Author's Note: Yay! So, long story short: midterms, my sister's wedding, and an impromptu road trip because I landed on a no fly list (again) caused a rather significant delay. Also - Samael's appearance got changed. The small bit of him in this is not even remotely close to what he's really like, he's just...spent a long time away. His real appearance is next chapter.

Couple things: One, while I love and appreciate everyone who takes the time to stop, read this, favorite/follow and review it, there are a couple...incredibly off-putting ways of 'showing appreciation'. On behalf of myself and several other writers in this fandom - don't leave a review simultaneously complaining about the work and then say 'but I really love it!'. It's one - very mixed messages. Secondly, adding smiley faces or platitudes doesn't negate the fact that you're complaining about something no one is forcing you to read. Secondly - this is Lucifer TV FANDOM FANFIC. Not the Bible. Not the comic (though I do borrow a lot from it). It means that anything that happens in ANY OTHER VERSION OF BIBLICAL LORE, RELIGION, OR SHOW IS IRRELEVANT. Lucifer from this show is clearly not the same version of shown in Supernatural, who is not the same as the one in Brimstone, who is not the same one in the Bible.

Last thing: I am making a prediction right now - in the last episode, when Mum sees Lucifer with the blade that belongs to the Angel of Death, it occurred to me that if Samael was the Angel of Death originally (that part I didn't make up), then that means that's *his* dagger. I'm predicting Mum's plan involves appealing to the Samael half of him.


Samael blinked, eyes adjusting rapidly to the dimness of the crypt. The familiar smell of copper and iron was a welcome one, even if it was his own, and he inhaled deeply.

"Samael?" the woman asked, sounding unsure despite the confidence she'd exuded when she'd torn through his chest.

He pushed himself up on his elbows, ignoring the pool of rapidly cooling blood beneath him. It was of little concern to him, outside of ruining his clothes. He held his hand up, noting the play of light across the glistening crimson sheen across his skin. Everything felt strangely…detached. Like he was here, but he was somewhere else, too.

The second odd thing was how very loud it was. He could hear her blood in her veins, her rabbit quick heartbeat, even her shallow breaths of air. Or perhaps his hearing was finally back to normal, instead of muffled like it had been like the rest of his senses. Everything seemed brighter, more vivid, more…real than it had in what felt like eons.

Just how much of himself had he started to lose?

"Samael?" the woman asked again, sounding less sure than she had before.

He rolled his eyes, finally looking up at her where she stood near the door, obviously prepared to run away if this didn't go as she planned.

"What?" he demanded, before coughing to clear his throat. His voice even sounded different.

The woman's face lit up in a smile, and Samael got the sense she had to physically restrain herself from trying to hug him.

Oh that she would come that close…

His fingers flexed reflexively, imagining crushing that windpipe with a satisfying crunch.

"It is you," the woman said, and Samael tried to remember her name. He'd had it – at least, he thought he did. It was one of those strange, fleeting thoughts that didn't really seem his own.

He pushed himself to his feet, testing the chains around his wrists as he stood, noting the Enochian sigils etched into the cuffs. She even was smart enough to put the binding rune on them, which explained how he couldn't escape.

Yet.

"My Lord Samael," the woman – Delilah – said, dropping to her knees in front of him.

"Don't do that," Samael sneered, slapping her grasping hands away from him. "That's revolting."

Delilah bobbed her head, as if she understood his disgust even though he knew it was a lie.

"I'm sorry," she apologized again, and before she could say another word, he thrust his wrists out to her.

"If you're truly sorry, unbind me," he growled. "Now."

"Yes, of course…I'm sorry, it was just that – I had to know it was you."

As she fumbled in the locks, Samael leaned in abruptly, so quick she actually dropped the key and it clattered against the stone floor.

"Interesting," he rumbled, and grabbed her by her shirt front as he pulled her closer. He tasted the air around her, the familiar tang of fear thick. "You weren't afraid of me before."

Delilah tried to break his grip, but he only tightened his fingers further, his nails scraping at her skin beneath the clothes.

"Am I not all that you expected?" Samael asked. "Am I not what you wanted?"

"N-no," the woman stuttered, and he could see her knees shaking. "It's just – just….I didn't understand."

Samael laughed at that, and released her. She dropped to the floor, her eyes downcast even as her shoulders shook. "Didn't think the writings about how people trembled before the wrath of God were true, did you? That perhaps the reason why you pathetic creatures were in awe of us was because we inspired it?"

