A/N: Sorry for being a bit late with this one. I moved states last week and have been busy unpacking and all that jazz. Here's a real doozy. Hope you enjoy!
Suspended, slowly rotating like a planet caught in a star's gravitational pull. A force pulling so hard left, so hard right, front and back, that there is no choice but to remain constantly in place. Stationary, yet unceasingly stretching. Tearing with no material to part.
An indescribable darkness. Absence of light- of anything. A state of existence that is utterly metaphorical. At least in Hell sensations like pain and ripping could be conceived. All there was to convey here was a deep, constant pulsing like one would feel when standing next to a car with a radio on full bass and an unyielding frequency of the highest pitch imaginable. Continuous ringing, its volume differing in waves. Its pattern fluctuating almost like human speech.
Silence. The ring's absence leaving her feeling alone, as if its existence was a being itself. Perhaps it was.
And now she was moving, rushing at an indecipherable speed. Her entire form – whatever form it may be – was the embodiment of the descent of a rollercoaster's hill. A drop that just kept going.
Light. Blinding, striking a headache that throbbed her frontal lobe with no way to soothe it. Rhetorical existence gone, now she could feel again, though with the pain that greeted her she nearly missed the nothingness she was pulled from.
"Just when I think I have you figured out, you surprise me."
She's been here before. The place that birthed a thousand nightmares. Seeing the world through a lens – someone else's eyes. Trapped just under skin that was once her own, wriggling in her body like a Russian Nesting Doll.
Possession.
"Demon blood? That is a twist."
Her face was moving. She felt the pulling of her skin, forming a smile that did not belong to her. She felt her voice travel from chest to lips, uttering words she never said. Her voice reached her ears. She had heard it every day since she mumbled her first sentence, yet this voice harbored a cadence that she never possessed. She had heard such a tone in one other creature. The monster that now clutched the reigns of her body.
Her feet moved across a filthy floor littered with black puddles. Her body approached a wall across an abandoned building's basement, stopping in front of a smeared, cracked mirror.
Frankie was looking at her face, but she didn't recognize the eyes that stared back at her, sitting softly above a small smile.
"After seeing how it affected Sam, you still decided to ingest it. Which… like so much about this new you, makes me wonder why. Tell me."
Frankie stared into her own eyes without a choice in the matter, yet if she had control of herself, she wouldn't be able to look away. With physical sensations dialed down to the minimum level, she was left with nothing but fear, fueling her ethereal form with pure, unadulterated stress. She needed to vomit, but could not gag. She needed to pant, but did not control her breathing. Every primal urge to adapt and defend against the panic she stewed in had no way to relieve itself.
Lucifer locked her eyes onto a tear that fell down her right cheek, tracing it as it ended its trail on her chin before dripping to the floor. Lucifer grinned with a quiet chuckle.
"Frankie," he sighed, wiping a second tear as it followed the first's path. "We're partners now. I'd like us to become more than that. Nothing has changed since that night. I still want to be your friend. I mean, this would be a terrible situation to be enemies. More so for you than me. So, please, tell me." He lazily blinked back into Frankie's – or was it his – reflection. "Why have you been drinking demon blood?"
Frankie couldn't reel in her thoughts. She didn't even know if such a thing was possible. This new existence felt like a carousel that never slowed, going around and around through emotions, always returning to the master of the house, fear, before rolling into the next one.
The world blurred as a force rushed her. A sonorous hum pulsated, going as quickly as it came like a shock without the sting. Left behind was clarity. The cluster of intense emotions circling in her mind like a child's mobile had been swept away, leaving only a sense of cognition.
Lucifer stepped toward the mirror, forcing her eyes back into their reflection. He arched a brow, inviting her to answer his question.
Now that fear, panic, and sorrow was stripped away, anger was free to jump behind the wheel.
What was left of Frankie floating in Lucifer's new skull was purely red. Heat with no burn, storm with no thunder. Frankie glared in the only way she could: scratching against the walls of her shell.
Lucifer sighed, this time with annoyance. "Look. You and I both know that I can just take the answer from your memories. I'm trying to be amicable here."
