Prompt: In response to a prompt by Arthuria_PenDragon in the Wayward_MDAS_Petting_Zoo collection.

Notes: I don't even go here, honestly. However, I have become intrigued by Lucifer and Michael's relationship as twins over the last few months and decided to try my hand at writing them. Apologies in advance if they seem a bit OOC, but also Mikey's not exactly in his right mind atm and Lucifer's not far behind. Hope you guys enjoy.


Lucifer was not a liar.

That was a fact. He would obfuscate and confuse, ramble and prevaricate, deflect and remain silent, but he didn't lie. Granted he hasn't always been honest with himself, but he thought he had grown better about that in recent years thanks to the assistance of Dr. Linda. That being the case, he didn't lie to himself about his current situation with Michael, namely how poorly it was going.

A month ago, Lucifer would've been surprised that there was a situation between himself and his twin at all. A month ago, he hated the other archangel and would gladly see him rot in Hell for the rest of eternity (or at least until Lucifer could see his face without wanting to punch it). Taking the throne of Heaven had been illuminating in many ways.

He had been curious about what had been going on in the Silver City since he was cast out left and beyond that, he was concerned over any nefarious plots Michael might have brewing upstairs. He was not expecting to learn that Michael's actions had been manufactured by their father with the purpose of maneuvering Lucifer into the role Dad set out for him: heir to the throne of Heaven after Father's retirement.

Lucifer hadn't wanted to believe it at first, not when he had just gotten closure after so long stewing in anger and hurt. But the throne didn't lie, it only showed objectively what had happened, what was happening and what could happen within the vast multiverse. It showed that Michael spent his tenure as the Prince of Heaven abused, scorned, and manipulated into agreeing to play the villain to Lucifer's hero. His twin's life had been hell long before he was banished to the infernal realm and all Michael got for the misdeeds he was forced to commit was a one-way ticket downstairs scrubbing floors with a toothbrush.

Lucifer's first instinct had been to get his brother out of Hell and damn what anyone else had to say about it. He would not let Michael rot down there for something that was neither his choice nor his fault. The angels he appointed to his Heavenly Council protested that Michael was a vile, evil, duplicitous bastard. As far as they saw it, even if their father had had a hand in Michael's actions, they were still Michael's.

"He is a jealous creature who has seen fit to unleash his ill-intent upon every one of us over the years," Lezmegadiel sneered.

"Do not forget that he would've killed both you and your miracle and he saw to the death of Remiel. The only thing he deserves is a swift end. Hell is too good for him," Ibriel agreed, just as unsympathetically.

"It is unfortunate but what's done is done. This information changes nothing. It is too dangerous to have him in the Silver City," Saraqael added with a pitying shake of her head.

"Michael was never anything more than a lying dick," Sandalphon finished.

The rest of his siblings had largely agreed with that sentiment, save for Gabriel and Raphael who had a more benign relationship with his twin. Amenadiel hadn't said much, just sat with a thoughtful and obviously guilty look on his face. Even those who had sided with Michael during their battle for the throne now spoke against him, not that Lucifer should've been surprised by that. He had always known his twin better than the rest of the Host did, not that many of them tried to know Michael. They all either viewed him as Darkness and Fear incarnate, and thus avoided him, or they saw him as the Sword of God, a title rather than a person. They believed he was there to serve a function within the Silver City but not someone worth consideration beyond that.

They had been the same with Lucifer way back when. He was the Lightbringer and the Angel of Desire. They wanted him around because all he had to do was read their desires and mold himself into whatever they wanted him to be. Failing that, he could put on a light show and gain adulation that way. Outwardly, he had let his family believe that was enough for him. The only person he ever spoke at length to about his true feelings was Michael.