"Lucifer didn't-" she began, but she didn't have a chance to finish. He formed a fist with his hand, imagining her air supply being cut off as she gagged, fingers scrabbling uselessly against his invisible grip.

"Do not speak that name," he snarled. "Lucifer was weak. Lucifer was broken and fragile and wrong."

A pathetic creature, created by his Father in a moment of weakness of His own.

"I'm sorry," Delilah gasped, her lips turning blue.

It wasn't pity that moved him to release her. No, it was something much less…human. She was valuable for the moment, keys aside.

"You said you had them," Samael demanded, releasing her. "Somewhere in this church is something you stole from me."

Delilah choked and sputtered, a shaking hand reaching for the key as she undid his chains.

"It was necessary," she said. "I needed them so people could see. So they could know."

Samael ignored her, flexing his wrists as the chains fell away, watching as the bruising underneath healed before his eyes. His lesser half really was fragile, wasn't he? One could hardly expect anything less when lopping off a divine part of oneself, but really…this bordered on suicidally stupid.

On the other hand, the woman had put him through the ringer as of late. Even if he had his wings, that exorcism would've been less than pleasant.

"I don't care about your excuses, insect," Samael spat. "Bring me to them. Now."

"I can't move them on my own – it will be easier to bring you to them," Delilah said hesitantly. "The others are waiting for you."


Chloe was ready to pull her hair out by the roots. Delilah Rogers, which surprisingly enough was the woman's real name, had all but vanished in the last twenty-four hours. The last time anyone had seen her, she was getting into her car to return to the city from Three Rivers, just like she did every weekend, and somewhere between the camp and Los Angeles, her car disappeared.

They could track it for a while on the traffic cams on the highway – Three Rivers was so far out in the middle of nowhere it was easy to find the white sedan traveling amongst the other vehicles on the road. And then – poof. Like magic, the car was on one traffic camera, and then never reappeared on the next one. They could guess at the off ramp she took, but it was rural enough that they couldn't narrow it down enough for a solid lead, and there were no other cameras because the back roads didn't have enough traffic to warrant them.

The preacher, Anwar, didn't have any other information about her. No idea where she spent her time when she wasn't at the compound, he could offer little in the way of help, other than to promise to call if she showed up again.

Rogers's apartment was also of no help, and clearly only a place for her to have her mail sent, and to sleep. She didn't even have dishes, and her bed was little more than a cot. All she had in the way of personal mementos were pictures of her and her patients in the various countries she'd been to, piled next to the bed in a neat stack.

Nothing to suggest a religious cult. Nothing even close to being religious at all – no Bibles, no books of lore, no crosses on the wall, rosaries at the bedside, or even a prayer card on the fridge.

Twenty-four hours, and she didn't know if her closest friend and partner was even dead or alive.

A hand touched lightly on her shoulder, and she almost jumped out of her skin, turning to take a swing at the person behind her.

"Dan?" she demanded angrily, not quite ready to put her fist down. He'd vanished hours ago with Maze, with an incredibly cryptic message of going to talk with Lucifer's brothers. He wouldn't even tell her how the hell he knew how to contact Lucifer's family, considering on paper the man was still only in existence for the past five years. "What the hell? Where have you been?"

She frowned when she actually stopped to really look at him.

Dan was about as transparent as glare ice – he was awful at undercover work for just that reason. Their marriage hadn't fallen apart over lies like every one of her female coworkers seemed to think – Dan wasn't capable of it. And right now, it looked like he'd just stared into the abyss…and saw something staring back.

"Are you okay?" she asked, lowering her arm. "You look…"

"A little shell shocked?" Dan said, his right eye twitching. "Yeah, yeah you could say that. I'm having…a very, very strange day, and I might need to take a drug test. But…I found Lucifer's brothers."

Chloe perked up at that, crossing her arms in front of her as she sat on the edge of her desk. "Seriously? How?"

Dan's eye twitched again, and he rubbed at it as he chuckled nervously. No, not nervously. Disbelieving? Bordering hysterical? Somewhere closer to that.

"So fun story," Dan said, clapping his hands together and glancing around the bullpen. It was late – most of the other detectives had gone home, and night shift was primarily patrol. The few working Lucifer's case were still at Lux or somewhere in the building trying to catch a few winks before going back to the grindstone. "I think I've lost my mind. It sure feels like it, anyway. But yeah…I met his brothers. Two of the four, anyway, but I already knew Gabriel because we met at the hospital when I had to take Lucifer. Gabriel wasn't half bad, you know? Kinda goofy. Looked a little like a beach bum version of that pirate on the live action Disney show you watch with Trixie on Sundays. I liked him."

