"What is life? A madness. What is life? An illusion, a shadow, a story. And the greatest good is little enough; for all life is a dream, and dreams themselves are only dreams."

—Pedro Calderon de la Barca

In the Light of My Brother

Part Two: Illusions

The three stood in the wide open grasslands of Great Plains. Thunder clashed overhead in the darkening sky despite the lack of clouds– it was merely the world's natural response to the power radiating off of these three beings. Three archangels, those left of the original four.

Michael – the eldest, his Father's son in all respects – strode forward with determination. Lucifer – the second oldest, the one they knew was their Father's favorite – stayed back, several paces away. It was the third oldest that the elder two stood against. Raphael was still adamant in his stance towards Lucifer's demise. He had made it clear that he wasn't going to be talked into backing down.

"The only way this is going to end is with one of your deaths— you know that."

They all knew it, Lucifer thought to himself as he watched Michael stop a few feet away from their younger brother. In one way or another, each of the archangels was bound to die. As their Father had once told Lucifer, "All fall into Death's hold eventually."

Some people's time just came sooner than other's.

Lucifer supposed Gabriel was lucky to not have to see this. This battle that was between not two but all three of the youngest's older brothers. There wasn't any turning back now. Destiny or not, this fight had always been inevitable. Ever since Lucifer took on that damn Mark.

"You realize that Michael and I can't exactly just kill Raphael without an uprising occurring."

"Which is why I'm suggesting something else."

It was a horrible, stupid plan— but it would work. Lucifer didn't see any reason why it wouldn't. At least the Winchesters weren't involved in this part of it (because when a practically flawless plan involves either one of them, expect that plan to go to Hell – sometimes literally). Truly though, whether this would work or not was up to Lucifer.

He felt no joy in what Michael would have to go through, nor did Lucifer envy what would become of Raphael. He doubted any would. But it was the only way to end this war before it reached past the archangels' influence to control.

And Lucifer hated it. He hated that he would have to give up what he had just gotten back – even if it was different, it had still been something he could have gone back to. It had still been home with Michael there. Michael was all that Lucifer had left, but it was Lucifer that had to go.

"Well, brothers?" Raphael said to them, his voice easily heard at its normal volume despite the booming thunder and roaring winds around them. "Have you come back to your senses?"

Lucifer could almost feel the sneered malice dripping from Raphael's tone.

"I'm guessing it's kind of like a family trait that all of you archangels are stubborn, but that means Raphael's not going to stop. He's going to do as much as he can before he's taken down."

It didn't help that just the other day Michael had found a spy within the upper ranks of his own garrison – a division comprised of angels all handpicked by Michael. The unveiling of the spy had lead Michael to question just how far Raphael's influence reached, which sparked suspicion throughout Michael's forces. One thing lead to another...

And now, here they were.

"You know, Gabriel tricked Dean and I into thinking we killed him— more than once."

"He's not coming back this time."

"That's not the point."

Because the point was that Gabriel – the trickster that he was – was much more clever than the rest of his brothers, even if it was he who had died first. And while Gabriel was often seen as more of a careless character, his strategies rivaled Lucifer's at times. Lucifer could attest to that, which was what made him feel all the more saddened at Gabriel's death by his hands.

Maybe if he hadn't killed Gabriel, they wouldn't be in such a big mess. Gabriel had always been good with sorting out issues. The fighting between Michael and Lucifer had been too much for Gabriel to handle though. But this – a situation in which Michael and Lucifer were side by side – this was something Gabriel could have solved in a matter of a couple days, if not hours.

But then Lucifer would have been dead. Because in that hotel, both had known only one was going to leave alive. And perhaps that was what tore at Lucifer most: that Gabriel had gone back into the hotel knowing he was going to die. At least Michael didn't dare touch that subject yet. It gave Lucifer time still to think about it without a filtered excuse.

Gabriel was dead. Lucifer killed him. Plain and simple.

And to think that was only one of his crimes—

"It is you who's not thinking clearly, Raphael," Michael challenged, voice amplified to echo even louder across the plains. "What could you possibly stand to gain by this? Father has made it clear to me that the Apocalypse was never meant to be."

"You're being deluded, brother," Raphael called back. "Lucifer is known as the Deceiver for a reason."

"I can't do this."

"You're going to have to."

For once, Raphael wasn't completely wrong with what he was saying– doing. The former healer's words would be easy to tag onto. All the better for the plan. All the worse for what was about to happen.