He didn't really blame them for their form of attention. It was all they knew to do. The nine orders of angels were created to be soldiers, nothing but functional necessities long before Father and Mother decided they would be a true family and reset their purpose towards creation rather than war. None of the siblings knew how to be anything but transactional back then and so they weighed each other's worth based on the usefulness of their gifts. Well, everyone except the twins. The very nature of the Demiurge's existence had fostered a bond between the twins that was always more sentimental compared to the utilitarian disposition of early angelic interactions. Samael and Mikael were interested in each other for who they were, not what they could do. They had always treated each other as family and so the shift was not as difficult for them as it was for the rest of their siblings. Lucifer had forgotten about that particular shortcoming of his family over the years away.

He had also forgotten that Father and Michael's relationship had never been an easygoing one. It was rare for the twins to ever be alone with Dad when Lucifer still inhabited the Silver City as Samael. After his fall, he remembered it as Michael lingering in Lucifer's shadow, skulking around behind him, trying to steal scraps of attention from their parents. After the Omnis kicked in and Lucifer was forced to see, he recalled that it was not Mikael who trespassed on Samael's time with Dad but the other way around.

If ever Mikael was summoned to the Primum Mobile or the Empyrean, Samael would wordlessly tag along even if his presence was not requested. He had seen a look in their father's eyes when He viewed Mikael that he did not trust and so he kept close to his twin in case he needed to act as a buffer between the two. His suspicions were confirmed when on one occasion he had seen Dad strike his twin in anger. Samael had been livid and he wasn't quiet about that fact. Father had apologized to Mikael who had brushed it off easily enough, but Samael did not forgive nor did he forget. Lucifer had though.

In all the years of their separation, it had never crossed his mind that Michael would be blamed for all of Dad's shortcomings, the recipient of all his anger. Without Samael by his side, Michael had no one to stand between him and the wrath of God. Lucifer had felt disgust well inside him as the scenes of Michael being beaten bloody played out before him, Michael prone on the floor shaking as their father let out a venomous tirade against him, Michael trying to hold the Silver City together while also being Dad's punching bag. The only comfort he had was Gabriel, but she could not stop Dad. Dad, who claimed Michael should never have existed in the first place. Dad, who taught Michael that he was unloved, unwanted, unworthy, undeserving of affection much less of existing. Dad, who ripped Lucifer and his twin apart just to ensure he had a bloody retirement plan.

No, Lucifer would not let it stand. He might've fallen for his father's benevolent act, but he wasn't going to let him continue to assert his influence in this universe when he didn't even inhabit it anymore. Lucifer was God now, he could choose what he wanted his universe to look like. He was certainly under no obligation to continue Dad's vision, not when said vision left Michael with the shortest end of the stick possible.

With that in mind, he dismissed his council and spread his wings before traveling down to his former dominion.

The corridor in which he found Michael was dark with barely any light. Damned souls were locked away in their loops, enduring their punishments. Lucifer did not stop to wonder if their guilt was misplaced, if they deserved this punishment for their actions. He could worry about saving mortal souls another day. His focus that day was a more divine one. As he got close to his brother, he had to pause at the sight of his back. The wounds from where Lucifer had cut his wings off were just visible in the dim light. They were an angry red with clear signs of infection. It had only been a month upstairs but that was already centuries in Hell and Michael still hadn't healed. That wasn't a good sign.

Lucifer's jaw tightened as he looked at the wounds. He had cut Michael's wings off thanks to their father's schemes. Michael was insecure about his wings ever since they had been irrevocably damaged during the war against Chaos, and now they were gone. Lucifer hated that he was the reason for that but couldn't help but be thankful that he had chosen that route rather than killing Michael. If he had executed his twin and only found out the truth afterwards, he couldn't imagine that that would've gone well for anyone. Lucifer was certain he would've found a way to Dad and Mom's universe and he would've burned it to cinders in retribution.

Lucifer approached Michael tentatively in the corridor, not wanting to startle him as he remained engrossed in his task. He didn't react when Lucifer said his name nor when he kneeled down in front of him, his eyes remained firmly on the floor he was ineffectually scrubbing. His fingers were red and raw with dried blood coating them alongside the ash, his hands were shaking so much the circles he was making with the toothbrush was more of a wobbly oval. His knees appeared to be bloodied, a fact that stuck out against his skin which Lucifer could see was pale and wan even underneath the layer of ash coating him.