"Wait, seriously?" Chloe protested, putting her hand on Dan's as he was clearly wired. "You've actually met his brother, and his name is really Gabriel?"

Just how far did Lucifer's family take this religious alter ego stuff? Had his dad actually renamed himself God? Or Yahweh, or something else equally ridiculous? Were all of Lucifer's siblings named after religious figures?

Dan nodded his head vigorously. "Mmhmm….there's even a Michael," he said, putting his steepled fingers up to his lips. "Did you know angels have different effects on people?"

Chloe raised an eyebrow. "Uh…no?"

Dan closed his eyes, abruptly nodding again, looking like a bobble head. "Yep. All of them. Some of them are worse than others. Gabriel is apparently kid friendly, being the Messenger and all that. But Michael? Michael?"

Now she was beginning to worry. Dan was acting like he'd straight up swallowed a week's worth of espresso. Or possibly shot up on meth, considering the topic of conversation.

"Dan, take a breath," she ordered, and waited until he did. "Start from the beginning. What the hell happened?"

There was that twitch again.

"It's not really something I can tell you," he said cautiously, taking a shuddering breath. She wasn't sure if he was completely freaking out, or if he was…giddy. Simultaneously happy and terrified, which made even less sense than him being on drugs.

"Okay then, can you…write it down?" she suggested, and glanced around for pen and paper.

"I really think it's just better if I show you," Dan said, voice suspiciously high pitched.

Now this would be interesting.

She nodded, fixing her expression to carefully neutral as if she was heading into interrogation. "Okay. That works too. Where are we going?"

Dan shook his head, and this time, it was a straight up giggle that escaped his lips, even as his cheeks turned bright pink from embarrassment. "Nowhere. They'll come here."

"All right…we can go greet them at the front desk," she said, turning around to lock her computer when there was a sudden gust of wind, like someone left a window open in a hurricane, and her papers and files went flying, scattering across the bullpen.

"Dammit," she cursed, and when she turned back to Dan, she jumped again, banging the back of her legs against her desk and almost falling back over the other side like a cartoon.

Two men stood flanking Dan that had most certainly not been there point two seconds ago.

"What the…"

"Don't say it," the one to the left cautioned, holding up a hand. He had to be Gabriel. He looked a lot like Lucifer, and Dan was obviously right about them being family. They had the same color hair, though Gabriel's was slightly longer and a far cry from Lucifer's normally pristine appearance. Same dark eyes and narrow features, but Gabriel was a bit shorter – actually, a lot shorter - than Lucifer. He was only a few inches taller than she was. His skin was tanned from the California sun, his Los Angeles Angels raglan shirt seeming like a strange sort of joke considering what Dan was claiming he was. Stranger still were the cargo shorts and bare feet covered in sand in the middle of a police department bullpen.

"Gabriel?" she hazarded, and he smiled brilliantly. Holy crap – he even had the same smile as Lucifer.

"The one and only," he said cheerfully, waggling his fingers at her in greeting. His accent wasn't quite the same as Lucifer's, though, which she thought was strange, if they grew up together. Lucifer sounded like upscale London – Gabriel sounded more like Boston Irish than proper English.

Her gaze slid to the other man, who Dan was subtly trying to step away from as though he was afraid of him.

There was something…off about Michael. Something…ancient. He was taller than Lucifer, but not by much, and where Lucifer and Gabriel shared dark features, Michael was almost dirty blonde, hair shot through with gray and the palest amber eyes Chloe had ever seen. A long, thin red line of scar tissue cut across his face, stretching from just above his left eyebrow, across the bridge of his nose, and down to the corner to his lips. He stood ramrod straight, shoulders back like a soldier standing at attention, and unlike Gabriel who looked perfectly at ease standing there, Michael had a look like he would rather be anywhere but here.

And not like most people who were in the precinct – that sort of unsettled discomfort that even people who hadn't done anything wrong seemed to feel. Michael looked like he was trying not to curl his lip in disgust.

Unlike Gabriel who looked like he'd just wandered off the boardwalk, Michael looked like he was either a movie version of an international hitman or a stylistically updated Johnny Cash. Head to toe in black, from his leather jacket to his boots, Michael gave off the exact opposite impression of Gabriel…or even Lucifer. She doubted anyone would purposely want to interact with Michael.