Damn it all, Lucifer growled inwardly. He was already feeling guilty about something he hadn't even done yet. In theory the plan itself wasn't all that bad, but Lucifer knew that in reality the effects would be devastating. Why did it always have to be him? Why was it always his fault?

Taking in a steeling breath, Lucifer let his blade slip into his hand as he stepped forward to stand in front of Michael and then spun gracefully on his heel, his back now to Raphael. "If there's one thing Raphael here isn't wrong about," he said slowly, "it's that you've been played, Michael."

Lucifer wasn't sure what hurt worse: saying the words themselves or seeing the flicker of doubt and betrayal pass through Michael's eyes. He tried to keep the smug smirk up and his raised eyebrow as taunting as he could even with every other thought telling him to stop.

"What?" The broken whisper fell from Michael's lips like sand running down an hourglass. Just like the time that was running out.

Lucifer ripped the scoff from himself, looking away momentarily for a short reprieve from those eyes. "You really think I want this—" He gestured wildly to their surrounding, the whole situation really, but to Michael it would look like Lucifer was pointing between them. "—as if I want to go back to Heaven and the Host after everything you put me through."

Behind him, Lucifer could sense Raphael shifting as well as the air of smug contempt around the third archangel. It was looking like Raphael was smart enough to let Lucifer finish. He'd probably try to throw his own pitch in to seal the shebang at the end.

Michael looked down to the ground, a frown creasing his forehead. "You lied to me?"

"Look who's finally catching the drift." The only lie Lucifer had told was the one he was weaving now, and he already wanted to rip his own heart out because of it.

"Why, then?" Michael snapped. "Why go along with what I was doing? Why put me through that?"

Lucifer shook his head, drawing that smirk back on his face. "You're just too easy… 'I can save Luci, so he must want that too'," he mocked. "You think a band-aid is going to fix millennia of years locked up because of you. And what better way to get revenge than to build you up just to knock you over lower than ever."

Lightning flashed dead above them, illuminating the area for a brief moment, but the moment was long enough for Lucifer to see the burning emotions in Michael's eyes. He saw the hurt and anger and betrayal, the pain and hate and shock, but most of all Lucifer saw defeat. And he hated it.

"You're going to have to make it look real— play the part."

Lucifer felt Raphael grab him from behind, hands pinning his arms back. At the slight flash of doubt, Lucifer broke free of Raphael's hold. Michael knew Lucifer wasn't helpless, and Lucifer had a show to put on— couldn't let Michael think otherwise. He elbowed Raphael in the face, sending the youngest there to the ground. Then Lucifer turned his attention back to Michael.

"Well, brother?" he taunted. "Whatcha' gonna do? You even got the guts to punish me? I killed Gabriel, maybe it'll take Raphael before it gets through your thick skull I'm still Satan."

Finally, Michael pulled out his flaming sword, sadness overwhelming his being. "I won't kill you, Lucifer."

Lucifer narrowed his eyes at Michael. "Guess that means I'll be killing you then—"

With an ungraceful 'oomph', Lucifer was tackled to the ground by Raphael, and during a short scuffle on the grass, Raphael got in a blow to Lucifer's head, leaving Lucifer somewhat dazed. Raphael then pinned Lucifer down once more, in a secure hold this time.

"What more evidence do you need, Michael? Kill him," Raphael said, rallying the eldest even as Lucifer put up a minor struggle to get free.

But Michael was shaking his head again. "No—"

Lucifer threw Raphael off of him, taking the younger's blade in the process. The blood flowing down past his right eye made him look feral as he impaled the blade into Raphael's knee. The third archangel howled in pain, hands quickly reaching down to pull the blade out. But Lucifer was faster. He took the blade once more, this time aiming for Michael.

And then he felt the blade pierce all the way through him, severing his spine in two. Raphael's blade slipped out of his fingers. It didn't hurt. Not like he thought it would. No, it was the changed look in Michael's eyes that really killed him – the new pain, shock, horror.

"Michael can't know… At least, not until it's all over and done with."

Lucifer slowly turned his gaze down to the blade sticking out of his chest, blood seeping into his vessel's clothes, drenching it all in red. The liquid was already filling his lungs, making him cough up blood as he fell to his knees.