"Michael? Michael, can you hear me," he asked, trying to get his brother's attention to no avail.

He reached out cautiously and placed his hand on top of Michael's, stopping his brother's scrubbing. A shudder ran through Michael's body before he raised his head slightly, drawing a wince from Lucifer. Michael's eyes were red rimmed and dull. There were angry marks around them and down his cheeks, like he'd been raking at his own face. There were similar deep gouges in his chest and Lucifer wondered if the blood on his hands were from where he had harmed himself as much as from the non-stop scrubbing. His gaze was unfocused and settled on the basalt columns behind Lucifer's head. The former Devil had to wonder if his brother even recognized him.

"Mi, please look at me," he beckoned, pulling out his old nickname while brushing stray locks of hair back from his brother's forehead. Michael's eyes cleared a bit and he met Lucifer's gaze with a blank expression before the smallest hint of recognition filtered in.

"Hêlēl," Michael finally rasped out, bowing his head low.

Lucifer was taken aback. Of all the ways he expected to be addressed, it wasn't that way. Still, he brushed the weirdness of it off so they could have this difficult conversation.

"I've got to say, you've seen better days," he half-joked.

Michael truly did look awful, like he'd be bowled over if someone walked past him at too brisk a pace. Lucifer felt a pang of guilt as he acknowledged that it was his actions that had seen Michael placed in this position. He had promised him a second chance and then threw him down here to rot.

Michael made no move to raise his head again. Lucifer sighed in response.

"I've come because I've had my eyes opened to what I've been blind to for so long, both willingly and otherwise. The throne showed me the truth of what Father has done to you and what he's made you do. I know that none of what happened recently has been your idea or your choice. It's my intention to set things right."

Michael looked up then, staring at him with burgeoning confusion.

"Right, my Lord," Michael inquired, his voice cracking on each word.

Lucifer briefly grit his teeth at the sound and the formal address but again let it pass.

"Father took your Will from you, commanded you to play the part of villain just so His bloody ineffable plan would go off without a hitch. You haven't gotten to live your life for yourself, by your own measure, for millions of years. He turned you into His servant, His punching bag, His scapegoat, His tool."

Lucifer felt a lump in his throat as he ruminated on that. Lucifer's life post-Fall had not been easy, but it had been his. He had lived his life following the dictations of no one so long as he could help it. His Will was his own to do with as he pleased. Angels as a whole could not enjoy the same approximation of freedom but Michael had had it worst of all. Publicly he had to be the Prince of Heaven, the de facto leader of the Silver City, the one who had to be the strongest, have all the answers, keep it all together. All the while, behind closed doors their father was doing everything in His power to break him. It appeared that He had succeeded, and Lucifer had helped.

No, just no.

This wasn't the end. They knew the truth now. Michael could have a second chance, they both could. If he was lucky, he might even get his twin brother back.

Lucifer took a deep breath and looked back up at Michael, who was still staring at him with a vaguely mystified expression.

"I know choice has been something you've had little of thanks to Dad. Regardless, what comes next is up to you. I'm not willing to leave you here, not now, not ever again. I can take you back to the Silver City. Everyone knows the truth or they soon will seeing as Gabriel knows. Your nest is still there and available to you. Or perhaps you'd rather come to Earth. I think taking some time to settle without our siblings around would do us both some good. Ultimately, it's up to you."

Lucifer hoped he chose the penthouse. He would like the opportunity to spend time with his twin without all the hatred and anger clouding everything. He thought it would be infinitely more peaceful for Michael to not have to deal with their siblings' judgement as he put the pieces of himself back together. He would have to tell the detective to stay away for a while. Chloe wouldn't be happy about it and likely he'd have to explain the dynamics of the Host and Dad's abilities of mental manipulation much more in depth to her before she accepted it. There was also what happened to Dan and that would probably always hang over them, no matter what he said to her or Beatrice about it. Perhaps Dr. Linda could offer some mediation, but that was a problem for future Lucifer. The first priority would be getting Michael settled and (relatively) well again.