Frankie scratched. She wiggled and jostled and rammed herself against any surface she could. She made up for screaming by extending her abilities to their limits, experimenting while fighting against her captor.
Lucifer's eyes darkened. His brows furrowed over them, shadowing his face in a dour shroud. He let out a heavy sigh and slowly stepped backwards. He slapped his hand on his knee as he sat back onto a bench. "That's right. Keep on scratching away in there. I can wait."
Frankie worked with the ferocity of a wildfire. She battled relentlessly inside her own body, pounding and jabbing against anything she could. With her emotions at their most pure and vulnerable, she acted on impulse, giving into every instinct her fury birthed.
"Oh, that one almost pinched."
Her strength was at its peak. Her form was like an elastic band, and she was stretched to the point of shredding. Despite the return of the agonizing, rapidly throbbing headache, she fought with every drop of energy she could spare.
"Frankie, you need to stop. Take a moment to calm down-"
'Calm down?! Calm down? Really?'
She felt Lucifer pull her mouth into a small, satisfied smile. It made her anger burn brighter.
'You are possessingme! You're fucking possessing me- you're controlling my own body! Why should I calm down?!'
"I know that this is all very overwhelming to you, but you need to come to terms with the fact that you agreed to do this. I could only possess you if you gave me your consent. It's a little immature to get upset over something you allowed to happen."
Frankie slumped against the very surfaces she was abusing. Her energy was wasted. She was sure that if Lucifer hadn't been keeping her behind his eyes she would have collapsed back into the execrable darkness.
'This… thing is beyond comprehension. When people say it could be worse, this is what they mean!'
"Well, that seems unlikely."
'I just- I-I can't-… I don't-…'
"Don't look for words. Just feel it."
'Stop talking to me like a damn psychiatrist! I'm your prisoner! You don't get to dictate how I feel!'
"You're only my prisoner if you want to be."
Frankie wished she could glare. She missed communicating with minimal effort. 'What the fuck do you mean?'
"Like I said, this is a partnership. Together you and I can do great things. You have no idea what kind of potential you have."
'Oh, here we go again. Y'know, I would if you'd tell me.'
"In time. Soon. I will tell you everything. You can trust me."
'Trust? Trust you?'
"You remember our last conversation well. You recall that I don't want to destroy the planet."
'Only people.'
Lucifer sat straighter on the bench. Frankie felt a thunder brewing below her. Far below her. It felt like she was swimming above the Mariana Trench, feeling an electric stirring at the bottom that was quickly making its way to the surface. Yet despite the obvious anger looming within him, Lucifer kept his voice calm and collected.
"When doctors discover harmful, disgusting parasites draining your body of its nutrients they prescribe methods of purging it so that it can heal."
And there it was. She was told long before of Lucifer's hatred of the human race, and at his confirmation, all his manipulation would be thrown out the window. 'Humans aren't parasites.'
"You don't see them like I do. You can't see how wrong you are. But don't worry, I'll show you. When all this is over, you'll think just like me."
'Yeah. I should trust you. If you hate humans so much, I'm nothing but a regular maggot squirming under your skin and chewing on your meat. And you want to be friends.'
The storm beneath her feet faded, sinking back into the darkness. Lucifer relaxed his shoulders. "You're not just any human, Frankie. And I'm not just saying that because of your soul. It runs deeper than that." Lucifer slightly rolled his shoulders and sniffed, settling into an apathetic demeanor. "Let's just say that you would completely understand."
Understand. That was one thing that was getting harder these days. Yes, she did allow this to happen, but it was because she understood it to be the only way to take Lucifer down. She stayed away from Sam and Dean because she understood it to be the best way to heal from Hell. Who knows if she would be here now if she had gone to them instead?
'I… don't understand anything. Except…'
Sam and Dean.
'Are you gunna uphold your end of the deal? Is my family safe?'
Lucifer's apathy wavered, but Frankie couldn't decipher the emotion it morphed into. "I won't pursue them. I can guarantee that. But this is a war. When I win, your brothers and Castiel will try even harder to take me down. They will pursue me. I will do exactly what I must to keep the status quo. Now, I will warn them about our agreement. I will ensure that they are aware of the risks in fighting me. If they choose not to heed that warning, I won't hold back."