The buzzing in his ears must have been Michael talking – that would make more sense of why there wasn't any sound matching his moving lips, which were getting even harder to see now. Black encroached on the edges of his vision, and his grace was burning up. Was this what it was like for Gabriel?

Michael was shaking him – did he have to do that? At least Lucifer would get to be held by his older brother one last time.

"Lucifer! Lucifer, look at me— look at me!"

Demanding as always, Lucifer thought, but then he owed Michael this. Dulling blue eyes connected with stormy gray ones. Michael's hands were holding him up and stroking his face and running through his hair. He was pouring Grace over Lucifer – not that it would do anything. The actions could only comfort.

"No, no, no— don't you dare, Lucifer. I'm not letting you go," Michael's voice rang in his ears. Lucifer could feel himself getting pulled closer to Michael, where it was warm – safe.

"I don't care," Michael continued, his grip on Lucifer's shirt tightening. "I don't care if you've hated me this entire time because I hurt you. I don't care if you keep hating me— You can have your stupid revenge… Just— just don't leave me. Please— Not again."

And Lucifer be damned if those weren't tears in Michael's eyes. He couldn't do it. He couldn't leave Michael like this. "It's— 's not— your… f-fault," he choked out.

With that he let go.

His grace burned out in a brilliant combustion that could have been seen hundreds of miles away, and the shadows of once beautiful wings were etched upon the ground.

o-O-o

Michael stopped breathing. "Luce..?"

He felt like a fledgling again. Back when he still hadn't completely figured out how to take care of his little brother. Back during the time that the pull of their bond had almost been ripped from him because he'd been careless. Because he'd left Lucifer alone with her out of a brief spite.

He'd learned after that. They both had, and they became inseparable. Then Lucifer had been given the Mark, the fighting started, and it was their bond that had suffered. Still, after everything, Michael had been able to sense it… Not anymore. It was gone. He was gone.

Lucifer was dead.

Michael felt hollow, empty. There was another hole in his grace that would never be filled. Another brother gone forever. A tear slid down his cheek and dripped onto Lucifer's body. His own body shuddered as a choked sob escaped his lips. He pulled Lucifer's body closer to him, burying his face into the crook of the still warm neck. Even kneeling on the ground with Lucifer in his arms, Michael was able to rock them ever so slightly back and forth, denial running its course.

"Michael…"

White, hot, grace-filled eyes snapped to the other being in the plains. "Silence," Michael hissed. "I won't hear a word from you…"

"I—"

"Go, Raphael. Fly as far as you can, and pray to Father I never see you again."

The dark-skinned archangel was gone before Michael even finished his threat – his promise.

The clouds that had begun forming as Michael's grief escalated released their burden. Rain poured in sheets and waves, drenching the area and extending to reach across the whole country.

And in a steady mantra, barely heard above the low rumbling thunder, one could hear:

"Bring him back… Please, please, bring him back…"

o-O-o

"What did you do?"

Sam paused in what he was doing, putting down his laptop. "Why do you assume I had anything to do with it?" he responded flatly.

"Well, first of all, you're the one in cahoots with Lucifer, and then you don't seem all that surprised about the weather or the giant explosion of light about a state over. And let's not forget that you have that look," Dean pointed out.

Sam frowned. "What look?"

"Don't change the subject," his brother warned.

"I helped end a war," Sam answered flatly with only the barest hint of an underlining emotion – guilt. "But now... Now, I'm not so sure if what I suggested was the best thing to do."

"Sam—"

The younger Winchester cut his older brother off with a glare. "I'll handle the repercussions, Dean."

o-O-o

Lucifer slowed his movements to a halt even as his eyes swept the countertop for any sign of a speck or blemish. Satisfied with seeing his own reflection on the surface of the counter, he folded the cloth he'd been using and set it down next to the sink. He then turned to lean on the counter, his elbows holding him up as he crossed his legs at the ankles. He let his head fall back, closing his eyes.

How long had it been since he took a moment to just stop? It had been a while, that's for sure. After weeks of burying himself in mindless work – something that Sam had told him wasn't the best way to... handle things – of doing the little chores (like keeping the house clean, doing 'research' for the hunter, reading and revising several— most of the hunter's 'ancient' tomes, and Lucifer was just now picking up the cooking aspect of the domestic lifestyle) for the older human, Bobby, it was Castiel that finally called Lucifer out of the form of isolation he'd put himself into.