Michael gave him a searching look for a moment before resignation crossed his features.

"After all I've done, the sins I have committed, the only place my soul belongs is Hell. If You will not permit me to remain here, then finish what You started, oh Hêlēl. My existence is a blight upon Your world," Michael stated, his tone broken and subservient.

Lucifer drew back at the words as if slapped. His horror only grew as his brother bowed his head and exposed his neck just as he had in the arena, waiting for his twin to take his life. He didn't understand. How could Michael sound like he was worshipping him and yet sound so resigned to the end of his own existence? Amenadiel had mentioned his concerns about Michael's mental state in the arena when he had tried to goad Chloe into killing him. Lucifer had thought it was just a way for Michael to keep trying to get her damned to Hell, but now he could see his older brother was right. Michael truly did want to die.

The notion took Lucifer's breath away for a moment. Even when he hated him with every fiber of his being, the idea of Michael no longer existing felt wrong. There were certain things that were eternal and whether he liked it or not, Michael was one of those things as far as Lucifer was concerned. They had come into being together, gazing into each other's eyes where every other angel came into existence looking upon God and Goddess. They had spent eons side by side, creating planets and stars and crafting Creation. Lucifer's brightest stars were ignited not to fulfill their father's edicts but to delight Michael, who adored watching Lucifer's gift at work. When the Seraphs were composing their hymns to praise Father and the angelic choirs were lifting their voices high in awe of Him, Lucifer had been writing whole tomes just to serenade Michael. Lucifer's most beautiful designs were all made with Michael in mind because he had loved him more than anything in the multiverse. He was his other half, his literal soulmate. He did not know when that had changed and could hardly remember why. He suspected Dad's hand in that. Poor naïve Samael could never have imagined sitting across from his beloved twin, years of battle and strife between them, and having said twin offer himself up for death as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Lucifer was not totally conscious of moving, but the next thing he knew his arms were around Michael, pulling him in for a fierce hug. He felt his twin tensing at the contact, but he did not try to break free. Lucifer brought his wings around him as well, cocooning his brother in warmth.

"I'm sorry, Mi. It seems I've made a liar of myself once more. I said what happens next is your choice, but of all the things you could ask for, that is the one thing I cannot grant. As long as I live, I will never raise my hand in anger against you again. You have my word on that."

Michael remained rigid in his arms for a moment before speaking.

"Almighty Lord, You are a forgiving and gracious God. I hardly deserve to remain here, darkening Your Creation."

"Our Creation," Lucifer corrected.

"We made the planets and the stars together, the Power and the Will of the Demiurge. And you of all angels don't have to address me this way. We're not in the Silver City, I'm your brother before I'm your God. I don't hold grudges, Mi. I said you deserve a second chance, and I meant it. You can't have a second chance if you're non-existent."

"My existence is of no benefit to this universe, my God."

Lucifer pursed his lips, both at Michael's insistence upon his death and his continued formality, before coming to a decision. With a thought, he found himself no longer in Hell but sitting on the living room floor of his penthouse. Michael startled at the sudden shift and pulled away from him, glancing around the room with a concerning lack of recognition. Lucifer again wondered just how aware his brother was of what was happening around him.

"Give me a chance to prove you wrong, Mi. Let me show you that you do have value and a purpose in this universe. Your very existence is enough, you don't need to be more than who you are. Let me help you discover who that is without Dad's influence."

Michael stared at him impassively before he slowly nodded. Lucifer felt a moment of triumph.

"I will do whatever You ask of me, dear Hêlēl."

Lucifer's hope dipped at the words before he shook his head and gave Michael a small smile.

"Let's start with a bath, hmm? You smell of sulfur and brimstone. Then we'll see about healing you and setting you up in a room. Maybe a haircut."

