffed, bargained for even a few minutes more, but he'd always returned.
The two-hundred and fifty-third time, Samael had rolled his eyes and snarked, though there was no fire behind the words. After eons of Hell, his younger brother's moods fluctuated more often, leaving Amenadiel to always wonder which version of Samael he would cast down.
Still, his brother always returned, and Amenadiel returned to the Silver City until forced down to Earth again to collect him.
In his five-hundred and sixty-second visit, Samael refused to answer to his name any longer, hissing in anger when Amenadiel used it. God's mightiest warrior considered his options, particularly how willing he was to argue a point which might make his younger brother harder to wrangle.
Amenadiel hated this task, so he asked for Samael's chosen title. His younger brother had sucked in a sharp breath and peered at Amenadiel in outright suspicion.
"No lectures?" he'd demanded, emotional hackles raised. "No reminding me of my place? You've gone soft, brother."
He had lived outside of their realm for millennia by then, Amenadiel's occasional interactions his only remaining connection to home. He'd affected a mask most times they met, scowling behind the face of an obtuse stranger, but Amenadiel still saw the flickers of truth in the twitch of his shoulders, the state of his feathers when unfurled, the slightly widened eyes.
Samael had always been the most extroverted of their siblings. He'd shared his emotions, so often veering toward jovial and passionate, with anyone who dared listen. He had rejoiced in lighting the skies, his excitement contagious to all the choirs of angels – and his fury, too, had spilled throughout the Silver City as he was cast from their presence, his enraged screams echoing through all the corners of the realm.
The eldest of God's children had long learned that Samael expressed fear through incitement. He hadn't known what his younger brother feared in this instance, only that he feared at all, and while he'd hated his task and what Samael had done, he had not yet savored the look of his younger brother's fear.
The decision to accept Samael's declaration was easy enough. Amenadiel had raised and spread his hands, acquiescing to the request without a fight.
"What shall I call you then?" he'd said, voice low and clear. The younger angel had stared for several minutes, waiting for something Amenadiel couldn't guess. Deception? An attack? Samael had rejected God's love long ago; rejecting his given name was no great loss.
"Lucifer," he'd said, then vanished into a realm without light.
The languages he spoke, the moods he rode, the clothes he wore – every part of him changed each time they met, but always there was the unspoken tension of who might collect him should Amenadiel fail. The eldest didn't have to threaten often, and in fact learned to bargain time instead. If Samael – Lucifer – were given ten more minutes, it spared both of them an hour's worth of stalling. If he were busy learning an instrument or a song, Amenadiel had stopped demanding his immediate return to avoid Lucifer's fury.
Once, Amenadiel found him clutching a long-dead woman, her body ravaged by the same open boils covering the bodies lining the dismal streets. He'd sung a song over the corpse, a lilting, sad melody, and laid her next to the body of her husband and children.
Lucifer had never told Amenadiel why he'd been so affected, but he never sang that song again.
Their relationship dipped and curved over the years. Each time Amenadiel unfurled his wings to bring himself to Earth, he vowed this is the last time. Sometimes his conviction remained firm in the onslaught of Lucifer's anger; sometimes the younger sighed in resignation and went on his own, leaving Amenadiel with a pang in his breast. But it was always the times when Lucifer was overjoyed which were the hardest - the undeniable reminders that Samael's joy had never died, it had only been turned askance to newer discoveries. Lucifer lit humanity as he'd lit the stars, and his excitement was forever contagious. It was those times, with his eyes shining in merriment and joy, when Amenadiel's faith wavered the most.
Hell contained neither light nor joy.
Lucifer bedded thousands, coated himself in their stink, and he remembered all of their faces and names. He glowed with intrigue at human inventions, praised civilizations, marveled at their ingenuity, their drive to persist.
"See how they migrate, brother!" he'd cried as they took to the seas and discovered new islands. The eldest had found him swimming that time, wings out and splashing in the clear ocean water. A new settlement was forming a mile away, the humans having landed not three full days before. Their spread across the world seemed inevitable, and Lucifer delighted in the magnitude of life.
And yet, as the human population rose, so did that of Hell. Lucifer adapted as the eons passed below. Billions of years witnessing the darkest impulses of Father's most beloved creation took their toll; his joy morphed and swayed, amusement coming more often at the expense of, rather than in companionship to, those he encountered. He intermingled but remained distant, his need for connection steadily scabbing over under the crush of mortality. It did not matter how ingenious, how happy, how cruel, how cold – they all succumbed to Azrael's task, and their civilizations too. Impermanence and change with no hope of more. Such was Lucifer's lot.
God's eldest watched these emotional shifts with stoic resolve. He had no place questioning God's punishment, and so he didn't; he had no impulse to cavort with these creatures, the closest to God's image Lucifer could come. Humans, Amenadiel, and the demons of Hell – Lucifer's only companions, his family forever forbidden. He consorted with humans and demons alike, taking the demon Mazikeen into his bed.
With the weight of Hell upon him, Lucifer grew more openly disillusioned, outright blasphemous. He questioned God's strength to the humans around him, and for every ten who would not listen, another would spark with uncertainty. Chittering doubts, the tiniest of fears sewn among humanity – the very seeds of perdition.