Castiel moved to block his path out of the room, crossing his arms in an authoritative stance as he halted in the doorway. Lucifer narrowed his eyes at his younger brother. "Get out of my way, Castiel."

"No." Defiant eyes matched his own. "You can't keep this up."

"And you can't tell me what to do," Lucifer replied petulantly with a huff.

Castiel sighed and rolled his eyes. "At least talk about it to Sam—"

"There's nothing to talk about," he ground out, cutting the angel off as he moved forward.

But Castiel stood firm against Lucifer's advancement. In fact, he even mirrored Lucifer's step forward. "Avoiding this – all of it – any longer is going to lead to a massive fallout," Castiel said warningly. "Tying to fix that will be harder to take care of than you just dealing with it now."

"It's not that simple, Castiel," Lucifer responded, exhaustion and weariness coloring his being.

Castiel's expression softened at the admission. "We are here, Lucifer, and we will listen."

Lucifer jerked as his grace was shocked. He had to inhale sharply through his nose to keep himself from letting out several swears. He hated that part of the heavy and complex wardings placed all over the Singer Salvage Yard. It was the suppressing sigils that he himself had placed that were the ones shocking his grace. They were designed to keep his grace in check, to make sure he wouldn't alert anyone to his presence because he'd used said grace.

The doorbell rang.

Lucifer blinked, glancing to the front door before turning his head towards the doorway leading to the basement. Sam and Dean would just waltz right in, and Lucifer didn't know of anyone Bobby was expecting… What was the old man even doing anyway? Something to do with that crossroads demon he'd not-so-politely asked Lucifer to avoid while the human was summoning it to the house's basement.

Bobby came up the stairs a minute later, muttering a thing or two about demons and time. Taking a seat in the chair of the desk with all of the phones, Lucifer watched the human walk past him and open the door to find that the person who rang the bell in the first place was Marcy Ward, the 'new' neighbor.

"She was lying about the wood chipper," Lucifer commented as Bobby walked back past the kitchen to set the ginger peach cobbler down on the counter. "And I think she likes you."

"Really now," Bobby huffed, rolling his eyes. He directed a glare at Lucifer, and Lucifer promptly set his feet back down on the ground and not on the top of the desk, though the archangel remained in his reclined position.

"Still don't want to tell me why you have a demon in the basement?" he asked as innocently as possible.

"It's none of your damn business, and I don't need to be spilling my issues to you of all people." The human grumbled the last part under his breath, knowing perfectly well that Lucifer would hear him. "And I certainly don't need to be indebted to Satan."

Lucifer scrunched his nose up at the title. Bobby had picked that one in particular because he knew Lucifer hated it ('Satan' was preferred over 'Devil', though, apparently). "If anything I would be… paying off my debt to you. Call my little proposition making us even."

Bobby continued to stare at Lucifer, mulling over the offer. As much as the man hated to admit it, having Lucifer work with him to get ownership of his soul back would be very, very helpful. And if it was Lucifer that said this would make them even, then… Bobby let out a soft, huffing growl of frustration. He better not regret this.

"It has to do with Crowley," he started.

A devilish smile lit Lucifer's face. "I'm listening."

o-O-o

Castiel appeared beside Michael, head bowed slightly in respect of the older being. Michael had called him in for a weekly report of his time watching over the Winchesters. Usually, Michael would look off into the distance when Castiel gave his report – which mostly involved hunts the brothers went on and sometimes parts of their daily lives – and Castiel would be the only one to talk aside from a few short words from Michael. However, today Michael's full attention was on Castiel as soon as the angel walked into the archangel's office.

"How are you, Castiel?" Michael asked him, gesturing for the angel to have a seat.

Castiel sat down, giving a slight nod. "I am doing well. Am I wrong to assume you are as well?"

Michael made a small huff at the inquiry, the barest hint of a smile crossing his features – disappearing as quickly as it had come. "I'm afraid the answer to that is not as well as in the past."

"Of course— my apologies for any ignorance on my part," Castiel began, but Michael cut him off with a wave of his hand.

"It's nothing to apologize for, nor to worry over," Michael assured the angel with more amusement than the archangel had shown in a long while. It was a sign of the archangel coming out of his depression.