Frankie's mind sank with the resignation that usually accompanies a sigh. 'That wasn't part of the deal.'
"Deals are tricky," Lucifer shrugged. "That's a lesson I know you've learned from the King of the Crossroads."
Ugh, Crowley. If she ever got out of this mess – which she knew she wouldn't – she was going to find him and sink her brothers' demon blade through his eye for getting her into this shit.
"Ah… so that's where the demon blood comes in."
Shit. The burn of anger returned along with the cold tendrils of defeat. Frankie sank deeper against the walls.
"He's got another brilliant plan, and he roped you into it. I know you wouldn't do so by choice. He would have resorted to forcing you."
Frankie began stewing in worry. What if Lucifer searched her memories and found out the plan? Would he twist it around to put him on top? Oh, she needed to stop thinking about it! If she drew too much attention to it, he may actually start poking around.
"Don't you worry, Frankie," he said, standing from the bench and walking to the mirror. The mechanical mask he set her face into looked unnatural, yet the eyes appeared more alive than ever. Where her eyes would usually be set in a worrisome glint, his were soft and inviting like a Venus flytrap. "I will make him pay. He will suffer by our hand, and you will have a front row seat."
The idea of watching Crowley suffer was an exciting one, but Frankie felt no excitement from it. If Lucifer did succeed in his efforts, Crowley wouldn't be the only one she would see suffering at her own hand.
"But before we get to that…"
Frankie jumped out of the thought to focus on Lucifer's reflection.
"I have a war to win. I will get you when we're ready."
She wondered what he meant by that, but not for long as she was hastily ripped from Lucifer's eyes and thrown back into the darkness, left to slowly rotate in nonexistence for however long he desired.
The blinding light returned, along with it the intense headache. Frankie was unable to squint against the light. She had to suffer through the pain until it dissipated. When it did, a new location was revealed to her.
Lucifer was looking around at a disheveled cemetery. The tombstones encircling them were old and cracked, so dark that the names and dates were indecipherable. A soft breeze blew tall stalks of dead grass against the aged slate and wood.
Frankie was disoriented. Her form felt fuzzy, like when one is dizzy but without the world slowly rotating. How long was she left in the void? Why did he choose now to summon her?
"An important moment in history, Frankie. Thought you might like to witness it."
As the dizziness eased, Frankie tried to interpret his meaning. His final words from before she was place back into darkness suddenly returned to her.
This was a battleground. This was where the fight would go down. This was the beginning of the Apocalypse.
"Lucifer!"
The archangel turned. He faced a group of five people in black suits, glaring at him from across the graveyard. Frankie quickly took in their appearance as Lucifer dragged his eyes from face to face.
Then his eyes landed on the young man in the center.
Frankie would have gasped had she the breath.
Adam stood in a gray jacket and jeans, but everything else was exactly like the last time she saw him. His face had been long forgotten by her time in Hell, but looking at him now – his blue eyes, his dusty, yellow hair – it was like she was transported back to the first day she met him in Minnesota.
However, his eyes were intense and scowling, so unlike their first meeting. Which must have meant…
"Hello, Brother," Lucifer spoke, his voice faintly carrying over the open field. His gaze swept around the group of angels. "You brought company."
'Oh no… Adam, what did they do to you?'
That same violent pulse from her last conversation with the Devil rushed her. Surely a shove to keep her quiet.
"You're in the wrong vessel," Michael snapped in Adam's voice. The distantly familiar sound stuck a chord of grief within Frankie.
Lucifer half-smirked. "As are you."
It truly was ironic. Michael and Lucifer were both unable to claim their true vessels, so they settled with their half-siblings instead. Frankie would find the situation funny if she wasn't one of those half-siblings.
"I chose this form out of necessity. You chose yours out of leverage. Leave Francine's body at once."
Lucifer looked around the field and gestured with his hand. "And use which human as a replacement? We've put off this meeting long enough. It's bad enough that we must share this moment with them." He glared at the four angels behind Michael, then to the archangel himself. "Why are they here?"
"To ensure Francine's safety. They know as well as we do of her significance. That is why you need to exit her and hand her over to us."