Michael hadn't protested at all when Lucifer had set to running him a bath of warm water, though he had made a fuss when he endeavored to wash him. Not for reasons of propriety, the Silver City had communal bathhouses even now as well as private ones in their quarters and the twins had always shared baths. Michael thought it was inappropriate for Almighty God to act in service of a sinner such as himself. Lucifer had had a devil of a time convincing him otherwise, but eventually he managed to get Michael in the bath and scrubbed him clean. He put him in the softest clothes he could find before bringing him to his own bedroom. As fragile as his brother was, he wasn't comfortable letting him out of his sight just yet.

All that found them here. It had been a week since Lucifer retrieved his brother from Hell and progress had been painfully slow. For being as old as them, a mere week should've been less than a blink, but Lucifer felt every excruciating second of it. He thought he had grown better at taking things one day at a time and trying to express his emotions in a normal and productive way but being confronted with a version of Michael that was a broken subservient mess threw him for a loop.

He didn't know what to say to him, not that any of his reassurances appeared to penetrate Michael's general fog. He still flipped between treating Lucifer with fear or extreme reverence, bordering on worship. Lucifer, in response, could only do what he did best. His love language had always included big gestures and lavishing those he held in esteem with affection, attention and gifts and so that's what he did.

Michael, in turn, stayed largely silent in the face of what Lucifer had named the full care package. He didn't protest at all the oils and lotions Lucifer used on him to help get his skin back to a healthy shine and texture. He didn't stop him from carefully brushing through his tangled curls to get his hair into some semblance of order. Michael used to hate Lucifer going after his hair when they were younger. It knotted so easily, and Michael was never tempted to tame it. It was an endless source of bickering and playful spats. Even Father didn't like them to leave their hair in its natural curly state. It was one of the few acts of open defiance Michael performed back when Lucifer was still by his side. Seeing Mi's hair straight and brushed to the side should've been an indication that he might not be in total control of his actions.

(Lucifer offered to let his brother do what he wished with his own hair or even to groom his wings if he wanted, wishing desperately for that closeness and reciprocation of care again. Michael had looked appalled at the suggestion that he should sully God's aura with his own corrupted hands.)

Michael didn't have anything to say about the clothes Lucifer picked for him and he didn't say anything when Lucifer fluffed every pillow he owned and created a veritable mountain of cushions for Michael to sink into as Lucifer continued healing his back. Most of Michael's wounds were healed and scarred over, but the wing stumps proved much more stubborn, even with Lucifer's divine healing. Perhaps it was because the wound was created with the Flaming Sword. He had treated the infection as best he could, but the gashes remained stubbornly open on Michael's back, a daily reminder that Lucifer mutilated his twin.

He had wondered if it was self-actualization hindering Michael's healing. He had had to put an indefinite block on it after innocuous touches had resulted in angry purple bruises blooming on his twin's skin. It broke his heart that Michael was so used to violence that he could not associate touch from God as resulting in anything other than injury and pain. It made Lucifer want to find Dad and throttle Him, but he was more focused on trying to get through to his brother, which he was determined to do. Michael's behavior was disconcerting enough for Lucifer to miss the asshole version of his brother a little and yearn for the brave, self-assured version of Michael that he used to know eons ago even more, but he was too stubborn to admit defeat so easily.

Lucifer wondered if Michael was so gracious about his coddling because he was barely lucid or if he was only doing as his Lord commanded. It could also be out of fear, which Michael had no shortage of.

Lucifer spoke with Linda early on for guidance. She had advised him that given the prolonged trauma Michael had gone through, he was likely to be distrustful and fall back on old habits. It made sense for him to be deferential to his God and king, which Lucifer was now. She mentioned he shouldn't be surprised if Michael projected his expectations for their father onto Lucifer. He thought he had been prepared for that, but very much wasn't.

Michael walked around the penthouse as if he was waiting for the next shoe to drop. He flinched sometimes when Lucifer touched him and chose every word he said with extreme care. He became the Olympic gold medalist of genuflecting and would even bow when Lucifer entered a room despite him trying to dissuade such behavior. He still believed he should be dead and had offered himself more than once in response to what Lucifer viewed as the most minor of infractions, if they could even be counted as such.