And yet, Castiel knew that Michael was no where close to the end of his grievance, and it would have been a time before Michael would have been able to fully accept the events of that day. Perhaps whenever Lucifer decided it was a 'good time' to reveal his living status, Michael would be able to actually get better – because then he wouldn't have to live with the guilt of killing his brother. But no, Lucifer was being stubborn and – for some reason that Castiel didn't understand – refused to come out of hiding.

Castiel let out the smallest of frustrated huffs – the action possibly taken as a steeling breath instead of the annoyed thought that it was. He began his report the usual updates: Sam and Dean were doing well, the lamia hunt the brothers had gone on, a slight note on how unusual the creature's presence was, a brief mention of Bobby, any movements that Castiel had seen involving Crowley.

However, Castiel had to carefully word his report to leave out anything regarding Lucifer… as usual. After Castiel had 'gotten on board' with Sam and Lucifer's plan and the deed was done, Castiel had spent several hours with Lucifer going over the details of what could and couldn't go into his reports. And now that Lucifer was finally interacting with the Winchesters and Bobby more, Castiel had to be more careful with his words.

"What do you mean?" Michael inquired out of nowhere during a brief pause in Castiel's report. The archangel had been looking down at other reports (written ones), but now the full brunt of Michael's attention was back on Castiel.

Castiel blinked, frowning. He didn't recall saying anything oddly…

"The warding around the Singer Salvage Yard shouldn't have caused any problems for you," Michael continued, either not noticing Castiel's hesitation in answering or just brushing it off. "I've checked the sigils myself— even added a few… there aren't any others that can rewrite them."

"I'm not sure what—"

"The wardings, Castiel," Michael interrupted, setting down the pen that he'd been holding. "You said the wardings around Bobby's house were getting in your way— that you weren't staying on the property for long periods of time because you'd leave feeling a bit drained. The only sigils I added were for concealment, but you're suggesting they've been tweaked to add suppression… Why would that be, Castiel?"

o-O-o

Lucifer let his eyes skim over the page of the magazine, taking in the information on the paper before turning to the next page. He was lounging on the bed that Sam usually occupied whenever the human brother was at Bobby's house. The smug smile that was still on his face from earlier was the only clue to how he was feeling – which was rather like the one of which the cat that ate the mouse wore. The self-proclaimed 'King of Hell' hadn't known what hit him.

After the "I thought you were dead" moment from Crowley and the "I don't want Hell's throne" response from Lucifer, Crowley had gone from defensive to subtly suspicious. The demon had even gotten straight to the point. Of course, Lucifer had made it rather obvious what he wanted, having Bobby stay in the room with him after the human had summoned the demon.

Suffice to say, Bobby had gotten ownership of his soul back, and Crowley was now well aware of what just might happen to him if he tried doing anything that would detrimentally affect the wellbeing of any of the humans under Lucifer's… protection. At least that would keep the demons off of Sam and Dean for a while. Well, any demon activity in general.

Lucifer paused in his mindless reading. Since when did he actually care about those two. Yes, Sam was his true vessel which gave the human some leeway over his importance to Lucifer, and that Dean was Michael's true vessel might as well have the same affect on his status. But that didn't mean that he should have gone out of his way to help their surrogate father – not that Lucifer didn't feel any obligation to the old man; Bobby was giving Lucifer a place to stay after all.

He set the magazine down on his lap, letting his eyes stare out into empty space. He couldn't really make any more excuses, could he? He was letting himself get attached. While he still didn't like the human race, he didn't feel like actively going out to have them all exterminated (not that he could in the first place anymore).

If he were to try and have all the humans killed, he wouldn't have anyone to make ice cream. Lucifer had come to like the frozen dessert… and some of the, uh, 'literature' he found on the Internet wasn't that bad. And not all of the music they made was horrendous.

Lucifer felt a frown overcome his face. What would they think of him now? The mockery he'd receive. "The Devil's gone softhearted." Or "Satan's not such a baddie." The worst of them: "Go do this, Lucifer; good boy."

Oh Dad, I've been watching too much TV, Lucifer thought with a groan. He flinched as his grace was suddenly shocked. "Dammit," he hissed lowly. He still wasn't used to it even after four months.

"Hey, you okay?"

Lucifer glared at the human standing in the doorway. "No, I keep getting shocked by that stupid spell, and it's getting annoying."

"Weren't you the one who cast it?" Sam asked rhetorically. The younger Winchester knew perfectly well that Lucifer had been the one to do so; he'd watched the archangel do it. "And you said that it was one of the only reasons Michael doesn't know you're alive right now," he continued, walking over to the edge of the bed.