Actually…

"Do I know you?" Chloe asked, curiosity getting the better of her. There was something strangely familiar about the man, even though she knew she'd never seen him before.

"In a manner of speaking," Michael rumbled, and Chloe almost did a double take. Considerably deeper than either of his brothers', Michael's accent wasn't even remotely close to the same. It didn't even sound like English was his first language – more like his third or fourth. He sounded like her father's grandfather, actually – who came from somewhere like Norway or Denmark.

"This is Michael," Dan said, and Chloe noted he'd managed to shift entirely to Gabriel's other side, edging further away from the two of them.

She wasn't entirely sure why Dan seemed to be wigging out over Michael – he was intimidating, sure. Especially the way he towered over the three of them, looking like he would be much more at ease on a battlefield than an office. But Dan had been an officer even longer than she had. They'd dealt with suspects twice his size on a 'roid rage bender, people actively trying to shoot them, and everything in between and not once had he reacted like he was now.

"Did you do something to him?" she demanded, gesturing towards her ex.

Michael smiled – at least, she thought it was a smile. The scar pulled at his lip and made it more of a sneer, but he seemed more amused than annoyed. "No, Detective, I did not. I tend to have that effect on people with a guilty conscience." His pale eyes slid over to Dan who was looking everywhere but at Michael. "I have tried explaining to him I do not pass judgement, but he remains…unconvinced."

Guilty conscience?

As if hearing her thoughts, Michael shook his head. "It is nothing bad. Guilt can be a good thing. It causes you to change your actions, to think about them in the future before reacting the same way in different circumstances. Daniel is someone who is struggling between guilt and justice, and I think it is causing distress."

"You're Lucifer's brothers?" Chloe asked skeptically. "I mean, I can see the family resemblance between Gabriel and Lucifer, but…you don't much look like them. And none of you sound the same. What, were your parents missionaries? Militants? Gypsies?"

Michael glanced over at Gabriel who responded like Michael had actually posed a question.

"She's talking about our accents," Gabriel clarified. He looked back to Chloe and offered a winning grin. "Humans don't process our language as we speak it – they hear a heavily accented version of their own. The accent gets thicker the less familiar we are with human language. Lucifer and I spend a fair amount of time with people, that's why ours sounds the way it does. Michael doesn't, so his is harsher."

"So…you're like the TARDIS?" she asked, raising a disbelieving eyebrow.

Michael stared at her like she was speaking in tongues before looking back to his brother, clearly waiting for an explanation.

"It's from a TV show," Gabriel said. "Alien spaceship translates everything within earshot to explain why aliens and different species all speak English."

"Then yes," Michael agreed, completely straight faced. "We are like the TARDIS."

Chloe would love to meet the people who raised these men. She wasn't sure if she wanted to slap them or lecture them.

"We're here to help you find our brother," Michael said, clasping his hands behind his back. "Your perspective is limited and hindering what help you would otherwise be."

"And how do you propose to help with that?" Chloe asked. "Do you have some sort of connection with the cult that likely took him? Some sort of network that we don't know about? Not even his bartender, who I swear is part bloodhound when it comes to him, seems to be able to find him. Or anything about the Cult of Samael."

That seemed to get Michael's attention. "Cult of Samael? There is no such thing."

Odd. That was exactly what Lucifer's reaction had been.

"Well, maybe not before, but there sure as hell seems to be one now," she replied. "The woman we're looking for, Delilah Rogers, we think she built it specifically towards your brother."

Dan had managed to edge his way to her side, and now that he wasn't next to Michael, seemed to be less manic and giddy. "There's been several murders we think linked to her and Lucifer – all with the name Samael, and only starting up since your brother's appearance in LA. It's like she knew when to start looking, but didn't have much of an idea beyond that. Lucifer and Maze seemed to think she wasn't interested in him as Lucifer, but some other alternate…personality…of his. Samael. And from Lucifer told me, that's bad."

Michael frowned. "Depends on your perspective. Samael was in the middle of trying to incite the apocalypse."

"I would call that bad," Dan deadpanned.

Michael cocked his head to the side, and Chloe was struck by how much he reminded her of a bird. It was that same look of indignant ruffled feathers Lucifer always gave her when she jokingly accused him of something.