Holy shit… Frankie couldn't believe it. Crowley was right.
She had extreme doubts about the plan. Half of her didn't think her protectors would show up at all, but now that they had… this meant that she was now staring into the eyes of her guardians.
"So," Lucifer said, looking over each angel backing his brother. "These are the guardians of Francine Pearce. Selaphiel, good to see you again." He nodded to a male angel with dark skin and black hair in a buzzcut, tilting his head forward as he glared. He flicked his gaze to a soft-faced female angel with long, blonde hair pulled into a respectable bun. She wore an ornate golden band with jagged edges on her right wrist and linked her hands in front of her. Her lips were quirked in a nasty grimace. "Jegudiel, looking sharp as always." Lucifer's next victim for observation was a shorter male angel with pale skin, a defined jaw, and dark, ruffled hair. His pale blue eyes were locked into Lucifer's in a glower that rivaled the rest. "Barachiel. You've gotten quite the promotion, haven't you? Michael's garrison. You must be very proud."
The short angel lifted his chin in defiance of the Devil's words. "Francine has no part to play in-"
"Don't." Barachiel shut his mouth and clenched his jaw at Lucifer's snarl. The archangel lifted a single finger pointed at the pale angel. "Don't… speak."
Michael stepped forward. "Lucifer, we must fight in our true vessels. Luckily, we both possess leverage over the Winchesters. With their half-siblings in our custody, a trade is our next play."
Lucifer nodded and quietly sighed, his gaze pointed to the ground. "That does seem logical. Of course…" He blinked, his eyes now in Michael's, "part of me wishes we didn't have to fight at all."
Michael was quiet for a long moment. He looked off to the side, swallowing and briefly setting his jaw. "Me, too."
Frankie saw as well as Lucifer that there was vulnerability in Michael. The archangel stepped toward him to salvage that part of his brother. "So, why are we? It's not too late to stop this."
"It is God's command that-"
Lucifer quickly stretched out his hand toward Selaphiel, tightened his fingers into a fist, and jerked his arm down. Frankie felt the electric rush of power through her arm. The interrupting angel was yanked to the ground by an unseen force, effectively silencing him. "I said don't speak."
Michael stared at his subordinate, facedown and grunting. His brows narrowed over his austere eyes. Whatever susceptibility that had been revealed was shoved back within him. "I won't stop this." He looked at Lucifer. "I'm a good son."
"Don't you see?" Lucifer urged as he took another step, his voice growing more fervent. "Dad is playing us! He's setting us up! He made me the way I am. God wanted the Devil. So, tell me, why would He make us fight over something He forced me to do?"
"We don't question our father."
"Why not? Do you think He really wanted this? Wouldn't He be here to witness this if it was that important to Him?"
Michael slowly shook his head, his eyes never leaving his brother's. "You are a sorry excuse for a son, Lucifer. You have no faith."
When Lucifer got angry, Frankie felt a storm brewing beneath her feet, but when Lucifer got sad, the storm was right there upon her. Her form was caught in a riptide, waves shoving against her from every angle only she was stuck behind Lucifer's eyes, nowhere to go. Victim to the unforgiving currents of grief.
"Maybe I'm not the best son," he muttered, his voice guarded, "but don't stand there and tell me I wasn't the best brother. Even after you threw me into Hell, I never stopped loving you. I don't want to fight."
It seemed to take a moment for the words to sink in – a moment that felt like a million moments against Lucifer's waves of sorrow – but the forlorn look in Michael's eyes finally reappeared. He averted his eyes, focusing on anything but the archangel he obviously still cared for.
"I love you, too, Lucifer."
The waves within Lucifer slowed, but didn't disappear. Frankie focused as much as she could on the angelic interaction to draw away from the uncomfortable surfs jabbing into her form.
Michael dragged his eyes back into Lucifer's. Frankie and the Devil watched simultaneously as he forced his woeful glint back into submission, leaving behind a ruthless glower. "But I have to kill you. And I will."
The waves picked up their pace, faster than before. They crashed into Frankie as Lucifer rode through his misery.
"Now, let's go find the Winchesters and get this over with," Michael sighed, bitterness flicking off his tongue.