"If Michael were to try to find me – assuming he knew I was alive – he would do it by searching for my grace. Sometimes using grace is a subconscious act, Sam. The spell 'warns' me to not use it before I even try," Lucifer reminded the human. Lucifer didn't have to explain to Sam why he didn't just lock his grace away, and Sam knew not to suggest it.

"So what were you trying to do just then?" the younger Winchester inquired.

"My grace was probably going to send a pulse out in order to sense the life forces of whatever's in the area. That's usually what it is anyway," Lucifer answered, muttering the last part.

Sam sighed. "It's been four months, Lucifer," Sam started, continuing even as Lucifer tensed. "Raphael's gone. Michael didn't take as long as we thought to make him leave, and Cas says that the majority of the Host wouldn't be against you going back to Heaven."

"It's been four months for a reason, Sam," Lucifer retaliated. "If Michael saw me again so soon—"

"He won't try to kill you," Sam cut Lucifer off exasperatedly.

"No, he would lock me up," Lucifer shot back, standing up and pointing a finger at Sam. "You know what I had to say to him— what we tricked him into doing…"

"And if we explain the plan to him, I'm sure he'd understand—"

"You don't know my brother, Sam! Sure, Dean may have eventually forgiven you if you pulled this stunt on him, but this is Michael," Lucifer said heatedly. "This is Michael in grieving— The last time he was like this was when I was cast out, and that lasted for centuries."

With that Lucifer stomped down the stairs and stormed out of the front door, leaving Sam standing stunned in the room. He needed some fresh air. And to think that he'd been having such a great day, too.

o-O-o

Michael had been having a bad day. Key word: had.

After months of trudging through a buried pit of ruthless emotions— of focusing on nothing but the bare minimum to keep Heaven running, he'd come out of his distorted daze enough to remember. He remembered the poisonous bite to his brother's words. He remembered the warm, sticky blood on his hands – the soft, dying glow of Lucifer's grace.

"It's— 's not— your… f-fault…"

Why would he say that? Of all the things Lucifer could have shoved in his face— could have said, why those four words? How was it not his fault? Michael should have paid more attention— should have conferred with him more— should have talked with his brother. Maybe then he would have seen – have known and been able to convince Lucifer otherwise. Maybe then Lucifer would still have been alive.

But 'what if's and 'could have's are torturous dreams. Fickle illusions that the mind makes up to hide from bitter reality. Still, knowing that fact, why would someone want to face the real world when it's masked behind a curtain of ignorance? Why would anyone want to face the hurt that came with living in a world of brutally honest truth?

And yet… humans went about their lives dealing with such dilemmas. It was as Michael had been watching Sam and Dean and Bobby not so long ago that he'd witnessed it, and only now did the archangel understand it. Humans were strong – even if they didn't believe that fact all the time. Michael still couldn't completely grasp how they dealt with moving forward – getting up every single day – but their willpower to do so gave him the push to try.

Which had lead him to this moment. Castiel's implications hadn't made any sense. Michael had put those wardings up himself, and unless Raphael was back, there wasn't anyone else alive that should have been able to change them. And Michael doubted that God would have changed the sigils.

The enigma made Michael forget about the reports sitting in front of him – the ones that told him of the current birth/death statistics on Earth as well as the updated census on the angelic side of Heaven. It made him forget about the way Gadreel still refused to even look at him. It made him question what exactly Castiel was trying to hide from him.

"What aren't you telling me, Castiel? Don't make me look into your mind for answers," Michael said in a low voice.

Despite the warning, Michael wouldn't resort to handing Castiel over to Naomi. As Commander of the Host and the Firstborn, Michael had his own ways to tap into his younger siblings' thoughts— ways that didn't involve Naomi's barbaric methods. Either way, Michael wanted answers, and he was going to get them. Now.

"No one makes you do anything."

Michael tilted his head to the side minutely, shock briefly showing on his features. It couldn't— "Where did you hear that?"

"I can't," Castiel bit out, obviously fighting a battle within himself.

Michael's eyes narrowed at the angel, grace licking the gray of his eyes. He didn't want to let himself hope only for it to be crushed. He wanted it to be Raphael – as unlikely as it was. Anything but him. Michael didn't think he'd be able to handle it.