"It depends on perspective," Michael repeated. "You are familiar with our story, yes? The floods, the plagues…"

He was talking about Biblical history, Chloe realized. She fought the urge to scream or facepalm. How much help were Lucifer's siblings going to be if they had the same problem with reality?

Dan apparently nodded, and Michael didn't notice her irritation, because he kept going.

"The apocalypse is ultimately a good thing – all of the bad, wiped out, and there will be paradise on Earth as it is in Heaven."

"That's the Cliffnotes version," Gabriel piped in. "But you get the idea – lots of people die, but in the end, the good is what's left. You can see how it's not really something you want to push ahead of its time."

"So Biblical metaphors aside," Chloe interrupted, holding up her hand. "What would this woman want with Lucifer? Or Samael? Obviously he's not going to cause the apocalypse, not really. He's just a regular guy who…pretends to be something else. Something supernatural. But he bleeds, he breathes, he…lives just like any other human being. And eventually this woman is going to figure that out, and she's going to do the same thing she's done to her other victims, and she's going to kill him."

Michael's eyes widened in alarm, shooting another one of those looks that spoke a thousand words to his brother. "She does not know?"

Gabriel shrugged. "I've never actually met her before. I know Lucifer has told her a bunch of times, but apparently…" he shrugged again. "She doesn't believe him."

"You mean about him being the Devil?" Chloe demanded. "No, no I don't. Why? Because it's ridiculous. The Devil is supposed to be this…this threathanging over people, like that's the boogeyman coming to get you if you do bad things. Lucifer is…" she struggled for the right word, because she had never tried to describe Lucifer to anyone. Not the way he made her feel, not what she saw in him, not how he looked at her with that incredulous amazement whenever she told him she valued him – as a friend, a partner, or otherwise – or how it broke her heart every time because it meant he'd never heard anyone say it to him before.

"He's kind," she finally said. "And I don't mean that he's nice and friendly and this great person because he's not – he's actually usually a jerk. But he behaves like that because that's what people think he should do. But when he's not pretending, when he's not screwing around and playing the part he thinks he has, when he makes his own choices…"

"He makes the right ones?" Michael said quietly.

"Yeah," she said. "And that doesn't sound like the Devil. That doesn't sound like evil."

"That is because he is not," Michael said. "I am sure you have heard him say it – he is not evil. Lucifer punishes evil. In way, that is also what Samael did. But Detective…I need you to believe. Lucifer needs you to believe. Not that he is the Devil – but that he is something more than human. That there is much more to this than what you ever thought possible."

"That's not how belief works," Chloe said, shaking her head. "You can't just tell someone to believe something and…expect them to magically believe in it."

Michael nodded, one quick decisive movement, and unclasped his hands, moving his arms to his sides. "You are quite right, Detective. Which is why I am going to show you."

"Wait," Dan protested, holding up his hand. "Lucifer said your true forms would inspire madness. That people weren't meant to see you like that."

Gabriel agreed. "He's right. But we're not going to show you everything that we are. Just…enough."

"Enough for what?"

"For you to believe," Michael said.

And with that, he held his arms wide, and like an enormous eagle – great, brilliant white wings unfolded from his back. They moved slowly, stretching out until the white tips almost touched either side of the bullpen, spanning almost thirty feet from end to end.

Chloe put her hand to her lips, stifling the gasp – or possibly a scream – she could feel threatening to come out.

Because those were impossible wings.

And they looked almost identical to the ones at the religious artifact auction. The ones Lucifer claimed were fakes and would fool anyone but the real owner.

"Holy…" she breathed through her fingers, staring unblinking at the massive wings, undeniably real and right before her very eyes.

"Very," Gabriel said, offering a hesitant smile.

"Hell."


Author's Note: Ta da! Midterms be damned, I'll wing it like I always do. Plus, I wanted this up before next week's episode. So Michael has made his appearance! And yes, the comment about Chloe thinking he looks familiar does actually have a purpose and will be brought up later. Samael was supposed to have more of a part in this chapter, but it was already leaning towards 5k words.

To everyone who has reviewed, messaged, favorited and bookmarked, thank you so much! I love hearing from you, and there's too many of you to thank by name (And a lot of guests that I can't call by name or message). What did you think of Michael? I actually wound up liking him...a lot. He's fun to write.

And final note - totally picturing Michael as Mads Mikkelson, circa third season "Hannibal" - totally inspired by the picture of him wiping blood off his lips in a promo picture. I love that man...Read and review!