Frankie preferred the endless darkness compared to the nonstop jostling, but her suffering ended sooner than she thought it would. The waves stopped completely, frozen in place, before they gently slithered back into the void below. Frankie slumped against the walls in exchange for sighing in relief.
"So…," Lucifer sighed in annoyance, propping his hand on his hip. "You really won't fight me in this form?"
Michael slowly nodded once. "She must be protected."
Lucifer nodded as well. He looked down at Frankie's body, dressed in a yellow flannel and denim jacket that she hadn't seen in a long, long time. Lucifer ran his hand over her stomach in a slow, smooth pace that unnerved her.
"Well, then." He flicked his eyes – smiling unlike his lips – to his brother. "I'll be sure to keep her safe."
Frankie froze. Her form lit up with an electric surge of panic just as the angels across the field quietly gasped and broke free of their stoic facades.
"Lucifer," Michael shouted, his shoulders broadening.
The fourth angel stepped forward with her teeth bared. "Exit her no-!"
Lucifer reached out his hand in her direction, extending and crooking his fingers. She shot forward, pulled by the same invisible force that struck her colleague. As she flew threw the air toward the Devil, Lucifer flicked his wrist up. His large, sliver blade launched from his sleeve and was caught in his hand just as the angel reached him, flying straight into the weapon. The blade impaled her stomach, immediately spraying his hand with blood.
Lucifer pressed against her back with his right arm and propped his head on her shoulder, hissing into her ear. "Don't. Speak."
He shoved her with his other shoulder and ripped his bloodstained blade from her flesh. The angel illuminated like Zachariah had, her wings burning into the grass and leaving behind a wide imprint.
Frankie would have screamed. She felt everything. The cold touch of his blade on her skin, the tearing and popping of the vessel's skin and liver, the blood warming her fingers and dripping off her hand onto the grass. Everything. It wasn't just an angel's life that was taken, but an innocent person's, too.
Dead at her hands.
A yell brought her from the sickening panic. It was Jegudiel, belting a fearsome battle cry as she soared into her attack. Lucifer settled into a defensive stance, gripping his blade tight. When he made his move, Frankie's world blurred.
She could tell that her host was making his attack – evident enough by the harsh movements distorting her vision and the sounds of grunting. Whether it was due to her weak will or Lucifer's attention focused more on the fight, she could barely see what was going on.
A flash image came into focus. Lucifer's blade piked into Jegudiel's mouth and poked out the other side. Frankie wanted to scream so bad. She backed away from Lucifer's eyes as much as she could, but all it amounted to was pressing against the back walls of her prison, stuck.
As quickly as it came, the image blurred again as Selaphiel activated his attack. Frankie tried to close her eyes, but they didn't belong to her anymore. She tried to shut off her cognition, focusing on her emotions to draw away from the bloody battle happening before her eyes.
Grunt. Slice. Ripping of clothes. Squelch. Spray. Moan. Scream. The noises of death were louder than they had ever been in her old life. She wanted- no, needed to cover her ears. She needed release.
She pressed and shoved against the walls. They were shrinking against her. Constricting like a snake's belly. Closing in, closing in, closing in! She needed out! Push! Scratch! Pound!
"Stop," Lucifer snapped under his breath.
The intense pulse crashed into her form, stilling her movements behind his eyes. This time, she was frozen. She couldn't move even if she wanted to. He had cut off any access to the abilities she discovered since become possessed. She was now completely under his control.
"Enough!"
Lucifer slowly inhaled a long breath as he faced Michael. His brother held a hand in front of Barachiel who had his blade out and ready, tethering a fiery glare to Lucifer. His bared teeth told them that his general's hand was the only thing keeping him leashed.
Michael lowered his hand with a glance to his remaining subordinate. When Barachiel didn't move, Michael returned his severe gaze to his brother. "Lucifer, you are coming with me. This stunt won't work."
"Oh, I think it will," Lucifer muttered with a half-smirk, but it fell as soon as Michael stepped forward.
"We must battle. It is written."