"Just who exactly is staying at Bobby Singer's house?" Michael asked slowly, enunciating each syllable carefully, making sure his voice didn't betray him.

It was the way Castiel tore his gaze away from Michael's, looking down to the floor. Michael felt like he'd been punched in the gut. No. No, no, no— It couldn't be him. Not when Michael had felt his grace burn and then burst into nothing. Not when Michael had seen the light fade from his eyes. Not when Michael had been the one to slide his blade in to his chest.

Michael flew from his office, leaving Castiel in a scramble to follow him. Michael didn't care. He was going to the Singer Salvage Yard. Michael was going to see Lucifer. He was going to go see his brother.

o-O-o

Lucifer took in a deep breath, letting it out in a slow exhale. He was sitting on the ground – back against the solitary tree in a clearing some distance behind Singer's house. Lucifer had found the clearing during the first week he'd been there after Michael 'killed' him. It was one of the few places on Singer's property where that stupid spell didn't have as much effect on him. While inside the house it would give him a jolting shock, here it was more of a tap on the shoulder, but it also meant the spell wasn't as effective here, which was why Lucifer only came here occasionally.

Damn it all, what was wrong with him?

Lucifer brought his knees up to his chest, loosely wrapping his arms around them even as he lay his head back on the trunk of the tree. Staring up into the branches, Lucifer watched as a gentle breeze rustled the leaves, causing them to sway and let sunlight filter through. Light and shadows played on his face.

Why had he told Sam that? Lucifer hadn't lied to Sam, but he hadn't exactly told the truth either…

This was all a great, big mess. Lucifer hated it. It was stupid and infantile and senseless. He wanted to go home. He wanted to see Michael again. What he'd been trying so hard to avoid had just come back to hit him right in the face.

And for the first time in a long while, Lucifer let his emotions run wild. His anger froze the flora around him, and his grief trailed down his cheeks as he curled in on himself, his head now buried in his arms. He felt no joy, nor did he feel relief. There was little fear, but there was disgust – aimed at himself more than any other. His hate raged, but his love ran deeper.

"There are many opposites in this world, Lucifer," his Father had once told him. "There are sometimes in betweens to them as well, but one cannot exist without the other. Just as light cannot be without dark; dark cannot be without light. And you'll find that the opposite of love is not hate but apathy."

How ironic was it that the Morning Star – Light Bringer – was caught in the shadow of despair? Had he loved too much? For his hate burned with just as much force. At the very least, could he not turn it all off? He didn't want to feel this – he didn't want to feel any of it. It hurt.

"Lucifer?"

Said archangel tensed. Red-rimmed from crying, icy blue eyes snapped up to look at the speaker. Was his own mind messing with him now? Just like in the Cage? It had to be – because Michael wouldn't be looking at him like that otherwise.

"Lucifer?" Michael called again, taking a step forward. His foot made a soft crunch in the frost and snow. When had it started snowing? He wasn't even in control of his own grace. Lucifer cast his gaze back down.

"Little one, look at me," Michael said softly, crouching beside him and taking Lucifer's hands into his own. Michael's hands were warm like his fiery grace. A welcoming light at times; a scorching inferno during others. But more than anything, these hands were real. "It's okay, brother."

Lucifer's eyes shot up at that, and he saw Michael give him a small smile. "While I get that it's reasonably in season, don't you think it's a little odd for it to be snowing in an isolated clearing?"

Lucifer glared at Michael. Who was he to be joking right now? "Weren't you the one who set off Mount Vesuvius?" he shot back.

Michael's smile faltered slightly. "That was an accident, and it wasn't even my fault."

"So the demons hadn't been lying about it," Lucifer said with a smirk, the stinging of his eyes forgotten. "It's good to see you again, Michael."

"You have no idea how much I've missed you, little brother," he responded warmly with only the barest hint of his old grief.

"Hug?"

Lucifer hadn't even finished asking the whispered word before he was pulled into the embrace. "Of course, little one. Always," Michael murmured into his ear. "Promise me you'll never do that again, Lucifer. I wouldn't be able to live with it."

"I don't plan on it," Lucifer assured him. "And for the record, I wouldn't be able to live with it either… How'd you figure it out?"

"It doesn't matter," Michael replied. "Do you want to go inside?"

Lucifer shook his head, tightening his arms around Michael. "Not yet… not yet."