The worst of it came when Michael went into Lucifer's office. Lucifer had opened up every room in the penthouse to Michael, but his twin tended to remain in either Lucifer's bedroom or the bathroom, sometimes the living room.

That day, Lucifer had gone out to visit the detective and her spawn. When he got back, Michael was in his study staring at a framed black feather. Lucifer had had Michael's wings brought to a safe place in the Silver City, but he had kept a few of his feathers around, finding comfort in the dying remnants of Michael's divinity that the black feathers held. Michael had apparently found one.

The elder twin turned and saw him in the doorway. His eyes immediately widened with fear and he quickly placed the frame back on the desk before dropping to his knees.

"Dear Hêlēl, please forgive my trespasses. I— I felt the familiar energy in this room. I was merely curious, I did not mean to… I mean, I would never… Please forgive me, oh Lord."

Lucifer had felt his heart clench in his chest at Michael's obvious terror. His breathing was quick and labored and his whole body was trembling and tensed in anticipation of pain. Lucifer recalled that even when he was in the Silver City there were certain areas not all were permitted to go. Only the six original Archangels could visit Father in the Empyrean. Only Mother could visit him in His study and no one at all was allowed in His workshop. Michael likely believed the same held true for Lucifer's home and that he was now to be punished for entering.

He lowered himself to the ground in front of Michael and raised his hands placatingly.

"Mi, you haven't done anything wrong. I have no need to forgive you."

Michael glanced up at him with disbelieving eyes.

"I said every room in the penthouse was available to you. I meant this one as well. Besides, it's your feather. You have more right to it than I do. In fact…"

Lucifer reached up to the frame and removed the feather before holding it out to his brother.

"Here, take it. It's yours."

Michael stared at the offered hand suspiciously, as if Lucifer was building some elaborate ruse to hurt him.

"Is this a test, my Lord? You must know my faith is not wavering. I won't be tempted to anger and jealousy against You ever again, this I swear. My wings were Yours to take as You saw fit," Michael replied, his words slow and deliberate.

Lucifer shook his head.

"No, your wings were never anyone else's. You are your own angel, you always have been. You don't belong to me or to Dad. What happened in that arena should've never come to pass. If I could restore your wings, I would. I am looking for a way, it's proving more difficult than I anticipated, but I will figure it out. Until then, if this feather is the only comfort I can give you, then take it. I want you to have it."

Michael continued staring at him with disbelief as he shook his head.

"I don't— I'm not— I don't d-deserve— I can't—"

Lucifer watched sadly as his brother tripped over his words, trying to navigate the situation in a way to appease a God that was no more.

"Mi, look at me."

Michael's body trembled and shook violently as he reluctantly met Lucifer's gaze.

"I swore I would never hurt you again. I will not raise my hand against you. I only wish to help you and offer you the love and care you deserve, that's all."

"Love," Michael whispered questioningly.

"You're my twin brother, you're the other half of my soul. Even when I hated you, I loved you. I certainly don't hate you now. I know what it is to be broken by Father's tender mercies. I know what it is to be alone in that darkness and that pain. I would never wish that upon you. All I want is for you to be alright. That is what would please me. It won't happen overnight, but I need you to know that I'm here for you."

Lucifer offered the feather to Michael once more. His brother still looked apprehensive, but he reached out and took it, cradling it to his chest.

"I want…" Michael trailed off.

"Yes," he hedged, imploring him to finish his thought.

"I want to believe you. But I… I can't. I don't. I'm sorry. Please forgive me," Michael whispered, his voice cracking with emotion.

Lucifer closed his eyes briefly at the flare of pain in his chest.

"There's nothing to forgive, but if you need to hear it, I forgive you, Mi."

Lucifer moved forward to hug his brother, doing his best to ignore the tremors racking the other archangel's body in response to the embrace.

At that very moment, he came to the realization that he was utterly clueless. All the power of God was at his disposal, and it was useless. His twin was broken, and Lucifer couldn't fix him.