Frankie couldn't tell if the tears pooling in their eyes were from her stress or Lucifer's grief. Though whether they were from her or him, they never fell, even when Lucifer dropped his gaze to the grass.
"I'm writing my own story. I want you to be part of it. I won't kill you." Lucifer's face tightened, brows cinching to crease his forehead. His eyes, filled with equal amounts of fire and sorrow, flicked up, locking into the pale blue irises before him. "But I will do whatever I must."
Michael nodded long and slow. "As will I."
As if rehearsed, the two archangels slowly circled each other like cats in a turf war. Their eyes were deadbolted together, focused on each other as if they were the only beings in creation. To them, they might as well be.
Frankie was petrified behind Lucifer's eyes. She couldn't squirm, couldn't quiver, not that it would do her much good. Though she couldn't move, her mind raced all the same. She wondered with growing trepidation what the fight of ages would look like from the eyes of Satan. She longed for the pit of darkness just so she didn't have to see the first brother she had ever known be mutilated at her hand.
Michael swung his arm out wide, a blast of energy blowing Lucifer backwards. His shoulder struck the ground first. He rolled against the grass but caught himself, fingers digging into the dirt to steady himself. Michael's voice filled the air, speaking in Enochian. The sound of it made Frankie long for Cas to be here.
Lucifer snapped his head up to find his brother, but he was caught off guard by the feeling of a rope tightening around his wrist. Looking down revealed no rope, but the feeling persisted as it was yanked down to ground, pulling Lucifer with it.
As Michael shouted more Enochian, more ropes twisted around Lucifer's waist and neck, tugging them down to the soil and rocks. Lucifer panted through his nose, his huffing breaths sounding like an infuriated beast, an angry boar. Frankie could taste the dirt on his tongue, feel the sting in his eyes.
The sound of Michael's feet crunching on the grass grew louder the closer he got. Frankie wanted to cower away from Lucifer's eyes, but remained motionless. She waited anxiously for one of them to make their move, and through her panic, she couldn't help but notice that Lucifer hadn't even tried to squirm free of his bonds yet.
"Love was always your weakness, brother," Michael spat, approaching Lucifer. "You shouldn't have loved Father more than you respected Him. That was your downfall. And here, your love for me is greater than your yearn to win."
Michael slowly rounded Lucifer, circling him like before. Frankie picked up on the tensing of muscles in Lucifer's legs.
"You won't kill me? Fine. Then you'll lay there like a good son for once and meet your fate."
Lucifer held for the precise moment to attack, and it came when Michael was directly behind him, positioned a foot away from his bent legs. Lucifer kicked out and ensnared Michael legs between his. He enclosed them and twisted. The ropes were tight on his body, cutting into skin, but he endured as he swept Michael's legs from beneath him.
Frankie felt a sweltering heat quickly rise from the depths of Lucifer's body. It surrounded her, burning skin that she didn't have. It suddenly felt familiar. Distantly, Gamigin chuckled.
The fire filled Lucifer's body all the way down to his fingers until the ropes around him shattered. He reared a leg back and stuck Michael in his jaw as he tried to stand. Lucifer was quick to return to his feet, and he noticed Michael's arm just in time to dodge another blast of wind.
Michael extended his other hand, curling his fingers as they pointed at Lucifer's throat. Frankie felt the crushing weight of phantom fingers enclosing around her throat. Suddenly, like the ghost-like ache of an amputated limb, she felt the burn of Lucifer's throat, his loss of breath.
The Darth Vader choke hold didn't slow Lucifer down. He marched forward, murder surely in his eyes. He grasped Michael's wrist, and his foot came not a second later. He kicked against the extended arm, snapping the radius and ulna in two. Michael unleashed a vicious snarl. He gripped Lucifer's flannel with his operable fist and rammed his forehead into the Devil's.
Lucifer didn't even budge. He paid no mind to the blood now freefalling over his lips. Frankie on the other hand felt every fracture in the bone and tasted every drop.
"So much for not harming the blessed child," he huffed, a dark snicker following closely behind. With Michael's grip still on his collar, Lucifer slammed his own head down onto the archangel's face, once, twice, thrice. He leaned back, wiping both his and Michael's blood from his mouth with his shoulder, but he wasn't done yet.