He asked question after question of Amenadiel, forever forcing the eldest to assert that God was not to be doubted, even as he himself began to wonder deep in the pit of his belly.
Their siblings sewed seeds as well, whispering Prince of Lies, Abaddon, Satan, Most Unclean. They spun tales of temptation and soul collections. Amenadiel himself likened Lucifer to a goat.
The mortal rifts were formed, and wars were fought. Their siblings remained ever distant, uncaring of the fate of humans; Amenadiel witnessed human war and suffering through his task, followed his brother to the Children's Crusade, watched as midwives were burned for their kindness and service. Hell housed so many more of them, suffering for new guilts built upon the lies of their siblings, and Lucifer's apathy to mortal plights grew – how could it not? Millions of souls suffering eternally, trapped by their own guilt without reprieve, with Lucifer witness to their torment, regardless of the crime.
"They deserve their punishment," he'd said to Amenadiel, his face scarred red. "Otherwise, why would they be here? It is not I who keeps them."
Demons had taken to rising through the bodies of the damned, howling and foaming at mortal mouths. Disabled human children were named possessed and chained outside homes, away from their families, their cries unheard or ignored. Lucifer banned the practice when Amenadiel informed him, the barest spark of sympathy lighting his red eyes as he watched a muddy child plead for its mother in the cold rain.
Amenadiel hated his task, but he'd understood why this was his burden to bear. As the eldest, he'd been responsible for Lucifer's fall; he should have watched his younger brother for the signs of discontent, should have prevented the rebellion and Fall of God's favored. His failure was personified: a younger brother lost to the ravages of Hell, a jubilant child scoured away by ash and torment, with God's eldest alone as God's direct witness. Lucifer had Fallen, yes; but more, Lucifer had changed, and angels did not change.
It was Amenadiel's fault, again, when it happened once more. He lost his necklace – a precious possession gifted by his father, but also a divine object which mortals could not be exposed to. He'd attempted to use human means first, remembering Lucifer's insistence on their cleverness. The mortal he encountered had mocked him openly. And so Amenadiel had no choice but to ask Lucifer for help.
No, that wasn't true – he'd a choice. His pride had stalled his prayers for help from other siblings, and no one in the Silver City would hear the story from the Fallen. In his desperation he'd stooped to an open-ended deal, a terrible error that had drastically changed both of their lives.
Angels didn't change. And yet, here they were.
The changes weren't so gradual, in terms of immortals. A few years meant nothing to eternity. Still, time among humans softened Lucifer's edges to the point that he cared for some of them, at least a little. Enough that he yearned for justice on their behalf, even saved a human life through direct actions.
Amenadiel had seen a chance to rectify his greatest mistake, leading to the murder of innocents and his ultimate Fall. He'd stood shocked and beaten, staring at his ruined wings, fear writhing in his belly. He'd been trapped on Earth, his only links to home a mother who'd also been banished and a brother he'd tried to have killed.
He'd hid his ailment, too proud to admit the truth, too afraid to admit weakness, until he had no choice but to reveal himself. To Uriel first, who immediately took the opportunity given to nearly beat his oldest brother to death – and then to Lucifer, who of the two had far more reason to attack the eldest without remorse.
And Lucifer hadn't touched him. Hadn't raised a hand to him. Had taken no advantage of Amenadiel's mortality. The younger had tried to drive him away with cruel words, certainly – but he rarely menaced, and only when pressed.
Now, as Amenadiel pressed the button to visit his brother's penthouse, he mused that Lucifer held exactly one lasting grudge in his long life, and it wasn't toward his eldest brother.
Amenadiel was very, very lucky.
The woman tossed Judith's passport from the window of her cab, thinking hard about her next move. The driver dropped her off just outside of her motel room, and she tipped him generously before letting herself in. She dug out the next identity – Grisela Muñoz – and tossed the passport onto the bed. She then pulled out her gun and got to work.
She dissembled the entire firearm, cleaning the chamber, checking the trigger, clicking the safety. She spent a full hour examining every piece as thoroughly as she could think to. She emptied the remaining bullets from the clip and cracked each one open, ensuring she had no blanks, half-convinced she'd been set up by someone else.
Nothing. No signs of tampering – no signs of why a man would survive a bullet to the head. A vest could explain the other shot, aimed for center mass, but surviving the head shot had no explanation she could immediately see.
She sat back on the floor, the ground littered with gun parts and a towel coated in gunpowder. Was it really gunpowder? Perhaps that was where the deception started.
She emptied the small motel soap bottle, washed it out, shook out as much as the excess water as she could, and used the tiny hairdryer attached to the wall to dry it. She scooped a handful of the gunpowder into the container and threw the capped bottle into her fanny pack. When night came, she stepped out of the motel and walked to the back, shaking the towel out into the nearby grass. She threw the towel into the motel dumpster and went back to her room to wash her hands.
She stared at herself in the mirror. From the main room, the cell phone chirped. She waited until the third ring before stepping out of the bathroom and answering the call.