It was only by the shadows of the past that they were here in the present, and by the bright illusions of tomorrow, would they able to move forward. For the longest time, Lucifer thought he'd been living in a shadow. That wasn't true. He was living in the light of his brother.

"When you look in the mirror, what do you see? Do you see the real you, or what you have been conditioned to believe is you? The two are so, so different. One is an infinite consciousness capable of being and creating whatever it chooses; the other is an illusion imprisoned by its own perceived and programmed limitations."

—David Icke

A/N: Thank Chuck! I'm finally done writing this part! As much as I loved writing this one, it was such a struggle getting the middle and last part the way I wanted them (it just seems a little cheesy to me, but I had some others irl go ahead and read it and they said it was fine, so...). Special thanks to the ones who reviewed and regular thanks to those who favorited/followed – kidding, kidding, thanks to all of you who read this (for real this time). It really does make my day knowing my stories are getting at least a bit of attention.

Last Edited: [February 14, 2018]

DaisukethePenguin: *snickers at you falling from your chair* I love it when it turns out that I can evoke people's feels. I hope you like my other fics.

Dragonsrule18: Thank you!

teabrows: (I have a long one for you, lol.) Why thank you, show worthiness is what I aim for (for the most part).

But so I went back and reread both of these (because, admittedly, I didn't remember most of the minute details), and while - yes - I see what you mean by Raphael being shallow, there are certain points where one could read implications behind Raphael's actions that he never says in a straightforward manner.

For example, (in the chapter Shadows) during the first confrontation between Raphael and Lucifer, Raph is intent on killing Luci, and Luci is ready to try and fight him off. Later into their stand off, Raph says, "So you would kill me as you killed Gabriel? … Just one more crime add to your deeds". I don't know about you, but to me that screams just how much Raphael blames Lucifer for everything - more specifically on the whole, destroying the paradise they had when they were younger; but in finer details, the most recent and damaging of the crimes would have been Lucifer killing Gabriel. While it wouldn't be wrong to assume that Gabriel and Lucifer were close (not to the point Michael and Lucifer were though), in this story Raphael is older than Gabriel. Lucifer essentially killed Raphael's closest, younger brother when it came to the archangels.

One also has to consider that Raphael wants God to come back just as much as everyone else (even though he says that God's dead - but then, what better way to deal with a parent abandoning a child than to simply believe that he/she is dead?) or at the very least a semblance of what their Paradise used to be. His view concerning on how to do that revolves around killing Lucifer and bringing that Paradise. Taking into account one of Michael's brief recollections of the past in Am I My Brother's Keeper? - "Let the younger archangel think that Michael was still in mourning, just like those couple centuries after Michael tossed Lucifer into the Cage." - Raphael was left to run Heaven all by himself during that time, and if we're still going by Michael's observations, then Raphael had become "a cold-hearted ghost of what he used to be". According to implications in the show, Lucifer was in the Cage for millions of years - Raphael had all that time to become dead-set in his opinion that killing Lucifer was the only option to being God back and to become the cold-hearted ghost, who wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty in order to get the job done. (And if you wanted to go back to Raphael blaming Lucifer for everything, God being dead just gave Raphael an excuse to kill Lucifer without consequences from their Father.)

Lastly (even though there's probably more in these two fics that I'm not covering), a lot of protagonist vs antagonist is perspective. I never covered Raphael's point of view during Am I My Brother's Keeper? or In the Light of My Brother. Not once. Sure, Sam made some assumptions about what Raphael wanted, but does Sam really know what's going on in Raphael's head? I don't think so. All the major information Sam has been getting about Raphael was from Lucifer, who was being rather degrading of his little brother. Even with Michael the reader maybe only gets one peek at what Raphael was like before Lucifer was cast down; Michael doesn't mention any of Raphael's reasonings for the present.

To wrap things up, yes, I did make Raphael shallow. He/she was shallow in the show - the only clear thing we got from Raphael was that he/she wanted the Apocalypse. Nothing about familial relations. He/she didn't really care about the garden variety angels - especially if they were against him/her (Castiel) - and didn't care about having to kill said angels. However, at least in this story I gave him a legitimate reason for wanting Lucifer dead, even if it wasn't the most outspoken thing ever.

I have tweaked the story a little bit maybe shed a bit of light on one of those points. This is like the longest review response I've ever written (almost high school English class essay worthy). I hope you didn't get offended or anything by it. Have a nice day ;-)