Lucifer curled his fingers into a fist with a vicelike grip. Frankie swore she heard the fingers growl before the Devil butted them into Michael's nose, his cheek, his brow.
As the cacophony of pounding flesh, squishing blood, and guttural grunts filled her ears, Frankie saw the image before her change to that of a nightmare. The face under Lucifer's fist was no longer Adam but herself on that fateful night in Carthage. Skin splitting, eyes blackening, moans going unheard.
With a resounding roar, Lucifer landed one last punch into Michael's mouth. He withdrew to stand high above his brother, staring down at the gasping gape of Michael. Reality returned to Frankie. She wished she could return to the perturbing image of her own face with crimson-painted lips, a crooked and bleeding nose, split skin, and eyes swollen shut. Instead, it was Adam's, her innocent, helpless little brother.
Lucifer slowly stretched out his arm. He flicked his wrist, summoning his blade into his hand. Frankie wished – oh, how she fucking wished – she could move, scream, zero-in on her emotions to blur what was about to happen in front of her. God, not Adam, please not Adam!
Lucifer stepped on Michael's broken arm and kneeled over his brother, hovering just above a straddle. The older archangel hastily reached up to grasp at Lucifer's face, but the blade ready in the Devil's hand impaled through his palm before he could touch him. The open wound sparked a dimmer light than the previous killing blows the blade made. Michael snarled a deep, guttural growl, one that swelled as Lucifer staked the blade into the ground, the hand pinned against dirt.
"You respect God, brother?" Lucifer huffed in a faint pant. He reached into Michael's jacket, pawing for something specific, until he finally unveiled his archangel blade. "You should see Him from my point of view. Spend some time off your pedestal." He rested the blade against Michael's neck. The older being's throat bobbed with a gulp. "See what humans are really like."
Frankie wished she could look away.
Lucifer gripped the blade tight, the muscles of his arm taut and tense, as he rigidly wrenched the blade across Michael's throat. Frankie's unease wavered at the sight of a small cut, no bigger than a AA battery and only as deep as a particularly bad paper cut.
Lucifer leaned down, nose floating just slightly over Michael's chin, and parted his lips. He sucked in a light breath, and when he did, a mist of blue and white slithered up from the cut, languidly slipping into Lucifer's mouth and down his throat.
An overwhelmingly blinding light replaced Frankie's vision. The walls surrounding her seemed to inflate, getting father away from her as a piercing ring stung her ears. Wait… was her body getting bigger or was she getting smaller? The thought suddenly didn't matter to her as her vision returned like nothing had changed at all.
Lucifer was now standing. Michael's blade was missing from his hand, but a new weight in the sleeve of her right arm gave clue to where it went. Lucifer was now staring at Michael. His eyes were still swollen shut and his wriggling ceased, but he was still breathing at a strained pace. Frankie had no idea what she had just seen Lucifer doing to his brother, but whatever it was seemed like the archangel's own version of Hell on Earth.
Lucifer leaned forward and yanked his own blade out of Michael's hand. The impaired being twitched his fingers as blood seeped from the hole in his palm. Lucifer noisily panted as he stared down at Michael. The return of the waves within his body told Frankie plenty about how he felt looking at the state of his brother.
As if he had forgotten something, Lucifer lifted his head and furrowed his brows. He turned around, pivoting on his heels, to see Barachiel still standing where Michael had left him. His weapon was still drawn, and his glare remained.
Lucifer lifted his bloody blade and pointed it in the angel's direction. "You. Make yourself useful and speak of what you witnessed here. And thank me every day for allowing a rare moment of mercy." He shook his head, eyes hardening. "Don't make me regret it."
The pale angel tilted his head back, lingering his intense glower before flying off. Lucifer huffed at his disappearance. He lifted his head to the sky, eyes focusing on the wispy clouds covering the sun. The waves within him fell back into the void. Left behind was a light warmth that filled the cracks between Frankie and the walls. Fuzzy, like a fleece blanket. With this new sensation and the release of her frozen state, Frankie figured this meant he was at peace.
He won. He prevailed. He did so without killing his brother. But the work had only just begun.
God save them all.