Ella scanned over the various databases pulled up on her screens, ready to dismiss them all with a defeated sigh. She froze when she spotted results on one screen, blinked, maximized the screen, and whistled.
"Whoooa," she said in wonder.
"Lucifer, we got something!" She tugged him all the way to the computer screen, where she clacked and clicked until an image of a body pulled up next to the associated file.
"The ballistics match a murder, three years ago, here in LA!"
Lucifer examined the crime scene photo while remaining just outside of the excited scientist's circle.
"You are far too excited about this, Miss Lopez."
"But look!" She tapped the monitor, which wobbled precariously. Lucifer reached to stabilize the screen. "They think it was a hit! Like, like a cartel hit!"
"Hmm." Lucifer sounded neither impressed nor intrigued. Ella jabbed a finger into his chest.
"That means you might be a hit you dingus!"
"I suppose that's less boring," he said. Ella huffed.
"We need to bring in the department," she said. Lucifer straightened and scowled, already opening his mouth to protest. She pressed a finger over his mouth. "Nuh uh, you might need protection!"
"I can protect myself far better than the bloody LAPD," he snarled around her finger. She dropped her hand and skimmed through the murder file, shaking her head harder and harder as she read more of the details.
"Nope," she said, "too risky. You're not leaving my site, mister, and we are not going back to LUX." Ella pulled out her cell phone and unlocked the screen. "I'll let Decker –"
Lucifer snatched the cell phone with a hiss. "Absolutely not. We are leaving the Detective be."
Ella stared up at him, open-mouthed and annoyed.
"She's a wedding to plan after all," he said with a grimacing smile.
"She's your partner," Ella said. "She might be a target too."
Lucifer flinched, his resolve wavering at the simple yet undeniable fact that merely being in proximity to him was once again putting the Detective in grave danger. The timing was truly atrocious, with the Detective's attention surely distracted by wedding anticipation to the clay lump now occupying her thoughts. Why did she say yes?
"One day," Lucifer bargained. "A full twenty-four hours, and then we'll alert the Detective and…let her decide how to proceed."
It was risky. The more clever humans involved in this investigation, the worse. Perhaps he should've asked for Dan to be the detective on the case instead.
Ella had a sly, calculating look on her face, and Lucifer realized his mistake too late.
"This Wednesday," she said with a smile. He scowled.
"In addition to Ash Wednesday," she finished, and he huffed loudly.
"Very well," he conceded with a scowl. Ella grinned from ear to ear, raising a hand for a high five. After several seconds, she waved the hand.
"Don't leave me hanging!" she demanded. Lucifer grimaced, and shifted, and was visibly not pleased, but he tapped his palm to hers in a perfunctory slap. Ella kept right on grinning, already planning the fun sleepover activities they could do, including and most especially getting him blind drunk and asking him how he really felt about Chloe's engagement. She had it on good authority that Snuggies and ice cream were the way to the man's heart, and she intended to abuse that knowledge.
Amenadiel stepped off the elevator into the quiet penthouse and immediately knew Lucifer wasn't home. He'd stayed alone in the penthouse many times now, waiting for his brother's return to have whatever new difficult conversation was needed between them. Today he'd come for an update on the situation with Chloe and Pierce, a baffling union that Lucifer was taking great pains to pretend wasn't bothering him as deeply as it was.
The eldest was hardly surprised at Lucifer's total inability to open himself to others. He had been denied any acknowledgement of kinship or friendship for far too many eons to suddenly accept help for his plight offered with the best of intentions. The fact that Amenadiel's assistance was explicitly offered as God's intentions escaped the eldest; he only knew he needed to help in God's plan for Lucifer, and Lucifer was accepting that help with relatively little fuss.
The elevator pinged an arrival, and Amenadiel turned to face his brother.
"Luci, I –"
Instead of Lucifer, a small woman emerged instead, pausing when she saw him. Her dark eyes scanned the entirety of the penthouse viewable from the angle she stood at, and then rested on him.
They peered at each other for several long seconds, both debating how much to read into the other's presence. Amenadiel took in her shoulder-length bob, her yellow flip-flops, and her rather large glasses. She was shorter than Linda, though not significantly so – just enough that he noticed. She did not look like someone Lucifer normally hosted. She looked…lost.
Her fingers flexed once, twice, and then a smile lit up her round face. It didn't reach her eyes.
"¿Señor Morningstar?"
Amenadiel produced his most calming smile.
"He's not here right now," he said carefully. Her expression changed only a little, her eyelids flickering as he continued. "I'm Amenadiel, his brother. Do you need something?"
"I need help," she said, her voice cracking on the last word. Her accent was terribly thick, but Amenadiel didn't know enough about human languages to pinpoint it. "Can you help me?"
Amenadiel squared his shoulders, taking on the burden without a second thought.
"Of course," he said, his smile evening out to something less calming and more prideful. "What do you need?"
"You will come?" She gestured at the elevator behind herself, eyes glistening wet and expression painfully hopeful. Amenadiel considered. Lucifer might not return for hours, and this woman needed help now. An easy decision, really. He stepped forward and followed her into the carriage with a nod.
"Tell me what you need," he said as the doors closed on them.
The elevator pinged, and the penthouse was quiet again.
